A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw

by Albion Winegar Tourgée

  The will was signed and witnessed; and then Servosse handed to the doctor a letter and a telegram, both directed to his wife.

  "You will please send the telegram as soon as you return," he said. "Metta will start back in a day or two if you do not."

  "You have not forbidden her coming?" asked the doctor in surprise.

  "I tell her I shall not be ready to receive her before Saturday or Sunday," was the reply.

  "But, Colonel, there is but little danger — very little."

  "And they must not incur even that," said Servosse with decision.

  "Really, Colonel," pleaded the physician, "I can not consent to doing as you wish. You know well enough that both your wife and daughter would be very willing to face any infection to serve you."

  "And for that very reason must not be allowed to come here. Insensibility will come before they could arrive, and I am sure I shall be well taken care of. You and Andy will look out for that. I know it will seem cruel to them, but it is real mercy You must promise me that you will send that, and nothing more."

  "If you fully desire it, I can do nothing less," responded the doctor with hesitation.

  "Thank you, Doctor. And this letter, please keep it, until — until you know the result, and then send or deliver it to — to Metta." His voice choked, and he seemed about to lose his self-control. "You will tell them, Doctor, that it was my love which was unkind. It's hard — hard. If I could only see their faces once more! Tell them how I loved them in this — this" —

  "Oh, you must not give way!" cried the doctor, with a professional endeavor at encouragement. "We shall have you all right soon."

  "Tell them — what I can not say, Doctor — if I should never see them again."

  "All right," said the doctor, wringing his hand. "I will do all you say."

  "And, Doctor," — detaining him still, — "my old friends and — and acquaintances. I would like you to say I have no ill-will. I was no doubt mistaken; perhaps I was too — too intense in my notions: but I hated no man, Doctor, and injured no man knowingly. If any feel that I have wronged them — in any manner, perhaps they will forgive me: I hope so, at least. I wish that you would say so to — to — any who may ask for me."

  "I am sure, Colonel,"said the doctor with emotion,"there is no one who harbors any resentment towards you. You were counted a hard hitter and a hot opponent; but no one ever thought you held spite, or harbored malice against you personally."

  "I hope not — I hope not," — said the Fool. "I would have been glad to see more of those I knew; but I hope they will think kindly of me — as kindly as I do of them. That's all I ask."

  With these words in his ears, the doctor rode back to Verdenton, and made report of his condition. The little town had its share of those modern Athenians whose only business was to hear and to tell some new thing; so that in an hour it was reported all over its streets that the owner of Warrington had returned, and was prostrate with the dreaded disease. Little fear was then entertained of isolated cases occurring in regions not subject to the ravages of the plague, which was then thought to be comparatively innocuous beyond certain limits of latitude, elevation, and temperature.

  It was wonderful to note, however, how quickly the thought of disease or death eradicated all thought of hostility from the minds of those who had been the most avowed enemies. That most beautiful phase of the Southern character was never more nobly displayed. All were ready and anxious to do something for the relief of the lonely sufferer.

  "Colonel Servosse sick!" cried Vaughn, riding up to where the doctor stood talking with others. "I declare, it's too bad! Just come back from Mexico, too, or somewhere down that way. Was out to see him yesterday. Hasn't seen his wife and daughter in six months, and now has got the fever! Too bad, I swear! Look here, men, we must go out and see him, and take care of him! Just think of it! He's there sick, and all alone 'cept for the niggers! He was a good fellow, Servosse was, after all, a good fellow! I don't believe he ever had any spite. He was full of notions and ideas, and was always making everybody a present of them, whether they agreed with him or not. Some of 'em wa'n't so bad notions, either, come to look back at 'em! We must organize a committee and take care of him, gentlemen. 'Twon't do to leave him in that condition — not a minute. I'm going right out as soon as I can get a buggy now. Who'll go along with me, and take the first watch?"

  "I will," said a voice behind him.

  Vaughn turned, and exclaimed in surprise, —

  "What, is it you, General Gurney? Well, I declare, you surprised me! I'm sure I shall be honored with your company. I'm glad you're going too. 'Twill do Servosse good. — Don't you think it will, Doctor?"

