"He got back after a while, and has been living with his mother on the old plantation ever since. He married a cousin just before he went into the service — more to have somebody to leave with his ma than because he wanted a wife, folks said. The old man, Colonel Casaubon, died during the war. He never seemed like himself after the boy went into the army. I saw him once or twice, and I never did see such a change in any man. Le Moyne's wife died, too. She left a little boy, who with Le Moyne and his ma are all that's left of the family. I don't reckon there ever was a man thought more of his mother, or had a mother more worth setting store by, than Hesden Le Moyne." They had reached the hotel when this account was concluded, and after dinner the sheriff came to the captain's room and introduced a slender young man in neatly fitting jeans, with blue eyes, a dark brown beard, and an empty coat-sleeve, as Mr. Hesden Le Moyne.
He put his felt hat under the stump of his left arm and extended his right hand as he said simply:
"The sheriff said you wished to see me about Eliab Hill."
"I did," was the response; "but after what he has told me, I desired to see you much more for yourself."
The sheriff withdrew, leaving them alone together, and they fell to talking of army life at once, as old soldiers always will, each trying to locate the other in the strife which they had passed through on opposite sides.
CHAPTER IX
A BRUISED REED
Table of Contents
"Eliab Hill," said Le Moyne, when they came at length to the subject in relation to which the interview had been solicited, "was born the slave of Potem Desmit, on his plantation Knapp-of-Reeds, in the lower part of the county. His mother was a very likely woman, considerable darker than he, but still not more than a quadroon, I should say. She was brought from Colonel Desmit's home plantation to Knapp-of-Reeds some little time before her child was born. It was her first child, I believe, and her last one. She was a very slender woman, and though not especially unhealthy, yet never strong, being inclined to consumption, of which she finally died. Of course his paternity is unknown, though rumor has not been silent in regard to it. It is said that a stubborn refusal on his mother's part to reveal it led Colonel Desmit, in one of his whimsical moods, to give the boy the name he bears. However, he was as bright a child as ever frolicked about a plantation till he was some five or six years old. His mother had been a house-servant before she was sent to Knapp-of-Reeds, and being really a supernumerary there, my father hired her a year or two afterward as a nurse for my mother, who has long been an invalid, as you may be aware."
His listener nodded assent, and he went on:
"Her child was left at Knapp-of-Reeds, but Saturday nights it was brought over to stay the Sunday with her, usually by this boy Nimbus, who was two or three years older than he. The first I remember of his misfortune was one Saturday, when Nimbus brought him over in a gunny-sack, on his back. It was not a great way, hardly half a mile, but I remember thinking that it was a pretty smart tug for the little black rascal. I was not more than a year or two older than he, myself, and not nearly so strong.
"It seems that something had happened to the boy, I never knew exactly what — seems to me it was a cold resulting from some exposure, which settled in his legs, as they say, producing rheumatism or something of that kind — so that he could not walk or hardly stand up. The boy Nimbus had almost the sole charge of him during the week, and of course he lacked for intelligent treatment. In fact, I doubt if Desmit's overseer knew anything about it until it was too late to do any good. He was a bright, cheerful child, and Nimbus was the same dogged, quiet thing he is now. So it went on, until his mother, Moniloe, found that he had lost all use of his legs. They were curled up at one side, as you saw them, and while his body has developed well they have grown but little in comparison.
"Moniloe made a great outcry over the child, to whom she was much attached, and finally wrought upon my father and mother to buy herself and her crippled boy. Colonel Desmit, on whom the burden of his maintenance would fall, and who saw no method of making him self-supporting, was willing to sell the mother on very moderate terms if my father would take the child and guarantee his support. This was done, and they both became my father's property. Neither forgot to be grateful. The woman was my mother's faithful nurse until after the war, when she died, and I have never been able to fill her place completely, since. I think Eliab learned his letters, and perhaps to read a little, from me. He was almost always in my mother's room, being brought in and set down upon a sheepskin on one side the fireplace in the morning by his mammy. My mother had great sympathy with his misfortune, the more, I suppose, because of her own very similar affliction. She used to teach him to sew and knit, and finally, despite the law, began to encourage him to read. The neighbors, coming in and finding him with a book in his hands, began to complain of it, and my father, in order to silence all such murmurs, manumitted him square out and gave bonds for his support, as the law required.
