The Crisis — Volume 01

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER IV

  BLACK CATTLE

  Later that evening Stephen Brice was sitting by the open windows in hismother's room, looking on the street-lights below.

  "Well, my dear," asked the lady, at length, "what do you think of itall?"

  "They are kind people," he said.

  "Yes, they are kind," she assented, with a sigh. "But they are not--theyare not from among our friends, Stephen."

  "I thought that one of our reasons for coming West, mother," answeredStephen.

  His mother looked pained.

  "Stephen, how can you! We came West in order that you might have morechance for the career to which you are entitled. Our friends in Bostonwere more than good."

  He left the window and came and stood behind her chair, his hands claspedplayfully beneath her chin.

  "Have you the exact date about you, mother?"

  "What date, Stephen?"

  "When I shall leave St. Louis for the United States Senate. And you mustnot forget that there is a youth limit in our Constitution for senators."

  Then the widow smiled,--a little sadly, perhaps. But still a wonderfullysweet smile. And it made her strong face akin to all that was human andhelpful.

  "I believe that you have the subject of my first speech in that augustassembly. And, by the way, what was it?"

  "It was on 'The Status of the Emigrant,'" she responded instantly,thereby proving that she was his mother.

  "And it touched the Rights of Privacy," he added, laughing, "which do notseem to exist in St. Louis boarding-houses."

  "In the eyes of your misguided profession, statesmen and authors andemigrants and other public charges have no Rights of Privacy," said she."Mr. Longfellow told me once that they were to name a brand of flour forhim, and that he had no redress."

  "Have you, too, been up before Miss Crane's Commission?" he asked, withamused interest.

  His mother laughed.

  "Yes," she said quietly.

  "They have some expert members," he continued. "This Mrs. Abner Reedcould be a shining light in any bar. I overheard a part of hercross-examination. She--she had evidently studied our case--"

  "My dear," answered Mrs. Brice, "I suppose they know all about us." Shewas silent a moment, I had so hoped that they wouldn't. They lead thesame narrow life in this house that they did in their little New Englandtowns. They--they pity us, Stephen."

  "Mother!"

  "I did not expect to find so many New Englanders here--I wish that Mr.Whipple had directed us elsewhere-"

  "He probably thought that we should feel at home among New Englanders. Ihope the Southerners will be more considerate. I believe they will," headded.

  "They are very proud," said his mother. "A wonderful people,--bornaristocrats. You don't remember those Randolphs with whom we travelledthrough England. They were with us at Hollingdean, Lord Northwell'splace. You were too small at the time. There was a young girl, EleanorRandolph, a beauty. I shall never forget the way she entered thoseEnglish drawing-rooms. They visited us once in Beacon Street, afterwards.And I have heard that there are a great many good Southern families herein St. Louis."

  "You did not glean that from Judge Whipple's letter, mother," saidStephen, mischievously.

  "He was very frank in his letter," sighed Mrs. Brice.

  "I imagine he is always frank, to put it delicately."

  "Your father always spoke in praise of Silas Whipple, my dear. I haveheard him call him one of the ablest lawyers in the country. He won aremarkable case for Appleton here, and he once said that the Judge wouldhave sat on the Supreme Bench if he had not been pursued with suchrelentlessness by rascally politicians."

  "The Judge indulges in a little relentlessness now and then, himself. Heis not precisely what might be termed a mild man, if what we hear iscorrect."

  Mrs. Brice started.

  "What have you heard?" she asked.

  "Well, there was a gentleman on the steamboat who said that it took morecourage to enter the Judge's private office than to fight a BorderRuffian. And another, a young lawyer, who declared that he would ratherface a wild cat than ask Whipple a question on the new code. And yet hesaid that the Judge knew more law than any man in the West. And lastly,there is a polished gentleman named Hopper here from Massachusetts whoenlightened me a little more."

  Stephen paused and bit his tongue. He saw that she was distressed bythese things. Heaven knows that she had borne enough trouble in the lastfew months.

  "Come, mother," he said gently, "you should know how to take my jokes bythis time. I didn't mean it. I am sure the Judge is a good man,--one ofthose aggressive good men who make enemies. I have but a single piece ofguilt to accuse him of."

