To them thronged with wondrous eagerness the old and young alike of the recently emancipated race. The building to which Comfort Servosse went that night was an imposing structure in its dimensions. In it seven ladies who had come from far Northern homes, filled with the genuine spirit of the missionary, and no doubt thinking themselves endowed with the spirit of that Redeemer who taught publicans in the market or in the desert, despite the frowns of the Pharisees, held sway These seven fair, pure-hearted Northern girls taught within its walls each day, and oftentimes at night, six hundred and more of the race which had just now its first chance at the tree of knowledge since our common mother persisted in eating the mystic apple. They, no doubt, thought they were doing God's service, and wondered why the earnest Christians who dwelt about them should regard the inhabitants of the Mission House with such open aversion and apparent hate. It must have seemed strange to these fresh young believers to see the seats of the churches in the town, in front and rear of where they sat, upon the sabbath, vacated by the most devout of God's people in Verdenton. They wondered at it for a time, and then blamed the good people of Verdenton, and thought ill of their religion; when it was not the good people who were at fault, nor their religion, but only the civilization of which they were the outcome. There was never a kindlier, more hospitable, or more religious people on the footstool, than those of Verdenton; only they were kind according to their notion, as everybody else is; hospitable according to custom, like the rest of the world; and religious according to education and tradition, as are other people: and the disjointure of opinion between them and the Yankee schoolmarms was all because the latter wanted to measure them by Northern ideas of these virtues, instead of accepting those they found there. Sometimes they wrote indignant letters to their friends at home; but it was fortunate that the greater part of the evil things which were said of them by the neighboring Christians never came to their knowledge, and that their hearts were too pure to comprehend the foul innuendoes which floated by them. So they went on teaching, as they had been taught, those who had been all their lives thitherto untaught; and the, others went on hating and defaming them because such a course was counter to their traditions, and those who did it were their hereditary enemies. And both, no doubt, felt that they were doing God's service with their might.
Servosse found a cordon of watchers about the schoolhouse, by one of whom he was challenged, and, after learning who he was, taken to the house, where he was carefully examined to ascertain whether he were a member or not; after which he was admitted into the room where the meeting was held. It was a large classroom in the second story, capable of seating, perhaps, two hundred people. It was about half full when he arrived, as the meeting had not yet been called to order; and constant arrivals were fast increasing the number. The great bulk of those who were present were colored men; but in a little group at the right of the platform were perhaps a dozen white men.
The Fool found himself well known to all those present, though he had not yet acquired the power readily to distinguish and retain the countenances of colored people. As he advanced into the room, he was met with numerous and delighted greetings, to which he responded pleasantly, without, in most instances, recognizing those who gave them. Near the center of the room, however, he was met by Uncle Jerry, who, bowing ceremoniously, waved his hand toward the knot of white men, as he exclaimed, —
"Evenin', Mars Kunnel. Sarvant, sah! We's glad to see ye wid us, — powerful glad! Ye knows dese gentlemen, I s'pose. Mr. Durfee, Kunnel 'Vosse; Mr. Morgin, Kunnel 'Vosse. But you knows 'em all, Kunnel; I sees dat," said the old man, as Comfort clasped the hand of one after another, some of whom he was prepared to meet, and others of whom he was surprised to see there. Among the former was Durfee, a young man who belonged to a family of the strongest Union proclivities, who had faced far more danger in resisting and avoiding conscription than he would have been required to meet in the field.
"Ah!" said he warmly, as he clasped the hand of the Union colonel, "I'm glad to see you. I've a friend here to-night that I want to introduce to you. Mr. Walters, Colonel Servosse," he said, as he turned toward a slender, wiry-looking man, with sloping shoulders, a long neck, and arms which seemed to twine about, regardless of the usual articulations. His brown hair was cut short, and rose in a sort of bristling row above his narrow, reddish face. The mouth was pinched, the nose somewhat prominent, and the aspect of the countenance somewhat sharp. The eyes were keen, but rather sunken and close, and of a light gray. His age seemed to be about thirty-five.
"Mr. Walter's," said Durfee, "was one of our stanchest Union men. I knew him all through the war. Strangely enough, he did not hide out, nor hold an office, nor take a contract."
"How in the world did you keep out of the army?" asked Servosse.
"I hardly know," answered Walters pleasantly. "I think it was my health mainly."
"Ha, ha ha!" broke in Durfee. "Your health, did you say? I vow I b'leve you're right. — He had better health, and more of it, during the war, than any man I know of, Colonel."
"I don't understand how he kept out, then," said Servosse.
