PRIVATE LIBRARY. Voo.. J. C. STONER THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. J.C.STONER JVo. \^ A FOOL'S ERRAND, By One of the Fools. The reception accorded to tliis anonymous book, both by press and Eublic, has been so unusual, and the impression made by the work as been so marked, that these facts are worth recording. The press reviews, both by tlieir careful preparation and their length, — many running to one, two, and even four columns in daily papers, which are always crowded for space, — have evinced a sense of the peculiar, interest and importance of the book. There is space here for but brief extracts from a few of them. FoKDS, Howard, & Hulbert, New York. EXTRACTS FROM SOME PRESS NOTICES. A IternarJiable Book, *' A striking book." —Utica {N. Y.) Herald. " A tale of life at the South since the late war, full of the racy humor of the country -people, the rich and laughter- provoking characteristics of negro fun, and the pathos of negro prayer-meetings, the dashing excitement of the hunt, the oddities of up-country mass-meetings, the ooeial lines of caste, the hot passions of politics, the dark and bloody doings of an enraged ijeople, and their startling logic of self-justification. ... It is full of sun- shine as well as shadow; and interwoven in the narrative is the old yet ever new romance of youth and love." — Indianap- olis Journal. " A very remarkable book." — Springfield {Mass.) Republican. " An awakening book, a thrilling book, indeed. ... So powerful and so real a hook about the South has not been written before. . . . The style is clear and lively, even brilliant; but' the only merit the modest author claims is that of abso- lute truthfulness. . . . There is romance in the book to enchain the attention. The characters are depicted with rare skill." — Cincinnati Commercial. " Fairly bnstles with * points ' both of tragedy and comedy." — Dan- bury News. " If this is a first effort, a new name in fiction has been created by a single book, for the author must soon become known. . . . The book will rank among the famous novels which represent certain epochs of history so faithfully and accurately, that, once written, they must be read by everybody who desires to be well informedi." — Portland {^fe.) Advertiser. " The elements of deep romance are here curiously blended with an in- tensely realistic view of social life in the South since the close of the war and dur- ing the process of reconstruction. It is a work to be read with profound interest for its luminous exposition of historical facts, as well as to be admired for its masterly power of picturesque and pa- thetic description." — Netc-York Tribune. *' One of the most noteworthy publications of the American press dur- ing the present year. . . . Whether re- garded as a philosophical analysis of po- litical problems since the wai', or purely as a romance, the book is an extraordi- nary one." — Boston Daily Advertiser. " Perhans the most remarkable novel whicli the present decade has brought forth." — Syracuse {^''. Y. ) Herald. " A real «tir in the world of let- ters has been made by ' A Fool's Errand.' . . . With a hand as steady as a sur- geon's, almost with a cynic's smile, the author holds up to view a state of society which is known to us of the Xorth only by distorted and frequently distrusted re- ports. . . . Yet his friendliness to the Southern people, his familiarity with their opinions and .uanners, and his freedom from political rancor, stamp his work with the proofs of truth. . . . Thinking men will want to read it." — Buffalo {N. T.) Xeics. " The story throughout exhibits a naturalness, "a composure, a realitj', a self-restraint, which belong to the best class of literary work . . . and the more thrilling passages of the book aire written with calmness as well as strepgth-**^— Boston Literary World. PRESS NOTICES. A Brilliant Romance, *' The sated novel-reader will find it fresh and thrilling." — Boston Daily Advertiser. " The Story is brilliant and fasci- nating, — evidently a leaf from experi- ence." — Chicago Evening Journal. "A lire novel, pertinent to the day. The author hides himself under the nom, de jjlurne of ' One of the Fools ; ' but if the familj' was larger, and more of them given to this style of writing, the reading world would be delighted. ... It is bril- liant in conception and execution, and sparkles like champagne. There is fun spicing its pages ; there is pathos to dis- turb the eye-fountains; there is tragedy to thrill, and comedy to evoke mirth and laughter. Read ' A Fool's Errand ; ' for the reading will carry its own reward." — Providence Press. " Drawn with a touch as humor- ous and pathetic as tkat of Dickens, and a relentless satire as keen as Thack- eray's."— aSo /em (J/oss.) Gazette. " So individualistic, so thought- ful, so vivid and intense, that it will com- mand a wide audience. ... It is as full of interest as one of Charles Reade's mysterious romances. "We took it up the other evening somewhat ' latish,' and could not put it down until after turning the last leaf. It has pith, pathos, power, argument, illustration, and proof." — Rochester {2^. Y.) Rural Home. " Represents in very yigorous and vivacious style a life of thrilling ad- ventures and narrow escapes." — New Jerusalem Messenger. "Abounds in sketches not to be matched in the whole range of modern fiction. The author's keen insight into character gives him a power which never relaxes to the end; while his skill in dia- logue and humorous touches add greatly to the charm of the story." — Boston Traveller. " A narration rarely equaled in its tragic interest." — Cincinnati Gazette. "Certainly, for vivid word-paint- ing, and for the intense dramatic effect of its incidents, as well as for the impor- tance of the subject it deals with, it is a remarkable production." — i^eip-TorA; Daily Graphic. "The story will be read with breathless interest." — J7a?'^/orci {Conn.) Courant. T7te New '' Uncle Tom," " There can be no doubt that ' A Fool's Errand ' will take a high rank in fiction, — a rank like that of ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.'" — Bostoii Traveller. " It is a powerfully written work, and destined, we fear, to do as much harm in the world as ' Uncle Tom's Cab- in,' to which it is, indeed, a companion piece." — Raleigh (iV. C.) Observer. "Ought to be as serviceable in enlightening the Xorth about the startling events of the reconstruction period, as ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' was in illustrating the phases of an earlier epoch." — Chris- tian Union. "The success of books depends on the timeliness of their appearance, as much as on their intrinsic excellence. 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' undoubtedly had a wider sale than it could have attained five years earlier. . , . We shall not be surprised to find the work before us at- taining a very extensive circulation. It is hard to believe that it is not in the main the record of an actual experience. It is more than truthful, however, for it is written with much more than ordinary power."— Cincimiati Gazette. "Destined to create a furoi'e in literary, political, and social circles, sec- ond only to that produced by ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' a quarter of a century ago." ~ St. Paul ( J/mn.) Despatch. " It was a novel which first aroused us from our lethargy to a con- sciousness of the growing magnitude of the evils of slavery, and it is anovel now which calls attention in a clarion voice to the dan- gers which yet threaten a nation di\-ided against itself. If * Uncle Tom's Cabin* was an electric light, revealing in one flash the cursed system of chattelism, this more recent account of ' A Fool's Errand ' is a sledge-hammer." — iV^. Y. Daily Graphic. " One of the personages figuring . . . is Uncle Jerry, — a remarkable old ne- gro, worthy of a place beside Mrs. Stowe's ' Uncle Tom.' " — Literal^ World (Boston.) "There is one character — Jerry Hunt — that often reminds the reader of the Uncle Tom of Mrs. Stowe's memora- ble ante-war story ; and passages of almost equal pathos and power to that wonder- ful volume are found in the pages of this interesting work. It may be that this will hold the same relation to a great social and moral revolution that must ultimately occur, that the former did to the civil war. ... A wholesome tract A FOOUS ERRAND, tor the times, to be read both North and South." — Zion'8 Herald, Boston. " In point of vivid scene-paint- ing, subtle intuitions of character, and colloquial raciness and Immor , many of the sketches in this volume may well challenge comparison with the most eftective pas- sages in our fictitious Uterature, not ex- cepting the wonderful pictures of actual life in ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' " — 2^. Y. Tributie. "It would, perhaps, seem like hyperbole to say that this work is wor- thy to stand by the side of ' Uncle Tom's Cabin,' as a vivid and realistic exposition of a pecuUar phase of American history ; but that is our feeling after a thoughtful perusal of it." — Boston Daily Advertiser. I^npartial and TrutJiftil, " Alike admirable, whether it is to be regarded as history or romance. Its value as history is heightened by the author's impartiality of view, the calm- ness and precision of his statements, the keenness of his sarcasm, and the force of his logic." — Christian Union. " The half-fictitious narrative of this book is clothed in words of soberness and truth. Indeed, the whole endeavor of the author seems to have been to ex- tenuate nothing, nor set down aught in malice. We have not anywhere seen an account of the troubles that beset a Northern family's residence m the South which impressed us as being more truth- ful, more complete, or more powerfully ■written, than this." — Chicago Tribune. " His trenchant sword cuts two ways. He strikes right and left without fear or favor. He does not spare the follies of his friends, nor fail to respect the honest prejudices of his foes." — £rie >Y. Y.) Despatch. "The Story is so clearly told, with an attemptat detail which the author could not repress, that there can not be a g article of doubt the facts were furnished y experience, — an experience dearly bought."— ^ocAes^er UV. T.) I{e?rild. " There are chapters here, which, forpicturesqueness and power, are rarely equaled; and yet the tale is told with such absence of heat and passion in the writer, that were there no assurance of the fidelity of the story in these parts to the author's own observation and experi- ence, nor any volumes of indisputable conf!rraa,tion in the rej^orts of conErres- eional committees, it would carrv convic- tion of its truth on its face. ^' — Boston Daily Advertiser. "It is well written, interesting, and demonstrates the utter liopelessness I of revolutionizing the politics and society of the South. It is a radical work ; but old Confederate Democrats can chuckle over many of its pages." — Okolona {Miss.) Southern States. " Considered as a frank and can- did picture of the difficulties encountered by Northern emigrants to the South dur- ing the time of reconstruction, by a writer who honestly sets down what he believes to be the truth, and who appears to be sincerely disposed to do strict justice to all men, the book will interest a large circle of readers." — N. Y. Evening Post. " The man paints the South as it is, and knows how to paint both land and people, ' with malice toward none, with charity to all.'"— Z>er Deutsche Corre- spondent, Baltimore. " With personal knowledge of the evil and the good of both North and South, the author teaches each side much of the other's way of looking at things." — New Haven Journal and Courier. " The author possesses the ability to put himself in tlie place of the char- acters representing the opposing factions, and from the stand-point of each, holding the other to account for the wrong ad- mitted by both to have been done. . . . A book that must be productive of last- ing good." — Philadelphia Times. " It is a peculiar work, and will undoubtedly stir up a variety of opinions. It will astonish readers, of whatever po- litical faith ; for it portrays with great power that which the author claims is unknown to the mass of inteUigent people in either section of the land, — namely, the South as it is." — Rochester {N.Y.) Express. " All classes, from the highest to the lowest, figure in it, and the author's feelings are evidently those of kindness and good- will." — Philadelphia Press. " What is most remarkable about the book is the spirit of fairness that pervades it." — Philadelphia Times. " Its word-pictures are so realis- tic that one sees, hears, and feels the very presence of the individuals that crowd its pages. The night-ride of young Lily Ser- vosse ... is one of the finest and most thrilling incidents that lias ever been told in history or roinanc-e." — San Fran- cisco Chronicle. PRESS NOTICES. "All agree that it is by some writei' of exceptional opportunities of ob- eervation, superior intelligence, marked impartiality, decided ability, and mas- terly power of picturesque, humorous, and pathetic description." — Yasoo (Jtliss.) Herald. Wise, Strong, Statesman- like, "Worthy just now of national consideration." — Hartford Courant. " The statesman may gather les- sons of wisdom from its pages. It will be read at the Xorth with equal interest, and will contribute, more than any single book written since Mrs. Stowe's world- famous novel, to a just understanding by each section of the deep springs of senti- ment and conduct in the other." — Boston Daily Advertiser. " A A-ery conservative but cor- rect glance at the South as it is. It is from the pen of an officer in the Federal army through the late war, who became a bona fide settler of the South subse- quently, with wife, family, and fortune, a keen observer, an intelligent thinker and reasoner. The native Southron, the ' poor white,' the carpet-bagger, the old Unioner, the freedman, the Ku-Klux, and the social, moral, and political life of the South, are all handled with uncommon power and humor, coupled with a relent- less satire." — Washington {D.G.) Na- tional Republican. " How this Fool swings the lash of scorn about the backs of those who called themselves the Wise Men of the nation then! [during the period of Re- construction] . . . Now the writer draws lines of pathos and delicate humor as finely as though a woman held the pen, then flashes out a bolt of vigorous thought, far-reaching, astute, philosophi- cal, caustic, witty, satirical, — yes, states- manhke, in its proportions, which stamps the work as a man's doings. Withal, no crude experimenter in composition is the Fool, but a wise man or woman, which- ever it may be. If this book does not meet with a marvelous reception, and awaken profoundest comment Xorth and South, then we will confess a total inca- pability to judge of what can play upon that most incomprehensible pipe, the Public." — Jackson {Mich.) Citizen. " If the record be a record of folly, it is keenly, intelligently made. It is written in brains." — Rochester {N.Y.) Rural Ilonie. " If every representative and senator in Congress, if the governors and state officers of every State in the Union, could read this volume, and become pene- trated with the force of the facts and rea- sonings which are detailed therein, wc have no doubt that the spirit of the ele- ments that make up the South would bo better comprehended, and we should be nearer a solution of the problem of re- construction." — Tt^oy (JV.Y.) Whig. " If this book don't move men, and start the patriotic blood of the nation into warmer flow, then we have mistaken the American people." — Chicago Inter' Ocean. The Autlior. " The newspapers are trying their wits at tracking the author. One reason- able guess is, that the writer is Edmund Kirke, well known for his picture of the South in " Among the Pines." But since the book has been compared, and properly so, to * Uncle Tom's Cabin,' whj- not make the parallel complete by attributing it to the same author ? " — Chicago Tribune, " Who the author is we do not know; but his publishers accredit him as a person who has occupied places of trust and prominence, both politically and pro- fessionally, in the South. It is evident that he possesses in an uncommon degree the traits of a strong and accomplished writer, and the power of constructing and narrating a story which is at once intensely interesting and profoundly thoughtful. He has the faculty of dis- cerning the romantic aspects of the life and scenes about him, and also a philosophical calmness that enables him to probe the ap- jjearances, and discover their motives and meanings." — Boston Daily Advertiser. "A number of newspapers are attempting to trace the identity of the author of this remarkable book. . . . Still other guessers think it comes from some one of the near connections, in Mississippi, of a notable Xew-England- er." — Yasoo City (Miss.) Herald. "The story throughout is intense- ly interesting and profoundly thoughtful. In point of originahty it will rank with the best productions of American writers of fiction ; and it may be well to inquire, in view of the power here displayed, whether the long-looked-for native American nove- list who is to rival Dickens, and equal Th.ackeray , and yet imitate neither, has not been found. A romancist, sage, publicist, politician, and philosopher in one, is a rare combination."— Concord {S.H.)Monitor A FOOL'S Errand, By One Of The Fools; THE FAMOUS ROMANCE OF AMERICAN HISTORY. New, Enlarged, and Illustrated Edition. TO WHICH IS ADDED, BY THE SAME AUTHOR, The Invisible Empire: A CONCISE REVIEW OF THE EPOCH ON WHICH THE TALE IS BASED. WITH Many Thrilling Personal Narratives and Startling Facts of Life ai the Sotith, never before narrated for the general reader, ALI, FULLY AUTHENTICATED. By ALBION W. TOURGEE, LATE JUDGE OF THE SUPERIOR COURT OF NORTH CAROLINA, AUTHOR OF " THE CODE WITH NOTES," '' DIGEST OK CITED CASES," ETC. TWO PARTS COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION. New York: FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT. W. H. THOMPSON & CO., Boston; SCAMMELL & CO., Sr. Louis; H. M. LOCHARY & CO., Cleveland; WESTON HULBERT, Chicago; J. M. OLCOTT, Indianapolis ; D. L. GUERNSEY, Boston .'v: Cuncokd, SOUTHERN PUBLISHING CO., New Orlean.<; CJopyrigM, 1879 and 1880, A.D., By Fords, Howard, & Hulb^w. PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. This volume is the result of a demand created by the re- markable popular reception accorded to "A Fool's Errand," first, for a better edition of that work itself, and, secondly, for an authenticated historical exposition of the incidents and epoch on which it is based. The first has been met by reprinting the entire work from wholly new plates and illustrating with sixteen engravings, designed for the most part under the author's guidance as to the foundation facts. To meet the other, we have induced the author to prepare Part II., which, from a mere compen- dium of illustrative facts, grew under his hand into a treatise of one hundred and fifty pages, constituting, in itself, what we believe to be an unimpeachable exposition of the moral, social, and political status of the South since the war, such as can be found nowhere else. In addition to this, the author has inserted Chapter XXX. in "A Fool's Errand," in order to complete the dramatic unity and effectiveness of the work. Those who have read and ad- mired the original edition will at once recognize the beauty and fitness of this addition. Taken as a whole, the work now offered to the public is, we suppose, without question the most graphic and complete presentation of an era altogether the most remarkable in our history which ever has been or is likely to be WTitten. The impression which it has made upon the thinking people of the country is universal and profound. The newspapers, maga- zines, and reviews have exhausted the language of praise upon its vividness of style, its wonderful scope and clearness of statement, its philosophic calmnci^s and judicial candor, its vii viii PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. spirit of exalted statesmanship and unflinching patriotism, its keenness of sarcasm and subtlety of humor, and, above all, on its veracity of spirit and the skill with which a literal adhe- rence to facts has been used for the purposes of stirring and ro- mantic fiction. In addition to this public cojimendation and endorsement, letters from all sections of the country and classes of people have poured in upon the author and publishers, verifying even more strikingly all that has thus been said. Statesmen ac- knowledge its great value as a study of the times. Men of all shades of political faith admit its truthful spirit. The number, standing, and variety of view of those who have writ- ten such letters is altogether remarkable. Extracts from some of them are printed elsewhere in this volume. Born and educated at the North; soldier and officer through- out the war ; a resident of the South for fifteen years since the war; a man of varied acquirements; a lawyer of eminence and judicial experience in his Southern home ; having had legisla- tive study and training during the days of Reconstruction; a man of both action and ideas — Judge Tourgee was probably as well fitted to depict the era which he has portrayed as any man vrho could be found. It is confidently hoped that the hundreds of thousands of readers of "A Fool's Errand" will be the first to approve the new and enlarged form in which it is now issued, and that, besides the added interest in the story itself by reason of the illustrations, every thoughtful mind will find a renewed and stronger faith in the value of the work as a whole, completed as it is by the serried array of facts and figures, the clear state- ments of cause and effect, and the thrilling recitals of personal experience with which Part II. reveals the scope, methods, and power of that terrible reality, "The Invisible Empire." COl^TEKTS. PART I. CHAPTER I. The Genesis of Folly IL Le Premter Acces III. Sorrow Cometh with Knowledge IV. From Bad to Worse . V. The Oracle is Consulted . VI. All Lost but Honor . VII. An Old "Unioner" VIII. "Their Exits and their Entrances" IX. The New Kingdom ' . X. Poor Tray XI. A Cat est a Strange Garret XII. Compelled to Volunteer . XIII. A Two-handed Game . XrV. Murder most Foul XV. "Who is my Neighbor?" . XVI. The Edge of Hospitality Dulled XVII. The Secon-d Mile Post XVIII. Congratulation and Condolence XIX. Citizens in Embryo XX. Out of Due Season PAGB 7 10 13 17 21 23 27 34 38 43 51 57 60 68 73 85 88 94 104 117 z CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXI. How THE Wise Men Builded XXIL Cock-Ckow XXIII. The Die is Cast XXIV. "Wisdom Crieth m the Streets" XXV. A Grumbler's Forecast . . . . XXVI. Bat"UMENTUM CONTENTS. PART II. CHAPTER PA»B I. Reasons for this Work 385 II. The Method of Inquirt 391 III. Rise, Scope, and Purpose op the Ku-Klux Klan. 396 IV. The Spirit of the Thing 402 V. Declared Motives of Action .... 410 YI. Disguises and Methods of Operation . . . 419 VII. Who were the Victims? 430 VIII. Hostility to Schools 441 IX. What some IMen Saw and Heard during those TOTES 454 X. Short Stories from the New "Book of Martyrs" 460 XI. Southern Sentiment 487 XTT Causes, Effects and Consequences of the Ku- Klux Organization ; A Recapitulaton . 501 1 LIST OF ILLUSTEATIOISrS. 1. A Ride for Life Frontispiece. 2. The Old Unioner and the Fool . . . Page 28 3. Outskirts of the ^Meete^g 52 4. A Ttvo-haivded Game 67 5. Uncle Jerry's Vision . 92 6. Citizens in Embryo 120 7. Bob Martin's Experience 172 8. Lily's Visit to Uncle Jerry 203 9. A Ku-Klux Sentinel 225 10. The Bottom Fallen Out 299 11. The African and his "Natural Protector" . 316 12. The Rising Generation 388 13. Better Class of Poor Whites 408 14. Specimen of a ^u-Klux Notice .... 416 15. The Obstreperous African 428 16. Old Uncle Joe Catching a Dinner . . .473 Part I. A FOOL'S ERRAND, BY ONE OF THE FOOLS. Vabr. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fooL Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man ; as much foolery Ab I have, so much wit thou lackest. Timon of Athen*. TO THE ANCIENT AND HONORABLE FAMILY OP JFooIs TraS BOOK IS EESPECTFULLY AND LOVINGLY DEDICATED BY ONE OF THEIR NUMBER. LETTER TO THE PUBLISHERS. Gentlemen, — Your demand that I should write a " Preface " to the book you have printed seems to me utterly preposterous. It is like a man introducing himself, — always an awkward, and generally a useless piece of business. What is the use of the "prologue to the epic coming on," anyhow, unless it be a sort of advertisement? and in that case you ought to write it. AYhoever does that should be " Wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a sort of wit." That is not the kind of Fool I am. All such work I delegate to you, and hereby authorize and empower you to say what you please of what I have written, only begging you keep in mind one clear distinction. There are two kinds of Fools. The real Fool is the most sincere of mortals : the Court Fool and his kind — the trifling, jesting buffoon — but simulate the family virtue, and steal the family name, for sordid purposes. The life of the Fool proper is full of the poetry of faith. He may run after a will-o'-the-wisp, while the Wise deride; but to him it is a veritable star of hope. He differs from his fellow-mortals chiefly in this, that he sees or believes what they do not, and consequently undertakes what they never attempt. If he succeed in his endeavor, the world stops laughing, and calls him a Genius : if he fail, it laughs the more, and derides his undertaking as A Fool's Errand. So the same individual is often both fool and genius, — a fool all his life and a genius after his death, or a fool to one century and a genius to the next, or a fool at home and a prodigy abroad. Watt was a fool while he watched the tea- kettle, but a genius when he had caught the imp that tilted 5 6 LETTER TO THE PUBLISHERS. the lid. The gentle Genoese who wrested half the world from darkness was a fool to the age which sought for the Fountain of Youth ; yet every succeeding one but multiplies his j^raises. These are but types. The poet has incorporated the recognized jDrinciple in the lines, — " Great wits to madness, sure, are near allied, And thin partitions do their walls divide." It is, however, only in the element of simple, undoubting faith, that the kinship of genius and folly consists. One may be an unquestioned Fool without any chance of being taken for a Seer. This is, indeed, the case with most of the tribe. It is success alone that transforms the credulity of folly into acknowledged prophetic prevision. Noah was one of the earliest of the Fools thus vindicated. The Wise Men of his day sat around on the dry-goods boxes, and whittled and whistled, and quizzed the queer craft on v^hich he kept his sons and sons-in-law at work, till the keel was as old as the frigate "Constitution" before he was ready to lay her upper decks. If the rain had not come at last, they would never have got over laughing at his folly. The Deluge saved his reputation, and made his Ark a success. But it is not often that a Fool has a heavenly voice to guide him, or a flood to help him out. This little tale is the narrative of one of Folly's failures. The hero can lay no claim to greatness. A believing >7oah there is in it, a well-built ark, and an indubitable flood. But the waters prevailed, and the Fool went down, and many of the family with him. The Wise Men looked on and laughed. The one merit which the story claims is that of honest, uncompromising truthfulness of portraiture. Its pictures are from life. And even in this which he boasts as a virtue may be found, perhaps, the greatest folly yet committed by One of the Fools. SErTi::.iEEK, iSTD. A FOOL'S ERRAND. CHAPTER I. THE GENESIS OF FOLLY. The Fool's patronymic ^vas Servosse; his Christian name, Comfort. His father was descended from one of those Gallic families who abandoned the luxuries of la belle France for an Arcadia which in these later days has become synonymous with bleakness, if not sterility. It is supposable that his an- cestors, before they adventured on the delights of Canadian winters in exchange for the coast of Normandy or the plains of Bordeaux, may have belonged to some noble family, who drew their blood, clear and blue, from the veins of a Marteliaa progenitor. It is, perhaps, but fair to presume that the exchange of skies was made only for the glory of our gallant and good King Louis, and the advancement of the holy Catholic faith in the New World, rather than for the peace and quiet of the imme- diate vicinage in which the ancestor dwelt. However this may be, a later ancestor was among those, who, with that mixture of courage and suavity which enabled the voyacjeurs of that day so successfully to secure and hold the good will of the unso- phisticated red-skin, pushed westward along the Great Lakes until they came to the Straits, where so many advantages of a trading-post were combined, that Detroit was there located and christened. The mutations of government, the lapse of time, and tha anglicization of their surroundings had robbed the descendants 8 A FOOL'S ERRAND. of the original Servosse of every trace of their Gallic ancestry except the name ; and it is only mentioned here for the benefit of some curious student of mental phenomena with credence in hereditary traits, who may believe that an ancestor who could voluntarily abandon the champagnes of Burgundy for the Heights of Abraham, by whatever enticing name the same might be called, was quite capable of transmitting to his descendants such an acces de lafolie as was manifested by our particular Fool. Certainly, no such defect can be attributed to his maternal line : they knew on which side their bread was buttered. Of the truest of Puritan stock, the mother's family had found a lodgment on a little hillside farm carved out of the Hop- Brook Grant in Berkshire, which seemed almost as precarious in its rocky ruggedness and inaccessibility as the barn-swallow's nest, clinging in some mysterious way to the steep slope under the eaves of the old hip-roofed barn against which it was built. Yet, like the nest, the little hillside home had sufficed for the raising of many a sturdy brood, who had flown away to the constantly receding West almost before they had grown to full-fledged man- and w^omanhood. Brave-hearted, strong- limbed, and clear-headed, or, as they would now be called, level- headed, were these children of the Berkshire hills. There was no trace of mental unsoundness about any of them. Especially free from such imputation was Eliza Hall, the golden-haired, brown-eyed, youngest of nine, who, with her saucily upturning nose, a few freckles on her round cheeks, which made their peach-bloom all the more noticeable, — despite the entreaties of friends, the prayers of lovers, and the protest of parents, — would away to the West in her eighteenth year to become a Yankee schoolma'am in Michigan. That the young lumberman, Michael Servosse, — rich in the limitless possibilities of a future cast in the way which had been marked out by nature as the path of advancing empire, a brave heart and unquenchable energy, to whom thousands of acres of unrivaled pine-lands yielded tribute, and whose fleet of snug schooners was ever}- year growing larger, — that THE GENESIS OF FOLLY. 9 he should capture and mate with the fair bird from the New- England home-nest was as fitting as the most enthusiastic advocate of natural selection could desire. They were the fairest types of remote stocks of kindred races, invigorated by the fresh life of a new continent. The first fruit of such a union was the Fool, born on the first day of the month of flowers, in the year of grace one thou- sand eight hundred and thirty-four, on the very spot where the Iroquois met in council with the great chief Pontiac when the cunning plan was devised to gain entrance to the fort by playing a game of lacrosse on the parade-ground for the amusement of the garrison. The wife of a year, as the perils of maternity drew nigh in the absence of her husband, who was up the lake attending to his spring shipments, began to sigh for her far-away mountain home, and so named the new life, which brought consolation to her loneliness, Comfort. During his babyhood, boyhood, and youth, our hero mani- fested none of those characteristics from which he afterwards received the name by which he is known in these pages. He was reared with care. Though his father died while he was yet young, he left sufl&cient estate to enable the mother to give to her children every advantage of education, and divide a small surplus between them as each arrived at man's estate. The young Servosse, therefore, ate, drank, and slept, studied, played, and quarreled, like other boys. Like others who enter college, and have constitutions sufficiently robust to avoid dyspepsia arising from sedentary habits and the frying-pan, he left it at the end of four years, with a diploma properly signed and sealed, as well as very prettily printed on mock parchment, which was quite as good as veritable sheepskin for such a purpose. He studied law, as so many sensible men have done before his day, and with his first mustache was admitted under all the legal forms to sign himself " Attorney and Counselor at Law," and allowed to practice his art upon such clients as he could decoy into any of the courts of the Commonwealth of Mchigan. Thereupon, putting in force the 10 A rnnvs errand. " Circumspice " which appeared upon the seal attached to his license, he cast about for a place in which to set snares for the unwary, and pitched upon the tovrn of Peru; hung out his shingle ; obtained a fair business ; married the pretty j\Ietta Ward ; and, in the summer of his twenty-seventh year, mani- fested the first symptoms of that mental weakness which led him to perform the task of unwisdom hereinafter narrated. CHAPTER IL LE PREMIER ACCES. It was the 23d of July in his twenty-seventh year. He had "been for several days in a very depressed state of mind, ner- vous and irritable, beset by gloomy forebodings, wakeful, and, when he did sleep, moaning as if in anguish of mind, talking in his sleep, or waking suddenly and crying out, as if in danger or distress. There was nothing in his social or business rela- tions to justify any such state of mind. He was very warmly regarded by the little community in which he was settled, — a leader in its social life, an active member of the church in which he had been reared, and superintendent of its sabbath school. He had a good home, undistinguished by mortgage or incumbrance of any sort; a wife, whose energy and activity kept this home in the neatest possible condition, almost as it seemed without exertion, and certainly without the tyranny of servants ; an office in the very center of the town, where it ceuld not escape the search of the most unwilling or unobser- vant seeker ; and a practice which yielded him more than he had any call to spend. All this should have made him the most contented and happy of men. Yet, in spite of all these comforting surroundings, he had for a considerable time neglected his business to a marked degree, and seemed to have little interest in those things which ought LE PREMIER ACCES. 11 most nearly to have concerned him. For the last few days he seemed to have had no heart or interest in any thing save the results of a battle, which was said to have been fought half a thousand miles away, in which neither he nor any one of his clients had an interest which could have been measured by the American unit of value or any fraction thereof. Yet this young attorney was refusing to eat or drink, because he di,l not know the results of said battle, or perhaps because he feared that It might not turn out to his notion. Metta, his young wife, was surprised and alarmed. N^^,^ before had there been anything like trouble in the breast of her spouse, that he did not lighten his heart of at least half it. The dfffi T" 7™"-"° *° ''''*' """^^ "f ^'^ annoyance. The difficulties of each puzzling case were talked over with her; and not unf requently her pure unbiased heart had pointed out to him equities which his grosser nature had failed to per- ceive. Had he been cast in an action, he w^as sure to come home at night perhaps dragging and weary with the sto"; of his discomfiture, to receive consolation and encouragement .eTd r T' '"' *'" "^" *'-°""« '- had studiousnon cealed from her. At least he had refrained from all conversa- u,n in regard to it, and revealed its existence only bv H.e nn oluntary symptoms which we have set forth. But who "could conceal s^uch symptoms from the eye of love ? She had seen them, and wept and trembled at the evil that portended Ihe ^as no skilled student of mental phenomena; but, if she had somni: '°'?" '"'^ """^ *'^^' ^" «-- indickMois-Tn somnia, causeless apprehension, anxiety in regard to matte-s of zmT:r' r,^'-;.--"--- ai/studiourcotea f Slaters of If °, r'' ^;^1"''^t"<'e _ were most infallible W tM, ^"'''''''■- ^^'' '''*°"g'> ^^- did not evmln ''\\T"'^'"^^ f^'' "^^ '-"t had diagnosed the Bjmpoms; and the prescience of love had taught her with iV-r;f 'r/r^ '° """^^^-^^ «- -•» -hlch^ impend " cealed her sorrow from the purblind eyes of the dull mole whose heart was occupied only with the morbid fancies w^ch 12 A FOOL'S ERRAND. were eating their relentless way into his soul. She wept in secret over what she foresaw, and pressed her hands with tear- ful beseeching to her troubled heart, while her white lips uttered the prayer, which she felt could not be answered, " I pray Thee, let this cup pass from me ! "' Yet she met him, through whom she knew this affliction must come, ever with smiles and gladness. At morn she kissed him farewell, as he stood on the vine-covered porch of their little cottage, when he started for his office, while the balmy breath of the summer morning blew over them, and the bees hummed from flower to flower, sipping the honeyed dew from the throats of the unclosed morning-glories. At noon, when he came for the mid-day meal, the door flew open before his hand had touched the knob, and she stood before him in the little hall, draped in the neat, cool muslin which became her so well, a smile upon her lips, and inextinguishable lovelight in her eyes. And when he would sit in moody silence after their pleasant tea, while the evening shadows fell around, — brood- ing, ever brooding, over the evil which he would persist in making his own, — she would steal into his lap, and her soft arms would clasp his neck, while her lips would not rest from prattle or song until bribed into silence by kisses or laughter. Never had his home been so sweet. Never could home be sweeter. Yet all this seemed only to increase his melancholy, and make him even more moody and disconsolate. On the previous day he had come home before the tea-table had been set, — an hour before his usual time ; but somehow she had expected that he would do so. She had peeped through the blinds of her little chamber, and seen him coming ; so that, as he climbed wearily up the steps, he found her standing on the lower stair in the hall, her lips wreathed in smiles, and her head crowned with roses, as she waited to spring into his arms. " O Metta!" he said in an agonized voice, as he clasped her to his breast, and then put her away, and looked into her blush- ing face and into the eyes which were crowding back the tears she was determined should not flow, — "Q Metta, we are beaten 1 " SORROW COMETH WITH KNOWLEDGE. 