"'Tain't so much the land," said Nimbus, standing up to his arm-pits in the rank-leaved crop above which his bare black arms glistened in the hot summer sun, "as 'tis the keer on't. Powerful few folks is willin' ter give the keer it takes ter grow an' cure a fine crop o' terbacker. Ther ain't a minit from the time yer plant the seed-bed till ye sell the leaf, that ye kin take yer finger offen it widout resk ob losin' all yer wuk."
"That's so," responded the sheriff, "but the land has a heap to do with it, after all."
"Ob co'se," said Nimbus, as he broke a sucker into short pieces between his thumb and finger, "yer's got ter hab de sile; but ther's a heap mo' jes ez good terbacker lan' ez dis, ef people only hed the patience ter wuk it ez I do mine."
"Wal, now, there's not so much like this," said the sheriff, sharply, "and you don't think so, neither. You wouldn't take a big price for your two hundred acres here now." He watched the other's countenance sharply as he spoke, but the training of slavery made the face of the black Ajax simply Sphinx-like in its inscrutability.
"Wal, I don't know," said Nimbus, slowly, "I mout and then again I moutn't, yer know. Ther'd be a good many pints ter think over besides the quality of the sile afore I'd want ter say 'yes' er 'no' to an offer ob dat kind."
"That's what I thought," said the sheriff. "You are nicely fixed here, and I don't blame you. I had some little business with you, and I'm glad I come to-day and caught ye in your terbacker. It's powerful fine."
"Business wid me?" asked Nimbus in surprise. "What is it?"
"Oh, I don't know," said the officer, lightly, as he put on his spectacles, opened his saddle-bags and took out some papers. "Some of these lawyers have got after you, I suppose, thinking you're getting along too peart. Let me see," he continued, shuffling over the papers in his hand. "Here's a summons in a civil action — the old man, Granville Sykes, against Nimbus Desmit and Eliab Hill. Where is 'Liab? I must see him, too. Here's your copy," he continued, handing Nimbus the paper and marking the date of service on the original in pencil with the careless promptitude of the well-trained official.
Nimbus looked at the paper which was handed him in undisguised astonishment.
"What is dis ting, anyhow, Marse Sheriff?" he asked.
"That? Why, that is a summons. Can't you read it? Here, let me take it."
He read over the legal formulary requiring Nimbus to be and appear at the court house in Louisburg on the sixth Monday after the second Monday in August, to answer the demand of the plaintiff against him, and concluding with the threat that in default of such appearance judgment would be entered up against him.
"You see, you've got to come and answer old man Granville's complaint, and after that you will have a trial. You'll have to get a lawyer, and I expect there'll be smart of fuss about it before it's over. But you can afford it; a man as well fixed as you, that makes such terbacker as this, can afford to pay a lawyer right smart. I've no doubt the old man will get tired of it before you do; but, after all, law is the most uncertain thing in the world."
"What does it mean? Has he sued me?" asked Nimbus.
"Sued you? I should rather think he had — for a thousand dollars damages too. That is you and 'Liab, between you."
"But what for? I don't owe him anythin' an' never did."
"Oh, that's nothing. He says you've damaged him. I've forgot what it's about. Let me see. Oh, yes, I remember now. He says you and 'Liab enticed away his servant — what's his name? that limber-jinted, whistlin' feller you've had working for you for a spell."
"What, Berry?"
"That's it, Berry — Berry Lawson, That's the very chap. Well, old Granville says you coaxed him to leave his employ, and he's after you under the statute."
"But it's a lie — every word on't! I nebber axed Berry ter leave him, an' hed no notion he was a gwine ter do it till Marse Sykes throwed him out in de big road."
"Wal, wal, I don't know nothing about that, I'm sure. He says you did, you say you didn't. I s'pose it'll take a court and jury to decide betwixt ye. It's none of my concern. Oh, yes," he continued, "I like to have forgot it, but here's a capias for you, too — you and 'Liab again. It seems there's a bill of indictment against you. I presume it's the same matter. I must have a bond on this for your appearance, so you'd better come on down to 'Liab's house with me. I'll take you for him, and him for you, as sureties. I don't suppose 'Liab'll be apt to run away, eh, and you're worth enough for both."
"What's this all about?" asked Nimbus.