"There ain't anybody that I ever met that does understand it," said Durfee. "He was living in Rockford when the war began, in business, making money, and a member of the Methodist Church. He wanted to go away at the first; but his wife said she didn't want to leave her people: so John Walters staid right where he was, and went on trading, and minding his own business, the same as before. After a while, when things begun to get hot, there was some talk among the town loafers about his going to the army. Then he spoke out, and said that he was a Union man, and didn't never calculate to be any thing else. He shouldn't do any fighting against the government willingly, and they'd better not try to make him do it unwillingly. Things kep' gittin' hotter an' hotter; the conscript laws kep' growing closer an' closer: but John Walters was right there in Rockford, a-tradin' an' 'tendin' to his own business, the same as ever. A good deal was said about it; because he was just the same Union man as ever, never saying any thing about the matter unless tackled on it, and then giving as good as was sent. It got noised around somehow that he had said, that, if he was compelled to go, the man whom he thought at the bottom of it would be in some danger. He wasn't no man to trifle with, and so he went on unmolested. Finally a young conscript officer came to the town, and talked pretty loud about what he would do. Some things he said came to Walters's ears; and he went over to see him, carryin' a walking-stick in his hand. They met on the porch. I never knew what passed; but a man who saw it told me that the officer drew his pistol, an' another man caught Walters's right arm. I don't reckon anybody knows just how it was done, — not even Walters himself. They were all there in a crowd; but when it broke up Walters had the pistol, the officer had a bullet somewhere through his jaw, another man had a broken arm, and another had somehow tumbled off the porch and sprained his foot, so that he could not walk for a month. Walters was the only one unhurt. He reported here next day; was examined by a medical board, and somehow pronounced unfit for duty. He went home a few days afterwards with his exemption-papers all in due form, and in fact they never did get him. Of course, he was prosecuted and bedeviled; but when the war was over there was John Walters, — just where he was when it begun."
"That is a very unusual experience, Mr. Walters," said the colonel, turning towards him as Durfee concluded.
"Yes," said Walters modestly: "I was very fortunate. I looked poorly, as I always have, and I did not push myself into difficulty. They knew if I went that I would desert, and go into the Union lines the first chance I got: so there was no use of sending me to the front. But I had a much easier time than Durfee or a half-dozen others here. Why, there is a man, Colonel, who lived in an excavation under his house for eighteen months. There is another who staid for five months under a cedar-tree which grew all alone on the top of a hill within two hundred yards of the big road. There's two others who were of a party of seven who hid from the conscript hunt
ers in a cave on Martin Holbrook's land, which they dug out of the side of a creek, and up into the bank above, when the water was out of the pond. When the gate was shut down, and the water rose, they had to dive like otters to get into their hole."
"That's good enough material for a Union League, isn't it, Colonel?" asked Durfee.
"I should think so, indeed, if they are all like that," answered Servosse.
"That's the trouble," said Walters quickly, but without any change in his countenance, except to turn, and glance at one who had stepped upon the platform, and was preparing to open the meeting as its president.
"Never could trust him during the war," continued Walters in the same tone. "We had a sort of society, or rather a set of signals, which every one gave to his friend if he thought he could be trusted. If you served along the Tennessee or Georgia lines, you probably heard of it."
"Often, both before and since the surrender," said Servosse. "You mean the 'Red Strings,' I suppose."
"Yes, that's what I mean. People talk of them as if they were a society, a league, an order; but they were not. It was only a carefully devised set of signals of different kinds, which one Union man gave to another. There was no organization, no head, no official direction. All there was about it was, that it enabled persons of a common purpose to recognize each other. A bit of red string in the hat or in a buttonhole was the most ordinary symbol. This was adopted from the account given in the Book of Joshua of the red cord that Rahab let down from the wall, by direction of the spies whom she had succored, in order that her household might be saved from spoliation when the city was captured."
"I suppose there were a good many of them,"said Servosse, "from what I have heard."
"The meetin' will come to order,"commanded the president in a thin, stridulous voice, as he rapped upon the rough deal table with one of the teacher's rulers instead of a gavel. The room was crowded by this time, and an instantaneous hush fell upon the dusky crowd at this command. Every one sank into his seat, and those who had no other seats ranged themselves in front and along the aisles upon the floor. About the little group of white men was an open space; and immediately in front of the president was a small table, draped with a Union flag, and surmounted by a Bible and the Constitution of the United States.
"The officers will take their appointed stations," said the president.
Then the ceremonies of opening the meeting went on. Each officer was instructed as to his duty; and the general principles of the order were recapitulated in easy dialogue between them and the president.
"Will Colonel Servosse conduct the religious exercises?" asked the president.
Thus called upon, the ex-Union soldier arose, and approached the altar. Remembering the allusion made to the Book of Joshua in his conversation with Walters, he opened the Bible, and read the second chapter of that book, and called upon Uncle Jerry to pray. All stood reverentially silent during prayer, and then the business of the meeting went on. Names were proposed for membership, committees reported on former propositions, and the usual business of a secret order was disposed of. There was much awkwardness, no little bad grammar, but the most attent interest, and an evident pride and desire to improve, on the part of all. Resuming his seat by Walters, Servosse watched the proceedings with interest, while he continued in a low tone the conversation begun with him before the opening.