13 " In what case ? " she asked, at once pretending to misunder- atand the purport of his words. He saw the pretty little trick ; but he w^as too sad, and mel- ancholy had taken too firm a hold upon him, to allow him to reward it with a smile. " Alas ! " he sighed, " this can be laughed away no longer. Blood has been shed. Not a few lives, but a thousand, have been lost. Our army has fought at a place called Bull Run, and been terribly defeated." CHAPTER III. SORROW" COMETH WITH KNOWLEDGE. There were no more smiles in the cozy home after that announcement. He had brought with him a newspaper, whose horrible details absorbed his attention, and from which he read aloud to her, as with noiseless step and white lips and ashen cheeks she went about preparing the evening meal, of which they had partaken together for the last time alone. Another presence — grim and terrible — sat at the board with them that night, and imbittered all the sweet viands which her pretty hands had prepared with such loving care. The name of this presence was War. It sat opposite the wife, and over against the husband. Its shadow blighted his brain, and paralyzed her heart. She could not eat; and the Fool noticed dully, when he could lift his eyes from the paper beside his plate, that there were great black circles about her eyes, which were not there when he had first met her in the hall that morning. After supper he went out, which was another sign of mental alienation ; since he had never before known a time when he would willingly leave his pretty home and gentle wife for the Bociety of men. He stayed late, and she pretended to be asleep when he came iu. She had been weeping in her loneliness j 14 A FOOL'S ERRAND. and her heart was so sore that she could not venture to give him the good-night kiss, -which she had never before omitted. In the morning there was the same heaviness ; and the same Shadow sat witli them at the breakfast-table and mocked at the Fool, as he read the morning's paper, and did not see the tears that rolled down the wife's cheeks. He did not come home to dine, but sent word that he was too busy to leave his office ; and it was late when he came to supper. His melancholy seemed to have departed ; and he was strangely, unnaturally cheerful and tender to his young wife. He came up the steps with a bound, took her lovingly from the lower stair, where she generally awaited him, and, when he had kissed her a dozen times or so, bore her in his arms to the dining-room, where the tea-table was already spread. Through the whole meal he rattled on of every thing except the fearful Shadow which sat opposite, and which he pretended not to see. "When the meal was over, he led his wife into the sitting-room ; and taking a seat by the window, over which clambered a rose- tree, some blossoms from which were in her hair, he seated her upon his lap, kissed her again and again, and finally said in tremulous tones, — "Metta, the governor has called for more troops." There was no response, except that the bowed head upon his breast nestled closer, and there was a sound as of a sob choked down in the white throat. "Don't you think, Metta, that I — that is — we — ought to do something — for the country?" Then came a little wailing cry. " Didn't I pick lint for two whole days, and sew bandages, and roll them ; and [a burst of tears] I'm sure I'm willing to do it every day — if — if — if it will do any good." Then the tears flowed in a torrent, and the slender form ehook with successive sobs, as if a great deep had been sud- denly broken up. "Oh, I didn't mean that!" said the Fool. "Don't you think / ought to do something? — that I ought to — to — goV" SORROW COMETH WITH KNOWLEDGE. 15 "Go! where?" came the response in assumed wonder ; for fihe would not understand. " To the war, dear," he answered gently. "What!" she cried. "You! you! my husband! Oh, it is not, it can not be so ! Surely there is no need of that. Can we not do enough — our share — without that? O darling, 1 should die ! " She sobbed as if about to make good her words, and clung about his neck with kisses and tears mingled in distracted confusion. "Oh, if I should lose you! Darling, darling! think of our pretty home! your bright future, and — and," she whispered something in his ear. " Surely some must stay at home ; and why not you ? " " Nay, nay, darling," he said, " do not tempt me ! I know it is hard; but I could not look you in the face, and know that I had shirked the call. Nay more, my darling! I could not gaze without a blush into the innocent face of that little child, if I should fail to take a man's part in the great struggle which the nation is waging with the wrong! I could not see your babe, and think that it might some time blush for its father's cowardice ! " As if it could make any possible difference to the little one M'ho was expected, whether its father continued a thrifty and prosperous attorney, as he had hitherto been, or became a red- handed slayer of men ! or, indeed, whether the said heir expectant would not be better pleased, and his interests better served, by his father taking the former course rather than the latter! However, the young wife saw that it was useless to argue with a mind so evidently distorted in its apprehension of facts, and lay weeping and sobbing in his arms until he liad fired her fancy with bright pictures of military glory and the sweets of the return home, when Peace should crown him with laurels, and spread a feast of all good things for the heroes who went forth to battle for the right. So, in a few days, he marched forth clad in the foolish 10 A FOOUS ERRAND. foppery of war, avoiding his wife's tearful gaze, and taluug pride and credit to himself for so doing. He was the captain of the "Peru Invincibles," which con- stituted Company B of an infantry regiment, that did an incredible amount of boasting at the outset, a marvelous amount of running soon after, and a reasonable amount of fighting still later in the Civil War, which had then just begun. This species of mental alienation was then of such frequent occurrence that it might well be regarded as epidemic. It displayed itself chiefly in an irresistible inclination to the wearing of blue clothing and the carrying of dangerous weapons, together with a readiness to use them in a very unpleasant and reckless manner. There were many mild cases, in which the mania manifested itself in very loud and reckless talk about what ought to be done. These cases were not at all dangerous, as they never went beyond that point. The persons acutely affected received different names in diiferent localities. In some they were called " Boys in Blue," " The Country's Hope," and " Our Brave Soldier-Boys ; " while in others they were termed " Lincoln's Hirelings," "Abolition Hordes," and "Yankee Vandals." It may be observed, too, that the former methods of distinguishing them prevailed generally in the States lying to the north, and the latter in those lying to the south, of what used to be called "Mason and Dixon's line." Both meant the same thing. The difference was only in the form of expression peculiar to the respective regions. All these names, when properly translated, signified Fools, FROM BAD TO WORSE, 17 CHAPTER IV, FROM BAD TO WORSE. Four years have elapsed, and our Fool is lying on the green- sward, under the clustering maples, in front of the little cottage from which he marched away in stoical disregard of his young wife's tears. A rollicking witch, whom he calls " Lil," is fighting a sham battle with the soldier-papa whom she has never seen until a week before, but whom she now tramples and punches and pelts with that sublime disregard for the feelings of the as- saulted party which shows the confidence she has in his capaci- ty to "endure hardness like a good soldier." Resting with her back against the tree-trunk, with a mass of fluffy white cloth overspreading the light dotted muslin which rises about her in cool profusion as she sits among the long grass, is Metta, the brave young wife, whose tears ceased to flow when she found they were powerless to detain the Fool away from war's alarms, and were all turned into smiles, and treasured up to await his return and restoration to his right mind. Ah! many a thousand times her heart has stood still with fear for him ; and now, as she playfully watches the struggle going on, we can see that there is an older look upon her brow than we had marked there before. The gray eyes have a soberer light, though brimming over with joy ; the lips, a trick of closing sharply, as if they would shut back the sob of fear ; and the hand wanders often to the side, as if it would hush by its presence the wild beatings of a sad heart. No wonder ; for the Shadow that sat at their table four years before had break- fasted, dined, and supped with her ever since, until the Fool came back a week ago. She knows that she has grown old,— lived many a decade in those four years ; but slie has quite for- given the unconscious cause of all her woe, and is busily en- 18 A FOOL'S ERRAND. gaged in preparing garments which shall carry no hint of his unfortunate malady. Indeed, it may be said that she has some pardonable pride in the eclat with which he returns. He has been promoted and gazetted for gallant conduct, and general orders and reports have contained his name ; while the news- papers have teemed with glowing accounts of his gallantry, lie is colonel now; has been breveted a brigadier-general, but despises the honor which comes as a thing of course, in- stead of being won by hard knocks. He is over thirty; and, as he romps with their first-born, she looks forward to how many ages of ecstasy in the sweet seclusion of their pretty home. '•There, there, Lily ! go and play with Pedro," she says at length. " You will tire papa. He is not used to having such a sturdy little girl to romp with him." She is half jealous of the child, who shares her husband's attention which she has hungered for so long. The child goes over to the old Newfoundland who is stretched at ease on the other side of the tree ; and, when the parents look again, her golden curls are spread upon his shaggy coat, and both are asleep. The wife draws her husband's hand upon her knee, lets fall her needle, and forgets the world in the joy of his pres- ence and of communion with him. " Do you know, Metta," he said after a long silence, '• that I have half a mind to go back ? " " Back ! where ? " she asked in surprise. "Why, back to the South, whence I have just come," he answered. " What ! to live? " she asked, with wide, wondering eyes. " Certainly : at least I hope so," he responded gayly. " But you are not in earnest. Comfort, surely," with an under- tone of pain in her voice. ^'Indeed I am, dear!" he replied. ''You see, this is the way I look at it. I have been gone four years. These other fellows, Gobard and Clarke, have come in, and got my practice all away. It could not be otherwise. If not they, it must have been some others. People must have lawyers as well as doc- tors. So I must start anew, even if I remain here." FROM BAD TO WORSE. 19 " But it will not be difficult," she interrupted. " You do not know how many of your old clients have asked about you, and were only waiting for your return to give you their business again." " Of course ; but it will be slow work, and I have lost four years. Remember, I am over thirty now; and we have only our house and the surplus of my savings in the army, — not any thing like the competency I hoped to have secured by this time," he said somewhat gloomily. "But surely there is no haste. We are yet yoimg, and have only Lily. We can live very snugly, and you wall soon have a much better business than ever before. I am sure of that," she hastened to say. " But, darling, do you know I am half afraid to stay here? It is true I look brown and rugged from exposure, — as who that went to the sea with Sherman does not ? — and my beard, which has grown long and full, no doubt gives me a look of sturdi- ness and strength ; but for several months I have been far from well. I weigh much less than when I left here ; and this old wound in my lungs has been troubling me a deal of late. Dr. Burns told me that my only chance for length of days was a long rest in a genial climate. He says I am worn out; and of course it shows at the weak point, just like a chain. I am afraid I shall never practice my profession again. It hardly seems as if I could stand it to sit at the desk, or address a jury." "Is it so, darling? " she asked with trembling lips, while the happiness fled out of her face, and left the dull gray which had come to be its accustomed look during those long years of w^aiting. " Yes," he answered tenderly ; "but do not be alarmed. It is nothing serious, — at least not now. I was thinking, as we had to begin over after a fashion, whether, considering every thing, it would not be best to go South. We could buy a plantation, and settle down to country life for a few years ; and I may get over all traces of this difficulty in that climate. This is wha* the doctor advises." 20 A FOOL'S ERRAXD. *'But will it be safe there? Can we live there among the rebels ? " she inquired anxiously. '•Oh," he responded promptly, "I have no fear of that! The war is over, and we who have been fighting each other are now the best of friends. I do not think there will be a parti- cle of danger. For a few months there may be disorders in some sections ; but they will be very rare, and will not last any time." "Well, dear," she said thoughtfully, "you know that I will always say as Ruth did, and most cheerfully too, ' Whither thou goest, I will go.' You know better than I; and, if your health demands it, no consideration can be put beside that. Yet I must own that I have serious apprehensions in regard to it." " Oh," he replied, "there must be great changes, of course! Slavery has been broken up, and things must turn into new grooves ; but I think the country will settle up rapidly, now that slavery is out of the way. Manufactures will spring up, immigration will pour in, and it will be just the pleasantest part of the country. I believe one-fifth of our soldiers — and that the very best part of them too — will find homes in the South in less than two years, just as soon as they can clear out their old places, and find new ones there to their mind." So he talked, forgetful of the fact that the social conditions of three hundred years are not to be overthrown in a moment, and that differences which have outlasted generations, and finally ripened into war, are never healed by simple victory, — that the broken link can not be securely joined by mere juyta- position of the fragments, but must be fused and hammered before its fibers will really unite. THE ORACLE IS CONSULTED. 21 CHAPTER V. THE ORACLE IS COXSULTED. The doubt which Metta had expressed led the Fool, a few days afterwards, to address a grave, wise man, in whose judg- ment he had always placed much reliance, in order to obtain his views upon the proposed change of domicile. So he wrote to his former college-president, the Rev. Enos Martin, D.D. : — "My dear old Friend, — The fact that I paid so little heed to your monitions when under your charge, is perhaps the reason why I prize your opinion upon any important matter now. I would like to have your views on the question follow- ing, promising to weigh them carefully, though I may not act upon them. * " I am considering the idea of removing my household gods to Dixie. So far as my personal characteristics are concerned, you know them better than any one else probably, except my- self, and would not take my own estimate of what you do not know. I can muster a few thousand dollars, — from eight to ten perhaps. I have come out of the war a little the worse for what I have been through ; having some trouble in or about one lung, no one seems to know just where, and some other mementoes of the affectionate regard of our rebel friends. I find my practice gone, of course, and am a bit afraid of our cold winters. As I desire your views, I will not give mine. Of course I must burn my bridges if I go. I am too old to face a future containing two upheavals. " Yours ever, "Comfort Servosse." In a few days there came this answer : — "My dear Colonel, — I am glad to hear you are consid- ering the question stated in your letter. Of course I can not 22 A FOOL'S ERRAND. advise you, in the ordinary sense of that word; nor do I suppose you desire that I should. I can only give my general impres- sions in regard to the future of that part of the country to •which you think of removing. " It is too soon to speculate as to what will be the course of the government in regard to the rebellious sections. A thou- sand plans are proposed, all of them, as it seems to me, crude, incomplete, and weak. One thing is certain, I think: no one will be punished for rebellion. It is true, Davis and a few others may be invited to go abroad for a few years for the country's good, and perhaps at its expense ; but it will end there. There will be no examples made, no reprisals, no con- fiscation. At the same time, if the results of the war are to be secured, and the nation protected against the recurrence of such a calamity, these States must be rebuilt from the very ground-sill. I am afraid this is not suflBciently realized by the country. I have no idea of any immediate trouble in the South. Such exhaustive revolutions as we have had do not break forth into new life readily. It is the smoldering embers which are to be feared, perhaps a score of years hence. And this can be prevented only by a thorough change in the tone and bent of the people. How much prospect there is of such change being wrought by the spontaneous action of the South- em people, I do not know : I fear, not much. " It seems to me that the only way to effect it is by the in- fluence of Northern immigration. Of course the old economies of the plantation and the negro-quarters will have to give way. The labor of that section must be organized, or rather taught to manage itself, to become automatic in its operations. The former master is not prepared to do this : First, because he does not know how; and, secondly, because the freedman has no confidence in his old master's desire to promote his interests. There will be exceptions ; but this will be the rule. In this re-organization, I think men w^ho have been acquainted with free labor will be able to give valuable aid, and accomplish good results. I look and hope for considerable movements of population, both from the North to the South, and vice versa ; ALL LOST BUT HONOR. 23 because I think it is only by such intermingling of the people of the two sections that they can ever become one, and the danger of future evil be averted. Should the present contro- versy be concluded, and new States erected in the recently rebellious sections, without a large increase of the Northern ele- ment in their populations, I am confident that the result will be but temporary, and the future peace of the country insecure. " As to the social and financial prospects of persons removing there, I suppose it depends veiy much on the persons them- selves, and the particular locality to which they go. I should say you were well fitted for such pioneer work ; and, if you should conclude to go, I wish you all success and happiness in your new home, and trust that you may find there friends as devoted and sincere as you have hitherto secured by an upright and honorable life. " May God bless you and yours ! "Enos Martin." By this letter, both the notions of the Fool and the fears of his wife were strengthened. Metta, seeing him grow more and more settled in his determination, did not think it worth while to offer any further opposition ; but consoled herself with the reflection that her husband's health was the thing of prime im- portance, and smothered her fear with a blind, baseless hope, that, because what they purposed doing was a thing born of good motive and kindly feeling, it would be prospered. Some people call that " faith ; " and it is no doubt a great consola- tion, perhaps the only one, when reason and common sense ar« squarely opposed to the course one is taking. CHAPTER VL ALL LOST BUT HONOR. Whilf. the matter was in this unsettled state, the Fool re- ceived a letter from Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn of Pipersville, a town in which his command had been for some time quartered 24 A FOOUS ERRAND. just before he had quitted the service, to which fact, among other things, he was indebted for the honor of Colonel Vaughn's acquaintance. Some few days after the collapse of the Confederacy, a gen- tleman had presented himself at the headquarters of the Fool in Pipersville, and directed the orderly in attendance to an- nounce that, — " Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn desired to surrender, and take the oath of allegiance." Thereupon he was ushered into the presence of our hero, and ■with considerable pomposity announced the fact again. Some- how he did not seem to the young soldier to have that air of one accustomed to camps and the usage of armies which was to be expected from a veteran of a four-years' war, who came in at the last moment to give up his sword, after all his comrades had been paroled and had departed. li is true, he had on the regulation gray suit of " the enemy ; " and the marks of rank upon the collar might at one time have been intended for the grade he had announced. He wore a light slouch hat, which, though not of any prescribed pattern, had evidently seen much service of some kind. But the surrender brought to light some queer specimens of uniform and equipments, so that Colonel Ser- vosse would not have been surprised at any thing that an officer might have worn. There was something, however, in the loud and somewhat effusive greeting, which, even allowing all that it was possible should be credited to laxity of discipline, showed that the man before him was not accustomed to asso- ciation with military men. So he asked quietly, — " Of M^hat regiment, sir? " " Colonel Vaughn, — Colonel Vaughn," said that worthy, de- positing himself upon a camp-stool, as if in assertion of his famil- iarity with military surroundings. " Well, sir," he continued in a loud and somewhat assuming tone, " you've got us, over- powered us at last. It was the Irish and Germans that did it. I had no idea you could get so many of them. They just swarmed on your side. The Yankees never could have whipped MS in the world by themselves, — never. But it's over. I sur- ALL LOST BUT HONOR. 25 render, — give up, — quit. I'm not one of those that want to keep up a fuss always. I've come in to give myself up, and go to work now to try and make bread and meat, sir, — bread and meat. You uns have freed all the niggers, so that we have nobody to work for us. Have to come to it ourselves. Haven't you got a mule you could let me have, Colonel? Hain't got no money ; but Zek'le Vaughn's credit's tolerably good yet, I reckon. Lost forty odd niggers, — as likely ones, too, as ever stood 'twixt soil and sunshine, — and now have got to go to plowing — at mij age. It's hard ; but we've got to have bread and meat, — bread and meat, sir. Hard, but can't be helped. Did all I could agin ye ; but here you are. Let me take the oath. I want to be sworn, and go to plowing before the sun gets too hot." " What regiment did you say, sir? " repeated the officer. " Oh, never mind the regiment! " said the other : " that's all over now. Just say Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn : that's enough. Everybody knows Colonel Vaughn, — Zeke Vaughn. I shouldn't wonder if you should find they knew me up at headquarters." '* It is necessary, sir, that I have the name and number of your regiment before you can be paroled," said the officer sharply. "Ah, yes! the regiment. Well, Colonel, you are mighty particular, it seems to me. What difference can it make now, I should like to know ? " he asked. " It is necessary to identify you," was the reply. " Ah, yes ! I see. You are afraid I might break my parole, and give you some trouble. I confess I have not been whipped ; but I am overpowered, — overpowered, sir, — and I surrender in good faith. I give my honor, sir, — the honor of a Southern gentleman, — as well as my oath, sir!" he said, with a great show of offended dignity. "That may be. Colonel," responded the officer; "but our orders require that you shall be fully identified." "Well, well ! that's very proper. Just say Colonel Vaughn of Pipersville : that will identify me. Everybody in the State knows me. No use of my trying to get away. I shall be right 26 A FOOrS ERRAND. here, when you want to find me, ready to come up, and be hung, if that is to be the end of it. Oh, I meant it ! I was one of the original 'Secesh,' — one of the immortal thirteen that voted for it in this county. I never would have stopped fightin' ye if I'd had my way. You'd never 'a' got here if I'd had my way! But that's all over now. I want my parole, so I can go home, and go to killin' grass ! " " AVhen I learn your regiment and command, I will fill out the blank," answered the officer decisively. "Oh, yes! the regiment. Well, Colonel, the fact is, — ahem ! — that I've, — ahem ! I've done forgot what number it was." " What ! forgotten the number of your regiment ? " " Dog-goned if I hain't, — slick as you please. You see, I wasn't in one of the regular regiments." " Well, what was your command? to what division or brigade were you attached ? " " Well, I wa'n't exactly attached to any." " Did you have an independent command? " " No : not exactly." *' Were you on staff duty ? " "Not exactly." " Will you tell me what you were ' exactly ' .? " "Well, you see, Colonel, I was just sorter sloshin' around loose-like." " Orderly ! " said the officer. A soldier entered the room, and, saluting his chief, stood waiting for orders. " Take that man to the guard-house ! " " But— Colonel, — I," — " Go on ! " said the officer. " But— I protest, Colonel, — I," — "Not a word, sir ! Take him out ! " The soldier took a gun which stood in the comer of the room, and motioned towards the door. Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn took his way through it without more ado, and was marched to the guard-house at the point of AN OLD ''UNIONER." 27 the bayonet, and in constant apprehension lest the orderly's gun might explode. CHAPTER VIL UXIOXER/ In a little time another party was ushered into the colonel's quarters. He was a tall, lank countryman, clad in a suit of country jeans, which was at that time almost the exclusive wear. He had a long, scraggly beard, of a dull, sandy color, with streaks of gray ; and, as he took off his hat and bowed deferentially, his head appeared quite bald. There was a shrewd look in his small gray eyes, and he seemed to approach the officer as one who had a right to speak freely with him. He coughed slightly, and put a hand to his gray beard with a pathetic gesture as he said, — " Colonel Servosse, I reckon." " Yes, sir. WTiat can I do for you ? " was the answer. " Wal, I don't know ez any thin'. I jes' thought I'd drop in an' chat a little." He coughed again, and added apologetically, "I'll set down, ef you'll allow." " Oh, certainly ! " said the officer ; but the stranger had seated himself without waiting for a reply. "I reckon you don't know me. Colonel. No? Wal! my name's Brown, — Jayhu Brown." "Jehu Brown! Not the man who piloted the boys that escaped from Salisbury prison through the mountains in eighteen sixty-four ? " "Yes," with another cough, "I'm that man. You weren't in the crowd; were ye, Colonel?" "No; but I had a friend who was, and he gave me an ex- plicit injunction, if ever I came into this section to find you out, remember him to you, and, if I could serve you in any manner, to do so for his sake. ' ' 28 A FOOLS ERRAND. " Thank ye. What might be his name ? " " Edgarton — Captain Edgarton — of the Michigan Battery! " " Oh, yes ! I mind him weW now. A big-shouldered, likely man, with long hair curlin' in his neck. I cut it off, so that it shouldn't be a mark to foller us by. He's well, I hope." And the old man coughed again. " In excellent health. Is a colonel of artillery now, and chief of that arm, on the staff of General Davis of the Four- teenth Corps. He would be overjoyed to see you." " Thank ye, thank ye ! So you'd heard of ole Jayhu be- fore? " said he with another apologetic cough. "I thought I'd never seed ye. It's not often Jayhu Brown forgits a man he's once sot his eyes on, or his name either ; an' I couldn't make out that I'd ever run across yours, though them prisoners was that thin an' wasted that the best man might forgit to make 'em out arter they'd hed a few months of full feed." He coughed again, a sort of chuckling hack, which seemed to take the place of laughter with him. "You seem to be in bad health, Mr. Brown," remarked the colonel, alluding to his cough. "Wal, not partickelar," answered Brown. "[Hack, hack.] I never was very stout, though I've managed to pull through as many close places as most men. That was a monstrous close time going with them ar fellows from Salisbury. [Hack, hack.]" " AVon't you have a little whisky?" asked the colonel, mindful of what constituted hospitality in the region where he was. "Wal, now, Colonel, it's mighty kind of you to think on't. I don't keer ef I du just drink the health of an old friend with ye. [Hack, hack.] " The orderly was called, glasses set out, and liquor, sugar, and water placed before the old man. " No, I thank ye! " said he : "none of them fixin's fer me. I allers did like my liquor clar, — clar an' straight." And he poured out a brimming goblet of the fiery liquid. "I never drinks liquor, as some folks does, just for the fun of the thing ; The Old Unioner and The Fool. AN OLD ^'UNIONERr 29 but I takes a full charge, an' means business. A man at my day hain't got no time to fool away mixin' drinks. [Hack, hack, hack.] " He placed his hand over his mouth, as he coughed, with a pathetic expression of countenance that suggested visions of the churchyard. "I don't often drink, — never, unless I need it, or feel a hankerin' fer it. Never was drunk in ray life, and don't 'How to be ; but I've allers hearn that what was wuth doin' at all was wuth doin' well." Again he pressed his hand to his breast with that peculiar, hacking cough, which seemed to be an apology, chuckle, or explanation, as served. His tall, slender form and solemnity of manner gave it a strange, almost ghastly, effect. " You seem to have a very troublesome cough, Mr. Brown," said the colonel. "AVal [Hack, hack], I reckon, now, it mout seem so to ye. [Hack, hack.] But do you know, Colonel, it's jest about the handiest thing I ever hed? I've seen the time I wouldn't take no money fer that cough, — no money ! [Hack, hack.] " "How is that? I don't understand you," said the colonel. "No, I 'spect not. Wal, that ar cough's my exemption- papers. [Hack, hack, hack.] " "Your 'exemption-papers!' I am still in the dark." " Wal, you see [Hack, hack, hack, apologetically], the Confed- erates used to git a notion every npw and then that nigh about everybody was fit fer duty in the army, ye know [Hack, hack]; an', among the rest, ole Jayhu. [Hack, hack.] An' them on us that couldn't handily leave home, or, leastways, them that thought they couldn't, was mighty hard put up for excuses. [Hack, hack.] An' I, — wal, you see, they couldn't never find a Board, no matter who they put on it, that wouldn't say 'twas jest a waste of transportation tu send a man tu the front in my con-di-di-tion. [Hack, hack, hack.] " And the old man coughed and groaned, and rolled his eyes as if the moment of dissolution could not be far off. " I never made no complaint, ye see ; but they never wanted 30 A FOOrS ERRAND. to hear my cough, when it was right holler, more'n once or twice, before they sent me home. [Hack, hack.] 'Twas a wonder, they said frequentlj, how I lived ; an' so 'twas : but I've managed to pull through thus fer, tollable peart-like. [Hack, hack, hack, chucklingly.] " The colonel laughed heartily at this recital ; and the old man hacked approvingly at his mirth, but did not show a smile. "Some on 'em," he continued, "hez laid aside ther exemp- tion-papers now thet the war's over ; but mine hez sarved me so well, I believe I'll hang on tu it. [Hack, hack.] It's been right handy, an' may come in play agin. They wasn't all ez handy ez mine. Thar's my neighbor Mastin, now: he hed a powerful good paper; but it was onhaudy, — mighty so. He got it up in a hurry ; but mine was home-made, an' no sort of inconvenience. Ye see, Mastiu was stout as a b'ar, — didn't even look delicate, which is a great help in such a thing. But, the mornin' of the day that he was ordered tu report fer ex- amination, he come tu town with his head tied up ez if he'd hed the mullygrubs fer a coon's age. [Hack, hack.] Every- body asked him what was the matter, an' he told 'em he'd come in tu git the government doctors tu tell him. He'd been mighty bad off, he said, fer a long time, an' was tu pore to git a doctor hisself, an' was mighty glad he'd been draw'd, 'cause he 'llowed he'd git some treatment now, 'thout payin' for it. So, when they asked him afore the Board what was the matter, he said, arter some fussin', ez ef he couldn't hear good, that 'twas his ear was a-troublin' him. An' one of the doctors pulled off the bandages, an' dug about half a bale o' cotting out; an', jest ez he pulled out the last plug, he turned away his head, an' hollered out, 'Git out o' here! yer head's rottener than Lazarus!' [Hack, hack.] Yer see, Mastin's wife hed dropped about half of a bad egg inter his ear that mornin'. [Hack, hack, hack.] 'Twas good papers enough, but onhandy. [Hack, hack.]"* * The questionable taste of this anecdote must be admitted ; but the story is genuine and true, and is here given because so thoroughly characteristic of the time, place, and people. AN OLD ^'UNIONER:' 31 " I should think so," said the colonel, 'when he could subdue his laughter. "But they wasn't all so," continued the old man. "That man you hed in here this mornin', an' sent off so imceremonious, he had some mighty good papers ; but I see he's laid 'em aside, an' that perhaps is the reason he's in the guard-house now." "Whom do you mean? Not Colonel Vaughn!" said the colonel. " Thet's what he calls himself ; but we mostly calls him ' Zeke Vaughn,' or more ginerally jist ' Zeke,' or ' hollerin' Zeke.' " "What did he want of exemption-papers? " "Wal, — mostly for the same purpose we all on us did, I reckon ! " " Wh}^, I thought he was an original Secesh, a regular fire- eater ! " " So he was at the start, an' in fact all the way through when it was a question of talkin' only ; but when it come to fightin' he wa'n't fire-eater enough to want to deprive any one else of a fair show of the fire. [Hack, hack.] So he got on two sticks in the spring of sixty-two, an' hain't been off 'em sence, except to go to bed, till last week he went out on his legs into old Polly Kichardson's field to keep the Yankees from gobblin' him up." "He hasn't been in the army, then? " " Been in the army ! Why, bless yer soul ! he hasn't seen a Yankee, alive or dead, since the thing begun, till he seed you; an' ef you treat him ez you hev to-day he's not like tu die tu git a sight of ye agin." " But isn't he a colonel? " " Wal, — not much, tu hurt. [Hack, hack.] " "Then how did he get the title? " " That would be hard tellin', Mister ! " "A militia colonel, I suppose." "I doubt it. Xever heard on't, ef he was. I think he jest picked it up ez about ten thousand more in the State hez. Got it by registerin' hisself ez sech at hotels, an' givin' fellers a 32 A FOODS ERRAND. drink tu heller fer ' Colonel Vaughn ' at perlitical meetin's, an' then answerin' tu the call." "Well, what was his exemption-paper, as you call it?" "Oh! he jest hobbled around on two sticks, pretendin' tu be the worst drawd-up man with rheumatiz you ever seed, till you ims come. You served him right, an' I was glad on't." In the afternoon several of the leading citizens of the town dropped in, and confirmed indirectly the old Unioner's report in regard to the doughty colonel. They said he was loud- mouthed and imprudent ; but there was not a bit of harm in him, and he was very much of a gentleman, and of a most respectable family. So, towards night, he sent an order for the prisoner's release, accompanied by this note addressed to him : — "Sir, — Having learned the origin of your title, I have or- dered your release, and beg to say that the government of the United States does not consider any parole necessary in your case. You are therefore at liberty to go anywhere you choose. " Respectfully, " Comfort Servosse, " Colonel coinmandiny Post." The colonel supposed he had seen the last of "Colonel" Vaughn: but in this he reckoned without the "colonel; " for that worthy at once attached himself to his headquarters as a sort of supernumerary orderly and chief volunteer adviser of the young officer. He managed to get a fine team, and made himself indispensable in planning and executing the daily drives into the surrounding country, which the colonel and his officers so much enjoyed as a pleasing contrast to the restraints of a long and arduous campaign. He was a man of great local knowledge, and a sort of good-natured persistency, which induced the impression that he was nothing worse than a well- meaning bore, who was to be endured at all times for the sake of his occasional usefulness and universal cheerfulness. Among other things talked of in these drives had been the subject of Northern immigration, the revival of business, and ^.V OLD ^^UNIONER." 