The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  "Daddy! You aren't goin' to let him shoot 'Polio! You can't!"

  Jem seemed incapable of speech. From the slave chapel 'Simmon and his old black stick of a woman approached Jem. They came slowly, clinging to each other. Behind them the others filed out of the chapel walking in quiet order back to the fields.

  "We's ain't rampagin', Mastah Jem," 'Simmon said in his crackling voice. "We's jes' singin' fo' Fellie an' his woman. Dey done made free, an' we's a-singin' dem on dey way. We ain't causin' you no mo' troubles, Mastah Jem."

  Jem remained silent. His hand shook as he clutched at Dulcie's arm. His face was red except for the deathly white patches that stood out like half-moons under his eyes.

  "Get back to the fields," Leroy ordered, "Mistah Moran will see to you soon enough. You can tell the others your singin' cost you dear. Six men. Tell 'em that."

  "Please, mastah. Cain't punish niggers dat ain't been bad," 'Simmon said humbly. " 'Polio, he ain't wan' come wiff us. 'Polio doan like singin' noway, 'lessen his mama say he got to, an' she say he got to."

  "Daddy . . ." Dulcie said in a tear-choked voice.

  "Put 'Polio and the others in the stables. Tie them up. I'll see to them later," Jem managed to say. The decision seemed to snap him out of his stupor. "Leroy, seems like this uprisin' is of my daughter's makin'. I've got to ask your help. Send these men on their way."

  "You don't want me to call the others back, the hounds?"

  "No, I want Fellie brought back. Can't have them runnin' and gettin' away with it. We'll have to make an example of Fellie. Got to hang him, I suppose." Jem wiped his brow. "The hounds'U get him. They've got his scent." Without looking at Dulcie, hanging his head to avoid his neighbors' eyes, he walked to the house. He would have to think up some reasonable lie to explain his daughter's disappearance and reappearance and the insurrection at Mossrose, but for now, he hadn't the heart or the arrogance to try.

  Lucius had returned to his usual post, waiting to be given Jem's hat Violet was making a racket to announce

  she was back in the kitchen. Young house girls scurried around the lower floor polishing and dusting with a fury no driver could ever induce.

  Jem steered Dulcie into his study. He shoved her against the chair so hard she sat down with a thump. "Daddy!"

  Jem waggled his riding crop under her nose. "Don't open your mouth without my permission!" he said with menacing calm. He ordered Lucius to tell Miss Trishy she could safely come out of the root cellar.

  Patricia entered the study well after Jem had worked himself out of his quiet, humiliated anger into a screaming rage. Patricia had never seen Dulcie cower from anything, but she cowered from her father now. She huddled in the big leather chair, sobbing out the tale of her taking Fellie to Savannah, while Jem loomed menacingly over her.

  "Jem Moran! What is the meanin' of this?" Patricia pushed him aside as she went to Dulcie, holding her, and giving thanks that her daughter had been returned safely to her.

  "Your daughter. Madam, was never in the least danger.**

  "We were all in mortal danger, Jem. You said so yourself.'*

  "From your daughter! This young woman has nearly caused an insurrection right here in our home! She has succeeded in makin* me a criminal and has aided ten of my prime slaves to run off. Ten of them!"

  "I only wanted to help Fellie. I didn't know ... I didn*t mean to make you a criminal! Oh, Daddy, please listen to me—

  "In the state of Georgia, Miss, it requires a legislative act to manumit a slave. Your daddy is now a criminal.**

  "But I didn't mean it! I'm sorry!'*

  "Jem, no one is goin' to know . . .'* Patricia was not actually listening, but only trying to pacify her husband. "A criminal! What did you do, Dulcie?"

  "She forged my name to documents of manumission.**

  "Oh, Jem," Patricia breathed.

  "You've gone too far, Dulcie. I won't stand for this in my home. You've made a laughin' stock of me in front of the whole county. When a man can't handle his own daughter, he's no man at all."

  "Jem, you've always been so good with Dulcie. Everyone knows that.'*

  "Fve been soft with her, Madam. Everyone knows that, and everyone knows she's completely out of hand. Well, no more!"

  "What are you goin' to do to me?" Dulcie asked in a small voice.

  "What I should have done the minute Leroy Biggs asked for your hand. Patricia, I want you to arrange that weddin'."

