A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw

by Albion Winegar Tourgée

  "Why did you not write to me?" said Hesden.

  "Wal," said Nimbus, with some confusion, "I wuz afeared ter do it, Marse Hesden. I wuz afeared yer mout hev turned agin me. I dunno why 'twuz, but I wuz mighty skeered ob enny white folks, 'ceptin' Miss Mollie h'yer. So I made it up wid mammy, dat we should wuk on till we'd got 'nough ter come back; an' den we'd come, an' I'd stop at some place whar I wa'n't knowed, an' let her come h'yer an' see how t'ings wuz.

  "I'd jest about got ter dat pint, when I hed anodder pull-back. Yer see, dar wuz two men, both claimed ter be sheriff o' dat parish. Dat was — let me see, dat was jes de tenth yeah atter de S'render, fo' years alter I left h'yer. One on 'em, ez near ez I could make out, was app'inted by de Guv'ner, an' t'odder by a man dat claimed ter be Guv'ner. De fust one called on de cullu'd men ter help him hold de Court House an' keep t'ings a-gwine on right; an' de t'odder, he raised a little army an' come agin' us. I'd been a sojer, yer know, an' I t'ought I wuz bound ter stan' up fer de guv'ment. So I went in ter fight wid de rest. We t'rew up some bres'wuks, an' when dey druv us outen dem we fell back inter de Court House. Den dar come a boat load o' white folks down from Sweevepo't, an' we hed a hard time a-fightin' on 'em. Lots ob us got killed, an' some o' dem. We hadn't many guns ner much ammunition. It war powerful hot, an' water wuz skeerce.

  "So, atter a while, we sent a flag o' truce, an' 'greed ter s'render ebberyting, on condition dat dey wouldn't hurt us no mo'. Jest ez quick ez we gib up dey tuk us all pris'ners. Dar was twenty-sebben in de squad I wuz wid. 'Long a while atter dark, dey tuk us out an' marched us off, wid a guard on each side. We hadn't gone more'n two or t'ree hundred yards afo' de guard begun ter shoot at us. Dey hit me in t'ree places, an' I fell down an' rolled inter a ditch by de roadside, kinder under de weeds like. Atter a while I sorter come ter myself an' crawled off fru de weeds ter de bushes. Nex' day I got a chance ter send word ter mammy, an' she come an' nussed me till we managed ter slip away from dar."

  "Poor Nimbus!" said Mollie, weeping. "You have had a hard time indeed!"

  "Not so bad as de odders," was the reply. "Dar wuz only two on us dat got away at all. The rest wuz all killed."

  "Yes," said Hesden, "I remember that affair. It was a horrible thing. When will our Southern people learn wisdom!"

  "I dunno dat, Marse Hesden," said Nimbus, "but I do know dat de cullu'd folks is larnin' enough ter git outen dat. You jes mark my words, ef dese t'ings keep a-gwine on, niggers'll be skeerce in dis kentry purty soon. We can't be worse off, go whar we will, an' I jes count a cullu'd man a fool dat don't pole out an' git away jest ez soon ez he finds a road cut out dat he kin trabbel on."

  "But that was three years ago, Nimbus," said Hesden. "Where have you been since?"

  "Wal, yer see, atter dat," said Nimbus, "we wuz afeared ter stay dar any mo'. So we went ober inter Miss'ippi, mammy an' me, an' went ter wuk agin. I wasn't berry strong, but we wukked hard an' libbed hard ter git money ter come back wid. Mammy wuz powerful anxious ter git back h'yer afo' she died. We got along tollable-like, till de cotting wuz about all picked, an' hadn't drawed no wages at all, to speak on. Den, one day, de boss man on de plantation, he picked a quarrel wid mammy 'bout de wuk, an' presently hit her ober her ole gray head wid his cane. I couldn't stan' dat, nohow, so I struck him, an' we hed a fight. I warn't nuffin' ter what I war once, but dar war a power o' strength in me yet, ez he found out.

