b 1 I %\ f 
 
THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
^' on ^^ci^r^'i^ -; 
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/8900tour 
 
/•<s\ /) ; 
 
 
 89 
 
 EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT 
 
 EDGAR HENRY 
 
 CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited, 
 
 NEW YORK, LONDON, PARIS AND MELBOURNE 
 MDCCCXCI 
 
COPTBIGHT, 
 
 1888, 
 Bt O. M. DUNHAM. 
 
 All rights resejiied. 
 
 Press W. L Mershon & Co. 
 Rahway, N. J. 
 
//^3 
 
 tM /oz/ 
 
 ^ '' ^ t p 
 
 549451 
 
" Ours is a never ceasing struggle of two 
 iiiv AL coxfederacies." — yokn Adams. 
 
 ••We have never been one people since the 
 
 ADOPTION OF the CONSTITUTION." -♦- TV ^///(ZW/V/ HaW' 
 
 (. ' ■ 
 
 i/iorne. . 'r 
 
 '• No ONE SHALL, IN MY PRESENCE, CALL JeFFERSON 
 
 Davis a traitor without meeting a stern and de- 
 cided DENIAL.'" — L. Q. C. Lamar. 
 
 '*In that triumphal procession [carrying the 
 LIGHT of Christian civilization] Abraham Lincoln 
 shall not move as the rightful President p'-t 
 Jefferson Davis, the so-called traitor, leader of 
 A so-called lost cause." — Henry K. yackson. 
 
 "The New South is simply a natural out- 
 growth OF THE Old." — Southern Newspaper. 
 
 '•The fall of Institutions leaves Human Nat- 
 UKE still WHAT those Institutions HAVE made it,"— 
 J^icton's Life of Cromwell. 
 
 "The most popular remedy fer sum uv the| 
 wust kinds uv disease, is tu jest sware ther ain't 
 ana'THIn' the matter." — yosh Billings. 
 
 000 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 In preparing for publication the manuscript of one 
 who played so important a part in recent events, it has 
 seemed best to add nothing to and take little from what was 
 found written therein. It is only when the self-depreciat- 
 ing modesty of the patient sufferer, who seemed anxious only 
 lest he should seem to claim merit where none was due, 
 appeared to have obscured with laborious self-excuse the 
 relation he really sustained to the gi*eat movement which 
 he directed, that it has been deemed admissible somewhat 
 to abridge his narrative. 
 
 Perhaps if the work had been written under less pain- 
 ful conditions a fuller record of the events to which it re- 
 fers might have been given. For the jjresent of course 
 this is unnecessary. Those events are so recent as to be 
 matters of common knowledge; and it is probable that his- 
 tory will so illumine the succession of incidents which 
 constituted the marvelous epoch of which he was the central 
 figure, that the Grand Master's disquisitions will become, 
 as he designed them to be, merely explanatory analysis of 
 the influences which shaped his character and prepared the 
 forces which he employed. While arrogating to himself no 
 merit for the results attained, he did not shirk responsibility 
 for error. For this reason he avoided, so far as possible^ all 
 
20 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 individual reference to those who hindered or promoted 
 the designs he set on foot. Men he judged leniently, if at 
 all; the forces behind them he analyzed with unsparing 
 severity. Of those who upheld the right he counted the 
 humblest as worthy as the highest, and so passed no com- 
 parative judgments. Of those whom it was needful to 
 designate he wrote only as the product of peculiar conditions. 
 His narrative might have gained something in dramatic 
 intensity if ho had realized the curiosity which the future 
 will feel as to the hopes and fears Avhicli must have alter- 
 nated in his breast during the eventful period Avhen the 
 result hung in such even balance. This is a sentiment, 
 however, which, in common with uiany great natures, he 
 seemed utterly unable to appreciate. AVhat he did, or 
 thought, or felt, seemed always to him a thing of indiffer- 
 ence in comparison with the causes which impelled him to 
 act and the influences that made possible specific results. 
 
 In accordance with his desire, no public display was 
 made at his interment. Thousands stood silent and tear- 
 ful about the open grave upon the sunny hillside, and 
 throughout the new nation he had created without the 
 shedding of blood, a grateful people gathered in their 
 several places of Avorshi]) to mourn a leader whom all loved 
 and Avhom none had ever feared or distrusted. His wish 
 Avas still law. No trumpet blared, no cannon roared, and 
 no banner drooped above his bior. The Order he had 
 founded vanished at his request. Its bright emblem. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 21 
 
 draped in perpetual mourning, was made by statute the 
 subject of primogenital inheritance, or failing that, of 
 specific appointment by the last descendant of that noble 
 host who sustained him with unfaltering confidence in his 
 patriotic work. 
 
 His wish that no monument should ever be erected to 
 his memory, and no municipal or charitable foundation 
 bear his name, will undoubtedly be respected, but the un- 
 marked grave lying in the shadow of the mountains will 
 never cease to be the Mecca of those who love liberty, 
 justice and peace. In his life he taught that Eight is 
 stronger than the Sword, and gold fit only to be the instru- 
 ment of good. In his death he has proved that humility 
 wins a fame more durable than any monument. 
 
 This much of explanation and apology seemed due from 
 one who has undertaken the task of preparing for public 
 perusal the story of his life as told by himself. 
 
 E. H. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I who write these pages am Ryal Owen, the only son of 
 Godson Owen, late of Eyalmont, in the sovereign State of 
 Georgia, whose faithfnl servant he was, and for whose 
 rights he rendered up his life. They would have been 
 dedicated to his memory, had he not, by a blameless 
 life and heroic death, achieved a fame too illustrious to be 
 diminished or enhanced by any act of mine. If only I 
 may be adjudged worthy to have inherited his name and 
 to have received the benediction of his confidence, I shall 
 be content. 
 
 The end is near. I do not know whether life will last 
 until my task shall be completed. I do not call it my 
 work, for that is done already. I am one of those whose 
 lives have ended while they still lived. The current of life 
 flows by me. I was of it yesterday. To-day I see the rush 
 and swirl of its dark waters, note its eddies, guess its force, 
 but do not feel its power. There only remains for me 
 to let the world know why I lived — what I hoped and 
 what I endeavored. What I did and how, it knows al- 
 
 2g 
 
24 EIGHT Y- NINE. 
 
 ready, or thinks it docs, and would not believe me should 
 I question its knowledge. This is my task — a labor self- 
 imposed, not to gain praise or avoid blame, but that I may 
 not seem to claim what is due to others or allow another 
 to suffer obloquy which I alone should bear. 
 
 I shall not seek to tell the story of great events ; nor 
 even of my part in them — only my estimate of tlieir causes 
 and of the forces that impelled me to participate in them. 
 Yet it is a task from which I shrink, both because of its 
 difficulty and the fear that I shall not be able to make 
 plain to others what is clear to me. My life seems to have 
 been made up of so many elements, to have known so many 
 influences, to have realized such unexpected results, that I 
 fear to attempt to unravel its impulses. Not that I have 
 done so much. In truth, as I lie here where life began, 
 waiting for life to end, it seems as if I had done nothing ; 
 only been a dreamer, a looker-on at great events. I per- 
 ceive, too, that the little I have done has not been of my 
 own will, but by another's, or by the fiat of a destiny that 
 made me its creature by shaping my nature and environ- 
 ment. Now that I near the infinite, I question, indeed, 
 whether I have done anything, whether I have not been a 
 mere instrument with which fate wrought. It matters 
 not, however, whether much or little has been achieved, 
 whether by my own volition or ])y the spur of destiny ; to 
 whom credit is due and to whom blame attaches ; what is 
 done is done — what was to be is accomplished. 
 
 m 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 The setting sun shines now upon me through the 
 narrow panes of the same window in the humble lodge 
 at Ryalmont, through which it looked when it first kissed 
 my baby face. Five generations of my forebears have first 
 seen the light within these narrow walls ; poor, unnoted 
 men — all save one whose fame was too bright to be 
 clouded by disaster — and honest God-fearing women. 
 In the five and forty years since that day the sun that 
 shines through the cleft in t1ie mountains to the west- 
 ward has seen wondrous changes on the earth — none more 
 wonderful than those that have happened in the land on 
 which its setting rays now fall. 
 
 It is of these that I must write — of these and of myself. 
 Yet not of these so much as of tlie forces that lay behind 
 them, nor of mypelf so much as of those antecedent lives 
 whose tenor shaped my destiny. I have no quarrel with 
 the present, save that it has been overkind to me. That it 
 has given me credit for more than is my due should not, 
 however, make me willing to perjoetuate injustice. 
 
 Gladly would I claim credit for all that has occurred, 
 for I believe that the future holds only confirmation of its 
 beneficence. But justice — justice to those with whom I 
 wrought, to a father's memory, a mother's love, the honor 
 
 25 
 
26 EIQHTY-NINE. 
 
 of one dearer still and, above all, justice to a people's life — 
 demands that I proclaim the truth. I sec clearly now that 
 what has come to pass, apparently by my instigation, would 
 have occurred had I never existed. I was not the cause but 
 the instrument — not the discoverer of truth but its voice'. 
 Doubtless my work would have been better done if en- 
 trusted to a stronger hand. 
 
 It is not history that I would write, only that which 
 goes to make uj) history. I shall attempt no narrative of 
 what has recently taken place, but only note some vestiges 
 Avhich may enable other pens to trace the causes that lay 
 hidden underneath the surface. My part is but to call 
 attention to the unseen forces that raised up the mighty 
 crests which men deemed stolen tides of fate and show them 
 to be in fact only the ebb and flow of human progress. It 
 is not history; only a light to guide the historian when he 
 tiies to walk backward through the mists of time and learn 
 the truth of the day in which I lived. What I may write 
 may not even be the truth. Few speak the truth ; and 
 fewer still think it in their hearts. In life and in death 
 mere facts obscure our vision. What seems to us good we 
 denominate right ; what pleases us we call truth. Facts I 
 will relate as I saw them ; causes as I apprehend them. 
 
 Of facts I need detail but few. In these times the 
 world's busy chroniclers glean incessantly the harvest field 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 27 
 
 of incident. What happens to-day is the world's possessioii 
 to-morrow. They who follow in the track of armies know 
 better than they who fight the tale of their achievements. 
 Already the story of what so recently occurred has been 
 told over and over again by those much better able than I 
 to delineate the sequence of events. It is only what I felt 
 and thought, what I alone knew of motive and purpose, 
 that remains for me to declare. Fate has set her panorama 
 before the world's eyes. I cannot add to or take from the 
 figures on her canvas. At the best I can but throw a light 
 on some of them which may show their true relations. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The real story of great events is rarely told. The 
 glamour of what is accomplished conceals the under- 
 lying causes from the remote historian, while he who writes 
 of matters occurring in his own time is apt to be blinded 
 by partisanshi]:) or the impulse of self-defence. What we 
 term history, indeed, is a record, often false, usually unjust, 
 and always incomplete. To one it gives more than his 
 meed of praise ; to another, a too abundant share of blame. 
 It judges men, not by motive or impulse, not by the com- 
 pelling force that lies behind them, but by their achieve- 
 ments — the result of what they seem to have done. For 
 after all it is but seeming. Men do not cause events to 
 come to pass. The atoms do not move the mass ; the mass 
 projects the atoms to the surface, rather. Peoples create 
 
28 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 leaders. Those who are called leaders are, indeed, but 
 index fingers pointing toward the popular heart. It is the 
 weak who make the strong ; the strong who are, in fact, 
 the weak. A people's woe inspires one to attempt a 
 remedy. He is termed a chief. He is a servant, a crea- 
 ture, perhaps a victim. If he succeed he is extolled ; if he 
 fail he is accursed. It was not Moses who made the 
 Hebrews a nation, but the woes of Israel that made the 
 peerless law-giver. The smart of wrong has ever been the 
 seed of right ; the suffering of the many the spur that has 
 impelled the few. He Avho foretells evil may be accounted 
 a prophet, but he is likely to be also a martyr. He who 
 informs a people of their wrongs may plant the seed of 
 revolution ; but only he whom the tidal wave of approval 
 SAveeps out of obscurity can ever become a deliverer. He 
 who speaks the truth too sooji wins only ignominy. He 
 who thriftily waits till popular clamor compels him to act 
 may achieve renown. 
 
 Individuals do not determine the character of civiliza- 
 tion. They who seem to lead are but the more distinctive 
 products of a common impulse. They are oftener thrust for- 
 ward by forces which lie behind, unknown, almost undreamed 
 of, thaa the shapers of their own or others' destiny. Peoples 
 are no more free agents tlian individuals. Fate shapes its 
 own instruments. 
 
 In monarchies the man may move the nation ; the 
 story of a King's reign may be the ti-ue history of a people ; 
 
EIG H T Y- yiNE. 29 
 
 a scepter may shape an epoch. In what are termed free 
 governments, individuals are not the controUing motive 
 ]iower. In them the citizen is only significant, as he re- 
 presents more or less completely some phase of popular 
 thought or feeling. There ambition, even, must run 
 in prescribed grooves. No popular leader achieves his 
 own success ; he simply rises or falls with the flow 
 or ebb of the tide which bears him on its crest. The 
 history of political events in a Eepublic is, therefore, hardly 
 more reliable, as a veritable account of national growth, 
 than the narrative of its battles and sieges. All these are 
 only results — mere indications of more important truths. 
 History is said to be a chronicle of events. As a fact, it is 
 but a register of results — a calendar of consequences. 
 What it omits is always more important than what it tells. 
 What is done it records with more or less of truth. Why 
 it was done the world is left to guess. Yet the cause is 
 infinitely more important than the fact. Why the battle 
 was lost is of vastly more moment than the fact that it was 
 won ; why it was fought at all, more important than either. 
 Events are transitory ; causes immortal. 
 
 I do not know how it may be in the material world, 
 but evolution is the inflexible law of mind. To-day is the 
 natural product of yesterday. The dead, consciously or 
 
30 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 unconsciously, lay their behests upon the living. The 
 past is but the matrix from which the future takes its form. 
 Each life is the outcome of a myriad lives — each generation 
 the resultant of a thousand generations. Where yesterday 
 ends and to-day begins who shall say ? 
 
 Nations are not born of man's will nor civilization 
 shaped by human wit. Statesmen, warriors, aye, even 
 patriots, are but pigmies. They do not make or fashion 
 or prescribe, they only serve the will and power that is 
 behind them — the myriad-eyed and myriad-handed but 
 single-hearted people I The past? a pulse — a fate I What 
 is it — who shall tell ? IT spake and I obeyed ! 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I was a lad at the outbreak of the War for Separation. 
 My father wore his uniform for the first time on my fif- 
 teenth birthday. It was unquestionably the most becom- 
 ing of modern military costumes, and there were few men 
 whose appearance it did not improve. He was not tall, 
 but his form was slender and a model of grace. The 
 soft gray habit, with its close velvet collar adorned with 
 the modest marks of rank, set off his fine proportions 
 better than anything I had ever seen. Or was it the 
 glamour of coming conflict and the boy's innate love of 
 martial glory and its gilded trappings that affected my 
 vision ? 
 
 He was to start the next day for what was not yet the 
 seat of war, only of preparation. His departure had been 
 hastened by unexpected orders. These things made mem- 
 orable the birthday, which, without them, would no doubt 
 have been forgotten. The years that had preceded it had 
 not been numerous enough to bring regret, and those 
 which were to come were apparently not so few as to ex- 
 cite apprehension. My father's transformation could no 
 more be forgotten, however, than his departure on the 
 morrow. To make the occasion still more notable, the 
 intended commemoration of the anniversary was abandoned 
 
 31 
 
32 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 and I was allowed to accompany my father on a farewell 
 journey to Kyalmont, where we had resided until a few 
 years before and where his aged mother still lived. 
 
 We went on horseback. Going and returning made a 
 good half-day's journey. My father was a grave, earnest 
 man, just come to his prime. He wore a wide-brimmed, 
 dark felt hat, which shaded his thoughtful countenance and 
 matched well Avith a full brown beard that fell upon his 
 breast, Avhich he was wont to stroke absently when ab- 
 sorbed in thought. The horse he rode had been recently 
 purchased with especial reference to the service on which 
 he was about to enter. He was a dark chestnut of some- 
 what notable characteristics — hardly above the medium 
 height, somewhat too long for absolute symmetry, but 
 round-bodied and compactly built, showing great ease of 
 movement and giving promise of remarkable endurance. 
 On account of his sloping shoulders, deep chest, heavy 
 thighs and long springy hocks, he produced the impression 
 of being what is known among horsemen as short-legged, 
 an impression due, in his case, at least, to unusual muscular 
 development. I am not sure that he was what is techni- 
 cally known as "thoroughbred," but his bony head, thin 
 nostril, sharp, quick-moving ear and full, fearless eye told 
 of many strains of royal blood miagling in his veins. His 
 faults of form were no doubt due in part to the exceptional 
 nutritiveness of that marvelous blue grass of the region of 
 which he was a native. The same influence had also trans- 
 
EIGHTY NINE. 33 
 
 formed these seeming defects into positive excelleucies, 
 when the character of the service required of him was 
 taken into consideration, as was afterwards attested by 
 many a weary march and many a bloody day which tried 
 the mettle and endurance of horse and rider to the utmost. 
 
 I suppose this horse would not have made so vivid and 
 Listing an impression on my mind but for the circum- 
 stances under which I observed him and the excitinpf 
 events with which he was afterwards so intimately asso- 
 ciated. The fact that he had been selected by my fathei" 
 on account of special fitness for the service for which he 
 was designed, of itself was enough to endow him with 
 peculiar interest in my eyes. It was no light commenda- 
 tion of a horse's qualities that my father had chosen him 
 for his own use at any time. Even among our equestrian 
 people he was noted, not merely for skillful horsemanship, 
 but for that instinctive love and ajipreciation of the animal 
 which makes a glance of the eye worth more as an estimate 
 of quality than the most careful scrutiny of one not so en- 
 dowed. This, too, Avas in a sense a trial trip. The rider 
 was becoming ncaiainted v/ith the horse, the owner Avas 
 testing his purchase, the master was verifying his judg- 
 ment, and I was watching, almost worshiping, both the mas- 
 ter Avith his ncAv uniform, the horse Avith his iicav trappings, 
 — seen in the bright, mysterious halo of anticipated glory 
 illuminating the future against which they were projected. 
 
 In the company of such a father and such a horse is it 
 
34 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 any wonder that every moment of that day and every inci- 
 dent of that ride were photographed indelibly upon my 
 memory ? I can see them now if I but close my eyes. The 
 horse with his long, easy stride, alert, attentive to the 
 rider's will, with his quick changes of gait and untiring 
 readiness ; the rider's watchfulness and satisfaction. But 
 if liorse and rider had been altogether different I doubt if 
 the awkward lad who rode beside them would have felt 
 3,ny less of admiration. The lurid light of the coming 
 conflict naturally magnified, if, indeed, it did not dis- 
 tort all things seen against its glow. There had been so 
 little of the pride and pomp of war among our people, in 
 my time at least, that soldier and hero were synonymous 
 in popular apprehension ; and he would have been a mean- 
 spirited boy indeed to whom a father in uniform would not 
 have seemed almost a god. At my earnest solicitation I 
 was permitted that day to give the horse a new name in- 
 stead of the insignificant one he had borne hitherto. 
 Thereafter he was called "Secession." 
 
 I may say without being thought to boast, that my 
 fatlier was no ordinary man. That he should seem 
 larger to me than to others is only natural, but no one will 
 question, I believe, his right to be accounted a man of un- 
 usual qualities. 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 35 
 
 He had sj^rung from a rugged farmer stock. The 
 plantation we were to visit was his sole ancestral inheri- 
 tance. It lay among the hills half a score of miles from 
 the city and nigh a thousand feet above it. He was going 
 there to say farewell to his mother, an erect, stern-faced 
 woman, Avhose gray hair was still abundant and whose 
 dark eye and strong regular features were yet regal in their 
 power to command. My father was her only son — the 
 child of her widowhood, named because of posthumous 
 birth, Godson — the dream of her life and the pride of her 
 age. From the cabin door to the front rank of his pro- 
 fession she had followed him with unceasing watchfulness. 
 Able to do but little for his advancement, she had done 
 very wisely what she could. Little given to flattery, she 
 had not been sparing of censure whenever she saw him 
 swerving from the path she had marked out for him. In 
 every crisis of his life she had been ready to commend reso- 
 lution and denounce hesitancy. As a boy she never allowed 
 his desire to flag. As a man she never permitted his effort 
 to go unrewarded by her approval. He had risen stead- 
 ily since he left the hearthstone. He was not rich. His 
 efforts had not been given so much to getting wealth as 
 to getting strength. Student, teacher, lawj^er — that was 
 the path this country boy had trod, winning each step by 
 thoroughness in the one last taken. The lust for gold had 
 not yet taken hold upon our life, and this lawyer, scarce- 
 ly arrived at his prime, witlijiis modest plantation just out- 
 
36 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 side the city, a score of slaves and his well-stocked library, 
 was accounted one of the most successful men in the 
 state. 
 
 * * 
 
 Why was he leaving all this to become a soldier ? I 
 remember this question came to my mind as we rode out 
 from under the shade of the grove of oaks that crowned 
 the little knob on which was our home. My mother, a 
 fair-faced Avoman, with a wealth of golden hair falling 
 over a white morning-gown, my little baby sister toddliiig 
 by her side, stood on the porch waving us farewell. The 
 query haunted my mind as we clattered through the city's 
 streets, across the narrow valley and took the winding 
 country road to Eyalmont. 
 
 The habit of self-reliance which his mother had so 
 carefully cultivated had accustomed my father to think 
 for himself on all subjects. This had kept him out of 
 the swirl of party politics. A man who thinks for him- 
 self and does not hesitate to express his opinions may 
 found a i^arty or lead one, but he is not often a ser- 
 viceable subaltern in its ranks. My father had passed the 
 period of subservient following, and the time had but just 
 come for him to take the lead. It was only when the ques- 
 tion of peace or war, or more exactly, of two republics or 
 one, presented itself, that men came to understand his 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 37 
 
 power. I remember my own surprise at the speech he 
 made when the matter first came before the people. It 
 was at a great mass-meeting which has become memorable 
 in the history of Southern independence. There were 
 many eloquent sjieakers. The others touched only the 
 surface, he went to the core. It seemed to have been 
 the one thought of his life. I was to leani afterward 
 how deeply he had studied it, how far-reaching were his 
 conclusions and how intense was his conviction. 
 
 I must admit, hoAvever, that my father was not what is 
 termed a popular man. His hold upon the masses, though 
 very distinct and positive, partook very little of the char- 
 acter of a personal following. It was the sincerity of 
 his purpose and the earnestness of his conviction, rather 
 than his personal qualities, that gave him power over men 
 — his thought rather than his individuality. I have said 
 that he was of a grave and serious nature . Another would 
 perhaps have called him taciturn. He lived much alone, 
 not that he wished to exclude others from his life, but 
 because it seemed difficult for him to unbosom himself 
 to them. From infancy almost I had been the com- 
 panion of his daily rides and was accustomed to his ab- 
 stracted moods. I knew he was fond of having me with 
 him, yet he conversed but little with me. Unlike most 
 lovers of the horse, he seldom used his voice to govern 
 or control the beast he rode. His grip would tighten 
 on the rein, his knees clasp the shoulder close, his jaw 
 
38 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 grow firm and his face become alert in case of any failure 
 of the animal to perform his will, but no sound would escape 
 his lij^s. He was not deemed a companionable man. 
 Though not without a sense of humor, he was little given 
 to jesting, and held no rank at all among the story-tellers 
 for which our Southern bar is so justly renowned. He 
 made few enemies, but those he had were as unrelenting as 
 Imnself. He rarely gave olTonce and never failed to resent 
 insult. As a result of these qualities he was respected by 
 all, trusted by every one, and comprehended by few. 
 
 It Avas the general im})ression that the struggle of his 
 early life had done much to produce the reserve which 
 characterized his maturer years. What truth there may 
 have been in this hypothesis I cannot say. There is no 
 doubt that under the old regime, when slavery constituted 
 a peculiar aristocracy, the difficulties in the way of a young 
 man of the poorer, or non-slaveholding, classes, who aspired 
 to success in the professions, were very great. Perhaps that 
 is the reason there were so many notable examples of that 
 kind. A man who had the pith to overcome such diffi- 
 culties at the outset was very sure to make his mark 
 afterward. I think the South has, among her great 
 names, more instances of men who have risen from the 
 very lowest levels of society to the highest rank in poli- 
 tics and the professions, than can be found in the ap- 
 parently more democratic and unstratified society of the 
 North. This fact, indeed, constitutes one of the great. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 39 
 
 almost insoluble differences between the sections. The 
 great men of the South often founded families, but very 
 few, outside of Virginia, at least, bore names that had 
 been at all notable before they made them illustrious. 
 Even in Virginia it remains true that her four greatest 
 names began and ended with the one man Avho made each 
 immortal. Washington, Jefferson, Marshall and "Stone- 
 wall '•* Jackson are unquestionably the first names, even of 
 the boastful "Mother of Presidents," and the most illustri- 
 ous men the South has ever produced. Each sjarang from 
 obscurity, and with the death of each the name he bore 
 lapsed into insignificance. 
 
 Another of the seemingly inscrutable things connected 
 with our Southern life is the fact that these very men have 
 been the most uncompromising advocates of that peculiar 
 state of society which would seem to have placed almost 
 insuperable obstacles in their path. I have heard others 
 relate what my father had to meet and overcome. From 
 his lips I scarcely heard a word upon the subject, but I 
 know that he attributed his success mainly to the training 
 he received in overcoming these difficulties. He believed 
 our Southern life and society to be not only distinctive but 
 eminently healthful. He recognized with peculiar clear- 
 ness its defects, but thought them quite overshadowed by 
 its excellencies. Boy as I was, I could not help thinking 
 of these things and feeling especial pride in a father who 
 by sheer force of manhood had won his way from the hum- 
 
40 EIOHTT-NINE. 
 
 blest station to be a leader of the very life that had thrown 
 such obstacles in his pathway. 
 
 But while I exulted I still wondered. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was a beautiful day in May. Leaving the town 
 we crossed the bridge over the sparkling river and skirted 
 the cornfields on the bottom at a swinging pace. For a 
 time my father was engaged in watching the performance 
 of his horse, now putting him at some obstacle, and then 
 requiring him to change his gait upon a given signal ; 
 guiding him sometimes with his hand and then with his 
 knee ; dropping the reins upon his neck, bending downward 
 from his saddle — in short, submitting him to all those tests 
 the practiced horseman applies to anew purchase which he 
 backs for the first time beyond the range of prying eyes. 
 When at length we struck into the shady woods-road that 
 winds up the sharp slope to Eyalmont he halted for me to 
 overtake him, the last half mile having been made at a speed 
 quite beyond the capacity of the mare I rode, which, though 
 a thoroughbred, had seen too many days to be matched with 
 such a horse in his prime. My father had tlirown a leg 
 over the saddle-bow and was sitting sidewise upon his horse, 
 which showed no signs of fatigue or excitement Avhen T came 
 up. It was a favorite position with him and was always in- 
 dicative of satisfaction. It is said that the soldiers under 
 his command used afterwards to declare tliat they knew 
 
 41 
 
42 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 the battle was going well when they saw him sitting side- 
 wise in his saddle. 
 
 " He will do," said my father, grasping a handful of 
 the horse's mane and giving it an approving jerk. With- 
 out change in his position we rode on, walking our horses 
 under the over-arching trees. As if divining what had been 
 my thought, my father began to sj)eak of the new move- 
 ment and his own relations to it. It seemed as if he were 
 anxious to commit his thoughts to the keeping of another, 
 and found in me the only convenient receptacle. Aside 
 from their peculiar character, what I witnessed that day 
 would have sufficed to fix his words indelibly upon my 
 memory. 
 
 What especially impressed me at the time was the dif- 
 ference between his ideas and the views usually attributed 
 to those Avith whom he acted. He seemed to think 
 slavery an accident : an opportunity rather than a cause. 
 Towards the North he appeared to entertain no rancor and, 
 indeed, was somewhat bitter in his allusions to those who 
 fomented hate. He said it was not a conflict of passion or 
 the result of oppression, but a movement of necessity. 
 Civilization, he said, had generated in this country two 
 distinct and contrasted yet similar and related types. 
 They had long been growing assunder and now the time 
 had come when they must fall apart. He said the real 
 question at issue was not what the constitution meant or 
 the fathers intended ; but what the future demanded. I 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 43 
 
 had heard the constitutional question discussed so often 
 that I was startled, boy as I was, to hear him declare it 
 immaterial. He, no doubt, noted my look of surprise and 
 explained that the time had passed when the fathers were 
 entitled of right to bind the sous forever. " Our law," he 
 said, " had Avisely restricted the power of bequest to two 
 lives, and the course of legislation and Jurisprudence was 
 toward a still further limitation of posthumous restraint. 
 Private contracts were declared inviolable by the States, 
 but the general government has undoubted authority to 
 abrogate them in certain cases. Tlie doctrine of this im- 
 mutability of the social, the political contract was of 
 feudal and monarchical origin. Allegiance, the tie which 
 bound the subject to the throne — which attached the indi- 
 vidual to the sovereign — was considered indissoluble ex- 
 cept by treaty stipulation until American democracy es- 
 tablished it as a doctrine of international law that the in- 
 dividual might disown the sovereignty of birth and at- 
 tach himself to another in the domain of which he may 
 reside, which disavowal shall remain, and new allegiance 
 shall attach, for the benefit of the individual and of the 
 State, thereafter, without regard to the place of domicile. 
 "All these things," said he, "^'tend in one direction. 
 In spite of any constitutional provision or requirement, a 
 people have the right not merely to choose their own form 
 of government, but to determine its quality, character, 
 constituents and alliances. The one million of freemen 
 
44 EIG HIT-NINE. 
 
 who constituted the peoj)le of the South eighty years ago — 
 the ancestors by three removes of the men to-day — had no 
 right to bind at will the eight millions of freemen who now 
 occu25y her soil and their descendants forever. 
 
 ''The war for American Independence was based upon 
 a right inhering in every people to separate themselves 
 from another on the ground of injustice and oppression. 
 This has come to be known in international law as the 
 right of revolution. It consists of two elements : the 
 right to resist oppression and the right to determine what 
 constitutes oppression. Our peoi)le do themselves and our 
 Northern neighbors, both, great wrong to put their de- 
 fence, or justification rather, on this ground. It is not 
 true, my son, that we have suffered any such wrongs at the 
 hands of the Northern people or the government of the 
 United States as would justify revolution. It may be 
 doubted if we have suffered any at all. The right to wit li- 
 draw from the Union was not specifically reserved in the 
 Constitution. That is certain. And it is at least doubtful 
 whether it was intended and understood by any consider- 
 able portion of those concerned in the consolidation of the 
 independent States into a distinct nationality, to have been 
 so reserved inferentially. Our cause rests upon higher, 
 stronger and holier grounds. What we allege is not op- 
 pression but incompatibility. We say that these two peo- 
 ples can never be one. In name they may be united ; in 
 nature they must continue diverse. Every hour since they 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 45 
 
 were thought to have become more closely joined they have 
 in si^irit grown essentially more remote. The 'more 
 perfect union/ which our fathers thought they were creat- 
 ing by the Constitution, has only given shelter to divergent 
 gi"0^vths which are now much farther apart than they were 
 on that day. Events which none foresaw have made the 
 united nation distinctly dual. 
 
 "Our contention, properly stated, is that eight mil- 
 lions of freemen, occupying a distinct territory, have an in- 
 herent right at any time to choose their own form of 
 government and their own j^olitical affiliations — not be- 
 cause of any constitutional provision, nor on account of 
 any actual or supposed historical relation they once sus- 
 tained to each other, but because they are a distinct 
 people and substantially agreed upon this subject. 
 
 *'So, too, the people of the Xorth — they call them- 
 selves now the Xation, and have the right to use its name 
 and organization, though the nationality is really destroyed 
 by the secession of the Southern States — they have, I say, 
 an indefeasible and indubitable right to prevent our leav- 
 ing the Union, if they can. Our action is not rebellion 
 nor is theirs subjugation. We simply assert that, in our 
 opinion, the interests of the South demand a separate gov- 
 ernment. They declare their conviction that the interest 
 of the North, and in their view, of the whole nation, de- 
 mand the continuance of the present relations. So far as 
 
46 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 they are concerned it is a question of policy. With us it a 
 matter of right as well. 
 
 ''Both are unquestionably correct in their conclusions 
 of fact. The South would be immensely benefitted by 
 political autonomy. The North would, in almost like de- 
 gree, be injured financially by the sejiaration. The South 
 abounds in products of universal demand — cotton, to- 
 bacco, lumber, ores. We have immense undeveloped re- 
 sources. Our territory yields almost everything re- 
 quired for human comfort and civilized existence. Of 
 minerals, we have coal and iron in abundance ; gold, silver 
 and copper in considerable quantities ; corn, wheat, oats, 
 hay and cattle enough to supply our need and give a sur- 
 plus for export; wool, sugar and rice enough for ourselves, 
 with an excess of two of them when developed ; cotton 
 and tobacco enough to supply one-third of the world's 
 demand above our own consumption. Besides this, 
 lumber and fruits ; and, in addition to it all, the finest 
 water-power in the world. In our State alone the avail- 
 able force of the Avater, which now runs unhindered to the 
 sea, equals the entire mill-power of New England. Separ- 
 ation means to us develojoment. It means self-support, 
 extension and variety of industrial fabric. W^e should spin 
 our own cotton, raise our own corn and wear our own 
 clothes. The world's capital and energy would flow to our 
 shores simply because we offered the largest opportunity. 
 
 *'To the North it means distinct and positive loss. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 47 
 
 We are, under existing conditions, an ever open market 
 for their wares and products. We buy their coal, their 
 iron, their clothing. Aside from what is consumed at 
 home, we constitute their only considerable market except 
 for food products. With free and aspiring labor they can- 
 not compete with the dependent and controllable labor of 
 the Old World in open market. Circumstances have given 
 them a market here at the South in which they can have 
 no competition even from ourselves. 
 
 '•'They will fight for this, my son, fight to retain their 
 profit and advantage. They have a right to do so. They 
 will have the sympathies of the world with them too. 
 They not only fight for a universally accepted theory — the 
 right to compel allegiance — but an incident of the struggle, 
 which some of our people are foolishly seeking to make its 
 chief feature, will give them a sympathy they only half de- 
 serve. It will be said that they fight to free the slave and 
 we fight to keep him still in bondage. In one sense it will 
 be true, in another false. Slavery is an occasion rather 
 than a cause of the conflict that impends. It, no doubt, 
 did much to produce divergence of life and civilization, 
 but its extirpation would not produce unity or homogen- 
 iety. There will be war because there are two peoples. 
 However it may end, there will be two peoples still. 
 
 ''Remember these things, my son," said my father, as 
 we reached the crest of a hill from which the old home- 
 place could be seen, "remember them as your father's 
 
48 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 views of the great questions which confront the present. I 
 have given them my best thought and shall give to what 
 I deem the right my best endeavor. I may not live to see 
 the end. Upon you or your children, in all probability, 
 will fall the final determination of these questions. Many 
 of our people look for victory. 1 do not. Wc are eight 
 millions of freemen against nineteen millions. We must 
 establish a government as well as defeat an enemy. Our 
 mechanical resources are undeveloped ; theirs are the com- 
 pletest ever known. We have all things to create ; they 
 have more than enough of everything needful. The war 
 will be long because we are two great peoples. It will be 
 bloody because we are brave and come of a stock of un- 
 rivalled fortitude. 
 
 ''I think we shall be defeated. I cannot see how it 
 can be otherwise. But that will not be the end, my son. 
 The underlying principles and the essential facts will re- 
 main. The South will still remain the South and the 
 Xorth Avill be the North still. The South will invite cap- 
 ital and show gTcat progress. It will grow stronger to 
 achieve, but must still remain essentially distinct. The 
 slave may be freed, but the negro will remain. The North 
 cannot assimilate us, and the South has no tendency towards 
 the j)eculiar Northern civilization. The two peoples will 
 naturally gravitate farther and farther apart. This will 
 grow stronger to assert because of its essential solidarity ; 
 that will o-row weaker to resist because of its discordant 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 49 
 
 elements. Some time the issue will have to be tried 
 over again. If it should be in your day, it may help you 
 to do your duty to know what was your father's convic- 
 tion," 
 
 He swung himself back into the saddle, and we struck 
 a quicker j)ace as he ceased sjDeakiug. A soft breeze came 
 down the valley we had entered and the scent of the wild 
 grape blossoms, which hung in feathery clusters over the 
 shaded road, came to our nostrils. The bees filled the 
 air with their droning and the birds famished that varied 
 accompaniment which one Avho is busy with his thoughts 
 seldom notes yet never forgets. I remember the croon of 
 the rain crow, the far-away song of the thrush, the clamor 
 of the mocker and the jeer of the cat-bird, as we dashed on 
 beneath the leafy canopy that hung above the mountain 
 road. As we drcAv near the home-place, my father seemed 
 restive and uneasy. He talked of many things, but chiefly 
 of his childhood — always coming back to that at last — 
 and in a manner more rambling and disconnected than 
 I had ever known him to display. I thought him agitated 
 at the idea of parting from his mother. It occurred to me 
 then that he had worn his uniform in order that she might 
 remember him as he would look while with the army. It 
 seemed very kind of him to do so, and I spoke of it as a 
 very considerate act. My father started as if my words had 
 been a sting. His lip quivered and his cheek flushed. 
 
50 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 "Ah, yes/' he said, with something like a sneer, ''It 
 was kind — very kind." 
 
 I was astonished. We rode forward a while in silence, 
 then he said gently ; 
 
 "No, my son, I did not wear this uniform to give 
 your grandmother pleasure, but to show her that I am a 
 man." 
 
 An instant after he added still more softly : 
 
 "I brought you also to bear witness to that fact/' 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Ryalmont had been the family seat of the Owens for 
 generations. It was named from Royal Owen — pronounced 
 Ryal by the country people — who located the tract and ob- 
 tained a grant for it long before the parchment title was of 
 any value unless backed by a stout heart and a keen eye. 
 It was at first called Ryal's Mount, My father linked the 
 two and christened it Ryalmont. 
 
 It was a sightly place which the sturdy hunter chose 
 for his abode. A level table shot out from the mountain 
 side as if the summit of an outlying spur had been cut 
 sheer off. leaving the truncated base buttressed against 
 sharp cliffs on either hand, while back of it stretched a 
 narrow and difficult pass — a mere notch in the mountain 
 wall through which fell a babbling stream. The torrent 
 turned sharp to the northward where it issued from the 
 gorge, leaving the knob on which the house stood, effectu- 
 ally to mask the entrance, and after a long detour, swept 
 back again to its very foot upon the eastward, and worked its 
 way thence through the lower hills to the river half a dozen 
 miles away. By its side ran the highway along which we 
 had come, winding around the hill a hundred yards from 
 the house and perhaps twice as many feet below it. A 
 spring burst out, half way down the hillside, aind ran through 
 
 51 
 
52 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 a drijjping wooden spouf to a trough at the roadside. Nest- 
 ling under the side of the hill, by which it was hidden from 
 the house above, was a snug little cabin in which dwelt 
 Jack, the colored overseer and care-taker of the plantation. 
 It was said that our ancestor chose this location for 
 the heavy log house which he erected, not on account of its 
 relation to the thousand acres of hill and valley, mountain 
 and meadow, it overlooked — to which he laid claim as first 
 settler and for which he paid the extravagant price of one 
 shilling an acre — but because of its outhjok over the valley 
 and the easy access it offered to the wooded glen in the 
 rear, known afterwards as Ryal's Pass. In those days, it 
 was said that every trail that crossed the valley passed some- 
 where within sight of Ryal's Mount, and that any one who 
 entered Ryal's Pass a half hour in advance of his pursuer, 
 was safe from the most hostile following. The Pass was a 
 narrow defile that wound in and out a devious but not dif- 
 ficult way, until it ended in a dark and narrow glen on the 
 other side of the mountain half a dozen miles away. Because 
 of its tortuous character it had never been used as a high- 
 way, and was still almost as wild as when Ryal Owen made 
 it a place of refuge from the savage foe. A bridle path led 
 into it, and once or twice my father had taken me through 
 its mazes to the peaceful valley beyond. Its outlet was a 
 narrow and forbidding canon almost beneath the frowning 
 heights of a now celebrated peak, on the other side of 
 which runs the great thoroughfare it seems especially 
 
EI0HTY-NIN£!. 63 
 
 designed to guard. My namesake's judgment of the 
 strategic value of the Pass has received in recent times 
 marked contirmation. During the War for Separation 
 the enemy, who tried in vain to force the pillared gate, came 
 in with ease by this unguarded stile. Though its walls 
 were precipitous at either end and the way narrow and cir- 
 cuitous, the grades were easy near the summit, and there 
 were some open glades where the deer loved to lie in the 
 sunshine. Rut it nowhere sjiread out into valleys and had 
 no branches that led to such. Because of this the trail, 
 though passable, was so little used that few people knew 
 of its existence. It was a favorite haunt of my boyhood, 
 and Jack, who was fond of wandering in the mountains, 
 knew every foot of the way. 
 
 The plantation had changed but little from Eyal 
 Owen's day until my father's time. The freedom of 
 estimate that characterized the early surveys had left 
 abundant room for the shrinkage caused by providing 
 homes for the few female branches which had adorned the 
 family tree, and the landmarks by which it was defined 
 were too notable to permit the squatter to plead igno- 
 rance of its limits. Perhaps my father would have left it 
 very much as he found it, if accident had not joined with 
 inclination to effect its transformation. Though his tastes 
 were rural, he was not an agriculturist. The tillage of the 
 soil for gain had no charms for him. Trees and fruits he 
 loved. Flowers, especially those hardy sorts that win and 
 
54 EIGHTY NINE. 
 
 hold their own place in nature, asking no aid from man, 
 except to plant the seed or set the root, suited his taste and 
 pleased his eye. For formal gardens, close-clipped hedges 
 and carefully tended borders, he had little fancy. Roses 
 that could fight with brambles, shrubs that held the soil 
 against all comers, it mattered not how savage, and vines 
 that found the sunlight, no matter how high they might 
 have to climb or how dense the shadow they might have to 
 penetrate — these were his favorites. Eyalmont stood on one 
 of those curiously irregular isothermal lines which wind 
 along our mountain sides, where the frost never kills and 
 the heat never blights. Instead of cotton, therefore, he 
 planted trees, and if his crops were seldom good, his fruit 
 was soon the envy of the whole country. 
 
 He married the daughter of a prosperous planter on 
 the Oconee, who brought to the humble mountain home 
 as part of her dowry, a few families of slaves. Two of these 
 left their mark on Ryalmont, One of them was known 
 as Christopher. Physically, the line that separated him 
 from the white race was imperceptible even to the most 
 practiced eye. He was supposed to have been very closely 
 related to the thrifty planter whose daughter he served, 
 and I have frequently heard my mother refer to him as 
 exhibiting the characteristic traits of the family. This 
 man had the inherent capacity for management which so 
 often appears in the mixed bloods of the plantation. To 
 him the cultivation of the earth was simi)ly a means of 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 55 
 
 profit. The instinct of accretion was so strong in his na- 
 ture that the act of heaping up, even for another's enjoy- 
 ment, was a pleasure to him. As fate had denied liim 
 the right to acquire for himself, he sought happiness in 
 accumulating for those he served ; and served all the more 
 faithfully, let me say, because he saw that they wore the 
 same fetters as himself, being bound by like inexorable con- 
 ditions — that the lives of both were controlled by an inevi- 
 table destiny. To this man was due the improvement of 
 Kyalmont as an estate. He cut off the rich, narrow bot- 
 toms ; cleared the best of the hillsides ; built fences and 
 cabins, transforming tlie great Avooded tract into half a score 
 of little farms, each yielding enough for its occupant and 
 some surplus for the master. Such a style of agriculture, 
 however, was not suited to the genius of slavery, and Chris- 
 topher was not content until the Grove was purchased, 
 where his instinct for administration had fuller play. For 
 this negro my father had a great esteem, but the favorite 
 among my mother's slaves was Jack. 
 
 The house at Ryalmont was the one blot upon its pic- 
 turesque beauty. It was undeniably uncouth and alto- 
 gether unfit to be the residence of the prosperous lawyer 
 and his fair young bride. The trees held it in their shel- 
 tering embrace ; the vines clambered over its rude porches 
 and hid the great stone chimneys outside the gables ; apples 
 and acorns fell upon its moss-grown shingle roof, raced with 
 each other down the sharp declivity and lodged in little 
 
56 EIGHTY.yiyE. 
 
 leaf-lined eddies on the hill-side below ; Taut however ro- 
 mantic its environment, the house was made of logs and the 
 chinking, which the ceiling hid within, still showed from 
 without. It was rude, inconvenient, and none too spacious 
 for the requirements of the new household. The slaves 
 who came to the up-country with the bride, regarded it 
 with contempt, and talked with curious pride of the glories 
 of the mansion on the live-oak hummock in the midst of 
 " Ole Mahster's" broad plantation. This fired the mother's 
 pride and her wrath burned hot against the dark-skinned 
 intruders. The young wife grieved silently, yet the fact 
 soon became apparent that the house at Kyalmont must be 
 remodeled, a new one built, or the household divided. . My 
 father could not bring himself to tear it down ; as yet he 
 shrank from leaving the ancestral hearth ; and to adjoin 
 the glaring new to the somber old seemed to him an incon- 
 gruity which he could by no means permit. 
 
 The solution was found in Jack. Through his co- 
 operation Eyalmont was re-formed and transformed without 
 losing any of its essential characteristics. Jack was one of 
 those strange freaks of slavery Avhich sometimes startled 
 by a sudden revelation of its injustice those who were the 
 most deeply convinced of its necessity. He was a man 
 hardly above the average height, but so slenderly formed 
 as to produce the impression that he was unusually tall. A 
 long neck, narrow sloping shoulders, and a pinched face 
 with retreating chin and overhanging brows, increased this 
 
EIGHTY- NINE . 57 
 
 illusion. His skiu was dark ; not the jetty blackness of the 
 pure-blooded African, but an intense velvety brown which 
 seemed to have been cast in subtle mockery as a mask for 
 the purely Caucasian features and unmistakable Anglo- 
 American figure. Despite his apparent delicacy of form he 
 possessed great strength and peculiar dexterity of hand. 
 He was something more than a Jack-of -all-trades, doing well 
 whatever was needed on the plantation. Xot only was his 
 hand skillful with all kinds of tools, but his eye was accurate 
 and his invention ready. The fate that made him a 
 slave was harsh and terrible. There was a rumor that 
 he could not only read, but was better informed as to 
 some of the arts he practiced, than many of the white 
 craftsmen of the region. To him was due the suggestion 
 that made Eyalmont, for a time at least, unique among the 
 homes of the State. I had often heard the story, and it 
 came to my mind with peculiar vividness that day because 
 of the events that were crowding upon us. I remember 
 wondering, after we came in sight of the house, what would 
 be Jack's view of the matter my father had discussed ujion 
 the way. 
 
 A drawing carefully made upon a pine board lying on 
 Jack's work-bench gave the first hint of a transforma- 
 tion so notable that even the hand of war spared its beauty. 
 The means were simple. The log house remained, only 
 the roof was modernized, the pitch increased and its eaves 
 made to project farther. The walls Avere covered close with 
 
58 EIGHTY -NINE. 
 
 small sticks, cut in midsummer so as to dry with the bark 
 on and sawed evenly through the middle. These were ar- 
 ranged in artistic forms and gave a simple finish in perfect 
 harmony with the quaint interior and rustic surroundings. 
 Jack had never been in Switzerland or Norway, but his 
 work was inferior neither in stability jior artistic quality to 
 the best that either can produce. 
 
 So well pleased was my father with the idea, that an 
 extension was built upon the plan of the original structure ; 
 only, instead of hewn logs, carefully sawed timbers were 
 laid edge to edge, matched accurate^ with the saw, lined 
 with the choicest of pine hearts, fitted with precision, and 
 finished on the outside by the same system of riven saplings. 
 So the house at Ryalmont became a curious compound of 
 the chalet, the cabin and the planter's spacious home, of 
 which a slave was the real architect. 
 
 Since our removal to the Grove my grandmother lived 
 here alone but for a "hireling'' — a white woman, who was 
 half companion and half servant. Jack's wife, Vicey, was 
 the cook. I think she kept both these slaves less for her 
 own convenience than for their pleasure. They were by 
 no means unnecessary, however. The Owens were always 
 hospitable and my grandmother was a uotable housewife. 
 So Ryalmont had open doors and a well-laden board where 
 rich and poor met on terms of equality rarely found except 
 in "up-country" southern homes. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The day was well advanced when we arrived at the 
 old homestead. Hidden away beneath the trees, the 
 house was hardly visible from the road. A narrow path, 
 bordered on each side by a ribbon of white quartz pebbles, 
 ran around the hillside in and out among the shrubbery 
 from the rustic gate up to the worn granite slab that Ryal 
 Owen made the doorstep of his house. The hill was liter- 
 ally embowered with verdure. Orchard and grove com- 
 mingled on the summit. Flowers and vines ran riot on 
 the slope. The fertile soil and balmy climate had done 
 more than man for its adornment. Nature had not only 
 supplemented but in many cases suj^planted and im- 
 proved on art. The ivy fought with the honeysuckle for 
 foothold on wall and tree. Wisterias interlocked with 
 climbing roses in a deadly grapple around many a rugged 
 trunk. The grapevines that grew along the pathway were 
 in bloom, freighting the air with fragrance. A lusty her- 
 bemont had somehow managed to throw a tendril into an 
 apple tree that stood above the spring, and from this had 
 swung over into a giant oak, which shaded the eastern end 
 of the house. Along this aerial bridge a huge wisteria had 
 followed in swift pursuit. Its soft wavy foliage and rich 
 purple blossoms formed a royal arch beneath which one 
 59 
 
GO EIGHTY. NINE 
 
 must pass to enter the cottage. To the right of the path 
 was a dark cedar out of the branches of wliich a cat-bird 
 screamed with angry surprise at our intrusion, while he 
 hopped from branch to branch, eyeing us with character- 
 istic audacity as we niaproached. The little white May- 
 apples were already ripening and lay along the path, fallen 
 from a tree that stood near the top of the slope. My father 
 climbed the path, apparently heedless of all these things ; I 
 followed, noting them with boyish interest. The summer 
 sun beat fiercely down. There was a drowsy hum, a sort 
 of audible silence in the air. The bees were droning lazily 
 about, and the birds flew silently by as if the effort of song 
 were too much for them to undertake. 
 
 My grandmother sat upon the porch Just within the 
 line of shade made by the vines that clambered up the 
 front. Her knitting had fallen to the floor, and her hands 
 were clasped upon a book in her lap. She watched us as 
 we approached, but without a hint of recognition. 
 
 '• How d'ye. Ma I " said my father, as his foot touched 
 the stepping stone before the door. M} grandmother 
 started as from a dream. 
 
 "Is that 3' on. Godson ? I seed ye comin' up the path, 
 but couldn't make ye out, no more'n ef I'd never known 
 ye. Must be my sight's a failiu'. I don't more'n half 
 know ye now. What in the name of sense liev ye got on, 
 anyhow ?" 
 
 She scanned him from top to toe. 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 61 
 
 •• No wonder I didn't know ye. Do tell a body what 
 ye"ie masqneradin' 'round in sech a rig ez that fer, son ?" 
 
 " This is my uniform, mother," my father replied, a 
 hot flush rising to his brow. 
 
 " Uniform ? What sort of a uniform, child ? You 
 hain't turned play acter at your age, hev ye ?" 
 
 " No, mother," he answered. " this is serious earnest. 
 This is my uniform as a Confederate officer." 
 
 " Your what I Oh Godson, Godson I Ye don't mean 
 to say you've gone an' jined yourself body an' soul to that 
 cussed idol ? You are not gwine to fight agin' the Union 
 an' spill innocent blood in sech a cause ?" 
 
 She clasped her hands tightly, and her face shone with 
 woefulness as she waited for an answer. 
 
 " I have done as my conscience dictated, mother," my 
 father answered solemnly. 
 
 He still stood upon the broad granite stone that had 
 been placed before the porch by his grandfather when the 
 house was built, more than a hundred years before. Per- 
 haps she thought of this, as she said in tones that had lost 
 the huskiness of age and sounded tense and clear : 
 
 "Do ye remember. Godson, that yer grandfayther 
 fought an' bled fer the country you're gwine ter far up ? 
 
 "He fought for his country and people, and I must 
 fight for mine," he replied. 
 
 "An' you stand on the rock he placed thar with his 
 own hands and tell me that ?" 
 
62 KIO H T Y- .V TNE. 
 
 My father looked down at the well-worn slab and, rev- 
 erently removing his hat, stood with bared head in the 
 sunlight as he raised his eyes and said: 
 
 " Upon this stone, as an altar hallowed by a patriot's 
 hands, I devote myself to the cause which he maintained, 
 and on this act I ask your blessing, mother." 
 
 He placed one knee upon the edge of the porch and 
 bowed his head towards her as he ceased speaking. 
 
 Her faced flushed. She gazed at him with intense 
 longing, and then put out her hands, trembling with ex- 
 citement, as if she would thrust him away. 
 
 "It ain't any use. Godson, tryin' to reason with ye — 
 never was. I can't give ye my blessin' in this business. It 
 ain't right, an' I can't do it. Ye're jest offerin' yerself fer 
 destruction. Hear what the Word o' God says about it. I 
 was jest readin' it afore ye come, and wishin' yer eyes would 
 light on that very chapter an' verse agin it waur too late. 
 Ye're jest invitin' evil an' a sentencin' yer children to shame 
 an' sufferin'. Jest listen at it, now." 
 
 She drew her glasses down from her forehead and found 
 her place in the volume on her lap as she spoke. My father 
 raised his head and watched her face as she read, following 
 the lines with a trembling finger. I took off my hat and 
 stood a hushed and wondering witness of this solemn scene. 
 My grandmother read from the book of Daniel : 
 
 " ;iS'o tlie King of the Nor-th shall come and cast up a 
 mount and take the most fenced cities ; and the arms of the 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 63 
 
 South shall not IV ithdand, neither liis chosen people, neither 
 shall there he any strength to unthstand. 
 
 " But he that cometh against him shall do according to 
 his own unll, and none shall stand before him ; and he shall 
 stand in the glorious land, which by his hand shall be 
 consumed."' 
 
 "It's all thar. writ out in prophesy so plain that the 
 wayfarin' man can read. The sword of the Lord ain't 
 gwine to 'be with ye, son, an' ye can't never prevail without 
 it. Ye'll jest fill the land with blood an' sorrow and cover 
 yerself with shame. That's what ye'll do. Ye know it 
 ain't liberty nor right ye're gwine ter fight for. It's slavery 
 an' wrong. I ain't speakin' about the niggers ; though ef 
 they've got any rights, God knows they've ])een robbed 
 worse'n any people on earth ever was afore. I don't see 
 how yon can bear to have the weight of their souls on 
 your'n nohow, let alone fightin' for a chance to hold 'em. 
 That's all it is when you come to sum it up. Ye're jest a 
 goin' to fight fer the greatest cuss that's come upon the 
 country from the beginning. It's held pore men down an' 
 puffed rich men up. Ye're gwine to bring tears an' blood 
 an' war on the whole lau', so that a few can git rich offen 
 Avork that ain't their own, an' pore men be drug down to 
 the level of the niggers. That's what ye're gwine to do. 
 An' ye want me to bless ye in that ? I shan't never do it 
 — never ! Ye may kneel thar till the steppin'-stone rots 
 
64 BIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 under ye, an' I shan't never give ye my blessin' while ye 
 wear that uniform ! " 
 
 She had risen as she spoke. The book had fallen open 
 at her feet. Her voice had grown loud and shrill. Her 
 eyes flashed, and her long grey hair, which had become 
 loosened from its iron comb, fell down on the snowy ker- 
 chief that encased her shoulders. 
 
 •• I see it all," she cried, her tigure erect and her eyes 
 looking into the distance as if the future lay unrolled be- 
 fore them. "■ 1 see it all — woe, woe — fire aiid blood and the 
 abomination of desolation I Armies crowd the road yander. 
 They march through the corn fields. There is blood upon 
 their faces — blood upon their hands. The thunder that 
 rolls is the roar of battle. They tromple down the craps. 
 They ravage and destroy. They * ' possess the goodly land. " 
 Women and chill'en flee. The hearthstone is heaped with 
 the ashes of the roof-tree. The light upon their faces is 
 that of a burnin' city that shines over the hills beyan'. 
 I see it all. Dead men lie around the spring. Beyond is 
 turmoil and uproar and defeat. " The King of the North " 
 has come, an' 3^ou''re a stan'in' up agin him, my son, but 
 ye shall not prevail. It is written — the Lord hath spoken 
 it. It is tlie doom yeVe invited yerself — the fruit of yer 
 own folly I Oh, woe, woe I I see the right — I know the 
 right ; yet I will pray — I must pray — for the wrong. Vain, 
 vain I It don't matter who prays — it don't matter who 
 fights ; the (lod that seeth the end even from the begin- 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 65 
 
 ning, the God that is the Lord, He hath writ an' He will do I 
 
 " I can't curse ye, for ye're my own flesh an' blood ; 
 but I will curse them that made ye drunk with pride an' 
 are now usin' ye to support the wrong. I'd ruther a thous- 
 and times have seen ye in yer coffin than a wearin' that 
 uniform. 1 can't bless ye — I can't ! Don't kneel thar 
 any more — don't I Yes, stop ; I can't bless you. Godson, 
 but I'll rech my hand over yet head as the prophet did of 
 old an' bless yer boy — because he's yours !" 
 
 She stretched out both her hands and laid them on my 
 head before I realized her purpose. 
 
 '' Oh, Lord God that hearest the poor as well as the 
 rich, the weak as well as the strong, bless this one that will 
 be left behind by him that is goin' away. May he love 
 peace and shun war. Keep his fayther in the hour of 
 danger, in the day of battle ; make him to know the right, 
 and if in aught he fail in thy sight, may this child of his 
 loins, in his day an' time, right the wrong an' cFar his 
 fayther's name from stain. Amen." 
 
 My father's voice echoed the word. Rising to his feet, 
 he stood a moment looking into her face, then extending 
 his hand he said : 
 
 "Good-bye, mother." 
 
 "No, Godson," she answered, taking his hand, "I 
 can't bless yer coat nor yer cause, but the good Book says, 
 Teed thine inimy,' an 1 shouldn't feel right if I let ye 
 ride home without dinner. Don't ye see the lad's jest a. 
 
m EIGHTY NINE. 
 
 faintin with huuger — on his birthday, too ? 1 was jest a 
 thiiikiu' of it afore I seed ye comin', an' a wonderin' if he'd 
 think of his old granny up among the hills, to-day. Ye 
 may come in — ef ye'll change yer coat," she added, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " You wouldn't have your son become a turn-coat, 
 would 3'ou, Ma?'' he asked, with grave humor. 
 
 '' No," she answered quickly, "nor a Tory, nuther." 
 
 " Oh! I'm not a Tory, Ma ; I'm just the reverse — I'm 
 a Rebel." 
 
 '' It don't make no matter what ye call yerself. God- 
 son : I don't never 'low any kin of mine ter come under 
 this ruf with anythin' on ther backs thet means any sort of 
 opposition to the ole Union thet the Owens an' the Bal- 
 fours both font fer only three ginerations gone by ! " 
 
 She turned away with a laugh that suggested tears and 
 entered the house. We sat down upon the porch, and 
 presently Sally Hacket, the hireling that waited on my 
 grandmother, brought my father a coat. He removed his 
 uniform with a quiet smile and put it on. A moment after 
 my grandmother returned and, 'oending over him, kissed 
 his forehead. 
 
 We passed a pleasant day together at Ryalmont, 
 When the shock of the first surprise had Avorn away, my 
 grandmother spoke quietly of what might happen during 
 his al)sence. ITer language was not entirely accurate ac- 
 (^ording to the rules of the schools, neither was it that 
 
EKillTY-y INK. 67 
 
 labored burlesque of form and sense which some of our 
 modern writers have put into the mouths of our coun- 
 try people for the entertainment of the self-complacent 
 North. I wandered about over the old place, but my father 
 hardly left his mother's side a moment. 
 
 As we started to go, toward evening, she called him 
 back and said : 
 
 " I can't bless you in what ye are gwine to do, God- 
 son, but I will pray every day an' every hour that the Lord 
 will hev ye in his keepin', though I shall never see ye 
 again. Good-bye !" 
 
 She wrung his hand and kissed him ; then sat down, 
 threw her apron over her head, and wept. When we had 
 passed out of sight of the house, Sally met us with the 
 uniform coat, which he had forgotten. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 When we reached the hill-top. where the last sight of 
 the house could be obtained, my father drew rein and 
 looked back long and earnestl}' at the home of his child- 
 hood. When at length he turned and rode on, he was 
 silent for a long time. Then he said : 
 
 *' My son, you have witnessed a strange sight. What 
 I am I owe to my mother's iufluence. Her example has 
 been the inspiration of my life. To-day,, for the first time 
 in my life, I have gone counter to her wish. You heard 
 her words. You saw her agony. May you never know 
 what it is to cause such grief ! I expected no less, yet I 
 could not do otherwise. You heard her presage of disaster. 
 She is both right and wrong, in this prevision. To fore- 
 cast the future, so far as human events are concerned, is 
 to give a true reading of the vernier of the present, cor- 
 rected by knowledge of the past. 
 
 '' She sees with unfailing accuracy, so far as her vision 
 extends. She thinks it revelation. She cannot give the 
 steps by which she arrives at her conclusion. She only 
 feels the facts. Sorrow, humiliation, disaster — that is all 
 she sees. If my vision were bounded by the same limita- 
 tions, I should feel as she does. But I see beyond, or think 
 I do. God forgive me if T am wrong !" 
 
 68 
 
EIGHTY -NINE. 69 
 
 We rode on a little way in silence. Then he continued: 
 " But I am not wrong. I cannot be wrong. I have 
 been over the ground too many times. I know I am not 
 prejudiced by any motive tainted with self -advantage. I 
 would not engage in war to gain a kingdom or to win the 
 highest place upon the roll of fame. I have a profound 
 contempt for any fame that is not based upon the better- 
 ment, or the attempted betterment, of mankind. 
 
 " Your grandmother thinks I have enlisted in the 
 cause of the Confederacy for the sake of slavery. She little 
 knows how fully I agree with her in regard to that insti- 
 tution. I wish it had never existed in America. Nay, my 
 son, slaveholder as I am, I could wish it might at once be 
 swept out of existence, if only the enslaved race might dis- 
 appear with it. That is the real trouble. Betwixt slavery 
 and liberty there is not much choice for them. Indeed, I 
 am inclined to think that slavery is altogether preferable 
 for them until they have gained in numbers and intelli- 
 gence, so as to make liberty a secure estate for both them 
 and those who must dwell with them. This is our prob- 
 lem, my son. God has thrust its solution upon us and we 
 must work it out. To the people of the North it seems a 
 simple matter. If the slaves were free, they think there 
 would be an end of slavery. It is a mistake. The prob- 
 lem would then be only half stated, not by any means half 
 solved. Between slavery and freedom there is but the 
 twinkling of an eye. Between the slave and the freeman 
 
70 EIGHTY-NI^E. 
 
 there must be geuenitions — perhaps centuries. If the necro 
 could be removed to-morrow, the patriots of the South would 
 far better endure the loss than see a drop of blood shed in 
 defence of slavery. But this is impossible ; and unless it 
 can be done, the South must hold the control of this ques- 
 tion, and all questions connected with it, in her own hands. 
 Xo doubt freedom must come to the slave some time. For 
 the benefit of the white man it cannot come too soon. But 
 when it does come, what shall be done with the negro ? 
 That is the question the South must answer — the question 
 she has been divinely fitted and prepared to answer.'' 
 
 Then, after another silence : 
 
 ''Perhaps she is I'ight — your grandmother, I mean. 
 I believe our attempt will fail. The war will be long and 
 bloody, but the enemy Avill be victorious. The very ground 
 where we stand may be stained with blood. The tide of 
 battle may flow by the old homestead. And when it is all 
 over, the South will be subjugated — conquered — overcome 
 — but not changed I 
 
 " My work will have been done, though. I shall not 
 live to see that day — I do not wish to see it. But the seed 
 will have been sown. Some other hand must reap the 
 harvest — consummate the task of deliverance from our un- 
 equal yokefellow. Perhaps it will even be a peaceful 
 work, too. God grant it may ! There will be blood 
 enough shed — brothers' blood, too — in the struggle that 
 now impends. It may be that the war which comes 
 
BIGHTY-NINE. 71 
 
 will open the eyes of nil our people so that they will see the 
 truth, and what arms shall fail to eli'ect, wisdom and peace 
 may achieve. It may indeed be true that the wise old 
 mother made no mistake when she passed me by and laid 
 on your head the benison of peace." 
 
 It was after nightfall when Secession and the doughty 
 thorough-bred mare I rode jogged easily through the city's 
 dimly-lighted streets. As we drew near the Grove, my 
 father slackened his. rein, and, laying his hand upon my 
 shoulder, said m a soft, tremulous tone : 
 
 ''My son, let what you have seen and heard to-day, 
 as Hamlet says, ' ' be tenable in you r silence. " The time will 
 come when you will better comprehenc> its import. At 
 present, no good can come from speaking of what few would 
 understand. We have to take the world as it is and make 
 the best we can of it. I am going into the conflict. I 
 may never return. I have a feeling that I shall not. If I 
 fall, I will leave you at least a name untainted with dishonor 
 and perhaps an unfinished task. You are coming very 
 soon to manhood. Such times as these ripen hearts won- 
 derfully fast. Your mother, sister and grandmother will 
 all lean on you for support, should I fall. I wish yon to 
 promise, therefore, that you will never forget this duty — 
 that however long the conflict may continue, you will never 
 leave them to enter the army." 
 
 He dropped his hand to mine and held it in his strong. 
 
73 EIGHTY-NIN E. 
 
 warm grasp for a moment, after I had said^ in a voice 
 choked with tears, "I will." 
 
 Then we rode on to the Grove and met a little com- 
 pany who had come to celebrate my birthday. The new 
 birth had come upon the anniversary of the old. The 
 change the day had wrought had been so great that I 
 hardly relished the simple pleasures 1 had looked forward 
 to with such keen anticipation. In the morning I had 
 been a boy. At night I had become a man. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 My grandmother was a Balfour ; my mother an Elspre. 
 To one acquainted with the region nothing more need be 
 said. The Elspres claimed Huguenot descent^ were rich, 
 proud and enterprising. The Balfours, as my grandmother 
 was wont to say., were "pore and proud from far back." 
 Though the hearts of both were bound up in my father, 
 they had little else in common. 
 
 They represented the extremes of social forces — the 
 rich, proud woman of the low-country and the "pore." 
 proud woman of the hills. Their love drew them together, 
 but they remained distinctive types. The rich gentle- 
 woman had something close akm to dread of the stern- 
 faced mother who had broken away from the traditions of 
 her class and forced her son up through the intervening 
 strata to the highest social level. They represented the 
 two great elements of Southern life — the aristocracy, 
 builded on slavery, and the non-slaveholding masses. 
 Numerically considered, these elements were as one to fif- 
 teen. They were united by attributes which mad6 them 
 unmistakable components of a common whole, yet sepa- 
 rated by impulses and characteristics so dissimilar as to 
 awaken constant wonder in the mind of the observer that 
 they did not fall apart. They were held together by a force 
 
 73 
 
74 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 at once attractive and repellant in its action. The pres- 
 ence of another and nnassiniilable race tended to unify, 
 while its enslavement tended to divide. The key to the 
 mystery of Southern life lay in tlie fact that the attractive 
 force was vastly more potent than the repellant one. In 
 truth, the more numerous class dominated even then our 
 social and jDolitical fortunes, yet the smaller one was credi- 
 ted with all the power, and was accepted by the world, and 
 perhaps by ourselves, as the controlling element and domi- 
 nant type of our life. 
 
 The " poor-white" of the South has always been a 
 mystery to the people of the North. To them the numer- 
 ically small proportion of our people w'ho were the owners 
 of slaves constituted the only significant element of 
 Southern life. The others were simply their down trodden 
 and despised dependents, too ignorant to know how they 
 were oppressed and too debased to care whether they en- 
 joyed their rights or not. Looking at the matter with that 
 thorough apprehension of Northern thought which the 
 events of my life have given, I am not surprised that this 
 view should have been taken. It was unquestionably a cu- 
 rious gradation of society that resulted from the develop- 
 ment of our Southern civilization. To us the term "^poor- 
 white'' or "white-trash," marked only the line betw'een 
 slaveholder and non-slaveholder. It was a term of obloquy, 
 simply because there was an inherent antagonism between 
 the two classes. Like a party name, Avhileit might be used 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 75 
 
 to conve}' a sneer, it did not necessarily import personal 
 unworthiness. In the month of the negro it became a 
 taunt, and on the lips of those to whom it was applied an 
 expression of morbid defiance. Softened to " poor folks,'' 
 it indeed conveyed a somewhat different idea. '• Poor but 
 respectable" w^as then its significance, without any of that 
 degrading flavor of patronage which attaches to the phrase 
 among other peoples. 
 
 Of course, there were almost infinite gradations. The 
 term covered all between the planter's mansion and the 
 squatter's hovel. They differed in degree, but were all af- 
 fected hj certain fundamental conditions. They were sep- 
 arated I'rom the slave-holder by the fact of his mastershij), 
 and from the negro by the facts of race and servitude. 
 
 Their poverty did not imply want or discontent. They 
 had what the land yielded to their own labor, and they 
 worked much or little as they chose. The soil in the moun- 
 tain coves was rich and quick; the climate genial. A little 
 yielded enough, and they were not prodigal of toil. The 
 woods were full of game, and the streams abounded in fish. A 
 little '' sang" * furnished enough of luxury. The land was 
 theirs, or was supposed to be. The boundaries might be 
 somewhat indistinct, the corners uncertain and their title de- 
 pendent on the bar of limitation. If witnessed by deed or 
 grant, the customary "more or less" might be its most 
 significant phrase. To them to be "pore" meant simply 
 
 ♦ Ginseng. 
 
76 EJGHTY-NINK. 
 
 to be indepeudent. Somehow the word seems to me, even 
 yet, to have a different significance when given the long, 
 drawling *'o," and soft liquid '• r," of the country people. 
 They counted it a certificate of merit, which showed that 
 they had always been self-supporting and implied that they 
 were honest. They lived at home ; had enough for them- 
 selves and the customary hospitality of the region, which 
 does not depend on sumptuousness nor derive any of its 
 flavor by comparison. The poorest shared his poverty with 
 friend or stranger without thought of apology, and he 
 would be a bold man who dared show any lack of appetite. 
 If our rich were haughty, our poor were independent. 
 The Balfours were "pore- whites.*' The nearest any 
 of them had come to fame was the ancestral baker who 
 signed " the solemn league and covenant" in order to in- 
 crease the sale of his "Glasgow buns." The nearest ap- 
 proach one of them had made to wealth was perhaps the 
 doughty zealot whom Cromwell compelled to ride to battle 
 with what was thought to be a stolen tankard about his 
 neck. He fought so well that the questionable pewter was 
 something near half-filled with pistol bullets when the 
 King's forces were scattered at Naseby. Cromwell, so 
 runs the family tradition, struck by this indubitable evi- 
 dence of Divine approval, allowed him to wear the battered 
 cup as a decoration, filled it full of silver coin in atonement 
 for the false charge and made him u sergeant in his regi- 
 ment of horse. 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 77 
 
 These things may be apocryphal, but it is certain that 
 Davy Balfour came to the new colony which Oglethorpe 
 had founded expressly for '' the poor who were indebted to 
 the rich and distressed Protestants everywhere," one of the 
 most thoroughly-fitted of all its denizens to claim the im- 
 munities of that Cave of Adullam, which, by a curious fate, 
 has become the keystone of a nationality. No man in all 
 "the Savannah country," as it was then called, gave more un- 
 mistakable evidence of poverty or bore a clearer testimony 
 before the session. His descendants, to use the country 
 phrase, " held their own" remarkably well, so far, at least, 
 as worldly gear was concerned. The Balfours were many 
 and poor in the hill-country. They were also proud — 
 especially proud of their poverty. 
 
 He of th& pewter tankard, " Ole Davy," who cursed 
 the great Whitefield in the presence of assembled thousands, 
 for persuading the Council of Administration to admit 
 slavery within the colony which had been chartered espe- 
 cially as a refuge for "deserving white laborers," and " Davy 
 the Second," who was the strongest man and most noted 
 bully in the mountains in his day — these were the noted 
 names of tlie Balfour pedigree. Truly they do not seem 
 much to be proud of, yet my grandmother was very proud 
 of them. Her husband was usually known as " Easy 
 Owen," a corruption, she always insisted, of his name Israel, 
 but more probably a bit of primitive nomenclature based 
 on his character, to which might well be attributed the 
 
78 EIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 fact that he lived peacefully and happily with high-strung 
 Elsie Balfour, during the few years of life he was permitted 
 to enjoy after his marriage. 
 
 With his death came my grandmother's time of trial. 
 No child had been born of the marriage, and it was more 
 than six months afterwards when a son came to cheer her 
 loneliness. Because of these circumstances he was named 
 Godson. Perhaps the lonely woman hoped that he would 
 bring her also deliverance from the persecutions which had 
 already begun. 
 
 Her husband having died intestate, my grandmother 
 had by law only the dower right of a widow in his estate. 
 Without direct heirs, the title of Ryalmont must descend 
 to tlie collateral heirs of her husband ; and these had already 
 taken steps to assert their claim before the birth of my fa- 
 ther. No doubt the simple-hearted x'oung widow thought 
 the birth of the child would end tlie controversy. I can 
 imagine her surprise and rage when she learned that instead 
 of abandoning their claims, the heirs chose to contest the 
 legitimacy of the child. 
 
 No stain of this sort had ever fallen on a Balfour, and 
 the whole community rallied to her side while she mustered 
 her energies to repel the charge. It was a notable contest. 
 The records of our Supreme Court bear testimony to its 
 fierceness. When it was ended the widow's allowance was 
 gone and the right of dower encumbered ; but the Bal- 
 four pi'ide was vindicated and my father, in his cradle. 
 
was dedicated to the profession to which he was indebted 
 for the name he bore. To achieve this end she accounted 
 no sacrifice too great, no exertion too severe. Her life 
 thenceforth became not one of actual want, but of unre- 
 mitting care and constant self-denial. 
 
