BH1JWM 
 
 JOet.-CHHNDl.eR -HARRIS 
 
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CljanUler Carrie* 
 
 NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS. Myths 
 and Legends of the Old Plantation. Illus 
 trated. izmo, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 MINGO, and other Sketches in Black and 
 White. i6mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER, and other 
 Sketches and Stories. i6mo, $1.25. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK. 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER 
 
 AND OTHER SKETCHES AND 
 STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS 
 
 AUTHOR OF " UNCLE REMUS, HIS SONGS AND HIS SAYINGS," " FREE 
 
 JOE," "DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY," ETC 
 
 ^ ^:&&$ 
 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 Camfcrib0e 
 1891 
 
Copyright, 1891, 
 BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The River tide Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BALAAM AND His MASTER ? 
 
 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS 45 
 
 ANANIAS 112 
 
 WHERE S DUNCAN? 149 
 
 MOM Bi 17 
 
 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE 192 
 
 M32398 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 WHAT fantastic tricks are played by fate 
 or circumstance! Here is a horrible war 
 that shall redeem a nation, that shall restore 
 civilization, that shall establish Christianity. 
 Here is a university of slavery that shall 
 lead the savage to citizenship. Here is a 
 conflagration that shall rebuild a city. 
 Here is the stroke of a pen that shall change 
 the destinies of many peoples. Here is the 
 bundle of fagots that shall light the fires of 
 liberty. As in great things, so in small. 
 Tragedy drags comedy across the stage, and 
 hard upon the heels of the hero tread the 
 heavy villain and the painted clown. 
 
 What a preface to write before the name 
 of Billville ! 
 
 Years ago, when one of the ex- Virginian 
 pioneers who had settled in Wilkes County, 
 in the State of Georgia, concluded to try his 
 fortune farther west, he found himself, after 
 a tedious journey of a dozen days, in the 
 
8 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 midst of a little settlement in middle Geor 
 gia; -His; wagons and his negroes were at 
 once surrounded by a crowd of curious but 
 good-humored men and a swarm of tow- 
 headed children. 
 
 " What is your name ? " he asked one of 
 the group. 
 
 "Bill Jones." 
 
 " And yours ? " turning to another. 
 
 " Bill Satterlee." 
 
 The group was not a large one, but in ad 
 dition to Jones and Satterlee, as the new 
 comer was informed, Bill Ware, Bill Cosby, 
 Bill Pinkerton, Bill Pearson, Bill Johnson, 
 Bill Thurman, Bill Jessup, and Bill Prior 
 were there present, and ready to answer to 
 their names. In short, fate or circumstance 
 had played one of its fantastic pranks in this 
 isolated community, and every male member 
 of the settlement, with the exception of La- 
 ban Davis, who was small and puny-looking, 
 bore the name of Bill. 
 
 " Well," said the pioneer, who was not 
 without humor, " I 11 pitch my tent in Bill- 
 ville. My name is Bill Cozart." 
 
 This is how Billville got its name a 
 name that has clung to it through thick and 
 thin. A justifiable but futile attempt was 
 
SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 9 
 
 made during the war to change the name of 
 the town to Panola, but it is still called 
 Billville, much to the disappointment of 
 those citizens who have drawn both pride 
 and prosperity in the lottery of life. 
 
 It was a fortunate day for Billville when 
 Mr. William Cozart, almost by accident, 
 planted his family tree in the soil of the set 
 tlement. He was a man of affairs, and at 
 once became the leading citizen of the place. 
 His energy and public spirit, which had 
 room for development here, appeared to be 
 contagious. He bought hundreds of acres 
 of land, in the old Virginia fashion, and 
 made for himself a home as comfortable as 
 it was costly. His busy and unselfish life 
 was an example for his neighbors to follow, 
 and when he died the memory of it was a 
 precious heritage to his children. 
 
 Meanwhile Billville, stirred into action 
 by his influence, grew into a thrifty village, 
 and then into a flourishing town ; but 
 through all the changes the Cozarts re 
 mained the leading family, socially, politi 
 cally, and financially. But one day in the 
 thirties Berrien Cozart was born, and the 
 wind that blew aside the rich lace of his 
 cradle must have been an ill one, for the 
 
10 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 child grew up to be a thorn in the side of 
 those who loved him best. His one redeem 
 ing quality was his extraordinary beauty. 
 This has, no doubt, been exaggerated; but 
 there are still living in Billville many men 
 and women who knew him, and they will 
 tell you to-day that Berrien Cozart was the 
 handsomest man they have ever seen and 
 some of them have visited every court in 
 Europe. So far as they are concerned, the 
 old saying, " Handsome is that handsome 
 does," has lost its force. They will tell you 
 that Berrien Cozart was the handsomest man 
 in the world and probably the worst. 
 
 He was willful and wrongheaded from the 
 first. He never, even as a child, acknow 
 ledged any authority but his own sweet 
 will. He could simulate obedience when 
 ever it suited his purpose, but only one 
 person in the world had any real influence 
 over him a negro named Balaam. The 
 day Berrien Cozart was born, his proud and 
 happy father called to a likely negro lad 
 who was playing about in the yard the 
 day was Sunday and said : 
 
 " How old are you ? " 
 
 " I dunno zackly, marster, but ole Aunt 
 Emmeline she know." 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 11 
 
 " Do you do any work ? " 
 
 " Yes, suh ; I totes water, an I drives de 
 cows ter de pastur , an I keeps off de calfs, 
 an I runs de chickens out n de gyardin." 
 
 The sprightly and intelligent appearance 
 of the lad evidently made a favorable im 
 pression on the master, for he beckoned to 
 him and said : 
 
 " Come in here ; I want to show you 
 something." 
 
 The negro dropped his hat on the ground 
 and followed Mr. Cozart, who led the way 
 to the darkened room where Berrien, the 
 baby, was having his first experience with 
 existence. He lay on the nurse s lap, with 
 blinking eyes and red and wrinkled face, 
 trying to find his mouth with his fists. The 
 nurse, black as she was, was officious, and 
 when she saw the negro boy she exclaimed : 
 
 " Balaam, w at you doin in yere ? Take 
 yo se f right out! Dis ain t no place fer 
 you." 
 
 " Marster says so," said Balaam, senten- 
 tiously. 
 
 " Balaam," said Mr. Cozart, " this baby 
 will be your master. I want you to look 
 after him and take care of him." 
 
 "Yes, suh," said Balaam, regarding his 
 
12 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 new master with both interest and curiosity. 
 " He look like he older dan w at he is." 
 With that Balaam retreated to the negro 
 quarters, where he had a strange tale to tell 
 the other children about the new white 
 baby. 
 
 Berrien grew and thrived, and when he 
 was a year old Balaam took charge of him, 
 and the two soon became devoted to each 
 other. The negro would take the child on 
 his back and carry him from one end of the 
 plantation to the other, and Berrien was 
 never happy unless Balaam was somewhere 
 in sight. Once, when it was found neces 
 sary to correct Balaam with a switch for 
 some boyish offense, his young master fell 
 on the floor in a convulsion of rage and 
 grief. This manifestation made such an 
 impression on the family that no further 
 attempt was ever made to punish Balaam ; 
 and so the two grew up together the 
 young master with a temper of extreme vio 
 lence and an obstinacy that had no bounds, 
 and the negro with an independence and a 
 fearlessness extremely rare among slaves. 
 
 It was observed by all, and was a cause 
 of special wonder among the negroes, that, 
 in spite of Berrien Cozart s violent temper, 
 
SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 13 
 
 he never turned his hand against Balaam, 
 not even when he was too young to reason 
 about the matter. Sometimes, when he was 
 seen throwing stones in a peculiarly vicious 
 way at a tree, or at the chickens, or at 
 some of the other children, the older negroes 
 would laughingly shake their heads at one 
 another and say that the child was mad with 
 Balaam. 
 
 These queer relations between master and 
 slave grew stronger as the two grew older. 
 When Berrien was ten and Balaam twenty 
 they were even more inseparable than they 
 had been when the negro was trudging about 
 the plantation with his young master on his 
 back. At that time Balaam was not al 
 lowed to sleep in the big house ; but when 
 Berrien was ten he had a room to himself, 
 and the negro slept on a pallet by the side 
 of the bed. 
 
 About this time it was thought necessary 
 to get a private tutor for Berrien. He had 
 a great knack for books in a fitful sort of 
 way, but somehow the tutor, who was an es 
 timable young gentleman from Philadelphia, 
 was not very much to Berrien s taste. For 
 a day or two matters went along smoothly 
 enough, but it was not long before Balaam, 
 
14 SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 lying on the floor outside the door, heard a 
 tremendous racket and clatter in the room. 
 Looking in, he saw his young master pelt 
 ing the tutor with books and using language 
 that was far from polite. Balaam went in, 
 closing the door carefully behind him, and 
 almost immediately the tumult ceased. 
 Then the negro appeared leading his young 
 master by the arm. They went downstairs 
 and out on the lawn. The tutor, perplexed 
 and astonished by the fierce temper of his 
 pupil, saw the two from the window and 
 watched them curiously. Berrien finally 
 stopped and leaned against a tree. The ne 
 gro, with his hand on the boy s shoulder, 
 was saying something unpleasant, for the 
 tutor observed one or two fierce gestures of 
 protest. But these soon ceased, and pres 
 ently Berrien walked rapidly back to the 
 house, followed by Balaam. The tutor 
 heard them coming up the stairway; then 
 the door opened, and his pupil entered and 
 apologized for his rudeness. 
 
 For some time there was such marked im 
 provement in Berrien s behavior that his tu 
 tor often wondered what influence the negro 
 had brought to bear on his young master ; 
 but he never found out. In fact, he soon 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 15 
 
 forgot all about the matter, for the improve 
 ment was only temporary. The youngster 
 became so disagreeable and so unmanageable 
 that the tutor was glad to give up his posi 
 tion at the end of the year. After that 
 Berrien was sent to the Academy, and there 
 he made considerable progress, for he was 
 spurred on in his studies by the example of 
 the other boys. But he was a wild youth, 
 and there was no mischief, no matter how 
 malicious it might be, in which he was not 
 the leader. As his character unfolded itself 
 the fact became more and more manifest 
 that he had an unsavory career before him. 
 Some of the older heads predicted that he 
 would come to the gallows, and there was 
 certainly some ground for these gloomy sug 
 gestions, for never before had the quiet com 
 munity of Billville given development to 
 such reckless wickedness as that which 
 marked the daily life of Berrien Cozart as 
 he grew older. Sensual, cruel, impetuous, 
 and implacable, he was the wonder of the 
 mild-mannered people of the county, arid a 
 terror to the God-fearing. Nevertheless, he 
 was attractive even to those who regarded 
 him as the imp of the Evil One, and many 
 a love-lorn maiden was haunted by his beau 
 tiful face in her dreams. 
 
16 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 When Berrien was eighteen he was sent 
 to Franklin College at Athens, which was 
 supposed to divide the responsibility of 
 guardianship with a student s parents. The 
 atmosphere the young man found there in 
 those days suited him admirably. He be 
 came the leader of the wildest set at that 
 venerable institution, and proceeded to make 
 a name for himself as the promoter and or 
 ganizer of the most disreputable escapades 
 the college had ever known. He was an 
 aggressor in innumerable broils, he fought 
 a duel in the suburbs of Athens, and he 
 ended his college career by insulting the 
 chancellor in the lecture-room. He was ex 
 pelled, and the students and the people of 
 Athens breathed freer when it was known 
 that he had gone home never to return. 
 
 There was a curious scene with his father 
 when the wayward youth returned to Bill- 
 ville in disgrace. The people of that town 
 had received some inkling of the sort of 
 education the young man was getting at 
 college, though Mr. Cozart was inclined to 
 look somewhat leniently on the pranks of 
 son, ascribing them to the hot blood of 
 youth. But when Berrien s creditors be 
 gan to send in their accounts, amounting to 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTEK. jj 
 
 several thousands of dollars, he realized for 
 the first time that the hope and pride of his 
 later years had been vain delusions. Upon 
 the heels of the accounts came Berrien him 
 self, handsomer and more attractive than 
 ever. Dissipation was not one of his vices, 
 and he returned with the bloom of youth on 
 his cheek and the glowing fires of health in 
 his sparkling eyes. He told the story of his 
 expulsion with an air as gay as any cavalier 
 ever assumed. The story was told at the 
 table, and there was company present. But 
 this fact was ignored by Berrien s father. 
 His hand shook as he laid down his knife 
 and fork. 
 
 " You have damaged my credit," he said 
 to his son across the table ; " you have dis 
 graced your mother s name and mine ; and 
 now you have the impudence to make a joke 
 of it at my table, sir. Let me not see your 
 face in this house again until you have re 
 turned to college and wiped out the blot you 
 have placed on your name." 
 
 " As you please, sir," said Berrien. His 
 eyes were still full of laughter, but some of 
 those who were at the table said his nether 
 lip trembled a little. He rose, bowed, and 
 passed out. 
 
18 BALAAM AND SIS MASTER. 
 
 Balaam was in his young master s room 
 when the latter went in. He had unpacked 
 the trunk and the valise and was placing the 
 things in a clothes-press, meanwhile talking 
 with himself, as most negroes will when left 
 to themselves. Berrien entered, humming 
 the tune of a college glee. 
 
 " I lowed you was at dinner, Marse 
 Berry," said Balaam. 
 
 " I have finished," said young Cozart. 
 " Have you had yours ? " 
 
 " Lord ! no, suh. Hit 11 be way yander 
 todes night fo I kin git dese clo es straight 
 ened out." 
 
 " Well," said the young man, " you go 
 and get your dinner as soon as you can. 
 This valise must be repacked. Before the 
 sun goes down we must be away from here." 
 
 " Good Lord, Marse Berry ! I ain t said 
 howdy wid none er de folks yit. How 
 come we got ter go right off?" 
 
 " You can stay, if you choose," said Ber 
 rien. " I reckon you d be a better negro if 
 you had stayed at home all the time. Right 
 now you ought to be picking your five hun 
 dred pounds of cotton every day." 
 
 "Now, you know, Marse Berry, dat of 
 you er gwine, I m gwine too you know 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 19 
 
 dat p intedly ; but you come in on me so 
 sudden-like dat you sorter git me flustrated." 
 
 " Well," said Berrien, seating himself on 
 the side of the bed and running his fingers 
 through his curling hair, "if you go with 
 me this time you will be taking a big jump 
 in the dark. There s no telling where 
 you 11 land. Pap has taken the studs, and 
 I have made up my mind to leave here for 
 good and all. You belong to me, but I 11 
 give you your choice ; you can go with me, 
 or you can stay. If you go, I 11 probably 
 get into a tight place and sell you ; if you 
 stay, Pap will make a pet of you for my 
 sake." 
 
 Regarding this as a very good offhand 
 joke, the young man laughed so loud that the 
 sound of it penetrated to the dining-room, 
 and, mellow and hearty as it was, it struck 
 strangely on the ears of those still sitting at 
 the table. 
 
 " I knowed in reason dat dey was gwine 
 to be a rippit," said Balaam ; " kaze you 
 know how you been gwine on up yander, 
 Marse Berry. I tole an tole you bout it, 
 an I dunno whar in de name er goodness 
 you d been ef I had n t been right dar fer 
 ter look atter you." 
 
20 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 "Yes," remarked Berrien, sarcastically, 
 " you were just about drunk enough half the 
 time to look after me like a Dutch uncle." 
 
 Balaam held his head down and chuckled. 
 " Yes, suh," he said, " I tuck my dram, dey 
 ain t no sputin er dat ; yit I never has tuck 
 so much dat I ain t keep my eye on you. 
 But t ain t do no good : you des went right 
 long ; an dar was ole Mistiss, which she 
 done sick in bed, an Miss Sally Carter, 
 which she s yo born cousin dar dey all 
 was a-specktin you ter head de whole school 
 gang. An you did head em, mon, but not 
 in de books." 
 
 " My fair Cousin Sarah ! " exclaimed Ber 
 rien in a reminiscent way. 
 
 "Yes, suh," said Balaam ; u an dey tells 
 me down in de kitchen dat she comin yere 
 dis ve y day." 
 
 " Then," said the young man, " it is time 
 for me to be going. Get your dinner. If 
 I am to have your company, you must be 
 ready in an hour ; if you want to stay, go 
 to the overseer and tell him to put you to 
 work." 
 
 Laughing good-naturedly, Balaam slipped 
 out. After a little while Berrien Cozart 
 went down the stairway and into the room 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 21 
 
 of his mother, who was an invalid. He sat 
 at her bedside and talked a few moments. 
 Then he straightened and smoothed her pil 
 lows, stroked her gray hair, gazed into her 
 gentle eyes, and kissed her twice. These 
 things the poor lady remembered long after 
 wards. Straying into the spacious parlor, 
 the young man looked around on the fa 
 miliar furniture and the walls covered with 
 portraits. Prominent among these was the 
 beautiful face of Sally Carter. The red 
 curtains in the windows, swaying to and fro 
 in the wind, so swiftly changed the light and 
 shadow that the fair face in the heavy gilt 
 frame seemed to be charged with life. The 
 lustrous eyes seemed to dance and the saucy 
 lips to smile. Berrien remembered his fair 
 cousin with pleasure. She had been his 
 playmate when he was younger, and the im 
 pression she made on him had been a last 
 ing one. Beautiful as she was, there was 
 no nonsense about her. She was high- 
 spirited and jolly, and the young man 
 smiled as he recalled some of their esca 
 pades together. He raised his hand to sa 
 lute the portrait, and at that moment a peal 
 of merry laughter greeted his ears. Turn 
 ing, he saw framed in the doorway the rosy 
 
22 SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 original of the portrait. Before he could 
 recover from his astonishment the young 
 lady had seized and kissed him. Then she 
 held him off at arm s length and looked at 
 him. 
 
 " Why, how handsome you have grown ; " 
 she cried. " Just think of it ! I expected 
 to meet a regular border ruffian. My dear 
 boy, you have no idea what a tremendous 
 reputation your friends have given you. 
 Ann Burney you remember that funny 
 little creature, don t you ? as fat as a butter- 
 ball Ann told me the other day that you 
 were positively the terror of everybody 
 around Athens. And now I find you here 
 kissing your fingers at my portrait on the 
 wall. I declare, it is too romantic for any 
 thing! After this I know you will never 
 call me Sarah Jane." 
 
 " You have taken me by surprise," said 
 Berrien, as soon as he could get in a word. 
 " I was admiring the skill of the artist. The 
 lace there, falling against the velvet bodice, 
 is neatly done." 
 
 " Ah, but you are blushing ; you are con 
 fused ! " exclaimed Miss Carter. " You 
 have n t even told me you are glad to see 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 23 
 
 " There is no need to tell you that," said 
 Berrien. "I was just thinking, when you 
 rushed in on me, how good and kind you 
 always were. You are maturer than the 
 portrait there, but you are more beautiful." 
 
 Miss Carter bent low with a mock cour 
 tesy, but the color in her face was warmer 
 as she exclaimed : 
 
 "Oh, how nice you are! The portrait 
 there is only sixteen, and I am twenty-five. 
 Just think of that ! And just think of me 
 at that age what a tomboy I was ! But I 
 must run and tell the rest of the folks 
 howdy." 
 
 Berrien Cozart walked out on the veranda, 
 and presently he was joined by his father. 
 " My son," said the old gentleman, " you 
 will need money for your traveling expenses. 
 Here is a check on our Augusta factor ; you 
 can have it cashed in Madison. I want you 
 to return to college, make all proper apolo 
 gies, and redeem yourself." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Berrien, taking 
 the check and stuffing it into his pocket. 
 His father turned to go indoors, hesitated a 
 moment, and looked at Berrien, who was 
 drumming idly on one of the pillars. Then 
 the old gentleman sighed and went in. 
 
24 SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 Shortly thereafter Berrien Cozart and 
 Balaam were journeying away from Billville 
 in the conveyance that had brought" them 
 there. 
 
 On the high hill beyond the "town 
 branch " Balaam leaned out of the hack and 
 looked back at Billville. The town ap 
 peared insignificant enough ; but the setting 
 sun imparted a rosy glow to the roof of the 
 yellow court-house and to the spire of the old 
 church. Observing the purpose of the ne 
 gro, Mr. Cozart smiled cynically and flipped 
 the hot ashes of his cigar into Balaam s ear. 
 "As you are telling the town good-by," 
 said the young man, " I 11 help you to bow." 
 " Yasser! " said Balaam, shaking the ashes 
 from his ear; "I was des a-lookin back 
 at de place. Dat sun shine red, mon, an 
 de jail look like she de bigges house dar. 
 She stan out mo bigger dan w at de chu ch 
 do." 
 
 It may be that this statement made no 
 impression on Berrien, but he leaned back 
 in his seat and for miles chewed the end of 
 his cigar in silence. 
 
 It is not the purpose of this chronicle to 
 follow him through all his adventures and 
 escapades. As he rode away from Billville 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 25 
 
 on that memorable day he seemed to realize 
 that his career had just begun. It was a 
 career to which he had served a long and 
 faithful apprenticeship, and he pursued it to 
 the end. From Madison he went to At 
 lanta, where for months he was a familiar, 
 albeit a striking figure. There were few 
 games of chance in which he was not an 
 adept. No conjurer was so adroit with the 
 cards or the dice ; he handled these emblems 
 of fate and disaster as an artist handles his 
 tools. And luck chose him as her favorite ; 
 he prospered to such a degree that he grew 
 reckless and careless. Whereupon one fine 
 day luck turned her back on him, and he 
 paraded on fine afternoons in front of Lloyd s 
 Hotel a penniless man. He had borrowed 
 and lost until he could borrow no longer. 
 
 Balaam, who was familiar with the situa 
 tion, was not surprised to learn that his 
 master had made up his mind to sell him. 
 
 " Well, suh," said Balaam, brushing his 
 master s coat carefully, "you kin sell me, 
 but de man dat buys Balaam will git a 
 mighty bad bargain." 
 
 "What do you mean?" exclaimed Ber- 
 
 rien. 
 
 " You kin sell me, suh, but I ain t gwine 
 stay wid um." 
 
26 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 " You can t help yourself," said the mas 
 ter. 
 
 "I got legs, Marse Berry. You know 
 dat yo se f." 
 
 " Your legs will do you no good. You 11 
 be caught if you go back home." 
 
 " I ain t gwine dar, suh. I m gwine wid 
 you. I hear you say yistiddy night p intedly 
 dat you gwine way f om dis place, an I m 
 gwine wid you. I been long wid you all 
 de time, an ole marster done tole me w en 
 you was baby dat I got ter stay wid you." 
 
 Something in this view seemed to strike 
 Mr. Cozart. He walked up and down the 
 floor a few minutes, and then fell to laugh 
 ing. 
 
 " By George, Balaam, you are a trump, 
 a royal flush in spades. It will be a famous 
 joke." 
 
 Thereupon Berrien Cozart arranged his 
 cards, so to speak, for a more hazardous 
 game than any he had ever yet played. He 
 went with Balaam to a trader who was an 
 expert in the slave market, and who knew 
 its ups and downs, its weak points and its 
 strong points. At first Berrien was dis 
 posed to put Balaam on the block and have 
 him auctioned off to the highest bidder ; but 
 
BALAAM AND SIS MASTER. 27 
 
 the trader knew the negro, and had already 
 made a study of his strong points. To be 
 perfectly sure, however, he thumped Balaam 
 on the chest, listened to the beating of his 
 heart, and felt of his muscles in quite a pro 
 fessional way. 
 
 " I reckon he ain t noways vicious," said 
 the trader, looking at Balaam s smiling face. 
 " I have never seen him angry or sullen," 
 said Mr. Cozart. Other questions were 
 asked, and finally the trader jotted down this 
 memorandum in his note-book : 
 
 " Buck nigger, Balaam ; age 32 ; 6 feet 
 1 inch; sound as a dollar; see Colonel 
 Strother." 
 
 Then the trader made an appointment 
 with Berrien for the next day, and said he 
 thought the negro could be disposed off at 
 private sale. Such was the fact, for when 
 Berrien went back the next day the trader 
 met him with an offer of fifteen hundred 
 dollars in cash for Balaam. 
 
 " Make it eighteen," said Mr. Cozart. 
 " Well, I 11 tell you what I 11 do," said 
 the trader, closing his eyes and pursing his 
 mouth in a business-like way. " I 11 give 
 you sixteen fifty no more, no less. Come, 
 now, that s fair. Split the difference." 
 
28 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Cozart said it was a bar- 
 gain, and the trader paid him the money 
 down after the necessary papers were drawn 
 up. Balaam seemed to be perfectly satisfied. 
 All he wanted, he said, was to have a mas 
 ter who would treat him well. He went 
 with Berrien to the hotel to fetch his little 
 belongings, and if the trader had searched 
 him when he returned he would have found 
 strapped around his body a belt containing 
 fifty dollars in specie. 
 
 Having thus, in a manner, replenished his 
 empty purse, Mr. Berrien Cozart made haste 
 to change his field of operations. To his 
 competitors in his own special department 
 of industry he let drop the hint that he was 
 going to Columbus, and thence to Mobile 
 and New Orleans, where he would hang on 
 the outskirts of the racing season, picking 
 up such crumbs and contributions as might 
 naturally fall in the way of a professional 
 gentleman who kept his eyes open and his 
 fingers nimble enough to deal himself a win 
 ning hand. 
 
 As a matter of fact Mr. Cozart went to 
 Nashville, and he had not been gone many 
 days before Balaam disappeared. He had 
 been missing two days before Colonel Stroth- 
 
SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 29 
 
 er, his new master, took any decided ac 
 tion, but on the morning of the fourth day 
 the following advertisement appeared among 
 others of a like character in the columns of 
 the Atlanta " Intelligencer " : 
 
 $100 reward will be paid for the 
 apprehension of my negro boy Ba 
 laam. Thirty-odd years old, but ap 
 peared younger ; tall, pleasant-looking, 
 quick-spoken, and polite. Was for- 
 m erly the property of the Hon. Wil 
 liam Cozart. He is supposed to be making his 
 way to his old home. Was well dressed when 
 last seen. Milledgeville "Recorder" and "Fed 
 eral Union " please copy. 
 
 BOZEMAN STROTHER, 
 
 Atlanta, Georgia. 
 
 (d. & w. 1 mo.) 
 
 This advertisement duly appeared in the 
 Milledgeville papers, which were published 
 not far from Billville, but no response was 
 ever made ; the reward was never claimed. 
 Considering the strength and completeness 
 of the patrol system of that day, Balaam s 
 adventure was a risky one ; but, fortunately 
 for him, a wiser head than his had planned 
 his flight and instructed him thoroughly in 
 the part he was to play. The shrewdness of 
 
30 BALAAM AND HIS MASTEK. 
 
 Berrien Cozart had provided against all 
 difficulties. Balaam left Atlanta at night, 
 but he did not go as a fugitive. He was 
 armed with a " pass " which formally set 
 forth to all to whom it might concern that 
 the boy David had express permission to 
 join his master in Nashville, and this " pass " 
 bore the signature of Elmore Avery, a gen 
 tleman who existed only in the imagination 
 of Mr. Berrien Cozart. Attached thereto, 
 also, was the signature seal of the judge of 
 ordinary. With this little document Ba 
 laam would have found no difficulty whatever 
 in traveling. The people he met would have 
 reasoned that the negro whose master trusted 
 him to make so long a journey alone must 
 be an uncommonly faithful one, but Balaam 
 met with an adventure that helped him 
 along much more comfortably than the pass 
 could have helped him. It is best, perhaps, 
 to tell the story in his own language, as he 
 told it long afterwards. 
 
 " I won t say I were n t skeered," said Ba 
 laam, " kaze I was ; yit I were n t skeered 
 nough fer ter go slippin longside er de 
 fences an mongst de pine thickets. I des 
 kep right in de big road. Atter I got out 
 er town a little piece, I tuck off my shoes 
 
SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 31 
 
 an tied de strings tergedder an slung em 
 cross my shoulder, 011 top my satchel, an 
 den I sorter mended my gait. I struck up 
 a kind er dog-trot, an by de time day come 
 a many a mile lay twix me an Atlanta. 
 Little atter sun-up I hear some horses trot- 
 tin on de road de way I come, an bimeby a 
 man driv up in a double buggy. He say, 
 4 Hello, boy ! Whar you gwine ? I pulled 
 off my hat, an say, I gwine whar my mars- 
 ter is, suh. Den de white man low, 
 4 Wat he name ? Well, suh, when de man 
 ax me dat, hit come over me like a big 
 streak er de chill an fever dat I done clean 
 fergit de name what Marse Berry choosen 
 ter be call by. So I des runned my han 
 und de lindin er my hat an pulled out de 
 pass, an say, 4 Boss, dis piece er paper kin 
 talk lots better dan I kin. 
 
 " De man look at me right hard, an den 
 he tuck de pass an read it out loud. Well, 
 suh, w en he come ter de name I des grabbed 
 holt un it wid my min , an I ain t never 
 turned it loose tell yit. De man was drivin 
 long slow, an I was walkin by de buggy. 
 He helt de pass in his han s some little time, 
 den he look at me an scratch his head. At 
 ter a while he low : You got a mighty long 
 
32 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 journey befo you. Kin you drive ? Ef you 
 kin, put on yo shoes an mount up here an 
 take dese lines. 
 
 " Well, suh, I wuz sorter glad, an yit I 
 wuz sorter skittish, but I tol de white man 
 thankydo, an le pt up in dat buggy like I 
 was de gladdes nigger in de worl . De man 
 he keep on lookin at me, an bimeby he 
 say, I tuck a notion when I fust see you 
 dat you was de boy w at Cozart had in At 
 lanta. Mon ! you could er knocked me 
 over wid a feather, I was dat weak ; but I 
 bu st out laughin an low, Lord, boss ! ef I 
 wa n t no better lookin dan dat ar Cozart 
 nigger I d quit bein a nigger an take up 
 wid de monkey tribe. De man say, I had 
 de idee dat de Cozart nigger was a mighty 
 likely boy. What was his name ? Balaam ? 
 I was so skeered it fair make me sick at de 
 stomach, yit I talk right out. I low, 
 4 Dey call im Balaam, an dey have ter 
 whale im. De man he laugh, He got a 
 great big scyar on de side er his neck now 
 whar souiebody hit im a diff, an he lay 
 roun dem hotels an drink dram all night 
 long. De man look sideways at my neck. 
 1 Dat nigger got so bad dat his marster had 
 ter sell im, an dey tells me, suh, dat de man 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 33 
 
 w at buy im ain no mo dan paid de money 
 fer im dan he have ter take im down and 
 strop im. 
 
 " Well, suh, de man look at me an laugh 
 so funny dat it make my ve y limbs ache. 
 Yes, suh. My heart hit up g inst my ribs 
 des like a flutter-mill ; an I wuz so skeered 
 it make my tongue run slicker dan sin. He 
 ax me mo questions dan I could answer now, 
 but I made answer den des like snappin my 
 fingers. W at make me de mo skeered was 
 de way dat ar white man done. He d look 
 at me an laugh, an de plumper I gin im de 
 answer de mo he d laugh. I say ter my- 
 se f, I did : Balaam, you Y a goner, dat 
 w at you is. De man know you, an de fust 
 calaboose he come ter he gwine slap you in 
 dar. I had a mighty good notion ter jump 
 out er dat buggy an make a break fer de 
 woods, but stidder dat I sot right whar I 
 wuz, kaze I knowed in reason dat ef de man 
 want me right bad .an I wuz ter break an 
 run he d fetch me down wid a pistol. 
 
 " Well, suh, dat man joke an laugh de 
 whole blessed mornin, an den bimeby we 
 drove in a town not much bigger dan Biv- 
 vle" (which was Balaam s pet name for 
 Billville), " an dar de white man say we d 
 
34 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 stop fer dinner. He ain t say de word too 
 soon fer me, mon, kaze I was so hongry an 
 tired it make my head swim. We driv up 
 ter tavern, we did, an de folks dar dey hol 
 ler, Howdy, Judge, an de white man he 
 holler Howdy back, an den he tol me 
 ter take de horses an buggy down ter de 
 liberty stable an have em fed, an den 
 come back an git my dinner. Dat wuz 
 mighty good news ; but whilst I wuz eatin 
 my dinner I hear dat white man laughin , 
 an it come over me dat he know who I wuz 
 an dat he wuz gwine ter gi me up ; yit dat 
 ain t hender my appetite, an I des sot dar 
 an stuff myse f tell I des make de yuther 
 niggers open der eyes. An den, when I 
 git my belly full, I sot in de sun an went 
 right fast ter sleep. I spec I tuck a right 
 smart nap, kaze when some un hollered at 
 me an woke me up de sun wuz gwine down 
 de hill right smartly. I jumped up on my 
 feet, I did, an I say, c Who dat callin me ? 
 Somebody low, Yo marster want you. 
 Den I bawl out, Is Marse Berry come ? 
 De niggers all laugh, an one un em say, 
 Dat nigger man dreamin , mon. He ain t 
 woke good yit. 
 
 " By dat time I done come ter my senses, 
 
SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 35 
 
 an den I ax dem wharbouts marster is. 
 Bimeby, when I done foun de white man 
 w at bring me in his buggy, he look at me 
 sorter funny an say, You know whar you 
 lef my buggy : well, you go down an raise 
 up de seat an fetch me de little box you 11 
 fin in dar. Wrop it up in de buggy rug 
 an fetch it an put it on de table dar. Well, 
 suh, I went an got dat box, an time I put 
 my han on it I knowed des zactly w at wuz 
 on de inside er it. I done seed too many 
 er em. It wuz under lock an key, but I 
 knowed it wuz a farrar box like dem w at 
 Marse Berry done his gamblin wid. By de 
 time I got back ter de room in de tavern de 
 white man done had de table kivered wid a 
 piece er doff w at he got out 11 his satchel. 
 He tuck de box, onlocked it, rattled de chips 
 in his han , an shuffled de kyards. Den he 
 look at me an laugh. He was de quarest 
 white man dat ever I laid eyes on. 
 
 " Atter while I ax im ef I had n t better 
 be gitten long todes de eend er my journey. 
 He low : Lord, no ! I want you ter set 
 round yere atter supper an gi me luck. 
 You ain t losin no time, kaze I m a-gwine 
 plumb to Chattanoogy, an ef you 11 be ez 
 spry ez you kin be I 11 take you long wid 
 
36 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 me. De ups an odds er it was dat I stayed 
 wid de man. De folks named im Judge, an 
 he was a judge, mon. Long bout nine dat 
 night he come ter his room, whar I was wait- 
 in fer im, an soon atter dat de young gen- 
 tlemens bout town gun ter drap in, an 
 t wa n t long fo de game got started. 
 Look like de man ain t wanter play, but de 
 yuthers dey kep on coaxin , an presently 
 he fotch out de box an opened up. Well, 
 sah, I done seed lots er gamblin fust an 
 last, but dat white man beat my time. Dey 
 played poker, stidder farrar, an it look like 
 ter me dat de man done got de kyards 
 trained. He dealt em boveboard, an dey 
 des come in his han zackly like he want em 
 ter come. Ef he had any tricks like w at 
 Marse Berry played on folks, dey was too 
 slick fer my eye, yit he des beated dem 
 yuther mens scand lous. It was des like one 
 er dese yere great big river cats ketchin 
 minners. 
 
 " Atter dey been playin some little time, de 
 white man what brung me dar low : Boy. 
 you better go git some sleep. We 11 start 
 soon in de mornin . But I say, No, suh ; 
 I 11 des set in de cornder here an nod, an 
 I li be close by ef so be you want me. I 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 37 
 
 sot dar, I did, an I had a good chance ter 
 sleep, kaze, bless yo heart ! dem mens ain t 
 make much fuss. Dey des grip der kyards 
 an sorter hoi der bref. Sometimes one 
 un em would break out an cuss a word er 
 two, but inginer lly dey d plank up der 
 scads an lose em des like dey wuz usen ter 
 it. De white man w at dey call Judge he 
 des wiped em up, an at de een he wuz des 
 ez fresh ez he wuz at de start. It wuz so 
 nigh day when de game broke up dat Marse 
 Judge lowed dat it was too late fer supper 
 an not quite soon nough fer breakfas , an 
 den he say he wuz gwine ter take a walk 
 an git some a r. 
 
 " Well, suh, it wuz dat away all de time I 
 wuz wid dat white man laugh in an jokin 
 all day, an gamblin all night long. How 
 an when he got sleep I 11 never tell you, 
 kaze he wuz wide awake eve y time I seed 
 im. It went on dis away plumb till we got 
 ter de Tennessy Eiver, dar whar Chatty- 
 noogy is. Atter we sorter rested, de white 
 man tuck me cross de river, an we druv on 
 ter whar de stage changes bosses. Dar we 
 stopped, an whilst I wuz waitin fer de 
 stage de white man low, Balaam ! He 
 kotch me so quick, dat I jump des like I d 
 
38 SALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 been shot, an hollered out, Suh ! Den 
 he laugh sorter funny, an say : Don t look 
 skeered, Balaam ; I knowed you f um de off- 
 start. You Y a mighty good boy, but yo 
 marster is a borned rascal. I m gwine send 
 you whar you say he is, an I want you ter 
 tell im dis fum me dat dough he tried 
 ter rob me, yit fer de sake er his Cousin 
 Sally, I he ped you ter go whar he is. 
 
 " Den de man got in his buggy an driv 
 back, an dat de las time I ever laid eyes 
 on im. When de stage come long I got 
 up wid de driver, an t wa n t long fo I 
 wuz wid Marse Berry, an I ain t no sooner 
 seed im dan I knowed he was gwine wrong 
 wuss and wuss : not but w at he was glad 
 kaze I come, but it look like his face done 
 got mo harder. Well, suh, it was des dat 
 away. I ain t gwine ter tell you all w at he 
 done an how he done it, kaze he was my 
 own marster, an he never hit me a lick 
 amiss, ceppin it was when he was a little 
 boy. I ain t gwine ter tell you whar we 
 went an how we got dar, kaze dey done 
 been too much talk now. But we drapped 
 down inter Alabam , an den inter Massa- 
 sip , an den inter Arkansaw, an back ag in 
 inter Massasip ; an one night whilst we 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 39 
 
 wuz on one er dem big river boats, Marse 
 Berry he got inter a mighty big row. Dey 
 wuz playin kyards fer de bigges kind er 
 stakes, an fust news I know de lie was 
 passed, an den de whole gang made fer 
 Marse Berry. Dey whipped out der knives 
 an der pistols, an it look like it wuz gwine 
 ter be all night wid Marse Berry. Well, suh, 
 I got so skeered dat I picked up a cheer an 
 smashed de nighest man, and by dat time 
 Marse Berry had shot one ; an , suh, we des 
 cleaned em out. Den Marse Berry made a 
 dash fer de low -mos deck, an I dashed at- 
 ter im. Den I hear sumpin go ker-slosh 
 in de water, an I lowed it was Marse Berry, 
 an in I splunged head-foremos . An den - 
 but, Lord, suh, you know de balance des 
 good ez I does, kaze I hear tell dat dey wuz 
 sumpin n er bout it in de papers." 
 
 This was as far as Balaam ever would go 
 with the story of his adventure. He had 
 made a hero of Berrien Cozart from his 
 youth, and he refused to dwell on any epi 
 sode in the young man s career that, to his 
 mind, was not worthy of a Cozart. When 
 Berrien leaped to the lower deck of the 
 steamboat his foot touched a stick of wood. 
 This he flung into the river, and then hid 
 
40 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 himself among the cotton bales that were 
 piled 011 the forward part of the boat. It 
 will never be known whether he threw the 
 piece of wood into the water knowing that 
 Balaam would follow, or whether his sole 
 intention was to elude pursuit. A shot or 
 two was fired, but the bullets fell wide of 
 their mark, and the boat swept on, leaving 
 the negro swimming around, searching for 
 his master. 
 
 At the next landing-place Berrien slipped 
 ashore unseen. But fortune no longer fa 
 vored him : for the next day a gentleman 
 who had been a passenger on the boat recog 
 nized him, and an attempt was made to ar 
 rest him. He shot the high sheriff of the 
 county through the head, and became a fu 
 gitive indeed. He was pursued through Ala 
 bama into Georgia, and being finally cap 
 tured not a mile away from Billville, was 
 thrown into jail in the town where he was 
 born. His arrest, owing to the standing of 
 his family, created a tremendous sensation 
 in the quiet village. Before he was carried 
 to jail he asked that his father be sent for. 
 The messenger tarried some little time, but 
 he returned alone. 
 
 "What did my father say?" Berrien 
 asked with some eagerness. 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 41 
 
 " He said," replied the messenger, " that 
 he did n t want to see you." 
 
 " Did he write that message ? " the young 
 man inquired. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " the messenger declared. " He 
 just waved his arm so and said he did n t 
 want to see you." 
 
 At once the troubled expression on Ber- 
 rien Cozart s face disappeared. He looked 
 around on the crowd and smiled. 
 
 " You see what it is," he said with a light 
 laugh, " to be the pride of a family ! Gen 
 tlemen, I am ready. Don t let me keep you 
 waiting." And so, followed by half the 
 population of his native village, he was es 
 corted to jail. 
 