  "Dey tuk me up an' carried me ter jail, an' when de court come on, my ole mammy wuz dead; so I couldn't prove she war my mammy, an' I don't 'llow 'twould hev made enny difference ef I had. The jury said I war guilty, an' de judge fined me a hundred dollars an' de costs, an' sed I wuz ter be hired out at auction ter pay de fine, an' costs, an' sech like. So I wuz auctioned off, an' brought twenty-five cents a day. 'Cordin' ter de law, I hed ter wuk two days ter make up my keep fer ebbery one I lost. I war sick an' low-sperrited, an' hadn't no heart ter wuk, so I lost a heap o' days. Den I run away once or twice, but dey cotch me, an' brought me back. So I kep' losin' time, an' didn't git clean away till 'bout four months ago. Sence den I'se been wukkin' my way back, jes dat skeery dat I dassent hardly walk de roads fer fear I'd be tuk up agin. But I felt jes like my ole mammy dat wanted ter come back h'yer ter die."

  "But you are not going to die," said Mollie, smiling through her tears. "Your plantation is all right. We will send for 'Gena and the children, and you and Eliab can live again at Red Wing and be happy."

  "I don't want ter lib dar, Miss Mollie," said Nimbus. "I ain't a-gwine ter die, ez you say; but I don't want ter lib h'yer, ner don't want my chillen ter. I want 'em ter lib whar dey kin be free, an' hev 'bout half a white man's chance, ennyhow."

  "But what about Red Wing?" asked Hesden.

  "I'd like ter see it once mo'," said the broken-hearted man, while the tears ran down his face. "I 'llowed once that I'd hab a heap o' comfort dar in my ole days. But dat's all passed an' gone, now — passed an' gone! I'll tell yer what, Marse Hesden, I allus 'llowed fer Bre'er 'Liab ter hev half o' dat plantation. Now yer jes makes out de papers an' let him hev de whole on't, an' I goes ter Kansas wid 'Gena."

  "No, no, Nimbus," said Eliab; "I could not consent — "

  "Yes yer kin, 'Liab," said Nimbus quickly, with some of his old-time arrogance. "Yer kin an' yer will. You kin use dat er trac' o' lan' an' make it wuth sunthin' ter our people, an' I can't. So, yer sees, I'll jes be a-doin' my sheer, an' I'll allus t'ink, when I hears how yer's gittin' along an' a-doin' good, dat I'se a pardner wid ye in de wuk o' gibbin' light ter our people, so dat dey'll know how ter be free an' keep free forebber an' ebber. Amen!"

  The listeners echoed his "amen," and Eliab, flinging himself into the arms of Nimbus, by whom he had been sitting, and whose hand he had held during the entire narrative, buried his face upon his breast and wept.

  CHAPTER LX

  THE EXODIAN

  Table of Contents

  Hesden and Mollie were on their way homeward from Eupolia, where they had inspected their property and had seen Nimbus united with his family and settled for a new and more hopeful start in life. They had reached that wonderful young city of seventy-seven hills which faces toward free Kansas and reluctantly bears the ban which slavery put upon Missouri. While they waited for their train in the crowded depot in which the great ever-welcoming far West meets and first shakes hands with ever-swarming East, they strolled about among the shifting crowd.

  Soon they came upon a dusky group whose bags and bundles, variegated attire, and unmistakable speech showed that they were a party of those misguided creatures who were abandoning the delights of the South for the untried horrors of a life upon the plains of Kansas. These were of all ages, from the infant in arms to the decrepit patriarch, and of every shade of color, from Saxon fairness with blue eyes and brown hair to ebon blackness. They were telling their stories to a circle of curious listeners. There was no lack of variety of incident, but a wonderful similarity of motive assigned for the exodus they had undertaken.