 I had ahvays been a favorite with her and to me she 
 was a patron saint whom it was heresy to doubt. I had 
 lived with her almost as much as with my parents and was 
 known among the servants as ''Miss Elsie's Boy." Yet I 
 knew that she loved me chiefly because I was her son's son, 
 and the veneration with which I regarded my father was in 
 no small degree due to the mother-love that never wearied 
 of the story of his life. From the moment that her hand 
 rested on my head in that fiery benediction, which sounded 
 like a curse, however, I was conscious of a change. From 
 that time she always spoke of my father, not exactly as one 
 dead, but as one whose life-work had ended. She seemed 
 to think that the future held nothing for him that was in 
 harmony with his past. He had strayed from the path her 
 ambition had marked out, and her hope had passed over to 
 me with her benediction. It was not a very lively hope. 
 The future held little brightness to her view. She only 
 prayed that I might do something — she had little care 
 what it might be — to redeem the name of her son from the 
 ignomy she believed would attend his course. For her son 
 was still her idol — an idol to whom the sweetest memories 
 were offered in unceasing worship, but before whose shrine 
 the censer of hope no longer hung. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 My grandmother used sometimes to add to her allitera- 
 tive self-description the term Presbyterian. Applied to her 
 individually it had no especial significance. Regarding 
 her as one of a class, it represents a most essential element 
 of the inherent difference between the two sections of the 
 great republic. The religious life of the North was built 
 on Puritanic lines ; that of the South on a Presbyterian 
 model. I do not speak of either as a distinct sect but as a 
 religious force. Puritanism as a form of belief has abso- 
 lutely disappeared from Northern life, while at the South 
 the simple faith of Knox, though by far outnumbered by 
 other sects, has retained its hold upon the ideal and colored 
 the whole religious thought. 
 
 Not only has Northern unbelief and irreligious specu- 
 lation never been able to secure a foothold at the South, 
 but the religious atmosphere is essentially distinct from 
 that of the North. It is this fact, far more than any politi- 
 cal divergence, which has long since separated the various 
 sects into distinct bodies, known in common parlance, at 
 least, as Northern and Southern Churches. This separa- 
 tion has usually been attributed to Slavery, but it is far 
 more a matter of sentiment than of dogma. 
 80 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 81 
 
 The simple truth is that the religious life of each sec- 
 tion is colored by its social and intellectual characteristics. 
 That of the North is manifested by a restless, eager mis- 
 sionary zeal, which ransacks the uttermost parts of the 
 earth in search of charitable labor and proselyting oppor- 
 tunity. It approves itself by its works, and is less con- 
 cerned about securing salvation for the individual than in 
 promoting the common good. It is little given to self-scru- 
 tiny, but never rests in its watch-care over others. It is 
 commercial in its character and methods. It prides itself 
 on the enterprise it displays and measures its own sincerity 
 not by any interior standard, but by the visible results of 
 its activity. It is given to improved methods, economies 
 and statistics. It estimates the value of a missionary field 
 by the average cost of conversion, and prides itself upon the 
 skill with which it induces even the irreligious to contribute 
 to its enterprises. Its influence is centrifugal ; its field, the 
 whole orb of the earth ; and its mission — to set others right. 
 This was the distinctive principle of Puritanism. It was 
 essentially aggressive and prescriptive. It concerned itself 
 with others' thoughts, opinions and conduct. It sought to 
 enforce conformity with its own ideas. It planted the seed 
 of pious intermeddling and made Paul Pry its model of 
 religious excellence. 
 
 The religious ideal of the South is in striking contrast 
 with this. It is the spirit of the kirk rather than of the 
 conventicle. It is inti'ospective rather than circumspective; 
 
8-Z EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 defensive rather than aggressive in character. Ir lividual 
 salvation, rather than the evangelization of the world, is its 
 prime objective. It has boundless kindness, but it is not 
 given to exhaustive search for evil. It cherishes no ill-will 
 for its neighbor, but leaves liim to manage his own affairs. 
 If he choose the better part, well and good ; if he does not, 
 the responsibility is his own. So the North sends forth an 
 army of missionaries. The South with difficulty provides 
 its own churches. The one is lavish of money ; the other 
 of pr.iyers. There is no essential difference of dogma ; but 
 the poles hardly indicate greater divergence of sentiment. 
 The one is no doubt the broader in its sympathies ; the 
 other the more intense in its convictions. Love of human- 
 ity is the mainspring of the one ; personal salvation of the 
 other. 
 
 While, therefore, ray grandmother boasted herself a 
 Presbyterian, the most distinctive feature of her religious 
 faith was its essential harmony with the life about her. 
 "What she disapproved she utterly abominated and con- 
 temned, but she did not feel it her duty to wage war against 
 it in others. Curiously enough and incomprehensible as 
 it may seem, the one thing she hated most was slavery. 
 Jack, who lived at Ryalmont, was practically free. He 
 looked after the plantation and was assiduous in his care 
 for the comfort of " the ole Missus," but what Jack did for 
 her she counted only as his voluntary act. That she even 
 tolerated his presence was a remarkable thing, for with the 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 83 
 
 seeming inconsistency of her class, the object of her bit- 
 terest animosity next to the institution of slavery, was 
 the slave himself — the negro. This is the real key to 
 what seems to superficial observers an uusoluble mystery. 
 Southern life is distinctive, homogeneous and jealous of 
 interference with its details, simply because the African 
 dwells among us. But for this fact the line betwixt North 
 and South had never been drawn, and until it no longer 
 exists, that line can never be obliterated. The underlying 
 distinction is that upon one side the Anglo-Saxon dwells 
 alone, while on the other side a black face peers querulously 
 if not threateningly into every white one. This has shaped 
 our civilization hitherto, and must control our destiny 
 hereafter. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 It is needless to relate what followed. One word tells 
 it all to him that knows the story, and to him who does not 
 there ai'e not words enough to reveal its woe. War ! The 
 culmination of horrors and climax of folly I The fire m 
 which the hero is tested ! The crucible in which the dross 
 of prejudice is melted away and the fine gold of truth 
 gathered into shining ingots I As a fact, the most insig- 
 nificant in the world's life ; as a force, the most trivial ; as 
 a result, the most notable. 
 
 Where men fought, and how and who they were that 
 won, and who they were that lost, it is folly to consider. 
 Why they fought, to attain what end or prevent what de- 
 sign and with what result — these are the questions humanity 
 asks* and history ought to answer. Beyond that, war means 
 nothing. Men were brave or cowardly, true or false ; they 
 survived or perished. That is all. There may be a back- 
 ground of honor for the victors and of woe for the van- 
 quished ; of suffering and self-sacrifice ; of personal heroism 
 and collective triumph — -but these are nothing. Men live 
 and die In itself life means nothing to the present and 
 death means nothing to the future. Why men live and 
 for tvhat they die — these are the only substantial tiuths of 
 84 
 
EIGHTTNINE. 85 
 
 life. Grallant deeds are but the torch that shows the hero's 
 soul. Like pestilence and crime, war teaches only by the 
 study of its causes. Good comes from it only as it shows 
 the bitterness of evil. The dead it leaves, the wounds, the 
 woe, the agony — what are they but stripes by which its 
 lessons are enforced ? Yet how sweet its triumphs, how 
 enchanting its glories ! How bitter its woes, yet how 
 beneficent its results I 
 
 "War came. My father fought. I watched over our 
 home circle. There was a year of exultation. The 
 glory of anticipated triumph lighted the horizon. My 
 mother's eyes shone with ex^^ectancy. My grandmother 
 even began to relent. The two households had become one 
 since my father's departure. We said it was for my grand- 
 mother's sake ; I think it was for our own. The Grove 
 was lonely after my father left us, and it seemed as if we 
 were nearer him at Ryalmont. ]\Iy mother loved the 
 mountain-home almost as much as my grandmother-. So 
 we came here and waited. Tlie year closed, and the end 
 had not come. My father wrote to me on my next birth- 
 day that a great battle was expected soon, and many thought 
 the war would then be over. He did not give his own 
 opinion. 
 
 Then came a twelvemonth of intermingled hope and 
 fear. The mother would not doubt. The grandmother 
 had ceased to hope. My father— but the record of his ca- 
 reer is too well known to need a reference to its incidents. 
 
86 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 In the winter my mother and Httle sister went to him in 
 the quarters where the army lay. We still lived at Ryal- 
 mont. The war was all at the east or the far west. Here in 
 the mountains of Georgia we were safe. As the year ended 
 it came a little nearer, but we did not fear. I had grown 
 to be a man and managed the plantation at the Grove, 
 with the aid of Christopher, in a manner to meet my 
 mother's approval. She thought me like her father, and 
 often spoke of me as an Elspre. But my grandmother 
 thought me a Balfour. She was aging swiftly under the 
 sad burden of these last days. She looked upon me as 
 the head of the house, passing by my father as if he were 
 dead. On this birthday there was a great battle and my 
 father did not write his usual letter for that anniversary 
 until some days afterwards. He told of '"Stonewall" 
 Jackson's death, and declared that the hope of our cause 
 perished with him. It is a curious fact that we gained no 
 more victories. The great chief could still fight battles, 
 but without his great lieutenant he seemed unable to de- 
 stroy armies. 
 
 Soldiers were needed as the struggle grew more doubt- 
 ful. I begged my father to give^me back my pledge and 
 let me come and fight by his side — under his eye. Again 
 and again I sought to be released from this first irksome 
 bond which a swift-ripening manhood had cast about my 
 aspiration. Again and again I implored him to grant me 
 the poor privilege — nay, the glorious privilege, I deemed 
 
EIGHTT-NI NE. g? 
 
 it — of defending my native land from invasion. But he 
 would not yield. Of course, I could not abandon those he 
 had given me in charge, even if I had been willing to break 
 my word. So I sat with folded hands and waited while the 
 tide of war drew near I hoped the mandate of the law 
 would override my promise and compel me to perform the 
 service I yearned to undertake, but the "twenty slaves" 
 upon the home plantation barred the law's demand. For 
 every score that wrought, it was deemed necessary that 
 there should be one to direct and control, by doing which 
 it was thought he served the country better than if he were 
 in the field. 
 
 My father answered my appeals with that calm wisdom 
 which to youth seems always the height of folly. He told 
 me that the darker the outlook, the more inevitable the 
 prospect of disaster^ the more essential it was that I should 
 perform the duty he had allotted to me. He reminded me 
 that if I were not a soldier in fact, I had been assigned to 
 a specific duty, to the performance of which life and honor 
 were pledged. If I should fail in this, he must resign his 
 place and return to attend to it himself. To his commands 
 were added the entreaties of those left in my charge. I do 
 not think it was so much the need of my assistance or pro- 
 tection that inspired my mother's prayers, as the desire 
 that her son might be kept from peril. Perhaps a premo- 
 nition of approaching widowhood enhanced her anxiety. 
 My grandmother, besides leaning upon me as she had never 
 
88 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 done upon my father, age tiud weakness making her more 
 dependent, was anxious above all things to keep me uncon- 
 taminated by service for the Confederacy. She had long 
 ceased to avow her disapproval of the war, since she could 
 not openly oppose it without seeming to cast discredit upon 
 her son, which she would rather have died than do. But 
 she had an intense desire that I should not actively engage in 
 the struggle. I do not think she regarded it as so great a 
 wrong, but she deemed the enterprise predestined to fail- 
 ure. The prophet's use of the terms North and South had 
 fixed it in her mind that it was to this conflict that his 
 words referred. No argument or explanation could change 
 conviction. The words came to her lips almost uncon- 
 sciously whenever the subject was mentioned, and she used 
 to repeat them with sad, solemn emphasis as if they were 
 the knell of all her hope. 
 
 " ' The King of the North shall come ! Shall come, 
 saith the Lord, shall — come / ' " 
 
 Then she would scan the northern sky as if slie expected 
 to see the ensigns of the foe upon the mountain crests, 
 always concluding with a careful scrutiny of the mouth of 
 Ryal's Pass. 
 
 " There's whar they'll come," she would say, "right 
 through that gorge whar Ey'l Owen hid from the Injins, 
 when they do come to 'possess the goodly land."' 
 
 Her grey hairs and solemn, assured manner made her 
 words very impressive. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 89 
 
 It was hard for my mother to bear up against such 
 depressing influences, but she was a brave woman, despite 
 her simple domesticity, and never added a feather's weight 
 to another's burden by speaking of her own. By these 
 influences I was kept, doing the little that was entrusted 
 to me, but chafing always because it was so little while 
 such great deeds were waiting for willing hands. 
 
 Then the fourth year came. How shall I write of those 
 dark days ? No tale of heroism can lighten their horror! 
 A torn and bleeding country ! The tide of battle sweeping 
 by our very doors ! My grandmother's sanguinary forecast 
 realized I Herself a victim of war's ruthless savagery and I 
 — her best-beloved, who had received the blessing that 
 should have rested on the head of her son — I the unwit- 
 ting instrument of her death ! No, no I Let me not say it 
 — let me not think it ! If the battle's awful voice chant- 
 ed her requiem let me hope that He whose words her dying 
 eyes perused ordered her end in peace ! 
 
 The agony of this terrible time comes to me through 
 the intervening years with a vividness that beads my brow 
 with woful drops. Have patience with my weakness, gen- 
 tle reader, and let me turn away from the horrors of war 
 for a little while, to consider one of its lessons. Perchance 
 I may thereby gain strength to relate the ghastly facts that 
 are forever photographed upon my memory. 
 
 That year no birthday letter came. The man of 
 destiny had appeared — the relentless butcher to whom noth- 
 
90 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 ing was of any moment save the task which fate had set him 
 to.perform — and genius and valor were alike vain before his 
 resistless will. From that time until the end, the roar of 
 battle was too continuous to give breathing time for senti- 
 ment. I was afterwards to learn how heavily the thought 
 of the future rested on my father's heart in these tumultu- 
 ous days. 
 
CHAPTER XIT. 
 
 To the North, the unanimity with which the Southern 
 people espoused the cause of the Confederacy is even yet 
 an insoluble mystery. Hardly more than half a million 
 of them were actual owners of slaves. Perhaps two mil- 
 lions more may be said to have had an interest, near or 
 remote, actual or contingent, in this sort of property. 
 According to the theory of the struggle which has been 
 accepted by the North, that it was solely a war for 
 the perpetuation of slavery, two-thirds of our people 
 engaged in a conflict in the result of which they had 
 no interest, unless perhaps an adverse one. To account for 
 this fact, the North have invented the curious theory that 
 the common people of the South were, because of their igno- 
 rance, either driven or led whithersoever the slave-holding 
 element desired. There could not be a more palpable fal- 
 sification of a very simple truth. The whites of the South 
 were practically a unit in regard to two things: — First, the 
 right of a people to elect not only their own form of gov- 
 ernment but also their OM'n national affiliations, and, second, 
 the necessity of perpetuating slavery as an institution. In 
 this latter respect they have always been regarded by the 
 91 
 
92 ETO H T T- NINE. 
 
 North as acting so inconsistently with what was termed 
 their " interests " that the theory of phenomenal ignorance 
 and absolute subservience has been invented to account 
 for it. 
 
 The key to the error may, perhaps, be found in the 
 word '^ interest." To the North it means always dollars 
 and cents. Their idea of human nature is, that it is 
 controlled entirely by economic motives. Their own hos- 
 tility to slavery was largely due to their antipatJiy for, and 
 dread of competition with, unpaid labor. Their favorite 
 theory Avas that the white man of the South would be '' bet- 
 ter off " — that is, would be able to earn more money and 
 improve his financial condition more easily — if slavery did 
 not exist, and no little part of their attention was given to 
 demonstrating this fact by comparative statistics showing 
 the growth and wealth of contrasted states. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, this was no new doctrine to 
 the Southern mind. If our common peoj)le were not so 
 apt in figures as their Yankee brethren, they knew all about 
 slavery, and had acquired their knowledge not by theory 
 but from experience. Instead of being ignorant they were, 
 in this resjject, a tliousand times better informed than their 
 Northern compeers. If the white majority of the South 
 had no proprietary interest in the slave, each and every one 
 of them liad a distinct and individual interest in the negro, 
 which no argument could remove and no sophistry ob- 
 scure. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. Qig 
 
 The " pore- white," whether educated or ignorant, hated 
 slavery. He understood perfectly well that the institution 
 was his economic enemy. On the other hand, however, he 
 hated the negro as a race — a class, a social force — even more. 
 In one sense he recognized the injustice of slavery ; but the 
 argument of the Northern abolitionist, based as it was on 
 the idea of injustice to the negro, fell on deaf ears when ad- 
 dressed to him. He had no "interest" in the negro indi- 
 vidually or collectively, and no regard for his rights. 
 Indeed, the hostility of the non-slaveholding class to 
 slavery was based very largely on the fact that it protected 
 and perpetuated the negro i-ace among us. 
 
 " If there hadn't been no slavery, there wouldn't have 
 been no niggers," was my grandmother's dogmatic asser- 
 tion. " It's the nigger that makes all the trouble in the 
 country. Ye see," she used to declare, "ever}' nigger jest 
 spiles two white men — one he crowds out till he can't git 
 nothing to do an' the other he puffs up till he won't do 
 nothing and so ain't no 'count." 
 
 A better statement of the evil effects of slavery on the 
 white man was never formulated. The Northern doctrin- 
 aires, who fulminated on the subject for half a century, saw 
 but one side of this influence and that not half so clearly 
 as it impressed itself on the mind of the poor-white of the 
 South. He went beyond even the Abolitionist in his 
 detestation of slavery, not because it was slavery nor 
 because of its injustice to the slave, but because it was 
 
94 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 an injustice to himself. Not merely in a pecuniary form 
 did he feel the sting of this great wrong, but in a sense a 
 thousand times more bitter and malign. He felt that it 
 had introduced, nourished and protected an alien and un- 
 assimilable element into our civilization — an clement that 
 ate the bread his hands should have been permitted to earn. 
 Slavery had imported the African and established him 
 upon our shores. Relieved of the burdens of life and 
 nourished with a care that a direct interest in his physical 
 Avelfare stimulated, he had increased in numbers with a 
 rapidity unequalled in history. Even with the odds of 
 immigration against him, he had greatly outstripped the 
 whites in comparative growth in all the older states of the 
 South. Separated from the whites by the impassable gulf 
 of distinctive race and color, the slaves became a force 
 which, allied with the power of capital invested in them, 
 threatened not only the pecuniary interest of the non- 
 slaveholding class, but even its liberties and its existence. 
 Like all fictitious rights, slavery crept into our South- 
 ern republics under the plea of subserving the public wel- 
 fare. The New World offered an apparently inexhaustible 
 field of labor. The very fertility which gave promise of 
 rich returns enhanced the antecedent toil on which its 
 prosperity was conditioned. The slaves at the outset were 
 few ; the environments of our life primeval. No one 
 dreamed that labor would become a drug and opportunity 
 a thing so rare, that men would be compelled to beg the 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 95 
 
 privilege of using hand or brain in self-support. They 
 were brought in to fell the forest, to clear the soil and do the 
 Avork there were not -white hands enough to perform. They 
 were expected to be the purveyors and subservers of our 
 new civilization and then to die — to disappear as so many 
 peoples have before the face of our boastful modern benefi- 
 cence and all-embracing charity. 
 
 The general prosperity was to be promoted by increas- 
 ing the area in cultivation and permitting the white man 
 to devote his energies to more profitable and congenial oc- 
 cupations. Under this specious claim slavery obtained a 
 status that enabled it finally to defy the law. When it 
 came to prove itself a curse rather than a blessing to the 
 people, not only the plea of vested right, but a threat of 
 public peril, was preferred in its behalf. The legal recog- 
 nition it had with difficulty secured under the claim, not 
 of right but of public advantage, was now urged as an 
 indeterminable license by which investments in slaves were 
 made forever sacred from impairment by public enactment. 
 
 The sis hundred thousand slaveholders of the South 
 would have been impotent enough against her seven mil- 
 lions of free men but for this citadel of legal privilege and 
 the five billions of dollars invested in slave property. The 
 power of the institution lay in the community of interest 
 which united this privileged class and enabled it to defy 
 the power of government except when coupled with the 
 
96 EIGHTY NINE. 
 
 act of restitution. The position Avas a strong one, and has 
 many parallels in the history of civilization. 
 
 ''Let slavery be esttiblished," was its primal plea, 
 ''and the public prosperity will be enhanced. Slavery is 
 not a right but a privilege to be granted for the public ad- 
 vantage. " 
 
 The privilege having been granted by specific act in 
 several of the colonies and by tacit permission in others, the 
 class having a specific interest thus obtained cried out at 
 once : 
 
 " This is our vested right. The public welfare has 
 nothing to do with our privilege. AVe have the right to 
 do as we will with our own and nothing must be done to 
 impair our advantage over our fellows. Ours has become 
 a class interest the value of which the public is bound to 
 protect. However perilous slavery may be to the common 
 weal/ we are innocent investors in a business recognized by 
 law and therefore forever sacred from legal interference.^' 
 
 This is the universal history of legal privilege. At 
 first it professes to consider only the public welfare ; then 
 it pleads license or prescriptive right in defiance of public 
 good. 
 
 Whenever sjsecial opportunity, excej^tional power or 
 special immunity are granted to individuals or classes in 
 vague or indeterminate form, they are certain to become 
 bonds which can only be broken by long and eventful strug- 
 gle — perhaps knots which only the sword can sunder. 
 
EIGHTY NINK. 97 
 
 The contest betv/een the slave power and the individ- 
 ual right of the non-slaveholding white man at the South 
 is a curious cliapter in our history. In every state the in- 
 stinct of the freeman was constantly pressing the privilege 
 of the master. To the l^orthern mind the advantage 
 seemed always to be on the part of the privileged class. 
 The North thought only of the slave and his relations to 
 freedom. Our people never once considered this. It 
 was only tlie right and interest of the white man they 
 had in view. Of tlie slave they only thought us an inimi- 
 cal force. The only purpose of legislating in regard to him 
 was to keep him from injuring others. He was one-third 
 — in certain limited areas, one half — of our population, yet 
 in three-quarters of a century not a single act designed 
 for his betterment or advantage can be found on the statute 
 book of any southern state. We legislated to limit his privi- 
 leges, to restrict his intelligence, to guard against his ma-s- 
 ter's weak indulgence, to bar the presum})tion of freedom 
 and prevent the extinction of racial disabilities by admix- 
 ture of blood ; but not one line or sentence or syllable de- 
 signed to render his estate more tolerable or to facilitate his 
 elevation to a higher plane of development, can be found 
 in our legislation. No such thing occurred to us as de- 
 sirable. The negi'o being among us, we were simjily im- 
 pelled to protect the white race against his natural forces. 
 
 Yet the power of the slaveholders, as a class, was con- 
 stantly being circumscribed. Specific privilege was limit- 
 
98 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 ed, taxation was more rigorously imposed, the pecuniary 
 qualifications of officers and electors were gradually re- 
 duced, government was localized and power distributed. 
 The conflict was a slow, and might have been an unending 
 one, but for the events which occurred. Yet such as it 
 was, it was a fight for liberty— not the "irrepressible con- 
 flict" for ihQ slave's liberty, of which the Xorth prated so 
 loudly, but a struggle for the fuller liberty and broader 
 opportunity of the white race. 
 
 There were three considerations that prevented the 
 non-slaveholding white men of the South from combining 
 for its destruction. None of these arose from any lack of 
 knowledge of established facts or economic principles. 
 Some of them were based on social theories, which may 
 have been false, but have not yet been proved untrue. 
 
 The first of these influences was the fact that the 
 slaveholding class, although an aristocracy existing by vir- 
 tue of legal privilege, was free and flexible in its character. 
 No impassable barrier marked its limits. Any one might 
 come within its confines who was able to own a slave. It 
 was a purchasable patent of nobility which, instead of 
 losing its value as the number of its possessors increased, 
 became all the more valuable with each accession to their 
 ranks. Because of this fact, it may be said that all the 
 more active and aggressive elements of the non-slavehold- 
 ing class were, in effect, prospective owners of slaves. They 
 hoped either to be able to own slaves themselves or that 
 
ETGHTT-NINE. 99 
 
 their children wonld do so. It was the object of a reasona- 
 ble and proper ambition, and, of course, those who possessed 
 it were affected by the same feeling of self-interest that an- 
 imated the actual masters. They had no motive to limit 
 detrimentally the privilege they aspired to enjoy. 
 
 In the same manner and for the same reason the self- 
 supporting people of the North failed to limit and restrain 
 the power of aggregated capital and combined monopolj'^, 
 by which men were made millionaires a hundred times over 
 by the unlawful gains they wrung from those whose inter- 
 ests were subjected to their control as absolutely as the 
 slave's labor was under the control of the master. Every 
 enterprising man hoped some time to be a millionaire, or at 
 least to see his son become one, through the use of the same 
 agencies. They did not pretend that the means employed 
 were right or proper ones, but they separated business from 
 morals and declared that it was not a question of right and 
 wrong, but a simple matter of ''^smartness." The man 
 who was " smart" enough to overreach his fellows and put 
 into his own pocket what should rightfully be distributed 
 to others, was free to enter the ranks of the millionaire aris- 
 tocracy of the North— an aristocracy more rapacious, re- 
 lentless and oppressive than slavery ever was and a hundred 
 times more detrimental to the interest of the masses. Six 
 hundred thousand men wielded the power of slavery with 
 its five billion dollars of actual investment in defiance of 
 the real interest of seven or eight millions of freemen. 
 
100 EIGHTY NINE. 
 
 But at the North the aristocracy of legal privilege, which 
 had grown out of a purelj' mercenary aspiration, was much 
 more alarming. Less than one hundred men — aye, less than 
 ten — controlled with absolute autocratic power the four 
 billions of actual investment and the four billions of abso- 
 lute " water ^' which represented the great transportation 
 monopoly. Of the six hundred millions of dollars these 
 men amassed for themselves, nine dollars out of every ten 
 Avere the fruit of robbery as flagrant as the master's ravish- 
 ment of the slave's toil — robbery, not of a servile race or 
 by mere oppression of the laborer, but robbery of the best 
 and bravest, the most intelligent and most enterprising of 
 that land of boasted intelligence and liberty, robbery of the 
 jjroducer and consumer, robbery of the buyer and seller, 
 of the shijjper and receiver, of the farmer of the west and 
 the manufacturer of the east, of every one who burned a 
 pound of coal or ate an ounce of bread — nay, even robbery 
 of their own allies and associates, the stockholders and co- 
 investors who hoped (and by the honor common among 
 thieves were entitled) to share the profits of the privileges 
 which the state had conferred upon them. 
 
 These enormous fortunes were accumulated by the 
 open, notorious and acknowledged spoliation of thirty mil- 
 lions of the most intelligent and conscientious freemen the 
 world has ever seen, who were induced, first, to prepare 
 the instrument for their own subjugation and then to pro- 
 tect and strengthen the power thus conferred, because each 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 101 
 
 hoped, in oue way and another, by himself or his offspring, 
 to take advantage of this machinery to lift himself above 
 his fellows. They did not regard the privileges by which 
 Gonld, Vanderbilt and their fellows were enabled to ac- 
 cumnlate such enormous fortunes, as especially sacred ; but 
 every one thought either that he might somehow be bene- 
 fitted by the same agencies himself or that perchance he 
 had among his domestic brood the tinancial magnate of the 
 future, who would wield these very agencies so as to eclipse 
 all past magnificence. 
 
 It ought not to have been a hard thing for such a people 
 to understand why the more intelligent and enterprising of 
 the Southern non-slaveholders were not only in favor of 
 slavery but willing to fight for its perpetuation. 
 
 The possible baton in his knapsack made the French 
 soldier of Napoleon's wars the most patient of hardship 
 and amenable to discipline that the world has ever known. 
 The possible million in some future steal made the in- 
 telligent thirty millions of the north the most docile and 
 subservient of slaves. Their pity for the negro proved to 
 be only sympathy with his lack of opportunity. If he had 
 had a chance to enslave as well as to be enslaved, they 
 would probably never have been animated with such fiery 
 zeal against an institution at least as beneficent m its char- 
 acter and results as their own system of financial bucca- 
 neering. 
 
 But if the non-slaveholder of the South was linked to 
 
102 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 slavery by his aspirations and inclined to battle for the privi- 
 lege of owning a slave, should he desire to do so, he was 
 even more distinctly arrayed against its extermination both 
 by his fear and by his pride. The line between slavery 
 and freedom was the boundary of race. It is true the slave 
 was in some cases as white as the master, but the presump- 
 tion of freedom went always with the white skin, and 
 the law in such case required proof to establish the condi- 
 tion of servitude. On the other side of the line all this 
 was reversed. The presumption of bondage attached to the 
 fact of color, and specific proof was required to establish 
 freedom. To make the negro free was to abolish this dis- 
 tinction. " A white man would be no better than a nigger, 
 if the nigger had all a white man's rights" was the univer- 
 sal and conclusive argument against the continuance of 
 federal power in those states, under an administration i^ro- 
 fessedly hostile to slavery. 
 
 There was, too, a horror of race admixture which has 
 always been ridiculed by the Xorth because of its seeming 
 inconsistency. It was hardy deemed an immorality for 
 white blood to be mingled with the servile current in the 
 veins of a slave. It may be questioned if a single family 
 of slave owners could be found who had not cousins of very 
 close degree among their slaves. This was so frequent as 
 to occasion no remark except, now and then, in a case of 
 great cruelty being perpetrated upon them. The non- 
 slaveholder took the same lenient view of such relations ; 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 103 
 
 but any approach to reversing this rule and corrupting 
 white blood with a servile admixture was not to be toler- 
 ated — the mere suspicion produced instant and ineffaceable 
 degradation. The idea of legitimizing such relations 
 awakened a storm of wrath that spared neither sex nor 
 race. The master might sell his own flesh and blood with- 
 out remark, but if he attempted to free and educate them, 
 he aAvakened at once a universal feeling of resentment. 
 The people of the South have always believed that such 
 legitimized race admixture would be an inevitable result of 
 equal civil and political privilege. As long as there is a dis- 
 tinction of privilege they feel safe ; beyond that limit they 
 fear irremediable corruption of blood. 
 
 This feeling has been termed instinct, prejudice, folly. 
 It is claimed to be the fruit of slavery, yet it seems to be 
 inherent in all Anglo-Saxon peoples at least. K'o negro, 
 known and recognized as such, has ever held a social 
 position in any part of what lately constituted the United 
 States, at all on a par with the whites, or been regarded as a 
 legitimate part of white society. This is just as true of 
 the North as of the South. 
 
 The same seems to be true of our English cousins. A 
 left-handed marriage with an Indian woman was once 
 thought a very reasonable preparation for high rank in the 
 East Indian service, but no English woman has stepped 
 across the line of color and afterwards held a recognized place 
 in English society. It is not strange, therefore, that this 
 
104 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 singular race apprehension, joined with the other causes 
 mentioned, should have made the South practically a unit 
 in favor of secession. .Some of the mountain regions, where 
 there were few slaves and the poor-white's hatred of the 
 institution overcame his fear of race aggression, adhered to 
 the union. As soon as the war ended, however, and this 
 class beheld the result in the emancipation and enfranchise- 
 ment of the negro, they became the most bitter and violent 
 enemies, not only of that race, but of all who favored its 
 elevation. So malignant had this feeling grown toward 
 the last that I often trembled lest it should break out into 
 massacre before confidence could be restored by the happy 
 termination of recent events. 
 
 It is these things which the North is too wise to credit, 
 and too self-confident to understand, that made the white 
 people of the South a unit on the side of the Confederacy, 
 more compact and impenetrable by Northern influence and 
 sentiment than any invaded people not separated by a dis- 
 tinct language ever was before. It is these very influences 
 which kept it " solid " through almost a generation of hard- 
 ship, oppression and temptation and finally gave it an 
 unparalleled triumph over the enemies who laughed at 
 its sincerity, mocked at its jirotests and prated of its 
 "■'interests." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It was these influences that crowded tlie ranks of the 
 Confederate army with the old and the young, the rich and 
 the poor of the South, until a larger proportion of her free- 
 Hmen were arrayed in her defence than any nation of modern 
 times has ever sent to battle. When the limit had been 
 reached and there were literally no more between the cra- 
 dle and the grave to answer to her summons — when genius 
 and devotion had done their utmost — the enemy began to 
 prevail. The weight of overwhelming numbers then only 
 pushed back the fainting legions. By the third midsummer 
 after my father's departure the thunder of the enemy's guns 
 broke upon us at Ryalmont. For a year the tide of battle 
 had been drawing nearer and nearer. At every interven- 
 ing obstacle we had looked, confidently but vainly, for it 
 to be stayed. It had crept inch by inch from the banks of 
 the Ohio, across the Cumberland and the Tennessee, and 
 into the mountains that buttressed the heart of the Con- 
 federacy. 
 
 For a month our valley had been a part of the seat of 
 war. The slaves, all but the women, children and old 
 men, had been impressed for work on the entrenchments. 
 Back of the army of white men who fought our battles was 
 the army of colored men who prepared the defences of the 
 105 
 
106 EIGHTY NINE. 
 
 Confederacy. Every crest was crowned with its line of 
 works. That which sheltered our army at this time had 
 been erected six months before in prescient anticipation of 
 tlie very thing that finally occurred. 
 
 I had watched the erection of these works with great 
 interest, riding back and fortli through the intricacies of 
 Ryal's Pass, to observe their progress. I wondered that no 
 special attention was given to the protection of its outlet, 
 and finally ventured to call the attention of the officer 
 in charge to it. My suggestion met the fate so often 
 accorded the advice of the intermeddler. It was not only 
 disregarded but sneered at as the notion of a country strip- 
 ling. The officer intimated that I might do to command 
 "twenty niggers •' — the number required to exempt from 
 conscription — but had better not try to run the army of 
 Northern Georgia. I was too shame-smitten to resent the 
 insult. More than once, after the enemy had crossed the 
 mountain range beyond, I crept through the neglected pass 
 and watched their camp-fires. It was a curious sensation, 
 looking down from my perch among the laurel-crested 
 crags upon the camp of the invaders. 
 
 Among the few slaves who had been left in the valley 
 was Jack. I hardly know how he had escaped impress- 
 ment. He was taken once to work in the government 
 gunshops, but after a few weeks returned without my re- 
 quest. Upon inquiry it was learned that he seemed to have 
 no capacity for such work, having destroyed more than his 
 
EIOHTT-NINE. 107 
 
 labor was worth. Knowing his skill, we were surprised at 
 this, and though he was not punished he was severely re- 
 buked. Upon consultation with the officer in charge I 
 found him fully convinced of Jack^s willingness and thor- 
 oughly satisfied of his stupidity. He evidently pitied me 
 for having supposed him capable of such Avork. 
 
 "It is something different from hanging a plantation 
 gate," he said, with a patronizing smile. 
 
 I was confident that Jack had shirked, but after this 
 did not insist on his return, although with our reduced in- 
 come the hire he would have received was a thing not un- 
 worthy of consideration. Skilled workmen were scarce in 
 the Confederacy, and having the management of our lim- 
 ited resources, I felt that Jack was not acting well in re- 
 fusing his help at such a crisis, on account of mere home- 
 sickness. "We did not think of attributing his disinclina- 
 tion to any other cause. 
 
 The valley was full of soldiers. The sick and wounded 
 who were brought from the front passed constantly 
 along the road below the house. Though there were 
 no troops stationed in that part of the valley there was 
 a division encamped a short distance below, to guard a 
 pass that led to the southward. This was the situation 
 when fighting began on the other side of the moun- 
 tain. Despite our alarm, I could not resist the temptation 
 to go through the gap and see what I might of the engage- 
 ment. Hiding my horse in a thicket, I clambered up the 
 
108 EIGHT J NINE 
 
 sharp side of the gleu until I reached a position where, 
 screened from observation by the undergrowth, I saw the 
 enemy beaten back again and again from the line of our 
 works. It was dark when I returned. The news of our 
 victory had preceded me. The enemy had been hurled 
 back triumphantly along our entire front. AVhat exulta- 
 tion filled our people's hearts I Bonfires were lighted in 
 the city's streets within sound of the enemy's occasional 
 guns. My mother was jubilant. My grandmother even 
 was hopeful that the end had come. 
 
 Jack asked anxiously about the result. His solicitude 
 touched me, and I told him all that I had heard, assuring 
 him that the Yankee army was in full retreat and would be 
 heard of no more in that region. I did not once suspect 
 the good fellow's sincerity. Perhaps if I had not been an 
 Elspre, I should. 
 
 The Elspres were Huguenots who had come over to 
 South Carolina at the King's expense in 1679. With them 
 slavery had been a patriarchal institution. It was their 
 boast that an Elspre sometimes bought, but never sold, a 
 slave. There had never been a runaway among their servants, 
 and blows had been so rare that the influence of the family 
 was accounted derogatory to good discipline in the region 
 Avhere they lived. Yet they were thrifty planters and very 
 proud of the efficiency of the force they worked. My 
 mother had the characteristics of her people, and as my 
 father really left the control of her property in her own 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 109 
 
 hands, the Elspre rule had extended to our family, so that 
 such a thing as lack of confidence in a slave was almost un- 
 known with us. 
 
 Jack had been bought by my mother's father because 
 Vicey, my mother's maid, had fallen violently in love with 
 him. When we removed to the Grove, Vicey had remained 
 with her husband and children at Eyalmont. On our re- 
 turn she had resumed her former duties. Between mistress 
 and maid there was a very warm attachment, my mother 
 often remarking that Vicey seemed more like a companion 
 than a servant. She was very fair, of a sweet and gentle 
 disposition, and beloved by us all except my grandmother, 
 who always insisted that she " could not abide a nigger 
 that hadn't color enough to show." As she had been my 
 nurse I was greatly attached to her. Despite her gentle- 
 ness she had unusual strength of character, and it was a 
 standing jest in the family that one so strong and fair 
 should have become infatuated with Jack, who was ac- 
 counted weak and petulant as well as insignificant in ap- 
 pearance. But there was no doubt of their sincere attach- 
 ment for each other, and it could not be deuied that the 
 ingenious fellow had surrounded her with comforts not to 
 be found in any other slave cabin in that region. It was 
 no wonder she was devoted to my mothei", to whose favor 
 she owed so much. 
 
 It was the second night after the battle. The full 
 moon of June was looking into the window yonder, when 
 
no EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 there came a tap upon the casement and an anxious voice 
 just raised above a whisj)er called : 
 
 "MarseEy'l! Marse Ry'l ! " 
 
 I sprang up and ran to the window. It was Vicey. 
 She was standing under the apple-tree, which has since 
 grown so that its arms reach clean across the frame. It 
 only touched the side then. She was in the shadow, but 
 the moonlight came through a break in the leafy screen 
 and fell upon her face. I saw it was pale and full of ap- 
 prehension. 
 
 " The Yankees is coming, Marse Ey'l I" 
 
 I wonder it did not occur to me as strange that she 
 should make this whispered announcement to me, instead 
 of going to my mother's room. If I thought of it at all, 
 it was only that she feared to alarm her mistress, for the 
 words brought a terrible revulsion after the exaltation of 
 victory. I think my voice must have trembled as I asked: 
 
 ''Where?" 
 
 "Through the Pass, Marse Ry'l." 
 
 " The Pass," at Eyalmont, meant the gap named after 
 my ancestor. The mouth of it lay plain before me, the great 
 jaws, black with shadow, but the smooth jDlateau on Avhich 
 it opened fair and clear in the white moonlight, cut in a 
 wavering line by the sharp narrow bed of the mountain 
 torrent that had made its way through the debris of a 
 mightier tide which once flowed through the Pass. 
 
 I looked in vain for the blue-clad forms that had be- 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. HI 
 
 come familiar to my eyes in the valley beyond. Their ab- 
 sence, however, did not incline me to doubt. I think I 
 had always expected that what might so easily be done 
 would be done, so that the announcement awoke no sur- 
 prise. Strangely enough, I seemed just then to be oblivi- 
 ous to everything except the fact that my favorite mare, 
 Jessica, was tethered in a glen that led out of the Pass not 
 far from the entrance. She had been hidden there for a 
 long time to avoid theft or impressment for the public ser- 
 vice. A somewhat aged carriage horse and a single mule 
 were the only working stock we had been able to keep at 
 Ryalmont. What was not impressed had been stolen, and 
 the presence of the army made recovery impossible. I was 
 anxious to save the mare, which was not only a favorite 
 but a present from my grandfather Elspre. Only Jack 
 knew where she was hidden. 
 
 " I must save Jessica," I said, as I turned away from 
 the window and began to hurry on my clothes. 
 
 " You needn't be troubled 'bout de mar', Marse Ry'l. 
 She's here wid de saddle all on." 
 
 " Here ? Who brought her ? " 
 
 "Jack." 
 
 I finished dressing and sj)rang through the window. 
 Standing beside the girl I could see Jessica tied to an over- 
 hanging limb a few stejjs away. Again my eyes scanned 
 the opening of the Pass. 
 
 " What makes you think they are coming, Vicey ? " I 
 
112 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 asked, beginning for the first time to doubt her words. I 
 held my breath and listened. 
 
 " Jack tole me so," — doggedly. 
 
 '' How did he find out ? " 
 
 " Don't know. Seed ^em I reckon," — carelessly. 
 
 " Has he been across T' — through the Pass, I meant. 
 
 " S'pose so. Anyhow he said they'd be here long 'bout 
 daylight." 
 
 " He hurried back to save Jessica and give the alarm, 
 did he ? " 
 
 " I reckon so, Mahster," answered Vicey, turning away 
 her head. " He geared up the wagon, too." 
 
 " That was thoughtful of hira. Jack's a good boy ;" — 
 then emphatically, " Vicey !" 
 
 " Marse Ey'l." She turned with an involuntary cour- 
 tesy as she spoke. 
 
 "Jack thought they would be here by daylight, did 
 he?" 
 
 '"Long 'bout that time, sah.' 
 
 " Two hours yet." I said to myself, glancing at the 
 moon. "Vicey ? " 
 
 "Sah?" 
 
 "Wake my mother as soon as I am gone.** 
 
 "Yes, sah." 
 
 " Tell Jack to have everything ready to drive to the 
 Grove." 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 113 
 
 ''Jack!'' — alarm and surprise in her tone. '"'But 
 Marse Ey'l— " 
 
 *' I know he don't want to leave here, but he'll have 
 to." 
 
 '' Ob co'se — ob co'se — All right, sah," hurriedly. 
 
 " Tell Jack to take the family to the Grove with their 
 clothes and valuables — nothing else. They will have an 
 hour's start at least." 
 
 I turned back into the room, buckled on a revolver, 
 slung over my shoulder a carbine my father had sent me, 
 and was back again in a moment. The girl still stood un- 
 der the tree. 
 
 " You understand, Vicey. Wake my mother at once, 
 and be sure they get off in time — They'd better take some 
 provisions, too — a ham or two and a skillet. There's no 
 knowing what might happen." 
 
 ''Yes, sah, but whar you gwine, Marse Ry'l ?" 
 
 She sprang forward and grasj^ed my arm as I leaped 
 into the saddle. 
 
 " I am going to General Johnston," I replied through 
 my shut teeth. " We will see if the Yankees are going to 
 get through Ryal's Pass without a fight." 
 
 " Oh Marse Ey'l !" exclaimed the girl in terrified tones, 
 as she clung to my arm, " 'Taint no use. 'Taint no use. 
 Jack—" 
 
 " It won't do to send him," I answered ; "I am not 
 
114 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 sure they will even believe me. How many did he say 
 there were ?" 
 
 '' Oil, de whole army — de whole army ! " she exclaimed, 
 waving her hand in tragic exaggeration. 
 
 " Of course," I responded. '•' It would naturally be a 
 movement in force. But if we can get some cannon on the 
 hill here, they can never make their way out. Have Jack 
 get the folks away quick, Vicey. You and the children go 
 with them. There'll be a big fight right here." 
 
 I broke away from her detaining grasp and galloped 
 down the winding carriage-way to the road. 
 
 " Oh Marse Ey'l ! Marse Ry'l ! " I heard her call, in 
 evident distress at my danger, as I rode away. 
 
 Her devotion touched me. I thought as I sped along 
 the road to the General's quarters, how self-deceived or hypo- 
 critical the Yankees were in pretending that these i^eople 
 desired to be free. I determined to reward Vicey for her 
 faithfulness. If Jack's information should save the army, 
 I wondered if the country Avould not set him free. It was 
 a curious unreal romance of the slave's devotion and the 
 master's gratitude which my fancy wove as Jessica bore me 
 swiftly along the white road in the still morning moon- 
 light. The mountain rose dark and silent on my left. 
 Through its gloomy recesses the foe were feeling their un- 
 certain way. Off to the right stretched the undulating 
 valley with its hosts of slumbering defenders. Would 
 they Avake in time to thwart the enemy's design ? I 
 
EIGHTY. NINE, 115 
 
 urged the mare to her utmost speed. The trees that over- 
 hung the road flew by Hke winged messengers of fate. The 
 road with its coat of white, dew-laden dust muflfled her 
 hoof-strokes and sped backward beneath her feet like a 
 swift-flowing river. 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 A rifle barrel gleamed in the moonlight. I drew rein 
 so quickly that the mare fell back upon her haunches. 
 
CHAPTER XrV. 
 
 Instead of going to the lieadquarters of the command- 
 ing general, accident liad brought me to the tent of tlie 
 impetuous leader of the left wing. A few words served 
 to explain the situation. Instantly orders were issued and 
 staff officers were soon galloping in every direction. A mo- 
 ment afterwards, bugle calls were sounding and regiments 
 mustering in the bright moonlight all over the valley. 
 While I was yet wondering at the perfectness of the organi- 
 zation which in an instant transforms a sleeping host into 
 an alert and efficient army, a squadron of cavalry dashed 
 by on its way to the point of danger, followed a moment 
 after by a battery of artillery, which galloped off in the 
 same direction. Then came the hasty tramp of infantry, 
 and a regiment of Hood's veterans filed past. The alarm 
 had extended over the whole valley, and the men, with the 
 quick instinct of the Southern soldier forecasting the cause 
 of it, talked as they went past of the enemy coming through 
 an unguarded pass on the left. 
 
 I desired to return at once, but in the excitement I had 
 been forgotten, and the officer in whose charge I was placed 
 did not feel at liberty to allow me to go. It was half an 
 hour before I received permission. Then the road was 
 crowded with troops of all arms hurrying towards the mouth 
 116 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 117 
 
 of Eyal's Pass. Already firing was heard in the direction of 
 the glen. The information I had given had proved reliable, 
 and redoubled efforts were made to push on the struggling 
 column to meet the threatened attack. Being well acquaint- 
 ed with the region, I pressed forward through by-paths and 
 country- ways, anxious for the fate of Ryalmont. 
 
 As I drew near the tumult grew fiercer. The rattle of 
 musketry came closer and closer, and finally seemed to be 
 thrown out into the open plain. The tale H told was not 
 difficult to interpret. The foremost of our forces, advanc- 
 ing into the glen, had encountered the head of the Federal 
 column, and after a short skirmish had been pushed back- 
 ward by sheer force of numbers, into the half- wooded re- 
 gion at the mouth. When I came in sight of the Pass 
 the day was breaking, and blue-coated hosts were debouch- 
 ing, regiment after regiment, from the mouth of the glen. 
 Our forces were closing in upon them, rapidly j)ressing the 
 skirmishers back upon the main line, which was already 
 throwing up works to protect the entrance to the valley they 
 had so successfully secured. 
 
 As I came upon the crest of a hill just across the val- 
 ley from Ryalmont, I could see a battery getting into position 
 on the plateau above the house, and caught the gleam of the 
 bayonets of its infantry support in the shrubbery that lined 
 the slope below. As I crossed the intervening space the 
 roar of artillery joined the clatter of musketry, I could 
 hear the shells exploding in the mouth of the Pass, and felt 
 
118 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 that they were inflicting serious damage on the crowded 
 columns of the enemy. Then the sound of firing in the 
 valley grew louder, and I knew that the enemy's infantry 
 were charging across the bottom to rid themselves of this 
 annoyance by capturing the plateau of Ryalmont. As I 
 dashed across the road and up the sharp slope to the house, 
 our weak line was driven backward, and the &\\q,v]} pijig of 
 minie balls was heard as they struck the rocky hillside or cut 
 the twigs overhead. A glance assured me that the house was 
 deserted, and, tethering my horse in its shelter, I sprang 
 down the slope to the line that was re-forming under the 
 cover of our guns, and, with the carbine I carried, joined 
 in the fray. The fire of our infantry and artillery com- 
 bined had been too much for the enemy, who had ceased 
 their pursuit, though they still held the line of the creek in 
 our front. They were screened in this position from the 
 fire of our guns by the sharp second banks of the rivulet 
 which made a natural breast-high parapet before them and, 
 hidden from the infantry by the fringe of willows that grew 
 along the banks, while they could not advance, they re- 
 pulsed without difficulty a counter charge which was made 
 at once, and our men were driven back to the shelter of the 
 crest of Ryalmont. Our artillery commanded the point of 
 debouchment, but a sharp turn in the Pass deprived it of 
 any effective range within. The rising sun threw our gun- 
 ners into sharp relief, but made the shadow about the 
 mouth of the Pass even darker by comparison. The fire 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 119 
 
 of our guns was directed towards the enemy in the valley 
 and those who were throwing up works on the opposite 
 crest. For some time no troops had issued from the Pass, 
 and it seemed to me we might be able to overpower the 
 force which had already made its way through, before others 
 could come to their aid. I mentioned this to a veteran 
 officer of the line who sat beside me under the shelter of the 
 shrubbery of Kyalmont. 
 
 "Can't be done," said he with the utmost noncha- 
 lance. " If we had men enough and guns enough we might 
 hold them back, but we can't afford it. That Pass is like 
 a gateway in a wall too high to climb — one man can hold 
 it shut, against a dozen trying to force it open. I expect 
 they are massing a little way back in the Pass now, ready 
 to come out M^hen they're wanted. All we can do is to keep 
 them blocked up there long enough to let our army get 
 away, and we may not be able to do even that. The trou- 
 ble with the Yankees is that there are too many of them. 
 Look there, noAv ! " 
 
 As he spoke, there came a flash, another and another, 
 from the black mouth of the Pass, and then an angry, con- 
 tinuous roar. The enemy had placed their guns in battery 
 under cover of the shadow, until they outnumbered ours 
 upon the crest, two to one. 
 
 " We may as well get back from here," said the officer, 
 rising and giving the word to his command. " They will 
 rake this hill as clean as if they used a fine-tooth comb, as 
 
120 EIGIITY-XINE. 
 
 soon as they've done with the artillery, which won't be long 
 at this rate." 
 
 Some of our guns were evidently disabled, as our fire 
 was already slackening visibly. 
 
 " Know whose house that is ? " said the officer, glancing 
 admiringly at the quaint structure as we passed it on our 
 way back. 
 
 " Indeed ! " he said, with a polite shrug in response to 
 mv reply, '' Fm sorry for it. Your horse, up there ? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " Better get it away while you can.'' 
 
 ''Why?" 
 
 " Wliy ? Good God ! man, what do you suppose will 
 be left of that house when the Yankees stop firing ? " 
 
 'a don't know." 
 
 '' Don't know '^ Well I'll tell you — two chimneys." 
 
 " Why should they destroy it ?" 
 
 ''Oh/' said he, gaily, "its a way they have. Don't 
 you know you can trace the path of that army clean to the 
 Ohio by the chimneys that are left without any houses to 
 hold them up ? They make a good mark, you see, and the 
 Yankees are famous gunners. There's no denying that, 
 and I 'spose it's fun to knock a house to pieces a mile away. 
 Besides that, if left standing, it might give shelter to — rats 
 or rebs, and the Yankees are down on both. Here's the 
 artillery," he added as a smoking gun, with a half disabled 
 team and gunners covered with sweat and dust and some 
 
EIGHTY-NINE, 1211 
 
 of them splashed with blood, came dashing down the drive. 
 " What did I tell you ? They don't mean to leave you even 
 the chimneys." 
 
 As he spoke a shell struck the top of one of the chim- 
 neys, and an instant after one came crashing through the 
 oak Avhich stood at the gable. Then there was a sharp ex- 
 plosion, the rattle of glass, a neigh of agony from the strick- 
 en mare and a long shrill shriek. 
 
 My heart stood still with horror. Could it be that the 
 family had remained despite my warning ? Where was 
 Jack, and the wagon ? I remembered seeing it standing 
 by the roadside as I galloped away. The officer would have 
 detained me, but I broke from his grasp and sprang up the 
 path to the house. The mare hobbled towards me holding 
 up a shattered fore leg with a pathetic whinney. 1 could 
 not take time even to end her misery. 
 
 Tlie door was fastened within. I burst it open and en- 
 tered. Before the window, which commanded a view of the 
 Pass, sat my grandmother. Her head rested against the 
 high-backed chair and her hand lay upon an open book in 
 her lap. Beside her knelt Vicey, shrieking and shivering 
 with terror. The walls were scarred by pieces of the shell 
 which had entered at the window. The aged face was 
 peaceful as in slumber. Only a line of blood trickling out 
 from under the grey hair told that it was death. 
 
 I staggered to a chair and sat gazing on the pale still 
 face. I will not try to picture my agony. Every instant I 
 
122 EIGHTT-NINE. 
 
 expected to share her fate and fervently hoped I might. 
 Before me all tlie time was the thought of my father's an- 
 guish. This was the fruit of my disobedience. I saw it all. 
 When the others fled she had refused to go, trusting, no 
 doubt, to her grey hairs to save her from harm, perhaps not 
 thinking or not knowing what battle means to those within 
 its verge. The faithful slave had remained, remembering 
 her duty while I had forgotten mine. Now that I had come, 
 the terrors of the battle were too much for her, however. 
 She fled and left me with the dead, slain through my neg- 
 lect. 
 
 I do not know how long the battle lasted. I hoped 
 each gun that was fired would end my woe. I sat gazing 
 vacantly at the dead face until the cannon ceased to roar, 
 and only scattering rifle shots were heard on the other side 
 of the house. The tide of battle was ebbing towards the 
 valley. The enemy held EyaFs Pass. My effort had been 
 in vain, I had betrayed my father's trust and had achieved 
 — nothing. I had left my grandmother to die, while I 
 indulged a boyish impulse to attempt some great thing. 
 Before me was the ashen face and beyond it my father's 
 reproachful gaze. "Why had not death been merciful ! 
 
 The tramp of horses crunched along the drive. A 
 bugle-call sounded almost under the window. I heard 
 strange voices but did not heed them. Sabers rattled and 
 spurs jingled. Commands were given in the queer singing 
 tones peculiar to the enemy's artillery officers. A battery 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 123 
 
 was going into position on the very crest from which ours 
 had been dislodged. I thought how it would command the 
 whole sweep of the valley. The officers dismounted and 
 came towards the house. 
 
 " That's Xumber Two's work," I heard one say in ex- 
 ulting tones. " Knocked the chimney to pieces the first 
 crack. Splendid shot that. Told Sperry to drop it just 
 ten feet, and there 'tis, through the window. Not more 
 than five feet out of the line of the other. Good practice 
 that, eh. Captain ? " 
 
 " First rate. Why didn't j^ou keep on ?'' 
 
 " Keep on ? We'd have knocked this split-stick cubby- 
 house to flinders in five minutes if the General hadn't in- 
 terfered." 
 
 " W^hat made him so particular ? They say it belongs 
 to a rebel general. Wonder if he is an old friend ?" 
 
 " I don't know about that, but I heard that the nigger 
 who showed us this hole through the mountain, made him 
 promise that neither the house nor anything about it should 
 be disturbed. I suppose tliat^s why he stoj)ped us and why 
 a guard must be put round it now. If he's given his word, 
 there won't be a leaf disturbed if we all cHq of starvation 
 guarding it." 
 
 " You don't say ? Well, now, that was good of the nig- 
 ger, wasn't it ? Blamed if I'd have been so careful if any 
 one had kept me in slavery all my life. Poor fellow ! It was 
 poor pay he got for it ! " 
 
124 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 There was no mistaking the voices, even if the words 
 had not revealed the character of the speakers. Those 
 sharp, thin, jerky tones could not be found anywhere in 
 the South. The wave of battle had swept on by me and I 
 was alone with my dead witliin the Federal lines. This 
 much I knew. It flashed upon my consciousness also that 
 Jack had piloted the Federal forces through Eyal's Pass, 
 and that these men were commending what they called 
 " his faithfulness ! " 
 
 Despite the horror of my surroundings my blood boiled 
 with indignation. I strode to the open door and said with 
 scornful emphasis : 
 
 " Gentlemen, you have praised this treacherous slave's 
 forbearance. Will you come and see how he has recom- 
 pensed his mistress' kindness ? " 
 
 They were fine looking men — evidently of some cul- 
 ture, though one would never have suspected it from their 
 intonation. They followed me silently, removing their hats 
 as they saw they were in the presence of death. One of 
 them, a red-bearded giant who wore myoptic glasses, bent 
 over the page on which the dead hand rested and read 
 aloud : 
 
 " So the King of the North shall come " 
 
 The cold hand hid all that followed. 
 
 " I hope you jaaid the rascal well for the blood he has 
 spilled," I said, hotly* 
 
 The officer gazed at me with the hard, stony glare of 
 
EIGETT-NINE. 125 
 
 the short-sighted for a moment. Then puiting his hand 
 upon my shoulder he turned me about so that I faced the 
 shattered window. Pointing through it he said, sternly : 
 
 " That is his reward ! " 
 
 There upon the ground not twenty yards away, lay the 
 form of Jack, his pinched face turned towards us with the 
 grey j^allor of death upon it. The morning sunlight fell 
 on the great dark eyes, which seemed even yet to be filled 
 with anxious apprehension. 
 
 I was positively glad that the unfaithful slave had met 
 his fate, and felt a certain nearness to the officer, who I 
 thought ajjpreciated my feeling. 
 
 " He did not live long to enjoy the price of his treach- 
 ery," I said, almost exultingly. 
 
 " What do you mean by ' the price of his treachery ' ? " 
 asked the officer. 
 
 ''The money he received for betraying his master/' I 
 answered in surprise. 
 
 " He received no money," was the cool reply. 
 
 '' No ? Then why did he do it ? " My tone must have 
 revealed my incredulity. 
 
 " To give liberty to his race," was the solemn reply. 
 
 " Well, he got his liberty," I said, bitterly. I could 
 not avoid the sneer. 
 
 " He was so anxious lest those who had been kind to 
 him should suffer by his act, that he crept up here before 
 the firing was over, and fell a victim to his faithfulness to 
 
126 EIQHTY-NTNE. 
 
 those to whom he owed only the debt of servitude. For 
 his people he became a hero ; for his mistress' sake a mar- 
 tyr, sir I " 
 
 The officer strode away, scornful and indignant. I 
 wondered at the strange infatuation that accounted the un- 
 faithful slave who lay dead Avithout, a hero and a martyr. 
 To me he was a dog who had been fitly punished. They 
 were Northern men — the first, I think, that I had ever 
 met. It flashed across me then, that they knew nothing 
 about the matter of which they spoke. I even smiled at 
 their ignorance. We represented the poles of American 
 civilization, and neither understood the distance that lay 
 between. What the one counted heroic, the other esteemed 
 the climax of baseness and ingratitude. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Of what followed there is no need to write. I buried 
 my dead under the trees where her husband had waited so 
 long for her coming. Tlie enemy were very considerate. 
 The grave was dug by alien hands and I was allowed to de- 
 part without hindrance. For a time we remained within 
 the enemy's lines, which extended beyond the Grove. When 
 the ashes of the roof-tree lay upon the hearthstone as my 
 grandmother had predicted, we did not think of returning 
 to Ryalmont, but went on through the hostile lines into the 
 camp of our friends, only to become a part of the suffer- 
 ing, terror-stricken crowd of fugitives, driven from the 
 Queen City of the hills by the barbaric ruthlessness of tlie 
 victorious enemy. I would not dwell upon the sufferings of 
 that terrible time. Then were sown the seeds of disease 
 that ere long left us alone — my mother and myself. 
 
 My father uttered no word of reproach for what had 
 happened. Nay, he had even commended my conduct, 
 though I told him all, extenuating nothing. Yet I grew 
 morbid, and wished that I might die. Already I had seen 
 my grandmother's prophesy fulfilled. " The King of the 
 North " had come ! The Grove lay in ashes ! 
 
 We had no special reason to complain. We suffered 
 187 
 
12B EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 only the haps of war, aud were but a part of the great throng 
 of refugees who fled from the enemy's power, but never 
 thought of surrender. Scarcely had my mother reached 
 the shelter of a house on one of her father's plantations 
 when we saw that also burned by the same ruthless legions 
 Alio followed on our track. Ah, what desolation they 
 /eft behind them I Exposure, want and terror had made my 
 mother a wreck of her former self. The baby-faced sister 
 had grown wild-eyed aud puny in the midst of war's alarms. 
 At the best, it seemed that but little of life was left to either. 
 In a vain attempt to protect them from further aud grosser 
 outrage, I came near meeting the fate I courted. They 
 said I fought with savage ferocity when the undisciplined 
 hoi de ravaged our little store and offered insult to those 
 in my charge. It was foolish desperation. A sabre-stroke 
 left me apparently dead, and my folly destroyed the 
 roof to which we had fled for refuge. The gi'eat pine forest 
 opened its arms to the terrified household, and a slave per- 
 formed a last service by bearing me to a place of shelter far 
 within its soughing shadows. He brought also a slender 
 stock of provisions, a remnant of the household stores which 
 had escaped the flames — enough, it was hoped, to serve un- 
 til relief should come. The next day he set out to carry 
 word of our sad plight to my grandfather. He was the last 
 of those ''held to service or labor "in our behalf. His 
 faithfulness had withstood want, peril and frequent oppor- 
 tunity to escape, but he neither delivered the message nor 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 129 
 
 returned. What became of him we nsver knew. Whether 
 the hope of freedom was too much for his faithfulness, or 
 he paid for his devotion with his life, we could not tell. 
 Betwixt the enemy with their barbarous marauders and the 
 rough riders who hung upon their flank and rear, life was 
 very uncertain — especially a black man's life. 
 
 It was long before I knew what we sutfered — how death 
 had come to our circle and starvation had stared us in the 
 face, while my mother nursed me back to life. For a day's 
 journey on either side stretched the devastation that lay 
 in Sherman's track — a dt'vastation afterwards celebrated in 
 rollicking song by the enemy. For us, our tears made no 
 noise, however fast they fell. My mother would not let me 
 die. She had, I think, given up her husband, and in her 
 forecasted widowhood fought madly for my life. We were 
 safe, for a time at least, and my mother devoted herself to 
 the care of her sick child and her unconscious son. For 
 days there was but a morsel for us all, and little hope of re- 
 lief. She was too weak to go in search of food. She did 
 once drag her feeble limbs to Avhere the nearest house had 
 stood, three miles away, only to find it a heap of ashes. 
 The destroyer's track was wide and desolate. " War," he 
 said, " is barbarism ;" and well did this barbarian illustrate 
 his own philosophy. So she prayed and waited for the end. 
 
 At length the last dust of meal had been consumed. 
 The next morning she found a rabbit lying on the window- 
 ledge. A cat which had followed us from the burned house 
 
130 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 had brought its prey to those threatened with starvation. 
 Every morning for twelve days the same thing occurred. 
 Then relief came, and she ceased to provide us with game. 
 The story is too well known to need affirmation. I only 
 mention it here that my silence may not be construed into 
 denial. My mother has always deemed it a miracle. Per- 
 haps I have not been without the feeling that a life thus 
 strangely ])reservcd may have had some special purpose. 
 
 When I woke to consciousness we were but two. The 
 first task they had to perform, who came to our rescue, 
 was to dig a little grave in the soft white sand under 
 the pine needles. So one of our household slept beneath 
 the oaks at Ryalmont, one beneath the shadow of the pines, 
 and two, worn and feeble, waited hopelessly at a kinsman's 
 house beside the Oconee. The other — whose life and fame 
 was all that was left to us of earthly joy — ah! where was he 
 in those last days of tumult and disaster ? 
 
 We heard of him but seldom during those weary 
 mouths. Perhaps we ought not to have done so, but we 
 kept from him the story of our woes. Only the bare fact 
 of his bereavements ever came to his knowledge. His 
 brilliant career was the one consolation of our lives. In 
 the wearisome weeks that elapsed before I could leave my 
 bed, the story of his gallant deeds was the sole anesthetic 
 of my pain. I remember my mother telling it over and 
 over again as she used to sing cradle songs to me in 
 childhood. She had carried the little worn bundle of his 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 131 
 
 letters iu her bosom through all our perils. They were the 
 most precious things she possessed. 
 
 I was but half-restored when the end came. It had 
 been long expected. My father's last letter had left no 
 room for hope. Then there was silence — and we waited 
 with beating hearts for the result. The rumor of surren- 
 der — tliat epoch to which all the subsequent events of the 
 South properly relate, because it marks the beginning of 
 its new life — had already passed from quivering heart to 
 heart like an electric flash. AYe waited only for confirma- 
 tion of our forebodings. Gloom, uncertainty, terror and 
 grief were strangely commingled in every breast. 
 
 In the fourth spring after that which witnessed its 
 birth, the fair new nation died. The starry cross that 
 had waved triumphant over a hundred battle-fields, had 
 danced above the waters of every sea, and kissed the breezes 
 of every clime, was trailed in the dust wet with tears and 
 grimy with the smoke of confiict, and folded away by fair 
 hands embalmed in sweet incense and holy memories. 
 
 Eight millions of freemen had bidden defiance to three 
 times their number in the holy cause of liberty, staking all 
 for the right of self-government — and failed ! Hope gave 
 way to humiliation ; determination to despair. Xo pen 
 can picture the universal woe. The past was swallowed 
 
132 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 up in oblivion. Its beauty, its brightness, its glory were 
 swept away. Even its heroism was branded with infamy. 
 Tlie sources of its prosperity were dried up. Those who 
 had been the subjects of its will were to be the shapers of 
 its destiny. Instead of boastful leaders, the people of the 
 South could be regarded in the future, at the best, as only 
 bastard children of the Kepublic. It mattered not how long 
 they might remain under her sway ; how faithfully they 
 might guard her interests or serve under her banner, the 
 stain of rebellion and the taint of failure must rest forever 
 on them. If it had been in truth a civil war — one whose 
 dissensions interpermeated a whole people and were not 
 confined to one section or class — this would not have 
 been the case. Then the necessities of good neighborship 
 and the difficulty of preserving the distinction, would, in 
 time, have effaced the brand of treason. But when the line 
 of fracture is clear and distinct — on the one side, loyalty 
 to the old government all but universal, and on the other, 
 devotion to the new almost without excef)tion — in such a 
 case, from the very nature of humanity, the shame is made 
 perpetual, the taint of disloyalty can never lose its force, 
 and never cease to be imputed when the blood flows hot 
 and passion fires the heart. The children's children must 
 bear the humiliation of the father's shame. So a proud 
 people, stripped of consolation in the past, and covered with 
 humiliation in the present, looked forward to the futui'e 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 133 
 
 without hope and with ouly a sullen, distrustful defiance 
 mingled with their despair. 
 
 Not in a thousand years — if indeed in all history — has 
 the result of any war touched the individual lives of a whole 
 nation so closely as did this the life of every one of the 
 Southern people. Not more radical was the change of re- 
 lation when Israel was driven away into captivity. No 
 individual of any class was left unaffected by the outcome. 
 Those Avho had been the richest of the rich, as a rule, were 
 now the poorest of the poor. Class and privilege were abol- 
 ished. Ouly race and consanguinity remained. The bar- 
 rier betwixt the master and the ' ' poor white " was thrown 
 down, and all stood together on the lower level. If there 
 were any odds, they were now with those who had formerly 
 carried weight in the race of life. The people who had 
 been so closely united by the singular necessities of the past 
 were now inseparably welded in the -white heat of disaster. 
 Hereafter there could be but two classes. Between them 
 ran the line of color — the insuperable barrier of fate ! 
 
 When the billows of disaster swept over the South, her 
 most hopeful children felt that all was lost. We were fools 
 at whose folly fate already mocked ! Our past had made us 
 weak in one thing — mechanical creation. In this the enemy 
 were exceptionally strong, and because of this they con- 
 
134 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 quered. The struggle tauglit us what we needed to gain 
 and why we did not succeed. It showed us our weakness 
 and our strength. It only prepared us for a triumph which, 
 had it come at that time, would have been forever fatal to 
 our hopes. Had the South won, with slavery still an actual 
 ;ind controlling force, its career as an independent nation 
 must have been brief. In any age the institution is the sure 
 precursor of peril. Indicative of wealth, it is never an ad- 
 junct of power. In our day the tide of civilization sets so 
 strongly against the principle that no nation could build 
 upon it as a corner-stone with any hope of permanence. 
 Defeat, therefore, revealed at once the weakness of our 
 enemy and the evil which hopelessly weighed down our 
 aspirations. It rid us of a fatal burden and showed us how 
 we might ultimately succeed. 
 
 Fate had still one more terrible blow in store for us. 
 My grandfather had learned of our calamity in time to res- 
 cue us from starvation and remove us to a more comforta- 
 ble but humble dwelling on one of his plantations. He had 
 little hope, if any, of our cause, but of my father's gallantry 
 and genius he could scarce find words to express his ad- 
 miration. "Whatever the end might be, it could only bring 
 him fame. In all the battles he had received no wound, 
 neither he nor his good horse. He was sure to come out 
 
ETGHTY-NINE. 135 
 
 whole, and in the future would make good the mistakes of 
 the past. Thus spoke the hopeful aristocrat of the plebian 
 son-in-law in whom all his pride was centered. He assured 
 us that he had saved a store of cotton, securely hidden in 
 almost inpenetrable swamps, so that when peace came we 
 would still have ''enough to go a long way when we should 
 have no niggers to feed." He had cleverly prevised the re- 
 sult, and with the shrewdness of his people had provided 
 against want. 
 
 His cheerfulness was not without effect nj^onour broken 
 spirits. As the spring advanced our hopes revived with the 
 opening blossoms. For the first time my mother began to 
 pray for peace. Patiently, hopefully, uncomplainingly she 
 had borne all, praying only that the right might triumph — 
 the right her husband had taught her to believe must ulti- 
 mately prevail and for which he had offered all. But faith 
 and hope — almost desire for victory — were dead, and now 
 she only prayed that the end might come and he be spared 
 to return to her arms. 
 
 An enemy's hand struck the final blow. For weeks we 
 had heard nothing from the outer world. We felt sure the 
 end had come ; but when, and how, and where ? — of these 
 we knew nothing. The blow had fallen in the darkness 
 and we knew not what had been the scath it wrought. 
 
 One day a band of troopers, riding jaded horses but 
 full of rollicking Jestfulness, came by. They said the war 
 was over and they were in search of a fugitive president. 
 
136 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 Their conduct gave proof of their sincerity. They neither 
 pillaged nor insulted. When they rode away they left a 
 newspaper ^oublislied in Xew York. I shall never forget 
 how strange its imprimatur looked. I had not seen a sheet 
 bearing that impression for more than three years. It told 
 the story of Appomattox and the few days that preceded it. 
 Among other things it related how, on the last day that 
 there was any hope for the Confederate cause, one who com- 
 manded a divison, which, though worn and decimated, 
 still marched with closed ranks and soldierly bearing, was 
 asked by his great leader to make one more charge, to gain 
 time for the army to escajDe the clutches of the foe that 
 hung on its flanks. Even this hostile sheet told with a 
 burst of hearty admiration how the oflficer had saluted his 
 commander and ridden away as gaily as if to assured vic- 
 tory, leading his depleted command like a thunderbolt 
 against the enemy and falling, with a shout of triumph on 
 his lips, as the crowded ranks gave way before his impetuous 
 charge. He bore my father's family name. We knew that 
 there were three commanders of that name in the army of 
 Northern Virginia. As if from fear that hope might yet 
 live in the bereaved hearts, the name of his horse was given, 
 and the fact carefully noted that man and horse had passed 
 safely through all those four years of strife only to fall to- 
 gether on the last contested field — afield made ever glorious 
 by his gallantry. The horse's name was " Secession! " 
 Even in our sorrow the praise of the foe — a grudging. 
 
EIOEl Y-NINE. 137 
 
 mercenary and unappreciative foe, as we thought them to 
 be — was very sweet. I have never forgotten its sweetness, 
 and would not wrong by the shadow of a thought those who 
 hiid so fragrant a chaplet on my father's bier. The shock 
 was too much for my weakened system and a relapse fol- 
 lowed. When I grew stronger my mother took me back to 
 Eyalmont. I think she felt nearer to her dead there than 
 anywhere else. A pall hung over the whole land, shutting 
 out the future but preserving the dead hopes and racking- 
 memories of the past. Fortunately, however, with nations 
 as with individuals, duty and necessity come to deaden the 
 woes of the past and impel to the achievements of the fu- 
 ture. 
 
 Unlike most wars of modern times, this one brought 
 universal poverty with our defeat. The world has never 
 appreciated the sacrifices which the Southern people made 
 for liberty. Perhaps it never will. They staked their all 
 for the cause of self-government. Men risked fortune, 
 life and honor. Women gave up luxury and abandoned 
 splendor without regret. Of gold and silver the Confed- 
 eracy had little. Not half a dozen coins exist that bear its 
 imprint. But her children gave all that they had, and 
 then coined their hopes and their hearts, taking in exchange 
 her promise to pay, even under the shadow of the Federal 
 flag. All this, of course, was swept away. Individuals, 
 
138 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 corporations, municipalities, states — all were left bankrupt. 
 If they afterward repudiated the debts of the past, it was 
 not until the whole economical structure on which they 
 were based was swept away by war. 
 
 Slavery, which was the bank in which the Southern 
 man deposited his surplus, had disappeared, and with it 
 the earnings of two centuries. Five billions of dollars, the 
 accumulations of a people enterprising and economical to a 
 degree that few nations have ever equaled, were thus swept 
 out of existence. Land was the only representative of value 
 remaining, save mere personal possessions, and on these 
 war had fed for a quadrenniate. From being in one sense, 
 perhaps, the richest people in the world, the South, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, became the poorest. 
 
 Even to that poverty came a cry for charity which 
 could not go unheeded. The slave, now made free, 
 besought his impoverished master to supply tomorrow's 
 bread. The master heard, and out of his vanishing stores 
 gave to the chattel he had lost, enough to supply his wants. 
 It was a proud moment — a beautiful picture ! A people 
 stripped of wealth, reduced almost to penury, sharing the 
 little that remained with the slaves the enemy had made 
 free ! Of course, the enemy fed some of them ; then 
 vaunted their charity and boasted of the food and clothing 
 which they gave to the famishing freedman — surplus food 
 and cast-off clothing ! But the South, on whom the 
 greater burden fell, made no moan, uttered no cry, sylla- 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 139 
 
 bled no boast. Her children were starving ; her granaries 
 and smokehouses empty ; her kitchens ravaged by vandal 
 hordes. For four years the products of the earth had been 
 garnered by war. Four harvests had been lost, and their 
 proceeds swallowed up by the insatiate, bloodstained earth. 
 Luxury had been so long forgotten that its commonest 
 forms were strangers to households once rejoicing in abun- 
 dance. Yet in their poverty, humiliation and despair, they 
 shared the little that was left with the bondman who had 
 served them. Compared with the bounty of which the 
 North boasted, this unnoted charity was as the ocean to the 
 rivulet. I would not seem to boast even of my own coun- 
 trymen, but it is time the truth was told. It brought its 
 own reward, too. The struggle for self-support and this 
 charity which common humanity made compulsory— the 
 support of the former slave — was the best possible prepara- 
 tion our people could have had for the career of self -develop- 
 ment upon which they have since entered. 
 