 This building was a two-story brick struc 
 ture, as solid as good material and good 
 work could make it, and there was no fear 
 that any prisoner could escape, especially 
 from the dungeon where Berrien s captors 
 insisted on confining him. Nevertheless 
 the jailer was warned to take unusual pre 
 cautions. This official, however, who occu 
 pied with his family the first story of the 
 jail, merely smiled. He had grown old in 
 the business of keeping this jail, and cer 
 tainly he knew a great deal more about it 
 
42 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 than those Mississippi officials who were 
 strutting around and putting on such airs. 
 
 To his other duties the jailer added those 
 of tyler of the little lodge of freemasons 
 that had its headquarters in a hall on the 
 public square, and it so happened that the 
 lodge was to meet on the very night that 
 Berrien was put into jail. After supper the 
 jailer, as had been his habit for years, 
 smoked his pipe, and then went down to the 
 village and lighted the lamps in the ma 
 sonic hall. His wife and daughter, full of 
 the subject of Berrien Cozart s imprison 
 ment, went to a neighbor s not far away for 
 the purpose of discussing the matter. As 
 they passed out of the gate they heard the 
 jailer blowing the tin trumpet which was the 
 signal for the masons to assemble. 
 
 It was nearly eleven o clock when the 
 jailer returned, but he found his wife and 
 daughter waiting for him. Both had a 
 troubled air, and they lost no time in declar 
 ing that they had heard weeping and sob 
 bing upstairs in the dungeon. The jailer 
 himself was very sympathetic, having known 
 Berrien for many years, and he took another 
 turn at his pipe by way of consolation. 
 Then, as was his custom, he took his lantern 
 
BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 43 
 
 and went around the jail 011 a tour of in 
 spection to see that everything was safe. 
 
 He did not go far. First he stumbled 
 over a pile of bricks, and then his shoulder 
 struck a ladder. He uttered a little cry and 
 looked upward, and there, dim as his lan 
 tern was, he could see a black and gaping 
 hole in the wall of the dungeon. He ran 
 into the house as fast as his rheumatic legs 
 could carry him, and he screamed to his wife 
 and daughter : 
 
 " Raise the alarm ! Cozart has escaped ! 
 We are ruined ! " 
 
 Then he ran to the dungeon door, flung 
 it open, and then fell back with a cry of 
 terror. What did he see, and what did the 
 others who joined him there see ? On the 
 floor lay Berrien Cozart dead, and crouch 
 ing beside him was Balaam. How the ne 
 gro had managed to make his way through 
 the masonry of the dungeon without dis 
 covery is still one of the mysteries of Bill- 
 ville. But, prompt as he was, he was too 
 late. His master had escaped through a 
 wider door. He had made his way to a 
 higher court. Death, coming to him in that 
 dark dungeon, must have visited him in 
 the similitude of a happy dream, for there 
 
44 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER. 
 
 under the light of the lanterns he lay smil 
 ing sweetly as a little child that nestles on 
 its mother s breast ; and on the floor near 
 him, where it had dropped from his nerve 
 less hand, was a golden locket, from which 
 smiled the lovely face of Sally Carter. 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 ON a Sunday afternoon in December, 
 1863, two horsemen were making their way 
 across Big Corn Valley in the direction of 
 Sugar Mountain. They had started from 
 the little town of Jasper early in the morn 
 ing, and it was apparent at a glance that 
 they had not enjoyed the journey. They 
 sat listlessly in their saddles, with their car 
 bines across their laps, and whatever conver 
 sation they carried on was desultory. 
 
 To tell the truth, the journey from Jas 
 per to the top of Sugar Mountain was not a 
 pleasant one even in the best of weather, 
 and now, with the wind pushing before it a 
 bitterly cold mist, its disagreeableness was 
 irritating. And it was not by any means a 
 short journey. Big Corn Valley was fifteen 
 miles across as the crow flies, and the mean- 
 derings of the road added five more. Then 
 there was the barrier of the foothills, and 
 finally Sugar Mountain itself, which when 
 
46 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 the weather was clear lifted itself above all 
 the other mountains of that region. 
 
 Nor was this all. Occasionally, when the 
 wind blew aside the oilskin overcoats of the 
 riders, the gray uniform of the Confederacy 
 showed beneath, and they wore cavalry 
 boots, and there were tell-tale trimmings on 
 their felt hats. With these accoutrements 
 to advertise them, they were not in a 
 friendly region. There were bushwhackers 
 in the mountains, and, for aught the horse 
 men knew, the fodder stacks in the valley, 
 that rose like huge and ominous ghosts out 
 of the mist on every side, might conceal 
 dozens of guerrillas. They had that day 
 ridden past the house of the only member of 
 the Georgia State convention who had re 
 fused to affix his signature to the ordinance 
 of secession, and the woods, to use the pro 
 vincial phrase, were full of Union men. 
 
 Suddenly, and with a fierce and ripping 
 oath, one of the horsemen drew rein. " I 
 wish I may die," he exclaimed, his voice 
 trembling with long pent up irritation, " if 
 I ain t a great mind to turn around in my 
 tracks an go back. Where does this cussed 
 road lead to anyhow ? " 
 
 " To the mountain straight to the moun- 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 47 
 
 tain, grimly remarked the other, who had 
 stopped to see what was the matter with his 
 companion. 
 
 " Great Jerusalem ! straight ? Do you 
 see that fodder stack yonder with the hawk 
 on the top of the pole ? Well, we ve passed 
 it four times, and we ain t no further away 
 from it now than we was at fust." 
 
 " Well, we ve no time to stand here. In 
 an hour we 11 be at the foot of the moun 
 tain, and a quarter of a mile further we 11 
 find shelter. We must attend to business 
 and talk it over afterwards." 
 
 " An it s a mighty nice business, too," 
 said the man who had first spoken. He was 
 slender in build, and his thin and straggling 
 mustache failed to relieve his effeminate ap 
 pearance. He had evidently never seen 
 hard service. " I never have believed in this 
 conscriptin business," he went on in a com 
 plaining tone. " It won t pan out. It has 
 turned more men agin the Confederacy than 
 it has turned fer it, or else my daddy s name 
 ain t Bill Chadwick, nor mine neither." 
 
 " Well," said the other curtly, " it s the 
 law, Bill Chadwick, and it must be carried 
 out. We ve got our orders." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! You are the commander, 
 
48 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Cap n Moseley, an I m the army. Ain t I 
 the gayest army you ever had under you ? 
 I 11 tell you what, Cap n Moseley (I d call 
 you Dick, like I useter, if we was n t in the 
 ranks), when I j ined the army I thought 
 I was goin to fight the Yankees, but they 
 slapped me in the camp of instruction over 
 there at Adairsville, an now here we are 
 fightin our own folks. If we ain t fightin 
 em, we are pursuin after em, an runnin 
 em into the woods an up the mountains. 
 Now what kind of a soldier will one of these 
 conscripts make ? You need n t tell me, 
 Cap n ! The law won t pan out." 
 
 " But it s the law," said Captain Moseley. 
 The captain had been wounded in Virginia, 
 and was entitled to a discharge, but he ac 
 cepted the position of conscript officer. He 
 had the grit and discipline of a veteran, and 
 a persistence in carrying out his purposes 
 that gave him the name of " Hardhead " in 
 the army. He was tall and muscular, but 
 his drooping left shoulder showed where a 
 Federal bullet had found lodgment. His 
 closely cropped beard was slightly streaked 
 with gray, and his face would have been 
 handsome had not determination left its rude 
 handwriting there. 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 49 
 
 The two rode on together in silence a lit 
 tle space, the cold mists, driven by the wind, 
 tingling in their faces. Presently Private 
 Chadwick, who had evidently been rumina 
 ting over the matter, resumed the thread of 
 his complaints. 
 
 " They tell me," he said, " that it s a 
 heap easier to make a bad law than it is to 
 make a good one. It takes a lot of smart 
 men a long time to make a good one, but a 
 passel of blunderbusses can patch a bad one 
 up in a little or no time. That s the way I 
 look at it. 
 
 "What s the name of this chap we are 
 after ? Israel Spurlock ? I d like to know, 
 by George, what s the matter with him ! 
 What makes him so plague-taked impor 
 tant that two men have to be sent on a wild- 
 goose chase after him? They yerked him 
 into army, an he yerked himself out, an 
 now the word is that the war can t go on 
 unless Israel Spurlock is on hand to fling 
 down his gun an run when he hears a bung- 
 shell play in a tune in the air." 
 
 Captain Moseley coughed to hide a smile. 
 
 " It s jest like I tell you, Cap n. The 
 news is that we had a terrible victory at 
 Chattanooga, but I notice in the Atlanta pa- 
 
50 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 pers that the Yankees ain t no further north 
 than they was before the fight ; an what 
 makes it wuss, they are warmin themselves 
 in Chattanooga, whilst we are shiverin out 
 side. I reckon if Israel Spurloek had been 
 on hand at the right time an in the right 
 place, we d a drove the Yanks plumb back 
 to Nashville. Lord ! I hope we 11 have him 
 on the skirmish line the next time we sur 
 round the enemy an drive him into a town 
 as big as Chattanooga." 
 
 Private Chadwick kept up his complaints 
 for some time, but they failed to disturb the 
 serenity of the captain, who urged his horse 
 forward through the mist, closely followed 
 by his companion. They finally left the 
 valley, passed over the foothills, and began 
 the ascent of Sugar Mountain. Here their 
 journey became less disagreeable. The road, 
 winding and twisting around the mountain, 
 had been cut through a dense growth of 
 trees, and these proved to be something of 
 a shelter. Moreover, the road sometimes 
 brought the mountain between the travelers 
 and the wind, and these were such comforta 
 ble intervals that Mr. Chadwick ceased his 
 complaints and rode along good-humored ly. 
 
 The two horsemen had gone about a 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 51 
 
 mile, measuring the mountain road, though 
 they were not more than a quarter of a 
 mile from the foot, when they came sud 
 denly on an old man sitting in a sheltered 
 place by the side of the road. They came 
 on the stranger so suddenly that their horses 
 betrayed alarm, and it was all they could 
 do to keep the animals from slipping and 
 rolling into the gorge at their left. The 
 old man was dressed in a suit of gray jeans, 
 and wore a wool hat, which, although it 
 showed the signs of constant use, had some 
 how managed to retain its original shape. 
 His head was large and covered with a pro 
 fusion of iron-gray hair, which was neatly 
 combed. His face was round, but the lines 
 of character obliterated all suggestions of 
 chubbiness. The full beard that he wore 
 failed to hide evidences of firmness and de 
 termination ; but around his mouth a serene 
 smile lingered, and humor sparkled in his 
 small brown eyes. 
 
 " Howdy, boys, howdy ! " he exclaimed. 
 " Tired as they look to be, you er straddlin 
 right peart creeturs. A flirt or two more 
 an they d a flung you down the hill, an 
 a follered along atter you, headstall an 
 stirrup. They done like they were n t ex- 
 pectin company in an around here." 
 
52 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 The sonorous voice and deliberate utter 
 ance of the old man bespoke his calling. 
 He was evidently a minister of the gospel. 
 This gave a clew to Captain Moseley s 
 memory. 
 
 " This must be Uncle Billy Powers," said 
 the captain. " I have heard you preach 
 many a time when I was a boy." 
 
 " That s my name," said Uncle Billy; 
 " an in my feeble way I ve been a-preach- 
 in the Word as it was given to me forty 
 year, lackin one. Ef I ever saw you, the 
 circumstance has slipped from me." 
 
 " My name is Moseley," said the captain. 
 
 " I useter know Jeremiah Moseley in my 
 younger days," said Uncle Billy, gazing re 
 flectively at the piece of pine bark he was 
 whittling. " Yes, yes ! I knowed Brother 
 Moseley well. He was a God-fearin man." 
 
 " He was my father," said the captain. 
 
 "Well, well, well!" exclaimed Uncle 
 Billy, in a tone that seemed to combine re 
 flection with astonishment. "Jerry Mose 
 ley s son ; I disremember the day when 
 Brother Moseley came into my mind, an yit, 
 now that I hear his name bandied about up 
 here on the hill, it carries me back to ole 
 times. He weren t much of a preacher on 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 53 
 
 his own hook, but let im foller along for to 
 clench the sermon, an his match could n t 
 be foun in them days. Yit, Jerry was a 
 man of peace, an here s his son a-gwine 
 about with guns an pistols, an what not, 
 a-tryin to give peaceable folks a smell of 
 
 war. 
 
 Oh, no ! " said Captain Moseley, laugh 
 ing ; " we are just hunting up some old ac 
 quaintances, some friends of ours that 
 we d like to see." 
 
 "Well," said Uncle Billy, sinking his 
 knife deep into the soft pine bark, " it s bad 
 weather for a frolic, an it ain t much bet 
 ter for a straight-out, eve y-day call. Spesh- 
 ually up here on the hill, where the ground 
 is so wet and slipperyfied. It looks like 
 you ve come a mighty long ways for to pay 
 a friendly call. An yit," the old man con 
 tinued, looking up at the captain with a 
 smile that well became his patriarchal face, 
 " thar ain t a cabin on the hill whar you 
 won t be more than welcome. Yes, sir ; 
 wheresomever you find a h a thstone, thar 
 you 11 find a place to rest." 
 
 "So I have heard," said the captain. 
 " But maybe you can cut our journey short. 
 We have a message for Israel Spurlock." 
 
54 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Immediately Captain Moseley knew that 
 the placid and kindly face of Uncle Billy 
 Powers had led him into making a mistake. 
 He knew that he had mentioned Israel Spur- 
 lock s name to the wrong man at the wrong 
 time. There was a scarcely perceptible 
 frown on Uncle Billy s face as he raised it 
 from his piece of pine bark, which was now 
 assuming the shape of a horseman s pistol, 
 and he looked at the captain through half- 
 closed eyelids. 
 
 " Come, now," he exclaimed, " ain t Israel 
 Spurlock in the war? Did n t a posse 
 ketch im down yander in Jasper an take an 
 cornscrip im into the army ? Run it over 
 in your mind now ! Ain t Israel Spurlock 
 crippled some r s, an ain t your message for 
 his poor ole mammy ? " 
 
 " No, no," said the captain, laughing, and 
 trying to hide his inward irritation. 
 
 "Not so?" exclaimed Uncle Billy. 
 " Well, sir, you must be shore an set me 
 right when I go wrong; but I ll tell you 
 right pine blank, I ve had Israel Spurlock 
 in my min off an on ev ry since they run 
 him down an kotch him an drug im off to 
 war. He was weakly like from the time he 
 was a boy, an when I heard you call forth 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 55 
 
 his name, I allowed to myself, says I, Is 
 rael Spurlock is sick, an they ve come atter 
 his ole mammy to go an nuss him. That s 
 the idee that riz up in my miii ." 
 
 A man more shrewd than Captain Mose- 
 ley would have been deceived by the bland 
 simplicity of Uncle Billy s tone. 
 
 " No," said he ; " Spurlock is not sick. 
 He is a sounder man than I am. He was 
 conscripted in Jasper and carried to Adairs- 
 ville, and after he got used to the camp he 
 concluded that he would come home and tell 
 his folks good-by." 
 
 " Now that s jes like Israel," said Uncle 
 Billy, closing his eyes and compressing his 
 lips " jes like him for the world. He 
 knowed that he was drug off right spang at 
 the time he wanted to be getherin in his 
 craps, an savin his ruffage, an one thing 
 an another bekaze his ole mammy dd n t 
 have a soul to help her but iin. I reckon 
 he s been a-housin his corn an sich like. 
 The ole oman tuck on might ly when Israel 
 was snatched into the army." 
 
 " How far is it to shelter ? " inquired 
 Captain Moseley. 
 
 " Not so mighty fur," responded Uncle 
 Billy, whittling the pine bark more can- 
 
56 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 tiously. " Jes keep in the middle of the 
 road an you 11 soon come to it. Ef I ain t 
 thar before you, jes holler for Aunt Crissy 
 an tell her that you saw Uncle Billy some Ys 
 in the woods an he told you to wait for im." 
 
 With that, Captain Moseley and Private 
 Chadwick spurred their horses up the moun 
 tain road, leaving Uncle Billy whittling. 
 
 " Well, dang my buttons ! " exclaimed 
 Chadwick, when they were out of hearing. 
 
 " What now ? " asked the captain, turn 
 ing in his saddle. Private Chadwick had 
 stopped his horse and was looking back down 
 the mountain as if he expected to be pur 
 sued. 
 
 " I wish I may die," he went on, giving 
 his horse the rein, " if we ain t walked right 
 square into it with our eyes wide open." 
 
 " Into what ? " asked the captain, curtly. 
 
 " Into trouble," said Chadwick. " Oh," 
 he exclaimed, looking at his companion 
 seriously, " you may grin behind your beard, 
 but you just wait till the fun begins all 
 the grins you can muster will be mighty dry 
 grins. Why, Cap., I could read that old 
 chap as if he was a newspaper. Whilst he 
 was a-watchin you I was a-watchin him, an 
 if he ain t got a war map printed on his, 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 57 
 
 face I ain t never saw none in the 4 Charles 
 ton Mercury. : 
 
 " The old man is a preacher," said Cap 
 tain Moseley in a tone that seemed to dis 
 pose of the matter. 
 
 " Well, the Lord help us ! " exclaimed 
 Chadwick. " In about the wuss whippin I 
 ever got was from a young feller that was 
 preachin an courtin in my neighborhood. 
 I sorter sassed him about a gal he was fly in 
 around, an he upped an frailed me out, an 
 got the gal to boot. Don t tell me about no 
 preachers. Why, that chap flew at me like 
 a Stonefence rooster, an he fluttered twice 
 to my once." 
 
 " And have you been running from preach 
 ers ever since ? " dryly inquired the captain. 
 
 "Not as you may say, constantly a-run- 
 nin ," replied Chadwick ; " yit I ain t been 
 a-flingin no sass at em ; an my reason tells 
 me for to give em the whole wedth of the 
 big road when I meet em," 
 
 " Well," said the captain, " what will you 
 do about this preacher ? " 
 
 "A man in a corner," responded Chad 
 wick, " is obleeged to do the best he kin. 
 I 11 jest keep my eye on him, an the fust 
 motion he makes, I 11 " 
 
58 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " Eun ? " suggested the captain. 
 
 " Well, now," said Chadwick, " a man in 
 a corner can t most ingener lly run. Git 
 me hemmed in, an I 11 scratch an bite an 
 scuffle the best way I know how. It s hu 
 man natur , an I m mighty glad it is ; for 
 if that old man s eyes did n t tell no lies we 11 
 have to scratch an scuffle before we git 
 away from this mountain." 
 
 Captain Moseley bit his mustache and 
 smiled grimly as the tired horses toiled up 
 the road. A vague idea of possible danger 
 had crossed his mind while talking to Uncle 
 Billy Powers, but he dismissed it at once as a 
 matter of little importance to a soldier bent 
 on carrying out his orders at all hazards. 
 
 It was not long before the two travelers 
 found themselves on a plateau formed by a 
 shoulder of the mountain. On this plateau 
 were abundant signs of life. Cattle were 
 grazing about among the trees, chickens 
 were crowing, and in the distance could be 
 heard the sound of a woman s voice singing. 
 As they pressed forward along the level road 
 they came in sight of a cabin, and the blue 
 smoke curling from its short chimney was 
 suggestive of hospitality. It was a comfor 
 table-looking cabin, too, flanked by several 
 
A CONSCKIPT S CHRISTMAS. 59 
 
 outhouses. The buildings, in contrast with 
 the majestic bulk of the mountain, that still 
 rose precipitously skyward, were curiously 
 small, but there was an air of more than or 
 dinary neatness and coziness about them. 
 And there were touches of feminine hands 
 here and there that made an impression 
 rows of well-kept boxwood winding like a 
 green serpent through the yard, and a pri 
 vet hedge that gave promise of rare sweet 
 ness in the spring. 
 
 As the soldiers approached, a dog barked, 
 and then the singing ceased, and the figure 
 of a young girl appeared in the doorway, 
 only to disappear like a flash. This vision, 
 vanishing with incredible swiftness, was suc 
 ceeded by a more substantial one in the shape 
 of a motherly looking woman, who stood 
 gazing over her spectacles at the horsemen, 
 apparently undecided whether to frown or 
 to smile. The smile would have undoubtedly 
 forced its way to the pleasant face in any 
 event, for the years had fashioned many a 
 pathway for it, but just then Uncle Billy 
 Powers himself pushed the woman aside and 
 made his appearance, laughing. 
 
 " Light, boys, light;!" he exclaimed, 
 walking nimbly to the gate. " Light whilst 
 
60 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 I off wi your creeturs gear. Ah ! " he 
 went on, as he busied himself unsaddling 
 the horses, "you thought that while your 
 Uncle Billy was a-moonin aroun down the 
 hill yander you d steal a march on your 
 Aunt Crissy, an maybe come a-conscriptin 
 of her into the army. But not not so! 
 Your Uncle Billy has been here long enough 
 to get his hands an his face rested." 
 
 "You must have been in a tremendous 
 hurry," said Captain Moseley, remembering 
 the weary length of mountain road he had 
 climbed. 
 
 " Why, I could a tuck a nap an a beat 
 you," said the old man. 
 
 " Two miles of tough road, I should say," 
 responded Moseley. 
 
 " Go straight through my hoss lot and 
 let yourself down by a saplin or two," an 
 swered Uncle Billy, " an it ain t more n a 
 good quarter." Whereupon the old man 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 " Jes leave the creeturs here," he went 
 on. " John Jeems an Fillmore will ten to 
 em whilst we go in an see what your Aunt 
 Crissy is gwine to give us for supper. You 
 won t find the grut^ so mighty various, but 
 there is plenty enough of what they is." 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 61 
 
 There was just enough of deference in 
 Aunt Crissy s greeting to be pleasing, and 
 her unfeigned manifestations of hospitality 
 soon caused the guests to forget that they 
 might possibly be regarded as intruders in 
 that peaceful region. Then there were the 
 two boys, John Jeems and Fillmore, both 
 large enough, and old enough, as Captain 
 Moseley quietly observed to himself, to do 
 military service, and both shy and awkward 
 to a degree. And then there was Polly, a 
 young woman grown, whose smiles all ran 
 to blushes and dimples. Though she was 
 grown, she had the ways of a girl the vi 
 vacity of health and good humor, and the 
 innocent shyness of a child of nature. Im 
 pulsive and demure by turns, her moods 
 were whimsical and elusive and altogether 
 delightful. Her beauty, which illumined 
 the old cabin, was heightened by a certain 
 quality that may be described as individu 
 ality. Her face and hands were browned 
 by the sun, but in her cheeks the roses of 
 youth and health played constantly. There 
 is nothing more charming to the eye of man 
 than the effects produced when modesty 
 parts company with mere formality and con 
 ventionality. Polly, who was as shy as a 
 
62 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 ground squirrel and as graceful, never pes 
 tered herself about formalities. Innocence 
 is not infrequently a very delightful form of 
 boldness. It was so in the case of Polly 
 Powers, at any rate. 
 
 The two rough soldiers, unused to the so 
 ciety of women, were far more awkward and 
 constrained than the young woman, but they 
 enjoyed the big fire and the comfortable sup 
 per none the less on that account. When, 
 to employ Mrs. Powers s vernacular, " the 
 things were put away," they brought forth 
 their pipes ; and they felt so contented that 
 Captain Moseley reproved himself by sug 
 gesting that it might be well for them to 
 proceed on their journey up the mountain. 
 But their hosts refused to listen to such a 
 proposal. 
 
 "Not so," exclaimed Uncle Billy; " by 
 no means. Why, if you knowed this hill 
 like we all, you d hoot at the bar idee of 
 gwine further after nightfall. Besides," the 
 old man went on, looking keenly at his 
 daughter, " ten to one you won t find Spur- 
 lock." 
 
 Polly had been playing with her hair, 
 which was caught in a single plait and tied 
 with a bit of scarlet ribbon. When Spur- 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 63 
 
 lock s name was mentioned she used the 
 plait as a whip, and struck herself impa 
 tiently in the hand with the glossy black 
 thong, and then threw it behind her, where 
 it hung dangling nearly to the floor. 
 
 " Now I tell you what, boys," said Uncle 
 Billy, after a little pause ; " I d jes like to 
 know who is at the bottom of this Spurlock 
 business. You all may have took a notion 
 that he s a no- count sorter chap an he 
 is kinder puny ; but what does the army 
 want with a puny man ? " 
 
 "It s the law," said Captain Moseley, 
 simply, perceiving that his mission was 
 clearly understood. " He is old enough and 
 strong enough to serve in the army. The 
 law calls for him, and he 11 have to go. 
 The law wants him now worse than ever." 
 
 " Yes," said private Chadwick, gazing 
 into the glowing embers " lots worse n 
 ever." 
 
 " What s the matter along of him now? " 
 inquired Mrs. Powers, knocking the ashes 
 from her pipe against the chimney jamb. 
 
 " He s a deserter," said Chadwick. 
 
 " Tooby shore ! " exclaimed Mrs. Powers. 
 " An what do they do wi em, then ? " 
 
 For answer Private Chadwick passed his 
 
64 A CONSCRIPT S CHKISTMAS. 
 
 right hand rapidly around his neck, caught 
 hold of an imaginary rope, and looked up 
 wards at the rafters, rolling his eyes and 
 distorting his features as though he were 
 strangling. It was a very effective panto 
 mime. Uncle Billy shook his head and 
 groaned, Aunt Crissy lifted her hands in 
 horror, and then both looked at Polly. 
 That young lady had risen from her chair 
 and made a step toward Chadwick. Her 
 eyes were blazing. 
 
 " You 11 be hung long before Israel Spur- 
 lock ! " she cried, her voice thick with an 
 ger. Before another word had been said 
 she swept from the room, leaving Chadwick 
 sitting there with his mouth wide open. 
 
 " Don t let Polly pester you," said Uncle 
 Billy, smiling a little at Chadwick s discom 
 fiture. " She thinks the world an all of 
 Sister Spurlock, an she s been a-knowin 
 Israel a mighty long time." 
 
 " Yes," said Aunt Crissy, with a sigh ; 
 " the poor child is hot-headed an high-tem 
 pered. I reckon we ve sp ilt er. T ain t 
 hard to spile a gal when you hain t got but 
 one." 
 
 Before Chadwick could make reply a shrill, 
 querulous voice was heard coming from the 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 65 
 
 room into which Polly had gone. The girl 
 had evidently arouse<J some one who was 
 more than anxious to engage in a war of 
 words. 
 
 " Lord A mighty massy ! whar s any 
 peace ? " the shrill voice exclaimed. " What 
 chance on the top side of the yeth is a poor 
 sick creetur got? Oh, what makes you 
 come a-tromplin on the floor like a drove of 
 wild hosses, an a-shakin the clabberds on 
 the roof ? I know ! I know ! " - the voice 
 here almost rose to a shriek, " it s cause 
 I m sick an weak, an can t he p myself. 
 Lord ! ef I but had strength ! " 
 
 At this point Polly s voice broke in, but 
 what she said could only be guessed by the 
 noise in the next room. 
 
 " Well, what ef the house an yard was 
 full of em? Who s afeard? After Spur- 
 lock? Who keers? Hain t Spurlock got 
 no friends on Sugar Mountain ? Ef they 
 are after Spurlock, ain t Spurlock got as 
 good a right for to be after them ? Oh, go 
 way ! Gals hain t got no sense. Go way ! 
 Go tell your pappy to come here an he p 
 me in my cheer. Oh, go on ! " 
 
 Polly had no need to go, however. Un 
 cle Billy rose promptly and went into the 
 next room. 
 
66 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " Hit s daddy," said Aunt Crissy, by way 
 of explanation. " Lord ! daddy used to be 
 a mighty man in his young days, but he s 
 that wasted wi the palsy that he hain t 
 more n a shadder of what he was. He s 
 jes like a baby, an he s mighty quar lsome 
 when the win sets in from the east." 
 
 According to all symptoms the wind was 
 at that moment setting terribly from the 
 east. There was a sound of shuffling in the 
 next room, and then Uncle Billy Powers 
 came into the room, bearing in his stalwart 
 arms a big rocking-chair containing a little 
 old man whose body and limbs were shriv 
 eled and shrunken. Only his head, which 
 seemed to be abnormally large, had escaped 
 the ravages of whatever disease had seized 
 him. His eyes were bright as a bird s and 
 his forehead was noble in its proportions. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Uncle Billy, "this 
 here is Colonel Dick Watson. He used to 
 be a big politicianer in his day an time. 
 He s my father-in-law." 
 
 Uncle Billy seemed to be wonderfully 
 proud of his connection with Colonel Wat 
 son. As for the Colonel, he eyed the stran 
 gers closely, apparently forgetting to re 
 spond to their salutation. 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 67 
 
 " I reckon you think it s mighty fine, 
 thish ere business er gwine ter war whar 
 they hain t nobody but peaceable folks," ex 
 claimed the colonel, his shrill, metallic voice 
 being in curious contrast to his emaciated 
 figure. 
 
 " Daddy ! " said Mrs. Powers in a warn 
 ing tone. 
 
 " Lord A mighty ! don t pester me, Crissy 
 Jane. Hain t I done seed war before ? 
 When I was in the legislatur did n t the 
 boys rig up an march away to Mexico? 
 But you know yourself," the colonel went 
 on, turning to Uncle Billy s guests, "that 
 this hain t Mexico, an that they hain t no 
 war gwine on on this ere hill. You know 
 that mighty well." 
 
 " But there s a tolerable big one going on 
 over yonder," said Captain Moseley, with a 
 sweep of his hand to the westward. 
 
 " Now, you don t say ! " exclaimed Colo 
 nel Watson, sarcastically. " A big war go 
 ing on an you all quiled up here before the 
 fire, out n sight an out n hearin ! Well, 
 well, well!." 
 
 " We are here on business," said Captain 
 Moseley, gently. 
 
 " Tooby shore ! " said the Colonel, with a 
 
68 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 sinister screch that was intended to simu 
 late laughter. " You took the words out n 
 my mouth. I was in-about ready to say it 
 when you upped an said it yourself. War 
 gwine on over yander an you all up here on 
 business. Crissy Jane," remarked the colo 
 nel in a different tone, " come here an wipe 
 my face an see ef I m a-sweatin . Ef I in 
 a-sweatin , hit s the fust time since Sadday 
 before last." 
 
 Mrs. Powers mopped her father s face, 
 and assured him that she felt symptoms of 
 perspiration. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " continued the colonel. 
 " Business here an war yander. I hear tell 
 that you er after Israel Spurlock. Lord 
 A mighty above us ! What er you after 
 Israel for ? He hain t got no niggers for to 
 fight for. All the fightin he can do is to 
 fight for his ole mammy." 
 
 Captain Moseley endeavored to explain to 
 Colonel Watson why his duty made it im 
 peratively necessary to carry Spurlock back 
 to the conscript camp, but in the midst of it 
 all the old man cried out : 
 
 " Oh, I know who sent you ! " 
 
 " Who ? " the captain said. 
 
 " Nobody but Wesley Lovejoy ! " 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 69 
 
 Captain Moseley made no response, but 
 gazed into the fire. Chadwick, on the other 
 hand, when Lovejoy s name was mentioned, 
 slapped himself on the leg, and straightened 
 himself up with the air of a man who has 
 made an interesting discovery. 
 
 " Come, now," Colonel Watson insisted, 
 "hain t it so? Did n t Wesley Lovejoy 
 send you ? " 
 
 " Well," said Moseley, " a man named 
 Lovejoy is on Colonel Waring s staff, and 
 he gave me my orders." 
 
 At this the old man fairly shrieked with 
 laughter, and so sinister was its emphasis 
 that the two soldiers felt the cold chills 
 creeping up their backs. 
 
 " What is the matter with Lovejoy ? " It 
 was Chadwick who spoke. 
 
 " Oh, wait ! " cried Colonel Watson ; 
 " thes wait. You may n t want to wait, but 
 you 11 have to. I may look like I m mighty 
 puny, an I spec I am, but I hain t dead 
 yit. Lord A mighty, no ! Not by a long 
 shot ! " 
 
 There was a pause here, during which 
 Aunt Crissy remarked, in a helpless sort of 
 way: 
 
 " I wonder wher Polly is, an what she s 
 a-doin ?" 
 
70 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " Don t pester long of Polly," snapped 
 the paralytic. " She knows what she s a- 
 doin ." 
 
 " About this Wesley Lovejoy," said Cap 
 tain Moseley, turning to the old man : " you 
 seem to know him very well." 
 
 " You hear that, William ! " exclaimed 
 Colonel Watson. " He asts me ef I know 
 Wes. Lovejoy! Do I know him? Why, 
 the triflin houn ! I ve knowed him ev ry 
 sence he was big enough to rob a hen-roosV 
 
 Uncle Billy Powers, in his genial way, 
 tried to change the current of conversation, 
 and he finally succeeded, but it was evident 
 that Adjutant Lovejoy had one enemy, if 
 not several, in that humble household. 
 Such was the feeling for Spurlock and con 
 tempt for Wesley Lovejoy that Captain 
 Moseley and Private Chad wick felt them 
 selves to be interlopers, and they once more 
 suggested the necessity of pursuing their 
 journey. This suggestion seemed to amuse 
 the paralytic, who laughed loudly. 
 
 " Lord A mighty ! " he exclaimed, " I 
 know how you feel, an I don t blame you 
 for feelin so ; but don t you go up the 
 mountain this night. Thes stay right whar 
 you is, beca se ef you don t you 11 make all 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 71 
 
 your friends feel bad for you. Don t ast 
 me how, don t ast me why. Thes you stay. 
 Come an put me to bed, William, an don j t 
 let these folks go out n the house this night." 
 
 Uncle Billy carried the old man into the 
 next room, tucked him away in his bed, and 
 then came back. Conversation lagged to 
 such an extent that Aunt Crissy once more 
 felt moved to inquire about Polly. Uncle 
 Billy responded with a sweeping gesture of 
 his right hand, which might mean much or 
 little. To the two Confederates it meant 
 nothing, but to Aunt Crissy it said that 
 Polly had gone up the mountain in the rain 
 and cold. Involuntarily the woman shud 
 dered and drew nearer the fire. 
 
 It was in fact a venturesome journey that 
 Polly had undertaken. Hardened as she 
 was to the weather, familiar as she was with 
 the footpaths that led up and down and 
 around the face of the mountain, her heart 
 rose in her mouth when she found herself 
 fairly on the way to Israel Spurlock s house. 
 The darkness was almost overwhelming in 
 its intensity. As Uncle Billy Powers re 
 marked while showing the two Confederates 
 to their beds in the " shed-room," there " was 
 a solid chunk of it from one eend of crea- 
 
72 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 tion to t other." The rain, falling steadily 
 but not heavily, was bitterly cold, and it 
 was made more uncomfortable by the wind, 
 which rose and fell with a muffled roar, like 
 the sigh of some Titanic spirit flying hither 
 and yonder in the wild recesses of the sky. 
 Bold as she was, the girl was appalled by the 
 invisible contention that seemed to be going 
 on in the elements above her, and more than 
 once she paused, ready to flee, as best she 
 could, back to the light and warmth she had 
 left behind ; but the gesture of Chadwick, 
 with its cruel significance, would recur to 
 her, and then, clenching her teeth, she would 
 press blindly on. She was carrying a mes 
 sage of life and freedom to Israel Spurlock. 
 
 With the rain dripping from her hair and 
 her skirts, her face and hands benumbed 
 with cold, but with every nerve strung to 
 the highest tension and every faculty alert 
 to meet whatever danger might present it 
 self, Polly struggled up the mountain path, 
 feeling her way as best she could, and pull 
 ing herself along by the aid of the friendly 
 saplings and the overhanging trees. 
 
 After a while and it seemed a long 
 while to Polly, contending with the fierce 
 forces of the night and beset by a thousand 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 73 
 
 doubts and fears she could hear Spurlock s 
 dogs barking. What if the two soldiers, 
 suspecting her mission, had mounted their 
 horses and outstripped her? She had no 
 time to remember the difficulties of the 
 mountain road, nor did she know that she 
 had been on her journey not more than half 
 an hour. She was too excited either to rea 
 son or to calculate. Gathering her skirts 
 in her hands as she rose to the level of the 
 clearing, Polly rushed across it towards the 
 little cabin, tore open the frail little gate, 
 and flung herself against the door with a 
 force that shook the house. 
 
 Old Mrs. Spurlock was spinning, while Is 
 rael carded the rolls for her. The noise 
 that Polly made against the door startled 
 them both. The thread broke in Mrs. 
 Spurlock s hand, and one part of it curled 
 itself on the end of the broach with a buzz 
 that whirled it into a fantastically tangled 
 mass. The cards dropped from Israel s 
 hands with a clatter that added to his mo 
 ther s excitement. 
 
 " Did anybody ever hear the beat of 
 that ? " she exclaimed. " Run, Iserl, an 
 see what it is that s a-tryin to tear the roof 
 off n the house," 
 
74 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Israel did not need to be told, nor did 
 Mrs. Spurlock wait for him to go*. They 
 reached the door together, and when Israel 
 threw it open they saw Polly Powers stand 
 ing there, pale, trembling, and dripping. 
 
 " Polly ! " cried Israel, taking her by the 
 arm. He could say no more. 
 
 " In the name er the Lord! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Spurlock, " wher d you drop from ? 
 You look more like a drownded ghost than 
 you does like folks. Come right in here an 
 dry yourse f. What in the name of mercy 
 brung you out in sech weather? Who s 
 dead or a-dyin ? Why, look at the gal ! " 
 Mrs. Spurlock went on in a louder tone, see 
 ing that Polly stood staring at them with 
 wide-open eyes, her face as pale as death. 
 
 " Have they come ? " gasped Polly. 
 
 " Listen at er, Iserl ! I b lieve in my 
 soul she s done gone an run ravin dees- 
 tracted. Shake er, Iserl ; shake er." 
 
 For answer Polly dropped forward into 
 Mrs. Spurlock s arms, all wet as she was, 
 and there fell to crying in a way that was 
 quite alarming to Israel, who was not fa 
 miliar with feminine peculiarities. Mrs. 
 Spurlock soothed Polly as she would have 
 soothed a baby, and half carried, half led 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 75 
 
 her to the fireplace. Israel, who was stand 
 ing around embarrassed and perplexed, was 
 driven out of the room, and soon Polly was 
 decked out in dry clothes. These " duds," 
 as Mrs. Spurlock called them, were ill-fitting 
 and ungraceful, but in Israel s eyes the girl 
 was just as beautiful as ever. She was even 
 more beautiful when, fully recovered from 
 her excitement, she told with sparkling eyes 
 and heightened color the story she had to 
 tell. 
 
 Mrs. Spurlock listened with the keenest 
 interest, and with many an exclamation of 
 indignation, while Israel heard it with undis 
 guised admiration for the girl. He seemed 
 to enjoy the whole proceeding, and when 
 Polly in the ardor and excitement of her 
 narration betrayed an almost passionate in 
 terest in his probable fate, he rubbed his 
 hands slowly together and laughed softly to 
 himself. 
 
 " An jest to think," exclaimed Polly, 
 when she had finished her story, " that that 
 there good-for-nothin Wesley Lovejoy had 
 the imperdence to ast me to have him no 
 longer n last year, an he s been a-flyin 
 round me constant." 
 
 " I seed him a-droppin his wing," said 
 
76 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Israel, laughing. " I reckon that s the rea 
 son he s after me so hot. But never you 
 mind, mammy ; you thes look after the gal 
 that s gwine to be your daughter-in-law, an* 
 I 11 look after your son." 
 
 " Go off, you goose ! " cried Polly, blush 
 ing and smiling. " Ef they hang you, whose 
 daughter-in-law will I be then ? " 
 
 " The Lord knows ! " exclaimed Israel, 
 with mock seriousness. " They tell me that 
 Love joy is an orphan ! " 
 
 " You must be crazy," cried Polly, indig 
 nantly. " I hope you don t think I d marry 
 that creetur. I would n t look at him if he 
 was the last man. You better be thinkin 
 about your goozle." 
 
 " It s ketchin befo hangin ," said Israel, 
 
 " They ve mighty nigh got you now," 
 said Polly. Just then a hickory nut dropped 
 on the roof of the house, and the noise 
 caused the girl to start up with an exclama 
 tion of terror. 
 
 " You thought they had me then," said 
 Israel, as he rose and stood before the fire, 
 rubbing his hands together, and seeming to 
 enjoy most keenly the warm interest the 
 girl manifested in his welfare. 
 
 " Oh, I wishtyou d cut an run," pleaded 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 77 
 
 Polly, covering her face with her hands ; 
 " they 11 be here therreckly." 
 
 Israel was not a bad-looking fellow as he 
 stood before the fire laughing. He was a 
 very agreeable variation of the mountain 
 type. He was angular, but neither stoop- 
 shouldered nor cadaverous. He was awk 
 ward in his manners, but very gracefully 
 fashioned. In point of fact, as Mrs. Pow 
 ers often remarked, Israel was " not to be 
 sneezed at." 
 
