by Thomas Dixon
CHAPTER VII
BY THE LIGHT OF A TORCH
On the night of the election Mrs. Lenoir gave a ball at the hotel inhonour of Marion's entrance into society. She was only in her sixteenthyear, yet older than her mother when mistress of her own household. Theonly ambition the mother cherished was that she might win the love of anhonest man and build for herself a beautiful home on the site of thecottage covered with trailing roses. In this home dream for Marion shefound a great sustaining joy to which nothing in the life of man answers.
The ball had its political significance which the military martinet whocommanded the post understood. It was the way the people of Piedmontexpressed to him and the world their contempt for the farce of an electionhe had conducted, and their indifference as to the result he wouldcelebrate with many guns before midnight.
The young people of the town were out in force. Marion was a universalfavourite. The grace, charm, and tender beauty of the Southern girl ofsixteen were combined in her with a gentle and unselfish disposition. Amidpoverty that was pitiful, unconscious of its limitations, her thoughtswere always of others, and she was the one human being everybody hadagreed to love. In the village in which she lived wealth counted fornaught. She belonged to the aristocracy of poetry, beauty, and intrinsicworth, and her people knew no other.
As she stood in the long dining-room, dressed in her first ball costume ofwhite organdy and lace, the little plump shoulders peeping through itsmeshes, she was the picture of happiness. A half-dozen boys hung on everyword as the utterance of an oracle. She waved gently an old ivory fan withwhite down on its edges in a way the charm of which is the secretbirthright of every Southern girl.
Now and then she glanced at the door for some one who had not yetappeared.
Phil paid his tribute to her with genuine feeling, and Marion repaid himby whispering:
"Margaret's dressed to kill--all in soft azure blue--her rosy cheeks,black hair, and eyes never shone as they do to-night. She doesn't dance onaccount of her Sunday-school--it's all for you."
Phil blushed and smiled.
"The preacher won't be here?"
"Our rector will."
"He's a nice old gentleman. I'm fond of him. Miss Marion, your mother is agenius. I hope she can plan these little affairs oftener."
It was half-past ten o'clock when Ben Cameron entered the room with Elsiea little ruffled at his delay over imaginary business at his office. Benanswered her criticisms with a strange elation. She had felt a secretbetween them and resented it.
At Mrs. Lenoir's special request, he had put on his full uniform of aConfederate Colonel in honour of Marion and the poem her father hadwritten of one of his gallant charges. He had not worn it since he fellthat day in Phil's arms.
No one in the room had ever seen him in this Colonel's uniform. Its yellowsash with the gold fringe and tassels was faded and there were two bulletholes in the coat. A murmur of applause from the boys, sighs andexclamations from the girls swept the room as he took Marion's hand, bowedand kissed it. Her blue eyes danced and smiled on him with frankadmiration.
"Ben, you're the handsomest thing I've ever seen!" she said softly.
"Thanks. I thought you had a mirror. I'll send you one," he answered,slipping his arm around her and gliding away to the strains of a waltz.The girl's hand trembled as she placed it on his shoulder, her cheeks wereflushed, and her eyes had a wistful dreamy look in their depths.
When Ben rejoined Elsie and they strolled on the lawn, the militarycommandant suddenly confronted them with a squad of soldiers.
"I'll trouble you for those buttons and shoulder straps," said theCaptain.
Elsie's amber eyes began to spit fire. Ben stood still and smiled.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"That I will not be insulted by the wearing of this uniform to-day."
"I dare you to touch it, coward, poltroon!" cried the girl, her plumplittle figure bristling in front of her lover.
Ben laid his hand on her arm and gently drew her back to his side: "He hasthe power to do this. It is a technical violation of law to wear them. Ihave surrendered. I am a gentleman and I have been a soldier. He can havehis tribute. I've promised my father to offer no violence to the militaryauthority of the United States."
He stepped forward, and the officer cut the buttons from his coat andripped the straps from his shoulders.
While the performance was going on, Ben quietly said:
"General Grant at Appomattox, with the instincts of a great soldier, gaveour men his spare horses and ordered that Confederate officers retaintheir side-arms. The General is evidently not in touch with this force."
"No: I'm in command in this county," said the Captain.
"Evidently."
When he had gone, Elsie's eyes were dim. They strolled under the shadow ofthe great oak and stood in silence, listening to the music within and thedistant murmur of the falls.
"Why is it, sweetheart, that a girl will persist in admiring brassbuttons?" Ben asked softly.
She raised her lips to his for a kiss and answered:
"Because a soldier's business is to die for his country."
As Ben led her back into the ballroom and surrendered her to a friend fora dance, the first gun pealed its note of victory from the square in thecelebration of the triumph of the African slave over his white master.
Ben strolled out in the street to hear the news.
The Constitution had been ratified by an enormous majority, and aLegislature elected composed of 101 negroes and 23 white men. Silas Lynchhad been elected Lieutenant-Governor, a negro Secretary of State, a negroTreasurer, and a negro Justice of the Supreme Court.
When Bizzel, the wizzen-faced agent of the Freedman's Bureau, made thisannouncement from the courthouse steps, pandemonium broke lose. Anincessant rattle of musketry began in which ball cartridges were used, themissiles whistling over the town in every direction. Yet within half anhour the square was deserted and a strange quiet followed the storm.
Old Aleck staggered by the hotel, his drunkenness having reached thereligious stage.
"Behold, a curiosity, gentlemen," cried Ben to a group of boys who hadgathered, "a voter is come among us--in fact, he is the people, the king,our representative elect, the Honourable Alexander Lenoir, of the countyof Ulster!"
