The Nearly Complete Works, Volume 1

by Donald Harington

  “What’s a Mormon?” Jacob said to Lizzie.

  But Lizzie could only shake her head, and ask, “Is the news pretty bad?”

  Jacob declared, “My boy Benjamin is dead.”

  Everyone in Stay More assembled in the yard of Jacob’s dogtrot to offer their condolences to Jacob and Sarah, and to discuss the news of the atrocity. Jacob asked them if any of them knew what a Mormon was, but none of them had ever heard of such a creature. Jacob addressed the gathering briefly, in conclusion, expressing his sorrow at the loss of his eldest son, and more particularly his sorrow that his son had been misguided and deluded into leaving home. Jacob’s voice rose. “But jist let me say this. Fer all of you folks, and fer all of yore generations after ye, from this day forward, ferevermore, I, Jacob Ingledew, do hereby solemnly place a curse upon any person who leaves Stay More to go west. Amen.”

  So it was that Isaac took his brother’s place as the oldest son, just as earlier he had taken his brother’s place sleeping at the foot of the parents’ bed, where he remained until manhood, wisely keeping his mouth shut when he heard his father or mother saying unfathomable words in the dark once a month. Isaac Ingledew was never much given to talk anyway, and it is said of him that he earned his nickname, “Coon,” because, like a raccoon, he never opened his mouth except to eat or to cuss.

  To appreciate his nickname, we would have to have heard a raccoon cussing, and many of us have not. Isaac, as we shall see (or hear), was the greatest cusser of all the Ingledews. Unlike Benjamin, who allegedly never spoke until he was eight, Isaac said his first word at eleven months, the word being “shitfire,” which he must have learned from one of his relatives, but by the age of six he had broadened his stock of oaths to include all that were known (and some unknown) in Stay More. When his father bought for him a fiddle from Eli Willard, he quickly learned how to play it, and became eventually a champion fiddler who was capable, on occasion, of making the fiddle cuss. We are going to see and hear a lot of Isaac “Coon” Ingledew, for it was he who fought beside his father in the War.

  The War. The first anybody (other than Jacob Ingledew, who kept it to himself) heard of war, heard that the whole nation had split itself right in two and was fighting itself, was when coffee, tea, pepper and such, which were always imported, became at first short in supply, and then impossible to obtain, at which point Eli Willard, who had been supplying these items, confessed that he could no longer obtain them. Then he held aloft the particular item that he was selling this year: a Sharps rifle.

  “Stop!” Jacob Ingledew exclaimed. “Turn yore wagon and git the hell back whar ye came from!”

  The people stared at Jacob, wondering why he was being suddenly hostile to his old friend from Connecticut.

  “But you’re going to need these,” Eli Willard protested, still holding the Sharps rifle aloft. “No man should be without one. As a weapon it is vastly superior to your old breechloaders and flint-locks.”

  “Fer shootin folks, you mean,” Jacob said. “Git back down the road, I say.”

  But the other men of Stay More were curious to examine the new hardware (Eli Willard was also carrying a line of side-arms), and they protested to Jacob, as respectfully as they could, stopping short of telling him outright to shut up, but making it clear that they couldn’t understand why they shouldn’t buy a new shootin iron if they felt like it.

  “Yeah,” Noah chimed in, “shitfire, let me see thet thang,” and he took the Sharps rifle from Eli Willard and began examining it appreciatively.

  Jacob sighed. It was a small sigh, as sighs go, but we should try to understand it: two years previously, the people of Newton County had been asked to send a delegate to a special state convention at the state capital, Little Rock. The delegate, they were told, need not be a politician, lawyer or county official; there were only two qualifications: one, that he be wise, and two, that he be typical. The people thought of all the wise men of Newton County, but none of them were typical. Then they thought of all the typical men of Newton County, but the only wise one among those was Jacob Ingledew, so the people prevailed upon him to become their delegate. Jacob didn’t want anything to do with any city, or even a big town. But the people pointed out that the convention was only supposed to last a few days. Jacob protested that he didn’t have any idea of what he was supposed to do when he got there, and none of the people did either, but they told him that he was the only one of them who was both typical and wise.