 After a while he became thoughtful. " I 
 jest tell you what," he said, kicking the 
 chunks vigorously, and sending little sparks 
 of fire skipping and cracking about the 
 room. " This business puzzles me I jest 
 tell you it does. That Wes. Lovejoy done 
 like he was the best friend I had. He was 
 constantly huntin me up in camp, an when 
 I told him I would like to come home an 
 git mammy s crap in, he jest laughed an 
 said he did n t reckon I d be missed much, 
 an now he s a-houndin me down. What 
 has the man got agin me ? " 
 
 Polly knew, but she didn t say. Mrs. 
 Spurlock suspected, but she made no effort 
 to enlighten Israel. Polly knew that Love- 
 joy was animated by blind jealousy, and her 
 
78 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 instinct taught her that a jealous man is 
 usually a dangerous one. Taking advantage 
 of one of the privileges of her sex, she had 
 at one time carried on a tremendous flirta 
 tion with Lovejoy. She had intended to 
 amuse herself simply, but she had kindled 
 fires she was powerless to quench. Lovejoy 
 had taken her seriously, and she knew well 
 enough that he regarded Israel Spurlock as 
 a rival. She had reason to suspect, too, 
 that Lovejoy had pointed out Israel to the 
 conscript officers, and that the same influ 
 ence was controlling and directing the pur 
 suit now going on. 
 
 Under the circumstances, her concern 
 her alarm, indeed was natural. She and 
 Israel had been sweethearts for years, 
 real sure -enough sweethearts, as she ex 
 pressed it to her grandfather, and they 
 were to be married in a short while ; just as 
 soon, in fact, as the necessary preliminaries 
 of clothes-making and cake-baking could be 
 disposed of. She thought nothing of her 
 feat of climbing the mountain in the bitter 
 cold and the overwhelming rain. She would 
 have taken much larger risks than that ; 
 she would have faced any danger her mind 
 could conceive of. And Israel appreciated 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 79 
 
 it all; nay, he fairly gloated over it. He 
 stood before the fire fairly hugging the fact 
 to his bosom. His face glowed, and his 
 whole attitude was one of exultation; and 
 with it, shaping every gesture and move 
 ment, was a manifestation of fearlessness 
 which was all the more impressive because 
 it was unconscious. 
 
 This had a tendency to fret Polly, whose 
 alarm for Israel s safety was genuine. 
 
 " Oh, I do wisht you d go on," she cried ; 
 " them men 11 shorely ketch you ef you keep 
 on a-stayin here a-winkin an a-gwine on 
 makin monkey motions." 
 
 "Shoo!" exclaimed Israel. " Ef the 
 house was surrounded by forty thousan of 
 em, I d git by em, an , ef need be, take 
 you wi me." 
 
 While they were talking the dogs began 
 to bark. At the first sound Polly rose from 
 her chair with her arms outstretched, but 
 fell back pale and trembling. Israel had 
 disappeared as if by magic, and Mrs. Spur- 
 lock was calmly lighting her pipe by fill 
 ing it with hot embers. It was evidently a 
 false alarm, for, after a while, Israel backed 
 through the doorway and closed the door 
 again with comical alacrity. 
 
80 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " Sh-sh-sh ! " lie whispered, with a warn 
 ing gesture, seeing that Polly was about to 
 protest. " Don t make no fuss. The dogs 
 has been a-barkin at sperits an things. 
 Jest keep right still." 
 
 He went noiselessly about the room, pick 
 ing up first one thing and then another. 
 Over one shoulder he flung a canteen, and 
 over the other a hunting-horn. Into his 
 coat-pocket he thrust an old-fashioned pow 
 der-flask. Meanwhile his mother was busy 
 gathering together such articles as Israel 
 might need. His rifle she placed by the 
 door, and then she filled a large homespun 
 satchel with a supply of victuals a baked 
 fowl, a piece of smoked beef, and a big 
 piece of light bread. These preparations 
 were swiftly and silently made. When 
 everything seemed to be ready for his depar 
 ture Israel presented the appearance of a 
 peddler. 
 
 " I m goin up to the Rock," he said, by 
 way of explanation, " an light the fire. 
 Maybe the boys 11 see it, an maybe they 
 won t. Leastways they re mighty apt to 
 smell the smoke." 
 
 Then, without further farewell, he closed 
 the door and stepped out into the darkness, 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 81 
 
 leaving the two women sitting by the hearth. 
 They sat there for hours, gazing into the 
 fire and scarcely speaking to each other. 
 The curious reticence that seems to be de 
 veloped and assiduously cultivated by the 
 dwellers on the mountains took possession 
 of them. The confidences and sympathies 
 they had in common were those of observa 
 tion and experience, rather than the result 
 of an interchange of views and opinions. 
 
 Towards morning the drizzling rain 
 ceased, and the wind, changing its direction, 
 sent the clouds flying to the east, whence 
 they had come. About dawn, Private Chad- 
 wick, who had slept most soundly, was 
 aroused by the barking of the dogs, and got 
 up to look after the horses. As he slipped 
 quietly out of the house he saw a muffled 
 figure crossing the yard. 
 
 " Halt ! " he cried, giving the challenge 
 of a sentinel. " Who goes there ? " 
 
 " Nobody ner nothin that 11 bite you, I 
 reckon," was the somewhat snappish re 
 sponse. It was the voice of Polly. She 
 was looking up and across the mountains to 
 where a bright red glare was reflected on 
 the scurrying clouds. The density of the 
 atmosphere was such that the movements of 
 
82 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 the flames were photographed on the clouds, 
 rising and falling, flaring and fading, as 
 though the dread spirits of the storm were 
 waving their terrible red banners from the 
 mountain. 
 
 " What can that be ? " asked Chadwick, 
 after he had watched the singular spectacle 
 a moment. 
 
 Polly laughed aloud, almost joyously. She 
 knew it was Israel s beacon. She knew 
 that these red reflections, waving over the 
 farther spur of the mountain and over the 
 valley that nestled so peacefully below, 
 would summon half a hundred men and 
 boys the entire congregation of Antioch 
 Church, where her father was in the habit 
 of holding forth on the first Sunday of each 
 month. She knew that Israel was safe, and 
 the knowledge restored her good humor. 
 
 " What did you say it was ? " Chadwick 
 inquired again, his curiosity insisting on an 
 explanation. 
 
 " It s jest a fire, I reckon," Polly calmly 
 replied. " Ef it s a house burnin down, it 
 can t be holp. Water could n t save it 
 now." 
 
 Whereupon she pulled the shawl from over 
 her head, tripped into the house, and went 
 
A CONSORIPT S CHRISTMAS. 83 
 
 about preparing breakfast, singing merrily. 
 Chadwick watched her as she passed and re- 
 passed from the rickety kitchen to the house, 
 and when the light grew clearer he thought 
 he saw on her face a look that he did not 
 understand. It was indeed an inscrutable 
 expression, and it would have puzzled a 
 wiser man than Chadwick. He chopped 
 some wood, brought some water, and made 
 himself generally useful; but he received 
 no thanks from Polly. She ignored him as 
 completely as if he had never existed. 
 
 All this set the private to thinking. Now 
 a man who reflects much usually thinks 
 out a theory to fit everything that he fails 
 to understand. Chadwick thought out his 
 theory while the girl was getting breakfast 
 ready. 
 
 It was not long before the two soldiers 
 were on their way up the mountain, nor was 
 it long before Chadwick began to unfold 
 his theory, and in doing so he managed to 
 straighten it by putting together various lit 
 tle facts that occurred to him as he talked. 
 
 " I tell you what, Captain," he said, as 
 soon as they were out of hearing ; " that gal s 
 a slick un. It s my belief that we are 
 gwine on a fool s errand. Stead of gwine 
 
84 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 towards Spurlock, we re gwine straight 
 away from im. When that gal made her 
 disappearance last night she went an found 
 Spurlock, an ef he ain t a natchul born fool 
 he tuck to the woods. Why, the shawl the 
 gal had on her head this mornin was soakin 
 wet. It were n t rainin , an had n t been 
 for a right smart while. How come the 
 shawl wet ? They were n t but one way. 
 It got wet by rubbin agin the bushes an 
 the limbs er the trees." 
 
 This theory was plausible enough to im 
 press itself on Captain Moseley. " What 
 is to be done, then ? " he asked. 
 
 " Well, the Lord knows what ought to be 
 done," said Chadwick ; " but I reckon the 
 best plan is to sorter scatter out an skir 
 mish aroun a little bit. We d better divide 
 our army. You go up the mountain an git 
 Spurlock, if he s up thar, an let me take 
 my stan on the ridge yander an keep my 
 eye on Uncle Billy s back yard an hoss lot. 
 If Spurlock is r ally tuck to the woods-, he 11 
 be mighty apt to be slinkin roun whar the 
 gal is." 
 
 Captain Moseley assented to this plan, 
 and proceeded to put it in execution as soon 
 as he and Chadwick were a safe distance 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 85 
 
 from Uncle Billy Powers s house. Chad- 
 wick, dismounting, led his horse along a cow- 
 path that ran at right angles to the main 
 road, and was soon lost to sight, while the 
 captain rode forward on his mission. 
 
 Of the two, as it turned out, the captain 
 had much the more comfortable experience. 
 He reached the Spurlock house in the course 
 of three-quarters of an hour. 
 
 In response to his halloo Mrs. Spurlock 
 came to the door. 
 
 "I was a-spinnin away for dear life," 
 she remarked, brushing her gray hair from 
 her face, " when all of a sudden I hearn a 
 fuss, an I lows ter myself, says I, 4 1 11 be 
 boun that s some one a-hailin , says I ; an 
 then I dropped ever thin an run ter the 
 door an shore enough it was. Won t you 
 light an come in ? " she inquired with ready 
 hospitality. Her tone was polite, almost 
 obsequious. 
 
 "Is Mr. Israel Spurlock at home?" the 
 captain asked. 
 
 " Not, as you might say, adzackly at 
 home, but I reckon in reason it won t be 
 long before he draps in. He hain t had his 
 breakfas yit, though hit s been a-waitin for 
 him tell hit s stone col . The cows broke 
 
86 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 out last night, an he went off a-huntin of 
 em time it was light good. Iserl is thes ez 
 rank after his milk ez some folks is after 
 the r dram. I says, says I, Shorely you 
 kin do thout your milk one mornin in the 
 year ; but he would n t nigh hear ter that. 
 He thes up an bolted off." 
 
 " I 11 ride on,"- said the captain. " Maybe 
 I 11 meet him coming back. Good-by." 
 
 It was an uneventful ride, but Captain 
 Moseley noted one curious fact. He had 
 not proceeded far when he met two men 
 riding down the mountain. Each carried a 
 rifle flung across his saddle in front of him. 
 They responded gravely to the captain s sal 
 utation. 
 
 "Have you seen Israel Spurlock this 
 morning ? " he asked. 
 
 "No, sir, I hain t saw him," answered 
 one. The other shook his head. Then 
 they rode on down the mountain. 
 
 A little farther on Captain Moseley met 
 four men. These were walking, but each 
 was armed three with rifles, and one with 
 a shot-gun. They had not seen Spurlock. 
 At intervals he met more than a dozen 
 some riding and some walking, but all 
 armed. At last he met two that presented 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 87 
 
 something of a contrast to the others. They 
 were armed, it is true ; but they were laugh 
 ing and singing as they went along the road, 
 and while they had not seen Spurlock with 
 their own eyes, as they said, they knew he 
 must be farther up the mountain, for they 
 had heard of him as they came along. 
 
 Riding and winding around upward, Cap 
 tain Moseley presently saw a queer-looking 
 little chap coming towards him. The little 
 man had a gray beard, and as he walked he 
 had a movement like a camel. Like a 
 camel, too, he had a great hump on his back. 
 His legs were as long as any man s, but his 
 whole body seemed to be contracted in his 
 hump. He was very spry, too, moving 
 along as active as a boy, and there was an 
 elfish expression on his face such as one 
 sees in old picture-books a cunning, leer 
 ing expression, which yet had for its basis 
 the element of humor. The little man car 
 ried a rifle longer than himself, which he 
 flourished about with surprising ease and 
 dexterity practicing apparently some new 
 and peculiar manual. 
 
 "Have you seen Israel Spurlock?" in 
 quired Captain Moseley, reining in his 
 horse. 
 
88 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " Yes ! Oh, yes ! Goodness gracious, 
 yes ! " replied the little man, grinning good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 " Where is he now? " asked the captain. 
 
 "All about. Yes! All around! Gra 
 cious, yes ! " responded the little man, with 
 a sweeping gesture that took in the whole 
 mountain. Then he seemed to be searching 
 eagerly in the road for something. Sud 
 denly pausing, he exclaimed : " Here s his 
 track right now ! Oh, yes ! Right fresh, 
 too ! Goodness, yes ! " 
 
 " Where are you going ? " Moseley asked, 
 smiling at the antics of the little man, their 
 nimbleness being out of all proportion to 
 his deformity. 
 
 For answer the little man whirled his 
 rifle over his hump and under his arm, and 
 caught it as it went flying into the air. 
 Then he held it at a " ready," imitating 
 the noise of the lock with his mouth, took 
 aim and made believe to fire, all with inde 
 scribable swiftness and precision. Captain 
 Moseley rode on his way laughing; but, 
 laugh as he would, he could not put out of 
 his mind the queer impression the little man 
 had made on him, nor could he rid himself 
 of a feeling of uneasiness. Taking little 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 89 
 
 notice of the landmarks that ordinarily at 
 tract the notice of the traveler in a strange 
 country, he suddenly found himself riding 
 along a level stretch of tableland. The 
 transformation was complete. The country 
 roads seemed to cross and recross here, 
 coming and going in every direction. He 
 rode by a little house that stood alone in the 
 level wood, and he rightly judged it to be a 
 church. He drew rein and looked around 
 him. Everything was unfamiliar. In the 
 direction from which he supposed he had 
 come, a precipice rose sheer from the table 
 land more than three hundred feet. At that 
 moment he heard a shout, and looking up 
 he beheld the hunchback flourishing his 
 long rifle and cutting his queer capers. 
 
 The situation was so puzzling that Cap 
 tain Moseley passed his hand over his eyes, 
 as if to brush away a scene that confused 
 his mind and obstructed his vision. He 
 turned his horse and rode back the way he 
 had come, but it seemed to be so unfamiliar 
 that he chose another road, and in the 
 course of a quarter of an hour he was com 
 pelled to acknowledge that he was lost. 
 Everything appeared to be turned around, 
 even the little church. 
 
90 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Meanwhile Private Chadwick was having 
 an experience of his own. In parting from 
 Captain Moseley he led his horse through 
 the bushes, following for some distance a 
 cow-path. This semblance of a trail termi 
 nated in a " blind path," and this Chadwick 
 followed as best he could, picking his way 
 cautiously and choosing ground over which 
 his horse could follow. He had to be very 
 careful. There were no leaves on the trees, 
 and the undergrowth was hardly thick 
 enough to conceal him from the keen eyes 
 of the mountaineers. Finally he tied his 
 horse in a thicket of black-jacks, where he 
 had the whole of Uncle Billy Powers s little 
 farm under his eye. His position was not 
 an uncomfortable one. Sheltered from the 
 wind, he had nothing to do but sit on a huge 
 chestnut log and ruminate, and make a note 
 of the comings and goings on Uncle Billy s 
 premises. 
 
 Sitting thus, Chadwick fell to thinking ; 
 thinking, he fell into a doze. He caught 
 himself nodding more than once, and up 
 braided himself bitterly. Still he nodded 
 he, a soldier on duty at his post. How 
 long he slept he could not tell, but he sud 
 denly awoke to find himself dragged back- 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 91 
 
 ward from the log by strong hands. He 
 would have made some resistance, for he 
 was a fearless man at heart and a tough 
 one to handle in a knock-down and drag-out 
 tussle ; but resistance was useless. He had 
 been taken at a disadvantage, and before he 
 could make a serious effort in his own be 
 half, he was lying flat on his back, with his 
 hands tied, and as helpless as an infant. 
 He looked up and discovered that his captor 
 was Israel Spurlock. 
 
 " Well, blame my scaly hide ! " exclaimed 
 Chadwick, making an involuntary effort to 
 free his hands. " You re the identical man 
 I m a-huntin ." 
 
 " An now you re sorry you went an 
 foun me, I reckon," said Israel. 
 
 "Well, I ain t as glad as I lowed I d 
 be," said Chadwick. " Yit nuther am I so 
 mighty sorry. One way or nother I knowed 
 in reason I d run up on you." 
 
 " You re mighty right," responded Israel, 
 smiling not ill-naturedly. " You fell in my 
 arms same as a gal in a honeymoon. 
 Lemme lift you up, as the mule said when 
 he kicked the nigger over the fence. Maybe 
 you ll look purtier when you swap een s." 
 Thereupon Israel helped Chadwick to his 
 feet. 
 
92 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " You ketched me that time, certain and 
 shore," said the latter, looking at Spurlock 
 and laughing ; " they ain t no two ways 
 about that. I was a-settin on the log thar, 
 a-noddin an a-dreaniin bout Christmas. 
 T ain t many days off, I reckon." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " exclaimed Spurlock, sarcas 
 tically ; " a mighty purty dream, I bet a 
 hoss. You was fixin up for to cram me in 
 Lovejoy s stockin . A mighty nice present 
 I d a been, tooby shore. Stidder hangin 
 up his stockin , Lovejoy was a-aimin for to 
 hang me up. Oh, yes ! Christmas dreams 
 is so mighty nice an fine, I in a great min 
 to set right down here an have one er my 
 own one of them kin er dreams what s 
 got forked tail an fireworks mixed up on it." 
 
 " Well," said Chadwick, with some seri 
 ousness, " whose stockin is you a-gwine to 
 cram me in ? " 
 
 " In whose else s but Danny Lemmons s ? 
 An won t he holler an take on ? Why, I 
 would n t miss seein Danny Lemmons take 
 on for a hat full er shinplasters. Dang my 
 buttons ef I would ! " 
 
 Chadwick looked at his captor with some 
 curiosity. There was not a trace of ill-feel 
 ing or bad humor in Spurlock s tone, nor in 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 93 
 
 his attitude. The situation was so queer 
 that it was comical, and Chadwick laughed 
 aloud as he thought about it. In this Spur- 
 lock heartily joined him, and the situation 
 would have seemed doubly queer to a 
 passer-by chancing along and observing cap 
 tor and prisoner laughing and chatting so 
 amiably together. 
 
 " Who, in the name of goodness, is Danny 
 Lemmons ? " 
 
 " Lord ! " exclaimed Spurlock, lifting 
 both hands, " don t ast me about Danny 
 Lemmons. He s he s well, I tell you 
 what, he s the bull er the woods, Danny 
 Lemmons is ; nuther more ner less. He 
 hain t bigger n my two fists, an he s flict- 
 ed, an he s all crippled up in his back, 
 whar he had it broke when he was a baby, 
 an yit he s in-about the peartest man on 
 the mountain, an he s the toughest an the 
 sooplest. An more n that, he s got them 
 things up here," Spurlock went on, tapping 
 his head significantly. Chadwick under 
 stood this to mean that Lemmons, whatever 
 might be his afflictions, had brains enough 
 and to spare. 
 
 There was a pause in the conversation, 
 and then Chadwick, looking at his bound 
 
94 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 wrists, which were beginning to chafe and 
 swell, spoke up. 
 
 " What s your will wi me ? " he asked. 
 
 " Well," said Spurlock, rising to his feet, 
 " I m a-gwine to empty your gun, an tote 
 your pistol for you, an invite you down to 
 Uncle Billy s. Oh, you need n t worry," 
 he went on, observing Chadwick s disturbed 
 expression, " they re expectin of you. 
 Polly s tol em you d likely come back." 
 
 " How did Polly know ? " Chadwick in 
 quired. 
 
 " Danny Lemmons tol er." 
 
 "By George!" exclaimed Chadwick, 
 " the woods is full of Danny Lemmons." 
 
 " Why, bless your heart," said Spurlock, 
 " he thes swarms roun here." 
 
 After Spurlock had taken the precaution 
 to possess himself of Chadwick s arms and 
 ammunition, he cut the cords that bound 
 his prisoner s hands, and the two went down 
 the mountain, chatting as pleasantly and as 
 sociably as two boon companions. Chad 
 wick found no lack of hospitality at Uncle 
 Billy Powers s house. His return was taken 
 as a matter of course, and he was made wel 
 come. Nevertheless, his entertainers be 
 trayed a spirit of levity that might have ir 
 ritated a person less self-contained. 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 95 
 
 " I see he s ketched you, Iserl," remarked 
 Uncle Billy, with a twinkle in his eye. " He 
 lowed las night as how he d fetch you back 
 wi him." 
 
 " Yes," said Israel, " he thes crope up on 
 me. It s mighty hard for to fool these 
 army fellers." 
 
 Then and afterward the whole family pre 
 tended to regard Spurlock as Chad wick s 
 prisoner. This was not a joke for the latter 
 to relish, but it was evidently not intended 
 to be offensive, and he could do no less than 
 humor it. He accepted the situation phil 
 osophically. He even prepared himself to 
 relish Captain Moseley s astonishment when 
 he returned and discovered the true state of 
 affairs. As the day wore away it occurred 
 to Chadwick that the captain was in no 
 hurry to return. Even Uncle Billy Powers 
 grew uneasy. 
 
 " Now, I do hope an trust he ain t gone 
 an lost his temper up thar in the woods," 
 remarked Uncle Billy. " I hope it from 
 the bottom of my heart. These here wars 
 an rumors of wars makes the folks mighty 
 restless. They 11 take resks now what they 
 would n t dassent to of tuck before this here 
 rippit begun, an it s done got so now human 
 
96 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 life ain t wuth shucks. The boys up here 
 ain t no better n the rest. They fly to 
 pieces quicker n they ever did. " 
 
 No trouble, however, had come to Cap 
 tain Moseley. Though he was confused in 
 his bearings, he was as serene and as unruf 
 fled as when training a company of raw con 
 scripts in the art of war. After an unsuc 
 cessful attempt to find the road he gave his 
 horse the rein, and that sensible animal, his 
 instinct sharpened by remembrance of Un 
 cle Billy Powers s corn-crib and fodder, 
 moved about at random until he found that 
 he was really at liberty to go where he 
 pleased, and then he turned short about, 
 struck a little canter, and was soon going 
 down the road by which he had come. The 
 captain was as proud of this feat as if it 
 were due to his own intelligence, and he 
 patted the horse s neck in an approving 
 way. 
 
 As Captain Moseley rode down the moun 
 tain, reflecting, it occurred to him that his 
 expedition was taking a comical shape. He 
 had gone marching up the hill, and now he 
 came inarching down again, and Israel Spur- 
 lock, so far as the captain knew, was as far 
 from being a captive as ever perhaps far- 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 97 
 
 ther. Thinking it all over in a somewhat 
 irritated frame of mind, Moseley remem 
 bered Lovejoy s eagerness to recapture 
 Spurlock. He remembered, also, what he 
 had heard the night before, and it was in no 
 pleasant mood that he thought it all over. 
 It was such an insignificant, such a despica 
 ble affair, two men carrying out the jealous 
 whim of a little militia politician. 
 
 " It is enough, by George ! " exclaimed 
 Captain Moseley aloud, " to make a sensi 
 ble man sick." 
 
 44 Lord, yes ! " cried out a voice behind 
 him. Looking around, he saw the hunch 
 back following him. " That s what I tell 
 em ; goodness, yes ! " 
 
 " Now, look here ! " said Captain Mose 
 ley, reining in his horse, and speaking some 
 what sharply. " Are you following me, or 
 am I following you ? I don t want to be 
 dogged after in the bushes, much less in the 
 big road." 
 
 "Ner me nurther," said the hunchback, 
 in the cheerfulest manner. " An then 
 thar s Spurlock Lord, yes ; I hain t axt 
 him about it, but I bet a hoss he don t like 
 to be dogged atter nuther." 
 
 " My friend," said Captain Moseley, " you 
 
98 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 seem to have a quick tongue. What is your 
 name?" 
 
 " Danny Lemmons," said the other. 
 " Now don t say I look like I ought to be 
 squoze. Ever body inginer lly says that," 
 he went on with a grimace, " but I ve 
 squoze lots more than what s ever squoze me. 
 Lord, yes! Yes, siree! Men an gals ter- 
 gether. You ax em, an they 11 tell you." 
 
 " Lemmons," said the captain, repeating 
 the name slowly. " Well, you look it ! " 
 
 " Boo ! " cried Danny Lemmons, making 
 a horrible grimace; "you don t know what 
 you re a-talkin about. The gals all low 
 I m mighty sweet. You ought to see me 
 when I m rigged out in my Sunday-go-to- 
 meetin duds. Polly Powers she lows I 
 look snatchin . Lord, yes ! Yes, siree ! I m 
 gwine down to Polly s house now." 
 
 Whereat he broke out singing, para 
 phrasing an old negro ditty, and capering 
 about in the woods like mad. 
 
 Oh, I went down to Polly s house, 
 
 An she was not at home ; 
 I set myself in the big arm-cheer 
 
 An beat on the ol jaw-bone. 
 Oh, rise up, Polly ! Slap im on the jaw, 
 
 An hit im in the eyeball bim ! " 
 
 The song finished, Danny Lemmons 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 99 
 
 walked on down the road ahead of the horse 
 in the most unconcerned manner. It was 
 part of Captain Moseley s plan to stop at 
 Mrs. Spurlock s and inquire for Israel. 
 This seemed to be a part of Danny s plan 
 also, for he turned out of the main road and 
 went ahead, followed by the captain. There 
 were quite a number of men at Mrs. Spur- 
 lock s when Moseley rode up, and he noticed 
 that all were armed. Some were standing 
 listlessly about, leaning against the trees, 
 some were sitting in various postures, and 
 others were squatting around whittling : but 
 all had their guns within easy reach. Mrs. 
 Spurlock was walking about among them 
 smoking her pipe. By the strained and 
 awkward manner of the men as they re 
 turned his salutation, or by some subtle in 
 stinct he could not explain, Captain Mose 
 ley knew that these men were waiting for 
 him, and that he was their prisoner. The 
 very atmosphere seemed to proclaim the 
 fact. Under his very eyes Danny Lemmons 
 changed from a grinning buffoon into a 
 quiet, self-contained man trained to the 
 habit of command. Recognizing the situa 
 tion, the old soldier made the most of it by 
 retaining his good humor. 
 
100 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " Well, boys," he said, flinging a leg over 
 the pommel of his saddle, " I hope you are 
 not tired waiting for me." The men ex 
 changed glances in a curious, shame-faced 
 sort of way. 
 
 " No," said one ; " we was thes a-settin 
 here talkin bout ol times. We lowed 
 maybe you d sorter git tangled up on the 
 hill thar, and so Danny Lemmons, he harked 
 back for to keep a eye on you." 
 
 There was no disposition on the part of 
 this quiet group of men to be clamorous or 
 boastful. There was a certain shyness in 
 their attitude, as of men willing to apologize 
 for what might seem to be unnecessary rude 
 ness. 
 
 " I 11 tell you what," said Danny Lem 
 mons, "they ain t a man on the mounting 
 that s got a blessed thing agin you, ner agin 
 the tother feller, an they hain t a man any 
 wheres aroun here that s a-gwine to pester 
 you. We never brung you whar you is ; 
 but now that you re here we re a-gwine to 
 whirl in an ast you to stay over an take 
 Christmas wi us, sech ez we 11 have. Lord, 
 yes ! a nice time we 11 have, ef I ain t for 
 got how to finger the fiddle-strings. We re 
 sorter in a quandary," Danny Lemmons 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHlflTJKA9. 
 
 continued, observing Captain Moseley toy 
 ing nervously with the handle of his pistol. 
 " We don t know whether you re a-gwine 
 to be worried enough to start a row, or 
 whether you re a-gwine to work up trou 
 ble." 
 
 Meanwhile Danny had brought his long 
 rifle into a position where it could be used 
 promptly and effectually. For answer Mose 
 ley dismounted from his horse, unbuckled 
 his belt and flung it across his saddle, and 
 prepared to light his pipe. 
 
 "Now, then," said Danny Lemmons, 
 " thes make yourself at home." 
 
 Nothing could have been friendlier than 
 the attitude of the mountain men, nor freer 
 than their talk. Captain Moseley learned 
 that Danny Lemmons was acting under the 
 orders of Colonel Dick Watson, the virile 
 paralytic ; that he and Chadwick were to be 
 held prisoners in the hope that Adjutant 
 Lovejoy would come in search of them in 
 which event there would be developments of 
 a most interesting character. 
 
 So Danny Lemmons said, and so it turned 
 out ; for one day while Moseley and Chad- 
 wick were sitting on the sunny side of Un 
 cle Billy s house, listening to the shrill, snarl- 
 
102 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 ing tones of Colonel Watson, they heard a 
 shout from the roadside, and behold, there 
 was Danny Lemmons with his little band 
 escorting Lovejoy and a small squad of for 
 lorn-looking militia. Lovejoy was securely 
 bound to his horse, and it may well be sup 
 posed that he did not cut an imposing figure. 
 Yet he was undaunted. He was captured, 
 but not conquered. His eyes never lost 
 their boldness, nor his tongue its bitterness. 
 He was almost a match for Colonel Watson, 
 who raved at all things through the tremu 
 lous and vindictive lips of disease. The 
 colonel s temper was fitful, but Love joy s 
 seemed to burn steadily. Moved by con 
 tempt rather than caution, he was economi 
 cal of his words, listening to the shrill in 
 vective of the colonel patiently, but with a 
 curious flicker of his thin lips that caused 
 Danny Lemmons to study him intently. It 
 was Danny who discovered that Lovejoy s 
 eyes never wandered in Polly s direction, 
 nor settled on her, nor seemed to perceive 
 that she was in existence, though she was 
 flitting about constantly on the aimless little 
 errands that keep a conscientious house 
 keeper busy. 
 
 Lovejoy was captured one morning and 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 103 
 
 Christmas fell the next, and it was a 
 memorable Christmas to all concerned. 
 After breakfast Uncle Billy Powers pro 
 duced his Bible and preached a little sermon 
 a sermon that was not the less meaty and 
 sincere, not the less wise and powerful, be 
 cause the English was ungrammatical and 
 the rhetoric uncouth. After it was over the 
 old man cleared his throat and remarked : 
 
 " Brethern, we re gethered here for to 
 praise the Lord an do his will. The quare 
 times that s come on us has brung us face 
 to face with much that is unseemly in life, 
 an likely to fret the sperit an vex the un- 
 derstandin . Yit the Almighty is with us, 
 an of us, an among us ; an , in accordance 
 wi the commands delivered in this Book, 
 we re here to fortify two souls in the r 
 choice, an to b ar testimony to the Word 
 that makes lawful marriage a sacrament." 
 
 With that, Uncle Billy, fumbling in his 
 coat pockets, produced a marriage license, 
 called Israel Spurlock and his daughter be 
 fore him, and in simple fashion pronounced 
 the words that made them man and wife. 
 
 The dinner that followed hard on the wed 
 ding was to the soldiers, who had been sub 
 sisting on the tough rations furnished by the 
 
104 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Confederate commissaries, by all odds the 
 chief event of the day. To them the re 
 sources of the Powers household were won 
 derful indeed. The shed-room, running the 
 whole length of the house and kitchen, was 
 utilized, and the dinner table, which was 
 much too small to accommodate the guests, 
 invited and uninvited, was supplemented by 
 the inventive genius of Private William 
 Chad wick, who, in the most unassuming 
 manner, had taken control of the whole af 
 fair. He proved himself to be an invaluable 
 aid, and his good humor gave a lightness and 
 a zest to the occasion that would otherwise 
 have been sadly lacking. 
 
 Under his direction the tables were ar 
 ranged and the dinner set, and when the 
 politely impatient company were summoned 
 they found awaiting them a meal substantial 
 enough to remind them of the old days of 
 peace and prosperity. -It was a genuine 
 Christmas dinner. In the centre of the 
 table there was a large bowl of egg-nog, and 
 this was flanked and surrounded by a huge 
 dish full of apple dumplings, a tremendous 
 chicken pie, barbecued shote, barbecued mut 
 ton, a fat turkey, and all the various accom 
 paniments of a country feast. 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 105 
 
 When Uncle Billy Powers had said an 
 earnest and simple grace he gave his place 
 at the head of the table to Colonel Watson, 
 who had been brought in on his chair. 
 Aunt Crissy gave Chadwick the seat of 
 honor at the foot, and then the two old peo 
 ple announced that they were ready to Tvait 
 on the company, with Mr. Chadwick to do 
 the carving. If the private betrayed any 
 embarrassment at all, he soon recovered 
 from it. 
 
 " It ain t any use," he said, glancing down 
 the table, " to call the roll. We re all here 
 an accounted for. The only man or woman 
 that can t answer to their name is Danny 
 Lemmons s little brown fiddle, an I 11 bet a 
 sev m-punce it d skreak a little ef he tuck it 
 out n the bag. But before we whirl in an 
 make a charge three deep, le s begin right. 
 This is Christmas, and that bowl yander, 
 with the egg-nog in it, looks tired. Good 
 as the dinner is, it s got to have a file leader. 
 We 11 start in with what looks the nighest 
 like Christmas." 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Crissy, " I ve been in 
 sech a swivet all day I don t reelly reckon 
 the nog is wuth your while, but you 11 ha 
 ter take it thes like you fin it. Hit s sweet- 
 
106 -4 CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 ened wi long sweet nin , an it 11 ha ter be 
 dipped up wi a gourd an drunk out n 
 cups." 
 
 " Lord bless you, ma am," exclaimed Chad- 
 wick, " they won t be no questions axed ef 
 it s got Christmas enough in it, an I reckon 
 it is^kaze I poured it in myself, an I can 
 hoF up a jug as long as the nex man." 
 
 Though it was sweetened with syrup, the 
 egg-nog was a success, for its strength could 
 not be denied. 
 
 " Ef I had n t a been a prisoner of war, 
 as you may say," remarked Chad wick, when 
 the guests had fairly begun to discuss the 
 dinner, " I d a got me a hunk of barbecue 
 an a dumplin or two, an a slice of that 
 chicken pie there I d a grabbed em up 
 an a made off down the mountain. Why, 
 I 11 tell you what s the truth I got a 
 whiff of that barbecue by daylight, an gen- 
 tulmen, it fairly made me dribble at the 
 mouth. Nex to Uncle Billy there, I was 
 the fust man at the pit." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Uncle Billy, laughing, 
 " that s so. An you holp me a right smart. 
 I 11 say that." 
 
 " An Spurlock, he got a whiff of it. 
 Didn t you all notice, about the time he 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 107 
 
 was gittin married, how his mouth puckered 
 up ? Along towards the fust I thought he 
 was fixin to dip down an give the bride a 
 smack. But, bless you, he had barbecue on 
 his min , an the bride missed the buss." 
 
 " He did n t dare to buss me," exclaimed 
 Polly, who was ministering to her grand 
 father. " Leastways not right out there be 
 fore you all." 
 
 " Please, ma am, don t you be skeered of 
 Iserl," said Chadwick. " I kin take a quar 
 ter of that shote an tole him plumb back to 
 camp." 
 
 " Now I don t like the looks er this," ex 
 claimed Uncle Billy Powers, who had sud 
 denly discovered that Lovejoy, sitting by 
 the side of Danny Lemmons, was bound so 
 that it was impossible for him to eat in any 
 comfort. " Come, boys, this won t do. I 
 don t want to remember the time when any 
 livin human bein sot at my table on Christ 
 mas day with his han s tied. Come, now ! 
 
 " Why, tooby shore ! " exclaimed Aunt 
 Crissy. " Turn the poor creetur loose." 
 
 "Try it! " cried Colonel Watson, in his 
 shrill voice. " Jest try it ! " 
 
 " Lord, no," said Danny Lemmons. 
 " Look at his eyes ! Look at em." 
 
108 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Lovejoy sat pale and unabashed, his eyes 
 glittering like those of a snake. He had re 
 fused all offers of food, and seemed to be 
 giving all his attention to Israel Spurlock. 
 
 " What does Moseley say ? " asked Colo 
 nel Watson. 
 
 " Ah, he is your prisoner," said Moseley. 
 " He never struck me as a dangerous man." 
 
 " Well," said Chadwick, " ef there s any 
 doubt, jest take im out in the yard an give 
 im han -roomance. Don t let im turn this 
 table over, cause it 11 be a long time before 
 some of this company 11 see the likes of it 
 ag in." 
 
 It was clear that Lovejoy had no friends, 
 even among his comrades. It was clear, 
 too, that this fact gave him no concern. He 
 undoubtedly had more courage than his po 
 sition seemed to demand. He sat glaring at 
 Spurlock, and said never a word. Uncle 
 Billy Powers looked at him, and gave a sigh 
 that ended in a groan. 
 
 " Well, boys," said the old man, " this is 
 my house, an he s at my table. I reckon 
 we better ontie im, an let im git a mou ful 
 ter eat. T ain t nothin but Christian-like." 
 
 " Don t you reckon he d better eat at the 
 second table?" inquired Chadwick. This 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 109 
 
 naive suggestion provoked laughter and re 
 stored good humor, and Colonel Watson 
 consented that Lovejoy should be released. 
 Danny Lemmons undertook this gracious 
 task. He had released Lovejoy s right arm, 
 and was releasing the left, having to use his 
 teeth on one of the knots, when the prisoner 
 seized a fork a large horn-handle affair, 
 with prongs an inch and a half long and 
 as quick as a flash of lightning brought it 
 down on Danny Lemmons s back. To those 
 who happened to be looking it seemed that 
 the fork had been plunged into the very 
 vitals of the hunchback. 
 
 The latter went down, dragging Lovejoy 
 after him. There was a short, sharp strug 
 gle, a heavy thump or two, and then, before 
 the company realized what had happened, 
 Danny Lemmons rose to his feet laughing, 
 leaving Lovejoy lying on the floor, more 
 securely bound than ever. 
 
 " I reckon this fork 11 have to be washed," 
 said Danny, lifting the formidable-looking 
 weapon from the floor. 
 
 There was more excitement after the 
 struggle was over than there had been or 
 could have been while it was going on. 
 Chadwick insisted on examining Danny 
 Lemmons s back. 
 
110 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 " I ve saw folks cut an slashed an 
 stobbed before now," he explained, " an 
 they didn t know they was hurt tell they 
 had done cooled off. They ain t no holes 
 here an they ain t no blood, but I could 
 most take a right pine-blank oath that I 
 seed im job that fork in your back." 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " said Colonel Watson. " Do 
 you s pose I raised Danny Lemmons for the 
 like of that?" 
 
 " Well," said Chadwick, resuming his seat 
 and his dinner with unruffled nerves, tem 
 per, and appetite, " it beats the known woiT. 
 It s the fust time I ever seed a man git 
 down on the floor for to give the in-turn an 
 the under-cut, an cut the pigeon-wing an the 
 double-shuffle, all before a cat could bat her 
 eye. It looks to me that as peart a man as 
 Lemmons there ought to be in the war." 
 
 " Ain t he in the war ? " cried Colonel 
 Watson, excitedly. " Ain t he forever and 
 eternally in the war? Ain t he my bully 
 bushwhacker ? " 
 
 " On what side ? " inquired Chadwick. 
 
 " The Union, the Union ! " exclaimed the 
 colonel, his voice rising into a scream. 
 
 " Well," said Chadwick, " ef you think 
 you kin take the taste out n this barbecue 
 
A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. Ill 
 
 with talk like that, you are mighty much 
 mistaken." 
 
 After the wedding feast was over, Danny 
 Lemmons seized on his fiddle and made mu 
 sic fine enough and lively enough to set the 
 nimble feet of the mountaineers to dancing. 
 So that, take it all in all, the Christmas of 
 the conscript was as jolly as he could have 
 expected it to be. 
 
 When the festivities were concluded there 
 was a consultation between Colonel Watson 
 and Danny Lemmons, and then Captain 
 Moseley and his men were told that they 
 were free to go. 
 
 " What about Love joy ? " asked Moseley. 
 
 " Oh, bless you ! he goes over the moun 
 tain," exclaimed Danny, with a grin. 
 " Lord, yes ! Right over the mountain." 
 
 " Now, I say no," said Polly, blushing. 
 " Turn the man loose an let him go." 
 
 There were protests from some of the 
 mountaineers, but Polly finally had her way. 
 Lovejoy was unbound and permitted to go 
 with the others, who were escorted a piece 
 of the way down the mountain by Spurlock 
 and some of the others. When the moun 
 taineers started back, and before they had 
 got out of sight, Lovejoy seized a musket 
 
112 A CONSCRIPT S CHRISTMAS. 
 
 from one of his men and turned and ran a 
 little way back. What he would have done 
 will never be known, for before he could 
 raise his gun a streak of fire shot forth into 
 his face, and he fell and rolled to the side of 
 the road. An instant later Danny Lem- 
 mons leaped from the bushes, flourishing his 
 smoking rifle. 
 
 " You see im now ! " he cried. " You see 
 what he was atter ! He d better have gone 
 over the mountain. Lord, yes ! Lots bet 
 ter." 
 
 Moseley looked at Chadwick. 
 
 "Damn him!" said the latter; "he s 
 got what he s been a-huntin for." 
 
 By this time the little squad of militia 
 men, demoralized by the incident, had fled 
 down the mountain, and Moseley and his 
 companion hurried after them. 
 
ANANIAS. 
 
