The Clansman: An Historical Romance of the Ku Klux Klan

by Thomas Dixon

  CHAPTER I

  A FALLEN SLAVEHOLDER'S MANSION

  Piedmont, South Carolina, which Elsie and Phil had selected for reasonsbest known to themselves as the place of retreat for their father, was afavourite summer resort of Charleston people before the war.

  Ulster county, of which this village was the capital, bordered on theNorth Carolina line, lying alongside the ancient shore of York. It wassettled by the Scotch folk who came from the North of Ireland in the greatmigrations which gave America three hundred thousand people of Covenantermartyr blood, the largest and most important addition to our population,larger in number than either the Puritans of New England or the so-calledCavaliers of Virginia and Eastern Carolina; and far more important thaneither, in the growth of American nationality.

  To a man they had hated Great Britain. Not a Tory was found among them.The cries of their martyred dead were still ringing in their souls whenGeorge III started on his career of oppression. The fiery words of PatrickHenry, their spokesman in the valley of Virginia, had swept thearistocracy of the Old Dominion into rebellion against the King and oninto triumphant Democracy. They had made North Carolina the first home offreedom in the New World, issued the first Declaration of Independence inMecklenburg, and lifted the first banner of rebellion against the tyrannyof the Crown.

  They grew to the soil wherever they stopped, always home lovers and homebuilders, loyal to their own people, instinctive clan leaders and clanfollowers. A sturdy, honest, covenant-keeping, God-fearing, fightingpeople, above all things they hated sham and pretence. They never boastedof their families, though some of them might have quartered the royal armsof Scotland on their shields.

  To these sturdy qualities had been added a strain of Huguenot tendernessand vivacity.

  The culture of cotton as the sole industry had fixed African slavery astheir economic system. With the heritage of the Old World had been blendedforces inherent in the earth and air of the new Southland, something ofthe breath of its unbroken forests, the freedom of its untrod mountains,the temper of its sun, and the sweetness of its tropic perfumes.

  When Mrs. Cameron received Elsie's letter, asking her to secure for themsix good rooms at the "Palmetto" hotel, she laughed. The big ramblinghostelry had been burned by roving negroes, pigs were wallowing in thesulphur springs, and along its walks, where lovers of olden days hadstrolled, the cows were browsing on the shrubbery.

  But she laughed for a more important reason. They had asked for a six-roomcottage if accommodations could not be had in the hotel.

  She could put them in the Lenoir place. The cotton crop from their farmhad been stolen from the gin--the cotton tax of $200 could not be paid,and a mortgage was about to be foreclosed on both their farm and home. Shehad been brooding over their troubles in despair. The Stonemans' comingwas a godsend.

  Mrs. Cameron was helping them set the house in order to receive the newtenants.

  "I declare," said Mrs. Lenoir gratefully. "It seems too good to be true.Just as I was about to give up--the first time in my life--here came thoserich Yankees and with enough rent to pay the interest on the mortgages andour board at the hotel. I'll teach Margaret to paint, and she can giveMarion lessons on the piano. The darkest hour's just before day. And lastweek I cried when they told me I must lose the farm."

  "I was heartsick over it for you."

  "You know, the farm was my dowry with the dozen slaves Papa gave us on ourwedding-day. The negroes did as they pleased, yet we managed to live andwere very happy."

  Marion entered and placed a bouquet of roses on the table, touching themdaintily until she stood each flower apart in careless splendour. Theirperfume, the girl's wistful dreamy blue eyes and shy elusive beauty, allseemed a part of the warm sweet air of the June morning. Mrs. Lenoirwatched her lovingly.

  "Mamma, I'm going to put flowers in every room. I'm sure they haven't suchlovely ones in Washington," said Marion eagerly, as she skipped out.

  The two women moved to the open window, through which came the drone ofbees and the distant music of the river falls.

  "Marion's greatest charm," whispered her mother, "is in her way of doingthings easily and gently without a trace of effort. Watch her bend over toget that rose. Did you ever see anything like the grace and symmetry ofher figure--she seems a living flower!"