  In reply, the doctor told what Servosse had said about his old acquaintances, and how he would not let him send for his wife and daughter, though he had assured him that the danger would not be great.

  "So he was going to tough it out alone, was he?" said Vaughn. "He can't do that around Verdenton, if he is a carpet-bagger. Confound him! if he hadn't been so radical, he would have known that. — Here, you boy!" calling to a colored man who was listening to the conversation with great interest, — "take my horse home, and put him on the buggy, so that General Gurney and I can go out and see after Colonel Servosse. D'ye know he'd got the yellow-fever? Hurry up, you rascal, or the damned Radical will die before we get there. We oughtn't to go near him at all, just to pay him for taking up with you niggers; but we ain't that kind of folks. We'll see him through it, or give him a fair send off, if he did try to put you all over the white folks' heads."

  As usual, Vaughn but echoed the general voice, — in a rough, loud manner, it is true, but with a sincerity of kindness to those suffering affliction which is a most noticeable characteristic of the Southern people. Scarcely one of those who had so bitterly denounced and recklessly defamed the Fool in former days, perhaps not one of those who had voted to take his life by unlawful and barbarous violence, would have hesitated to watch over him with the tenderest care in sickness, to have shown every favor to his family in consequent bereavement, or to have attended his interment with decorous and sympathizing solemnity and punctiliousness. No words can overdraw the beautiful kindness and tenderness of the Southern people in this respect.

  While they waited, General Gurney, who seemed to be affected by some unusual emotion, after some further conversation with the physician, said, half to himself as he stepped into the telegraph-office, —

  "I will do it. It may be too late but I will do it."

  Then he wrote a telegram which read thus: —

  "MELVILLE GURNEY, — Bring Mrs. Servosse and Lily without delay. Tell Lily it is my request.

  "MARION GURNEY."

  When they arrived at Warrington, they found the ever ready Burleson already installed at the bedside; but it was already too late for the Fool to realize and appreciate the kindness that flowed in upon him from all sides. The neighbors who came and went received from him but dull, vacant glances, and heard only the rambling, half-incoherent words of love and longing which his fevered lips uttered to the dear ones whom he imagined at his bedside. The flowers which fair hands culled and arranged to charm his eye, the delicacies which were sent in lavish abundance to coax his palate, were unheeded by the sufferer, who was alone with his pain and his doom. The faithful Andy was the only one he recognized; for only that was true to him which had been before the full light of reason was obscured by the clouds of disease. Once or twice, it was true, General Gurney, who was unremitting in his attention, heard his name muttered, and thought himself recognized; but, instead, he always found, when he listened more closely, that the wandering intellect was running upon Lily and his son.

  On Wednesday appeared the Verdenton Gazette, and in it was the following: —

  "We are pained to announce that Colonel Servosse, who returned to his home on Saturday last for a brief sojourn, is prostrated with the fever which is now making fearful ravages in the adjoining States. Notwithstanding the infecti
ous character of the disease, scores of our best citizens have volunteered to attend upon him; and hundreds have called, and otherwise testified their sympathy and kindness. His family have been telegraphed for, but little hope is entertained of their arrival before his death. He has been delirious almost from the first, and his physicians consider it barely possible that he should recover.

  "Colonel Servosse removed to this county from the State of Michigan immediately after the war, and has resided here constantly until about a year since. He was an active and able political leader, and was instrumental in molding and shaping legislation under the Reconstruction measures to a very great extent. Naturally, he was the mark for very bitter political attack, and was for a time, no doubt, greatly misrepresented. That he was a man of marked ability is now universally admitted, and it is generally conceded that he was thoroughly honest in the views which he entertained. Personally, he was a man of fine qualities, who made many and fast friends. He is not thought to have been capable of deliberate and persistent malice; but his audacious and unsparing ridicule of the men and measures he opposed prevented many of his opponents from appreciating the other valuable and attractive elements of his character. Whatever may have been their past relations, however, our citizens will be sincerely sorry to learn of his death."

  The wife and daughter read this, copied into a Northern journal, as they hurried southward, the day after its publication.