 L 
 
 MIDDLE Georgia, after Sherman passed 
 through on his famous march to the sea, 
 was full of the direst confusion and de 
 spair, and there were many sad sights to be 
 seen. A wide strip of country with desolate 
 plantations, and here and there a lonely 
 chimney standing sentinel over a pile of 
 blackened and smouldering ruins, bore mel 
 ancholy testimony to the fact that war is a 
 very serious matter. All this is changed 
 now, of course. The section through which 
 the grim commander pushed his way to 
 the sea smiles under the application of new 
 and fresher energies. We have discovered 
 that war, horrible as it is, sometimes drags 
 at its bloody tumbril wheel certain fructify 
 ing and fertilizing forces. If this were not 
 so, the contest in which the South suffered 
 the humiliation of defeat, and more, would 
 
114 ANANIAS. 
 
 have been a very desperate affair indeed. 
 The troubles of that unhappy time its 
 doubts, its difficulties, and its swift calami- 
 ities will never be known to posterity, 
 for they have never been adequately de 
 scribed. 
 
 It was during this awful period that is 
 to say, in January, 1866 that Lawyer 
 Terrell, of Ma con, made the acquaintance of 
 his friend Ananias. In the midst of the 
 desolation to be seen on every hand, this 
 negro was the foiiornest spectacle of all. 
 Lawyer Terrell overtook him on the public 
 highway between Macon and Eockville. 
 The negro wore a ragged blue army over 
 coat, a pair of patched and muddy blue 
 breeches, and had on the remmants of what 
 was once a military cap. He was leading 
 a lame and broken-down horse through the 
 mud, and was making his way toward Rock- 
 ville, at what appeared to be a slow and 
 painful gait. Curiosity impelled Lawyer 
 Terrell to draw rein as he came up with the 
 negro. 
 
 "Howdy, boss?" said the negro, taking 
 off his tattered cap. Responding to his salu 
 tation, the lawyer inquired his name. " I m 
 name Ananias, suh," he replied. 
 
ANANIAS. 115 
 
 The name seemed to fit him exactly. A 
 meaner-looking negro Lawyer Terrell had 
 never seen. There was not the shadow of a 
 smile on his face, and seriousness ill became 
 him. He had what is called a hang-dog 
 look. A professional overseer in the old 
 days would have regarded him as a negro 
 to be watched, and a speculator would have 
 put him in chains the moment he bought 
 him. With a good deal of experience with 
 negroes, Lawyer Terrell had never seen one 
 whose countenance and manner were more 
 repulsive. 
 
 " Well," said the lawyer, still keeping 
 along with him in the muddy road, " Ana 
 nias is a good name." 
 
 " Yasser," he replied ; " dat w at mammy 
 say. Mammy done dead now, but she say 
 dat dey wuz two Ananiases. Dey wuz ole 
 Ananias en young Ananias. One un um 
 wuz de Liar, en de udder wuz de Poffit. 
 Dat w at mammy say. I m name atter de 
 Poffit." 
 
 Lawyer Terrell laughed, and continued 
 his cross-examination. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " Who ? Me ? I m gwine back ter Mars- 
 ter, suh." 
 
116 ANANIAS. 
 
 " What is your master s name ? " 
 
 " Gunnel Benjamime Flewellen, suh." 
 
 " Colonel Benjamin Flewellen ; yes ; I 
 know the colonel well. What are you going 
 back there for?" 
 
 "Who? Me? Dat my home, suh. 1 
 bin brung up right dar, suh right long- 
 side er Marster en my young mistiss, suh." 
 
 " Miss Ellen Flewellen," said Lawyer 
 Terrell, reflectively. At this remark the 
 negro showed a slight interest in the conver 
 sation ; but his interest did not improve his 
 appearance. 
 
 "Yasser, dat her name, sho; but we-all 
 call her Miss Nelly." 
 
 " A very pretty name, Ananias," remarked 
 Lawyer Terrell. 
 
 " Lord ! yasser." 
 
 The negro looked up at this, but Lawyer 
 Terrell had his eyes fixed on the muddy 
 road ahead of him. The lawyer was some 
 what youngish himself, but his face had a 
 hard, firm expression common to those who 
 are in the habit of having their own way in 
 the court-house and elsewhere. 
 
 " Where have you been, Ananias ? " said 
 the lawyer presently. 
 
 " Who ? Me ? I bin long wid Sherman 
 army, suh." 
 
ANANIAS. 117 
 
 " Then you are quite a soldier by this 
 
 time." 
 
 "Lord! yasser! I bin wid um fum de 
 time dey come in dese parts plum tell dey 
 got ter Sander ville. You ain t never is 
 bin ter Sander ville, is you, boss ? " 
 
 " Not to say right in the town, Ananias, 
 but I ve been by there a great many times." 
 Lawyer Terrell humored the conversation, 
 as was his habit. 
 
 "Well, suh," said Ananias, "don t you 
 never go dar ; special don t you go dar wid 
 no army, kase hit s de longes en de nasties^ 
 road fum dar ter yer w en you er comin 
 back, dat I ever is lay my two eyes on." 
 " Why did you come back, Ananias? " 
 "Who? Me? Well, suh, w en de army 
 come long by home dar, look like eve ybody 
 got der eye sot on me. Go whar I would, 
 look alike all de folks wuz a-watchin me. 
 Bout time de army wuz a-pilin in on us, 
 Marse Wash Jones, w ich I never is done 
 im no harm dat I knows un, he went ter 
 Marster, he did, en he low dat ef dey don t 
 keep mighty close watch on Ananias dey d 
 all be massycreed in deir beds. I know 
 Marse Wash tol Marster dat, kaze Ma y 
 Ann, w ich she wait on de table, she come 
 
118 ANANIAS. 
 
 right outer de house en toP me so. Right 
 den, suh, I gun ter feel sorter skittish. 
 Marster had done got me ter hide all de 
 stock out in de swamp, en I low ter myse f, 
 I did, dat I d des go over dar en stay wid 
 um. I ain t bin dar so mighty long, suh, 
 w en yer come de Yankees, en wid um wuz 
 George, de carriage driver, de nigger w at 
 Marster think mo uv dan he do all de bal 
 ance er his niggers. En now, den, dar wuz 
 George a-fetchin de Yankees right whar he 
 know de stock wuz hid at." 
 
 " George was a very handy negro to have 
 around," said Lawyer Terrell. 
 
 " Yasser. Marster thunk de worl en all 
 er dat nigger, en dar he wuz showin de 
 Yankees whar de mules en bosses wuz hid 
 at. Well, suh, soon ez he see me, George 
 he put out, en I staid dar wid de bosses. I 
 try ter git dem folks not ter kyar um off, I 
 beg um en I plead wid um, but dey des 
 laugh at me, suh. I follered long atter 
 um , en dey driv dem bosses en mules right 
 by de house. Marster wuz standin out in 
 de front porch, en w en he see de Yankees 
 got de stock, en me long wid um, suh, he 
 des raise up his ban s so en drap um 
 down by his side, en den he tuck n tu n 
 
ANANIAS. 119 
 
 roun en go in de house. I run ter de do , 
 I did, but Marster done fasten it, en den I 
 run roun* de back way, but de back do wuz 
 done fassen too. I know d dey did n t like 
 me," Ananias went on, picking his way 
 carefully through the mud, " en I wuz mos 
 out n my head, kaze I ain t know w at ter 
 do. Tain t wid niggers like it is wid white 
 folks, suh. White folks know w at ter do, 
 kaze dey in de habits er doin like dey wan- 
 ter, but niggers, suh niggers, dey er diff- 
 unt. Dey dunner w at ter do." 
 
 "Well, what did you do?" asked Law 
 yer Terrell. 
 
 " Who ? Me ? Well, suh, I des crope 
 off ter my cabin, en I draw d up a cheer 
 front er de fier, en stirred up de embers, en 
 sot dar. I ain sot dar long fo Marster 
 come ter de do . He open it, he did, en he 
 come in. He low, You in dar, Ananias ? 
 I say, Yasser. Den he come in. He 
 stood dar, he did, en look at me. I ain t 
 raise my eyes, suh ; I des look in de embers. 
 Bime-by he say, Ain t I allers treat you 
 well, Ananias ? I low, Yasser. Den 
 he say, Ain t I raise you up fum a little 
 baby, w en you got no daddy ? I low, Yas 
 ser. He say, How come you treat me dis 
 
120 ANANIAS. 
 
 a-way, Ananias? Wat make you show 
 dem Yankees whar my bosses en mules 
 is? " 
 
 Ananias paused as he picked his way 
 through the mud, leading his broken-down 
 horse. 
 
 " What did you tell him ? " said Lawyer 
 Terrell, somewhat curtly. 
 
 " Well, suh, I dunner w at de name er 
 God come cross me. I wuz dat full up dat 
 I can t talk. I tried ter tell Marster des 
 zactly how it wuz, but look like I wuz all 
 choke up. White folks kin talk right 
 straight long, but niggers is diffunt. Mars 
 ter stood dar, he did, en look at me right 
 hard, en I know by de way he look dat his 
 feelin s wuz hurted, en dis make me wuss. 
 Eve y time I try ter talk, suh, sumpin ne r 
 kotch me in de neck, en fo I kin come ter 
 myse f, suh, Marster wuz done gone. I got 
 up en tried ter holler at im, but dat ketch 
 wuz dar in my neck, suh, en mo special wuz 
 it dar, suh, w en I see dat he wuz gwine long 
 wid his head down ; en dey mighty few folks, 
 suh, dat ever is see my marster dat a-way. 
 He kyar his head high, suh, ef I do say it 
 myse f." 
 
 " Why did n t you follow after him and 
 
ANANIAS. 121 
 
 tell him about it?" inquired Lawyer Ter 
 rell, drawing his lap-robe closer about his 
 knee. 
 
 " Dat des zactly w at I oughter done, suh ; 
 but right den en dar I ain t know w at ter 
 do. I know d dat nigger like me ain t got 
 no business foolin roun much, en dat wuz 
 all I did know. I sot down, I did, en I 
 make up my min dat ef Marster got de 
 idee dat I had his stock run d off, I better 
 git out fum dar ; en den I went ter work, 
 suh, en I pack up w at little duds I got, en 
 I put out wid de army. I march wid um, 
 suh, plum tell dey got ter Sander ville, en 
 dar I ax um w at dey gwine pay me fer 
 gwine wid um. Well, suh, you may n t 
 b lieve me, but dem w ite mens dey des 
 laugh at me. All dis time I bin runnin 
 over in my min bout Marster en Miss 
 Nelly, en-w en I fin out dat dey wa n t no 
 pay fer niggers gwine wid de army I des 
 up en say ter myse f dat dat bind er busi 
 ness ain t gwine do fer me." 
 
 "If they had paid you anything," said 
 Lawyer Terrell, " I suppose you would have 
 gone 011 with the army ? " 
 
 "Who? Me? Dat I wouldn t," replied 
 Ananias, emphatically " dat I would n t. 
 
122 ANANIAS. 
 
 I d a got my money, en I d a come back 
 home, kaze I boun you I wa n t a-gwine ter 
 let Marster drap off and die widout knowin 
 who run d dem stock off. No, suh. I wuz 
 des bleege ter come back." 
 
 " Ananias," said Lawyer Terrell, " you 
 are a good man." 
 
 " Thanky, suh ! thanky, marster ! " ex 
 claimed Ananias, taking off his weather- 
 beaten cap. " You er de f us w ite man dat 
 ever toF me dat sence I bin born d inter de 
 worl . Thanky, suh ! " 
 
 " Good-by," said Lawyer Terrell, touch 
 ing his horse lightly with the whip. 
 
 " Good-by, marster ! " said Ananias, with 
 unction. "Good-by, marster ! en thanky !" 
 
 Lawyer Terrell passed out of sight in the 
 direction of Kockville. Ananias went in the 
 same direction, but he made his way over the 
 road with a lighter heart. 
 
 II. 
 
 It is to be presumed that Ananias s ex 
 planation was satisfactory to Colonel Ben 
 jamin Flewellen, for he settled down on his 
 former master s place, and proceeded to make 
 his presence felt on the farm as it never had 
 
ANANIAS. 123 
 
 been felt before. Himself and his army- 
 worn horse were decided accessions, for the 
 horse turned out to be an excellent animal. 
 Ananias made no contract with his former 
 master, and asked for no wages. He sim 
 ply took possession of his old quarters, and 
 began anew the life he had led in slavery 
 times with this difference : in the old days 
 he had been compelled to work, but now he 
 was working of his own free-will and to 
 please himself. The result was that he 
 worked much harder. 
 
 It may be said that though Colonel Ben 
 jamin Flewellen was a noted planter, he was 
 not much of a farmer. Before and during 
 the war he had intrusted his plantation and 
 his planting in the care of an overseer. For 
 three hundred dollars a year which was 
 not much of a sum in slavery times he 
 could be relieved of all the cares and anxi 
 eties incident to the management of a large 
 plantation. His father before him had con 
 ducted the plantation by proxy, and Colonel 
 Flewellen was not slow to avail himself of a 
 long-established custom that had been justi 
 fied by experience. Moreover, Colonel Flew 
 ellen had a taste for literature. His father 
 had gathered together a large collection of 
 
124 ANANIAS. 
 
 books, and Colonel Flewellen had added to 
 this until he was owner of one of the largest 
 private libraries in a State where large pri 
 vate libraries were by no means rare. He 
 wrote verse on occasion, and essays in de 
 fense of slavery. There are yet living men 
 who believed that his " Reply " to Charles 
 Sumner s attack on the South was so crush 
 ing in its argument and its invective par 
 ticularly its invective that it would go far 
 toward putting an end to the abolition move 
 ment. Colonel Flewelleu s "Reply" filled 
 a page of the New York " Day-Book," and 
 there is no doubt that he made the most of 
 the limited space placed at his disposal. 
 
 With his taste and training it is not sur 
 prising that Colonel Benjamin Flewellen 
 should leave his plantation interests to the 
 care of Mr. Washington Jones, his overseer, 
 and devote himself to the liberal arts. He 
 not only wrote and published the deservedly 
 famous " Reply " to Charles Sumner, which 
 was afterward reprinted in pamphlet form for 
 the benefit of his friends and admirers, but 
 he collected his fugitive verses in a volume, 
 which was published by an enterprising New 
 York firm "for the author;" and in addi 
 tion to this he became the proprietor and 
 
ANANIAS. 125 
 
 editor of the Rockville " Vade-Mecum," a 
 weekly paper devoted to " literature, science, 
 politics, and the news." 
 
 When, therefore, the collapse came, the 
 colonel found himself practically stranded. 
 He was not only land-poor, but he had no 
 experience in the management of his planta 
 tion. Ananias, when he returned from his 
 jaunt with the army, was of some help, but 
 not much. He knew how the plantation 
 ought to be managed, but he stood in awe 
 of the colonel, and he was somewhat back 
 ward in giving his advice. In fact, he had 
 nothing to say unless his opinion was asked, 
 and this was not often, for Colonel Flewellen 
 had come to entertain the general opinion 
 about Ananias, which was, in effect, that he 
 was a sneaking, hypocritical rascal who was 
 not to be depended on ; a good-enough 
 worker, to be sure, but not a negro in whom 
 one could repose confidence. 
 
 The truth is, Ananias s appearance was 
 against him. He was ugly and mean-look 
 ing, and he had a habit of slipping around 
 and keeping out of the way of white people 
 a habit which, in that day and time, gave 
 everybody reason enough to distrust him. 
 As a result of this, Ananias got the credit 
 
126 ANANIAS. 
 
 of every mean act that could not be traced 
 to any responsible source. If a smoke 
 house was broken open in the night, Ananias 
 was the thief. The finger of suspicion was 
 pointed at him on every possible occasion. 
 He was thought to be the head and front of 
 the Union League, a political organization 
 set in motion by the shifty carpet-baggers for 
 the purpose of consolidating the negro vote 
 against the whites. In this way prejudice 
 deepened against him all the while, until he 
 finally became something of an Ishmaelite, 
 holding no intercourse with any white peo 
 ple but Colonel Flewellen and Miss Nelly. 
 
 Meanwhile, as may be supposed, Colonel 
 Flewellen was not making much of a suc 
 cess in managing his plantation. Begin 
 ning without money, he had as much as 
 he could do to make "buckle and tongue 
 meet," as the phrase goes. In fact he did 
 not make them meet. He farmed on the 
 old lavish plan. He borrowed money, and 
 he bought provisions, mules, and fertilizers 
 on credit, paying as much as two hundred 
 per cent interest on his debts. 
 
 Strange to say, his chief creditor was Mr. 
 Washington Jones, his former overseer. 
 Somehow or other Mr. Jones had thrived. 
 
ANANIAS. 127 
 
 He had saved money as an overseer, being a 
 man of simple tastes and habits, and when 
 the crash came he was comparatively a rich 
 man. When affairs settled down somewhat, 
 Mr. Jones blossomed out as a commission 
 merchant, and he soon established a large 
 and profitable business. He sold provisions 
 and commercial fertilizers, he bought cotton, 
 and he was not above any transaction, how 
 ever small, that promised to bring him a 
 dime where he had invested a thrip. He 
 was a very thrifty man indeed. In addition 
 to his other business he shaved notes and 
 bought mortgages, and in this way the fact 
 came to be recognized, as early as 1868, that 
 he was what is known as " a leading citizen." 
 He did not hesitate to grind a man when he 
 had him in his clutches, and on this account 
 he made enemies ; but as his worldly posses 
 sions grew and assumed tangible propor 
 tions, it is not to be denied that he had 
 more friends than enemies. 
 
 For a while Mr. Washington Jones s most 
 prominent patron was Colonel Benjamin 
 Flewellen. The colonel, it should be said, 
 was not only a patron of Jones, but he pa 
 tronized him. He made his purchases, 
 chiefly on credit, in a lordly, superior way, 
 
128 ANANIAS. 
 
 as became a gentleman whose hireling Jones 
 had been. When the colonel had money he 
 was glad to pay cash for his supplies, but 
 it happened somehow that he rarely had 
 money. Jones, it must be confessed, was 
 very accommodating. He was anxious to 
 sell to the colonel on the easiest terms, so 
 far as payment was concerned, and he often, 
 in a sly way, flattered the colonel into mak 
 ing larger bills than he otherwise would 
 have made. 
 
 There could be but one result, and though 
 that result was inevitable, everybody about 
 Rockville seemed to be surprised. The colo 
 nel had disposed of his newspaper long be 
 fore, and one day there appeared, in the col 
 umns which he had once edited with such 
 care, a legal notice to the effect that he had 
 applied to the ordinary of the county, in 
 proper form, to set aside a homestead and 
 personalty. This meant that the colonel, 
 with his old-fashioned ways and methods, 
 had succumbed to the inevitable. He had a 
 house and lot in town, and this was set apart 
 as his homestead by the judge of ordinary. 
 Mr. Washington Jones, you may be sure, 
 lost no time in foreclosing his mortgages, 
 and the fact soon came to be known that he 
 
ANANIAS. 129 
 
 was now the proprietor of the Flewellen 
 place. 
 
 Just at this point the colonel first began 
 to face the real problems of life, and he 
 found them to be very knotty ones. He 
 must live but how? He knew no law, 
 and was acquainted with no business. He 
 was a gentleman and a scholar ; but these 
 accomplishments would not serve him ; in 
 deed, they stood in his way. He had been 
 brought up to no business, and it was a little 
 late in life the colonel was fifty or more 
 to begin to learn. He might have en 
 tered upon a political career, and this would 
 have been greatly to his taste, but all the 
 local offices were filled by competent men, 
 and just at that time a Southerner to the 
 manner born had little chance to gain ad 
 mission to Congress. The Republican " re- 
 constructionists," headed by Thaddeus Ste 
 vens, barred the way. The outlook was 
 gloomy indeed. 
 
 Nelly Flewellen, who had grown to be a 
 beautiful woman, and who was as accom 
 plished as she was beautiful, gave music 
 lessons ; but in Rockville at that time there 
 was not much to be made by teaching music. 
 It is due to the colonel to say that he was 
 
130 ANANIAS. 
 
 bitterly opposed to this project, and he was 
 glad when his daughter gave it up in de 
 spair. Then she took in sewing surrepti 
 tiously, and did other things that a girl of 
 tact and common sense would be likely to 
 do when put to the test. 
 
 The colonel and his daughter managed to 
 get along somehow, but it was a miserable 
 existence compared to their former estate of 
 luxury. Just how they managed, only one 
 person in the wide world knew, and that per 
 son was Ananias. Everybody around Rock- 
 ville said it was very queer how the colonel, 
 with no money and little credit, could afford 
 to keep a servant, and a man-servant at 
 that. But there was nothing queer about it. 
 Ananias received no wages of any sort ; he 
 asked for none ; he expected none. A child 
 of misfortune himself, he was glad to share 
 the misfortunes of his former master. He 
 washed, he ironed, he cooked, he milked, 
 and he did more. He found time to do 
 little odd jobs around town, and with the 
 money thus earned he was able to supply 
 things that would otherwise have been miss 
 ing from Colonel Flewellen s table. He 
 was as ugly and as mean-looking as ever, 
 and as unpopular. Even the colonel dis- 
 
ANANIAS. 131 
 
 trusted him, but he managed to tolerate 
 him. The daughter often had words of 
 praise for the shabby and forlorn-looking 
 negro, and these, if anything, served to 
 lighten his tasks. 
 
 But in spite of everything that his daugh 
 ter or Ananias could do, the colonel con 
 tinued to grow poorer. To all appearances 
 and he managed to keep up appearances 
 to the last he was richer than many of 
 his neighbors, for he had a comfortable 
 house, and he still had credit in the town. 
 Among the shopkeepers there were few that 
 did not respect and admire the colonel for 
 what he had been. But the colonel, since 
 his experience with Mr. Washington Jones, 
 looked with suspicion on the credit business. 
 The result was that he and his daughter and 
 Ananias lived in the midst of the ghastliest 
 poverty. 
 
 As for Ananias, he could stand it well 
 enough ; so, perhaps, could the colonel, he 
 being a man, and a pretty stout one ; but 
 how about the young lady? This was the 
 question that Ananias was continually ask 
 ing himself, and circumstances finally drove 
 him to answering it in his own way. There 
 was this much to be said about Ananias ; 
 
132 ANANIAS. 
 
 when he made up his mind, nothing could 
 turn him, humble as he was ; and then came 
 a period in the career of the family to which 
 he had attached himself when he was com 
 pelled to make up his mind or see them 
 starve. 
 
 III. 
 
 At this late day there is no particular 
 reason for concealing the facts. Ananias 
 took the responsibility on his shoulders, and 
 thereafter the colonel s larder was always 
 comparatively full. At night Ananias would 
 sit and nod before a fire in the kitchen, and 
 after everybody else had gone to bed he 
 would sneak out into the darkness, and be 
 gone for many hours ; but whether the hours 
 of his absence were many or few, he never 
 returned empty - handed. Sometimes he 
 would bring a " turn " of wood, sometimes 
 a bag of meal or potatoes, sometimes a side 
 of meat or a ham, and sometimes he would 
 be compelled to stop, while yet some dis 
 tance from the house, to choke a chicken 
 that betrayed a tendency to squall in the 
 small still hours between midnight and 
 morning. The colonel and his daughter 
 
ANANIAS. 133 
 
 never knew whence their supplies came. 
 They only knew that Ananias suddenly de 
 veloped into a wonderfully good cook, for it 
 is a very good cook indeed that can go on 
 month after month providing excellent meals 
 without calling for new supplies. 
 
 But Ananias had always been peculiar, 
 and if he grew a trifle more uncommunicative 
 than usual, neither the colonel nor the colo 
 nel s daughter was expected to take notice of 
 the fact. Ananias was a sullen negro at best, 
 but his sullenness was not at all important, 
 and nobody cared whether his demeanor was 
 grave or gay, lively or severe. Indeed, ex 
 cept that he was an object of distrust and 
 suspicion, nobody cared anything at all about 
 Ananias. For his part, Ananias seemed to 
 care nothing for people s opinions, good, 
 bad, or indifferent. If the citizens of Rock- 
 ville thought ill of him, that was their affair 
 altogether. Ananias went sneaking around, 
 attending to what he conceived to be his 
 own business, and there is no doubt that, in 
 some way, he managed to keep Colonel Flew- 
 ellen s larder well supplied with provisions. 
 
 About this time Mr. Washington Jones, 
 who had hired a clerk for his store, and who 
 was mainly devoting his time to managing, 
 
134 ANANIAS. 
 
 as proprietor, the Flewellen place, which he 
 had formerly managed as overseer, began to 
 discover that he was the victim of a series 
 of mysterious robberies and burglaries. No 
 body suffered but Mr. Jones, and everybody 
 said that it was not only very unjust, but 
 very provoking also, that this enterprising 
 citizen should be systematically robbed, 
 while all his neighbors should escape. These 
 mysterious robberies soon became the talk 
 of the whole county. Some people sympa 
 thized with Jones, while others laughed at 
 him. Certainly the mystery was a very 
 funny mystery, for when Jones watched his 
 potato hill, his smoke-house was sure to be 
 entered. If he watched his smoke-house, 
 his potato hill would suffer. If he divided 
 his time watching both of these, his store 
 house would be robbed. There was no reg 
 ularity about this ; but it was generally con 
 ceded that the more Jones watched, the 
 more he was robbed, and it finally came to 
 be believed in the county that Jones, to ex 
 press it in the vernacular, "hollered too 
 loud to be hurt much." 
 
 At last one day it was announced that 
 Jones had discovered the thief who had been 
 robbing him. He had not caught him, but 
 
ANANIAS. 135 
 
 he had seen him plainly enough to identify 
 him. The next thing that Rockville knew, 
 a warrant had been issued for Ananias, and 
 he was arrested. He had no commitment 
 trial. He was lodged in the jail to await 
 trial in the Superior Court. Colonel Flew- 
 ellen was sorry for the negro, as well he 
 might be, but he was afraid to go on his 
 bond. Faithful as Ananias had been, he 
 was a negro, after all, the colonel argued, 
 and if he was released on bond he would not 
 hesitate to run away, if such an idea should 
 occur to him. 
 
 Fortunately for Ananias, he was not per 
 mitted to languish in jail. The Superior 
 Court met the week after he was arrested, 
 and his case was among the first called. It 
 seemed to be a case, indeed, that needed 
 very little trying. But a very curious inci 
 dent happened in the court-room. 
 
 Among the lawyers present was Mr. Ter 
 rell, of Macon. Mr. Terrell was by all 
 odds the greatest lawyer practising in that 
 circuit. He was so great, indeed, that he 
 was not called " major," or " colonel," or 
 "judge." He ranked with Stephens and 
 Hill, and like these distinguished men his 
 title was plain "Mr." Mr. Terrell practised 
 
136 ANANIAS. 
 
 in all the judicial circuits of the State, and 
 had important cases in all of them. He 
 was in Rockville for the purpose of arguing 
 a case to be tried at term, and which he 
 knew would be carried to the Supreme 
 Court of the State, no matter what the ver 
 dict of the lower court might be. He was 
 arranging and verifying his authorities anew, 
 and he was very busy when the sheriff came 
 into the court-house bringing Ananias. The 
 judge on the bench thought he had never 
 seen a more rascally-looking prisoner ; but 
 even rascally-looking prisoners have their 
 rights, and so, when Ananias s case was 
 called, the judge asked him in a friendly 
 way if he had counsel if he had engaged 
 a lawyer to defend him. 
 
 Ananias did not understand at first, but 
 when the matter was made plain to him he 
 said he could get a lawyer. Whereupon he 
 walked over to where Mr. Terrell sat im 
 mersed in his big books, and touched him 
 on the shoulder. The lawyer looked up. 
 
 " I m name Ananias, suh," said the ne 
 gro. 
 
 " I remember you," said Mr. Terrell. 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 g ot me up fer my trial, suh, en I 
 
ANANIAS. 137 
 
 ain t got nobody fer ter speak de word fer 
 me, suh, en I low d maybe " 
 
 Ananias paused. He knew not what else 
 to say. He had no sort of claim on this 
 man. He saw everybody around him laugh 
 ing. The great lawyer himself smiled as he 
 twirled his eye-glasses on his fingers. Ana 
 nias was embarrassed. 
 
 " You want me to speak the word ? " said 
 Mr. Terrell. 
 
 " Yes, suh, if you please, suh." 
 
 " You need not trouble yourself, Mr. Ter 
 rell," said the judge, affably. " I was about 
 to appoint counsel." 
 
 "May it please your honor," said Mr. 
 Terrell, rising. " I will defend this boy. 
 I know nothing whatever of the case, but I 
 happen to know something of the negro." 
 
 There was quite a little stir in the court 
 room at this announcement. The loafers 
 outside the railings of the bar, who had 
 seen Ananias every day for a good many 
 years, leaned forward to take another look 
 at him. The lawyers inside the bar also 
 seemed to be interested in the matter. Some 
 thought that the great lawyer had taken the 
 negro s case by way of a joke, and they 
 promised themselves a good deal of enjoy- 
 
138 ANANIAS. 
 
 ment, for it is not every day that a prom 
 inent man is seen at play. Others knew not 
 what to think ; so that between those who re 
 garded it as a practical joke and those who 
 thought that Mr. Terrell might be in a seri 
 ous mood, the affair caused quite a sensa 
 tion. 
 
 " May it please the court," said Mr. Ter 
 rell, his firm voice penetrating to every 
 part of the large room, " I know nothing of 
 this. case ; therefore I will ask half an hour s 
 delay to look over the papers and to consult 
 with my client." 
 
 "Certainly," said the judge, pleasantly. 
 " Mr. Sheriff, take the prisoner to the Grand 
 Jury room, so that he may consult with his 
 counsel." 
 
 The sheriff locked the prisoner and the 
 lawyer in the Grand Jury room, and left his 
 deputy there to open the door when Mr. 
 Terrell announced that the conference was 
 over. In the mean time the court proceeded 
 with other business. Cases were settled, 
 dismissed, or postponed. A couple of young 
 lawyers fell into a tumultuous wrangle over 
 an immaterial point, which the judge dis 
 posed of with a wave of his hand. 
 
 In the Grand Jury room Ananias was 
 telling his volunteer counsel a strange tale. 
 
ANANIAS. 139 
 
 IV. 
 
 " And do you mean to tell me that you 
 really stole these things from Jones ? " said 
 Mr. Terrell, after he had talked a little with 
 his client. 
 
 " Well, suh," replied Ananias, unabashed, 
 " I did n t zackly steal urn, suh, but I tuck 
 um ; I des tuck urn, suh." 
 
 " What call had you to steal from Jones ? 
 Weren t you working for Colonel Flewel- 
 len ? Did n t he feed you ? " inquired the 
 lawyer. Ananias shifted about from one 
 foot to the other, and whipped his legs with 
 his shabby hat, which he held in his hand. 
 Lawyer Terrell, seated in a comfortable 
 chair, and thoroughly at his ease, regarded 
 the negro curiously. There appeared to be 
 a pathetic element even in Ananias s man 
 ner. 
 
 " Well, suh," he said, after a while, see 
 ing that he could not escape from the con 
 fession, " ef I had n t a-tuck dem things f uni 
 Marse Wash Jones, my Marster en my 
 young mistiss would a sot dar en boda- 
 ciously starve deyse f ter deff. I done seed 
 dat, suh. Dey wuz too proud ter tell folks 
 
140 ANANIAS. 
 
 dey wuz dat bad off, suh, en dey d a sot dar, 
 en des bodaciously starve deyse f ter deff, 
 suh. All dey lifetime, suh, dey bin use ter 
 havin deir vittles put right on de table whar 
 dey kin git it, en w en de farmin days done 
 gone, suh, dey wa n t nobody but Ananias 
 fer put de vittles dar ; en I des hatter scuffle 
 roun en git it de bes way I kin. I spec , 
 suh," Ananias went on, his countenance 
 brightening up a little, " dat ef de wuss had 
 a-come ter de wuss, I d a stole de vittles ; 
 but I ain t had ter steal it, suh ; I des went 
 en tuck it fum Marse Wash Jones, kaze it 
 come off n Marster s Ian , suh." 
 
 " Why, the land belongs to Jones," said 
 Lawyer Terrell. 
 
 " Dat w at dey say, suh : but eve y foot 
 er dat Ian b longded ter de Flewellen fam- 
 bly long fo Marse Wash Jones daddy sot 
 up a hat-shop in de neighborhoods. I dun- 
 ner how Marse Wash git dat Ian , suh ; I 
 know it b longded in de Flewellen fambly 
 sence way back, en dey got deir graveyard 
 dar yit." 
 
 Lawyer Terrell s unusually stern face 
 softened a little. He saw that Ananias was 
 in earnest, and his sympathies were aroused. 
 He had some further conversation with the 
 
ANANIAS. 141 
 
 negro, questioning him in regard to a great 
 many things that assumed importance in the 
 trial. 
 
 When Lawyer Terrell and his client re 
 turned to the court-room they found it filled 
 with spectators. Somehow, it became gen 
 erally known that the great advocate was to 
 defend Ananias, and a large crowd of peo 
 ple had assembled to watch developments. 
 In some way the progress of Ananias and 
 the deputy-sheriff through the crowd that 
 filled all the aisles and doorways had been 
 delayed; but when the negro, forlorn and 
 wretched-looking, made his appearance in 
 the bar for the purpose of taking a seat by 
 his counsel, there was a general laugh. In 
 stantly Lawyer Terrell was upon his feet. 
 
 " May it please your honor, what is the 
 duty of the sheriff of this county, if it is not 
 to keep order in this court-room ? " 
 
 The ponderous staff of the sheriff came 
 down on the floor with a thump ; but it was 
 unnecessary. Silence had fallen on the 
 spectators with the first words of the lawyer. 
 The crowd knew that he was a game man, 
 and they admired him for it. His whole 
 attitude, as he gazed at the people around 
 him, showed that he was full of fight. His 
 
142 ANANIAS. 
 
 heavy blond hair, swept back from his high 
 forehead, looked like the mane of a lion, 
 and his steel-gray eyes glittered under his 
 shaggy and frowning brows. 
 
 The case of the State versus Ananias 
 Flewellen, alias Ananias Harper a name 
 he had taken since freedom was called in 
 due form. It was observed that Lawyer 
 Terrell was very particular to strike certain 
 names from the jury list, but this gave no 
 cue to the line of his defense. The first 
 witness was Mr. Washington Jones, who de 
 tailed, as well as he knew how, the circum 
 stances of the various robberies of which 
 he had been the victim. He had suspected 
 Ananias, but had not made his suspicions 
 known until he was sure, until he had 
 caught him stealing sweet-potatoes. 
 
 The cross-examination of the witness by 
 Ananias s counsel was severe. The fact 
 was gradually developed that Mr. Jones 
 caught the negro stealing potatoes at night ; 
 that the night was dark and cloudy ; that 
 he did not actually catch the negro, but saw 
 him ; that he did not really see the negro 
 clearly, but knew " in reason " that it must 
 be Ananias. 
 
 The fact was also developed that Mr. 
 
ANANIAS. 143 
 
 Jones was not alone when he saw Ananias, 
 but was accompanied by Mr. Miles Cotting- 
 ham, a small farmer in the neighborhood, 
 who was well known all over the county as 
 a man of undoubted veracity and of the 
 strictest integrity. 
 
 At this point Lawyer Terrell, who had 
 been facing Mr. Jones with severity painted 
 on his countenance, seemed suddenly to re 
 cover his temper. He turned to the listen 
 ing crowd, and said, in his blandest tones, 
 " Is Mr. Miles Cottiiigham in the room ? " 
 
 There was a pause, and then a small boy 
 perched in one of the windows, through 
 which the sun was streaming, cried out, 
 " He s a-standin out yander by the horse- 
 rack." 
 
 Whereupon a subpoena was promptly 
 made out by the clerk of the court, and the 
 deputy sheriff, putting his head out of a 
 window, cried : 
 
 "Miles G. Cottingham! Miles G. Cot- 
 tingham ! Miles G. Cottingham ! Come into 
 court." 
 
 Mr. Cottingham was fat, rosy, and cheer 
 ful. He came into court with such a du 
 bious smile on his face that his friends in 
 the room were disposed to laugh, but they 
 
144 ANANIAS. 
 
 remembered that Lawyer Terrell was some 
 what intolerant of these manifestations of 
 good-humor. As for Mr. Cottingham him 
 self, he was greatly puzzled. When the 
 voice of the court crier reached his ears he 
 was in the act of taking a dram, and, as he 
 said afterward, he " come mighty nigh drap- 
 pin the tumbeler." But he was not sub 
 jected to any such mortification. He tossed 
 off his dram in fine style, and went to the 
 court-house, where, as soon as he had pushed 
 his way to the front, he was met by Lawyer 
 Terrell, who shook him heartily by the hand, 
 and told him his testimony was needed in 
 order that justice might be done. 
 
 Then Mr. Cottingham was put on the 
 stand as a witness for the defense. 
 
 " How old are you, Mr. Cottingham ? " 
 said Lawyer Terrell. 
 
 " Ef I make no mistakes, I m a-gwine on 
 sixty-nine," replied the witness. 
 
 " Are your eyes good ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, they er about ez good ez the 
 common run ; not so good ez they mought 
 be, en yit good enough fer me." 
 
 " Did you ever see that negro before ? " 
 The lawyer pointed to Ananias. 
 
 " Which nigger ? That un over there ? 
 
ANANIAS. 145 
 
 Why, that s thish yer God-forsakin Ana 
 nias. Ef it had a-bin any yuther nigger but 
 Ananias I would n t a bin so certain and 
 shore ; bekaze sence the war they er all so 
 mighty nigh alike I can t tell one from 
 t other sca cely. All eckceppin of Ananias; 
 I d know Ananias ef I met im in kingdom 
 come wi his hair all swinjed off." 
 
 The jury betrayed symptoms of enjoying 
 this testimony ; seeing which, the State s at 
 torney rose to his feet to protest. 
 
 " May it please the court " 
 
 " One moment, your honor ! " exclaimed 
 Lawyer Terrell. Then, turning to the wit 
 ness : " Mr. Cottingham, were you with Mr. 
 Jones when he was watching to catch a thief 
 who had been stealing from him ? " 
 
 " Well, sir," replied Mr. Cottingham, " I 
 sot up wi him one night, but I disremember 
 in pertickler what night it wuz." 
 
 " Did you see the thief ? " 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Cottingham, in his 
 deliberate way, looking around over the 
 court-room with a more judicial air than the 
 judge on the bench, " ef you push me close 
 I 11 tell you. Ther wuz a consid able flutter- 
 ment in the neighborhoods er whar we sot, 
 an me an Wash done some mighty sly slip- 
 
146 ANANIAS. 
 
 pin up en surrounderin ; but ez ter seein* 
 anybody, we did n t see im. We heerd m 
 a-scufflin an a-runnin , but we did n t ketch 
 a glimpse un im, nuther har ner hide." 
 
 "Did Mr. Jones see him?" 
 
 " No more n I did. I wuz right at 
 Wash s elbow. We heerd the villyun a-run 
 nin , but we never seed im. Atterwards, 
 when we got back ter the house, Wash he 
 lowed it must a bin that nigger Ananias 
 thar, an I lowed it jess mought ez well be 
 Ananias ez any yuther nigger, bekaze you 
 know yourself " 
 
 "That will do, Mr. Cottingham," said 
 Mr. Lawyer Terrell, blandly. The State s 
 attorney undertook to cross-examine Mr. 
 Cottingham ; but he was a blundering man, 
 and the result of his cross-examination was 
 simply a stronger and more impressive repe 
 tition of Mr. Cottingham s testimony. 
 
 After this, the solicitor was willing to sub 
 mit the case to the jury without argument, 
 but Mr. Terrell said that if it pleased the 
 court he had a few words to say to the jury 
 in behalf of his client. The speech made 
 by the State s attorney was flat and stale, 
 for he was not interested in the case ; but 
 Lawyer Terrell s appeal to the jury is still 
 
ANANIAS. 147 
 
 remembered in Rockville. It was not only 
 powerful, but inimitable ; it was humorous, 
 pathetic, and eloquent. When he concluded, 
 the jury, which was composed mostly of 
 middle-aged men, was in tears. The feel 
 ings of the spectators were also wrought up 
 to a very high pitch, and when the jury 
 found a verdict of " not guilty," without re 
 tiring, the people in the court-room made 
 the old house ring again with applause. 
 
 And then something else occurred. Press 
 ing forward through the crowd came Colo 
 nel Benjamin Flewellen. His clothes were 
 a trifle shabby, but he had the air of a 
 prince of the blood. His long white hair 
 fell on his shoulders, and his movements 
 were as precise as those of a grenadier. The 
 spectators made way for him. Those near 
 est noticed that his eyes were moist, and 
 that his nether lip was a-tremble, but no 
 one made any remark. Colonel Flewellen 
 pressed forward until he reached Ananias, 
 who, scarcely comprehending the situation, 
 was sitting with his hands folded and his 
 head bent down. The colonel placed his 
 hand on the negro s shoulder. 
 
 " Come, boy," he said, " let s go home." 
 " Me, Marster? " said the negro, looking 
 
148 ANANIAS. 
 
 up with a dazed expression. It was the 
 tone, and not the words, that Ananias heard. 
 
 " Yes, old fellow, your Miss Nelly will be 
 waiting for us." 
 