  "Jeannie, you're making an idol of her----"

  "Why not? With all our troubles and poverty, I'm rich in her! She'sfifteen years old, her head teeming with romance. You know, I was marriedat fifteen. There'll be a half dozen boys to see her to-night in our newhome--all of them head over heels in love with her."

  "Oh, Jeannie, you must not be so silly! We should worship God only."

  "Isn't she God's message to me and to the world?"

  "But if anything should happen to her----"

  The young mother laughed. "I never think of it. Some things are fixed. Herhappiness and beauty are to me the sign of God's presence."

  "Well, I'm glad you're coming to live with us in the heart of town. Thisplace is a cosey nest, just such a one as a poet lover would build here inthe edge of these deep woods, but it is too far out for you to be alone.Dr. Cameron has been worrying about you ever since he came home."

  "I'm not afraid of the negroes. I don't know one of them who wouldn't goout of his way to do me a favour. Old Aleck is the only rascal I knowamong them, and he's too busy with politics now even to steal a chicken."

  "And Gus, the young scamp we used to own; you haven't forgotten him? He isback here, a member of the company of negro troops, and parades before thehouse every day to show off his uniform. Dr. Cameron told him yesterdayhe'd thrash him if he caught him hanging around the place again. Hefrightened Margaret nearly to death when she went to the barn to feed herhorse."

  "I've never known the meaning of fear. We used to roam the woods andfields together all hours of the day and night: my lover, Marion, and I.This panic seems absurd to me."

  "Well, I'll be glad to get you two children under my wing. I was afraidI'd find you in tears over moving from your nest."

  "No, where Marion is I'm at home, and I'll feel I've a mother when I getwith you."

  "Will you come to the hotel before they arrive?"

  "No; I'll welcome and tell them how glad I am they have brought me goodluck."

  "I'm delighted, Jeannie. I wished you to do this, but I couldn't ask it. Ican never do enough for this old man's daughter. We must make their stayhappy. They say he's a terrible old Radical politician, but I suppose he'sno meaner than the others. He's very ill, and she loves him devotedly. Heis coming here to find health, and not to insult us. Besides, he was kindto me. He wrote a letter to the President. Nothing that I have will be toogood for him or for his. It's very brave and sweet of you to stay and meetthem."

  "I'm doing it to please Marion. She suggested it last night, sitting outon the porch in the twilight. She slipped her arm around me and said:

  "'Mamma, we must welcome them and make them feel at home. He is very ill.They will be tired and homesick. Suppose it were you and I, and we weretaking my Papa to a strange place.'"

  * * * * *

  When the Stonemans arrived, the old man was too ill and nervous from thefatigue of the long journey to notice his surroundings or to be consciousof the restful beauty of the cottage into which they carried him. His roomlooked out over the valley of the river for miles, and the glimpse he gotof its broad fertile acres only confirmed his ideas of the "slaveholdingoligarchy" it was his life-purpose to crush. Over the mantel hung a steelengraving of Calhoun. He fell asleep with his deep, sunken eyes resting onit and a cynical smile playing about his grim mouth.

  Margaret and Mrs. Cameron had met the Stonemans and their physician at thetrain, and taken Elsie and her father in the old weather-beaten familycarriage to the Lenoir cottage, apologising for Ben's absence.

  "He has gone to Nashville on some important legal business, and the doctoris ailing, but as the head of the cla
n Cameron he told me to welcome yourfather to the hospitality of the county, and beg him to let us know if hecould be of help."

  The old man, who sat in a stupor of exhaustion, made no response, andElsie hastened to say:

  "We appreciate your kindness more than I can tell you, Mrs. Cameron. Itrust father will be better in a day or two, when he will thank you. Thetrip has been more than he could bear."

  "I am expecting Ben home this week," the mother whispered. "I need nottell you that he will be delighted at your coming."

  Elsie smiled and blushed.

  "And I'll expect Captain Stoneman to see me very soon," said Margaretsoftly. "You will not forget to tell him for me?"

  "He's a very retiring young man," said Elsie, "and pretends to be busyabout our baggage just now. I'm sure he will find the way."

  Elsie fell in love at sight with Marion and her mother. Their easy genialmanners, the genuineness of their welcome, and the simple kindness withwhich they sought to make her feel at home put her heart into a warmglow.