  "And what is that?" asked the widow.

  "The cunning forethought which he is showing in wishing to have it saidthat a certain Senator and Judge Brice was trained in his office."

  "Stephen--you goose!" she said.

  Her eye wandered around the room,--Widow Crane's best bedroom. It wasdimly lighted by an extremely ugly lamp. The hideous stuffy bed curtainsand the more hideous imitation marble mantel were the two objects thatheld her glance. There was no change in her calm demeanor. But Stephen,who knew his mother, felt that her little elation over her arrival hadebbed, Neither would confess dejection to the other.

  "I--even I--" said Stephen, tapping his chest, "have at least made theacquaintance of one prominent citizen, Mr. Eliphalet D. Hopper. Accordingto Mr. Dickens, he is a true American gentleman, for he chews tobacco. Hehas been in St. Louis five years, is now assistant manager of the largestdry goods house, and still lives in one of Miss Crane's four-dollarrooms. I think we may safely say that he will be a millionaire before Iam a senator."

  He paused.

  "And mother?"

  "Yes, dear."

  He put his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window.

  "I think that it would be better if I did the same thing."

  "What do you mean, my son--"

  "If I went to work,--started sweeping out a store, I mean. See here,mother, you've sacrificed enough for me already. After paying father'sdebts, we've come out here with only a few thousand dollars, and the ninehundred I saved out of this year's Law School allowance. What shall we dowhen that is gone? The honorable legal profession, as my friend remindedme to-night, is not the swiftest road to millions."

  With a mother's discernment she guessed the agitation, he was striving tohide; she knew that he had been gathering courage for this moment formonths. And she knew that he was renouncing thus lightly, for her sake anambition he had had from his school days.

  Widow passed her hand over her brow. It was a space before she answeredhim.

  "My son," she said, let us never speak of this again:

  "It was your father's dearest wish that you should become a lawyer and--and his wishes are sacred God will take care of us."

  She rose and kissed him good-night.

  "Remember, my dear, when you go to Judge Whipple in the morning, rememberhis kindness, and--."

  "And keep my temper. I shall, mother."

  A while later he stole gently back into her room again. She was on herknees by the walnut bedstead.

  At nine the next manning Stephen left Miss Crane's, girded for thestruggle with the redoubtable Silas Whipple. He was not afraid, but apoor young man as an applicant to a notorious dragon is not likely to bebandied with velvet, even though the animal had been a friend of hisfather. Dragons as a rule have had a hard rime in their youths, andbelieve in others having a hard time.

  To a young man, who as his father's heir in Boston had been the subjectof marked consideration by his elders, the situation was keenlydistasteful. But it had to be gone through. So presently, after inquiry,he came to the open square where the new Court House stood, the dome ofwhich was indicated by a mass of staging, and one wing still to becompleted. Across from the building, on Market Street, and in the middleof the block, what had once been a golden hand pointed up a narrow d
ustystairway.

  Here was a sign, "Law office of Silas Whipple."

  Stephen climbed the stairs, and arrived at a ground glass door, on whichthe sign was repeated. Behind that door was the future: so he opened itfearfully, with an impulse to throw his arm above his head. But he wasstruck dumb on beholding, instead of a dragon, a good-natured young manwho smiled a broad welcome. The reaction was as great as though oneentered a dragon's den, armed to the teeth, to find a St. Bernard doingthe honors.

  Stephen's heart went out to this young man,--after that organ had jumpedback into its place. This keeper of the dragon looked the part. Even thelong black coat which custom then decreed could not hide the bone andsinew under it. The young man had a broad forehead, placid Dresden-blueeyes, flaxen hair, and the German coloring. Across one of his highcheek-bones was a great jagged scar which seemed to add distinction tohis appearance. That caught Stephen's eye, and held it. He wonderedwhether it were the result of an encounter with the Judge.

  "You wish to see Mr. Whipple?" he asked, in the accents of an educatedGerman.

  "Yes," said Stephen, "if he isn't busy."

  "He is out," said the other, with just a suspicion of a 'd' in the word."You know he is much occupied now, fighting election frauds. You read thepapers?"