 " Name er God ! " exclaimed Ananias, 
 and then he arose and followed his old 
 master out of the court-room. Those who 
 watched him as he went saw that the tears 
 were streaming down his face, but there was 
 no rude laughter when he made a futile at 
 tempt to wipe them off with his coat-tail. 
 This display of feeling on the part of the 
 negro was somewhat surprising to those who 
 witnessed it, but nobody was surprised when 
 Ananias appeared on the streets a few days 
 after with head erect and happiness in his 
 face. 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN? 
 
 Now, do you know you young people are 
 mighty queer ? Somebody has told you that 
 he heard old man Isaiah Winchell a-gab- 
 bling about old times, and here you come 
 fishing for what you call a story. Why, 
 bless your soul, man, it is no story at all, 
 just a happening, as my wife used to say. 
 If you want me to tell what there is of it, 
 there must be some understanding about it. 
 You know what ought to be put in print 
 and what ought to be left out. I would 
 know myself, I reckon, if I stopped to think 
 it all over ; but there s the trouble. When 
 I get started, I just rattle along like a run 
 away horse. I m all motion and no sense, 
 and there s no stopping me until I run over 
 a stump or up against a fence. And if I 
 tried to write it out, it would be pretty much 
 the same. When I take a pen in my hand 
 my mind takes all sorts of uncertain flights, 
 like a pigeon with a hawk after it. 
 
15 WHERE S D UNCAN f 
 
 As to the affair you were speaking of, 
 there s not much to tell, but it has pestered 
 me at times when I ought to have been in 
 my bed and sound asleep. I have told it a 
 thousand times, and the rest of the Win- 
 chells have told it, thinking it was a very 
 good thing to have in the family. It has 
 been exaggerated, too; but if I can carry 
 the facts to your ear just as they are in my 
 mind, I shall be glad, for I want to get 
 everything straight from the beginning. 
 
 Well, it was in 1826. That seems a long 
 time ago to you, but it is no longer than 
 yesterday to me. I was eighteen years old, 
 and a right smart chunk of a boy for rny 
 age. While we were ginning and packing 
 cotton our overseer left us, and my father 
 turned the whole business over to me. Now, 
 you may think that was a small thing, be 
 cause this railroad business has turned your 
 head, but, as a matter of fact, it was a very 
 big thing. It fell to me to superintend the 
 ginning and the packing of the cotton, and 
 then I was to go to Augusta in charge of 
 two wagons. I never worked harder before 
 nor since. You see we had no packing- 
 screws nor cotton-presses in those days. 
 The planter that was able to afford it had 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN* 151 
 
 his gin, and the cotton was packed in round 
 bales by a nigger who used something like a 
 crowbar to do the packing. He trampled 
 the lint cotton with his feet, and beat it 
 down with his iron bar until the bagging 
 was full, and then the bale weighed about 
 three hundred pounds. Naturally you laugh 
 at this sort of thing, but it was no laughing 
 matter ; it was hard work. 
 
 Well, when we got the cotton all pre 
 pared, we loaded the wagons and started for 
 Augusta. We had n t got more than two 
 miles from home, before I found that 
 Crooked -leg Jake, my best driver, was 
 drunk. He was beastly drunk. Where he 
 got his dram, I could n t tell you to save my 
 life, for it was against the law in those days 
 to sell whiskey to a nigger. But Crooked-leg 
 Jake had it and he was full of it, and he 
 had to be pulled off of the mule and sent to 
 roost on top of the cotton-bags. It was not 
 a very warm roost either, but it was warm 
 enough for a nigger full of whiskey. 
 
 This was not a good thing for me at all, 
 but I had to make the best of it. More 
 over, I had to do what I had never done be 
 fore I had to drive six mules, and there 
 was only one rein to drive them with. This 
 
152 WHERE S DUNCAN? 
 
 was the fashion, but it was a very difficult 
 matter for a youngster to get the hang of it. 
 You jerk, jerk, jerked, if you wanted the 
 lead mule to turn to the right, and you pull, 
 pull, pulled if you wanted her to go the left. 
 While we were going on in this way, with 
 a stubborn mule at the wheel and a drunken 
 nigger on the wagon, suddenly there came 
 out of the woods a thick-set, dark-featured, 
 black-bearded man with a bag slung across 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Hello ! " says he ; " you must be a new 
 hand." 
 
 " It would take a very old hand," said I, 
 " to train a team of mules to meet you in 
 the road." 
 
 " Now, there you have me," said he ; and 
 he laughed as if he were enjoying a very 
 good joke. 
 
 " Who hitched up your team ? " he asked. 
 
 " That drunken nigger," said I. 
 
 " To be sure," said he ; "I might have 
 known it. The lead -mule is on the off 
 side." 
 
 " Why, how do you know that ? " I asked. 
 
 " My two eyes tell me," he replied ; 
 " they are pulling crossways." And with 
 that, without asking anybody s permission, 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN? 153 
 
 he unhitched the traces, unbuckled the reins 
 and changed the places of the two front 
 mules. It was all done in a jiffy, and in 
 such a light-hearted manner that no protest 
 could be made ; and, indeed, no protest was 
 necessary, for the moment the team started 
 I could see that the stranger was right. 
 There was no more jerking and whipping to 
 be done. We went on in this way for a 
 mile or more, when suddenly I thought to 
 ask the stranger, who was trudging along 
 good-humoredly by the side of the wagon, if 
 he would like to ride. He laughed and said 
 he would n t mind it if I would let him 
 straddle the saddle-mule ; and for my part I 
 had no objections. 
 
 So I crawled up on the cotton and lay 
 there with Crooked-leg Jake. I had been 
 there only a short time when the nigger 
 awoke and saw me. He looked scared. 
 
 " Who dat drivin dem mules, Marse 
 Isaiah ? " he asked. 
 
 " I could n t tell you even if you were 
 sober," said I. " The lead-mule was hitched 
 on the off-side, and the man that is driving 
 rushed out of the woods, fixed her right, and 
 since then we have been making good time." 
 
 " Is he a sho nuff w ite man, Marse 
 Isaiah? " asked Jake. 
 
154 WHERE >S D UNCAN f 
 
 "Well, he looks like he is," said I; "but 
 I m not certain about that." 
 
 With that Jake crawled to the front of 
 the wagon, and looked over at the driver. 
 After a while he came crawling back. 
 
 " Tell me what you saw," said I. 
 
 " Well, sir," said he, " I dunner whe er 
 dat man s a w ite man or not, but he s a-set- 
 tin sideways on dat saddle-mule, en every 
 time he chirps, dat lead-mule know what he 
 talkin about. Yasser. She do dat. Did 
 you say he come outen de woods? " 
 
 " I don t know where he came from," said 
 I. " He s there, and he s driving the 
 mules." 
 
 " Yasser. Dat s so. He s dar sho , kaze 
 I seed im wid my own eyes. He look like 
 he made outen flesh en blood, en yit he 
 mought be a ha nt ; dey ain t no tellin . 
 Dem dar mules is gwine 011 mos too slick 
 fer ter suit me." 
 
 Well, the upshot of it was that the 
 stranger continued to drive. He made him 
 self useful during the day, and when night 
 came, he made himself musical ; for in the 
 pack slung across his back was a fiddle, and 
 in the manipulation of this instrument he 
 showed a power and a mastery which are 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN? 155 
 
 given to few men to possess. I doubt 
 whether he would have made much of a 
 show on the stage, but I have heard some of 
 your modern players, and none of them 
 could approach him, according to my taste. 
 1 11 tell you why. They all seem to play 
 the music for the music itself, but this man 
 played it for the sake of what it reminded 
 him of. I remember that when he took out 
 his fiddle at night, as he invariably did if 
 nobody asked him to, I used to shut my 
 eyes and dream dreams that I have never 
 dreamed since, and see visions that are 
 given to few men to see. If I were younger 
 I could describe it to you, but an old man 
 like me is not apt at such descriptions. 
 
 We journeyed on, and, as we journeyed, 
 we were joined by other wagons hauling 
 cotton, until, at last, there was quite a cara 
 van of them twenty, at least, and possi 
 bly more. This made matters very lively, 
 as you may suppose, especially at night, 
 when we went into camp. Then there were 
 scenes such as have never been described in 
 any of the books that profess to tell about 
 life in the South before the war. After 
 the teams had been fed and supper cooked, 
 the niggers would sing, dance and wrestle, 
 
156 WHERE S DUNCAN? 
 
 and the white men would gather to egg them 
 on, or sit by their fires and tell stories or 
 play cards. Sometimes there would be a 
 fight, and that was exciting ; for in those 
 days, the shotgun was mighty handy and the 
 dirk was usually within reach. In fact, 
 there was every amusement that such a 
 crowd of people could manage to squeeze out 
 of such an occasion. In our caravan there 
 were more than a dozen fiddlers, white and 
 black, but not one of them that attracted as 
 much attention as the stranger who drove 
 my team. When he was in the humor he 
 could entrance the whole camp ; but it was 
 not often that he would play, and it fre 
 quently happened that he and I would go to 
 bed under our wagon while the rest of the 
 teamsters were frolicking. I had discovered 
 that he was a good man to have along. He 
 knew just how to handle the mules, he knew 
 all the roads, he knew just where to camp, 
 and he knew how to keep Crooked-leg Jake 
 sober. One night after we had gone to bed 
 he raised himself on his elbow and said : 
 
 " To-morrow night, if I make no mistake, 
 we will camp within a few miles of the 
 Sandhills. There my journey ends, and yet 
 you have never asked me my name." 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN? 157 
 
 " Well," said I, " you are a much older 
 man than I am, and I had a notion that if 
 you wanted me to know your name you 
 would tell me. I had no more reason for 
 asking it than you have for hiding it." 
 
 He lay over on his back and laughed. 
 
 "You ll find out better than that when 
 you are older," he said, and then he con 
 tinued laughing though whether it was 
 what I said or his own thoughts that tickled 
 him, I had no means of knowing. 
 
 " Well," he went on, after a while, " you 
 are as clever a youngster as ever I met, and 
 I ? ve nothing to hide from you. My name 
 is Willis Featherstone, and I am simply a 
 vagabond, else you would never have seen 
 me trudging along the public road with only 
 a fiddle at my back; but I have a rich 
 daddy hereabouts, and I m 011 my way to 
 see how he is getting along. Now," he con 
 tinued, " I 11 give you a riddle. If you can t 
 unriddle it, it will unriddle itself. A father 
 had a son. He sent him to school in Au 
 gusta, until he was fifteen. By that time, 
 the father grew to hate the son, and one 
 day, in a fit of anger, sold him to a nigger 
 speculator." 
 
 " How could that be ? " I asked. 
 
158 WHERE S DUNCAN* 
 
 " That is a part of the riddle," said he. 
 
 " Are you the son? " 
 
 "That is another part of the same rid 
 dle." 
 
 " Where was the son s mother ? " I asked. 
 
 " In the riddle in the riddle," he re 
 plied. 
 
 I could not unriddle the riddle, but it 
 seemed to hint at some such villainy as I 
 had read about in the books in my father s 
 library. Here was a man who had sold his 
 son ; that was enough for me. It gave me 
 matter to dream on, and as I was a pretty 
 heavy feeder in those days, my dreams fol 
 lowed hard on each other. But it isn t 
 worth while to relate them here, for the 
 things that actually happened were infinitely 
 worse than any dream could be. 
 
 As Featherstone had foretold, we camped 
 the next night not far from the Sandhills, 
 where the rich people of Augusta went 
 every summer to escape the heat and malaria 
 of the city. We might have gone on and 
 reached Augusta during the night, but both 
 men and mules were tired, and of the entire 
 caravan only one wagon went forward. I 
 shall remember the place as long as I live. 
 In a little hollow, surrounded by live-oaks 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN? 159 
 
 we call them water-oaks up here was a 
 very bold spring, and around and about was 
 plenty of grass for the mules. It was some 
 what dry, the time being November, but it 
 made excellent forage. On a little hill be 
 yond the spring was a dwelling-house. I 
 came to have a pretty good view of it after 
 ward, but in the twilight it seemed to be a 
 very substantial building. It was painted 
 white and had green blinds, and it sat in 
 the midst of a beautiful grove of magnolias 
 and cedars. I remember, too, it is all 
 impressed on my mind so vividly that the 
 avenue leading to the house was lined on 
 each side with Lombardy poplars, and their 
 spindling trunks stood clearly out against 
 the sky. 
 
 While I was helping Featherstone un 
 hitch and unharness the mules, he suddenly 
 remarked : 
 
 "That s the place." 
 
 "What place?" I asked. 
 
 "The place the riddle tells about - 
 where the son was sold by his father." 
 
 " Well," said I, by way of saying some 
 thing, " what can t be cured must be en 
 dured." 
 
 " You are a very clever chap," he said, 
 
160 WHERE S DUNCAN? 
 
 after a while. " In fact you are the best 
 chap I have seen for many a long clay, and 
 I like you. I ve watched you like a hawk, 
 and I know you have a mother at home." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " and she s the dearest old 
 mother you ever saw. I wish you knew 
 her." 
 
 He came up to me, laid his hand on my 
 shoulder, and looked into my face with an 
 air I can never forget. 
 
 " That is the trouble," said he ; "I don t 
 know her. If I did I would be a better 
 man. I never had much of a mother." 
 
 With that he turned away, and soon I 
 heard him singing softly to himself as he 
 mended a piece of the harness. All this 
 time Crooked-leg Jake was cooking our sup 
 per beneath the live-oak trees. Other team 
 sters were doing the same, so that there 
 were two dozen camp-fires burning brightly 
 within an area of not more than a quarter 
 of a mile. The weather was pleasant, too, 
 and the whole scene struck me as particu 
 larly lively. 
 
 Crooked-leg Jake was always free-handed 
 with his cooking. He went at it with a 
 zest born of his own insatiate appetite, and 
 it was not long before we were through with 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN? 161 
 
 it ; and while the other campers were fum 
 ing and stewing over their cooking, Jake 
 was sitting by the fire nodding, and Feather- 
 stone was playing his fiddle. He never 
 played it better than he did that night, and 
 he played it a long time, while I sat listen 
 ing. Meanwhile quite a number of the 
 teamsters gathered around, some reclining in 
 the leaves smoking their pipes, and others 
 standing around in various positions. Sud 
 denly I discovered that Featherstone had a 
 new and an unexpected auditor. Just how 
 I discovered this I do not know; it must 
 have been proned in upon me, as the niggers 
 say. I observed that he gripped the neck of 
 his fiddle a little tighter, and suddenly he 
 swung off from " Money-musk " into one of 
 those queer serenades which you have heard 
 now and again on the plantation. Where 
 the niggers ever picked up such tunes the 
 Lord only knows, but they are heart-break 
 ing ones. 
 
 Following the glance of Featherstone s 
 eyes, I looked around, and I saw, standing 
 within the circle of teamsters, a tall mulatto 
 woman. She was a striking figure as she 
 stood there gazing with all her eyes, and 
 listening with all her ears. Her hair was 
 
162 WHERE S DUNCAN? 
 
 black and straight as that of an Indian, her 
 cheeks were sunken, and there was that in 
 her countenance that gave her a wolfish as 
 pect. As she stood there rubbing her skinny 
 hands together and moistening her thin lips 
 with her tongue, she looked like one dis 
 traught. When Featherstoue stopped play 
 ing, pretending to be timing his fiddle, the 
 mulatto woman drew a long breath, and 
 made an effort to smile. Her thin lips fell 
 apart and her white teeth gleamed in the 
 firelight like so many fangs. Finally she 
 spoke, and it was an ungracious speech : 
 
 "Ole Giles Featherstone, up yonder 
 he s my marster he sont me down here 
 an tole me to tell you-all dat, bein s he got 
 some vittles lef over f um dinner, he 11 be 
 glad ef some un you would come take sup 
 per long wid im. But, gentermens " 
 here she lowered her voice, giving it a most 
 tragic tone " you better not go, kaze he 
 ain t got nothin up dar dat s fittin ter eat 
 some cole scraps an de frame uv a tur 
 key. He scrimps hisse f, an he scrimps 
 me, an he scrimps eve ybody on de place, 
 an he 11 scrimp you-all ef you go dar. No, 
 gentermens, ef you des got corn-bread an 
 bacon you better stay way. 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN* 163 
 
 Whatever response the teamsters might 
 have made was drowned by Featherstone s 
 fiddle, which plunged suddenly into the 
 wild and plaintive strains of a plantation 
 melody. The mulatto woman stood like 
 one entranced ; she caught her breath, drew 
 back a few steps, stretched forth her ebony 
 arms, and cried out : 
 
 " Who de name er God is dat man ? " 
 
 With that Featherstone stopped his play 
 ing, fixed his eyes on the woman, and ex 
 claimed : 
 
 " Where s Duncan f " 
 
 For a moment the woman stood like one 
 paralyzed. She gasped for breath, her 
 arms jerked convulsively, and there was a 
 twitching of the muscles of her face pitiful 
 to behold ; then she rushed forward and fell 
 on her knees at the fiddler s feet, hugging 
 his legs with her arms. 
 
 " Honey, who is you ? " she cried in a 
 loud voice. " In de name er de Lord, who 
 is you ! Does you know me ? Say, honey, 
 does you ? " 
 
 Featherstone looked at the writhing wo 
 man serenely. 
 
 " Come, now," he said, " I ask you once 
 more, Where s Duncan ? " 
 
164 WHERE S DUNCAN? 
 
 His tone was most peculiar : it was thrill 
 ing, indeed, and it had a tremendous effect 
 on the woman. She rose to her feet, flung 
 her bony arms above her head, and ran off 
 into the darkness, screaming : 
 
 " He sold im ! he sold Duncan ! He 
 sold my onliest boy ! " 
 
 This she kept on repeating as she ran, 
 and her voice died away like an echo in the 
 direction of the house on the hill. There 
 was not much joking among the teamsters 
 over this episode, and somehow there was 
 very little talk of any kind. None of us ac 
 cepted the invitation. Featherstone put his 
 fiddle in his bag, and walked off toward the 
 wagons, and it was not long before every 
 body had turned in for the night. 
 
 I suppose I had been asleep an hour when 
 I felt some one shaking me by the shoulder. 
 It was Crooked-leg Jake. 
 
 " Marse Isaiah," said he, " dey er cuttin 
 up a mighty rippit up dar at dat house on de 
 hill. I spec somebody better go up dar." 
 
 " What are they doing ? " I asked him 
 drowsily. 
 
 " Dey er cussin an gwine on scan lous. 
 Dat ar nigger oman, she s a-cussin out de 
 white man, an de white man, he s a-cussin 
 back at her," 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN* 165 
 
 "Where s Featherstone ? " I inquired, 
 still not more than half awake. 
 
 " Dat what make me come atter you, suh. 
 Dat white man what bin long wid us, he s 
 up dar, an it look like ter me dat he s a- 
 aggin de fuss on. Dey gwine ter be 
 trouble up dar, sho ez you er born." 
 
 "Bosh!" said I, "the woman s master 
 will call her up, give her a strapping, and 
 that will be the end of it." 
 
 " No, suh ! no, suh ! " exclaimed Jake ; 
 " dat ar nigger oman done got dat white 
 man hacked. Hit s des like I tell you, 
 
 mon! 
 
 I drove Jake off to bed, turned over on 
 my pallet, and was about to go to sleep 
 again, when I heard quite a stir in the camp. 
 The mules and horses were snorting and tug 
 ging at their halters, the chickens on the 
 hill were cackling, and somewhere near, a 
 flock of geese was screaming. Just then 
 Crooked-leg Jake came and shook me by 
 the shoulder again. I spoke to him some 
 what sharply, but he did n t seem to mind 
 it. 
 
 "What I tell you, Marse Isaiah?" he 
 cried. "Look up yonder! Ef dat house 
 ain t afire on top, den Jake s a liar ! 
 
166 WHERE S DUNCAN? 
 
 I turned on my elbow, and, sure enough, 
 the house on the hill was outlined in flame. 
 The hungry, yellow tongues of fire reached 
 up the corners and ran along the roof, lapping 
 the shingles, here and there, as if blindly 
 searching for food. They found it, too, for 
 by the time I reached the spot, and you 
 may be sure I was not long getting there, the 
 whole roof was in a blaze. I had never seen 
 a house on fire before, and the sight of it 
 made me quake ; but in a moment I had for 
 gotten all about the fire, for there, right be 
 fore my eyes, was a spectacle that will haunt 
 me to my dying day. In the dining-room 
 I suppose it must have been the dining-room, 
 for there was a sideboard with a row of can 
 dles on it I saw the mulatto woman (the 
 same that had acted so queerly when Feather- 
 stone had asked her about Duncan) engaged 
 in an encounter with a gray-haired white 
 man. The candles on the sideboard and the 
 flaring flames without lit up the affair until it 
 looked like some of the spectacles I have since 
 seen in theatres, only it was more terrible. 
 
 It was plain that the old man was no 
 match for the woman, but he fought man 
 fully for his life. Whatever noise they made 
 must have been drowned by the crackling 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN? 167 
 
 and roaring of the flames outside ; but they 
 seemed to be making none except a snarling 
 sound when they caught their breath, like 
 two bull-dogs fighting. The woman had a 
 carving-knife in her right hand, and she was 
 endeavoring to push the white man against 
 the wall. He, on his side, was trying to 
 catch and hold the hand in which the woman 
 held the knife, and was also making a fran 
 tic effort to keep away from the wall. But 
 the woman had the advantage ; she was 
 younger and stronger, and desperate as he 
 was, she was more desperate still. 
 
 Of course, it is a very easy matter to 
 ask why some of my companions or myself 
 did n t rush to the rescue. I think such an 
 attempt was made; but the roof of the 
 house was ablaze and crackling from one end 
 to the other, and the heat and smoke were 
 stifling. The smoke and flames, instead of 
 springing upward, ranged downward, so that 
 before anything could be done, the build 
 ing appeared to be a solid sheet of fire ; but 
 through it all could be seen the writhing and 
 wrestling of the nigger woman and the white 
 man. Once, and only once, did I catch the 
 sound of a voice ; it was the voice of the nig 
 ger woman ; she had her carving-knife raised 
 
168 WHERE S DUNCAN* 
 
 in the air in one hand, and with the other 
 she had the white man by the throat. 
 
 " Where s Duncan?" she shrieked. 
 
 If the man had been disposed to reply, he 
 had no opportunity, for the woman had no 
 sooner asked the question than she plunged 
 the carving-knife into his body, not only once, 
 but twice. It was a sickening sight, indeed, 
 and I closed my eyes to avoid seeing any 
 more of it; but there was no need of that, 
 for the writhing and struggling bodies of the 
 two fell to the floor and so disappeared from 
 sight. 
 
 Immediately afterward there was a tre 
 mendous crash. The roof had fallen in, and 
 this was followed by an eruption of sparks 
 and smoke and flame, accompanied by a 
 violent roaring noise that sounded like the 
 culmination of a storm. It was so loud that 
 it aroused the pigeons on the place, and a 
 great flock of them began circling around 
 the burning building. Occasionally one more 
 frightened than the rest would dart head 
 long into the flames, and it was curious to 
 see the way it disappeared. There would 
 be a fizz and a sputter, and the poor bird 
 would be burnt harder than a crackling. I 
 observed this and other commonplace things 
 
WHERE S DUNCAN* 169 
 
 with unusual interest an interest sharp 
 ened, perhaps, by the fact that there could 
 be no hope for the two human beings on 
 whom the roof had fallen. 
 
 Naturally, you will want to ask me a great 
 many questions. I have asked them myself 
 a thousand times, and I ve tried to dream 
 the answers to them while I sat dozing here 
 in the sun, but when I dream about the af 
 fair at all, the fumes of burning flesh seem 
 to fill my nostrils. Crooked-leg Jake in 
 sisted to the day of his death that the man 
 who had driven our team sat in a chair 
 in the corner of the dining-room, while the 
 woman and the man were fighting, and 
 seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. It 
 may be so. At any rate none of us ever 
 saw him again. As for the rest, you know 
 just as much about it as I do. 
 
MOM BI: 
 
 HER FRIENDS AND HER ENEMIES. 
 
 THE little town of Fairleigh, in South 
 Carolina, was a noted place before the 
 war, whatever it may be now. It had its 
 atmosphere, as Judge Waynecroft used to 
 say, and that atmosphere was one of distinc 
 tion. It was a very quiet town, but there 
 was something aristocratic, something ex 
 clusive, even in its repose. It was a rough 
 wind that could disturb the stateliness of 
 the live oaks with which the streets were 
 lined, and it was indeed an inhospitable 
 winter that could suppress the tendency of 
 the roses to bloom. 
 
 Fairleigh made no public boast that it 
 was not a commercial town, but there can 
 be no doubt that it prided itself on the fact. 
 Even the piney-woods crackers found a slow 
 market there for the little " truck " they had 
 to sell, for it was the custom of the people 
 to get their supplies of all kinds from " the 
 
MOM BI. 171 
 
 city." It was to " the city," indeed, that 
 Fairleigh owed its prominence, and its in 
 habitants were duly mindful of that fact. 
 
 As late as 1854 there was no more insig 
 nificant village in South Carolina than Fair 
 leigh ; but in the summer of that year the 
 fever plague flapped its yellow wings above 
 Charleston, and the wealthier families 
 sought safety in flight. Some went North 
 and some went West ; some went one way 
 and some another ; but the choice few, fol 
 lowing the example of Judge Waynecroft, 
 went no further than Fairleigh, which was 
 far enough in the interior to be out of reach 
 of the contagion. 
 
 They found the situation of the little vil 
 lage so convenient, and its climate so per 
 fect, that they proceeded still following 
 the example of Judge Waynecroft to build 
 summer homes there ; and in time Fairleigh 
 became noted as a resort for the wealthiest 
 and most refined people of Charleston. 
 
 Of this movement, as has been intima 
 ted, Judge Waynecroft was the pioneer; 
 and for this and other reasons he was highly 
 esteemed by the natives of Fairleigh. To 
 their minds the Judge was an able and a 
 public-spirited citizen, whom it was their 
 
172 MOM SI. 
 
 pleasure to admire. In addition to this, he 
 had a most charming household, in which 
 simplicity lent grace to dignity. 
 
 There was one feature of Judge Wayne- 
 croft s household, however, which the natives 
 of Fairleigh did not admire, and that was 
 " Mom Bi." Perhaps they were justified 
 in this. Mom Bi was a negro woman, who 
 appeared to be somewhat past middle age, 
 just how far past no one could guess. She 
 was tall and gaunt, and her skin was black 
 as jet. She walked rapidly, but with a side- 
 wise motion, as if she had been overtaken 
 with rheumatism or partial paralysis. Her 
 left arm was bent and withered, and she 
 carried it in front of her and across her 
 body, as one would hold an infant. Her 
 head-handkerchief was queerly tied. The 
 folds of it stood straight up in the air, giv 
 ing her the appearance of a black Amazon. 
 This impression was heightened by the pe 
 culiar brightness of her eyes. They were 
 not large eyes, but they shone like those 
 of a wild animal that is not afraid of the 
 hunter. Her nose was not flat, nor were her 
 lips thick like those of the typical negro. 
 Her whole appearance was aggressive. 
 Moreover, her manner was abrupt, and her 
 
MOM BL 173 
 
 tongue sharp, especially when it was leveled 
 at any of the natives of Fairleigh. 
 
 To do Mom Bi justice, her manner was 
 abrupt and her tongue sharp even in her 
 master s family, but there these matters 
 were understood. Practically, she ruled 
 the household, and though she quarreled 
 from morning till night, and sometimes far 
 into the night, everything she said was 
 taken in a Pickwickian sense. She was an 
 old family servant who not only had large 
 privileges, but was defiantly anxious to take 
 advantage of all of them. 
 
 Whatever effect slavery may have had on 
 other negroes, or on negroes in general, it 
 is certain that Mom Bi s spirit remained 
 unbroken. Whoever crossed her in the 
 least, white or black, old or young, got "a 
 piece of her mind," and it was usually a 
 very large piece. Naturally enough, under 
 the circumstances, Mom Bi soon became as 
 well known in Fairleigh and in all the re 
 gion round about as any of the " quality 
 people." To some, her characteristics were 
 intensely irritating; while to others they 
 were simply amusing ; but to all she was a 
 unique figure, superior in her methods and 
 ideas to the common run of negroes. 
 
174 MOM BL 
 
 Once, after having a quarrel with her 
 mistress a quarrel which was a one-sided 
 affair, however Mom Bi heard one of the 
 house girls making an effort to follow her 
 example. The girl was making some im 
 pertinent remarks to her mistress, when 
 Mom Bi seized a dog-whip that was hanging 
 in the hall, and used it with such effect that 
 the pert young wench remembered it for 
 many a long day. 
 
 This was Mom Bi s way. She was ready 
 enough to quarrel with each and every mem 
 ber of her master s family, but she was 
 ready to defend the entire household against 
 any and all comers. Altogether she was a 
 queer combination of tyrant and servant, of 
 virago and " mammy." Yet her master 
 and mistress appreciated and respected her, 
 and the children loved her. Her strong 
 individuality was not misunderstood by 
 those who knew her best. 
 
 No one knew just how old she was, and 
 no one knew her real name. Probably no 
 one cared : but there was a tradition in the 
 Waynecroft family that her name was Viola, 
 and that it had been corrupted by the chil 
 dren into Bi Mom Bi. As to her age, it 
 is sufficient to say that she was the self- 
 
MOM BI. 175 
 
 constituted repository of the oral history of 
 three generations of the family. She was a 
 young woman when her master s grandfather 
 died in 1799. Good, bad or indifferent, 
 Mom Bi knew all about the family ; and 
 there were passages in the careers of some 
 of its members that she was fond of retail 
 ing to her master and mistress, especially 
 when in a bad humor. 
 
 Insignificant as she was, Mom Bi made 
 her influence felt in Fairleigh. She was re 
 spected in her master s family for her hon 
 esty and faithfulness, but outsiders shrank 
 from her frank and fearless criticism. The 
 " sandhillers " the tackies that mar 
 keted their poor little crops in and around 
 the village, were the special objects of her 
 aversion, and she lost no opportunity of 
 harassing them. Whether these queer peo 
 ple regarded Mom Bi as a humorist of the 
 grimmer sort, or whether they were indiffer 
 ent to her opinions, it would be difficult to 
 say, but it is certain that her remarks, no 
 matter how personal or bitter, made little 
 impression on them. The men would rub 
 their thin beards, nudge each other and 
 laugh silently, while the women would push 
 their sunbonnets back and stare at her as if 
 
176 MOM BL 
 
 she were some rare curiosity on exhibition. 
 At such times Mom Bi would laugh loudly 
 and maliciously, and cry out in a shrill and 
 an irritating tone : 
 
 " De Lord know, I glad I nigger. Ef I 
 ain t bin born black, dee ain t no tellin, what 
 I mought bin born. I mought bin born lak 
 some deze white folks what eat dirt un set 
 in de chimerly-corner tell dee look lak dee 
 bin smoke-dried. De Lord know what 
 make Jesse Waynecroft fetch he famerly 
 mongst folk lak deze." 
 
 This was mildness itself compared with 
 some of Mom Bi s harangues later on, when 
 the" sandhillers," urged by some of the ener 
 getic citizens of the village, were forming a 
 military company to be offered to the Gover 
 nor of Virginia for the defense of that 
 State. This was in the summer of 1861. 
 There was a great stir in the South. The 
 martial spirit of the people had been aroused 
 by the fiery eloquence of the political lead 
 ers, and the volunteers were mustering in 
 every town and village. The " sandhillers " 
 were not particularly enthusiastic they 
 had but vague ideas of the issues at stake 
 but the military business was something 
 new to them, and therefore alluring. They 
 
MOM BI. 177 
 
 volunteered readily if not cheerfully, and it 
 was not long before there was a company of 
 them mustering under the name of the Rifle 
 Rangers an attractive title to the ear if 
 not to the understanding. 
 
 Mom Bi was very much interested in the 
 maneuvers of the Rifle Rangers. She 
 watched them with a scornful and a critical 
 eye. Even in their uniforms, which were 
 of the holiday pattern, their appearance was 
 the reverse of soldierly. They were hollow- 
 chested and round-shouldered, and exceed 
 ingly awkward in all their movements. 
 Their maneuvers on the outskirts of the 
 village, accompanied by the music of fife 
 and drum, always drew a crowd of idlers, 
 and among these interested spectators Mom 
 Bi was usually to be found. 
 
 " Dee gwine fight," she would say to the 
 Waynecroft children, in her loud and rasping- 
 voice. " Dee gwine kill folks right un left. 
 Look at um! I done git skeer d myse f, 
 dee look so vigrous. Ki ! dee gwine eat 
 dem Yankee up fer true. I sorry fer dem 
 Yankee, un I skeer d fer myse f! When 
 dee smell dem vittle what dem Yankee got, 
 t is good-by, Yankee ! Look at um, honey ! 
 dee gwine fight fer rich folks nigger." 
 
178 MOM BL 
 
 The drilling and mustering went on, how 
 ever, and Mom Bi was permitted to say 
 what she pleased. Some laughed at her, 
 others regarded her with something like su 
 perstitious awe, while a great many thought 
 she was merely a harmless simpleton. 
 Above all, she was Judge Waynecroft s 
 family servant, and this fact was an ample 
 apology in Fairleigh and its environs for 
 anything that she might say. 
 
 The mustering of the " sandhillers " irri 
 tated Mom Bi; but when the family re 
 turned to Charleston in the winter, the 
 preparations for war that she saw going on 
 made a definite and profound impression on 
 her. At night she would go into her mis 
 tress s room, sit on the hearth in a corner of 
 the fire-place, and watch the fire in the 
 grate. Nursing her withered arm, she 
 would sit silent for an hour at a time, and 
 when she did speak it seemed as if her 
 tongue had lost something of its character 
 istic asperity. 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Waynecroft, on one 
 occasion, " that Mom Bi is getting religion." 
 
 " Well, she 11 never get it any younger," 
 the Judge replied. 
 
 Mom Bi, sitting in her corner, pretended 
 
MOM BI. 179 
 
 not to hear, but after a while she said : " Ef 
 de Lord call me in de chu ch, I gwine ; ef 
 he no call I no gwine enty ? I no yerry 
 him call dis long time." 
 
 " Well," remarked the Judge, " some 
 thing has cooled you off and toned you 
 down, and I was in hopes you were in the 
 mourners seat." 
 
 " Huh ! " exclaimed Mom Bi. " How 
 come I gwine go in mourner seat? What 
 I gwine do in dey ? " Then pointing to a 
 portrait of Gabriel Waynecroft hanging over 
 the mantel, she cried out : " Wey he bin 
 gone at?" 
 
 Gabriel was the eldest son, the hope and 
 pride of the family. The Judge and his 
 wife looked at each other. 
 
 " I think you know where he has gone," 
 said Mrs. Waynecroft, gently. " He has 
 gone to fight for his country." 
 
 "Huh ! " the old woman grunted Then, 
 after a pause, "Wey dem san hillers bin 
 gone at ? Wey de country what dee fight 
 fer?" 
 
 "Why, what are you talking about?" 
 said Judge Waynecroft, who had been lis 
 tening behind his newspaper. " This is their 
 country too, and they have gone to fight for 
 it." 
 
180 MOM BL 
 
 " Longside dat boy ? " Mom Bi asked. 
 Her voice rose as she pointed at Gabriel s 
 picture. 
 
 " Why, certainly," said the Judge. 
 
 " Pishou ! " exclaimed Mom Bi, with a 
 hiss that was the very essence of scorn, con 
 tempt and unbelief. "Oona nee n tell me 
 dat ting. I nuttin but nigger fer true, but 
 I know better dun dat. I bin iiuss dat boy, 
 un I know um troo un troo. Dat boy, e 
 cut e t roat fus fo e fight longside dem 
 trash. When e be en tell-a you e gwine 
 fight longside dem whut de Lord done fer- 
 sooken dis long time ? " 
 
 The Judge smiled, but Mrs. Waynecroft 
 looked serious; Mom Bi rocked backward 
 and forward, as if nursing her withered 
 arm. 
 
 " Whut dem po white trash gwiue fight 
 fer? Nuttin tall ain t bin tell me dat. 
 Dee ain t bin had no nigger; dee ain t bin 
 had no money ; dee ain t bin had no Ian ; 
 dee ain t bin had nuttin t all. Un den pun 
 top er dat, yer come folks fer tell me dat 
 dat boy gwine fight longside dem creeturs." 
 
 Mom Bi laughed loudly, and shook her 
 long finger at the portrait of young Gabriel 
 Waynecroft. As a work of art the portrait 
 
MOM BL 181 
 
 was a failure, having been painted by an 
 ambitious amateur ; but, crude as it was, 
 it showed a face of wonderful refinement. 
 The features were as delicate as those of 
 a woman, with the exception of the chin, 
 which was full and firm. The eyes, large 
 and lustrous, gazed from the canvas with a 
 suggestion of both tenderness and fearless 
 ness. 
 
 During the long and dreary days that fol 
 loweddays of waiting, days of suffering 
 and of sorrow there were many changes 
 in the Waynecroft household, but Mom Bi 
 held her place. She remained as virile and 
 as active as ever. If any change was notice 
 able it was that her temper was more uncer 
 tain and her voice shriller. All her talk 
 was about the war ; and as the contest wore 
 on, with no perceptible advantage to the 
 Confederates, she assumed the character and 
 functions of a prophetess. Among the ne 
 groes, especially those who had never come 
 in familiar contact with the whites, she was 
 looked upon as a person to be feared and 
 respected. Naturally, they argued that any 
 black who talked to the white people as 
 Mom Bi did must possess at least sufficient 
 occult power to escape punishment. 
 
182 MOM BL 
 
 Sometimes, in the pleasant weather, while 
 walking with her mistress and the children 
 on the battery at Charleston she would reach 
 forth her hand and exclaim : 
 
 "Oona see dem wharfs? Dee gwine be 
 fill wid Yankee ships ! Dee gwine sail right 
 stret up, un nuttin t all gwine stop um." 
 
 Then, turning to the town, she would say : 
 
 " Oona see dem street ? Dee gwine fair 
 swarm wid Yankee ! Dee gwine march troo 
 urn, un nuttin t all gwine stop um. Oona 
 see dem gang er nigger down dey? Dee 
 gwine be free, un nuttin t all gwine stop um. 
 Dee 1 be free, un ole Bi gwine be free. Ah, 
 Lord ! when de drum start fer beat, un de 
 trumpet start fer blow, de white folks gwine 
 los de nigger. Ki ! I mos yeddy dem now." 
 
 This was repeated, not once, but hundreds 
 of times in the house and on the streets, 
 wherever Mom Bi went. At the mafket, 
 while the venders were weighing out sup 
 plies for the Waynecroft household, Mom 
 Bi would take advantage of the occasion to 
 preach a sermon about the war and to utter 
 prophecies about the freedom of the negroes. 
 Her fearlessness was her best protection. 
 Those whe heard her had no doubt that she 
 was a lunatic, and so she was allowed to 
 
MOM SI. 183 
 
 come and go in peace, at a time when the 
 great mass of the negroes were under the 
 strictest surveillance. It made no difference 
 to Mom Bi, however, whether one or a thou 
 sand eyes were watching her, or whether the 
 whole world thought she was crazy. She 
 was in earnest, and thus presented a specta 
 cle that is rarer than a great many people 
 are willing to admit. 
 
 The old woman went her way, affording 
 amusement to some and to others food for 
 thought ; and the rest of the world went its 
 way, especially that part of it that was 
 watching events from rifle-pits and trenches. 
 To those at home the years seemed to drag, 
 though they went fast enough, no doubt, for 
 those at the front. They went fast enough 
 to mark some marvelous changes and devel 
 opments. Hundreds of thousands of times, 
 it happened that a gun fired in Virginia 
 sorely wounded the hearts of a household 
 far away. 
 
 On the Shenandoah, one night, a sharp 
 shooter in blue heard the clatter of a horse s 
 hoofs on the turnpike, and the jangling of 
 sword, spurs and bit. As the horseman 
 came into view in the moonlight, the sharp 
 shooter leveled his rifle. There was a flash. 
 
184 MOM ST. 
 
 a puff of smoke, and a report that broke 
 into a hundred crackling echoes on the still 
 night air. The horse that had been held so 
 well in hand galloped wildly away with an 
 empty saddle. The comrades of the caval 
 ryman, who had been following him at a 
 little distance, rushed forward at the report 
 of the gun, and found their handsome young 
 officer lying in the road, dead. They scoured 
 the country for some distance around, but 
 they saw nothing and heard nothing, and 
 finally they lifted the dead soldier to a 
 horse, and carried him back to their camp. 
 
 The sharpshooter had aimed only at the 
 dashing young cavalryman, but his shot 
 struck a father and a mother in Charleston, 
 and an old negro woman who was supposed 
 to be crazy ; and the wounds that it made 
 were grievous. The cavalryman was young 
 Gabriel Waynecroft, and with the ending of 
 his life the hope and expectations of the 
 family seemed to be blotted out. He had 
 been the darling of the household, the pride 
 of his father, the joy of his mother, and the 
 idol of Mom Bi. When the news of his 
 death came, the grief of the household took 
 the shape of consternation. It was terrible 
 to behold. The mother was prostrated and 
 
MOM BL 185 
 
 the father crushed. Their sorrow was voice 
 less. Mom Bi went about wringing her 
 hands and moaning and talking to herself 
 day after day. 
 