 No wonder the excitement and agony of this woful 
 time was too much for my weakened frame. I remem- 
 ber struggling against insensibility for my poor mother's 
 sake. They say my need of nursing crowded her woe into 
 the background and saved her from being overwhelmed. 
 It seemed cowardly and mean at this supreme crisis of fate 
 to leave the burden on her shoulders ; but I was too weak 
 to resist the encroachments of disease, and felt the shad- 
 ows gathering around me with a dim sense of relief that 
 
140 EIGHTY-MNE. 
 
 I was not to witness the ills which the future must inevi- 
 tably bring. I was glad that my father had not lived to 
 see the humiliation of our people, and rejoiced that little 
 Madge had not survived to suffer degradation. I grieved 
 only for my mother, and that pityingly, rather than with 
 any idea of relieving her sorrow or lightening her burdens. 
 
 Even when apj^arent health returned I was hardly more 
 hopeful. A nerveless languor had taken an irresistible 
 hold upon me. I neither hoped nor feared nor cared. I 
 was dully conscious of our return to Ryalmont, but noted 
 little of what had happened. Vicey had remained upon 
 the premises with her children. For many months the 
 house was the headquarters of the Federal officer com- 
 manding in the valley. Strangely enougli, he had neither 
 stolen nor defaced. I think there is hardly another house 
 in the entire theater of war in which the Yankee set his 
 foot that does not yet bear marks of his occupancy. Per- 
 haps it was because Vicey remained and served him that 
 her mistress' belongings were not pillaged. Rank weeds 
 were growing where the mansion at the Grove had stood, 
 but despite the vicissitudes it had undergone we found 
 Ryalmont almost as comfortable as when we were driven 
 from the shelter of its roof. 
 
 The Federal soldiers had buried Jack near the mouth 
 of the Pass, with a cairn of loose stones heaped over him, 
 and an inscription reciting his merits painted on a rude 
 headboard. This was soon obliterated as an insult to 
 
EIGHT T- NINE. 141 
 
 our people. He died for his race, but tliey will never do 
 him honor. Gratitude for favors past, seems to be a virtue 
 foreign to their natures. Even John Brown, to whom they 
 owe more than to any other man, they have never dreamed 
 of honoring. A penny from each would build him a royal 
 monument, but the place where his gallows stood is not 
 even hallowed ground to them. The promise of the future 
 is, as yet, far more significant to them than the sacrificial 
 offerings of the past. 
 
 It was well that my mother was an Elspre. She in- 
 herited with the name not only the thrift but the hopeful- 
 ness of her Breton ancestors. I never knew how it was 
 done, but late as the season was, a crop was pitched at 
 Eyalmont. Christoi^her, with a Federal uniform upon his 
 back and a small supply of Federal "greenbacks" in his 
 pocket, reappeared and offered to work the Grove "on 
 shares." There were neither fences, utensils nor stock, but 
 somehow Christopher and my mother managed to raise a 
 notable crop that year. The arable acreage of Eyalmont 
 was not gi'eat, but the land was fertile and all the richer 
 for the dead lying beneath its mold and the enemy's long 
 occupancy. The presence of the commanding officer had 
 saved the grounds from spoliation, and the 3"ears of war had 
 added luxuriance to the trees my father had planted. It 
 was a bower of blossoms when we returned, and every petal 
 seemed redolent of his memory. While my mother was in- 
 tent on restoring our fortunes I only brooded of the past. 
 
142 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 No appeal that she could make stirred in me a throb of am- 
 bition. Even the sight of her hopeful energy gave me no 
 desire to share her toils or lighten her labor. She wished 
 me to emulate my father's example, but I could not bear 
 the thought of exertion. To escape her importunity I 
 wandered about upon the mountain loitering dreamily, 
 in sunshine or shadow, thinking only of the past. My 
 mother bitterly reproved my listlessness, declaring that it 
 was the "poor-white blood" asserting itself in my nature. 
 It is a curious fact that the planter-class of the South, 
 who are regarded by the Xorth as ease loving aristocrats, 
 have an ineffable scorn of the lack of ambition and antipa- 
 thy to labor which the " poor-white" man so often displays. 
 My mother's reproaches only drove me oftener from 
 home and farther into the solitude of the mountains. The 
 Pass, with its sad associations, had a peculiar charm for 
 me. I often traced its windings, noted the indications of 
 the enemy's brief sojourn, and studied with interest and 
 surprise the ingenious devices by which they had overcome, 
 swiftly and easily, what seemed insuperable obstacles to 
 their sudden night march. I learned that a body of " pion- 
 eers" in a single afternoon had made the night march 
 through the rugged glen not only possible but compara- 
 tively easy. The old trail' and the bed of tho mountain 
 torrent had helped them. So the time dragged by until 
 the midsummer came and the anniversary of my grand- 
 mother's death drew near. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 One of the works in the valley to which our Pass led 
 had gi'own from a simple redan, constructed to oppose the 
 ingress of the enemy, to a fort which was the key to the 
 whole valley. The roads leading north and south between 
 the mountain ranges met a handred yards in front of this 
 fort, and entered a wide easy pass that ran to the westward. 
 The fort became important to tlie enemy after his advance, 
 commanding as it did the most available route to his rear, 
 along which supplies must be brought in case the railroad 
 should be disabled for any length of time. For this reason 
 it was enlarged into an enclosed work of great strength, 
 which was held by a considerable force for some months. 
 It was so formidable, in fact, that Hood abandoned the de- 
 sign of assailing it when he broke through the enemy's 
 lines, and turned westward to fall on his communications 
 instead of his rear. 
 
 The valley had been denuded of timber, partly to sup- 
 ply the needs of the armies and partly to give range for ar- 
 tillery. The new growth had sprung up with wonderful 
 luxuriance, transforming the whole plain into a dense 
 thicket through which, white and tortuous, wound the 
 roads, shut in by walls of solid green. Fosse and scarp were 
 covered with the same rank growth, which choked even 
 143 
 
144 EIGHTY-NINE 
 
 the noxious weeds the invaders had brought with them. 
 Here for the first time I saw the phmt known as " Canada 
 thistle," which was never found on Southern soil until war 
 brought it among the curses that followed in its train. Xot 
 many travelers passed along the country road at that time, 
 and few of these paused to trace the green billows which 
 alone marked the position of the old earth-work. 
 
 This crumbling fortress, hidden in the dark green sea of 
 rank growing chapparel, was my favorite resort. The bram- 
 bles had lined scarp and counter-scarp with an almost impas- 
 sable clieval-de-frise. On the crest of the parapet I had 
 cleared a narrow path. A vixen had made liei- den and 
 reared her whelps in one of the angles. There was a fine 
 view to the west and south, while on the mountain side to 
 the northeastward one could yet trace the lines of works 
 where the grand assault was made and repulsed. 
 
 On the right of the road, a hundred yards to the west- 
 ward, was an old church which war has made forever 
 famous. The flinty knoll, on which it stood, once crowned 
 by a noble oak grove, was now bare, leaving the dark 
 weather-beaten hulk a landmark in the unbroken sea ot 
 green. It still bore testimony of the scath of war. There 
 were holes in the roof through which the shells had come 
 shiieking on their way to the little work behind which our 
 forces stood. Its door was open, so that man or beast entered 
 unhindered. Its floor was yet grimy with unholy use. 
 Upon the dark pine ceiling were yet darker traces of the 
 
EIGHTT.NTNB. 145 
 
 spray shot upward from severed arteries when the surgeons 
 plied their instruments within its altar. 
 
 In digging the ditch on one side of the fort, a vein of 
 pure cool water had been struck, which still sent a little 
 stream trickling under overhanging alders to the sandy 
 roadbed below. This scoring had been carefully walled and 
 arched by the ingenious soldiery, with pieces of white quartz 
 brought from a hillside half a mile away. The bottom, 
 too, was lined with choice crystals of the same. Small 
 specks of gold and sparkling veins of delusive pyrites 
 showed in the alabaster blocks. They had built over it 
 also a little grotto with rustic benches. On the outer line 
 of the work at this point grew a sturdy oak. It had been 
 cut off even with the parapet and a narrow flight of steps 
 in the red clay embankment were half hidden by its bole. 
 Over this was built the arbor that shaded the spring. The 
 stump had sent out so rank a growth about its crown that 
 the overweighted boughs sloped down until they met the 
 undergrowth around. Young shoots had sprung up through 
 the rough wood-work here and there, but I had cut them 
 off, cleared the leaves out of the spring, and made myself 
 a retreat almost impervious to prying eyes and so deftly 
 hidden that no passer-by would dream of its existence. 
 
 I do not know why, but it pleased me to think that I 
 might walk upon the parapet, looking out over the sea of 
 dark green foliage for miles in every direction, and by tak- 
 ing three steps down its side be hidden as securely as a 
 
146 EIOETT-NINE. 
 
 mole in its burrow. The silence and the desolation pleased 
 me. There was an indescribable charm in this piece of 
 the enemy's handiwork. I had collected a grim museum 
 in it. Bullets, pieces of shell, a skull, and other relics of 
 war time, lay upon the beneli around the foot of the oak 
 whose rugged bole itself bore marks of the conflict. 
 Througli the network of leaves I could see both the roads 
 and had a fair view of their junction. 
 
 To this retreat I came one day in midsummer. It did 
 not occur to me, until I had eaten my simple luncheon and 
 drunk of the spring, that it was the anniversary of my 
 grandmother's death. As maybe imagined, my reflections 
 were not pleasant. I hardly knew how time passed until 
 cheerful voices roused me from my absorption. I knew 
 instantly they were the voices of strangers. We had little 
 laughter among us then. The few country people I had 
 l)een wont to see passing along the road had that look of 
 hopeless apathy which invariably settled upon those who 
 lived witliin the actual theater of war. 
 
 I remembered having heard that a company of federal 
 officers were surveying and mapping the old battle-fields, 
 and feared they might be coming to examine the fort. 
 Perhaps they would even profane my leafy sanctuary. I 
 wondered if they would find the little path that led down 
 to it from the parapet. I dreaded to look out, lest I should 
 catch sight of a blue uniform. My feeling towards our 
 recent enemy was, at that time, one of simple unmitigated 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 147 
 
 hate. No other word- expresses it, and I am not sure that 
 even this tells all the sickening intensity of my detestation. 
 Even now, when all malevolence is gone and only kindly 
 admiration remains in my heart, I have a jaositive antipa- 
 thy for blue. I think this is common with my country- 
 men. It does not imply hostility, but only the bitter taste 
 that brings to the mind the bolus — the continuing and in- 
 herited aversion to what recalls our days of humiliation 
 and defeat. The gray is a not uncommon uniform with the 
 militia of the North, but even the holiday soldier of the 
 South would never feel comfortable in a garb of blue. Its 
 darker shades have not been popular even with our ladies, 
 since Appomattox. We have, I suppose, the same uncon- 
 scious dislike for blue that our forefathers had for red-coats, 
 only intensified by disaster instead of being mollified by 
 victory. 
 
 I was not disappointed when, peeping through my 
 leafy screen, I saw a half dozen officers in more or less of 
 military undress, but still with the hated blue predomi- 
 nating, mounted on finely groomed and caparisoned horses, 
 riding toward the forks of the road. I cannot express the 
 bitterness I felt, yet I could not help observing their 
 movements. With them were two or three ladies. I knew 
 they were Northern women — probably the wives and 
 daughters of some of their escort. I smiled at the stiffness 
 with which they sat their horses and would have known by 
 that alone they Avere not my countrywomen. But I had 
 no need to speculate upon that question. There were few 
 
148 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 Southern women who would have accepted such escort at 
 that time. There was one exception to this awkwardness. 
 The last couple in the cavalcade consisted of a dapper young 
 man, who wore spectacles and rode a showy, meaty sorrel, 
 which I noted scornfully. The lady, hoAvever, sat her horse 
 with ease, and I half-wondered whether she were not 
 Southern born. 
 
 The company paused at the forks, and I could hear 
 them discussing the route they were to take. I gathered 
 that one they called " General," with the ladies and some 
 others of the party, had come to spend a few days at the 
 camp of the engineers and review the scenes of former ex- 
 ploits. The spectacled officer was in favor of taking the 
 southern road and started along it with the young lady 
 under his charge. After going a little way they paused 
 and waited the decision of the otliers. The day was sultry 
 and the blistering three o'clock sun looked down on an al- 
 most breathless plain. While tliey halted the lady took 
 off her hat and fanned herself with its wide brim. As she 
 did so a coil of dark hair fell down upon her shoulders as 
 she sat with her back towards me. I noticed that her horse 
 seemed restive, tossing his head and 2)awing tlie ground. 
 The question of their route was settled by the general's 
 starting toward the pass to the westward and calling the 
 others to follow. As they rode away I noticed a mass of 
 white thunder clouds creeping up behind the mountain to 
 the south of the pass, just in the path of the blazing sun. 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 149 
 
 I laughed to think how one of our sudden showers would 
 soon send them dripping and draggled to the old church 
 for shelter. I could almost hear them pounding along the 
 corduroy road in their enforced retreat. But if they came 
 to the old church, where should I find refuge ? My leafy 
 grotto was well enough while the sun shone, but a poor 
 shelter from the rain. The thought annoyed me and kept 
 my mind running on what I had seen. It was curious that 
 I was able to recall the appearance of but one of the ladies. 
 Of the others I could only remember that their habits were 
 blue — they may have varied in shade, but they were blue. 
 For this one, her habit — what was its color ? I was sure 
 it was not blue. The hat was black ; of that I was cer- 
 tain. And the horse ? 
 
 Someliow it pleased me, this attempt to piece out my 
 memory. I had noted little and guessed rather than re- 
 membered that she must be young, and fair rather than 
 beautiful. Fiirther I could not go. Habit and feature 
 seemed curiously to elude my recollection. Her hair I 
 knew was dark and abundant. The horse she rode was 
 much more distinct in my mind though I had not con- 
 sciously scrutinized him. But his full eye, strong bony 
 head, long neck and deep but firm-drawn quarter, made a 
 picture no lover of the horse could fail to note, of which, 
 to a casual observer, the young girl upon the saddle, 
 however fair, would be only an incident. Indeed, one 
 almost regretted that the flowing drapery concealed the 
 
150 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 burnished coat. As I thought of this, it occurred to me 
 that her habit was of the color ordinarily known as cadet 
 gray, only a shade removed from that worn by the officers 
 of the Confederate army. I remembered that it was slashed 
 with black and ornamented with buttonS;, and that the hat 
 was a plain felt, with a long drooping plume. The picture 
 was not an unpleasant one ; and as, one after another, I 
 evolved its details from my memory, my heart warmed to 
 the rider of the noble horse, whose costume was so closely 
 modeled upon that wliich must ever be cherished by the 
 Southern people as a memento of a glorious epoch. ** Con- 
 federate gray " became not so much a national coior as a 
 shroud of holy memories which profane hands miglit not 
 touch. 
 
 As this thought came uppermost in my mind, it 
 flashed upon me that the habit miglit liave been aaopted 
 in derision — as a taunt to a conquered people. At once 
 the half remembered face grew hateful. The horse I 
 would have sworn was of southern blood — perhaps a cap- 
 tive forced to bear the daughter of a conqueror. If so, 
 how must not he despise his present task. He that had 
 faced the glare of battle and felt the shock of onslaught, hoAv 
 must he not chafe at being made the pet and plaything of 
 a conqueror's favorite ! 
 
 All at once my heart stood still ! She that rode and 
 all that was about nie faded from my mind . I saw only 
 the horse — that grand, deep-throated chestnut with his 
 eves of llame, mnsc^les of iron and heart as fearless as th" 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 151 
 
 lion's ! The level landscape disappeared. The summer 
 flame died out. Cool, spring breezes fanned my brow ; the 
 scent of the blossoming wild-grape Avas in my nostrils ; the 
 shadow of the mountain road was about me and I heard 
 again my father's voice ! 
 
 The thought choked me. I clambered up the parapet 
 and gazed eagerly along the road they had taken. My 
 father's horse ! It seemed as if he himself stood beside me 
 — touched me — called me by name, sent a dying message 
 to me ! 
 
 Know him ? How my heart beat at the question ! I 
 would have known him among a thousand in the desert 
 wilds, aye, even in the city's streets disguised by draft and 
 burden. Had I dreamed that he yet lived , I would have 
 hunted the world over rather than he should have been a 
 captive. Yet he was a captive. I remembered how the 
 brand stood out upon his flank as they passed by. How 
 the hated letters marred his silky coat — '^TJ. S." — badge 
 of shame and profanation ! 
 
 An hour before I would have given anything to obtain 
 possession of him— to have known even that he lived. 
 Now he was forever disgraced. I spurned him because he 
 was not dead. My father's war horse with the brand of 
 captivity upon him ! I could not bear the thought. I 
 did not envy his northern mistress her possession. I only 
 hated him for having lived to serve his master's conqueror. 
 I hated him that he did not die when his master fell — that 
 
152 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 maggots were not eating him on the Virginia battle-field ! 
 I wished that he might die — that I might kill him ! 
 
 No doubt the doll-faced creature whom he carried 
 boasted that her steed had belonged to the leader of that 
 last gallant charge. I could have pitied Bucephalus trans- 
 formed into a cart-horse ; but my father's charger as a 
 liidy's pet — his mistress the child of an enemy ! The 
 thought heated my blood to madness. Almost uncon- 
 sciously I began to plan his destruction. 
 
 I had grown tall and strong-limbed during the years 
 of conflict. My father had resembled his father in appear- 
 ance. I was like my grandmother, and had been noted 
 from boyhood for strength of arui. Perhaps her fondness 
 for me was in a measure due to my resemblance to her 
 father, Avho was said to have been the strongest man in all 
 the region round. As I strode back and forth aloug the 
 parapet, muttering imprecations at the senseless beast that 
 had aroused my anger, almost unconsciously I took out my 
 knife and cut a hickory sapling that had shot thick and 
 stocky from the heaped-up earth. I remember thinking, 
 as I forced the keen blade through the white fiber, how I 
 would like to bury it in the throat of the recreant beast, 
 and see his blood flow after it — the base blood that had 
 dared to stay in his veins after his master fell. T cut the 
 stick and shaped it for a staff. Wliy. I did not know. I 
 had long since discarded a cane with that contempt youth 
 has of weakness. I trimmed it carefullv and rounded the 
 
EIGHTT-NINE. 153 
 
 end to fit the hand. The wide white grain showed its 
 quick growth and attested its toughness. AVhat did I 
 mean to do with it ? I did not ask myself the question. 
 
 Thinking only of the horse I would have worshiped 
 as an idol, could he have come to us directly from his 
 master's grave, I had forgotten to notice anything about 
 me until a vivid flash, followed by a peal of thunder 
 that echoed and re-echoed among the peaks, startled me 
 from my abstraction. The sun was blotted out, and the 
 pass was black with lieaped-up clouds, along the face of 
 which the lightning played. I heard a cry — a shout, and 
 saw a cloud of dust on the road that led through the 
 pass. It rose up, white and feathery against the inky sky. 
 The breath of the coming storm caught it and whirled it 
 against the dark green side of the mountain on the north. 
 I looked on with grim enjoyment, as I thought how fast 
 the gay company of northern sight-seers fled before a 
 southern storm. Again a cry — or was it a shriek ? 
 
 Looking over the billows of wind-beaten oaks I could 
 Just see the figure of a woman clinging to the back of a fly- 
 ing steed. Her habit was streaming out behind ; a black 
 plume was tossing in the wind. Far in the rear, lashing on 
 their straining steeds, came one, two — a half dozen pursuers. 
 It was a hopeless race. Those coarse -haired mongrels 
 might as well try to catch the wind as to overtake that 
 clean-limbed, deep-chested southern horse of royal pedi- 
 gree. My heart exulted in his prowess, but I hated him 
 
154 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 all the more that he should wear the fetters of a silken 
 captivity. 
 
 I looked again. It was no race for shelter. The 
 horse had broken away from his rider. I exulted in the 
 idea that he was making a dash for liberty, and gave no 
 thought to his imi)erilled rider. The storm came swifter 
 than the steed, and its wild breath tossed up the branches 
 of the oak that grew beside the parapet so that 1 could 
 not see the road. A mad idea seized me — a wild longing 
 to destroy ! 
 
 I sprang from the parapet and started towards the 
 road. Whether I walked or ran I knew not ; it was barely 
 fifty yards away, and there was time enough for either. A 
 thick clump of mingled oaks and chinquapins, high 
 enough for concealment yet affording opportunity for ob- 
 servation through their branches, lined the roadside at this 
 point. I Judged the horse would take the way by which 
 he came, and so pass close to this leafy covert, I remem- 
 ber standing with my arm drawn back ; the clean hickory 
 bludgeon I had cut, reversed ; my hand clasping the small- 
 er end until the nails cut into the flesh of the palm made 
 soft by sickness and sloth. The wind had blown away 
 my hat. My coat was lying on the bench in the arbor. I 
 must have rolled up my sleeve as I crossed the intervening 
 space, for I remember that my right arm was bare almost 
 to the shoulder. The wind blew the hair into my eyes. 
 I shook it out not thinking that I could use a hand. I had 
 
EIQHTT-NINE. 155 
 
 but one thought — to chitch and kill the horse which would 
 soon pass within my reach ! 
 
 I heard the clatter of hoofs upon the rough corduroy, 
 coming momently nearer and nearer. Presently, through 
 an opening in the fluttering leaves, I saw the hot eyes and 
 blood-red nostrils of the straining horse, and the pallid 
 features of his rider framed in black and gray above. I 
 laughed to think of her attempting to control the horse 
 my father had selected especially for his power. She might 
 as well have tried to turn a steamship. She evidently 
 realized this fact and was making no eifort to direct his 
 movements. Despite the hatred that had grown up in my 
 heart, I could not but admire the courage and self-control 
 she displayed. Aware of the futility of any effort, she yet 
 did nothing to enhance her danger. There were no screams 
 — only the set, intense watchfulness showed with what care 
 she sought to maintain her seat. If she had been a better 
 horsewoman", this would have been a matter of no difficulty, 
 for he bore her as lightly as a feather. As she came nearer 
 I could see that the skirt of the habit had been caught 
 and torn, and the ragged strips were flying back from the 
 horse's side. I rejoiced that the cursed thing was torn. 
 Perhaps I stepped a little forward in my excitement. At 
 least I must have disclosed my presence in some manner, 
 for the horse was nearly fifty yards away when the rider 
 let fall into my heart as it were, a look of wild entreaty. 
 
 I know not what answer mine made, if any, but at this 
 
156 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 mute appeal I forgot the horse in pity for the rider. It 
 was but an instant. Then came again the wild desire to 
 slay. The iron hoofs consumed the intervening distance 
 like a flash. The glaring eyes came rushing on as if a 
 thunderbolt were behind. I noted every detail — the silky 
 forelock parted and flying backward in the wind, the shin- 
 ing whorl in the center of the forehead, the one white spot 
 hardly bigger than a dime that I remembered on the black 
 muzzle. I scanned the reins, saw how they were attached, 
 and determined where I would fix my hold. The low 
 outstretched neck brought the red nostrils and bony head 
 nearer still. It seemed as if I might almost touch them, 
 but I did not move. Nearer and nearer. I glanced up at 
 the rider. She seemed rushing down upon me — the pale 
 face and staring eyes full of piteous pleading I 
 
 I had judged my distance and formed my plans. 
 When the whorl on his forehead showed just beneath the 
 outer limb of the nearest chinquapin I sprang forward. 
 There was a blow — a shock — a feeling of helpless projec- 
 tion through infinite space — a sense of falling, with dark 
 accusing eyes and a drawn pallid face above I Then came 
 the shock of an incumbent mass — then darkness 
 
CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 The night that followed was full of harsh and 
 painful dreams. When I finally awoke, it was to find 
 myself strapped to an iron bedstead in a plain, rough- 
 boarded room, which yet displayed evidences of comfort and 
 refinement. My right leg felt stiff and cold and seemed held 
 to a frame by a curious straining force. I learned after- 
 wards that a weight of two hundred pounds was attached 
 to it. It seemed to be broken from hip to toe. I was yet 
 to learn that a fracture of the neck of the femur — that bit 
 of springy bone which Joins hip and thigh together and keeps 
 man upright — was the most serious of my hurts. This was 
 no light matter, but I did not speculate about my injuries 
 or what caused them, at that time. The chill, the strain 
 and a terrible longing for a change of position were the only 
 sensations of which I was conscious. My left hand and 
 head were free — all the rest, body, shoulders, limbs were 
 strapped fast. 
 
 As I struggled to move, a curtain was pushed aside 
 and an attendant entered noiselessly. He wore a dark blue 
 blouse, short, scant, and ill-fitting, with light-blue trousers 
 — the uniform which Yankee economy has devised to mor- 
 tify the pride and degrade the manhood of the Federal sol- 
 dier. Such is the dread of war among that curious people, 
 157 
 
158 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 that it is regarded as good statesmanship to make the soldier 
 ashamed of his occupation, so that only the most nnf ortiinate 
 and degraded of their population will enter the army except 
 as officers, and even they are ashamed to Avear their uniforms 
 save when on duty. They seem utterly oblivious to the fact 
 that the safety of the republic depends on a universal and 
 ever active military spirit. The regular army of the United 
 States, before the War for Separation, was made up almost 
 entirely of foreign mercenaries, officered by Southern gen- 
 tlemen. Even in that struggle a large jDroportion of their 
 most efficient leaders were renegade Southerners, and the 
 most efficient of the rank and file of foreign birth. At the 
 outbreak of tluit war, the South had probably more officers 
 than privates botli in the army and the navy. 
 
 It is to be hoped that our new republic will bear in 
 mind the fact that her army must be organized upon tlie 
 French, rather than tiie English ideal, if it is to be relied 
 upon in great emergencies. The white man of the South 
 is not purely mercenary in his instincts like his congener 
 of the North. With us, the sense of honor very often en- 
 tirely overrides the consideration of profit. The North 
 hires its private soldiery to endure its scorn. As a conse- 
 quence it pays the highest wages ; gets the poorest service ; 
 has the largest percentage of desertions of any military or- 
 ganization in the Avorld, and, in the event of war, finds 
 its regular army infinitely below its volunteer force in the 
 morale of its rank and file. Let my countrymen remember 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 159 
 
 that lionor and opportunity will win the best men to en- 
 gage in the humblest service, which is thereby exalted to 
 the highest dignity. I sincerely trust that no man will be 
 allowed to wear the emblems of rank in our Southern army, 
 who has not first worn the garb of the private and won his 
 way above the ranks by length of service, attested acquire- 
 ment or approved conduct. By this means we shall always 
 have an army of gentlemen, inspired to do the utmost that 
 valor can achieve. 
 
 This will be all the easier to effect from the fact that 
 the inferior race will always furnish a host of mercenaries, 
 who can be relied upon for the more menial phases of 
 the service. I know such counsel contravenes the feelings 
 and prejudices of our people, but I feel assured that a 
 thoughtful consideration of unalterable facts will enable 
 them to see the wisdom of such a course. It is essential 
 above all things that the new republic, if it is to maintain 
 its dignity and power, should harmonize not only the 
 interests but the inclinations of the two races within 
 her borders. She needs to stimulate the efforts and 
 aspirations of both to the very utmost to hold her place 
 abreast of other nationalities. By constituting her army 
 of two great contingents equal in pay and equipment, the 
 rank and file of one to be of the inferior race, officered at 
 first by promotion from the white soldier}^, and afterwards 
 its honors made a reward for intelligence, capacity and 
 devotion among its own rank and file, its officers, whether 
 
160 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 black or white, to be always junior to those of like grade 
 in the white corps, it is possible to unite the best aspirations 
 of both races in support of lier power -and glory. 
 
 The problem is not without difficulty, but touching as it 
 does the very life of the new nation, is certain to command 
 the immediate attention of our people. Such a policy was 
 impossible under the old government because of the curi- 
 ously fanciful construction given under it to the dogma of 
 equality. In the Federal army a colored officer Avas liable 
 to be assigned to the command of white troops without re- 
 gard to his rank, wliile the white officer felt degraded by 
 assignment to a colored corps. In truth, such was the 
 curious fear of recognizing the fact of race or color, that 
 instead of offering to them the spur of promotion in a col- 
 ored contingent, the negro,es were treated simply as servile 
 mercenaries. By the plan outlined above, a colored subal- 
 tern would never be in command of white troops, and if one, 
 by long service, good conduct and marked ability, should 
 perchance reach the higher grades, his capacity and attain- 
 ments would be so pronounced as to command confidence of 
 all and so silence every feeling of insubordination. Such an 
 event is not likely to happen in this generation unless in a 
 case of such phenomenal capacity as to secure universal ap- 
 proval. The details of the plan would have to be worked out 
 with care, but the experience of the Knights of the Southern 
 Cross proves it to be not only feasible but eminently adapt- 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 161 
 
 ed to the end in view — the unification of the interests of 
 the two races. 
 
 My surprise had hardly time to shape itself into dis- 
 gust, when, as my attendant drew aside the curtain, my 
 eyes fell upon a scene so familiar as to make me wonder if 
 what I saw was not a dream and my painful confinement 
 only some horrid nightmare. The oaks, through which the 
 morning sunlight streamed, seemed the very ones that stood 
 before my chamber window in my father's house. I was 
 not mistaken. The camp, in the hospital of which I was 
 lying, had been located on the sightly hill where the ashes 
 of "The Grove "still showed through the rank-growing 
 weeds. The rent the government had been paying for the 
 premises since the establishment of the garrison at this 
 point after hostilities had ceased, had been the main sup- 
 port of my mother's thrifty enterprise. So the enemy's 
 subsequent need partially repaired his previous acts of 
 wanton destruction. 
 
 It is unnecessary to detail the incidents of my recov- 
 ery. Two days of an imprisonment that lasted until the 
 leaves upon the oaks were brown and sere, had passed, 
 when I first became conscious of my surroundings. All 
 before that was a troubled void. Anesthetics and ano- 
 dynes had kindly prolonged the darkness that attended 
 syncope. I had rescued the general's daughter from 
 death — so said my garrulous but attentive nurse — and had 
 been brought to the hospital more dead than alive. I 
 
162 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 made no inquiry about the general or his daughter simply 
 because I cared nothing about either. In fact, I hardly 
 realized to what his words referred. My apathy made no 
 difference with his garrulity. He went on to tell me, while 
 he busied himself in relieving my pain, how the Avhole sur- 
 gical force of the military department had been taxed to 
 ensure my recovery. The medical director, the hospital 
 surgeon and the local practitioners liad all been engaged 
 upon the case. Our old family physician liad recognized 
 me and from him my identity had first been learned. An 
 ambulance was at once dispatched for my mother and quar- 
 ters assigned her at the camp by the general's express 
 orders. The attendant evidently expected me to be over- 
 powered by this graciousness, but it did not seem to me 
 at all strange. Indeed, I could sec no reason why I should 
 not be there or why my mother should be elsewhere. I had 
 been injured, but how or by whom I had no idea nor e/en 
 curiosity enough to ask. He said the horse was undoubt- 
 edly mad. He had taken a long journey by rail while in 
 high condition. The heat and the dust, with the noise and 
 jar of the train, had induced a congested state of the brain 
 and predisposed him to madness. 
 
 He employed the medical terms which he had no 
 doubt heard the surgeons use in discussing the matter. 
 His language struck me as singular and I wondered what 
 he meant. What had I to do with "the horse " or " the 
 horse" with me ? I must liave dozed while ho droned on. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE 163 
 
 I was bruised and full of pain, but he still talked about 
 "the horse," while he loosened the straps by which I was 
 bound ; chafed my limbs and shifted my position by chang- 
 ing the location of certain hard httle pads or cushions with 
 which I became very familiar during the weeks that fol- 
 lowed. The relief I felt was instant and delightful. As I 
 half-slept and half-listened to his words, one thought was 
 in my mind and I kept muttering to myself ; 
 
 "The horse! The horse ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said my attendant approvingly, " it was a 
 great pity, for he was the finest lioss in tlie department — 
 by all odds the finest — and never the least ugly before. 
 Some says it was the whipping. You see, sir," (he pro- 
 nounced it " sorr," which struck me as odd ; I supposed it 
 a Yankeeism, then), "you see, sorr, he wasn't used to 
 it. The lieutenant feels proper bad about advising it, but 
 the doctors say it only hastened the crisis a little." 
 
 It was curious that I felt no interest in what he said, 
 and had no thought that it had any relation to myself. 
 
 " But that was a nate blow ye gave him and a nate 
 Ijit of a stick that ye did it with too, sorr," he continued as 
 he lifted my right arm so that the blood might circulate 
 through its veins. " Sure, there's no lack of muscle here " 
 — he ran his hand back and forth on my bare arm as he 
 spoke — "' but one wouldn't expect anything so soft to give 
 such a killin' blow, just in the right spot too. The doctors 
 say it's wonderful, sorr, quite wonderful. They say the 
 
164 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 teuth of a second or a quarter of an inch miscalculation, 
 and instead of killing the horse and saving the young lady 
 you'd both been killed. For that matter it was touch and 
 go, any way, with you. He couldn't have served you much 
 worse if you hadn't killed him, though of course it might 
 have been bad for the lady." 
 
 "Killed the horse? — killed the horse?" I repeated 
 dully. 
 
 "Yes, sorr, killed him fast enough," said the nurse, 
 "and by the same token his name was ' Secession,' and 
 by good rights he ought to have been dead long ago." 
 
 " Secession ! Secession ! " 
 
 It all flashed upon me then. 
 
 " Did I kill him ? " I asked. 
 
 " Faith, that you did, sorr, as dead as a mackerel." 
 
 "' Thank God ! " 
 
 " Indeed, sorr, that's what the young lady said, and 
 good reason slie had to thank the Lord and you too, as no 
 doubt she will as soon as she knows you're able to under- 
 stand what she says ; but I don't see that you've any special 
 reason to be grateful, unless it is for the chance of saving 
 her. An' in faith a man with all his seven senses about 
 him might do worse than risk his life for the likes of her." 
 
 Despite his enthusiasm, for the young lady, I was 
 grateful only that I had killed the horse she had ridden. 
 
 It was a curious experience, those long weeks of con- 
 finement, strapped hand and foot, or rather body and limb. 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 165 
 
 to the iron bedstead, with that terrible weight tugging night 
 and day at the broken leg. I had other hurts, but this was 
 the most serious, and it was essential that I be kept from 
 any involuntary movement of trunk or limb until the frac- 
 tured bone had knitted solidly together. It was my only 
 hope, and with youth and health on my side the chances 
 were in my favor. The ordeal was not a light one. 1 
 had the best of care, however, and was soon surprised to 
 find myself enjoying the society of those who wore the uni- 
 form I hated. Perhaps this was in part due to the cordial 
 praise the officers of the garrison bestowed upon my act. 
 It w'as hardly strange that I flushed with pleasure when 
 these men, almost every one of whom bore visible tokens of 
 the courage he had displayed npon the field of battle, 
 called my act heroic and spoke in laudatory terms of the 
 strength and address it must have required. I felt their 
 commendation to be jiraise indeed. My mother Avas with 
 me every day. Friends, old and young, dropped in to see 
 me and I soon became a link between the city's life and 
 that of the garrison of w^hich I had unwittingly become a 
 part. 
 
 Of course, the general and his danghter were anxious 
 to express their gratitude for her deliverance. I avoided 
 the interview as long as I could, and would have been re- 
 moved on purpose to escape from it, if I had not been as- 
 sured that removal w'as impossible until the bojie was 
 firmly knitted. My mother was greatly annoyed at what 
 
166 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 she termed my foolish shyness. She did not know how I 
 dreaded the alternative of accepting their gratitude or con- 
 fessing the truth. vShe had been the guest of the general's 
 daughter since my mishap, and was enthusiastic in her 
 praise. When I could defer the ordeal no longer they 
 came. There was very little said — so little that I had, or 
 thought I had, no opportunity to proclaim the truth. 
 Perhaps such things are never quite convenient. I began 
 to wonder if it were not possible to avoid it altogether. 
 The daughter had been saved by my act ; Avas it necessary 
 that I should avow the intent that really inspired it ? 
 
 The general referred to it as a deed worthy of my 
 father's son, and seemed to think there could be no higher 
 praise. There was nothing that could have given me so 
 much pleasure. The daughter uttered some quiet expres- 
 sions of gratitude and — that was all. I was glad they said 
 no more and ashamed that I had not avowed the truth. 
 
 After that she came often — sometimes sitting with my 
 mother, occasionally relieving her in her watch at my bed- 
 side. I came at length to expect and enjoy her presence, 
 despite the horrible thought that I was deceiving her by my 
 silence, and receiving her graceful attentions for an act I 
 never intended to perform. A thousand times I determined 
 to confess the truth, but was never able to begin the 
 humiliating task. 
 
 So the weeks dragged by. When I was able to ride 
 in an ambulance, upon a bed specially designed by the 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 167 
 
 ingenious surgeon, slie often sat beside me. In this way 
 we rode about the valley, and thus attended I returned to 
 Ryalmont. Yefc her presence gave even more pain than 
 pleasure. Had I not won whatever place I held in her 
 esteem by falsehood ? Nevertheless the world had changed 
 wonderfully to my eyes since I sat in the angle of the old 
 earthwork, and saw the gay party ride by. Before I even 
 dared to tempt disaster ])y the use of a crutch, my brain 
 was teeming with wild ambitious schemes. My mother 
 had no more need to urge but rather to restrain. I was 
 burning to rival in achievement the father to whom I had 
 oeen so fortunate as to be compared in courage. That com- 
 mendation at least I could rightfully and honestly accept. 
 The motive did not detract fi-om tlie coolness and courage 
 required to perform the act. Yet, after all, it was the 
 motive rather than the act that inspired the praise of which 
 I was so greedy. I did not like to speculate ujjon the mat- 
 ter, but determined that I would thereafter deserve the 
 praise that had been so generously accorded. 
 
 Had I known all these weary weeks that I was the 
 personal guest of the general, my chagrin would have been 
 unendurable. I not only had the notion which is prevalent 
 among my countrymen in regard to the mercenary charac- 
 ter of the Yankee, but was quite ignorant of that inflexible 
 system by which modern armies are subsisted. I had re- 
 garded myself, whenever I thought of the matter at all, as 
 somehow supported and cared for at public expense — 
 
k;8 eighty- nine. 
 
 merely living upon the superHuity of tlie satrap who ruled 
 onr people. I did not dream that there was any impro- 
 priety in tlius billeting me upon the service with which 
 he was connected, and if such a thought had occurred to 
 me I should hardly have deemed it out of character in a 
 Yankee general. 
 
 The truth is tliat our Nortliern friends have boasted so 
 long of the sharpness and slirewdness to which they at- 
 tribute not only individual success, l)ut the general pros- 
 perity, that they have only themselves to blame if they 
 are regarded as a nation of tricksters by whom the ability to 
 deceive is considered tlie most desirable of attainments. It is 
 hardly strange that to the people of the South, the Yankee 
 and the Jew should stand on the same level and be deemed 
 alike thrifty traffickers, Avho have souglit their own advan- 
 tage by devious ways so long that honor, though not alto- 
 gether unknown among them, has become very rare and is 
 held in little esteem. I suppose this feeling reconciled me 
 to the acceptance of favors I would otherwise have shrunk 
 from receiving at a stranger's hands. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Ryalmont even in its autnmn garl) was beautiful. The 
 soft October haze hung about the hillsides. The gums 
 and maples flamed among the pines. The dogwood flaunt- 
 ed its crimson banner among the russet oaks. The dying 
 year had never seemed so beautiful before, for my long ill- 
 ness made the earth appear all the brighter when I came to 
 look upon its face. Perhaps the fact that Edith Fairbanks 
 was a guest at Ryalmont had something to do with my 
 enjoyment of the season. Fate seemed to have decreed 
 that we should not l)e separated. Her father had made all 
 his preparations to return north, when he was suddenly 
 ordered on special duty to New Orleans. He expected to 
 be absent but a week — not more than two at the farthest. 
 My mother invited the daughter to pass the interval with 
 us at Ryalmont. It was Christmas when her father re- 
 turned. My convalescence was then comjjlete. How could 
 it be otherwise. Love had been my nurse. When I began 
 to try the shattered limb, it was ujjon her shoulder that I 
 leaned. Her eyes looked up to mine with anxious solicitude 
 at every careful step. It was not long before I had con- 
 fessed my fault, told the story of my foolish hate, and been 
 forgiven. Then I confessed another passion and was for- 
 given that also. The announcement of our betrothal 
 169 
 
1 70 EIGHTY- NINE . 
 
 awaited only her father's return. It hardly needed to be 
 announced. Everybody knew that we were lovers, and all 
 had a kindly interest in our little romance. The world is 
 always kind to unassuming love, and we took no pains to 
 conceal ours. 
 
 Ryalmont was gayer than it liad been for years. Of- 
 ficers from the garrisoji and friends from the city came to 
 see us often. My mother almost forgot her soi'row in 
 duties especially congenial to her nature. Peace had come ; 
 prosperity had begun, and fortune would soon follow. 80 
 the hours flew by with amazing swiftness. When I met 
 General Fairbanks as lie alighted drijjping and sleety at our 
 door, it seemed but a few Aveeks since I had seen him 
 riding thi-ough the valley, witli his white Panama hat 
 pressed down over his eyes to exclude the sunshine. He had 
 come for the daughter wlio was already domesticated in 
 our hillside home. Would tliis grey-bearded, firm-lipped 
 soldier approve his daughter's choice, or was my brief 
 dream of love already over — killed by the frosts of a single 
 winter ? 
 
 General Fairbanks was a successful manufacturer, whom 
 the war had transformed into a soldier. The regiment 
 which he recruited was equipped at his own expense. He was 
 made its colonel, not a little against his inclination, and in 
 this position had sliown an aptitude for war liardly inferior 
 to the ability displayed in his private affairs. While he 
 fought his business had reaped advantage from enhanced 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 171 
 
 prices, which more than compensated him for the sacrifices 
 he had made. He was justly regarded as a fine type of 
 his people — earnest, brave and honest ; but above every- 
 thing else enterprising and successful. He was somewhat 
 past middle life, and, save the dowry which his wife 
 brought, his fortune was due entirely to his own energies. 
 
 He was a splendid specimen of physical manhood. In 
 height I stood above him a hand's breadth, but, as I 
 greeted him upon the porch, I felt myself a pigmy beside 
 him. He was not large even for his height, but there was 
 an air of power about him as he sprang from his horse, and 
 mounted the steps in the pelting storm, careless of its 
 force — not as if seeking shelter, but as if the storm was 
 only an unpleasant fact, not to be seriously regarded by one 
 having a man's work to perform. 
 
 It is chiefly in this truly regal scorn of material obsta- 
 cles and their irrepressible desire for accomplishing what- 
 ever they undertake that the people of the North are our su- 
 periors. The rage for achievement is so universal with them 
 that they have ever the air of facing difficulties which must 
 be overcome witiiout delay. They appear always to be going 
 up hill. They are almost universally given to talking of 
 what they are doing or about to do. Our people, in ex- 
 changing greetings, ask after one another's families with 
 pai'ticularity. A Northern man's first inquiry of his fel- 
 low is as to his business. It is not so much self-asser- 
 tion — for they are really a modest people, more given to 
 
172 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 doing than to boasting — but rather the natural result of an 
 approved confidence in individual power. 
 
 In dealing with material problems, and especially in 
 individual capacity and self-reliance, the Yankees are un- 
 rivalled by any people in history. They have skill to de- 
 vise, courage to undertake, and fortitude to perform all 
 that is possible and many things that seem impossible. As 
 business men they are the most enterprising and dauntless 
 that the world has ever known. They have no distrust of 
 their own conclusions, and no fear of unforseen contingen- 
 cies. Strange' as it may seem, the same influences have 
 developed a people collectively the weakest and politically 
 the most truckling, whimsical and unstable, that ever 
 held the reins of power. Individual self-reliance seems so 
 prodigiously developed that confidence in public integrity, 
 wisdom and official unselfishness, has become impossible. 
 They are not. in fact, a people at all, but a mere aggrega- 
 tion of units, having only one thing in common — an un- 
 doubting confidence, each in his OAvn inteJlectual conclu- 
 sions, and an almost equally impregnable conviction in the 
 sharpness, selfishness and lack of principle of the others. 
 Confidence in himself makes each one bold in the assertion 
 and maintenance of his own ideas. Distrust of his fel- 
 lows makes him chary of boasting, but hinders continued 
 harmonious action. The result of these qualities is a peo- 
 ple self-reliant, but not self-assertive ; individually opinion- 
 ated and contentious, but weak, throufrh want of unitv ; 
 
EIGHTY-NINE, 173 
 
 with a strong pride m their business capacity, but a lax 
 instinct of personal honor. The power to outbid one's 
 fellows in the legal tender of the land is the highest ob- 
 ject of ambition, and the capacity to rise from poverty or 
 mere comfort to the rank of the millionaire is the crucial 
 test of merit. And well it may be, for with them the ladder 
 of fame has always golden rounds. The decimal point and 
 the dollar mark determine all values. With millions, there 
 is no honor or dignity that one may not achieve. Without 
 them he is powerless — socially and politically a cipher. 
 The golden key unlocks for him the door of privilege. 
 Money hides disgrace and glorifies crime. No life is too 
 shameful to bar the gambler or the pugilist from the halls 
 of CongTess, if he is but free-handed enough to pave his 
 way with coin. The doors of the Senate work on golden 
 hinges, and the dollar is the unit by which civic rank and 
 patriotic merit are estimated. 
 
 I note these facts without any thought of condem- 
 nation. They are not altogether pleasant to me, and 
 are especially inharmonious with our Southern ideal, in 
 which honor is not measured by the balance-sheet nor 
 patriotism estimated by Troy weight. They may be unavoid- 
 able in a more advanced state of societ}^ and under the 
 peculiar influences of modern civilization. As to this, I 
 cannot say. I am willing to admit that the results are in 
 many respects remarkable, and that the men it produces in- 
 
174 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 stead of being altogether ignoble are oft times among the 
 most magnificent specimens of Anglo-Saxon manhood. 
 
 8uch an one was Ambi-ose Wilson Fairbanks, Major 
 General in the Volunteer army of the United States, one of 
 the wealthiest manufacturers of the East, who had risen 
 from the humblest rank of life to the highest civic and 
 military honors by the golden ladder of business success, 
 when he became my guest at Ryalmont. I say " my guest,'' 
 for in these few months 1 had come to be the head of the 
 house, according to that inflexible Salic law of our Southern 
 life. My father's absence for so long a time had made this 
 transition all the more easy when it came. This fact pre- 
 vented me from being overwhelmed v/ith a sense of insig- 
 nificance in the presence of this man who, unaided and 
 alone, had won his Avay to distiuction in the two arenas 
 where the fight of life is hottest and the manhood of the 
 combatant most severely tested — war and trade. As his 
 host I was his equal, and forgot my callowness in the duty 
 thus imposed upon me. 
 
 After tlie plain yet abundant dinner, we retired to this 
 room for our post-prandial cigars. According to our 
 Southern country custom it was guest-chamber and smok- 
 ing room in one. A " light- wood " fire burned brightly on 
 the hearth, giving it an air of luxurious comfort that noth- 
 ing else can bestow. With much misgiving I told him of 
 my love and hope, briefly and awkwardly no doubt. He 
 was evidently not uninformed of what had happened, yet 
 
EIGHTT-NINE. 175 
 
 his self-control was not sufficient to hide the excitement 
 its recital brought. He grew pale to the very edge of the 
 clear-cut lips that showed close-shut across the parting of 
 his moustache. His cool, gray eyes gazed almost fiercely 
 into mine. The muscles of his face, however, were too 
 thoroughly under control to betray emotion. The smoke 
 came from his cigar in even, annular waves, and floated 
 steadily upward in the firelight. I was surprised at what 
 I saw, but only thought how dearly he must love his daugh- 
 ter to be so moved at what concerned her future, and my 
 heart went out to him in reverence. His agitation gave 
 me confidence, and I said, no doubt, more than the occasion 
 demanded. 
 
 He did not interrupt my communication by word or 
 gesture. When I had blundered to an end there was a mo- 
 ment's silence, j ust enough to impress me with the fact that 
 he did not answer at once. The struggle with the world 
 had taught this simple, straight-forward man to use the 
 weapons of silence and composure with exquisite skill in 
 his intercourse with men. It was as if he knew himself to 
 be powerless, if he let the enemy come within his defences, 
 that he stood thus on guard upon the on ter walls. I knew 
 before he had spoken a word that he did not altogether ap- 
 prove my suit. 
 
 Edith had told me little about her father. She was 
 his idol, her mother having long been dead. It seemed not 
 to have crossed her mind that lie could ever contravene her 
 
176 EIGHTT-NINE. 
 
 wishes. Once when I intimated a doubt of his approval, 
 stating my inexperience and lack, not merely of achieve- 
 ment biit of preparation, she had responded gaily that 
 with such a father as mine I liad no need to have a certifi- 
 cate of merit ; and as for her papa, she was sure he was too 
 grateful to tlie man who had saved his daughter's life to 
 refuse to admit him to a partnership in her love. So we 
 had talked it all over, and settled the immediate future 
 almost without consideration of this potent factor — this 
 man that now sat across the table from me, the firelight 
 shining on the gold buttons of liis bull vest, and showing 
 the dark braid upon the sleeve of his undress coat, which 
 was the only hint of rank he wore. Xo one could doubt 
 his love for the daughter, but I felt he was about to inter- 
 vene to save her fi-om what he deemed lier folly. I could 
 not say I thought him in the wrong. 
 
 "You are young, Mr. Oweu," he said at length. 
 
 Tlie tone coutirmed my impression. It gave tlie words 
 a sting that cannot be here expressed. Yet I was not angry. 
 He had the right to question and also to disapprove. I 
 owed him respect and complaisance in the exercise of this 
 right. 
 
 So I answered quietly- : ,' 
 
 " A little past nineteen, sir.^' 
 
 " Indeed ! " he ejaculated in surprise. I was evidently 
 younger than he had supposed. " Hardly older than 
 Edith,'' he added. 
 
EIGHTT-NINE. 177 
 
 '' Two years and two months, sir/' 
 
 *' Ah," he said, as a smile of wonderful sweetness came 
 over his face, warming its color and softening its outlines. 
 "■ You have evidently been comparing notes ! " 
 
 ''Naturally." 
 
 "And you have settled everything to your mutual 
 liking, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Subject to your approval, sir." 
 
 " Oh, of course," with a careless wave of the hand. 
 
 *' You know, doubtless, that Edith has an ample for- 
 tune in her own right as well as her expectancy from me ?'' 
 
 So he thought I was after his daughter's money ! I 
 could not suppress a smile at the idea. Yet what else 
 could I expect ? Was not he a successful Yankee, and I 
 the impoverished son of a Confederate soldier, whose 
 estate, at the best, had been insignificant ? I was half- 
 amused and half-provoked that I had not anticipated this. 
 So I answered lightly, but perhaps a little proudly : 
 
 "I suppose I must have known that you were 
 wealthy. I heard the attendant in the hospital say you 
 equipped your regiment. Of course, that implies wealth. 
 I have heard your daughter speak of your Mill. What 
 sort of a mill I never asked nor cared. As to your wealth 
 or hers, I am sure I never gave it a thought. Perhaps I 
 ought to have inferred it from your rank." 
 
 " Hardly," he replied, with a tone of amused sarcasm. 
 His eyes lost a trifle of their harshness as he continued : 
 
178 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 " You have enough to live upon, I suppose ? " 
 
 '* I am ray father's lieir, and will some time be my 
 mother's, too." 
 
 " And your father left—? " 
 
 " This plantation, the few books your soldiers spared, 
 and his name. " 
 
 " Of which you jirize most highly the latter I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 *' Certainly, sir ; I am very proud of that/' 
 
 " And you are quite right to be so," he responded 
 with a heartiness that surprised me. After a moment he 
 added : " This plantation, 1 take it, is not a very valuable 
 property." 
 
 **I suppose it would yield a fair living," I answered 
 seriously, '* and, supplemented by what 1 expect to earn, 
 would be enough." 
 
 " Spoken like a man, Mr. Owen ; spoken like a man ;" 
 said he, approvingly. His earnestness confused me. As 
 long as he remained the cool, calculating guardian of his 
 wealth I understood him, or thought I did ; but when he 
 spoke in this manner he took me at a disadvantage. So I 
 began to distrust him when he said in tones of marked 
 kindness : 
 
 " And now about yourself. What do you intend to do ?" 
 
 Was he about to yield ? My hope revived. 
 
 I told him that I proposed to complete my education, 
 and afterwards adopt my father's profession. 
 
ELGHTY-NINE. 179 
 
 " And this will take—" 
 
 *' Three or four years." 
 
 '^ And you are willing to wait ?" 
 
 " Of course," said I indignantly. '' You do not sup- 
 pose I would think of marrying your daughter until I was 
 able to support her properly ?" 
 
 "No matter what I supposed ; I am glad of your as- 
 surance to the contrary." Then he turned and looked 
 thonghtf ully into the fire. I could not understand him, so I 
 said : 
 
 " I hope you believe what I say, General Fairbanks." 
 
 "Every word of it, sir," he answered, looking me 
 squarely in the face. "I believe that you love ray 
 daughter for her own sake, and would loyally love and 
 maintain her if she had not a friend or a penny in the 
 world." 
 
 What did he mean, this hard, practical man ? I 
 could not make him out. I wished to thank him, but I 
 felt sure that there was to be an unpleasant sequel. So I 
 remained silent. 
 
 "And Edith," he asked, after awhile. "Is she con- 
 tent with this i^rospect of love in a cottage ? That is what 
 you term such rosy expectations, is it not, Mr. Owen ?" 
 
 He spoke with a smile, but his words galled me. 
 
 " Perhaps you had better ask her," I replied, rather 
 tartly. 
 
 "Of course, I intend to do that," he responded in a 
 
180 EIGIITY.Nl NE . 
 
 matter-of-fact tone. ' ' I shall have to talk it over with your 
 mother, too. Perhaps the best way will be for us to con- 
 sider it all together — a sort of council of war." 
 
 " Nothing could please me better," I replied. " Shall 
 we call them ? " 
 
 I rose as I spoke and threw my cigar into the fire. I 
 had hardly smoked it at all, and noticed that the one my- 
 companion held had gone out. It struck me as peculiar, 
 for I remembered to have heard that, no matter how hot 
 tlie battle raged, General Fairbanks's cigar was always 
 alight. 
 
 *' Not just yet," said he, with a gesture towards my 
 chair. ** I have something to say to you first, which may 
 perhaps render further consideration of this matter un- 
 necessary." 
 
 I seated myself and waited. He sat so long looking 
 intently into the fire that I concluded he had forgotten my 
 presence. All at once it occurred to me that he was about 
 to object because of my southern birth and Confederate 
 affinity. I knew that the strongest impulse of his nature 
 was patriotism. I knew also, that he represented the very 
 extreme of northern thought. All at once the difference 
 between his views and mine, the great gulf which separated 
 the two peoples, yawned before me. I wondered that I 
 had not thought of it before, but though I could well 
 understand how a Southern father might object to his 
 daugliter's marriage with a Yankee, it had never occurred 
 
EIGHTY-NIN E. 181 
 
 to me that the same objection, or even a greater, might 
 exist against a southern suitor in the mind of a northern 
 parent. The thought made rae angry and defiant. 
 
 ''Perhaps you object to me, sir, because of my south- 
 ern birth — because of the Confederate cause with which my 
 name is forever linked by my father's fame ? " 
 
 He turned towards me, with a pitying smile upon 
 his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. I noted then for the 
 first time that his lids were heavy and he seemed to have a 
 worn and anxious look. 
 
 " We do not carry politics or religion into our social 
 relations," he said. ''I do not deny that I would rather 
 Edith had chosen one of our own i:)eople, I do not share 
 the admiration which so many have for Southern life and 
 character. It is well enough in its way, but entirely differ- 
 ent from ours. That, however, is for her to consider. All 
 I can do is to insist that she shall have time, opportunity 
 and freedom to decide, and not be bound by any bond 
 or pledge, prematurely given." 
 
 " I will not conceal from you," he said, as he rose and 
 paced back and forth in evident anxiety, " that there are 
 grave reasons why she should not at present engage herself 
 to any one. Of these she will be fully informed. In a 
 sense, Mr. Owen, I am not romantic, but I can never for- 
 get that you saved my daughter's life and by virtue of that 
 fact have a claim on her love and my regard which no other 
 man can have. If she finds you worthy, I have no right or 
 
182 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 inclination to object. I shall only require that you leave 
 her free to determine, at any time, exactly what shall be 
 your future relations, and I assure you, sir, that whenever 
 she may decide that her happiness will be subserved by 
 uniting her destiny with yours, I shall most heartily ap- 
 j)rove. A son of General Owen, who reveres his father's 
 memory and has shown the spirit you have manifested, is 
 worthy of alliance with any American family. As for the 
 difference of sentiment existing between us, I am willing 
 to trust to time to teach you "that your father was wrong. 
 That is all there is of the matter, anyhow. To my think- 
 ing the difference is merely fanciful, and I believe the war 
 to have been unnecessary, if not foolish. In time you will 
 no doubt arrive at the same conclusion." 
 
 How his careless words and dispassionate manner stung 
 me ! Could it be possible that I should ever fall so low as 
 to admit that the father whose memory I Avorshiped had 
 been wrong ? Was that the condition precedent of my 
 happiness ? If so, I determined to elect disappointment and 
 misery instead. 
 
 Meantime General Fairbanks went on : 
 
 ''I should be glad to show my confidence in your 
 father's son by informing you of the nature of my objection 
 to a present engagement, but I am not at liberty to do so. 
 This I will say : I have never contravened my daughter's 
 wish in any matter where her happiness was at stake, and 
 shall not do so now. The decision will be hers." 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 183 
 
 " Indeed," said lie, as he paused before me and ex- 
 tended his hand, " I sincerely wish that the obstacles were 
 swept away and that you and Edith were ready to com- 
 mence life in this pleasant mountain home with your cour- 
 age and her faith as the sole capital of your life venture." 
 
 I forgave him even this mercantile simile as I felt the 
 earnest clasp of a hand as strong as my own. 
 
 " But you must remember, sir, that we have not at 
 all times control of our own acts. You yourself are not 
 yet ready for the happiness you desire. Some years must 
 elapse before you can think of marriage. What may hap- 
 pen in the meantime we do not know. The obstacle that 
 now exists may possibly be removed. Thank Grod, it is not 
 absolutely insurmountable, and if my daughter's happiness 
 depends upon my overcoming it no effort on my part shall 
 be wanting. In these years you may change — I know," he 
 said, anticipating tlie denial that sprang to my lips, " I 
 know you do not think so. But you are young. So is 
 Edith. The next few years will bring much experience to 
 you both. I shall put no restriction on your intercourse. 
 In fact, I should prefer that it continue. I hope to see 
 you often in our home and trust we may again be your 
 guests. It is only fair that I should tell you that I have 
 resigned my commission in the army and am on my way 
 home. My place is but an hour's ride from the college you 
 are to attend, and we shall be glad to have you and your 
 mother make it your home as often as you desire during 
 
184 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 your course. Edith has written ine about the matter and 
 I heartily approve. Are you wilhng to leave things thus 
 deemed advisable to modify your relations ? You must 
 in abeyance until she comes of age or it is mutually 
 remember that I act as guardian as well as parent." 
 
 I was not williug. What lover was ever willing to 
 prolong incertitude as to his fate ? This he no doubt saw, 
 for he added : 
 
 " I mean, of course, if Edith approve what I suggest ?" 
 
 AVhat lover ever dare refuse to submit to such arbitra- 
 ment ? I bowed assent. He shook my hand warmly and 
 said heartily : 
 
 "Thank you!" 
 
 I thought his voice was husky, but it was clear enough 
 a moment after when, having relighted his cigar, he said : 
 
 ** Well then, that is settled. Now please seiicl Edith 
 to me for a few moments, and come yourself after a time 
 with your mother, whom you will, of course, inform as to 
 the purport of our conversation. I doubt not she will ap- 
 prove what I have done." 
 
 I found Edith and my mother in the sitting-room. 
 They sat together on the rug before the fire, my mother 
 holding the young girl in her arms. The widow's weeds 
 contrasted well with the bright maidenly attire of the girl, 
 and my mother's fair matronly face with its massy coil of 
 golden hair detracted nothing from the classic outlines of 
 the delicate head that lay upon her bosom. The firelight 
 
EIOHTY-NINE. 185 
 
 formed an aureole of fitting and peculiar radiance about 
 them. I thought I had never seen so fair a picture. 
 
 Edith raised her head and turned a flushed face full of 
 tender inquiry towards me as I delivered my message. She 
 was evidently surprised — almost alarmed — but rose and 
 went to her father without remark. I sat down and told 
 my mother what had occurred. She leaned her head upon 
 my knee and turned her soft, sweet face towards me as she 
 listened. When I had concluded she sat awhile in thought. 
 Then she said : 
 
 " He is right, my son. Do not be cast down. He is 
 a good man — a good man, Ryal, and you may trust him." 
 
 Presently there was a rustle behind us. Edith stood 
 in the doorway. The darkness of the passage behind seemed 
 to enfold her as if dragging her away. Her face was clouded, 
 too. I could not see her eyes, but thought there must be 
 tears in them. She held a handkerchief to her lips and her 
 voice trembled as she said : 
 
 " If you — please — my father — is waiting." 
 
 I assisted my mother to rise, and we followed to her 
 father's room. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 When we entered Edith was ah-eady seated on a low 
 ottoman, her face turned half away from the firelight, one 
 hand resting in her father's, her head leaning upon the 
 other, which still held her handkerchief. Her figure drooped 
 and she seemed suddenly to have grown old. It was evi- 
 dent that some fact of a serious nature had come into her 
 consciousness since she had responded to her father's re- 
 ({uest. I felt in an instant that I had dropped out of her 
 life, at least as a controlling factor. Thereafter I might 
 be first in her love, but her father's wish would shape her 
 destiny. An hour before, my love had been supreme in her 
 heart ; now I knew it to be subordinated to a sentiment so 
 absorbing and intense that the very thought of love seemed 
 to have been obliterated. 
 
 A pang of jealousy shot through my heart as I realized 
 how completely I had been supplanted in her thought. In 
 an instant, however, this feeling was changed to one of in- 
 finite pity for the drooping figure on the hassock as she 
 gazed up into her father's face with such completeness of 
 self-immolation. I loved her not less but more, and knew 
 that henceforth I must always be the willing slave of that 
 love. I might be nothing to her, but she must be every- 
 thing to me. I knew better than ever before that she was 
 
 186 
 
ETGRTT-NtNE. 187 
 
 mine ; mine, not perhaps to have and to hold^ but mine to 
 love and trust to the end. 
 
 So my little romance was over. The love I had won 
 by accident had been blighted by fate. The hate which 
 had turned to love, revenged itself upon mo by demanding 
 all and promising nothing in return. 
 
 The general received us courteously. When we were 
 seated he said, addressing my mother : 
 
 '' I suppose there is no need of explanation ? " 
 
 ''None at all, General," she answered, with the fine 
 tact that always marked her words. •'■' My son has to make 
 his own way in the world, and while I cannot blame him 
 for loving Edith, I think an engagement should not be 
 thought of until his prospects are more definite than at 
 present.'' 
 
 " No doubt," he answered, with his businesslike air. 
 '' But my course was not determined by any such consider- 
 ation. My daughter's happiness is mine, and no pruden- 
 tial consideration could induce mc to thwart her desire. I 
 regret that I am unable to sjieak more frankly of the real 
 motive of my conduct." 
 
 " It is quite unnecessary," said ray mother ; '' we are 
 sure it must be a good one, and are greatly obliged to you 
 for informing us that it has nothing to do with the unfor- 
 tunate events of the last few years. I am certain that if 
 my husband had lived he would have been foremost in every 
 endeavor to restore harmony to our distracted country. It 
 
188 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 is for tliis reason^ chiefly, that I am anxious that my son's 
 education should be completed at the North. I would not 
 have him cease to be a Southern man, but I think the peo- 
 ple on both sides should try to understand each other and 
 join hands in the endeavor to hold the country together and 
 prevent any recurrence of the horrors of the past four 
 years." 
 
 There were tears in my mother's eyes and her voice 
 choked as she ceased speaking. 1 was surprised that one of 
 her domestic inclination should express such decided views 
 upon public matters. It was hardly strange, however. The 
 people of the South thought of little else at that time, and 
 the mothers Avere very often wiser than the sons. There 
 was a look of positive admiration in the general's eyes as he 
 listened to her words, and at the conclusion he said : 
 
 '*If everybody were as sensible as you. Mrs. Owen, we 
 should soon forget all that has happened." 
 
 She glanced at her mourning gown and to^^ched it al- 
 most unconsciously, smoothing down a recreant fold. He 
 perceived his error, and flushed deeply as he added : 
 
 "^'I mean, of course, in a public sense. The dead — of 
 course — " 
 
 Here he broke down (!ompletely and my mother, ap- 
 parently answering his thought rather than his word, 
 echoed : 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 After a moment's silence he said : 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 189 
 
 " There is another matter of interest to you which mnst 
 now be attended to as I am compelled to leave on my way 
 North to-morrow morning. While I should have been 
 loath to go without congratulating your son upon his re- 
 covery and testifying again my gratitude for the gallant 
 act which left me one thing in life to cling to, yet I would 
 hardly have delayed my journey even for a day, had it not 
 been for a duty enjoined upon me under peculiar circum- 
 stances, which I may have no other opportunity to per- 
 form. 
 
 ''I am not generally superstitious, but you will hardly 
 wonder that I was somewhat startled at what has occurred, 
 when I tell you that my chief reason for accepting my re- 
 cent command was a desire to find one Eyal Owen.'^ 
 
 Our surprise at this announcement could not have 
 been greater than that which showed itself in Edith's coun- 
 tenance. Her father noticed it and said with a smile : 
 
 "Edith never heard your name, Mr. Owen, until you 
 had saved her from peril ; but I had been hunting you for 
 months, little dreaming what your discovery might cost me 
 — not tliat I should be entirely the loser by the proposed 
 exchange." 
 
 Even in matters of the heart the Yankee instinct was 
 uppermost, and the simile he used Avas drawn from the 
 conflicts of the arena in which he had first won distinction. 
 My mother smiled at this somewhat awkward attempt at 
 
190 EtanTY-KINE. 
 
 gaiety, aud tlie matter-of-fact soldier relapsing into hid 
 usual tone, continued his narrative : 
 
 "1 do not know why I never spoke to her of it, un- 
 less it be that reticence has become almost second nature 
 to me. The fact is, I entered upon this quest at the 
 special request of General Godson Owen. 
 
 " You are surprised at this, and will be more so when 
 you know how curiously I was baffled in my search. Know- 
 ing Edith's romantic desire to restore your father's horse to 
 the family of his gallant owner, I thought to give her a 
 })lcasant surprise as well as i)erform a duty incumbent upon 
 me by finding you witliout her knowledge. 80 I souglit 
 for you far and near, and had just learned that you were 
 home were in ihis region when fate brought us into such 
 strange rehitions. 
 
 " You wonder how I came to know of your existence 
 or to have any desire to find you out ? It is not a pleasant 
 story. You are aware, madam, that I commanded tlie 
 troops against which your husband led his division in that 
 last hopeless charge. I was standing on the ridge along the 
 side of which my skirmishers were advancing in a pretty 
 strong line, driving the enemy — the Confederates, you un- 
 derstand — before them. We all knew that the end could 
 not be very far off, and I think every one felt a thrill of 
 horror at every shot that was fired and every life that was 
 thus needlessly sacrificed. For tliree days there had been 
 no hope for Lee's army. Indeed, when he left the works 
 
EIOHTT-NTNE. 191 
 
 around Petersbiii'g there was no longer any reasonable hope. 
 For two days his retreat had been a continued series of use- 
 less encounters to gain an hour's time in order to enable the 
 commander and a fragment of his army to escape immediate 
 capture. I do not wish to be harsh, but to my mind every 
 life that was lost after Lee found himself forced to retreat 
 in the face of overwhelming odds, with one sj^lendidly ap- 
 pointed army upon his track and another on his flank, was 
 simply a sacrifice to unholy ambition. So we pursued 
 the shattered army and slew those who would not yield. 
 AVe pressed them hard — it was a mercy to force the end — 
 yet it was sickening work. 
 
 " I was saying something of this kind to my staff, 
 when I saw General Owen come out of the woods in front 
 of my line with his hat on the point of his sword. He did 
 not once look back, but, facing squarely to the front, rode 
 towards our skirmishers, his men pressing close after him 
 with loud huzzas. It was a useless though heroic effort. 
 My heart turned sick as I gave the orders that would de- 
 stroy the gallant little band. They had pressed the skir- 
 mishers back upon the main line when a dozen cannon and 
 ten thousand muskets poured death into their ranks. They 
 wavered an instant and then fled — all that were left of 
 them — across the creek to join again the toiling ranks of 
 the fleeing army." 
 
 My mother was weeping silently. Edith stole across 
 
192 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 the room and, taking a seat beside her, drew her head upon 
 her shoulder. Her father glanced at them aj^provingly. 
 
 '' I saw your husband when he fell. Somehow I felt 
 irresistibly attracted by his gallantry. In a moment I was 
 beside him. Some of my men had already laid him by a 
 blossoming thornbush on the road side. He was dead — was 
 probably dead before he fell from the saddle. His horse, 
 badly wounded, stood by him neighing piteously. I ordered 
 the body to be buried by the thornbush where it lay, hav- 
 having ascertained his name by papers in his possession. 
 The saber, which he still held in his stiffening grasp, and 
 some other mementoes I took charge of, hoping some time 
 to transmit them to his family. The glove he wore was 
 taken from his riglit hand and a case found in an inner 
 ]30cket placed within it. He sleeps with the image of his 
 loved ones on his breast, madam, and it only remains for 
 me to hand you these mementoes of as brave a soldier as 
 ever wore a sword." 
 
 General Fairbanks went to the bed, on which lay a 
 package, which his orderly had brought, and, returning, 
 placed a sword, a pair of spurs and a soiled gauntlet in my 
 mother's lap. 
 
 "And these," he added, turning to me, "you will see 
 I give into your hands according to your father's request. 
 His directions misled me, and your unfortunate accident 
 induced me to wait until all apprehension of harm from the 
 
EIGHTY- NI NE. 193 
 
 excitement necessarily attending the revival of such sad 
 memories should be passed." 
 
 I received from this strange messenger of the dead a 
 small leather-covered volume tied with a string, and a large 
 official envelope, bearing the imprint of the division my 
 father had commanded, and directed in his hand : 
 
 "To my son, Ryal Owen, supposed to be living near 
 Oconee, Georgia. In case of my death, the Under of this 
 will please deliver, if possible with his own hand ; if not, 
 then by the most certain method that may offer. Signed, 
 
 " GODSOX OAVEIf, C. S. A." 
 
 There was a long silence. My mother wept and kissed 
 the dear relics again and again. We both endeavored to 
 thank the brusque soldier who had so kindly remembered 
 the f&mily of his foe, but he waved aside our gratitude and 
 turned quickly away to conceal the tears that filled his eyes. 
 
 From that hour I never questioned the motives of 
 Ambrose Fairbanks. Fate had made him my father's em- 
 bassador ; and his character was sacred to those to whom 
 he came thus strangely accredited. 
 
 After a time I untied the string and glanced along the 
 jjages of my father's diary — the record of his thoughts dur- 
 ing those final days of struggle. Each year he had sent us 
 one of these priceless mementoes of his love. Then I 
 looked at the envelope made of the coarse, yellowish paper 
 which was the only kind we had within the limits of the 
 
194 EIOUTT.NINE. 
 
 Confederacy. Mechanically I broke the seal imtl foinul 
 within another. I took it out and read aloud this super- 
 scription • 
 
 ** To my son, Ryal Owen : 
 
 If you are yet unmarried on your twenty -third birth- 
 day, I desire that you will open this on that day and read 
 its contents. Should you decide to marry previous to that 
 time, I request that you will burn this unopened. 
 
 "' Godson Owen." 
 
 " Bless me, what a strange thing ! " exclaimed my 
 mother, forgetting her grief in the wonder and awe which 
 this injunction inspired. *'It really frightens one to 
 think—" 
 
 She stopped and glanced from one to another as if she 
 had said too much. 
 
 There was a long silence. Each was conscious of the 
 other's tJiought. Then Edith rose and coming softly to 
 my side held out her hand and said : 
 
 ''Will you give me that letter to keep for you ?" 
 
 I glanced at her father. He nodded approval and I 
 placed it in her hand. She clasped it to her bosom and re- 
 mained standing beside me. 
 
 " Ryal," she said. I rose and stood beside her. She 
 looked up into my eyes. There was the same beseeching 
 look in hers that I remembered when she looked down 
 upon me from the back of the flying steed. " Ryal," she 
 
EIGETY-NINE. 195 
 
 repeated, '' the life you saved will always be yours, happen 
 what may." 
 
 I looked towards her father, anxious not to seem to 
 break my pledge. His look did not forbid. I took her in 
 my arms and kissed her lips. 
 
 " Command me," I said, " and I will obey. "Whether 
 as lover, friend or servant, it matters not — " 
 
 " Nay/' said she gently interrupting, with her hand 
 upon my lips. '"Be my knight to do whatever honor re- 
 quires, in my name." 
 
 Before one eould guess her intention slie had released 
 herself from my embrace, taken the sv/ord from my mother's 
 lap, drawn the polished blade from the worn scabbard, and 
 turned toward me with it upraised. I do not know why, 
 but I knelt before her. She touched me lightly on the 
 shoulder, presented the golden hilt with the one silver star 
 upon the cross, and I pressed it to my lips with as much 
 consecrating fervor as any knight of chivalry ever felt. 
 
 It was a curious scene for this matter-of-fact age, but 
 somehow none of those present seemed to think it out of 
 place, and even as I write of it now, it does not seem alto- 
 gether absurd. Many a knight has kissed that jeweled hilt 
 since then and I — I have fulfilled my vow. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Little need bo said of the years that followed. My 
 life was that of the ordinary college student, only for me 
 tlie college was situated in a new world. It was the first 
 glimpse of what I had hitherto only dreamed of as " the 
 Xorth." To me i^ had only been the antipode of the 
 South — my South — 7ny home — my country, whose aspira- 
 tions, woes and prejudices were part and parcel of my life. 
 This life I brought with me — its defiance, scorn, almost 
 contempt, of all that differed from it. The misfortunes of 
 my people, the injustice they had suffered, the losses they 
 had endured — all these were in my mind when I came into 
 the enemy's country to fit myself to satisfy my mother's 
 ambition and win the fairest daughter of our hereditary 
 foes. I realize now what a strange compound of arrogance, 
 suspicion, self-conceit and romantic aspiration it was that 
 came up from the Southern battle-fields and knocked at 
 the portals of the Northern college. 
 
 There was no question about my ability to matriculate. 
 Fortunately my training had been thorough if somewhat 
 fragmentary. I had, too, something of my father's aptitude 
 for acquirement as well as his stubborn resolution to 
 achieve. 
 
