"No doubt you are right," said Servosse. "And it is not surprising, either, that you should have felt so, or that those who wrote these books should have misconceived your motive. Slavery did two things which naturally prevented such knowledge from being obtained: it excluded the stranger from its inner sanctuary with rigorous care, and persecuted with unsparing severity all who rejected its dogmas."
"Yes, yes, I see," laughed the Squire. "You and I are getting back to human nature again in our anxiety to excuse our respective sides. But do you know I have a still greater reason for being angry, after reading one of those books, on my own personal, individual account? — I, Nathaniel Hyman?"
"No, indeed, I did not," said Servosse. "You are not one of the characters, are you?"
"That's exactly what I am," was the reply, "and not cast in a very enviable rôle, either. Besides, the worst of it is, that the author takes pains to write a note about the matter, and tell everybody who was meant to be represented by the character. Hadn't you noticed it?"
"I had no idea of it," said Servosse, flushing. "I have never read the book since it first came out, and had then no personal interest in the individual characters."
"No, of course not," assented Hyman "though I did think the madam's hesitation the other day might have sprung from that. I'd heard of the fact before, and was anxious to see if it were true. That's why I wanted to read the book."
Metta assured him that she had no knowledge of it, and he continued, —
"Well, I don't know as I mind it, though one hardly likes to go down to posterity as one of the black sheep of his day. The affair of which so much is made was a very trifling matter, and I had mighty little to do with it, at best."
Then he read aloud the passage and the note, and explained: "Now, the whole matter was this. There were a couple of Northern ministers, — Wesleyans, I believe they called themselves, who couldn't make out to hold their tongues, but were a spoutin' an' argyfyin' around here as if the Lord hadn't given them any instructions, only to abuse and denounce slaveholders and slavery. I went to hear 'em once or twice just to satisfy myself. They were very imprudent and very intemperate. I spoke to one of them after meeting was out that day, an' told him so. He wouldn't listen at all, but rattled off more Scripture at me than I ever heard in the same time from any body else on earth. I didn't quarrel with him (you know I never quarrel with anybody, Colonel), an' I presume I did tell him I was his friend. I'm everybody's friend, an' always have been. I didn't want him to get into no trouble, an' didn't want no harm to come to him. That's all true, an' I've no doubt I said so to him. But I did not approve his doctrine, nor sympathize with his sentiments; nor did I tell him so, though he says I did in the note. I never thought of such a thing. I probably told him I was a magistrate, which was true, and that I was afraid of trouble, which was equally true. Come to think of it, I am of the notion that I told him he had better not preach at the Level Cross. If I didn't, I ought to have done so; for, if they had gone into that neighborhood, they would have been strung up to a tree, certain. Anyhow, the appointment was changed to Shallow Ford meeting house for the next Sunday. That is true, an' I presume it was on my warning. Now, I am represented as doing all this to get these men into my power. I swear to you, Colonel, it's false. I hadn't such an idea. I thought they were fools, and think so yet; but I hadn't any malice or harm against them in the world. But as it happened, without any knowledge or advisement of mine, directly or indirectly, the next Sunday morning, when the meeting was to be at Shallow Ford, there came by my house a party of gentlemen going on to Level Cross, to hear the Wesleyans, they said. I told them they were on the wrong road, just as a matter of politeness, you know; and they came on up to the fork of the road above your place here, and took over to Shallow Ford, sure enough. After they had been gone about an hour or so, it occurred to me that they might be bent on mischief. I don't say I might not have done just the same if I had known their errand; but as a fact I did not, and never suspected it till afterwards."
"Well," asked Servosse, "is the rest of the incident true, — that about dragging the ministers from the pulpit, bucking them across a log, and beating them?"