"Well, I suppose the old man Sykes got ye indicted under the statute making it a misdemeanor, punishable with fine and imprisonment, to coax, hire, or seduce away one's niggers after he's hired 'em. Just the same question as the other, only this is an indictment and that's a civil action — an action under the code, as they call it, since you Radicals tinkered over the law. One is for the damage to old man Sykes, and the other because it's a crime to coax off or harbor any one's hirelings."
"Is dat de law, Mister Sheriff?"
"Oh, yes, that's the law, fast enough. No trouble about that. Didn't know it, did you? Thought you could go and take a man's "hands" right out from under his nose, and not get into trouble about it, didn't ye?"
"I t'ought dat when a man was free anudder could hire him widout axin' leave of his marster. Dat's what I t'ought freedom meant."
"Oh, not exactly; there's lots of freedom lyin' round loose, but it don't allow a man to hire another man's hands, nor give them aid and comfort by harboring and feeding them when they break their contracts and run away. I reckon the old man's got you, Nimbus. If one hook don't catch, the other will. You've been harborin' the cuss, if you didn't entice him away, and that's just the same."
"Ef you mean by harborin' that I tuk my wife's kinsman in when ole Marse Sykes turned his family out in de big road like a damned ole rascal — "
"Hold on, Nimbus!" said the sheriff, with a dangerous light in his cold gray eyes; "you'd better not talk like that about a white gentleman."
"Whose ter hender my talkin', I'd like ter know? Hain't I jes' de same right ter talk ez you er Marse Sykes, an' wouldn't you call me a damn rascal ef I'd done ez he did? Ain't I ez free ez he is?"
"You ain't white!" hissed the sheriff.
"No, an' it seems I ain't free, nuther!" was the hot reply." H'yer t'other night some damn scoundrels — I'specs they wuz white, too, an' yer may tell 'em from me dat I called 'em jes what I did — come an' hung a board 'fore my gate threatening ter kill me an' 'Liab kase we's 'too sassy,' so they sed. Now, 'Liab Hill ner me nebber disturb nobody, an' nebber do nothin' only jes stan' up for our own rights, respectful and peaceable-like; but we hain't ter be run down in no sech way, I'se a free man, an' ef I think a man's a gran' rascal I'se gwine ter say so, whether he's black er white; an' ef enny on 'em comes ter Ku Klux me I'll put a bullet t'rough dem! I will, by God! Ef I breaks the law I'll take the consequences like a man, but I'll be damned ef ennybody shall Ku Kluck me without somebody's goin' 'long with me, when I drops outen dis world! Dat much I'se sot on!"
The sheriff did not answer, only to say, "Careful, careful! There's them that would give you a high limb if they heard you talk like that."
They went together to the house. The required bonds were given, and the sheriff started off with a chuckle. He had hardly passed out of sight when he checked his horse, returned, and calling Nimbus to the gate, said to him in a low tone:
"See here, Nimbus, if you should ever get in the notion of selling this place, remember and let me have the first chance."
"All right, Marse Gleason."
"And see here, these little papers I've served to-day — you needn't have any trouble about them in that case. You understand," with a wink.
"Dunno ez I does, Marse Sheriff," stolidly.
"Oh, well, if you sell to me, I'll take care of them, that's all."
"An' ef I don't?"
"Oh, well, in that case, you must look out for yourself."
He wheeled his horse and rode off with
a mocking laugh.
Nimbus returned to the porch of Eliab's house where the preacher sat thoughtfully scanning the summons and capias.
"What you tink ob dis ting, 'Liab?"
"It is part of a plan to break you up, Nimbus," was the reply.
"Dar ain't no sort ob doubt 'bout that, 'Liab," answered Nimbus,
doggedly, "an' dat ole Sheriff Gleason's jes' at de bottom ob it,
I do b'lieve. But I ain't ter be druv off wid law-suits ner Ku
Kluckers. I'se jest a gwine ter git a lawyer an' fight it out, dat
I am."
CHAPTER XXXV
A PARTICULAR TENANCY LAPSES
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The second day after the visit of the sheriff, Nimbus was sitting on his porch after his day's work when there was a call at his gate.
"Who's dar?" he cried, starting up and gazing through an opening in the honeysuckle which clambered up to the eaves and shut in the porch with a wall of fragrant green. Seeing one of his white neighbors, he went out to the gate, and after the usual salutations was greeted with these words:
"I hear you's gwine to sell out an' leave, Nimbus?"