"As he grew older he remained more and more in his mother's cabin, in one corner of which she had a little elevated platform made for him. He could crawl around the room by means of his hands, and had great skill in clambering about by their aid. When he was about fifteen a shoemaker came to the house to do our plantation work. Eliab watched him closely all the first day; on the second desired to help, and before the month had passed was as good a shoemaker as his teacher. From that time he worked steadily at the trade, and managed very greatly to reduce the cost of his support.
"He was a strange boy, and he and this fellow Nimbus were always together except when prevented by the latter's tasks. A thousand times I have known Nimbus to come over long after dark and leave before daylight, in order to stay with his friend over night. Not unfrequently he would carry him home upon his back and keep him for several days at Knapp-of-Reeds, where both were prime favorites, as they were with us also. As they grew older this attachment became stronger. Many's the time I have passed there and seen Nimbus working in the tobacco and Eliab with his hammers and lasts pounding away under a tree near by. Having learned to read, the man was anxious to know more. For a time he was indulged, but as the hot times just preceding the war came on, it became indiscreet for him to be seen with a book.
"While he was still very young he began to preach, and his ministrations were peculiarly prudent and sensible. His influence with his people, even before emancipation, was very great, and has been increased by his correct and manly conduct since. I regard him, sir, as one of the most useful men in the community.
"For some reason, I have never known exactly what, he became anxious to leave my house soon after Nimbus' return from the army, although I had offered him the free use of the little shop where he and his mother had lived, as long as he desired. He and Nimbus, by some hook or crook, managed to buy the place at Red Wing. It was a perfectly barren piney old-field then, and not thought of any account except for the timber there was on it. It happened to be at the crossing of two roads, and upon a high sandy ridge, which was thought to be too poor to raise peas on. The man who sold it to them — their old master Potem Desmit — no doubt thought he was getting two or three prices for it; but it has turned out one of the best tobacco farms in the county. It is between two very rich sections, and in a country having a very large colored population, perhaps the largest in the county, working the river plantations on one side and the creek bottoms on the other. I have heard that Nimbus takes great credit to himself for his sagacity in foreseeing the capabilities of Red Wing. If he really did detect its value at that time, it shows a very fine judgment and accounts for his prosperity since. Eliab Hill affirms this to be true, but most people think he does the planning for the whole settlement. Nimbus has done extremely well, however. He has sold off, I should judge, nearly half his land, in small parcels, has worked hard, and had excellent crops. I should not wonder, if his present crop comes off well and the market holds on, if before Christmas he were worth as many thousands as he had hundreds the day he boug
ht that piney old-field. It don't take much tobacco at a dollar a pound, which his last crop brought, lugs and all, to make a man that does his own work and works his own land right well off. He's had good luck, has worked hard, and has either managed well or been well advised; it don't matter which.
"He has gathered a good crowd around him too, sober, hard-working men; and most of them have done well too. So that it has become quite a flourishing little settlement. I suppose there are some fifty or sixty families live there. They have a church, which they use for a school-house, and it is by a great deal the best school-house in the county too. Of course they got' outside help, some from the Bureau, I reckon, and more perhaps from some charitable association. I should think the church or school-house must have cost fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars. They have a splendid school. Two ladies from the North are teaching there — real ladies, I should judge, too."
The listener smiled at this indorsement.
"I see," said Le Moyne, "it amuses you that I should qualify my words in that manner. It seems unneccessary to you."
"Entirely so."
"Well, it may be; but I assure you, sir, we find it hard to believe that any one who will come down here and teach niggers is of very much account at home."
