American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  “Times are changing, my friend,” mused Lee after a reflective silence had settled on the conversation. “One senses it among the troops—an imperceptible tension between the young men from the North and those from the South. We all wear the same uniforms, but there is a difference. It was especially pronounced at West Point, but you even see it as far away as Texas.”

  “Where will it lead, Robert?” asked Davidson.

  “Ah, Richmond, that is the question,” replied Lee. “If one only knew! It seems, however, that you have not waited for events to overtake you. You have stolen a march on them by setting history in motion yourself!”

  Davidson roared with laughter.

  “You make it sound rather more noble than many of our Southern colleagues and fellow plantation owners consider it—my neighbor being a notable example.”

  “Beaumont?”

  Davidson nodded. “He has not spoken to me in more than a year.”

  “One cannot judge matters of conscience by the standards of men like Beaumont,” rejoined Lee. “I have had a run-in or two with him myself over the years.”

  “Still… it is difficult to lose a friend.”

  “Certainly. But would you not agree that such is occasionally the price of following one’s conscience?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I assure you that whatever comes, you will not lose this friend. I cannot tell you how much I admire what you have done in the matter of your slaves.”

  “Your words mean a great deal, Robert.”

  They each took sips from their glasses, then glanced up to see a young man of sixteen approaching. He was nearly as tall as his father, filling out nicely in chest and shoulders, with blond hair waving in the afternoon’s breeze. He wore dirt-stained dungarees and a blue cotton shirt, equally work worn, rolled up to the elbows.

  “Hello, Colonel Lee!” he said, extending his hand to his father’s visitor. “My mother told me you were here.”

  “Would this be Seth!” exclaimed Lee as he stood to shake the boy’s hand. He glanced toward Davidson with a wink and smile.

  “Indeed it is, Robert.”

  “Seth, my boy—you have become a man since I saw you last!”

  “Yes, sir,” said Seth with a smile.

  “And a strong, hardworking one at that, judging from the look of it.”

  “Seth is my right-hand man,” said Davidson. “I could not run this place without him. How goes the cotton, Seth?”

  “The second wagon is nearly full,” replied the lad. “Malachi and the others are finishing it now. Do you mind if I quit a little early today? Wyatt and Veronica asked me to come for a visit.”

  “Sure, Seth. I see no reason why not.”

  “Thanks. Good-bye, Colonel Lee… it was good to see you again.”

  “A pleasant young man,” said Lee as Seth left the garden in the direction of the house. “You and Carolyn must be proud.”

  “We are. Seth is a good boy and I believe he will be God’s man one day.”

  “And little Thomas?”

  “He is not so little anymore.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Fourteen. And sad to say, he is listening to contrary voices. He has not been supportive of what we have done and is gradually voicing his opposition in more strident ways. It is early to tell, but I fear it may come between us.”

  “And Seth?”

  “He endorses our action wholeheartedly. I think he is proud of the stand we have taken.”

  “As well he should be.”

  “But it is a puzzle how you can raise two sons in exactly the same manner alongside one another, and yet they react so differently to the training you instill in them.”

  “Indeed, it is surely one of the great puzzles of life. These people Seth is going to visit… do I recognize—”

  “Yes,” nodded Richmond, “they are Denton’s two oldest children. Hardly children any longer. Wyatt is a year older than Seth.”

  “And the daughter?”

  “She is sixteen, although you would never know it. She easily looks eighteen already and I think may be fascinated with Seth.”

  “It is not hard to see why. He is strikingly good-looking and well developed for a boy of sixteen.”

  “You’re right,” laughed Richmond. “He is naive for one who looks so mature. Though he and Veronica are the same age, I fear that she is decades ahead of him when it comes to the games of romance with which her kind are so skilled. I hope he keeps his wits about him.”

  “As long as he depends on you for counsel, he will learn from the experience. And speaking of young women, how is your Cynthia? I haven’t seen her.”