"You were asking if there were a good many of the 'Red Strings,'" said Walters. "I am sure I don't know. I traveled a good deal about the Confederacy, and I didn't find no place where there weren't some. I've met 'em in the streets of Richmond, and seen 'em standing guard on the wall of a military prison. The number, however, is merely a matter of estimate, as there was no head nor organization, no system of reports, and no means of knowing how many were initiated. It was slightly different in some sections from others, but sufficiently alike to convince me that it all came from a common source. Sometimes a fellow would tell what he knew; but he never knew much. He could only say that he knew a few men, and suspected more. Then we would change the signs and words, and go right on again. There being no lodges, nor lists of members, one man could do but little harm."
"Is the League organized to any great extent in the South?" asked Comfort.
"I don't know," responded Walters. "Just before the close of the war, I went up into East Tennessee on a little business that took me through the lines, and I joined it there. I don't like it."
"Why not?"
"It's too cumbrous. Our people ain't educated enough to run it well. Besides that, I don't like these big meetings."
"But is it not an educator for the colored men?"
"I've thought of that, and it's the great redeeming feature of the institution. I'm thinking we shall need something more practical, and that don't make so much show, before we have done with the matters rising out of the war."
"You do not take a hopeful view of the future, then?"
"Well, that depends altogether on the view of the present that the government and the Northern people take. If they get the notion that rebellion has transformed those engaged in it into sanctified and glorified saints, as they seem in a way to do, why, the war will not amount to any certain sum, so far as liberty and progress are concerned. Then Union men an' niggers will have to hunt their holes, and will be worse off in fact than they were during the war. I'm 'fraid it's going to be so, Colonel; and I feel as if I ought to go to the West, where I and my children can be free and safe."
"I hope you will not think of that, Mr. Walters," said the Fool.
"Well, I have thought of it strongly; but I have decided to stay," was the reply, "chiefly because so many of you Northern men have come down here. I think, that, if you can stand it, I can. At least, I don't think we native Unionists ought to run away, and leave you."
"You were speaking about the president," said Comfort suggestively.
"Well," laughed Walters, "I didn't mean that there was any danger in him. He was every thing to all men during the war, and will be any thing to anybody until the end of time, if it will butter bread for Tommy Sanderson."
A dozen dusky candidates were instructed in the semi-public secrets of the order; one or two songs were sung with great enthusiasm; a few addresses were made; and the meeting adjourned. As he rode back through the moonlit woods to Warrington, the Fool recounted what he had seen to Metta, — who had come with him, and stopped at the Mission-House, visiting with the teachers while the meeting was in progress, — and told her that it gave him more hope for a peaceful and prosperous future than any thing he had yet seen. The enthusiasm of a soldier for his colors had not yet died out in his breast; and he could not conceive that any organization which cultivated only an unbounded devotion for the flag in the breasts of the embryotic citizens, and kept alive the fire of patriotism in the hearts of the old Union element, should be a source of evil to any one. If he could have seen what an affront such a meeting in itself was to his neighbors, what an insult it was to them to flaunt the flag of the Union in their faces while that of the Confederacy, equally dear to them, was yet unforgotten, he would have thought differently. If he had realized how the touch of those dusky hands fouled that gay banner in the thought of so many of his white neighbors, if he had but known what tears they would be called to shed for having sung those patriot songs, his heart would have been sad indeed. But he saw no grim portents, and heeded no omen of evil.
CHAPTER XX
OUT OF DUE SEASON
Table of Contents
WHAT is called the period of "Reconstruction" came at last; and in tracing our Fool's story it will be necessary to give some brief attention to this era of our nation's history. It is a short story as one reads it now. Its facts are few and plain. There is no escape from them. They were graven on the hearts of millions with a burning stylus. Short as is the story, it is full of folly and of shame. Regarded with whatever charity, folly and cowardice appear as its chief elements; and it has already been too bitter a harvest of crime to
believe that the future holds, enough of good springing from its gloom to make it ever tolerable to the historian. Let us as briefly as possible retrace its essential features.
At the close of the great war of the Rebellion these conditions presented themselves to the statesmen of the land: — the hostile army was dispersed; the opposing governmental forms were disrupted; the Confederacy had set in a night which was declared to be eternal, and its component elements — the subordinate governments or states of which it had been composed — were dissolved.
The North, that portion of the country which for four years had constituted alone the United States of America, was full of rejoicing and gladness, which even the death of its martyr President could not long repress. Sorrow for the dead was lost in joy for the living. Banners waved; drums beat, and the quick step of homeward-marching columns echoed through every corner of the land. The clamor of rejoicing drowned the sighs of those who wept for their returning dead. All was light and joy, and happy, peaceful anticipation. The soldier had no need to beat his spear to a plowshare, or his sword into a pruning-hook. He found the plow waiting for him in the furrow. Smiling, peaceful homes, full of plenty and comfort, invited him to new exertion; and the prospect of rich returns for his labor enabled him all the more easily to forgive and forget, to let bygones be bygones, and throwing away the laurels, and forgetting the struggles and lessons of the past, contentedly grow fat on the abundance of the present and the glowing promise of the future.
A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw Page 12