 I hardly know when the awakening came. Little by 
 
 196 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. I97 
 
 little my preconceptions were destroyed. I sought in vain 
 for my ideals. I could not find among the jDeople I so 
 thoroughly disliked the attributes on which my antipathy 
 was founded. At first, I counted those whom I met excep- 
 tions, as I had already decided Edith and her father to be, 
 to the general life from which they sprang. As these 
 "exceptions" multiplied I began to doubt, and long before 
 my course was ended I had abandoned my former preju- 
 dices, concluded that it was mere ignorance of each other's 
 inclinations that kept the South and the North apart, and 
 wondered that this misconception should have culminated 
 in war quite as devoutly as I had previously questioned how 
 it could ever subside into peace. 
 
 Of course, I still thought the fault and the offense were 
 on the part of the N"orth, but I wondered greatly how such 
 a good-natured, kindly, tolerant people could have been so 
 misled and corrupted by demagogues and zealots. I 
 regretted most sincerely that there was not a full and per- 
 fect mutual understanding and comprehension of motives 
 and sentiments on the part of the people of the two sections. 
 I was sure that nothing more was necessary to secure the 
 most perfect and complete accord. That was what I said, 
 and what I thought I felt. The fact is, I only thought of 
 a one-sided tolerance and appreciation, not a mutual one. I 
 wished the people of the North might understand the 
 motives and impulses of the people of the South. Then, I 
 was sure, they would realize how much they had unwittingly 
 
198 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 ■wronged them ; and then, I was confident, our people would 
 forgive them fully, and after that there could only be har- 
 mony. 
 
 To the other side of the matter I gave little thought. 
 It never occurred to me that it was equally desirable that 
 the people of the South should learn to understand and ap- 
 preciate the people of the North. I do not remember once 
 to have considered the question whether the wrong and the 
 folly might not have been on their side. I did sometimes 
 wish our people might understand that the Yankees 
 were much better fellows than our fancy had painted them 
 --here at home, at least. I even wished that some of them 
 — a good many of the richest and brightest and most enter- 
 prising — might go to the South with money and skill and 
 transform our almost barren wastes into fruitful fields and 
 centers of prosperous industry. I dreamed the dream, 
 which comes to every Southern man of intelligence and pa- 
 triotism, of a South built up and enriched by the munifi- 
 cence, thrift and energy of her conquerors. I saw her mines, 
 her forests and her waterways made tributary to the demands 
 of commerce, and her people enriched by the sale of their 
 possessions to the stranger. But it never once occurred to 
 me that the stranger would naturally seek to become a con- 
 stituent and distinctive element of our society, that he 
 might desire to change its characteristics, or that the energy 
 and enterprise I so greatly admired were the results of essen- 
 tially different conditions, and must of necessity demand 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. I99 
 
 and require great modifications of our Southern life. It 
 seemed to me a very simple matter, if the Northern people 
 could only be made to understand its simplicity. 
 
 Perhaps my views on this subject were modified, not 
 only by the surroundings of my daily life on the campus 
 and in the class-room, but also by two events which sepa- 
 rated me still more from the common lot of my country- 
 men. It was scarcely a year after my departure that The 
 Grove was sold. As I have said, the family seat was at 
 Ryalmont. There all our sweetest memories and fondest 
 associations seemed to have centered. I did not conq^i'e- 
 hend the reason then. It is plain enough now that my 
 father was never really at home at The Grove. The pro- 
 ductive, well-ordered plantation did not comjDensate him 
 for the picturesque beauty of the mountain farm. My 
 mother must have realized this, so that her heart turned 
 instinctively to Ryalmont as the real home of the husband 
 whose memory she cherished. 
 
 After the camp was discontinued and the entire plan- 
 tation at The Grove reverted to my mother's possession, 
 we found a considerable portion of it occupied by those 
 half-unconscious trespassers, the newly-made freedmen. 
 They had naturally gathered about the camp, and by some 
 means or other had contrived to build not a few of those 
 little huts which were the first refuge of the freedman, 
 fleeing with a sort of undefined dread from the scene of 
 his servitude, as if freedom was to him an incredible fact 
 
300 EIGHTT-NINE. 
 
 until he had actually tested his own power to contravene 
 the wish of his former master. 
 
 This little cluster of huts had grown into quite a vil- 
 lage, and it was evident that u colored colony, such as is 
 always found upon one side or another of every Southern 
 city, had pitched upon our old plantation as the chosen 
 site for the freedmen's suhurb of the city it adjoined. 
 In that chaotic time no attempt was made at their expul- 
 sion. The law was yet dormant after tlie clash of arms. 
 Christopher cultivated the bottoms and exacted from the oc- 
 cupants of the huts upon the hills an uncertain rental, which, 
 though but a slight tax upon each, added materially to 
 our revenue. Many of them inspired by a curious sense of 
 the dignity attaching to the ownership of land, very soon 
 desired to purchase the lots they occupied by virtue of a 
 sort of squatter sovereignty. 
 
 Perhaps it was these circumstances that led eventually 
 to its alienation. However that may be, it was sold to a 
 wealthy Northern philanthropist, who selected it, I think, 
 not a little through the influence of General Fairbanks, as 
 the location of an educational institution he proposed to 
 build for the use of the colored people. No more fitting 
 site could have been chosen. Overlooking the thriving 
 town and the fertile valley, it was the ideal location for a 
 university. 
 
 Neither my mother nor myself at that time had any 
 sympathy with the use for which it was intended. In the 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 201 
 
 freedmen, as a self -directing race, we had no interest, and 
 indeed, no thought for them except a sort of contemptuous 
 pity. Our chief feeling in regard to the transaction was 
 that it only completed the desecration begun by the Yankee 
 army ; and as we did not wish to live at The Grove, we 
 saw no reason why it should not be sold, especially as the 
 price offered was a liberal one. I learned afterwards to 
 respect the motives of those engaged in the work of edu- 
 cating the freedmen. I did not then deem it possible that 
 they could ever become an important element of our civili- 
 zation, and thought the attempt to educate them only a 
 harmless continuation of the Northern crusade for their 
 emancipation. 
 
 So I was glad the plantation was sold. Its possession 
 served only to keep alive the one memory of the past which 
 I could not forgive. I never thought of it without seeing 
 my mother and little sister fleeing half-clothed into the 
 darkness, Avhile the flame lighted up the surging cohimn 
 of sooty vapor that rolled upward from the blazing roof- 
 tree. Then Avould come the memory of the torrents pour- 
 ing down upon us, of the slippery, crowded roads, the fright- 
 ened women and fainting children, the hot, quick breath of 
 the little sister that lay in my arms as we trudged through 
 the darkness. So, though I had all the Southern fondness 
 for land, I was glad to part with the plantation and espe- 
 cially glad of the relief from care which the transaction 
 brought to my mother. I have since felt a tinge of regret 
 
202 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 that a stranger's name is linked with the old home in the 
 relation it must bear to the future of a race. Historically, 
 it is an enduring monument of a wisdom and beneficence 
 we were not then ready to appreciate. 
 
 To my mother this sale opened the door of a new life. 
 It lifted her not only above want but even above the neces- 
 sity of irksome economy. We were richer in comparison 
 with our neighbors than ever before. The income of 
 the amount realized by the sale together with the rental of 
 Ryalmont was enough for our modest wants and a sufficient 
 surplus for our holidays. 
 
 I have alluded before to my mother's personal charms, 
 but I never realized until that time what a tender effulgence 
 her beauty cast about her. She was still young and there 
 was no little of loverlike adoration in my regard for her. 
 After the sale she spent little time at Ryalmont. Every 
 autumn she returned to collect the rents, which, of course, 
 were paid "in kind,'' and to make arrangements for the 
 following year. The remainder of the time she spent at 
 the North — the greater portion of it with Edith Fairbanks. 
 Somehow there was a peculiar harmony between the fair- 
 haired Southern woman, with her blue eyes and soft, trans- 
 parent complexion, and the dark, slender Northern maiden, 
 who was the very ideal of that conventional beauty which, 
 with curious inaccuracy, has been made the type of South- 
 ern loveliness. They were almost inseparable. 
 
 General Fairbanks' residence, " Sagamo Lodge," as he 
 
EIQHTY-NINE. 203 
 
 had humorously named it, was hardly an hour's ride from 
 the college I attended. It stood upon the banks of a 
 beautiful river with the blue waters of the Sound in sight 
 from its upper windows. A mile away was the little village 
 which had grown up about his mills — a model village in a 
 community where more attention is given to the questions 
 attending industrial association than in any other part of 
 the world. ' The banks of the stream and the wooded 
 eminences far and near were crowned with the elegant and 
 sometimes palatial residences of the princes of the great 
 metropolis of trade, which lay within easy reach. Between 
 the families of the owners there subsisted a sort of baronial 
 courtesy, resting rather upon the fact of commercial solidity 
 than similarity of tastes and character. They were of all 
 sorts and classes, gathered from all parts of the country 
 and some from other lands ; but they were all rich — some 
 of them lavishly and luxuriously, as the good American 
 loves to be in attestation of his success, and some of them 
 quietly and contentedly like soldiers enjoying the fruits of 
 victory of which they do not care to vaunt. Taken all in 
 all, they formed a curiously pleasant class, insensibly distin- 
 guished from, and yet harmoniously related to, the inhabi- 
 tants of the prosperous villages, scattered here and there 
 along the line of railroad. Their yachts dotted the spark- 
 ling river ; their equipages dashed along the quiet roads. 
 The low, sandy beach that bordered the Sound was over- 
 looked by summer houses overflowing during the season 
 
204 EIGHTY -NINE. 
 
 with rich people from the great city bent on self -enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 Such an atmosphere seemed to develop a phase of my 
 mother's character which I had hardly suspected. My 
 grandmother had called her gay, and she had been noted 
 us the most attractive hostess in a region where entertain- 
 ment is the most highly-prized of all the arts. I was young 
 then, however, and what had since occurred had almost 
 blotted it from my memory. I had never dreamed that 
 such a change was possible. It was not frivolity, still less 
 was it a desire for admiration. It was simply the peaceful 
 enjoyment of pleasant surroundings. There was nothing 
 feverish or unnatural about it. She neither invited nor 
 repelled admiration. She did not forget her relations to the 
 past in her enjoyment of the present. If my classmates 
 raved about her when she came to visit me at the college, it 
 was as my mother that they sang her praises and honored 
 me with kindly envy. She did not forget her widowhood, 
 refusing to lay aside the indications of mourning until the 
 day of my graduation. 
 
 I hardly know how it was that we became, my mother 
 and I, such habitual denizens of the Fairbanks home. 
 The father, despite the proximity of the mills, which were 
 supposed to be the foundation of his fortune, was absent 
 much of the time, and I think was very glad to secure for 
 his daughter so distinguished and acceptable a chaperon 
 as my mother. He was engaged in great enterprises. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 205 
 
 which absorbed his entire atteution and demanded all his 
 energies, giving him little opportunity to cater to his daugh- 
 ter's comfort and enjoyment. 
 
 For myself, I came and went with scarcely a thought 
 of the singularity of my position. Nothing more had 
 been said in regard to my relations with Edith, When they 
 were at home I usually went down on Saturday and spent 
 the Sabbath with them. On such occasions I always found 
 Edith, with her phaeton and her favorite horse, awaiting 
 my arrival at the station. She treated me, I thought, with 
 the frank, affectionate manner accorded to an accepted 
 suitor. Though her father had never in words stated 
 his approval, yet it was evident from a thousand things 
 that he looked forward with pleasant anticipation to the 
 completion of my preparatory studies and my entrance upon 
 real life. He was especially anxious that I should fit myself 
 for my father's profession, and spared no opportunity to 
 urge me to renewed exertion. He manifested also a great 
 desire that my preparations should be completed before the 
 opening of the packet my father had left for me. I was 
 able only by the greatest effort to gratify his desire. 
 
 This life, though seemingly an idyllic one, was to me 
 therefore one of unremitting toil. During the whole period 
 I hardly knew what it was to have a holiday. Every glimpse 
 of my mother and Edith was a spur to redoubled exertion. 
 I had the delightful consciousness that my course was 
 watched by loving eyes, and that more than one life was 
 
206 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 ordered with a view to promote my success and secure my 
 hajipiuess. 
 
 During the winter the house was generally closed for a 
 considerahlo period, which my mother and Edith spent 
 either in ''the city" — as New York is always designated 
 by the dwellers in that region — or at some other social cen- 
 ter. One season they were in Washington, where I joined 
 them for the winter vacation. There could have been no 
 better initiation into the curious life of the national capital 
 than that which I received as the son of Godson Owen and 
 the prospective son-in-law of Ambrose Fairbanks, who was 
 no less eminent as a financier than as a soldier. Tliese two 
 circumstances opened to me every door, and made me wel- 
 come even to the antijDodes of political thought. 
 
 While I was often congratulated by friends on my 
 supposed relation to Edith, no allusion was ever made to it 
 in the family and only rarely between Edith and myself. 
 It was rather an assumed than an acknowledged fact. Only 
 my mother spoke of it frequently. It was the acme of her 
 hope, and she never lost an opj)ortunity when we were 
 alone together of giving expression to her desire. She 
 seemed to think that she must not relax her watchcare over 
 me until my fate was irrevocably linked with Edith's, and she 
 counted the months until my twenty-third birthday with 
 ill-concealed anxiety. Especially was this noticeable dur- 
 ing my last year of preparation. Indeed, her whole con- 
 duct that year had a strange flavor of excitement. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 207 
 
 As I said, it had been decided to defer the reading of 
 my father's missive until the condusion of my course of 
 preparation. It was still in Edith's possession, and as we 
 could not guess its contents we had long since ceased to 
 speculate in regard to them ; at least, I had. I learned 
 afterwards that apprehension as to its character had not 
 only rested continually on my mother's heart, but had pre- 
 vented Edith from looking forward with secure anticipa- 
 tion to our future. As to General Fairbanks, his anxiety 
 towards the last became evident to all. It had been 
 arranged, at his special request, that the missive should be 
 read on Saturday, the first day of July, Edith's birthday 
 falling on the third. Even with this arrangement fate in- 
 terfered. 
 
 My preparation had ended more than a month previous 
 to this date, and at my mother's suggestion I returned to 
 my native state and was admitted to the bar, in order that 
 I might place the credentials of my profession in the Gen- 
 eral's hands at the same time, as an earnest of my determi- 
 nation to rely upon myself rather than on any accident of 
 fortune. It was not my intention to return to the South 
 to live, but rather to seek a location in the West, the op- 
 portunities of which fascinated my ambitious fancy. I was 
 desirous of working out my own destiny in my own way. 
 I wished to achieve for myself an individual success worthy 
 of my father's memory and equal to what I deemed tlie 
 aspiration of Edith's father for the husband of his daughter. 
 
208 EIGHTY-KINE. 
 
 A distrust of my ability to do this was, I thought, at the 
 bottom of the reluctance he had at first manifested to 
 sanctioning our engagement. I mentioned this to my 
 mother on my return, and Avas surprised at the look of 
 anxiety that overspread her countenance as she listened to 
 my words. Somehow her seriousness gave me an uneasy 
 feeling. For the first time, since that winter night at Eyal- 
 mont, I began to wonder whether there were any serious 
 obstacle to our marriage, which her love liad divined and 
 mine had not discovered. Had I been so absorbed with 
 preparation as to neglect pei'il to my love ? 
 
 It was the day before the first of July. The morrow 
 was to decide my fate. I put 021 my hat and strolled down 
 to the river's edge, where the General's steam yacht lay at 
 anchor. It was being prepared for the fete that was to 
 take place on Monday. I wondered if I should be one of 
 her passengers on that occasion. Somehow, I found my- 
 self possessed with a vague terror as to what might inter- 
 vene. 
 
 As I approached, I saw the skipper in conversation with 
 a man whom I had sometimes seen at the house of General 
 Fairbanks during my visits. It flashed upon me all at once 
 that I had met him much oftener than any other guest under 
 the roof of Sagamo Lodge. His name was Martling — Kichurd 
 Martling. He was not a relative of the family, and, as far as 
 I knew, was not associated with General Fairbanks in busi- 
 ness. Indeed I had an idea there was somethincj of business 
 
EIQHTY-NTNE. 209 
 
 antagonism between them. I have called him a guest, I 
 might more properly have termed him a frequent visitor. 
 It had never occurred to me to ask why he came, yet, now 
 that I thought of it, I seemed to have noted that his pres- 
 ence always brought something of restraint to both father 
 and daughter. It flashed upon me, too, that my mother 
 had never mentioned him in our frequent talks, without 
 manfesting a peculiar jDreJudice against him. 
 
 He was rather under middle age ; dark, with keen 
 eyes, full lips and a hard, watchful look. His manners 
 were neither good nor bad. He was a man of business, 
 reputed to be very wealthy, and a favorite lieutenant of 
 a noted " Oil King," who was the financial nabob of the 
 region — a near kinsman of the most remarkable financial 
 prodigy of this or any other age. 
 
 As I drew near I heard Martling ask : 
 
 " Fitting out for a cruise, Osborne ? " 
 
 *' A cruise? Bless your soul," said the lank sailor, 
 looking at his interlocutor and sending a stream of tobacco 
 juice over the rail, ''no sech good luck ez that. It's e'en 
 a'most two years now sence I had a good sniff of salt water, 
 sech as blows on t'other side of the Island, you know, an' I 
 did hope the old man would make up his mind for a real, 
 old-fashioned vy'ge this year. So I had her cleaned up and 
 overhauled from stem to starn, all on my own notion, you 
 know, thinkin' the sight on her in clean clothes might set 
 
210 EIGHTY- NIKE. 
 
 his head in that direction. An' what do ye suppose I got 
 f er my pains, Mr. Martlin' ? " 
 
 "Why, your wages." 
 
 " Of course, of course ; every man always gits his jest 
 dues that deals with the ohl man." 
 
 " He does, eh? " said Martling, with a half sneer, as I 
 thought. 
 
 " That's what he does," answered the sailor, emphati- 
 cally ; " if he deals fair, that is. What I was alludin' to 
 wasn't pay, exactly, but favor." 
 
 "Well, Avasn't he pleased with what you had done ?'' 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but instid o' sayin' a word about the deep 
 sea, he jest said ' she looks nice, don't she ? You may git 
 in a ton or two of coal and be ready to take a company of 
 friends round the Head for a clambake, on Miss Edith's 
 birthday.' That's Monday, ye know, an' I 'spect that's 
 all the sailin' he'll git time fer this year. What sort o' 
 way's that fer a man to do that's got sech a craft as this ? 
 A ton or two o' coal ! She ought to have a hundred in her 
 if she has a pound ! " 
 
 "What is all this stuff you're taking on?" inquired 
 Martling carelessly, pointing to a lot of boxes on the little 
 wharf. 
 
 "Jest a lot of nicknacks that come from the city fer 
 the clam-bake. Looks as if they was goin' to have all 
 Connecticut an' a squad from Ehode Islan' by the ice an' 
 liquors, an' chickin fixin's of all sorts, from bakers and 
 
EIOHTT-NINE. 211 
 
 confectioners an' the like, that he's layin' in fer Monday. 
 If there was only a few boxes o' good sea biscuits an' a little 
 salt horse a goin' aboard it would please me better." 
 
 "But not me," said Martling gaily. 
 
 " I s'pose not," said the skipper, showing a row of 
 stained and irregular teeth, as he rolled his lip upward in 
 what was meant for a grin, but which seemed to the ob- 
 server more like a painful distortion of his grizzled face. 
 "'Spect you've got an iuvite, hain'c ye?" 
 
 " I shall be there, you can bet your life," said Mart- 
 ling, as he threw away his cigar and lit another. As he 
 turned to leave the wharf we stood face to face. I noticed 
 that he gave me a keen glance as I came forward. It will 
 be remembered that I limped slightly. 
 
 " Hello, Owen ; come down to look after the cargo?" 
 
 " No, indeed ; " I answered lightly, "I'm too much of 
 a landsman for that. I have as great a dread of salt water 
 as Osborne j^rof esses fondness for it." 
 
 "So?" he asked, sharply. "By the way, I've often 
 wondered where you got that limp. A relic of the ' wah- 
 time,' is it, like everything else at the South?" 
 
 His tone seemed half insolent, but I answered, laugh- 
 ingly, " Xo, indeed ; only the result of an awkward adven- 
 ture with a horse." 
 
 " Too bad, I thought you were a hero." 
 
 I made no answer, but turned and walked towards the 
 shore. 
 
212 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 "See here, Owen," said Martling, stepping quickly to 
 my side, " I didn't mean to be rough, but I'm not ;nuch 
 on manners, as you know. I'm business, nothing but 
 business — first, last and all the time ; and business don't 
 feather a man's tongue. I'm plum straight out, tliough, 
 Just what I am, with no apologies or cross-cuts. There isn't 
 any need for us to quarrel — at least just now. When there 
 is we'll both know it. If you don't object I'd like to walk 
 along with you and ask a few questions." 
 
 " You are at liberty to ask anything you choose, Mr. 
 Martling — about myself," I replied, with some emphasis 
 on the last word. 
 
 '' I understand," he responded with a nod. " Yon 
 don't exactly approve the way I have been pumping Osborne. 
 Well, it wasn't nice, I admit ; but a man sometimes has 
 to do what he don't like himself. But it is of yourself I 
 want to question you. What I want to know is, are you 
 engaged to Miss Edith?" 
 
 ''And if I am?" I asked hotly, turning towards him. 
 
 *' In other words," said he coolly, "you mean to ask 
 what business is it of mine whether you are or not. I don't 
 know as I should care to tell, and you are equally at lib- 
 erty, of course, to decline to answer my question. You 
 gave me leave to ask it, you remember. If there is any reason 
 why you do not wish to answer, of course you will not." 
 
 ''Mr. Martling," I replied, "I know nothing of your 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 213 
 
 motive for such a question, and there is certainly no reason 
 why I should not answer it — I am not."^ 
 
 It was impossible not to note the look of exultation 
 that flashed into his face as he heard these words. 
 
 " I will be frank with yoU;, however/' I continued, and 
 there was j)robably a touch of confident pride in my tone, 
 "and say that I hope to be." 
 
 " Indeed? " said he exultingly ; " well so do I. There 
 is frankness for you. Ta, ta ! " 
 
 He turned off along the foot-path leading to the luxu- 
 rious house of his friend, Stoningham, with a wave of his 
 hand and a light laugh. I heard him humming an air 
 from a new comic opera as he disappeared, for this hard- 
 headed and rough-mannered child of business was a musical 
 amateur of no mean acquirements. I have heard a great 
 deal in life of the refining and ennobling influence of music, 
 but if I had a son to advise, I would impress upon his 
 memory, at an early day, this warning : '' Beware of the 
 man who sings at his work or when busy with his thoughts.-" 
 
 I cannot say that I felt seriously disturbed by this 
 avowed rivalry. Indeed, I found myself smiling in self- 
 satisfaction as I listened to the confident strains that 
 echoed from the elm-bordered path along which my rival had 
 gone. I felt that he had waited too long, and that even 
 with his millions he could not hope to succeed. Yet I 
 remembered, with some trepidation, the uncertainty at- 
 tending the breaking of the seals which hid my father's 
 curiously-guarded behest. 
 
CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 That evening we were to be alone — General Fairbanks, 
 Edith, my mother and I. A large company had been in- 
 vited for Edith's twenty-first birthday. As some of the 
 guests would arrive the next day, it was decided that the 
 missive my father had left should be opened that night. 
 It was still in Edith's possession and we two were to read 
 it first alone together. A pretty little room in the tourelle, 
 that hung like a crystal cage above the main entrance of the 
 Lodge, overlooking the river and giving glimpses of the 
 Sound from its broad windows had been our favorite tryst- 
 ing-place. Here we went, therefore, to read the letter 
 which the dear, dead hand had penned so long before, in 
 the midst of war's alarms. 
 
 The sun was just sinking as I opened the envelope. 
 Edith went to the window and stood looking out upon 
 the river while I glanced hastily at its contents. I called 
 her, and as she turned I noticed the yacht lying quietly at 
 her wharf and Osborne walking back and forth beside the 
 white tarpaulin that covered the boxes which were piled up 
 beside it. I wondered what sort of a fete the great financier 
 was going to give his daughter, for which such elaborate pre- 
 parations were being made. For the first time, I think, I 
 realized what an infinite distance there was between us, 
 
 214 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 215 
 
 measured by the standard of the life which surrounded her. 
 I had never thought much of General Fairbanks's wealth or 
 his daughter's relation to it. I did not covet it for myself 
 ncr for her. Indeed, I would have preferred that she should 
 be dependent on me for everything she enjoyed. Love is 
 very selfish and fond of the luxury of conferring favor. I 
 knew her father was rej)uted wealthy. His triumphs and 
 reverses had been heralded from time to time in the public 
 prints. He was counted at least a millionaire. And it 
 was his daughter to whose hand I aspired — nay, whose love 
 I had never questioned, and to a union with whom I had 
 looked forward as a matter of course. 
 
 I thought of all this with wonder as she came and 
 seated herself in a low chair just in front of mine, waiting 
 in quiet expectancy for me to speak. She was not beauti- 
 ful, but so delicately fair that I trembled as I looked into 
 the great dark eyes, shaded by long lashes, and thought 
 how frail the tenement that held the love which even a 
 sense of her father's wealth could not make me doubt. 
 There was a look of apprehension on her face which I made 
 haste to dispel, saying as I reached out and took her hand 
 in mine : 
 
 " It is all right, sweetheart. There is nothing to fear." 
 A sigh of relief answered my words. Then holding her hand 
 in mine I read to her the words my father had written in 
 view of his probable death. When I concluded we both re- 
 mained silent for a long time. Then she said, solemnly : 
 
216 EIOUTY-NINE. 
 
 '' What a strange letter! '' 
 
 " But you see, dear, there is nothing unfavorable in it." 
 
 ''Unfavorable — to what?" 
 
 *' Why to our love, of course/' 
 
 " How could there be ? " 
 
 " But you know 3'our father was unwilling that we 
 should consider ourselves engaged until we kuew the con- 
 tents of this letter." 
 
 " Until I became of age," she said, correcting me. 
 
 " Well, yes — though that is the same thing." 
 
 *'My birthday will be on Monday." 
 
 " But, good Heavens, Edith, you do not mean — there 
 is nothing else to intervene ? " 
 
 '* It is my father's request," — dreamily. 
 
 ** Yes — of course — but " 
 
 *' Can you not wait ? " 
 
 " Yes'"— doubtingly. 
 
 What was the light that shone in her eyes — the flush 
 that mounted to her cheeks ? Did she sigh ? Did she 
 bend towards me ? Did her lips invite ? 
 
 ''No, no, no !" I cried, impulsively, as I clasped her 
 in my arms and kissed her again and again. I felt her 
 breath upon my lips ; her heart beat against mine. Ah, 
 how tender was this Avoman who lay in my arms rewarding 
 my faithfulness but not recognizing my right. 1 knew 
 that she granted me this for my long waiting — that I 
 might know her heart was mine, vet not be emboldened to 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 217 
 
 claim what she might not be able to bestow. She hoped, 
 but dared not even yet believe ; loved, but could not plight 
 her faith. I knew then, even in the midst of my rapture, 
 that she would not hesitate to crush the love she allowed 
 me to see, rather than confessed, should any demand of 
 duty make it necessary. Such was the significance of this 
 embrace. It was enough. I did not ask for more. Yet 
 even as I kissed her lips I seemed to hear Martling's laugh- 
 ing declaration of rivalry, and half-mistrusted my good 
 fortune. It is so fitting that millions should match with 
 millions. 
 
 ''Had you not better take it to your mother? "said 
 Edith, gently releasing herself and picking up the letter 
 from the floor, where it had fallen, " She will be very 
 anxious, and papa too, to know what it contains." 
 
 ** Will you not come with me?" detaining her hand in 
 mine. 
 
 She pushed the hair back from her temple with the 
 other hand and shook her head as she gave me an arch 
 glance from under the long lashes. My grasp tightened 
 on her hand. " May I come back ? " 
 
 I knew my voice trembled. The blush flamed into 
 crimson in her face. She gazed into my eyes appealingly 
 as she drew her hand slowly from my grasp. 
 
 "Not to-night — please." 
 
 Could ever bashalic love deny such a request? But the 
 soft lips did not refuse tribute for my grace. 
 
218 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 My brain teemed with tender visions as I went down 
 the stairs and sought the library, where my mother and 
 General Fairbanks waited for my coming. AVhat was it 
 checked the song of gladness in my heart? 
 
 The door of the library stood ajar. As I crossed the 
 line of light that flashed into the dark hall, I saw my 
 mother with her head uj) raised, her white throat bare and 
 throbbing, while over her bent — Ambrose Fairbanks! Did 
 their lips meet? Was his arm around her? Or had love 
 so distorted my vision that all things bore to me the sem- 
 blance of caresses? I stopped, confused, overwhelmed with 
 — I knew not what sense of shame and grief. 
 
 I did not know that I made any sound but I must 
 have done so, for I saw my mother thrust him gently aside, 
 not hastily nor rebukingly, walk calmly to the door, and 
 say in a voice as full of love as ever fell upon my childish 
 ear, 
 
 '* Is it you, my son ? Come in." 
 
 I went dumbly forward and put into her hands her 
 husband's last message, w^hile he who had been that hus- 
 band's dearest foe stood smiling quietly upon us. 
 
 "What is it, dear?" she asked, gazing into my face 
 with a troubled look ; "Nothing unpleasant, I hope." 
 
 "Oh, mother, mother! How could it be?" 
 
 I put my arms about her and kissed her as it had 
 always been my wont to do in joy or sadness. I had meant 
 to whisper something of my rapture in her ear, but my 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 219 
 
 heart was now like lead, and there were tears upon her 
 cheek when I released her from my embrace. 
 
 " How could he send any unpleasant message to us — 
 to me ? " I corrected. 
 
 My mother seemed surprised at my vehemence. 
 
 " True — true enough," she said, composedly, as she 
 wiped the tears from her face. 
 
 I went out — into the night — to think. It seemed as 
 if the house would smother me, it was so full of strange 
 extremes. A storm was coming up the valley. One half 
 the heavens were black, the other bright and starry. The 
 lightning played about the edges and opened fiery, dazzling 
 pits in the black void that stretched from the zenith down 
 to the sea, whose hoarse, sobbing moans came to my ears 
 on the freshening breeze. I looked up at the sky and 
 laughed. Which was real — the bright, placid northern 
 hemisphere or the black, flame-gashed southern sky. 
 
 Was Nature playing tricks with me? What had I 
 seen? What had I felt? Was the taste of kisses yet upon 
 my lips — love's kisses? My mother? Faugh! My mother! 
 Love, indeed, had crazed my brain or — photographed its 
 bliss upon my retina! 
 
 My thoughts grew calmer as the storm drew near, 
 and when the first great drops came plashing down, I re 
 turned to the house and went to my bed to sleep the quiet 
 sleep of youth and dream the blissful dream of love. 
 
220 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 The morrow came aud went as only summer days can 
 come and go. The liouse was full of pleasant company. 
 Of General Fairbanks I saw little, but my mother was every- 
 where, and with her always Edith, and both were radiant. 
 In the afternoon we had a long talk about my father's let- 
 ter and the strange duty he had enjoined upon me. Most 
 unexpectedly, I found my mother inclined to second his 
 injunction. 
 
 '' Of course," she said, "it does not seem possible, per- 
 haps hardly desirable now ; but your father was a very 
 wise man. He used to make me tremble sometimes with 
 the intensity of his knowledge — if I may use that expres- 
 sion — I mean his faculty of knowing what others did not 
 know, would not know, or, as I sometimes thought, could 
 not know. Yet it was all so plain to him. He had a 
 strange power of compelling the future, as it were, to 
 give up to him what it hid from others. General Fair- 
 banks was very much imjiressed with the contents of the 
 letter. He says that events have strangely confirmed Avhat 
 your father predicted, and the future promises still further 
 corroboration. As for the final result, it is, of course, a 
 great wrench to him to think it possible. He says he never 
 dreamed of such a thing before. He has looked upon the 
 War for Separation as the end of every possible difference 
 of that sort ; but he says there is a sense of reality about 
 your father's views that he cannot resist. It seems as if 
 there were no other way — as if the general good, which to 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 221 
 
 liim is always an irresistible fate — pointed inflexibly in the 
 direction of your father^s prophecy. He thinks it will be 
 a long time in coming, however, and that you may, very 
 probably, be older than your father was when the crisis of 
 the national fate came upon him, before you will be called 
 to act in the matter — if, indeed, you should really ever 
 have to act at all. 
 
 " I cannot tell you, my son, what a relief this is to 
 me," she added with a sigh. " Now I am sure there will 
 be no separation — no obstacle I mean. You and Edith can 
 be very happy — whatever may haj)pen to me." 
 
 There was something in her tone I did not quite un- 
 derstand, and a troubled, absent look upon her face, while 
 she talked with me, that was unusual. She was very ten- 
 der, however, and when she came into my room, after she 
 had dressed for dinner, I was quite enraptured with her 
 loveliness. When I bent and kissed the roses at her throat, 
 she tapped my cheek playfully with her fan, and said it 
 was evident that she must go away or make trouble be- 
 tween me and Edith. Of course, such jaleasant banter 
 was by no means disagreeble to me, and I doubt if ever son 
 was prouder of a mother than I of the beautiful woman 
 who went down the broad stairway of Sagamo Lodge that 
 evening on my arm. Even after the day was over and the 
 gay company asleep, she seemed still to be with me. I 
 dreamed I was a boy again and thought she bent over my 
 
223 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 couch while the fragrance of the roses filled the moonlit 
 night. But somehow in my dreams the scene I had wit- 
 nessed in the library would obtrude, and I saw again our 
 host's silvery moustache brushing her fair cheek. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 The calm of the summer Sabbath was over the land 
 when I awoke. There was a knock at my door— not the 
 matter-of-course tap of the trained domestic, but a hurried, 
 agitated rap upon the panel. I sat up in bed, too much 
 surprised to answer. What sudden prescience was it that 
 translated the light touch upon the door into a precursor 
 of evil? I had no reason to anticipate ill, but a nameless 
 terror forced my heart into my throat. I knew, I know 
 not how, that it was Edith who stood without — her face 
 pale, her mind distraught, and her heart overwhelmed 
 with some grievous woe. What could it be ? Had fate 
 come again between us ? Had death crept into the silent 
 house ? My mother — her father ! Could an3rthing be wrong 
 with them ? Was it crime, burglary, murder ? There 
 seemed to be a mortal terror in her tone as she rapped again 
 and exclaimed, in a low, hurried voice : 
 
 '• Ryal! Mr. Owen — come down — at once — please — to 
 the library! I must see you! " 
 
 I sprang up, ran to the door and called through the 
 dark polished panels : 
 
 " Edith! What is it? Yes, of course, coming!" 
 
 There was no answer. I thought I heard her footsteps 
 stealing — no, dragging, cautiously yet heavily away towards 
 223 
 
224 EIQBTY-NINE. 
 
 the stairs. I began to dress hurriedly with a chill, numb 
 feeling. I knew I was pale and breathing short and quick. 
 I heard her step approaching the door again. How well I 
 knew it! I had listened to it so often, with the pleasure 
 that comes from noting unconsciously the attributes of 
 those we love. Could this be hers — Edith's? Again she 
 knocked — softly — stealthily ! 
 
 " Yes ?" I answered, inquiringly. 
 Why did my voice sink to a whisper? Did I read the 
 heart as well as see the blanched face beyond the solid oak ? 
 I knew she was not thinking of me — that she did not come 
 to me for refuge, shelter, guidance — but to direct and com- 
 mand. There was a throb of pain as I felt myself over- 
 shadowed, then a thrill of delight at the thought that I 
 might serve. 
 
 '^Kyal!" 
 
 ^'Yes?" 
 
 We were both whispering, yet how clear was every 
 syllable! It seemed as if I could feel the throbbing nerves 
 of the slender hand whose finger-tips rested against the 
 door. 
 
 *' Come as gently as you can." 
 
 *' All right." 
 
 "And as quickly." 
 
 ^' I will." 
 
 Then the dragging steps went away. 
 
 Just as I flung on my coat something white on the 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 225 
 
 carpet, near the head of the bed, attracted my atten- 
 tion. I crossed the room and picked it up. It was the 
 spray of roses which my mother had worn in her corsage 
 and I had playfully kissed when she came into my room 
 before we went down to dinner the day before. It was a 
 cluster of the creamy-white Gold of Ophir, plucked from a 
 plant brought from Kyalniont. How splendidly it had 
 harmonized with her abundant charms, the full, rounded 
 bust, the radiant face, the tender, beaming eyes, the shin- 
 ing golden hair, the graceful form clad in silk of a mellow 
 russet-bronze, bordered at the neck and sleeves with filmy 
 lace. The old home with its luxuriant embowerings rose 
 before me as I recognized the faded flowers and smiled at the 
 jealousy which had filled my dreams. Why should not Am- 
 brose Fairbanks woo and win so fair a woman? Why 
 should his kisses seem so terrible a thing to me? What 
 right had I — ? Ah, none, none ; save that she was mine — 
 my worshiped mother — all that was left me of the past. 
 
 A piece of paper was twisted about the stems, the ends 
 slipped through a ring in which glittered a single diamond. 
 I hastily unwound it, opened a shutter, and read : 
 
 '' My Son : 
 
 " Forgive me for having hidden anything from you. 
 Edith will tell you all. Poor girl — it will be very hard for 
 her. She is not strong and I fear the shock may be more 
 than she can bear. You must be very careful of her. I 
 leave you my engagement ring and hope you will put it on 
 her finger before the sun sets on Monday. Don't let the 
 
226 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 clouds terrify you. Take her to Ryalmont and wait for 
 the sunshine. You have not much, but in our dear native 
 South, where honor and worth are not estimated by a gold 
 standard, it will be enough. My duty calls me away, but 
 I shall come to you again, my son, and until then I leave 
 you — nay, I shall daily send you — the unnumbered blessings 
 of a mother-love no other love can quench. M. F." 
 
 So what I had dreaded had come, and now that I 
 knew it to be a fact I was no longer troubled. I was hardly 
 surprised — nay, shall I admit it? — I think I was glad, glad 
 for her sake and for the man whom I so highly honored. 
 
 I was not mistaken, then. My mother had come to my 
 room, and no doubt had bent over me and kissed me as I had 
 dreamed. It was like her to bring me the flowers, too, with 
 the note quaintly fastened about their stems with the ring 
 my father had placed upon her finger when he wooed her 
 under the live-oaks by the placid Oconee. She had showed 
 me the very place when we were summoned there by my 
 grandfather's death, more than a year before. Perhaps 
 she thought I might have witnessed the scene in the library 
 and wished to reassure me of her love. Dear mother! She 
 need not have feared my displeasure. I could not have 
 been long displeased by anything she might do. I loved 
 her so that I did not wonder that the father of Edith should 
 love her also. Now that I thought of it, it seemed very 
 natural and very proper, too. It even flashed through 
 my mind, with a sort of whimsical effect, that it would be 
 a fair exchange — my mother for his daughter. 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 227 
 
 This brought Edith and her summons to my mind. I 
 stole out of the room and along the silent hall. The 
 morning sunshine was vainly striving to make its way 
 through the closed shutters. It was yet early and the ser- 
 vants were not astir, though a bell was calling to early 
 mass in a village across the river. Its soft notes fell upon 
 my ear as I entered the library, the door of which stood 
 ajar as if waiting for my coming. Edith had opened the 
 the upper-half of a shutter and stood gazing out upon the 
 river. The light fell upon her face. What had changed it? 
 It was not so much pallor as hopelessness that showed in 
 its lineaments. She seemed to have grown suddenly old. 
 The lines of her mouth were relaxed ; the eyes had lost 
 their fire ; the lids drooj^ed nervelessly ; a dull, hopeless- 
 ness seemed to have settled on her. Ah, me ; I little knew 
 what these signs portended! 
 
 " Edith! what is it? " I half whispered as I closed the 
 door and stepped quickly to her side. She waved her hand 
 towards the river and said hoarsely : 
 
 ''Do you not see?" 
 
 I scanned the placid surface which the morning breeze 
 broke into sparkling ripples, and shook my head. 
 
 ''I beg your pardon," she said, with quiet bitterness, 
 *'it is what you do not see — what is gone!" 
 
 " What is gone? " I said with a great fear in my heart. 
 
 " Do you miss nothing ? " 
 
328 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 How had I been so blind? The little wharf was steam- 
 ing in the sunshine, but the yacht was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 *' She has gone up the river to coal/' I suggested. 
 
 *' She has gone — to sea/' she answered, positively. 
 
 "And your father?" My voice trembled. She turned 
 towards me with a dull, pitying look. 
 
 *' And your mother." 
 
 What caused the sickening fear that came over me ? 
 I knew nothing to account for my agitation. Was there 
 anything I did not know? Or was it the mere sense of 
 mystery that daunted me? Her father — my mother — fled 
 — by night! That was all I knew. Where? Why? These 
 were the questions my heart asked and feared to have an- 
 swered. The sunlit river showed no track. What lay beyond ? 
 Crime? I shuddered, but denied stoutly, angrily in my heart. 
 Shame? My face flushed. God forgive me, for an instant 
 I doubted even my mother's purity! The kiss I had wit- 
 nessed — the flight — the mystery — but no, it could not be! 
 My mother — my beautiful mother — my adored, my peer- 
 less mother! The shadow of im2:)utation could never rest 
 upon her! Then I remembered the signature of the note 
 I yet held in my hand—" M. F." 
 
 My heart leajoed with gladness. I held it ujd before 
 her, pointing to the initials, and said, gleefully, 
 
 " She is your mother too! They have gone on a bridal 
 trip!" 
 
EIGHTY NINE. 229 
 
 She smiled a weak, sad smile that renewed my fears. 
 " What is it, Edith? What do you know? " 
 She pointed to a letter on the table and sank wearily 
 into a chair, while I read. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 My dear Daughter : 
 
 I can imagine the consternation you will feel on 
 reading this letter ; yet I hope you will bear up bravely 
 as becomes the daughter of one who, though unable longer 
 to resist, is too proud to surrender, even to fate. I would 
 rather be nothing than remain among our people and be 
 less than I have been. 
 
 At one time you no doubt anticipated trouble and loss ; 
 but I do not suppose you ever looked upon absolute im- 
 poverishment as a possibility, or dreamed that your father's 
 name might be associated with crime as well as misfortune. 
 
 Long before you read these lines I shall be a fugi- 
 tive — a fugitive from justice, the newspapers Avill say — 
 without anything I can call my own except the yacht and 
 her equipment. Even these are really the property of the 
 noble woman who is the companion of my exile, and who 
 has robbed herself and her son to lighten my misfortune 
 and relieve my present exigency. We thought to surprise 
 you with a double wedding, and hoped until almost the 
 last moment that this exodus might be avoided. Finding 
 that we must choose between two evils, we decided to take 
 what seemed the least. Detectives have been upon my 
 track for some time, and an indictment was found against 
 
 230 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 231 
 
 me on yesterday. But for this fact, the lapse of time 
 would have barred prosecution on the offence charged, 
 to-day — for it is past midnight now — and I should have 
 been able to observe your birthday to-morrow without 
 apprehension — once more a free man, released from the 
 horrible possibility which has hung over my life so long. 
 
 I have suspected that my enemy would take this 
 course, and with the aid of Mrs. Owens — now Mrs. Fairbanks 
 — have arranged to meet it and baffle those whose malice 
 has followed me with such persistency. Under pretense of 
 preparing for your fete the Wanderer has been fairly well 
 victualled for a cruise. Osborne, whose faithfulness can 
 be relied on, will take on coal enough for a voyage to-night 
 and be at the wharf at two o'clock. If nothing prevents, we 
 shall board her then, and ''they'll have fleet steeds that 
 follow." I think my enemy has been thrown off his guard 
 by the preparations for your birthday. Instead of confec- 
 tions the boxes contained substantial stores. The yacht, 
 you know, stands very near the head of her class, and as 
 it is the last time she will carry American colors, I mean 
 that she shall do credit to the flag at her peak. 
 
 It is strange that I should feel exhilaration at the 
 thought of leaving my native land under such circum- 
 stances, but I have watched the toils that have been woven 
 about me so long, that I am almost gleeful at the thought 
 of escaping from them. I know it will leave a terrible 
 burden of sorrow and humiliation for you to bear, but it 
 
232 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 would have been even worse had I remained without the 
 hope of retrieval that we now have. If we succeed — and I 
 think we shall — in eluding our enemy, I hope yet to recoup 
 my fortune and more than rejiay you for any sacrifice you 
 may have to make on my account. Some investments 
 made almost as an act of charity some years ago in a foreign 
 land promise rich returns, I go to give them my atten- 
 tion. Should I succeed, you will see your father again ; 
 but I doubt if Ambrose Fairbanks is ever heard 'of more. I 
 have determined to sink my individuality, and under 
 another name either win a new success or hide the shame 
 of failure. 
 
 I do not care to return here to defend or justify my 
 past. All my pride and ambition are gone — even my pa- 
 triotism is dead. I could never again be anything in my 
 native land but an object of suspicion to the people whose 
 esteem I have prized above all other things. I should be a 
 stranger in the nation for whose life I freely offered my 
 own. You will, of course, not think of remaining here to 
 face the storm of obloquy and derision that will greet 
 the knowledge of my departure. You will not wait to hear 
 your father denounced as a miscreant by those who have 
 claimed to be his best friends — aye, by those who owe to his 
 favor all they possess of fortune or repute. The letter Gen- 
 eral Owen left for Ryal first opened my eyes to the fact 
 that the South will offer a refuge to you from the relentless 
 
EIOnTY-NINE. 233 
 
 scorn of a people to whose favor access is obtainable only 
 by a golden key. 
 
 You will have but little, when you have redeemed my 
 name from the odium of insolvency, but with Ryal's pro- 
 fession it will be enough. I shall always think of you as 
 living contented and happy upon the embowered hillside 
 whose beauty even the storm of battle sj)ared. The power 
 to indulge in unlimited luxury is not there the sole test of 
 social merit, and as the wife of Eyal Owen you will be the 
 peer of the highest and proudest, though you may have 
 no surplus thousands at your disposal. It is strange that 
 what we have been accustomed to consider the stronghold 
 of aristocracy, should be the only portion of our land 
 where society is not built on a purely monetary basis. There 
 it is still possible, not merely to be poor and also respecta- 
 ble, but to be welcome in society without being rich. 
 
 My bitterest regret is that you will be involved in my 
 misfortune. I have striven not without success to preserve 
 the estate inherited from your mother from depreciation. 
 You will find it — one half the Mills and Sagamo Lodge, 
 with certain stocks — ready for your disposal on coming of 
 age. It will be for you to decide, when you read the state- 
 ment I shall leave, whether you will retain it for your own 
 use or devote it to the payment of the only debt for which 
 I am liable. I do not doubt that you will choose to extin- 
 guish the debt even at the sacrifice of the greater part of 
 your property. If so, I have arranged a sale by consum- 
 
•ZM EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 mating which on Monday, you will secure the necessary 
 funds. It will only afford you the barren satisfaction of 
 saying that your father owes no man a farthing, but I think 
 you will not hesitate to do it. I have arranged for my 
 lawyer and the party who wishes to purchase to come out 
 on the eight o'clock train Monday morning. The papers are 
 all ready for your signature and the money will be paid 
 over on their execution. The note for which I am liable 
 falls due on the same day. I understand that it is the 
 property of Mr. Stoningham, or of the Rock Gil Trust 
 Company, of the president of which he is a relative. 
 Mr. Martling will bring it and the hypothecated securi- 
 ties when he calls on Monday. Should you conclude 
 to pay the same, my legal adviser, Mr. Alson, an old 
 comrade and a most worthy man whom I would advise you 
 to retain, will transfer to you certain properties you Avill find 
 mentioned in the enclosed statement. I trust they will 
 sometime remunerate you for the sacrifice their possession 
 will cost. 
 
 In regard to the matter which will, no doubt, affect 
 you more deeply than the fact of my insolvency — though 
 you will find that the society in which you have been 
 accustomed to move would forgive it far more readily — the 
 fact that I am fleeing as an indicted criminal. You Avill 
 see by the enclosed statement that the act of which I am 
 accused, at the worst, was without purpose to harm, and, 
 if you shall pay the debt to which I have alluded, no one 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 235 
 
 will have sustained loss by any act of mine except our- 
 selves. All the rest I have made good. Mr. Alson may 
 tell you that I am not even technically guilty of the charge 
 against me. He has so advised me, but I think it not wise 
 to remain and fight for my good name with a power so 
 malignant and omnipotent as the great monopoly which 
 is the real prosecutor. 
 
 It has been intimated to me that if I would part with 
 the rights Mr. Alson will convey to you, and consent to 
 your marriage with Mr. Martling, the debt would be forgiven 
 and the prosecution dropped. I have managed to postpone 
 any consideration of this until your birthday, and by assur- 
 ing Mr. Martling that you would not enter into any matri- 
 monial engagement until that time. This you know I 
 could safely do, having your promise to that effect. 
 
 You will pardon me, Edith, for having seemed to make 
 traffic of your future. I could not well do otherwise. If I 
 had refused to listen to this proposal it might have jire- 
 cipitated my misfortune before you were able to act for 
 yourself and perhaps have led to hopeless sacrifice on your 
 part. Besides, I will confess that I was in hope my enemy 
 might relent or become careless, so that his opportunity to 
 prosecute Avould be lost. Then we could have paid the 
 debt and eventually have retrieved our loss, without any 
 impairment of personal character or prestige. 
 
 Mr. Martling will, no doubt, inform you that he has my 
 leave to address you as a suitor. I did ])romise him that 
 
236 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 I would put no obstacles in his way. He will tell you that 
 he alone has jiower to quash the prosecution against me. 
 In this, too, he no doubt speaks truly. His master, Ston- 
 ingham, has been willing to favor him thus far in his woo- 
 ing. He is not a bad man, neither is his master. In love 
 and in business they count everything fair — that is all. 
 They do not see why you shoitld not be coerced through 
 your filial love. Such things are not so very infrequent 
 either. If you loved Mr. Martling I would make no objec- 
 tion to the conditions offered. I will not, however, permit 
 you to be constrained to marry any one out of consideration 
 for my safety or advantage. I have promised not to inter- 
 fere with your choice, but you must be allowed to choose, 
 not terrified into compliance by the fear of untoward con- 
 sequences to me. The course I am about to take will at 
 least leave you free to consult your own happiness. It will 
 be impossible to shield me from suspicion. To sacrifice 
 yourself for me would be in vain. If I can not save you 
 from humiliation, I can at least leave you free to seek 
 what happiness life may bring without fear of any one's 
 ability to work me harm. 
 
 You will, no doubt, blame me for not sheltering my 
 good name behind your love, but you must remember that 
 to have done so would have been the most ineffaceable dis- 
 honor. Flight or death were the only alternatives. I 
 chose that which I am about to attempt, knowing that I 
 had the other always in reserve. Ambrose Fairbanks 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 237 
 
 will never stand in the prisoner's dock nor plead to 
 a felonious accusation. That I live and hope, you 
 will remember, is in a great measure due to the courage and 
 devotion of that noble woman who has sacrificed her own 
 and her son's fortune hardly less for your sake than for 
 mine. That she is willing to unite her fate with mine 
 gives me hoj^e. 
 
 Trusting in her cheerful presage of happier days, I 
 remain with unabated love, 
 
 Your father, 
 
 Ambrose Fairbanks. 
 
 P. S. — Eemember, that however unfortunate I may be, 
 no man can claim that I have purposely done him wrong 
 in any matter, great or small. A. F. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 "Well, I'm glad he got away," I said, heartily, as I 
 finished reading. I had never had a Avarmer feeling for 
 Edith's father than at that moment. '' I am sure I wish 
 them a pleasant voyage." 
 
 '' Oh Eyal ! " Edith spoke reproachfully. 
 
 I looked at her in surprise. She was folding between 
 her fingers an end of tlie wide ribbon that confined her 
 morning robe at the waist. I noticed that, despite what 
 had happened, the bows were tied with the utmost pre- 
 cision. Her hair was jjarted evenly on her forehead, and 
 nothing but the weary, distressed look and the unconscious 
 action of her hands revealed any excitement. 
 
 " Why not ? " I asked. 
 
 " Such a disgrace ! " she exclaimed, letting the plaited 
 end fall loose upon her lap. 
 
 " He says he has done nothing dishonorable." 
 
 " Oh — of course." 
 
 " Have you read the paper he refers to ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That explains everything, I suppose ? " 
 
 " It tells the whole sickening story " — with a sigh. 
 
 '' Am I to see it ? " 
 
 " I — suppose so — some time." 
 238 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 239 
 
 She plaited the ribbon again, held the folded edge 
 between thumb and finger, and spread it out in fan-shape 
 with the otlier hand, quilling the ends over her fingers. 
 
 " There can be nothing wrong — no fraud — nor anything 
 of that kind ? " 
 
 *' No, nothing but failure ; owing money one cannot 
 pay " — bitterly. 
 
 " You speak as if there could be nothing worse." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " There are not many things more — annoying." 
 
 " Honest poverty is not a crime." 
 
 "Not poverty J but inability to pay— that is worse 
 than a crime." 
 
 "Worse ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, it is a sin. ' Pay that thou owest,' that 
 is the scriptural rock on which respectable society rests." 
 
 " But you will j)ay this debt ? " 
 
 *' Oh, of course — I hope that is all." 
 
 *' But you know it is. Does he not expressly say so ? " 
 
 She held the fan-shaped plaiting up to the light, 
 touching it here and there to make it even and turning it 
 back and forth as if studying it artistically. There was 
 the slightest possible movement of her shoulders. She 
 made no other reply. Among this people insolvency breeds 
 distrust even among kindred. 
 
 " If that is paid T see no disgrace." 
 " There is the running away." 
 
240 EIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 " He made a hard fight and lost. It is merely a 
 change of base/' 
 
 *' In the presence of the enemy — to avoid arrest ! " 
 
 " On a malicious prosecution." 
 
 *' Between two days." 
 
 " Why not, when there were detectives on his track ?" 
 
 " With a woman, too ! " 
 
 *' My mother, remember." 
 
 '' Yes, my father and your mother !" 
 
 " His wife, however." 
 
 " A private marriage — worse and worse ! " 
 
 '' I supj)ose there is no harm in that — they were of 
 age," I said angrily. I was horrified at her heartlessness. 
 
 "There is some consolation in that." She laughed 
 nervously. " Oh Eyal, what a terrible mess ! What will 
 they say ? " 
 
 She smoothed out the ribbon, tossed it down at her 
 side, and then drew it through her fingers to remove the 
 plaitings. 
 
 " Nothing disrespectful of my mother I " I answered 
 hotly. 
 
 '' Not those who knew her, of course ; but — the 
 papers ! " 
 
 "What of them?" 
 
 " Oh, I can see them," she moaned, twisting her 
 inlocked fingers together hopelessly. "I can see the head- 
 lines and hear the newsbovs shouting, "Another Good 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 341 
 
 Man Gone ! " ^' Gen. Ambrose Fairbanks Leaves His 
 Country For His Country's Good!" '' A Woman in the 
 Case ! " " Romance and Eascality ! " " One of Lee's 
 Pursuers flees from the Sheriff I" " Amount of his Steal- 
 ings Unknown ! " '' His Daughter's Fortune Swallowed 
 Up ! " 
 
 The perspiration broke out upon my forehead as I 
 listened to her even tones. Did she think only of herself ? 
 
 "I would rather have died/' she continued — "rather 
 we all had died ! Why did he not tell me ? Why did he 
 not trust me ? " 
 
 " What would have been the use ? " 
 
 " I would have saved him." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Yes ; I ought to have done it, anyhow ! " 
 
 '^ But you did not know of his difficulty." 
 
 *' Oh yes I did — that is, something of it. I — I — knew 
 he was in trouble and that I could help him ; but I — I 
 hoped it might not be so bad. I could have endured 
 poverty, I suppose — though that would have been bad 
 enough — and I never dreamed of anything more. But to 
 be poor and — and disreputable besides ! " 
 
 She rose and began to walk back and forth across the 
 room, twisting her fingers in a pathetic, helpless way. 
 
 '' You should not blame your father, Edith. He could 
 not prevent what has occurred." 
 
 " Oh, I do not blame him. I pity him. He hag 
 
243 EIGHTY-XINE. 
 
 fought so hard and been so true — "square," we call iv 
 That is what he has always been proud of — "doing the 
 square thing." That means paying a debt whether it is 
 just or unjust — taking all the risk, all the blame, and suf- 
 fering all the loss ! " 
 
 " He has done all that." 
 
 " Yes, but he will get no credit for it. Nobody will 
 believe it. His name will ])e bandied about the country as 
 that of an absconder as well as a failure, perhaps a de- 
 defaulter. Oh my poor father ! How he has suffered — 
 how he must still suffer I " 
 
 " But you Avill pay the debt. AVhat more could you 
 have done ? " 
 
 *' I might have saved the exposure." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 "Don't ask me." 
 
 She turned again to the window and stood looking 
 out at the river over the lower blind, her back towards me. 
 
 " You do not mean that you would Inive sacrificed 
 yourself ? " I asked hoarsely. 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 "You would not have married Martling!" I asked, 
 huskily — venturing on what had been uppermost in my 
 mind from the first. 
 
 She only shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Edith ! You would not — you could not forget your 
 love!" 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 243 
 
 *' I did forget — my duty ! " 
 
 She did not look around. 
 
 '' But you would not sacrifice your life, your happi- 
 ness ? " 
 
 Then she turned. 
 
 " What is my happiness to my father's good name ? 
 You do not understand me, Ryal — you do not understand 
 us. You would die for honor, but you care little for pub- 
 lic esteem. To us a good reputation is more precious even 
 than a consciousness of rectitude — to be scorned, a bitterer 
 thing than to deserve ignominy. If your father's com- 
 mand had made it necessary for you to renounce my love 
 you would have done it." 
 
 I tried to protest. 
 
 " Do not deny it. I know you would. I should have 
 despised you if you had not. So I ought to have shielded 
 my father's fame at the price of my own happiness. That 
 is all the chance a woman has to sliow herself worthy. A 
 man can do; she can only suffer." 
 
 I started toward her. She shrank away. 
 
 " Don't, don't ! " she moaned pitifully, putting up her 
 hands to push me back. 
 
 '' But you will not think of such a thing — now ?" 
 
 " I don't know — I must think. Please, Ryal — " still 
 ehrinking back with the white palms turned towards me. 
 
 " I will kill him ! " I said hoarsely. 
 
 *'And me too? That would be a fine climax. Oh 
 
244 EIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 Ryal, you must help me. You are the only one I can 
 trust ! '' She clasped her hands in pitiful, unconscious 
 pleading. 
 
 " You love me, Edith ? " 
 
 " Do you doubt it ? " 
 
 " And yon will not think — of — of leaving me ?" 
 
 " Could you bear to have me pointed at as tlie daugh- 
 ter of a fugitive — a defaulter ? '' Her eyes fell as she ut- 
 tered the words. 
 
 " You shall not be ! " 
 
 " Oh — " with a sigh of relief, '' How will you pre- 
 vent it ? " 
 
 " We will fight them. The law shall compel them to 
 do justice I" 
 
 " The law ! Can the law stop the slanderer's tongue?" 
 
 " It can at least make him retract his lie and smart 
 for his wrong." 
 
 " Not here, Eyal, not here in our moral and intelligent 
 Northern life, where the newspaper bears sway. No man's 
 honor, no woman's virtue is safe from attaint here." 
 
 *' Then we will go to the South, where the child is not 
 cursed by the father's fault — where there is still a law for 
 the slanderer and where honor is accounted better than 
 gold ! " 
 
 " That would be pleasant," she said with a sigh. 
 
 I put my arms about her and drew her to me. She 
 leaned her head upon my breast like a tired child. 
 
EIGHTY. NIN^. 045 
 
 " You will not think of — of doing anything else ? " I 
 asked, kissing her hair. 
 
 She sighed again. 
 
 " No — not if I can help it. Let me go now. I am so 
 tired." 
 
 She put her hands against me, pushed herself feebly 
 from my embrace, smoothed her hair unconsciously, and 
 stole softly from the room. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 "When she had gone I opened the window and sat down 
 to think. The sunshine poured in, the dew sparkled ou 
 the leaves, and the soft morning breeze came up from the 
 river. A boat shot out from the other shore and broke 
 its way through the golden ripples. I watched it care- 
 lessly. A man with a low. narrow-brimmed white hat, 
 carrying a small cane, stood ui)on the pier and watched it 
 also. Presently the boat reached the landing, and its 
 occupant stepped out and spoke to the man in the white 
 hat. As he glanced towards the house I saw it was one of 
 the servants. He came up the path after a moment. The 
 other looked up and down the river for a little time and 
 then sauntered away. 
 
 AVhen he had disappeared, my thoughts reverted to 
 Edith and her sorrow. Somehow I could not make it 
 seem real. Her agony appeared extravagant, unnatural. 
 It was like a remembered nightmai'c. I wondered if the 
 sunshine would not dispel it. I knew she was proud and 
 sensitive, but I had not looked to see her overcome by any 
 such misfortune. It was not the loss of luxury, for her 
 tastes were simple, and she had often sjDoken with ad- 
 miration of our unpretending southern life. As I turned 
 the matter over in my mind I found myself less and less able 
 246 
 
ElallTT-NINE. 247 
 
 to comprehend the uuattenible agony she seemed to feel. 
 Of course, it was unpleasant to have her father depart in 
 a surreptitious manner, especially to avoid arrest on a 
 criminal charge. But he had assured her that no wrong 
 had been intended, and that, if she paid his debt, no 
 one else would suffer loss on account of it. He had given 
 all his estate to repair the fault and now his daughter 
 would give hers. Surely the strictest commercial code 
 could require no more. Instead of feeling any sense of 
 shame I was inclined to exult both in his sturdy upright- 
 ness and in the resolute courage which refused to yield to 
 fate and even braved the obloquy of the world rather than 
 submit to the power of a malicious enemy. 
 
 It seemed to me a great and noble thing that this man, 
 already past the meridian of life, should resolutely cut 
 loose from a past which might well be accounted enough 
 for one man's work, and start out under a new name 
 in some unknown land to retrieve his fortunes. I did not 
 wonder that my mother had felt the charm of such a spirit, 
 and forgave her for loving him. When my father's 
 ashes Avere brought to Ryalmont to be laid under the shade 
 of its trees, I had noted casually her bright beauty as she 
 stood one day by the new-made grave, and wondered if 
 she would ever wed again. I remembered thinking that 
 I would not object, if only she chose one worthy to fill 
 the place of the dead. I felt that the unexpressed condi- 
 tion had been fulfilled and heartily wished them joy. 
 
248 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 All this seemed so plain to me that I could not believe 
 it would not be equally apparent to Edith when she camo 
 to look at it calmly. I was even inclined to make light of 
 her dolorous premonitions. Alas, I had yet to learn the 
 power of that terrible cult by which her life had been 
 shaped. Despite my four years of residence at the North, 
 I had learned little of the forces controlling its life. In a 
 vague way I apprehended what is termed its enterprise, the 
 restless energy and dauntless aspiration which have impelled 
 it to such marvelous accomplishment; but I understood 
 nothing of the spirit that underlay them. I did not realize 
 the jealousy, the envious distrust and ceaseless yearning to 
 outdo and outshine, that form the impelling motive and 
 controlling sentiment of this life. AVe are accustomed to 
 think of Yankees as fond of money, and to attribute their 
 enterprise to the mere greed of gain. It is not so. Per- 
 haps less than any people in the world are they inclined to 
 prize money for its owii sake. Is^either are they generally 
 inclined to luxury. They do not value wealth merely for 
 what it will bring of personal enjoyment. They love it 
 for the power it confers to outdo others, and, especially, 
 because it enhances the appreciation in which they are 
 held among their fellows. It is not exactly respect, much 
 less is it esteem; but what the Yankee desires above all 
 things is the envy of his fellows. To be looked upon as 
 keener, brighter, sharper, stronger, richer, luckier than 
 others — that is heaven to him. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 249 
 
 To him all enjoyment is comparative ; happiness has 
 no positive degree. 80 long as another excels him — or 
 rather, may be thought to excel him — he is not happy. He 
 may have all he needs and be absolutely indifferent to acqui- 
 sition, but so long as there is any one richer, able to make 
 more display, or even to outdo him in ostentatious charity, 
 his possessions, however great, are but apples of Sodom. 
 There is no fixed standard. All is competitive and com- 
 parative. Every man measures himself by another and is 
 unhappy until he overtops all about him. 
 
 There is no common level, no unit of affluence which 
 brings security, honor and content. Even their pride of 
 ancestry is comparative. Brown boasts that his father was 
 richer than Jones', though one may have been a butcher 
 and the other a blacksmith. It is to this curious Moloch 
 that every one offers sacrifice, and it is this pride in out- 
 vying others that is the master-jjassion of every life. 
 
 This I began to understand when we met at breakfast 
 and, under the external calm which marked her manner, i 
 noted Edith's suspicious, stolen glances at her guests. My 
 mother's absence was easily excused, and it seemed that 
 General Fairbanks had said tlie night before that he would 
 drive over early to the Mills, where he would probably pass 
 the day. Nothing worthy of note occurred during the 
 meal, yet when it was over, I somehow realized as I had 
 never done befoi-e, that of all the company who offered the 
 young hostess their court, hardly o^ie would deem her 
 
250 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 worthy of their friendship or seek her society should she 
 be stripped of wealth. It was not the luxury of her sur- 
 roundings, but the supposed ability to be luxurious if she 
 chose, that gave her the riglit to be regarded as an equal. 
 I could but think how the very misfortune that would 
 rally a Southern man's friends most quickly and staunchly 
 about him, here scattered them most completely ; and 
 began to realize why it was that the most successful sank 
 in an iustant from the crest of the wave into utter insig- 
 nificance when deprived of superabundant wealth. I saw 
 how real was the agony Edith endured, though I could not 
 feel its force or sympathize with the sense of degrada- 
 tion she experienced. 
 
 After breakfast the company disposed themselves ac- 
 cording to their several inclinations. Sagamo Lodge was 
 a veritable Liberty Hall at all times, but especially so on 
 Sunday. If *' blue-laws" ever prevailed here they had 
 been long forgotten. The summer Sabbath is not often 
 devoted to worship by the society to which the Fairbanks 
 belonged. They are able to feel the consolations of reli- 
 gion only in an imposing edifice where eloquence and art 
 minister to their enjoyment and fashion makes its most 
 dazzling display. They cannot praise God with any sense 
 of comfort and propriety where poverty and the past sea- 
 son's styles abound. They pity the poor but do not like 
 to have them near, and see no reason M'hy saints in pur- 
 ple and saints in patches should kneel at- the same altar, 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 251 
 
 Few of the company, therefore, attended church that clay. 
 Edith excused herself upon the jDlea of attendance upon 
 my mother, and the little company of guests scattered 
 about as comfort and inclination dictated, I went more 
 from force of our universal Southern habit tlian impelled 
 by any worshipful mood. To tell the truth, I thought less 
 of the service than of my mother. I had never attended 
 this church except ia her company, and when I found 
 myself alone in the pew I realized for the first time that 
 a fate more inexorable than the sparkling sea which 
 stretched between, had torn my life from its early moor- 
 ings. I was alone iri the world — alone with only Edith 
 to serve, to guard, to love. Would I even be permitted to 
 love her? 
 
 I was not in a very religious frame of mijid. but 
 somehow I felt soothed by the earnest words of the un- 
 assuming man who spoke to us of the "hidden way," 
 which is lighted up for us only step by step as we advance. 
 I have often thought of his discourse since that time, and 
 have been encouraged to take steps I might otherwise never 
 have attempted. 
 
 When I reached my room I found lying on my table 
 a large envelope directed in Edith's hand. I opened it 
 and read during the hours of the hot July afternoon, 
 
 THE STORY OF AMBROSE FAIRBANK'S CRIME ! 
 
 It was addressed to Edith and read : — 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ** To my daughter : 
 
 " When you read these pages you will have learned the 
 need for tlieir inditement. 
 
 " 'J^lie perustil of General Owen's letter to his son, which 
 I have just completed, has awakened a very unpleasant con- 
 trast between his situation and my own. He indited a let- 
 ter of instruction and advice to his son ; I must write one 
 of self-defence, almost of apology, to my daughter. He 
 wrote upon the eve of his country's downfall — an event he 
 did not expect to survive. I am about to leave my country, 
 because I am charged with an infraction of her laws. He 
 wrote after four years of conflict to establish his country's 
 independence ; I after four years of unceasing struggle to 
 save my good name and recoup my lost fortune. He fore- 
 saw the fate that awaited him — a soldier's death upon the 
 field of battle — and knew that whatever the result of the 
 strife in which he was engaged, his name would be an in- 
 heritance of honor to all who bore it. I know that when 
 the sun has risen and set once more, the name I shall sub- 
 scribe to this paper will be ineffaceably stained. She who 
 alone inherits it from me will flush with anger, if not with 
 shame, as she hears it bandied about by jeering lips. He 
 went forth to die for his country and her fame ; the glory 
 
 252 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 253 
 
 of her brief career shone on his honored grave. I, if I can 
 balk tlie minions of the law for one more day, shall go away 
 to predetermined self-annihilation. I shall not die, but 
 simply fade out of the world's life. The honors I have won 
 are forever blighted. My name will be mentioned only with 
 qualified approval. He will be honored when I am forgot- 
 ten. Yet he fought for the cause that lost ; I for one that 
 triumphed. My sword was as bright, my service as signal 
 as his. But, alas, I did not die I The battle brought for me 
 no flaming chariot of immortality ! All that I had won in 
 arms I have lost in the fiercer conflict that succeeded. 
 
 " I know my conduct will not need any defence so far as 
 you are concerned, but it may be some satisfaction to know 
 the causes that have led to the unfortunate circumstances 
 which you will have to confront alone. You remember 
 Collyer, who used to be associated with me in business. Just 
 before the outbreak of the war he went to the newly dis- 
 covered El Dorado, the oil regions of western Pennsylvania. 
 There were great opportunities ; he was young, active, in- 
 genious and sagacious. Better than any other man, he ap- 
 preciated from the first the immensity of the traffic that 
 must result from the discovery, and with a sagacity alto- 
 gether marvelous he marked out the lines of its develop- 
 ment. I had the utmost confidence in his integrity and 
 ability. After all that I have xindergone I have only the 
 kindest memory of him. If he did exceed the limit of legal 
 risrht it was to save others rather than himself. If the re- 
 
254 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 suits he antic-ipated were not achieved it was because forces 
 were developed in the financial and political world which 
 uo foresight could have divined. Poor fellow, if my lot has 
 been hard, his was infinitely worse. His children will 
 never know the humiliation you will be comjielled to face, 
 because they never knew since they have reached mature 
 years the affluence you will have to surrender. Of all our 
 acquaintances, however, I doubt if there are any who will 
 so sincerely mourn the misfortunes that have overtaken me 
 as the widow and her little brood in the thriving Pennsyl- 
 vania town, who do not know that the modest dwelling 
 which overlooks the scene of her husband's triumphs was 
 not saved for her out of his estate but given her by the very 
 man who suffered most through his failure. 
 
 " Collyer saw that the great opportunity really lay in re- 
 fining and transporting the new product. The world 
 seemed to have waited as long as it could for cheap lights. 
 We had gas in the cities, to be sure, but that was both a 
 luxury and a burden. The poor could not afford it nor was 
 it available in the country, where five-sixths of the popula- 
 tion of the world is to be found. The supply of petroleum is 
 apparently inexhaustible and it practically costs nothing. 
 It is as if the basin of one of our great lakes was full of liquid 
 naphtha free to all, requiring only to be refined and stored 
 and transported. The average cost of getting a gallon of oil 
 to the surface of the ground, taking all that has been produced 
 since its discovery, has not been a tenth of a cent a gallon. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 255 
 
 So, too, deducting for storage, piping, etc., the producer — 
 that is the owner of tlie well, as distinguished from the re- 
 liner and transporter — has not averaged on his yield so 
 much as a cent a gallon. Yet the average price to the con- 
 sumer has up to this time been not less than forty cents a 
 gallon. 
 
 '^Something of this discrepancy Avas for a time due to 
 the cost of refining the crude product. Collyer saw that this 
 was destined to be a great industry and oi'ganized a com- 
 liany to engage in it. He also gave attention to imjn'oved 
 modes of storing and devices for handling and transport- 
 ing. 
 
 "He asked me to join with him in this enterprise, which 
 I did and was made president of the company. As such I 
 had to sign the certificates of stock of the corporation 
 Being absent in the army it was impossible for me to give 
 the business my personal attention. Indeed, there was no 
 need that I should. Collyer was the secretary and treas- 
 urer and entirely capable of managing the business. I signed 
 the certificates in blank and left them in his hands. I do 
 not know how many of them there were. 
 
 ' ' You can readily guess what followed. Unfortunately 
 the story is not an unusual one. The tragedies of com- 
 merce are not less pitiful than those of war and far more 
 numerous. Before the war ended, it became apparent that 
 a new economical, social and political force had been created 
 and had become an important element of all business trans- 
 
256 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 actions and every political movement. The states of the 
 Union had for a rjuurter of a century been so intent upon 
 a sudden development of their resources, that they had 
 created a monopoly of the right to transport goods and pas- 
 sengers by steam of a singularly exclusive character. Quite 
 unconscions of the importance and character of the new- 
 born agency of traffic, they had used their power of emi- 
 nent domain with a recklessness that left them, when the 
 men and tlie hour came, the helpless victims of their own 
 creatures. Instead of using the sovereign power for the 
 public advantage and limiting the charters of the various 
 railroads strictly to the uses and privileges api^ertaining 
 to the public highway, they in efifect gave the managers and 
 controllers of these roads a complete monoi)oly of the right 
 to transport goods and passengers by steam. 
 
 *' It is hardly strange that such unlimited privileges were 
 so freely granted, for no one was at that time aware of the 
 immensity of the power thus placed in the hands of ficti- 
 tious personages, created by law and existing only by the 
 public favor, nor did any one understand what tremendous 
 agencies they might become. No one knew at that time 
 what we are beginning now to understand, that the business 
 of transportation is by all odds the greatest of human in- 
 dustries, being the one on which all others are dependent. 
 No one realized that within forty years after the first loco- 
 motive was set upon the rough track which the sovereign 
 power of a state permitted to be laid, the whistle of the 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 257 
 
 eiigme ^'ould be the trumpet blast of a power to whicli all 
 must bend. AVe did not dream that every business and 
 profession would be dependent for its success, directly or 
 indirectly, upon the will of those who should have the con- 
 trol of this terrible agency. No one imagined that within a 
 single lifetime, agriculture itself would shrink into insignifi- 
 cance beside this marvelous force, and that even the far- 
 mer at his plough would be among the most abject subjects 
 of its jDOwer. Xo dreamer was mad enough to predict that 
 every pound of food the great West could produce and every 
 article of manufacture the gieat East could devise, would 
 be taxed to the limit of the subject-laborer's endurance to 
 pay tribute to this mystic force, based on law, supported by 
 the invincible power of aggregated wealth, guarded by cun- 
 ning and protected by the weakness of its foes. No one 
 even guessed that products of nature, which are almost as 
 abundant as air and water and almost as needful to 
 civilized existence, would be guarded, restricted and doled 
 out by a fortunate few to the unfortunate many. 
 