"How'd ye hear dat?"
"Wal, Sheriff Gleason's a' been tellin' of it 'round, and ther ain't no other talk 'round the country only that."
"What 'ud I sell out an' leave for? Ain't I well 'nough off whar
I is?"
"The sheriff says you an' 'Liab Hill has been gittin' into some trouble with the law, and that the Ku Klux has got after you too, so that if you don't leave you're likely to go to States prison or have a whippin' or hangin' bee at your house afore you know it."
"Jes let 'em come," said Nimbus, angrily — "Ku Kluckers or sheriffs, it don't make no difference which. I reckon it's all 'bout one an' de same ennyhow. It's a damn shame too. Dar, when de 'lection come las' time we put Marse Gleason in agin, kase we hadn't nary white man in de county dat was fitten for it an' could give de bond; an' of co'se dere couldn't no cullu'd man give it. An' jes kase we let him hev it an' he's feared we mout change our minds now, here he is a runnin' 'roun' ter Ku Klux meetin's an' a tryin' ter stir up de bery ole debble, jes ter keep us cullu'd people from hevin' our rights. He can't do it wid me, dat's shore. I hain't done nuffin' an' I won't run. Ef I'd a-done ennythin' I'd run, kase I don't b'lieve more'n ennybody else in a, man's stayin' ter let de law git a holt on him; but when I hain't done nary ting, ther ain't nobody ez kin drive me outen my tracks."
"But the Ku Klux mout lift ye outen 'em," said the other with a weak attempt at wit.
"Jes let 'em try it once!" said Nimbus, excitedly. "I'se purty well prepared for 'em now, an' atter tomorrer I'll be jes ready for 'em. I'se gwine ter Louisburg to-morrer, an' I 'llow that atter I come back they won't keer ter meddle wid Nimbus. Tell yer what, Mister Dossey, I bought dis place from ole Marse Desmit, an' paid for it, ebbery cent; an' I swar I ain't a gwine ter let no man drive me offen it — nary foot. An' ef de Ku Klux comes, I's jest a gwine ter kill de las' one I gits a chance at. Now, you min' what I say, Mister Dossey, kase I means ebbery word on't."
The white man cowered before the other's energy. He was of that class who were once denominated "poor whites." The war taught him that he was as good a man to stop bullets as one that was gentler bred, and during that straggle which the non-slaveholders fought at the beck and in the interest of the slaveholding aristocracy, he had learned more of manhood than he had ever known before. In the old days his father had been an overseer on a plantation adjoining Knapp-of-Reeds, and as a boy he had that acquaintance with Nimbus which every white boy had with the neighboring colored lads — they hunted and fished together and were as near cronies as their color would allow. Since the war he had bought a place and by steady work had accumulated some money. His plantation was on the river and abutted on the eastern side with the property of Nimbus. After a moment's silence he said:
"That reminds me of what I heard to-day. Your old Marse Potem is dead."
"Yer don't say, now!"
"Yes — died yesterday and will be buried to-morrow."
"La, sakes! An' how's he lef ole Missus an' de gals, I wonder?"
"Mighty pore I'm afraid. They say he's been mighty bad off lately, an' what he's got won't more'n half pay his debts. I reckon the widder an' chillen'll hev ter 'homestead it' the rest of their lives."
"Yer don't tink so? Wal, I do declar', hit's too bad. Ez rich ez he was, an' now ter come down ter be ez pore ez Nimbus — p'raps poorer!"
"It's mighty hard, that's sure. It was all along of the wah that left everybody pore in this country, just as it made all the Yankees rich with bonds and sech-like."
"Sho'! what's de use ob bein' a fool? 'Twan't de wah dat made Marse Desmit pore. 'Twuz dat ar damn fool business ob slavery afo' de wah dat wound him up. Ef he'd never been a 'speculator' an' hadn't tried to grow rich a raisin' men an' wimmen for market he'd a been richer'n ever he was, when he died."
"Oh, you're mistaken 'bout that, Nimbus. The wah ruined us all."