  "I am a stranger here," said Stephen.

  "Ach!" exclaimed the German, "now I know you, Mr. Brice. The young onefrom Boston the Judge spoke of. But you did not tell him of yourarrival."

  "I did not wish to bother him," Stephen replied, smiling.

  "My name is Richter--Carl Richter, sir."

  The pressure of Mr. Richter's big hands warmed Stephen as nothing elsehad since he had come West. He was moved to return it with a little morefervor than he usually showed. And he felt, whatever the Judge might be,that he had a powerful friend near at hand--Mr. Richter's welcome camenear being an embrace.

  "Sit down, Mr. Brice," he said; "mild weather for November, eh? The Judgewill be here in an hour."

  Stephen looked around him: at the dusty books on the shelves, and thestill dustier books heaped on Mr. Richter's big table; at the cuspidors;at the engravings of Washington and Webster; at the window in the jogwhich looked out on the court-house square; and finally at anotherground-glass door on which was printed:

  SILAS WHIPPLE

  PRIVATE

  This, then, was the den,--the arena in which was to take place amemorable interview. But the thought of waiting an hour for the dragon toappear was disquieting. Stephen remembered that he had something overnine hundred dollars in his pocket (which he had saved out of his lastyear's allowance at the Law School). So he asked Mr. Richter, who wasdusting off a chair, to direct him to the nearest bank.

  "Why, certainly," said he; "Mr. Brinsmade's bank on Chestnut Street." Hetook Stephen to the window and pointed across the square. "I am sorry Icannot go with you," he added, "but the Judge's negro, Shadrach, is out,and I must stay in the office. I will give you a note to Mr. Brinsmade."

  "His negro!" exclaimed Stephen. "Why, I thought that Mr. Whipple was anAbolitionist."

  Mr. Richter laughed.

  "The man is free," said he. "The Judge pays him wages."

  Stephen thanked his new friend for the note to the bank president, andwent slowly down the stairs. To be keyed up to a battle-pitch, and thento have the battle deferred, is a trial of flesh and spirit.

  As he reached the pavement, he saw people gathering in front of the wideentrance of the Court House opposite, and perched on the copings. Hehesitated, curious. Then he walked slowly toward the place, and buttoninghis coat, pushed through the loafers and passers-by dallying on theoutskirts of the crowd. There, in the bright November sunlight, a sightmet his eyes which turned him sick and dizzy.

  Against the walls and pillars of the building, already grimy with soot,crouched a score of miserable human beings waiting to be sold at auction.Mr. Lynch's slave pen had been disgorged that morning. Old and young,husband and wife,--the moment was come for all and each. How hard thestones and what more pitiless than the gaze of their fellow-creatures inthe crowd below! O friends, we who live in peace and plenty amongst ourfamilies, how little do we realize the terror and the misery and the dumbheart-aches of those days! Stephen thought with agony of seeing his ownmother sold before his eyes, and the building in front of him was liftedfrom its foundation and rocked even as shall the temples on the judgmentday.

  The oily auctioneer was inviting the people to pinch the wares. Men cameforward to feel the creatures and look into their mouths, and one brute,unshaven and with filthy linen, snatched a child from its mother's lapStephen shuddered with the sharpest pain he had ever known. An ocean-widetempest arose in his breast, Samson's strength to break the pillars ofthe temple to slay these men with his bare hands. Seven generations ofstern life and thought had their focus here in him,--from Oliver Cromwellto John Brown.

  Stephen was far from prepared for the storm that raged within him. He hadnot been brought up an Abolitionist--far from it. Nor had his father'sfriends--who were deemed at that time the best people in Boston--beenAbolitionists. Only three years before, when Boston had been aflame overthe delivery of the fugitive Anthony Burns, Stephen had gone out ofcuriosity to the meeting at Faneuil Hall. How well he remembered hisfather's indignation when he confessed it, and in his anger Mr. Brice hadcalled Phillips and Parker "agitators." But his father, nor his father'sfriends in Boston had never been brought face to face with this hideoustraffic.