 Once, Judge Waynecroft, passing through 
 the hall in slippered feet, thought he heard 
 voices in the sitting-room. In an aimless 
 way, he glanced in the room, and the sight 
 made him pause. Mom Bi was sitting in 
 the middle of the room in a low chair, gaz 
 ing at the portrait of Gabriel Waynecroft, 
 and talking to it. She spoke in a soft and 
 tender tone, in strange contrast to the usual 
 rasping and irritating quality of her voice. 
 
 " Look at me, honey," she was saying ; 
 " look at you ole nigger mammy ! Whut 
 make dee lef you f er go way down, dey wey 
 one folks kill turrer folks ? Tell de ole nig 
 ger mammy dat, honey. Whaffer dee no 
 lef dem no count san hillers fer do all de 
 fightin ? Who gwine fer cry wun dee git 
 kilt? Fightin fer nigger! Whaffer you 
 daddy no sen he niggers fer fight ? De 
 Lord know dee plenty un um. Nummine, 
 honey ! T aint gwine fer be long, fo dee 11 
 all know whut de Lord know, un whut ole 
 Bi know. Gi um time, honey ! des gi um 
 time ! " 
 
186 MOM EL 
 
 Judge Waynecroft turned away with a 
 groan. To behold the bewildered grief of 
 this old negro woman was to add a new 
 pang to his own sorrow. Mom Bi paused, 
 but did not turn her head. She heard her 
 master pass down the hall with uncertain 
 step, and then she heard the library door 
 shut. 
 
 " Tis de gospel troot e bin yeddy me 
 preachin , she exclaimed. Then she turned 
 again to the portrait and gazed at it stead 
 ily and in silence for a long while, rocking 
 herself and nursing her withered arm. 
 
 When the body of Gabriel Waynecroft 
 was brought home, Mom Bi kneeled on the 
 floor at the foot of the coffin and stayed 
 there, giving utterance to the wildest lamen 
 tations. Some friend or acquaintance of the 
 family made an attempt to remove her. 
 
 " This will never do," he said kindly, but 
 firmly. "You must get up and go away. 
 The noise you are making distresses and dis 
 turbs the family." 
 
 Trembling with mingled grief and rage, 
 Mom Bi turned upon the officious person. 
 
 " I ain t, I ain t, I ain t ! " she almost 
 shrieked. " I gwine fer stay right wey I is. 
 Take you han fum off me, man ! I bin cry 
 
MOM BI. 187 
 
 on count dat chile mos fo he own mammy 
 is. I bin nuss um, I bin worry wid um, I 
 bin stay wake wid um wun ev body wuz 
 sleep, un I bin hoF um in my lap day un 
 night, wun e sick un wun e well. I ain t 
 gwine out ! I ain t ! I ain t ! " 
 
 In fine, Mom Bi made a terrible scene, 
 and the officious person who wanted to drive 
 her out was glad to get out himself, which 
 he was compelled to do in order to escape 
 the clamor that he had unwittingly raised. 
 
 The death and burial of Gabriel Wayne- 
 croft was a gloomy episode in Mom Bi s ex 
 perience, and it left its marks upon her. 
 She lost none of her old-time vigor, but her 
 temper became almost unbearable. She was 
 surly, irritable and sometimes violent, espe 
 cially toward the negroes on the place, who 
 regarded her with a superstitious fear that 
 would be difficult to explain or describe. 
 Left to herself she did well enough. She 
 loved to sit in the sun and talk to herself. 
 The other negroes had a theory that she 
 saw spirits and conversed with them; but 
 they were welcome to their theories, so far 
 as Mom Bi was concerned, provided they 
 did n t pester her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sherman s army was march- 
 
188 MOM BI. 
 
 ing through Georgia to Savannah, and in 
 Virginia Grant was arranging the plans of 
 his last campaign. Savannah fell, and then 
 came the information that Sherman s army 
 was moving on Charleston. The city could 
 be defended in only one direction : all its 
 bristles pointed seaward ; and the Confeder 
 ate troops prepared to evacuate. All these 
 movements were well known to the negroes, 
 especially to Mom Bi, and she made use of 
 her information to renew her prophecies. 
 She stood in the porch of her master s house 
 and watched the Confederates file by, greet 
 ing them occasionally with irritating com 
 ment. 
 
 " Hi ! Wey you gwine ? Whaif er you no 
 stop f er tell folks good-by ? Nummine ! 
 Dem Yankee buckra, dee gwine shaky you 
 by de han . Dee mek you hot fer true. 
 Wey you no stop fer see de nigger come 
 free?" 
 
 Most of Mom Bi s prophecies came true. 
 Sherman marched northward, and then came 
 Appomattox. One day, shortly after the 
 surrender, Mom Bi appeared before Judge 
 Waynecroft and his wife rigged out in her 
 best clothes. She was rather more subdued 
 than usual. She entered the room, and then 
 
MOM BL 189 
 
 stood still, looking first at one and then at 
 the other. 
 
 "Well, Bi," said the Judge, kindly, 
 u what can we do for you ? " 
 
 " Nuttin t all. I gwine down dey at Sa- 
 wanny, wey my daughter is bin live." 
 
 " Do you mean Maria ? " 
 
 " My daughter Ria, w at you bin sell to 
 John Waynecroft. I gwine down dey wey 
 she live at." 
 
 " Why, you are too old to be gadding 
 about," said the Judge. " Why not stay 
 here where you have a comfortable home ? " 
 
 " I think you are very foolish to even 
 dream of such a thing, Mom Bi. Maria is 
 not able to take care of you." 
 
 " I gwine down dey wey my daughter bin 
 live at," persisted Mom Bi. Then she 
 looked at the portrait of Gabriel Wayne- 
 croft. The beautiful boyish face seemed to 
 arouse her. Turning suddenly, she ex 
 claimed : 
 
 " De Lord know I done bin fergive you- 
 all fer sellin Ria way fum me. De Lord 
 know I is ! Wun I bin see you set down 
 un let dat chile go off fer git kill " Mom 
 Bi pointed her long and quivering finger at 
 Gabriel s portrait " wun I see dis, I say 
 
190 MOM EL 
 
 4 hush up, nigger ! don t bodder bout Ria. 
 De Lord know I done bin fergive you ! " 
 
 With this Mom Bi turned to the door 
 and passed out. 
 
 " Won t you tell us good-by ? " the Judge 
 asked. 
 
 " I done bin fergive you," said Mom Bi. 
 
 " I think you might tell us good-by," said 
 Mrs. Waynecroft, with tears in her eyes and 
 voice. 
 
 " I done bin fergive you," was the answer. 
 
 This was in June. One morning months 
 afterward Judge Waynecroft was informed 
 by a policeman that a crazy old negro wo 
 man had been arrested in the cemetery. 
 
 " She is continually talking about Gabriel 
 Waynecroft," said the officer, " and the 
 Captain thought you might know something 
 about her. She s got the temper of Old 
 Harry," he continued, " and old and crippled 
 as she is, she s as strong as a bull yearling." 
 
 It was Mom Bi, and she was carried to 
 her old master s home. Little by little she 
 told the story of her visit to Savannah. She 
 found her daughter and her family in a 
 most deplorable condition. The children 
 had the small-pox, and finally Maria was 
 seized with the disease. For lack of food 
 
MOM BL 191 
 
 and proper attention they all died, and Mom 
 Bi found herself alone and friendless in a 
 strange city. How she managed to make 
 her way back home it is impossible to say, 
 but she returned. 
 
 The Mom Bi who returned, however, was 
 not the same Mom Bi that went away. Old 
 age had overtaken her in Savannah. Her 
 eyes were hollow, her face was pinched and 
 shrunken, the flesh on her bones had shriv 
 eled, and her limbs shook as with the palsy. 
 When she was helped into the house that 
 had so long been her home she looked 
 around at the furniture and the walls. Fi 
 nally her eyes rested on the portrait of Ga 
 briel Waynecroft. She smiled a little and 
 then said feebly : 
 
 " I done bin come back. I bin come back 
 fer stay ; but I free, dough ! " 
 
 In a little while she was freer still. She 
 had passed beyond the reach of mortal care 
 or pain ; and, as in the old days, she went 
 without bidding her friends good-by. 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 I. 
 
 ONE Saturday afternoon in the spring of 
 1876, as Farmer Joe-Bob Grissom was on 
 his way to Hillsborough for the purpose of 
 hearing the news and having an evening s 
 chat with his town acquaintances, as was 
 his invariable custom at the close of the 
 week, he saw, as he passed the old Bas- 
 com Place, an old gentleman and a young 
 lady walking slowly along the road. The 
 old gentleman was tall and thin, and had sil 
 very white hair. He wore a high-crowned, 
 wide-brimmed felt hat, and his clothes, 
 though neat, were too glossy to be new. 
 The young lady was just developing into 
 womanhood. She had a striking face and 
 figure. Her eyes were large and brilliantly 
 black; her hair, escaping from under her 
 straw hat with its scarlet ribbons, fell in 
 dusky masses to her waist. 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 193 
 
 The two walked slowly, and occasionally 
 they paused while the old gentleman pointed 
 in various directions with his cane, as though 
 impressing on the mind of his companion 
 the whereabouts of certain interesting land 
 marks. They were followed at a little dis 
 tance by a negro, who carried across his arm 
 a light wrap which seemed to be a part of 
 the outfit of the young lady. 
 
 As Farmer Joe-Bob Grissom passed the 
 two, he bowed and tipped his hat by way of 
 salutation. The old gentleman raised his 
 hat and bowed with great courtliness, and 
 the young lady nodded her head and smiled 
 pleasantly at him. Farmer Joe-Bob was old 
 enough to be grizzly, but the smile stirred 
 him. It seemed to be a direct challenge to 
 his memory. Where had he seen the young- 
 lady before? Where had he met the old 
 gentleman ? He was puzzled to such an ex 
 tent that he paid no attention to the negro 
 man, who touched his hat and bowed po 
 litely as the farmer passed a fact that 
 made the negro wonder a little ; for day in 
 and out he had known Mr. Joe-Bob Grissom 
 nearly forty years, and never before had that 
 worthy citizen failed to respond with a cor 
 dial " Howdy " when the negro took off his 
 hat. 
 
194 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 Farmer Joe-Bob Grissom walked on to 
 wards town, which was not far, and the old 
 gentleman and the young lady walked slowly 
 along the hedge of Cherokee roses that ran 
 around the old Bascom Place, while the ne 
 gro followed at a respectful distance. Once 
 they paused, and the old gentleman rubbed 
 his eyes with a hand that trembled a little. 
 
 " Why, darling ! " he exclaimed in a tone 
 of mingled grief and astonishment, "they 
 have cut it down." 
 
 " Cut what down, father ? " 
 
 " Why, the weeping- willow. Don t you 
 remember it, daughter? It stood in the 
 middle of the field yonder. It was a noble 
 tree. Well, well, well ! What next, I won 
 der?" 
 
 " I do not remember it, father ; I have so 
 much to " 
 
 " Yes, yes," the old gentleman interrupted. 
 " Of course you could n t remember. The 
 place has been so changed that I seem to 
 have forgotten it myself. It has been turned 
 topsy-turvy; it has been ruined ruined!" 
 
 He leaned on his cane, and with quivering 
 lips and moist eyes looked through the green 
 perspective of the park, and over the fertile 
 fields and meadows. 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 195 
 
 " Ruined ! r exclaimed the young lady. 
 " How can you say so, father ? I never saw 
 a more beautiful place. It would make a 
 lovely picture." 
 
 "And they have ruined the house, too. 
 The whole roof has been changed." The 
 old man pulled his hat down over his eyes, 
 his hand trembling more than ever. "Let 
 us turn back, Mildred," he said after a while. 
 " The sight of all this frets and worries me 
 more than I thought it would." 
 
 " They say," said the daughter, " that the 
 gentleman who owns the place has made a 
 good deal of money." 
 
 " Yes," replied the father, " I suppose so 
 I suppose so. Yes, so I have heard. A 
 great many people are making money now 
 who never made it before a great many." 
 
 "I wish they would tell us the secret," 
 said the young lady, laughing a little. 
 
 "There is no secret about it," said the 
 old gentleman ; " none whatever. To make 
 money you must be mean and niggardly 
 yourself, and then employ others to be mean 
 and niggardly for you." 
 
 "Oh, it is not always so, father," the 
 young girl exclaimed. 
 
 " It was not always so, my daughter. 
 
196 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 There was a time when one could make 
 money and remain a gentleman ; but that 
 was many years ago." 
 
 The young lady was apparently not anx 
 ious to continue the argument, for she lightly 
 turned the conversation into a more agree 
 able channel ; and so the two, still followed 
 by the negro, made their way through the 
 shaded streets of the town. 
 
 That evening, when Mr. Joe-Bob Gris- 
 som, after making some little purchases 
 about town, went to the hotel, which he 
 persisted in calling a tavern, he found Ma 
 jor Jimmy Bass engaged in a hot political 
 discussion with a crowd which included a 
 number of the townspeople, as well as a 
 sprinkling of commercial travelers. Major 
 Jimmy was one of the ancient and venera 
 ble landmarks of that region. He had once 
 been an active politician, and had been en 
 gaged in political discussion for forty years 
 or more. Old and fat as he was, he knew 
 how to talk, and nothing pleased him more 
 than to get hold of a stranger when a crowd 
 of sympathetic fellow-citizens, young and old, 
 was present to applaud the points he made. 
 
 Whenever Mr. Joe-Bob Grissom ap 
 peared in the veranda of the hotel he made 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 197 
 
 it a point to shake hands with every person 
 present, friend and stranger alike. His po 
 liteness was a trifle elaborate, but it was 
 genuine. 
 
 "Why, howdy, Joe-Bob, howdy!" ex 
 claimed Major Bass with effusion. "You 
 seem to turn up at the right time, like the 
 spangled man in the circus. I m glad 
 you ve come, an ef I d a had my way 
 you d a come sooner, bekaze you re jest a 
 little too late fer to see me slap the argy- 
 ments onto some of these here travelin 
 drummers. They are gone now," the ma 
 jor continued, with a sweeping gesture of 
 his right arm. " They are gone, but I 
 wisht mightily you d a been here. New 
 things is mortal nice, I know ; but when 
 these new-issue chaps set up to out-talk men 
 that s old enough to be their grand-daddy, it 
 does me a sight of good fer to see em took 
 down a peg er two." 
 
 As soon as he could get in a word edge 
 wise, farmer Joe-Bob Grissom attempted to 
 turn the conversation in a direction calcu 
 lated to satisfy his curiosity. 
 
 Major," he said in his deliberate way, 
 " what s this I see out yonder at the old 
 Bascom Place ? " 
 
198 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 " The Lord only knows, Joe-Bob. What 
 might be the complexion, er yet the charac 
 ter, of it?" 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Grissom, " as I was 
 makin to rds town a little while ago, I seen 
 some folks that don t look like they b long 
 roun here. One of em was a old man, an 
 t other one was a young gal, an a nigger 
 man was a-follerin of em up an , ef I 
 make no mistakes, the nigger man was your 
 old Jess. I did n t look close at the nigger, 
 but arter I d passed him it come to me that 
 it wa n t nobody on the topside of the roun 
 worl but Jess." 
 
 " Why, bless your life an soul ! " ex 
 claimed Major Bass, giving farmer Joe-Bob 
 a neighborly nudge, " don t you know who 
 them folks was? Well, well! Where s 
 your mind? Why, that was old Briscoe 
 Bascom an his daughter." 
 
 " I say it ! " exclaimed farmer Joe-Bob, 
 hitching his chair closer to the major. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the major, " that s who 
 it was. Why, where on earth have you 
 been ? The old Judge drapped in on the 
 town some weeks ago, an he s been here 
 ever sence. He s been here long enough 
 for the gal to make up a school. Lord, 
 
THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 199 
 
 Lord ! What a big swing the world s in ! 
 High on one side, high on t other, an the 
 old cat a-dyin, in the middle ! Why, bless 
 your heart, Joe-Bob ! I ve seed the time 
 when ef old Judge Briscoe Bascom jest so 
 much as bowed to me I d feel proud fer a 
 week. An now look at im ! Ef I knowed 
 I d be took off wi the dropsy the nex min 
 ute, I would n t swap places wi the poor 
 old creetur." 
 
 " But what is old Jess a-doin doggin long 
 arter em that a-way ? " inquired Mr. Gris- 
 som, knitting his shaggy eyebrows. 
 
 " That s what pesters me," exclaimed the 
 major. " Ef niggers was ree-sponsible fer 
 what they done, it would be wuss than what 
 it is. Now you take Jesse : you need n t 
 tell me that nigger ain t got sense ; yit what 
 does he do? You seen im wi your own 
 eyes. Why, sir," continued the major, 
 growing more emphatic, "I bought that 
 nigger from Judge Bascom s cousin when he 
 wa n t nothin but a youngster, an I took 
 him home an raised him up right in the 
 house, yes, sir, right in the house, an 
 he s been a-hangin roun me off an on, 
 gittin his vittles, his clozes, an his lodgin . 
 Yit, look at him now ! I wisht I may die 
 
200 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 dead ef that nigger did n t hitch onto old 
 Judge Bascom the minute he landed in 
 town. Yes, sir ! I m a-tellin you no lie. 
 It s a clean, naked fact. That nigger quit 
 me an went an took up wi the old judge." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Grissom, stroking his 
 unshorn face, " you know what the say in is : 
 Niggers 11 be niggers even ef you white 
 wash em twice a week." 
 
 " Yes," remarked the major thoughtfully ; 
 " I hope to goodness they ve got souls, but 
 I misdoubt it. Lord, yes, I misdoubt it 
 mightily." 
 
 II. 
 
 As Major Jimmy Bass used to say, the 
 years cut many queer capers as they go by. 
 The major in his own proper person had not 
 only witnessed, but had been the victim, of 
 these queer capers. Hillsborough was a 
 very small place indeed, and, for that very 
 reason perhaps, it was more sensitive to 
 changes in the way of progress and decay 
 than many larger and more ambitious towns. 
 
 However this may have been, it is certain 
 that the town, assisted by the major, had 
 noted the queer capers the years had cut in 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 201 
 
 the neighborhood of the old Bascom Place. 
 This attitude on the part of Hillsborough 
 including, of course, Major Jimmy Bass 
 may be accounted for partly by the fact 
 that the old place had once been the pride 
 and delight of the town, and partly by the 
 fact that the provincial eye and mind are 
 nervously alert to whatever happens within 
 range of their observation. 
 
 Before and during the war the Bascom 
 Place was part and parcel of a magnificent 
 estate. The domain was so extensive and 
 so well managed that it was noted far and 
 wide. Its boundary lines inclosed more 
 than four thousand acres of forests and cul 
 tivated fields. This immense body of land 
 was known as the old Bascom Place. 
 
 Boiling Bascom, its first owner, went to 
 Georgia not long after the close of the Kevo- 
 lution, with a large number of Virginians 
 who proposed to establish a colony in what 
 was then the far South. The colony settled 
 in Wilkes County ; but Boiling Bascom, 
 more adventurous than the rest, pushed on 
 into middle Georgia, crossed the Oconee, 
 and built him a home, and such was his 
 taste, his energy, and his thrift, that the re 
 sults thereof may be seen and admired in 
 Hillsborough to this day. 
 
202 TIIE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 
 
 But the man, like so many of his fellow- 
 citizens then and thereafter, was land-hun 
 gry, He bought and bought until he had 
 aquired the immense domain, which, by 
 some special interposition of fate or circum 
 stance, is still intact. Meantime he had 
 built him a house which was in keeping 
 with the extent and richness of his landed 
 possessions. It was planned in the old co 
 lonial style, but its massive proportions 
 were relieved by the tall red chimneys and 
 the long and gracefully fashioned colonnade 
 that gave both strength and beauty to the 
 spacious piazza which ran, and still runs, the 
 whole length of the house. 
 
 When Boiling Bascom died, in 1830, 
 aged seventy years, as the faded inscription 
 on the storm-beaten tablet in the church 
 yard shows, he left his son, Briscoe Bascom, 
 to own and manage the vast estate. This 
 son was thirty years old, and it was said of 
 him that he inherited the gentle qualities of 
 his mother rather than the fiery energy and 
 ambition of his father. 
 
 Boiling Bascom was neither vicious nor 
 reckless, but he was a thorough man of the 
 world. He was, in short, a typical Vir 
 ginian gentleman, who for his own purposes 
 had settled in Georgia. 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 203 
 
 Whatever the cause of his emigration, it 
 is certain that Georgia gained a good citizen. 
 It was said of him that he was a little too 
 fond of a fiddle, but with all his faults - 
 with all his love for horse-racing and fox 
 hunting he found time to be kind to his 
 neighbors, generous to his friends, and the 
 active leader of every movement calculated 
 to benefit the State or the people ; and it 
 may be remarked in passing, that he also 
 found time to look after his own affairs. 
 
 Naturally, he was prominent in politics. 
 He represented his county in the legisla 
 ture, was at one time a candidate for gover 
 nor, and was altogether a man who had the 
 love and the confidence of his neighbors. 
 He gave his son the benefit of the best edu 
 cation the country afforded, and made the 
 tour of Europe with him, going over the 
 ground that he himself had gone over in his 
 young days. 
 
 But his European trip, undertaken when 
 he was an old man, was too much for him. 
 He was seized with an illness on his return 
 voyage, and, although he lived long enough 
 to reach home, he never recovered. In a 
 few years his wife died ; and his son, with 
 little or no experience in such matters, 
 
204 THE OLD J3ASCOM PLACE. 
 
 since his time had been taken up by the 
 schools and colleges, was left to manage 
 the estate as best he could. 
 
 It was the desire of Boiling Bascom that 
 his son should study law and make that pro 
 fession a stepping-stone to a political career. 
 He had been ambitious himself, and he 
 hoped his son would also be ambitious. Be 
 sides, was not politics the most respectable 
 of all the professions ? This was certainly 
 the view in Boiling Bascom s day and time, 
 and much might be said to support it. Of 
 all the professions, politics opened up the 
 one career best calculated to tickle the fancy 
 of the rich young men. 
 
 To govern, to control, to make laws, to 
 look after the welfare of the people, to make 
 great speeches, to become statesmen these 
 were the ideas that filled the minds of am 
 bitious men in Boiling Bascom s time, and 
 for years thereafter. And why not ? There 
 were the examples of Jefferson, Madison, 
 Monroe, Randolph, Hamilton, Webster, Cal- 
 houn, and the Adamses of Massachusetts. 
 What better could a young man do than to 
 follow in the footsteps of these illustrious 
 citizens ? 
 
 It may be supposed, therefore, that Boll- 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 205 
 
 ing Bascom had mapped out a tremendous 
 career for his son and heir. No doubt, as 
 he sat dozing on his piazza in the long sum 
 mer afternoons near the close of his life, he 
 fancied he could hear the voice of his boy 
 in the halls of legislation, or hear the wild 
 shouts of the multitudes that greeted his ef 
 forts on the stump in the heat and fury of 
 a campaign. But it was not to be. The 
 stormy politics of that period had no charms 
 for Briscoe Bascom. He was a student, and 
 he preferred his book to the companionship 
 of the crowd. 
 
 He possessed both courage and sociability 
 in the highest degree, but he was naturally 
 indolent, and he was proud too indolent 
 to find pleasure in the whirling confusion of 
 active politics, and too proud to go about his 
 county or his State in the attitude of solicit 
 ing the suffrages of his fellow-citizens. That 
 he would have made his mark in politics is 
 certain, for he made it at the bar, where 
 success is much more dearly bought. He 
 finally became judge of the superior court, 
 at a time when the judges of the circuit 
 courts met annually and formed a court of 
 appeals. His decisions in this appellate 
 court attracted attention all over the coun- 
 
206 THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 
 
 try, and are still referred to in the legal lit 
 erature of to-day as models of their kind. 
 
 And yet all that Briscoe Bascom accom 
 plished at the bar and on the bench was the 
 result of intuition rather than of industry. 
 Indolence sat enthroned in his nature, pa 
 tient but vigilant. When he retired from 
 the bench, he gave up the law altogether. 
 He might have reclaimed his large practice, 
 but he preferred the ease and quiet of his 
 home. 
 
 He was an old man before he married 
 old enough, that is to say, to marry a woman 
 many years his junior. His wife had been 
 reared in an atmosphere of extravagance ; 
 and although she was a young woman of 
 gentle breeding and of the best intentions, it 
 is certain that she did not go to the Bascom 
 Place as its mistress for the purpose of stint 
 ing or economizing. She simply gave no 
 thought to the future. But she was so 
 bright and beautiful, so gentle and unaf 
 fected in speech and manner, so gracious 
 and so winsome in all directions, that it 
 seemed nothing more than natural and right 
 that her every whim and wish should be 
 gratified. 
 
 Judge Bascom was indulgent and more 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 207 
 
 than indulgent. He applauded his wife s 
 extravagance and followed her example. 
 Before many years he began to reap some of 
 the fruits thereof, and they were exceeding- 
 bitter to the taste. The longest purse that 
 ever was made has a bottom to it, unless, in 
 deed, it be lined with Franklin s maxims. 
 
 The Judge was forty-eight years old when 
 he married, and even before the beginning 
 of the war he found his financial affairs in 
 an uncomfortable condition. The Bascom 
 Place was intact, but the pocket-book of its 
 master was in a state bordering on collapse. 
 
 The slow but sure approach to the inevita 
 ble need not be described here. It is fa 
 miliar to all people in all lands and times. 
 In the case of Judge Bascom, however, the 
 war was in the nature of a breathing-spell. 
 It brought with it an era of extravagance 
 that overshadowed everything that had been 
 dreamed of theretofore. During the first 
 two years there was money enough for every 
 body and to spare. It was manufactured in 
 Eichmond in great stacks. General Robert 
 Toombs, who was an interested observer, has 
 aptly described the facility with which the 
 Confederacy supplied itself with money. 
 " A dozen negroes," said he, " printed 
 
208 TUB OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 money on the hand-presses all day to supply 
 the government, and then they worked until 
 nine o clock at night printing money enough 
 to pay themselves off." 
 
 Under these circumstances, Judge Bascom 
 and his charming wife could be as extrava 
 gant or as economical as they pleased with 
 out attracting the attention of their neigh 
 bors or their creditors. Nobody had time 
 to think or care about such small matters. 
 The war-fever was at its height, and nothing 
 else occupied the attention of the people. 
 The situation was so favorable, indeed, that 
 Judge Bascom began to redeem his fortune 
 in Confederate money. He had land 
 enough and negroes a plenty, and so he 
 saved his money by storing it away ; and he 
 was so successful in this business that it is 
 said that when the war closed he had a 
 wagon-load of Confederate notes and shin- 
 plaster packed in trunks and chests. 
 
 The crash came when General Sherman 
 went marching through Hillsborough. The 
 Bascom Place, being the largest and the 
 richest plantation in that neighborhood, suf 
 fered the worst. Every horse, every mule, 
 every living thing with hide and hoof, was 
 driven off by the Federals ; and a majority 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 209 
 
 of the negroes went along with the army. 
 It was often said of Judge Bascom that " he 
 had so many negroes he did n t know them 
 when he met them in the big road ; " and 
 this was probably true. His negroes knew 
 him, and knew that he was a kind master in 
 many respects, but they had no personal 
 affection for him. They were such strangers 
 to the Judge that they never felt justified in 
 complaining to him even when the overseers 
 ill-treated them. Consequently, when Sher 
 man went marching along, the great major 
 ity of them bundled up their little effects 
 and followed after the army. They had 
 nothing to bind them to the old place. The 
 house-servants, and a few negroes in whom 
 the Judge took a personal interest, remained, 
 but all the rest went away. 
 
 Then, in a few months, came the news of 
 the surrender, bringing with it a species of 
 paralysis or stupefaction from which the 
 people were long in recovering so long, 
 indeed, that some of them died in despair, 
 while others lingered on the stage, watching, 
 with dim eyes and trembling limbs, half- 
 hopefully and half-fretfully, the representa 
 tives of a new generation trying to build up 
 the waste places. There was nothing left 
 
210 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 for Judge Bascom to do but to take his 
 place among the spectators. He would have 
 returned to his law-practice, but the people 
 had well-nigh forgotten that he had ever 
 been a lawyer; moreover, the sheriffs were 
 busier in those days than the lawyers. He 
 had the incentive, for the poverty of 
 those days was pinching, but he lacked the 
 energy and the strength necessary to begin 
 life anew. He and hundreds like him were 
 practically helpless. Ordinarily experience 
 is easily learned when necessity is the 
 teacher, but it was too late for necessity to 
 teach Judge Bascom anything. During all 
 his life he had never known what want was. 
 He had never had occasion to acquire tact, 
 business judgment, or economy. Inheriting 
 a vast estate, he had no need to practice 
 thrift or become familiar with the shifty 
 methods whereby business men fight their 
 way through the world. Of all such mat 
 ters he was entirely ignorant. 
 
 To add to his anxiety, a girl had been 
 born to him late in life, his first and only 
 child. In his confusion and perplexity he 
 was prepared to regard the little stranger as 
 merely a new and dreadful responsibility, 
 but it was not long before his daughter was 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 211 
 
 a source of great comfort to him. Yet, as 
 the negroes said, she was not a " luck- 
 child ;" and bad as the Judge s financial 
 condition was, it grew steadily worse. 
 
 Briefly, the world had drifted past him and 
 his contemporaries and left them stranded. 
 Under the circumstances, what was he to 
 do ? It is true he had a magnificent planta 
 tion, but this merely added to his poverty. 
 Neoro labor was demoralized, and the over- 
 
 O 
 
 seer class had practically disappeared. He 
 would have sold a part of his landed estate ; 
 indeed, so pressing were his needs that he 
 would have sold everything except the house 
 which his father had built, and where he 
 himself was born, that he would not have 
 parted with for all the riches in the world, 
 but there was nobody to buy. The 
 Judge s neighbors and his friends, with the 
 exception of those who had accustomed 
 themselves to seizing all contingencies by 
 the throat and wresting tribute from them, 
 were in as severe a strait as he was ; and to 
 make matters worse, the political affairs of 
 the State were in the most appalling condi 
 tion. It was the period of reconstruction 
 a scheme that paralyzed all whom it failed 
 to corrupt. 
 
212 THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 
 
 Finally the Judge s wife took matters into 
 her own hand. She had relatives in At 
 lanta, and she prevailed on him to go to 
 that lively and picturesque town. He closed 
 his house, being unable to rent it, and be 
 came a citizen of the thrifty city. He found 
 himself in a new atmosphere. The north 
 Georgia crackers, the east Tennesseeans, 
 having dropped their " you-uns " and " we- 
 uns," and the Yankees had joined hands 
 in building up and pushing Atlanta forward. 
 Business was more important than politics ; 
 and the rush and whirl of men and things 
 were enough to make a mere spectator dizzy. 
 Judge Bascom found himself more helpless 
 than ever ; but through the influence of his 
 wife s brother he was appointed to a small 
 clerkship in one of the State departments, 
 and " Humiliation of humiliations ! " his 
 friends exclaimed he promptly accepted 
 it, and became a part of what was known as 
 the " carpet-bag " government. The ap 
 pointment was in the nature of a godsend, 
 but the Judge found himself ostracized. 
 His friends and acquaintances refused to re 
 turn his salutation as he met them on the 
 street. To a proud and sensitive man this 
 was the bitterness of death, but Judge Bas- 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 213 
 
 com stuck to his desk and made no com 
 plaint. 
 
 By some means or other, no doubt through 
 the influence of Mrs. Bascom, the Judge s 
 brother-in-law, a thrifty and not over-scrupu 
 lous man, obtained a power of attorney, and 
 sold the Bascom Place, house and all, to a 
 gentleman from western New York who was 
 anxious to settle in middle Georgia. Just 
 how much of the purchase-money went into 
 the Judge s hands it is impossible to say, 
 but it is known that he fell into a terrible 
 rage when he was told that the house had 
 been sold along with the place. He de 
 nounce the sale as a swindle, and declared 
 that as he had been born in the house he 
 would die there, and not all the powers of 
 earth could prevent him. 
 
 But the money that he received was a 
 substantial thing as far as it went. Gradu 
 ally he found himself surrounded by various 
 comforts that he had sadly missed, and in 
 time he became somewhat reconciled to the 
 sale, though he never gave up the idea that 
 he would buy the old place back and live 
 there again. The idea haunted him day 
 and night. 
 
 After the downfall of the carpet-bag ad- 
 
214 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 ministration a better feeling took possession 
 of the people and politicians, and it was not 
 long before Judge Bascom found congenial 
 work in codifying the laws of the State, 
 which had been in a somewhat confused and 
 tangled condition since the war. Mean 
 while his daughter Mildred was growing up, 
 developing remarkable beauty as well as 
 strength of mind. At a very early age she 
 began to " take the responsibility," as the 
 Judge put it, of managing the household 
 affairs, and she continued to manage them 
 even while going to school. At school she 
 won the hearts of teachers and pupils, not 
 less by her aptitude in her books than by 
 her beauty and engaging manners. 
 
 But in spite of the young girl s manage 
 ment in spite of the example she set by 
 her economy the Judge and his wife con 
 tinued to grow poorer and poorer. Neither 
 of them knew the value of a dollar, and 
 the money that had been received from the 
 sale of the Bascom Place was finally ex 
 hausted. About this time Mrs. Bascom 
 died, and the Judge was so prostrated by 
 his bereavement that it was months before 
 he recovered. When he did recover he had 
 lost all interest in his work of codification, 
 
THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 215 
 
 but it was so nearly completed and was so 
 admirably done that the legislature voted 
 him extra pay. This modest sum the 
 daughter took charge of, and when her 
 father was well enough she proposed that 
 they return to Hillsborough, where they 
 could take a small house, and where she 
 could give music lessons and teach a primary 
 school. It need not be said that the Judge 
 gave an eager assent to the proposition. 
 
 III. 
 
 As Mr. Joe-Bob Grissom passed the Bas- 
 com Place on his way home, after gathering 
 from Major Jimmy Bass all the news and 
 gossip of the town, he heard Mr. Francis 
 Underwood, the owner of the Place, walking 
 up and down the piazza, singing. Mr. Un 
 derwood appeard to be in a cheerful mood, 
 and he had a right to be. He was young, 
 not more than thirty, full of life, and 
 the world was going on very well with him. 
 Mr. Grissom paused a moment and listened ; 
 then he made up his mind to go in and have 
 a chat with the young man. He opened 
 the gate and went up the avenue under the 
 cedars and Lombardy poplars. A little 
 
216 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 distance from the house he was stopped by 
 a large mastiff. The great dog made no at 
 tempt to attack him, but majestically barred 
 the way. 
 
 " Squire," yelled Joe-Bob, " ef you 11 call 
 off your dog, I 11 turn right roun an go 
 home an never bother you no more." 
 
 " Is that you, Joe-Bob ? " exclaimed Mr. 
 Underwood. " Well, come right on. The 
 dog won t trouble you." 
 
 The dog thereupon turned around and 
 went up the avenue to the house and into 
 the porch, where he stretched himself out at 
 full length, Joe-Bob following along at a 
 discreet distance. 
 
 " Come in," said Underwood heartily ; 
 " I m glad to see you. Take this large 
 rocking-chair ; you will find it more comfor 
 table than the smaller one." 
 
 Mr. Grissom sat down and looked cau 
 tiously around to see where the dog was. 
 
 " I did come, Squire," he said, " to see 
 you on some kinder business, but that drat 
 ted dog has done skeered it clean out n me." 
 
 " Prince is a faithful watcher," said Un 
 derwood, " but he never troubles any one 
 who is coming straight to the house. Do 
 you, old fellow?" The dog rapped an an 
 swer on the floor with his tail. 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 217 
 
 " Well," said Joe-Bob, " I d as lief be 
 tore up into giblets, mighty nigh, as to have 
 my sev m senses skeered out n me. What 
 I m afeared of now," he went on, " is that 
 that dog will jump over the fence some day 
 an ketch old Judge Bascome whilst he s 
 a-pirootin roun here a-lookin at the old 
 Place. An ef he don t ketch the Judge, 
 it s more n likely he 11 ketch the Judge s 
 gal. I seen both of em this very evenin 
 whilst I was a-goin down town." 
 
 "Was that the Judge?" exclaimed 
 young Mr. Underwood, with some show of 
 interest ; " and was the lady his daughter ? 
 I heard they had returned." 
 
 " That was jest percisely who it was," 
 said Joe-Bob with emphasis. " It wa n t no 
 body else under the shinin sun." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Underwood, " I have 
 seen them walking by several times. It is 
 natural they should be interested in the 
 Place. The old gentleman was born here ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Joe-Bob, " an the gal too. 
 They tell me," he went on, " that the old 
 Judge an his gal have seed a many ups an 
 downs. I reckon they er boun fer to feel 
 lonesome when they come by an look at the 
 prop ty that use to be theirn. I hear tell 
 
218 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 that the old Judge is gwine to try an see ef 
 he can t git it back." 
 
 Francis Underwood said nothing, but sat 
 gazing out into the moonlight as if in deep 
 thought. 
 
 "I thinks, says I," continued Joe-Bob, 
 "that the <?ld Judge 11 have to be lots 
 pearter n he looks to be ef he gits ahead of 
 Squire Underwood." 
 
 The " Squire " continued to gaze reflec 
 tively down the dim perspective of cedars 
 and Lombardy poplars. Finally he said : 
 
 " Have a cigar, old man. These are 
 good ones." 
 
 Joe-Bob took the cigar and lighted it, 
 handling it very gingerly. 
 
 " I ain t a deny in but what they are good, 
 Squire, but somehow er nuther me an these 
 here fine seegyars don t gee," said Joe-Bob, 
 as he puffed away. " They re purty toler - 
 ble nice, but jest about the time I git in the 
 notion of smokin they re done burnted up, 
 an then ef you ain t got sev m or eight 
 more, it makes you feel mighty lonesome. 
 Now I 11 smoke this n , an it 11 sorter put 
 my teeth on edge fer my pipe, an when I 
 git home I 11 set up an have a right nice 
 time." 
 
THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 219 
 
 "And so you think," said Underwood, 
 speaking as if lie had not heard Joe-Bob & re 
 marks about the cigar " and so you think 
 Judge Bascom has come to buy the old 
 Place." 
 
 " No, no ! " said Joe-Bob, with a quick 
 deprecatory gesture. " Oh, no, Squire ! not 
 by no means ! No, no ! I never said them 
 words. What I did say was that it s been 
 talked up an down that the old Judge is 
 a-gwine to try to git his prop ty back. That s 
 what old Major Jimmy Bass said he heard, 
 an I thinks, says I, he 11 have to be mon- 
 st us peart ef he gits ahead of Squire Un 
 derwood. That s what I said to myself, an 
 then I ast old Major Jimmy, says I, what 
 the Judge would do wi the prop ty arter he 
 got it, an Major Jimmy, he ups an says, 
 says he, that the old Judge would sell it 
 back to Frank Underwood, says he." 
 
 The young man threw back his head and 
 laughed heartily, not less at the comical 
 earnestness of Joe-Bob Grissom than at the 
 gossip of Major Jimmy Bass. 
 
 "It seems, then, that we are going to 
 have lively times around here," said Under 
 wood, by way of comment. 
 
 " Yes, siree," exclaimed Joe-Bob ; " that s 
 
220 THE OLD AS COM PLACti. 
 
 what Major Jimmy Bass allowed. Do you 
 reckon, Squire," he continued, lowering his 
 voice as though the matter was one to be 
 approached cautiously, " do you reckon, 
 Squire, they could slip in on you an trip 
 you up wi one of em writs of arousement 
 or one of em bills of injectment ? " 
 
 " Not unless they catch me asleep," re 
 plied Underwood, still laughing. " We get 
 up very early in the morning on this Place." 
 
 " Well," said Joe-Bob Grissom, " I ain t 
 much of a lawyer myself, an so I thought 
 I d jest drap in an tell you the kind of 
 talk what they ve been a-rumorin roun . 
 But I 11 tell you what you kin do, Squire. 
 Ef the wust comes to the wust, you kin make 
 the old Judge an the gal take you along 
 wi the Place. Now them would be my poli 
 tics." 
 
 With that Joe-Bob gave young Under 
 wood a nudge in the short ribs, and chuckled 
 to such an extent that he nearly strangled 
 himself with cigar smoke. 
 
 " I think I would have the best of the 
 bargain," said the young man. 
 
 " Now you would ! you reely would ! " ex 
 claimed Joe-Bob in all seriousness. "I 
 can t tell you the time when I ever seed a 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 221 
 
 likelier gal than that one wi the Judge this 
 evenin . As we say down here in Georgia, 
 she s the top of the pot an the pot a-b ilin . 
 I tell you that right pine-blank." 
 
 After a little, Mr. Grissom rose to go. 
 When Mr. Underwood urged him to sit 
 longer, he pointed to the sword and belt of 
 Orion hanging low in the southwest. 
 
 " The ell an yard are a-makin the r dis 
 appearance," he said; "an ef I stay out 
 much longer, my old oman 11 think I ve 
 been a-settin up by a jug somewheres. Now 
 ef you 11 jest hold your dog, Squire, I 11 go 
 out as peaceful as a lamb." 
 