"Well, I heard afterwards that they did break up the meeting, and give the preachers a little brushing. They might have bucked 'em across a log; more'n likely they did: it's a powerful handy way to larrup a man. I don't allow, though, that it was any thing like so severe as it's represented in the book, though no doubt the preachers thought it pretty rough. I s'pose they weren't used to it — perhaps thought their cloth would save them. I understand they got away powerful quick after that, not waiting for any repetition of the dose, which was about the only sensible thing they did do."
The old man told it with twinkling eyes, and an evident relish of the whole proceeding.
"I have always had some doubt in regard to these incidents," said Servosse, "and am glad to have this confirmed by one who was an actor in it; but you don't pretend to justify such proceedings, Squire?"
"Well, now, Colonel, I don't really see what there is to make such a fuss about," said Hyman. "Here was a peaceable community, living under the protection of the Constitution and laws of the country; and these men, who had no business or interest here, came among us, and advocated doctrines, which, if adopted, would have destroyed the constitution of our society, and perhaps have endangered our lives and families. Such doctrines lead at once and naturally to insurrection among the blacks, and threatened us with all the horrors of San Domingo. I must say, Colonel, I think the gentlemen were very lenient and forbearing, when they only striped the preachers' backs a little, instead of stretching their necks, as would have been done in any less peaceable community under like provocation."
"It is just such intolerance as this, Squire, which makes it next to impossible for the South to accept its present situation. You all want to shoot, whip, hang, and burn those who do not agree with you. It is all the fruit and outcome of two hundred years of slavery: in fact, it is part and parcel of it," said Servosse.
"But you don't think those men had any right to come here, and preach such dangerous doctrines, do you?" asked his neighbor in surprise.
"Certainly," said Comfort: "why not?"
"Why not?" echoed the Squire. "Why, it seems to me the most evident thing on earth that every community has an undoubted right to protect itself. That is all we did, — protected ourselves and our institutions."
"Protected yourselves against your institutions, more properly," said Servosse. "That is the very strength of the abolitionists' position, Squire. No community has any right to have, cherish, or protect any institution which can not bear the light of reason and free discussion."
"But, suppose they do tolerate such an institution, does that give one a right to bring a firebrand among them? Are not they the proper judges of what is the correct thing for their own good, — the keepers of their own consciences?"
"It is useless to discuss the matter," said Servosse. "The arguments you use are the arguments of intolerance and bigotry in all ages. Even men who wish to be liberal-minded, like you, Squire, are blinded by them. You thought it was fair to whip those ministers for preaching what they deemed God's word, because the bulk of the community did not agree with them. That was the very argument which would have been used to justify Tom Savage and the others, if they had succeeded in giving me a flagellation a while ago, as they attempted to do. The principle is the same. I had disagreed with my neighbors, and advocated strange doctrines. By your reasoning they had a right to suppress me by violence, or even by murder if need be."
"Oh, not so bad as that, I hope, Colonel!" said the Squire.
"Yes, it is just as bad as that; and I tell you what it is, neighbor Hyman," said Servosse, "the most dangerous and difficult element of the future, at the South, is this irrepressible intolerance of the opinions of others. You deem disagreement an insult, and opposition a crime, which justifies any enormity. It will bring bitter fruit, and you will see it."
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"Oh, I hope not!" said the old man lightly. "I want to get along peaceably now, and I am sure our people want to do the same. We may be a little hot-blooded, and all that; but we are not mean. We are poor now, — have lost every thing but honor; and I hope we shall not lose that. But I must be going. By the way, if you should be writing to any of your friends at the North, and should think of mentioning Nathaniel Hyman, I wish you would just say that he never practiced any deception on the ministers, and was not responsible for the licking they got, directly nor indirectly. Good-evening, ma'am."
He lighted his pipe, and went home, evidently thinking that his connection with this ante bellum barbarity had somehow increased his importance in the eyes of his new neighbors.