33 the re-organization of labor. On such occasions Vaughn had always clamorously contended that what the subjugated section most required was Northern capital, Xorthern energy, and Korthern men to put it again on the high road to prosperity. In one of their drives they had often passed a plantation known as the "Warrington Place," which had particularly at- tracted the attention of our Fool, and he had frequently ex- pressed his admiration for it. Indeed, he had more than once ridden over the grounds, and examined the premises with that air of remonstrant anger at its neglected state which betrays the incipient interest of the would-be owner. This fact had not been unnoted by the observant Vaughn ; and he had deter- mined, if possible, to coin an honest penny out of the young colonel's admiration. He was a keen observer of human nature, and knew that it would not do to flush his game too quickly. He reasoned rightly, that, when the freshness of his return to old associations had worn away, the young man's mind would be sure to recur with something like longing to his recent surroundings. Ko active-minded man can settle down after four years of war to the every-day life of former years, without more than one twinge of restlessness and vague regret for the time when " boots and saddles " ushered in the ever-changing days. The months passed ; and, as recorded in Chapter VI., our Fool had returned to his home. One day he received a brief letter, under date of Sept. 1, 1865, which was as follows : — " Dear Colonel, — The ' Warrington Place ' is for sale, cheap as dirt. Five thousand dollars cash will take the whole place (six hundred acres) ; that is, five thousand dollars gold. Our folks haven't got to understand greenbacks much as yet. We have had paper money enough for four years. This is a grand chance for a gentleman of your stamp. We need just such. Northern men are crowding in here every day. One man is putting up a factory, and three have opened stores. Shall I tell Griswold, who has the property in charge, that you will take Warrington? I am very anxious you should have it. 34 A FOOUS ERRAND. I know it will suit you so well. If you don't conclude to take it, let me know at once, as some other parties are offering. " Yours truly, " Colonel Ezekiel Vaughn. « p. S. — I can get it on better terms than anybody else, be- cause of my relations with Griswold. «E. V." CHAPTER VIII . "THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES." Warrington had been the seat of an old family whose ancestor, many years before the Revolution, had erected the usual double log-house (or '■'■ two-decks-and-a-passage," as it is still called in that country), in the midst of a charming oak- grove, upon a gently sloping hill, which rose in the bend of as fair a stream as ever babbled over the rocks in foolish haste towards the far-away sea. This log-house had in time given way to a more pretentious structure of brick ; the grove had been thinned and trimmed, and avenues laid out in it ; and the years which had made the house old and damp, worn the mortar from the bricks, and covered the cypress roof with a carpet of moss, had added glory to the forest monarchs which stood around it, and stretched, year by year, their great arms closer and closer about it, as if to hide its imperfections, and screen its decrepitude from the beholder. The Warringtons themselves were akin to some of the highest families in the State, and so prided themselves upon their opulence and position that they became chary of alliances with others. They intermarried until the vigor which had amassed great estates became weakened, and imbecility and vice succeeded. The estates were squandered, the revenues lessened, and one plantation after another absorbed, until finally Warrington itself, the family-seat, went to satisfy the ^' THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES." 35 demands of importunate creditors half a score of years before our story. Fortunately (or unfortunately, rather, for our Fool) the plantation fell into the hands of an eccentric Frenchman, a bachelor with an abundant fortune, and a taste for horti- culture and pomology. He was struck with the beauty of the situation, and the quality of the fruits produced there; and building a neat lodge on one side of the grounds, almost overhanging a little waterfall, which he had improved until it became one of the chief attractions of the place, he shut up the great house, and devoted himself to the culture of fruits and flowers with a contented zeal which yielded marvelous results. All about the central grove of oak and hickory were orchards and vineyards of the rarest and most luscious fruits. Evergreen had been interspersed with deciduous varieties in the grove, and trees of quaint habit and striking foliage were grouped here and there through the grounds. Of the plantation beyond the immediate surroundings of the house — the six hundred acres of alternate hill and bottom, with woodland and old field interspersed — he had been less careful, having left it in the hands of an overseer to be culti- vated or left idle as the fancy or inclination of that worthy might dictate. All he wanted from that portion of his prop- erty was, that it should pay the expense of its own cultivation, and furnish enough corn, meat, and forage to subsist himself and the two " boys " (slaves) whom he kept to help him in his horticultural operations, together with the horses and mules employed on the plantation. This was easy, without cultivating more than one-half the arable land. The overseer consequently reduced his cares, and accomplished all his em- ployer required, by '' turning out " from year to year portions of the plantation, and failing to " take in " any new ground. The consequence M^as that when Mr. Noyotte died, in the sec- ond year of the war, the bulk of the farming-lands had grown up into pine and sassafras, with rank sedge-grass waving thickly between, and great red gullies stretching across towards every ravine and water-course. The lands which had been under actual cultivation had become veiy much worn and depreciated 36 A FOOrS ERRAND. by slothful management, until the hillsides were washed, and the bottoms filled with the detritus, to the great detriment not only of the slopes above, but also of the rich alluvium be- neath. The eccentric owner had died, so far as was known, without heirs. He had never been a favorite in the neighborhood, and very little was known of his affairs. His housekeeper, a quad- roon woman, claimed his estate under a will duly executed ; but as it was suggested that she was a slave and incapable of " taking " under it, and as she was unable to prove the con- trary, the will was set aside, and an administrator appointed. It was found that the deceased had become indebted to an ex- tent which his personal estate was insuflficient to discharge, especially considering the very low prices which it brought at the sale which the administrator made for that purpose. Nearly every thing was bought by Colonel Vaughn at figures which would have amazed one who knew nothing of how such matters may be arranged. It was given out and believed that Colonel Vaughn had been authorized, by a letter which had passed the blockade, to represent the heirs of the deceased, — nephews and nieces who lived in France, — and that he was buying in the property just to hold for them. Therefore, when likely negro slaves were bid off by Colonel Vaughn for fifty dollars apiece in Confederate money, every one said it was all right, and there was no covmter-bidding. The administrator made his report of sales, and, there being a deficiency of assets, obtained an order to sell the lands, which he was authorized to do either at public or private sale. Less than ten dollars an acre for such a plantation seemed to the Fool, who was accustomed to the high prices of land at the North, extravagantly cheap, — as perhaps it was in the abstract. He did not know that in its palmiest days the plan- tation would never have brought that price at a cash sale ; while its condition had so deteriorated, that, by the same scale of prices, it would now hardly have been worth more than half that sum : besides which, the deleterious effects of the war upon the value of all property in that region were hardly to be ''THEIR EXITS AND THEIR ENTRANCES.'* 37 estimated. Of all this he took no account. He answered at once that Colonel Vaughn miglit take the property at the price named, if he could get a good title. Of that he wished to be sure. Then there came an abstract of title from an attorney of the highest repute, as he well knew, and W'ith it this note : — " Griswold was anxious to sell : so I bought, knowing that you would be sure to take the place when satisfied of the title, as you will be when you read this. I got it a trifle below the price I named to you ; and you can have it for what I paid, any time within two months. " Colonel Ezekiel Yaughx." So the Fool sold his pretty home, packed up his household idols, took his wife and little daughter, and went to seek health, happiness, and fortune in Dixie. The trade which had been initiated by the persistent Vaughn was duly consum- mated, and Comfort Servosse became the owner in fee of the family-seat of the "Warringtons. It took almost all of his little fortune to pay for it ; but, when he had done so, he felt that he had accomplished a good work. He had made a fair bargain, and had now a basis for future happiness and prosperity ; and for this he felt himself under some obligation to Colonel Vaughn, and came to the conclusion, that, if that worthy was not gifted with a stomach for fight, he was at all events a good-hearted, obliging fellow. It was not till afterwards that he found out how many prices he had paid ; for, when the heirs of Mr. Noy- otte — the nephews and nieces in France ^ — sent over to reclaim the residue of the property in the hands of the administrator, it appeared from the record that the land had been sold privately to Colonel Vaughn in 1863, and that there had been received in payment thereof a certain amount of Confederate money, which was duly filed by the administrator, and reported by him as having been lost by the events of the war. But these things were unknown to the Fool for several years; and "Warrington came into his hands a new toy, unsmutched by any suspicion that he had paid too much for his whistle. 38 A FOOL'S ERRAND. CHAPTER IX. THE NEW KINGDOM. Why attempt to paint the delights of that first winter at Warrington ? Upon examining the place, it was found that the French- man's lodge had been used for purposes which prevented its present occupation as a dwelling, and they were forced to go into the old brick mansion. It needed much repairing, and at the best was worth more to look at than to occupy. Yet there was a certain charm about the great rooms, with their yawning fireplaces and dingy ceilings. Transportation was yet defec- tive; and it was long before their furniture could arrive over railroads, worn and old, which had been the object of attack by both armies at different periods of the war. It was the middle of October when they entered upon their new possession ; and all was so new and so lovely to Metta and the little Lily, that no lack of creature-comforts could have checked their enthusiasm. The balmy air, the unfamiliar landscape, the strange sense of isolation which always marks the Southern plantation life, and, above all, the presence of the husband and father who had been absent so long, all united to make them superlatively happy. Metta rode with her husband all over the country, whose strange irregularity became every day more pleasing to them, — through the thick woods along the bridle-path, where the ground was covered with autumn foliage which had fallen from ripeness rather than from the effects of frost ; past the little country farm-houses and the seats of w^ealthy planters ; fording rivers, and crossing rude ferries; every one whom they met, whether of high or low degree or of whatever race, having something about him which was new and strange to one of Northern birth and education. THE NEW KINGDOM. 39 A letter which Metta wrote to her sister shortly after they arrived will show the feelings of the young wife : — " My dear Julia, — I do not know how I can better employ a few hours of Thanksgiving Day than in writing you the promised letter of our new home and our journey here. While 3^ou are shivering with cold, perhaps looking out upon ice and snow, I am sitting upon a little veranda, over which clambers a rose-vine still wreathed with buds and blossoms. There has been a slight frost ; and those on the outside are withered, but those within are yet as fresh as if it were but June. The sua shines warmly in, and every thing without is touched with that delicious haziness which characterizes the few peculiar autumn days of the North that we call Indian summer. There is the same soft, dreamy languor, and the same sense of infinite dis- tance around us. " Every body and every thing is new to us ; that is, to Lily and me. Comfort's four years of soldier-life made him very familiar with similar scenes ; and, I doubt not, a large part of our enjoyment comes from having him to explain all these wonders to us. "It did seem terribly lonely and desolate when we first ar- rived. You know Comfort had come before, and completed the purchase, and made some preparations for our reception ; that is, he had engaged somebody to make the preparations, and then returned for us. We had a fearful journey, — rough seas and rickety boats, a rough country, and railroads which seemed to lack all that we have considered the essentials ot such structures. The rails were worn and broken, the cross- ties sunken and decayed ; while every now and then we would see where some raiding party had heated the rails, and twisted them around trees, and their places had been supplied with old rusty pieces taken from some less important track. Comfort said he believed they would run the train on ' the right of way ' alone pretty soon. All through the country were the marks of war, — forts and earthworks and stockades. Army-wagons, ambulances, and mules are scattered everywhere, and seem to 40 A FOOLS ERRAND be about all the means of transportation that are left. The poor Confederacy must have been on its last legs when it gave up. " The last twelve hours of the trip it rained, — rained as you never saw it, as I think it never can rain except in this climate. To say that it poured, would give you but a faint idea of it. It did not beat or blow : there was not a particle of storm, or any thing like excitement or exertion about it. It only fell — steadily, quietly, and uninterruptedly. It seemed as if the dull, heavy atmosphere were shut in by an impenetrable canopy of clouds, and laden with an exhaustless amount of water, jusfc suflBciently condensed to fall. There was no patter, but one ceaseless sound of falling water, almost like the sheet of a cas- cade in its weight and monotony, on the roof of the old leaky car. In the midst of this rain, at midnight, we reached the station nearest to Warrington. It is, in fact, a pretty little town of two thousand or so inhabitants ; but it was as dark as the catacombs, and as quiet, save for the rain falling, falling everywhere, without intermission. The conductor said there was a good hotel, if we could get to it; but there was no vehicle of any kind, and no light at the station except the conductor's lantern, and a tallow candle flickering in the little station-house. " Comfort got our baggage off, and stored in the station- house, after a deal of trouble ; and with bags and boxes on our arms, and muffled up to the chin to keep out the rain (which seemed to come through an umbrella as if it scorned such an attempt to divert it from its course), we started for the hotel under the pilotage of the conductor with his lantern. Such a walk ! As Comfort helped me out of the car, he said, ' It's fearfully muddy.' He need not have said it. Already I was sinking, sinking, into the soft, tenacious mass. Rubbers were of no avail, nor yet the high shoes I had put on in order to be expressly prepared for whatever might await me. I began to fear quicksand ; and, if j^ou had seen my clothing the next morning, you would not have wondered. Luckily it was dark, and no one can ever more than guess what a drabbled proces- sion we made that night." THE NEW KINGDOM. 41 " And then the hotel ; but I spare you that 1 Lily cried her- «elf to sleep, and I came very near it. " The next morning the earth was as bright and smiling as if a deluge had not passed over it a few hours before. Comfort was all impatience to get out to Warrington, and we were as anxious to leave that horrible hotel. So he got an ambulance, and we started. He said he had no doubt our goods were already there, as they had been sent on three weeks before, and he had arranged with a party to take them out to the plantation. At least, he said, we could not be worse off than we were at that wretched hotel, in which I fully agreed with him ; but he did not know what was in store for us! " Warrington is only six miles from the station ; but we were two mortal hours in getting there with our trunks and the boxes we had brought with us. Think of riding through mud almost as red as blood, as sticky as pitch, and 'deeper than plummet ever told,' for two hours, after an almost sleepless night and a weary journey of seven days, and you may faintly guess with ■what feelings I came to Warrington. As we drove up the avenue under the grand old oaks, just ripening into a staid and sober brown, interspersed with hickories which were one blaze of gold from the lowest to the topmost branch, and saw the gray squirrels (which the former ownef would not allow to be killed, and no one had had time to kill since) playing about, and the great brick house standing in silent grandeur amid this mimic forest, I could have kissed the trees, the squirrels, the weather-beaten porch, the muddy earth itself, with joy. It was home, — rest. Comfort saw the tears in my eyes, the first which I had shed in it all, and said tenderly, — " ' There, there ! It's almost over ! ' as if I had been a tired baby. '• Lily was in rapture over the beauties of the old place, as indeed she had good right to be; but I was tired. I wanted rest. We drove to the house, and found it empty, — desolate. The doors were open; the water had run across the hall ; and every thing was so barren, that I could only sit down and cry. After some trouble Comfort found the man who was to have 42 A FOOL'S ERRAND. made the repairs, and brought out the goods. He said the goods had not come, and he 'llowed there wa'n't no use fixin' things till they come. " Comfort sent the ambulance which brought us out to go back and get some provisions, a few cooking utensils, and some other absolute necessities. A colored woman was found, who came in, and, with the many willing hands which she soon summoned to her aid, made the old house (or one room of it) quite cozy. Our things have been coming by piecemeal ever since, and we are now quite comfortable. " Comfort has bought me a riding-horse, — a beautiful blooded bay mare ; and he has his old war-horse, Lollard, which he Jiad left in this vicinity with an old man named Jehu Brown, — who, by the way, is a 'character,' — having an impression that we might come here. So we ride a great deal. The roads are so rough that it is difficult to get about in any other way ; and it is just delightful riding through the wood-paths, and the curious crooked country roads, by day or night. "The people here seem very kind and attentive. A good many gentlemen have called to see Comfort. They are all colonels or squires, and very agreeable, pleasant men. A few ladies have called on me, — always with their husbands though ; and I think they are inclined to be less gracious in their man- ner, and not so cordial in their welcome, as the gentlemen. I notice that none of them have been very pressing in their invi- tations for us to return their courtesy. Comfort says it is not at all to be wondered at, but that we ought rather to be sur- prised and pleased that they came at all ; and I do not know but he is right. " Two or three countrymen came to see Comfort a few days after our arrival. They were all ' misters,' not ' colonels' and 'squires.' They said they were Union men; and it was won- derfully interesting to hear them tell, in their quaint provin- cialisms, what happened to them during the war. " We rode out to see one of them afterwards, and found him a thrifty farmer, with four or five hundred acres of good land, living in a log-house, with a strange mixture of plainness and POOR TRAY. 43 plenty about him. Somehow I think I shall like this class of people better than the other, — though they are rough and plain, — they seem so very good-hearted and honest. " We are going to have the teachers from the colored school at Verdenton here to dinner to-day to keep Thanksgiving. There are some half-dozen of them, — all Northern girls. I have not met them ; but Comfort says they are very pleasant ladies. Of course they have no society except a few Northern people; and he has gone to bring them out to give them a treat as well as ourselves, I suppose. " Yours ever, with love to all, "Metta." CHAPTER X. POOR TRAY. The next letter was during the week which succeeded Christ- mas Day, and explains itself : — " My dear Julia, — My last letter to you was written while I was waiting for the young ladies, who are teaching at Ver- denton, to come and share our Thanksgiving dinner. That was a momentous day for us, and that dinner a most important affair. We were a little short of some things necessary for such an occasion ; but we pieced and fitted, and, with the help of the willing hands of many colored girls (you must remember that all colored women are 'girls'), we made out to spread a very respectable table. Comfort had gone into town early with my little bridle-wise mare Jaca, in leading for one of the young ladies to ride; and the ambulance followed for the others. Just as my letter was finished, they all came up the avenue to the house ; and a merrier crowd I am sure I never saw in my life. Six sweeter girls could not be found. They are employed by the Missionary Association to teach in the colored schools 44 A FOODS ERRAND. that have sprung up all over the South like magic, and are real 'missionaries' in the very best sense of the word. They are from six different States, and never saw each other until they met here at the school in Verdenton, and are all cultivated, refined ladies of the best class of our Northern people, who have come here simply to do good. It was really charming to Bee them, so fresh and girlish, just from loving homes and tender friends, coming away down here on a noble errand, where they are despised and insulted for the very good they perform. Only the few Northern people who are here will have any thing to do with them. They are as much missionaries, and have as much to undergo, as if they were in Turkey; in- deed more, if our old friend who is teaching in Beirut tells the whole truth in regard to her difficulties. We had a delightful day; and towards night both of us returned with them, and sending back the ambulance, and keeping only our saddle- horses, staid at the Mission House, as their abode is called, until after nine o'clock ; and then Comfort and I rode home in the moonlight. I don't think I was ever happier in my life, or felt that 1 had been the cause of more happiness to others, than on that day ; and, when we knelt for our evening prayer, I did thank God with all my heart that he had directed our steps hitherward, for I believe we have a blessed work to do, and that our lives here will not be in vain. " A few days afterward I w^ent to call on some of the ladies who had visited me. It was so far that Comfort went with me, and I persuaded him to let me go on horseback ; for it is so unpleasant to ride in an ambulance, which is the only alter- native. This would not be quite en regie at home, I know; but here it is a veiy general thing, and it is a mode of traveling too delightful ever to be abandoned. We called at three houses, and were received at all of them with a very marked restraint of manner, and with positive rudeness in one case. I felt as if I could cry from disappointment and chagrin. AVe wanted to be friendly, and avoided every subject of conversation which could give pain ; and it seemed too bad to be met with such coolness. Comfort tried to console me as we rode home ; but I could see that he felt it as well as I. POOR TRAY. 45 *' A day or two after this, Squire Hyman, who is one of our nearest neighbors, though he lives a mile away, came over to see us. He is a queer old gossip, who is so anxious to be on good terms with everybody that he has hard times to keep any- body on his side. During the war, it seems, he played fast and loose; and it is amusing enough to hear Colonel Vaughn and his Confederate friends caution us against him as a man who professed to be ' all right,' but was all the time encouraging deserters and harboring bushwhackers ; and then to hear Jehu Brown, and other known and reliable Unionists, say, ' He won't du tu tie ter. He was always claimin' tu be a powerful good Union man, an' at the same time givin' information agin any o' the boys that was hidin' out.' " I knew that he had something 'very particular,' as he says, to tell the moment he came into the room ; but it was a long time before he could get to it. I think Comfort suspected what it was, and purposely led him away from the point he was striving to reach. At length he ' bounced it squarely,' as the country-people hereabout say, with the statement, — "*I hear they've got a powerful big school for the — the nig= gers as we call them, — in Verdenton.' " ' Oh, yes ! ' I answered in all innocence. ' We had the young ladies who are teaching there out here to our Thanks- giving dinner, and liked them very much.' " ' Indeed ! I don't know any thing about them, good or bad. Of course I hear a good deal said ; but that's neither here nor there. Some folks make a heap of fuss about every thing ; but I'm one of them that lets other folks alone if they don't trouble me. That's right, ain't it, Colonel ? He, he ! ' "'I don't see why there should be any thing said against these young ladies,' said I. " ' Well,' he replied, ' you know how we Southern people are. We have our own notions.' And he winked, and chuckled to himself ; and I said rather sharply, — " ' I don't see what your notions have to do with these young ladies, who are certainly doing God's work in teaching these poor colored people, old and young.' 46 A FOOL'S ERRAND. " ^ Oh, certainly ! it would look so ; but * — " * But what ? ' said Comfort so markedly that the old man jumped in his seat. " ' Oh — nothing — that is — nothing of account — only — you know, Colonel, we can't help thinking that any one that comes from the Xorth down here, and associates with niggers — can't — well — can't be of much account at home.' " ' And you call teaching colored people associating with them?' asked Comfort. "'Well, of course, in a manner,' answered the squire hesitat- ingly. "'And you doubtless think it disreputable to associate with such teachers? ' " ' Well, Colonel, I'm glad you mentioned it. I didn't want to broach it myself, being a delicate subject, you know ; but it is so counted — by — the best society, you know.' " ' So you came to warn us that if we continue to associate with these teachers we must forego the pleasures of good society he'reabouts? ' " ' Well, I had heard remarks, you know. I name no names ; but I thought it would be no more than neighborly, being as you were strangers as I may say, and not accustomed to our ways, to let you know, so that you might be careful in the future.' " ' Thank you. We are certainly under many obligations to you for letting us know whom we are to be permitted to asso- ciate with, and whom not.' " ' Oh, not at all ! not at all ! I'm sure it's no more than I would do for any neighbor,' said the squire with an air of grat- ified vanity. " ' Certainly not, Squire,' said Comfort sarcastically, — and I knew from the flashing of his eyes that some one would get a shot, — ' certainly not ; and it is my confidence in your neigh- borly inclination which makes me presume to ask a favor at your hands.' " ' Any thing in the world that I can do, sir. I'm sure I shall be proud to serve you^' said the squire with marked en- thusiasm. POOR TRAY. 4< " ' Then, Squire, I would be glad if you would say to these good people who have undertaken to regulate our associations, that I bought this property, paid for it cash down, and am quite capable of regulating ray own affairs without their aid.' '"What do you mean, sir?' said the squire, starting from his seat, white with rage. ' Do you mean to insult me ? ' " ' I mean,' said Comfort quietly, ' to say that the ladies who are teaching in the colored school at Yerdenton are ladies of character and culture, fit associates for my wife, and fully the equals of any lady in the State. I desire to say further, that, regarding them as such, if it comes to a choice between ostra- cizing them simply because of the good work in which they are engaged, and losing the approval of the first families of Yer- denton and vicinity, I shall certainly choose the latter.' " 'Well — of course,' said the squire, somewhat staggered by this view of the matter, * of course you have a right to your own way. I meant no harm, not the least in the world. Good- evening, sir ! Good-evening, Madam ! ' And he was gone to do the errand at Comfort's bidding. " Colonel Yaughn came the next day upon the same errand. I did not hear the conversation he had with Comfort ; but he talked very loud, and I suppose was answered much as the squire had been. I heard Comfort say to him, just as he was leaving, — " ' I fought four years, sir, for the privilege of living under the flag of the United States with all the rights of a citizen in any part of the Union, and I do not intend to permit anybody to dictate my conduct towards anybody else.' "'If your family associate with nigger teachers, you can not expect respectable people to recognize them as associates.' " ' We do not ask anybody to associate with us, sir. We are not suppliants for recognition. If people desire our friendship, we are frank and outspoken, pretending to nothing more than we are, and accepting others as we find them. If they do not wish to associate with us, we do not complain, and are not likely to mourn. ' " The colonel, as he calls lumaelfi went away in highdudg- 48 A FOOLS ERRAND. eon; and the next week the paper published at Yerdenton had a dirty little squib in regard to the matter, which I send you. [It read as follows : — ' Our readers will regret to leara that the Canadian Yankee Servosse, who has bought the Warrington Place, is one of those fanatical abolitionists whose infamous doctrines were the real cause of all the suffering and bloodshed of the last four years. Our citizens had extended many favors to him, and our ladies had shown very marked courtesy to his family. Instead of appreciating these things, he has chosen to slander our first ladies by comparing them with the nigger schoolmarms who have come down here to teach social equality by example. ' We understand that Servosse had all these free-love nig- ger-missionaries of the female persuasion out at Warrington to celebrate the new Yankee holiday, which has been added to the governmental calendar since the first year of Lincoln's reign, called Thanksgiving Day. The day itself is a relic of New- England Puritanical hypocrisy, and, we understand, was fitly observed at Warrington, where they ate and drank, and sung "John Brown," "We're coming, Father Abraham," and sim- ilar melodies. It is said that one of the " N. T.'s" became so full of the spirit of the occasion, that she kissed one of the colored boys who waited at the table. Colonel Servosse cannot expect his family to be recognized by respectable people if he chooses such associates for them.'] " Did you ever see any thing so mean ? Of course we don't care any thing about it : only one likes to live peaceably with one's neighbors if possible. Comfort was very much exasper- ated when he first saw this, and went into town in a very angry mood. I don't know what he did; but the next week there was a very abject apology in the paper. It made a great excitement though, and even many of the colored people advised us not to have the teachers here anymore. (* N. T.,' you know, is Southern euphemism for Nigger Teacher.) Of course we paid no attention to it, and will have them here just as often as we can, both to show that we are not moved by such things, and because they enjpy coming so much. POOR TRAY. 49 " Some time ago Comfort concluded to establish a sabbath school for colored people, as there are a great many in this neighborhood, and no school of any kind for them nearer than Verdenton. So he consulted with some of their leading men, and they fixed up an arbor and some seats in a grove not far from the house ; and you ought to see what congregations gather there Sunday afternoons. Two or three white men came in at first, as if to see what would be done. Comfort asked them to take classes, and help us teach these poor people. One old man with long, white hair, strange, dark eyes, and a mild, soft voice, came forward, and said that it was a good work, and he thanked God that he had put it into the mind of this new neighbor to do it; and he for one would do all in his power to assist him. "The others stood off, and did not seem to know what to do about the matter. The old man's name is George D. Garnet. He is of Huguenot descent, and belongs to a large family in the South, whose name has been corrupted from its original orthography. He is very proud of his descent, and was at- tracted to us by our name being also French. He is a deacon of the Baptist church in Mayfield, about twenty miles from here. He says he has been trying to get his church to take hold of a colored sabbath school from the very day of the sur- render; but they will not hear him. He has often staid to tea with us, and we find him very entertaining indeed. He is very eccentric, as is evident from what he says, and the stories the colored people tell of him. He says he was a slaveholder who thought slavery wrong, — a ' Virginia abolitionist,' as he says. The colored people say that he used to buy slaves who were anxious to be free, and let them work out their f( "~dom. He was not a rich man, only just a good 'common liv^r,' as they say ; but in this way he bought and freed many slaves. " The colored people flock around us as if they thought ' de Yankee kunnel ' could do every thing, and hire them all. I think I could have a hundred housemaids if I would take all that come to me, and Lilian has nurses enough offered to take charge of all the children in your town. 50 A FOOL'S ERRAND. " Comfort has decided to sell all of Warrington but a hun« dred acres. The rest lies along the creek, and is very well fitted to cut up into little farms of ten and twenty acres for colored men, giving them upland to live on, with a little timber, and a piece of good bottom to cultivate. He is going to put little log-houses on them, and sell them to colored people on six or ten years' time. It will make quite a little town. " We hope to do some good, and trust that the foolish preju- dice of the people will wear away. It is strange how credu- lous they are, though. An old country-woman, who came along with some things to sell the other day, said she had heard that the colonel had come down here to try and ' put the niggers over the white folks,' and wanted to know if it was true ! She had a snuff-stick in her mouth, and neither she nor her two grown daughters could read or write ! It is wonderful how many there are here who are so ignorant; and those who are not ignorant are full of a strange prejudice against all who are not of their own particular set, and think and believe just as they do. " There are some reports of difficulties experienced by North- em men in some parts of the South; but we hope they are exaggerated. " Yours ever, " Metta." A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET, 51 CHAPTER XL A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET. Servosse was very busy during the winter and spring which followed in building the houses referred to by Metta, and laying out and selling a large part of his plantation. He found the colored men of the best character and thrifty habits, anxious to buy lands, and no one else was willing to sell to them. He purchased some Confederate buildings which were sold by the government, tore them down, and, out of the materials, constructed a number of neat and substantial little houses on the lots which he sold. He also assisted many of them to buy horses, in some instances buying for them, and agreeing to take his pay in grain and forage out of the crops they were to raise. In the mean time he gave a great deal of attention to the improvement of Warrington, expecting to reap his reward from the thousands of fruit-trees which Mr. Koyotte had planted, and which had grown to be full-bearing, in spite of neglect since his death. These trees and vines were all carefully pruned and worked ; and Warrington assumed the appearance of thrift and tidiness, instead of the neglect and decay which had before been its distinguishing features. There was some fault found with the sales which he made to colored men, on the ground that it had a tendency to promote " nigger equality ; " but he was so good-natured and straight- forward in the matter that but little was said, and nothing done about it at that time, though he heard of organizations in some parts of the State instituted to prevent the colored people from buying land or owning horses. The succeeding summer was well advanced when he went one day to attend a political meeting which was held in a little grove some seven miles from Warrington. It was a meeting purporting to be called for consultation in regard to the general 52 A FOOrS ERRAND. interests of the country. Eminent speakers were advertised to attend ; and Servosse felt no little curiosity, both to see such a gathering, and to hear -what the speakers might have to say. He had never been any thing of a politician, and had no desire or expectation of being one. He rode to the meeting, which he found to be far greater than he expected, not less than a thousand people having assembled. Almost every man came on his horse or on foot; and the horses stood about, tied to the lower limbs of the trees in the grove where the meeting was held. There were many speeches of the kind peculiar to the Southern stump, full of strong, hard hits, overflowing with wife and humor, and strongly seasoned with bombast. Stories of questionable propriety were abundant, and personalities of the broadest kind were indulged in. Servosse sat among the crowd, enjoying to the utmost this Dew experience, and wondering how people could relish con- tending so hotly over each other's records during and before the war. It all seemed to him very amusing. But, when they came to address themselves to the future, he became interested for another reason. It will be noted by the reader who cares to trace back a few years of memory, or consult the records which have not yet become history, that this was in the primary period of what has since become memorable as the era of " reconstruction." The plan which was then sought to be put into operation by the Executive* was what has since been known as the "presi- dential plan," supplemented by the " Howard amendment," and dependent on the adoption of that by the different States re- cently in rebellion. The abolition of slavery by constitutional provision, the abjuration of the right of secession, and the repudiation of the Confederate state-debts were the conditions precedent. Of course the future status of the freedmen was a question of overwhelming interest, though that was left entirely to the decision of the various States. It was for the discussion of questions thus arising that the meeting we have now in hand was called. * Andrew Johnson. OUTSKIRT-^ OF THE MEETING A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET, 63 The great subject of contention between the opposing- fac- tions was as to whether the recently freed people ought to be allowed to testify in courts of justice. "What!" said one of the speakers, "allow a nigger to testify! allow him to swear away your rights and mine! Never! "We have been outraged and insulted! Our best men have been put under a ban ; but we have not got so low as to submit to that yet. Our rights are too sacred to be put at the mercy of nigger perjurers ! " This sentiment seemed to meet with very general indorse- ment from the assembled suffragans, and more than one burst of applause greeted the speech of which it was a part. When the meeting seemed to be drawing to a close, and Servosse was considering the question of going home, he was surprised at hearing from the rude stand the voice of this same orator addressing the assemblage for a second time, and evidently making allusion to himself. "Mr. Chairman," he said, "I see there is a man on the ground who has lately come among us from one of the North- ern States, who has been here all day listening to what we have said, whether as a spy or a citizen I do not know. It is currently reported that he has been sent down here by some body of men at the Korth to assist in overturning our institu- tions, and putting the bottom rail on top. I understand that he is in favor of social equality, nigger "VNdtnesses, nigger juries, and nigger voters. I don't know these things, but just hear them; and it may be that I am doing him injustice. I hope I am, and, if so, that an opportunity will now be given for him to come forward and deny them. If he has come among us as a hona-fide citizen, having the interest of our people at heart, now is a good time for him to let it be knov.n. If he has come to degrade and oppress us, we would like to know what reason Le has for such a course. In any event we would all like to hear from Colonel Servosse; and I move that he be invited to address this meeting." ♦ Had a bombshell fallen at the Fool's feet, it could not have amazed him more. He sa-w the pui'pose at once. Yaugiin and 54 A FOOLS ERRAND. several others, ^vhom he had reason to suppose had no kindly feelings for him, were evidently the instigators of this speech. They were gathering around the orator; and no sooner had he ceased speaking than they began to shout, " Servosse ! Servosse I Servosse ! " The chairman rose, and said something amid the din. Only a few words reached the ears of Servosse : — "Moved 'nd sec'n'd — Servosse — 'dress — meeting. Those in favor — aye." There was a storm of ayes. "Opposed — no." Dead silence ; and then a period of quiet, with only an occasional yell for " Servosse " from the party of malignants on the right of the stand. Servosse shook his head to the chairman; but the shouis were redoubled, and there was a closing in of the crowd, who were evidently very curious as to the result of this call. " Bring him on ! " shouted Vaughn to those who stood around. " Bring him on ! Let's hear from him ! We haven't heard a speech from a Yankee in a long time." " Servosse I Servosse ! Servosse ! " shouted the crowd.