  Mrs. Lenoir explained the conveniences of the place and apologized for itsdefects, the results of the war.

  "I am sorry about the window curtains--we have used them all for dresses.Marion is a genius with a needle, and we took the last pair out of theparlour to make a dress for a birthday party. The year before, we used theones in my room for a costume at a starvation party in a benefit for ourrector--you know we're Episcopalians--strayed up here for our health fromCharleston among these good Scotch Presbyterians."

  "We will soon place curtains at the windows," said Elsie cheerfully.

  "The carpets were sent to the soldiers for blankets during the war. It wasall we could do for our poor boys, except to cut my hair and sell it. Yousee my hair hasn't grown out yet. I sent it to Richmond the last year ofthe war. I felt I must do something when my neighbours were giving somuch. You know Mrs. Cameron lost four boys."

  "I prefer the floors bare," Elsie replied. "We will get a few rugs."

  She looked at the girlish hair hanging in ringlets about Mrs. Lenoir'shandsome face, smiled pathetically, and asked:

  "Did you really make such sacrifices for your cause?"

  "Yes, indeed. I was glad when the war was ended for some things. Wecertainly needed a few pins, needles, and buttons, to say nothing of a cupof coffee or tea."

  "I trust you will never lack for anything again," said Elsie kindly.

  "You will bring us good luck," Mrs. Lenoir responded. "Your coming is sofortunate. The cotton tax Congress levied was so heavy this year we weregoing to lose everything. Such a tax when we are all about to starve! Dr.Cameron says it was an act of stupid vengeance on the South, and that noother farmers in America have their crops taxed by the NationalGovernment. I am so glad your father has come. He is not hunting for anoffice. He can help us, maybe."

  "I am sure he will," answered Elsie thoughtfully.

  Marion ran up the steps lightly, her hair dishevelled and face flushed.

  "Now, Mamma, it's almost sundown; you get ready to go. I want her awhileto show her about my things."

  She took Elsie shyly by the hand and led her into the lawn, while hermother paid a visit to each room, and made up the last bundle of odds andends she meant to carry to the hotel.

  "I hope you will love the place as we do," said the girl simply.

  "I think it very beautiful and restful," Elsie replied. "This wildernessof flowers looks like fairyland. You have roses running on the porcharound the whole length of the house."

  "Yes, Papa was crazy over the trailing roses, and kept planting them untilthe house seems just a frame built to hold them, with a roof on it. Butyou can see the river through the arches from three sides. Ben Cameronhelped me set that big beauty on the south corner the day he ran away tothe war----"

  "The view is glorious!" Elsie exclaimed, looking in rapture over the rivervalley.

  The village of Piedmont crowned an immense hill on the banks of the BroadRiver, just where it dashes over the last stone barrier in a series ofbeautiful falls and spreads out in peaceful glory through the plainstoward Columbia and the distant sea. The muffled roar of these falls,rising softly through the trees on its wooded cliff, held the daily lifeof the people in the spell of distant music. In fair weather it soothedand charmed, and in storm and freshet rose to the deep solemn growl ofthunder.

  The river made a sharp bend as it emerged from the hills and flowedwestward for six miles before it turned south again. Beyond this six-milesweep of its broad channel loomed the three ranges of the Blue RidgeMountains, the first one dark, rich, distinct, clothed in eternal green,the last one melting in dim lines into the clouds and soft azure of thesky.

  As the sun began to sink now behind these distant peaks, each cloud thathung about them burst into a blazing riot of colour. The silver mirror ofthe river caught their shadows, and the water glowed in sympathy.

  As Elsie drank the beauty of the scene, the music of the falls ringing itssoft accompaniment, her heart went out in a throb of love and pity for theland and its people.

  "Can you blame us for loving such a spot?" said Marion. "It's far morebeautiful from the cliff at Lover's Leap. I'll take you there some day. Myfather used to tell me that this world was Heaven, and that the spiritswould all come back to live here when sin and shame and strife weregone."

  "Are your father's poems published?" asked Elsie.

  "Only in the papers. We have them clipped and pasted in a scrapbook. I'llshow you the one about Ben Cameron some day. You met him in Washington,didn't you?"