  "I won't marry Leroy. I don't love him, Daddy. You saw what kind of man Leroy is. I couldn't—"

  "You have no say in the matter. Perhaps Leroy can control you. It's apparently what a woman like you needs."

  "Daddy, no! Please, I don't love him. I ... I couldn't stand to be married to Leroy! Anyone else . . . Glenn! Daddy, please let me marry Glenn. He loves me. I know he does, Daddy. Please let me marry Glenn!"

  Jem ignored her. "Patricia, I want them married. This month."

  "Jem, you're angry now. Can't we decide this later?"

  "It is decided, Patricia. I'll hear no more about it."

  "Jem, marriage is something sacred to a woman. It's her whole life," Patricia said earnestly. "Let Dulcie marry the man of her choice. You've always wanted Glenn and Dulcie to marry. . . . Jem?"

  Jem glanced at Dulcie. There was no soft, admiring love in his eyes as there normally was. Dulcie truly believed he loathed her. "She'd run him ragged. She needs a man like Leroy who'll keep her in line."

  Dulcie stood up, her eyes red and tear-filled. She began to speak but couldn't bring anything out but a strangled sob.

  The hunting party returned at sundown. They reported failure as Jem now knew they must He thanked them and said, "I think it's best to leave Fellie to the catchers. I'll take an ad out in the papers tomorrow." He explained Dulcie's return using the same lame excuse she had. "Seems like she was too warm last night and went to sleep in the guest wing. Not a soul knew she was there."

  Sick at heart, Jem returned to the study. Patricia was waiting. She would fight for Dulcie, even if it meant fighting Jem himself.

  Dulcie was stiU crying when Patricia came to her room

  hours later. She smoothed Dulcie's damp hair. "Hush, now, it's goin' to be all right."

  "It'll never be all right," Dulcie moaned, her tears coming anew. "I can't marry Leroy. I can't I He was goin' to kill 'Polio—just shoot him right where he knelt. I didn't know Leroy! Oh, Mama, I'll die before—"

  "Dulcie Jeannette, hush youahself, an' listen to me. You won't be marryin' Leroy, nor anyone else you don't choose fo' youahself."

  Dulcie's sobs waned. She raised her head.

  "Get Miss Dulcie a towel with violet watah, Claudine," Patricia said gently, still smoothing Dulcie's damp, curling hair from her face. "Why youah pretty li'l face jes' gonna look like a puff addah's tomorrah, Dulcie."

  "Mama, is it true? I don't have to marry Leroy?'*

  Patricia smiled as she dabbed at Dulcie's red and swollen face. "Not as long as youah mama lives, you won't. Did you think Ah'd evah let somethin' like that happen to mah li'l girl?"

  Dulcie flung her arms around her mother's neck. "Oh, Mama! Oh, Mama, thank you. Oh, I love you. Mama!"

  Patricia disentangled herself from Dulcie's embrace. "Don't you want to know what is goin' to happen?"

  "Glenn?" Dulcie asked weakly, knowing if that was the victory her mother had won for her, she couldn't say a word.

  Patricia shook her head. "Youah goin' to N'Yawk—to Mad. She an' Oliver'll be goin* to Europe, an' you'll go with 'em. Would that be moah to youah likin'?"

  Dulcie blinked at her. "Europe?" It would be exile.

  "Mad wrote to me some time ago. She asked me if Ah would considah lettin' you go."

  "Mama, will Daddy let me go?"

  "You did youah daddy a terrible wrong, Dulcie. Ah*m not absolvin' you of that, you understan*. But I don't want you married off to a man you can't abide."

  Dulcie hung her head. She was truly ashamed she had hurt Jem. But as he himself ha
d said of Fellie's whipping, some things just had to be done. She had done it.

  "Be nice to youah daddy, Dulcie. He loves you mightily, an' you lowered him in the eyes of his frien's and neighbors. A man's got to have his pride."

  "Do you think Daddy will forgive me?"

  "I 'spect so, in time. Just don't ask too much of him, Dulcie, not right now." Patricia wondered if there were any truth in the hope she offered Dulcie. She'd never known Jem to be more unhappy, or so adamantly angry. But he had given into her wishes. He must want what was best for Dulcie in spite of his anger.

  Patricia forced a smile, her hand cupping Dulcie's chin, making the girl look at her. "Now, tell me, aren't you even a li'l bit happy about goin' to Europe with youah Aunt Mad an' Uncle Oliver?"