 "■ We were blind, of course, but who oould guess that six 
 men would be able to put their seals upon the galleries 
 that lead to God's great storehouse of warmth — the coal 
 deposits that underlie His eternal hills — and compel the 
 poor to buy at their own price ? Who could have foreseen 
 that a product, almost as cheaply secured as water, by the 
 marvelous power of combined privilege should be held at 
 the beck of one man ? Who would have imagined that the 
 
258 J^i ^^ ii 1' Y ■ N INE. 
 
 lightning, which hardly a (luarter of a century ago was 
 taught to do man's bidding, would ever become the slave 
 of one man — the means by which a whole continent is com- 
 pelled to pay tribute to his nuitchless hardiiiood ? 
 
 '' Too late we are learning the power of the demons we 
 have evoked from nothingness. At the time of which 1 
 write we were taking our first lessons. Huch men as Drew 
 and Vanderbilt and Fiskaud Gould had just begun to show 
 what wonderful things the undefined conditions of our 
 modern life are, for jugglers like them to conjure with; how 
 the strong by combining could swallow the weak and the 
 law be made the cover rather than the bane of robbery ; 
 how millions might be taken for notliiug and hunger and 
 cold be made the collectors of unlawful tribute. They were 
 giving us the first lessons in debasing enterprise, suppress- 
 ing competition and making the general aspiration sub- 
 servient to their relentless greed. We ought to have seen 
 what was at hand, but we did not, and I was as blind as my 
 fellows — as blind then and as weak now I 
 
 " So too, was Collyer. He saw — but it was too late ! In 
 his efforts to save those associated with him he fell irre- 
 trievably. It was just at the close of the war. I hastened, 
 as you know, to his aid. The glamour of military renown 
 ■was about me. I was thought also to be far more wealthy 
 than I really was. 
 
 '' Collyer's enterprises had been at first successful. He 
 reaped the usual and just reward of foresight and sagacity. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 269 
 
 Then the intangible force of unlawfully combined enemies, 
 armed with public power and holding the avenues of ingress 
 and egress to his works, was arrayed against him. The 
 power of the State, the sword of the law, was thrown into 
 the scales. He struggled bravely. If he passed the limit 
 of legal right, let us not blame him. Perhaps my confidence 
 tempted. It is certain that the law, which commanded his 
 obedience, lent itself to his unjust slaughter. When I came 
 he was hopelessly involved, and justice had laid its heavy 
 hand upon him. 
 
 "I managed to save the company with which I was con- 
 nected from immediate disaster. Collyer bequeathed me 
 the knowledge he had gained, the titles he had acquired, the 
 inventions he had secured, the forecasts he had made. He 
 commended his family to my care and breathed his last in 
 the confines of a prison. I took \\y) the fight, confident of 
 success. Creditors were lenient. The problem seemed 
 easy. And so it was, but for the unknown and unknowa- 
 ble quantities which legal privilege had interjected into it. 
 Had competition been open and unrestricted I could hardly 
 have failed of success. So, too, if I had yielded to the de- 
 mands of those who controlled the avenues of suj^ply and 
 demand — had surrendered to a band of arrogant conspira- 
 tors the key of our works and accepted from them what 
 they chose to give — I might have been permitted to continue 
 as a tributary dependent. 
 
 "No doubt, it would have been wiser to have done so. 
 
260 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 It is always folly to fight overwhelming odds. A man is 
 powerless against the state or those armed with its authority. 
 \yhat then shall be said of a combination wielding the 
 l)ower of three States and backed by more than a billion of 
 dollars ? What merchantman shall resist a fleet of pirates 
 protected by the flag of a sovereign ? Collyer, in those 
 last sad days, advised against resistance. Poor fellow ! 
 Experience had taught him wisdom. The accuracy of his 
 forecast was amazing. He seemed to know every branch 
 and armlet of the subterranean sea Avhich had been so 
 oi^portunely tapped, and able to tell with unerring instinct 
 the course of future events. 
 
 "'These three roads,' he would say, pointing to the 
 combined lines, ' command every avenue of apj)roach to tlie 
 enchanted ground. Every gallon of oil must pay tribute 
 to them on its way to the refinery and again upon its way 
 to market. By-and-by, other means of transport will be 
 found. If they can be made free to all it is possible that 
 the power of this combination may be broken. The danger 
 is that they will control these also. Three gigantic rail- 
 roads, owning and administering the power of three 
 States, are not easily balked of their purpose. And the con- 
 trol of this Avonderful produce of nature is a prize that may 
 well tempt men to any hazard. The treasures which 
 Pizarro wrested from the Incas have dazzled the imagina- 
 tion of the world for four centuries. But the control of 
 the petroleum product of America — the great empire of 
 
EIGHT r-NTXE. 361 
 
 Naphtha — for a score of years is worth a dozen times the 
 phinder of Peru. They will buy voters, legislators, judges, 
 governors, congressmen, senators — until the whole fabric of 
 government is under the absolute control of them and their 
 associates. They are Just beginning to learn their own 
 poAver. They will meet some reverses. They will seem to 
 suffer defeats. Restraining laws will be enacted. The 
 courts will fulminate against them. But the process of 
 consolidation wall continue to go on. The greater will 
 swallow the less, and these will divide with each other the 
 tribute of a subjugated people. In less than a generation 
 the nation wall be powerless in their hands. It will struggle ; 
 it will writhe, but in the end it will yield. 
 
 " 'Within a quarter of a century ten men will hold in 
 their hands the fate of every business in the land. The 
 success of every farmer, manufacturer and merchant, will 
 be dependent on their pleasure. They will make the en- 
 terprise of the whole country subservient to their greed. 
 You do not believe it, but you will see. You do not be- 
 lieve it possible to enslave the American peojjle ? There 
 is no need. They have only to show them how to enslave 
 themselves. They are not anxious for the show of power. 
 All they want is the substance. They have only to humor 
 the underlying tendencies, and in a few more years wealth 
 will be the only test of merit and respectability and the 
 millionaire or his creature, will be the only man selected 
 to legislate or administer the powder of government. 
 
Z62 EIGHTY NINE. 
 
 " At the best, it is the few strong against the many 
 weak. They will be in no huste. They know they have 
 only to Avait, and the wealth of the millions will surely find 
 its way into the vaults of the few. A man with a hundred 
 millions has only to be patient and the weak whom he holds 
 in his power will in a few years make it a billion. We 
 liave yet no billionaire, but we soon shall have. A quarter 
 of a century ago we had scarcely ten millionaires. Xow there 
 arc hundreds. How have they grown ? By feeding upon 
 others. Every overgrown fortune in the land has come from 
 swallowing u^) some hundreds or thousands of lesser ones. 
 The wliole philosophy of mammoth acquisitions is embraced 
 in one phrase : ' The big fisli live upon the little ones.' The 
 true theory of success is not to fight the l>ig ones but to 
 pursue steadily after the multitude of little ones. Do not 
 try to tight tJic sliarks but chase the herring. Make your 
 peace with the men whom I have antagonized. Help them 
 carry out their plans ; point their game for them ; help 
 them to run it down and — r/ct your share of the offal!" 
 
CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 " I used to smile at these tirades of Collyer's and tell 
 him that disappointment had made liim cynical. A man 
 in jail for the misuse of commercial opportunity may be 
 forgiven for feeling envious. So I gave little heed to his 
 words. He did not claim any merit, but said he would 
 have done the same as those of whom he warned me. Per- 
 haps he would. He worshiped success as we all do. 
 
 "I wonder that I did not take his advice. I had need 
 of success, and did not think it very rej^rehensible to do 
 almost anything the law permitted. Of course, we have, 
 or profess to have, a standard of right and wrong outside 
 of the limitations of the law, but it is a sham. What 
 fails is wrong ; what succeeds is right. That is our 
 practical morality. In society, politics and business there 
 is no other. In the church — well, there is a prejudice 
 there against certain forms of money-getting ; rather 
 because they are vulgar than because they are wrong, 
 however. The church objects to the dramseller but exults 
 in the keen-witted believer who builds himself up on the 
 ruin of others. He who has wealth, even though acquired 
 by the most questionable means, is far more welcome there 
 than he without pelf. This is not the fault of Christianity 
 but of our education, training, development. We have 
 S6S 
 
264 EIG H T Y- NINE. 
 
 carried the slangy doctrine of ' Every man for himself ' 
 so far that its accustomed conclusion, '' the devil for the 
 whole/' has become an accepted corollary. As a people. 
 we delight in doing charity, l)ut are ashamed to do justice. 
 We would rather be swallowed by the strong than admit 
 our inability to cope with them single-handed. 
 
 " I neglected Collyer's advice but did not forget his pre- 
 dictions. Alas, 1 have lived to see too many of them ful- 
 filled, lie confessed that he had abused my confidence. 
 Of the stock of the company more than double the num- 
 ber of lawful shares were hypothecated for our indebted- 
 ness. For this I was legally responsible and addressed 
 myself at once to the task of their redemption. It was 
 not difficult, with the prestige attaching then to my name, 
 by paying a part of them, to obtain extensions. The last 
 of these expires upon your birthday. All the rest of the 
 stock has been taken up and cancelled. The amount held 
 for this is nearly equal to the whole number of lawful 
 shares. The holders suspect an over-issue and have se- 
 cured my indictment for participation in it. With this 
 they hope to compel compliance with their wishes. They 
 will not succeed. If the scheme on which I rely should 
 fail, there is one other way out of the difficult}-. What- 
 ever happens, you will be spared the shame of seeing your 
 father in the hands of the law, 
 
 " Yet the terms they offered were not so bad. If they 
 had not included you I think I should have accepted them, 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 265 
 
 much as I hate the Rock Oil Trust and hot as the fight has 
 been between us. They have onh^ done what the 
 times and public sentiment encouraged them to do. They 
 may have takeii undue advantage of the law's defects and 
 paid little heed to its warnings, knowing that they had its 
 administrators securely in hand. The head of the con- 
 cern, Stoninghani, is a very liberal, pious man. lie gives 
 away a great deal of money for charity and the church. 
 They tell me he is very strict and fervent in his family devo- 
 tions, and pretty much supports a theological seminary. I 
 do not understand it, but I presume the man sees little 
 if any wrong in what he does through this corporate 
 agency. He is no doubt sincere in his religious convic- 
 tions. That is the worst of it, that we have come to think 
 there is no wrong in anything we do if it is only beyond 
 the reach of the law. 
 
 " My fight has been a hard one. Despite the odds of 
 the mighty combination against me, I succeeded for a 
 time. It only shows the immense profits of the business, 
 that I did so. Collyer's experience and advice helped me. 
 As I said, he seemed to have foreseen all that has come to 
 pass. His wise forecast enabled me to take advantage of 
 the discovery of new oil fields. It was a wonderful thing. • 
 "We came near overthrowing the power of the great monop- 
 oly, even with the great railroads at its back. Many of the 
 associated producers and refiners thought we had done so, 
 and they began to prey on each other. We soon saw our 
 
•i(^e EIGHT Y- NIN E . 
 
 mistake. It was a success that helped me out of our diffi- 
 culties, however. I paid off all my debts except a note 
 that falls due on your birthday. That I could not find. 
 After a time I became aware that the Rock Oil Trust held 
 it. I sent an agent to offer principal and interest, but they 
 would not accept payment. 
 
 ''Then came the new method of transporting — by pipe- 
 lines. Collyer had foreseen it and bought some, perhaps 
 all, of tlie patents that cover the simple process by which 
 it is forced fi-om station to station, half across a continent. 
 It should stretch from sea to sea an unrestricted common 
 carrier. We procured a charter ; a short experimental line 
 was laid, and we thought our great oppressor was van- 
 quished. It was a foolish exultation. Hardly Avas the 
 efficiency of the new system proved when we found it con- 
 trolled by our old enemy. What else could have been ex- 
 pected ? With three of the greatest railroad systems of 
 the world combined against us, wielding the power of the 
 three greatest States in the Union, why should they not 
 prevail ? Men are but human, Avhether they be sharehold- 
 ers, legislators or Judges, and the law is very weak when 
 it is confronted by a combination that controls a billion 
 dollars and is able to make or mar the fortunes of three 
 out of every five business men in the whole region lying 
 along its lines. What is the use of talking of freedom and 
 right and justice in a country where such power is con- 
 trolled by one man, who is all the more dangerous because 
 
EIGHT Y- NINE. 267 
 
 he sincerely believes he has an inalienable right to do what- 
 ever he is able to do — that capacity to accomplish is the 
 real limit of moral right ? 
 
 " Up to this time the conflict had been impersonal 
 That was a little more than a year ago. About that time 
 an armistice was tacitly arranged and overtures for peace 
 were made, at first vague and undefined, through trusted 
 subordinates. Then the embargo was raised, and I was 
 permitted for a time to see what would be the profits of my 
 business if the hostility of the Rock Oil Trust was removed. 
 Even I was surprised. I had never realized how vast its 
 network of agencies and how great its army of dependents. 
 I was amazed to learn that four-fifths of the retailers of 
 the refined product throughout the country were subject 
 to its control. 
 
 " Then I had an interview with Stoningham. He pro- 
 posed an alliance — that they should be allowed to use 
 openly — as I am assured tliey have done secretly — the pro- 
 cess of continuous distillation Avhich poor Collyer invented. 
 By this the cost is reduced many fold. This alone had 
 enabled me to continue the fight while scores of enterpris- 
 ing independent refiners were crushed by the power of the 
 conspiracy. Stoningham had learned, too, the accuracy of 
 Colly er's predictions, and proposed that the options he had 
 secured in regions not apparently productive of oil should 
 be held for the joint benefit, that our works and facilitiea 
 should be appraised and I be allowed a proportionate share 
 
268 EIG H T Y- N I y E . 
 
 of the entire business with equal advantages in storing and 
 transporting with the great Trust and its other dependen- 
 cies. You will think them liberal terms for a defeated foe, 
 and I am bound to admit that they were — so liberal that I 
 was surprised until 1 found what they covered, or rather 
 what was coupled with them. 
 
 '^ I made no response to these overtures, half-suspecting 
 something beneath them. Even when Stoningham went 
 off into encomiums of his lieutenant, Martling, I did not at 
 first perceive his purpose. It was only when your name 
 Avas mentioned that I understood it all. It was intimated 
 that the note and the collateral might be made a wediling 
 present, lie deftly hinted that an over-issue of stock was 
 a crime punishable with imprisonment. Then I saw his 
 drift. The Rock Oil Trust had me in its power. They 
 would crush my business, ruin my good name and imprison 
 my body. All this I realized iu an instant. If I would 
 sell you to Mr. Martling and give up to them the secrets 
 Collyer had bequeathed me for my own benefit and the 
 comfort of his loved ones, they would make me their ally. 
 That was the ultimatum. 
 
 " I am surprised that I did not once think of accepting 
 these terms. I was only afraid the circumstances would 
 come to your knowledge and that you would insist upon 
 sacrificiug yourself for me. Somehow the idea of disgrace 
 had ceased to be terrible. I had faced it as a possibility so 
 long, that now it came in the form of a covert threat I 
 
EIGHTY -NINE. 369 
 
 scarcely heeded it. I only wished to save you, I knew 
 your love but dreaded your jiride. Once 1 would have 
 died rather than leave you a dislionored name. Now I 
 began to wonder whether it was dislionored — whether an 
 upright life and honest purpose were really at the mercy of 
 a vengeful enemy because of one unconscious act for Avhich 
 no one had suffered. 
 
 *' So I merely sought to gain time. I said that I could 
 not interfere with your preferences. A truce was arranged 
 between us. I felt humiliated by the thought of having 
 allowed your name even to be mentioned in the matter, but 
 I was helpless before this mysterious enemy whose power I 
 had so fully tested. 
 
 " For some months all went well. I knew it could not 
 last, however, and was all the time j^lanning to foil our 
 enemies. I was conscious of being constantly under espio- 
 nage. I knew that my clerks and employees were being 
 tampered with. The Rock Oil octopus did not mean to 
 let its prey escape. When at length I attended to nego- 
 tiate means to pay the debt, intending to assent to your 
 marriage immediately upon Mr. Owen's graduation, and 
 defy them to do their worst with the criminal charge, 
 — then it was that I first learned tbe real character of the 
 enemy with whom I had to deal. I was warned that your 
 intimacy with Ryal must cease, tbat his mother must leave 
 my house and that my efforts to negotiate a loan would be 
 frustrated. As I paid no heed to these threats I soon be- 
 
270 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 gan to find my business suffering in consequence. My 
 plans Avere thwarted ; supplies were cut olf so that it be- 
 came impossible to fill my contracts. My shipments were 
 delayed. The oil that passed through the pipes was adul- 
 terated or changed in transit. Leakage and waste became 
 enormous. Suits were instigated against me. My works 
 bcame suddenly unreliable and the product mysteriously 
 diminished. Through an old army friend I negotiated a 
 conditional sale of your estate to be consummated on your 
 birthday, if you desired. Tlirough him, too, I conveyed 
 to you, under certain conditions, the valuable options and 
 inventions received from Collyer. Then I began to feel 
 secure. When the threats were repeated — vague hints 
 coming through lips which were ignorant of the mean- 
 ing of the words they uttered — I answei'ed defiantly. 
 
 "Just at this time my works were burned. The loss was 
 not so very great, only it happened to take about all that 
 I had remaining. The fact of absolute financial ruin burst 
 upon me. I saw with an indescribable terror the dilemma 
 in which you were placed. I saw, too, my own peril. 
 Should I refuse to sacrifice you, the fate poor Collyer had 
 suffered seemed to recruit me. I knew that without 
 money I should be without friends and, iu a conflict with 
 such an enemy, without hope. I knew the fire was incen- 
 diary and was satisfied that it was instigated by some one 
 closely connhcted with the great Monopoly ; but I could 
 prove nothing. My employees were un trust Avorthy. I 
 
EIGHTY-SIXE. ^71 
 
 managed to get a hold upon one and he confessed enough 
 to convict himself and set me on the track of others. 
 Soon lie canit' to me in terror. His life had been threat- 
 ened. The next night he was fired ujjon. A few days 
 after he had another escape. He seemed surrounded with 
 enemies. 'J^hen he was charged with crime and thrown into 
 prison. I bailed him out and procured him employment 
 in a distant city. Within a week the house in which he 
 lived was burned. His life seemed constantly in peril. 
 
 " Then the threats changed to promises. Golden lures 
 were thickly spread along his path. He was offered 
 fabulous opportunities by unknown parties. Strangers 
 sought him out and offered him large sums to do the most 
 simple tasks. All at once he was gone. I knew he had 
 been spirited away. Whether he is alive or dead I do not 
 know. 
 
 " Then I felt that I must, at all events, free myself from 
 the toils surrounding me and leave you at liberty to secure 
 happiness with as little opprobrium on my account as pos- 
 sible. To me there seems but one way out of the diffi- 
 culty. If we succeed in eluding the vigilance of our enemy, 
 they must either give up the prosecution they have set on 
 foot or do without tiieir money. If yon offer to pay 
 my debt, of course you will demand the surrender of the 
 security they hold, and they cannot take advantage of your 
 generosity without losing their revenge. In other words, 
 if the Rock Oil people accept your money they will have to 
 
^72 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 give up the collateral, and the criminal prosecution must 
 then fail. If they do not accept the money offered, it may 
 be convenient, some time, for developing tlie great oil fields 
 in which Collyer sunk his borrowed capital. 
 
 " The fact that Kyal's mother goes with me will release 
 you from any sense of public odium, should you fail to re- 
 deem my note. It will naturally be inferred that I have 
 yielded to her fascinations and absconded with money im- 
 properly obtained. It will come out after a time that we were 
 privately married some weeks ago, but the fact will be very 
 little noticed, and the great mass of the people will always 
 look u2ion it as an elopement as well as a defalcation. 
 
 *'And now, my dear daughter, you will have to act for 
 yourself. I do not doubt as to what you will do. As I 
 have thought only of you, I know you will be inclined to 
 think only of me. To a certain extent, I shall not object 
 to this. I shall be glad to know tliat you have tendered 
 payment for the last dollar I owe, tliat my honor has been 
 protected though my reputation may be scotched. Farther 
 than that I forbid you to think of going. I have sacrificed 
 my pride to save your love. Do not think of sacrificing 
 your love in a vain attempt to save my good name. Be 
 content that your father has acted neither dishonorably nor 
 cowardly, though he may seem to have done both ; that he 
 has contracted an honorable alliance with a noble woman, 
 whose courage and devotion have not only won his love 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 2t3 
 
 but stimulated his determination to retrieve his misfor- 
 tunes. 
 
 "I am, it is true, compelled to leave my native land — 
 not self -exiled, but driven out by the fear of obloquy. That 
 is the real fact. If one might really be poor and yet re- 
 spectable within her borders, no enemy should boast of 
 having seen my back. This is the hardest wrench of all. 
 You know something of my adoration for our country — a 
 worship not so much attaching to the realm or the nation- 
 ality of the Great Eepublic as for that Northern life, the 
 spirit of enterprise, individuality and equal opportunity of 
 Avhich we have so long boasted as the very essence of Ameri- 
 canism. I can not tell you how bitterly I suffer as I con. 
 template the fact that the ills of the joresent are a legitimate 
 result of the folly of the past. "We have carried our rage 
 for liberty so far that it has become the apology and excuse 
 for wrong ; until the right to achieve has become insepara- 
 ble in our minds from the right to destroy. Pride in indi- 
 vidual success, in financial achievement, has grown to such 
 a pitch that all else is counted dross. Excellence, virtue 
 and honor are all measured by the dollar. Intellect is 
 nothing unless gilded ; virtue is without esteem unless 
 securely placed on a gold basis. I do not blame others for 
 this. All my life I have been, more or less, the slave of 
 this impulse. At first it was half unconscious and had not 
 then the opportunity for development that these later days 
 have brought. I doubt if anything but misfortune would 
 
'2U EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 have taught me its hideous character. Even Stoningham, 
 with all the woeful acts that lie at his door, with all the 
 poverty and shame he has heaped on others, and the 
 wrongs he has inspired, is not only a natural result of our 
 past, but really a product of its best and sweetest life. The 
 purest blood of New England Hows in his veins. He was 
 reared amid the perfume of Christian charity and rectitude. 
 He is even now a zealot who would suffer martyrdgm for 
 his faith. He loves his country, too, and upon occasion 
 would no doubt do as much, perhaps a great deal more, 
 than I have over done for its defence. He considers it no 
 harm — perhaps oven not a matter of wrong — to thwart its 
 laws, corrupt its officials or oppress its people. Perhaps I 
 would have done the same in his place. I do not blame 
 — I hardly dare to blame — I only mourn the shattering of 
 my idol. 
 
 " 1 go away, but I hope to return. Some speculative 
 investments in another land, made in the days of my pros- 
 perity, give a prospect of retrieving my fortunes. K that 
 hope is justified, I trust yet to do something to awaken my 
 countrymen from the lethargy which has overtaken their 
 better natures, and release them from the fetters our own 
 foolish pride has forged. The Rock Oil people will no 
 doubt believe themselves to have ruined another presump- 
 tuous competitor and congratulate themselves that another 
 obstacle to a complete monopoly of one of nature's most 
 abundant and beneficent products is crushed. I hope 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 275 
 
 to disappoint their expectations, not alone to avenge my 
 own wrongs — though I would by no means deny the force 
 of such motive — but in the overthrow of this mighty usur- 
 pation, to teach the peril of unguarded privilege. I do 
 not expect to cure the evils of our civilization. I am 
 neither a statesman nor a reformer, but as a great catas- 
 trophe very often points the way to the adoption of better 
 methods, I hope to do something to make this giant wrong 
 a notable example and a warning that will not soon be for- 
 gotten. For what I am about to do let this letter be to 
 you my apology. Time alone can bring to the world its 
 justification. If assured of your happines, mine will be 
 complete. Without that nothing can make tolerable the 
 life I saved but for your sake. 
 
 Your father, 
 
 Ambrose Fairbanks." 
 
 This, then, was the crime that had driven a brave and 
 worthy man into exile. 
 
 If he had violated any law, it had been without in- 
 tent, and no one had suffered so much as a farthing's worth 
 by his act. He did not complain. The instinct of obedi- 
 ence to the law was so strong with him that even at the 
 last extremity he did not murmur. Even in that supreme 
 moment he thought of his country rather than himself. 
 
276 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 and looked forward with curious apprehension to a future 
 when the creatures of the law should control every function 
 of government. The very prosecutor, whose hand was 
 armed with legal terrors for his chastisement, was himself 
 a notable instance of legal privilege supported and main- 
 tained in the pursuit of unrighteous ends. 
 
 Alas I even his imagination, fired by the sting of his 
 own agony, could not guess the height of insolence to 
 which power, builded on a legal fiction, but worshiped as 
 the holiest of holy things by a people with whom the right 
 to gather and possess is accounted the supremest privilege 
 of liberty, within a decade would exhibit. He did not 
 dream that it would defy the will of its creator, mock ai 
 the sovereign power of a state, refuse to submit to the 
 scrutiny of the national goA'ernment, league itself with a 
 hundred like organizations to control other and yet more 
 wonderful products of nature, and form an unsanctified 
 alliance by which hundreds of millions of dollars were 
 placed at the disposal of a single man. 
 
CHAPTER XXVm. 
 
 I saw but little of Edith during the day. Towards 
 evening I heard a knock upon the door leading into my 
 mother s room, and, when I opened it, she entered. To the 
 pallid dejection of the morning was added now a look of 
 positive terror. 
 
 " What is it ?" I asked in alarm. 
 
 She went to the window and pointed towards the river. 
 
 *'The house is watched," she said, as if the words were 
 the very knell of hope. I looked towards the landing. 
 The white-hatted man was there. A little way up the 
 path at the side of the house another man was strolling 
 back and forth. 
 
 " Much good it will do them," I said, with some satis- 
 faction in my tone. 
 
 " Oh, Ryal, how can you ! What if the people in the 
 house should find it out !" 
 
 " I think the best thing we can do is to tell them the 
 whole story." 
 
 "li would kill me!" 
 
 Looking at her strained face and drooping figure I 
 began to fear it might. 
 
 " But they must know it sometime." 
 
 "I shall not see them afterwards "—with a shrug. 
 277 
 
278 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 " Oh, I know you think me very weak and so I am. You 
 must help me. If we can only get through this matter and 
 get away before it is in everybody's mouth ! Do you sup- 
 pose the morning papers will have it ?" 
 
 " To-morrow ? I should judge not. If the Rock Oil 
 people think your father is here, they will make no move 
 until to-morrow. If they suspect his absence they will wait 
 to see you before beginning operations." 
 
 " Do you think Mr. Martling will — ?" She paused as 
 if unwilling to proceed . 
 
 '' Do I think he will ask you for your hand ? There 
 is no doubt of it." 
 
 " Could he stop this thing — hush it up — get those peo- 
 ple away, I mean ?" with a disgusted gesture towards the de- 
 tectives. 
 
 "No doubt — if his terms were complied with.'* 
 
 She turned towards the window so that I could not 
 see her face. 
 
 " And those terms ?" 
 
 " You know them as well as 1." 
 
 " You think he would accept no other ?" 
 
 " See here, Edith," I said, almost angrily, " I know 
 what is in your mind. You are wondering whether the 
 prosecution against your father would be withdrawn and 
 the matter hushed up, if you should promise to become 
 Martling's wife. You could never do such a thing if you 
 tried." 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 279 
 
 " I — might— promise." 
 
 " Then you would have to fulfill." 
 
 " I might not — be — alive." 
 
 ''Edith r 
 
 " I shall not live — very long." 
 
 " But, Edith, you can secure what you desire much 
 more easily than by the means you intimate." 
 
 " How ?" She turned towards me with a look of eager 
 inquiry. 
 
 " I think your father has magnified the importance of 
 Mr. Martling's wish. What the man at the head of the 
 great oil monopoly wants is not so much an alliance be- 
 tween you and Martling as the property and franchises your 
 father holds. If you choose to surrender these — which I 
 understand will be assigned to you — I have no doubt they 
 will seiTe both as a ransom for yourself and a release for 
 your father. If you pay the debt and assign to them what 
 they think your father controls, the prosecution will be 
 dropped and you will be allowed to do what you choose." 
 
 *' And Mr. Martling ?" 
 
 ** Mr. Martling will do as Mr. Stoningham bids." 
 
 " And you — you advise this course ?" 
 
 *' Not at all. I would pay the debt, demand the se- 
 curities and let them do their worst." 
 
 '' But then—?" 
 
 *' There is no need to go over the ground again," I in- 
 terrupted. "That is all there is of it." 
 
280 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 ''And they want to compel my father to give up these 
 things — this property ?' 
 
 '' Of course. That is why they are pressing the prose- 
 cution." 
 
 " And they think I will surrender them ?" 
 
 '• They probably do not know you are to have them." 
 
 '* But you — what do you think ?" 
 
 '' Oil,. I think it would be a great deal better to give 
 them up than to marry a man you do not love," I re- 
 sponded laughingly. 
 
 She did not answer. After a time she said in a very 
 different tone : 
 
 *' Can I make a will, Ryal ?" 
 
 I blushed. It was the first time my opinion on a legal 
 subject had been asked in earnest. I tried to think what 
 her rights — the rights of an infant /ewe sole — in respect to 
 testamentary bequests were, but could not. Determined 
 not to err in advising my first client, I replied cautiously : 
 
 " To-morrow you can." 
 
 " Will you prepare a will for me as I may direct ?" 
 
 She did not know how flattered I was by this display 
 of confidence in my legal ability. 
 
 *' Certainly; when shall I do it ?" 
 
 '•' Now — if you are willing, that is." 
 
 "All right." I took out my pencil and sat down at 
 the table ready to take notes. 
 
 ^' Well r 
 
EIGHTY -NINE. 281 
 
 " All that I have — all my estate, yon call it, don't 
 
 you 
 
 ?" 
 
 " Yes — real and personal ?'' 
 
 " I suppose so — every tiling." 
 
 " To whom ?" 
 
 " Can I leave it to any one I choose — my father, for in- 
 stance ?" 
 
 "Anybody." 
 
 **' And if I should wish any particular thing to be done 
 with it — or a part of it ?" 
 
 *' You can either direct or request it to be done." 
 
 " Yes ?" 
 
 *' The one compels, the other leaves discretionary the 
 application of the bequest." 
 
 ''Thanks. Let it be a request." 
 
 " To apply as you shall otherwise direct ?" 
 
 " Yes. You may leave the name blank." 
 
 ''Very well ; you can write in the descrij)tion." 
 
 " The description ?" She turned towards me, but I was 
 so intent on serving my first client tliat I did not look up. 
 
 "Yes; the full name and residence, you know; so as to 
 secure certainty, as to the legatee." 
 
 " Oh. That I can do any time to-morrow." 
 
 " Any time after twelve to-night." 
 
 "It must be witnessed, I suppose — or something ?" 
 
 " By three persons whom you must inform that it is 
 
382 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 your will. You must sign it in their presence and they in 
 yours." 
 
 " You will write out the directions, please?" 
 
 " All right. Is there anything more ?" 
 
 " Not that I remember. I may be very weak, but I 
 will not surrender what my father is so anxious to hold." 
 
 I looked up in surprise. She was standing at the end 
 of the table at which I wrote, looking down at me with an 
 anxious, troubled expression. Could it be that she was so 
 mercenary that she could coolly think of sacrificing herself 
 to secure immunity from scandalous aspersion, yet would 
 defy public opinion for the sake of money ? I could not 
 understand her. For a moment I think my love faltered. 
 Yet it was only the instinct of her people. The shame of 
 failure completely overwhelmed her ; the thought of de- 
 fending her father's property acted as a tonic to her nerves. 
 She would rather die than be talked about, but rather be 
 talked about than yield to an unjust demand. She noted 
 my hesitation. 
 
 ''Eyal," she said, pleadingly, "you will not be angry 
 with me ?" 
 
 I took her hand and raised it to my lips. 
 
 " You have sworn to be my knight, you know," she 
 added, with a little nervous laugh. 
 
 " And I will keep my oath." 
 
 " Then go away in the morning — please.'' 
 
 " Where ?"— moodily. 
 
BTGETT-NINE. 283 
 
 "Why not ride into town?" 
 
 " For what ?" 
 
 ''I thought you might have — some — business — there." 
 
 What was it in her tone that made me look up, and 
 what was the new expression I saw in her face ? A soft 
 color had stolen over her cheeks, and her eyes had a tender, 
 humid glow. What wild fancy possessed my brain ? I 
 could hardly command my voice to say, 
 
 *' And I may return — when V 
 
 " You could come by noon, I suppose ?" 
 
 ** Long before," — with eager emiDhasis. 
 
 " No — that will be soon enough— soon enough — but 
 Ryal " — she bent quickly over the corner of the table and 
 whispered in my ear — " I shall want to go away from here 
 at once." 
 
 There was a quick rustle and the door into my mother's 
 room was shut and the bolt shot quickly into place on tlie 
 other side. I sat dazed, wouderiug Avhether I had had a 
 dream or whether what had passed were simple fact. 
 
 That night I prepared the will and made my plans for 
 the future, but slept very little. Before the guests were 
 astir in the morning I was mounted and away. I did not 
 see Edith, but as I galloped off I heard a shutter carefully 
 turned and felt that she was watching my departure. The 
 man with the white hat was strolling along the river bank. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 It was over. 
 
 The guests were gone — all but oue or two of the hum- 
 bler sort, who would not go while there was aught that 
 they could do to cheer or serve. A pall seemed to have 
 settled over the house. People were gathered near gaz- 
 ing at it curiously. I saw them point towards me and 
 exchange comments as I rode up. The officials, who had 
 watched the premises so closely during the Sabbath, had 
 disappeared. Men with pencils in their hands were loi- 
 tering about the gate, standing near the door — actually 
 peeping into the windows. The thirst for scandal, which 
 is a consuming lire in the breasts of the Northern people, 
 had fastened upon Sagamo Lodge and its occupants as vic- 
 tims. The law had loosed its hold and the press had taken 
 its place. 
 
 What did the law want ? Who were the victims it 
 sought, and for what offense ? What heart might be torn ? 
 What reputation blasted ? What hope blighted ? These 
 were the questions the harpies of the press asked them- 
 selves as they watched and pried and guessed and quizzed, 
 as though in the performance of a solemn duty, — the 
 exercise of an inalienable right. 
 
 The public conscience among those people has become 
 284 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 285 
 
 SO debauched by daily doses of prurient and horrible detail 
 that private right and individual character are without 
 safeguard or consideration in that region. Woman's vir- 
 tue and man's honor are no longer matters of any moment 
 in the estimation of this singular people, who pride them- 
 selves upon a peculiar regard for morality and an especial 
 devotion to individual right. Practically, there is but one 
 kind of defamation for which the press is there ever held 
 responsible — the imputation of a lack of financial ability to 
 a man of wealth. This is counted an assault on the palladium 
 of liberty. An employe may be accused of peculation or 
 fraud or a poor man denounced as a trickster or a thief, in 
 full-faced capitals, and if, by-and-bye, he is able to obtain 
 a retraction in unleaded agate, he may thank his stars and 
 the unforced courtesy of the manager. Of whatever affects 
 the financial status or commercial integrity of the rich or 
 supposedly rich, however, the Northern journalist is very 
 chary. And well he may be, for he knows that the law 
 reserves its Gorgon terrors for such offenses. All things 
 else he may assail without fear of court or jury, law or 
 bailiff ; but let him beware how he touches the rich man's 
 credit or impugns his power to pay. Ah, well ; all peo- 
 ples worship something, and it only happens that our 
 brethren of the North exalt into the highest place the 
 power to accumulate — the reputation of ability to pay — 
 and naturally defend most rigorously what they prize most 
 highly ! 
 
386 BIOHTT-NINE. 
 
 As I sprang from my horse I found myself beset by 
 half-a-dozen of these importunate agents of the great 
 news-mongering power. 
 
 *'How much will it amount to?" asked one. The 
 others listened, pencil in hand. 
 
 '' What ? " I asked. 
 
 " The defalcation, of course." 
 
 " Whose ? " 
 
 *' Why, General Fairbanks's." 
 
 " Not u cent." 
 
 "Isn't he 'short'?" 
 
 "Not a dollar." 
 
 "Pay his debts?" 
 
 "All he owes." 
 
 " Like to buy some of his paper ?" 
 
 " All you will bring." 
 
 " The devil ! " 
 
 I smiled sardonically and started up the steps. 
 
 " Hold on a minute." 
 
 One of them had stepped before me. 
 
 " Know anything 'bout this woman that went off with 
 him ? " 
 
 " She is my mother." I heard a titter behind me. 
 
 " Married ? " 
 
 " A month ago." 
 
 " No mistake about that ?" He looked at me with a 
 significant leer. The next instant he was sprawling on the 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 287 
 
 ground. He had touched my idol and I had resented it in 
 true Southern fashion. Then I turned upon the others, 
 white with wrath : 
 
 " Gentlemen, I have answered your questions frankly. 
 General Fairbanks married my mother more than a month 
 ago. If any one dares to write, publish or hint a word in 
 derogation of her character I will kill him if I ever get 
 within arm's length of him.'' 
 
 I spoke in a very low tone. I was too angry to speak 
 loud. 
 
 " Don't blame you a bit," said the one I had knocked 
 down, scrambling to his feet, " And you must not blame 
 us. We have to do it. The worse the scandal the 
 better the story. That's business, you know, no matter 
 whether it's your mother or mine. I shall say they are 
 married though. Can you tell me anything more ? " 
 
 He was brushing the dust off his clothes with a hand- 
 kerchief as he spoke. I could not help smiling. He was, 
 after all, a manly-looking fellow, about my own age. We 
 were calculated for different meridians, that was all. I 
 could not resist his imperturbable good nature. 
 
 "Wait a moment," I said, as I entered the house. 
 They all sat down upon the steps and " wrote up" what 
 had passed. It flashed upon me that it might be well to 
 make friends with these purveyors for the public maw. 
 
 My mood changed as I passed the threshold. The few 
 remaining guests were about to take their departure. They 
 
288 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 were tearful, troubled, mystified. The servants were 
 curious, wondering, but mostly faithful and sympathetic. 
 From (iieneral Fairbanks's lawyer I learned, briefly, what 
 had happened during my absence. The transfer of Edith's 
 property luid been made and the money j)aid over. Mr. 
 Martling had called. What had occurred between him 
 and Edith the lawyer did not know. He had been sum- 
 moned to the room after a time and found Martling hold- 
 ing General Fairbank's note and demanding payment in a 
 threatening tone. At Edith's request, he had examined 
 the note and its endorsements and tendered payment, de- 
 manding the delivery of the collateral. To his surprise 
 Martling had refused, with some hesitation, to deliver the 
 collateral, and consequently the note remained unpaid. 
 Thereupon Martling had been requested to leave the prem- 
 ises and had done so, vowing vengeance. 
 
 Immediately afterwards, officers, armed Avith a warrant 
 for General Fairbanks's arrest, had presented themselves 
 and insisted on searching the house from cellar to garret, 
 which they proceeded to do. This indignity had com- 
 pletely prostrated Edith. She remained firm, however, in 
 her determination to leave the house at once, and had 
 given the lawyer full and explicit directions as to the re- 
 moval of her personal belongings. I learned that the con- 
 tract of sale contained a covenant for repurchase within a 
 limited period of time. I could not understand it then. 
 It was not till many years afterwards that I learned how 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 289f 
 
 strong is the impulse of the Yankee towards the re- 
 habilitation of his prestige when the same has been impaired 
 by mischance. Subsequent success loses half its sweet- 
 ness to him unless he can flaunt it in the faces of those who 
 witnessed his downfall. Ambrose Fairbanks Avas not ex- 
 empt from this almost ethnic inclination. It was not 
 vanity, but the defiant pride of self-justification. Its dis- 
 covery explained to me the myriad of hopeless, uncomplain- 
 ing wrecks that lie upon the strand of Northern business 
 life, utterly abject and pitiful, whose names were once 
 talismanic in their golden potency. They would rather be 
 nothing than be anything less than they once were. 
 
 The blinds were shut close and the house was filled 
 with funereal gloom rather than nuptial gladness, when the 
 man of God, Avith sad and troubled visage, pronounced us 
 man and Avife. Edith, in her traveling suit, Avas tearful 
 and dejected. The few friends avIio Avitnessed the rite 
 wore dolorous faces. Without consulting Edith, I Avent 
 and invited in the bevy of reporters. They Avere fair-minded 
 fellows, Avilling to do a good turn when their professional 
 duties permitted . I am confident that this act of courtesy 
 drcAV the sting from the tail of many a paragraph. The 
 brave old laAvyer gave us a cheerful greeting and foretold 
 for us a happy future. 
 
290 EIQHTY-NINE. 
 
 * * * 
 
 The great Metropolis had begun its holiday when we 
 drove through its crowded streets, at eventide. The guns 
 were thundering forth the national salute and the bells 
 were greeting the anniversary of a nation's birth when, at 
 midnight, we passed through the city where it was cradled. 
 The flags were tossing gaily in the morning breeze when 
 we reached the National Capital. 
 
 Though it was her wedding journey, Edith's tears 
 flowed afresh at each of these manifestations, as if they 
 were the harbingers of woe rather than the notes of exulta- 
 tion. It was no longer her country. Her pride in its 
 glory was dead. The sight of the flag brought a flush of 
 shame. The father who had fought for it had fled from its 
 shadow. Whether he had acted rightly or wrongly mat- 
 tered little. His name was to be thenceforth a mark for 
 jest and scorn. She put her fingers in her ears and my 
 hands clenched involuntarily when the newsboy leajDcd 
 upon the train, as it slowed up on entering the station, 
 shouting a name whose renown gave pungency to the story 
 its glaring head-lines made prominent. 
 
 I no longer marvelled at her suffering. I wondered if 
 any of the passengers would recognize her. Ah, no, they 
 talked and laughed of the new sensation, while she wept 
 behind her veil and we sped on, away from poisoned tongues 
 and prying eyes. I was never before so glad that the 
 South remained the South, despite all that had occurred 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 291 
 
 as on that day. For the first time my father's prophecy 
 of ultimate separation seemed to me a desirable result. 
 
 A few short years of quiet happiness and ever-hoping 
 hopelessness, and then I laid the gentle Northern wife be- 
 side the stern, poor-white grandmother, the gallant Con- 
 federate father and the sunny-haired sister, slain by the 
 barbarity of strife, on the shaded slope of Ryalmont. 
 
 She never rallied from the cruel stroke that shattered 
 her pride and hope. Even my love was powerless to woo 
 her back to the full enjoyment of life. Weakened by the 
 shock, and prostrated by humiliation, the scourge of her 
 native region claimed her and crowned her last days with 
 that peculiar loveliness which only comes on earth to those 
 to whom it opens the jDortals of eternity. 
 
 This was the legacy of her love, written on the dark 
 yellow sheets which contained my father's last behest : 
 
 "I heartily approve what is herein enjoined, and trust 
 that every memory of me may be an added incentive to its 
 fulfillment. 
 
 Edith." 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 The sheets are creased and worn. The paper is of 
 that dull yellow which was all the kind we had 
 within the lines of the Confederacy. The ink is blurred, 
 and the pages are unevenly written as if done at different 
 times. The sheets bear the printed official heading of the 
 Army of Northern Virginia ; and the first is dated from 
 the camp on the line at Petersburg, hardly a fortnight 
 before the end came. It bears my dead father's signature 
 and my dead wife's indorsement. Two loved s])irits joined 
 in beckoning me along the path I took — the extremes of 
 our western civilization united in commending the duty 
 it enjoins. There was little to prevent my acceptance of 
 the task, yet there seemed nothing for me to do. 
 
 So in the years that followed I read and re-read the 
 fading lines, like a fakir meditating on his chosen text. 
 With assiduous care and unflagging zeal I verified its pre- 
 mises and noted the indices that strengthened its conclusions. 
 Perhaps it would have seemed to another the rhapsody of 
 a mere visionary. To me it was the thought of one 
 greater than his age — one who lived before his time — who 
 made me simply the instrument of his will, the agent of 
 his prophetic forecast. I have done Jittle but learn its 
 significance and apply its precepts. For years I could do. 
 
 292 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 293 
 
 no more than strive to grasp its reason and spirit — to rise 
 to the level on which it was written. The task was not 
 easy. All around was chaos : the strife of party and 
 faction and greed. Passion and prejudice hid the face of 
 truth. Now and then came a gleam of light, then dark- 
 ness. I gave myself to meditation as the saint devotes 
 himself to prayer. I studied the North and the South, the 
 rich and the poor, the black and the white. This missive 
 from the grave — the posthumous teaching of a noble spirit 
 — was my guide. Because I had fully learned the truths 
 it set forth I was enabled, when the occasion came, not 
 indeed to effect or even to precipitate the great result, but 
 to determine in some degree the character of the means by 
 which it was effected. 
 
 I have read it so often that my eyes need not the aid 
 of the fading lines to determine its contents. These 
 are the words my father wrote for me to read upon the 
 threshold of manhood and which love reaffirmed as a last 
 behest : 
 
 '' My Dear Soif f 
 
 *' If you have obeyed my injunction you will have 
 reached an age when you should be competent to decide 
 important questions without liaving assumed obligations 
 which will prevent your undertaking the work I shall 
 indicate, should your judgment and inclination lead you 
 to do so. I have prescribed this delay because not only 
 
294 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 is a man's judgment often warped by his individual in- 
 terests, but because tlie happiness of those he loves 
 is apt to incline him to a middle course rather than 
 induce him to devote himself wholly to any great 
 purpose. 
 
 " \ do not wish to take from 3'^ou the right of self- 
 direction. I know that every life must shape its own 
 destiny. What I shall write herein is intended to appeal 
 to your brain, not to your heart — to be advisory, not man- 
 datory. What will occur in the years that will have inter- 
 vened between the inditement of this missive and its 
 perusal by you I cannot tell. What I may write you will 
 understand is bused solely upon deductions from the past. 
 When you shall read this, knowledge may have overturned 
 hypothesis and you may clearly perceive me to have been 
 as much at fault in my prognostications as were those 
 worthy spirits of our early history who vainly hoped to 
 limit and confine all coming time to the narrow lines of 
 their own preconceptions. As I perceive their errors, now 
 clearly outlined on the background of the past, so you may 
 take note of elements I have not been able to forecast 
 which may render my premonitions vain. Should such be 
 the case, I am sure you will kindly cover your father's 
 error with the mantle of oblivion. If, however, your 
 judgment shall approve my words, I submit to your con- 
 science, your patriotism, your duty to humanity and the 
 love for true and enduring fame which I trust you will 
 
EIGHTT-NINE. 295 
 
 possess, what shall be the course you will pursue. If the 
 dead may touch the living consciousness, I shall be beside 
 you when you read these words ! 
 
 *' Almost four years of war should teach lessons of 
 wisdom. As you know, I have never been one of those 
 who count such convulsions the mere fruit of accident. 
 Whatever be the power that controls the universe, to-day 
 is irresistibly unfolded out of yesterday, and not more 
 surely does the bud contain leaf and flower and fruit than 
 is to-morrow to be found in embryo within to-day. 
 
 " During these years of conflict, while I trust that I 
 may not be held to have been deficient in action, I have 
 found time to meditate upon the causes and consequences of 
 current events. The camp, the march and even the silent 
 battlefield, lying beneath the stars with its burden of stark 
 and cold humanity, not only afford ample opportunity for 
 thought, but stimulate to the highest pitch the inclination 
 of the philosophical mind to call upon the present to stand 
 and deliver up the secrets of the past in order that we may 
 thereby unlock the mysteries of the future. 
 
 " War is but a crisis in the eternal conflict between 
 the opposing forces of humanity. Folly may precipitate 
 such a crisis, or wisdom may avoid it. In this sense war 
 has been well defined to be a game of fools. But neither wis- 
 dom nor folly can prevent the collision of hostile forces. The 
 struggle may ripen into one of mere brute force and be 
 called war, or result in a general recognition of a tendency 
 
296 EIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 too strong to be resisted and be called progress or peaceful 
 revolution. Of course, one is foolish and the other wise, 
 but in both cases there must be conflict — triumph and 
 defeat, establishment and overthrow. This endless strife 
 we call civilization. The soldier is as much its instrument 
 as the statesman. Neither creates — only represents. The 
 one is the product of latent savagery ; the other the outcome 
 of a refinement that prefers canning to force — strategy to 
 assault. We soldiers of the great republic now severed in 
 twain, who have for four years faced and fought each other, 
 are not mere creatures of intrigue and chicane. We have 
 not slain each other to attain favor or to exalt party lead- 
 ers. We are simply the contrasted types of the past, 
 developed along opposing lines. We are representatives of 
 two distinct and mutually repugnant civilizations. 
 
 "■ Of these I do not doubt that onrs of the South is as 
 yet weaker in the elements that win battles under the con- 
 ditions of modern warfare, but I believe it to be much the 
 stronger in its distinctive character and harmonious devel- 
 opment. AVe shall be conquered in war but not overcome 
 in spirit. When our banner trails in the dust — as I am 
 sure it will before many days— the South will still be the 
 South. Our enemies may hold it as conquered territory, 
 but they will never be able to assimilate its people. The 
 distance between them and us will really be no greater than 
 it was before war intervened, but it will be infinitely more 
 distinct. It will l)e fermed the results of war ; it will really 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 29? 
 
 be a result of peace. Paradoxical as it may appear, we should 
 be much more closely united as two governments than we can 
 be as one. What may happen I cannot tell. Resistance 
 may cease. Submission may be comiilete. The very hope 
 of political separation may be abandoned. Yet the two 
 will never be one people, animated by one impulse, governed 
 by one idea! One in name though they may be, they will 
 continue two in spirit. As we have been in the past so we 
 shall be in the future, two peoples under one name — two 
 nations under one form. 
 
 " This will not last. In your day, as in mine, it may 
 be. necessary to elect whether you will serve the form or 
 the spirit — whether you will follow the impulse of separa- 
 tion or yield to the sentiment of union. Wisdom and 
 patriotism may direct that yon shall take a course in formal 
 opposition to that which I chose. I cannot tell. I hope 
 you will act wisely and am sure you will act bravely. I 
 have tried to leave you an inheritance of honor, and feel 
 assured that you will not cast reproach upon your father's 
 singleness of purpose, however you may regret his con- 
 viction. 
 
 "History teaches, if I read it aright, that such a people 
 as ours may be overwhelmed but cannot be transformed. 
 On the contrary, one of three things has invariably hap- 
 pened in similar cases : either the struggle has been 
 renewed with fresh ardor within a generation ; the power 
 of the victor has been relaxed and peaceful separation 
 
298 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 ensued, or the underlying imjoulse of the jieople making 
 the appeal to arms has so impermeated and transformed 
 the opposing mass as to be accepted as the dominant and 
 controlling idea of the whole people. 
 
 "■■' In our case I see no possibility of this latter result 
 occurring. The North has hitherto yielded to the 
 domination and control of the South, not because it 
 approved our ideas, but with a curious hesitating forbear- 
 ance for them. It is natural to suppose that rhis will dis- 
 appear with victory. Hitherto the South has attributed 
 such forbearance to fear, and will be likely to regard its 
 absence as resulting from hate. At all events, it is hardly 
 possible that the South will be restored to its old political 
 supremacy and the nation quietly submit to its demands as 
 before the severance of the federal relation. The tie, 
 though it may not be entirely broken by the conflict, will 
 be so seriously weakened as to be unable to bear any similar 
 strain in the future. 
 
 " It seems most probable that a state of suspended 
 animation will supervene at the South upon the overthrow 
 of the Confederacy, and if it were not for the presence of 
 the colored race, assimilation would no doubt rapidly 
 ensue. Slavery is, of course, already doomed. As a form 
 of society it has served its mission and cannot longer be 
 kept alive ; but the vast number of blacks, together with 
 their poverty and inaptness for self-control, will prevent 
 their expulsion from the South or gradual distribution over 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 299 
 
 the whole country and consequently prohibit the influx of 
 laboring masses either from the North or from Europe. In 
 fact, the weakness of the race will really constitute its 
 strength and our peril. "We have shaped their past for our 
 own advantage and must shape their future for our own 
 safety. 
 
 " The abolition of slavery, which must follow the 
 overthrow of the military jiower of the Confederacy, instead 
 of bringing the South and North nearer together in purpose 
 and character, it seems to me, must inevitably leave them 
 farther apart in sentiment and interest. WJiat will be to 
 one meat will be to the other poison. Differences are sure 
 to arise and conflict or separation must ultimately come. 
 The North is certain to look with jealousy upon the relation 
 of the races in the subjugated dominion. The white peo- 
 ple of the South must govern and control without dictation 
 and without regard for the wishes, inclinations and aspira- 
 tions of the Negro race, or abandon the territory to anarchy, 
 barbarism and decay. 
 
 "So the white people of the South will be forced to 
 face the alternative of another struggle for separate exist- 
 ence or the abandonment of their supremacy and control 
 over the Negro. There is no middle ground. The latter 
 it is hardly necessary to consider. Whether the former 
 shall be violent or peaceful will most likely be the real 
 question. 
 
 " The outcome I do not regard as at all doubtful. The 
 
300 EIOUTY-NINE. 
 
 destiny of the South is fixed and certain. "Whatever be 
 the right or the wrong of the past, the South must control 
 the destiny and development of the Negro race in America, 
 until it stands on a level in intelligence and power, man 
 for man, with the Anglo-Saxon. It will have to govern 
 with a rod of iron to save itself from annihilation — its 
 liberty and civilization from destruction. You will per- 
 haps be surprised to read these words, but sitting in my 
 tent, with the roar of the enemy's guns in my ears, I seem 
 to see the future more clearly than ever before, and feel 
 impelled as if by the presence of death to speak freely. 
 Do not be misled by the prejudices of the past, my sou. 
 The Negro, who has been our bondman for two hundred 
 and fifty years, will sometimebeour peer— not in namcmerely; 
 that the Washington government think tliey have already 
 made him by the edict of emancipation — but in fact. I 
 do not know how long it will require — generations or cen- 
 turies, it is all the same. The South must meanwhile be 
 his guardian, guide and teacher. It may have to restrain 
 harshly for its own salvation. It may even attempt to 
 destroy. When I think of tlie madness which hurried us 
 into the present conflict, I cannot but tremble for the 
 future. 
 
 " It is this which impels me to write — to warn, to 
 entreat I Oh, my son, whatever be your inclination, how- 
 ever harsh may be the lesson of submission you may be 
 called upon to learn, whatever may be your decision in 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 301 
 
 regard to the request I shall prefer, I beg you, above all 
 things, to remember that the race we have kept so long 
 beneath our feet ; the race which has toiled and suffered in 
 our service : the race whom we have forbidden to drink at 
 the fountain of knowledge; the race which has dumbly 
 borne our sins and shared our adversities; the race which 
 is bound to us by every consideration of justice and human- 
 ity; the race whose veins are already swelling with Cau- 
 casian blood until hardly a white man or woman lives in 
 the South who has not a brother, a sister or a cousin of 
 dusky hue — remember that this race, now at the bottom of 
 the ladder, will some time stand beside us at the top. 
 Eemember this, as the last injunction of one who will have 
 given his life for his people, before you read these words, 
 and whose dying thought will be of you and them. The 
 South must freely permit and wisely direct the development 
 of this new people born of her civilization, or perish by 
 their barbaric strength ! 
 
 " It is because I tremble at this prospect that I give 
 it you sacredly in charge never to omit any influence you 
 may be able to exert to incline the hearts of our people to 
 this great task — this overwhelming duty. By its perform- 
 ance they will achieve unrivalled glory I By its neglect, 
 they will deserve eternal sbam^ and undying execration ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 My father's letter continued: 
 
 *' You will observe it to have been the almost universal 
 course of history that the struggle for autonomy on the 
 part of an oppressed or subjugated people is recurrent 
 rather than continuous in its nature, and that the period 
 of its recurrence may usually be stated with sufficient 
 accuracy to be the average life of a generation. It is rare, 
 indeed, that two great uprisings, having the same under- 
 lying cause, occur within the active limit of a single life ; 
 yet how often an unsuccessful revolution reappears in prac- 
 tically the same form twenty or thirty years after. Not 
 infrequently this periodicity has been almost as exact as if 
 human events moved in an orbit of thirty years. In our 
 own English history may be found more than one instance 
 where the historian's dividers need to be parted only the 
 average term of life to mark the recurrent intervals of 
 strife, based substantially on the same causes. 
 
 " The reasons for this are not far to seek, though they 
 are rarely accounted worthy of attention. It has grown 
 into a maxim that the sword never determines the right. 
 The overthrow of an armed insurrection does not eradicate 
 the cause of revolution, except under two conditions. The 
 first of these is when the struggle has been so long and 
 
 303 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 303 
 
 exhaustive or the repressive measures are so severe as prac- 
 tically to eradicate the dissatisfied element. The second 
 is the very frequent case in modern history where the sup- 
 pression of a rebellion is followed almost immediately by 
 the redress of the specific grievance which lay at the bot- 
 tom of the attempted revolution. The number of those 
 occurring within the last half of the last century led a 
 philosopher to denominate it ' the bloody seed-time of 
 liberty.' 
 
 " In the present case, the former course seems to me 
 very unlikely to occur. Our government does not appear to 
 be of a character to inspire resistance to the bitter end. 
 There is no lack of devotion among the people, and except 
 individual cases of desertion, the army, despite the priva- 
 tions it has needlessly been called upon to bear, is as loyal 
 and true as when the shouts of victory first went up from 
 the hills of Manassas. Thus far not an officer has gone 
 over to the enemy or failed to resist until the utmost limit 
 of endurance, save in the one unaccountable instance of 
 demoralization and disgrace at Donelson. Even then there 
 was no treachery or desertion, only incapacity and perhaps 
 cowardice. This amazing fidelity to our cause is in strik- 
 ing contrast to the stampede which occurred at the out- 
 break of hostilities, when fully one-third of those bound 
 by military oath to the service of the Federal Government 
 made haste to throw off the tie of allegiance and seek service 
 under the flag of the Confederacy. Though this has been 
 
304 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 one of the most expensive and stubbornly contested civil 
 wars in history, we have had no traitor. No southern 
 leader has sought to make terms and gain advantage or 
 emolument for himself by betraying his command to the 
 enemy. No traitor has opened our gates, no coward has 
 debauched our soldiery, no mercenary has sold his country 
 for gold. 
 
 " This is a proud record for our glorious but doomed 
 Confederacy. I do not remember any parallel to it in his- 
 tory. Even the year of hopelessness which has ensued 
 since the relentless Grant assumed command of the enemy's 
 forces has not induced any officer to open negotiations for 
 the surrender of his command or the betrayal of our 
 cause. This has not been for lack of opportunity. The 
 millions of the North are known to be at the disposal of 
 any general who will deliver an army into their hands. 
 More than once the emissaries of the North have conveyed 
 to our leaders a knowledge of great personal advantage 
 to be gained by such a course. More than one safe-conduct 
 has covered such a proposition. It is said that a civilian 
 prisoner — a man high in the counsels of the enemy — 
 offered one of our great captains a million dollars if he 
 would so handle his command as to render it useless in a 
 great emergency. This officer jwas so humiliated and alarmed 
 that he made haste to release his j^risoner under the threat of 
 instant death if ever captured again, fearful that he might 
 find an ear not so safely guarded by honor. The North 
 
EIGHTY NINE. 305 
 
 has been Avilling at any time to pay the most extravagant 
 price for treachery, but no southern leader has yielded to 
 temptation. This fact itself is j)roof conclusive of the 
 distinctive character of our people. 
 
 '' Despite all this, however, we are likely to be over- 
 whelmed partly from inherent defects, such as a lack of 
 mechanical skill and aptitude, and partly from the fact 
 that our government seems to be without capacity or 
 genius for supplying the wants of our armies. All winter 
 we have almost starved and frozen in the sight of abun- 
 dance. Meat and forage enough for years are within a hun- 
 dred miles. Any other people after four years of war, 
 with our supply of native textile material, would have 
 made tents and clothing enough to have enabled us to bid 
 defiance to the storms of winter as well as the columns of 
 the enemy. We have liad to capture the better part of our 
 camp equipage. Thus, while the confidence of the coun- 
 try in the army and of the army in the country is undi- 
 minished, the confidence of both army and people in the 
 government is well-nigh exhausted. I judge, therefore, 
 that when this army is destroyed or disintegrated, the 
 country will submit without further contest. 
 
 " In that event I do not anticipate a wholesale pro- 
 scription. A few will no doubt be punished. I do not see 
 how anything less can be expected. Eight or wrong in 
 principle, if unsuccessful in fact, we cannot anticipate 
 entire exemption from retril)ution, T do not think, how- 
 
306 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 ever J that the North is vengeful, and anticipate instead of 
 severity a lenity of disposition and laxity of control that 
 will leave our people very nearly in the position they occu- 
 pied before the outbreak of hostilities. The jieople of the 
 North are essentially mercantile, if not always mercenary, in 
 character. Cost is the great bugbear of their patriotism. 
 To them the cheapest way is always the best. They would 
 rather be misgoverned at half-price than pay a higher rate 
 for good government. They are willing to tax themselves 
 extravagantly for schools and internal improvements which 
 add to the value of houses and lands and 023en new ave- 
 nues for business ; but they regard war as a terrible 
 extravagance and will never consent to feed and clothe an 
 army in order to maintain their power in the South for any 
 length of time. It seems probable, therefore, that there 
 will be some sort of constitutional restoration of our 
 former relations at an early day. The prevailing impression 
 among the officers of this army is that we shall be restored 
 with slavery prohibited. Some of them still hope for 
 gradual emancipation, but that is generally thought unreas- 
 onable. No one looks for success now. We only hope 
 the struggle will end with honor. 
 
 " It seems also unlikely, if not impossible, that the 
 ordinary course of statesmanship can be adopted in our case. 
 The South cannot be placated by granting its demands, for 
 those demands are destructive of the existence of the gov- 
 ernment as Avell as repugnant to the underlying principles 
 
EIGHTY. KTNE. 307 
 
 on which the war has been fought by the people of the 
 North. The South demanded two things and has based its 
 appeal to arms upon its right to enjoy the same. Eirst, a 
 separate organic existence, and second, the continuance of 
 slavery. Of course, neither of these demands can be 
 granted by the enemy and nothing less will satisfy our 
 people. I anticipate instead a period of anomalous, unde- 
 termined relations, during which the feeling of oppug- 
 nancy will grow stronger but be less apparent than before, 
 until some new occasion for its display arises. Then it 
 will be found that the fate of the Confederacy, instead of 
 being an effective antidote for insurrection, will have been 
 but a stimulus to the heroism of our people. . Rivalry of 
 their fathers' glory will impel our sons to redoubled exer- 
 tions to accomplish Avhat we failed to achieve. I deem it 
 certain, therefore, that within the period of your expect- 
 ancy of life, the struggle for separation will be renewed. I 
 do not desire such a result and would do nothing to pro- 
 mote it ; but deeming it inevitable, I wish to do all that 
 lies in my power to deprive it of the barbarous and san- 
 guinary character it may possibly assume. 
 
 " I dare not attempt to picture the horrors I appre- 
 hend. Remember, my son, that Washington's fevered 
 visions on his dying bed are said, by reliable tradition, to 
 have been of a war of races in our beloved South. Even 
 now, while the bonds of slavery are yet undissolved, this 
 most terrible of national woes is ever present to the appre- 
 
308 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 hension of our most thoughtful and sagacious. If the 
 period of uncertainty Avhicli must follow our overthrow 
 shall pass without such conflict, I apprehend that the peril 
 may be enhanced by the less clearly defined but subordi- 
 nate relations which the race must sustain to their former 
 masters. This fact is certain to complicate the relations of 
 the South with the country and at the same time infinitely 
 enhance the perils and horrors of war. 
 
 " The experience of the past four years has only 
 strengthened the conviction with which I espoused the 
 cause of the Confederacy, as to the inherent and ineradica- 
 ble incompatability between the civilization of the North 
 and the South and their inevitable tendency to divergence 
 and separation. There is no possible solvent that can per- 
 manently and peacefully unite such hostile and repugnant 
 elements in one healthful and harmonious development. 
 Parodoxical as it may seem, the only liope of permanent 
 union lies through temporary but organic separation. Be- 
 sides the polarizing instincts of the English race, the clash 
 of conflicting interests and the subjection of great classes 
 to irksome and perhaps injurious restraint at the hands of 
 majorities ignorant or apathetic in regard to their special 
 needs, must sooner or later of necessity produce organic 
 separation. At the same time the necessity of self-protec- 
 tion, pride in the American name and the boundless con- 
 fidence of the English-speaking peoples in the honor and 
 good faith of each other, will no doubt incline them" to 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 309 
 
 such federated union as will make the allied republics 
 infinitely stronger, more harmonious and prosperous than 
 the original nationality could ever hope to become. 
 
 " This inclination to separate organic nationality, 
 accompanied by even closer and stronger alliance, is already 
 showing itself among English-sijeaking peoples. Canada 
 and Australia are infinitely stronger props to the English 
 throne in a half-dependent relation, than they would ever 
 have become as purely subordinate colonies with a central 
 government . 
 
 " The South is homogeneous. If you take your map 
 and draw a line westward along the northern boundaries of 
 Maryland, Virginia, Kentucky, and Missouri, you will have 
 to the southwestward a body of people essentially one in 
 their instincts, prejudices, interests and traditions. Prac- 
 tically, this M^hole region was a unit in the support of the 
 Confederate cause. The two sections merely dropped apart 
 along this line. The conflict has been in no proper sense a 
 civil war. Except in a limited region along the Appalachian 
 range there has been no discordant element in the 
 South and no really internecine strife. The enemy has 
 waged a war of invasion from the outset. Their armies 
 have been on foreign soil and among hostile people. Ex- 
 cept the colored race, whose hopes and interests incline 
 them to the enemy, it has been almost impossible for them 
 to obtain information of our movements, no sort of induce- 
 ment proving suflBcient to obtain reliable spies among our 
 
310 EKiHTY-MNE. 
 
 people. It is true that the sagacity of the man so greatly 
 misappreciated by us — the Presiileut of the United States 
 — has subtly contrived to make it appear otherwise. -Of 
 the hantlful of malcontents in some of the border states, 
 he has made a host, by the simple process of organizing 
 regiments of volunteers bearing the names of such states 
 and professedly recruited from their population. This 
 showing is specious but effective. Most of these men and 
 nearly all the officers come from other states. The muster- 
 roll of one, whieli was ea[itured by our forces, contained 
 the names of less than a hundred natives of the state it 
 professed to represent. It was a shrewd artifice and a 
 most effective means of deceiving other nations and keep- 
 ing up the courage of his own people. It was a fair 
 stratagem, too, and ouglit to have taught our leaders 
 long ago that they could not afford to desjiise the head of 
 the Federal Government Long before you read these lines, 
 however, I doubt not the fallacy of the claim will have 
 become apparent. You will readily I'jerceive that the 
 South is and always has been homogeneous and united on all 
 matters touching its interests, fame and destiny. 
 
 " While I have become still more thoroughly con- 
 vinced of the truth on which the movement for separation 
 was actually based, I have also become more fully convinced 
 of the foolish and needless character of the war that has 
 been waged to secure this end. Had the executive head of 
 the Confederacy been anything like a match in diplomacy 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 311 
 
 and statecraft for the shrewd anfl cautious western lawj'er 
 who has directed the course of the government at Wash- 
 ington, I fully believe that separation might even then 
 have been achieved without the shedding of a drop of 
 blood. The only real obstacle to its consummation was 
 the unexpectedly fierce and almost universal liostility of 
 the North to the institution of slavery. Even this senti- 
 ment, however, on the part of the more rancorous and 
 active wing of our opponents would have favored our pro- 
 ject. If we bad merely refused to cooperate in the gov- 
 ernment, had withdrawn from all participation in its 
 affairs, peaceably but firmly protesting our right to organ- 
 ize a government for ourselves and prepared diligently to 
 resist encroachment but studiously refrained from 25i"o voic- 
 ing conflict, I believe it cpiite possible that we might have 
 secured organic independence without the bitter scath of 
 war. 
 
 '• It is because of these convictions, my son, that I 
 have determined to write these things to you. If you have 
 complied with my request, as I do not doubt that you have, 
 you have been an oljserver but not a particij)ant in the 
 greatest war of modern times. You have seen, and in 
 your own person as well as in the persons of those you love, 
 have been taught how terrible a curse it is. You are now 
 arrived at an age when you ought to be able to weigh and 
 estimate the truth of my prognostications. You are encum- 
 bered by no domestic ties, other than the duties you owe to 
 
313 EIGHTY-XrXE. 
 
 the widowed mother whom I charge you never to forget. 
 You have an honorable name, and will, I trust, be in posses- 
 sion of a fair estate. If I am correct in these anticipations, 
 and upon weighing and considering what I have written 
 you shall believe it to be a true and reasonable forecast, I 
 charge you as a son who would make glad the spirit of his 
 father, as a son who remembers the flame that consumed 
 the roof-tree, from which his loved ones fled, as a man who 
 recognizes his duty to humanity, as a patriot who would 
 serve his country and as a Christian Avho would serve his 
 God, that you devote yourself to do all that lies in your 
 power to make the inevitable separation bloodless, peaceful 
 and just, as becomes the solemn convention of two free and 
 enlightened rejiublics. 
 
 '' I charge you that you undertake this work if it 
 seem good and feasible, and that you allow no personal 
 interest, no desire for wealth nor inclination to ease, to divert 
 you therefrom until you have achieved the end or seen your 
 most earnest efforts fail. Your father's fame has been won 
 in war. Because he has learned its folly and its woe, he 
 consecrates you to the service of peace. If he has won 
 honor in arms, may you win a far richer fame in the pre- 
 vention of strife ! Be thou, my son, indeed a knight of 
 the Holy Cross, which is forever consecrated to peace, in 
 order that you may save your country from the woes that 
 impend ! 
 
 ^' If this task seems to you a proper undertaking, I 
 
EIGHIY-NINE. * 313 
 
 desire you to know that so far as the powers of the unseen 
 world permit I shall watch over and aid you in its perform- 
 ance. Should it prove impracticable or beyond your 
 power, I desire that you will some time make this public 
 as your justification and defence. With this purpose in 
 view I have had the same attested by the signature of the 
 commanding general and one of the corps commanders of 
 the Army of Northern Virginia, whose verification will 
 establish its authenticity beyond all question. 
 
 " As one Avho goes forth to die, I salute you, and 
 implore the blessing of Heaven upon you and the faithful 
 wife and loving mother, whom I commend to your care, as 
 I devote you to the country for which I go to render up my 
 life. Your aftectiouate father, 
 
 " Godson OwEif." 
 
CHAPTEK XXXII. 
 
 1 was the sole devisee of my wife, but I cared nothing 
 for the Avealtli at juy command. The money which her 
 fatliers enemies had refused had been transmitted to him 
 and became the basis of his subsequent financial success. 
 Every one knows tlie history of those remarkable achieve- 
 ments by which an unknown adventurer subjugated the 
 realm Pizarro conquered and made the whole business of 
 the Western slope of two continents tributary to a single 
 will. Under half a score of names, one mind seemed to be 
 at work to achieve a single purpose. When this force was 
 withdrawn from any specific enterprise it visibly languished 
 and usually failed. 
 
 It Avas not long after his departure that a force hostile 
 to the great Rock Oil Combination began to make itself felt. 
 Most unexpectedly, new fields in which it had little or no in- 
 terest were discovered one after another and put in operation 
 with an exactness of anticipation which several times 
 threatened its su])remacy. As a result more than one who 
 had been wrecked by its rapacity became suddenly rich. 
 Men found themselves unexpectedly possessed of rights 
 which they had long forgotten — some were unable even to 
 recall how they had become possessed of them. Among 
 
 314 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 315 
 
 these was the widow of Collyev, while others were men to 
 whom Greneral Fairbanks had owed favor. It is strange 
 that this fact did not attract attention; yet the lynx-eyed 
 managers of the great company whose ramifications .were 
 becoming so infinite that every man, woman and child 
 npon the continent paid enforced tribute to its power anfl 
 greed, failed to note the force that was so relentlessly pur- 
 suing them. Neither had I any suspicions. Indeed I 
 paid little heed to matters of that sort. 
 
 During Edith's life my existence was bound up 
 in hers, and I have always been unable to find place in my 
 heart for many things at one time. The tender beauty of her 
 nature subjugated my entire being, and I had little thought 
 for anything except to add if I might a few days to the span 
 of her existence, and to meditate with something close 
 akin to hatred upon the mysterious force whicli had shaped 
 and shattered her life. While she lived our intercourse 
 with the self-exiled pair had been constant. Only the fact 
 that, as usual, the end long expected came unex^oectedly, 
 prevented their standing beside her gi'ave. 
 
 Her death gave General Fairbanks a still more uncon- 
 querable aversion to his native land. In our correspondence 
 nothing was ever said as to the ventures in which he was en- 
 gaged. We knew that comfort and even luxury surrounded 
 them. A thousand evidences of luxurious taste and tender 
 remembrance found their way to Ryalmont. Strange flowers 
 of tropical magnificence came to the conservatories that 
 
316 EiGHTT-NINE. 
 
 stretch along tli liillside above the resting place of the 
 hallowed dead. ILunmooks and awnings of cnrious text- 
 ure and wonderful vividness of coloring were scattered 
 through the grove, and the cjuaint old home became a 
 treasure-house of rich and rare decoration. 
 
 As to the source of this wealth we asked no questions 
 and received no information. Edith was content to know 
 that her father had retrieved his ill fortune and again con- 
 quered financial success. She lived to know that the last 
 stain had been wijied from his commercial honor, and that 
 no claim of loss by any action of his could be truthfully 
 made by any one. She even lived to hear his integrity com- 
 mended, and his ability and indomitable energy applauded 
 as an honor to the nation whose spirit and enterprise he so 
 well represented, by those who had so recently heaped re- 
 proach upon his name. All this is a matter of common 
 fame, and I will not dwell upon it. 
 
 It was not until many years afterward that I learned 
 how potent had been his influence in shaping the forces 
 upon the action of which recent events have so greatly de- 
 pended. It was known that in the neighboring republic 
 of Mexico there existed a sentiment bitterly hostile to the 
 United States, and yet keenly sympathetic with Southern 
 hopes, prejudices and ideas. When the great chief of the 
 Federal armies went there as an envoy extraordinary, rep- 
 resenting the capital and enterprise of the North, while he 
 found himself received with distinguished honor in the 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 31 7 
 
 ancient city wliicii he had once entered as a conqueror, 
 he soon became aware of a secret, indefinable influence 
 which constantly thwarted his plans and rendered abortive 
 his expectations. 
 
 He did, indeed, obtain concessions permitting the un- 
 limited investment of capital, and conferring valuable privi- 
 leges; but w^hen he sought for guaranties for their protec- 
 tion he was unable to obtain the least favor. Capitalists 
 were permitted to come and invest. They must take the 
 chances, however, of the future of the government. Everv- 
 thing that was gianted was revocable, and every conces- 
 sion obtained had in it an express relinquishment of all 
 claim for international interference. No loophole or pre- 
 tence for national action in regard to them was left. They 
 were to be Mexican companies, subject to Mexican control, 
 under Mexican laws, and liable to change by Mexican 
 authority. The boasted sagacity of the North found itself 
 not only baffled but absolutely overreached by a nation 
 it despised. 
 