  “I think she is at the colored houses helping the women. Today is wash day. She is twenty and we expect her engagement to be announced almost any time. It is younger than we would have wished, but these things happen.”

  “Who is the lucky young man?”

  “A military man like yourself—a naval cadet by the name of Jeffrey Verdon.”

  “I am glad to hear it. I think I may recognize the name. Is his father also a military man?”

  Davidson nodded.

  “Where is the young Verdon stationed?”

  “Annapolis. He has another year before his first assignment.”

  “Has he spoken to you?” asked Lee.

  “He has,” smiled Davidson.

  “And?”

  “I gave my consent. He is all I could hope for in a son-in-law. Both Carolyn and I are very pleased.”

  Another thoughtful silence was broken only by the sound of the trickle of water past them in the brook a few yards away.

  “Would that I had your courage, Richmond,” said Lee at length. “If I owned four million slaves, I would cheerfully sacrifice them for the preservation of the Union. I loathe the thought of owning another human being created in God’s image. Going into the military saved me from having to make that decision. Still, I am uncertain whether slavery is a strictly personal issue, as you have chosen to define it in your case, or whether states’ rights as a national issue should take precedence when it comes time for me to face similar decisions. In any event, I am not pleased with the course of the ‘Cotton States,’ as they term themselves. I am opposed to any form of slave trade on every ground.”*

  “These are not simple matters to resolve, it is true,” said Davidson. “I am sure you have prayed and will continue to pray about your own course of action.”

  Lee nodded. “I have indeed sought God’s will, but as yet the way before me remains unclear.”

  “We must each walk out the path he shows us,” rejoined Richmond. “And he does not give all men the same course of action to follow.”

  “How true! Yet ever since I heard what you and Carolyn had done, I found myself wishing I could take some equally public stand against the evil system.”

  “Perhaps such a time will come. When it does, I have no doubt you will follow your conscience no less than I have mine.”

  “Perhaps you are right. One never knows. Yet I find myself constricted by my position. Not that I am so well known in the army. Yet after being in charge at West Point for the last three years before being transferred to Texas, my name is sufficiently known in military circles that any action I take could have widespread ramifications. Although I don’t know what I am worried about,” he added, chuckling. “You are certainly now as well known as I!”

  “Not by choice, I assure you,” laughed Davidson. “Still,” he added, growing serious again, “I understand completely what you mean and the caution you feel. A man in your position must walk with measured step. Much is at stake. Many will follow your example. You are a prominent figure. The same cannot be said for me.”

  “Don’t be too sure, Richmond. It may be your example that will show the light through the darkness for us all.”

  PART THREE

  1858

  SPRING—SUMMER

  ALL ABOARD

  Twenty-five

  A
huge jet-black thoroughbred was rearing, bucking, plunging, and doing everything in its power to unseat the teenage rider on its back. That the magnificent beast had been ridden before, many times in fact, would not have been immediately apparent to any but one knowledgeable in the breaking of horses, as was the black man standing calmly watching the display.

  “Whoa… easy!” cried the youth, nearly losing his balance. “What did you put in Demon’s oats this morning, Alexander!”

  “Ain’t da oats, massa Seth!” laughed the onlooker. “He jes’ knows da meanin’ ob his name, dat’s all!”

  The animal’s name, in fact, had been perfectly chosen, given by Seth’s father, who, from the moment they had begun trying to tame the energetic foal, recognized a greater than usual amount of self-will in the animal’s makeup. And though a strong will is a valuable asset for the development of personality in either man or beast, unless it is well directed it will usually come to ruin in the end. It was just because their efforts had been so unsuccessful in taming Demon’s tendency toward devilry that Seth had lately been trying his hand at stronger measures.

  “Open the gate, Alexander!” he called, holding on to the reins for dear life, “I’m going to let him go!”