"Gemmens, de Lawd's bin good ter me," said Aleck, weeping copiously.
"They say the rat labels were in a majority in this precinct--how wasthat?" asked Ben.
"Yessah--dat what de scornful say--dem dat sets in de seat o' de scornful,but de Lawd er Hosts He fetch 'em low. Mistah Bissel de Buro man count alldem rat votes right, sah--dey couldn't fool him--he know what dey mean--hecount 'em all for me an' de ratification."
"Sure-pop!" said Ben; "if you can't ratify with a rat, I'd like to knowwhy?"
"Dat's what I tells 'em, sah."
"Of course," said Ben good-humouredly. "The voice of the people is thevoice of God--rats or no rats--if you know how to count."
As old Aleck staggered away, the sudden crash of a volley of musketryechoed in the distance.
"What's that?" asked Ben, listening intently. The sound was unmistakableto a soldier's ear--that volley from a hundred rifles at a single word ofcommand. It was followed by a shot on a hill in the distance, and then bya faint echo, farther still. Ben listened a few moments and turned intothe lawn of the hotel. The music suddenly stopped, the tramp of feetechoed on the porch, a woman screamed, and from the rear of the house camethe cry:
"Fire! Fire!"
Almost at the same moment an immense sheet of flame shot skyward from thebig barn.
"My God!" groaned Ben. "Jake's in jail to-night, and they've set the barnon fire. It's worth more than the house."
The crowd rushed down the hill to the blazing building, Marion's fleetfigure in its flying white dress leading the crowd.
The lowing of the cows and the wild neighing of the horses rang above theroar of the flames.
Before Ben c
ould reach the spot Marion had opened every stall. Two cowsleaped out to safety, but not a horse would move from its stall, and eachmoment wilder and more pitiful grew their death cries.
Marion rushed to Ben, her eyes dilated, her face as white as the dress shewore.
"Oh, Ben, Queen won't come out! What shall I do?"
"You can do nothing, child. A horse won't come out of a burning stableunless he's blindfolded. They'll all be burned to death."
"Oh! no!" the girl cried in agony.
"They'd trample you to death if you tried to get them out. It can't behelped. It's too late."
As Ben looked back at the gathering crowd, Marion suddenly snatched ahorse blanket, lying at the door, ran with the speed of a deer to thepond, plunged in, sprang out, and sped back to the open door of Queen'sstall, through which her shrill cry could be heard above the others.
As the girl ran toward the burning building, her thin white dress clingingclose to her exquisite form, she looked like the marble figure of a sylphby the hand of some great master into which God had suddenly breathed thebreath of life.
As they saw her purpose, a cry of horror rose from the crowd, her mother'sscream loud above the rest.
Ben rushed to catch her, shouting:
"Marion! Marion! She'll trample you to death!"
He was too late. She leaped into the stall. The crowd held their breath.There was a moment of awful suspense, and the mare sprang through the opendoor with the little white figure clinging to her mane and holding theblanket over her head.
A cheer rang above the roar of the flames. The girl did not loose her holduntil her beautiful pet was led to a place of safety, while she clung toher neck and laughed and cried for joy. First her mother, then Margaret,Mrs. Cameron, and Elsie took her in their arms.
As Ben approached the group, Elsie whispered to him: "Kiss her!"
Ben took her hand, his eyes full of unshed tears, and said:
"The bravest deed a woman ever did--you're a heroine, Marion!"
Before she knew it he stooped and kissed her.
She was very still for a moment, smiled, trembled from head to foot,blushed scarlet, took her mother by the hand, and without a word hurriedto the house.
Poor Becky was whining among the excited crowd and sought in vain forMarion. At last she got Margaret's attention, caught her dress in herteeth and led her to a corner of the lot, where she had laid side by sideher puppies, smothered to death. She stood and looked at them with hertail drooping, the picture of despair. Margaret burst into tears andcalled Ben.
He bent and put his arm around the setter's neck and stroked her head withhis hand. Looking at up his sister, he said:
"Don't tell Marion of this. She can't stand any more to-night."
The crowd had all dispersed, and the flames had died down for want offuel. The odour of roasting flesh, pungent and acrid, still lingered asharp reminder of the tragedy.
Ben stood on the back porch, talking in low tones to his father.
"Will you join us now, sir? We need the name and influence of men of yourstanding."
"My boy, two wrongs never made a right. It's better to endure awhile. Thesober commonsense of the Nation will yet save us. We must appeal to it."
"Eight more fires were seen from town to-night."
"You only guess their origin."
"I know their origin. It was done by the League at a signal as acelebration of the election and a threat of terror to the county. One ofour men concealed a faithful negro under the floor of the school-house andheard the plot hatched. We expected it a month ago--but hoped they hadgiven it up."
"Even so, my boy, a secret society such as you have planned means aconspiracy that may bring exile or death. I hate lawlessness and disorder.We have had enough of it. Your clan means ultimately martial law. At leastwe will get rid of these soldiers by this election. They have done theirworst to me, but we may save others by patience."
"It's the only way, sir. The next step will be a black hand on a whitewoman's throat!"
The doctor frowned. "Let us hope for the best. Your clan is the last actof desperation."
"But if everything else fail, and this creeping horror becomes afact--then what?"
"My boy, we will pray that God may never let us live to see the day!"
THE BLACK MASTERS OF THE SOUTH DURING RECONSTRUCTION.]