  "I don't want to leave you and daddy, Mama," she said truthfully. She was always most pliant and loving when she was in trouble, realizing only when it was withdrawn how much she counted on and needed the love and approval of her parents.

  Patricia Moran knew her daughter well. She shook her head at Dulcie. "It's time you were growin' up, Dulcie Jeannette," she said softly.

  Chapter Six

  Adam avidly read through the Mercury and the Courier, Most of the news he had heard as gossip in port, but reading it lent the gossip credibility. He sighed, leaning far back in the chair, his long body stretched out.

  "No good news," Garrett commented.

  Adam tapped the newspaper. "Have you read this? A confederation of Southern states. Think of it, Garrett. A new government, a new country. If Lincoln is elected, he'll never allow that."

  "We'd be fools to allow Lincoln or anyone else to push us into war." Garrett looked at him, deliberately silent. The South would eventually collapse under the pressure as states' right, property rights, social rights were all forced against it; or it would be consumed in the flames of insurrection. Some Southern states were already moving away from slavery. Virginia had comparatively few slaves. In North Carolina, seventy-two percent of the population owned no slaves at all. In those states development had advanced sufficiently to warrant use of other forms of labor.

  The North had had its turn at embracing slavery, found it unworkable, and discarded it. But many Northern states had existed for one hundred or more years longer than Southern states. Texas, which had not entered the Union until 1845, was still raw frontier needing immense numbers of laborers. Ten decades, three generations of men, had passed as the North developed its resources and industries. Southern development was far behind; yet the North judged both sections as though they were equal in terms of existence and advancement.

  Adam, thinking of this, said, "I don't believe slavery is right, Garrett, but neither do I believe destroying a country is moral simply because that country does not conform to certain beliefs."

  They closed the subject, but each knew he had seen the anxious stirrings of mob hysteria behmd the coldly impersonal Mercury and Courier reports.

  Daily the hysteria mounted. In Black Oak a vigilance conmiittee was formed to seek out and identify Northern Abolitionists disguised as teachers, hawkers, and ministers. Committees of five patrolled their designated areas, swearing to uphold law and, when necessary, to draft new law by majority vote. Their vigilant actions were to be only group actions to prevent an excess of zeal. However, all was accomplished in communities that were anxious, angry, suspicious, and fearful.

  Adam and Garrett spoke about personal safety only once during this time. "Neither Leona nor Zoe can be involved in the Underground, Adam. In fact, it would seem best to allow them to think you and I have curtailed our activities as well. Before you protest, hear me out first. It*s far more dangerous for you to haul slaves now than it was before. These vigilantes may be hysterics, but they are hotheaded and unpredictable. The Orangeburg vigilantes are expelling visitors simply because they are strangers. It is not uncommon for them to arrest a man for talking to a Negro in his home. They are afraid. Fear is the worst adversary of all. No one can prophesy when panic will drive one of these vigilante groups to irremediable action. I don't want to see you caught up in it.**

  Adam laughed uncomfortably. **Nor do I."

  Garrett went to Adam, placing his hand affectionately on the younger man's shoulder. "If I can't persuade you to give up slave hauling, promise me you'll be cautious. The

  Ullah is becoming well known. You may be subjected to harassment or even search at any time."

  Adam did not reply. He knew the dangers all too well.

  On October 8, 1860, South Carolina elected a proseces-sion legislature.

  On November 7, Lincoln's election was confirmed.

  The spirit of the Confederate South began to take form.

  One did not have to agree with the trend of events. It was impossible for a man not to be affected by the enthusiasm that raced like an electrical current from person to person.

  Adam was no exception. On November 9 he brought the Ullah into Charleston and attended a large public meeting there. A number of Georgia politicians and railroad men pledged their state would follow South Carolina out of the Union. Adam listened to the speeches fanning the flames of Southern pride, spoken in firebrand terms of a Union already dissolved by the horrendous North. Around each speaker rose the sounds of a populace gone mad with their cause. Their voices more thunderous than a storm at sea; thousands rose from their seats to shout approval. They waved their hats overhead, flapping and fanning the air like thousands of cormorant wings.