  Pride was not one of Jacob’s sins, but he couldn’t help feeling flattered when they told him that, so he accepted, and at the appointed time, mid-March, he saddled his horse, donned a fine nut-brown suit of clothes that Sarah had woven and sewn special for the occasion, and rode off down to Little Rock, a distance of some 150 miles. He reported for duty at the capitol, a large building made entirely out of white marble; it was the biggest building he’d ever seen. He was assigned a seat at a desk in a big room, the biggest room he’d ever been in, with dozens of other desks. The men sitting at the other desks looked well-fixed and most of them were smoking cigars. Jacob decided he would keep his mouth shut and his ears open and not let anybody put anything over on him. So when the well-fixedest-looking man of them all came into the room, and all the men stood up, Jacob stayed in his seat. Somebody announced, “His Excellency, Governor Rector!” and everybody but Jacob clapped their hands, and the well-fixedest-looking man stepped up on a platform in the front of the room and made a long speech. Jacob listened carefully.

  The governor began by saying, “Gentlemen, it is assumed by most that this convention was called in response to the election, last month, of Jefferson Davis as provisional president of the Confederacy. President Lincoln, who received not one single Arkansas vote in the recent election, apparently likes to think of us as a safe Border State, along with Missouri. But, gentlemen, Arkansas is south of Missouri!” Jacob realized that, if nothing else, he was going to learn a few things about geography. The governor went on to say, “Many of you gentlemen are pioneers. I am a pioneer. Many of you gentlemen are also slaveowners. I am a slaveowner. The Confederacy is made up of pioneers and slaveowners. Shall we join them, or not? That is the issue of this convention!”

  The governor’s speech lasted for over an hour, and Jacob had to admit that the man was the fanciest speaker he’d ever listened to. Then several other less-fancy speakers took turns giving one-hour speeches. They didn’t all sound the same. The ones that talked just like folks back up home were the ones who didn’t want to join the Confederacy. The ones that wanted to join the Confederacy, like the governor, talked real slow and lazy-like. At first Jacob didn’t have any idea what the Confederacy was, but gradually he got a picture of it, yet he still couldn’t understand that the only reason they were confederated was because they didn’t want to give up their slaves.

  Jacob had seen slaves, back in Tennessee, where just about anybody with a lot of land that wasn’t too hilly would have some niggers around the place. And there was even one family he knew of, up in Newton County not too far from Stay More, who kept a couple of niggers. Jacob had met them. He had never given a thought to having a slave himself, because, the way he saw it, a man shouldn’t have more land than him and his sons could take care of. And he had never been able to understand why slaves all had to be dark-complected. He’d never heard of a light-complected slave. But apparently what he was supposed to do in this convention was listen to all these men talk about joining the Confederacy, and then vote on it. Hell, if some of those states wanted to confederate theirself, he didn’t personally have any objection, but if Arkansas joined up with them, that would mean all of the people of Arkansas supported slavery. Jacob didn’t actually support slavery, but on the other hand he didn’t see anything wrong with it except that all the slaves were dark-complected, and it stands to reason that there ought to be equality and have just as many light-complected slaves.

  Then too, there were a lot of things being said in those speeches that Jacob didn’t
understand at all. He didn’t know who “John Brown” was. He didn’t know what was meant by “emancipation” and “secession” and “state sovereignty” and “Fugitive Slave Law.” Finally somebody said, “Today’s session is adjourned. You gentlemen will please collect your remuneration at the door.” Jacob didn’t know what “remuneration” was either, but he got in line with the rest of the fellows, and when his turn came a man at the door gave him three dollars cash money, which was a pleasant surprise, and meant that he wouldn’t have to sleep with his horse at the livery stable but could get a bed in a house somewhere. But outside the capitol, there was a fancy-dressed black man hollering, “This way, gemmens and sirs!” and pointing down the street at a big building with a sign on it that said Anthony House. All the other delegates were heading that way, so Jacob tagged along, and when he got there he found that they weren’t even going to charge him anything for his room, and he got a big room all to himself, and they put out a fine big supper downstairs and afterward most of the delegates sat around smoking cigars, and somebody gave Jacob a handful of cigars, and they poured honest-to-God pure whiskey, and drank and swapped yarns and cussed Lincoln and stayed up nearly all night.