  There were ninety-four of them, and they came from five different States — Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. They had started without preconcert, and were unacquainted with each other until they had collected into one body as the lines of travel converged on the route to Kansas. A few of the younger ones said that they had come because they had heard that Kansas was a country where there was plenty of work and good wages, and where a colored man could get pay for what he did. Others told strange tales of injustice and privation. Some, in explanation of their evident poverty, showed the contracts under which they had labored. Some told of personal outrage, of rights withheld, and of law curiously diverted from the ends of justice to the promotion of wrong. By far the greater number of them, however, declared their purpose to be to find a place where their children could grow up free, receive education, and have "a white man's chance" in the struggle of life. They did not expect ease or affluence themselves, but for their offspring they craved liberty, knowledge, and a fair start.


  While Hesden and Mollie stood watching this group, with the interest one always feels in that which reminds him of home, seeing in these people the forerunners of a movement which promised to assume astounding proportions in the near future, they were startled by an exclamation from one of the party:

  "Wall, I declar'! Ef dar ain't Miss Mollie — an' 'fore God, Marse Hesden, too!" Stumbling over the scattered bundles in his way, and pushing aside those who stood around, Berry Lawson scrambled into the presence of the travelers, bowing and scraping, and chuckling with delight; a battered wool hat in one hand, a shocking assortment of dilapidated clothing upon his person, but his face glowing with honest good-nature, and his tones resonant of fun, as if care and he had always been strangers.

  "How d'ye, Miss Mollie — sah'vent, Marse Hesden. I 'llow I must be gittin' putty nigh ter de promised lan' when I sees you once mo'. Yah, yah! Yer hain't done forgot Berry, I s'pose? Kase ef yer hez, I'll jes hev ter whistle a chune ter call myself ter mind. Jes, fer instance now, like dis h'yer."

  Then raising his hands and swaying his body in easy accompaniment, he began to imitate the mocking-bird in his mimicry of his feathered companions. He was very proud of this accomplishment, and his performance soon drew attention from all parts of the crowded depot. Noticing this, Hesden said,

  "There, there, Berry; that will do. There is no doubt as to your identity. We both believe that nobody but Berry Lawson could do that, and are very glad to see you." Mollie smiled assent.

  "T'ank ye, sah. Much obleeged fer de compliment. Hope I see yer well, an' Miss Mollie de same. Yer do me proud, both on yer," said Berry, bowing and scraping again, making a ball of his old hat, sidling restlessly back and forth, and displaying all the limpsy litheness of his figure, in his embarrassed attempts to show his enjoyment. "'Pears like yer's trabblin' in company," he added, with a glance at Mollie's hand resting on Hesden's arm.

  "Yes," said Hesden good-naturedly; "Miss Mollie is Mrs. Le Moyne now."

  "Yer don't say!" said Berry, in surprise. "Der Lo'd an' der nation, what will happen next? Miss Mollie an' Marse Hesden done married an' a-meetin' up wid Berry out h'yer on de berry edge o' de kingdom! Jest ez soon hab expected to a' seen de vanguard o' de resurrection. Yer orter be mighty proud, Marse Hesden. We used ter t'ink, 'bout Red Wing, dat dar wa'n't nary man dat ebber cast a shadder good 'nough fer Miss Mollie."

  "And so there isn't," said Hesden, laughing, "But we can't stand here and talk all day. Where are you from?"

  "Whar's I frum? Ebbery place on de green yairth, Marse Hesden, 'ceptin' dis one, whar dey hez ter shoe de goats fer ter help 'em climb de bluffs; an' please de Lo'd I'll be from h'yer jest es soon ez de train come's 'long dat's 'boun' fer de happy land of Canaan.'"

  "We shall have to stop over, dear," said Hesden to his wife. "There's no doing anything with Berry in the time we have between the trains. Have you any baggage?" he asked of Berry,

  "Baggage? Dat I hab — a whole handkercher full o' clean clo'es — jest ez soon ez dey's been washed, yer know. Yah, yah!"

  "Where are you going?"