  "Yes," said Elsie quietly.

  "Then I know he made love to you."

  "Why?"

  "You're so pretty. He couldn't help it."

  "Does he make love to every pretty girl?"

  "Always. It's his religion. But he does it so beautifully you can't helpbelieving it, until you compare notes with the other girls."

  "Did he make love to you?"

  "He broke my heart when he ran away. I cried a whole week. But I got overit. He seemed so big and grown when he came home this last time. I wasafraid to let him kiss me."

  "Did he dare to try?"

  "No, and it hurt my feelings. You see, I'm not quite old enough to beserious with the big boys, and he looked so brave and handsome with thatugly scar on the edge of his forehead, and everybody was so proud of him.I was just dying to kiss him, and I thought it downright mean in him notto offer it."

  "Would you have let him?"

  "I expected him to try."

  "He is very popular in Piedmont?"

  "Every girl in town is in love with him."

  "And he in love with all?"

  "He pretends to be--but between us, he's a great flirt. He's gone toNashville now on some pretended business. Goodness only knows where he gotthe money to go. I believe there's a girl there."

  "Why?"

  "Because he was so mysterious about his trip. I'll keep an eye on him atthe hotel. You know Margaret, too, don't you?"

  "Yes; we met her in Washington."

  "Well, she's the slyest flirt in town--it runs in the blood--has ahalf-dozen beaux to see her every day. She plays the organ in thePresbyterian Sunday school, and the young minister is dead in love withher. They say they are engaged. I don't believe it. I think it's anotherone. But I must hurry, I've so much to show and tell you. Come here to thehoneysuckle----"

  Marion drew the vines apart from the top of the fence and revealed amocking-bird on her nest.

  "She's setting. Don't let anything hurt her. I'd push her off and show youher speckled eggs, but it's so late."

  "Oh, I wouldn't hurt her for the world!" cried Elsie with delight.

  "And right here," said Marion, bending gracefully over a tall bunch ofgrass, "is a pee-wee's nest, four darling little eggs; look out forthat."

  Elsie bent and saw the pretty nest perched on stems of grass, and over itthe taller leaves drawn to a point.

  "Isn't it cute!" she murmured.

  "Yes; I've six of th
ese and three mocking-bird nests. I'll show them toyou. But the most particular one of all is the wren's nest in the fork ofthe cedar, close to the house."

  She led Elsie to the tree, and about two feet from the ground, in theforks of the trunk, was a tiny hole from which peeped the eyes of a wren.

  "Whatever you do, don't let anything hurt her. Her mate sings'_Free-nigger! Free-nigger! Free-nigger!_' every morning in this cedar."

  "And you think we will specially enjoy that?" asked Elsie, laughing.

  "Now, really," cried Marion, taking Elsie's hand, "you know I couldn'tthink of such a mean joke. I forgot you were from the North. You seem sosweet and homelike. He really does sing that way. You will hear him in themorning, bright and early, '_Free-nigger! Free-nigger! Free-nigger!_' justas plain as I'm saying it."

  "And did you learn to find all these birds' nests by yourself?"

  "Papa taught me. I've got some jay-birds and some cat-birds so gentle theyhop right down at my feet. Some people hate jay-birds. But I like them,they seem to be having such a fine time and enjoy life so. You don't mindjay-birds, do you?"

  "I love every bird that flies."

  "Except hawks and owls and buzzards----"

  "Well, I've seen so few I can't say I've anything particular againstthem."

  "Yes, they eat chickens--except the buzzards, and they're so ugly andfilthy. Now, I've a chicken to show you--please don't let AuntCindy--she's to be your cook--please don't let her kill him--he'scrippled--has something the matter with his foot. He was born that way.Everybody wanted to kill him, but I wouldn't let them. I've had an awfultime raising him, but he's all right now."

  Marion lifted a box and showed her the lame pet, softly clucking hisprotest against the disturbance of his rest.

  "I'll take good care of _him_, never fear," said Elsie, with a tremor inher voice.