"They are generally of the very cream of our Northern life," said the other. "I know at this very time the daughters of several prominent clergymen, of two college professors, of a wealthy merchant, of a leading manufacturer, and of several wealthy farmers, who are teaching in these schools. It is missionary work, you see — just as much as going to Siam or China. I have never known a more accomplished, devoted, or thoroughly worthy class of ladies, and do not doubt that these you speak of, well deserve your praise without qualification."
"Well, it may be," said the other dubiously; "but it is hard for us to understand, you know. Now, they live in a little old house, which they have fixed up with flowers and one thing and another till it is very attractive — on the outside, at least. I know nothing about the inside since their occupancy. It was a notable place in the old time, but had quite run down before they came. I don't suppose they see a white person once a month to speak to them, unless indeed some of the officers come over from the post at Boyleston, now and then. I am sure that no lady would think of visiting them or admitting them to her house. I know a few gentlemen who have visited the school just out of curiosity. Indeed, I have ridden over once myself, and I must say it is well worth seeing. I should say there were three or four hundred scholars, of all ages, sizes, and colors — black, brown, white apparently, and all shades of what we used to call 'ginger-cake.' These two ladies and the man Eliab teach them. It is perfectly wonderful how they do get on. You ought to see it."
"I certainly shall," said Pardee, "as a special duty calls me there.
How would it do for a polling-place?"
"There ought to be one there, but I should be afraid of trouble," answered Le Moyne seriously.
"Name me one or two good men for poll-holders, and I will risk any disorder."
"Well, there is Eliab. He's a good man if there ever was one, and capable too."
"How about Nimbus?"
"He's a good man too, honest as the day is long, hard-headed and determined, but he can't read or write."
"That is strange."
"It is strange, but one of the teachers was telling me so when I was there. I think he has got so that he can sign his first name — his only one, he insists — but that is all, and he cannot read a word."
"I should have thought he would have been one of the first to learn that much at least."
"So should I. He is the best man of affairs among them all — has good judgment and sense, and is always trying to do something to get on. He says he is 'too busy to get larnin', an' leaves that and preachin' to Bre'er' 'Liab.'" "Do they keep up their former intimacy?"
"Keep it up? 'Liab lives in Nimbus' lot, has his meals from his table, and is toted about by Nimbus just the same as if they were still boys. Nimbus seems to think more of him than he would of a brother — than he does of his brothers, for he has two whom he seems to care nothing about. His wife and children are just as devoted to the cripple as Nimbus, and 'Liab, on his part, seems to think as much of them as if they were his own. They get along first-rate, and are prospering finely, but I am afraid they will have trouble yet."
"Why so?"
"Oh, well, I don't know; they are niggers, you see, and our people are not used to such things."
"I hope your apprehensions are groundless."
"Well, I hope so too."
The officer looked at his watch and remarked that he must return to his duty, and after thanking his companion for a pleasant hour, and being invited to call at Mulberry Hill whenever occasion might serve, the two men parted, each with pleasant impressions of the other.
CHAPTER X
AN EXPRESS TRUST
Table of Contents
Fortunately for Nimbus, he had received scarcely anything of his pay while in the service, and none of the bounty-money due him, until some months after the surrender, when he was discharged at a post near his old home. On the next day it happened that there was a sale of some of the transportation at this post, and through the co-operation of one of his officers he was enabled to buy a good mule with saddle and bridle for a song, and by means of these reached home on the day after. He was so proud of his new acquisition that he could not be induced to remain a single day with his former comrades. He had hardly more than assured himself of the safety of his wife and children before he went to visit his old friend and playmate, Eliab Hill. He found that worthy in a state of great depression.
"You see," he explained to his friend, "Mister Le Moyne" (with a slight emphasis on the title) "bery kindly offered me de use ob dis cabin's long as I might want it, and has furnished me with nearly all I have had since the S'rrender. While my mother lived and he had her services and a well-stocked plantation and plenty ob hands, I didn't hab no fear o' being a burden to him. I knew he would get good pay fer my support, fer I did de shoemakin' fer his people, and made a good many clo'es fer dem too. Thanks to Miss Hester's care, I had learned to use my needle, as you know, an' could do common tailorin' as well as shoemakin'. I got very little fer my wuk but Confederate money and provisions, which my mother always insisted that Mr. Le Moyne should have the benefit on, as he had given me my freedom and was under bond for my support.