  "Whar's I gwine? Gwine West, ter grow up wid de kentry, Marse

  Hesden." "There, there, take your bundle and come along."

  "All right, Marse Hesden. Jest ez soon wuk fer you ez ennybody. Good-by, folkses," said he, waving his hat to his late traveling companions. "I'se mighty sorry to leave yer, but biz is biz, yer know, an' I'se got a job. Wish yer good luck, all on yer. Jes let 'em know I'm on der way, will yer?

  Ef yo' gits dar afo' I do,

  Jes tell 'em I'se a-comin' too,"

  he sang, as he followed Hesden and Mollie out of the depot, amid the laughter of the crowd which had gathered about them. Their baggage was soon removed from the platform, and, with Berry on the seat with the driver, they went to the hotel. Then, taking him down the busy street that winds around between the sharp hills as though it had crawled up, inch by inch, from the river-bottom below, Hesden procured him some new clothes and a valise, which Berry persisted in calling a "have'em-bag," and took him back to the hotel as his servant. As Hesden started to his room, the rejuvenated fugitive inquired,

  "Please, Marse Hesden, does yer know ennyt'ing what's a come ob — ob my Sally an' de chillen. It's been a powerful time sence I seed 'em, Marse Hesden. I 'llow ter send fer 'em jest ez quick ez I find whar dey is, an' gits de money, yer know."

  "They are all right, Berry. You may come to my room in half an hour, and we will tell you all about them," answered Hesden.

  Hardly had he reached his room when he heard the footsteps of Berry without. Going to the door he was met by Berry with the explanation,

  "Beg parding, Marse Hesden. I knowed 'twa'n't de time fer me ter come yit, but somehow I'llowed it would git on pearter ef I wuz somewhar nigh you an' Miss Mollie. I'se half afeared I'se ies been dreamin' ennyhow."

  "Well, come in," said Hesden. Berry entered the room, and sat in unwonted silence while Mollie and her husband told him what the reader already knows about his family and friends. The poor fellow's tears flowed freely, but he did not interrupt, save to ask now and then a question. When they had concluded, he sat a while in silence, and then said,

  "Bress de Lo'd! Berry won't nebber hab no mo' doubt 'bout de Lo'd takin' keer ob ebberybody — speshully niggas an' fools. H'yer I'se been a-feelin' mighty hard kase de Ole Marster 'llowed Berry ter be boxed roun', h'yer an' dar, fus' dis way an' now dat, an' let him be run off from his wife an' chillen dat he t'ought der couldn't nobody take keer on but hissef; an' h'yer all de time de good Lo'd hez been a-lookin' atter 'em an' a-nussin' 'em like little lambs, widout my knowin' ennyt'ing about it, er even axin' fer him ter do it. Berry!" he continued, speaking to himself, "yer's jest a gran' rascal, an' desarve ter be whacked roun' an' go hungry fer — "

  "Berry," interrupted Mollie, "have you had your breakfast?"

  "Brekfas', Miss Mollie?" said Berry, "what Berry want ob any brekfas'? Ain't what yer's been a-tellin' on him brekfas' an' dinner an' supper ter him? Brekfas' don't matter ter him now. He's jes dat full o' good t'ings dat he won't need no mo' for a week at de berry least."

  "Tell the truth, Berry; when did you eat last?"

  "Wal, I 'clar, Miss Mollie, ef Berry don't make no mistake, he bed a squar meal night afo' las', afo' we leave Saint Lewy. De yemergrant train runs mighty slow, an' Berry wa'n't patronizin' none o' dem cheap shops 'long de way — not much; yah, yah!"

  Hesden soon arranged to relieve his discomfort, and that night he told them where he had been and what had befallen him in the mean time.