- Those who stood about him began to crowd him towards the platform in spite of his protests. They were perfectly respectful and good-humored ; but they were evidently determined to have a speech from their new neighbor, or else some fun at his expense. " Oh, bring him along ! " cried Vaughn from the stand. " Don't keep him all to yourselves, gentlemen. AVe can't hear a word here. Give us a chance ! " This sally was greeted with a shout ; and Servosse, still ex- postulating and excusing himself, was picked up by a dozen strong arms, carried along between the rows of seats, — rough jnne boards laid upon logs, — and hoisted upon the platform, amid a roar of laughter. " We've get him now," he heard Vaughn say to his clique. "He's got to make a speech, and then Colonel Johnson can just give him hell." * There was another cry of " Speech ! speech ! speech I " Then the chairman called for order ; and there was silence^ A CAT IN A STRANGE GARRET. 55 save here and there a dropping word of encouragement real or mock, — " Speech ! Go on I Give it to 'em, Yank ! " &c. Servosse had noticed that the crowd were not all of one mind. It Avas true that there was an apparent unanimit}-, because those who dissented from the views which had been expressed were silent, and did not show their dissent by any remarks or clamor. He knew the county w^as one which had been termed a " Union county " when the war began ; and there •was still a considerable element whose inclinations Tvere against the Rebellion, and who only looked back at it as an unmitigated evil. They had suffered severely in one form and another by its continuance and results, and smarted over the sort of com- pulsive trickery by which the nation was forced into the con- flict. He had marked all these things as the meeting had progressed; and now that those whom he recognized as his enemies had succeeded in putting him in this position, he determined to face the music, and not allow them to gain any advantage if he could help it. He shook himself together, therefore, and said good-natured- " Well, gentlemen, I have heard that — * One man may lead the pony to the brink, But twenty thousand can not make him drink ! ' So, while you have show^n yourselves able to pick me up, and put me on the platform, I defy you to elicit a speech, unless you'll make one for me. However, I am very much obliged to you for putting me up here, as those rough boards without backs were getting very hard, and I shall no doubt be much more comfortable in this chair." Whereupon he took a seat which stood by the table near the chairman, and coolly sat down. The self-possession displayed by this movement struck the crowd favorably, and was greeted by cheers, laughter, and cries of " Good ! " '• That's so ! " and other tokens of admiration. If it had been the purpose of those who had started the cry to press him to an impromptu speech before a crowd already excited by a discussion they 66 A FOOL'S ERRAND. knew to hare been in direct conflict with the views he must reasonably entertain, in order that he might meet a rebuff, he was in a fair way to disappoint them. Instead of making an exasperating speech or an enjoyable failure, he had simply refused to be drawn into the net spread for him by coolly asserting his right to speak or keep silence as he chose. And the crowd unmistakably approved. The chairman, an old gentleman of courtly manner, whose very appearance was a guaranty of his character, urbanity, and moderation, evidently felt that the new-comer had been treated with rudeness, and that he had been made the unwilling instrument of a malicious insult. It was 'apparent that the stranger so regarded it, and the chairman could not rest under the imputation of such impropriety. So he rose, and, addressing himself to the occupant of the other chair, said courteously, — "I have not the honor of your acquaintance, sir; but I presume you are the gentleman who has been called Colonel Servosse." The latter bowed affirmatively. " I assure you, sir, I am happy to know you, having heard so much to your credit that I have jpromised myself great pleas- ure in your acquaintance." Servosse blushed like a boy; for there is no class whose flattery is so overwhelming as that to which the chairman belonged, it being united in them with a dignity of manner •which gives peculiar force to the lightest remark. "I am sure, sir," the chairman continued, "nothing could afford me greater happiness than to hear your views in regard to our duty as citizens of a common country at this peculiarly trying period in our history ; and I am confident that such is the earnest wish of this assemblage. [Cries of "Yes, yes!"] The manner in which you have been invited may seem to you somewhat rude, and was certainly inexcusable, considering the fact that you are a stranger. I hope, however, that it will not have the effect of preventing us from hearing your views. Seen from your stand-point, it is to be expected that present events will bear a different interpretation to what they have when COMPELLED TO VOLUNTEER. 57 viewed from ours ; but we have met as neighbors, and it is to be hoped that an interchange of views will do us good. I hope, therefore, that you will permit me to introduce you to this audience, and that you will make some remarks, if for nothing else, to show that you bear no ill will for our unin- tended rudeness." Cries of " Servosse ! Servosse ! Colonel Servosse ! " There was no possible answer to an apology and a request so deftly framed as this, except compliance. Servosse perceived this, and, rising, gave his hand to the chairman, and was by him formally introduced to the audience. The crowd gathered around the stand in expectant curiosity ; and a little group of colored men who had hung on the outskirts of the audience all day, as if doubtful of their right to be present, edged one by one nearer to the speaker's platform. The short terse sentences of the new-comer were in very marked contrast to the florid and somewhat labored style of those who had preceded him. It was the earnest practicality and abundant vitality of the Korth-A^'est, compared with the impracticality and disputatious dogmatism of the South. CHAPTER XIL COMPELLED TO VOLUNTEER. "Gektlemex," said he, "I did not come here to make a speech. I am neither a speech-maker nor a politician. Xever made a political speech in my life, and certainly am not pre- pared to make a beginning to-day. I have bought a home among you, and cast my lot in with you in good faith, for good or for ill. Whether I have acted wisely, or have run on a fool's errand in so doing, is for the future to reveal. I must sa}', from what I have heard, and heard applauded to the echo, hero to-day, I am inclined to think the latter will prove the 58 A FOOL'S ERRAND. true hypothesis. Your chairman has intimated that my opin- ions may differ from yours ; and, as this fact seems to be appar- ent to all, it is probably best, in order that we should part good friends, that I should not tell you what my views are." Cries of " Yes, yes ! Go on ! " "Well, then, if you don't like my notions, remember that you would insist on my giving them. As I said, I am no poli- tician, and never expect to be. I hope I have common sense, though, and I shall try to know something of what is going on in the world while I am in it. I don't want to discuss what has been done, nor who did it. I want to say one thing, however, about the immediate future. I have heard a good deal to-day about what the South wants, and must have ; what you will do, and what you will not do. I think you have two simple ques- tions to answer: First, What ca7i you do? And, second, What ?r//Z you do ? There has been much discussion here to- day in regard to freedmen being allowed to testify in courts, the repudiation of the war-debt of these States, and one or two other kindred questions. Allow me to say that I think you are wasting your time in considering such matters. They are de- cided already. There may seem injustice in it; but the war- debt of these States can never be paid. Neither can the freed- mau be left without the privilege of testifying in his own right. It makes no difference whether you accept the terms now offered or not, in this respect — yes, it may make this differ- ence : it is usually better to meet an unpleasant necessity half •way, than wait till it forces itself on you. " The logic of events has settled these things. The war-debt became worthless as paper when Lee surrendered, and nothing can revive it. The taint of illegal consideration attaches to it, and always will. So, too, in regard to the colored man being allowed to testify. This is settled. He was allowed to testify on the battle-field, and will be allowed to testify in courts of justice. When he took the oath of service, he acquired the right to take the oath of the witness. These, I say, are already facts. '•' The practical question for 3'ou to consider is, IIow far and COMPELLED TO VOLUNTEER. 59 how fast shall the freedmen be enfranchised? You have to- day assented to the assertion repeatedly made, that the South M'ould never submit to ' nig-ger suffrage.' But again I say, the South has nothing to do with that question either. The war settled that also." " We will have another four years of it before we will sub- mit," interrupted Vaughn in great excitement. There was an approving murmur from a good portion of the audience at this interruption. The speaker did not seem at all discon- certed, but, turning to Vaughn, said, — " I liope not, Colonel. Tve had enough ; but, if you will have it, lend me your crutches, and let me join the cripple brigade this time, won't you ? " The roar of laughter which followed interrupted the speaker for several minutes, and left Vaughn the picture of amazement. That the stranger should venture upon such a retort as that to a Southern gentleman was quite beyond his comprehension. "As I said," continued the Fool, " with the general question of colored suffrage you have nothing to do. It is a fact accom- plished. It is not yet recorded in the statute-books ; but it is in the book of fate. Tliis question, however, you have still in your hands : Shall negro suffrage be established all at once, or gradually? If you of your own volition will enfranchise a part of them, marked by some definite classification, — of intel- ligence, property, or what not, — and the others as they reach that development, it will suffice at this time. Wait, hesitate, refuse, and all will be enfranchised at the same time by the General Government. You say it will be a great evil. Then you ought to lighten it as much as possible. If you will give the elective franchise to every colored man who owns a hun- dred dollars' worth of real estate, and every one who can read and write, the nation will be satisfied. Refuse, and all will be enfranchised without regard to your wishes or your fears. " I have told you, not what I think ought to be, but what I believe is, the fact of the present situation. I can see that you do not all agree with me, perhaps none of you ; but it will stand thinking over. Don't forsret what I tell you, and, 60 A FOOL'S ERRAND. if you dislike my remarks, remember that you forced me to say what I have said, as well by your own urgent importunity as by the kindly compulsion of your chairman." There was a dull, surprised silence when he liad concluded. The very audacity of his speech seemed to have taken away all power, if not all inclination, to reply. Some of his audi- ence regarded him with sullen, scowling amazement, and others just with dull wonder that any one should have the hardihood to make such a statement. A few seemed to regard him not unkindly, but made no manifestation of approval. The chair- man rose, and stated that the views of the speaker were some- what startling and entirely new, he presumed, to the audience, as they were to him. As Colonel Servosse said, they would stand thinking about; and on behalf of the audience he re- turned to Colonel Servosse their thanks for an exceedingly frank and clear statement of his views. If there was no farther business, the meeting would stand adjourned. Thereupon the crowd separated ; and, after a few moments' conversation with the chairman and one or two others, the Fool mounted his horse, and took his way homeward. CHAPTER XIIL A TWO-HANDED GAME. He \ad not proceeded far, when, in descending a hill towards a little branch, he overtook two men, who were evidently saun- tering along the road, and waiting for some one to come up with them. He recognized them as men whom he had seen at the meeting. When he came up with them, they greeted him pleasantly, but with something like constraint in their manner. It was nearly sundown ; and one' of them, glancing at the west, remarked, — " Goin' back to Warrin'ton to-night. Colonel ? " A TWO-HANDED GAME. 61 " Yes," was the reply. " It's just a pleasant hour's ride." "It'll be right dark afore ye git there," said his interrogate! cautiously. "A little moonlight will make it all the pleasanter," he laughed. "Ef ye'll take pore folks' fare," said the other man some- what anxiously, "you're welcome to supper ajid a bed at my house. It's right near by," he continued, "not more'n a mile off your road at the farthest. You might ride by, and stay tu supper anyhow. 'Twouldn't hinder long, an' we'd be right glad tu chat with ye a bit." " No, thank you," he replied : " my wife will be looking for me, and would be alarmed if I did not get home by dark, or a little after. Good-evening ! " He was about to spur on, when one of the men cried after him in their peculiar way, — " stranger! wait a minit. Don't stop, but jest walk along as if we was only passin' the time o' day. I don't want tu Marm ye ; but it's my notion it would be jest as well fer ye not to go home by the direct road, arter makin' that speech ye did to-day." "Why not?" " Wal, ye see, there was a crowd of rough fellers thar that was powerful mad at what ye said about the nigger, though I be cussed ef I don't believe it's gospel truth, every word on't, myself. However, they're mad about it; an' thar's a parcel of towns-folks hez been eggin' 'em on tu stop ye somewhar on the road home, an' they may make ye trouble. I don't think they mean tu hurt ye ; but then ther's no tellin' what such a crowd '11 do." "You say they intend to waylay me ? " asked Servosse. " Wal, no I we didn't say that : did we, Bill V " appealing to his comrade. " But we thought they mout stop ye, and treat ye rough, ye know." " So you think they'll stop me. Where do you think they'll do it ? " he asked. "Oh. we don't know it 1 IVIiud ye, we don't say so ; but they 62 A FOOL'S ERRAND. mout, an', ef they did, 'twould ez likely ez not be somewhar about the ford." "All right, my friends. When I'm stopped, it will be a queer thing if some one's not hurt. " "Better stop with us now," said his new friends anxiously, "an' not git into trouble when ye can jest ez well go round it." "Xo, thank you," he answered: "I'm going home; and no one will stop me either." He spurred on, but had gone only a short distance, when a pebble fell in the road in front of him, and then another, evi- dently thrown from the bushes on his right. He drew rein, and was about to take a pistol from his belt, when he heard some one, evidently a colored man, say, — " O Mars' Kunnel I don't shoot ! " And at the same time he saw a black face, surrounded by gray hair and whiskers, peering out from behind a bush. " Jes' you git down off'n yer boss, an' etan' h'yer one minit while I tells ye sumfin'." " What do you want ? " he asked impatiently. " It's getting towards sundown, and I don't want to be late home. "Dar ! jes' h'yer him now ! " said the colored man reproach- fully. " Ez ef ole Jerry ebber wanted tu keep him 'way from home!" " Well, what is it, Jerry? Be in a hurry ! " said Servosse, as he dismounted, and led his horse into the dense undergrowth where the man was. It was without misgiving that he did so. He did not know the man, and had never seen him before, except, as he thought, at the meeting that day. He had been warned of danger; but such was his confidence in the good will of every colored man, that he left the highway, and came into the thicket to meet him, without fear. The confidence which his service as a Federal soldier had inspired in the good faith, trustworthiness, and caution of the colored man, had not yet departed. " Dey's waitin' fer ye. Mars' Kunnel," said the man almost in a whisper, as soon as he came near. "I'd sot down to rest my lame leg in de bushes jes' a little while ago, an' they come 'long, an' stopped nigh 'bout where I was; an' I heard 'em lay A TWO-HANDED GAME. 63 de whole plan, — tu stop ye down by de fo'd, an' tie ye out into de woods, an' give ye a wbippin' fur de speech ye made to-day." The man came from behind his bush, and Servosse saw that he was strangely deformed, or rather crippled from disease. He walked almost bent double, supported by two staves, but had yet a very bright, intelligent countenance. He remem- bered then having seen him before. His name was Jerry Hunt, and he lived on a plantation adjoining Warrington. " How did you come to be so far from home, Jerry ? " he asked in surprise. "Went to h'yer de speakin', sah. Can't tell what fer. Tought de Lor' hed sumfin' fer old Jerry tu du out h'yer ; so started 'arly, an' come. I knowed de Lor' sent me, but didn't know what fer till I heerd 'em a-fixin' it up tu git ye, mars' Kunnel. Den I knowed, 'cause yu'se our fren' : I knows dat." Then he told how, as he was lying in the bushes to rest, six men came along ; and he heard them arrange to waylay Colo- nel Servosse, "an' war' him out wid hick'ries. Dey said dey wa'n't gwine to hurt him, but jes' tu let him know dat he couldn't make sech infamous speeches as dat in dis region widout gettin' his back striped, — dat's all." " And where are they to be, Uncle Jerry? " "Jes' on dis side de fo'd, sah, — jes' as ye goes down de hill in de deep cut." " But how are they to know which road I take ? The road forks three miles before I come to the creek, and I can as well take one as the other." " Yes, sah ! " said Uncle Jerry. " Dey tought o' dat : so dey's gwine to leabe one man at de fawks wid a good boss to come down whichever road you don't take, an' gib 'em warnin', leastwise ef you takes de upper road, which dey don't 'spect, cos you come de lower one. Dey's gwine to put a grape- vine cross de cut to catch yer boss." " And who stops at the forks? '* "iVIars' Savage, sah." " What horse is he riding ? " 64 A FOOUS ERRAND. " He'll not hev any at de cawner, but will claim to be wait- in' for ISlars' Vaughn's carryall to come ; but de gray filly's hid in de bushes." " All right, Jerry. I'm much obliged. If I don't take care of myself now, it's my own fault. Good-night ! " " God bless you, sah! " Servosse rode on, revolving in his mind a plan by which he should discomfit his enemies. To evade them after such warning M-as a matter of no difiiculty whatever; but he was too angry to wish to do this. The idea that he should be way- laid upon the public highway, and maltreated, because, after their own urgency, he had spoken his opinion frankly and plainly about a public matter, was more than he could endure. He determined to do something more than escape the threat- ened attack, and give the parties to understand that he was not to be trifled with. On arriving at the forks of the road, he found Savage in waiting, as he had been told, and, after some little chat with him, started on the upper road. Savage called to him, and assured him that the lower road was much better, and a nearer way to Warrington. "Well," was the reply, "my horse has chosen this, and I always let him have his own way when we are going toward home." The horse of which he spoke was a bay Messenger, which he had captured in battle, and afterwards ridden for nearly two years in the service. In speed, endurance, and sagacity the horse had few equals even among that famous stock. Hoof, limb, and wind were sound; and his spirit did honor to his illustrious parentage. Upon his steadiness and capacity his rider could count with the utmost certainty. Horse and man were well mated, each understanding with exactness the temper and habits of the other. " Now, Lollard," he said, as soon as he was well hidden from the place where Savage was posted, "make the old 'Taber- nacle Church ' in the best time you can, and see if we do not make these gentlemen repent the attempt to circumvent us." A TWO-HANDED GAME. 65 " The Tabernacle " was the name of a church which stood on the upper road, about two miles from the lower ford, from which there was a bridle-path through the woods, coming out on the lower road about half a mile above the ford. To reach the latter road by this path before Savage should have time to pass the point of intersection was now the immediate ob- ject. Lollard covered the ground with mighty stretches, but evenly and steadily, in a way that showed his staying qualities. "When they reached the church, his rider threw the reins on his neck, and leaped to the ground. He was well acquainted with every bush around the church, having frequently attended meeting there. After groping around for a few seconds, he bent over a small hickory, and cut it off with his knife. It made a goad about six feet long, and perhaps an inch and a half in diameter in the heaviest part. lie trimmed off a few shoots, and then laid the top on the ground, and held it with his foot while he gave the butt a few turns, deftly twisting the fiber so that it would not snap from any sudden blow. This done, he had a weapon which in the hands of an expert might well be deemed formidable. He had a revolver in his belt; but this he determined not to use. Mounting again, he dashed down the bridle-path until he came to the lower road. A little clump of pines stood in the angle made by this path and the road ; and on the soft sward behind this he stopped, and, leaning forward, stroked his horse's face to prevent him from neighing upon the approach of the expected horseman. He had waited but a few moments when he heard Savage coming at a brisk gallop on his gray filly. The moon had now risen ; and between the straggling pine-tops he caught occasional glimpses of the rider as he came along the stretch of white road, now distinctly seen in the moonlight, und now half hidden by the shadow. Holding his horse hard until the other had passed the opening of the path, he gave the gallant bay the spur, and in half a dozen bounds was on the filly's quarter. The long, lithe hickory hissed through the air, and again and again lashed across the mare's haunches. Stung bb A FOOL'S ERRAND. with pain, and mad with fright, she bounded torward, and for a moment was bejond reach ; while her rider, scarce less amazed than his horse at the unexpected onset, lost his self-control, and added unintentionally the prick of the spur to her incen- tives for flight. It was but a moment's respite, however ; for the powerful horse w'as in an instant again at her side, and again and again the strong arm of his rider sent the tough hickory cutting through her hide or over the shoulders of her rider. Half-way to the cut in the road tnis race of pursuer and pursued kept up. Then Servosse with sudden effort drew in the bay, and subdued his excitement ; and, taking the shady side of the road, he advanced at an easy gait to observe the result of his artifice. Meantime the party at the cut, hearing the swift clatter of horses' feet, concluded that the man for ■whom they were waiting had been warned of the ambush, and was pushing forward to avoid being stopped by them in the "Woods. "By heavens! " said one, "it will kill him. Let's undo the grape-vine." And he sprang forward, knife in hand, to cut it loose. "Xo," said another: "if he chooses to break his neck, it's none of our business." " Yes," said a third : " let it alone, Sam. It's the easiest way to get rid of him." An opening in the wood allowed the rising full moon to shine clear upon the upper part of the cut. Faster and faster came the footstrokes of the maddened filly, — nearer and nearer to the ambuscade which the rider's friends had laid for another. Her terrified rider, knowing the fate that was before him, had tried in vain to stop her, had broken his rein in so doing, and now clung in abject terror to the saddle. " Good God ! how he rides ! " said one. "Heavens! men, it wdll be murder !" cried another; and as by common impulse they sprang forward to cut the rope. It was too late. Just as the hand of the foremost touched the tough vine-rope, the gray filly bounded into the spot of clear moonlight at the head of the cut ; and the pale face of their comrade, distorted with terror, flashed upon their sight. A Two-Handed Gamk. A TWO-HANDED GAME. 67 "My God!" they all cried out together, "it's Tom Sa- vage ! " The mare's knees struck the taut vine. There was a crash, a groan; and Tom Savage and his beautiful young mare M-ere lying at the bottom of the rocky cut, crushed and broken, while on the bank stood his comrades, pallid and trembling with horror. It needed not a moment's reflection to show even to their half-drunken minds what had been the result of their cowardly plan ; and, smitten with the sudden consciousness of blood- guiltiness, they turned and fled without waiting to verify their apprehension by an investigation of the quivering wreck of mangled flesh upon the rocks below. Hastily mounting their horses, which w^ere picketed near, they dashed through the ford ; and he against whom this evil had been devised heard the sharp clatter of their horses' hoofs as they galloped up the rocky hill beyond. Then he dismounted, and went cautiously forward to the edge of the cut. A moment of listening told him there was none there except the man whom he had lashed on to his fate. His heart beat fast with sickening fear as he glanced at the mangled form below. A low groan fell upon his ear. He clambered down the steep side of the cut, and groped about in the shadow until he found the body of the man. He struck a match, and found that he was still living, though insensible. At this moment he heard the sound of a rumbling vehicle on the road above. "Dis way, boys! dis way!" cried the voice of old Jerry. ** 'Twas right here dey was gwine to stop de Kunnel." There were hasty footsteps, and a rattling one-horse cart drove into the moonlight with the white-framed face of old Jerry peering over the dashboard ; while a half-dozen more colored men, each armed with a stout club, rode with him, or ran be- side it. " Stop ! " cried a voice from below. " Bress de Lor' ! " shouted Jerry. " Dat's de Kunnel's voice. Dey hain't killed him yit. Hurry on, boys I hurry on ! " 68 A FOODS ERRAND. He scrambled from the cart, unmindful of his decrepitude, and in an instant willing hands were helping the " Kunnel " bear something limp and bleeding towards the light. Then one brought water in his hat, and another gathered something to make a blaze for closer examination of the body of Sav- age. Fortunately he had slipped from the saddle when his mare struck the rope, and before she took her final plunge upon the rocks where she now lay crushed and dying. He had been dashed against the clayey bank, and was battered and bleed- ing, but still alive. He was put carefully in the cart, and car- ried on to Warrington. " Jes' arter ye passed me, Kunnel, the cart comed on, an' 1 tole 'em what was up, an' got 'em to drive on peart-like, so that we might help ye ef ther was any need on't, which, bress de Lor' ! dey wa'n't," was uncle Jerry's explanation of their un- expected appearance. CHAPTER XIV. MURDER MOST FOUL. The next day there was a great stir over the horse of Sav- age, which was found dead at the foot of the cut. The grape- vine still remaining attached to a tree on each side of the road fully explained her condition. Savage himself could not be found ; and his five companions had all fled, each fearing the others, and each believing the others had removed and hidden the body. That a murder had been committed was evident, everyone said; and those who had been privy to the design, though not engaged in its execution, were hardly at fault to imagine how it occurred, at least the main features of it; and the flight of Savage's comrades confirmed them in this belief. Tlie scheme to entrap the new-comer had evidently failed, and a greater evil than had been intended him had befallen one of the conspirators. Strangely enough no one associated Servosso MURDER MOST FOUL. 69 In any way with this result. Public justice, however, and the safety of those who were thought to be the real though unin- tentional murderers, required that some one should be pun- ished. A scape-goat was absolutely necessary to insure the peace and safety both of those who had fled and those who remained, as well as to satisfy the natui'al demands of public justice. So three colored men were arrested on suspicion, and, after being maltreated and threatened to induce them to confess, were haled before Justice Hyman for examination. With hands bound with tightly knotted cords before their breasts, and elbows tied behind their backs, they were led each one by a man on horseback — a great crowd attending, all armed — along the big road which led by Warrington to the house of Squire Hyman. Old Jerry came to inform " de Kunnel " of , the arrest. He immediately mounted his horse, and rode over to attend the examination. The court was held in the grove before the squire's house, the magistrate sitting by a table in his shirt-sleeves, and smok- ing a long reed-stemmed pipe, the bowl of which was of that noted clay which the smokers of the Allegany slopes declare to be little inferior to the meerschaum, and which the connoisseur who looks for a " sweet smoke," rather than a highly colored bowl, will be apt to prefer even to that vaunted article. The prisoners were charged with the murder of Thomas Savage. They had been arrested without a warrant, such formality not being considered important, as they were " only niggers." The gravity of the offence charged would have justi- fied an arrest without a warrant; but no one thought of putting it on that ground. One was now filled out, however; affidavit being made by the ever-ready Colonel Vaughn, that he had rea- sonable ground to believe, and did believe, that the defendants, and and , being malicious and evil-disposed per- sons, moved and seduced by the instigation of the Devil, at and in the county of , one Thomas Savage, in the peace of God and the State then and there being, did kill and murder, contrary to the form of the statute, in such cases made and 70 A FOOVS ERRAND. provided, by tying a grape-vine across the cut on the west side of Gray's Ford on Reedy Run in said county. The constable made return thereon that he had the bodies of the accused before the court, and the examination proceeded. The county-attorney, who had been sent for in hot haste to conduct the trial, arrived just as these formalities were con- cluded, and, after a brief consultation with Colonel Vaughn and one or two others, announced his readiness to proceed, and stated what he expected to prove at some length and with considerable vehemence of expression ; after w^hich he pro- ceeded to introduce his evidence. This consisted of proof of the finding of the mare, evidently killed by her fall upon the rocks, the gTape-vine drawn tightly across the road, the hat of Savage found in the cut, and traces of blood along the track in the same. These facts, he claimed, sufficiently established the death, without the production of the corpus delicti, — suffi- ciently, at least, to justify a binding over. He had no doubt but that the body would be found. To connect the accused men with the crime, he relied upon the fact that they had reason to harbor malice towards the supposed defunct, having had, each of them, some difficulty with him a short time previous to the event. In addition to that, certain tracks were found about the ford in the moist earth, which must have been made by colored men ; and those tracks were about the size and general appearance of those of the accused. When the evidence was concluded, the magistrate remarked that he would have to commit the prisoners ; and there was a murmur ran through the crowd to the effect that a better and cheaper way would be to string them up to a tree. *' If you send them to jail," said one, " the damned Bureau will turn them out ! " Then Servosse quietly stepped forward, and inquired if the prisoners had not a right to be heard and to introduce testi- mony in their own behalf. A look of blank amazement, not unmixed with righteous indignation, ran through the crowd at this proposal. The MURDER MOST FOUL. 71 magistrate said he supposed they had, — that is, if they had any testimony to offer. Thereupon Servosse said he would be sworn, and, being asked what he knew about the killing of Thomas Savage by the accused, said he knew they did not kill him. " Do you know this of your own personal knowledge, Colo- nel ? " asked Justice Hyman. "I do, sir." " "Will you please tell the court how you know this fact ? " asked the county-attorney. "Because, sir, Mr. Thomas Savage, the man supposed to be dead, is at this moment alive, and at my house." Had a clap of thunder burst from the clear sky above the crowd, their surprise could not have been greater. At length the county-attorney broke into a laugh, and, extending his hand to the Mitness, said, — " "Well, sir, you bring us very good news. "\"Vhat is his con- dition ? " "He is very much injured; but you had better ask him in regard to the cause of it. He will be able to tell you soon, or, if necessary, might do it now. I prefer not to say any thing about it myself, — at least, not unless in his presence. One thing I can say, however : these men you have under arrest had nothing to do with the accident which befell him." " All right ! " said the attorney. "We may as well discharge them, your worship. I am much obliged to you, Colonel, but wish you had told me before this farce begun. I believe you did it just to see me make a fool of myself." "Not at all, sir," was the reply. "I never dreamed of a lawyer consenting to a conviction for murder without proof of the fact of death. "Sh — !" said the attorney; then, putting his hand to his mouth, and leaning forward close to the ear of his interlocutor, he said in a whisper, — " Don't you see this, Colonel ? What would have become of the poor devils if they had been turned loose on this charge before your testimony ? " He glanced around, and then said aloud very significantly, — 72 A FOOUS ERRAND. " ' There needs no ghost come from the dead to tell us thatj my lord.' Eh ? " Then the squire wanted them all to take a little brandy with him. A decanter with glasses, and a sugar-bowl with a half- dozen spoons bristling from its mouth, were set on the table, and the whole crowd were invited to partake. A bucket of water and a gourd were brought, and each one helped himself to the apple-jack, sugar, and water. The late prisoners were not forgotten. When they had been unbound, the justice himself poured out a stiff dram for each, and congratulated them on their escape. The change from seemingly savage cruelty to sympathy and good will was instantaneous, and to Servosse inexplicable. The sullen stoical apathy which had marked the defendants during the previous proceedings had been changed into pro- found astonishment by the introduction of "dat ar Yankee kunnel." They had listened with dilated eyes to his brief •testimony, and when their cords were cut they had no memory of previous ill treatment in the joy of unexpected deliverance. So when the squire offered them a dram, and congratulated them in kind words on their release, each one tossed off his glass of apple-brandy with a grin and a shuffle, and a hearty, " Here's luck to ye, Mars' ! " The only unpleasant thing about it was that the wife of one of them who came rushing upon the ground at this time with loud cries of grief, upon being hastily informed of the facts, would persist in throwing herself upon her knees before the Fool, and thanking him in the name of her helpless babes for saving their father from being hanged without law or justice, "jes' because he was a nigger." "The pore critter don't know any better," as the squire informed the Fool apologetically. To which remark the Fool replied, - " Evidently not." A reply which left the good justice in grave doubt as to what was intended by it. Mr. Thomas Savage remained at Warrington until his bruises were healed. A great many of his friends came to see "WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 73 him, and were very anxious as to the cause of his injuries. He said but little while under the roof of his new neighbor, but after he left made no secret of the matter, and strangely enough was thenceforward the stanchest of friends to Ser- vosse and his family. CHAPTER XV. "who is my neighbor?" One day their neighbor, shortly after the events narrated in the last chapter, Squire Hyman, came over, ostensibly to see Mr. Savage, but really, as Mrs. Servosse thought, to renew his intimacy with them, which he broke off in a miff the year before, because they would invite the teachers of the colored schools to visit them. He seemed rather shy at first; and Mr. Savage was absent, so that his excuse did not hold good. As Colonel Servosse was away, Metta thought she should have a hard time to bridge over his discomfiture. He evidently remembered the last time he was there, and knew that she had not forgotten it. However, as it happened, she had one of the new novels of Victor Hugo upon her work- table; and knowing him to be a somewhat bookish man in his queer, rough way, having heard her husband say that he had read a great deal, and had quaint and original views in regard to what he read, she called the book to his attention, and soon had him sitting vis a vis with her ; his great stick and hat lying by him on the floor, and his long-stemmed pipe in his mouth, but hardly ever burning, though he lighted it every few minutes. Of course he did not smoke in her sitting- room without her leave, nor even did he presume to ask such leave ; but, knowing what the old man's pipe must be to him by the pertinacity with which he carried it about, she insisted on his lighting it. It was but a short time before he was dis- coursing familiarly on books and events in a maimer so quaint that she was well repaid. 