  "And I have a queer little black cat I wanted to show you, but he's goneoff somewhere. I'd take him with me--only it's bad luck to move cats. He'sawful wild--won't let anybody pet him but me. Mamma says he's an imp ofSatan--but I love him. He runs up a tree when anybody else tries to gethim. But he climbs right up on my shoulder. I never loved any cat quite aswell as this silly, half-wild one. You don't mind black cats, do you?"

  "No, dear; I like cats."

  "Then I know you'll be good to him."

  "Is that all?" asked Elsie, with amused interest.

  "No, I've the funniest yellow dog that comes here at night to pick up thescraps and things. He isn't my dog--just a little personal friend ofmine--but I like him very much, and always give him something. He's verycute. I think he's a nigger dog."

  "A nigger dog? What's that?"

  "He belongs to some coloured people, who don't give turn enough to eat. Ilove him because he's so faithful to his own folks. He comes to see me atnight and pretends to love me, but as soon as I feed him he trots backhome. When he first came, I laughed till I cried at his antics over acarpet--we had a carpet then. He never saw one before, and barked at thecolours and the figures in the pattern. Then he'd lie down and rub hisback on it and growl. You won't let anybody hurt him?"

  "No. Are there any others?"

  "Yes, I 'most forgot. If Sam Ross comes--Sam's an idiot who lives at thepoorhouse--if he comes, he'll expect a dinner--my, my, I'm afraid he'llcry when he finds we're not here! But you can send him to the hotel to me.Don't let Aunt Cindy speak rough to him. Aunt Cindy's awfully good to me,but she can't bear Sam. She thinks he brings bad luck."

  "How on earth did you meet him?"

  "His father was rich. He was a good friend of my Papa's. We came nearlosing our farm once, because a bank failed. Mr. Ross sent Papa a signedcheck on his own bank, and told him to write the amount he needed on it,and pay him when he was able. Papa cried over it, and wouldn't use it, andwrote a poem on the back of the check--one of the sweetest of all, Ithink. In the war Mr. Ross lost his two younger sons, both killed atGettysburg. His wife died heartbroken, and he only lived a year afterward.He sold his farm for Confederate money and everything was lost. Sam wassent to the poorhouse. He found out somehow that we loved him and comes tosee us. He's as harmless as a kitten, and works in the gardenbeautifully."

  "I'll remember," Elsie promised.

  "And one thing more," she said hesitatingly. "Mamma asked me to speak toyou of this--that's why she slipped away. There one little room we havelocked. It was Papa's study just as he left it, with his papers scatteredon the desk, the books and pictures that he loved--you won't mind?"

  Elsie slipped her arm about Marion, looked into the blue eyes, dim withtears, drew her close and said:

  "It shall be sacred, my child. You must come every day if possible, andhelp me."

  "I will. I've so many beautiful places to show you in the woods--places heloved, and taught us to see and love. They won't let me go in the woodsany more alone. But you have a big brother. That must be very sweet."

  Mrs. Lenoir hurried to Elsie.

  "Come, Marion, we must be going now."

  "I am very sorry to see you leave the home you love so dearly, Mrs.Lenoir," said the Northern girl, taking her extended hand. "I hope you cansoon find a way to have it back."

  "Thank you," replied the mother cheerily. "The longer you stay, the betterfor us. You don't know how happy I am over your coming. It has lifted aload from our hearts. In the liberal rent you pay us you are ourbenefactors. We are very grateful and happy."

  Elsie watched them walk across the lawn to the street, the daughterleaning on the mother's arm. She followed slowly and stopped behind one ofthe arbor-vitae bushes beside the gate. The full moon had risen as thetwilight fell and flooded the scene with soft white light. A whippoorwillstruck his first plaintive note, his weird song seeming to come from alldirections and yet to be under her feet. She heard the rustle of dressesreturning along the walk, and Marion and her mother stood at the gate.They looked long and tenderly at the house. Mrs. Lenoir uttered a brokensob, Marion slipped an arm around her, brushed the short curling hair backfrom her forehead, and softly said:

  "Mamma, dear, you know it's best. I don't mind. Everybody in town lovesus. Every boy and girl in Piedmont worships you. We will be just as happyat the hotel."

  In the pauses between the strange bird's cry, Elsie caught the sound ofanother sob, and then a soothing murmur as of a mother bending over acradle, and they were gone.