CHAPTER LVI
BLOOD FOR A BLOW
It seems to be one of the self-punitive characteristics of tyranny,whether the tyrant be a man, a community, or a caste, to have apusillanimous fear of its victim. It was not when Clemence lay in irons,it is barely now, that our South is casting off a certain apprehensivetremor, generally latent, but at the slightest provocation active, andnow and then violent, concerning her "blacks." This fear, like otherssimilar elsewhere in the world, has always been met by the same oneantidote--terrific cruelty to the tyrant's victim. So we shall presentlysee the Grandissime ladies, deeming themselves compassionate, urgingtheir kinsmen to "give the poor wretch a sound whipping and let her go."Ah! what atrocities are we unconsciously perpetrating North and Southnow, in the name of mercy or defence, which the advancing light ofprogressive thought will presently show out in their enormity?
Agricola slept late. He had gone to his room the evening before muchincensed at the presumption of some younger Grandissimes who had broughtup the subject, and spoken in defence, of their cousin Honore. He hadretired, however, not to rest, but to construct an engine of offensivewarfare which would revenge him a hundred-fold upon the miserableschool of imported thought which had sent its revolting influences tothe very Grandissime hearthstone; he wrote a "_Phillipique Generalecontre la Conduite du Gouvernement de la Louisiane_" and a short butvigorous chapter in English on "The Insanity of Educating the Masses."This accomplished, he had gone to bed in a condition of peacefulelation, eager for the next day to come that he might take these mightyproductions to Joseph Frowenfeld, and make him a present of them forinsertion in his book of tables.
Jean-Baptiste felt no need of his advice, that he should rouse him; and,for a long time before the old man awoke, his younger kinsmen werestirring about unwontedly, going and coming through the hall of themansion, along its verandas and up and down its outer flight of stairs.Gates were opening and shutting, errands were being carried by negroboys on bareback horses, Charlie Mandarin of St. Bernard parish and anArmand Fusilier from Faubourg Ste. Marie had on some account come--asthey told the ladies--"to take breakfast;" and the ladies, not yetinformed, amusedly wondering at all this trampling and stage whispering,were up a trifle early. In those days Creole society was a ship, inwhich the fair sex were all passengers and the ruder sex the crew. Theladies of the Grandissime mansion this morning asked passengers'questions, got sailors' answers, retorted wittily and more or lesssatirically, and laughed often, feeling their constrainedinsignificance. However, in a house so full of bright-eyed children,with mothers and sisters of all ages as their confederates, the secretwas soon out, and before Agricola had left his little cottage in thegrove the topic of all tongues was the abysmal treachery and_ingratitude_ of negro slaves. The whole tribe of Grandissime believed,this morning, in the doctrine of total depravity--of the negro.
And right in the face of this belief, the ladies put forth thegenerously intentioned prayer for mercy. They were answered that theylittle knew what frightful perils they were thus inviting uponthemselves.
The male Grandissimes were not surprised at this exhibition of weakclemency in their lovely women; they were proud of it; it showed themagnanimity that was natural to the universal Grandissime heart, whennot restrained and repressed by the stern necessities of the hour. ButAgricola disappointed them. Why should he weaken and hesitate, andsuggest delays and middle courses, and stammer over their proposedmeasures as "extreme"? In very truth, it seemed as though thatdrivelling, woman-beaten Deutsch apotheke--ha! ha! ha!--in the rueRoyale had bewitched Agricola as well as Honore. The fact was, Agricolahad never got over the interview which had saved Sylvestre his life.
"Here, Agricole," his kinsmen at length said, "you see you are too oldfor this sort of thing; besides, it would be bad taste for you, whomight be presumed to harbor feelings of revenge, to have a voice inthis council." And then they added to one another: "We will wait until'Polyte reports whether or not they have caught Palmyre; much willdepend on that."
Agricola, thus ruled out, did a thing he did not fully understand; herolled up the "_Philippique Generale_" and "The Insanity of Educatingthe Masses," and, with these in one hand and his staff in the other, setout for Frowenfeld's, not merely smarting but trembling under thehumiliation of having been sent, for the first time in his life, to therear as a non-combatant.