  The black man quickly hurried to the opposite side of the enclosure, unlatched a wooden gate, and swung it wide. Even as Demon reared high on his back hooves, Seth yanked his head around, coming dangerously close to pulling him over on his back, then leaned as far forward as he could, laying his own body lengthwise against the maned neck, and, the instant Demon’s forelegs touched the ground, gave him both heels and whip in good measure. Demon was through the gate in less than a second and galloping away from the barn at what would have been frightening speed had any but Seth Davidson occupied the saddle. Sending clumps of earth and grass up behind them, the two thundered away in a wild display of raw animal energy. Alexander watched them go with mingled reverence, awe, and fear, for he loved horses as much as Seth, until horse and rider had together become a mere speck in the distance, then muttered something to himself with a smile—which words may have included a brief prayer that the next time he saw Seth he was alive—then turned back toward the barn.

  Seth’s plan was to run Demon until he tired and then run him more. And a great deal of space was required to do it, for never had he encountered an animal with such a reservoir of strength. Halfway toward town by the back road, Seth wheeled Demon off onto a dirt path leading toward the river. Another three-quarters of a mile farther, Demon’s speed showing no sign of flagging, Seth turned off toward a point where the riverbank gently sloped down to meet the water. Still digging in his heels and once more lashing his hindquarters, he drove Demon straight into the gentle flow, pushing him forward until the water reached a depth where he must swim. Rather than hold on for the other side, however, he now turned his head upstream straight into the current, and there let him struggle against it for two or three more minutes.

  Finally Seth jumped from his back, bringing the reins over Demon’s head, and swam himself until his feet found the bottom, then pulled the horse back toward shore.

  Emerging from the water with great splashing and a frenetic display, he led him up onto the sandy riverbank, the huge dripping black sides heaving and the breath coming from Demon’s nostrils in great bursts.

  “Had enough yet, Demon?” Seth shouted. For his only answer the beast reared again, plunging and kicking with his forehooves even as Seth danced about and struggled to maintain his grip on the reins and stay out of the way of danger. He would have kicked Seth’s brains in, which was surely his intent, had not Seth’s own feet been nearly as quick as his.

  “I see you haven’t!” cried Seth. He sprinted to one side, and before Demon could kick at him or maneuver to prevent it, leapt into the saddle and tore off with Demon again, this time up the rising incline of the ridge along whose base the river ran.

  Another two miles was consumed by the huge four-footed strides in less than five minutes. Any normal horse would by this time have been exhausted enough to give up the contest of wills. But Demon was no normal horse.

  Suddenly Seth reined in sharply and pulled back on the bit until Demon reared. Seth held on, allowing him to rear and kick and try to unseat him, until he reared a little too far, coming nearly straight to vertical on his hind legs. With one swift motion, Seth let himself fall rearward out of the saddle, slid to the ground straight down his back bringing the reins with him, pulling Demon’s head further behind him as he came.

  The moment his own feet landed, Seth pulled Demon’s head hard sideways, only barely avoiding the flurry of legs and hooves.

  Surprised and off balance, Demon fell backward with a screaming whinny.

  Demon thudded to the ground on his left flank, writhing and kicking. Before Demon could regain his feet, Seth jumped forward and pressed the horse’s head to the ground by sitting on Demon’s left ear, the other ear flat on the ground as Seth’s rump pinned the huge skull immobile to the earth. Unable to move his head, Demon was thus rendered helpless and soon gave up the struggle. He lay quietly panting for air through mouth and nostrils beneath the weight of Seth’s body.

  There Seth remained contentedly for ten minutes, then fifteen, then twenty. An occasional upward glance of Demon’s one visible angry eye was the only indication of the animal fury left within him.

  Fifty minutes later, Alexander saw them again coming toward the barn, Demon walking quietly, the fire of his rebellious nature temporarily spent, with Seth seated calmly in the saddle.

  “I see you managed ter run some ob dat anger out er him,” he said as Seth dismounted.