 It is true that these concessions were accepted as sat- 
 isfactory. The adventurous syndicate which had made the 
 great soldier their innocent instrument in what they intended 
 should be a mighty scheme of international spoliation and 
 subsequent conquest, had been too sure of their prey, and 
 had invested too much on the chances of success to be able 
 to retract. They simply changed their strategy, going on 
 and completing the work agreed upon, ti-usting to the 
 
318 EIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 spirit of lawless rapacity which infects the civilization of 
 which they themselves were significant products, to sup- 
 port and maintain their claims, even by force of arms. It 
 was this fact that led to the systematic development of an 
 anti-^[exican spirit, not only along the borders, but also 
 throughout the great states of the North and West. When 
 these great combinations had fastened their clutches upon 
 all that was most valuable and desirable in the weaker 
 nation, they looked for this spirit of conquest and absorp- 
 tion to come to their aid by overthrowing the restrictive 
 power and making permanent and irrevocable the condi- 
 tional grants they had received. 
 
 What tlie real power was that foiled these expectations 
 they did not know until long afterwards. 
 
 Partly from a sense of duty and partly as a tribute to 
 my dead love, I began to speculate upon my father's in- 
 junctions. Little by little they became clearer to my 
 mind. During the years when the forces of civilization . 
 were taking shape after the disastrous close of tlie War for 
 Separation, I saw little hope for the fulfillment of liis de- 
 sire. The South was yet prostrate under the foot of a vic- 
 torious foe, or seeking by shameful and unmanly violence 
 and hateful conspiracy to relieve herself from subjection. 
 The North, surprised at its own success, was more over- 
 whelmed by victory than it would have been by defeat. 
 It would have resisted a victorious foe no doubt longer .and 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 319 
 
 more desperately than any jjeople ever did ; but what 
 to do with a conquered enemy it could not tell. 
 
 Through years of subterfuge and vacillation the shame- 
 ful sj)ectacle dragged on. The North would neither rule 
 che subjugated realm nor permit its people to rule them- 
 selves in their own way. They j^i'oposed instead that the 
 South should be controlled, not by those who had made its 
 history glorious nor according to the traditions of her 
 people; Init that master and former slave should form an 
 equal partnership, and that both should govern according 
 to Yankee ideas. 
 
 As soon as the South began to recover from the pros- 
 tration of wai-, her people were prompt to resist and over- 
 throw this weak and silly fabric of sentimentality. They 
 declared that the South had always been "a white man's 
 government," and mu.^t always remain such. Unfortu- 
 nately the worst of counsels prevailed. If our people had 
 stood defensively upon this doctrine, the sentiment of the 
 North would no doubt soon have accorded to them all they 
 asked. Despite the strange infatuation which made the 
 North the champion of the freedom of the slave, the peo- 
 ple of that section had no real interest in the negro as a 
 man. They gave him freedom in order to punish the South 
 for rebellion 'and to satisfy the intellectual pride which had 
 so long insisted on the absurdity of slavery in a nation 
 boastful of its liberty. Tliey conferred equal rights upon 
 him, not merely as a further demonstration of the fact 
 
320 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 that their ideas had prevailed, but also as an affront to the 
 Avhite people who had fought so long and gallantly in use- 
 less protest against notions so abhorrent to their traditions. 
 
 Instead of waiting j)atiently for this gross injustice to 
 right itself, the people of the South, defiant of the foi-ms 
 and restraints of law, attacked the anomalous alliance of 
 the North and the negro in its weakest point. In so doing 
 they showed the military instinct which pervades the 
 Avhole l)ody of our iDeoi)le: but needlessly exposed them- 
 selves to assault upon grounds well-nigh fatal to their 
 hopes. They knew the negro was more easily controlled 
 by the lash than in any other manner, and so appealed to 
 the lash to restore their suj^remacy. 
 
 It was a foolish and unnecessary defiance of an enemy 
 anxious only for the name of victory, and very willing to 
 forego all its substantial fruits if permitted quietly to en- 
 joy its prestige. At very slight expense the same result 
 might have been achieved by catering to the jiride and 
 cupidity of the negro rather than to his fears. The North 
 is so accustomed to the corrui:)tion of the ballot by bribery 
 and cunning that she would never have felt aggrieved if 
 every colored voter between the Potomac and the Rio 
 Grande had been bribed to vote against her candidates and 
 theories. 
 
 One of their own writers has said of this singular people, 
 that "' nothing but material prosperity has ever been 
 dreamed of by them as a possible object of national ambi- 
 
EIGHTY-NINE 321 
 
 tion." They were anxious to get back to their farms and 
 markets and factories, their stocks and other forms of 
 legalized gambling, — the business of money-making. They 
 had no more time to give to the negro and Jiis newly con- 
 ferred rights and privileges, and would have been entirely 
 willing to have seen him shorn of both, if it could have 
 been done without abrading his skin or shedding his 
 blood. They are singularly consistent in their non-resist- 
 ant ideas, however. Individually or collectively they will 
 submit to any sort of outrage so long as it does not touch 
 the person. No amount of insult and hardly anj^ form of 
 wrong can stir the Northern man to self-defence or personal 
 resentment. One may exhaust the vocabulary of abuse 
 upon him or with entire impunity ascribe any sort of dis- 
 honor to those he loves. Except in the far \Yest, he will rarely 
 raise his hand to punish the aggressor unless he first feels 
 the sting of a blow — the smart of physical pain. 
 
 The same quality attaches to him collectively. Dog- 
 matic and contentious as he certainly is in an intellectual 
 sense, iwlitically he is the meanest and most contemptible 
 of forces. The people of the North will submit to wrong 
 and oppression longer than any people in the Avorld, if only 
 it does not affect their individual advantage or is not char- 
 acterized by personal violence. If the revolution which 
 occurred at the South, between 1870 and 187G, had been 
 prudently managed so as not to have shocked tlie pre- 
 notions of the North by the appeal to physical violence. 
 
3-12 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 that strange people would no doubt liave counted them- 
 selves well rid of their dark-skinned allies and would gladly 
 have allowed us to shape their future on the lines of our 
 past traditions. 
 
 While this error did not wreck the policy of non-re- 
 sistance it made its further assertion at that time a matter 
 of extreme difficulty, although it demonstrated most con- 
 vincingly the truth of my father's forecasts. The " Xew 
 South," which sprang up out of the debris of conflict was no 
 less distinctively Southern than the old one. Its lines were 
 obtained by a simple protraction of those of its predecessors. 
 It no more resembled the Xorth in sentiment, aspiration 
 and character than did the South of 1860. It subsisted 
 under new conditions, and its life had assumed new form, 
 but it still reju'esented the antipodes of Northern thought 
 and regarded with vague wonder the refinements of Northern 
 sentiment. This spirit was strengthened by the complete 
 success of the revolutionary methods adopted. The South, 
 which had been prostrate in defeat, soon raised its head in 
 triumjih, its old contempt of its antagonist intensified by 
 unexpected immunity from punishment. 
 
 AVhen, therefore, in 1884, the Democratic party came 
 into power by virtue of the undivided Southern support, a 
 spirit was at once developed which seemed to prohibit all 
 reasonable anticipation of the result my father had predicted. 
 The people of the South for the first time began to realize the 
 advantages of their position under the Federal compact as 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 323 
 
 modified by the reactionary legislation of tlie reconstruc- 
 tion era. Politically, the negro was as much a nonentity 
 as he had been in the days of slavery. His perso]ial and 
 civil rights were as absolutely in the hands of 
 the white people of the South as they had formerly been 
 under the control of his master. He was j)aid for his labor, 
 it is true; but all the land, all the factories, all the capital 
 were in the hands of the whites. So were the courts and 
 the legislatures. It was difficult to move public opinion in 
 his favor while suspicion was awakened by his every act. ' 
 A single unguarded speech by a man of color was sufficient 
 to call out the power of the county and sometimes was 
 thought to justify an appeal to the governor and the order- 
 ing of a military force to the scene of anticipated revolt. 
 
 As a political force, the negro was nullified with an 
 ease that was both laughable and incomprehensible to one 
 not familiar with the antecedent condition of Southern life. 
 The North has not yet been able to understand it. The 
 result was that the comparative political strength of the 
 white po^iulation of the South was immensely increased by 
 the abolition of slavery and the enfranchisement of the 
 blacks. Our people were not slow to realize this advan- 
 tage, and the inherent thirst for rulership wdiich character- 
 izes them soon gave rise to an almost universal desire to 
 remain in the Union, both as a measure of self-defence and 
 with the idea of ruling and controlling the government, as 
 
324 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 they had done previous to the outbreak of the War for 
 Separation. 
 
 Tliis feeling was the chief obstacle encountered in the 
 promotion of the movement for peaceable disruption and 
 seemed for a time insuperable. Indeed, I am inclined to the 
 belief that a display of either reasonable firmness or ordinary 
 wisdom on the part of the North Avould have compelled 
 me to forego all hope of fulfilling my father's behest. 
 
 As time went on, I strove with heart and lu'ain to 
 answer truly and well three great questions : 
 
 Can the Nation remain "one and insejmrable '* for 
 any considerable period ? 
 
 Ought it to remain undivided, considering its various 
 elements and the true interests of all its people ? 
 
 Can it be broken in tAvain by •a\\\ peaceful means ? 
 
 I had little difficulty in answering the first two in the 
 negative. For many years it seemed as if the third must 
 be answered in the negative also. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 It was fortunate for our cause — indeed it would seem 
 to have been nothing less than providential — that the ef- 
 forts of certain fanatics to have the Federal Government 
 appropriate large sums in aid of education in the Southern 
 States did not prevail. The scheme was a magnificent effort 
 to induce that government to do by indirection what it ought 
 no doubt to have done without any subterfuge long before, 
 to-Avit, make some provision for alleviating the evils resulting 
 from slavery, and made more apparent by emancipation. If it 
 had been coupled with a proposition to pay even a tithe of 
 the value of the slaves set free by the exercise of a doubt- 
 ful authority, I doubt if our people would have been able 
 to resist the tempting lure. As, however, the chief part 
 of the benefit would inure to the negro, who might thereby 
 be strengthened and encouraged offensively to assert his 
 equality with the white race, it was but natural that the 
 controllers of opinion and manipulators of power at the 
 South should set themselves against it. 
 
 From the Northern point of view, it is difficult 
 to see how the Federal Government could escape the obli- 
 gation of providing in some manner for the education and 
 
 335 
 
326 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 development of the former slaves. As a mere question of 
 pecimiary justice it would seem that a nation which en- 
 couraged and perpetuated slavery and grew rich out of its 
 profits, in emancij^ating the slaves ought to have made pro- 
 vision for their future. The profits of their bondage had 
 inured quite as much to the North as to the South. 
 
 For a hundred years slavery had crowded manufactures 
 out of the South, while the taritf provisions of the Federal 
 (lovernment compelled us to buy all manufactured articles 
 at the sh()})s of the North. This was a wise provision for the 
 nation, though in no sense a profitable one for the South. It 
 enabled the delicate moral sense of the North to ^^llield itself 
 under a film of indirection, so that while they shared the 
 proceeds of our moral obliquities they Avere without ap- 
 parent responsibility therefor. This state of affairs exactly 
 suited the genius of this people whose chief aspirations are 
 to seem incomparably good and to be thought incomparably 
 rich. In the case of the negro, a way was found to recon- 
 cile these impulses. Instead of providing for the welfare 
 of the emancipated slave, either materially or educationally, 
 they decided to confer on him the ballot. This 
 they loudly asserted to be a priceless privilege and it had 
 the overwhelming advantage of costing the donors nothing. 
 It was a method of discharging such obligations character- 
 istic with them and much preferred to the Czar's foolish 
 plan of compelling the Russian nobles to give a portion ot 
 their estates to the serfs he had freed. 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 327 
 
 It should in fairness be remembered, however, that 
 there was another reason why the proposition to extend 
 national aid to public education failed. As I have said it 
 was merely an indirect method of appropriating national 
 funds for the education of the former slaves and their 
 descendants. Ninety per cent of the blacks were in the 
 States of the South. In eight of them, they constituted 
 twenty per cent of the poj)ulation; in the other eight, 
 fifty per cent. In three of these, they numbered two-thirds 
 of the entire population. Of the Avhole, seventy per cent 
 were admittedly illitei'ate, — practically ninety per cent of 
 them were profoundly ignorant. The plan which was de- 
 vised was simply a scheme to give money for the education 
 of the negroes under pretence both of charity for the whole 
 South and anxiety for the cure of ignorance everywhere. It 
 was a farce. There was no such mass of ignorance in any State 
 of the Xoi'th as to require any such remedy, and wo of the 
 South were quite able to educate our white illiterates. It 
 was evident, therefore, that the real purpose was to benefit 
 the blacks especially, without appearing to have that pur- 
 pose in view. 
 
 The fact is, the North had become ashamed of the 
 company it had chosen. While the negro was a slave, it 
 suited its vague ideas of wholesale philanthrophy to make 
 him a martyr and his liberation its special mission. In 
 this it gloried and this was the actual motive of the war it 
 waged against the Confederacy; for in spite of their boasted 
 
33S EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 practical! U', they are the most sentimental and unpractical 
 people in the world. In carrying on this war they appealed 
 to the negro, then a slave, with a tropical wealth of prom- 
 ises which must have dazed even a less fervid imagination 
 than that of the unfortunate African. They agreed, not 
 only impliedly but explicitly, to stand between him and 
 his traditional and natural controllers— oppressors they 
 termed them — the whites of the South. When the war 
 was over, however, when the slave had betrayed his master, 
 had guided their armies, fed their fugutives and served 
 with indefatigable zeal the cause of the enemy ; when a 
 quarter of a million of them had offered their bodies as a 
 bulwark for their white comrades and been accorded the 
 place of honor in every assault, until their losses were pro- 
 portionately greater than those of any other contingent of 
 like numbers — after these things had occurred, the North 
 became ashamed of its allies. In the day of triumph these 
 were thrust into the background and, as time passed on, 
 were year by year more and more sedulously secluded from 
 public regard. The most unyielding of our Confederate 
 chieftains stood proudly about the bier of Grant, but none 
 of those degenei'ate sons of the South who had bowed obse- 
 quiously to his power, nor any of those black hands which 
 had done so much to put the laurel of victory on his brow 
 wore allowed to touch his sacred cerement. Only a few 
 colored grooms were permitted to lead the horses liarnessed 
 to his catafalque. 
 
ElOHTY-NINE. 329 
 
 Snch things will seem almost incredible to the historian 
 who hereafter shall seek for the causes of the downfall of 
 the Federal power, and I cannot bnt think they were in- 
 dicative of a lack of moral stamina which had much to do 
 with the national decadence. They resulted not from any 
 failure to comprehend of the true relations subsisting be- 
 tween the Nation and the negro, but from two singular 
 characteristics of the Northern mind, to wit : the fear of 
 ridicule and the lack of any sense of personal obligation not 
 of a pecuniary character. Business is the life of its life, 
 and its boast is that there is no friendship in business. Its 
 philanthropy is unbounded, but it is without any sense of 
 gratitude. The Northern man will lavish money upon a 
 friend who does not need it and refuse aid to one who is in 
 difficulty. He prefers to give to the poor rather than pre- 
 vent one to whom he owes the obligation of favor from be- 
 coming impoverished. He prides himself upon his un- 
 selfishness and imjjartiality. He does no more for his 
 friend than for his foe. The ties of blood even are little 
 regarded. It is an instinctive appreciation of this fact 
 that lies at the bottom of the Northern man's boast that 
 the last person of whom he would ask a favor is one of his 
 kindred. He knows that as a rule they are the last who 
 would grant him aid. It was the negro's misfortune both 
 to have sewed tliis curious people at a critical period of 
 their history and to have sustained to them afterwards the 
 relation of "poor kin," — the two relations of all that could 
 
330 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 exist which they were the most unwilling to acknowledge. 
 
 As I have already said, the sense of respectability is 
 the most potent impulse of Xorthern life. The most 
 charitable and philanthropic people in the world, they have 
 an unconquerable aversion to rags and grime. They are 
 willing to relieve the poor — to give them alms, that is — but 
 they do not want them near except as servitors or duly 
 labeled samples of their own charitable inclinations. They 
 cannot meet them, mingle with them or admit them as 
 equals to their life. 1'he gulf between affluence and indi- 
 gence is bridged by charity, but betweeu superfluity and 
 scantiness it is impassable and unfatbonuible. For this 
 reason the Northei-u man is veiy shy of his associates. Xo 
 man*s merit is great enough to be visible under a shabby coat. 
 
 The negi'o was a most uncomfortable protege. He 
 could not be wined or dined to any extent. He could not 
 be made a lion in the drawing-room or a companion on the 
 street. The North admitted its duty but it could not en- 
 dure our gibes. Even the old taunt of "Abolitionist," 
 still had a sting. Her peoi^le were afraid we 
 of the South would call them "negro-lovers" aud '^ mis- 
 cegenation ists," if they attempted openly to reward their 
 allies or protect their friends. If, however, the people of 
 the South could be made co-recipients of their bounty, the 
 sting would be removed. So the bolus was shrewdly con- 
 cocted and some of our people were silly enough to swallow 
 it ; but the more far-seeing apprehended the danger of 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 331 
 
 bi'iuging the Xatioiial Goveruuient nearer to our people in 
 a beneficent guise — especially to that moiety of our popula- 
 tion who were of the colored race. To educate them was 
 evidently to increase their power of resistance to the white 
 man's control and so provoke unnecessary conflict. These 
 raised the cry of pauperization. It Avas an attempt on the 
 part of Northern zealots, they said, to pauperize and degrade 
 the people of the South. With its usual subserviency the 
 greater portion of the press of the jSTorth caught up and re- 
 peated this cry, all the more readily no doubt as it offered 
 a way out of the dilemma, whereby they might excuse their 
 inaction and at the same time save their ducats. "While 
 they would gladly have done full Justice to the negro the 
 South requesting and assenting, yet they would rather 
 abandon their former allies than face the sneers of their 
 former foes. Such a feeling is almost incomj^rehensible to 
 a Southern man, but these singular people think all the 
 world is animated by the same whimsical motives. 
 
 All this was made the more manifest by the fact that 
 the people of the North as individuals had recognized their 
 obligation to the negro in an unprecedented manner. In 
 the twenty years succeeding the surrender of the Confed- 
 erate armies they had contributed individually not far 
 from twenty millions of dollars for education at the South, 
 principally among the colored people. This, however, was but 
 an evasion of the public duty which rested on the people and 
 the party that during all that time held control of the Fed- 
 
332 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 ederal Government. The oiDportimity passed, and after a 
 qftarter of a century the colored peojile lost confidence, not 
 in the future, but in their professed friends, and turned to- 
 ward those allied to them by nativity and oftentimes by blood, 
 as not only the natural but the only possible promoters of 
 their future prosperity and safety. 
 
 The Cadets of tlie Order of the Southern Cross were 
 the result of this tendency on the part of the more intelli- 
 gent and patriotic of the colored people. They were not 
 many, as it was necessary to move very slowly in tliis di- 
 rection. Besides, there are not many, and will not l)e for 
 generations, who are worthy of such exaltation. It is by 
 no means certain that the blacks will ever as a people 
 reach tbe present level of the whites ; but whatever pro- 
 gress the race is capable of achieving must, no doubt, be 
 made under careful supervision and restraint. It is possi- 
 ble that, in some far future, the colored race may be safely 
 and properly admitted to that equality of power in the gov- 
 ernment which the later Amendments of the Federal Con- 
 stitution foolishly and vainly sought to confer, and from 
 which the people of the North expected miraculous results 
 without providing instruction, protection or encourage- 
 ment for the weak and ignorant whom it thus enticed into 
 a perilous experiment. In nothing has the wisdom of what 
 has recently occurred been so thoroughly exemj^lified as in 
 the good order, peace and contentment of the colored 
 people since the establishment of the new government. 
 
EIGHT Y- NINE. 333 
 
 They realize that their time has not yet fully come and are 
 willing to wait until it does — it may be a century; it may 
 be a cycle. They have gained much. Their freedom is 
 secure. Their most important civil rights are recognized. 
 Others will follow ; but time alone cures the evils which 
 grow out of untoward destiny. 
 
 All these things contributed to the success of our 
 plans. The people of the Xorth, conscious of injustice to 
 the negro, yet unwilling to recognize him as a co-ordinate 
 in political power (though they had been ready enough to 
 thrust him on the people of the South as such) were in 
 reality very glad to be thus easily rid of their troublesome 
 protege who had ceased to be interesting as soon as he be- 
 came free. They were glad enough, therefore, to accept 
 the representations of some few hundred Cadets as really 
 the voice of their race, and having thus eased their con- 
 sciences, they felt little inclined to carry resistance to our 
 demand to extreme lengths, but with creditable unanimity 
 exclaimed, after a little decorous remonstrance : 
 
 " Oh, let them go I The South is always stirring up 
 trouble anyhow. Let them go and fight it out with each 
 other ! " 
 
 This feeling was greatly strengthened by the prevail- 
 ing idea that the South would still be dejiendent on the 
 North for its manufactured products. They did not seem 
 to realize that we would import capitalists and manufac- 
 turers instead of their wares. In framing the " Articles 
 
334 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 of Separation," they only insisted that in regard to exports 
 and imports they should always be on the footing of " the 
 most favored nation," deeming themselves well able to com- 
 pete with any foreign power on that basis, as no doubt they 
 are. Long before the imposition of our recent tariff, how- 
 ever, which was purposely made peculiarly favorable to our 
 sister republic, it was estimated that more than two hundred 
 million dollars of Northern capital had come across the 
 border to take advantage of such an unprecedented oppor- 
 tunity for manufacturing investment. Men of northern 
 birth will no doubt be our chief mechanical producers for 
 many years ; but their wares will be Southern manufactures. 
 This is one of the chief advantages the South derives from 
 separation —a development of her resources to supply her own 
 markets. It brings to us. too, the very cream of Northern 
 life — her successful manufacturers and capitalists. The 
 privilege of supplying a market of twenty millions of people, 
 wisely protected against foreign comj^etition by a universal 
 patriotic sentiment, is one that does not often present itself 
 to commercial enterprise. 
 
 The North saw too late what they had lost: but their 
 most sagacious manufacturers perceived at once how much 
 might be gained by removal hither. While the shops of New 
 England are running on half-time, those of the new re- 
 public find the day all too short to supply the demand for 
 their wares. As a result it is believed that the wealth of 
 the South will be doubled within a decade. Such are 
 the fruits of patriotic patience and outspoken sincerity I 
 
CHAPTER XXXrV. 
 
 " This is the most glorious Easter since Christ rose 
 from the dead ! " 
 
 Thus shouted an impassioned orator, and the heaving 
 multitude responded with the shrill, wavering cry whose 
 plaintive cadences had so often been the prelude and 
 herald of victory. Twenty-one years had elapsed since the 
 land had echoed with the thunders of Federal triumph, 
 since the flag of an extinct nationality had been folded 
 away and the South had bowed her neck to the conqueror's 
 yoke. Proudly and haughtily, yet without oj^en defiance, 
 she had obeyed the mandate of her hereditary foe. Out 
 of the wreck of conflict the genius of her sons had saved 
 more than they had ever hoped to recover when the knell 
 of hope was sounded and the pall of despair cast about the 
 bier of the Confederacy. The sons of those who shed 
 their blood in her behalf had grown up to manhood ; new 
 States had been builded on the soil of the old, and a new 
 form of society was struggling for a precarious existence 
 amid the fragments of a shattered civilization. 
 
 For the first time since the sun of Appomattox set in 
 blood and lamentation, the children of the South met to 
 greet and honor the chief of the Confederacy. Xature 
 
 335 
 
336 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 had hidden the footsteps of war. The battlements were 
 up-grown with verdure, and the plow passed unheeded 
 back and forth where the cannon had belched fortli its 
 fateful flame. The Queen City of the South had given 
 way to one grander still. Even the lone chimneys that 
 marked the path of the destroyer's hordes had almost dis- 
 appeared. A new era had come. Yet the old was not 
 dead. 
 
 The quarter of a century which lay between the in- 
 auguration of the President of the Confederacy and his 
 first return to the scene of his exaltation, was unquestion- 
 ably tlie most remarkable that the world has ever known. 
 The conflict which followed, notable enough in its charac- 
 ter — the heroic attempt of eight millions of freemen to cre- 
 ate a new empire and at the same time defend it against the 
 assault of three times their number, armed with the power and 
 prestige of organized and established government 
 was as nothing in comparison with the events which 
 followed. A civilization which was the growth of two 
 hundred and fifty years had been swept away and the forms 
 of another distinct and contrasted development were imposed 
 upon a conquered people, who were then restored to power 
 and expected to operate successfully the strange machinery 
 so foreign to all their preconceptions, so hostile to all their 
 cherished ideas. 
 
 The result was both amazing and ridiculous. The 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 337 
 
 new forms remained undisturbed, but the old ideas reas- 
 serted their power. Slavery was destroyed, but subordina- 
 tion remained. The freedman was a voter, but the white 
 man controlled him in the exercise of the power of the 
 citizenship. Force and fraud and terror had 
 deprived the system imposed by force of all its 
 vitality. Even the forms of law themselves were invoked 
 to defeat the purposes of law. The slave had served his 
 master with his hands. The freedman yielded to the 
 dominant race the power a victorious enemy had vested in 
 him, to exercise as suited their good pleasure. The North 
 was disgusted and astounded at the result of its philan- 
 thropic experiment. The South exulted in its triumph 
 and laughed at the curious confusion of its ancient enemy. 
 " Reconstruction " became a byword of reproach to its pro- 
 moters and of exultation to its intended victims. What 
 was meant to be tolerance and mercy came to be regarded 
 as tyranny and oppression. Those who were at first stig- 
 matized as "rebels'' and ^•'traitors" posed, even in the 
 eyes of their triumphant enemies, as patriots and martyrs. 
 So, after twenty years of waiting, the South was 
 "again in the saddle." Her influence in the nation was 
 again dominant ; her interests were still distinct, and her 
 counsels even more undivided than ever before. Though 
 using the name of a national party, the South was solidly 
 ''Southern " rather than solidly Democratic. Politically 
 there was no division of sentiment. Every governor, every 
 
338 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 judge, every senator save one or two, every representative 
 in Congress save five, evei-y State officer, almost every 
 county officer, the mayor and police of every city, more 
 than nine-tenths of the inferior magistracy and the inferior 
 administrative judicial officers; at least four-fifths of the 
 white population, and probably a still greater proportion 
 of the Avealtli and intelligence of this region — all these 
 were what was well termed " Southern " in every impulse 
 and motive. They were Democratic simply because that 
 party was deemed favorable, not so much to Southern in- 
 terests as to Southern sentiment. 
 
 Even after the downfall of the Confederacy our peo- 
 ple had retained the instincts of loyalty to its sentiments, 
 traditions and martyrs. The heroes of that conflict were 
 the heroes of its civil life. To those who defended it on 
 the battlefield it intrusted its destiny in peace, with un- 
 •flinching confidence in their fealty. Into the halls of Con- 
 gress it sent the soldiers who had upl)orne its flag ; and 
 into the seats of honor and emolument, throughout its 
 whole extent, it inducted those who had been faithful to 
 its behest in the hour of peril and humiliation. The South 
 was indeed "'in the saddle" throughout all that region 
 over which the ''Stars and Bars" had spread their conse- 
 crating folds, while in the national government she exer- 
 cised precisely the same percentage of authority as before 
 the attempt to break the bonds that bound her to an un- 
 sympathetic, if not hostile, yoke-fellow. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 339 
 
 This power it exercised with far greater unanimity 
 than it had ever done before. But would this predomi- 
 nance be permanent ? Once she had controlled the exer- 
 cise of national authority for a generation. Could she do 
 so again ? This was the question our wisest and best were 
 asking themselves. It is said that blood makes a very 
 strong cement, and the sentimentalists of the North were 
 never tired of boasting how much stronger the Union would 
 be after it had been cemented with blood. Our people at 
 the South did not deny this ; but it was a conundrum 
 many of them tried in vain to solve. Why the blood of 
 our heroes, shed in a futile attempt to sunder this relation, 
 should tend to increase its strength was a question vrhich 
 only the metaphysical acumen of the North could solve. 
 Yet for a long time there was no sign of weakness — no vis- 
 ible lesion. 
 
 " This is the most glorious day since Christ rose from 
 the dead ! " repeated the impassioned orator, trembling 
 with excitement as he spoke. Beside him stood a slender 
 figure, pallid and gray, showing the v/eakness of age in 
 every gesture, yet with something left of that graceful 
 pride which marked his mien when he took the oath of of- 
 fice, while the cannon thundered and a new nationality was 
 born, a quarter of a century before. The shrill tremor of 
 the ''Rebel yell" our enemies learned so well to dread, 
 rose again on the air. The early summer sunshine was 
 
340 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 clouded with the heavy, acrid powder smoke, while the 
 morning air palpitated with the echo of the welcoming 
 guns. Gray-bearded men shouted and wept. Hot tears 
 flowed down the matrons' cheeks. Maidens waved their 
 handkerchiefs, while flushed face and flashing eye told 
 their exultant joy. Young men shrieked themselves 
 hoarse in greeting to the leader at whose command their 
 fathers had gone forth to die. Around the leader stood the 
 veterans of the army of which he had been the official head — 
 maimed and whole, officers and privates — their hearts 
 swelling with unutterable memories of the days of battle 
 and victory, of trust in the new nation's future and sorrow 
 in its overthrow. The " Stars and Bars," after twenty 
 years in hiding, flashed forth into the light, and the multi- 
 tude redoubled the fierce acclaim. 
 
 ''Glorious day Christ resurrection dead !" 
 
 shrieked the frantic orator in half-intelligible staccato. A 
 people were greeting the incarnation of their thought — the 
 one martyr of their cause, which, though accounted ''lost," 
 must forever be loved ! Since the American Colonies were 
 founded no such ovation had ever been offered within their 
 limits to living man or dead hero as that which greeted the 
 aged President of the Confederacy in his triumphal proces- 
 sion through the two greatest States of the South. 
 
 Why was it ? The cause he had represented had 
 failed. The war waged under his direction had impover- 
 ished the entire people. The negro, whose enslavement it 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 341 
 
 had been fought to perpetuate, because of it had been made 
 free. On all that had been undertaken under his auspices 
 hung the corroding rust of failure. As the administrative 
 head of the Confederacy, there was little in his history to 
 appeal to pride ; as the commander-in-chief of her 
 armies, his interference with the plans of his subordinates 
 had been an almost certain presage of disaster. There are 
 many, even of our foes, who believe that if the civil admin- 
 istration of the Confederacy had been a par with 
 its military achievements, the bright banner would never 
 have kissed the dust. As a man, Jefferson Davis was by 
 no means worthy of the veneration offered him. As an 
 official, his record was marked by incapacity and vacilla- 
 tion, and his subsequent life by evasive and querulous ac- 
 cusation of his subordinates. 
 
 Why did this man's coming make the day "the 
 most glorious since Christ rose from the dead " and impel 
 a people to give him a welcome never before accorded to 
 any ? Flowers lay thick along the path he had come, 
 their petals crushed by his carriage like bleeding hearts 
 beneath the chariot wheels of Juggernaut. Children lined 
 the way chanting his praise. Mothers leaned over the 
 heads of their offspring to catch a sight of the face which 
 loved ones, now dead, had pictured for them in the days of 
 hopefulness. The schools were empty, and their bells 
 joined the exultant clangor that rang from all the city's 
 spires. Even the children from the colored schools were 
 
342 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 there, bearing floral offerings and gazing with wide-eyed 
 wonder at the man who represented the cause which meant 
 their continued enslavement. And with them were their 
 teachers, too — IS^orthern born men and women — who for 
 the sake of their daily bread graced the Southern leader's 
 triumioh. What did this spontaneous ovation mean ? It 
 meant that the Southern people were free again to do 
 honor to the one martyr for their cause. The marks of the 
 shackles were upon his wrists ! The curse of exclusion 
 rested upon his brow I In his native land he was an exile 
 — the one man punished for a pcojjle s fault ! 
 
 No wonder they wept ! No wonder they shouted ! 
 No wonder the heavens throbbed with multitudinous ac- 
 claim ! A people who had risen triumphant from defeat; 
 a people who had transformed the conqueror's lash into 
 the scepter of victory; a people who for a score of years 
 had spoken only with bated breath of the glorious days en- 
 shrined in their memories — such a people offered honor and 
 sympathy and gratitude to the one man who had suffered 
 in a felon's cell for their transgression I Xo wonder the 
 fervid orator could think of nothing but the primal Easter 
 morning as he looked upon that sea of upturned faces and 
 felt beside him the trembling form of that martyr to faith 
 that would not die, who for twenty-four years had slept in 
 the sepulchre of unjust oblivion ! 
 
 It was this spectacle that banished doubt and brought 
 inspiration. From that day my life was transformed from 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 343 
 
 one of patient, hopeless waiting to one of confident, un- 
 resting effort. That night tlie Order of the Knights 
 of the Southern Cross was formed. The venerable Presi- 
 dent of the Confederacy held the hilt of my father's 
 sword while a hundred fervent young patriots kissed with 
 reverent lips the blade. Ah ! many thousands have kissed it 
 since, and not one has proven recreant to the oath thus 
 solemnly attested. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 The Indian jugglers make a tree grow from a seed 
 while the spectator stands gazing in wonder at the spread- 
 ing leaf, the springing buds, the unfolded flower, and be- 
 fore he can recover from his surprise the necromancer 
 hands to him the perfect fruit, plucked before his eyes 
 from the branches. It is said that one Avho has witnessed 
 the marvel of necromantic skill feels forever after doubt- 
 ful whether an hour or an age elapsed while he watched 
 and wondered. 
 
 Not less marvelous to me was the growth of the new 
 Order. I had planted the seed half-unconsciously, hardly 
 expecting any fruitage and anticipating at least a life- 
 time of delay. But events spring rapidly when the 
 soil is well prepared, and the blood of our fathers had not 
 sunk into the earth in vain. Their cause had failed, but 
 their holy teachings had fallen on willing ears and found 
 lodgment in earnest hearts. The long fallow had not been 
 unfruitful. The sons had not only inlierited their fathers' 
 devotion, but had learned wisdom from the lessons which 
 their fathers' failure taught. They were ready for the 
 new dispensation of liberty which had come from the last 
 344 
 
EIGHTY-NiyE. 345 
 
 blood-stained field of the great War for Separation. They 
 were ready to believe that 
 
 " Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war," 
 
 So, even while I wondered at my own audacity in plant- 
 ing the seed at all, the tree sprang up and over-shadowed me 
 with its branches. Before another sunset came a thou- 
 sand lips had pressed the war-worn blade; before the moon 
 had waxed and waned again the iron cross with its white 
 stars flashed on manly bosoms in every State hallowed by 
 the blood of Confederate heroes. In less than a year the 
 names of half a million knights were on its muster-rolls. 
 Before yet another twelve-mouth had passed three-fourths of 
 all the white men of the South were numbered among its 
 members, and nearly half the youths between the ages of 
 fifteen and twenty were enthusiastic novitiates. 
 
 Much speculation has been indulged in with regard to 
 the origin and character of the Order, and I have been 
 greatly praised and gi'eatly blamed for the part I took 
 in its establishment and dissemination. As has 
 been seen, its origin was due to accident rather than de- 
 sign. I was made its first Commander. Indeed, until its 
 funeral rites have been performed about my bier I shal] 
 be its only head. 
 
 After that, if my wishes are regarded by my brethren, 
 the Companions of the Order, as I trust they may be, it 
 will be forever dissolved. I do not say this that I may 
 
346 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 have the honor of having been its sole Grand Master, 
 though I confess I should j^rize such honor very highly, but 
 because I am thoroughly satistied that however valuable 
 such organizations may be in the formative period of a 
 nationality, when that has passed and questions of policy 
 and administration begin to arise on which individual 
 opinions may differ and personal interests may clash, they 
 are not only of doubtful value but actually i^erilous to the 
 public peace. The Knights of the Southern Cross have 
 done their work. Our native land has taken her place 
 among the nations of the earth. Henceforth her destiny 
 is in her own hands, and depends upon the wisdom and 
 justice of her people as expressed through their chosen rep- 
 resentatives. It is not to be supposed that any people will 
 always be free from the malign forces of ambition, or that 
 honor will always animate the hearts of their leaders. I 
 trust, however, that there will be no unnecessary oppor- 
 tunity offered to the ambitious leader or the crafty con- 
 spirator, and that the instrument which was employed to 
 create the new Eepublic will never be the weapon used to 
 destroy it. Such extraordinary combinations of individu- 
 als are adapted to do good only at extraordinary times. 
 The crisis for which the Southern Cross arose has passed. 
 I would fain believe that its setting light may shine upon 
 my grave and that its starry cross may be preserved only as 
 the glorious emblem of our bloodless victory. 
 
 To say that I have devoted myself to the extension 
 
EIGHT Y- NINE. 347 
 
 aud establisliment of the Order is only to aver that I have 
 fulfilled the mission of my life. As reverently as He who 
 sorrowed in Gethsemaue do I believe that "for this thing 
 came I into the world."' If I have been unselfishly de- 
 voted to its jjrosperity and success, I have only done my 
 duty. 
 
 But let me not even by implication claim too much. 
 With all the advantages in its favor it is doubtful 
 if the Order of the Southern Cross would have spread 
 so marvelously or have attained its purpose with 
 such remarkable facility had not an unknown ally myste- 
 riously upstayed my hands. Until that time the estate left 
 me by my sainted wife had been untouched. I used it 
 freely to promote the interests of the Order. When this 
 fund was nearly exhausted I was notified that a large sum 
 had been deposited to my credit in one of our banks. I 
 sought in vain to discover whence it came. The donor had 
 taken good care to conceal his identity. The deposit was 
 always m the form of Bank of England drafts to my credit, 
 and "the old woman of Threadueedle street" never bab- 
 bles the secrets of her patrons. In the grim silence of her 
 walls the clue was lost. Yet from that hour my account 
 was like the widow's cruse of oil, in that it never failed. 
 First and last, the sum which came from this mysterious 
 source was immense, and yonder, in those volumes of stubs, 
 each of which represents a check drawn for the good of 
 our cause, is the record of my stewardship. I knew noth- 
 
348 EIGHl T-I^INE. 
 
 ing of the souroe of this supply until I learned it from my 
 mother's lips when she came to my bedside clad in the 
 weeds of her second widowhood. 
 
 The organization of the Order of the Southern Cross 
 was of the simplest character. Its purpose was undoubt- 
 edly revolutionary, but it aimed at revolution by legitimate 
 and peaceful means. 
 
 The Federal Government is organized upon a 
 singular principle. Undoubtedly intended to be national 
 in character, its powers Avere so restricted as to permit the 
 utmost liberty of thought and action uj^on the part of its 
 people, even so far as regarded its own maintenance and 
 continuation. Rebels themselves, its founders had more 
 than once been in pei'il of life and limb from constructive 
 treason. They knew tliat the form of government they 
 were devising was not perfect, and desired to put no obsta- 
 cle in the way of needed change. They provided in the Con- 
 stitution, therefore, that no action or utterance should be ac- 
 counted treasonable, except the actual levying of war against 
 the Government. It might, indeed, punish sedition; which, 
 however, could only be construed to be a violent interference 
 with the piiblic peace or counseling armed resistance to 
 its authority. Under the Constitution of the United 
 States, therefore, it was perfectly laAvful to support, coun- 
 sel and advise any conceivable change in the form or char- 
 acter of the Government, or even the disruption of the Union 
 hy penceabh means. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 349 
 
 This is precisely what the Order sought to accomplish. It 
 advocated peaceful revolution. There had already been 
 three attempts on the part of the South to escape from the 
 control of the Federal Government. It is a notable fact that 
 none of these looked to a subversion of that Gov'ernment or a 
 usurpation of its powers. This fact alone deprived 
 these attempts of a strictly revolutionary aspect. The peo- 
 ple of the South have never been the enemies of republican 
 government. On the contrary, they have been its truest 
 and staun chest supporters. Even in the hour of their 
 sorest extremity, when confidence in Lee was unbounded 
 and in Davis well-nigh destroyed, they did not do as any 
 other people would have done in like extremity, give dic- 
 tatorial power to the trusted general, but staunchly ad- 
 hered to the constitutional forms they had established. 
 They did not wish to conquer, control or subvert the Gov- 
 ernment of the United States, but merely to establish for 
 themselves a government better suited, as they conceived, 
 to their local needs, leaving the Federal Union intact as 
 far as those to whose conditions it was still adapted were 
 concerned. 
 
 The first of these attempts, known as Nullification, 
 simply asserted the paramount sovereignty of the State 
 within its own limits by denying the validity and threaten- 
 ing to resist the enforcement of Federal enactments by 
 State authority. This movement was strictly in accord- 
 ance with the political view of the Constitution known as 
 
350 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 the '' State Rights " doctrine, which regarded the Federal 
 Union as a voluntary league of constituent republics rather 
 than a consolidated nationality. The movement failed in its 
 incipiency. Thepeo^Dle of the South, while approving the 
 doctrine by a large majority, did not deem tlie occasion one 
 of sufficient general importance to warrant an appeal to 
 arms. 
 
 The next attempt was that resulting in the War for 
 Separation. If consisted, in it:^ hist analysis, of a denial 
 of the right of the Government of the United States to 
 subvert the sovereignty of a State — or, in other words, was 
 an assertion of tlie right of the people of a State to elect their 
 own form of government and their own political affiliates. 
 The appeal to arms in su[)port of this theory resultefl in 
 unprecedented defeat. 
 
 The third was an unformulated assertion of the power 
 of the people of the State to render inoperative the laws of 
 the United States, not by denial of their validity or by 
 seeking to impair their sanction, but by compelling those 
 in whose behalf they were enacted to abdicate and renounce 
 the rights intended to be conferred thereby. Tlie chief of 
 these were what seemed to the people of the North mere 
 incidents of the overthrow of our armies, but Avhich were 
 regarded by the people of the South as subversive of our 
 civilization and society, as well as inconsistent with their 
 rights as citizens of the several States. As they could not 
 successfully resist the power of the Nation, nor dispute its 
 
ElGHTT.NiyE. 35I 
 
 right to make the negro a citizen and a voter, they ap- 
 pealed to force and terror to compel the Negro to refrain 
 from exercising the right thus conferred. The States were 
 prohibited by the constitutional amendments from restrict- 
 ing or denying the rights conferred upon the colored man 
 by any statutory act, but there was notliing to prevent its 
 being done by voluntary cooperation of the whites. 
 
 In this attempt, therefore, they were entirely successful. 
 The million or more of colored voters at the South were ren- 
 dered as powerless in a political sense as when they were 
 mere chattels in the eyes of the law. This was done by 
 means of various allied secret associations, which came to 
 be known under the generic term of the Kuklux Klan. 
 These kindred organizations numbered more than half a 
 million in the different States of the South. Their final 
 suppression was due to the fact that they had foolishly 
 and needlessly infringed the laAv ; but the same influence 
 Avas continued and the result perpetuated by the 
 organization of "Rifle Clubs," ''Red Shirt Companies," 
 and other bodies of white men, who, without dis- 
 guise or specific threat, deterred the inferior race from ex- 
 ercising the rights conferred upon them by the display of 
 overwhelming force and unmistakable innuendo. Against 
 such combinations the Federal Government was 
 powerless to protect the new-made citizens to whom it 
 had guaranteed equal political privileges with the former 
 ruling class. By this means the people of the South re- 
 
.352 EIGHT Y-NIN E . 
 
 conquered from their conquerors the power to control the 
 government and destiny of the South, It was a remark- 
 able triumph. They simply rendered the right of suffrage 
 a curse and not a blessing to the Negro by making the 
 security of his person and property dependent upon the 
 completeness of his surrender of the governing function to 
 the white race. Even those of the dominant race who had 
 favored the conqueror during the conflict or counselled a 
 peaceful submission to the degrading terms imposed upon 
 a subjugated people were put under an irrevocable ban. 
 When their power had become so slight that it might safely 
 be despised, they were tolerated; up to that point they 
 Avere rigidly proscribed. Throughout the entire South, in 
 fact, every function of government and the absolute con- 
 trol of public sentiment were in the hands of exactly the 
 same men who would have exercised them if the War for 
 Separation had never occurred. 
 
 This undivided and indivisible force, allying itself 
 with the Democratic ])arty of the Xorth, secured at length 
 absolute control of the Federal Government and the South 
 was once more "in the saddle." Thus the curious 
 spectacle was presented of the party which had preserved 
 the Union from disruption excluded from its direction by 
 the combination of the two elements which had resisted 
 and opposed its course in coercing the sovereign States of 
 the South to submit to the yoke of Federal dominion. 
 
 While it was evident that this remarkable state of af- 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 353 
 
 fairs could not long exist, it showed, better than anything 
 had ever done before, the distinctiveness and solidarity of the 
 Southern people as well as the amazing tenacity with 
 which they adhered to ideas and principles once thoroughly 
 established among them. It showed, too, a remarkable 
 power for organization and cooperation in matters of a 
 public nature — in other words, that thorough and com- 
 plete crystallization of sentiment my father had so clearly 
 prevised, which is the unmistakable index of separate nation- 
 ality. Especially notable in all these movements was the 
 fact of loyalty to one another as a popular sentiment. No 
 Southern man was ever a traitor to the South. During 
 the War for Separation even those who were lukewarm 
 were looked upon with suspicion, and no subsequent sub- 
 mission to the popular will was ever sufficient to restore 
 them to popular favor. In the last of these movements 
 their secretive power was especially revealed and tested. 
 More than half a million of men belonged to the secret or- 
 ders mentioned, and their existence was well understood 
 by several millions more; yet the whole power of the Gov- 
 ernment was hardly able to establish the general fact, and 
 very few were ever convicted for participation in even 
 tbe most indiscreet and criminal of their acts. The peo- 
 ple of the North can never be relied on to stand by North- 
 ern men. Northern ideas or Northern interests, as such ; 
 but the South raises no traitors and breeds no " dough- 
 faces." It may have enemies, but tolerates no neutrals. 
 
354 EIGHTY yiyE. 
 
 With these facts estubliahed, it was nearly inipossiu'C 
 to have erred iu the orgauizatiou of the Order of the 
 Southern Cross. It was merely an order of voluntary 
 knighthood, pledged to perpetuate the memory of South- 
 ern heroes, preserve the purity of Southern ideals, and 
 promote in every lawful manner the best interests of the 
 Southern people. They were especially bound not to take 
 up arms, nor counsel, advise or approve resistance to the 
 Government of the United States; l)ut to promote in all 
 peaceful, honorable and constitutional methods the sepa- 
 ration of the South from the Federal Union as a thing es- 
 sential to the peace and prosperity, not only of the South, 
 but of the Caucasian race in America. They were bound 
 to do all that might lawfully be done to prevent the negro, 
 or any individual or party through him or with his coop- 
 eration and assistance, from obtaining, holding or exercis- 
 ing any political power or control in any city, county or 
 State, or in the Federal Union, while the South should con- 
 tinue a part thereof. Beyond this the Order was pledged 
 to exert no political influence, and to take no political ac- 
 tion. It had no candidates, held no conventions, and ex- 
 pressed no preferences as betAveen the true sons of the 
 South. 
 
 Our Order was of course secret ; but its organization 
 was so unique that this statement gives no key to its char- 
 acter. Xow that its work is accomplished, I may without 
 impropriety indicate the mechanism by which it operated. 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 355 
 
 It had no lodges, camps, degrees or stated meetings. Any five 
 members of tlie Order might examine, test and initiate a new- 
 Companion. They iiad only to notify the Grand Secretary 
 of the Order of the name and residence of the initiate and 
 the names of the knights present at his confirmation. 
 On receipt of this the Grand Secretary forwarded totlie new 
 member his badge, properly engraved. By this simple 
 means a perfect roster of the organization was kept, show- 
 ing at a glance the exact number in each county and the 
 name and post-office address of each. 
 
 The Supreme Council was composed of one member 
 from each state, chosen by the Grand Master. They met only 
 on the call of the Grand Master. No record of their ac- 
 tion was ever made. They were known only to each other, 
 the Grand Secretary and the Grand Master. They were 
 advisers merely, the Grand Master taking all responsibility 
 for the acts of the Order; though it is to their wisdom and 
 prudence that the success of our plans is chiefly due. 
 I s])eak of these things in the past tense. The Councillors 
 handed in their resignations on the day of our great 
 Jubilee, and it was my intention to have published the 
 fact, destroyed all the records, and declared the Order dis- 
 solved upon the next day. In view of what then occurred, 
 I liave summoned the Council to meet once more — Avhen I 
 am dead. I trust it may be for the last time. 
 
 Meetings of the Order were as a rule discouraged; 
 and could not be held without leave of the Grand Master 
 
356 EI G II T 7- NINE. 
 
 except in case of an emergency. I was fully satisfied that 
 frequent meetings and too cumbrous an organization had 
 been the bane of all previous organizations of similar char- 
 acter. The uniform was simply a short white tunic, very 
 full upon the shoulders, buttoned at the wrist, bordered 
 with blue and belted with red. Its cost was strictly 
 limited to one dollar, so that the poorest might 
 be as well clothed as the richest, and the tendency to pomp 
 and extravagance be repressed. There was but one general 
 parade ordered until that which was called to celebrate 
 the complete accomplishment of our purpose. This was 
 just previous to the presidential election in 1888, 
 when there were signs of a determination on the part of 
 the colored people to oppose our purpose and precipitate a 
 conflict of races by insisting upon an independent exercise 
 of the power with which they had been legally clothed. 
 This it was found necessary to suppress, and a formal 
 parade was ordered at midnight in every city and village of 
 the South. As soon as the hour had struck the signal was 
 given on the church bells — three quick strokes, three times 
 repeated — and silently and swiftly the Knights stepped out of 
 their Iiomes and, two by two, sought the appointed rendez- 
 vous — more than a million white-robed minute men muster- 
 ing at the same instant in the villages of fifteen States ! It 
 was enough. There were no masks, no threats, no acts of 
 violence — but no colored man ever afterward projiosed to 
 act in opposition to the decrees of the Order. Indeed, 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 357 
 
 very many hastened to put themselves under our j)rotec- 
 tion and guidance, by joining the corps of Colored Cadets. 
 As membership therein was limited to those who could 
 read and write, or had acquired a specific amount of prop- 
 erty, and whose applications were approved by at least a 
 hundred Knights, it soon became practically an order of no- 
 bility among them to which the best aspired. To the in- 
 fluence of our Cadets with the people of the North we owe 
 in a very considerable measure the fact that our great 
 object was attained, not only without bloodshed, but 
 without any serious danger of conflict. 
 
CHAPTEE XXXVI. 
 
 The credit of having devised the plan by which the 
 iiutonomy of the Southern Kepublic was finally secured 
 has been generally, but quite unjustly, accorded to me. As 
 has been seen, I was responsible for the establishment and 
 character of the Southern Cross, While the Supreme 
 Council has loyally supported, and in many instances im- 
 proved upon the plans of the Grand Master, it is yet true 
 that it has kindly, and no doubt wisely, refrained from 
 any important modification of the same which might have 
 fettered my activity and imperilled our success. In the 
 ability to follow intelligently yet trustfully a leader in 
 whom they have confidence without interfering with or re- 
 vising his plans, the people of the South undoubtedly excel 
 all democracies known to history, offering in this respect a 
 striking contrast to their congeners of the North. 
 
 Beyond the extension, consolidation and general over- 
 sight of the work of this Order and the initiation of some 
 movements following upon th« success of our plan to pre- 
 vent an election of President and Vice-President of the 
 United States, I am not entitled to any special credit for 
 the result. Singularly enough we are indebted for the main 
 358 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 359 
 
 features of this plan to one of those singular loroducts of 
 Northern life — the leader, I might almost say, the brain, 
 of our Northern allies. 
 
 That we had allies at the North without whose assist- 
 ance we could not have succeeded is very well known, as well 
 as the fact that both extremes of Northern life — its wealth 
 and its poverty — the Labor Reformers and the combined 
 Monopolists — at one time or another cooperated with us 
 in our movement for separation. The former have, indeed, 
 openly alleged that the Order of the Southern Cross, or 
 rather I as its rej)resentative, broke faith with them in re- 
 gard to the election of a President. The charge is entirely 
 without foundation. I did agree that a sufficient number 
 of Southern electoral votes should be thrown for their 
 candidate to prevent the election of the Democratic nomi- 
 nee, a pledge which was faithfully redeemed. It was made 
 with the full knowledge and consent of the Monopolist 
 '•'pool," and in pursnance of the very plan suggested by its 
 head. Beyond that T held out no inducements and the 
 Labor Party had no reason to expect any farther assistance 
 from us. 
 
 The fact that I did not disclose our alliance with their 
 special enemies does not render me liable to the charge of 
 duplicity, since they well knew that the votes thrown for 
 their candidates were given not to promote their interest but 
 our own. The truth is that the leaders of both these ele- 
 ments were anxious that separation should take place, pro- 
 
360 EIQHIY.NINB. 
 
 videcl only it could be effected without tlieir direct and 
 visible support. The reasons for this, though apparent 
 enough at a glance, I deem essential to my own justification 
 to set forth. Each was aware that the time was near at 
 hand when there must be a trial of strength between them, 
 and each felt confident of success in this trial, if only the 
 doubtful and uncertain element of Southern votes and 
 Southern influence could be eliminated. The labor ele- 
 ment felt itself hopelessly weighted with the eight millions 
 of weak, ignorant and dependent colored laborers of the 
 South ; while the Monopolists dreaded that spirit of fair 
 play and an equal chance to all which has been so peculiarly 
 characteristic of our Southern society. They felt that 
 associated capital, despite the prevalent idea of aristocratic 
 inclination among us, Avas hopeless to influence or control 
 the political action of a people impatient of all leadership 
 except that which follows rather than prescribes their in- 
 clination. So each of the opposing elements of Northern 
 life desired to be rid of a force possibly liostile and certainly 
 unreliable because it was affected by conditions too dis- 
 similar to permit of thorough sympathy with either. 
 
 Hardly had the existence and character of our Order 
 become known, therefore, when I began to receive overtures 
 from both these sources. Its simplieitv and effectiveness 
 awakened the distrust of the representatives of both. The 
 labor organizations of the North were little more than 
 clamorous cabals, united by a mere sense of individual ad- 
 
EIGHTY-NINE, 361. 
 
 vantage and likely to be broken up whenever any clique or 
 faction conceived it to be profitable to them as individuals to 
 withdraw from their control. In fact they were only a loose 
 agglomeration of societies having a common purpose but no 
 common method or design. The excessive individualism of 
 the North in truth prevents all compactness and harmony 
 of association, since there is not, as at the South, 
 any common bond of loyalty to an ideal or devotion to a 
 sentiment to insure subordination on the part of the 
 masses. An organization without ganglionic branches and 
 semi-independent heads was to them very naturally a surprise. 
 The Federal idea has in truth infected everything connected 
 with the life of the North until an organization not com- 
 posed of successive representations seems to them hardly 
 less than incredible. 
 
 To be referred from all quarters, not to some local 
 council or chapter but always to the G-rand Master for in- 
 formation, seemed to the half-authorized delegations who 
 sought our aid an aiiomaly, and their surprise increased 
 when I informed them that we could not treat with them 
 since they were not authorized to promise anything more 
 than a vague endeavor; while whatever I miglit covenant 
 to do in the name of the Order would certainly be per- 
 formed. Afterward, however, I was present during cer- 
 tain negotiations carried on between representatives of the 
 Democratic party and the leaders of the Labor move- 
 inent, to which allusion has alreadv been made. In this 
 
362 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 case I insisted upon explaining to the Labor dele- 
 gates to the conference that I did not speak as 
 Grand Master, or promise anything within the gift or con- 
 trol of the Order. For the fulfillment of the condi- 
 tions agreed upon they must rely entirely upon the 
 pledges of the Northern Democrats, whom we had no 
 power to coerce or control, and who, I was bound to say, 
 had always proved false to the people of the South when 
 an emergency had arisen. In this case the agreement was 
 faithfully carried out on both sides. At that time there 
 was no intention of giving them the votes of Kentucky and 
 Texas. 
 
 Bat if the Labor forces of the North were but loosely 
 organized we had another ally whose discipline was such as 
 to throw even that of our Order into the shade. So far as 
 I am aware, the combined Monopolists of the North con- 
 sisted of one man only. Who he represented, how they 
 were organized, and what the extent of his power, I never 
 knew. One thing is certain, whatever this man promised, 
 that he did. Another thing is equally sure, they were 
 united together simply by a common bond of material in- 
 terest, which constitutes the strongest ligament with which 
 an average Northern man can be joined to anotlier. Friend- 
 ship, honor and even kinship, are weak and frangible ties 
 compared with the bond of mutual interest which they 
 call business. 
 
 The circumstances of this alliance were of so singular 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 363 
 
 and striking a character that I feel not only justified but 
 required to state them in detail, since they were known to 
 mc alone with one other. If, in so doing, I am compelled 
 to refer to certain matters of a private and personal nature 
 concerning this other, it is only because another chose his 
 own house as the theatre of negotiation with regard to public 
 affairs. Besides, the chief incident was long ago made 
 public by the press of the Korth, which leaves nothing 
 hidden which can be found out. 
 
CHAPTER XXXYIL 
 
 It was something more than a year after the organiza- 
 tion of our Order that, happening to be in tlie city of New 
 York, I received a call from Mr. Stoningham, the Presi- 
 dent of the Rock Oil Trust, whose kinsman had been a 
 neighbor of General Fairbanks. The ostensible object of 
 his visit was to confer with me in regard to Sagamo Lodge, 
 which General Faij-banks had re-purchased and held in 
 his own name. It was the public ownership of so 
 valuable a property that had directed attention to the re- 
 habilitation of his fortunes, though he was still 
 effectually hidden under the alias he had assumed in 
 his foreign home. Mr. Stoningham hud communicated to 
 me his desire to secure this property as the location for a 
 girl's school, or college. The purchase had been made through 
 me, and it was natural that the offer of Mr. Stoningham 
 should be made to me. Upon my communicating this offer 
 to General Fairbanks, he at once notified me of his willing- 
 ness to give the property for the purpose indicated under cer- 
 tain conditions. It was in regard to these that Mr. Stoning- 
 ham came to confer. 
 
 The result of these negotiations was the establishment of 
 Fairbanks Seminary, a sum equal to the estimated value of 
 
 864 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 365 
 
 the property being given by Mr. Stoningham for its improve- 
 ment. Its buildings are palatial in character. Above the mar- 
 ble entrance are carved the words : "In memory of Edith 
 Fairbanks- Owen." The father meant it for a monument 
 which would preserve his daughter's memory among that 
 very class who had been so ready to denounce and disown 
 when misfortune fell on him and his. It was a curious 
 impulse, but I do not doubt that the man who devised it 
 took great delight in contemplating the fact that by estab- 
 lishing a school beyond the means of all but the daughters 
 of the very richest, he was avenging the slights his daughter 
 had received at their hands. It was a unique revenge, but 
 a life made up of such contradictory elements as that of the 
 North necessarily becomes a hot-bed of idiosyncracies. I 
 did not wholly apjirove of what was done, but the father 
 had an undoubted right to erect such a monument as he 
 might choose to his daughter's memory. 
 
 To Mr. Stoningham the matter bore a very different 
 complexion. To him it was an act of wise and judicious 
 beneficence. 
 
 " TTe think too much of the poor and not enough of 
 the rich," he said. " The day of cheap things and pauper 
 institutions is about over. That is, the supply is equal to 
 the demand and more too. By herding rich and jDOor to- 
 gether, we are making paupers of the j)oor and destroying 
 the spirit of the rich. It is no crime to be poor, but a rich 
 man is just as good as a poor man, and our children should 
 
366 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 be taught to respect themselves. After all, it is to the rich, 
 the actually or potentially rich, that the country must look 
 for prosperity. I wish General Fairbanks would return. 
 We have need of just such men at this time in public life. 
 What with Socialists and Anarchists and Knights of 
 Labor threatening the peace of society, we need men of 
 wealth who have the qualities and experience of the soldier. 
 I misunderstood General Fairbanks once — or rather our 
 interests clashed — and he went under." ( The keen-eyed 
 little man corrected himself with a smile which had in it 
 more exultation than he was probably aware.) " I am sure 
 we should get on better now. At one time it was hard to 
 tell which would come out ahead. If it had been my luck 
 to be the under dog, I doubt if I should have shown the 
 nerve h6 has displayed. You see it is hard work for a man 
 to get up when he falls so far — not that the load is so heavy; 
 often it is not half as hard as trying not to fall — but he has 
 no help. Eich people are very credulous. As long as a 
 man is thought to possess millions, he can control millions 
 more — as many as he likes, almost. But as soon as he 
 needs help, no one would let him have a thousand. Even I 
 would rather help a man who is coming up the first time 
 than one who has been down once. I don't know why. I 
 am sure I pity the other fellow; but perhaps it isn't pity — 
 perhaps it is only instinct." 
 
 " Or policy," I suggested. 
 
 " No, it isn't policy, Mr. Owen. You've heard what 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 367 
 
 is said of me, I suppose, and no doubt thinK I am hard and 
 selfish; but I am not — that is, not more so than other men. 
 My wife used to say, when I was making my fight and get- 
 ting up the liill, that she never knew a man to be made 
 better by being rich. She don^t say it any more and I 
 don't believe it ever was true — as a rule, I mean. Of 
 course a rich man may be bad, but what would he have 
 been if he had remained poor ? That is the question. The 
 fact is, it is a great deal easier to be good Avhen one has 
 everything he wants ; just as a child with a houseful of 
 playthings is apt to be better natured than one that has only 
 '■ an old shoe, nine oyster-shells, and a dead kitten by way 
 of toys,' as Hood says." 
 
 I laughed and he took up his hat to go. 
 
 " By the way," he said, as if he had just thought of 
 it, " my friend Martling tells me you have gotten yourself 
 a toy lately." 
 
 I looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 " The Knights of the Southern Cross — is that the 
 name ? " 
 
 I bowed with a smile. 
 
 " You are the — Chief Mogul, or whatever it is, they 
 tell me." 
 
 I nodded assent again. 
 
 "Ah, indeed — very sentimental.'' 
 
 " Not at all," I answered quietly, " very practical." 
 
 "Whatl" he exclaimed, throwing his hat upon the 
 
3G8 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 table and sitting clown o^^posite me again. " You do not 
 mean to try to break up tlie Union?" 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 "What then ? " 
 
 "Only to take care of the pieces when it falls apart." 
 
 "Yes; very good — very good," he repeated absently, 
 looking as if he saw beyond me, yet without removing his 
 his eyes from mine. "Wiien it falls apart, eh? Then 
 you think it will fall apart ? '*' 
 
 " Unquestionably." 
 
 '• How soon ?" 
 
 " That I cannot tell — very soon, I think." 
 
 " So. And you intend to take care of the South ? " 
 
 T bowed. 
 
 "' How many are you ? " ho looked keenly at me as he 
 asked the question. 
 
 "Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Because I wish to know. Isent Martling South to 
 ascertain that and other things about the Order. He went 
 everywhere and tried every means to find out. I am not 
 sure that he was not initiated." 
 
 " He was," I answered quietly. 
 
 "Ah, you knew that I " I could perceive that I had 
 risen in his regard by the tone he used. 
 
 Yes," he continued, with an auiused smile, "he was 
 initi:ited and found that ho knew just exactly as much as he 
 did before. He could tell another Knight wheii he tried hiiu, 
 
EIGHTT-NINE. 369 
 
 but that was all. No one knew any more than he. He had 
 run against a stone-wall. It is not often that Martling 
 is beaten. Finally he wrote to the Grand Secretary, by 
 whom he was referred to you." 
 
 ''And I refused to see him," I interrupted. 
 ''Exactly, and Martling had to come home just as 
 wise as he went away. I think this is the second time you 
 have got ahead of him. But you might have seen him; he 
 is not such a bad fellow, after all. 
 
 "There can be no communication between us," I 
 answered. " If you wished to know anything you should 
 have asked yourself." 
 
 "Well, I will," said he, facing suddenly toward me. 
 " How many Knights — as you call them — arc there ? Do 
 you know ? " 
 
 "I know how many there were last night." 
 
 " Is report made to you daily ? " 
 
 I bowed. As I did so, I saw a gleam of light flash into 
 his eyes, and smiled as I read his thought. 
 
 " You think you will soon know my secret ?" I asked. 
 
 He answered with a shrug. 
 
 "The gain each day is reported in a cipher, which 
 even with this explanation you could not read in a hundred 
 years. There is yesterday's," I added, handing him a dis- 
 patch, "if you like to try." 
 
 "Never mind," he said, glancing hastily at it. "What 
 I want tokuoAvis, can vour Order control the South ?" 
 
370 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 *'Tlie South is always 'solid ' in her own interests." 
 
 " By George ! " he exclaimed. '• You are right there ! 
 But who controls the Order ? '' 
 
 " The Grand Master, by and with the consent of the 
 Supreme Council." 
 
 ''And they are— ?" 
 
 *'Even the Grand Master is not allowed to reveal their 
 names." 
 
 " How many know the number of the Order ? " 
 
 "The Grand Secretar}', the Grand Master and those 
 to whom he may choose to reveal it." 
 
 "And you have revealed it to — how many ?" 
 
 'I have not yet found it necessary to reveal it to any one." 
 
 " Indeed ? Not even to your Council ? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 There were a few moments of silence. 
 
 '• Mr. Owen, if one wanted to communicate with this 
 Order confidentially and on matters of great importance, 
 how could it be done ? " 
 
 "Through the Grand Master," I replied. 
 
 "In no other way ?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 " Verbally or in writing ? " 
 
 "That would be as he might desire." 
 
 Mr. Stoningham rose from his chair and walked hast- 
 ily once or twice across the room. Pausing he glanced 
 keenly down at me. 
 
EIGHTY -NINE. 371 
 
 "Mr. Owen, how do I know you are to be trusted ?" 
 
 "You do not doubt that I am the Grand Master ?" 
 
 " No, indeed. That I know." 
 
 " Through Martling's report," I said with a sneer. 
 
 "Through your own dispatches, hundreds of which I 
 have read," he answered quietly. He evidently expected 
 that I would show surprise, but I did not. I had long sus- 
 pected such scrutiny of my telegraphic communications and 
 had taken measures to baffle it. 
 
 " What more do you wish to know ? " 
 
 " Only whether such communication would be regarded 
 as strictly confidential. I know very well that you can 
 keep a seeret; what troubles me is whether you would 
 keep the one I might entrust you with." 
 
 " I am a gentleman," I said somewhat pompously. 
 
 "Which means — ?" he queried, 
 
 " That I will always do whatever a gentleman ought 
 to do." 
 
 " And that is all you will say ? " he asked uneasily. 
 
 "All." 
 
 He walked across the room again, very slowly, with 
 his hands behind him and his head thrown back as if ex- 
 amining the ceiling. Turning suddenly, he came and said, 
 with a quick nervous manner, while his eyes flashed under 
 his dark down-drawn brows, 
 
 " I will risk it. Mr. Owen. I have an important com- 
 munication I wish to nuike to you; but this is neither the 
 
B^jJ EIGHTY. NiN^. 
 
 time uor the place. Have you any engagements for this 
 evening ? '' 
 
 '' None of importance/' 
 
 '' Good. Can you dine with me at six ? Then we can 
 have a long evening to ourselves." 
 
 I assented. 
 
 "Very well. I will call for you at four-thirty and we 
 will drive out. Good-bye." 
 
 He had seized his liat and was gone almost before I 
 realized his intention to take his departure. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 I am not easily awed by contact with greatness, for I 
 have found in a life which has brought me close to many 
 great names, that few lives at all come up to their renown. 
 I could count upon my fingers, and have some to spare, 
 the men who have not shrivelled upon near approach. 
 Great soldiers, great statesmen, great authors, great artists 
 — I have seen them all on closer scrutiny reveal themselves 
 as little men or only great accidents. But this man, with 
 the fixed, remote gaze, calm, impassive face and flashing 
 dark eyes under his smooth brow, imjn'essed me as the 
 greatest I had seen since I rode across the hills with my 
 father when a nation's life hung in the balance. 
 
 Somehow the two men affected me in much the same 
 way. They resembled each other not only in form and 
 feature, but even in voice and intellectual character there 
 Avas a likeness. This impression was all the more surpris- 
 ing as I had distinctly made up my mind not only to dis- 
 trust but to dislike him. When I had time to analyze 
 my feelings after his departure, I began to miderstand 
 why it was that this simple, unpretentious man was to the 
 world of finance precisely what Napoleon had been to the 
 
 373 
 
374 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 political world — the greatest of his age if not of all 
 the ages. I no longer wondered that in twenty-four years 
 he had risen from a clerk's desk to tlie management and 
 control of more millions than any one ever had at his dis- 
 posal before. He was simply a plain, direct, earnest man, 
 who believed in himself and his fortune ; was w'ithout 
 envy ; cared nothing for parade ; held himself no whit 
 above tiie multitude whom he overreached and plundered, 
 but had the utmost confidence iu iiis divine right to over- 
 reach and plunder if he could. I did not approve of the 
 man's woi'k any more than when he had entered my room 
 an aour before: indeed I dreaded his power a great deal 
 more; but 1 respected his manhood and felt that I coul<l 
 trust his word. I do not hesitate to say after all that has 
 occurred that I regard the President of the Rock Oil Trust 
 as one of the most upright, reliable and conscientious men, 
 when speaking and acting for himself, that I have ever 
 known — and by all odds the ablest and most dangerous. 
 It was characteristic of this man that on the stroke of 
 the hour he had named he called for me, in a light, open 
 vehicle — ''rig" it would have l)een called in the vernacu- 
 lar of that region — driven by himself. I found him waiting 
 at the edge of the curbstone in front of the hotel, his 
 shapely hands clothed in tawny driving gloves, holding the 
 reins over a pair of impatient roadsters. Even before he 
 had spoken, with an inherited instinct I had taken in the 
 ensemble of the turnout. To my eyes it was an exquisite 
 
EIG HT Y- NINE. 375 
 
 picture — a span of blacks, undipped and glossy- coated, 
 showing the unmistakable marks of speed, bottom and 
 spirit Avhich go to make the jDerfect roadster; the harness 
 black, almost without a hint of glazing, and with just a touch 
 of gold on the headstalls; the wagon light — too light I 
 thought at first for the rough streets we had to traverse — 
 but one of those marvels of strength and elasticity which 
 only American skill has ever put into wheel vehicles. 
 
 " I beg your pardon,"' he said as I approached. " I 
 took it for granted that you liked a horse, and as I always 
 drive home from the office if the weather is fair, my man 
 took the cars as soon as I took the reins. So I had to send 
 for you, as I did not care to let a stranger hold them."" 
 
 He nodded toward the horses as he sjooke, and when 
 I had taken my seat beside him he continued: 
 
 " They are as gentle as kittens to one who knows them, 
 and might take kindly to another's ways; but I always like 
 to drive my oM'n horses and have them handled by the 
 same man. I am not a horseman in the usual sense of 
 the word. I know a good animal — at least one that suits 
 me — and, like all farm-raised boys, know how to manage 
 one; but I am not a turfman, do not care about the track, 
 and would rather bet on oil or stocks than on a race. 
 Even that I do not like, strange as you may think it. I 
 had to do it once, but now it is unsatisfactory. I like bet- 
 ter to deal with products than with possibilities. That is 
 trade — commerce in its true sense; this down on the Street 
 
376 EIGHTY -NINE. 
 
 here is gambling — gambling in its worst sense, where no 
 cue knows wlio deals, or whether the cards are ' stocked ' 
 or not. But I do like to drive about town, especially in 
 crowded streets, where it seems that such a spider-web af- 
 fair as this road-wagon would have no more chance to 
 come out whole than a birch canoe in a battle of ironclads. 
 Look there, now ! " 
 
 The gloved wrist made a sudden turn and the wagon 
 slid between two lumbering drays, just grazing the axle 
 of one and quivering like a frightened thing as it sped from 
 a blow from the huge spokes of another. So we threaded 
 our way for nearly an hour through the rumbling, jost- 
 ling mass that filled the great highway — now dodging a 
 car, a dray, a cab, but always escaping from seemingly in- 
 evitable destruction. Then we turned down a quiet 
 street where the hoofs strokes were muffled by concrete 
 pavement and the wagon rolled on as noiselessly as if its 
 tires were cushioned, till we reached a stately mansion and 
 alighted at the house of this man who was many times 
 a millionaire. 
 
 "1 had quite forgotten this," he said, pointing to 
 a solid looking box that stood in the hall as we en- 
 tered. "What do you think it is?" he asked with a 
 laugh. 
 
 Of course I could not guess. He sent a servant for a 
 couple of men and directed them to place it on the land- 
 ing of the third story. After they had passed out of hear- 
 
EIGUTY-NINE 377 
 
 ing he said, as we entered a comfortable but somewhat or- 
 nate reception room, 
 
 " No, you would never guess what is in that box, and 
 now that you are here I am sorry it was sent. You see 
 this is my wife's birthday, though I am ashamed to say I 
 had forgotten it until I saw the box. '* 
 
 " I hope I do not intrude ? " I hastened to say. 
 
 " Oh, not all," was his hearty response. "But you 
 may think the little alfair that has been planned a matter 
 of foolish ostentation, perhaps. But it is not — I assure you 
 it is not. It is only a child's fancy. I like a good horse, 
 it is true — as good as money can buy, and am glad to have 
 the money to buy him ; but I would not give a cent more 
 to see him go a second below the record. So, too, with a 
 house, I like a good one — just as good as can be made. I 
 didn^t make this — it is a little too showy for me. My 
 house is in ths country. There is where I like to live and 
 have my children live. But in country or city I have no 
 use for a house made to look at or in competition with 
 some one else's. I want it to live in — I want the maxi- 
 mum degree of comfort Avith the minimum degree of show. 
 In other words I want the best things and enjoy knowing 
 that I have tbem but I do not care for display. 
 
 "There is my watch now — just illustrates what I 
 mean." He took from his pocket a plain silver watch us 
 he spoke. " Why do you think I carry that ?" 
 
 " Partly from whim, partly to prevent being robbed." 
 
378 EIGHT y-yiNE 
 
 ''Not a bad guess," he replied laughingly; ''but you 
 are wrong in both suj^positions. I wanted a watch made 
 according to my own notion. The jeweller said it would be 
 difficult to put so muchmachinery in a gold case without mak- 
 ing it too heavy. I told hini to put it in silver, then; I 
 wanted it for use, not ornament. I suppose it is the most val- 
 uable watch in the world, but you would hardly look at 
 it in a pawnbroker's window." 
 
 " Perhaps not, without your explanation," I said. 
 