"Since de S'rrender, t'ough dere is plenty ob wuk nobody has any money. Mr. Le Moyne is just as bad off as anybody, an' has', to go in debt fer his supplies. His slaves was freed, his wife is dead, he has nobody to wait on Miss Hester, only as he hires a nuss; his little boy is to take keer on, an' he with only one arm an' jest a bare plantation with scarcely any stock left to him. It comes hard fer me to eat his bread and owe him so much when I can't do nothin' fer him in return. I know he don't mind it, an' b'lieve he would feel hurt if he knew how I feel about it; but I can't help it, Nimbus — I can't, no way."
"Oh, yer mustn't feel that 'ere way, Bre'er 'Liab," said his friend. "Co'se it's hard fer you jes now, an' may be a little rough on Marse Moyne. But yer mus' member dat atter a little our folks 'll hev money. White folks got ter have wuk done; nebber do it theirselves; you know dat; an' ef we does it now we's boun' ter hev pay fer it. An' when we gits money, you gits wuk. Jes' let Marse Moyne wait till de crap comes off, an' den yer'll make it all squar wid him. I tell yer what, 'Liab, it's gwine ter be great times fer us niggers, now we's free. Yer sees dat mule out dar?" he asked, pointing to a sleek bay animal which he had tied to the rack in front of the house when he rode up.
"Yes, o' course I do," said the other, with very little interest in his voice.
"Likely critter, ain't it?" asked Nimbus, with a peculiar tone.
"Certain. Whose is it?"
"Wal, now, dat's jes edzackly de question I wuz gwine ter ax of you. Whose yer spose 'tis?"
"I'm sure I don't know. One o' Mr. Ware's?"
"I
should tink not, honey; not edzackly now. Dat ar mule b'longs ter me — Nimbus! D'yer h'yer dat, 'Liab?"
"No! Yer don't tell me? Bless de Lord, Nimbus, yer's a fortunit man. Yer fortin's made, Nimbus. All yer's got ter do is ter wuk fer a livin' de rest of this year, an' then put in a crap of terbacker next year, an' keep gwine on a wukkin' an' savin', an' yer fortin's made. Ther ain't no reason why yer shouldn't be rich afore yer's fifty. Bless the Lord, Nimbus, I'se that glad for you dat I can't find no words fer it."
The cripple stretched out both hands to his stalwart friend, and the tears which ran down his cheeks attested the sincerity of his words. Nimbus took his outstretched hands, held them in his own a moment, then went to the door, looked carefully about, came back again, and with some embarrassment said,
"An' dat ain't all, Bre'er 'Liab. Jes' you look dar."
As he spoke Nimbus took an envelope from the inside pocket of his soldier jacket and laid it on the bench where the other sat. 'Liab looked up in surprise, but in obedience to a gesture from Nimbus opened it and counted the contents.
"Mos' five hundred dollars!" he said at length, in amazement. "Dis yours too, Bre'er Nimbus?"
"Co'se it is. Didn't I tell yer dar wuz a good time comin'?"
"Bre'er Nimbus," said Eliab solemnly, "you gib me your word you git all dis money honestly?"
"Co'se I did. Yer don't s'pose Nimbus am a-gwine ter turn thief at dis day, does yer?"
"How you get it?" asked Eliab sternly.
"How I git it?" answered the other indignantly. "You see dem clo'es? Hain't I been a-sojerin' nigh onter two year now? Hain't I hed pay an' bounty, an' rations too? One time I wuz cut off from de regiment, an' 'ported missin' nigh bout fo' months afo' I managed ter git over ter Port R'yal an' 'port fer duty, an' dey gib me money fer rations all dat time. Tell yer, 'Liab, it all counts up. I'se spent a heap 'sides dat."
A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw Page 45