  “Only for the moment,” rejoined Seth. “I had to try his patience severely.”

  “What you do, massa Seth?”

  “I pulled him over and sat on his head.”

  “You what!” laughed Alexander.

  “It didn’t hurt him. I hope the lesson will pay off in the development of his character, once he understands that it is only because I am his friend that I discipline him to my rule.”

  “You think he be capable er understandin’ all dat?” asked Alexander.

  “Not in the way we are meant to understand the same principle at work in us toward God,” laughed Seth. “But surely Demon has some inkling of the fact that it is his duty to obey me. At least I hope so. Otherwise, my treatment of him would be sheer cruelty.”

  Seth continued on into the barn, where he unsaddled the great black, then attached a nose bag of oats to his head and proceeded to brush down his glistening coat. The huge ribs still moved in and out with a little more rapidity of rhythm than normal.

  Though his own personality and character were still in the process of formation, to one extent, no less than Demon’s, Seth was farther along in the recognition of where that process was leading and who was its Author. Yet he had this in common with the beast he would tame—neither could he see its end result.

  At eighteen, Seth Davidson was both boy and man. He intermixed humor, innocence, and pluck in rare combination. He could at one moment enter into childish sport with his brother as if he were still ten, at another make comments that displayed insight beyond his years, at another tell of some incident with wit and wry grins of humor that kept his parents in stitches, and at yet another walk up to a rattlesnake with only a stick in his hand without the least fear of being bitten. His father occasionally worried that he was too confident in himself, yet saw also that Seth’s courage was born more of sincerity and meekness than bravado.

  Seth’s was a trusting nature. Because he trusted he neither feared nor cared what people thought. In the bedrock of such a nature, with such a father and mother as he had, it was only natural that the spiritual regions in Seth’s consciousness would send down roots, invisible at first, but deepening as he progressed from youth into manhood. The plant from those roots would eventually rise to become a faith-tree of his own, whose trunk circumstance and trial would toughen and make strong. Seth had begun t
o turn the budding leaves and branches of his growing being to the light, which is the greatest step toward manhood it is possible to take.

  And yet, for one more season of his youth, the very trusting innocence, and boyish naïveté that was his strength would also be the very thing that would land him into water a little hotter than was comfortable.

  “You are beautiful, Demon,” said Seth, speaking softly as he usually did when he was alone with any horse. “Your coat would look almost as good if I didn’t brush it. But you let me brush it, don’t you? You let me because you are learning to trust me. If you can learn to trust me just as much when I am in the saddle, you will be glad. I am sorry I had to do what I did today, though I don’t think it hurt you too much. But you have to learn to control your temper, otherwise someday you may kill someone who doesn’t know how to handle you like I do. It is for your own protection, and theirs, that I must do what I do.”

  He continued to brush at the black coat, then smiled. “Your hair and mane remind me of Veronica’s hair,” he said. “Hers is just as black, and when the sun catches it just right, it glistens like yours. She is like you and yet not like you. Beautiful as your coat is, though, I do not think Veronica would take kindly to being compared with a horse!” he added with a laugh.

  Thought of Veronica turned Seth’s reflections toward the future. From force of habit he continued to speak aloud, as if Demon were his equine confidante.

  “What do you think, Demon,” he said, “what will become of Veronica and me? We have known each other all our lives. Will we marry one day? It almost seems inevitable, yet I can hardly imagine Veronica content forever as a farmer’s wife. She would always be wanting to throw parties!”

  He let out a long sigh as he stooped now to brush the underside of Demon’s great oxygen-furnace.

  “She is beautiful,” he continued, still talking to himself, “as beautiful for a girl as you are for a horse. I like how I feel when I am with her. Is that what they call love, Demon? I wonder what she would think if she had seen you and me out there today. Would she think me cruel and heartless? Would it make her hate me to see me treat you so… or would she even care?”