_Twenty-five_
It was not yet sunrise when the colonel set out next day, after anearly breakfast, upon his visit to Fetters. There was a crispfreshness in the air, the dew was thick upon the grass, the clear bluesky gave promise of a bright day and a pleasant journey.
The plantation conducted by Fetters lay about twenty miles to thesouth of Clarendon, and remote from any railroad, a convenientlocation for such an establishment, for railroads, while they bring insupplies and take out produce, also bring in light and take outinformation, both of which are fatal to certain fungus growths, socialas well as vegetable, which flourish best in the dark.
The road led by Mink Run, and the colonel looked over toward the houseas they passed it. Old and weather-beaten it seemed, even in thedistance, which lent it no enchantment in the bright morning light.When the colonel had travelled that road in his boyhood, greatforests of primeval pine had stretched for miles on either hand,broken at intervals by thriving plantations. Now all was changed. Thetall and stately growth of the long-leaf pine had well nighdisappeared; fifteen years before, the turpentine industry, movingsouthward from Virginia, along the upland counties of the Appalachianslope, had swept through Clarendon County, leaving behind it a trailof blasted trunks and abandoned stills. Ere these had yielded todecay, the sawmill had followed, and after the sawmill the tar kiln,so that the dark green forest was now only a waste of blackened stumpsand undergrowth, topped by the vulgar short-leaved pine and anoccasional oak or juniper. Here and there they passed an expanse ofcultivated land, and there were many smaller clearings in which couldbe seen, plowing with gaunt mules or stunted steers, some heavy-footedNegro or listless "po' white man;" or women and children, black orwhite. In reply to a question, the coachman said that Mr. Fetters hadworked all that country for turpentine years before, and had onlytaken up cotton raising after the turpentine had been exhausted fromthe sand hills.
He had left his mark, thought the colonel. Like the plague of locusts,he had settled and devoured and then moved on, leaving a barren wastebehind him.
As the morning advanced, the settlements grew thinner, until suddenly,upon reaching the crest of a hill, a great stretch of cultivatedlowland lay spread before them. In the centre of the plantation, nearthe road which ran through it, stood a square, new, freshly paintedframe house, which would not have seemed out of place in some Ohio orMichigan city, but here struck a note alien to its surroundings. Offto one side, like the Negro quarters of another generation, wereseveral rows of low, unpainted cabins, built of sawed lumber, theboards running up and down, and battened with strips where the edgesmet. The fields were green with cotton and with corn, and there werenumerous gangs of men at work, with an apparent zeal quite in contrastwith the leisurely movement of those they had passed on the way. Itwas a very pleasing scene.
"Dis yer, suh," said the coachman in an awed tone, "is MistahFetters's plantation. You ain' gwine off nowhere, and leave me alonewhils' you are hyuh, is you, suh?"
"No," said the colonel, "I'll keep my eye on you. Nobody'll troubleyou while you're with me."
Passing a clump of low trees, the colonel came upon a group at sightof which he paused involuntarily. A gang of Negroes were at work. Uponthe ankles of some was riveted an iron band to which was soldered achain, at the end of which in turn an iron ball was fastened.Accompanying them was a white man, in whose belt was stuck a revolver,and who carried in one hand a stout leather strap, about two inches inwidth with a handle by which to grasp it. The gang paused momentarilyto look at the traveller, but at a meaning glance from the overseerfell again to their work of hoeing cotton. The white man stepped tothe fence, and Colonel French addressed him.
"Good morning."
"Mornin', suh."
"Will you tell me where I can find Mr. Fetters?" inquired the colonel.
"No, suh, unless he's at the house. He may have went away thismornin', but I haven't heard of it. But you drive along the road tothe house, an' somebody'll tell you."
The colonel seemed to have seen the overseer before, but could notremember where.
"Sam," he asked the coachman, "who is that white man?"
"Dat's Mistah Haines, suh--use' ter be de constable at Cla'endon, suh.I wouldn' lak to be in no gang under him, suh, sho' I wouldn', no,suh!"
After this ejaculation, which seemed sincere as well as fervent, Samwhipped up the horses and soon reached the house. A Negro boy came outto meet them.
"Is Mr. Fetters at home," inquired the colonel?
"I--_I_ don' know, suh--I--I'll ax Mars' Turner. _He's_ hyuh."
He disappeared round the house and in a few minutes returned withTurner, with whom the colonel exchanged curt nods.
"I wish to see Mr. Fetters," said the colonel.
"Well, you can't see him."
"Why not?"
"Because he ain't here. He left for the capital this mornin', to begone a week. You'll be havin' a fine drive, down here and back."
The colonel ignored the taunt.
"When will Mr. Fetters return?" he inquired.
"I'm shore I don't know. He don't tell me his secrets. But I'll tell_you_, Colonel French, that if you're after that nigger, you'rewastin' your time. He's in Haines's gang, and Haines loves him so wellthat Mr. Fetters has to keep Bud in order to keep Haines. There's noaccountin' for these vi'lent affections, but they're human natur', andthey have to be 'umoured."
"I'll talk to your _master_," rejoined the colonel, restraining hisindignation and turning away.
Turner looked after him vindictively.
"He'll talk to my _master_, like as if I was a nigger! It'll be a longtime before he talks to Fetters, if that's who he means--if I canprevent it. Not that it would make any difference, but I'll just keephim on the anxious seat."
It was nearing noon, but the colonel had received no invitation tostop, or eat, or feed his horses. He ordered Sam to turn and driveback the way they had come.
As they neared the group of labourers they had passed before, thecolonel saw four Negroes, in response to an imperative gesture fromthe overseer, seize one of their number, a short, thickset fellow,overpower some small resistance which he seemed to make, throw himdown with his face to the ground, and sit upon his extremities whilethe overseer applied the broad leathern thong vigorously to his bareback.
The colonel reached over and pulled the reins mechanically. Hisinstinct was to interfere; had he been near enough to recognise in theNegro the object of his visit, Bud Johnson, and in the overseer theex-constable, Haines, he might have yielded to the impulse. But onsecond thought he realised that he had neither authority nor strengthto make good his interference. For aught he knew, the performancemight be strictly according to law. So, fighting a feeling of nauseawhich he could hardly conquer, he ordered Sam to drive on.
The coachman complied with alacrity, as though glad to escape from amighty dangerous place. He had known friendless coloured folks, whohad strayed down in that neighbourhood to be lost for a long time; andhe had heard of a spot, far back from the road, in a secluded part ofthe plantation, where the graves of convicts who had died while inFetters's service were very numerous.
The Colonel's Dream Page 25