  Adam, Ben, and Beau left the meeting together, walking slowly back toward the Ashley River. Beau was disturbed and quiet. Adam was thoughtful. Inside him stirred hungry, burning feelings of dedication to the South—a need to protect his home, an emotion he could not quench with reason.

  Adam elbowed Ben, who was still craning, taking in all the sights, still luxuriating in the excitement that permeated the city. "I think we could use a few more good solid orders," Adam said conversationally.

  Beau looked solemnly at him. "We've got as much as we need."

  They walked down a narrow passageway, stacked with cotton bales, barrels, and boxes. From a side alley four men fell into step behind them.

  "This is a good time to approach some of the larger planters," Adam persisted. "They are all in an expansive frame of mind. What do you say, Ben?"

  About a block ahead a lone man detached himself from the shadows, moving toward them.

  Ben laughed. "I say that if you want to stay here and nose aroun' Charleston, y'all ought to come right out and say so."

  Adam grinned. "I do. But I also want those orders. We can get several to ship with us if we approach them now. They all have cotton on hand. With all the war talk, and some raising their own regiments, they're eager for cash."

  Beau, not sharing his friends' enthusiasm, was watching the approaching man, whose face was hidden by a slouch hat Reluctantly he agreed that Adam should remain in Charleston. Ben, in command of the Ullah, would take her cargo to New York and then return to Charleston to pick up Adam.

  Behind them a man hawked and spat. Beau looked over his shoulder, then he turned, his eyes riveted on the man now only yards in front of them. His voice low, he said, "Hey, fellas, we got some nasty company.'*

  "Hot damn!" Ben said. "I could use a good fight!"

  The lone man shot a wad of tobacco at Adam's feet "You men from aroun' heah?"

  "What business is it of yours?" Adam snapped.

  The man opened his hand. In his palm lay a battered homemade badge: Chastn Vijlanty Comity.

  Adam said sarcastically, "I do believe we've met up with self-appointed law."

  "Don't smart-mouth me, jack tar. We got a duty to perform." He touched his pistol. The other four men moved in closer.

  On either side of Adam, Ben and Beau took a quick step, forming a triangle. Adam barked, "You want trouble. Mister, you'll get it!"

  "Don't take any more crap offn him, Bob. We know damn well he floats a nigger ship. Make him show us!"

  The fou
r vigilantes charged. Ben let out a bloodcurdling battle cry. Using his clasped hands as a hammer, he smashed one man behind the ear. The toe of Beau's foot caught the next vigilante in the groin. As he doubled over. Beau's knee came up, crushing the man's nose. Adam seized two men by their necks and cracked their skulls together. They slithered to the ground. Adam stepped forward, going for the leader.

  The man backed away, his hands up. "Di'n't mean no harm. We was only protectin' our own."

  Adam grabbed his badge, crushing the hated symbol of

  mob authority in his hand. Ben whipped the man*s gun from his belt and pointed it at his gut.

  The man paled. "Hey, wait a minute. All Ah wanted was to ast you some questions."

  Adam said, "You got all the answers you're gonna get Beat it!"

  The man took several steps, watching his companions scuttle into the shadows. "Hey, ain'cha gonna gimme mah gun back? Ah di*n't do nuthin' to you. It was them."

  Ben shot into the street at the man's feet "Christ!" The man screamed, jumping back. Ben shot again and again, emptying the revolver as the man danced and squalled in fear. Laughing, Ben tossed him Ae empty gun.

  Brave again, the vigilante shook his fist. "Ah won't for^t you bloody bastards! Not never! Ah'll gitcher." He ran.

  Ben and Adam laughed, sparring playfully. Beau did not join in. The other two turned on him, punching lightly. "Come on. Beau. Did ya ever see such a bunch of left-footed clods? We clobbered 'em. Did ya see that guy run?"

  Beau pushed them away. "I know we agreed, but I don't think you ought to stay here, Adam. They're suspicious of the Ullah now. One shred of real evidence and they've got you."

  "Oh, shit. Beau, that guy wouldn't have the balls to look me in the eye again."

  When they returned to the Ullahy Adam wrote a letter to Garrett:

  Charleston is set for rebellion. With Georgia promising to follow the lead of South Carolina, the Union will most probably be broken before the new year.

  The 1860 Association has become a network spreading secessionist news throughout the South. It is no longer the voices of radical politicians carrying us toward the precipice of war. The people are one in their hearts. The South is going to secede, and the North cannot permit it