CHAPTER XVI
THE EDGE OF HOSPITALITY DULLED
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FROM the day of his speech in the grove, the new proprietor of Warrington was a marked man in the community. He was regarded as an "abolitionist" and an incendiary. While his neighbors did not seem to have towards him any especial distrust in their personal intercourse, and generally met him with affability, yet he gradually became aware that a current of wonderful strength was setting against him. He became an object of remark at public assemblies; the newspaper at Verdenton had every now and then slighting allusions to him; and the idea was industriously circulated that he was somehow connected — identified — with "Yankee power," and had been sent to the South for some sinister motive. He was not one of them. He represented another civilization, another development, of which they were naturally suspicious, and especially on account of the peculiar restrictions which slavery had put around them, and which had acted as an embargo on immigration for so many years before the war.
The intercourse between his family and those who constitute what was termed "good society" gradually dwindled, without actual rudeness or tangible neglect, until the few country-people who "neighbored with them," as it is termed there, comprised their only society, if we except the teachers of the colored school and the few Northern families in the town.
Now and then this feeling of hereditary aversion for the Yankee manifested itself unpleasantly; but it was usually only an undemonstrative, latent feeling, which was felt rather than seen in those with whom he associated in business or otherwise, until the first year had passed away, and the crops had been gathered.
Little attention had been paid to the manner in which he had chosen to build houses and sell lands to the colored people, — it being perhaps regarded as merely a visionary idea of the Yankee abolitionist. When, however, the crops were harvested and some of these men became owners of horses and houses in their own right, it seemed all at once to awaken general attention. One night a gang of disguised ruffians burst upon the little settlement of colored men, beat and cruelly outraged some, took the horses of two, and cut and mangled those belonging to others.
When the Fool arose the next morning, he found the following attached to his door-knob, wrapped in a piece of black cloth on which was traced in white paint a death's head and cross-bones above the picture of a coffin: —
"COLONEL COMFORT SERVOSSE. Sir, — You hev got to leeve this country, and the quicker you do it the better; fer you ain't safe here, nor enny other miserable Yankee! You come here to put niggers over white folks, sayin ez how they should vote and set on juries and sware away white folkes rites as much as they damm please. You are backin up this notion by a sellin of em land and hosses and mules, till they are gittin so big in ther boots they cant rest. You've bin warned that sech things wont be born; but you jes go on ez if ther want nobody else on arth. Now, we've jes made up our minds not to stan it enny longer. We've been and larned yer damm niggers better manners than to be a ridin hossback when white folks is walkin. The Regulators hez met, and decided thet no nigger shant be allowed to own no hoss nor run no crop on his own account herearter. And no nigger-worshipin Yankee spy thet encourages them in their insolense shel live in the county. Now, sir, we gives you three days to git away. Ef your here when that time's over, the buzzards wil hev a bait thats been right scarce since the war was over. You may think wes foolin. Other people hez made thet mistake to ther sorrer. Ef you don't want to size a coffin jest yit you better git a ticket that will take you towards the North Star jes ez far ez the roads been cut out.
"By order of
"THE CAPTING OF THE REGULATORS."
The Fool at once published this letter in "The Verdenton Gazette," with a short, sturdy answer, saying that he was minding his own business, and expected other people to mind theirs. He paid for it as an advertisement, — the only terms on which the editor would admit it to his columns. This proceeding, which in the North or in any other State of society would have awakened the liveliest indignation towards those who thus attempted to drive him away from his home, as well as a strong sympathy for him, had no such effect upon this community. Many openly approved the course of the mob; others faintly condemned; and no one took any steps to prevent the consummation of the outrage threatened. No one seemed to think that the Fool was entitled to any support or sympathy. That he should sell land to colored men, and assist them to purchase stock, was considered by nearly the entire community as an offense deserving the worst punishment; and that he should go farther, and publicly favor their enfranchisement, was such a gross outrage upon the feelings and prejudices of the whites, that many seemed much surprised that any warning at all had been given by the "Regulators."