  BERRY'S STORY

  "Yer see, atter I lef Bre'er Nimbus, I went back down inter Hanson County; but I wuz jes dat bad skeered dat I darn't show myse'f in de daytime at all. So I jes' tuk Sally an' de chillen in de carry-all dat Nimbus lent me wid de mule, an' started on furder down east. 'Clar, I jes hev ter pay Nimbus fer dat mule an' carry-all, de berry fus' money I gits out h'yer in Kansas. It certain war a gret help ter Berry. Jest as long ez I hed dat tertrabbel wid, I knowed I war safe; kase nobody wouldn't nebber'spect I was runnin' away in dat sort ob style. Wal, I went way down east, an' denex' spring went ter crappin' on sheers on a cotting plantation. Sally 'n' me we jes made up ourminds dat we wouldn't draw no rations from de boss man. ner ax him fer ary cent ob money de whole yeah, an' den, yer know, dar wouldn't be nary 'count agin us when de year wuz ober. So Sally, she 'llowed dat she'd wuk fer de bread an' meat an' take keer ob de chillen, wid de few days' help I might spar' outen de crap. De boss man, he war boun' by de writin's ter feed de mule. Dat's de way we sot in.

  "We got 'long mighty peart like till some time atter de crap wuz laid by, 'long bout roastin'-ear-time. Den Sally tuk sick, an' de fus' dat I knowed we wuz out o' meat. Sally wuz powerful sot agin my goih' ter de boss man fer enny orders on destore, kase we knowed how dat wukked afo'. Den I sez, 'See h'yer, Sally, I'se done got it. Dar's dat piece ob corn dar, below de house, is jest a-gittin' good fer roastin-yeahs, Now, we'll jes pick offen de outside rows, an
' I'll be dod-dinged ef we can't git 'long wid dat till de crap comes off; an' I'll jes tell Maise Hooper — dat wuz de name o' de man what owned de plantation — dat I'll take dem rows inter my sheer.' So it went on fer a week er two, an' I t'ought I wuz jes gittin' on like a quarter hoss. Sally wuz nigh 'bout well, an' 'llowed she'd be ready ter go ter wuk de nex' week; when one mo'nin' I tuk the basket an' went down ter pick some corn. Jest ez I'd got de basket nigh 'bout full, who should start up dar, outen de bushes, on'y jes Marse Hooper; an' he sez, mighty brisk-like, 'So? I 'llowed I'd cotch yer 'fore I got fru! Stealin' corn, is yer?'

  "Den I jes larfed right out, an' sez I, 'Dat's de fus' time I ebber heerd ob ennybody a-stealin' corn out ob his own field! Yah! yah!' Jes so-like. 'Ain't dis yer my crap, Marse Hooper? Didn't I make it, jest a-payin' ter you one third on't for de rent?' T'ought I hed him, yer know. But, law sakes, he didn't hev no sech notion, not much. So he sez, sez he:

  "'No yer don't! Dat mout a' done once, when de Radikils wuz in power, but de legislatur las' winter dey made a diff'rent sort ob a law, slightually. Dey sed dat ef a renter tuk away enny o' de crap afo' it wuz all harvested an' diwided, widout de leave o' de owner, got afo' hand, he was guilty o' stealin' ' — larsininy, he called it, but its all de same. An' he sed, sez he, 'Dar ain't no use now, Berry Lawson. Yer's jes got yer choice. Yer kin jes git up an' git, er else I hez yer 'dicted an' sent ter State prison fer not less ner one year nor more'n twenty — dat's 'cordin' ter de law.' "Den I begun ter be skeered-like, an' I sez, sez I, 'Arn't yer gwine ter let me stay an' gether my crap?'

  "'Damn de crap,' sez he (axin' yer parding, Miss Mollie, fer usin' cuss-words), 'I'll take keer o' de crap; don't yer be afeared o' dat. Yer t'ought yer was damn smart, didn't yer, not takin' enny store orders, an' a-tryin' to fo'ce me ter pay yer cash in de lump? But now I'se got yer. Dis Lan'lo'd an' Tenant Act war made fer jes sech cussed smart niggers ez you is.'