 " And I gave that to make way for another. As I 
 told you, it is my wife's birthday, and I was at my wit's 
 end to know what to get her for a present. I never know 
 what to do in such a matter, especially for one who has 
 everything, as of course my wife does; for all I have is hers, 
 and more, too, if she wants it. I love my Avife and children, 
 sir," he said, turning earnestly toward me. " All I have 
 done has been for them, and I would throw it all away and 
 begin over again if it would do them any good, or even 
 give them any pleasure; but I can't buy presents. So I 
 was glad when my youngest asked me if the children might 
 have a novel sort of entertainment for their mother's birth- 
 day — a queer sort of surprise party, in fact. "Well, that 
 box contains the material. If you feel like ridiculing the 
 performance by and by, don't let the children see your 
 mirth, please. We are plain people, Mr. Owen, if we do 
 happen to be rich; and I never expect to get over my old- 
 fashigned notions." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 I shall never forget that birthda}' dinner in the home 
 of this noted cento-millionaire. To speak of it as plain would 
 be incorrect. It was abundant rather than sumjjtuous 
 —a well-cooked, well-served, wholesome family dinner. 
 The family including a bevy of children, the paternal and 
 maternal grandmothers, a brother and sister with their con- 
 sorts, a schoolmate of ^Ir. Stoningham's, the pastor of the 
 church and his wife — this was the company. With these 
 I was sandwiched in, through the forgetf illness of the 
 master of this peculiar feast. It was a phase in 
 high life that was new to me — an aristocracy not alto- 
 gether devoted to eating and drinking, nor absorbed in 
 what are usually termed "social duties." To my surprise 
 I did not find myself at all de tro}). It was as informal a 
 dinner as ever was served in a Southern gentleman's home 
 and enjoyed with as hearty zest. There was abundant evi- 
 dence of unbounded wealth, but no trace of efforts at dis- 
 play. 
 
 During it all I could not realize that outside was the 
 glittering, lamp-lit city, and scarce a mile away the pur- 
 lieus of that mighty mart through which the commerce of 
 
 379 
 
380 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 a nation flows — the heart of a continent's throbbing life ! 
 The schoolmate, a grave earnest man — a professor, I think, 
 in some western college, escorted the wife to dinner; the 
 pastor took the paternal grandmother, and the host gave 
 the place of honor at his side to Ids mother-in-law! It was 
 my privilege to sit at his other hand. Much as I deplore 
 the fact that men of such enormous wealth have been de- 
 veloped by our civilization, I could but admit that here was 
 one not given to ostentation or snobbishness. There was 
 no hint of wealth, its woes or conveniences, except when 
 the classmate made an allusion to some of the host's recent 
 benefactions, which he characterized as princely. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the wife, with a touch of sadness in her 
 tone, " I am afraid we do not give as much as we ought. 
 When we were first married William used to give one-tenth 
 of his income, and really wo were very happy on the re- 
 mainder, though it wasn't very large. But now wc have 
 so much we do not think of giving nearly as liberally in 
 proportion." 
 
 She glanced half-reproachfully at her hnsband as she 
 spoke. 
 
 *'My dear,'' he said laughingly. *' It wouldn't do. 
 People would claim I was going into the philanthropic 
 business on borrowed capital — booming my profits — ' bull- 
 ing my luck,' as they say on the street. Besides that, you 
 know they would claim that my donations were but a mere 
 conscience fund. Why, last year I gave a trifle — forty 
 
EIGHTY. NIX E. 381 
 
 thousand, I think — to help a college out of debt, and when 
 the fact was published, a witty fellow said, ' Why shouldn't 
 he give forty thousand? He has stolen forty millions!' 
 That's the thanks 1 get. You see, Doctor," (addressing 
 the divine) "they think I'm robbing Peter, not to pay 
 Paul, but to make him a present." 
 
 "It is a hard thing," said the pastor gravely, "for a 
 rich man to do his duty. I have often wished I had more 
 of the world's goods, and perhaps as often have been 
 glad I had not. I would not have your responsibility for 
 the world, and I thank God that you carry it as unpreten- 
 tiously and humbly as when thousands, rather than millions, 
 not only measured your possessions but bounded your 
 hopes." 
 
 " William is always the same to those he loves,'' chimed 
 in the mother-in-law. " I used to be afraid to have him 
 grow rich, but I think the richer he has become the better 
 he has grown." 
 
 " Thank you, mother," said the great financier. " You 
 see, its a gi'eat deal easier to be good — or good-natured, 
 which amount to the same thing, in common ac- 
 ceptance — when one has all he can reasonably wish without 
 effort or sacrifice. I have had so much good fortune that I 
 hardly know how to get along with it, and am constantly 
 afraid I shall get the fidgets, as some men do, lest I 
 should lose some of it. Of course I don't want to lose 
 any of it, but I wouldn't mind giving half of it away. 
 
383 EIOITTT'KINE. 
 
 if I knew what to give it to ; or sharing it with those 
 who have not enough, if I knew just how to get at them 
 — who they are and where they are. But when anybody 
 conies to claim it as a right, simply because I have more 
 than they, then I am going to fight for it — and fight to 
 the death, too. I got it lawfully and they would take it 
 unlawfully. I won't be robbed nor will I be compelled 
 to be generous. What I have to give I will give in my 
 own time and in my own way, because it is mine. I 
 don't care much for money — as long as I have enough, 
 that is — but I do like the struggle of getting it and 
 don't mind fighting to keep it. I'di not entitled to any 
 credit for being kind to my friends, since it costs me 
 nothing, and I suppose I do it for my own pleasure. 
 
 '• I like the struggle for juofit, much, I suppose, as 
 a gladiator would a fight. It is just standing up, giving 
 and taking, but never squealing, I hate a man that 
 squeals and enjoy a man that picks himself up and goes in 
 for a fresh chance. I make no pretensions to merit except 
 in two directions — no man ever knew me to betray a friend 
 or turn my back on an enemy. I want my children to be 
 brave and strong and honest, and I mean to set them an 
 example they will not be ashamed of. Then if they have 
 to begin where I did they can fight their OAvn way. I 
 ilon't mean that they shall, but I should be ashamed of 
 them if they tried and failed. 
 
 "I don't think T am anv better than anv one else or 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 383 
 
 any more entitled to good fortune. A poor man may be a 
 great deal better and wiser than I. He may have cultivated 
 virtue and devoted his energies to getting knowledge. 
 That is all right. It is his and I do not want to take it 
 from him. I set out to make money — not for the sake 
 of money but because I like the struggle. What I have 
 I w^on in a free fight and the man who thinks he can 
 get it away from me is welcome to try it. That's fair; 
 and that's all the good I lay claim to. Now and then, I 
 give to somebody or something that needs help and may do 
 more in that line, if I feel inclined; but it is not because I 
 feel any sort of compunction for getting together what the 
 law allows and in fact encourages me to acquire — for it is a 
 fact that everything is in favor of the successful man in busi- 
 ness. I can go in debt a million dollars and no one will ask 
 for pay simply from fear of offending one who can pay. The 
 law, society, everything, favors him who has money and 
 cramps him who has not. After a man gets a fair start 
 there is no limit to what he may do. Given a million 
 dollars, and a man ought to be worth ten millions inside 
 of ten years without much effort or half as much genius 
 as is needed to enable one who has only a thousand to add 
 as much more to his little pile. I am not any better than 
 I was when I was poor, mother; I doubt if I am as good; 
 but I am probably better natured, as I do not have to 
 work so hard or to sacrifice at all." 
 
 Such was the tone and substance of his conversation — 
 
384 EIGHTY, y IX E . 
 
 modest, self -depreciating, charitable to others, in fact, what 
 his countrymen would call sensible. To me all this was a 
 revelation and a surprise. Never have I shared a family 
 dinner in which the virtues of American domesticity 
 were more perfectly illustrated than in this luxurious 
 home of the prince of millionaires — the most daring and 
 successful of those buccaneers of finance who are destined 
 to be the nobility of the new civilization which is crys- 
 talizing at the North. 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 After the dinner there was a buzz of preparation. The 
 children, big with the self-importance of a well-kept 
 secret, flitted back and forth and from father to mother, 
 from cousin to aunt, impatient for the exi^ected moment to 
 arrive. It was a pretty scene— so pretty that I grew ashamed 
 of the feeling I had entertained toward the tender-hearted 
 man who had achieved so much for those he loved. I had 
 wondered at his achievments hitherto; from that moment I 
 respected his motives, after a certain fashion, and felt an 
 honest pride in his marvelous cajjacity. He stood revealed 
 to me a modern Midas with the virtues of the Puritan, 
 a marvelous product of a wonderful era — how marvelous 
 I was yet to learn. 
 
 The father and mother withdrew with their children 
 with pleasant apologies to prepare for the spectacle we 
 were to witness. No wonder there was a look of pride in 
 the mother's eye as she followed her husband with the 
 pretty, clamorous group around her I 
 
 We Avaited, loitering about the softly lighted rooms, 
 chatting pleasantly and noting the luxurious surroundings. 
 I had Just become absorbed in conversation with the pas- 
 
 385 
 
38fJ EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 tor, a quiet, earnest inau, to wlioiu the task of ministering 
 to such souls as composed his congregation seemed by no 
 means to have lightened the sadness which the world's woe 
 unfolds to men of his calling, when the door opened and 
 a little maid, with flushed cheeks and beaming eyes, called 
 to us: 
 
 " Come quick ! Come and see I " 
 
 We did not wait for a second invitation. I gave my 
 arm to the most infirm of the grandparents and, with our 
 impatient herald clinging to her other hand, we followed 
 the little company to the spacious hall. Seats were pro- 
 vided in the vestibule — itself a room of no mean propor- 
 tions, modeled on the Roman atrium, whose brazen sides 
 swung back and made a stage of the hall beyond. This 
 had Ijeen transformed into a dungeon, dimly lighted. 
 Bronze doors with ponderous locks, such as the ancient 
 treasure-vaults disclose. We waited, charmed by the real- 
 ism of the fair picture, while from the shaded stairway 
 above a lisping voice began in childish verse the story of 
 Danae in the dungeon of Argos, bemoaning the sad fate 
 the oracle had decreed. One and another childish voice 
 took up the pretty argument till the darkness above was ani- 
 mate with the tender plaint. There was something very 
 charming in the idea of utilizing the strophe and anti- 
 strophe of the Greek drama in their childish sport and 
 crowning their mother's birthday with a representation of 
 an ancient myth which had already been enacted in her 
 
E I G II T Y - N I N E . 38 7 
 
 life. I had been told that it was entirely the work of the 
 children^ and as we listened in the dim light I wondered if a 
 poet had indeed sprung from the loins of Croesus. While I 
 mused the moment arrived for the coming of the god in 
 the shower of gold. Suddenly a thousand electric lights 
 flashed out, the host came striding from the door of the ele- 
 vator at the other side of the hall and the laughing cherubs 
 above sent down a shower of gold that fell like a sheet of 
 \ellow light between the spectators and the dungeon doors. 
 How the yellow coins shone in the glaring light as they fell 
 upon the place prepared for the expected shower or rolled 
 and settled on the marble floor ! The brazen doors flew 
 open; the blinding light showed the prisoner sitting dazed 
 and wondering on the rugged couch. The fetters fell from 
 her limbs; the golden shower abated and the resplendent 
 god led away his willing captive. The guests clapped their 
 hands in approval. The childish voices burst into a con- 
 fused chorus of laughter. Bright faces were for a moment 
 visible over the balcony, then came the clatter of childish 
 feet and the fable of Danae and Zeus had been enacted be- 
 fore our eyes with a splendor probably never known before, 
 save in the dissolute court of the French king. 
 
 There were tears in the mother's eyes as she came 
 towards us a moment afterwards. 
 
 "I am sorry," she said, "it looks like ostentation. I 
 knew nothing about this shower of gold. The children de- 
 vised it to give me pleasure. Our eldest is named Perseus 
 
388 EIGHT Y-NINE. 
 
 and is naturally attracted to this golden myth. My 
 husband says we are to have the money for our win- 
 ter charities. Will you help us to use it in that way, doc- 
 tor ? It is to be put in tiie bank, and the children are to 
 draw all the checks, hear all the cases presented, and de- 
 cide how much shall be given to each. We want to teach 
 them to do right. Will you help us ? " 
 
 *' Indeed, I will, madam," said the divine, his voice 
 choked with emotion, " and on behalf of the poor whose 
 suffering this money will alleviate, I invoke God's blessing 
 on your muniticeuce." 
 
 "Not our's, doctor — not ours," said the simple-minded 
 woman, clasping her hands in earnest denial. " It is not 
 ours. We are only almoners of what God has given us but 
 too abundantly. I do not know how we shall do our duty. 
 I try to teach the children — perhaps they will be able to do 
 better than we. You must not blame us," she added with 
 tender pathos. -' We are like the poor man — who was it, 
 sir ? — who found a diamond of priceless value and learned 
 to love its glitter so well that he could not bring liimself to 
 part with it, and so died — starved, with a king's ransom 
 hidden in his rags. We wish to do right, but the care of 
 what we have rests so heavily on my husband, and he is so 
 good, that I dislike to trouble»him with my fancies." 
 
 This woman's heart had not been seared with the 
 molten drops, and the life from which she had sprung had 
 not been effaced. She retired to remove the habit she had 
 
EIGHTY- NI NE. 389 
 
 worn Just as her husband, ah-eady disarrayed, came for- 
 ward to hear the commeuts of his guests. 
 
 "Pardon me," he said, addressing himself to me last 
 of all. I am afraid this has seemed to you very crude. 
 The children proposed it, and as it was easy enough to 
 gratify them, I did not refuse. Besides, Ave did not ex- 
 pect any strangers." 
 
 Barbaric as the spectacle had been, it had shown me a 
 better side of the rich man's nature, and I replied truth- 
 fully enough that I did not think the marvelous display 
 would do the children any harm but rather good, as they 
 would learn from the disbursement of the money that 
 wealth was given not merely for their own gratification, 
 but to relieve the needs of others. 
 
 The gold was gathered into rouleaux which, after 
 being counted with habitual care, were jDlaced in two can- 
 vas bags, and our guest invited his classmate and myself 
 to go down with him in the elevator and inspect the vault 
 in which it was to be stored for the night. 
 
 ''Here we are," he said, flinging open an immense 
 iron door, showing a vault as large as an ordinary room, 
 brilliantly lighted by electricity. ''Here we are, thirty 
 feet below the level of the sidewalk in probably the most 
 thoroughly protected treasure-vault in the world. Water- 
 proof, fire-proof and — " 
 
 " Burglar- proof, I suppose," said his old friend, as he 
 paused. 
 
300 EI GUT Y - NINE. 
 
 " I don't know about that/" was the reply. " I often 
 wish it were not here. Yon see, the man whose shell I 
 bought was not only a millionaire, but a scientist, and be- 
 lieved in such things. 1 don't. To tell the truth, I am 
 half afraid it will yet prove our undoing. I fear the ide:i 
 may get out that immense treasures are concealed here, and 
 men be temj)ted to secure them by violence. Wc hardly 
 over keep anything of any great value here. Of course, 
 our plate, some jewelry and other valuable articles 
 used only on special occasions are stored here ; but 
 nothing commensurate with its capacity. It never con- 
 tains money, stocks or bonds to any considerable amount. 
 The steward comes here when he chooses, and the under- 
 steward when he is sent. Both have the combination 
 and the keys except of a few small drawers. Both know 
 there is nothing here worth the risk of a great crime 
 and sure detection. Both think they know all its secrets; 
 but, bless you, they do not know a quarter of them. Do 
 you seee that grated column ? It connects with the street 
 main, and by turning a handle in my room I can flood this 
 vault in ten minutes. You observe that there is an open 
 space between the outer and the inner door. By touching a 
 knob in my bedroom I can drop another iron door into 
 place, which can be raised only by hydrostatic means." 
 
 "If it would suit you as well," said the classmate 
 with a shudder, *' I believe I would as soon stand outside 
 the door. Something might happen, you know." 
 
EIGHTY NINE. 391 
 
 *'Otne minute/' said the host with a laugh, *'and we 
 will all go. Here is one thing that is really interestiug, 
 and I am inclined to put a good deal of confidence in it. 
 If you will note the bars of this door you will observe that 
 each passes, when it is closed, along the face of an im- 
 mense soft magnet. When the coil is not attached these 
 turn noiselessly and easily. Two fingers, you perceive, slide 
 them all back and forth. Now by touching a knob inside 
 the vault and turning another outside, a powerful current 
 of electricity is sent through the coils and the bolts are as 
 fast as if welded to the iron loops, so that the door cannot 
 be opened until the circuit is broken, which can be done 
 only by cutting the wires somewhere outside. I myself 
 would have to telegraph to the dynamo station miles away 
 to loose its grip. By another device any one entering the 
 door of this room rings an electric bell both in my room 
 and the nearest station house. I shall put these safety wards 
 on to-night. The servants know that a large amount of coin 
 is in the house and I should not be surprised if the butler or 
 his assistant sought to make use of their privileges to turn 
 an honest penny. In that case I think I will let down the 
 door and perhaps turn on a little water. It may be well 
 enough to let them know what they are fooling with." 
 
 He quickly made the connections and we entered the 
 elevator. His friend stopped at the parlor, while we went 
 on up to the smoking room in a quaint Moorish tower that 
 overlooked the lights of the city. He told me afterward 
 
392 SiGHTY-JSiyE. 
 
 that he caught his man that night, but made no further 
 explanation. Whether it was tlie butler or his assistant I 
 do not know. 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 "Well, here we are," said Stoningham when our 
 cigars were well alight, "and now I am going to tell you 
 frankly why I have sought your acquaintance and arranged 
 this interview. I think we understand each other, and if 
 we have not the same ideas, we have in part at least the 
 same interests. You represent this curious Order, the 
 Southern Cross. I don't mind saying to you that it has 
 been a surprise to me. A year ago I should have pro- 
 nounced it impossible that such a thing should ever have a 
 beginning, let alone making such pi'ogress. I begin to 
 understand it now. You want a separate government and 
 mean to have it if you can get it." 
 
 " If we can get it — peaceably," I corrected. 
 
 "I understand — peaceably if you can, forcibly if you 
 must." 
 
 " By no means," I replied. " Peaceably or not at all. 
 In other words, if we cannot convince the people of the 
 North that they ought to let us go in peace, we will re- 
 main." 
 
 "Well," he said after a moment's thought, '^ it's a 
 queer notion; but I am frank to confess I think you will 
 succeed. That is why I wish to talk with you." 
 
 393 
 
394 EIGHTT-NINE. 
 
 " You do not mean to say that you are in favor of our 
 success?" I asked with a smile of incredulity. 
 
 " Well, yes and no — I am and I am not. As an 
 American — a citizen — I would like to see the country as 
 big as we can make it. 1 am fond of big things — great en- 
 terprises and great nations. If I were an Englishman I 
 should favor the "Jingo" policy. I think Disraeli was a 
 greater man than Gladstone, I believe tlie best euro for 
 the Irish trouble would be a foreign war — or would have 
 been at the start. Abstractly, therefore, I ought to be op- 
 posed to your notion of dismenibortnent. But there are 
 other things to be considered here at the North, as well as at 
 the South. You want to pry the Union apart because you 
 have got the * nigger' and think you must deal with him 
 in your own way." 
 
 ''Well, not thit alone," I began, ''there is — " 
 '^Oh, I understand," he interrupted, "There is a 
 lot of what you lawyers call 'feigned issues'; but this is 
 the kernel of the matter. In other words, if there were 
 no 'nigger' there would be no Southern Cross." 
 "Well, no — I suppose not," I answered frankly, 
 " Oh, I don't blame you, I suppose I should feel the 
 same way in that latitude. It's a little hard to own it. 
 My father was an Abolitionist, you know — one of the origi- 
 nal ' Old Guard;' and such inherent notions die hard. He 
 almost worshiped tlie slave; but I haven't found much to 
 admire in a ' free nigger,' as you call them. But did you 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 395 
 
 ever think, Mr. Oweu, that we've got somethiug worse 
 than the ' nigger ' to deal with here at the North ? " 
 
 " You mean the Labor Movement ? " I asked. 
 
 ''I mean this infernal notion that is spreading among 
 the people of the North like rot in sheej), that one man 
 has a right to another man's proiaerty. Sometimes tliey 
 call it Socialism, sometimes Anarchy, and sometimes Labor 
 Reform. It is all the same thing and always — Robbery. 
 It is simply collaring the man who has been successful and 
 making him 'divvy ' with the one who has been unsuccess- 
 ful. That's what we've got to fight; and it's a fight for 
 life. Now, we're on your side simply because your success 
 helps us. See ? " 
 
 I confessed my inability to do so. 
 
 '•'You don't ? Well, there it is. You can see 
 that ? " 
 
 He took from the wall a map of the United States and 
 threw it on the table before us. A heavy black line was 
 drawn along the Southern border of the Northern States, 
 running down to the Potomac. The District of Columbia 
 was surrounded by a blue line. New York and Atlanta 
 were designated as capitals. 
 
 " There," said he, as his finger traced these bounda- 
 ries. "You want that part. You claim it as yours — 
 Southern territory you call it. From my standpoint, I 
 think you are foolish. I think you had better stand the 
 'nigger' and share our money. In a little over twenty 
 
396 EIOHl Y-NINE. 
 
 years we have paid you in river and harbor improvements 
 and consolation purses of one sort and another several 
 hundred million dolhirs, jnst to induce you to forgive us for 
 whipping you back into the Union. Now it seems to me 
 that if I had as good a cow as that I should just hang on 
 to her and keep milking. Why, the country would be 
 perfectly willing to give you ten or twenty million dollars 
 a year just to make your niggers a little more endurable — 
 educate them, you know." 
 
 *'But, my dear sir — " I began. 
 
 " Oh, I know," he suid continuing his impetuous dis- 
 course. " You have thought that all over and made up 
 your minds. You don't want them educated, except in 
 your own way, and you don't Avant tlie country to interfere 
 with their condition at ail. Well, it's your own job; but 
 to my mind, mighty poor business. If I didn't think yon 
 were past changing, however, I wouldn't be talking to you 
 now.'' 
 
 " How 80," I asked. 
 
 *' Well, you see, all this country is ours — Yankee- 
 land. '' He passed his hand across the Northern region as he 
 spoke. "Here Yankee notions abound, — Yankee ideas 
 prevail. We are not as sentimental as you, but we are 
 practical. Our Yankee idea of freedom is ' Every man for 
 himself;' and in order that he may be encouraged to do 
 his best, we assure him the possession and enjoyment of all 
 he can get, and expect him to be content with what he can 
 
EIGHTY NINE. 397 
 
 acquire, and not try to get what another has without earn- 
 ing it or winning it in lawful trade. 
 
 " What is the result ? Here are forty millions of peo- 
 ple, owning twenty billion dollars of capital and paying 
 tive hundred millions in taxes annually. The bonds of 
 every one of these States are at par. Several of them are 
 without a dollar of indebtedness. Every child lives within 
 sight of a school-house, the door of which is open to his 
 feet. Less than six in a hundred of the people are unable 
 to read and write. Here are fifty thousand miles of rail- 
 road worth six billions of dollars, and coal, iron and petro- 
 leum enough to supply the world. More than two billions 
 of dollars are invested in manufactures. Here are a hun- 
 dred thousand miles of telegraph and half as many more 
 of telephone wire. One-third of the world's surplus food 
 comes and must come from this region. 
 
 ^' What does all this mean ? It means unbounded 
 wealth, and consequently unbounded power. This belt 
 from the Atlantic to the Pacific is the richest and most 
 powerful region on the globe — if only the same common 
 sense that produced these results is applied to their admin- 
 istration. This prosperity is the product of brain and must 
 be controlled by brain. Now, who own the brains ? Evi- 
 dently the men who have the money. Brain power, under 
 our system, is measured with unfailing accuracy by 
 the figures in Bradstreet. A man may have knowledge, 
 scientific attainment, technical skill j but unless he has 
 
398 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 money you may be sure he lacks grip — power, brain. We 
 measure men by the value of their signatures on promises 
 to pay, and it is the only true measure of power. Gov- 
 ernment is nothing but business on a large scale — the 
 most work for the least money. That is all there is of it. 
 Sentiment has no place in it. Our people are pretty 
 much a unit on that idea now, and capital controls our 
 government, Just as it ought. We have twenty-three 
 Senators worth over a million dollars each, and several 
 Avorth from ten to fifty millions. A poor man now and then 
 slips into Congress from these States, but the chances are 
 that he is the mere attorney of some great interest, which 
 he is chosen to protect from public encroachment. This 
 accounts for our prosperity. AVe make politics a busi- 
 ness and not a sentiment. 
 
 " This was well enough until the new craze came up. 
 NoAv the people are going wild over the idea of robbing the 
 rich — directly or indirectly. We have temporized with the 
 thing for years and it has grown worse and worse all the time. 
 It is getting so that the men who do not pay a cent of taxes 
 Avant to run the government; say how much our railroads 
 shall charge for passengers and freight; fix the price of 
 coal and iron and kerosene; the rate of wages and the 
 hours of Avork — in short, run every man's business for him 
 and tax him for any shortage that may result. The time 
 has come Avhen Ave must stop this thing or be ruined, and 
 Ave are going to stop it. We are all in the same boat, you 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 399 
 
 see; every manufacturer, transporter and telegrapher, 
 every holder of bonds and employer of labor. We have got 
 to fight, and whip, too, or be wiped out and let Socialism 
 or Anarchy prevail. So we have made a blind pool 
 to see what can be done about it.'' 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 " A blind pool; that is, a group of men — I don't care 
 to say how many — have agreed to stand by what I may de- 
 termine upon as best thing to do. There are not many of 
 them and yet not a pound of freight, nor a single passen- 
 ger, nor an express parcel, nor a telegrajjli message, can 
 get from the West to the East, or from the East to the West, 
 without their leave." 
 
 " But the Mississippi ? " I ventured. 
 
 '' Oh, yes — the Mississippi ! The father of waters and 
 hobby of fools ! It will do for you Southern sentiment- 
 alists to prate about and for IS'orthern sentimentalists to 
 squander money on. But let me tell you one thing: you 
 may put a thousand dollars on every mile of its length, 
 and then there is not force enough in any government on 
 earth to drive trade down its current. Time is nionej^ now, 
 and nobody can run a line that means months or weeks 
 against one that means hours. I would not take the Mis- 
 sissippi perfectly equipped as a gift, unless I had rice lands 
 in the delta I wanted overflowed, or was sure of a big ap- 
 propriation from the Government every year for levees. 
 That is all the crooked old ditch is good for. As a traffic 
 
400 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 route it is as useless as Noah's ark would be for ocean 
 travel. 
 
 " Now this ' pool ' will do just what I say. They ask no 
 questions — don't want to know what I am doing or how I 
 do it. They merely do what I require. We haven't any 
 politics or sentiment. "We don't care wlio rules or pretends 
 to rule. We are willing any party that chooses should have 
 the administration. In one State we are Democrats, and 
 in another Republicans. All we want is to control the 
 men who are elected, so as to be sure that the solid men in 
 this country — those who have made it what it is — shall 
 govern it. This we are going to do anyhow; but I think 
 you can make it easier for us and we can make your job 
 easier for you. I am willing to admit frankly that we 
 think separation would be a good thing for us. You have 
 only a few things we shall ever want and those you will be 
 glad enough to export. The laws of trade settle all that. 
 Except in form, you would be just as much a part of the 
 country as ever. Now if we had only the West to deal with 
 we could settle all this labor matter in just thirty days. 
 If the people knew just how weak they are in this fight 
 with combined capital they would give it up at once, and 
 then everything would go on peaceably and fairly as here- 
 tofore. We only want a fair show — to live and let live. 
 
 "Just as long as the South has more than half the 
 power of government — more than half of a majority, you 
 understand, and a majority is the government — we never 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 401 
 
 know what we can do. You have your own notions, your 
 own grievances and your own inveterate sentimentality. 
 You do not divide along the same lines, reason from the 
 same premises, or recognize the force of the same argu- 
 ments as we of the North. You are as foreign to us intel- 
 lectually as we are to Prussia or Italy. Now, you want to 
 go out; we can help you if you will help us. What do you 
 say?" 
 
 " What method do you propose ? " I asked, cautiously. 
 
 " Oh, as peaceable as you wish. Capital rarely wants 
 to fight, except to 'bear' a country's bonds sometimes. 
 We don't care how you go, nor much about the terms. 
 You cannot assume any of the debt, for your own debts 
 are not worth quoting in the market." 
 
 '* That's because the basis on which they were con- 
 tracted was destroyed by emancipation," I exclaimed. 
 
 " No matter; it's the fact. I think you might take the 
 territory including Texas, we will say. leaving us all North 
 of that and West of Missouri, the debt and the govern- 
 ment. How would that do ? " 
 
 "I should think that would be satisfactory," I said. 
 "Quarrels generally arise over trifles, and I am not in 
 favor of quibbling about details." 
 
 ''Good! that is the first business-like idea I have 
 heard from your side yet. Now what is to be done ?" 
 
 "A good deal," I answered incredulously. 
 
 "In detail, yes," he replied, beginning to walk back 
 
402 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 and forth and knit his brow ; " but not so many things, 
 after all. Let us see, Ave have to manage the Presi- 
 dent, the Congress, the army and the navy." 
 
 *' You forget the people," I suggested. 
 
 " Bah ! " said he contemptuously. " The people ! 
 Let me tell you, Mi-, Owen, if it was not for the name of 
 the thing, ' the people,' as you call them, would be as glad 
 to have you go as anybody. They are sick of the 'nigger', 
 — sick of the South I It is only when the eagle squawks es- 
 pecially loud that they think of the last twenty years with- 
 out nausea. Besides that, tliese Labor fellows di'ead the 
 ' nigger ' as bad as you. Not that they are afraid of his 
 color or care about his fragrance; the trouble with them 
 is that he will work for a sixpence if he can't get a shilling, 
 and can't be organized for a strike. 'The people,' Mr. 
 Owen, can be managed. In fact, it is probable that two 
 crises will coincide." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Well, you know, we are to elect a President 
 pretty soon. The Labor party will have a candidate, of 
 course. I do not know what will be his strength; but 
 the probability is that a great strike will follow unless 
 he is elected, which is not likely to be the result. That's 
 what we are looking for. Now, if the people of the 
 South are out of the way, we can manage them, and if 
 such a thing happens they will be very glad to get rid 
 of vou. too." 
 
EIGHTY- NINE 403 
 
 '' I do no see how it is to be accomplished," I 
 said doubtingly. 
 
 He opened the door and peered out upon the landing 
 before answering. Returning he sat down near me and 
 said in a clear whisper : 
 
 '• See here I We are to elect a President. Suppose 
 the people do )iof elect ? " 
 
 "Then the House of Representatives elects?" 
 
 "By States ; yes." 
 
 I started. The idea had never occurred to me before. 
 He drew a paper from his pocket and pointed to a row of 
 figures. 
 
 " Now that this Labor party is in the field, I can make 
 it sure that the people will not elect. Thent as to the 
 Senate and House, if you can manage the Southern mem- 
 bers I can manage enough Northern ones to prevent a 
 quorum in either branch. What will be the result ? " 
 
 I confessed that I did not know. 
 
 "^Well, I do. I have not only taken good legal advice 
 upon the matter, but have looked it up myself. There 
 will be no President — and nobody authorized to act in his 
 place. The law provides for everything else — death, dis- 
 ability, removal of both President and Vice-President^ but 
 not for a failure to elect either." 
 
 " And then ? " 1 asked, almost breathless with surprise 
 at the possibility before us. 
 
 "Then?" he echoed in astonishment. " Why then 
 
404 EIGHTY. NTNE. 
 
 the Government will have no legal head, and if you 
 Southerners cannot effect your purpose you have sadly de- 
 generated since your fathers' days. Then the Union is 
 dissolved, isn't it? No Executive, no government — that is 
 the legal status. Who is to hinder you from making a 
 new government to suit yourselves, while we patch up the 
 old one to suit ourselves ? In whose name will any one in- 
 terfere, and by what authority ? It seems to me to be 
 exactly the opportunity you want. How does it strike 
 you?" 
 
CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 '^How does it strike you ?'" These words Avere in my 
 ears as I returned to my hotel — the old-fashioned down- 
 town resort for Southern men at which I always staid. 
 How did it strike me ? The plan struck me dumb — by its 
 novelty, its simplicity, its audacity. Its feasibility was as 
 apparent then as now. All that remained was the question 
 of power to secure the results indicated. I had no doubt 
 that the Southern Cross could make good its part of the 
 bargain. From the knowledge Mr. Stoningham had given 
 me I did not question liis ability to perform whatever he 
 undertook. And if this were accomjolished — if the govern- 
 ment were once deprived of a legitimate and recognized 
 executive head — what might not happen afterwards ? The 
 Order of the Southern Cross was pledged to peace — peace 
 at any price and under all circumstances. So large an or- 
 ganization of earnest non-combatants had never been heard 
 of before. This was not because of any inclination to the 
 doctrine of non-resistance on the part of our people, btit 
 to a singular and abiding faith among all classes that by 
 this method we could more certainly, readily and easily 
 succeed. 
 
 It was an admitted fact that only a thoroughly united 
 
 405 
 
406 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 fUid compacted North could overcome the South in opeu con- 
 flict. It was doubted even whether this could be done again 
 with the inducements that could be offered to the colored 
 people to espouse the cause of the South. It was well- 
 known that the tradition of Yankee kindness and consid- 
 eration for the African had grown very weak among them. 
 They had seen themselves abandoned in their hour of need. 
 Their prayer for protection in their riglits had been un- 
 heeded. Laws were passed indeed, but tlieir administra- 
 tion was entrusted to the very men who had violated these 
 rights. When they asked for bread they were given a stone! 
 When they cried for knowledge they were referred to the 
 will and pleasure of their old masters, who, nurtured under 
 the conditions of Slavery, were doubly disinclined to edu- 
 cate out of the poverty that remained to them those whom 
 they thought to have been wrongly freed. However, they 
 did something — much more than could have been expected 
 — while the National Government did nothing. 
 
 As a result the race was learning very fast that the 
 whites of the South v/ere their real friends and the people 
 of the North hardly less than their real enemies. If 
 worst came to worst, we had no doubt that the race 
 might be so thoroughly attached to our cause b}- judicious 
 management that three-fourths of them would be in our 
 favor, and once fully committed in our behalf we knew 
 that no more faithful and devoted allies could be found. 
 There was something absolutely heroic in the pathetic 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 407 
 
 steadfastness with which they had continued to beheve 
 in the sincerity of the North in the face of desertion, 
 betrayal and contemptuous disregard, not only of promises 
 written in blood and ratified by thousands of lives lost in 
 the service of the boastful republic, but also of the rights, 
 privileges and immunities the Nation had jarofessedto con- 
 fer upon theui. 
 
 Not only had we of the South this opinion, but 
 throughout tlia North there was a feeling not only that al- 
 liance with the negro was discreditable, but also that it 
 was unprofitable, and profit and loss is the keystone of the 
 Northern man's conscience. The Eepublicans not only 
 felt a sort of sullen hostility to the negroes on account of 
 the failure to maintain their supremacy at the South, but 
 were beginning to allege that but for the discredit brought 
 u2:)on the party through them, it would never have lost its 
 supremacy at the North. Indeed, its leaders were by no 
 means oblivious to the apparent fact that if the Soutli were 
 really separated from the Union, they would have an over- 
 whelming majority of what remained. 
 
 From all these considerations I was satisfied that if 
 the plan indicated could be carried out — the country left 
 without a recognized official head and at the same time 
 torn by conflictiug faction, — no attempt would be made to 
 coerce the South against its will to accept the bonds it had 
 so persistently and heroically endeavored to cast off. Al- 
 ready I could see our object attained, the South free, 
 
408 EIG H T Y- NINE. 
 
 united and prosperous beyond all previous conception I 
 And for this plan so easy, so simple and so sure, we 
 were indebted to another — a contemptuous enemy who 
 threw it to us as a tub to the whale, in order to make sure 
 of the success of a grand speculative venture! To him the 
 aspiration of the South was a mere incident. 
 
 'MVe are willing you should control your 'niggers,'" 
 he had said. How hateful that common Southern term 
 always seems in a Northern man's mouth! It is like hear- 
 ing a man in ministerial garb profane the name of God, 
 and I suppose springs from the same feeling. The Xorth 
 profess to regard the negro as an equal, and " nigger '■ in 
 the mouth of a Northern man sounds coarse, vulgar and 
 self -degrading. The Southern man professes no such re- 
 gard for his " Brother in Black," or even in black and tan; 
 and the term in his mouth becomes only a cai'eless ex- 
 pression of good-natured contempt. I felt this and won- 
 dered at it when the term dropped from the lips of Mr. 
 Stoningham. 
 
 Yet the plan was his, not mine. I had been groping 
 for years after what he had found in a moment. I felt 
 ashamed. It is true, he had approached the subject from 
 another direction and was as helpless without our assistance 
 as we without his; but I regretted that for once the South 
 must follow rather than lead. Yet there was no doubt 
 that in this way lay our hope of success. His words 
 were like lightning flashes illuminating the darkness 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 109 
 
 in which 1 liad gi'oped so long in vain. It was clearly my 
 duty noAv to cooperate with this strange ally and take ad- 
 vantage of the discovery he had made and the scheme he 
 had devised. 
 
 After the luminous exposition he had given this did 
 not seem a difficult task. There was no doubt that an 
 election by the people could be prevented if the Republican 
 candidate conld be defeated. To render this certain our 
 new ally proposed that a " deal" should be made with the 
 combined Labor and Prohibition elements to return Labor 
 Electors in New York and New Jersey. This seemed 
 feasible and in fact was easily arranged, as afterward ap- 
 peared. In order both to induce the Labor party to carry 
 out this bargain in good faith and more certainly to prevent 
 the possibility of a popular election, they were promised 
 also certain electoral votes from the South. As a result of 
 these negotiations the difference between the electoral 
 votes which the three candidates received was much less 
 than any one not informed of the facts could have antici- 
 pated. 
 
CHAPTER XLTIT. 
 
 This conversation quiie blotted from my mind for the 
 time being the strange spectacle I had witnessed at the man- 
 sion of the millionaire. 1 confess that this impression it 
 produced upon me was not at all such as the descri^ition of 
 this unique affair in the morning papers of tiie next day 
 would have induced one to expect. It was neither brilliant 
 nor imposing. Mere masses of minted gold are not partic- 
 ularly attractive except to the miser's eye. It was coarse, 
 garish, barbaric, — that was all. I would have said mon- 
 strous, but the word has too harsh a meaning. There was 
 nothing horrid about it, except the contemplation it pro- 
 voked of the causes of which it was a consequence. 
 
 I was given one of the coins and have kept it as a me- 
 mento of that strange scene. It is still fastened by a silver 
 link to the iron cross which is the symbol of our Order. 
 They represent two contrasted civilizations, the one 
 founded on sentiment and the other based on gz-eed. They 
 term us "sentimentalists," because we esteem the man 
 above iiis possessions, they call themselves " practical "be- 
 cause a man's acquisitions are an accurate measure of the 
 rank he holds m that society. The pinnacle of all their 
 •' practical '' aspirations is the apex of a mighty pyramid of 
 410 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 411 
 
 golden dollars. One man sits alone upon its summit. He 
 it is whom they all envy. He is not a king, but he controls 
 all beneath him — not by right but by power. A score or 
 two stand just below him. Some thousands a little further 
 down. Some millions have climbed up a little way 
 and other millions, outnumbering them all, stand shiver- 
 ing around the base, waiting for some little rill, some 
 golden avalanch, to throw down those above and scatter 
 some of the worshiped pelf within their reach. Their 
 hope may not bo vain. The man at the top may lose his 
 head, or be undermined by those below, and through the 
 gap his downfall makes one at the very bottom may climb 
 to the very top. So the struggle goes on and they boast- 
 fully call it a civilization based on practical common sense 
 and true liberty! 
 
 To the ears of such a people I do not wonder that 
 the story of such a lavish display should prove irresistibly 
 attractive. The power to scatter coin, to make display 
 of wealth which is also to make a display of power, — this is 
 the " practical " ideal, a government, a civilization, a so- 
 ciety based on business principles. The story was repeated 
 in the sabbath-schools, the fact being dwelt upon with es- 
 pecial unction that the surplus which had contributed to 
 an hours amusement was thus withdrawn from the chan- 
 nels of trade and consecrated to the relief of the poor. It 
 was a golden text of charity, the logical conclusion from 
 which was that every one should strive to be as rich as this 
 
412 EIGHTY NINE. 
 
 man who liekl half a continent by the throat and compelled 
 it to yield him millions in tribute while he scattered a few 
 thousands among the poor whom his rapacity impoverished. 
 To me the picture was terrible. I saw a man with a 
 noble nature and transcendant powers, debased, belittled 
 and cut off from all real sympathy with his fellows by his 
 load of useless wealth. I saw a fond mother and devoted 
 wife, with the instincts derived from a Puritan ancestry, 
 greedy of good fruits from her children's lives and anxious 
 that men should love and honor her husband rather than 
 envy his wealth — I saw such a woman drawn by the chains 
 of her love to take part in a garish display of golden 
 gains. Her love and her ambition were satisfied. Hus- 
 band and children were all she could desire from a domestic 
 point of view, — but lier hope? Ah me! that was forever 
 blasted. Tlie world would never know the wealth of man- 
 hood hidden in her husband's lieart. To others he was 
 but a Stylites on a pillar of gold. He would never reach 
 their hearts, gain tlieir love or secui'e their devotimi. Be- 
 fore the morning came his steward sought to rob him. His 
 past had been gi^-en to gain and his future must be given 
 to guarding his superfluity. Poor woman I I realized more 
 clearly than ever the terrible weight that had rested on my 
 Edith's life and thanked God that for a little time at least 
 she found sanctuary in that sweet Southern land where in- 
 satiate greed and envy of another's possessions are almost 
 unknown. 
 
EIGHT Y-NINE. 413 
 
 I esteemed this man, it is true, more highly after this 
 than I had ever done before; but my dread of the class and 
 tendency he represented was increased almost to positive 
 terror. It is the most dangerous foe of Northern civilization 
 and is all the more terrible becanse its representatives sin- 
 cerely believe that they have a right to get all they can 
 through impersonal agencies, and hold the same for their 
 individual behoof without blame. 
 
 This man was no doubt the soul of honor when acting 
 for himself and in his own name. ■ I do not doubt that as a 
 man he is not only just but equitable in his dealings with 
 his fellows. As the head of the Eock Oil Trust, he would 
 coolly execute a plan that would beggar a thousand or ten 
 tiiousand at a stroke, and draw his share of the dividends 
 without a remorseful twinge I 
 
 Into the hands of such men the power of our sister 
 republic is fast drifting, if they have net already secured 
 full control of it. The conflict there is not, as so many short- 
 sighted theorists have averred, between the capitalist and 
 the mere laborer, but between the over-gorged capitalist and 
 the great host of enterprising self-employers, whose hope is at 
 the best to secure a modest competency. This class is rapidly 
 disappearing and the alternative which the future pre- 
 sents is in most cases that of servitude or supremacy. 
 The percentage of those who work for wages at the North 
 is daily increasing, while at the South it is constantly 
 diminishing. The proportion of independent self-em- 
 
414 
 
 EIOHTY-XINE. 
 
 ployers at the Xurth is decreasing with amazing rapidity; 
 while with us it is as rapidly increasing. The tendency 
 there is towards feudalism based, not on courage 
 or descent, but on accumulated wealth. With us the 
 tendency is as yet towards simple comi)etency. The 
 reign of exclusive privilege based on ISlavery has disap- 
 peared. Competition is fast breaking up the old man- 
 orial estates, and opportunity has not yet been great 
 enough to establish the inile of the millionaire. We have 
 a few. God grant tluit the number may never mcreasel 
 Pauperism and undue accumulation go hand in hand. A 
 people that raises millionaires by the hundred will always 
 have paupers by the hundred thousand. We have very 
 few of either; may their ratio never increase! 
 
CHAPTER XLIV, 
 
 There was the usual clamor and excitement — accusa- 
 tion, defence and mutual malediction — attending the Pres- 
 idential election of 1888. There were speeches and pa- 
 rades, fireworks, banners and unprecedented display. 
 Importers and traffickers shouted for free trade; manufact- 
 urers, for tariff; workmen for shorter hours and more pay, 
 and all for liberty and prosperity. Primaries were bought : 
 conventions packed; parties organized; bets and predic- 
 tions made. The North, as usual, had a host of parties 
 and factions, each with its candidates. There were Ee- 
 publicans and Democrats; Labor Reformers and Prohibi- 
 tionists ; Woman's Rights, and — I know not how many 
 more aspirants for favor and j)atronage. In the South 
 there were Democratic and Independent electoral candi- 
 dates only. How many of those who saw, or even were a 
 part of this strange hurly-burly dreamed of the forces that 
 lay beneath ? 
 
 The Democrats were confident and the Republicans 
 sanguine. The result surprised and confounded both. 
 When the votes were counted at the close of the conflict 
 it was found that no President or Vice-President had been 
 elected ! The House of Representatives would have to 
 
 415 
 
416 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 choose a President and the Senate a Yice-Peesident! 
 It was a result inexplicable upon any theory of 
 party relations knownto the managers on eitlier side. The 
 Republicans attributed their defeat to an unprecedented 
 growth of the Labor movement in New York and New Jersey. 
 The Democratic leaders, knowing of the deal in those States, 
 assigned as the cause of their defeat an entirely unexpected 
 development of the Labor sentiment in Kentucky and Texas. 
 Neither charged the result to either of the forces actually 
 responsible for it — the Monopolists' " Pool " and the Order 
 of the Southern Cross. 
 
 In the contest before the House, neither party was 
 Avithout hope. The members had been elected two years 
 before and both the House and the Senate were so evenly 
 divided — the one by States and the other in Members — 
 that almost any result was deemed possible except the one 
 that actually occurred. Indeed, it was thought quite 
 probable that a President of one party and a Vice-Pi'esi- 
 dent from the other might be the outcome. That neither 
 would be chosen was never dreamed of as a possibility. By 
 some curious fatality this was the only contingency for 
 which the Federal staf/ttes failed to provide. If neither 
 President or Vice-President was chosen before the Fourth 
 of March, there would be no one authorized to exercise 
 authority or even to order an election ! The line of suc- 
 cession would be broken without any established method of 
 supplying the defect. 
 
EIGHTY-MIN E. 417 
 
 The election of the chief executive ofiBcers by the Legis- 
 lative branch ef the Federal Government was a function 
 which had been so seldom exercised that its forms 
 and limitations were matters of tradition rather than 
 knowledge. JSTot a man was living who had taken part in 
 such a proceeding. The wisest knew only what the dullest 
 might learn in an hour. The House of Eepresentatives 
 voting as States, was required to elect a President, a major- 
 ity of the members present from each State controlling its 
 vote. If they were equally divided, the State cast no vote. 
 In other words, the Eepresentatives from each State consti- 
 tuted an independent electoral college. It resulted from 
 these curious conditions tliat a little more than one-fourth the 
 Members of the House could elect a President, provided 
 they were a majority in each of the smaller States, Avhile 
 two-thirds might be unable to do so if they happened to 
 represent only the lai-ger States. It required a majority of 
 all the members present from each of twenty States to elect. 
 If any State was unrepresented it still counted in the aggre- 
 gate. A majority of members in each one of a majority of 
 all the States was required to choose a President. In the 
 Senate the process was simpler. Each Senator was entitled 
 to one vote and a majority of the whole number of Sena- 
 tors was all that was required to elect a Vice-President. 
 
 These were the elements out of which the authorities 
 of the Southern Cross and the ''pool " of combined Monopo- 
 lists had to organize success— in other words, to secure bv 
 
418 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 lawful and peaceful means an absolute failure to elect 
 either of the two highest executive officers of the nation. 
 The problem seems intricate; but, as will be seen, the 
 means by which it was solved were of the simplest charac- 
 ter. Its apparent difficulty has given rise to the wildest 
 and most absurd speculation in regard to the methods em- 
 ployed in accomplishing this result. So far as they are 
 known to me I shall relate them truly, both for the sake 
 of my associates and for the instruction of the future. 
 
CHAPTER .XLV. 
 
 The idea is prevalent among the people of our sister 
 republic that the then President of the United States and 
 certain members of his cabinet were privy to our designs 
 and lent themselves to their accomplishment for their own 
 personal advantage. This rumor has brought upon these 
 gentlemen undeserved odium. They were, of course, all 
 aware of the existence of the Order of the Southern Cross, 
 and the Southern members of the cabinet were entitled to 
 wear its badge. Owing to the peculiar constitution of the 
 Order, however, this did not imply any knowledge of its 
 designs. 
 
 The President himself, like all the people of the 
 North, no doubt looked upon our Order as a mere piece of 
 Southern sentimentality, — a safety-valve, perhaps, for im- 
 pulses which if unwisely restrained might prove dangerous. 
 Certain it is, that until the memorable third day of March, 
 when the absence of the Southern Eepresentatives made an 
 election of President impossible, there Avas hardly a suspi- 
 cion on the part of those uninformed of our designs, of any 
 purpose to execute a coup d'etat. The President was indeed 
 aware of the treaty made with the representatives of the 
 Labor party, by which the Democratic vote in New York was 
 given to men pledged to cast the electoral vote of that State 
 
 419 
 
420 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 for the Labor candidates ; in return for which the Labor 
 vote in Indiana, Connecticut and Jsew Jersey was to be 
 given to the Democratic electors. He supposed this ar- 
 rangement, or " deal," as it would be termed in the politi- 
 cal vernacular of the North, was intended simply to pre- 
 vent the possibility of Kepublican success and make his 
 own election a certainty, as it would no doubt have done, 
 had not Texas and Kentucky chosen the Electors of the 
 Labor party. The votes of our Order in the States named 
 were given for the Labor party under the express advice 
 and direction of the Grand Master, with the assent of the 
 Supreme Council. This was done simply because it was 
 judged expedient for our purpose that the President should 
 not be re-elected, and ought of itself to be a sufficient an- 
 swer to the charge of privity with our designs. 
 
 These things were a great surprise to tlie people of the 
 whole country, tlie President included. Even when he saw 
 the that result was to throw the election into the House 
 of Eepresentatives he did not perceive our purpose. In 
 sixteen States the majority of Eepresentatives was Dem- 
 ocratic ; two were evenly divided ; in two others the gain 
 of one man in each would result in a tie ; while enough 
 Representatives from two more were absent, to neutral- 
 ize the vote of the State. The President, who had 
 a curious belief in iris own good fortune, did not 
 doubt that the ultimate result of this state of affairs 
 would be the choice of himself as his own successor. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 421 
 
 There were three candidates who had received electoral 
 votes ; and from these it was not doubted by any except 
 the few who were privy to our phxns, that a selection 
 would be made during the twenty-one days intervening 
 between the second Wednesday of February, when the 
 Joint Convention was held to count the electoral votes, 
 and the Fourth of March, when the new Presidential 
 term would begin. It was generally supposed, also, that in 
 case of a failure to elect either a President or a Vice-Pres- 
 ident, the Secretary of State would perform the duties of 
 the office until another election could be held, though as 
 afterward appeared, this was u matter of mere impression 
 rather than of logical conclusion. This fact served to hold 
 the Democrats firm, and the President believed that, rather 
 than see the office fall to the Secretary by a questionable 
 construction, enough Eepublicans would come to him 
 to secure his election. 
 
 In this belief, so far as I am aware, he never wavered 
 until the morning of the third of March arrived and the 
 houses of Congress met to find the Senate without a quo- 
 rum of memuers, and the House without a quorum of States. 
 This condition of affairs continued throughout the day. ]S"o 
 effort sufficed to discover the hiding place of the recusant 
 members. At midnight the Secretary of State took the 
 oath of office as President before a Judge of the Supreme 
 Court of the District of Columbia, the Chief Justice of 
 the United States declining to perform the ceremony lest 
 
422 ^i(^ H T Y- N 1 NE. 
 
 the act should disqualify him from sitting in judgment 
 upon the legality of the succession. At twelve o'clock on 
 the Fourth of March the recent Secretary issued his in- 
 augural address, setting forth the circumstances attending 
 his assumption of the functions of the Chief Magistrate jjro 
 tempore, and calling the Congress to meet in extra session 
 at an early day. This state of affairs produced considerable 
 uneasiness throughout the North. The Secretary evidently 
 did not feel secure in his seat and the nation he bestrode 
 naturally felt restive under his assumed guidance. 
 
 Until the appearance of this proclamation the ex- 
 President did not seem to realize that his official life was 
 ended. Indeed it appeared almost impossible, even then, 
 for him to comprehend the completeness of his downfall. 
 From being the head of a great nation he had suddenly 
 fallen below even his original insignificance. The fact that 
 the nation was passing tlirough a crisis which must be 
 perilous and might be fatal, hardly seemed to affect his con- 
 sciousness. Once satisfied that he had nothing more to hope 
 for in connection with the presidential office, he seemed to 
 think only of getting himself and his belongings away from 
 the seat of his transitory greatness. 
 
 To his successor's offer of a reasonable time to remove 
 his effects from the White House, he vouchsafed only a 
 most ungracious response. Despite the self -absorption 
 which blinded him to all thought of his country's danger, 
 there was a sullen independence about his unexpected 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 423 
 
 leave-taking which commanded a sort of respect. It is 
 safe to say that in no measure connected with his adminis- 
 tration did he manifest so much vigor or more genuine 
 executive ability as in his hasty preparations for removal. 
 
 His faithful private secretary had taken the precaution 
 the day before to draw the last quarter of his patron's 
 salary and deposit it in bank. Summoned by the 
 irate ex-Magistrate to give an account of his stewardship 
 of the privy purse, he was able at a moment's notice to 
 state the amount on hand and the outstanding obligations. 
 In short, sullen sentences he was directed to liquidate these 
 and make instant preparation for the removal of certain 
 personal effects and the sale of others. This done, the 
 tireless agent, only half realizing his master's downfall, 
 took the train for New York. As the sun went down, the 
 recent master of the White House followed a dray-load of 
 trunks to the railway station. His personal staff had disap- 
 peared, dismissed almost without thanks. The servants of 
 the White House witnessed his departure with ill-concealed 
 anxiety respecting their own future. 
 
 As he drove through the streets of the capital his at- 
 tention was concentrated upon the van on which his bag- 
 gage was piled. He seemed as unconscious of the fact that 
 the significant portion of his life had closed as he had been 
 of its beginning. As the carriage rolled unattended down 
 the avenue, he seemed as impassive as when, four years be- 
 fore, he sat in the Senate Chamber waiting for the cere- 
 
4a4: EIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 monies of his inauguration to begin. Never a personal 
 favorite with the peojile, but few of those who recognized 
 him and compreliended what was taking place, followed 
 the carriage with kindly looks or sorrowful farewell. Many 
 sneered, some liissed. and a few gave vent to taunts which 
 must have reached his ears ; but he gave no sign of having 
 heard. At the train a little crowd collected for a last cu- 
 rious glance. He attended himself to the checking of his 
 trunks, but waved no farewell and showed no conscious- 
 ness that his exit from the stage where he had played a 
 curious and by no means unimportant part was a 
 matter of any moment to others. I'he next morning, i 
 am told, he left the faithful secretary, to whom he owed 
 whatever of success he had enjoyed, standing hat in 
 hand upon the wind-swept wharf, hardly nodding to him a 
 careless adieu as he sailed with his family and personal be- 
 longings for a foreign shore. Since that time he has en- 
 joyed in placid ease and undisturbed obscurity the baths of 
 Homburg, that favorite resort of dethroned royalty, whose 
 waters seem to have an especial attraction for victims of 
 political disaster. 
 
 His departure, — it was in no sense a flight, — was per- 
 haps unfortunate for his renown. For that, however, he 
 cared little. He enjoyed preferment simply because it 
 added to his personal consequence. He delighted to be 
 President merely because it gave him an individual import- 
 ance that no one else could enjoy at the same time. He 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 425 
 
 liked the Chief Magistracy witliout any thought of doing 
 honor to the position or making his incumbency notable by 
 great events. His idea of government was a purely personal 
 one. He thought of everything connected with it as his. 
 He spoke of his office, his cabinet, his administration, and 
 even designated the Executive mansion as '• the President's 
 House." 
 
 Taking him all in all, he was perhaps the most singu- 
 lar combination of attributes that was ever elevated to the 
 headship of any government. Personally, he had so few 
 friends that they might almost be counted on the lingers ; 
 and even for these he had no perceptible attachment after 
 they ceased to be contributory to his personal comfort and 
 aggrandizement. Politically, he seems to have been the re- 
 sult of a series of accidents to which he bore neither intellect- 
 ually nor morally any causative relation. To the very last his 
 political views were so ill-defined as to be a matter of con- 
 jecture even to his adherents, except on one subject on 
 which he seems to have been driven merely by the hope of 
 securing his own re-election, to express an opinion so un- 
 mistakable as to be afterwards a source of unmitigated 
 regret. If induced by any to make a positive 
 delaration the first breath of public clamor drove him at 
 once to denial or explanation. This was true of every 
 public expression which he used except that animosity for 
 the Federal soldier. In this he never wavered. To seem 
 positive and to he indefinite was his idea of political sa- 
 
42G EIGH T Y-NIX E . 
 
 giicity. He seemed to regiird the courteous acknowledge- 
 ment of favor as somehow an impeachment of his own 
 super-excellence. To him who flattered his personal vanity 
 he gave freely ; for him who asked on the score of personal 
 merit he had only sullen refusal. He loved himself 
 so well that he hated every one who intimated tliat he had 
 ever received or ever might require assistance. 
 
 He is not, however, in any sense deserving of the 
 anathemas which the people of the North have visited 
 upon him since the close of his term. The simple fact is 
 that he did not regard the failure to re-elect him as a law- 
 ful end of his oflBcial career. To him it is a dethronement, 
 — a forced abdication. He deems himself to have been un- 
 justly deprived of a personal right, and left the country he 
 could no longer rule simply to show the indignation which 
 he felt. 
 
 It is a curious infatuation, but I am all the more sat- 
 isfied that it is real, because I personally know that the 
 generally received hypothesis in regard to his motives is 
 false. The truth is that he laid claim to but one essential 
 merit — honesty. Even this was not of a particularly exal- 
 ted character. The boast of his adherents — he had not 
 many real admirers — was that he would do what he thought 
 to be right unless overpersuaded, misled or in some manner 
 deflected from the path of duty by external influence. 
 From first to last, this was the excuse assigned for all his 
 acts Avhich resulted tmfavorably to the public interest or 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 4-^7 
 
 failed to satisfy his party's exi^ectution. This sort of hon- 
 esty, whioh seems to be of the commonest and cheapest 
 tyi>e, both he and his supporters vaunted with the utmost 
 persistency, and it was accepted by many of his political op- 
 ponents as indicative of exceptional qualities ; so that the 
 country presented the curious, spectacle of men assailing the 
 acts of the administration and at the same time excusing and 
 defending its responsible head with the utmost fervor. The 
 people of the Xorth are extravagantly fond of subtle distinc- 
 tions. 
 
 Perhaps nothing could better show the very low ebb 
 which public morality had reached at the Xorth, than the 
 fact that even such common rectitude as this was applauded 
 as exceptional, until the object of adulation undoubtedly 
 thought himself a man of phenomenal if not unpreceden- 
 ted integrity. There can be no question that he came at 
 length to regard himself as the most notably honest, if not 
 the only entirely honest man who had served the nation as 
 its chief executive since the days of the immortal Washing- 
 ton. Laboring as he did under this curious delusion, it is 
 absurd to think that he directly enriched himself at the pub- 
 lic expense to the value of a single farthing. Certainly he was 
 neither bribed nor trusted by the Grand Council of the 
 Southern Cross — not that we would have hesitated to resort 
 to bribery, had it been necessary; since it is as fair to buy an 
 enemy as to overpower him, esjiecially one so unscrupulous in 
 the use of mercenary influences as ours — but there was no 
 
428 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 need to do so, since his cooperation was not required and 
 his opposition not feared. 
 
 That sucli a man sliould have become the chief magis- 
 trate of a great nation, is in itself a most amazing fact. It 
 could never have occurred had not the Northern people pos- 
 sessed the most singular characteristics. Instead of be- 
 ing proud of their great men they seem to grow jealous 
 of notable achievement. They are always on the lookout, 
 too, for the exceptional and marvelous. A people of the 
 liveliest imaginat-ion, they clothed silence with the golden 
 garb of wisdom and filled vacancy with amazing possibility. 
 Inertness was accounted merely the absence of dangerous 
 ambition ; lack of aspiration the confidence of conscious 
 greatness ; uncertainty and obscurity the cloud in which 
 wisdom hid grand designs. Strange as it may seem^ 
 Mr. Cleveland had risen from the most obscure estate to 
 the very highest Avitliout having been known to express an 
 opinion upon any public question, llis adherents pointed 
 to this fact as evidence of remarkble sagacity, and not only 
 the people but Mr. Cleveland bimself accepted tbis curious 
 conclusion. The fact that he liad not been great, or wise or 
 brave, was regarded as conclusive evidence that he would be. 
 
 Pernaps the most singular of all the phases of 
 his anomalous career, was the fact that it is even 
 yet unknown on whicli side his sympathies were during the 
 great War for Separation. He was then a young man and 
 would luiturally be expected to have positive convictions 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 4;i9 
 
 one way or the other. So far as disclosed by the most 
 heated personal canvass ever witnessed, however, no one 
 ever knew him to express, either orally or in writing, any 
 opinion as to the merits of the controversy during the 
 entire four years of conflict between the Confederate States 
 and the Union. His adherents attributed this to sagacious 
 reticence ; his opponents to cowardice and stolidity. 
 Both were in error. He simply had no thought that 
 the result would ever affect his personal interests and 
 so did not trouble himself to form an 02:)iuion or have any 
 preference in the matter. Except to furnish a substitute 
 when '^conscripted,"* he is not known to have had any 
 relation whatever to the war waged against the Confed- 
 eracy. This naturally made him acceptable to the South, 
 though no man of such colorless neutrality could have been 
 chosen to any position of honor within her limits. 
 
 It was no doubt to this peculiarity that the most dis- 
 tinctive feature of Mr. Cleveland's administration was due. 
 He seemed to entertain a personal animosity against those 
 who had been soldiers of the Federal army, especially the 
 
 *I am aware that the use of this word is cited by Mr. Mat- 
 thew Arnold, as evidence of a lack of culture on the part of Gen. 
 Grant. As, however, it appears in the manuscript of Grand Mas- 
 ter Owen, has been used by the entire press and people of the 
 South since the passage of the first conscription act, early in 1862, 
 and was sanctioned by the official usage of the Confederate gov- 
 ernment, its officers and generals without exception, I am satis- 
 fied to err with them and allow it to remain. 
 
430 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 volunteers wlio returned after its close to civil life. It is 
 probable that he considered their patriotic devotion an ex- 
 press imputation upon his own lack of interest in the great 
 struggle. The one fixed principle of his political conduct 
 seemed to be a conviction that the people of the Xorth had 
 had enough of soldiers and were tired of patriotism. He 
 seemed to think that the surest way to public favor lay in 
 treating those who had sav.ed the country from disruption 
 as vagabonds, who, having no longer any public enemy to 
 plunder, had turned upon the nation. As if to emphasize 
 the fact of personal antipathy to this particular class, he 
 approved a service pension to the survivors of the Mexican 
 war, two thirds of whom were residents of the South, while 
 preventing even the decrepid and impoverished veterans 
 who resisted the demands of the Confederacy, from receiv- 
 ing like favor. 
 
 In this estimate of N^orthern sentiment he was not en- 
 tirely at fault. Many of the most prominent of his politi- 
 cal opponents applauded his course in this respect. Indeed 
 the one man among them all who never hesitated to pro- 
 claim himself the type of perfect purity and his peculiar 
 notion^ the ultima thulc of wisdom — the head and front of 
 a singular company of self-worshiping apostles of me- 
 chanical merit — did not hesitate to proclaim him almost, 
 if not quite the grandest character that Xation had ever 
 produced. It is true, this man believed that all merit was 
 assessable at a fixed valuation and that patriotism might 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 431 
 
 be accurately gauged upou a graded scale of excellence. 
 He was the leader of those who in order to accomplish one 
 good purpose, were willing to debase the sentiment of a 
 whole people — who sought to make the dollar mark not 
 only the symbol of value but the sole measure of merit — 
 who would root out of the popular mind the sentiment of 
 gratitude and honor, degrade the soldier to the level of the 
 pauper and subordinate every national impulse to a mere 
 economical test. It is not so strange that this man should 
 have worshiped the President. There was a sort of affinity 
 between them and he was incapable of seeing any fault in 
 one who extolled the idea of which he thought himself the 
 originator and which he devoutly believed was destined to 
 secure an ideally perfect government, from which human 
 impulse should be eradicated and under which human 
 sentiment subordinated to intellectual merit scientifically 
 ascertained and marked with unerring accuracy by an 
 infallible system. The really curious thing was that such 
 a man as the last President of the great Eepublic should be 
 accepted as the type of the best Northern thought and that 
 a people who had been ready to tarn and rend any one who 
 proposed the least reduction of the capitalist's demands, 
 should look with such contemptuous scorn upon a soldiery 
 whose claim to consideration was blood, shed in successful 
 defence of the national life, rather than a debased currency 
 thriftily exchanged for a promise wrung by terror from the 
 nation's lips. It is but another evidence that the true hero, 
 
432 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 according to the Northern standard, is the successful specu- 
 lator rather than the self-forgetful patriot. The Federal 
 soldier fought for half the price of a farm laborer and took 
 his pay in depreciated money ; the Northern capitalist paid 
 for his bond in a debased currency and demanded pay in 
 gold. Yet the former was regarded as an ungrate- 
 ful pauper and the latter as the type of the worthy pa- 
 triot. 
 
 It was no doubt a subtle appreciation of this fact that 
 induced the President to indulge his own personal pique 
 by such bitter and repeated denunciation of the survivors 
 as '' willing dupes of reckless demagogues." that if the 
 Republican party had been wise enough to oppose to him 
 a candidate whose record was of a less questionable charac- 
 ter for courage and devotion than his own, it might perhaps 
 have been impossible to have prevented their success. 
 A mere economic issue is a poor reliance for any party. 
 Sentiment cannot at once be frozen out of a people's 
 nature and if the Republicans had dared trust to the 
 impulses which first gave them power — the universal 
 instinct of Justice and equality — it is doubtful if any 
 influence could have prevailed against them. In 
 nothing was the Divinefavor more distinctly manifested to 
 our cause than in the singular blindness which hid from 
 them their great opportunitv. So complete, however, is 
 the moral debasement of the people of the North that her 
 political leaders devoutly believe that success in any par- 
 
EIGBTT-NINE. 433 
 
 ticular conflict is but a question of dollars and cents. 
 Skill in organization, chicane and money are the ar- 
 guments in which they place confidence, and this is the 
 only logic in which their leaders excel. 
 
 For myself, I must say I pitied the ex-President far 
 more for what he was than for what he lost. If the time 
 ever comes when the people of the Southern Republic pre- 
 fer such negative merit to positive excellence in a :hief 
 magistrate, I trust that his administration may be as fatal 
 to our new nationality as was his to the Federal Union. 
 Such a preference indicates a decadence of public 
 spirit and patriotic ardor far more fatal to a country's 
 glory than revolution, war or subjugation. It is no doubt 
 to this lesion of patriotic impulse at the North that we of 
 the South are indebted for the success of our attempt to 
 secure autonom}'. 
 
 The influences that controlled this singular man were 
 of a very peculiar character. Not only did he entertain 
 the belief that he really determined the policy of his 
 administration, but he managed to produce upon the 
 general public and even upon many prominent men of 
 his own party the impression that he was a man of great 
 firmness and exceptional devotion to the welfare of the 
 country. This resulted mainly from his oft-repeated pro- 
 testations of absolute purity of purpose and invincible de- 
 termination to do the right in spite of the malign and 
 hostik ^"nfluences by which he persisted in declaring that he 
 
434 EIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 was constantly surrounded. His errors were always labori- 
 ously excused, either as the unauthorized acts of subordi- 
 nates the results of accident or a want of knowledge of par- 
 ticular facts. With the legislative branch of the government 
 he was constantly at war, and he did not hesitate to impeach 
 the intelligence and sincerity of all who failed to recognize 
 his pre-eminence. He rarely opened his mouth or touched 
 his pen except to protest his own purity, excuse his shortcom- 
 ings or impugn the motives of others. Whoever opposed 
 his views or failed to laud his conduct he counted a 
 personal enemy. Compared with the course pursued by 
 his own party towards his predecessors, he was treated with 
 distinguished consideration by his opponents in Congress, 
 yet he never failed to manifest the utmost malignity and re- 
 sentment towards his opponents in the legislative branch of 
 the government. His veto messages cnitnumbered those 
 written by all of his predecessors. In this fact he took es- 
 pecial pride, supposing it would be regarded as infallible 
 proof not only of.his superiority but also of the corrupt and 
 venal character of his opponents. 
 
 In point of fact, no man was ever more easily con- 
 trolled. Of his Cabinet he made the most prominent member, 
 a man who had committed the serious offencs of being an as- 
 pirant for the place which he had himself secured, the scape- 
 goat of his most serious errors. There were two forces which 
 dominated almost without exertion the whole tenor of his, 
 admiaistration — the great Petroleum ]\[onopoly, represented 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 435 
 
 by one whose entire political significance was due to his in- 
 timate relations with more than one of its managers, and the 
 South, represented by one of the most remarkable men of 
 any age — one of the few men who, without incurring per- 
 sonal peril,had become distinguished as a Confederate leader, 
 and afterwards had made himself indispensable to 
 the nominal head of his party in the re-established rejiub- 
 lic. The former influenced his chief by assuming that the 
 President would sanction whatever he did. lie neither 
 asked nor argued. If a matter required the formal sanction 
 of his superior, he merely prepai'ed the papers and in- 
 formed the President that his signature was necessary. 
 He did not trouble the great man with details or theories, 
 nor ask any instructions, but took the management of his 
 Department off the shoulders of the President as a mat- 
 ter of favor and relief to that supposedly overworked 
 official. The latter was a man who despised the emblems 
 of authority but loved the exercise of j^ower. He was the 
 real head of the government. He swayed the man who 
 thought himself his master by subtle and unfailing knowl- 
 edge of his character. Everything he did or intimated Avas in 
 the President's name. He .s?/^/^^^^^^? decisions, excuses, and 
 protests. Between him and the representative of the great 
 Monopoly there was never any difference. He smiled at the 
 other's arrogant assumption, knowing well that he, too, was 
 "but the servant of a master whose power he did not compre- 
 hend. It was a notable fact that the President never at- 
 
436 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 tributed any of the errors for which he was responsible to 
 either of these men. Few suspected the power of the most 
 potent, and it ma}' be doubted if the President himself 
 knew by whose will his acts were really guided. 
 
 Of course, the presence of these men in the Cabinet 
 was of great assistance to us, but we made no dishonorable 
 use of our advantage. By this means we were able to fore- 
 stall the action of the government, but except in minor mat- 
 ters, such as the disposition of the army and navy at the 
 crisis of our c02(p, such action was never intended to pro- 
 mote our cause. Even in those instances it was not so in- 
 tended by the President and I doubt if more than one of 
 his advisers realized the possible effect of the course they 
 adopted. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 Though we owed the suggestion of our first step 
 towards peaceful separation to the head of the Combined 
 Monopolists, we are indebted for the plan by which the ad- 
 vantage thus secured was made effective, to that remarka- 
 ble man who had been the real brain and conscience of the 
 self-expatriated President. It was worthy of his ability 
 and audacity, yet in its elements so simple that it seemed 
 strange it should not have occurred to any one, especially 
 after the hint received from Mr. Stoningham. It was 
 carried into effect by inducing the Southern members of 
 the incoming Congress to refrain from qualifying and the 
 Southern Senators to absent themselves from the delibera- 
 tions of that body. This so changed the political com- 
 plexion of the two assemblages that it became necessary for 
 some of the Northern Democratic members to do likewise 
 and by this means prevent a quorum lest the Republicans 
 should secure control of both Houses. As the recalcitrant 
 members had never qualified they could not be brought in 
 by the mandate of the House, nor could the minority pro- 
 ceed to notify the Governors of the various States that va- 
 cancies existed in the several districts thereof. In fact, 
 there were no vacancies — only the men elected and certified 
 
 did not see fit to qualify and act. This was a state of things 
 
 437 
 
438 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 which no existing legishition was adequate to meet and of 
 course no remedy could then be provided M-ithout a quorum 
 in each house. No one had ever dreamed of this weak spot in 
 the Federal armor unless it were the masterly intellect which 
 first made its impress in the judicial annals of the country 
 by the magnificent array of authorities and unanswerable 
 logic of " Ex Parte Garland." 
 
 Before the consternation resulting from a knowledge 
 that the national government was in a state of susj^tended 
 animation, without recognized executive head or any 
 legally constituted legislative department had died away at 
 the North, it was renewed — perhaps I ought to say re- 
 doubled — by the resignation of the Southern members of 
 the Cabinet upon the ground that the government 
 had lapsed by reason of the failure to elect a successor to 
 the President and the lack of any person legally authorized 
 to exercise his duties ad interim. They felt compelled, 
 they said, to protest against the usurpation by the late 
 Secretary of State, of the functions of the Chief Execu- 
 tive, lest their further silence should be construed to imply 
 concurrence therein. They also held that a contempora- 
 neous failure of Executive and Legislative authority 
 acted as an effectual dissolution of the Federal Union, 
 its powers lapsing eo instanti to the several constituent 
 republics from which they were originally derived. This 
 being the case, as individual citizens of sovereign States, 
 once more clothed with autonomv by the failure of the 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 439 
 
 Federal pact, and not iiaviug been authorized by their re- 
 spective States to do anything tending to j)reserve even the 
 form of a National Government, they felt bound to with- 
 draw all connection with or constructive recognition of a 
 spurious and usurpative organization. This document was 
 addressed '* To the People of the States of" — naming first 
 the original thirteen States of the old Union and then the 
 others in the order of their admission — but not referring in 
 any manner to the ''United States,"' as a political integer. 
 Upon the ajjpearance of this document, the people of 
 the North took alarm and offers of military and other sup- 
 port came pouring in upon the self-constituted President 
 pro tempore, who had acted in the utmost good faith and 
 no doubt desired both to perpetuate the Union and promote 
 the welfare of all the States. He was not only weak and 
 vain but, what was far more prejudicial to his purposes, 
 vacillating in the extreme. He had little confidence in 
 others and less in himself. Besides that, he had long 
 doubted the possibility of peri^etuating the Federal Union 
 for any considerable period, believing a constitutional mon- 
 archy modelled on that of Great Britain, to be not only es- 
 sential to national stability but also preferable as a political 
 organization. These sentiments he intimated in an ad- 
 dress to " The People of the United States," which he pro- 
 mulgated as a counterblast to that of the withdrawing 
 officials. This doctrine which was emphatically concurred 
 in by the de facto head of the Navy, raised a storm of angry 
 
UO EIGHT Y- JVJ NE. 
 
 deiiimciation at the Xorth and dcstro3'ed the hist vestige of 
 respect for these pseudo representatives of national au- 
 thority. 
 