The one most interested, however, was not idle. He procured arms and ammunition, and prepared for the defense of his life and property, and the protection of his tenants and those to whom he had sold. A stockade was built for the horses in a favorable position, a guard provided, and signals agreed on in case of an attack. The commandant of the troops at a neighboring station sent a small detachment, which remained for a few days, and was then withdrawn. They had not been required by the owner of Warrington; but the rumor went out that he had called for troops to protect him, and the feeling grew day by day more hostile towards him.
CHAPTER XVII
THE SECOND MILE POST
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WHEN the second Christmas came, Metta wrote again to her sister —
"DEAR JULIA, — It is more than a year since I wrote you my first letter from our Southern home. Alas! except for the improvements we have made in Warrington, and the increased sense of homeliness which we feel in our inanimate surroundings, it is hardly any more like home than it was then. Comfort has been very busy. He has put quite a new face on Warrington, which is more delightful than any description could convey to you. Almost every day he is out superintending and directing the work, and, Yankee-like, 'doing right smart of it' himself, as they say here. This, with the delightful climate and my care, — for I must have some of the credit, — has transformed my invalid husband into a cheerful, stalwart man, who seems to be in constant enjoyment of life.
"Most of my time is occupied with teaching our little daughter, or rather coaxing her to learn, for she is the most strangely willful child in this respect you ever saw. I am taking much pains with her, and she is making wonderful progress in a peculiar sort of a way. She is out with her father on the plantation a great deal, and, as a result, knows the name of every tree and flower, wild or cultivated, which grows about Warrington. She has either inherited or acquired that wonderful power of observation which Comfort has, and is already better versed in some branches of knowledge than I am likely ever to be.
"This, with my few household cares, and the enjoyment of rides, walks, and all sorts of excursions, makes up my life. Mere existence here is a constant joy. The sunshine is brighter, the moonlight softer, the sky fairer, the earth more seductive, than in the old home. There is a sort of intoxication in it all, — the flowers, coming at odd times and with unwonted richness and profusion; the trees, of a strangely charming outline and foliage, making forest and grove, which have always some sort of weird charm, so different from what we ever knew at th
e North; and over all the balmy air.
"And yet we miss our friends, — ah! sadly enough, — for we have none here, and somehow can not make any. I am sure no one ever came to a new home with kindlier feelings for all who might surround us than we did. You know Comfort would not hear a word about trouble with the people here. He would insist that they were a brave, genial people; that the war was over; and that everybody would be better friends hereafter from its having occurred. He has found out his mistake. I am afraid we shall have no real friends here. There are some, perhaps, who think well of us, and, no doubt, wish us well in the main; but they are not friends. Somehow it seems that the old distrust and dislike of Northern people will not let them be friendly and confiding with us; or perhaps the fault may be with us. We are so different, have been reared under such different influences, and have such different thoughts, that it does not seem as if we should ever get nearer to them.
"You heard about our trouble with the 'Regulators.' Comfort got a lot of guns and ammunition for the colored men, and made preparations to fight in good earnest; but they have not disturbed us since. Mr. Savage sent them word that they could not hurt us until they had killed him, and came over and staid with us some weeks. I think it was his influence which saved us from further attack.
"The feeling is terribly bitter against Comfort on account of his course towards the colored people. There is quite a village of them on the lower end of the plantation. They have a church, a sabbath school, and are to have next year a school. You can not imagine how kind they have been to us, and how much they are attached to Comfort. They are having a 'tracted meeting,' as they call it, now. I got Comfort to go with me to one of their prayer-meetings a few nights ago. I had heard a great deal about them, but had never attended one before. It was strangely weird. There were, perhaps, fifty present, mostly middle-aged men and women. They were singing, in a soft, low monotone, interspersed with prolonged exclamatory notes, a sort of rude hymn, which I was surprised to know was one of their old songs in slave times. How the chorus came to be endured in those days I can not imagine. It was —
A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw Page 9