 " Why, I was just going to propose to 
 send him down to the big gate with you," 
 said young Underwood. " He 11 see you 
 safely out." 
 
 " No, no, Squire ! " exclaimed Joe-Bob, 
 holding up both hands. "Now don t do 
 the like of that. I don t like too much per- 
 liteness in folks, an I know right well I 
 could n t abide it in a dog. No, Squire ; 
 jest hold on to the creetur wi both hands, 
 an I 11 find my way out. Jest ketch him 
 by the forefoot. I ve heard tell before now 
 that ef you 11 hold a dog by his forefoot he 
 can t git loose, an nuther kin he bite you." 
 
222 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 Long after Mr. Joe-Bob Grissom had 
 gone home young Francis Underwood sat 
 in his piazza smoking and thinking. He 
 had a good deal to think about, too, for he 
 was perhaps the busiest and the thriftiest 
 person that Hillsborough had ever seen. 
 He had a dairy farm stocked with the 
 choicest strains of Jersey cattle, and he 
 shipped hundreds of pounds of golden but 
 ter all over the country every week in the 
 year ; he bred Percheron horses for farm- 
 work and trotting-horses for the road; he 
 had a flourishing farm on which he raised, 
 in addition to his own supplies, a hundred 
 or more bales of cotton every year ; he had 
 a steam saw-mill and cotton-gin ; he was a 
 contractor and builder ; and he was also an 
 active partner in the largest store in Hills- 
 borough. Moreover he took a lively interest 
 in the affairs of the town. His energy and 
 his progressive ideas seemed to be conta 
 gious, for in a few years the sleepy old town 
 had made tremendous strides, and every 
 thing appeared to move forward with an 
 air of business such is the force of a gen 
 ial and robust example. 
 
 There is no doubt that young Underwood 
 was somewhat coolly received when he first 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 223 
 
 made his appearance in Hillsborough. He 
 was a New Yorker and therefore a Yankee : 
 and some of the older people, who were still 
 grieving over the dire results of the war, as 
 old people have a right to do, made no con 
 cealment of their prejudices. Their grief 
 was too bitter to be lightly disposed of. 
 Perhaps the young man appreciated this 
 fact, for his sympathies were wonderfully 
 quick and true. At any rate, he carried 
 himself as buoyantly and as genially in the 
 face of prejudice as he did afterwards in the 
 face of friendship. 
 
 The truth is, prejudice could not stand 
 before him. He had that magnetic person 
 ality which is a more precious possession 
 than fame or fortune. There was some 
 thing attractive even in his restless energy ; 
 he had that heartiness of manner and gra- 
 ciousness of disposition that are so rare 
 among men ; and, withal, a spirit of inde 
 pendence that charmed the sturdy-minded 
 people with whom he cast his lot. It was 
 not long before the younger generation began 
 to seek Mr. Underwood out, and after this 
 the social ice, so to speak, thawed quickly. 
 
 In short, young Underwood, by reason of 
 a strong and an attractive individuality, be- 
 
224 THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 
 
 came a very prominent citizen of Hillsbor- 
 otigh. He found time, in the midst of his 
 own business enterprises, to look after the 
 interests of the town and the county. One 
 of his first movements was to organize an 
 agricultural society which held its meeting 
 four times a year in different parts of the 
 county. It was purely a local and native 
 suggestion, however, that made it incumbent 
 on the people of the neighborhood where the 
 Society met to grace the occasion with a feast 
 in the shape of a barbecue. The first result 
 of the agricultural society which still ex 
 ists, and which has had a wonderful influ 
 ence on the farmers of middle Georgia 
 was a county fair, of which Mr. Underwood 
 was the leading spirit. It may be said, in 
 deed, that his energy and his money made 
 the fair possible. And it was a success. 
 Young Underwood had not only canvassed 
 the county, but he had "worked it up in 
 the newspapers," as the phrase goes, and 
 it tickled the older citizens immensely to 
 see the dailies in the big cities of Atlanta, 
 Macon, and Savannah going into rhetorical 
 raptures over their fair. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Francis Underwood, 
 charged with the fiery energy of a modern 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 225 
 
 American, found it a much easier matter to 
 establish himself in the good graces of the 
 people of Hillsborough and the surrounding 
 country than did Judge Bascom when he re 
 turned to his old home with his lovely daugh 
 ter. Politically speaking, he had committed 
 the unpardonable sin when he accepted of 
 fice under what was known as the carpet 
 bag government. It was an easy matter 
 thus the argument ran to forgive and re 
 spect an enemy, but it was hardly possible 
 to forgive a man who had proved false to 
 his people and all their traditions who 
 had, in fact, " sold his birthright for a mess 
 of pottage," to quote the luminous language 
 employed by Colonel Bolivar Blasingame in 
 discussing the return of Judge Bascom. It 
 is due to Colonel Blasingame to say that he 
 did not allude to the sale of the Bascom 
 Place, but to the fact that Judge Bascom 
 had drawn a salary from the State treasury 
 while the Republicans were in power in 
 Georgia. 
 
 This was pretty much the temper of the 
 older people of Hillsborough even in 1876. 
 They had no bitter prejudices against the 
 old Judge ; they were even tolerant and 
 kindly ; but they made it plain to him that 
 
226 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 he was regarded in a new light, and from a 
 new standpoint. He was made to feel that 
 his old place among them must remain va 
 cant ; that the old intimacies were not to 
 be renewed. But this was the price that 
 Judge Bascom was willing to pay for the 
 privilege of spending his last days within 
 sight of the old homestead. He made no 
 complaints, nor did he signify by word or 
 sign, even to his daughter, that everything 
 was not as it used to be. 
 
 As for the daughter, she was in blissful 
 ignorance of the situation. She was a 
 stranger among strangers, and so was not 
 affected by the lack of sociability on the part 
 of the townspeople if, indeed, there was 
 any lack so .far as she was concerned. The 
 privations she endured in common with her 
 father were not only sufficient to correct all 
 notions of vanity or self-conceit, but they 
 had given her a large experience of life ; 
 they had broadened her views and enlarged 
 her sympathies, so that with no sacrifice of 
 the qualities of womanly modesty and gen 
 tleness she had grown to be self-reliant. 
 She attracted all who came within range of 
 her sweet influence, and it was not long be 
 fore she had broken down all the barriers 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 227 
 
 that prejudice against her father might have 
 placed in her way. She established a pri 
 mary school, and what with her duties there 
 and with her music-class she soon had as 
 much as she could do, and her income from 
 these sources was sufficient to support her 
 self and her father in a modest way ; but it 
 was not sufficient to carry out her father s 
 plans, and this fact distressed her no little. 
 
 Sometimes Judge Bascom, sitting in the 
 narrow veranda of the little house they oc 
 cupied, would suddenly arouse himself, as if 
 from a doze, and exclaim : 
 
 " We must save money, daughter ; we 
 must save money and buy the old Place 
 back. It is ours. We must have it ; we 
 must save money." And sometimes, in the 
 middle of the night, he would go to his 
 daughter s bedside, stroke her hair, and say 
 in a whisper : 
 
 " We are not saving enough money, daugh 
 ter ; we must save more. We must buy 
 the old Place back. We must save it from 
 ruin." 
 
 IV. 
 
 There was one individual in Hillsbor- 
 pugh who did not give the cold shoulder to 
 
228 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 Judge Bascom on his return, and that was 
 the negro Jesse, who had been bought by 
 Major Jimmy Bass some years before the 
 war from Merriwether Bascom, a cousin of 
 the Judge. Jesse made no outward demon 
 stration of welcome ; he was more practical 
 than that. He merely went to his old mas 
 ter with whom he had been living since he 
 became free, and told him that he was going 
 to find employment elsewhere. 
 
 " Why, what in the nation ! " exclaimed 
 Major Bass. " Why, what s the matter, 
 Jess?" 
 
 The very idea was preposterous. In the 
 Bass household the negro was almost indis 
 pensable. He was in the nature of a piece 
 of furniture that holds its own against all 
 fashions and fills a place that nothing else 
 can fill. 
 
 " Dey ain t nothin t all de matter, Marse 
 Maje. I des took it in my min , like, dat I d 
 go off someYs roun town en set up fer my- 
 se f," said Jesse, scratching his head in a 
 dubious way. He felt very uncomfortable. 
 
 " Has anybody hurt your feelin s, Jess ? " 
 
 " No, suh ! Lord, no, suh, dat dey ain t ! " 
 exclaimed Jesse, with the emphasis of aston 
 ishment. " Nobody ain t pester me." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 229 
 
 "Ain t your Miss Sarah been rushin you 
 roun too lively fer to suit your notions ? " 
 
 "No, suh." 
 
 " Ain t she been a-quarrelin after you 
 about your work ? " 
 
 " No, Marse Maje ; she ain t say a word." 
 
 " Well, then, Jess, what in the name of 
 common sense are you gwine off fer ? " The 
 major wanted to argue the matter. 
 
 " I got it in my min , Marse Maje, but I 
 dunno ez I kin git it out straight." Jesse 
 leaned his cane against the house, and 
 placed his hat on the steps, as if preparing 
 for a lengthy and elaborate explanation. 
 " Now den, hit look dis way ter me, des like 
 I m gwine ter tell you. I ain t nothin but 
 a nigger, I know dat mighty well, en nobody 
 don t hafter tell me. I m a nigger, en you 
 a white man. You re a-settin up dar in de 
 peazzer, en I m a-stan in down yer on de 
 groun . I been wid you a long time ; you 
 treat me well, you gimme plenty vittles, en 
 you pay me up when you got de money, en I 
 hustle roun en do de bes I kin in de house 
 en in de gyarden. Dat de way it been 
 gwine on ; bofe un us feel like it all sati fac 
 tual. Bimeby it come over me dat maybe I 
 kin do mo work dan what I been a-doin en 
 
230 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 git mo money. Hit work roun in my min 
 dat I better be layin up somepin n er fer 
 de ole oman en de chillun." 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed Major Bass with a 
 snort. It was all he could say. 
 
 " En den ag in," Jesse went on, " one er 
 de ole fambly done come back long wid his 
 daughter. Marse Briscoe Bascom en Miss 
 Mildred dey done come back, en dey ain t 
 got nobody fer ter he p um out no way ; en 
 my ole oman she say dat ef I got any fam 
 bly feelin I better go dar whar Marse Bris 
 coe is." 
 
 For some time Major Jimmy Bass sat 
 silent. He was shocked and stunned. Fi 
 nally Jesse picked up his hat and cane and 
 started to go. As he brushed his hat with 
 his coat-sleeve his old master saw that he 
 was rigged out in his Sunday clothes. As 
 he moved away the major called him : 
 
 " Oh, Jess ! " 
 
 "Suh?" 
 
 " I allers knowed you was a durned fool, 
 Jess, but I never did know before that you 
 was the durndest fool in the universal 
 world." 
 
 Jesse made no reply, and the major went 
 into the house. When he told his wife 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 231 
 
 about Jesse s departure, that active-minded 
 and sharp-tongued lady was very angry. 
 
 "Indeed, and I m glad of it," she ex 
 claimed as she poured out the major s coffee ; 
 " I m truly glad of it. For twenty-five 
 years that nigger has been laying around 
 here doing nothing, and we a-paying him. 
 But for pity s sake I d a drove him off the 
 lot long ago. You mayn t believe it, but 
 that nigger is ready and willing to eat his 
 own weight in vittles every week the Lord 
 sends. I ain t sorry he s gone, but I m 
 sorry I did n t have a chance to give him a 
 piece of my mind. Now, don t you go to 
 blabbing it around, like you do everything 
 else, that Jesse has gone and left us to go 
 with old Briscoe Bascom." 
 
 Major Bass said he wouldn t, and he 
 did n t, and that is the reason he expressed 
 surprise when Joe-Bob Grissom informed 
 him that Jesse was waiting on the old Judge 
 and his daughter. Major Jimmy was talka 
 tive and fond of gossip, but he had too 
 much respect for his wife s judgment and 
 discretion to refuse to toe the mark, even 
 when it was an imaginary one. 
 
 The Bascom family had no claim what 
 ever on Jesse, but he had often heard his 
 
232 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 mother and other negroes boasting over that 
 they had once belonged to the Bascoms, and 
 fondness for the family was the result of 
 both tradition and instinct. He had that un 
 defined and undefinable respect for people of 
 quality that is one of the virtues, or possibly 
 one of the failings, of human nature. The 
 nearest approach to people of quality, so far 
 as his experience went, was to be found in 
 the Bascom family, and he had never for 
 gotten that he had belonged to an important 
 branch of it. He held it as a sort of dis 
 tinction. Feeling thus, it is no wonder that 
 he was ready to leave a comfortable home 
 at Major Jimmy Bass s for the privilege of 
 attaching himself and his fortunes to those 
 of the Judge and his daughter. Jesse made 
 up his mind to take this step as soon as the 
 Bascoms returned to Hillsborough, and he 
 made no delay in carrying out his inten 
 tions. 
 
 Early one morning, not long after Judge 
 Bascom and his daughter had settled them 
 selves in the modest little house which they 
 had selected because the rent was low, Mil 
 dred heard some one cutting wood in the 
 
 O 
 
 yard. Opening her window blinds a little, 
 she saw that the axe was wielded by a stal- 
 
THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 233 
 
 wart negro a little past middle age. Her 
 father was walking up and down the side 
 walk on the outside with his hands behind 
 him, and seemed to be talking to himself. 
 
 A little while afterwards Mildred went 
 into the kitchen. She found a fire burning 
 in the stove, and everything in noticeably 
 good order, but the girl she had employed 
 to help her about the house was nowhere to 
 be seen. Whereupon the young lady called 
 her 
 
 "Elvira!" 
 
 At this the negro dropped his axe and 
 went into the kitchen. 
 
 "Howdy, Mistiss?" 
 
 " Have you seen Elvira ? " Mildred asked. 
 
 " Yes m, she wuz hangin roun yer when 
 I come roun dis mornin . I went in dar, 
 ma m, en I see how de kitchen wuz all 
 messed up, en den I sont her off. She de 
 mos no countest nigger gal what I ever 
 laid my two eyes on. I in name Jesse, 
 ma m, en I use ter b long ter de Bascom 
 fambly when I wuz a boy. Is you ready 
 fer breakfus, Mistiss ? " 
 
 " Has my father has Judge Bascom 
 employed you ? " Mildred asked. Jesse 
 laughed as though enjoying a good joke. 
 
234 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 " No m, dat he ain t ! I des come my 
 own se f, kaze I know d in reason you wuz 
 gwine ter be in needance er somebody. 
 Lord, no m, none er de Bascoms don t 
 hafter hire me, ma m." 
 
 "And who told you to send Elvira 
 away ? " Mildred inquired, half vexed and 
 half amused. 
 
 "Nobody ain t tell me, ma m," Jesse re 
 plied. " When I come she wuz des settin 
 in dar by de stove noddin , en de whole 
 kitchen look like it been tored up by a har- 
 rycane. I des shuck her up, I did, en tell 
 her dat if dat de way she gwine do, she 
 better go long back en stay wid her mam 
 my." 
 
 " Well, you are very meddlesome," said 
 Mildred. "I don t understand you at all. 
 Who is going to cook breakfast?" 
 
 " Mistiss, I done tell you dat breakftis is 
 all ready en a-waitin ," exclaimed Jesse in 
 an injured tone. " I made dat gal set de 
 table, en dey ain t nothin ter do but put de 
 vittles on it." 
 
 It turned out to be a very good breakfast, 
 too, such as it was. Jesse thought while he 
 was preparing it that it was a very small 
 allowance for two hearty persons. But the 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 235 
 
 secret of its scantiness cropped out while the 
 Judge and his daughter were eating. 
 
 " These biscuits are very well cooked. 
 But there are too many of them. My 
 daughter, we must pinch and save; it will 
 only be for a little while. We must have the 
 old Place back ; we must rake and scrape, 
 and save money and buy it back. And this 
 coffee is very good, too," he went on ; " it 
 has quite the old flavor. I thought the girl 
 was too young, but she s a good cook a 
 very good cook indeed." 
 
 Jesse, who had taken his stand behind 
 the Judge s chair, arrayed in a snow-white 
 apron, moved his body uneasily from one 
 foot to the other. Mildred, glad to change 
 the conversation, told her father about 
 Jesse. 
 
 "Ah, yes," said Judge Bascom, in his 
 kindly, patronizing way ; " I saw him in the 
 yard. And he used to belong to the Bas- 
 coms ? Well, well, it must have been a 
 long time ago. This is Jesse behind me? 
 Stand out there, Jesse, and let me look at 
 you. Ah, yes, a likely negro ; a very likely 
 negro indeed. And what Bascom did 
 you belong to, Jesse ? Merriwether Bas 
 com ! Why, to be sure ; why, certainly ! " 
 
236 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 the Judge continued with as much anima 
 tion as his feebleness would admit of. 
 " Why, of course, Merriwether Bascom. 
 Well, well, I remember him distinctly. 
 A rough-and-tumble sort of man he was, 
 fighting, gambling, horse-racing, always on 
 the wing. A good man at bottom, but wild. 
 And so you belonged to Merriwether Bas 
 com ? Well, boy, once a Bascom always a 
 Bascom. We 11 have the old Place back, 
 Jesse, we 11 have it back : but we must 
 pinch ourselves ; we must save." 
 
 Thus the old Judge rambled on in his 
 talk. But no matter what the subject, no 
 matter how far his memory and his experi 
 ences carried him away from the present, he 
 was sure to return to the old Place at last. 
 He must have it back. Every thought, 
 every idea, was subordinate to this. He 
 brooded over it and talked of it waking, and 
 he dreamed of it sleeping. It was the one 
 thought that dominated every other. Money 
 must be saved, the old Place must be 
 bought, and to that end everything must 
 tend. The more his daughter economized 
 the more he urged her to economize. His 
 earnestness and enthusiasm impressed and 
 influenced the young girl in a larger mea- 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 237 
 
 sure than she would have been willing to ac 
 knowledge, and unconsciously she found 
 herself looking forward to the day when her 
 father and herself would be able to call the 
 Bascom Place their own. In the Judge the 
 thought was the delusion of old age, in the 
 maiden it was the dream of youth ; and 
 pardonable, perhaps, in both. 
 
 Their hopes and desires running thus in 
 one channel, they loved to wander of an even 
 ing in the neighborhood of the old Place 
 it was just in the outskirts of the town 
 and long for the time when they should take 
 possession of their home. On these occa 
 sions Mildred, by way of interesting her 
 father, would suggest changes to be made. 
 
 " The barn is painted red," she would 
 say. " I think olive green would be pret 
 tier." 
 
 " No," the Judge would reply ; " we will 
 have the barn removed. It was not there in 
 my time. It is an innovation. We will have 
 it removed a mile away from the house. We 
 will make many changes. There are hun 
 dreds of acres in the meadow yonder that 
 ought to be in cotton. In my time we tried 
 to kill grass, but this man is doing his best 
 to propagate it. Look at that field of Ber- 
 
238 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 muda there. Two years of hard work will 
 be required to get the grass out." 
 
 Once while the Judge and his daughter 
 were passing by the old Place they met 
 Prince, the mastiff, in the road. The great 
 dog looked at the young lady with kindly 
 eyes, and expressed his approval by wagging 
 his tail. Then he approached and allowed 
 her to fondle his lionlike head, and walked 
 by her side, responding to her talk in a 
 dumb but eloquent way. Prince evidently 
 thought that the young lady and her father 
 were going in the avenue gate and to the 
 house, for when they got nearly opposite, 
 the dog trotted on ahead, looking back occa 
 sionally, as if by that means to extend them 
 an invitation and to assure them that they 
 were welcome. At the gate he stopped and 
 turned around, and seeing that the fair lady 
 and the old gentleman were going by, he 
 dropped his bulky body on the ground in a 
 disconsolate way and watched them as they 
 passed down the street. 
 
 The next afternoon Prince made it a point 
 to watch for the young lady ; and when she 
 and her father appeared in sight he ran to 
 meet them and cut up such unusual capers, 
 barking and running around, that his mas- 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 239 
 
 ter went down the avenue to see what the 
 trouble was. Mr. Underwood took off his 
 hat as Judge Bascom and his daughter drew 
 near. 
 
 "This is Judge Bascom, I presume," he 
 said. "My name is Underwood. I am 
 glad to meet you." 
 
 " This is my daughter, Mr. Underwood," 
 said the Judge, bowing with great dignity. 
 
 " My dog has paid you a great compliment, 
 Miss Bascom," said Francis Underwood. 
 " He makes few friends, and I have never 
 before seen him sacrifice his dignity to his 
 enthusiasm." 
 
 " I feel highly flattered by his attentions," 
 said Mildred, laughing. " I have read some 
 where, or heard it said, that the instincts of 
 a little child and a dog are unerring." 
 
 " I imagine," said the Judge, in his digni 
 fied way, " that instinct has little to do with 
 the matter. I prefer to believe " - He 
 paused a moment, looked at Underwood, and 
 laid his hand on the young man s stalwart 
 shoulder. " Did you know, sir," he went 
 on, " that this place, all these lands, once 
 belonged to me ? " His dignity had van 
 ished, his whole attitude changed. The 
 pathos in his voice, which was suggested 
 
240 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 rather than expressed, swept away whatever 
 astonishment Francis Underwood might have 
 felt. The young man looked at the Judge s 
 daughter and their eyes met. In that one 
 glance, transitory though it was, he found 
 his cue ; in her lustrous eyes, proud yet ap 
 pealing, he read a history of trouble and 
 sacrifice. 
 
 " Yes," Underwood replied, in a matter- 
 of-fact way. " I knew the place once be 
 longed to you, and I have been somewhat 
 proud of the fact. We still call it the Bas- 
 com Place, you know." 
 
 " I should think so ! " exclaimed the 
 Judge, bridling up a little ; " I should think 
 so ! Pray what else could it be called? " 
 
 " Well, it might have been called Grass 
 lands, you know, or The Poplars, but some 
 how the old name seemed to suit it best. I 
 like to think of it as the Bascom Place." 
 
 " You are right, sir," said the Judge with 
 emphasis ; " you are right, sir. It is the 
 Bascom Place. All the powers of earth 
 cannot strip us of our name." 
 
 Again Underwood looked at the young 
 girl, and again he read in her shining but 
 apprehensive eyes the answer he should 
 make. 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 241 
 
 " I have been compelled to add some con 
 veniences I will not call them improve 
 ments and I have made some repairs, but 
 I have tried to preserve the main and fa 
 miliar features of the Place." 
 
 "But the barn there; that is not where 
 it should be. It should be a mile away 
 on the creek." 
 
 " That would improve appearances, no 
 doubt ; but if you were to get out at four or 
 five o clock in the morning and see to the 
 milking of twelve or fifteen cows, I dare say 
 you would wish the barn even nearer than 
 it is." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I suppose so," responded the 
 Judge ; " yes, no doubt. But it was not 
 there in my time not in my time." 
 
 " I have some very fine cows," Underwood 
 went on. " Won t you go in and look at 
 them? I think they would interest Miss 
 Bascom, and my sister would be glad to meet 
 her. Won t you go in, sir, and look at the 
 old house?" 
 
 The Judge turned his pale and wrinkled 
 face towards his old home. 
 
 "No," he said, "not now. I thank you 
 very much. I somehow no, sir, I can 
 not go now." 
 
242 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 His hand shook as he raised it to his face, 
 and his lips trembled as he spoke. 
 
 " Let us go home, daughter," he said after 
 a while. " We have walked far enough." 
 He bowed to young Underwood, and Mildred 
 bade him good-bye with a troubled smile. 
 
 Prince went with them a little way down 
 the street. He walked by the side of the 
 lady, and her pretty hand rested lightly on 
 the dog s massive head. It was a beautiful 
 picture, Underwood thought, as he stood 
 watching them pass out of sight. 
 
 " You are a lucky dog," he said to Prince 
 when the latter came back, " but you don t 
 appreciate your privileges. If you did you 
 would have gone home with that lovely 
 woman." Prince wagged his tail, but it is 
 doubtful if he fully understood the remark. 
 
 V. 
 
 One Sunday morning, as Major Jimmy 
 Bass was shaving himself, he heard a knock 
 at the back door. The major had his coat 
 and waistcoat off and his suspenders were 
 hanging around his hips. He was applying 
 the lather for the last time, and the knock 
 ing was so sudden and unexpected that he 
 
THE OLD AS COM PLACE. 243 
 
 rubbed the shaving-brush in one of his eyes. 
 He began to make some remarks which, how 
 ever appropriate they may have been to the 
 occasion, could not be reported here with 
 propriety. But in the midst of his indig 
 nant monologue he remembered that the 
 knocking might have proceeded from some 
 of Mrs. Bass s lady friends, who frequently 
 made a descent on the premises in that di 
 rection for the purpose of borrowing a cup 
 ful of sugar or coffee in a social way. These 
 considerations acted as powerful brakes on 
 the conversation that Major Bass was carry 
 ing on with some imaginary foe. Holding 
 a towel to his smarting eye, he peeped from 
 his room door and looked down the hall. 
 The back door was open, but he could see 
 no one. 
 
 " Who was that knocking ? " he cried. 
 " I 11 go one eye on you anyways." 
 
 " T ain t nobody but me, Marse Maje," 
 came the response from the door. 
 
 "Is that you, Jess?" exclaimed the major. 
 " Well, pleg-take your hide to the pleg-taked 
 nation ! A little more an you d a made 
 me cut my th oat from year to year ; an as 
 it is, I ve jest about got enough soap in my 
 eye fer to do a day s washin ." 
 
244 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 " Is you shavin yourse f , Marse Maje ? " 
 asked Jesse, diplomatically. 
 
 " That I am," replied the major with em 
 phasis. " I allers was independent of white 
 folks, an sence you pulled up your stakes 
 an took up wi the quality I m about inde 
 pendent of the niggers. An it s mighty 
 quare to me," the major went on, " that 
 you d leave your high an mighty people 
 long enough fer to come a-bangin an makin 
 me put out my eyes. Why, ef I d a had 
 my razor out, I 11 be boun you d made me 
 cut my th oat, an much good may it a done 
 you." 
 
 "Name er goodness, Marse Maje," pro 
 tested Jesse, "what make you go on dat 
 a-way ? Ef I d a knowed you wuz busy 
 in dar I d a set out in de sun en waited 
 twel you got thoo." 
 
 " Yes," said the major in a sarcastic but 
 somewhat mollified tone, " you d a sot out 
 there an got to noddin , an then bimeby 
 your Miss Sarah would a come along an 
 ketched you there, an I 11 be boun she d 
 a lammed you wi a chunk of wood ; bekaze 
 she don t low no loafin in the back yard 
 sence you been gone. I don t know what 
 you come fer," the major continued, still 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 245 
 
 wiping the lather out of his eye, "an nuthei- 
 do I keer ; but sence you are here you kin 
 come in an finish shavin me, fer to pay fer 
 the damage you Ve done." 
 
 Jesse was apparently overjoyed to find 
 that he could be of some service. He bus 
 tled around in the liveliest manner, and was 
 soon mowing the major s fat face with the 
 light but firm touch for which he was noted. 
 As he shaved he talked. 
 
 "Marse Maje," he said, "does you know 
 what I come fer dis mornin ? " 
 
 " I ve been tryin to think," replied the 
 major; "but I couldn t tell you ef I was 
 a-gwine to be hung fer it. You are up to 
 some devilment, I know mighty well, but I 
 wish t I may die ef I Ve got any idee what 
 
 it is." 
 
 "Now, Marse Maje, what make you talk 
 
 dat a way?" 
 
 "Oh, I know you, Jess, an I ve been 
 a-knowin you a mighty long time. Your 
 Miss Sarah mayn t know you, Jess, but^I 
 know you from the groun all the way up." 
 
 Jesse laughed. He was well aware that 
 the major s wife was the knowing one of 
 that family. He had waited until that ex 
 cellent lady had issued from the house on 
 
246 THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 
 
 her way to church, and it was not until she 
 was out of sight that he thought it safe to 
 call on the major. Even now, after he had 
 found the major alone, the negro was some 
 what doubtful as to the propriety of explain 
 ing the nature of his business ; but the old 
 man was inquisitive. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Jess ! " the major went on, after 
 pausing long enough to have the corner of 
 his mouth shaved " oh, yes ! I know you, 
 an I know you ve got somethin on your 
 min right now. Spit it out." 
 
 "Well, I ll tell you de trufe, Marse 
 Maje," said Jesse, after hesitating for some 
 time ; " I tell you de Lord s trufe, I come 
 yer atter somepin ter eat." 
 
 Major Bass caught the negro by the arm, 
 pushed the razor carefully out of the way, 
 and sat bolt upright in the chair. 
 
 " Do you mean to stan up there, you tri- 
 flin rascal," the major exclaimed, " an tell 
 me, right before my face an eyes, that 
 you ve come a-sneaking back here atter vit- 
 tles ? Why n t you stay where the vittles 
 was ? " Major Bass was really indignant. 
 
 " Wait, Marse Maje ; des gimme time," 
 said Jesse, nervously strapping the razor on 
 the palm of his hand. " Des gimme time," 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 247 
 
 Marse Maje. You fly up so, suh, dat you 
 git me all mixed up wid myse f. I come 
 atter vittles, dat s de Lord s trufe ; but I 
 ain t come atter em fer myse f. Nigger 
 like me don t stay hongry long roun whar 
 folks know um like dey does me." 
 
 "Well, who in the name of reason sent 
 you, then?" asked the major. 
 
 " Nobody ain t sont me, suh," said Jesse. 
 
 "Well, who do you want em fer?" in 
 sisted the major. 
 
 " Marse Judge Bascom en Miss Mildred," 
 replied Jesse solemnly. 
 
 Major Jimmy Bass fell back in his chair 
 in a state of collapse, overcome by his aston- 
 ment. 
 
 " Well ! " he exclaimed, as soon as he 
 could catch his breath. "Ef this don t beat 
 the Jews an the Gentiles, the Scribes an 
 the Pharisees, then I ain t a-settin here. 
 Did they tell you to come to this house fer 
 vittles?" 
 
 " No, suh ; dat dey ain t dat dey ain t ! 
 Ef Miss Mildred wuz ter know I went any- 
 whar on dis kin er errun she d mighty 
 nigh have a fit." 
 
 " Well, well, WELL ! " snorted the major. 
 
 " I des come my own se f ," Jesse went 
 
248 THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 
 
 on. He would have begun shaving again, 
 but the major waved him away. " Look 
 like I bleege ter come. You d a come 
 yo se f, Marse Maje, druther dan see dem 
 folks pe sh deyse f ter deff. Dey got money, 
 but Marse Judge Bascom got de idee dat 
 dey hafter save it all fer ter buy back de 
 ole Place. Dey pinch deyse f day in en day 
 out, en yistiddy when Miss Mildred say she 
 gwine buy somepin fer Sunday, Marse 
 Judge Bascom he say no ; he low dat dey 
 mus save en pinch en buy back de ole 
 home. I done year him say dat twel it 
 make me plum sick. An dar dey is natu 
 rally starvin deyse f. 
 
 "Miss Mildred," continued Jesse, "got 
 idee dat her pa know what he talkin bout ; 
 but twix you en me, Marse Maje, dat ole 
 man done about lose his min . He ain t so 
 mighty much older dan what you is, but he 
 mighty feeble in his limbs, en he mighty 
 flighty in his head. He talk funny, now, 
 en he don t talk bout nothin skacely but 
 buyin back the ole Place." 
 
 "Jess," said Major Bass in the smooth, 
 insinuating tone that the negro knew so well, 
 and that he had learned to fear, " ain t I 
 allers treated you right ? Ain t I allers 
 done the clean thing by you ? " 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 249 
 
 " Yes, Marse Maje, you is," said the ne 
 gro with emphasis. 
 
 " Well, then, Jess, what in the name of 
 Moses do you want to come roun me wi 
 such a tale as this? Don t you know I 
 know you clean through ? Why n t you 
 come right out an say you want the vittles 
 f er yourself ? What is the use whippin the 
 devil roun the stump ? " 
 
 "Marse Maje," said Jesse, solemnly, 
 " I m a-tellin you de Lord s trufe." By 
 this time he had begun to shave the major 
 again. 
 
 " Well," said Major Bass, after a pause, 
 during which he seemed to be thinking, 
 " suppos n I was to let myself be took in by 
 your tale, an suppos n I was to give you 
 some vittles, what have you got to put em 
 in?" 
 
 "I got a basket out dar, Marse Maje," 
 said Jesse, cheerfully. " I brung it a pur 
 pose." 
 
 " Why, tooby shore, tooby shore ! " ex 
 claimed the major, sarcastically. " Ef you 
 was as forehanded as you is fore-thoughted 
 you would n t be a-runnin roun beggin vit 
 tles from han to mouth. But sence you are 
 here you d better make haste ; bekaze ef your 
 
250 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 Miss Sarah comes back from church and 
 ketches you here, she 11 kick up a purty 
 rippit." 
 
 The major was correct. As he and Jesse 
 went into the pantry Mrs. Bass entered the 
 front door. Flinging her bonnet and man 
 tilla on a bed, she went to the back porch 
 for a drink of water. The major heard her 
 coming through the hallway, and, by a swift 
 gesture of his hand, cautioned Jesse to be 
 quiet. 
 
 " I 11 vow if the place ain t left to take 
 care of itself," Mrs. Bass was saying. 
 " Doors all open, chickens in the dining- 
 room, cat licking the churn-dasher, and I 11 
 bet my existence that not a drop of fresh 
 water has been put in the house - bucket 
 since I left this morning. Everything gone 
 to rack and ruin. I can t say my prayers 
 in peace at home, and if I go to church one 
 Sunday in a month there ain t no satisfac 
 tion in the sermon, because I know every 
 thing s at loose ends on this whole blessed 
 place. And if you d go up the street right 
 now, you d find Mr. Bass a-setting up there 
 at the tavern with the other loafers, a-gig- 
 gling and a-snickering and a-dribbling at 
 the mouth like one possessed." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 251 
 
 The major, in the pantry, winced visibly 
 at this picture drawn true to life, and as he 
 attempted to change his position he knocked 
 a tin vessel from one of the shelves. He 
 caught at it, and it fell to the floor with a 
 loud crash. 
 
 " The Lord have mercy ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Bass. " Is Satan and all his imps in 
 the pantry, a-tearing down and a-smashing 
 up things ? " Not being a timid woman, 
 she hastened to investigate. The sight she 
 saw in the pantry struck her speechless. In 
 one corner stood the major, holding up one 
 foot, as if he was afraid of breaking some 
 thing, and vainly trying to smile. In 
 another corner stood Jesse, so badly fright 
 ened that very little could be seen of his 
 face except the whites of his eyes. The 
 tableau was a comical one. Mrs. Bass did 
 not long remain speechless. 
 
 " Mr. Bass ! " she exclaimed, " what un 
 der the shining sun are you doing collogu 
 ing with niggers in my pantry? If you 
 want to collogue with niggers, why, in the 
 name of common sense, don t you take em 
 out to the barn? What are you doing in 
 there, anyhow? For mercy s sake! have 
 you gone stark-natural crazy ? And if you 
 
252 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 ain t, what brand-new caper are you trying 
 to cut up ? " 
 
 " Don t talk so loud, Sarah," said the ma 
 jor, wiping the cold perspiration from his 
 face. " All the neighbors 11 hear you." 
 
 " And why should n t they hear me ? " ex 
 claimed Mrs. Bass. " What could be worse 
 than for me to come home from church in 
 broad daylight and find you penned up in 
 my pantry, arm-in-arm with a nigger? 
 What business have you got with niggers 
 that you have to take em into my pantry to 
 collogue with em ? I d a heap rather 
 you d a taken em in the parlor a heap 
 rather." 
 
 Then Mrs. Bass s eyes fell on the basket 
 Jesse had in his hand, and this added to her 
 indignation. 
 
 "I believe in my soul," she went on, 
 " that you are stealing the meat and bread 
 out of your own mouth to feed that nigger. 
 If you ain t, what is the basket for ? " 
 
 " Tut, tut, Sarah, don t you go on so ; 
 you 11 make yourself the laughin -stock of 
 the town," said the major in a conciliatory 
 tone. 
 
 " And what ? 11 you be ? " continued Mrs. 
 Bass, relentlessly; "what 11 you be a 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 253 
 
 honeyin up with buck niggers in my pantry 
 in the broad open daytime? Maybe you 11 
 have the manners to introduce me to your 
 pardner. Who is he, anyhow? Then 
 Mrs. Bass turned her attention to the negro. 
 
 " Come out of my pantry, you nasty, tri 
 fling rascal ! Who are you ? " 
 
 " T ain t nobody but me, Miss Sa ah," 
 said Jesse as he issued forth. 
 
 " You ! " she exclaimed. " You are the 
 nigger that was too biggity to stay with em 
 that raised you up and took care of you, and 
 now you come back and try to steal their 
 bread and meat ! Well ! I know the end of 
 the world ain t so mighty far off." 
 
 Mrs, Bass sank into a chair, exhausted by 
 her indignation. Then the major took the 
 floor, so to say, and showed that if he could 
 be frightened by his wife, he could also, at the 
 proper time, show that he had a will of his 
 own. He explained the situation at some 
 length, and with an emphasis that carried 
 conviction with it. He made no mention of 
 Jesse in his highly colored narrative, but 
 left his wife to infer that while she was at 
 church praying for peace of mind and not 
 having her prayers answered to any great 
 extent, he was at home engaged in works of 
 
254 THE OLD AS COM PLACE. 
 
 practical charity. Nothing could have been 
 finer than the major s air of injured inno 
 cence, unless it was Jesse s attitude of help 
 less and abandoned humiliation. The result 
 of it was that Mrs. Bass filled the basket 
 with the best she had in the house, and 
 Jesse went home happy. 
 
 VI. 
 
 As for the Bascoms, they seemed to be 
 getting along comfortably in spite of the 
 harrowing story that Jesse had told to Ma 
 jor Jimmy Bass and to others. As a mat 
 ter of fact, the shrewd negro had purposely 
 exaggerated the condition of affairs in the 
 Bascom household. He had an idea that 
 the fare they lived on was too common and 
 cheap for the representatives of such a 
 grand family, forgetting, or not knowing, 
 the privations they had passed through. 
 The Judge insisted on the most rigid econ 
 omy, and Mildred was at one with him in 
 this. She was familiar with the necessity 
 for it, but she could see that her father was 
 anxious to push it to unmeasurable lengths. 
 It never occurred to her, however, that her 
 father s morbid anxiety to repossess the 
 
THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 255 
 
 Bascom Place was rapidly taking the shape 
 of mania. This desire on the part of Judge 
 Bascom was a part of his daughter s life. 
 She had heard it expressed in various ways 
 ever since she could remember, and it was a 
 part, not merely of her experience, but of 
 her growth and development. She had 
 heard the matter discussed so many times 
 that it seemed to her nothing but natural 
 that her father should one day realize the 
 dream of his later years and reoccupy the 
 old Place as proprietor. 
 
 Judge Bascom had no other thought than 
 this. As he grew older and feebler, the de 
 sire became more ardent and overpowering. 
 While his daughter was teaching her school, 
 with which she had made quite a success, 
 the Judge would be planning improvements 
 to be added to his old home when he should 
 own it again. Not a day passed unless, 
 indeed, the weather was stormy that he 
 did not walk in the neighborhood of the old 
 Place. Sometimes he would go with his 
 daughter, sometimes he would go alone, but 
 it was observed by those who came to be in 
 terested in his comings and goings that he 
 invariably refused to accept the invitation 
 of Mr. Underwood to enter the house or to 
 
256 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 inspect the improvements that had been 
 made. He persisted in remaining on the 
 outside of the domain, content to wait for 
 the day when he could enter as proprietor. 
 He was willing to accept the position of 
 spectator, but he was not willing to be a 
 guest. 
 
 The culmination came one fine day in the 
 fall, and it was so sudden and so peculiar 
 that it took Hillsborough completely by 
 surprise, and gave the people food for gos 
 sip for a long time afterwards. The season 
 was hesitating as to whether summer should 
 return or winter should be introduced. 
 There was a hint of winter in the crisp 
 morning breezes, but the world seemed to 
 float summerwards in the glimmering haze 
 that wrapped the hills in the afternoons. 
 On one of these fine mornings Judge Bas- 
 com rose and dressed himself. His daughter 
 heard him humming a tune as he walked 
 about the room, and she observed also, with 
 inward satisfaction, that his movements were 
 brisker than usual. Listening a little atten 
 tively, she heard him talking to himself, and 
 presently she heard him laugh. This was 
 such an unusual occurrence that she was 
 moved to knock at his door. He responded 
 
THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 257 
 
 with a cheery " Gome in ! " Mildred found 
 him shaved and dressed, and she saw that 
 there was a great change in his appearance. 
 His cheeks, usually so wan and white, were 
 flushed a little and his eyes were bright. 
 He smiled as Mildred entered, and ex 
 claimed in a tone that she had not heard for 
 years : 
 
 " Good-morning, my daughter ! And how 
 do you find yourself this morning? " 
 
 It was the old manner she used to admire 
 so when she was a slip of a girl a manner 
 that was a charming combination of dignity 
 and affection. 
 
 " Why, father ! " she exclaimed, " you 
 must be feeling better. You have positively 
 grown younger in a night." 
 