  Jacob discovered that the Presiding Delegate, David Walker, was the son of the Judge Walker who had “pardoned” Jacob years before when he “stole” his heifer at Fayetteville. Jacob told this yarn to Walker, told it on himself, and they both had a good laugh over it. Then Jacob got chummy with a distinguished-looking old white-haired gent who was the delegate from Ashley County down in the southeast part of the state, and owned a twenty-room house and 340 slaves. Jacob confessed that he wasn’t nothing but a ignorant hillbilly, and he got the old gent to tell him the meaning of “secession,” “emancipation,” “state sovereignty,” “Fugitive Slave Law,” and who “John Brown” was. The old gent was right proud to harangue Jacob’s ear until nearly dawn, and Jacob went to bed thinking that the secessionists sure had a good case for their cause.

  Back at the capitol the next day he listened to speeches all day long, and that night at the hotel he asked the old gent from Ashley County to explain anything that he hadn’t understood. This went on for three days, and on the third day the head delegate David Walker stood up and said, “Would the delegate from Newton County care to express his views?” Jacob wondered who the delegate from Newton County was, and after a minute of silence he noticed that several men were staring at him, and then he remembered who the delegate from Newton County was, and he coughed and bobbed his Adam’s apple, and mumbled, “I reckon not.” “Are we ready to vote, then?” asked the head delegate. “AYE!” they all hollered, and David Walker said, “Those in favor of secession, please stand.” Thirty-five men stood up. “Those opposed?” Jacob found himself rising up from his chair, and his chum the old gent from Ashley County was glowering ferociously at him. But thirty-eight other men were also standing. And outside, on the banks of the river, thirty-nine Federal guns were fired in salute of those who had kept Arkansas in the Union. Jacob collected his last remuneration and went back home to Stay More. When any of the Stay Morons asked him, “What was that all about?” he would shake his head and say, “Durn if I know.”

  March passed, and then April, and when May came a messenger brought word to Jacob that the convention was reconvening at Little Rock. This time he told Sarah what the other men’s suits had looked like, and she stayed up all night making him one that was fairly like theirs, and the next day he put it on and rode off to Little Rock again. There, Governor Rector gave another fancy one-hour speech, talking about the bombing of a fort called Sumter, and Lincoln’s call for seventy-five thousand volunteers. “I have told him,” Rector said, “that no troops from Arkansas will be furnished. His demand is only adding insult to injury. The people of this commonwealth are freemen, not slaves, and will defend to the last extremity our honor, lives, and property against Northern mendacity and usurpation!” The hall and the gallery up above were packed with spectators, almost all of them hollering “SECEDE!” every time the governor paused for breath. Jacob’s former chum the old gent from Ashley County passed a note to him which said, “You have a nerve to show your head here. I doubt you will leave alive.”

  After the governor’s speech, almost all the other speeches were strongly in favor of secession. The only one speaking against it was the head delegate, David Walker of Fayetteville, and his speech was apologetic and half-hearted. When he finished he said, “Well, are we ready to vote, or would the delegate from Newton County care to express his views this time?” Jacob coughed and bobbed his Adam’s apple, and then discovered that he was standing up. He tried to sit back down, but couldn’t. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, then took them out and stuffed them back in. Everybody was staring at him. Then he heard himself asking a question: “How many of you fellers has ever been to Newton County?” Only four or five of them raised their hands. “Wal, you know Newton County is so fur off in the mountains we have to wipe the owl shit off the clock to tell what time it is.” All of the delegates laughed, and Jacob heard some tittering up in the gallery; looking up, he noticed there were women there, and he got very red in the face and mumbled, “Sorry, ladies.” Then he went on. “But the folks up yonder have picked me out to represent ’em at this here convention. I reckon they picked me on account of I feel the same way about most things that they do. And here is what I feel. If you fellers that owns slaves wants to secede, that’s yore right and yore privilege, but I could count all the slaves of Newton County on one hand and still have maybe a couple of fingers still standin, and Newton County is stayin in the Union!” There was applause from a small few of the delegates and from somebody up in the gallery. Jacob tried to go on, but the words wouldn’t come, so he sat down.