  On the evening of that day a vast concourse gathered beneath the oaks of Warrington to do the last honors to its master. There were grave, solemn-faced men who had been his friends, and others who had been enemies, who stood side by side around the open grave under the noblest of the trees which he had loved. Beyond these there was a dark, sobbing circle, — men, women, and children, — who wept and groaned as the clods fell upon the coffin of one whom they had so long trusted and revered.

  Yet bitterer tears fell on the fresh, red mound upon the morrow; and then the sun shone, the birds sang, the bright creek babbled by, and the dead slept in peace. Time smiled grimly as he traced anew the unsolved problem which had mocked the Fool's heart.

  CHAPTER XLVII

  MONUMENTUM

  Table of Contents

  GRASS had grown above the grave. A covered wagon stopped before the grounds, and a jean-clad countryman, descending therefrom, led a little boy seriously and reverently to the railed inclosure.

  "There, son," said David Nelson, as he pointed through the railing at the tombstone, "is where they laid away our Carpet-Bagger. You remember him, I reckon: he staid at our house one night, two or three years, ago, — Colonel Servosse. He was too earnest a man to have much comfort here, though. I want you should remember his grave; for he was a powerful good friend to your father, and the common people like him. He come from the North right after the war, an' went in with us Union men and the niggers to try and make this a free country accordin' to Northern notions. It was a grand idee; but there wa'n't material enough to build of, on hand here at that time. There was a good foundation laid, and some time it may be finished off; but not in my day, son, — not in my day. Colonel Servosse always felt as if somebody had made a mess of it, and said the fault wasn't half of it with them it was laid on, here at the South, but was mainly with the master workmen at the North, who would insist on the tale of bricks without furnishin' any straw. The failure of what we called Reconstruction hurt him mighty bad, an', to my mind, hed more ter du with takin' him off than the fever. That's why he hed that line put on his tombstone. What is it? Let me git out my glasses, child, and I'll read it for ye: —

  'He followed the counsel of the Wise,

  And became a Fool thereby.'

  What does it mean? I'm not jest sure that I rightly know, son; but it was one of his notions that he'd been fooled, along with the rest of us, by tryin' to work up to the marks of men that only half-knew what sort of a job they were layin' out. He was a good man, according to my notion, and an earnest one; but — somehow it seemed as if his ideas wa'n't calkilated for this meridian. It mout hev been better for us, in the end, if they hed been.

  Bricks Without Straw (A Sequel)

  Table of Contents

  TRANSLATION

  CHAPTER I TRI-NOMINATE

  CHAPTER II THE FONT

  CHAPTER III THE JUNONIAN RITE

  CHAPTER IV MARS MEDDLES

  CHAPTER V NUNC PRO TUNC

  CHAPTER VI THE TOGA VIRILIS

  CHAPTER VII DAMON AND PYTHIAS

  CHAPTER VIII A FRIENDLY PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER IX A BRUISED REED

  CHAPTER X AN EXPRESS TRUST

  CHAPTER XI RED WING

  CHAPTER XII ON THE WAY TO JERICHO

  CHAPTER XIII NEGOTIATING A TREATY

  CHAPTER XIV BORN OF THE STORM

  CHAPTER XV TO HIM AND HIS HEIRS FOREVER

  CHAPTER XVI A CHILD OF THE HILLS

  CHAPTER XVII GOOD-MORROW AND FAREWELL

  CHAPTER XVIII "PRIME WRAPPERS"

  CHAPTER XIX THE SHADOW OF THE FLAG

  CHAPTER XX PHANTASMAGORIA

  CHAPTER XXI A CHILD-MAN

  CHAPTER XXII HOW THE FALLOW WAS SEEDED

  CHAPTER XXIII AN OFFERING OF FIRST-FRUITS

  CHAPTER XXIV A BLACK DEMOCRITUS

  CHAPTER XXV A DOUBLE-HEADED ARGUMENT

  CHAPTER XXVI TAKEN AT HIS WORD

  CHAPTER XXVII MOTES IN THE SUNSHINE

  CHAPTER XXVIII IN THE PATH OF THE STORM

  CHAPTER XXIX LIKE AND UNLIKE

  CHAPTER XXX AN UNBIDDEN GUEST

  CHAPTER XXXI A LIFE FOR A LIFE

  CHAPTER XXXII A VOICE FROM THE DARKNESS

  CHAPTER XXXIII A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION

  CHAPTER XXXIV THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW

  CHAPTER XXXV A PARTICULAR TENANCY LAPSES

  CHAPTER XXXVI THE BEACON-LIGHT OF LOVE

  CHAPTER XXXVII THE "BEST FRIENDS" REVEAL THEMSELVES

  CHAPTER XXXVIII "THE ROSE ABOVE THE MOULD"