He found the apothecary among his clerks, preparing with his own handsthe "chalybeate tonic" for which the f.m.c. was expected to call. RaoulInnerarity stood at his elbow, looking on with an amiable air of havingbeen superseded for the moment by his master.
"Ha-ah! Professor Frowenfeld!"
The old man nourished his scroll.
Frowenfeld said good-morning, and they shook hands across the counter;but the old man's grasp was so tremulous that the apothecary looked athim again.
"Does my hand tremble, Joseph? It is not strange; I have had much toexcite me this morning."
"Wat's de mattah?" demanded Raoul, quickly.
"My life--which I admit, Professor Frowenfeld, is of little valuecompared with such a one as yours--has been--if not attempted, at leastthreatened."
"How?" cried Raoul.
"H-really, Professor, we must agree that a trifle like that ought not tomake old Agricola Fusilier nervous. But I find it painful, sir, verypainful. I can lift up this right hand, Joseph, and swear I never gave aslave--man or woman--a blow in my life but according to my notion ofjustice. And now to find my life attempted by former slaves of my ownhousehold, and taunted with the righteous hamstringing of a dangerousrunaway! But they have apprehended the miscreants; one is actually inhand, and justice will take its course; trust the Grandissimes forthat--though, really, Joseph, I assure you, I counselled leniency."
"Do you say they have caught her?" Frowenfeld's question was sudden andexcited; but the next moment he had controlled himself.
"H-h-my son, I did not say it was a 'her'!"
"Was it not Clemence? Have they caught her?"
"H-yes--"
The apothecary turned to Raoul.
"Go tell Honore Grandissime."
"But, Professor Frowenfeld--" began Agricola.
Frowenfeld turned to repeat his instruction, but Raoul was alreadyleaving the store.
Agricola straightened up angrily.
"Pro-hofessor Frowenfeld, by what right do you interfere?"
"No matter," said the apothecary, turning half-way and pouring thetonic into a vial.
"Sir," thundered the old lion, "h-I demand of you to answer! How dareyou insinuate that my kinsmen may deal otherwise than justly?"
"Will they treat her exactly as if she were white, and had threatenedthe life of a slave?" asked Frowenfeld from behind the desk at the endof the counter.
The old man concentrated all the indignation of his nature in the reply.
"No-ho, sir!"
As he spoke, a shadow approaching from the door caused him to turn. Thetall, dark, finely clad form of the f.m.c, in its old soft-steppingdignity and its sad emaciation, came silently toward the spot wherehe stood.
Frowenfeld saw this, and hurried forward inside the counter with thepreparation in his hand.
"Professor Frowenfeld," said Agricola, pointing with his ugly staff, "Idemand of you, as a keeper of a white man's pharmacy, to turn thatnegro out."
"Citizen Fusilier!" exclaimed the apothecary; "Mister Grandis--"
He felt as though no price would be too dear at that moment to pay forthe presence of the other Honore. He had to go clear to the end of thecounter and come down the outside again to reach the two men. They didnot wait for him. Agricola turned upon the f.m.c.
"Take off your hat!"
A sudden activity seized every one connected with the establishment asthe quadroon let his thin right hand slowly into his bosom, and answeredin French, in his soft, low voice:
"I wear my hat on my head."
Frowenfeld was hurrying toward them; others stepped forward, and fromtwo or three there came half
-uttered exclamations of protest; butunfortunately nothing had been done or said to provoke any one to rushupon them, when Agricola suddenly advanced a step and struck the f.m.c.on the head with his staff. Then the general outcry and forward rushcame too late; the two crashed together and fell, Agricola above, thef.m.c. below, and a long knife lifted up from underneath sank to itshilt, once--twice--thrice,--in the old man's back.
The two men rose, one in the arms of his friends, the other upon his ownfeet. While every one's attention was directed toward the wounded man,his antagonist restored his dagger to its sheath, took up his hat andwalked away unmolested. When Frowenfeld, with Agricola still in hisarms, looked around for the quadroon, he was gone.
Doctor Keene, sent for instantly, was soon at Agricola's side.
"Take him upstairs; he can't be moved any further."
Frowenfeld turned and began to instruct some one to run upstairs andask permission, but the little doctor stopped him.
"Joe, for shame! you don't know those women better than that? Take theold man right up!"
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