  Hark! Was that the sing-song voice of the auctioneer He was selling thecattle. High and low, caressing an menacing, he teased and exhorted themto buy. The were bidding, yes, for the possession of souls, bidding inthe currency of the Great Republic. And between the eager shouts came amoan of sheer despair. What was the attendant doing now? He was tearingtwo of then: from a last embrace.

  Three--four were sold while Stephen was in a dream

  Then came a lull, a hitch, and the crowd began to chatter gayly. But themisery in front of him held Stephen in a spell. Figures stood out fromthe group. A white-haired patriarch, with eyes raised to the sky; aflat-breasted woman whose child was gone, whose weakness made hervalueless. Then two girls were pushed forth, one a quadroon of greatbeauty, to be fingered. Stephen turned his face away,--to behold Mr.Eliphalet Hopper looking calmly on.

  "Wal, Mr. Brice, this is an interesting show now, ain't it? Something wedon't have. I generally stop here to take a look when I'm passing." Andhe spat tobacco juice on the coping.

  Stephen came to his senses.

  "And you are from New England?" he said.

  Mr. Hopper laughed.

  "Tarnation!" said he, "you get used to it. When I came here, I was a sortof an Abolitionist. But after you've lived here awhile you get to knowthat niggers ain't fit for freedom."

  Silence from Stephen.

  "Likely gal, that beauty," Eliphalet continued unrepressed. "There's awell-known New Orleans dealer named Jenkins after her. I callate she'llgo down river."

  "I reckon you're right, Mistah," a man with a matted beard chimed in, andadded with a wink: "She'll find it pleasant enough--fer a while. Some ofthose other niggers will go too, and they'd rather go to hell. They dotreat 'em nefarious down thah on the wholesale plantations. Householdniggers! there ain't none better off than them. But seven years in acotton swamp,--seven years it takes, that's all, Mistah."

  Stephen moved away. He felt that to stay near the man was to be temptedto murder. He moved away, and just then the auctioneer yelled,"Attention!"

  "Gentlemen," he cried, "I have heah two sisters, the prope'ty of the lateMistah Robe't Benbow, of St. Louis, as fine a pair of wenches as was everoffe'd to the public from these heah steps--"

  "Speak for the handsome gal," cried a wag.

  "Sell off the cart hoss fust," said another.

  The auctioneer turned to the darker sister:

  "Sal ain't much on looks, gentlemen," he said, "but she's the best niggerfor work Mistah Benbow had." He seiz
ed her arm and squeezed it, while thegirl flinched and drew back. "She's solid, gentlemen, and sound as adollar, and she kin sew and cook. Twenty-two years old. What am I bid?"

  Much to the auctioneer's disgust, Sal was bought in for four hundreddollars, the interest in the beautiful sister having made the crowdimpatient. Stephen, sick at heart, turned to leave. Halfway to the cornerhe met a little elderly man who was the color of a dried gourd. And justas Stephen passed him, this man was overtaken by an old negress, withtears streaming down her face, who seized the threadbare hem of his coat.Stephen paused involuntarily.

  "Well, Nancy," said the little man, "we had marvellous luck. I was ableto buy your daughter for you with less than the amount of your savings."

  "T'ank you, Mistah Cantah," wailed the poor woman, "t'ank you, suh.Praised be de name ob de Lawd. He gib me Sal again. Oh, Mistah Cantah"(the agony in that cry), "is you gwineter stan' heah an' see her sisterHester sol' to--to--oh, ma little Chile! De little Chile dat I nussed,dat I raised up in God's 'ligion. Mistah Cantah, save her, suh, f'om datwicked life o' sin. De Lawd Jesus'll rewa'd you, suh. Dis ole woman'llwuk fo' you twell de flesh drops off'n her fingers, suh."

  And had he not held her, she would have gone down on her knees on thestone flagging before him. Her suffering was stamped on the little man'sface--and it seemed to Stephen that this was but one trial more whichadversity had brought to Mr. Canter.

  "Nancy," he answered (how often, and to how many, must he have had to saythe same thing), "I haven't the money, Nancy. Would to God that I had,Nancy!"

  She had sunk down on the bricks. But she had not fainted. It was not somerciful as that. It was Stephen who lifted her, and helped her to thecoping, where she sat with her bandanna awry.