74 A FOOL'S ERRAND. "Victor Hugo," said he meditatively. "Do you know, Ma- dam, it seems almost a dream to me the way that name has become familiar this side the water ? He must be an old man now, smartly older than I am, ma'am ; and he has been a most prolific writer, I believe, from a very earl}" age. Yet — would you believe it? — I never saw or read, to my present remembrance at least, any thing that he had written before the war. And I don't know anybody who had either. Not that I am any scholar, ma'am : but we Southern people had a good deal of time to read in those days ; and, as I had not much education, I took to reading, so as not to feel behind my associates. I did not read every thing of course, and didn't have any particular end in view, I'm sorry to say ; but 1 read what other folks read of novels and politics and religious controversies, and whatever fell in my way. But I didn't read any of Hugo's works, and hardly heard on 'em, till, some time along the last year of the war, a neighbor's son came back from the hospital, where he'd been lyin' sick for a good bit, and loaned me a book he called 'Lee's Miserables.' It was a shallow sort of pun, as I found out; but I reckon it was a most earnest one to the poor fellows in the trenches. Well, it's wonderful the run that book had here in the South, in spite of the blockade ; and I was not a bit surprised to see it stated the other day that he had almost as many readers in America as at home. He's the most Ameri- can Frenchman I ever read after." Then he would dip into the new book for a while, or read aloud some little passage which struck him, until he had mastered the period treated of and the general drift of the book. He bespoke its loan as soon as she had finished it, but could not be induced to take it before. After a time he asked to look into the book-case, and was soon engrossed in making new, and renewing old friends, as he said. There were some works which Servosse had put on an upper shelf, lest they should attract any one's attention, and be thought to have been displayed with any intent to offend. They were works upon slavery and kindred subjects. She noticed that the old man was peculiarly attracted to this ''WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 75 shelf. lie seemed very soon to have forgotten all about Victoi Hugo, and he presently asked if he might borrow some of these volumes. She hardly knew what to tell him. She did want to ask him to wait until Comfort came ; for it seemed so absurd, in what was called a free and Christian land, to hesitate as to whether it would be safe to lend a simple book. He noticed her hesitation, and said, — " I have a curiosity to read them. I have heard so much about them, and never saw them before. You may not be aware, madam, that they were regarded as * seditious publica- tions ' before the war ; so that one could only get to read thera at considerable risk and trouble. This I never cared to take; but now that it is all over, and the doctrines of these books have come to prevail, I would like to read the books just to see what hurt us." She remarked that her husband had put them on the top shelf in order that he might not seem either to obtrude them upon his neighbors' notice, or to deny their possession by con- cealment. *' Xo, he has no cause for that now," said he ; " though I re- member when a man was tried and convicted, and sentence of whipping and imprisonment passed on him too, just for having one of those in his possession." " I did not know," she said, " that the law actually made it criminal, or, rather, I supposed it was never enforced." " Oh, yes ! it was," he answered. " The case I allude to was Mr. Wanzer, who belonged to a very well-known family here in the county, though he had just come in from Indiana, which was the way he come to have the book about him. There was a big trial and a powerful excitement over it. He was very ably defended, and his lawyers took a heap of points on the law, which it was thought might be declared unconstitutional. But *twasn't no manner of use. The Supreme Court stood by the law in every particular." " I thought it was only mobs that interfered with people for reading what they chose," said she ; " at least since the good old days when they used to burn people for reading the Bible,*" 76 A FOOrS ERRAND. "Well," said he, "there used to be mobs about it too: at least we used to get very much excited at the idea of people bringing what were called 'abolition' books here, to stir up our slaves to insurrection ; and probably did some things that had as well not have been done." ' ' But how could you, Squire ? " she asked. " This claimed ta be a free country ; and how could you think you had any right to persecute one for reading, writing, or saying what he be- lieved? I suppose in those days you would have hung my husband for expressing his opinions? " "In those days," said he solemnly, " Colonel Servosse would never have expressed such opinions. I admit that he is a brave man ; but no one would any more have uttered such senti- ments as he puts out now than he would have carried a torch into a powder-magazine. The danger was so apparent, that no one could be found fool-hardy enough to attempt it. I think such a one would have been torn limb from limb, as by a wild beast, by any crowd in the South." "But you could not have thought that right, Squire," she interposed. " Well, now, I don't think you ought to say that, madam. You see, you are blaming a whole people whom we are bound to admit were, in the main, honest in what they did. If any one believed slavery to be a divinely appointed and ordained insti- tution, I can not see how he could do otherwise." "If!" she said hotly. "Do you suppose there were any such ? " "Undoubtedly," he answered seriously, — " many thousands of them, and are to-day. In fact, you may say that the bulk of the Southern people believed it then, and believe it now. They regard the abolition of slavery only as a temporary triumph of fanaticism over divine truth. They do not believe the negro intended or designed for any other sphere in life. They may think the relation was abused by bad masters and speculators and all that, and consequently God periniUed its overthrow; but they have no idea that he will permit the permanent estab- lishment of any system which does not retain the African in a subordinate and servile relation." *'WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?'* 77 "But you do not believe any such horrible doctrine, Squire? " she could not help asking quickly. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," he answered politely enough; :" I don't know what I believe. I have been a slaveholder from my youth, and ever since I could remember have heard the institution of slavery referred to in the pulpit and in religious conversations, not so much as a thing that might be proved to be holy, but which was incontestably divine in its origin and character, just as much as marriage, or any other Christian institution. I don't think a minister who had a doubt upon* that subject could have found any market for his religion here. Until the war was over, I think, if there was any one thing that I believed stronger and clearer and firmer than another, it was that niggers were made for slaves ; and cotton, terbacker, sugar- cane, an' rice, were made for them to raise, and could not be raised in any other way. Now I'm most ready to say that I'll be dog-goned if I know what I do believe. I hiow the niggers are free, and, for all I can see, they are likely to stay so ; but what's to come on't I don't know." "My husband," said she, "thinks they will remain so, and become valuable citizens, and that the Southern people have actually gained by the war more than emancipation cost them." "Yes, yes, I know," said he: "I've heard the colonel talk, and what he says looks mighty plausible too. I think it's that has had a heap to do with unsettlin' my faith. However, I do wish he would be more keerful. He don't seem to realize that he's among a people who ain't used to his free and easy ways of talking about every thing. I'm afraid he'll get into trouble, I know he means well, but he is so inconsiderate." "He's not used to hiding his opinions," she said with some- thing of pride. "Xo," he answered; "nor are those he is among used to having their pet notions assailed in that manner. I'm afraid there'll be trouble. I was anxious to see him to-day, an' talk with him about it; but I shall have to come again. Mean- time, if you'll let me take these books, I'll read 'em carefully, an' perhaps find some way out of my dilemma. ' ' <5 A FOOUS ERRAND. "Certainly," she said. ""We have no books that our neigh- bors are not welcome to read, believe or disbelieve, aocept or refute, as they may see fit. AVe practice what we preach, Squire." " I believe that, madam," said he, as he stooped for his hat and stick ; '* an' I believe you're very much in earnest, both in preachin' an' practicin'. Oh ! did I tell you ? " he added sud- denly, "my son Jesse, he's heard the colonel speak once or twice, an' he's clean carried away with him. Says he's got more sense than anybody he ever heard talk about such mat- ters. He's quite took up that notion you spoke of a while ago, — that freein' the slaves is the best thing that's ever happened for the white folks of the South. Maybe he's right, but it sounds right queer to hear him talk so. He's like you say, though, — practicin' what he preaches, an' is going in to work as if he'd been raised to it all his life. It looks hard, and sounds queer; but maybe he's right. Good-evening, ma'am! Tell the colonel I'm right sorry he was not at home. I'll come again when I've read these through," — touching the books with his pipe, — " an' hope I may catch him then." Servosse w'as not quite pleased when his wife told him that night of w^hat she had done. He had been very careful not to give any just ground of offense, as he thought, to their neigh- bors. While he did not hesitate to avow his opinions upon any question of present interest, he did not think it well to open the controversies of the past, and had studiously avoided all reference to them, unless it became necessary in considering the present. He did not say much, however ; and when, a few nights afterwards, the Squire came over to return the books, the Fool w-as rather glad she had loaned them. The old man had evidently come for a chat. One could see that as he laid down his hat and stick, filled his pipe, and drew up his chair to the corner of the wide fireplace, in which the dry hickory and black-jack was blazing brightly, and coaxed their little golden-haired pet to sit beside him. " Well, Colonel," he said, after he had chatted a while with the child, "I've brought back the books I borrowed of the piadam the other day." " WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 79 "So I see," laughed Servosse. "Well, I hope you enjoyed reading them ? " "That I did, Colonel," he answered, — "more, I suppose, than you would ever imagine that I could." "Indeed!" said Servosse. "I was half afraid they would make you so angry that you would feel like visiting your dis- pleasure on me." " No, indeed ! " said the old man with a sort of chuckle. " I had no notion of being angry ; though, now I come to think on't, I can't imagine why I am not. There's certainly hard things enough in those books about me and my people to make any man mad. But the truth is. Colonel, it seems to be all about the past, — what is all over and done with now, — so that I seem to be reading of somebody else, and some other time than my own. Do you know. Colonel, that I never read any ' abolition ' books before, only some of the milder sort ? and I am of the notion now, that our folks made a mistake in keeping them out of the South. I was a little surprised when the madam here," — waving his hand gallantly towards Metta, — "asked me if any one really believed in slavery. If it had been you, I should have asked if any one really believed in 'abolitionism.' But I am satisfied that the people who wrote those books believed what they were writing ; and it does seem as if they had good reason to do so. It's a thousand pities we couldn't have talked these things over, and have come to the right understanding of them without this terrible war." " That was quite impossible, Squire," said Servosse. " We could never have agreed. I have learned enough of the former state of affairs here already to see that. Each party distrusted the other's sincerity, and despised the other's knowledge. War was inevitable : sooner or later it must have come. Why, even now we can not agree in regard to the incidents flowing from emancipation, — the mere corollaries of the problem God has ■wrought out for us in the blood of our best." "That's true, too true," sighed the old man. "And it's curious too. It's all common sense at the last. Why can't W9 agree to hunt together until we find it? " " It seems to be human nature, Sq.uire.*' 80 A FOOrS ERRAND. " That's it, Colonel ; an' when you've said that you've said all. "We can't go no further, nor learn any more. It's human nature, and there's no more use of asking questions of human nature than of an owl. 'What' and 'why' are things that don't concern human nature. It don't care no more for reason than a mule does for persuasion. Human nature is a sullen, obsti- nate, unreasonable brute ; but it always has its own way with all on us. Ain't that so, Colonel ? " he asked with a self-appre- ciative chuckle. " Just so, Squire," replied Servosse. " And almost always disappointing too. Kow, I can not see why the South should not have seen its own interest to have lain in the way of grad- ual emancipation long ago." " The very idea I was going to advance as to the l!^orth,'* laughed the old man. " I never could make out what interest they had in the matteir at all. Now, the people who wrote those books I can understand. With them it was a principle, a religious idea. They thought it was a wrong and a sin which they would do God's service to exterminate. They are what we call 'fanatics.' No one can blame them, only for not crediting us with like sincerity. They might have done that, I should suppose. They made too much, too, out of the abuses of slavery. It icas abused, — no doubt of that, — and many bad things done by bad men under cover of it ; but they might have credited us with honesty, at least. We were not all bad, nor all cruel and unjust. Some of us thought the master's relation one of divine duty ; and others, who weren't quite so clear upon that point, or didn't care so much whether it was true or not, felt that the institution was on our hands, had come to be there lawfully, and we didn't see how we were to get rid of it without immense loss and sacrifice. So we just let it float along. But we were not hard masters, nor cruel owners. We did feel bound to protect the institution. Not only our interests, but the safety of society as we honestly thought, depended on its continuance, unimpaired and per- fect, until something else should take its place, at least. As long as the nigger was Aere, we were all satisfied that he must " WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?" 81 be a slave. A good many of us thought it would not be any injury if they could all be removed somewhere else." " Xo doubt you are right," said Servosse. " And it is not surprising, either, that you should have felt so, or that those who wrote these books should have misconceived your motive- Slavery did two things which naturally prevented such knowl- edge from being obtained : it excluded the stranger from its inner sanctuary with rigorous care, and persecuted with un- sparing severity all who rejected its dogmas." " Yes, yes, I see," laughed the Squire. " You and I are get- ting back to human nature again in our anxiety to excuse our respective sides. But do you know I have a still greater reason for being angry, after reading one of those books, on my own personal, individual account? — I, Nathaniel HymanV" *' Xo, indeed, I did not,", said Servosse. " You are not one of the characters, are you ? " *' That's exactly what I am," was the reply, " and not cast in a very enviable rule, either. Besides, the worst of it is, that the author takes pains to write a note about the matter, and tell everybody who was meant to be represented by the character. Hadn't you noticed it ? " " I had no idea of it," said Servosse, flushing. " I have never read the book since it first came out, and had then no personal interest in the individual characters." " X'o, of course not," assented Hyman ; " though I did think the madam's hesitation the other day might have sprung from that. I'd heard of the fact before, and was anxious to see if it were true. That's why I wanted to read the book." Metta assured him that she had no knowledge of it, and he continued, — " Well, I don't know as I mind it, though one hardly likes to go down to posterity as one of the black sheep of his day. The affair of which so much is made was a very trifling matter, and I had mighty little to do with it, at best." Then he read aloud the passage and the note, and explained ; " Now, the whole matter was this. There were a couple of Northern ministers, — Wesleyans, I believe they called them- 82 A FOOrS ERRAND. selves, — who couldn't make out to hold their tongues, but were a-spoutin' an' argyfyin' around here as if the Lord hadn't given them any instructions, only to abuse and denounce slaveholders and slavery. I went to hear 'em once or twice just to satisfy myself. They were very imprudent and very intemperate. I spoke to one of them after meeting was out that day, an' told him so. He wouldn't listen at all, but rattled off more Scripture at me than I ever heard in the same time from any body else on earth. I didn't quarrel with him (you know I never quarrel with anybody, Colonel), an' I presume I did tell him I was his friend. I'm everybody's friend, an' always have been. I didn't want him to get into no trouble, an' didn't want no harm to come to him. That's all true, an' I've no doubt I said so to him. But I did not approve his doctrine, nor sympathize with his sentiments; nor did I tell him so, though he says I did in the note. I never thought of such a thing. I probably told him I was a magistrate, which was true, and that I was afraid of trouble, which was equally true. Come to think of it, I am of the notion that I told him he had better not preach at the Level Cross. If I didn't, I ought to have done so ; for, if they had gone into that neighborhood, they would have been strung up to a tree, certain. Anyhow, the appointment was changed to Shallow Ford meeting-house for the next Sunday. That is true, an' I presume it was on my warning. Xow, I am represented as doing all this to get these men into my power. I swear to you, Colonel, it's false. I hadn't such an idea. I thought they were fools, and think so yet ; but I hadn't any malice or harm against them in the world. But as it happened, without any knowledge or advisement of mine, directly or indirectly, the next Sunday morning, when the meeting was to be at Shallow Ford, there came by my house a party of gentlemen going on to Level Cross, to hear the Wesleyans, they said. I told them they were on the wrong road, just as a matter of politeness, you know ; and they came on up to the fork of the road above your place here, and took over to Shallow Ford, sure enough. After they had been gone about an hour or so, it occurred to me that they might be bent on mischief. I don't "WHO IS MY NEIGHBOIif" 83 Bay I might not have done just the same if I had known their errand ; but as a fact I did not, and never suspected it till after- wards." " "Well," asked Servosse, " is the rest of the incident true, — that about dragging the ministers from the pulpit, bucking them across a log, and beating them V " " AVell, I heard afterwards that they did break up the meet- ing, and give the preachers a little brushing. They might have bucked 'em across a log; more'n likely they did : it's a powerful handy way to larrup a man. I don't allow, though, that it was any thing like so severe as it's represented in the book, though no doubt the preachers thought it pretty rough. I s'pose they weren't used to it — perhaps thought their cloth would save them. I understand they got away powerful quick after that, not waiting for any repetition of the dose, which was about the only sensible thing they did do." The old man told it with twinkling eyes, and an evident relish of the whole proceeding. " I have always had some doubt in regard to these incidents,'* said Servosse, "and am glad to have this confirmed by one who was an actor in it; but you don't pretend to justify such pro- ceedings, Squire? " " Well, now. Colonel, I don't really see what there is to make such a fuss about," said Hyman. " Here was a peaceable com- munity, living under the protection of the Constitution and laws of the country ; and these men, who had no business or interest here, came among us, and advocated doctrines, which, if adopted, would have destroyed the constitution of our society, and per- haps have endangered our lives and families. Such doctrines lead at once and naturally to insurrection among the blacks, jyid threatened us with all the horrors of San Domingo. I must say, Colonel, I think the gentlemen were very lenient and forbearing, when they only striped the preachers' backs a little; instead of stretching their necks, as would have been done in any less peaceable community under like provocation." "It is just such intolerance as this, Squire, which makes it next to impossible for the South to accept its present situation. 84 A FOOL'S ERRAND. You all want to shoot, whip, hang, and burn those who do not agree with you. It is all the fruit and outcome of two hundred years of slavery: in fact, it is part and parcel of it," said Servosse. " But you don't think those men had any right to come here, and preach such dangerous doctrines, do youV " asked his neighbor in surprise. " Certainly," said Comfort : " why not? " "Why not? " echoed the Squire. " Why, it seems to me the most evident thing on earth that every community has an undoubted right to protect itself. That is all we did, — pro- tected ourselves and our institutions." " Protected yourselves against your institutions, more properly," said Servosse. *' That is the very strength of the abolitionists' position, Squire. No community has any right to have, cherish, or protect any institution which can not bear the light of reason and free discussion." " But, suppose they do tolerate such an institution, does that give one a right to bring a firebrand among them? Are not they the proper judges of what is the correct thing for their own good, — the keepers of their own consciences ? " " It is useless to discuss the matter," said Servosse. " The arguments you use are the arguments of intolerance and big- otry in all ages. Even men who wish to be liberal-minded, like you, Squire, are blinded by them. You thought it was fair to whip those ministers for preaching what they deemed God's word, because the bulk of the community did not agree with them. That was the very argument which would have been used to justify Tom Savage and the others, if they had succeeded in giving me a flagellation a while ago, as they attempted to do. The principle is the same. I had disagree^ with my neighbors, and advocated strange doctrines. By your reasoning they had a right to suppress me by violence, or even by murder if need be." " Oh, not so bad as that, I hope, Colonel ! " said the Squire. "Yes, it is just as bad as that; and I tell you what it is, neighbor Ilyman," said Servosse, "the most dangerous and THE EDGE OF HOSPITALITY DULLED. 85 difficult element of the future, at the South, is this irrepressible intolerance of the opinions of others. You deem disagree- ment an insult, and opposition a crime, which justifies any enormity. It will bring bitter fruit, and you will see it." " Oh, I hope not ! " said the old man lightly. " I want to get along peaceably now, and I am sure our people want to do the same. We may be a little hot-blooded, and all that ; but we are not mean. We are poor now, — have lost every thing but honor; and I hope we shall not lose that. But I must be going. By the way, if you should be writing to any of your friends at the North, and should think of mentioning Nathan- iel Hyman, I wish you would just say that he never practiced any deception on the ministers, and was not responsible for the licking they got, directly nor indirectly. Good-evening, ma'am." He lighted his pipe, and went home, evidently thinking that his connection with this ante helium barbarity had somehow increased his importance in the eyes of his new neighbors. CHAPTER XVL THE EDGE OF HOSPITALITY DULLED. From the day of his speech in the grove, the new propriety r of Warrington was a marked man in the community. He was regarded as an "abolitionist" and an incendiary. While his neighbors did not seem to have towards him any especial dis- trust in their personal intercourse, and generally met him with affability, yet he gradually became aware that a current of won- derful strength was setting against him. He became an object of remark at public assemblies ; the newspaper at Verdenton had every now and then slighting allusions to him ; and the idea was industriously circulated that he was somehow con- nected — identified — with "Yankee power," and had b^en P'^nt S6 A FOOL'S ERRAND. to the South for some sinister motive. He -^as not one of them. He represented another civilization, another develop- ment, of which they were naturally suspicious, and especially so on account of the peculiar restrictions which slavery had put around them, and which had acted as an embargo on immigra- tion for so many years before the war. The intercourse between his family and those who constitute what was termed " good society " gradually dwindled, without actual rudeness or tangible neglect, until the few country- people who "neighbored with them," as it is termed there, comprised their only society, if we except the teachers of the colored school and the few Northern families in the town. Xow and then this feeling of hereditary aversion for th^ Yankee manifested itself unpleasantly; but it was usually only an undemonstrative, latent feeling, which was felt rather than seen in those with whom he associated in business or otherwise, until the first year had passed away, and the crops had been gathered. Little attention had been paid to the manner in which he had chosen to build houses and sell lands to the colored people, — it being perhaps regarded as merely a visionary idea of the Yan- kee abolitionist. When, however, the crops were harvested, and some of these men became owners of horses and houses in their own right, it seemed all at once to awaken general atten- tion. One night a gang of disguised ruffians burst upon the little settlement of colored men, beat and cruelly outraged some, took the horses of two, and cut and mangled those belonging to others. When the Fool arose the next morning, he found the follow- ing attached to his door-knob, wrapped in a piece of black cloth* on which was traced in white paint a death's-head and cross- bones above the figure of a coflSin : — "Colonel Comfort Servosse. Sir, — You hev got to leeve this country, and the quicker you do if the better ; fer you ain't safe here, nor enny other misprable Yankee ! You come here to put niggers over white folks, sayin ez how they THE EDGE OF HOSPITALITY DULLED. 87 should vote and set on juries and sware away white folkes rites as much as they damm please. You are backin nn this n' tio : by a sellin of em land and bosses and mules, till they are irittiii so big in ther boots they cant rest. You've bin warned th;it sech things wont be born; but you jes go on ez if ther w;nit nobody else on arth. Now, we've jes made up our minds not to stan it enny longer. AVe've been and larned yer damm nig- gers better manners than to be a ridin hossback when white folks is walkin. The Regulators hez met, and decided thet no nigger shant be allowed to own no boss nor run no crop on his own account herearter. And no nigger-worshipin Yankee spy thet encourages them in their insolense shel live in the county. Now, sir, we gives you three days to git away. Ef your here when that time's over, the buzzards wil hev a bait thats been right scarce since the war was over. You may think wes fool in. Other people hez made thet mistake to ther sorrer. Ef you don't want to size a coffin jest yit you better git a ticket that will take you towards the North Star jes ez far ez the roads been cut out. " By order of " The Capting of the Regulators." The Fool at once published this letter in " The Yerdenton Gazette," with a short, sturdy answer, saying that he was minding his own business, and expected other people to mind theirs. He paid for it as an advertisement, — the only terms on which the editor would admit it to his columns. This pro- ceeding, which in the North or in any other state of society would have awakened the liveliest indignation towards those who thus attempted to drive him away from his home, as well as a strong sympathy for him, had no such eifect upon this community. J\lany openly approved the course of the mob ; others faintly condemned ; and no one took any steps to prevent the consummation of the outrage threatened. No one seemed to think that the Fool was entitled to any support or sympathy. That he should sell land to colored men, and assist them to purchase stock, was considered by nearly the entire comnmnity 88 A FOOrS ERRAND. as an offense deserving the ^vorst punishment ; and that he should go farther, and publicly favor their enfranchisement, \vas such a gross outrage upon the feelings and prejudices of the ^vhites, that many seemed much surprised that any warn- ing at all had been given by the *' Regulators." The one most interested, however, was not idle. He pro- cured arms and ammunition, and prepared for the defense of his life and property, and the protection of his tenants and those to whom he had sold. A stockade was built for the horses in a favorable position, a guard provided, and signals agreed on in case of an attack. The commandant of the troops at a neighboring station sent a small detachment, which remained for a few days, and was then withdrawn. They had not been required by the owner of Warrington; but the rumor went out that he had called for troops to protect him, and the feeling grew day by day more hostile towards him. CHAPTER XVII. THE SECOND MILE POST. When the second Christmas came, Metta wrote again to her sister : — " Dear Julia, — It is more than a year since I wrote you my first letter from our Southern home. Alas ! except for the improvements we have made in "Warrington, and the increased sense of homeliness which we feel in our inanimate surround- ings, it is hardly any more like home than it was then. Com- fort has been very busy. He has put quite a new face on AVarrington, which is more delightful than any description could convey to j^ou. Almost every day he is out superintend- ing and directing the work, and, Yankee-like, ' doing right smart of it ' himself, as they say here. This, with the delight- THE SECOND MILE POST. 89 fill climate and my care, — for I must have some of the credit, — has transformed my invalid husband into a cheerful, stal- wart man, who seems to be in constant enjoyment of life. " Most of my time is occupied with teaching our little daugh- ter, or rather coaxing her to learn, for slie is the most strangely willful child in this respect you ever saw. I am taking imich pains with her, and she is making wonderful progress in a peculiar sort of a way. She is out with her father on the plantation a great deal, and, as a result, knows the name of every tree and flower, wild or cultivated, which grows about Warrington. She has either inherited or acquired that won- derful power of observation which Comfort has, and is already better versed in some branches of knowledge than I am likely ever to be. ♦' This, with my few household cares, and the enjoyment of rides, walks, and all sorts of excursions, makes up my life. Mere existence here is a constant joy. The sunshine is bright- er, the moonlight softer, the sky fairer, the earth more seduc- tive, than in the old home. There is a sort of intoxication in it all, — the flowers, coming at odd times and with unwonted richness and profusion ; the trees, of a strangely charming out- line and foliage, making forest and grove, which have always some sort of weird charm, so different from what we ever knew at the North ; and over all the balmy air. " And yet we miss our friends, — ah ! sadly enough, — for we have none here, and somehow can not make any. I am sure no one ever came to a new home with kindlier feelings for all who might surround us than we did. You know Comfort would not hear a word about trouble with the people here. He would insist that they were a brave, genial people ; that the war was over ; and that everybody would be better friends hereafter from its having occurred. He has found out his mistake. I am afraid we shall have no real friends here. There are some, perhaps, who think well of us, and, no doubt, wish us well in the main ; but they are not friends. Somehow it seems that the old distrust and dislike of Northern people will not let them be friendly and confiding with us ; or perhaps 90 A FOOrS ERRAND. the fault may be -with us. We are so different, have been reared under such different influences, and have such different thoughts, that it does not seem as if we should ever get nearer to them. " You heard about our trouble with the ' Regulators.' Com- fort got a lot of guns and ammunition for the colored men, and made preparations to fight in good earnest ; but thej^ have not disturbed us since. Mr. Savage sent them word that they could not hurt us until they had killed him, and came over and staid with us some weeks. I think it was his influence which saved us from further attack. " The feeling is terribly bitter against Comfort on account of his course towards the colored people. There is quite a vil- lage of them on the lower end of the plantation. They have a church, a sabbath school, and are to have next year a school. You can not imagine how kind they have been to us, and how much they are attached to Comfort. They are having a 'tracted meeting,' as they call it, now. I got Comfort to go with me to one of their prayer-meetings a few nights ago. I had heard a great deal about them, but had never attended one before. It was strangely w^eird. There were, perhaps, fifty present, most- ly middle-aged men and women. They were singing, in a soft, low monotone, interspersed with prolonged exclamatory notes, a sort of rude hymn, which I was surprised to know w^as one of their old songs in slave times. How the chorus came to be endured in those days I can not imagine. It was — Tree ! free ! free, my Lord, free ! An' we walks de hebben-ly way ! ' " A few looked around as we came in and seated ourselves ; and Uncle Jerry, the saint of the settlement, came forward on his staves, and said, in his soft voice, — ' ' ' Ev'nin', Kunnel ! Sarvant, Missus ! Will you walk up, an' hev seats in front? ' "We told him we had just looked in, and might go in a short time; so we would stay in the back part of the audience. " Uncle Jerry can not read nor write ; but he is a man of THE SECOND MILE POST. 91 strange intelligence and power. Unable to do work of any account, he is the faithful friend, monitor, and director of otliei-s. He has a house and piece of land, all paid for, a good horse and cow, and, with the aid of his wife and two boys, made a fine crop this season. He is one of the most promis- ing colored men in the settlement : so Comfort says, at least. Everybody seems to have great respect for his character. I don't know how many people I have heard speak of his religion. !Mr. Savage used to say he had rather hear him pray than any other man on earth. He was much prized by his master, even after he was disabled, on account of his faithfulness and char- acter. " The meeting was led that night by a mulatto man named Robert, who was what is now called an ' old-issue free nigger ' (freed before the war). He seemed very anxious to display the fact that he could read, and, wdth comical pride, blundered through 'de free hunner'n firty-fird hymn,' and a chapter of Scripture. Some of his comments on passages of the latter were ludicrously apt. 'I indeed baptize with water; but he that cometh after me shall baptize with the Holy Ghost and with fire,' he read with diflBiculty. 'Baptize wid water,' he re- peated thoughtfully. ' We all know what dat is ; an' baptizin' wid de Holy Glios', dat's what we's come here arter to-night. [' Amen ! * ' Brass God I ' ' Dar now ! '] But baptizin' wid fire ! — 'clar, brudderin' an' sisters, it allers makes my har stan'' straight tu think what dat ar muss mean ! Baptize wid fire ! I spec' dat's de tryin' ob de gold in de furnace, — de Lord's fur- nace, — dat clars out all de dross, but muss be powerful hot! ' " There w^as nothing special then for some time, until one man began weaving back and forth on his knees, and shouted, in a voice which might have been heard a mile, for fifteen or twenty minutes, only one sentence — 'Gather 'em in! O Lor', gather 'em in ! Gather 'em in ! O Lor', gather 'em in ! ' — in a strange, singing tone, the effect of which upon the nerves was Bomething terrible. ]Men shouted, women screamed. Some sprang from their knees, and danced, shouting, and tossing their arms about in an unconscious manner, reminding me of 92 A FOODS ERRAND. what I had read of the dancing dervishes of the Orient. One woman fainted ; and finally the see-sawing shouter himself fell over. Some water was poured on his head, a slow soothing hymn was sung, and in five minutes the assemblage was as quiet as any country prayer-meeting in Michigan. For me, I found myself clinging to Comfort's arm in almost hysterical fright. I begged him to take me away, but am very glad now that he did not. " After a time Uncle Jerry raised his head, which had all the time been bowed upon his knees since the meeting began, and, lifting his thin hands towards the people, said, in a soft, clear voice, — "'Let us all kneel down, an' pray, — one mo' short pra'r! short pra'r ! ' " He knelt with his face towards us. The guttered candle on the rough pine table threw its flickering light over him, as, with upturned face and clasping hands, he ' talked with God,' oh, how simply and directly! And, as he prayed, a strange light seemed to come over his brown face, set in its white frame of snowy hair and beard. He prayed for all, except himself, and seemed to bring the cares and troubles of all before the throne of grace, as if he had the key to the heart of each. " Then he came to pray for us, — ' the stranger f ren' whom God has raised up an' led, in his myster'ous way, to do us good, — bless him, O Lord, in basket an' sto', heart an' home ! He don't know what he's got afo' him! Stay his han', an' keep him strong an' brave ! ' But I can never reproduce the strange tenderness and faith of this prayer. I leaned my head on Com- fort's shoulder, and the tears fell like rain as I listened. All at once there was silence. The voice of prayer had ceased ; yet the prayer did not seem ended. I raised my eyes, and looked. Uncle Jerry still knelt at his chair, every worshiper still kneel- ing in his place ; but every head was turned, and every eye was fastened on him. His eyes were fixed — on what? He was looking upward, as if he saw beyond the earth. His face was set in rigid lines, yet lighted up with a look of awful joy. His breath came slow and sobbingly; but, aside from that, not a THE SECOND MILE POST. 98 muscle moved. Not a word was uttered ; but every look was fastened on him with hushed and fearful expectancy. "'Hain't bin dat way but once afo' sence de surrender,' I heard one of the women whisper, under her breath, to another. "Five minutes — perhaps ten minutes — elapsed, and he had not spoken or moved. It was fearful, the terrible silence, and that fixed, immovable face and stony figure ! There was some- thing preternatural about it. *' At length there came a quiver about the lips. The eyes lost their fixity. The hands which had rested on the chair were clasped together, and a look of divine rapture swept across the upturned face, as he exclaimed, in a tone fairly burdened •with ecstatic joy, — *" I sees Him! 1 sees Him! Dar He is." And he pointed, with a thin and trembling hand, towards the farther corner of the room. ' I sees Him wid de crown ob salvation on His head; de keys o' hebben a-hangin' in His girdle, — God's keys for de white pearl gates, — wid de bress-plate ob Holiness an' de man- tle ob Righteousness. Dah He is a-walkin' among de candle- sticks ?// and establish a serfdom more barbarous and horrible than 180 A FOOL'S ERRAND. any on earth, because it would be the creature of lawless in- solence. He saw, too, that this might easily be effected with- out any tangible and punishable violation of the law. His heart was wrung in agony for his poor neighbors. For himself, it did not yet occur to him to fear. There was much excitement in the little village of Huntsville that day. Betwixt fear and rage, the heart of every one was in a ferment at the outrage committed upon Bob Martin. For once, Uncle Jerry forgot his accustomed prudence, and moved by a very unreasonable anger at the impotency of the law, which could not punish those who could not be clearly identi- fied, he openly and boldly declared the monstrous doctrine that the colored people ought to defend themselves and each other. That he should entertain such ideas was in itself a misfortune ; that he should give expression to such incendiary notions was a fatal error. CHAPTER XXVIII. A BUNDLE OF DRY STICKS. To show more clearly the surroundings of the Fool, we make a few extracts from his little book, and records which he had collected and preserved, apparently in illustration of this inter- esting era. The first is from a friend in a distant county : — " The Ku-Klux have appeared in our county. I have been warned to leave within twenty days. A cofiin was put at my door last night. I don't know what to do. It would leave my family very badly off if any thing should happen to me. All I have is invested here, and I am afraid they will get me if I remain." The next was from an adjoining county : — " Three colored men were whipped by the K. K. K. a few miles from this place on Saturday night. One of them I do A BUNDLE OF DRY STICKS. 