  The governor stood up and said, “May I comment upon that? If Newton County stays in the Union after Arkansas secedes, there will be worse than owl droppings on your clocks!” The delegates laughed, and the governor said, “Let us vote!”

  The vote was taken, and there were only four men besides Jacob who stood up to vote “No,” and those four were also from the Ozarks. One of them, David Walker of Fayetteville, said, “If it is inevitable that Arkansas secede, let the wires carry the news to all the world that Arkansas stands as a unit! May we request that you gentlemen withdraw your votes, to make the result unanimous? I will withdraw mine. All right, we shall take the vote again. All in favor of secession, please stand.” Everybody stood up…except Jacob. “All opposed?” Jacob stood, and stood there alone, in awkward silence, while delegates around him cursed him, and a woman up in the gallery flung a bouquet of flowers which fell at Jacob’s feet, and he looked up and smiled at her, and she blew a kiss to him. The head delegate said to him, “For the last time, sir, will you not withdraw your vote, to make the result unanimous?” “I will not,” Jacob said, still standing, and the head delegate said, “Very well. The final tabulation is sixty-nine in favor, one opposed. The convention is adjourned until tomorrow, at which time we will begin the drafting of a new Constitution. May I suggest that the delegate from Newton County might honorably resign his seat before then.”

  But Jacob did not resign his seat. When he left the capitol that afternoon, the woman who had thrown the bouquet of flowers at his feet was waiting for him. This woman, whose name we cannot know because she was a member of one of Little Rock’s finest families, a family still prominent socially and politically today, took Jacob home with her to her very fine house, which had no slaves, and fed him supper, and gave him to drink, and took him to bed. In the morning she fed him breakfast and sent him off to the capitol, where he claimed his seat and his right to vote for Newton County, and participated in the day’s session. He supported the convention in its work, and voted “No” only on those issues related to slavery and secession.

  The convention remained in session until the close of the month, and each night Jacob went to the woman’s house for supper and bed and pleasure. Once she told him that she th
ought the real reason for the War was not slavery itself but the ungratified sexual appetites of the men involved. It was always men who made war. Jacob felt no desire to fight anybody, but he went on voting “No” at the convention; he voted “No” against the raising of an “Arkansas Army,” he voted “No” against a two-million-dollar “Arkansas War Loan,” he voted “No” against the confiscation of all public lands and money in the state, and finally he voted “No” against a motion to hang Jacob Ingledew for treason and sedition. The motion narrowly passed, however, and might have been carried out if they could have found him, not knowing that he was staying at the house of the woman. That night he lay with her a final time, then took his trousers off the bedpost and announced that he had better get on out of town. She hated to let him go, but knew it was for the best. “My darling backwoodsman,” she said in parting, kissing him and letting him ride off home to his backwoods, where he told nobody that Arkansas was out of the Union, nor that the Union was torn, nor that men were killing one another.

  That was, as I say, two years before Eli Willard showed up again carrying a line of Sharps rifles and sidearms, and still nobody but Jacob knew that the country had been at war for two years, except for the scarcity of coffee, tea, black pepper and such, a shortage which, like all shortages, was difficult if not impossible to understand, and so no attempt was made to understand it, rather only to get around it, by using substitutes: parched okra seeds and chicory for coffee, ordinary sassafras for tea, and ground garden pepper for pepper.