  Stephen was not of a descent to do things upon impulse. But the tale wastold in after days that one of his first actions in St. Louis was of thisnature. The waters stored for ages in the four great lakes, given theopportunity, rush over Niagara Falls into Ontario.

  "Take the woman away," said Stephen, in a low voice, "and I will buy thegirl,--if I can."

  The little man looked up, dazed.

  "Give me your card,--your address. I will buy the girl, if I can, and sether free."

  He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a dirty piece of pasteboard. Itread: "R. Canter, Second Hand Furniture, 20 Second Street." And still hestared at Stephen, as one who gazes upon a mystery. A few curiouspedestrians had stopped in front of them.

  "Get her away, if you can, for God's sake," said Stephen again. And hestrode off toward the people at the auction. He was trembling. In hiseagerness to reach a place of vantage before the girl was sold, he pushedroughly into the crowd.

  But suddenly he was brought up short by the blocky body of Mr. Hopper,who grunted with the force of the impact.

  "Gosh," said that gentleman, "but you are inters'ted. They ain't begun tosell her yet--he's waitin' for somebody. Callatin' to buy her?" asked Mr.Hopper, with genial humor.

  Stephen took a deep breath. If he knocked Mr. Hopper down, he certainlycould not buy her. And it was a relief to know that the sale had notbegun.

  As for Eliphalet, he was beginning to like young Brice. He approved ofany man from Boston who was not too squeamish to take pleasure in alittle affair of this kind.

  As for Stephen, Mr. Hopper brought him back to earth. He ceasedtrembling, and began to think.

  "Tarnation!" said Eliphalet. "There's my boss, Colonel Carvel across thestreet. Guess I'd better move on. But what d'ye think of him for a realSouthern gentleman?"

  "The young dandy is his nephew, Clarence Colfax. He callates to own thistown." Eliphalet was speaking leisurely, as usual, while preparing tomove. "That's Virginia Carvel, in red. Any gals down Boston-way to beather? Guess you won't find many as proud."

  He departed. And Stephen glanced absently at the group. They were pickingtheir way over the muddy crossing toward him. Was it possible that thesepeople were coming to a slave auction? Surely not. And yet here they wereon the pavement at his very side.

  She wore a long Talma of crimson cashmere, and her face was in that mostseductive of frames, a scoop bonnet of dark green velvet, For a fleetingsecond her eyes met his, and then her lashes fell. But he was aware, whenhe had turned away, that she was looking at him again. He grew uneasy. Hewondered whether his appearance betrayed his purpose, or made a questionof his sanity.

  Sanity! Yes, probably he was insane from her point of view. A suddenanger shook him that she should be there calmly watching such a scene.

  Just then there was a hush among the crowd. The beautiful slave-girl wasseized roughly by the man in charge and thrust forward, half fainting,into view. Stephen winced. But unconsciously he turned, to see the effectupon Virginia Carvel.

  Thank God! There were tears upon her lashes.

  Here was the rasp of the auctioneer's voice:-- "Gentlemen, I reckon thereain't never been offered to bidders such an opportunity as this heah.Look at her well, gentlemen. I ask you, ain't she a splendid creature?"

  Colonel Carvel, in annoyance, started to move on. "Come Jinny," he said,"I had no business to bring you aver."

  But Virginia caught his arm. "Pa," she cried, "it's Mr. Benbow's Hester.Don't go, dear. Buy her for me You know that I always wanted her.Please!"

  The Colonel halted, irresolute, and pulled his goatee Young Colfaxstepped in between them.

  "I'll buy her for you, Jinny. Mother promised you a present, you know,and you shall have her."

  Virginia had calmed.

  "Do buy her, one of you," was all she said

  "You may do the bidding, Clarence," said the Colonel, "and we'll settlethe ownership afterward." Taking Virginia's arm, he escorted her acrossthe street.

  Stephen was left in a quandary. Here was a home for the girl, and a goodone. Why should me spend the money which meant so much to him. He saw theman Jenkin elbowing to the front. And yet--suppose Mr. Colfax did not gether? He had promised to buy her if he could, and to set her free:

  Stephen had made up his mind: He shouldered his way after Jenkins.