181 not know : the others were as good colored men as there ever were in the county. The reason given was, that they had been sasst/ : the true reason is believed to be that they were acquir- ing property, and becoming independent. Can nothing be done ? Our people are becoming very much excited. I am afraid this thing will lead to trouble." The next was from still another county : — " It seems as if things were getting too bad to think of with us. Two white and three colored men were terribly beaten in this county on Wednesday night. On Friday night two col- ored men were hanged. They were accused of arson ; but there was not a particle of evidence of their guilt : indeed, quite the contrary; and they were men of good character, industrious, and respectful.'^ Again from the same : — "James Leroy was hanged by the Ku-Klux on Tuesday night, his tongue being first cut out, and put in his pocket. He was accused of having slandered a white woman. The truth is, he was an independent colored man (though nearly as white as you or I), who could read and write, and was consequently troublesome on election-day, by preventing fraud upon his fellows." Another: — " The K. K. K. paraded in this town last night. There were about two hundred of them, all disguised, as well as their horses. They fired six shots into my house. Fortunately no one was there. We had news of their coming a little before their arrival, and I had time to get my family out into the corn-field south of the house. My wife and the servants took the chil- dren along the corn-rows to the woods. I staid in the corn near the house with my gun, determined to kill some one if they attempted to fire the house, as I supposed they would. My family staid in the woods all night. They tried to get hold of some of our prominent colored friends, but they also had 182 A FOOUS ERRAND. escaped. They -^ent into Allen Gordon's house, and, finding him gone, beat and abused his wife and family shockingly, and took his bed-cord out of the bed, saying they were going to hang John Chavis, who fired at them when they were here before. They went to Chavis's house. He was seen to leave a little while before, and it is hoped they missed him; but noth- ing has been seen of him since. He may have gone clean off, but it is not like him to do so." Here is one from our old friend, Dr. Garnett : — " My dear Friend, — It seems that it is even worse to be a * native ' here, ' and to the manner born,' if one presumes to disagree with his neighbors, than to be a ' carpet-bagger,' such as you are called ; for the evil of which I lately warned 3-ou has befallen me. Night before last the Ku-Klux came. I had never believed they would attack me ; but I had not neglected making some simple and obvious precautions for such a con- tingency. You know my house is a perfect blockhouse any- how. It was first made of hewed logs, closely chinked, and afterwards weather-boarded, and ceiled with inch lumber on the inside. Since the K. K. K. came in vogue, I had put heavy wooden bars across the doors, and added heavy inside shutters of inch boards to the windows, with little loop-holes at the side in case of attack. It was a bright night, not moon- light, but starry. I had been out late ; and, after getting sup- per, we were having family prayers before retiring. "We always lock every thing about the house at dark. My wife and daugh- ter Louisa were all that were at home with me. During the prayer, my wife, who was kneeling nearest the front-door, came over, and, touching me on the shoulder, said, ' They have come ! ' " I knew to whom she referred at once ; and, adding one brief petition for help, I closed my prayer. There were evi- dent sounds of footsteps crowding the little front-porch by that time. Then there came a rap on the door, and a demand that it be opened. This I refused to do, ordered them to leave my premises, and warned them that they remained at their peril. A BUNDLE OF DRY STICKS. 183 I gave my wife and daughter each a revolver. They are both delicate women, as you know; but they have learned to handle fire-arms for just such an occasion, and they did not quail. By this time those outside were assailing both the front and back doors. I looked out at one of my little port-holes, and could see them standing about the porch. A good many shots were fired also at the doors and windows. I thought I ought not to wait any longer ; and so, with a prayer for myself and for my enemies outside, I put my gun to the port-hole, glanced along it, and pulled the trigger. There was a shriek, a groan, and a hurrying of feet away from the door. When the smoke cleared away, I thought I could see one of those cloaked and hooded forms lying across the path before the house. I dared not go out to proffer aid or bring him in, lest the others should be in ambush, and fall upon me. My sight is not first-rate ; but Louisa said she could see them lurking about the fence and bushes before the house. After this the attack seemed to cease. I was on the alert, however, believing them to be as ruthless and reckless as wild Indians on the war-path. Presently, watching towards the front, I saw two figures come softly and cautiously up the road, and after a time into the yard. They stole along from tree to shrub like murderous red- skins, and I was about to fire on them, when they stopped at the body lying across the path. They consulted a moment, evidently examining the body; then one went off, and led a horse up to the gate. They lifted up the body, taking it between them to the horse, and with no little difficulty placed it across the saddle, and lashed it around the horse ; then they rode off, and, as they passed up the hill by the Widow John- son's, we could hear that there were a good many. We kept watch until morning, but neither saw nor heard any thing more of them. As soon as it was good light, I went out and exam- ined the path. There was a great pool of blood, which had also dripped along the path to the gate, and beyond that in the road. Getting on my horse, and taking my gun, I followed the trail of blood until it crossed the Little Rocky River, after which I lost it. 184 A FOOUS ERRAND. " I have strong suspicions as to -u-ho -were in the party. To- day there "was a funeral down in the Fork, of a man who was kicked hy a mule yesterday morning. The undertaker who buried him said he was already laid out when he came to the house, and some men who were there insisted on putting him in the coffin. "When the undertaker was putting the cover down, however, he got a chance to put his hand down on the head of the corpse. He says, if that man was killed by a mule, it must have been a remarkably tall one. It seems impossible ; yet I can not but suspect that this man was the leader, and that he died by my hand. Strange as it seems now, I have often met him at the Lord's table. He was a very active mem- ber of the church, and was a superintendent of a sabbath school. " I have even a stranger fact to record. You remember my daughter's hair was a soft light brown. It was so the night of the attack. In the morning it was streaked with gray, and now it is almost as silvery as mine. She is but twenty-three. Ah ! these villains have a terrible sight of crime and agony to answer for. I hear they are raiding all about the country, whipping and mutilating without restraint. Can nothing be done? Is our government so weak that it can not protect its citizens at home ? " Yours, " George D. Garnett." But why give extracts from letters showing the horror of that time? Here is a document which shows more conclusively than a thousand letters could its abounding terrors, because the testimony is unconscious and unwitting. It is a letter from the governor of the State, addressed to Colonel Comfort Servosse. It seems the latter had an appointment to visit the town of P in a neighboring county, perhaps on some public duty; and the chief Executive wrote thus to him : — " Dear Sir, — I must beg that you will not go to P on next Monday. Your life has been threatened in the most open and defiant manner. Our friends have been warned, and they FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. 185 implore me to induce you not to hazard your life by so doing. As you know, I can give you no protection, but feel it my duty to give you this "warning, and hope it may not come too late. " Yours truly, <( " Governor." The Fool was not one of those who could be advised : so he wrote, in answer to this letter, — •' To , Governor." " My dear Sir, — I have received very many warnings of a similar nature to yours in regard to going to P . I have no doubt but that there is a settled purpose to execute the threat too ; but, as my duty calls me there at that time, I shall go, and leave the result with Him who presides over our destinies. " Yours gratefully, " Comfort Servosse.'* So he went, and by some good fortune came safely home again, very greatly to his own amazement. CHAPTER XXIX. FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. One morning in the early winter, Squire Hyman came to Warrington at a most unusual hour. Comfort and his family were just sitting dovra to their early breakfast when he was announced. The servant stated that he had declined to join in the meal, but had taken a seat by the sitting-room fire. Lily, who was a prime favorite with the old man, went at once to persuade him to come and breakfast with them. She re- turned with the unexpected visitor, but no persuasions could 186 A FOOVS ERRAND. induce him to partake with them. He seemed very much disturbed, and said, as he sat down in the chimney-corner, — "Xo, I thank you kindly. I just came over to have a little chat, and perhaps get a little neighborly advice, if so be the colonel would be good enough to give it." "I hope there is nothing wrong with you at home," said Servosse, with real anxiety ; for the old man seemed greatly disturbed. "I'm afraid. Colonel," he replied, with a deep sigh, "that there's a good deal of wrong, a good deal, — a heap more and a heap worse than I had ever counted on." " AVhy, no one sick, I hope ? " said the colonel. "No, not sick exactly," was the reply ; ''worse'n that. The truth is, Colonel, the Ku-Klux took out my boy Jesse last night, and beat him nigh about to death." " Shocking ! You don't say ! " burst from his listeners. The meal was abandoned ; and, gathering near the old man, they listened to his story. "You see," he said, "Jesse had been into town yesterday, and came home late last night. So far as I can learn, it must have been nine o'clock or so when he started out : at least, 'twan't far from twelve o'clock when he came through the little piece of timber on the far side of my house (you know the place well. Colonel, and you too, Madam ; for you have ridden by it often, — just in the hollow, this side the blacksmith's shop), when all at once a crowd of men burst out of the woods and bushes, all hidden with masks and gowns, and after some parley took him into the woods, tied him to a tree, and beat him horribly with hickories. Jesse said he hadn't no chance to fight at all. They were all on him almost afore he knew it. He did kick about a> little, and managed to pull the mask off from one fellow's face. This seemed to make them madder than ever, though they needn't have been ; for he says he didn't know the man from Adam, even when he saw his face. How- ever, that didn't make no difference. They took him out and whipped him, because they said he was a 'nigger-loving Kadical.'" FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. 187 "Poor fellow! Is he seriously injured?" asked Comfort in alarm. " I don't know as to that, Colonel," answered Hyman, " and it don't much matter. He's been whipped, and it could not be worse if he were dead. Indeed," continued the old man as he gazed sadly into the fire, " I would rather know that he was dead. He'd better be dead than be so disgraced ! Did you ever know, Colonel, that the Supreme Court of this State once decided that whipping was worse than hanging? " " No," said Comfort, "I never heard of such a thing." " They did, though," said the old squire. " I don't recollect the precise case ; but you will find it in our reports, if you care to look for it. You see the Legislature had changed the pun- ishment for some crime from hanging to whipping, and had repealed the old law. The result was, that some fellow, who was afterwards convicted of an offense committed before the passage of the act, appealed on the ground that whipping was an aggravation of the death-penalty, and the Court held with him. They were right too,— just right. I'd a heap rather my poor Jesse was dead than to think of him lying there, and mourning and gToaning in his shame. If it had been openly done, it would not have been so bad ; then he could have killed the man who did it, or been killed in the attempt to get a gentle- man's revenge. But to be whipped like a dog, and not even know who did it; to think that the very one who comes to sympathize as a friend may be one of the crowd that did it, — oh ! it is too much, too much ! " "Indeed," said the Fool, with an awkward attempt at con- solation, " it is too bad ; but you must console yourself. Squire, with the reflection that your son has never done any thing to deserve such treatment at his neighbor's hands." " That's the worst parton't, Colonel," said the old man hotly. -' He's a good boy, Jesse is, an' he always has been a good boy. I don't say it 'cause he's mine, nor 'cause he's the only one that's left, but because it's true ; and everybody knows it's true. He's never been wild nor dissipated, — not given to drinkin' nor frolickin'. He was nothin' but a boy when the 188 A FOOVS ERRAND. war came on ; but when my older boy, Phil, — the same as was killed at Gettysburg, — went away, Jesse took hold as steady and regular as an old man to help me on the plantation. You know I'm gittin' old, and hain't been able to git about much this n;iany a year, so as to look after the hands, an' keep things a-goiu' as they ought to be. Well, boy as he was, Jesse raised two as good crops as w^e'ye had on the plantation in a long time. Then when they called for the Junior Reserves, toward the last of the war, he went and 'listed in the regular army 'bout Kichmond, and took his share of the fightin' from that on. An' when it was over, an' the niggers free, an' all that, he didn't stop to dawdle round, and cuss about it, but went right to work, hired our old niggers, — every one of whom would lay down his life for Jesse, — an' just said to me, ' Now, Dad, don't you have any trouble. You jur>t sit quiet, an' smoke yer pipe, an' poke 'round occasionally to see that things is goin' right round the house an' barn-lot, an' keep Ma from grievin* about Phil, and I'll run the plantation.' An' when I told him how bad off I was, owin' for some of the niggers that was now free, and a right smart of security-debts beside, and the State-script and bank-stock worth almost nothin', he didn't wince nor falter, but just said, ' You just be easy, Pa. I'll take care of them things. Y"ou just keep Ma's spirits up, and I'll look out for the rest.' "You know how that boy's worked. Colonel, early and late, year after year, as if he had nothing to look forward to in life only payin' his old father's debts, and makin' of us com- fortable. He never meddled with nobody else's business, but just stuck to his own all the time, — all the time ! An' then to think he should be whipped, by our own folks too, just like a nigger! — and all because he was a Radical ! " S'pose he was a Radical, Colonel : hadn't he a right to be ? You're a Radical, ain't ye ? and a Carpet-bagger, too ? Have they any right to take you out an' whip you ? I reckon you don't think so ; but it's a heap worse to mistreat one of our own folks, — one that fought for the South, and not agin her. Don't ye think so, Colonel ? FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. 189 " Well, it's natural 3-011 shouldn't see the difference ; but I do. S'pose he teas a Radical ? He didn't have nothing to say about it, — just went an' voted on 'lection-day, and come home again. Are they goin' to Avhip men, an' ruin them, for that ? 1 de- clare, Colonel, I'm an old man, and a man of peace too, and a magistrate ; but I swear to God, if I knew who it was that had done this business, I'd let him know I could send a load of buckshot home yet : damned if I wouldn't ! " Beg pardon. Madam," he continued, as he remembered Metta's presence; "but you must allow for the feelings of a father. I'm not often betrayed into such rudeness, Madam, — not often. "But Colonel," he went on meditatively, "do you know I don't think that was more than half the reason the Ku-Klux beat Jesse ? " " ^N"© ? " said the Fool. What else had he done to awaken their animosity ? " " He's been your friend. Colonel, — always your friend ; and he thinks, and I think too, that what he's been made to suffer has been more on your account than his own. You know they've been a-threatenin' and warnin' you for some time, and you haven't paid no heed t) it. When they rode off last night, they told Jesse he might tell his 'damned Radical Yankee friend Servosse that they were comin' for him next time.' " Jesse's mighty troubled about it, for he thinks a heap of you all ; and he wanted me to come right over here, and let you know, so that, bein' forewarned, you might be fore-armed." " Poor fellow ! " said the Fool. " It was very kind and thoughtful of him. It is altogether too bad that any one should suffer merely for being my friend." " AYell, you know how our people are. Colonel," said the old man, with the impulses of a life still strong upon him to make excuse for that people whose thought he had always indorsed hitherto, and whose acts he had always excused, if he could not altogether approve, — " you know how they are. They can't stand nobody else meddlin' with their institutions ; and your ideas are so radical ! I shouldn't have wondered if it had 190 A FOOL'S ERRAND. been you, — candidly, Colonel, I shouldn't, — but that they should do so to my boy, one that's native here, of good family (if I do say it), and that never troubled nobody, — it's too bad, too bad 1 " " Yes, indeed ! " said the Fool. " And I must go and see him at once. I don't suppose I can do him any good, but I must let him know how I sympathize with him." " That brings me around to the rest of my errand," said the old man. " 1 am so upsot by this thing, that I like to have clean forgotten it. He 'llowed you'd be comin' to see him as soon as you heard of it, and he wanted me to tell jou. that he couldn't see anybody now (not while he's in this condition, you know) ; but he — he wanted I should say to you — say to you," he repeated, with the tears running over his face, " that he was goin' to Injianny to-night, and he would be glad if you could give him some letters to any friends you may have in the West. You know he can't stay here any more (not after this) ; and he thought it might be well enough to have some introduction, so as not to be exactly goin' among strangers, you know." "He Mill take the train. at Yerdenton, I suppose," said the Fool. "Yes, I s'pose so," answered the old man. "He hain't made no arrangements yet, an' it'll be a hard thing for him to ride there in his condition." " Has he any particular point to which he wishes to go ? " "None at all — just to get away, you know: that's all he goes for." " Yes," said the Fool thoughtfully; then, after a moment, he continued decisively, " See here, Squire ! You tell the boy not to trouble himself about the matter, but keep quiet, and I will arrange it for him. He must not think of going to-night, but you may give out that he has gone. I will come for him to-night, and bring him here ; and after a time he can go West, and find himself among friends." This arrangement was carried out, almost against the will of the one most concerned ; and it was under the roof of the FOOTING UP THE LEDGER. 191 "carpet-bagger" that the outraged "native" found refuge before he fled from the savage displeasure of the people \vho could not suffer him to diifer with them in opinion. In his behalf the Fool wrote a letter to the Reverend Theophi- lus Jones, detailing to him the event which this chapter narrates, and the condition of the young man at that time. To this letter he received the following reply : — "Wedgeworth, Kax. My dear Sir, — Your very interesting letter has awakened strange memories. It is only twelve years ago that Brother James Stiles and myself were interrupted in the midst of a gospel service at a place called Flat Rock by a mob, which was said to have been put upon our track by your neighbor Xathan- iel Hyman, because we preached the word of God as it had been delivered unto us, and denounced the sin of slavery according to the light that was given us. We were sorely beaten with many stripes ; but we continued instant in prayer for them who did despitefully use us, calling out to each other to be of good cheer, and, even in the midst of their scourging, praying, in the words of the blessed Saviour on the cross, — " Father, forgive them ; for they know not what they do.'^ TVTien they loosed our bonds, we gave thanks that we w^ere permitted to bear testimony to the truth, even with our blood, and went on our way rejoicing, tarrying not in those coasts, how^ever, since w^e perceived that this people were joined to their idols, and given up to sin. We said unto our persecutors, in the words of the apostle, " The Lord reward thee according to thy icorks." Verily, the Lord hath heard the cry of his sen^ints, and hath not forgotten their stripes. My heart was hushed with holy awe when I read in your letter that the son of this man, who caused us to be scourged, had suffered a like chastisement at the hands of wicked men — perhaps the very hands by which we were smitten aforetime. Through all these years the God of Sabaoth hath not forgotten oui* cry, nor to reward the evil- 192 A FOOL'S ERRAND. doers according to their works." "Well may we exclaim, as we look back at these intervening years of wonder-working events, " What hath God wrought! " As the war went on, and I saw the bulwarks of slavery crumbling away, until finally the light of freedom shone upon the slave, I rejoiced at the wonderful power of God, who wrought out the ends of his glory through the instrumentality of human passion and human greed. How it reproached our weak murmurings and want of faith ! Who could have believed that all the evils which slavery was for so many years piling up as a sin-offering in mockery of the Most High and his mandates, — the blood, the tears, the groans, and woes of God's stricken and crying people, — were so soon to become the forces which should destroy the oppressor, root and branch! Ah ! if that grand old St. John of this new dis- pensation of liberty — John Brown — could have foreseen this in the hour of his ignominious death ! But perhaps he did see it, and the sting of death was removed by the beatific vision. Kothing of it all, however, has so humbled and terrified me as this immediate and fearful retribution visited on one of my persecutors. God knows I had never entertained feelings of malice or revenge towards them. I have never forgotten to pray for these, my enemies, as we are commanded to do in the canon of Holy Scripture; but I had never thought to see the hand of God thus visibly stretched forth to avenge my wrongs. The very thought has humbled me more than I can express, and I have been moved to ask myself whether this occasion does not open to me a way of duty which is in strictest harmony with the dictates of our holy religion. The young man who has suffered for his father's sin, and of whom you speak so highly, you say desires to escape from what he considers his shame, though it ought to be deemed his glory. Why not let him come hither, my friend, — for as such I can not but esteem you henceforth, — and let me thank the good Father by succor- ing the son of him who persecuted me? Gladly, humbly, will I perform this duty "as an act of praise and thanksgiving to Him who ruleth and over-ruleth all things to his glory. Faith- fully, as He was faithful to me, would 1 perform such trust, SPRING BUDS AND SUNSHINE. 193 tenderly and humbly, so that the young man should never know whose hand was extended to do him kindness. Please to consider this suggestion, and, if it accord with your vie^r8, send him to me, assured that I will intermit no effort in his behalf. I am in truth, Thy servant and brother in the Lord, Theophilus Jones. The Fool knew that the fanatic was in serious earnest, and that, despite his ready assumption of the divine act as having been performed in his individual behalf, there was a sort of chivalric devotion to what he deemed duty and religion, which would make him untiring in the performance of his self-im- posed trust. So the castigated son of the old squire went to the free West to begin life anew under the protection and patronage of the man whose back was striped at his father's instigation, in the good old days " befo' the wah." CHAPTER XXX. SPRING BUDS AND SUNSHINE. " Uncle Jerry, Oh, Uncle Jerry ! ■' It was springtime, and the decrepit patriarch had hobbled out upon the sunny slope to the southward of his house, where, year after year since "de fust spring atter de surrender," as he was wont to say, he had raised his "garden-truck." A very famous garden was that of Uncle Jerry's. In all the little vil- lage there was not another to be~ found which was its equal. "With that thrift which his former position of " head man " on his master's plantation had taught him to exercise, he had at once turned his attention to improving the patch of ground which he had bought. « 194 A FOOUS ERRAND. All told, he had but three acres; but they had been selected •with especial care. The ground sloped gradually to the south- westward ; was of that grayish, sandy soil which answers most kindly to cultivation, and with a clay subsoil which prevented it from leaching. On the extreme upper corner of this the old man had built his house, — a most unpretending structure, even when compared with his neighbors' houses. The log walls and stick chimney were by no means so smart as the whitewashed planks of the surrounding houses; but they were all paid for, as well as his bit of land. The split-board paling which surrounded the demesne was by no means elegant ; but it was " horse-high, hog-tight, and bull-strong," according to the legal definition of a " fence " adopted by the courts of that State. This, as well as most of the labor about the rude cabin, had been the work of his own hands, or those of his sons under his direction, at such times as they were prevented by the weather from obtaining day-work upon the neighboring plan- tations. Unable to do much of the ordinary plantation- work, the old man had constituted himself at once the cashier and manager of his family. All their money went into a common fund, from which only the scantiest supply for the wants of each was allowed to go out. The rest was devoted to the purchase of the plat of ground, its improvement, or the purchase first of a mule and then of a horse, by which the sons were enabled to pitch a crop, the third spring after the surrender, upon their own account, only paying rent for the land, and the next year to purchase a snug little plantation of forty acres, four miles away. During all this time, the old man's oversight, exertions, and wise counsel had been of far more value than his labor would have been, had he been entirely robust. It had been his rule from the first, that he and his wife would take care of the little patch of garden-truck, which they engaged should not only furnish a sufficiency of vegetables for the family use, but should also afford corn enough to fatten the hogs which ran in the range in the summer, and so furnish meat for the family. This they had always done until the boys had left them, to go SPRING BUDS AND SUNSHINE. 195 upon the new plantation. Among other things, Uncle Jerry- had not neglected to plant fruit-trees. His neighbors said he had a craze for them. He advised them all to do likewise ; but few heeded him. From one and another of his white neighbors he had procured cuttings of peach and apple, and pear and nectarine, and apricot and cherry trees. He had learned to bud and graft in a rude way from the hands em- ployed at Warrington, and had planted in every unused nook about his little place those trees which at once afforded deco- ration and promise of profit in the near future ; so that the old cabin, at the time we write, was half hidden with the ten- der verdure of the springtime. The trees were laden with snowy blossoms; the birds were chattering in the branches; the bees were buzzing everywhere, while the Chinese honey- suckle that clambered over the rude trellis-work which ran from the door almost to the gate was loaded with waxy white flowers, and lavish with its peculiar spicy odor. The old man was in his garden working in a dull, spiritless way, more because it was the springtime, and long habit im- pelled him to dig and plant, than because he had an interest in his work, as it seemed. " Uncle Jerry, Oh, Uncle Jerry! " came a clear, girlish voice again. The old man raised himself quickly, and, lifting one hand to shade his eyes, turned towards the gate, and peer- ing through between the blossom-laden trees he quickly ex- claimed, — " Wal, if dar ain't Miss Lily, de Runnel's little gal! Jes' ez sweet an' fresh ez de spring flowers she's done picked on her way ober ! Yes, Miss Lily, I hears. I'll be dar in a secon', Honey. Uncle Jerry ain't so spry ez he used ter be, tho' sech a purty face'd limber up a heap older legs nor mine. How d'ye. Honey? " he asked as he opened the gate. " An' how's yer pa, de Kunnel, dis mornin'? Wal, I declar, ef she hain't gin up de pony, an' tuk away her ma's pet mar',Jaca! Ole Jerry tell'd yer ma not long ago, when he was ober to Warrin'- ton nex' to de time afo' de las', when yer was ridin' dat puss- mule along wid yer pa a-huntin' arter rabbits, — I tell'd de 196 A FOOL'S ERRAND. missis den she better gib dat pony ter Uncle Jerry, kase de young missis nebber gwine ter ride him no mo", dat sho. Jes' ride right in, Honey, kase I knows ye's gwine ter hev a good look ob Uncle Jerry's garden afore ye goes. 'Sides dat, de mar' wants jes' a drap o" water from Jerry's well, which you knows is de bes' water fer miles roun' 'bout h'yer, an' a bit chance ter crap some o' dis h'yer pesky high clober dat's climb- in' up all roun' h'yer, a-tryin' ter fling ole Jerry ebbery time he comes out'n der house. An' la sakes alive, Miss Lily, yer's wantin' a bit rest an' a sup o' water ye'self. 'Clar, ef yer don't look ez blushin' an' ladyfied ez ef yer'd been a young lady allers ! Ride in, Honey, an' let me git a cheer fer ye ter 'light on." He opened the gate, and started to hobble towards the house. "Oh, never mind the chair, Uncle Jerry: I don't need it." She slipped from the saddle as she spoke ; but the old man kept on, heedless of the interruption, and soon returned along the path under the arbor, bringing a cane-bottomed chair (which he also used as a support) in his right hand. " Wal, dar now!" he said in assumed disappointment, " she's jes' tu proud ter let ole Jerry wait on her a bit, dough 'tain't but jes' a day er two, so ter speak, sence I wuz a-dan- dlin' ob her on my knee, an' a-tellin' her stories ob de ole slave times, which, bress God ! she nebber see nuffin' ob herself. " Dar now, Honey, you set right down h'yer under de honey- suckle, an' I'll slip de saddle'n' bridle off de mar, an' let her crap de clover h'yer under de trees while yer stays." " But I can't stay, Uncle Jerry," said Lily. " Mamma sent me over here on an errand." " La sakes, Chile ! yer don't s'pose she wants yer tu come gal- lopin' straight back dis hot mornin', does yer ? 'Sides dat, yer's ben inter town a'ready, an' yer needs a rest too. Yer looks ez hot an' flushed ez ef yer'd ben a-gallopin' all de way. As fer de mar' — bless me, see how hot she is! " he said as he lifted ofl[ the saddle. " Jes' let yer ma see her in that swither, an' I'm af eared ye'd hev ter ride de pony a spell longer ; eh, Miss Lily? " SPRING BUDS AND SUNSHINE. 197 " Poor Jaca ! " said Lily, going to the side of the mare, and patting her neck. " I didn't know it was so hot. It was such fun," she said to Jerry apologetically, " that I couldn't help riding fast. I didn't go to town, though, but have just been down ' the three-o'clock road ' a mile or two." " Sartin, sartin ! " said the old man. " Ye're jes* like Jaca herself : ye're too hot-blooded an' high-bred ter go slow when ther's an open track afore ye. Wal, ther's no harm done, Honey, on'y yer must larn dat a blooded boss won't stan' de pushin' dat a banker pony wouldn't never tink ob gittin' along widout. It's jes' a difference in de natur' ob de beasts. Same way wid a mule, now : he nebber git along a bit, 'cept you war him out wid a hick'ry. It's jes' his natur. A mule needs hick- 'ry same ez a hoss needs oats ; an' a banker sech ez you've been ridin' afo' dis, Honey, ain't fur diffrent, jes' sorter atwixt an' atween, — a leetle tu much mule fer a hoss, an' a leetle too much hoss fer a mule. Now, dis yer Jaca ain't no sech sort o' cattle. She's jes' ez fond ob runnin' ez a deer, an' yer jes' gib her a chance an' she'd run tell she drop down. Yer s got ter take keer ob sech a hoss ; an' ef yer takes keer on her hit don't make no sort ob diffrince how much yer axes on 'era. Now, ef ye'd jes' pulled up once er twice in yer ride dis mornin,' ■'twouldn't a-blowed er sweated her de leas' mossel ter speak on. "But it's all right. Honey. Not a speck o' harm done. When she's crapped a bit ob grass, an' you's got rested a trifle, Uncle Jerry'll rub her down a bit, an' gib her a moufful ob water, an' she'll be jes' ez fine ez ebber, an' a heap finer ter ride dan when she come out ob de stable dis morning, ez yell find afore yer gits home, Miss Lily. "But, la sakes ! " exclaimed the old man, "h'yer I'se ben a-talkin', an' yer a-stannin' dar in de sun. Set down in de arbor, Honey, while I git ye some water." " Oh, I will stand here, and mind Jaca," said the girl, look- ing at the mare, who was busy cropping great mouthfuls of the rank-growing, tender clover, munching and- blowing with intense satisfaction. " :Mind her, Chile? " said the old man with a smile. " Yer 198 A FOOUS ERRAND. don't s'pose yer could git her ter leave dat clober by no sort o* suasion, does ye? " " Well, then," said Lily, " I will go to the well with you. I must see your garden, you know. The fact is, Mamma sent me over to bring you some potato-plants ; but I played truant, the woods were so pleasant. I ought to have been here an hour ago, so that you could have put them out before the sun got so hot." " Wal, dar now ! wasn't dat kind ob de mistis? AUers a-tinkin' ob Uncle Jerry, an' a-sendin' him somethin',tu. She knows sech tings does de ole man a heap o' good, now he's all alone, — all alone. Bress her heart! an' I 'spec's dat's de berry reason she sent you ober wid 'em, tu. "Ton my word, dough, dey's nice plants; dat dey is," he continued, as he examined the bundle of sweet-potato slips which Lily had in the little basket that she carried. "'Clar, I'm feared de mistis rob herself ter s'ply ole Jerry." " Oh, no! " said Lily. "Mamma said I was to tell you we had a great abundance, even more than usual this year." "Yes; an' I s'pose she knowed dat Jerry hadn't got any. Yer see. Honey, hit were jes' 'bout de time dey oughter ben bedded out dat — dat de ole woman " — The old man stopped, his voice choking with emotion as he bowed his head upon one of his staves, and wept. It was a strange scene, — the fair-haired young girl in her jaunty riding- habit, just coming to the gates of womanhood, and before her the white head bowed upon one of the dark hands, while the other held tremblingly the other supporting staff, and the bowed form shaking with grief which would not be suppressed. The bees, the sunshine, the flowering trees, the rank clover, and the black mare, which fed eagerly and noisily beside them, all combined to make a rare picture. The maiden, whom even the influences of that most delight- ful clime and the strange surroundings had not yet taught the role of comforter, stood for a moment in distressed and per- plexed silence. Then, with the subtle instinct of her sex, she laid one hand upon the brown, bony hand which rested on SPRING BUDS AND SUNSHINE. 199 the staff next her, and, taking up the duty of consolation ^vhich her mother had sent her to perform, she said tremblingly, " O Uncle Jerry, I'm sure " — She could say no more ; but the old man felt her soft hand resting on his own, and her tears dropping upon both. Gradually his sighs ceased, and finally, removing his head from his hand, but without looking up, he said softly and re- spectfully, — " Come, Mistis," and led the way towards the garden and the well. The language and the tone struck her. She could not define the reason; yet it was different from the manner in which he, in which all, had before addressed her. It was the first salutation to the budding womanhood which her mission of mercy had disclosed to the stricken man. They went to the w^ell. A cool draught from the cleanest of gourds w^as very grateful. The potato-plants were placed care- fully in a bucket, sprinkled with fresh water, and set in the shade, and then, with many excuses, the neat garden was shown. "It ain't much dis year, kase her as alius done the bulk on't ain't here no mo', " said the old man tenderly. "I wuks a little night an' morn, yer knows ; not ez I car' much, — don't seem ez ef I tought about tings ez I used ter, — but it kinder seems ez ef she mout be glad, lookin' down from whar she is, ter see me takin' keer ob what she used ter tink so much on. I wuks right smart, 'praps ez much ez ever; but then I don't keer no mo'. I don't tink ner plan enny mo'. 'Pears like I'm all alone. Honey, an' hain't got nuffin' mo' ter du, on'y jes' wait for de Lor' to clar 'way de rubbish in his own way, — his own way." "When they had finished the round of the garden, and Lily's basket had been filled with one thing and another which he thought " de mistis mout like ter hev," they returned to the house ; and as Lily stood and looked over the carefully-kept little homestead, embowered in the green and white of its fresh-blossoming trees, she exclaimed, — " Why, Uncle Jerry, what a beautiful place you have I " 200 A FOOrS ERRAND. The old man turaed himself about in that peculiar quad- rupedic manner which his constant use of two staves com- pelled, and raising one hand with the staff depending from it by the crook, so as to screen his eyes from the warm sunlight, which beat unheeded on his snow-white head, he looked over his possessions for a while in silence, and then said, with a sigh,— " Yes, Mistis, it is a purty f a'r sort ub a home f er an ole colored man ter hev, dat's a fac' ; but somehow it don't seem ter give me no mo' pleasure. I used ter tink, in de ole slave time, dat, ef I could jes' hev sech a home ez dis, I be jes' de happiest man on de yearth. Many's de time," he continued, turning towards her, " when I wuz on'y jes' a young man, an' de bressed day ob freedom didn't seem to be no nearer dan 'twas at de beginnin', I use ter tink an' dream ob dis time. Somehow I alius tought it ud come in my day, one way er anudder, an' den I tought I wouldn't hev uuffin mo' to wish fer. Yer can't rightly guess, Miss Lily, how much I hev tought o' dis little place. Seemed sometimes ez ef I wuz tinkin' more on't than I did ob heaven itself. Betty, poor gal, used ter tell me I did sometimes ; an' dat, mebbe, is de berrj- reason she's done gone ahead, — jes' to tole poor ole Jerry 'way from what he'd sot his heart on down h'yer. I don't tink so much on't now ; though it does do me a heap o' good ter tink dat when I'm gone dey'll say, ' Dat wus Uncle Jerry's lot;' an', 'praps, bimeby de boys' chillen'll gather apples an' peaches h'yer, an' tink ob der ole gran'fer dat sot out de trees. '• I ain't troubled now no mo'. Miss Lily. I used ter hab a heap ob trouble 'bout de Lo'd's affairs. — in de ole slave times, an' den atterwards in de wah, an' den when we colored folks was jes' atwixt an' atween, not edzackly slaves, an' not yet quite free. Den, when de Ku-Kluckers come, dat troubled me a heap. But now 'pears like I see dat de Lo'd kin tend ter his own matters, an' don't need no help ob Uncle Jerry, on'y dat he jes' du what's afore him. An' dat's wot I'm tryin' fer ter teach my people now. Dar's jes' one passage ob de Scripter SPRING BUDS AND SUNSHINE. 