 The Governors of several of the Northern States at 
 once assembled at Harrisburg, renns3dvania, and organized 
 themselves into a voluntary Council of Public Safety, 
 alleging an intent on the part of the South to renew 
 the attempt at forcible disruption of the Union. 
 This was answered by the prompt assembling of the 
 governors of all the Southern States at liichmond, Virginia. 
 They indignantly denied the aspersions cast u2)on the 
 patriotism and loyalty of the people of the South, and, 
 while alfirming their own concurrence in the views ex- 
 pressed by the members of the Cabinet who had recently 
 withdrawn, they declared their determination to supjoress 
 by the most vigorous means any attempt on the jiart of any 
 organized body to prevent the reorganization of the Federal 
 Union. They even went so far as to say that if any 
 number of the States of the North should seek by concur- 
 rent action to exercise the powers that lately inhered in the 
 Federal Union, they might be assured that the people of 
 the South would quietly, if not cheerfully, submit thereto, 
 though they were confident that no true son of the South 
 would ever hold office or exercise any political function 
 under or by virtue of such authority. This proclamation 
 was addressed to the people of the various States — naming 
 them — and was followed at once by the resignation of 
 
EIGHTY-NINE 441 
 
 every Federal officer at the South, saving and exceiHing 
 some few Judges of the Federal courts — an insignificant 
 remainder of the days of " carpet-baggers " and " scalla- 
 wags." These resignations were all on the same form, ad- 
 dressed to the people of the several states, and duplicates 
 were forwarded to the respective Departments at Washing- 
 ton, as well as to the Governors of states in which the officials 
 resided. The mails were still carried throughout the South, 
 but no reports were made to any so-called Federal official. 
 The Federal courts were not held in these States because 
 they were without ministerial officers. The world moved 
 on, but the wheels of the Federal machinery had stopped 
 throughout the South and moved but sluggishly and uncer- 
 tainly at the North. 
 
 Whether the doctrine enunciated by the shrewd and 
 capable ex-minister was correct in theory or not, may be 
 hard to determine. Why the doctrine of a de facto excc- 
 ecutive should not apply as well to a Secretary of State 
 improperly usurping the functions of the Executive, as 
 to a President unlawfully holding over, I have never been 
 able to determine. I am inclined to think that the Avhole 
 doctrine depends in the main ujion the capacity of the de 
 facto Executive to rule and govern. At all events, there 
 was soon manifested on every hand an inclination to con- 
 cur in the idea that the collective sovereignty had lapsed 
 by non-user, and that the union was thereby resolved into 
 its original elements. The minorities of the two houses 
 
442 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 of Congress continued to meet from day to day but did 
 nothing ; indeed tliey could do nothing. For a time there 
 were signs of bitterness on the part of the press and people 
 of the North. This gradually subsided before the pacific, 
 non-resistent policy of the South. Conventions of the jjeo- 
 ple were called in all the States. In the Northern States 
 *' to consider the state of the Union;'" in the Southern States 
 ** to consider matters of the liighest importance to the peo- 
 ple of the State.'' 
 
 No sooner had these various bodies met than it be- 
 came apparent that the revolution was practically accom- 
 plished. The States of the North recognized thf3 impos- 
 sibility of compelling an unwilling people numbering more 
 than twenty millions to cooperate in a government they had 
 openly renounced but resolutely declined to oppose. They 
 knew, too, that it would be impossible to govern them by 
 force of arms. The shameful experience of the "Recon- 
 struction '' period came up before them with mocking vivid- 
 ness. There were some, indeed, who clamored about 
 "Liberty and Union, one and inseparable," l)ut they were 
 ridiculed as sentimental enthusiasts. What the people of the 
 North desired, it was soon learned, was some jiractical meas- 
 ure by which the confusion and expense of war might be 
 avoided, the payment of the public debt be secured and they 
 be permitted to resume and continue undisturbed their 
 gainful avocations. There were a few hot-headed fanatics 
 whose sectional hate even the lapse of time could not appease, 
 
klOHTT-NINE. 443 
 
 who still shrieked for freedom and raved about the rights 
 of the negro. Taken as a whole, however, the people of 
 the North were well typified by Burnside's soldiers in the 
 crater before Petersburg, who shot down the negro com- 
 rades who fled for shelter to the yawning chusm where 
 they lay hid rather than face the consequences of being 
 captured in their company. 
 
 This has, indeed, been the tenor of the whole political 
 relation of the Xortli to the negro. They were desir- 
 ous enough to use him, to stop bullets or cast ballots: 
 and were willing to recompense him with anything which 
 cost neither money nor manhood . When it became necessary 
 to expend either care or cash in his behalf, however, they 
 became at once blind to his need and deaf to his entreaty. 
 The sneer of one Southern white man outweighed with them 
 the welfare and the woe of a thousand negroes. The South has 
 much to regret and much to amend in her dealings with 
 the colored man. The problem of the co-existence of the 
 races has always been one of diiSculty, even of danger ; but 
 she has no such record of hypocrisy, betrayal and cowardly 
 desertion as the people of the North have been accustomed 
 to regard with boastful complaisance. To this record 
 they now added what from their standpoint must be re- 
 garded as a crowning infamy. They abandoned the negro 
 to those whom they had steadily averred for three-quarters 
 of a century were his implacable enemies. 
 
 The Northern State conventions were practically 
 
444 EIOHTY-NINE. 
 
 as unanimousas those of the South. They recommended 
 an Advisory Committee of two from each State to meet 
 a like delegation from each of the Southern States, 
 to devise, if possible, a basis of future organic union. The 
 Soutliern conventions responded by designating a like 
 number of delegates, to meet them and ''arrange, if 
 possible, for peaceful separation and harmonious confeder- 
 ation." Of course, much more was said and done during 
 this interval of uncertainity. Many things occurred which 
 to the public mind seemed of more importance than those 
 which I have noted. If I were writing a romantic nar- 
 rative I should dwell on other and more exciting phases of 
 the great struggle waged by peaceful methods under the 
 unspotted banner of the Order of the Southern Cross ! 
 
CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 . The great strike whicli was expected in the summer 
 of 1888 did not take place. To the surprise of all, the 
 railroads and telegraph lines voluntarily increased the pay 
 and reduced the hours of nearly all their employes. They 
 also acceded to the request which the associated laborers 
 had hardly dared to insist on, that every employe 
 charged with misconduct should be entitled to have the 
 facts judicially determined by arbitrators before being dis- 
 charged. This unexpected favor transformed hundreds of 
 thousands of men in their employ from discontented slaves 
 into loyal henchmen. 
 
 This with other things so stimulated the political 
 hopes of the leaders of the labor movement that they judged 
 it wiser to avoid any conflict. The season, itself, follow- 
 ing two years of drouth, was one of almost unprecedented 
 fertility. The country had never been so prosperous, had 
 never seemed so peaceful and had never appeared more 
 likely to continue undisturbed for an indefinite time. 
 
 In the midst of this profusion and apparent peace, the 
 astounding increase of the vote of the Labor party fell 
 like a bomb among those who were predicting an indefinite 
 continuance of existing conditions. It was evident that 
 neither concession nor prosperity had served to mitigate its 
 
 445 
 
446 ETGIITY-NINF. 
 
 demands. While it had only succeeded in choosing its 
 Electors in a few States, in almost all the others it had dis- 
 played an unexpected strength, not only securing a very 
 respectable minority in the Legislatures of all the North- 
 ern States, but had so demoralized its competitors as to 
 be able to dictate legislation. Many who had been chosen 
 as representatives of the old parties, indeed, went wholly 
 over to the new organization. Flushed with this unex- 
 pected success they renewed the warfare on capital and 
 nuiny very stringent laws were proposed, and in some 
 instances enacted, in restriction of what were deemed the 
 immutable rights of capital. 
 
 This conflict served to divert the attention of the 
 North from the gravity of the National crisis arising from 
 the non-election of President and Vice-President. Indeed, 
 the i3eople of the North had so thoroughly cow viuced them- 
 selves by constant iteration that there could never again 
 arise any serious question of a sectional character, espe- 
 cially with the South, that I doubt if any revelation of our 
 design would have been credited by them. To find the 
 Federal government acephalous as to its executive branch 
 and absolutely Avithout legislative existence, surprised and 
 astounded them but awakened very little resentment. The 
 unanimity with which our people refused to take any 
 part m re-establishing the wrecked nationality annoyed and 
 discouraged them bat did not awaken any general feeling 
 of anger. They were too absorbed in their own affairs 
 
EIGHT Y-NI NE. 447 
 
 to pay much attention to the whimsicalities of a people 
 whose motives they could not understand. 
 
 The Commission appointed by the Conventions of the 
 various ]N"orthern and Southern States to arrange a basis of 
 re-union — or if that should be impossible, to agree upon 
 terms of separation — met, as every one knows, at Louisville, 
 Kentucky, on the Fourth of July. I had the honor of be- 
 ing chosen as its President by a unanimous vote, and I 
 have reason to believe that at the conclusion of its labors 
 not a single member would have changed the ballot he cast 
 in my favor. The confidence thus reposed in me is 
 the proudest recollection of my public life. That 
 my own countrymen should trust me after what had been 
 accomplished would hardly be accounted a matter of sur- 
 prise; but that strangers knowing well my sentiments should 
 without solicitation offer me the post of honor, may 
 well be counted a matter of excusable self-gratulation. 
 
 The work of the Commission was from the first pecu- 
 liarly harmonious. It contained men of all shades of oi^in- 
 ion but its members were of the highest character 
 and many of them of world-wide reputation. For patriotism, 
 learning and ability it was probably unsurpassed by any 
 body of men ever assembled on the continent. It consisted 
 of two men from each State, and it really seemed as if every 
 State had endeavored to select its wisest and best for this 
 last common council of the States which had for a century 
 composed one nation. Some came to beg for union, others 
 
448 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 to protest against restraint. But almost from the first, it 
 Avas ajjpareut that persuasion ■would be vain and protest 
 unnecessary. 
 
 In the discussion of the subject of union or separation, 
 I noticed a curious fact. The North and the South 
 seemed to have changed places. The representatives of a 
 "practical" civilization and " a government based on busi- 
 ness principles " had only sentimental considerations to of- 
 fer for the continuance of the Union; while the representa- 
 tives of the " sentimental " South dealt wholly in practical 
 arguments, in the little they had to say upon the subject. 
 
 Our Northern brethren were the chief speech-makers. 
 They seemed to admit that separation was a foregone con- 
 clusion if the South persisted in its demands. The histor- 
 ical appeal of Mr. Evarts in behalf of the traditional 
 Union was especially affecting to the older members 
 of the Commission, going back as it did to colonial times, 
 Avith which he seemed much more conversant than with re- 
 cent affairs. Mr. George William Curtis made a brilliant 
 and erudite argument upon the benefits which might be ex- 
 pected to result from the English Civil Service which he had 
 recently been instrumental in borrowing for American use. 
 Many of our Southern delegates were much intei'ested in 
 his finely rounded periods and graceful delivery. The doc- 
 trine did not seem to have been calculated for this merid- 
 ian, however, and so produced little impression. Mr. Kelley, 
 of Pennsylvania, delivered a long speech in a basso pro- 
 
EIGHTY. NINE. 449 
 
 fundo worthy of tlie gravity of the subject, upon the bene- 
 ficent results of "Protection for American labor." The elo- 
 quent Senator from Indiana appealed to the patriotic im- 
 pulses of the South and portrayed the especial need wliich 
 the new Northwest created, for the restraining influences of 
 Southern conservatism to prevent the Northern peo^^le 
 from drifting into anarchy. Other touching and eloquent 
 appeals were made by the Northern members, begging the 
 South to remain in the TJiiion for the sake of their various 
 constituencies. 
 
 All these speeches were answered by the brief remarks 
 of the most practical and sagacious of the Southern 
 delegates. He said he had listened with interest to all 
 that had been said and was willing to admit both the 
 premises and conclusions of every argument that had been 
 made. He could understand the need and advantage of the 
 old Union or its equivalent — to the North. What he wanted 
 to hear, if anybody had such a thing to offer, was an argu- 
 ment showing what advantage such a Union would or could 
 be — to the South. The only thing of this sort attempted 
 was to show that the North paid a larger share of the ex- 
 penses of the Federal Government, which was triumphantly 
 refuted by demonstrating that it had also consumed a 
 greater proportion of the revenue and derived far greater 
 benefits and advantages from its existence. After this 
 it became apparent to all that our only task was to ar- 
 range terms of separation as equitable and satisfactoi-y 
 
450 EIGHTY-MNE. 
 
 m possible to both sections and all interests. The re- 
 sult of our action is well known. Its wisdom time alone 
 can avouch. 
 
 During the session of this body, I was frequently struck 
 with the contrast between the motives prof essed by different 
 individuals and the forces which 1 knew to be at work com- 
 pelling them to the conclusions on which they acted. While 
 there was a suppressed anxiety to get rid of the South ap- 
 parent in the readiness with which the Northern memberg 
 abandoned their opi^ositiou after the most eloquent protests, 
 there was not the most remote allusion to the advantages 
 which either wing of Northern thought expected to gain 
 by neutralizing an uncertain factor in national affairs. 
 
 When our labors Avere nearly comj)leted, the plan 
 which had been agreed upon, and the address which was to 
 accompany it having been referred to the committee for 
 final revision, I was surprised one evening * by a 
 request from Mr. Stoningham that I would accompany 
 him that night in his private car to Indianapolis, returning 
 in time for tlie morning session. He requested me not 
 to mention the matter to any one, but merely meet him at 
 the station which he would see that I reached again in am- 
 ple time for the next day's duties. 
 
 *The the word "evening " is here used in the usual Southern 
 sense, meaning afternoon. 
 
CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 It was on this occasion that I M^as first informed of 
 that master-stroke by which combined capital established 
 its absolute control of the Northern republic — a con- 
 trol which is the basis of a new Feudalism whose power it 
 will require generations if not centuries to break. I found 
 Mr. Stoniugham standing on the steps of one of those mir- 
 acles of luxury, the private car of a railroad magnate — a 
 mansion on wheels in which one might at that time travel fifty 
 thousand miles without crossing a national boundary and 
 almost without passing twice over the same mile of road. 
 He nodded to an employe as he grasped my hand. The 
 signal was given and the train which had just backed into 
 the station steamed out again, and before we had reached 
 the other side of the river, we were busily engaged in dis- 
 posing of an abundant dinner which was M^aiting to be 
 served. 
 
 We were the sole occupants of the car, except a stenog- 
 rapher and electrician who occupied a forward compart- 
 ment containing a complete telegraphic outfit. Every 
 now and then as we j^assed a station the clerk would come 
 in with a bundle of dispatches to which my host would dic- 
 tate answers almost without interrupting our conversation. 
 Twice we ran upon a side-track for a train to pass, and 
 
 451 
 
45-2 EIGHTY. nine: 
 
 while we waited the wires were tapped and his messages 
 sent without leaving the car. 
 
 ** Well/' said Mr. Stuuingham, after the dinner was 
 over and we were alone with our cigars, ^'how goes the 
 Commission?" 
 
 I told him briefly the state of affairs. 
 
 " Grood ! " said he, sharply. *' You think they will 
 not be ready to adjourn for three or four days ? " 
 
 *' Three, I should say at least," I answered. 
 
 •* You could make it four I suppose?" 
 
 " Probably, if there is any special need." 
 
 " Exactly. Well, I can soon show you that it is a 
 necessity. During the few months that the Government 
 has been dragging along without a head and minus a tail, 
 -things have been developing pretty rapidly and we — the 
 capitalists I mean — have made up our minds that we miglit 
 as well have the whole matter over with at once. Have you 
 any idea what I am out this way for ? " 
 
 " Xot in the least, unless you take an interest in what 
 we are doing." 
 
 "■ Not a particle, as I told you once before, except as 
 it bears on our business relations and conditions here at the 
 North. I think you can help us and we can help you, and 
 both get what we want. Tliat is the reason we are pull- 
 ing together. I think we can make sure of the acceptance 
 of the report your Commission will make by all the North- 
 ern States, and you can help us to settle our affairs inoui^ 
 
ETGUTY-NINE. . 453 
 
 own way if yon will ouly let me manage the matter on this 
 side the line according to my own notions." 
 
 " But why do you wish the adjournment de- 
 layed ?" 
 
 " Simply in order to let the members understand what 
 is before them." 
 
 '* You do not intend any violence ? " 
 
 " Nothing more than making them walk home ! " he 
 answered with a laugh. 
 
 '* I do not understand you." 
 
 *' Probably not, and yet we have given fair warning. 
 We had a man in Congress — one of the most prominent 
 members, too, cheek by jowl with a man who came near be- 
 ing President — who blurted the whole thing out four or 
 five years ago. I don't know how he came to get hold of 
 it. Of course it has been talked of on the sly for a good 
 while, but everybody knew he could't keep his mouth shut, 
 so I wonder he was ever allowed to hear of it. 
 
 " It is just this. You know the war that has been 
 made on capital by the political kleptomaniacs of the North 
 for the last few years. Railroads, telegraphs, telephones, 
 and in fact all corporate and combined capital has been the 
 object of the bitterest attack. They insist that while laborers 
 have a right to organize and strike, capitalists have no right 
 to combine for their own advantage. Of course this is simply 
 absurd. If Labor has a right to organize — and we do not 
 deny it — so has Capital. ' What is sauce for the goose if. 
 
454 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 sauce for the gander/ you see. Tliat is fair — always was 
 fair and always must be fair. If it is lawful for me to carry 
 on any business, it is equally lawful for me to associate 
 others with me and form a partnership ; or still others and 
 form a corporation; or to combine everybody in the business 
 and form a " Trust," giving each one his share. Of course 
 it squeezes out the small fry, but it makes things cheaper 
 and prevents trouble with employes and the like. When 
 all businesses — or all that are susceptible of it — are man- 
 aged in this way there will be no more strikes. 
 Can't be, you see. Every man will know he has got to 
 keep the place he has or be out of a job. There won't be any 
 need of black-listing them, either, for all will be employed 
 by the same concern and nobody can bUime a man for not 
 employing a man he has once turned off. 
 
 " Well, these Western and Xorth western States have 
 gone wild over the matter, especially since the election. 
 They ' want the earth ' and swear they are going to have it 
 too. So they have been legislating in every way to destroy 
 business. We thouglit of getting up a panic last year, 
 with some hope of securing for President'a man we could 
 manage and who had sense enough to do our work. That was 
 before I saw you, Cleveland would have done well enough, 
 but he could think of nothing but himself and had a fac- 
 ulty for putting his foot in things that we could not trust. 
 The deal we made with you worked well enough, only it 
 inflated the Labor-thieves at the North and demoralized 
 
EIQBTT'NINE. 
 
 everybody else. They have done nothing but legislate 
 against " Trusts " and corporations and capitalists ever 
 since. 
 
 " We have stood it just as long as we can and have 
 finally determined to precipitate a crisis and have it over 
 along with your affair. We increased our Protective Pool 
 several months ago to five. I am still the head of it, but I 
 needed help. I am not familiar enough with the details of 
 railroading, telegraphiug, etc., to attend to all these things 
 myself. Oil and natural gas I know all about. So a son 
 of the great telegraph king, and a rej)resentative of the 
 railroad, coal and iron interests as well as a representative 
 of all combined interests, was put on to assist me. We 
 " forked up the rhino," — enough to insure success — and put 
 it in the bank of England, where it will be safe and nobody 
 can touch it, — and began to got ready. 
 
 " What did we do ? Well, we gave every business that 
 was of any importance the wink — that is, we said nothing but 
 advised that certain things be done. It don't take much to 
 give a business man a hint. As a result all our banks have 
 the bulk of their specie stored abroad; supplies of all kinds 
 are well distributed and there are no great stocks of anything 
 in transit. We have looked out for these matters carefully, 
 for we do not want to occasion any suffering or loss that 
 can be avoided. Now everything is ready and in three 
 days we shall strike the first blow. 
 
 " What are we going to do ? I'll tell you in a word. 
 
456 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 We are going to stop every car-wheel, silence every tele- 
 graph instrument, wreck every gas-plant and disable every 
 pipe-line in the North." 
 
 " What I " I exclaimed in amazement. You do not 
 mean to paralyze every business in the country ? " 
 
 *•' That is just what we mean to do. At midnight three 
 days hence every train west of the Mississippi will stop run- 
 ning, every sounder stop acting and every electric and gas- 
 light stop shining. The next day the same will hapi)en 
 in the territory west of Pittsburg and north of the Ohio and 
 east of the Mississippi. On the third the ocean cables will 
 be cut and the Avhistles give their last toot from Pittsburg to 
 the eastern point of Maine. Communication will be kept open 
 with the South a day or two longer. Then you will also be 
 cut off, but not disabled unless it becomes necessary." 
 
 " But it is terrible I " I exclaimed. " Do you realize 
 that almost the life of two-thirds of the people depends on 
 these very agencies ? '* 
 
 ''Eealizeit ?" he said with a laugh. "You bet we 
 do. AVe know what these things cost, 3'ou know. What we 
 want is to have other people realize it. Suffer ? Of course 
 they'll suffer. Why shouldn't they ? We are only acting in 
 self-defence. They are trying to rob us and we want them to 
 know what they are doing ; that is all. These are our cars, 
 our tracks, our wires, our pipe-lines and our plants, aren't 
 they? We built them, bought them, made them, didn't 
 we ? If we choose to take up every rail, burn every crosstie. 
 
EI&HTY-NINE. 45,7. 
 
 wreck every car, cut every wire, smash every still and plug 
 every well, whose business is it? The State might take back 
 the right of way, and of course we can't destroy the grading. 
 But it would require years of loss and labor and bankrupt 
 every State just to replace what we have a right to take away 
 
 ''The fact is, we have made this country. Our enter- 
 prise and our money have given it prosperity. Take out 
 only the things I have mentioned and the value of the coun- 
 try would be reduced fifty per cent, at least. What would 
 a farm along this line be worth without the railroad ? 
 AVhat would all the farms in the West be worth without 
 railroads ? What is tlie good of raising corn if you have 
 to burn it ? What would cattle and hogs be worth with 
 only a home market ? Take away the railroads for ninety 
 days and two-thirds of the business men and even farmers 
 would be bankrupt. Let them see it — let them feel it 
 once and, my word for it, they will learn a little sense. 
 The fact is it is too late for them to kick. We have got 
 them by the wrist and mean to hold on. Capital is intan- 
 gible and immortal. They may kill me and all those Avith 
 me — not a great many at best — but our power will remain, 
 our rights, our privileges, our possessions. The day of 
 heroics and sentimentalism is gone by. The sword and the 
 pen are well enough for certain stages of progress, but this 
 is the epoch of hard cash. The power is in the hands of 
 those who have the money and there it will remain. 
 
 " We have not only made the country but we pretty 
 
458 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 nearly own it. I do not mean the land — that is the paper 
 title to it. We don't want that; but its products, its re- 
 sults, we hold. 
 
 " Practically there are but two classes of men — those 
 who employ and those who serve. Both liave their rights. 
 The one has the right to have his money's worth of work 
 and tlie other to fair wages. The farmer or other producer 
 must pay for getting his wares to market. The law of sup- 
 ply and demand is the only law that governs or can govern 
 these relations. The capitalist has a right to hire whom 
 he pleases to do his work, at the lowest price the service is 
 obtainable ; the laborer has a right to sell his labor for the 
 highest price he can get, and, if the farmer thinks the rail- 
 road charges extortionate, he can take his wheat to market 
 on an ox-cart in the good old wa}^ if he wants to. This is 
 my idea of political economy — simple, fair, free. That is 
 all we ask." 
 
 " But," said I recovering a little from my amazement 
 " are you not afraid of provoking a popular uprising that 
 will destroy the properties you thus abandon ?" 
 
 " Of course," he answered with a shrug, '*we take 
 some risks, and must necessarily suffer loss. That is al- 
 ways the way in ])usiness. If we win, we shall soon make 
 up the loss. That is the beauty of our position. If we 
 fail — but we shall not. This is no matter of a moment. 
 I tell you we are prepared. Would you like to know how 
 we have guarded ourselves ? I don't mind telling you some 
 
EIGHTY NINE. 459 
 
 of the things. "We have been slackening up freight 
 and traffic for a month and gathering our rolling 
 stock at a few central points. Here it will be guarded, 
 preserved by our employes^ — every engine being first dis- 
 abled by the removal of a vital part which will be in every 
 case destroyed. In like manner the machinery in our 
 shops will be destroyed so that we ourselves could not put 
 the roads in operation again without considerable expense 
 and some months of delay. We are going to make thor- 
 ough work^ you see." 
 
 "But your employes, do you think they will stand by 
 you ? " 
 
 ''Not a doubt of it. We have made sure of 
 the conductors and engineers, through their associations. 
 They know we are going to stand by them and they will 
 stand by us. Our trainmen, agents, ojjerators and 
 the like, have been fixed in the same way. Everyone has 
 received a month's j)ay in advance with the promise of the 
 party employing, indoi'sed by me, of full pay during any 
 stoppage of business that may result,,if they remain faith- 
 ful to our interests. They know me, you see, and no man, 
 friend or foe, ever doubted my Avord. They know they 
 will get their pay and bold their places if they stand by us, 
 and they will do it. 
 
 "At every important point we shall leave a man in 
 charge with power and means. He will defend the larop- 
 erty entrusted to his care at all hazards. The trainmen 
 
460 EIGHTY -NINE. 
 
 and other dependents will assist. They have arms in 
 abundance — Winchesters and Gatlings. If likely to be 
 overpowered they will burn everything and leave the rob- 
 bers only ashes as a reward for their acts of plunder. This 
 is practically an army of half a million of mercenaries who 
 will fight for us because their daily bread depends on our 
 success. Behind them is tiie army of bankers and brokers 
 and speculators of all sorts; warehousemen and jobbers; 
 lawyers and politicians — all, in fact, whose livelihood or 
 chance of profit depends on the maintenance of existing 
 methods and conditions. It's a big job, but we've taken 
 the contract and are going to see it through. And we 
 shall win tool Mark my words : the revolution is already 
 effected. Power has passed from the hands of the many 
 into the hands of the few. Henceforth it will not be senti- 
 ment that will rule this country but sense — not votes but 
 dollars. We are going to do our work so thoroughly that 
 it will not need to be done over again for a century at 
 least.'' 
 
 The train was speeding on through the darkness. I 
 raised the curtain and looked out. The lights in the vil- 
 lages and farmhouses twinkled as we went by. I wondered 
 what the people in them would think and feel and do, 
 when the crash came and they found themselves cut off 
 from that daily intercourse with the Avorld which civiliza- 
 tion has brought to all. 
 
 The stenographer entered and I heard my companion 
 
"SIGHTY-NINE. 461 
 
 dictating messages as quietly as if he were not preparing, 
 even then, to initiate the most astounding revolution the 
 world has ever known. The wheels rolled smoothly over 
 the steel rails. The throb of the engine pulsed along the 
 train. The white telegrajDh poles flew by like silent spec- 
 ters while their wires quivered and sighed as if the messages 
 they bore were freighted with the woe of human sadness. 
 
 I turned and looked at my companion. There was not 
 a trace of discomposure about him. More than ever the 
 simplicity, boldness and directness of his character im- 
 pressed me. 
 
 "Well/' said he with a smile, ''do you think you can 
 keep the Commission from adjourning ? " 
 
 "I think/' was my reply, "that the independence of 
 the South would be secured by such a course and will see 
 that it remains in session four days longer." 
 
 " Good," said he extending his hand. " I thought 
 you would see the point. Now if you will excuse me I will 
 say good night. I must catch a little sleep before I get to 
 Indianapolis. You will find a car waiting to take you back to 
 Louisville, at the next station. Make yourself comfortable." 
 
 He drew a curtain that hung before a recess, threw 
 himself upon a couch and in a moment was asleep. 
 I stepped across the car, looked out and saw Tyclio Brahe's 
 star blazing and flashing above the Western horizon. I 
 wondered if its appearance presaged the down-fall of 
 another empire. 
 
CHAPTER XLTX. 
 
 More than a year before negotiations had been begun 
 by the Mormons of Utah for the sale of their lands in that 
 territory, to the Government of the United States, on con- 
 dition that the whole Ijody of the Saints should migrate 
 somev/here beyond the limits of the Republic. This prop- 
 osition exactly suited the mercantile instincts of the 
 Northern people. For forty years the Mormons had been 
 a fruitful source of discord and expense. The process of 
 ''stamping out " which had been so boastfully declared 
 and so frequently attempted had simply resulted in the 
 firmer establishment of the Church of the Latter Day 
 Saints and its altogether remarkable increase. It numbered 
 at this time a quarter of a million of souls, organized with 
 singular thoroughness, owning practically all of Utah that 
 was of any value, and making steadfast encroachments on 
 the neighboring territories. 
 
 It was regarded as a matter of undeniably good j^olicy 
 that the government sliould take back all the unimproved 
 lands purchased from it, at the original price, and allow 
 for improvements according to the appraisal of commis- 
 sioners. This included about nine-tenths of the arable 
 land of the territory, which it was thought would furnish an 
 excellent opportunity for testing the agrarian schemes of 
 40? 
 
EIGHT r-XIXE. 463 
 
 some of the socialistic reformers, by leasing the lands thus 
 acquired to actual occupants, thereby illustrating the prac 
 tieality and beneficence of State ownership of the soil. 
 
 To this experiment there was practically no opposition. 
 All parties were glad to get rid of the Mormons, and the 
 costly task of eradicating a development inconsistent with 
 civilization but which apparently could not be eliminated 
 without a rigor which was abhorrent to all Northern meth- 
 ods of dealing with evil and at an expense which the 
 Northern economist regarded with horror. To buy was 
 one thing; to expend money in repressing evil or protecting 
 right was quite another. The North had terribly begrudged 
 the thousands that had been expended in governing Mor- 
 mondom, but were enough glad to contribute the millions 
 required to buy it, the simple fact being that they have an 
 instinct for traffic but no fitness whatever for government 
 except that of the shop-keeping variety. 
 
 In an incredibly short time the details were arranged. 
 The United States was as desirous for its early consumma- 
 tion as the Mormons themselves, the administration being 
 anxious to utilize in the Presidential campaign, tlie fact 
 of the removal and the final settlement of the ^Mormon 
 question. 
 
 The Republic of Mexico had long been apprehensive 
 of aggression on the part of the United States, especially 
 along her western border. To prevent this the govern- 
 ment jjranted to the authorities of the Mormon chur<'h 
 
464 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 the right to occupy and control the two western j^rovinces 
 as a quasi-independent nationality, on condition that they 
 should satisfy the just demands of such jJrivate landowners 
 as might wish to remove, pay the same rate of taxation as 
 the rest of the Kepublic and defend the frontier from 
 invasion. This plan had been secretly on foot ever since 
 the death of the prophet, Brigham Young, and the ]\Ior- 
 mons had already secured by optional purchase a large pai-t 
 part of the land in these provinces. 
 
 Early in the fall of 1888, the migration to the new- 
 Land of Promise began. It was a curious thing to happen 
 in our ivestern world but one which manv had longr antici- 
 pated. The uprooting of a quarter of a million people and 
 the transfer of their flocks and herds to a new habitat ex- 
 cited much comment and apprehension. Scarcely had the 
 march begun when hostilities broke out. The passage of 
 such a cavalcade througli a pastoral region where cat- 
 tle and sheej) were the chief possession of the peo})le, was 
 of itself almost as bad as the curse of locusts. The govern- 
 ment had guaranteed tliem safe conduct and the little "skel- 
 eton " army of the United States was nearly all employed 
 in securing it. Despite all that could be done, however, tlie 
 three Mormon columns soon became predatory hordes. 
 Many Indians joined with them and the people of all the 
 mountain region were thrown into a fever of excitement and 
 apprehension by their progress through the intervening 
 States and territoi-ies. 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 465 
 
 At the begiiming of the year 1889 the Mormons had 
 reached their new domain and the erection of a new Tem- 
 ple had been begun. No sooner hud they taken jDossession 
 of the region thns acquired, however, than the filibustering 
 spirit which had been smouldering along the Mexican bor- 
 der for some years, fanned by the excitement resulting 
 from the dej^redations of the resentful sectaries along their 
 line of march, burst into a flame. By the utmost exertion, 
 through the loyal efforts of the Knights of the Southern 
 Cross, it was prevented from showing itself to any great 
 extent along the Texan frontier. In New Mexico and Cal- 
 ifornia, however, the border soon assumed the character of 
 a camp, and an army of invasion was mustered in an in- 
 credibly short time, composed of the wildest and most des- 
 perate spirits of all the western and northwestern region. 
 Among the wealthiest men in the Mexican Republic 
 was a certain Hermoso de Orilla, whose mines were accounted 
 the richest in the State of Chihuahua, if not, indeed, in all 
 Mexico. He was a foreigner and reputed to be an Ameri- 
 can by birth though he had shown himself especially 
 hostile to everything like American aggression, and it 
 was chiefly through his influence that the concessions 
 granted to American capitalists had been hampered with 
 conditions removing them entirely from the domain of 
 international arbitrament. The Mexicans were not slow 
 to repel the threatened invasion, and the army which 
 they stationed along the bcrder with its well-armed and re- 
 
466 EIGHTY. NINE. 
 
 vengeful Mormon auxiliaries, constituted a force by no 
 means despicable. For forty years Mexico had been burn- 
 ing to avenge the ravishment from her control of the un- 
 told wealth of California, New Mexico and Nevada. 
 This act of unblushing international robbery her people 
 had never forgiven, and every year's total of the output of 
 their mines and the product of their industries only added 
 to the Mexican's hate and his desire for reprisal. De Orilla 
 was known to be a man of prudence and sagacity as well 
 as wealth, passionately devoted to Mexican interests and 
 was understood to have displayed in his earlier days mil- 
 itary talents of an unusual order. In consideration of 
 these things he was offered the chief command upon tlie 
 border as soon as it became apparent that hostilities were 
 inevitable. This he declined, but accepted an appoint- 
 ment as a commissioner to conduct negotiations with the 
 view of avoiding a conflict of arms. 
 
 Before his arrival, however, a collision had occurred, 
 resulting in the defeat of the Americans, who were driven 
 back across the border with considerable loss. This engage- 
 ment had two important consequences. It took General 
 Sheridan at once to the seat of war, thereby relieving us 
 from apprehension arising from his impetuous temper and 
 known hostility to any movement looking toward tlie par- 
 tition of the Federal territory. Though he had once pro- 
 fanely declared a preference for hell rather than Texas as 
 a place of residence, the General of the Army had mani- 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 467 
 
 fested no inclination to release the national hold on Texas, 
 and it was with great satisfaction that we learned that the 
 President had ordered Grant's favorite lieutenant to take 
 personal command of the forces on the Mexican border. 
 This defeat of the filibustering force transformed the 
 United States forces into an array of invaders, supported by 
 the enraged and defeated irregulars. It also greatly en- 
 hanced the confidence of the Mexican army with its 
 virulent Mormon contingent thirsting for spoils and re- 
 venge. The general in command of the Mexican army 
 of observation was a soldier of no mean repute, who not only 
 shared the feelings of his men but was anxious to achieve 
 fame by becoming the re-conqueror of the lost provinces. 
 Sheridan, Avith that contempt of the "greaser" which 
 prevails at tlie West and is no doubt largely due to the 
 easy victories our army won over the Mexicans under 
 Santa Anna, hastily collected and mounted his forces for 
 a cavalry raid into Mexico along the line of the Mexican 
 Central, having El Paso as a base; the line of the Rio 
 Grande on one flank while the other was protected by the 
 Sierra Mad re range. It was a brilliant design but in the 
 existing state of affairs liable to a counter-movement more 
 complete than any known since Borodino. 
 
 The idea of leading a host of rough-riders through an 
 enemy's country once more had an irresistible charm for 
 the "hero of the Shenandoah," as the boastful conqueror 
 of Early's weak and war-worn battalitjus loved to hear 
 
468 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 himself designated. Understanding the impetuous char- 
 acter of his opponent, the Mexican general devised a plan 
 even bolder tlian his which promised not only the certain 
 destruction of the enemy but the conquest, or at least tem- 
 porary subjugation and pillage, of the richest portion of the 
 Pacific slope. AVhile Sheridan was planning a sudden 
 concentration of his forces and a vigoi'ous dash along the 
 line of the railroad into the heart of Mexico, leaving a 
 small force to guard the line of the Rio Colorado and the 
 Southern Pacific and its branches, relying on the vessels 
 of the navy already stationed at San Diego to protect the 
 coast line, the Mexican general was preparing a guerrilla 
 force to desti'oy the road in advance of the invader and 
 another to hang upon liis rear and intercept his retreat; 
 while he had already transferred his own troops through 
 the passes of the Cordillaras and dispatched small com- 
 panies of Mormons to cut the wires and burn the bridges 
 on the Southern Pacific. 
 
 These influenced religious partisans, speaking the same 
 language, thoroughly familiar not only with the passes of the 
 mountains but with the habits of the roving bands by which 
 the country Avas infested, found little difficulty in execut- 
 ing these orders. On the very day that Sheridan con- 
 cluded his concentration at El Paso, he found himself shut 
 off from communication with San Francisco. This he had 
 probably expected. At least it did not trouble him, as he 
 supposed the Northern route to tlie Pacific Avould remain 
 
BIG H TY-NIN^. 469 
 
 open so that the "Western slope could be easily secured by 
 the transfer of troojDS from the Eastern Departments if 
 there should be any necessity for such action. He rej)orted 
 the fact to his government himself, sitting beside the operator 
 in the station house at the Junction from which all gov- 
 ernment messages were sent. At the same time he an- 
 nounced that all his preparations had been completed and 
 that he would unless otherwise ordered, cut loose from his 
 base and enter the enemy's country at daybreak. It was 
 then nearly midnight at Washington. The impetuous 
 soldier thought of this as he looked at his watch to note 
 the time of his despatch and recalled how often during the 
 War for Separation the wires liad been open at that hour 
 between his own headquarters and those of his great 
 commander for a moment's consultation. He remem- 
 bered these things with a touch of sadness. The man 
 at the head of the government, if it conld be said to 
 have a head, was not a soldier and knew nothing of the 
 value of minutes. The grizzled cavalier wondered if he 
 wt)uld not better have served his country by assuming 
 the reins of power and preventing the scheme for dis- 
 memberment which he no doubt believed to be on foot. 
 A soldier's duty is to obey, however. 
 
 After some delay this message was received in reply 
 to the one he had sent: 
 
 •' The President pro tempore counselB the utmoBt moderation 
 
470 EIG H T Y- XTNE. 
 
 and advises that you proceed with the greatest caution. The 
 condition of affairs at the West and South is such that — " 
 
 Here the message ended abruptly. The operator an- 
 nounced himself cut off — and while tlie impatient cavalier 
 paced 11}) and down, uttering anathemas more forceful than 
 elegant, began to detach parts of his instruments. 
 
 ''What are you doing ?^' asked the general. 
 
 " Obe\-ing ordei's, sir. I am directed to side-track all 
 trains coming from either direction and disal)le the tele- 
 graph instruments.'* 
 
 '•What for?" 
 
 "Ask me something easy, General,'' was the answer, 
 withas!>rug. "It's orders; that's all 1 know." 
 
 "Don't you do it !" 
 
 " Very well; you are in command," said the operator, 
 with a gesture of assent. He turned a thumbscrew on the 
 now silei\t instrument, rose and stood befoi'C the officer. 
 
 " Shall I side-track the train, sir ? " 
 
 He took uj) his signal light and glanced at the clock 
 as he spoke. A train would be due in a few min- 
 utes. 
 
 "Well, yes," said the general, "I suppose yon had 
 better." 
 
 The operator went to his desk ; closed it mechani- 
 cally, putting something in his pocket as he did so. The 
 General thought it a revolver and smiled at what he deemed 
 the man's needless precaution. It was in fact a pair 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 47I 
 
 of wire-nippers, "snips'' as they are called in the trade. 
 He went out of the room and walked along the platform to 
 the corner of the building where the wires sliunted down 
 from the poles on either side. Reaching behind a loose 
 board, he severed the wires just where they entered the 
 office. The General might represent the country, but he 
 was in the employ of the Eailroad and Telegraph Com- 
 panies and bound to obey his employers' orders. 
 
 So Sheridan with his army was cut off midway be- 
 tween the Gulf of Mexico and the Pacific : the silent 
 wires and disabled tracks stretching away eastward and 
 westward and an exultant enemy in his front. Meanwhile 
 at the East the ''blind pool'" and the Order of the 
 Southern Cross held undisturbed control of the situation. 
 Before he could even learn the situation of affairs, much 
 less interfere to prevent, the crisis was over. 
 
 Two days before the Mormon auxiliaries of the Mexi- 
 can army had been transformed into a host of frenzied 
 fanatics by the reappearance of Tycho Brahe's star — the 
 etar of Bethlehem as they believed — which flashed upon 
 their astounded eyes at midday. Priests and elders con- 
 strued the flaming star to be a presage of victory as well as 
 the precursor of a new Messiah. A child born that day 
 to a wife of one of the Twelve Apostles, was declared 
 to be the divinely designated successor of the Prophet 
 and was adopted for nurture and maintenance by the 
 Mormon people as their future ruler. All were wild with 
 
473 EIGHT Y- NINE. 
 
 desire to engage in the pillage of the fertile plains and 
 rich cities of California. Yet still the Mexican general 
 hesitated. He did not dare to move until assured that 
 tSheridan had actually crossed the border, and thus com- 
 mitted the government of the United States to war. 
 
 While Sheridan waited in the telegraph office, per- 
 plexed and angry, a courier came from the picket line 
 which ran along his front and handed him a scrap of paper. 
 
 " What I '■ exclaimed the General in surprise. "Fair- 
 banks I Jiriug him to my quarters at once.'' 
 
 That night Hermoso de Orilla and the American com- 
 mander concluded an armistice which guaranteed the in- 
 violability of the b<»nler for sixty days, pending the adjust- 
 ment of all questions at issue between the governments 
 of the United States and Mexico by a mixed commission 
 to be appointed one by each of the belligerents, and an um- 
 pire to be luimed by the Emperor of Grermany. 
 
 "You had better stay with us, General, and let me 
 send this over by a fl»g of truce," said the American officer 
 to the white bearded man who stood in front of his quar- 
 ters a little after sunrise the next morning. "Those fel- 
 lows are treacherous and may treat you roughly, despite 
 all you have done for them." 
 
 "It is possible," said the other gravely, "but it is 
 my duty. Blood is thicker than water and I could not 
 fight against the old flag ; but Mexico is my country 
 and I owe her allegiance and service. I feel that I 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 4^0 
 
 have done my duty in concluding this armistice, and with 
 your cooperation have saved both countries from needless 
 slaughter. I go now to see that the convention is duly 
 observed by my adopted countrymen. '^ 
 
 The two men clasped hands gravely and earnestly. 
 Hermoso de Orilla galloped away down the sundy valley 
 already shimmering with the heat of the summer day. 
 The American commander shook his head regretfully as he 
 disappeared. 
 
 Twenty-four hours afterwards the rising sun shone on 
 the face of a man who stood with his back against the mud 
 wall of a hacienda, his arms jiinioned bf hind him. Before 
 him were twelve men with rifles. Back of them was a 
 battalion of infantry forming three sides of a hollow square. 
 Behind these surged an angry multitude. The officer in 
 command of the squad spoke three words: there was a puff 
 of white smoke in the morning sunlight and Ambrose 
 Fairbanks fell on his face. — shot as a traitor ! Yet the 
 Mexican general observed the armistice he had concluded, 
 though visiting his vengeance on him for having defeated 
 his ambitious designs. It was not until all was over that I 
 learned from my mother's lips that this man, who by the 
 sacrifice of his own life saved thousands of his real and 
 adopted countrymen, was the unknown benefactor of our 
 cause. 
 
CHAPTER L. 
 
 Everything oceuiTed just as Stoningliam told me it was 
 arranged. On the third day after onr interview the morn- 
 ing papers announced that telegrapliic communication to 
 all points west of the Mississi})pi had ceased at midnight 
 and that for a considerable distance eastward the wires 
 were working feebly. The companies were doing all in 
 their power, it was said, to ascertain the cause of the sud- 
 den interruption. An electrical storm of unprecedented 
 extent ; some great internal convulsion of the earth ; the 
 possibility of collision with some heavenly body, — all 
 these were canvassed as possible causes by excited crowds 
 who cast many glances at the sky, where Tycho Brahe's 
 star flashed red and green, even at mid-day, whenever 
 the sun was obscured by clouds. All westward traiiis 
 were stopped at the crossings of the Mississippi. The 
 eastward bound trains were filled with frightened jms- 
 sengers. They had come through a desert of silence. As 
 far west as the mountains at least, it was known that the 
 telegraphic circuit was broken and the wires were dead. 
 All trains Avere stopped except those which came through 
 that day. The terrified passengers thought some great 
 convulsion had taken place in the mountains. It was 
 said that a volcano had burst out near Salt Lake. The\\ 
 
 474 
 
EIGHTY -NINE. 475 
 
 brought also rumors of serious disaster upon the Mexican 
 liorder. All day and all the night following the trains 
 kept rushing eastward as if fleeing from an unknown ter- 
 ror; but none went westward. 
 
 The wires still worked feebly. As Tycho Brahe's 
 star dropped below the horizon all those leading to 
 the northward and eastward of the city where the Com- 
 mission sat, became suddenly dead. This fact became 
 almost instantly known all over the city and the streets 
 were soon filled with pallid crowds. The line running 
 to the southward still worked, and by morning it was 
 learned from a New York dispatch, received by way of 
 Atlanta and Nashville, that tlie area of isolation included 
 all the region west of Pennsylvania and north of the Ohio 
 river. The river was now the only avenue of escape from the 
 city. The Commission met early the next morning, hastily 
 concluded its work and in solemn silence adjourned sine die. 
 The members sadly bade each other farewell, their sub- 
 dued tones belieing the words of hope they forced 
 themselves to utter. Every face was clouded with 
 anxiety for loved ones of whom they could hear no word, 
 from whom they seemed separated by infinite space now 
 that the possibility of instant communication with them 
 had suddenly failed. 
 
 Each one souught with frantic eagerness to get even 
 a day's journey nearer to his home before the expected 
 end of all things. No trains ran out of the city that 
 
476 EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 day, except to and fro across tlie river to the city on 
 tlie other shore. The iron track was deemed unsafe 
 when tlie electric sentinel was asleep. Even the operators 
 and railroad officials, who must have had a suspicion of 
 the cause of all this, seemed moody and apprehensive. 
 Though I had been forewarned, I found myself affected with 
 a nameless terror — and an irresistible inclination to fly 
 homeward as if to escape some dreadful disaster. 
 
 The churches were crowded; the voice of prayer was 
 heard from every house ; kneeling figures were a frequent 
 sight upon sidewalks. Money had lost its power. Men bought 
 and sold only the necessaries of life. Many gave even these 
 away freely. None served and none commanded. Society 
 was dissolved with terror, yet there was no crime. Fear had 
 disarmed even lust and rapacity. I fled with my associates, 
 and was indeed hardly less terrified than they. During that 
 day, it was learned that the ocean cables had ceased work- 
 ing. It was as if the earth had been cut in twain. The next 
 morning all communication had been cut off north of Rich- 
 mond. Even to the southward the wires worked weakl}^ and 
 uncertainly. 
 
 All remember the weeks that followed, so full of terror 
 and apprehension ! Where the wires still worked they were 
 used almost exclusively to convey farewells. When by-and-by 
 the truth came to he known, anger succeeded dread. Threats 
 were freely uttered against those who had so wantonly trifled 
 with the fears of a continent. There was talk of indicting 
 
EIO HT T- NINE. 477 
 
 them for the murder of some hundreds who had died from 
 fright. But wiser counsels prevailed. The lesson was 
 too terrible to be soon unlearned. The people were too glad 
 to regain the privileges they had so long enjoyed to hold to 
 severe accountability those who had taught them even by so 
 sharp a lesson how inestimably precious they had become. 
 The Capitalists were invited to resume the functions they 
 had acquired under guarantees that rendered their privileges 
 even more secure. The feudalism of wealth thus secured 
 still more absolute control of the Northern Republic by the 
 marvellous audacity of the head of the •■ blind pool." 
 
 The prayer of the South was granted by the States 
 of the North almost without opposition and the govern- 
 ment of the United States, reduced by more than a third 
 in extent and population, was re-organized with such guar- 
 antees as it pleased the capitalists to offer, which the peo- 
 ple found themselves compelled to accept. Just where the 
 right lies between the two forces there arrayed against each 
 other I do not know, but I fear the end has not yet come. 
 
CHAPTER LI. 
 
 Doubly widowed, my mother sits by my bedside wait- 
 ing for the end. I think, us 1 look at her still fair face 
 and mourning weeds, how, like my grandmother, she will 
 dwell alone here at Ryalmont and watch the world's hap- 
 penings, but without hope or fear for the fate of her son. 
 
 The hurt of which 1 die is but a repetition of that 
 which marked the turning of the current of my life. I 
 have been told that there is evidence that the rocket 
 which exploded beneath my horse was in reality a bomb 
 thrown with murderous intent. Certain it is, however, 
 that 1 was not touched by its fragments, and that ray in- 
 jury resulted from the fall of the frightened and wounded 
 steed. It is possible that some of the unfortunate race who 
 are apprehensive of results that may affect their future un- 
 favorably, may have borrowed something of the savage idea 
 which abounds among certain classes of the Xorth and 
 have thought to appeal to murder as a remedy for appre- 
 hended ills. However this nuiy be, as no one else was 
 harmed, I trust that there maybe no investigation and no 
 punishment. Surely, even if it be true, I have done enough 
 for my country to ask that tlie life of mine enemy may be 
 spared, that the triumph of our cause may be bloodless — 
 478 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 479 
 
 no man's life having been takeu to secure our freedom or 
 in punishment of any who resisted. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 The starry cross is triumphant. The duties and respon- 
 sibilities of nationality now rest upon tlie Southern peo- 
 ple, untrammeled by Northern prejudice and suspicion. 
 For what has occurred we may find much excuse. The world 
 is charitable. Success hides what failure ouly emphasizes. 
 For what is to be, the world will hold us to strict account- 
 ability. Civilization is the master whom all modern na- 
 tionalities must serve. The balance between national 
 power and individual right must be carefully adjusted to 
 our necessities and justice must be impartially administered 
 to all irrespective of past relations or prejudices. Justice 
 is the foundation stone on which we must build — justice to 
 each, justice to all— justice to high and low, to rich and 
 poor, to strong and weak, to white and black I Mercy is 
 not enough I Charity and compassion are delusive words. 
 Justice is the only sure foundation. This is the mistake 
 the North made. They were pitiful, tender, merciful; but 
 they forgot justice. So their power relaxed and the weak 
 prevailed ! 
 
 ****** 
 
 The South has its mission which must be faithfully per- 
 formed or its downfall is certain. Because we are a strong 
 people — the strongest the New World has produced — God 
 has placed before us the mightiest problem of civilization. 
 
480 EIGH2 Y-XIXE. 
 
 How shall black and white live together in peace, prosper- 
 ity and content ? This is the question we have to answer. 
 The master's power is broken — broken by light, progress, 
 knowledge. What shall take its place ? Let my country- 
 men answer truly, justly and the future of the new Nation 
 is assured. Already we have thrice conquered our ancient 
 enemy. The nation whose power we could not withstand, a 
 quarter of a century of peace has enabled us to rule and 
 conquer. Already its literature is but the story of our life. 
 Our heroes arc its chief inheritance of fame. Its own, it 
 accounts as it well may, us weak and pitiful beside them. 
 Our great names are even yet held up to emulation; theirs 
 are consigned to silence and contempt I They exult in the 
 names of Lee and Jackson and the immortal galaxy that 
 stand beside them on the pinnacle of fame. They apolo- 
 gize for Grant and Sherman and Sheridan and all the array 
 of great names and little natures whom only the accident 
 of success enfaraes. The Federal soldier has long since 
 become a pitiful creature worthy only to serve as an ex- 
 ample of that magnanimity which gave alms to our con- 
 querors when peace had restored us to our natural i)lace of 
 ruler of the nation's destinies. Let us see to it that the 
 moral and intellectual supremacy thus jncontestibly at- 
 tested over a people strong in substance but weak in honor, 
 self-respect and the inherent sense of justice, be not lost 
 now that the bond that united the discordant peoples has 
 been severed. We have seen what made them weak: let it 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 481 
 
 teach us how to remain strong I Our peoi^le are not poor, 
 and I thank God they are not rich. The example of our 
 neighbor, once our unniated yokefellow, will serve to show 
 us much that we should avoid. Let my countrymen see to 
 it that so far as possible our laws, while encouraging enter- 
 prise and facilitating the acquirement of competency, guard 
 most carefully against the dangerous accumulation and 
 combination of capital. The " blind pool," it matters not 
 how good the man who wields its power, how devout his 
 inclinations or sincere his convictions of right may be — is 
 the most dangerous instrument of destruction that civil- 
 ization has yet developed. 
 
 There are two Republics instead of one. The plant 
 of American liberty has not only blossomed but borne fruit. 
 There are two nations, two peoples, two civilizations. 
 Each must solve its own corollary of eternal truth. Eacli 
 is charged with its peculiar phase of the problem of human 
 destiny. Mutual peace rests on the tirni support of mutual 
 resiDcct. We shall exchange products, ideas, influences. 
 The world will be better that we are no longer one in form. 
 The spirit of liberty will be stronger and more potent in 
 its effects upon the civilization of the future, now that 
 there are two rival republics to uphold its glory, than if 
 they had remained but one. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The confederated Republics are but the nucleus around 
 
482 EIGHTY- NINE. 
 
 which the weak of the earth will gather for protection against 
 the strong until the '"balance of power " shall become a 
 myth and the "rights of [)eo})les "' tangible and enforcible 
 realties. Already the jjroblcui of Labor and Capital is work- 
 ing out its true solution and a new civilization founded upon 
 it is growing up at the North. What shall be its excellences 
 and what its faults none can yet determine. Her experience 
 will beoui'guidr, and our counsel will have far more weight 
 with her people than when the claim of self-interest de- 
 prived it of half its foi'ce. 
 
 The days have grown to weeks, and tlie weeks to 
 months, since 1 began my t'ask. Long siiu-e I was com- 
 pelled to surrender to another's haiul the labor of recording 
 my words. In the meantime hope has grown into assured 
 certainty. The love of my people has not failed. What I 
 trembled to see attempted, I rejoice to know has been 
 achieved. It is not the dismemberment of a nation, but 
 the birth of a new sovereignty. The future may, perhaps, 
 reunite the twain ; but civilization, humanity, peace and 
 prosperity demand their J3resent separation. What I under- 
 took with doubt, I see concluded with gladness. I have 
 finished my work ; completed my task, and leave it now to 
 my countrymen, with only the injunction which the greatest 
 of our Northern neighbors uttered on the field of battle 
 consecrated by his sorrowful benediction, that they '* do 
 the right — as God gives us to see the Right \" 
 
[The following monograph, in the handwriting of the Grand 
 Master, seems to have been prepared just previous to the unfor- 
 tunate accident that terminated his life. It is one of the few 
 things that escaped the destruction of his papers which he 
 ordered. It is so clear an exposition of his views upon one 
 phase of the question presented by his action, that it is deemed 
 proper to give it a place here. — E, H ] 
 
 1689, 1789, 1889. 
 
 For three centuries '* 'Eighty-Nine " has been the year 
 of jubilee, the day of peaceful accom2)lishment, the hour of 
 complete fruition. It would seem as if, in Anglo-Saxon 
 history, liberty moved in an orbit whose period was a cen- 
 tury ; as if progress came in recurrent cycles of just a 
 hundred years ; as if some mystic impulse, akin to that 
 which causes the bees to swarm and the stork to migrate, 
 affected this race of liberty- lovers and compelled it to 
 mark each century's close by some notable event of espe- 
 cial significance to the human race in its never ending 
 struggle for individual equality and collective right. These 
 crises have grown more and more significant, and their re- 
 lations to antecedent growths have become more and more 
 distinct with each successive period. 
 
 It is apparent now that each precedent century was 
 but a period of incubation during which was germinated 
 
 483 
 
484 Eirrll T Y - N rxE . 
 
 the great idea that sprang into hfe at its close. The pro- 
 gress has been continuous, but the result is marked by suc- 
 cessive steps, each of which rests on tlie solid basis of a 
 hundred years of thought, of toil, of suffering and of blood. 
 There is no conflict betvveen the great ideas thus evolved. 
 Each one grows out of those that went before as natur- 
 ally as the oak out of the acorn. The period of commo- 
 tion, perhaps of conflict, that precedes the climax may 
 seem like destruction. The weak and narrow-minded may 
 bewail its fierceness and intensity. Those who worship the 
 j\Ioloch that forges fetters for the present out of the dark- 
 ness of the past, may mourn the downfall of existing 
 institutions, the overthrow of accepted theories and the 
 establishment of new dogmas. Their alarm is but the 
 weakness of folly and the apprehension of ignorance. The 
 convulsion that fills them with dread is but the bursting of 
 the acorn-shell. The strange growth they count as nox- 
 ious and malign is but a seedling of the oak possessing 
 a stronger fiber and destined to develop a sturdier trunk 
 and wider stretch of limb. 
 
 At the first of these great epochs a nation declared 
 itself greater than its king ; at the second a child affirmed 
 its right to walk without a mother's guidance ; at the third 
 a people cradled with another avowed their right to self-di- 
 rection. Monarchy fought furiously for its supreme pre- 
 rogative ; the mother-land rained blows and curses on the 
 presumptive colonies ; the sturdier twin met the foolish 
 
EIGHTY- NINE. 485 
 
 aspiration of its weaker fellow with slaughter and subjugu- 
 tion. In each case the right triumphed. The people 
 degraded the king but exalted the throne ; the American 
 nation became tlie ])ricle of the English people ; the new 
 republic is destined to become the safety and support of 
 that from which it separated. Three great revolutions 
 mark three momentous epochs I Three harmonious chords 
 in the great oratorio of progress have been struck at inter- 
 vals of just a century! The lesson that they teach is well 
 worth the world's attention. 
 
 The struggles of the English people for self-govern- 
 ment had been long and bloody. Seventeen centuries lay 
 between the wicker skiffs and the wooden walls that were 
 already contesting the sovereignty of the seas. The Heptar- 
 chy had been dissolved by conflict and its residuum cemented 
 with blood. The Eoman had been conquered and driven 
 out ; the Xorman and Dane absorbed. The barons had 
 curbed the power of John with a strong hand. AVat Tyler 
 and his followers, thirty thousand strong, had encamped 
 about the Tower of London with the ennobling demand, 
 "Ye will make us free forever, our heirs and our lands." 
 Jack Cade, with his rabble of starving hinds, had burst the 
 barriers of fear and, clamoring for bread, for the mere 
 right to live, had hurled themselves upon the mailed 
 
488 EIGHTY XTXE. 
 
 retainers of feudalism, demanding, with a pitiful instinct 
 of justice, that the purchasing power of labor be increased 
 in order that the poor might live. Cromwell had come out 
 of the fens, had checked the pride of monarchy, baffled the 
 intrigues of aristocracy and showed, not only that the peo- 
 ple might rule tliemselves through independent, self-ap- 
 pointed leaders, representing the popular thought, but 
 might grow, conquer and prosper without scepter or 
 sovereign. AVith his death had come again the Stuarts 
 and absolutism. For thirty years the people of England, 
 who had tasted liberty and tested self-government under 
 Cromwell, yielded once more to the exactions of a foolish 
 and arrogant legitimacy. When another generation had 
 risen, the peoj)le of England, unworn by the anguish and 
 impoverisliment of Av.ir, fired with theglory of their fathers' 
 achievements, full of self-confidence and emulation of a 
 glorious example, rose up in the quiet majesty of con- 
 scious power and drove the prince, who, though accounted 
 legitimate, was in spirit a usuri)er, not merely from the 
 throne but from the land. The ferment of freedom 
 spread throughout the whole dominion and lifted peer and 
 peasant alike to the height of self-assertion ynd the plane 
 of voluntary self-government. Then for the first time the 
 peoiile assembled "in convention,'' consecrating that word 
 forever to the assertion of popular sovereignty and making 
 such voluntary, informal assemblage lawful at all times as 
 the ultimate means of expressing a nation's will and declar- 
 
EIGHTY. NINE . 487 
 
 ing the birth of a new government. Thej'^ were not yet 
 ready to march without the semblance of a scepter at their 
 head. From over the stormy sea, therefore, they called the 
 stern and silent man who had already conquered a kingdom 
 from the fiercest foemen of that time, had dared to appeal 
 to the Avhelming waves as an ally against oppression, and 
 had consecrated to liberty and self-government what his 
 sword had won. Thus the first great Anglo-Saxon revolu- 
 tion became a fact and the joy-bells echoed throughout 
 England as William, stumbling, kissed her soil, and hand in 
 hand with his sagacious Queen, received the plaudits of a 
 liberated people. This was 1689. 
 
 I should not need to dwell upon the luster that sur- 
 rounds the second member of this divine numeric trinity 
 were it not that, with a foolish desire to perpetuate the 
 memory of conflict rather than the glory of achieve- 
 ment, the American people have been accustomed to regard 
 the day which first gave voice to the aspiration, rather than 
 that which marked the final accomplishment of nationality, 
 as the birth hour of our liberty. 
 
 For two hundred and fifty years the Anglo-Saxon stock 
 had been domiciled on the soil of America. The seed of 
 liberty had ripened quickly in the new world. Solitude 
 has ever been the nurse of power. The wilderness is 
 
488 EIGHT Y-XINK. 
 
 always a hotbed of aspiration. Men who are alone with 
 God come quickly to outstrip their fellows. The Old 
 World pitied tlie isolation of her colonies, little dreaming 
 that the distance that lay between them and the parent 
 stock would prove a sure incentive to inanhood of a 
 stronger growth than she had ever known. Transplanted 
 to virgin soil, Puritanism hardly felt the clieck that came 
 with CromwelFs death. Whether Charles or James or 
 AVilliam ruled in London mattered littk' to the sturdy 
 founders of an empire, who felt within themselves the im- 
 pulse towards self-direction and control grooving stronger 
 and stronger year by year. Already before the first Con- 
 gress met, the germ of nationality had burst its shell. 
 Jefferson did not originate the Declaration of Indepen- 
 dence. He merely phrased a i)eople's thought. It was 
 not the men who met in Philadelphia that laid the foun- 
 dations of the American Republic, but the people whose 
 irresistible aspirations compelled them to the course they 
 adopted. Massachusetts and Carolina were linked together 
 by stronger bonds of union before the Declaration was 
 published — when the people of the southern colony sent 
 aid and comfort to the stricken patriots of Boston — than 
 have ever united them since. It was not the wisdom of 
 her statesmen or tlie merit of her leaders that established 
 the Republic, but the invincible determination of the peo- 
 ple — an Anglo-Saxon j^eople made strong by tliat isolation 
 which a thousand leagues of ocean gave, and made self- 
 
EIGHTY-NINE. 489 
 
 reliant by two centuries of conflict with barbarism and the 
 wilderness. They who came looked back to England at 
 first, indeed, as a mother-country. In their children's 
 hearts the tie grew weak until, long enough before the con- 
 flict occurred, an Anglo-American type had become estab- 
 lished. Interest and aspiration had ceased to bind the 
 people to the parent isle, and hope looked forward with 
 confident assurance to a mighty empire beneath the setting 
 sun. 
 
 It was not the war of Revolution that separated us 
 from the mother country. The severance was complete 
 before it began. When the Congress formulated the 
 declaration that we Avere a free and independent people, 
 there was no mistake of mood or tense. It was no pro- 
 phetic declaration, but merely the formal assertion of an 
 accomplished fact. It did not import the overthrow of any 
 social system and hardly required the establishment of a 
 new form of government. The people, one day the subjects 
 of Great Britain, awoke the next to find themselves 
 allegiants of a sovereignty asserted though not created that 
 first Fourth of July. The Colonies, already for nigh a 
 hundred years, had been self-supporting and in the main 
 self-protecting organisms. They had conquered for Great 
 Britain more territory than she had ever before possessed, 
 and lield it, almost single-handed, not merely against the 
 savage, but also against the Frenchman on the North and 
 the Spaniard on the South. They had become not only 
 
490 ETGHTY-NINE. 
 
 controllers of tlieir own destiny, but concjuerort^ over whose 
 subjugated realms waved the flag of Great Britain, a 
 mocking symbol of power usurped. 
 
 The struggle was no doubt a surprise to both the com- 
 batants. The English monarchy soon learned the differ- 
 ence between ravaging our coasts and conquering a people 
 every man of whom felt himself the peer of a monarqh in 
 the divine right to rule. When the end came, '"Eighty- 
 Nine" was again gloritiod. The years of conflict and of 
 doubt gave way to certainty. Again a convention of the 
 people marked the birth of a new nationality. Battle and 
 bloods<hed and triumph had made it possible for a free peo- 
 ple to act for themselves under such forms as they might 
 devise. After due deliberation they determined to estab- 
 lish an inde])endent nation on tlie American continent. 
 This nationality was not aii accident but a growth. " 'Sev- 
 enty-Six" marked the assertion of liberty and right; 
 * "Eighty-Nine," the era of crystalization and certainty. 
 Then it was that the nation was really born, the republic 
 organized, and an epoch of self-government inaugurated. 
 
 Eighteen Hundred and Eighty-Xine ! What shall I 
 say of it ? What can I say of it that every one who reads 
 these words does not already know ? It too has been an 
 era of fulfilment. The germ of a new nationality had 
 
EIGHTY- N I NE . 491 
 
 ripened in the pericarp of the okl. For a hundred years 
 the American Eepiiblic liad sheltered two peoples. Year 
 by year they had grown more and more distinct. Each 
 had crystalized about its own specific center. Alike, yet 
 unlike, they had grown side by side hardly aware of the 
 unseen forces that were dragging them asunder. Like 
 rays of sunlight they had slowly but certainly diverged. 
 The chord which a child's hand might have spanned at 
 the beginning, when a century of growth had intervened, 
 subteuded an arc which touched almost the antipodes of 
 thought. 
 
 The government of the United States existed some- 
 thing more than a hundred years, estimating its duration 
 from the date of the famous Declaration of Independence. 
 This was accurate enough, so far as its relations to Great 
 Britain were concerned. The mother country lost a de- 
 pendency, or, rather, a galaxy of dependencies on that day; 
 but *' the federation of the world " can hardly be said to 
 have gained a state at the same time. The national exis- 
 tence really began with the adoption of a constitution in 
 1789. It continued under and by virtue of that constitu- 
 tion, variously changed and modified, one hundred years. 
 At the end of that period, it is true, it still remained nomi- 
 nally intact, but the process of separation had proceeded 
 so far that dismemberment was inevitable. From that 
 time on its history is only a recital of the various stages 
 of disruption. As an actual, vital force in the family of 
 
492 EIGUTY-yiXE. 
 
 nations, therefore, the first great Republic may be said to 
 have been in existence exactly a century. 
 
 "Why did it not exist a thousand 5'ears ? Why, indeed, 
 did it perish at all ? 
 
 Three distinct answers have been given to these ques- 
 tions. One by that class of thinkers who believe mon- 
 archy to be the only guaranty of stability. They, of course, 
 see in the dismemberment of the Union another evidence 
 of the weakness and unreliability of a republican form of 
 government. According to them the democratic experi- 
 ment, tried on the grandest scale and under the most faA- 
 orable auspices, has proved a failure. So far as a single 
 nationality is concerned, this is true. Tlie government 
 of the United States undoubtedly did prove unable to 
 control and harmonize — in other words to govern — the peo- 
 ple inhabiting its territorial limits ; but the question of 
 self-government — government by the people, in some form 
 or of some type — certainly has not been decided in the 
 negative. The only thing thus far determined is that the 
 government of the United States, as at first organized 
 and subsequently developed, was not adapted to hold in 
 prosperous and harmonious relations all of its constituent 
 elements. The Democratic principle still remains, some- 
 what modified, it is true, in a part of the original territory, 
 but not abandoned in any of it. 
 
 This fact furnishes the basis on which the second 
 answer is predicated. It is asserted by certain swift gen- 
 
EIGHT Y- NINE . 493 
 
 eraliziug doctriiiaire8 that the fate of the Federal Uiiiou 
 is but another instance of a fatal thirst for empire. They 
 tell us that the scope of territor}' it embraced became so 
 great that the nation simply fell apart from its own 
 unwieldiness. There is not a shred of reasoning to sup- 
 port this theory. It is useless to cite examples from 
 history. The examples themselves rest merely on asser- 
 tion. Xothing but bare rhetorical assumption can be 
 cited in support of the generally received idea that even 
 the Roman Empire grew top-heavy by conquest and per- 
 ished from over-extension of its territorial limits. Every 
 fact of her history proves the contrary. It is true that 
 llome had no assimilative power. What she took she held 
 by force. The Roman eagle mated with nothing else. 
 Yet, despite this fact, it is unquestionable that the causes 
 of her downfall were to be found at the very center of her 
 power, within the walls of the seven-hilled city itself. If 
 her territory had been no greater than that claimed by the 
 wolf-suckled freebooters of the Tiber, and the same ele- 
 ments of Aveakness had crept within the walls, the city 
 must have fallen. It was not extent of territory but the 
 decay of Roman manhood that precipitated the doom of 
 Rome. The legionary had become a hireling and con- 
 quered without Romanizing. The nation had ceased to be 
 homogeneous in purpose and impulse. The East had half 
 separated from the West. It was no longer true that all 
 roads led to Rome. The seat of the empire, as one of 
 
494 EIGHT V-XINK. 
 
 its great cliieftuius declared, was iiu longer on ihe Tiber, 
 but where the eagles of his legions flew. The empire itself 
 had ceased to be Roman and remained only an organized 
 force that might be shifted from Rome to Byzantium, from 
 Massilia to the banks of the Euphrates. It was a garment 
 that fitted any shoulders; Avhich one might wear to-day and 
 another to-morrow ; which might be parted between two or 
 stolen by Gaul or Oriental, without signifiuant change of 
 character. It was so complete an organism that it took 
 centuries to destroy it.s form, but its vital distinctive force 
 was dead before any usurper dared to seize or rend. 
 
 Even if the commonly accepted theory of territor- 
 ial unwieldiness were established as tlie prime cause of the 
 decay of other governments, it could not with any show of 
 reason be applied to the government of the United States. 
 Steam and electricity have not only annihilated time, 
 they have also eliminated space, as an element of govern 
 mental problems. Practically, government is now omni- 
 present, in the very person of the ruler, in every part of 
 his dominion. There was not a hamlet in the United States 
 in which the President of the Republic could not address 
 her citizens or instruct his officials every day without leav- 
 ing his chair in the AVhite House. San Francisco was 
 just as near the seat of government as Baltimore. 
 
 Besides this, the press supplies in modern times the 
 means of universal knowledge. The specific need of one 
 section was as fully known to the other as it was possible 
 
ETOHTTNTNE. 495 
 
 for a mere observer to expound it. The people of Xew 
 England were as well informed of the wants of California 
 as of their own needs. Botii were equally well understood at 
 the Executive Mansion and represented with equal ability 
 in the halls of Congress. Virginia was no nearer the seat 
 of government than Minnesota — in fact not half so near, 
 for the result of the War for Separation had made the Capi- 
 tal essentially a part of the JCorth. The apprehension of 
 the fathers that the states contiguous to the Federal Capital 
 might unduly influence its character, was curiously set at 
 luiught by the enginery of civilization. There were fifty 
 telegraph wires between Washington and New York ; a 
 single one more than sufficed for the intercourse between 
 the Capital and Richmond. There were morC;, it is true, 
 but they only served to connect the great commercial me- 
 troplis with its sources of supply. 
 
 There was none of the ancient lack of information. 
 The uttermost parts of the earth were next door neiglibors. 
 Knowledge of events was practically simultaneous with 
 their occurrence. Sentiments, however, were not trans- 
 mittable by the Morse alphabet. The East knew the facts of 
 the South and the West, and these, in like manner, had a 
 general and complete knowledge of the externals of each 
 other's life. What the East did not know and could not 
 comprehend was what the South or West thought and felt 
 in regard to the facts of their own respective lives. 
 
 It was neither extent of territory, unfairness of repre- 
 
496 EIGHT Y-NINS. 
 
 sentation, nor weakness of the republican principle that 
 destroyed the unity of the great Republic, but that 
 polarization of tliought and sentiment which is an in- 
 herent characteristic of all English-speaking masses — that 
 impulse wliicli distinguishes the Anglo-Saxon from all other 
 peoples of the world — making it not merely the great col- 
 onizer of the earth but the founder of distinct but harmon- 
 ious empires. The very force which unities the English 
 people divided the Republic. 
 
 The third answer given to this inquiry is that dismem- 
 berment was the result of party strife and factional dis- 
 cord. As a reason for the known result, this is even more 
 fallacious than those previously considered. That parties 
 and factions were active instrumentalities no one can deny. 
 In every movement under a popular form of government 
 there must be leaders and followers — parties and factious. 
 These are not causes, however, but the indices of the causes 
 that underlie such movements. Parties are but the fruit- 
 age of popular sentiment. Factions are simply attempts 
 to control parties. Political leaders may create factions, 
 but they never can secure control of a party in a republic 
 except by going in the direction the party desires. In a 
 democracy the real leaders are only forerunners who point 
 out the way to the goal the multitude are seeking. In 
 the present case there was no factional or partisan interest 
 involved m the fact of separation. Those who took the in- 
 itiative not onlv liad control of the government but the 
 
EIGHTY-NtNE. 497 
 
 apparent power to retain a predominant influence therein 
 for a generation. The only question with them was 
 whether they could peacefully and prosperously maintain 
 that local supremacy which they deemed essential to the 
 domestic peace and security of the section they more im- 
 mecliately represented, and still remain an integral part of 
 the original republic. Very wisely, I think, they decided 
 that they could not. So the steps they took, instead of 
 being in derogation of constitutional government and an 
 evidence of the weakness of the republican idea, are really 
 conclusive proof of its strength and a guaranty of its per- 
 petuity. 
 
 If there be any cause outside of the inherent tendency 
 of the English people to governmental polarization, which 
 may be said to have been especially instrumental in pro- 
 ducing the result which is so A^ariously regarded by differ- 
 ent minds. I should say it was the universality of the 
 belief on the part of the people of the most highly devel- 
 oped (and, in one sense, the controlling) section, that 
 such a result was an impossibility. This curious over- 
 confidence was chiefly the result of a hundred years of con- 
 stant reiteration, and was strengthened by the peculiar 
 immunity of the first century of the national existence 
 from serious internal discord ; remarkable success in 
 two defensive wars ; the golden glamour of one war of 
 conquest and aggression ; and the suppression of an armed 
 rebellion of unusual pi-oportions. The continuous recital of 
 
498 J^i o ir T Y. xiJVJS. 
 
 these facts had removed all apprehension of such a contin- 
 gency, and induced a confidence in the iiational organism 
 which not only prevented the adoption of measures intended 
 to secure its perpetuity, but induced men to regard with 
 ridicule and contempt all hints of its terminable character. 
 Their blindness hid ail indications of a tendency to sub- 
 division. Men regarded the Federal Union as destined 
 to be perpetual sim])ly because it was American, without 
 effort, care, or regard for inherent forces tending to dis- 
 ruption. With nations as with men, the over-confidence 
 which leads to neglect of wise precaution, is the most dan- 
 gerous of all conditions, lie was a wise man, tliough un- 
 known, who wrote in that necropolis of genius, the columns 
 of a newspaper, the Avords : "England owes her glory to 
 the constant apprehension of invasion." 
 
 The United States feared no peril — least of all dis- 
 memberment — and so neglected causes that a child might 
 have seen not only led in that direction, but, if unchecked, 
 must eventually produce that result. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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