"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Nimbus, derisively. "What de wah ebber take from you, Mister Dossey, only jes yer oberseer's whip? An' dat wur de berry best ting ebber happen ter ye, kase it sot yer to wuk an' put yer in de way ob makin' money for yerself. It was hard on sech ez ole Mahs'r, dat's a fac, even ef 'twas mostly his own fault; but it was worth a million ter sech ez you. You 'uns gained mo' by de outcome ob de wah, right away, dan we cullu'd folks'll ebber git, I'm afeared."
"Yer may be right," said Dawsey, laughing, and with a touch of pride in his tone. "I've done pretty well since the wah. An' that brings me back to what I come over for. I thought I'd ax, if ye should git in a notion of selling, what yer'd take fer yer place here?"
"I hain't no idea uv selling, Mister Dossey, an' hain't no notion uv hevin' any 'nuther. You an' ebberybody else mout jest ez well larn, fust ez las', dat I shan't never sell only jes ter make money. Ef I put a price on Red Wing it'll be a big one; kase it ain't done growing yet, an' I might jest ez well stay h'yr an' grow ez ter go West an' grow up wid de kentry, ez dat fool Berry Lawson's allers tellin' about."
"Wal, that's all right, only ef you ever want ter sell, reasonable-like, yer know who to come to for your money. Good-night!"
The man was gathering up his reins when Nimbus said:
"When did yer say ole Mahsr's funeral was gwine ter be?"
"To-morrow afternoon at four o'clock, I heerd."
"Thank ye. I'se 'bout made up my mind ter go ter Louisburg to-morrer, stay ter dat funeral, an' come back nex' day. Seems ter me ole Mahs'r'd be kind o' glad ter see Nimbus at his funeral, fer all I wan't no gret fav'rite o' his'n. He wa'nt sich a bad marster, an' atter I bought Red Wing he use ter come ober ebbery now an' agin, an' gib me a heap ob advice 'bout fixin' on it up. I allus listened at him, tu, kase ef ennybody ever knowed nex' do' ter ebberyting, dat ar man wuz ole Marse Potem. I'se sorry he's dead, I is; an' I'se mighty sorry for ole Missus an' de gals. An' I'se a gwine ter go ter dat er funeral an' see him laid away, ef it do take anudder day outen de crap; dat I is, shore.
"An' that 'minds me," said the white man, "that I heard at the same time, that Walter Greer, who used to own the plantation afore yer Marse Desmit bought it, died sometime lately, 'way out in Texas. It's quare, ain't it, that they should both go nigh about the same time. Good-night."
The "poor-white" neighbor rode away, little dreaming that the colored man had estimated him aright, and accounted him only an emissary of his foes, nor did he comprehend the importance of the information he had given.
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE BEACON-LIGHT OF LOVE
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Mollie Ainslie had been absent from Red Wing more than a month. It was nearly midnight. The gibbous moon hung over the western tree-tops. There was not a sound to be heard in the little hamlet, but strangely draped figures might have been seen moving about in the open glades of the piney woods which skirted Red Wing upon the west.
One after another they
stole across the open space between the church and the pine grove, in its rear, until a half-dozen had collected in its shadow. One mounted on another's shoulders and tried one of the windows. It yielded to his touch and he raised it without difficulty. He entered and another after him. Then two or three strange-looking packages were handed up to them from the outside. There was a whispered discussion, and then the parties within were heard moving cautiously about and a strong benzoic odor came from the upraised window. Now and then a sharp metallic clang was heard from within. At length the two that had entered returned to the window. There was a whispered consultation with those upon the outside. One of these crept carefully to the corner and gave a long low whistle. It was answered after a moment's interval, first from one direction and then from another, until every part of the little hamlet resounded with short quick answers. Then the man at the corner of the church crept back and whispered,
"All right!"
One of the parties inside came out upon the window-sill and dropped lightly to the ground. The other mounted upon the window-sill, and turned round upon his knees; there was a gleam of light within the building, a flicker and a hiss, and then with a mighty roar the flame swept through it as if following the trail of some combustible. Here and there it surged, down the aisles and over the desks, white and clear, showing in sharpest silhouette every curve and angle of building and furniture.
The group at the window stood gazing within for a moment, the light playing on their faces and making them seem ghastly and pale by the reflection; then they crept hastily back into the shadow of the wood — all but one, who, clad in the horribly grotesque habit of the Ku Klux Klan, stood at the detached bell-tower, and when the flames burst forth from the windows solemnly tolled the bell until driven from his post by the heat.
A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw Page 63