201 dat I can't keep out ob my mind; an' dat's whar de Lo'd sed ter de ole fightin-man, Joshua, 'Be ye strong, an' berry courageous.' Bar's more on't dat I disremembers now; but Its al 'bout de same idee. I heard de Kunnel read it over, an talk bout it too. God bress him! it jes' seems ez ef he could put our people's t'oughts inter words better nor anybody dse Dat seems ter me ter be jes' whar we culled folks is now. De Lo d's been a-leadin' ob us by day an' by night, jes' ez kind an keerful ez ef we'd been lambs, shore nuff ; an' now he says we got ter be brave, ef we 'spects Him ter keep 'long wid us any mo'. I 'How dat means dat we's got ter claim our rights an Stan' up ter 'em like men, an' jes' take what comes, ez boys du m der games, jes' as part ob de play, ef it does hurt. Dat s wot I'm a-tellin' our folks, an' I'm gwine ter stan' up ter It tu. I can't fight, ner do enny sech part ob de manfulness de Lo d wants ob us ; but I trust, ef hit be His will, I kin stan' up wid my people, an' take de roughness he sends, an' not murmur Somehow I feel, young Mistis, ez ef de good Lo'd hed somefin' fer ole Jerry ter du yet; but tain't along o' dat piece ob groun'. Miss Lily, tain't 'long o' dat," he added, wavmg his left hand, with its stafe, backward towards his little homestead. "Dat's gone out ob my mind: my heart ain't sot on It no mo Honey, no mo' ! It's dis pore people all roun', wid de priceless jewel ob liberty in der ban's, an' not knowin' what ter du wid it, -it's dem I'se a-tinkin' on, an' a-prayin' fer. Der ain't nuffin' mo' fer ole Jerry, an' he don't want no mo De Lo d hez giv him all he ebber ax, an' mo' too. He dont ax no mo'ferhisself; but 'praps de Lo'd '11 fine some way ter make jes' sech a crooked stick ez ole Jerry wo'f somfin ter dese his kinsmen an' f el ler-sah vents." "O Uncle Jerry," said Lily, with the tears coursing down her cheeks, " you should not be so sad and disheartened. I'm sure, I'ni sure you will be happy a long time in your pleasant home. You must not be so sad." "Dah, Honey, don't cry," said the old man soothingly. Lncle Jerry ain't sad, on'y jes' a bit lonesome now an' agin Hes a sight happier'n mos' folks. He's glad ob what he's 202 A FOOUS ERRAND. hed, an' what de Lo'd's gin him, an' he's willin' ter trust him fer what's a-comin', on'y hopin' dat he'll fine somethin' fer ole Jerry ter du dat'U make him ob some good, arly er late, to his people. "Bress my soul 1 " said the old man, breaking quickly off, and hobbling away, "ef dat ar mar' hain't got all she wanted, an' is now gwine in dar by de bee-gums. — H'yer you, Jaca ! " Whether it was the bees, or the sharp tones of Uncle Jerry's voice, that arrested her progress, it would be hard to say. Certain it is that she wheeled suddenly, threw out her heels viciously at the old man, and, with lowered head and back- ward-pointing ears, galloped off across the cleanly-kept and lately-planted garden. " Dar now, look at her ! " said the old man, but without a trace of anger in his voice, as he turned, and hobbled after her : " who would a' thought she'd a' got enuff o' dat ar' clober so soon ! " He was setting out upon the seemingly hopeless task of securing the mischievous beast, when Lily laid her hand upon his arm, and said with a light laugh, — " Stop, Uncle. You'd never get her in the world. You just sit down, and see me call her up." " Dat's mighty fin€ to talk about, Miss Lily," said the old man, as he sank panting in the chair he had brought out on her arrival ; " but I'm feared ye'll call a long time fo' dat mar' '11 answer ye." "Never fear," said Lily, as she stepped out a little way, where she could easily be seen ; and holding up her hand, from which the sleeve fell back, showing the rounded white arm, she called, — "Jaca! Jaca! pretty mare, Jaca! Jaca! fleet and fair, Jaca! Jaca! far away, Jaca! Jaca! cease your play. Jaca ! Jaca ! come to me — Hore is something for you! See!" She repeated these lines in a soft, singing tone, still keeping SPRING BUDS AND SUNSHINE. 203 her hand aloft, and scarcely looking toward the animal, which was at the farthest corner of the lot, with her head over the fence. Presently the mare looked around, and then put her head back again, as if determined to pay no attention to the call. Lily kept on, chanting her doggerel. Soon the mare turned, and finally started quietly towards her mistress along the garden-path, and, coming up, surrendered her forelock to Lily's hand, and munched the trifle which she received with great content, though it was nothing but an artichoke, which Lily had taken from her basket, where the old man had placed some, saying that they did make " powerful good spring pickles, they was that thar fresh an' solid, when green truck wuz sca'ce." " Wal, wal," said the old man, "dat du beat all I ever seed in hoss-call in mi/ born days ! " " Oh," laughed Lily, " that is nothing ! Jaca has always been mamma's pet, and has had the range of the lawn at Warring- ton. Always, when we have wished to call her up, we have sung that, and, when she came, have always given her some tid-bit. Papa whistles for her, and I used to, sometimes ; but mamma says I am getting too large to do so now." *' Ob co'se, ob co'se," said the old man demurely. " Wal, singin' is nicer'n whistlin', anyhow." The mare was carefully rubbed down and saddled by the old man. Lily mounted from the chair ; the gate was opened ; there was a cheery " Good-morning, Uncle Jerry ; " and, in reply, a deferential — " Mornin', Miss Lily. Gib my sarvice ter de Mistis, an' my bes' respecs ter de Kunnel, God bress 'em bofe. Uncle Jerry's mightily 'bleeged dat dey hain't done forgot him." The old man stood looking at the pretty mare and her fair, girlish rider, as they flew away towards Warrington. Lily's errand had been a success, and the lonely heart of the widowed old man had been weaned for a moment from its sorrow. As he left the gate, when she had disappeared, he said to himself, — " Clar now, dat Miss Lily am peart, an' jes' ez sweet ez a shore-nuff lily. She's powerful handy wid a boss, tu, fer a gal" 204 A FOOVS ERRAND. CHAPTER XXXI. A THRICE-TOLD TALK. The newspapers told it first The Dunhoro' Herald of May 17, 18—, said,-— •"The good people of Rockford County met in convention at the court-house to-day, to nominate candidates for county offices, and to discuss the political situation. Since the military usurpation took away from the people the right of self-govern- ment, and made them subservient to the will of the degraded Radical niggers, and the infamous scalawags and Carpet-bag- gers who unite with and lead them, the honest people of Rock- ford have had no voice in her government. They have now concluded that the time has come when they will make one more effort to control their own affairs. They met to-day as one man, and listened to the burning words of such soul-stirring orators as General De Bang, Honorable John Snortout, and Colonel Whiteheat, until it was evident, from their wild enthu- siasm, that the white people of Rockford intend to rule her affairs again. There was a rumor, just as our informant left, of some trouble or difficulty in connection with John Walters, the notorious Rockford Radical. We did not learn what it w^as, and do not care. The worst thing that could occur to him would be the best thing for the rest of the county." The Moccason Gap Rattler (published the next day) said, — "We learn, that, after the meeting at Rockford Court-House yesterday, there was considerable excitement among the colored population over the disappearance of their great leader, the in- famous Walters. It seems that he had the cheek to attend the meeting, and sat taking notes of the speeches during the whole time. His presence caused considerable remark ; for, although A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 205 it Tvas a public meeting, it was not supposed that he would have the impudence to show himself among decent white people, after joining the niggers to insult, oppress, and degrade them. It is said that the speakers, especially the Honorable John Snortout, alluded to him in terms which he richly deserves. It became noised through the meeting that he was taking notes of the speeches for the purpose of having troops sent to Rock- ford. It is even said that inquiry was made of him as to his object in taking notes ; to which he impudently responded that his purpose was known to himself, which was quite sufficient. After the meeting adjourned, it seems he could not be found ; and a great outcry was raised among the niggers on account of his disappearance. Search was immediately instituted; and all the niggers of the town, as well as hundreds from the adjoining country, came pouring in, surrounding the court- hous?, and clamoring for the keys. They were very much excited, and did not hesitate to declare that their leader had been murdered by the gentlemen at the meeting. This infa- mous charge against some four or five hundred of the best men of Rockford was borne with exemplary patience by that law- abiding people. The meeting quietly dispersed, and the niggers continued their search. It is believed that Walters has taken himself off at this time for the purpose of producing an impression that he has been murdered, and thereby having troops sent to that county to influence the coming election. No trace of him had been found at last accounts." The Ringjield Swashbuckler (two days afterwards) said, — "The niggers of Rockford are in tribulation, but the white people of the good old county will sleep easier. It appears, that, after the adjournment of the mass meeting held by the good people of that county at the court-house on the 17th inst., Walters, the infamous scalawag leader of the nigger Radicals, who have ruled the county since the military usurpation, could not be found. He was supposed to have been in attendance on the meeting as a spy upon its action ; but several of the most respectable citizens say that he left a considerable time before its close. At once, upon its becoming known that he was mis?* 206 A FOOVS ERRAND. ing, there was great excitement among the niggers ; and when, towards morning, his body was found in one of the offices upon the lower floor of the court-house, there was great apprehension for a time that the town would be burned by the infuriated blacks. The manner of his death is a mystery. It is generally believed that some of the leading negroes, who hate for some time been growing restive under his dictatorship, waylaid him as he came down from the meeting, killed him, put his body in this room, and then raised an alarm over his disappearance, hoping thereby at once to get rid of a troublesome leader, and produce the impression that he was murdered by his opponents, and for political effect. Of course such a claim is too ridiculous to be entertained for a moment. We learn that an inquest was held, but nothing w^as elicited to cast any light upon the mystery." The Verdenton Gazette, in its next issue, remarked, — '' The death of that infamous Radical, Walters of Rockford County, is making a great excitement. The Radicals pretend to believe that he was killed by the Democrats, who had been holding a nominating convention in the court-house that afternoon. It.is far more probable, indeed some circumstances which have since come to light, render it almost certain, that his death was procured by certain of his Radical associates. The Carpet-baggers and scalawags who run that party are fully aware of the fate which awaits them on election -day, unless something can be done to fire the negro heart, and bring troops into the State. It is therefore generally believed that this kill- ing of Walters was a cold-blooded assassination planned by the Radicals at the Capital, and executed by their minions. It is even asserted that Morton was heard to declare, not many days ago, that we would ' hear h— 11 from the South in less than a week.' In addition to this, it is said that a very reputable man, residing in the western part of that county, declares that he saw Colonel Tom Kelly, the chairman of the Radical committee for this district, driving rapidly away from Rockford very soon after four o'clock on that evening, — about the time the murder must have been committed. Perhaps Mr. A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 207 Tom Kelly ^ill now rise and explain what he was doing in Rockford at that time." The Central Keynote (published a week afterwards) said,— " Whether the Radical bummer Walters was killed by some of his nigger understrappers, by some of his Carpet-bag scala- wag associates who were jealous of his power, by his own relatives, or by some paramour of his wife who was anxious that she should obtain the large amount of insurance which he had upon his life, we do not know. But one thing we do know, that the State is well rid of a miserable, unprincipled Radical and infamous scoundrel, who ought to have been a Carpet-bagger, but, we are sorry to admit, was a native. We sincerely trust that the State at large may share the good fortune of the county of Rockford very soon, and be equally well rid of his Radical associates." The National Trumpet, which was the Radical organ for the State, very naturally gave a different version of the affair, denounced it as a most outrageous political murder, and in- veighed most bitterly against what it termed the inhuman barbarity of the opposition journals, which, not content with the death of Walters, sought to slay his good name by 'slan- derous imputation, and to blast the reputation of the stricken widow with baseless hints of complicity in his death. It pro- nounced him "a faithful husband, a tender father, and a stanch friend, — one who from obscure parentage had raised himself through poverty and ignorance to competence; had aided orphan brothers and sisters, supported a widowed mother, and maintained a good Christian character until expelled from his church on account of his political opinions. His courage and organizing ability were unquestioned, and under his lead it was well known that nothing could prevent the County of Rockford from continuing to give overwhelming Radical majorities. John Walters was guilty of this offence, no more! And for this he was killed! He gave up his life for the rights of the people — the right of equal manhood- suffrage — as clearly as any soldier who fell upon the battle- field died for liberty ! The time will come when his name 208 A FOOL'S ERRAND. will be remembered by a grateful people as that of a martyr of their freedom." So the act passed into current history; and the great journals of the North recorded with much minuteness, and with appro- priate head-lines and display, the fact that John Walters, a man of infamous character, and a prominent politician, and leader of the negroes in Rockford County, was killed by stabbing and strangling. By whom the crime was committed was by no means clear, they said, nor yet the motive; but one thing seemed to be well established, — that it was not done from any political incentive whatever. It was true he was a leading Radical politician in a county having a decided colored majority, which was made effective almost solely by his organizing power; but it was certain that only personal feeling of some sort or another was at the bottom of this murder. Thus it first came to the Fool's .ears. He had known the man, not intimately, but well, having seen him often since their meeting at the League, and had grown into a sincere regard for him. He knew of his energy and daring, knew of his own premonitions as to his fate, and the coolness with which he had prepared himself to meet it. But the Fool had only half believed that it would come, — at least not so soon or suddenly, nor in a form so horrible, nor with such ghastly accompani- ment of post mortem barbarity. It was strange how unreason- ing he was in his sorrowful anger. He would not hear a word as to any other hypothesis of his friend's death, except that it was a political murder, coolly planned, and executed with the assent of the entire meeting of respectable men who were passing patriotic resolutions above the scene of its perpetration. It was very unreasonable, but perhaps not unnatural, that he should do so. II. Upon the second day after this unfortunate occurrence, there came to the Fool's house one who had been an eye-and-ear •witness of all that had occurred in Rockford on that occasion. A THRICE-TOLD TALE, 209 except the tragic act which has been once already narrated. This man said, — " I was with John "Walters when he went to the meeting, and "went up and sat with him for a short time. I had tried to dissuade him from going there at all. There had been a good deal of excitement in the county for some time. The Ku-Klux had been riding about, and his life had been threatened a good many times. Only a few days before, a crowd of them had come, and, after riding about the town, had left at his house a coffin, with a notice stuck on to it with a knife. He knew he was in great danger, and told me repeatedly that he thought they would get him before it was over. On this day he was heavily armed, and very foolishly carried with him a considerable sum of money, which he had received the day before, and intended to bring here and put in bank the next day. He had been very careful about showing himself upon the street iox some time, especially after dark. I don't suppose he had been out after sundown in six months. He said that it was necessary for him to go to this meeting for two reasons, — first, to let them know that he was not afraid to do so; and, second, that he might know what course the opposition intended to pursue in the coming campaign. " There was a very full attendance at the meeting, and when "Walters came in there were a heap of sour looks cast at him. He sat down, took out his book, and began taking notes. The speakers turned on him the worst abuse you ever heard, Colo- nel; but he just smiled that quiet, scornful smile of his, and went on taking his notes as if no one was near him. By and by it got so hot that I thought we had better get out of there. I told him so in a whisper: but he just looked up, and said I could go ; he should stay till it was over. He wanted to see some parties there who had made some proposition to him about a compromise-ticket for county oflacers. He was greatly in favor of this; for, 'although we had a large majority in the county, we had really only one or two candidates competent to fill the county offices. It was by his advice, that, at the election before, our folks had supported the Democratic candi- 210 A FOOL'S ERRAND. date for sheriff and other county-officers. He said it would never do to put ignorant and incompetent men in such places. He was greatly troubled about his own lack of education, and studied hard to make it up. I've often heard him mourn his lack of early advantages. I think it was the only thing that used to make him right-down mad. He used to say that was what every poor man owed to slavery ; and he appeared to think that institution had done him as much harm, and he had as good a right to hate it, as if he had been a nigger. He could read pretty peart, but writing always come hard to him. " I heard him one time talking about his little gal, who was just beginning to learn to read. He said he was determined she should have what he missed because he happened to be a poor man's son in a slave country; and that w^as an educa- tion. Oh ! he was very bitter in his denunciation of the slave- holding aristocracy, and would persist in declaring that they had starved the souls of the poor people, and kept them from the tree of knowledge, just to promote their own selfish aims, and enhance their own wealth. It's the only thing I've ever heard John Walters grow eloquent upon (you know he was a man of few words) ; but I've heard him sometimes on the stump when he seemed to get out of himself, and be another man, in the wild eloquence with w^hich he urged the need of education, and deplored the manner in which he had been robbed of its privileges and advantages. I remember he said once, that he never asked grace before meat at his own table, nor conducted family worship in his own house, as he did every day, without feeling ashamed of the ignorance which hung like a millstone about his neck. He thought that even his little eight-year-old must be ashamed of her papa's blunders. "I thought of all these things while the speakers were abus- ing him, and the people were turning towards him with black looks and threatening gestures, and wondered what would come of it all. ^\Tien it got too hot for me, I left, and went back to his house. His wife was taking on terribly. She is not a very strong woman, but she thought a heap of John. She asked me all about w^hat he was doing at the meeting, and A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 211 then took on worse than ever. She pointed to their two children who were playing on the lawn back of the house, and said, 'Poor things, poor things! They'll be fatherless and alone pretty soon. "Why won't John quit this foolish fight for what will do him no good, get away from here, and go West, where he and his children can have "a white man's chance"? Why won't he listen to me?' She kept on crying and mourning, and begged me to speak to John about it if he ever came home. " I tried to comfort her ; and we sat by the door, the little children playing on the green slope before us, until the meet- ing was over, and the people began to pass by on their way- homeward. I noticed that Mrs. Walters seemed very restless, and every now and then looked anxiously over toward the court-house. Finally she called to some colored men who were passing, and asked if the meeting was over. They told her it was; and she then asked if they had seen her husband since it closed; and, when they said they had not, she threw up her hands, and moaned, and cried, 'They've killed him! They've killed himi I knew it! Oh, my God!' and just kept taking on terribly. '• I went over into the town at once, and began to make in- quiries. :N^one of our friends had seen him; but, as soon as they found I was inquiring for him, several of the white peo- ple kindly volunteered information in regard to him. This one had seen him in this place, and another in that, and an- other remembered hearing a third man speak of having seen him in still a different direction; and all about the same^time. This disagreement of the reports which were made, as well as the fact that none of the colored people had seen him (though there were many more of them, and each felt a peculiar in- terest in him, so that they would be more likely to notice and remark his presence than the others), strengthened a dim suspicion that had been growing in the minds of all ; so that, instead of waiting to go to the points indicated to ascertain their truth, the report went out at once that he was missing — had been killed. 212 A FOOUS ERRAND, "I never knew before A?vhat a hold he had on the colored people. Every one seemed as distressed as if he had lost a brother. Men, women, and children crowded into the streets. Moans and imprecations were about equally mingled in the surging crowds who hurried toward the court-house. From the first moment there was no question as to his death. It ■was assumed as a fact; and the conclusion was at once arrived at, that his body was concealed somewhere about the court- house. Strangely enough the fragments of the crowd who had been in attendance on the meeting gathered quietly about one or two of the stores, talked with each other in low tones, offered neither remonstrance, aid, nor ridicule of the search that was going on, and finally broke away by twos and threes, silently and solemnly to their homes. Every moment the excitement grew more intense among the colored people. In an incredibly brief time the crowd had swelled from a couple of dozen to as many hundred; and, in an hour or two, more than a thousand were gathered. The white people of the town looked on gloomily and silently, but took no part in the search. The court-house was at once surrounded, and every room examined into which access could be obtained ; for the keys of some of them were said to have been lost, and one especially, it was claimed, had not been opened for many months. All trace of the key of this room seemed to have been lost by the officials in whose custody the law presumed it to have been. Then some of the white people came with very positive reports that Walters had been seen going out of town towards Dunboro', where it was known that he intended to go on the morrow. Several of the leading citizens came out at this time, and endeavored to convince the colored people of the folly of their course. The Honorable John Snortout was especially active in this endeavor. They might as well have talked to the wind. The colored people clung to their hy- pothesis with a sort of blind instinctive conviction of its truth, which nothing could move. As it came on dark, fires were lighted, and a regular line of sentries put around the building. Meantime attempts were made to get a glimpse of the interior A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 213 of the rooms of which they could obtain no keys, by peering through the closed windows. Clambering from one window- ledge to another, they flashed the light of blazing torches into them, but in vain. Nothing could be seen. *' And so the night dragged on, and the crowd grew hourly greater with accessions from the country, and the conviction grew stronger that in one of these rooms they would find the nameless horror which they sought, and which they yet would not behold. " Yet this half-barbarous crowd were strangely regardful of law. They did not violate anybody's right. Neither locks nor windows were broken. They sought the keys far and near, but they did no violence. They were sure their lost leader was within — dying or dead, they knew not which. They called him by name, but knew he could not answer. None slept of the colored people : they waited, watched, and mourned. "Just in the gray of the morning light, one of those who had been most active and assiduous in the search mounted on the shoulders of a friend, and peered into the window of the most suspected room on the first floor. Shading his eyes with his hand, he scanned the dim-lighted interior, and was about to give up the quest, when his eye fell upon something mysterious and appalling. On the inside of the window-ledge he saw — a single drop of blood ! Another look, and he saw, or thought he saw, the well-known hat which their leader had been wont to wear. "'Here he is — in there!' he shouted, as he leaped down, and started for the corridor. They had no longer any need of key. The door flew apart as if made of pasteboard, before the brawny shoulders that pressed against it. In that room they found their worst fears confirmed. There, pressed down into a box, with a pile of firewood heaped upon him, a stab in his throat, and a hard cord drawn taut about his neck, stark and cold, was the body of John Walters — the Radical! There was very little blood in the room, only a few drops on the floor, and one drop on the window-sill ! The stab in his throat had cut the artery. Where was the blood V The phy- 214 A FOOUS ERRAND, sician who examined the body said he must have bled inter- nally." From the foregoing narrative it was evident to the Fool that between three and five o'clock of the day before, while the meeting of respectable white citizens was in progress in the room above, John Walters had either been killed in that room, or murdered elsewhere, and brought thither. The manner of his death was evident. The motive was not doubtful, since, strangely enough, this "bad man" seems to have had no per- sonal enemies. In some mysterious manner the universal sen- timent of execration that prevailed against him in the commu- nity had found an instrument ; and John Walters, the Radical leader of Rockford, had met the doom which he might reasona- bly have expected when he presumed to organize the colored voters of that county in opposition to the wish and desire of its white inhabitants. The coroner's jury, after a tedious examination of every person that could be found who would be likely, on ordinary principles, to know nothing whatever of the matter, returned that the death was "caused by some person or persons un- known ; " which verdict was, no doubt, in strict conformity with the evidence taken. m. *' Kunnel, dar's a man h'yer dat wants ter tell you sumfin'. He says he won't tell nobody else but you, widout your positive orders." The speaker was old Jerry. He stood at the door of the Fool's library or ofiice, and had with him a colored man, whom he introduced as Nat Haskell. This man had one of those expressionless faces, which, however, bear a look of furtive observation, so characteristic of the colored man who has been reared under the influences of slavery. *' Well," said Comfort, "what is it? " " Didn't you know Mars' John Walter ? '^ asked the colored man cautiously. *' Yes, certainly 1 " answered Comfort. A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 215 " An' ain't you de gemman as come an' tried ter find out -who 'twas dat killed him ? " "Yes." " Wal, den, you's de one I want ter see, an dat's what I want ter see ye about." " Why, what do you know about that ? " " I don't know nothin' ; but I done heard somefin' that may lead you to fine out who 'tis. Dat's what I come fer." " Where do you live ? " " I lives wid ole man Billy Barksdill, 'bout five miles below Rockford Court-House; that is, I did live dar. I hain't no notion o' goin' back dar any mo'." " Were you in Rockford that day ? " "No, sah!" "Then how do you come to know any thing about the matter ? " " Wal, yer see, Kunnel, I was wiikkin' fer Mr. Barksdill, ez I tole ye; an' dat night, jest arter I come in from de fiel', he called me ter come an' take care of a hoss. I know'd dat hos3 right well. 'Twas a gray filly dat Mars' Marcus Thompson hed rid by our place dat mornin'. Arter I'd put the critter away, an' fed it, I went inter de kitchen ter git my supper. I sot down ter de table ; an' de cook — dat's Mariar, my ole 'ooman — she brings me my supper, an' den goes back inter de dinin'-room ter wash up de dishes de white folks hed been usin'. Presen'ly she come back mighty still like, an' says, * Nat, come h'yer, quick ! ' An' wid dat she starts back agin. " * Sh — ! take off yer shoes,' she says, half whisperin', ez we git ter de dinin'-room do'. " I slips outer my shoes, an' we goes in. Der wa'n't no light in de room ; but she led me a-till we come nigh de do' a-twixt de dinin'-room an' de settin'-room. Dar we stopped an' lis- tened, an' I could hear Mr. Barksdill an' Mr. Marcus Thomp- son talkin' togeder mighty plain. Cynthy Rouse — dat's anudder servant-gal — she M-as dar too, a-crouchin' down by de do', dat wasn't shet close ; but dar wa'n't no light in de settin'- room, but de fire. When I come, Cynthy puts her hand on her 216 A FOODS ERRAND. lips, shakes her head, an' says, ' H'sh ! ' an' put her head down to listen agin. The fust words / heard was ole Mr. Barksdill, — he's sorter half-def, yer knows, — a-sayin', right peart, — " * It must a' been a good day's work, in fact, if we've got rid o' John Walters finally. How "was it done? I did hear der was some notion o' sendin' a committee from de meetin' ter tell him he must leave; but I hadn't no notion he'd du it. He's pluck to de back-bone, John Walters is. "Whatever else he may be, we must allow, Thompson, dat he ain't nobody's fool nor coward; an' I 'llowed, dat,' ef de meetin' should do dat, jest ez likely's not some o' dat committee mout git hurt. Ye didn't try dat, I reckon ? ' "'No,' answered Mars' Thompson, 'we didn't hev no need ter du dat. De brazen-faced cuss hed the impudence ter come ter the meetin' hisself ! ' " ' Dar now, you don't tell me ! ' sed old man Barksdill. ♦ Wal, now, what was I sayin' ? — he's pluck.* " ' Yes ; and he sot dar as cool as a cucumber, a-takin' notes ob all dat went on,' says Mr. Thompson. " ' You don't! Wal, I declar i ' sez the ole man. " ' Yes : de damned fool hadn't a bit more sense dan to show his head dar, when we'd met most a-purpose to fine a way to get rid of him. He mout 'a' knowed what would come on't.' "*Wal, what did? I s'pose de people was pretty hot, an' perhaps dar was smart of a row.' " ' Not a bit, Mr. Barksdill! Jest de quietest affair you ever heard on. De f ac' is, some one on us hed made an appintment wid Walters, ter see him' bout what we called a fusion ticket we purtended ez we wanted ter git up. So some on' era signi- fied to him dat we wanted ter see him, an' we got him down inter the old County Clerk's office, an' shet de do'. Dar was ten on us, an' he seed de game w^e was up to iu a second ; but he didn't even wince. lit ii'SXeW, gentlemen," sez he, ez cool ez if he'd been settin' over on his own porch, which we could see ez plain ez day from de winder, "what d'ye want o' me? Der seems tu be enough on ye ter du ez you've a mine ter : so I mout ez well ask yer will an' pleasure." ' A THRICE-TOLD TALE. 217 *'*Law sakes ! ' sez de ole man; 'but dat wuz monstrous cool.' "'Cool ? I should tink it was, ez cool es hell,' sez t'oder one. * Den some on 'em took out a paper dat hed been drawed up aforehand fer him ter sign, an' handed it over tu him. He read it over kinder slow like, an', when he got frough, handed it back, an' sed, " I can't sign dat paper, gentlemen." ' " ' ^^^lat was de paper? ' " ' Xoffin, only jest a statement dat he, as leader ob de Radi- cal party in dis county, hed been de gitter-up ob all de devil- ment done here in de last two or free years, includin' de burnin' o' Hunt's barn ; an' dat he done dese tings under de direction ob de Radical leaders at de capital. We tole him, ef he'd sign dis, an' agree tu leab de State in ten days, we'd let him off safe an' sound.' " ' An' he wouldn't do it? ' bust in de ole man. " ' Do it ? Hell I He sed we mout kill him, but we couldn't make him sign no sech paper ez dat. Dat made de boys mad. You know, we didn't want ter kill him, dough we hed no notion ob backin' out after goin' dat far: in fac', we couldn't.' " ' No mo' you couldn't, I should say,' put in Mars' Barks- dill. " ' Ob course not ! an' I fought fer a minit de boys would Jest hack an' tear him to pieces, dey was so mad. I tried ter pacify 'em, an' persuade him to sign de paper, an' not force us to sech extremes ; but he wouldn't hear tu me, an' fust I know'd, he hed jumped back an' pulled out a pistol. De low- down, ornary cuss! Ef it hadn't been fer Buck Hoyt, who caught his arm, an' Jim Bradshaw, dat whipped a slip-noose over his neck, an' pulled him back, der's no kuowin' what he might 'a' done wid dat ten-shooter o' his.' " ' He's a nasty hand wid shootin '-irons,' sed the ole man. "'Wal,' says Thompson, 'dey got him down, an' frottled him, an' tuk de pistol away from him, an' every ting he had in the weepon line. Den dey let him up, an' all agreed dat sech a pestiferous, lyin', deceitful cuss ought ter be killed. We told him 6Q, an' dat he could hey jest five minutes ter git ready in. 218 A FOOL'S ERRAND. He didn't never flinch, but jest sed, " I s'pose I ken be allowed ter pray." An', widout waitin' fer an answer, he jes' kneeled down, an' prayed fer all his frien's an' neighbors, an' fer each one ob us too. Dis prayin' fer us wuz gittin' a little tu damn pussonal : so Jim Bradshaw, dat held de cord, gin it a jerk, an' tole him we didn't want no more o' dat. Den he got up, an* I axed him ef der wuz any ting else he wanted ter do or say afore he died. You see, I fought he might like ter make some 'rangement 'bout his property or his family, an' I wanted to gib him a white man's chance.' " ' Ob co'se, ob co'se,' said Mars' Barksdill, ' an' very proper an' considerate of ye, tu.' *"I fought so, certain,' said Thompson. Bress his holy name I He brings de good out ob evil, an' ober-rules de bad. He's been wid de pore culled man in de six troubles, an' he not gwine ter desart him in de sebenth ! Uncle Jerry'll jes' try an' wait on de Lor', so dat when he call fer me, I jes' answers, ' H'yer, Lor'!' widdout waitin' ter ax eny questions 'bout his business." So the days went on until a week from the Saturday night which followed his denunciation of the slayers of Walters at the meeting, and there had been no disturbance. On that night the little suburban village sank to its usual repose, after the labors and cares which Saturday night imposes upon people of low degree. The bacon and meal for the next week had been purchased, the clothes for the morrow put in order, and preparations made for that Sunday dinner which the poorest colored family manages to make a little better than the week-day meal. It was nearly twelve o'clock when all became silent-; and the weary workers slept all the more soundly for the six days' labor of the week which was past. It was a chill, dreary night. A dry, harsh wind blew from the north. The moon was at the full, and shone clear and cold in the blue vault. There was one shrill whistle, some noise of quietly-moving horses ; and those who looked from their windows saw a black- gowned and grimly-masked horseman sitting upon a draped horse at every corner of the streets, and before each house, — grim, silent, threatening. Those who saw dared not move, or give any alarm. Instinctively they knew that the enemy they had feared had come, had them in his clutches, and would work his will of them, whether they resisted or not. So, with the instinct of self-preservation, all were silent — all simulated sleep. Five, ten, fifteen minutes the silent watch continued. A half-hour passed, and there had been no sound. Each masked sentry sat his horse as if horse and rider were only some magic statuary with which the bleak night cheated the affrighted eye. Then a whistle sounded on the road toward Verdenton. The masked horsemen turned their horses' heads in that direction, 2C6 A FOOrS ERRAND. and slowly and silently moved away. Gathering in twos, they fell into ranks with the regularity and ease of a practiced soldiery, and, as they filed on towards Verdenton, showed a cavalcade of several hundred strong; and upon one of the foremost horses rode one with a strange figure lashed securely to him. When the few who were awake in the little village found courage to inquire as to what the silent enemy had done, they rushed from house to house with chattering teeth and trem- bling limbs, only to find that all were safe within, until they came to the house where old Uncle Jerry Hunt had been dwelling alone since the death of his wife six months before. The door was open. The house was empty. The straw mattress had been thrown from the bed, and the hempen cord on which it rested had been removed. The sabbath-morrow was well advanced when the Fool was first apprised of the raid. He at once rode into the town, ar- riving there just as the morning services closed, and met the people coming along the streets to their homes. Upon the limb of a low-branching oak not more than forty steps from the Temple of Justice, hung the lifeless body of old Jerry. The wind turned it slowly to and fro. The snowy hair and beard contrasted strangely with the dusky pallor of the peace- ful face, which seemed even in death to proffer a benison to the people of God who passed to and fro from the house of prayer, unmindful both of the peace which lighted the dead face, and of the rifled temple of the Holy Ghost which ap- pealed to them for sepulture. Over all pulsed the sacred echo of the sabbath bells. The sun shone brightly. The wind rustled the autumn leaves. A few idlers sat upon the steps of the court-house, and gazed carelessly at the ghastly burden on the oak. The brightly-dressed church-goers en- livened the streets. Not a colored man was to be seen. All except the brown cadaver on the tree spoke of peace and prayer — a holy day among a godly people, with whom rested the benison of peace. THE FOLLY OF WISDOM. 