  CHAPTER XXXIX WHAT THE MIST HID

  CHAPTER XL DAWNING

  CHAPTER XLI Q. E. D

  CHAPTER XLII THROUGH A CLOUD-RIFT

  CHAPTER XLIII A GLAD GOOD-BY

  CHAPTER XLIV PUTTING THIS AND THAT TOGETHER

  CHAPTER XLV ANOTHER OX GORED

  CHAPTER XLVI BACKWARD AND FORWARD

  CHAPTER XLVII BREASTING THE TORRENT

  CHAPTER XLVIII THE PRICE OF HONOR

  CHAPTER XLIX HIGHLY RESOLVED

  CHAPTER L FACE ANSWERETH TO FACE

  CHAPTER LI HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE?

  CHAPTER LII REDEEMED OUT OF THE HOUSE OF BONDAGE

  CHAPTER LIII IN THE CYCLONE

  CHAPTER LIV A BOLT OUT OF THE CLOUD

  CHAPTER LV AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

  CHAPTER LVI SOME OLD LETTERS

  CHAPTER LVII A SWEET AND BITTER FRUITAGE

  CHAPTER LVIII COMING TO THE FRONT

  CHAPTER LIX THE SHUTTLECOCK OF FATE

  CHAPTER LX THE EXODIAN

  CHAPTER LXI WHAT SHALL THE END BE?

  CHAPTER LXII HOW?

  TRANSLATION

  Table of Contents

  [From an ancient Egyptian Papyrus-Roll, recently discovered.]

  It came to pass that when Pharaoh had made an end of giving commandment that the children of Israel should deliver the daily tale of bricks, but should not be furnished with any straw wherewith to make them, but should instead go into the fields and gather such stubble as might be left therein, that Neoncapos, the king's jester, laughed.

  And when he was asked whereat he laughed, he answered, At the king's order.

  And thereupon he laughed the more.

  Then was Pharaoh, the king, exceeding wroth, and he gave commandment that an owl be given to Neoncapos, the king's jester, and that he be set forth without the gate of the king's palace, and that he be forbidden to return, or to speak to any in all the land, save only unto the owl which had been given him, until such time as the bird should answer and tell him what he should say.

  Th
en they that stood about the king, and all who saw Neoncapos, cried out, What a fool's errand is this! So that the saying remains even unto this day.

  Nevertheless, upon the next day came Neoncapos again into the presence of Pharaoh, the king.

  Then was Pharaoh greatly astonished, and he said, How is this? Hath the bird spoken?

  And Neoncapos, the king's jester, bowed himself unto the earth, and said, He hath, my lord.

  Then was Pharaoh, the king, filled with amazement, and said, Tell me what he hath said unto thee.

  And Neoncapos raised himself before the king, and answered him, and said:

  As I went out upon the errand whereunto thou hadst sent me forth, I remembered thy commandment to obey it. And I spake only unto the bird which thou gavest me, and said unto him:

  There was a certain great king which held a people in bondage, and set over them task-masters, and required of them all the bricks that they could make, man for man, and day by day;

  For the king was in great haste seeking to build a palace which should be greater and nobler than any in the world, and should remain to himself and his children a testimony of his glory forever.

  And it came to pass, at length, that the king gave commandment that no more straw should be given unto them that made the bricks, but that they should still deliver the tale which had been aforetime required of them.

  And thereupon the king's jester laughed.

  Because he said to himself, If the laborers have not straw wherewith to attemper the clay, but only stubble and chaff gathered from the fields, will not the bricks be ill-made and lack strength and symmetry of form, so that the wall made thereof will not be true and strong, or fitly joined together? For the lack of a little straw it may be that the palace of the great king will fall upon him and all his people that dwell therein. Thereupon the king was wroth with his fool, and his countenance was changed, and he spake harshly unto him, and —