 The Judge laughed until his eyes spar 
 kled. " Yes, my dear, I am feeling very well 
 indeed. I never felt better. I am happy, 
 quite happy. Everything has been made 
 clear to me. I am going to-day to transact 
 some business that has been troubling me 
 a long time. I shall arrange it all to-day 
 yes, to-day." 
 
 The change that had come over her father 
 was such a relief to Mildred that she asked 
 him no questions. Now, as always, she 
 
258 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 trusted to his judgment and his experience. 
 Jesse, however, was more critical. He 
 watched the Judge furtively and shook his 
 head. 
 
 "Mistiss," he said to Mildred when he 
 found an opportunity, " did you shave mas 
 ter ? " 
 
 " Why. what a ridiculous question ! " she 
 exclaimed. " How could I shave him ? It 
 makes me shiver merely to touch the ra 
 zors." 
 
 "Well, Mistiss," Jesse insisted, "ef I 
 ain t shave him, en you ain t shave him, den 
 who de name er goodness is done gone en 
 done it ? " 
 
 " He shaved himself, of course," Mildred 
 said. " He is very much better this morn 
 ing. I noticed it the moment I saw him. I 
 should think you could see it yourself." 
 
 " I seed somepin nuther wuz de matter," 
 said Jesse. "Somepin bleege ter be de 
 matter when I put him ter bed las night 
 des like he wuz a baby, ma m, en now yer he 
 is gwine roun des ez spry ez de nex one. 
 Yessum, somepin bleege ter be de matter. 
 Yistiddy his han s wuz shakin same like he 
 got de polzy, ma m, en now yer he is shavin 
 hisse f ; dat what rack my min ." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 259 
 
 " Well, I hope you are glad he is so well, 
 Jesse," said Mildred in an injured tone. 
 
 " Oh, yessum," said Jesse, scratching his 
 head. u Lor , yessum. Dey ain t nobody 
 no gladder dan what I is ; but it come on 
 me so sudden, ma m, dat it sorter skeer me." 
 
 " Well, it does n t frighten me," said Mil 
 dred. " It makes me very happy." 
 
 "Yessum," replied Jesse deferentially. 
 He made no further comment; but after 
 Mildred had gone to attend to her school 
 duties he made it his business to keep an 
 eye 011 the Judge, and the closer the negro 
 watched, the more forcibly was he struck 
 by the great change that a night had made 
 in the old man. 
 
 "I hear talk bout folks bein conjured 
 inter sickness," Jesse said to himself, " but 
 I ain t never hear talk bout dey bein con 
 jured so dey git well." 
 
 Certainly a great change had come over 
 Judge Bascom. He stood firmly on his feet 
 once more. He held his head erect, as in 
 the old days, and when he talked to Jesse 
 his tone was patronizing and commanding, 
 instead of querulous and complaining. He 
 seemed to be very fastidious about his ap 
 pearance. After Mildred had gone to her 
 
260 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 school, Jesse was called in to brush the 
 Judge s hat and coat and to polish his shoes. 
 The Judge watched this process with great 
 interest, and talked to the negro in his 
 blandest manner. This was not so surpris 
 ing to Jesse as the fact that the Judge per 
 sisted in calling him Wesley ; Wesley was 
 the Judge s old body-servant who had been 
 dead for twenty years. It was Wesley this 
 and Wesley that so long as Jesse was in 
 the room, and once the Judge asked how 
 long before the carriage would be ready. 
 The negro parried this question, but he re 
 membered it. He was sorely puzzled an 
 hour afterwards, however, when Judge Bas- 
 com called him and said : 
 
 " Wesley, tell Jordan he need not bring 
 the carriage around for me. I will walk. 
 Jordan can bring your mistress when she is 
 ready." 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Jesse, when the Judge 
 disappeared in the house, " dis bangs me ! 
 What de name er goodness put de ole man 
 Jerd n in his rnin , which he died endurance 
 er de war ? It s all away beyant me. Miss 
 Mildred oughter be yer wid her pa right 
 now, yit, ef I go atter her, dey ain t no 
 tellin what he gwine do." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 261 
 
 Jess cut an armful of wood, and then 
 made a pretense of washing dishes, going 
 from the kitchen to the dining-room several 
 times.. More than once he stopped to listen, 
 but he could hear nothing. After a while 
 he made bold to peep into the sitting-room. 
 There was nobody there. He went into the 
 Judge s bedroom ; it was empty. Then he 
 called " Marster ! oh, Marster ! " but there 
 was no reply. Jess was in a quandary. He 
 was not alarmed, but he was uneasy. 
 
 " Ef I run en tell Miss Mildred dat Mars 
 ter done gone som ers," he said to himself, 
 "she ll des laugh en say I ain t got no 
 sense ; en I don t speck I is, but it make my 
 flesh crawl fer ter hear folks callin on dead 
 niggers ter do dis en do dat." 
 
 Meanwhile the Judge had sallied forth 
 from the house, and was proceeding in the 
 direction of the Bascom Place. His step 
 was firm and elastic, his bearing dignified. 
 The acquaintances whom he met on his way 
 stopped and looked after him when they had 
 returned his Chesterfieldian salutation. He 
 walked rapidly, and there was an air of deci 
 sion in his movements that had long been 
 lacking. At the great gate opening into the 
 avenue of the Bascom Place the Judge was 
 
262 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 met by Prince the mastiff, who gave him a 
 hospitable welcome, and gravely preceded 
 him to the house. Miss Sophie, Mr. Under 
 wood s maiden sister, who was sitting.in the 
 piazza, engaged on some kind of feminine 
 embroidery, saw the Judge coming, too late 
 to beat a retreat, so she merely whipped be 
 hind one of the large pillars, gave her dress 
 a little shake at the sides and behind, ran 
 her hands over her hair, and appeared be 
 fore the caller cool, calm, and collected. 
 
 " Good-morning, madam," said the Judge 
 in his grand way, taking off his hat. 
 
 " Good-morning, sir," said Miss Sophie. 
 " Have this chair ? " 
 
 " No, no," said the Judge, smiling blandly, 
 and waving his hand. " I prefer my own 
 chair the large rocker with the cushion, 
 you know. It is more comfortable." 
 
 Somewhat puzzled, Miss Sophie fetched a 
 rocker. Ifc had no cushion, but the Judge 
 seemed not to miss it. 
 
 "Why, where are the servants?" he 
 asked, his brows contracting a little. "I 
 could have brought the chair." 
 
 " Mercy ! " exclaimed Miss Sophie, " if I 
 were to sit down and expect the negroes to 
 wait on me, I d have a good many disap 
 pointments during the day." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 263 
 
 "Yes," said the Judge, "that is very 
 true; very true. Where is "Wesley ?" 
 
 " I ? m sure I don t know," Miss Sophie 
 replied. " Is he a white man or a negro ? " 
 
 " Wesley ? " exclaimed the Judge. " Why, 
 he s a nigger ; he s my body-servant." 
 
 " Is n t this Judge Bascom ? " Miss So 
 phie inquired, regarding him curiously. 
 
 "Yes, certainly, madam," responded the 
 Judge. 
 
 " Well, I ve seen a negro named Jesse 
 following you and your daughter about," 
 said Miss Sophie. " Perhaps you are speak 
 ing of Jesse. 
 
 " No, no," said the Judge. " I mean 
 Wesley or maybe you are only a visitor 
 here. Your face is familiar, but I have for 
 gotten your name." 
 
 " I am Francis Underwood s sister," said 
 Miss Sophie, with some degree of pride. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! " the Judge sighed " Fran 
 cis Underwood. He is the gentleman who 
 has had charge of the place these several 
 years. A very clever man, I have no doubt. 
 He has done very well, very well indeed ; 
 better than most men would have done. Do 
 you know where he will go next year ? " 
 
 " Now, I could n t tell you, really," Miss 
 
264 - THE OLD AS COM PLACE. 
 
 Sophie replied, looking at the Judge through 
 her gold-rimmed eye-glasses. " He did in 
 tend to go North this fall, but he s always 
 too busy to carry out his intentions." 
 
 " Yes," said Judge Bascom ; " I have no 
 doubt he is a very busy man. He has man 
 aged everything very cleverly here, and I 
 wish him well wherever he goes." 
 
 Miss Sophie was very glad when she 
 heard her brother s step in the hall; not 
 that she was nervous or easily frightened, 
 but there was something in Judge Bascom s 
 actions, something in the tone of his voice, 
 some suggestion in his words, that gave her 
 uneasiness, and she breathed a sigh of relief 
 when her stalwart brother made his appear 
 ance. 
 
 Francis Underwood greeted his guest 
 cordially more cordially, Miss Sophie 
 thought, than circumstances warranted ; but 
 the beautiful face of Mildred Bascom was 
 not stamped on Miss Sophie s mind as it was 
 on her brother s. 
 
 " I am sorry to put you to any inconven 
 ience," said the Judge, after they had talked 
 for some time on commonplace topics 
 " very sorry. I have put the matter off 
 until at last I felt it to be a solemn duty I 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 265 
 
 owed my family to come here. Believe me, 
 sir," he continued, turning to the young man 
 with some emotion "believe me, sir, it 
 grieves me to trouble you in the matter, but 
 I could no longer postpone coming here. 1 
 think I understand and appreciate your at 
 tachment " 
 
 " Why, my dear sir," cried Francis Un 
 derwood in his heartiest manner, " it is no 
 trouble at all. No one could be more wel 
 come here. I have often wondered why you 
 have never called before. Don t talk about 
 trouble and inconvenience." 
 
 "I think I understand and appreciate 
 your attachment for the Place," the Judge 
 went on as though he had not been inter 
 rupted, "and it embarrasses me, I assure 
 you, to be compelled to trouble you now." 
 
 " Well," said Francis Underwood, with a 
 hospitable laugh, " if it is no trouble to you, 
 it certainly is none to me. As my neigh 
 bors around here say, when I call on them, 
 just make yourself at home. 
 
 Judge Bascom rose from his chair trem 
 bling. He seemed suddenly to be laboring 
 under the most intense excitement. 
 
 " My home ? " he almost shrieked 
 " make myself at home ! In God s name, 
 
266 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 man, what can you mean ? It is my home ! 
 It has always been my home ! Everything 
 here is mine every foot of land, every 
 tree, every brick and stone and piece of 
 timber in this house. It is all mine, and I 
 will have it! I have come here to assert 
 my rights! " 
 
 He panted with passion and excitement 
 as he looked from Francis Underwood to 
 Miss Sophie. He paused, as if daring them 
 to dispute his claims. Miss Sophie, who 
 had a temper of her own, would have given 
 the Judge a piece of her mind, but she saw 
 her brother regarding the old man with a 
 puzzled, pitying expression. Then the 
 truth flashed on her, and for an instant she 
 felt like crying. Francis Underwood ap 
 proached the Judge and led him gently 
 back to his chair. 
 
 " Now that you are at home, Judge Bas- 
 com," he said, " you need not worry your 
 self." 
 
 " I tell you it is mine ! " the Judge went 
 on, beating the arm of his chair with his 
 clenched fist ; " it is mine. It has always 
 been mine, and it will always be mine." 
 
 Francis Underwood stood before the old 
 man, active, alert, smiling. His sister said 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 267 
 
 afterwards that she was surprised at the 
 prompt gentleness with which her brother 
 disposed of what promised to be a very disa 
 greeable scene. 
 
 "Judge Bascom," said the young man, 
 swinging himself around on his boot-heels, 
 " as your guest here, allow me to suggest 
 that you ought to show me over the place. 
 I have been told you have some very fine 
 cows here." 
 
 Immediately Judge Bascom was himself 
 again. His old air of dignity returned, and 
 he became in a moment the affable host. 
 
 "As my guests here," he said, smiling 
 with pleasure, " you and the lady are very 
 welcome. We keep open house at the Bas 
 com Place, and we are glad to have our 
 friends with us. What we have is yours. I 
 suppose," he went on, still smiling, " some 
 of our neighbors have been joking about our 
 cows. We have a good many of them, but 
 they don t amount to much. They have 
 been driven to the pasture by this time, and 
 that is on the creek a mile and a half from 
 here. I wonder where Wesley is ! I think 
 he is growing more worthless every year. 
 He ought to be here with my daughter. 
 The carriage was sent for her some time 
 ago." 
 
268 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 " I will see if he is in the yard," said Un 
 derwood, and his sister followed him through 
 the hall. 
 
 " Mercy ! " Miss Sophie exclaimed when 
 they were out of hearing; "does the old 
 Judge purpose to swarm and settle down on 
 us ? " She had an economical turn of mind. 
 " What in the world is the matter with 
 him?" 
 
 " I pity him from the bottom of my 
 heart," said Francis Underwood, " but I am 
 sorrier for his daughter. Everything seems 
 to be blotted out of his mind except the no 
 tion that he is the owner of this Place. We 
 must humor him, sister, and we must be ten 
 der with the daughter. You know how to 
 do that much better than I do." 
 
 Miss Sophie frowned a little. The situa 
 tion was a new and trying one, but she had 
 been confronted with emergencies before, 
 and her experience and her strong common 
 sense stood her in good stead now. With a 
 woman s promptness she decided on a line 
 of action at once sympathetic and effectual. 
 The buggy was ordered out and young Un 
 derwood went for a physician. 
 
 Then, when he had returned, Miss Sophie 
 said he must go for the daughter, and she 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 269 
 
 cautioned him, with some severity of man 
 ner, as to what he should say and how he 
 should deport himself. But at this Francis 
 Underwood rebelled. Ordinarily he was a 
 very agreeable and accommodating young 
 fellow, but when his sister informed him 
 that he must fetch Mildred Bascom to her 
 father, he pulled off his hat and scratched 
 his blond head in perplexity. 
 
 " What could I say, sister ? " he pro 
 tested. " How could I explain the situa 
 tion ? No ; it is a woman s work, and you 
 must go. It would be a pretty come-off for 
 me to go after this poor girl and in a fit of 
 awkwardness frighten her to death. It is 
 bad enough as it is. There is no hurry. 
 You shall have the carriage. It would 
 never do for me to go ; no one but a woman 
 knows how to be sympathetic in a matter of 
 this kind." 
 
 " I never knew before that you were so 
 bashful," said Miss Sophie, regarding him 
 keenly. " It is a recent development." 
 
 " It is not bashfulness, sister," said Un 
 derwood, coloring a little. " It is considera 
 tion. How could I explain matters to this 
 poor girl ? How could I prevail on her to 
 come here without giving her an inkling of 
 
270 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 the situation, and thus frighten her, perhaps 
 unnecessarily ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," said Miss So 
 phie, who, as an experienced spinster, was 
 not always ready to make concessions of this 
 kind. " At any rate I 11 go for Miss Bas- 
 com, and I think I can manage it without 
 alarming her ; but the matter troubles me. 
 I hope the poor old Judge will not be a 
 dangerous guest." 
 
 " There is not the slightest fear of that," 
 said Francis Underwood. "He is too fee 
 ble for that. When I placed my hand on 
 his shoulder just now he was all of a trem 
 ble. He is no stronger than a little child, 
 and no more dangerous. Besides, the doc 
 tor is with him." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Sophie with a sigh, 
 "I 11 go. Women are compelled to do 
 most of the odd jobs that men are afraid to 
 take up ; but I shiver to think of it. I 
 shall surely break down when I see that 
 poor child." 
 
 "No," said her brother, "you will not. 
 I know you too well for that. We must 
 humor this old man, and that will be for 
 me to do; his daughter must be left to 
 you." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 271 
 
 VII. 
 
 ALL this was no less the result of Francis 
 Underwood s desire than of the doctor s com 
 mands. The old practitioner was noted for 
 his skill throughout the region, and after he 
 had talked with Judge Bascom he gave it as 
 his opinion that the only physic necessary in 
 the case was perfect rest and quiet, and that 
 these could be secured only by allowing the 
 old man to remain undisturbed in the belief 
 that he was once more the owner of the Bas 
 com Place. 
 
 " He 11 not trouble you for long," said 
 Dr. Bynum, wiping his spectacles, " and 
 I ve no doubt that whatever expense may 
 be incurred will be settled by his old 
 friends. Oh, Bascom still has friends 
 here," exclaimed the doctor, misunderstand 
 ing Underwood s gesture of protest. "He 
 went wrong, badly wrong ; but he is a 
 Southerner, sir, to the very core, and in the 
 South we are in the habit of looking after 
 our own. We may differ, sir, but when the 
 pinch comes you 11 find us together." 
 
 The doctor s lofty air was wholly lost on 
 his companion. 
 
272 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 "My dear sir," said Underwood, laying 
 his hand somewhat heavily on the doctor s 
 shoulder, " what do you take me for ? Do 
 you suppose that I intend to set up a hospi 
 tal here?" 
 
 "Oh, by no means, by no means," said 
 Dr. Bynum, soothingly. " Not at all ; in 
 fact, quite the contrary. As I say, you 
 shall be reimbursed for all " 
 
 " Dr. Bynum," said Underwood, with 
 some degree of emphasis, " permit me to re 
 mind you that Judge Bascom is my guest. 
 There is no question of money except so far 
 as your bill is concerned, and that " 
 
 " Now, now, my dear boy," exclaimed the 
 old doctor, holding up both hands in a ges 
 ture of expostulation, " don t, don t fly up ! 
 What is the use? I was only explaining 
 matters ; I was only trying to let you know 
 how we Southerners feel. You must have 
 noticed that the poor old Judge has n t been 
 treated very well since his return here. His 
 best friends have avoided him. I was only 
 trying to tell you that they hold him in high 
 esteem, and that they are willing to do all 
 they can for him." 
 
 " As a Southerner ? " inquired Under 
 wood, " or as a man ? " 
 
THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 273 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " exclaimed Dr. Bynum. 
 " Don t come running at me with your head 
 down and your horns up. We ve no time 
 to fall into a dispute. You look after the 
 Judge as a Northerner, and I 11 look after 
 him as a Southerner. His daughter must 
 come here. He is very feeble. He has but 
 one irrational idea, and that is that he owns 
 the old Place. In every other particular 
 his mind is sound, and he will give you no 
 trouble. His idea must be humored, and 
 even then the collapse will come too soon 
 for that poor girl, his daughter as lovely 
 a creature, sir, as you ever saw." 
 
 This statement was neither information 
 nor news so far as Underwood was con 
 cerned. " If I see her," the old doctor 
 went on, with a somewhat patronizing air, 
 " I 11 try to explain matters ; but it is a 
 very delicate undertaking, sir very deli 
 cate." 
 
 "No," said Underwood; "there will be 
 no need for explanations. My sister will 
 go for Miss Bascom, and whatever explana 
 tions may be necessary she will make at the 
 proper time." 
 
 "An admirable arrangement," said Dr. 
 Bynum with a grunt of satisfaction "an 
 
274 THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 
 
 admirable arrangement indeed. Well, my 
 boy, you must do the best you can, and I 
 know that will be all that is necessary. I 
 am sorry for Bascom, very sorry, and I m 
 sorrier for his daughter. I 11 call again to 
 night." 
 
 As Dr. Bynum drove down the avenue, 
 Underwood was much gratified to see Jesse 
 coming through the gate. The negro ap 
 peared to be much perplexed. He took off 
 his hat as he approached Underwood, and 
 made a display of politeness somewhat un 
 usual, although he was always polite. 
 
 " Is you seed Marse Judge Bascom ? " he 
 inquired. 
 
 " Yes," said Underwood. " He is in the 
 house yonder, resting himself. You seem 
 frightened; what is the trouble?" 
 
 "Well, suh, I ain t had no such worri- 
 ment sence de Sherman army come long. 
 I dunner what got inter Marse Judge Bas 
 com. He been gwine on des like yuther 
 folks, settin roun en talkin long wid his- 
 se f, en den all of er sudden he break out 
 en shave en dress hisse f, en go visitin whar 
 he ain t never been visitin befo . I done 
 year im say p intedly dat he ain t never 
 gwine come yer les n de Place b long ter 
 im. Do he look downhearted, suh ? " 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 275 
 
 " No," said Underwood, " I can t say that 
 he does. He seems to be very well satis 
 fied. He has called several times for Wes 
 ley. I have heard you called Jesse, but 
 perhaps the Judge knows you as Wesley. 
 There are several negroes around here who 
 answer to different names." 
 
 "No, suh," said Jesse, scratching his 
 head. " I ain t never been call Wesley 
 sence I been bornded inter de worl . Dey 
 was er nigger name Wesley what use ter go 
 long wid Marse Judge Bascom en wait on 
 im when I wuz er little boy, but Wesley 
 done been dead too long ago ter talk about. 
 I dunner what make folks s min drop back 
 dat a way. Look like dey er sorter fumblin 
 roun tryin fer ter ketch holt er sump n 
 ne r what done been pulled up out n reach." 
 
 " Well," said Underwood, " the Judge is 
 in the house. See if he wants anything; 
 and if he asks about his daughter, tell him 
 she will be here directly." 
 
 When Jesse went into the house he found 
 the Judge lying 011 a lounge in the hall. 
 His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be 
 dozing ; but Jesse s movements aroused 
 him. 
 
 " Ah ! is that you, Wesley ? Where is 
 your Miss Mildred ? " 
 
276 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 " She comin , suh ; she comin right now." 
 
 " Very well, very well. You must make 
 yourself at home here," he said to Francis 
 Underwood, who had followed Jesse. " I 
 am somewhat dilapidated myself, but my 
 daughter will entertain you. Wesley, I be 
 lieve I will go to my room. Lend me your 
 arm." 
 
 "Allow me to assist you," said Under 
 wood ; and so between the two the old man 
 was carried to the room that had been his 
 own when the house was his. It happened 
 to be Underwood s room, but that made no 
 difference. It belonged once more to the 
 Judge in his disordered fancy, and thither 
 he went. 
 
 After a while Miss Sophie came, bringing 
 Mildred. Just how she had explained mat 
 ters to the poor girl no one ever knew, but 
 it must have been in some specially sympa 
 thetic way, for when Francis Underwood 
 assisted the ladies from the carriage Miss 
 Bascom appeared to be the less agitated of 
 the two. 
 
 "The Judge is as comfortable as possi 
 ble," Underwood said cheerily. " Jesse is 
 with him, and I think he is asleep. His 
 nervousness has passed away." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 277 
 
 "Oh, do you think he is seriously ill?" 
 exclaimed Mildred, clasping her hands to 
 gether. 
 
 "Certainly not, just now," said Francis 
 Underwood. "The doctor has been here, 
 and he has gone away apparently satisfied. 
 Sister, do you take charge of Miss Bascom, 
 and show her how to be at home here." 
 
 And so Judge Bascom and his beautiful 
 daughter were installed at the old Place. 
 Mildred, under the circumstances, would 
 rather have been elsewhere, but she was 
 practically under orders. It was necessary 
 to the well-being of her father, so the doc 
 tor said, that he should remain where he 
 was ; it was necessary that he should be hu 
 mored in the belief that he was the owner 
 of the old Place. It is only fair to say that 
 Miss Sophie Underwood and her brother 
 were more willing and anxious to enter into 
 this scheme than Mildred appeared to be. 
 She failed to comprehend the situation until 
 after she had talked with her father, and 
 then she was in despair. Judge Bascom 
 was the representative of everything sub 
 stantial and enduring in his daughter s ex 
 perience, and when she realized that his 
 mind had been seized by a vagary she re- 
 
278 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 ceived a tremendous shock. But the rough 
 edges of the situation, so to speak, were 
 smoothed and turned by Miss Sophie, who 
 assumed motherly charge of the young girl. 
 Miss Sophie s methods were so sympathetic 
 and so womanly, and she gave to the situa 
 tion such a matter-of-fact interpretation, 
 that the grief and dismay of the young girl 
 were not as overwhelming as they otherwise 
 would have been. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Naturally all the facts that have just been 
 set down here were soon known to the in 
 habitants of Hillsborough. Naturally, too, 
 something more than the facts was also 
 known and talked about. There was the 
 good old doctor ready to shake his head and 
 look mysterious, and there were the negroes 
 ready to give out an exaggerated version of 
 the occurrences that followed Judge Bas- 
 corn s visit to his old home. 
 
 "Well," said Major Jimmy Bass to his 
 wife, with something like a snort, " ef the 
 old Judge is gone there an took holt of 
 things, like they say, it s bekaze he s out n 
 his mind. I wonder what in the round 
 world could a possessed him ? " 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 279 
 
 " I spec he s done drapt back into bis 
 doltage," said Farmer Joe-Bob Grissom, 
 who had gone to the major s for the pur 
 pose of discussing the matter. " An yit, 
 they do say that he s got a clean title to 
 every bit of the prop ty, ef you take into ac 
 count all that talk about his wife s brother, 
 an sech like." 
 
 " Well," remarked the major grimly, 
 " Sarah there ain t got no brother, an I 
 reckon I ni sorter protected from them kind 
 of gwines-on." 
 
 " Why, tooby shore you are," said his 
 wife, who was the Sarah referred to ; " but 
 I ain t so mighty certain that I would n t be 
 better off if I had a brother to follow you 
 around where the wimmen folks can t go. 
 Yon ve flung away many a bright dollar 
 that he might have picked up." 
 
 " Who, Sarah ? " inquired the major, 
 wincing a little. 
 
 " My brother," returned Mrs. Bass. 
 
 " Why, you have n t got a brother, Sa 
 rah," said Major Bass. 
 
 " More s the pity," exclaimed the major s 
 wife. " I ought to have had one, a great 
 big double-j inted chap. But you need n t 
 tell me about the old Judg-e," she went on. 
 
280 THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 
 
 "He tried to out- Yankee the Yankees up 
 yonder in Atlanty, an now he s a-trying to 
 out- Yankee them down here. Lord ! You 
 needn t tell me a thing about old Judge 
 Bascom. Show me a man that s been 
 wrapped up with the Radicals, and I ll 
 show you a man that ain t got no better 
 sense than to try to chousel somebody. I d 
 just as lief see Underwood have the Bascom 
 Place as the old Judge, every bit and 
 grain." 
 
 " Well, I had n t," said the major em 
 phatically. 
 
 " No, ner me nuther," said Mr. Joe-Bob 
 Grissom. " Hit may be right, but hit don t 
 look right. Pap used to say he d never be 
 happy ontel the Bascoms come back inter 
 the r prop ty." 
 
 " Well, he s dead, ain t he ? " inquired 
 Mrs. Bass in a tone that showed she had the 
 best of the argument. 
 
 "Yessum," said Mr. Grissom, shifting 
 about in his chair and crossing his legs, as 
 if anxious to dispose of an unpleasant sub 
 ject, " yessum, pap s done dead." To this 
 statement, after a somewhat embarrassing 
 silence, he added: "Pap took an died a 
 long time ago." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 281 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Bass in a gentler tone, 
 " and I 11 warrant you that when he died he 
 was n t pestered bout whether the Bascoms 
 owned the Place or not. Did he make any 
 complaints ? " 
 
 " No m," replied Mr. Grissom in a remi 
 niscent way, " I can t say that he did. He 
 jest didn t bother about em. Hit looked 
 like they jest natchally slipped outer his 
 mind." " 
 
 " Why, certainly," said Mrs. Bass, with 
 a little shake of her head ; " they slipped 
 outer your pa s mind, and now they say the 
 old Judge has slipped out of his own 
 mind." 
 
 "Well, we needn t boast of it, Sarah," 
 remarked the major, with a feeble attempt 
 at severity. " Nobody knows the day when 
 some of us may be twisted around. We ve 
 no room to brag." 
 
 " No, we ain t," said his wife, bridling up. 
 " I ve trembled for you a many a day when 
 you thought I was thinking about something 
 else, a many a day." 
 
 " Now you know mighty well, Sarah, that 
 no good-natured man like me ain t a-gwine 
 to up an lose their mind, jest dry so," said 
 the major earnestly. " They Ve got to have 
 some mighty big trouble." 
 
282 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Bass, grimly, " and they 
 have to have mind too, I reckon. Nobody 
 that never had a horse ever lost one." 
 
 The major nodded his head at Joe-Bob 
 Grissom, as much as to say that it was only 
 a very able man who could afford to have 
 such a sprightly wife. The mute sugges 
 tion, however, was lost on Grissom, who was 
 accustomed to taking life seriously. 
 
 " I hear a mighty heap of talk," he said, 
 " but I ain t never been so mighty certain 
 an shore that the old Judge is lost his 
 mind. There d be lots of fun ef it should 
 happen to be that he had the papers all 
 made out in his pocket, an I *ve hearn some 
 hints that-a-way." 
 
 " Well," said the more practical Mrs. 
 Bass, " he ain t got no papers. The minute 
 I laid eyes on him after he came back here, 
 I says to Mr. Bass there, Mr. Bass, says 
 I, ; the old Judge has gone wrong in his up 
 per story. Ah, you can t fool me. I know 
 a tiling when I see it, more especially if I 
 look at it close. I Ve seen folks that had to 
 rub the silver off a thrip to tell whether it 
 was passable or not. I might be fooled 
 about the silver in a thrip, but you can t 
 fool me about a grown man." 
 
THE OLD B AS COM PLACE. 283 
 
 " Nobody ain t tryin to fool you, Sarah," 
 said the major, with some show of spirit. 
 
 "Well, I reckon not," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Bass, somewhat contemptuously. " I d like 
 to see anybody try to fool me right here in 
 my own house and right before my face." 
 
 " There ain t no tellin ," said Mr. Joe- 
 Bob Grissom, in his matter-of-fact way, 
 ignoring everything that had been said, 
 " there ain t no tellin whether the old 
 Judge is got the papers or not. T would 
 be hard on Frank Underwood an* his sister, 
 an they ain t no better folks than them. 
 They don t make no fuss about it, an they 
 don t hang out no signs, but when you come 
 to a narrer place in the road where you 
 can t go forrerd nor back ards, an nuther 
 can you turn roun , you may jest count on 
 them Underwoods. They 11 git you out ef 
 you can be got out, an before you can say 
 thanky-do, they 11 be away off yonder help- 
 in some yuther poor creetur." 
 
 " Well," said Major Bass, with an air of 
 independence, " I m at the fust of it. It 
 may be jest as you say, Joe-Bob ; but ef so, 
 I ve never knowed it." 
 
 " Hit s jest like I tell you," said Joe-Bob, 
 emphatically. 
 
284 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 " Well, the Lord love us ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Bass, " I hope it s so, I do from the 
 bottom of my heart. It would be a mighty 
 queer world if it did n t have some tender 
 spots in it, but you need n t be afraid that 
 they 11 ever get as thick as the measles. I 
 reckon you must be renting land on the old 
 Bascom Place," she went on, eying Mr. 
 Grissom somewhat sharply. 
 
 "Yessum," said Joe-Bob, moving about 
 uneasily in his chair. " Yessum, I do." 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Bass smiled, and her 
 smile was more significant than anything she 
 could have said. It was disconcerting in 
 deed, and it was not long before Mr. Joe- 
 Bob Grissom made some excuse for depriv 
 ing Major Jimmy and Mrs. Sarah Bass of 
 his company. 
 
 As he was passing the Bascom Place on 
 his way home he saw lights in the house and 
 heard voices on the piazza. 
 
 "Ef it war n t for that blamed dog," he 
 thought, " I d go up there an see what they 
 er talkin about so mighty peart." 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 285 
 
 IX. 
 
 But Mr. Grissom s curiosity would not 
 have been satisfied. Judge Bascom was 
 sitting in a large rocking-chair, enjoying the 
 pleasant evening air, and the others were 
 sitting near, talking on the most ordinary 
 topics. This situation was one of the doc 
 tor s prescriptions, as Miss Sophie said. 
 Those around were to wear a cheerful air, 
 and the Judge Was to be humored in the be 
 lief that he was once more the proprietor of 
 the Bascom Place. He seemed to respond 
 to this treatment in the most natural way. 
 The old instinct of hospitality rose in him 
 and had its way. He grew garrulous in 
 deed, and sat on the piazza, or walked up 
 and down and talked by the hour. He was 
 full of plans and projects, and some of them 
 were so suggestive that Francis Underwood 
 made a note of them for further considera 
 tion. The Judge was the genial host, and 
 while his daughter was full of grief and hu 
 miliation at the position in which she was 
 placed, he appeared to draw new life and in 
 spiration from his surroundings. He took 
 a great fancy to Miss Sophie : her observa- 
 
286 THE OLD BASCOM-PLACE. 
 
 tions, which were practical in the extreme, 
 and often unflattering, were highly relished 
 by him. The Judge himself was a good 
 talker, and he gave Miss Sophie an oppor 
 tunity to vent some of her pet opinions, the 
 most of which were very pronounced. 
 
 As for Mildred, in spite of her grief and 
 anxiety, she found her surroundings vastly 
 more pleasant than she had at first imagined 
 they could be. Some instinct or preposses 
 sion made her feel at home in the old house, 
 and as she grew more cheerful and more 
 contented she grew more beautiful and more 
 engaging. At least, this was the opinion of 
 Francis Underwood. 
 
 " Brother," said Miss Sophie one day 
 when they were together, " you are in love." 
 
 " I don t know whether to say yes or no," 
 he replied. " What is it to be in love? " 
 
 " How should I know ? " exclaimed Miss 
 Sophie, reddening a little. "I see you 
 mooning around, and moping. Something 
 has come over you, and if it is n t love, what 
 is it ? " 
 
 He held up his hands, white and muscu 
 lar, and looked at them. Then he took off 
 his hat and tousled his hair in an effort to 
 smooth it with his fingers. 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 287 
 
 " It is something," he said after a while 
 " but I don t know what. Is love such an 
 everyday affair that it can be called by 
 name as soon as it arrives ? " 
 
 " Don t be absurd, brother," said Miss 
 Sophie, with a gesture of protest. " You 
 talk as if you were trying to take a census 
 of the affair." 
 
 "No," said he; "I am trying to get a 
 special report. I saw Dr. Bynum looking 
 at you over his spectacles yesterday." 
 
 Miss Sophie tried to show that this sug 
 gestion was an irritating one, but she failed, 
 and then fell to laughing. 
 
 " I never knew I was so full of humor be 
 fore," said Francis Underwood, by way of 
 comment. 
 
 " And I never knew you could be so fool 
 ish to me," said Miss Sophie, still laugh 
 ing. " What is Dr. Bynum to me ? " 
 
 " Not having his spectacles to look ovel-, 
 how do I know ? " 
 
 " But," persisted Miss Sophie, " you need 
 no spectacles to look at Mildred. I have 
 seen you looking at her through your fin- 
 gers." 
 
 "And what was she doing?" inquired 
 Underwood, coloring in the most surprising 
 way. 
 
288 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 " Oh," said Miss Sophie, " she was pre 
 tending not to notice it ; but I can sit with 
 my back to you both and tell by the tone of 
 her voice when this and that thing is going 
 on." 
 
 " This, then, is courtship," said Under 
 wood. 
 
 " Why; brother, how provoking you are ! " 
 exclaimed Miss Sophie. " It is nothing of 
 the sort. It is child s play ; it is the way 
 the youngsters do at school. I feel as if I 
 never knew you before ; you are full of sur 
 prises." 
 
 "I surprise myself," he said, with some 
 thing like a sigh, " and that is the trouble ; 
 1 don t want to be too surprising." 
 
 " But in war," said his sister, " the suc 
 cessful general cannot be too full of sur 
 prises." 
 
 " In war ! " he cried. " Why, I was in 
 hopes the war was over." 
 
 " I was thinking about the old saying," 
 she explained " the old saying that all is 
 fair in love and war." 
 
 "Well," said Francis Underwood, "it 
 would be hard to say whether you and Dr. 
 Bynum are engaged in war or not. You 
 are both very sly, but I have seen a good 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 289 
 
 deal of skirmishing going on. Will it end 
 in a serious engagement, with casualties on 
 both sides ? The doctor is something of a 
 surgeon, and he can attend to his own wounds, 
 but who is going to look after yours ? " 
 
 " How can you go on so ! " cried Miss So 
 phie, laughing. "Are we to have an epi 
 demic of delusions?" 
 
 "Yes, and illusions too," said her brother. 
 " The atmosphere seems to be full of them. 
 Everything is in a tangle." 
 
 And yet it was not long after this conver 
 sation that Miss Sophie observed her brother 
 and Mildred Bascom sauntering together 
 under the great cedars, and she concluded 
 that he was trying to untangle the tangle. 
 
 There were many such walks, and the old 
 Judge, sitting on the piazza in bright 
 weather, would watch the handsome pair, 
 apparently with a contented air. There was 
 something about this busy and practical 
 young man that filled Mildred s imagination. 
 His individuality was prominent enough to 
 be tantalizing. It was of the dominant va 
 riety. In him the instinct of control and 
 command, so pleasing to the feminine 
 mind, was thoroughly developed, and he dis 
 posed of his affairs with a promptness and 
 decisiveness that left nothing to be desired. 
 
290 THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 
 
 Everything seemed to be arranged in his 
 rnind beforehand. 
 
 Everything, that is to say, except his rela 
 tions with Mildred Bascom. There was not 
 the slightest detail of his various enterprises, 
 from the simplest to the most complicated, 
 with which he was not thoroughly familiar, 
 but this young girl, simple and unaffected as 
 she was, puzzled him sorely. She presented 
 to Francis Underwood s mind the old prob 
 lem that is always new, and that has as 
 many phases as there are stars in the sky. 
 Here, before his eyes, was a combination for 
 which there was no warrant in his experi 
 ence the wit and tenderness of Rosalind, 
 blended with the self-sacrificing devotion of 
 Cordelia. Here was a combination a com 
 plication of a nature to attract the young 
 man s attention. Problem, puzzle, what you 
 will, it was a very attractive one for him, 
 and he lost no favorable opportunity of 
 studying it. 
 
 So the pleasant days came and went. If 
 there were any love - passages between the 
 young people, only the stately cedars or the 
 restless poplars were in the secret, and these 
 told it only to the vagrant west winds that 
 crept over the hills when the silence of night 
 fell over all things. 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 291 
 
 Those were pleasant days and nights at 
 the old Bascom Place, in spite of the malady 
 with which the Judge was afflicted. They 
 were particularly pleasant when he seemed 
 to be brighter and stronger. But one day, 
 when he seemed to be at his best, the begin 
 ning of the end came. He was sitting on 
 the piazza, talking with his daughter and 
 with Francis Underwood. Some reference 
 was made to the Place, when the old Judge 
 suddenly rose from his chair, and, shaking 
 his thin white hand at the young man, cried 
 out : 
 
 " I tell you it is mine ! The Place always 
 has been mine and it always will be mine." 
 
 He tottered forward and would have fall 
 en, but Underwood caught him and placed 
 him in his chair. The old man s nerves had 
 lost their tension, his eyes their brightness. 
 He could only murmur indistinctly, " Mine, 
 mine, mine." He seemed suddenly to have 
 shrunk and shriveled away. His head fell to 
 one side, his face was deadly pale, his lips were 
 blue, and his thin hands clutched convul 
 sively at his clothes and at the chair. Mil 
 dred was at his side instantly, but he seemed 
 
292 THE OLD AS COM PLACE. 
 
 to be beyond the reach of her voice and be 
 yond the limits of her grief, which was dis 
 tressful to behold. He tried indeed to 
 stroke the beautiful hair that fell loosely 
 over him as his daughter seized him in her 
 despairing arms, but it was in a vague and 
 wandering way. 
 
 Judge Bascom s condition was so alarm 
 ing that Francis Underwood lifted him in 
 his arms and placed him on the nearest bed, 
 where he lay gazing at the ceiling, sometimes 
 smiling and at other times frowning and 
 crying, " Mine, mine, mine ! " 
 
 He sank slowly but surely. At the last 
 he smiled and whispered " Home.," and so 
 passed away. 
 
 He was indeed at home. He had come to 
 the end of his long and tiresome journey. 
 He smiled as he lay sleeping, and his rest 
 was pleasant ; for there was that in his dead 
 face, white and pinched as it was, that bore 
 witness to the infinite gentleness and mercy 
 of Christ, who is the Lord. 
 
 It was an event that touched the hearts 
 of his old neighbors and their children, and 
 they spoke to one another freely and feel 
 ingly about the virtues of the old Judge, the 
 beautiful life he had lived, the distinction he 
 
THE OLD BASCOM PLACE. 293 
 
 had won, and the mark he had made on his 
 generation. Some, who were old enough to 
 remember, told of his charities in the days 
 when prosperity sat at his board ; and in 
 discussing these things the people gradually 
 came to realize the fact that Judge Bascom, 
 in spite of his misfortunes, had shed lustre 
 on his State and on the village in which he 
 was born, and that his renown was based on 
 a character so perfect, and on results so just 
 and beneficent, that all could share in it. 
 
 His old neighbors, watching by him as he 
 lay smiling in his dreamless sleep, shortened 
 the long hours of the night with pleasant 
 reminiscences of the dead. Those who sat 
 near the door could see, in an adjoining 
 room, Mildred Bascom sitting at Miss So 
 phie Underwood s feet, her arms around the 
 older woman s waist. It was a brief and 
 fleeting panorama, as indeed life itself is, 
 but the two, brought together by grief and 
 sympathy, often sat thus in the years that 
 followed. For Mildred Bascom became the 
 mistress of the Bascom Place ; and although 
 she has changed her name, the old name 
 still clings to Underwood s domain. 
 
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