227 The Fool asked of some trusty friends the story of the night before. With trembling lips one told it to him, " I heard the noise of horses — quiet and orderly, but many. Looking from the window in the clear moonlight, I saw horse- men passing down the street, taking their stations here and there, like guards who have been told off for duty, at specific points. Two stopped before my house, two opposite Mr. Ras- kin's, and two or three upon the corner below. They seemed to have been sent on before as a sort of picket-guard for the main body, which soon came in. I should say there were from a hundred to a hundred and fifty still in line. They were all masked, and wore black robes. The horses were disguised, too, by drapings. There were only a few mules in the whole company. They were good horses, though: one could tell that by their movements. Oh, it was a respectable crowd! No doubt about that, sir. Beggars don't ride in this country. I don't know when I have seen so many good horses together since the Yankee cavalry left here after the surrender. They were well drilled too. Plenty of old soldiers in that crowd. Why, every thing went just like clock-work. Xot a word was said — just a few whistles given. They came like a dream, and went away like a mist. I thought we should have to fight for our lives; but they did not disturb any one here. They gathered down by the court-house. I could not see precisely what they were at, but, from my back upper window, sav/ them down about the tree. After a while a signal was given, and just at that time a match was struck, and I saw a dark body swing down under the limb. I knew then they had hung somebody, but had no idea who it was. To tell the truth, I had a notion it was you. Colonel. I saw several citi- zens go out and speak to these men on the horses. There were lights in some of the offices about the court-house, and in several of the houses about town. Every thing was as still as the grave, — no shouting or loud talking, and no excite- ment or stir about town. It was evident that a great many of the citizens expected the movement, and were prepared to co-operate with it by manifesting no curiosity, or otherwise 228 A FOOUS ERRAND. endangering its success. I am inclined to think a good many from this town were in it. I never felt so powerless in my life. Here the town was in the hands of two or three hundred armed and disciplined men, hidden from the eye of the law, and having friends and co-workers in almost every house. I knew that resistance was useless." " But why," asked the Fool, " has not the body been re- moved?" " We have been thinking about it," was the reply; " but the truth is, it don't seem like a very safe business. And, after what we saw last night, no one feels like being the first to do what may be held an affront by those men. I tell you. Colonel, I went through the war, and saw as much danger as most men in it; but I would rather charge up the Heights of Gettys- burg again than be the object of a raid by that crowd." After some parley, however, some colored men were found, and a little party made up, who went out and saw the body of Uncle Jerry cut down, and laid upon a box to await the coming of the coroner, who had already been notified. The inquest developed only these facts, and the sworn jurors sol- emnly and honestly found the cause of death unknown. One of the colored men who had watched the proceedings gave utterance to the prevailing opinion, when he said, — " It don't do fer niggers to know too much ! Dat's what ail Uncle Jerry ! " And indeed it did seem as if his case was cue in which ignorance might have been bliss. CHAPTER XXXIII. "OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART.** The events which have been narrated in the preceding chapters, with others of like character, filled the mind of the Fool with a sort of dull horror. Strangely enough, he was « OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART:' 229 not affected -with fear. He knew that he was equally in the power of the strange organization, which was as secret and as fatal in its proscription as the Thugs of India. He knew that he was quite as obnoxious to its leaders, and as likely to feel their vengeance, as any of the men who had suffered at itg hands ; and yet he was far more moved with consideration of the general results which must flow from the evil than at any personal consequences which might befall himself. So he wrote to one of the Wise Men, and told them all that he knew, all that he feared. He recounted to them what had already been done, and his apprehensions as to what might be done in the future. He called attention to the fact that these acts sprung from a common motive, and all tended to a subversion of liberty, and a prevention of the exercise of those very rights or privileges which it was the spirit and essence of the war, upon the part of the nation, to confirm and secure in their completeness and universality. He pointed out the mockery of that boast which had so many thousand times already been heralded to the world, — that slavery had been abolished, and liberty established without "distinction as to race, color, or previous condition of servitude," while men were submitted to a persecution not less bitter, and hardly less sanguinary, than that which " Bloody Mary " visited upon the heretics of her day. " What they did unto Walters," he wrote, *• and unto Uncle Jerry, might as reasonably have been done to me, or to any other man of like political faith." He showed that it was not personal hostility or antipathy which had made them victims, but their public character and affilia- tions. He declared that these acts of outrage numbered not less than a thousand in the district in which he resided, and that not one had been punished, or could be punished, by the ordinary tribunals, because of the perfection of the disguise which was worn, from the precautions taken to avoid detec- tion, and the fact that so large a proportion of those com- petent to serve as 3 urors were quite likely to be parliceps crim- in is. He asked if there was not isome manner in which the 230 A FOOL'S ERRAND. government could move for the suppression of this evil. The letter was the spontaneous outpouring of a heart surcharged with the agony of a hopeless conflict with a hidden and unrelenting foe. It was without reservation, being sent to a Wise Man with whom he had maintained such intimacy of relation as folly may be allowed to hold with wisdom. This letter, for some reason or other, though it was a private one to himself, the Wise Man allowed to be published in the newspapers: so it resulted that the Fool received more than one answer thereto. The answer received from the Wise Man to whom he had addressed it, though somewhat petulant, — as if the glory which he had won by his advocacy of the success- ful plan of reconstruction had already soured upon his stomach, — was at least frank and honest in its sentiments, and no doubt expressed the writer's views with precision : — Washington, D.C, Nov. 10, 18—. My dear Colonel, — Your letter of recent date is re- ceived, and I have duly considered its contents. The state of affairs which you picture is undoubtedly most distressing and discouraging ; but I can not see how it can be improved by any action of the General Government. The lately rebellious^ States are now fully restored, and are sovereign republics, oi co-ordinate rights and powers with the other States of thi? Union. The acts of violence described are of course offenses against their laws, and as such are punishable in their courts. It is no doubt a misfortune that those courts are either unable or unwilling to punish such crimes ; but it is a misfortune that does not seem to me to be remediable by national legislation. It must be evident to you that the government can not always interfere in the internal affairs of those States. They must be allowed to control, direct, and order their own affairs, as other States do. It is, no doubt, very unfortunate; but it is far better than to break down or disregard the fun- damental principles of our government, — the sacred barriers of the Constitution. Individual discomforts and «vils must give way to the public good. The principle ot self-govern- " OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART:' 231 ment must be recognized and maintained, even at the sacrifice of individual interests and rights. The States must protect the lives, persons, and property of their own citizens from aggTession on the part of others. The National Government can not act, so long as its existence or ils authority is not assailed or interfered with. Of course there will always be instances of grievous wrong practiced, both upon individuals and upon classes, in all of the States. I suppose there are classes, in every State, which are liable to injustice and oppression ; but the government can not interfere. You say these acts are done to prevent the free exercise of the ballot, and I have no doubt you are right; but I do not see how that affects the question. In fact, my friend [for the Wise Man called all men his friends], it is necessary that the people of the South should learn, what it seems almost impossible that some can apprehend after so many years of military government, — that all these questions of the rights of citizens are relegated, by the fact of reconstruction, to the tribunals of the States, and must be settled and determined there, according to the spirit of the Constitution. There is one thing, however, that you will allow me to say. If the colored people and the Union men of the South expect to receive the approval, respect, and moral support of the country, they must show themselves capable of self-government, able to take care of themselves. The government has done all it can be expected to do, — all it had power to do, in fact. It has given the colored man the ballot, armed him with the weapon of the freeman, and now he must show himself worthy to use it. "We have prepared him for the battle of freedom, and it is fdr him to furnish the manhood requisite for the struggle. The same is true of the poor white and of the Union man. Instead of whining over the wrongs they suffer at the hands of the rebels, they should assert themselves, and put down such lawless violence. They should combine to enforce the law, or, if the law can not be enforced, then to protect themselves. The capacity of a people for self-government is proved, first of all, by its inclination and capacity for self -protection. This capa- 232 A FOOLS ERRAND. city must exist in order that self-governing communities may exist. The doctrine of government by majorities is based upon the idea that the majority will be sufficiently bold and self-asserting to claim and maintain its rights. It is contem- plated, of course, that they will do this in a lawful and peacea- ble manner ; but it is also presumed that they will be capable of such assertion by physical means, should an appeal to force at any time become necessary. If you can not obtain protection through the courts, I do not see why you should not protect yourselves. If people are killed by the Ku-Klux, why do they not kill the Ku-Klux? These are the questions that arise in my mind. I would not presume to advise, but think they are the questions which all reasonable men must propound to themselves in regard to this matter. Very respectfully, To this letter the Fool answered as follows : — "My dear Sir, — Your letter in reply to mine of the 5th inst. recalls the recent past very vividly. I am perhaps bound to admit your conclusion that the Xational Government can not interfere without violating some of the traditions of our Federal Republic, but not its principles, and especially not its spirit. " It should be remembered that these States as re-created — not re-constructed — are mere creatures of the national power. Our legislators and theorizers have been puttering and quib- bling upon the idea, that because there can be no secession, or dissolution of the Union, upon any principle of reserved right, therefore there can be no destruction of the States. By a flimsy fiction it is held that Georgia was a State of the Union at the very time when a hostile government was organized there, dominated every foot of her territory, exacted allegiance and tribute from every inhabitant of her soil, and furnished her contingent for armed resistance to the United States. " It is a shallow trick of the sciolist. The act of rebellion, « OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART." 233 when it is so far successful as to overturn the government of a State of this Union, and establish a hostile one in its stead, destroys that State. The fallacy lies in the application of the "word ' State,' in its original or international sense, to one of the subordinate commonwealths of our nation. A ' State,' in that sense, is simply (1) a certain specific territory (2) occupied by an organized community (3), united under one government. If that could be applied to any of our States without modifica- tion, this conclusion might be true. But, in order to define our * State ' correctly, we must add one other element ; to wit (4), sustaining certain specific and defined relations to other States, and to the National Government of the United States of America. " It is this last element which rebellion destroyed, and thereby annihilated the State. Every element of a State of the American Union remained, except this statal relation to the Union; and this is just the very element which is as necessary to statal existence as breath to life. It is w^iat distinguishes a State of the Union from all other organized communities of earth called 'States.' You may have all but this, and there is no State in the sense we use it, but only a skeleton, a lifeless body. It is this element which reconstruction restored. It is this element which is under the control of the General Government, and must be so held and deemed, or reconstruction was a clear and fla- grant usurpation. "You think this a startling doctrine; but, if it be not true, then both the nation and the loyal people of the South are in a most dangerous dilemma. It may not be permissible even to suppose that the plan of reconstruction adopted was not abso- lutely perfect ; but for the argument, allowing it to be found impracticable and ineffective, then, according to the reasoning adduced by you, there is no remedy. As the tree fell when the State was admitted by congressional action, so it must lie to the end of time. It is like marriage, — a contract indis- soluble by either or both of the parties, a relation w^hich no antagonism can ever impair or destroy. If that is so, then you are right, and our appeal for aid is worse than futile. 234 A FOOUS ERRAND. " But, if it be true, how great was the crime of those who thrust upon the poor, ignorant colored people of the South, upon the few inexperienced and usually humble Union men, and the still fewer Northern men who have pitched their tents in this section, the task — the herculean and impossible task — of building up self-regulating States which should assure and protect the rights of all, and submit quietly and cheerfully to the sway of lawful majorities ! *'It should be remembered that the pressure for reconstruction came from the North, — not from the people of the North, but from its politicians. It was reduced to practice, not because society here was ripe for its operation, but to secure political victory and party ascendency. I do not object to this motive: it is the very thing that makes the government of parties generally safe. I allude to it only to show that we of the South, native or foreign-born, are not responsible for the perils which are now threatening the work that has once received the approbative fiat, * It is finished ! ' Allien we prophesied failure, as so many of us did, we were pooh-poohed like silly children ; and now, when we announce apparent failure, we are met with petulant impatience, and told to take care of our- selves. "It is all well for you, sitting safely and cosily in your easy- chair under the shadow of the dome of the Capitol, to talk about asserting ourselves, protecting ourselves, and retaliating upon our persecutors. Either you have not apprehended our condition, or you are inclined to 'mock at our calamity.' " Resistance, I mean such resistance as would be effective, is very nearly impossible. In the first place an overwhelming force is always concentrated on the single isolated individual. It is not a mob, except in the aggregation of strength and numbers. Every thing is planned and ordered beforehand. The game is stalked. He that resists does so at hopeless odds. He may desperately determine to throw away his life ; but he can accomplish no other result than to take one with him as he goes, and the chances are against even that. You must remember that the attack is only made at night, is always a « OUT OF THE ABUNDANCE OF THE HEART." 235 matter of surprise, and put in operation by a force whose numbers strike terror, always enhanced by their fantastic guise, which also greatly increases the chances of a misshot or false blow, should the unfortunate victim try to defend himself. " Resistance by way of retaliation is still more absurd. Suppose a party of men should whip you to-night, and you should find yourself unable to penetrate their disguise, or discover their identity in any manner, would you start out to-morrow, and run a-muck among your fellow-townsmen ? Or would you guess at the aggressors, and destroy without proof? Evidently not. To organize such retaliation would not be difficult. Such is the exasperation of the colored people, that they would readily join to give a smoking house in exchange for every bleeding back : indeed, if they were not restrained by the counsel of cooler and wiser heads, we should soon have a servile insurrection here, which would make the horrors of Santo Domingo pale before its intensity. Should we put your advice into practice, the government would soon find a way to interfere, despite the constitutional provi^,. ions, or, more properly, constitutional scruples, of some. Leat.. ing out of sight the fact that this is a contest of poverty, ignorance, and inexperience, against intelligence, wealth, an(5i skill, — the struggle of a race yet servile in its characteristics with one which has always excelled in domination, — you will perceive that the idea of retaliation, even among equals in rank and intelligence, would be futile and absurd. " As to the State authorities : the courts, you have seen, are powerless. In a county in which there have been two hun- dred such outrages, there has never been a presentment by the grand jury for one of them. The impossibility of identifica- tion, the terror which prevents testimony being given, and the fact that the v^ery perpetrators of these midnight assassina- tions are found on all juries, show this beyond a perad venture : so that is out of the question also. The Executive of the State is bound by constitutional limitations much less fanci- ful and airy than those which you have adduced in excuse for the national legislation. He can not interfere where the pro- 236 A FOOL'S ERRAND. cess of the courts is not resisted. The whole theory and policy of our government is to secure this right to the citizen. The denunciations of all our old Declarations of Rights were leveled expressly at such usurpations. The Executive who should dare to organize a military force to protect its citizens, or to aid in apprehending or punishing such men, would do so, not only in peril of his life from assassination, but also at the risk of impeachment, degradation, and ruia. " So we are remitted to our original petition to the National Government. If that can give us no aid, we have none to hope for. We can only repeat the Petrine cry, ' Save, Lord, or we perish ! ' " Respectfully, " Comfort Servosse." To this letter the Wise Man made no answer, but verbally stated to a mutual friend that he considered it very disre- spectful to him. The Wise Men of that day looked upon the supporters of reconstruction at the South as mere instruments in their hands, — to be worked as puppets, but to be blamed as men, for the results of their acts. They had not yet arrived at that refinement of cruelty which also made them scapegoats for the results of others' ignorance and folly. That was to come afterward. CHAPTER XXXIV. "LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG." The Fool's neighbors having read his letter to the Wise Man, as published in the great journal in which it appeared, were greatly incensed thereat, and immediately convened a public meeting for the purpose of taking action in regard to the same. At this meeting they passed resolutions affirming the quiet, peaceful, and orderly character of the county, and *'LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG.* 237 denouncing in unmeasured terms all reports or rumors to a contrary purport as false and slanderous, and especially affirm- ing with peculiar earnestness that the recent act of violence which had startled and amazed this law-abiding community was not the work of any of its citizens, but an irruption from beyond its borders. It was notioeable that none of the colored people joined in this demonstration, nor any of those white people, who, on that night of horror, had stood with bated breath behind their barred doors, in the midst of weeping and terrified households mo- mently expecting attack. There were not many of the latter, it is true, and what was termed " respectable society " had long ago shut its doors in their faces ; and it was by no means to be expected that the respectable w^hite people of any county would seek to have their declarations confirmed by the testi- mony of an inferior race, whose evidence, at best, would have to be taken with many grains of allowance. There were many eloquent and impressive speeches made on this occasion. The lawyers were, of course, in the lead, as the profession always is in all matters of public interest in our land. They descanted largely upon inagna charta, and the law-abiding and liberty-loving spirit of the people of the grand old county, on which the sun of American liberty first arose, and had shone his very brightest ever since. They told how the people, after being overwhelmed in the holiest crusade for liberty that the world had ever known, by the hosts of foreign mer- cenaries which the North had hurled against them, after hav- ing their fields and homes ravaged and polluted by Yankee vandals, had surrendered in good faith, and had endured all the tyranny and oppression which Yankee cunning and malice could invent, without resistance, almost without murmuring. They painted the three years of unutterable oppression, when they were ground under the heel of "military despotism," deprived of the right of self-government, their laws subverted to the will of a "military satrap," and their judges debarred from enforcing them according to their oaths of office. They recalled the fact, that in that very county the sheriff had been 238 A FOOUS ERRAND. prevented by a file of soldiers from carrying into effect the sentence of the court, given in strict conformity with the law of the State, and requiring the offender to be publicly whipped on his bare back. They called attention to the fact that the whipping-post, the stocks, and the branding-iron, — the signifi- cant emblems of their former civilization, — had been swept away by the influx of " Yankee ideas," which had culminated in the inexpressible infamy of military reconstruction, and *' nigger supremacy." Then they turned the torrent of their denunciatory wrath upon the Fool, and gave free rein to their fancy as they invented for him a boyhood, youth, and early manhood, suffi- ciently degraded and infamous to fit him for the career of the carpet-bagger. With a magnificent disregard both of chro- nology and geography, he was represented as having been born " at Nantucket, Cape Cod, and all alongshore ; " and by each successive speaker was credited with a new birth more in- famous, if possible, in its surroundings and associations, than any theretofore conferred upon him. A life of corresponding depravity was also invented for each new birthplace, every one culminating in that last act of unparalleled infamy, — the ut- terance of slanderous reports against the ever-martyred and long-suffering South, which bad laid aside the memory of its manifold wrongs, and received with open arms one of its op- pressors, — a man whose hands were red with the blood of her sons slain in battle. Nay, more, he was denounced as one of those modern moss-troopers who raided and ravaged, and stole and burned, with the robber-chief, Sherman, on his torch-lit pathway to the sea, — Sherman, whose infamies were so un- paralleled as to require the use of a new word to express their enormity, who had made the term " hummer" expressive of the quintessence of all ignominy. Then spoke the grave and reverend divine who had dis- coursed with unruffled serenity of "the peaceable fruits of righteousness" on that chill sabbath when the body of poor Jerry swung from the adjacent oak, turning here and there the unseeing orbs in unsyllabled prayer for the common *'LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG."- 230 cliarity of Christian burial. He deplored, as his calling re- quired him to do, all violence and harshness. lie even depre- cated harsh words and violent language. But when he saw his people assailed with false and infamous aspersions by one who had come among them, and had for years been the recipient of their forbearing charity and long-suifering patience, he could not hold his peace. And, after that frank acknowledgment of his fallibility, the good man did not seem to make any further effort to do so, but followed the lead of the gentlemen of tho bar with a zeal that showed a determination to excel, until he grew hoarse and sweaty, and red in the face, and had lost his eye-glasses, and shed half a mouthful of false teeth. Then he sat down for repairs, and the sheriff gave Jiis testimony. He was a man of few words ; but he avouched the peace and quiet of the county by telling how few warrants he had in his hands; how few presentments had been made by the grand jury; how certain he was that the acts of violence (which all regretted) had been almost entirely committed by lawless bands from other counties; and, in conclusion, he asserted that he had never had a paper which he could not serve with- out the aid of a posse. Indeed, so potent was the law-abiding spirit, that a boy of ten, armed wdth a lawful warrant, could arrest any man in the county charged with crime. To the same effect testified all his deputies, and many other most honorable men ; and all expressed as much indignation as the imperfection of the language would allow, at the atrocity of the Fool's conduct in reporting any thing derogatory to the honor of the South, and especially of the law-abiding char- acter of the people of that county. AVhen all who were full enough for utterance had borne their testimony, and the laudatory resolutions had been adopted, one of the young hot-heads of the meeting thoughfc to immortalize himself by offering a resolution denouncing the Fool by name, in the strongest terms he could command. Some of the older and cooler ones were somewhat doubtful about the policy of such a course ; and, after some discussion, the resolution was withdrawn, and a committee appointed, 240 A FOOrS ERRAND. with instructions to confer with the Fool, see if he still avowed the authorship of the letter in question, and affirmed its contents, and report the result of such conference to an- other meeting, to be called by them at such time as they might select Thereupon the meeting adjourned, and on the next day the Fool received the following letter from the committee : — "Colonel Comfort Servosse. Sir, — The people of Verdenton and vicinity have seen, with surprise and regret, a letter purporting to have been written by you, and published in the New York Age of the 10th inst., stating, among other things, that there had been ' one thousand outrages committed in this congressional district by armed men in disguise,' in other words, by the Ku-Klux as they are called. The good citizens of this county feel that they would be open to the most just censure, and dereliction of duty to themselves and the country, should they permit such communications to pass without their notice and condemnation. Not wishing to act in haste, or to do any injustice, the undersigned have been appointed a committee, on behalf of the law-abiding people of this vicinity, to inquire of you whether you wrote said letter, and, if so, whether you still affirm its contents. " An immediate answer is required. " Hespectfully, "A. B ,^ " C. D , y Committee.** « E. F . ) To this letter the Fool made answer : — " To a. B. and Others, Committee, — Your favor of this morning is at hand, informing me that you have been ap- pointed a committer*, by a meeting of the citizens of Ver- denton and vicinity, who desire to ascertain whether I am the writer of a certain letter published in a Northern journal, which they wish to notice and condemn. " In reply, I would state that I have read the article to which LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG.' 241 you refer; that I did write the letter as published, and most unhesitatingly re-affirm its contents to the best of my knowl- edge and belief. I do not exactly understand the nature of the demand made upon me ; but as 1 am always willing and anxious to gratify my neighbors with a declaration of faith, and such reasons as I may have, you will, I feel sure, pardon me if I see fit to give something more than a mere categorical answer to your inquiry. « I am not a little surprised that such a demand should be made, and in the formal manner which characterizes this. I find nothing in the letter which I have not repeated and affirmed over and over again in private conversation, and several times on public occasions. It would seem, however, from the tenor of your letter, that the part of it which espe- cially arouses the objurgation of my good neighbors, and the part which I am informed was especially inveighed against at the meeting last night, is my estimate of one thousand outrages in this congressional district. With regard to this, you will permit me to remark that I am clearly satisfied that it is altogether below the fact. Of course, as I have not access to the secret archives of the Klan, I have no means, at present, of verifying this estimate. You will recollect that this estimate embraces every unlawful act perpetrated by armed and organized bodies in disguise. The entry of the premises, and surrounding the dwelling with threats against the inmates ; the seizure and destruction, or appropriation of arms; the dragging of men, women, and children from their homes, or compelling their flight; the binding, gagging, and beating of men and women; shooting at specific individuals, or indiscriminately at inhabited houses; the mutilation of men and women in methods too shocking and barbarous to be recounted here ; burning houses ; destroying stock ; and mak- ing the night a terror to peaceful citizens by the ghastly horror of many and deliberate murders, — all these come within the fearful category of ' outrages.' I have reason to believe that the greater proportion of these acts are studiously concealed by the victims, unless of so serious a character as to render 242 A FOOrS ERRAND. concealment impossible, because of the invariable threat of more serious punishment in case complaint is made. I know, in many instances, when parties have come to me from all parts of the district to seek legal redress, that, when advised that it could not be obtained, they have begged me to keep silence in regard to it, lest they should pay with their lives for having revealed it. "I am aware, gentlemen, that many of those who are classed as ' our best citizens ' have heretofore insisted, and perhaps even yet do insist, that these things were unworthy of serious atten- tion ; and I will confess that I have always suspected such parties of a peculiar knowledge of these crimes which could only be obtained by privity in regard to their perpetrators. You yourselves, gentlemen, will bear me witness that I have omitted no proper opportunity to denounce these acts, and warn both the perpetrators, and the community at large, that such horrible barbarities, such disregard of human right and hu- man life, must bear some sort of bitter fruit in the near future. That I was right, witness the horrid culmination of deliberate and cowardly barbarity of which your streets were recently the theater ! Witness the Temple of Justice in a neigh- boring county besmeared with the blood of an officer assassi- nated with cowardly treachery and cold-blooded deliberateness! " The evidences in support of my estimate are daily accumu- lating, and convincing the most incredulous that it is even below the horrible truth. And yet you wish to know if I re-affirm that estimate ! I am uncertain how to regard this demand. It seems too absurd to be serious, and too polite for a threat. If it was supposed that recent events, or the meeting of last night, had so intimidated or alarmed me as to lead me to retract such statement as the price of immunity, it was a mistake. I stated in the letter to which you have directed attention, my apprehension that I might at any mo- ment meet the fate of John "Walters. With that apprehen- sion strengthened by your demand, I still reiterate my belief, and hope I would have fortitude to do so if it were to be my dying declaration, as indeed it may well be, since no man can ''LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG.'' 243 be considered safe from assassination who has rendered him' eelf obnoxious to this band of Christian Thugs. "With these vie^Ys, I have done, and shall continue to do, all in my power to direct the attention and influenco of the government to this monster evil. " And now, gentlemen, as I have answered your questions thus fully, will you permit me to ask one or two for my own enlightenment ? If the ' good citizens of this county ' are so anxious to play the censor, why have they not found breath to utter, in their collective capacity, a protest against the outrages which bands of disguised villains have perpetrated in this county ? For more than a year, at brief intervals, under the very noses of the 'people of Verdenton and vicinity,' every right of the citizen has been violated by gangs of masked villains; and yet they have let them pass without 'notice ' or * condemnation.' Some of the most atrocious outrages which even the annals of this modern barbarity can furnish were perpetrated in this very county ; and yet no word of censure has ever come from the 'people of Verdenton and vicinity.' Ko meeting of sympathy, no expression of indignation, no utterance of horror, is heard from the 'people of Verdenton and vicinity.' They have no ' duty to the country ' to perform when men are whipped, women beaten almost to a jelly ("white women too), children made imbecile by fright, and other outrages perpetrated upon the persons of citizens dwelling ' in the peace of God and the State,' within the limits of this very county. But no sooner does one utter a cry of warning, a call for help, a protest against these fearful enormities, wrung from his very soul by their frequency and horror, than 'the people of Verdenton and vicinity ' have a duty to the country, and must not let this cry escape their 'notice ' and 'condemnation.* The scourged and mangled victims had no claim upon your sympathy; but the masked and uniformed desperadoes and assassins who perpetrated these fearful, bloody deeds — ah ! — ' Take them up tenderly, Touch tktiii with care.' Whoever speaks of their crimes above a whisper must be 244 A FOODS ERRAND. * noticed and condemned.' Ah, < people of Verdenton and vicinity,' with the highest personal regard for many of your number, I must say, %vith ' surprise and regret,' that the con- duct of many in this matter bears a flavor which 1 hesitate to name I " Duty is a good thing, gentlemen. The notice and condem- nation of evil, the reprehension of vice, is so noble a virtue that even an excess of zeal in its exercise may be pardoned or admired. Amor patrlce is a thing so glorious that poets will hymn its praises for all time. But I have understood, gentle- men, that respected brands are sometimes placed upon spurious articles. Duty is sometimes but the livery of an unworthy purpose ; reprehension of evil, only the flurry which wrong stirs up to cover its retreat ; and amor patrlce — well, it has different faces, 'sometimes the image of good Queen Bess, and anon of a Bloody Mary.' There are near at hand some very ugly facts •which it would be well for you to consider at this time. *' Let it not be understood, that, by these remarks, I would reflect upon all the 'people of Verdenton and vicinity.' Some of them have stood forth and denounced these acts from the first; but these, however, are rare. " Regretting both the events which originally called forth my letter, and have made our State a hot-bed of horrors, and the course which the ' people of Verdenton and vicinity ' have seen fit to adopt in relation to the same, " I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant, " Comfort Servosse." CHAPTER XXXV. THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. The cry which the Fool had uttered, however, was but the echo of that which had already come up to the ears of an astonished nation from the mouths of thousands upon thou- THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. 245 Bands of those who had seen and suffered the evils which he portrayed, and of other thousands of dumb mouths which spoke of the voiceless ag-oiiy of death. This new Reign of Terror had come so stilly and quietly upon the world, that none realized its fearfulness and extent. At first it had been a thing of careless laughter to the great, free, unsuspecting North, then a matter of contemptuous ridi- cule, and finally a question of incredulous horror. Two things had contributed to this feeling. Those who had suf- fered had, in the main, been humble people. The public press did not teem with their wrongs, because there were none to tell them. They were people, too, whose story of wrong had been so long in the ear of the public, that it was tired of the refrain. It had yielded, very slowly and unwillingly, to the conviction that slavery was an evil, and the colored man too near akin to white humanity to be rightfully held in bond- age, and subjected to another's will. It had slowly and doubt- fully been brought to the point of interference therewith on the ground of military necessity in the suppression of rebellion, and, after a grand struggle of conflicting ideas, had finally settled down to the belief that enfranchisement was all that was required to cure all the ills which hitherto had afflicted, or in the future might assail, the troublesome and pestiferous African. This had been granted. The conscience of the nation was satisfied, and it highly resolved that thereafter it would have peace; that the negro could have no further ground of complaint, and it would hear no further murmurs. So it stopped its ears, and, when the south wdnd brought the burden of woe, it shook its head blankly, and said, "I hear nothing, nothing ! All is peace." But, when the cries became so clamorous that they could not longer be ignored, the Wise Men appointed a committee who should investigate the matter, and hear all that could be said both pro and con. Oh! a strange, sad story is that which fills the thirteen volumes of testimony, documents, and conclusions, reported by that committee; a strange commentary upon Christian 246 A FOODS ERRAND. civilization ; a strange history of peaceful years ; — bloody as the reign of Mary, barbarous as the chronicles of the Co- manche ! Of the slain there were enough to furnish forth a battle- field, and all from those three classes, the negro, the scalawag, and the carpet-bagger, — all killed with deliberation, over- whelmed by numbers, roused from slumber at the murk mid- night, in the hall of public assembly, upon the river-brink, on the lonely woods-road, in simulation of the public execu- tion, — shot, stabbed, hanged, drowned, mutilated beyond description, tortured beyond conception. And almost always by an unknown hand ! Only the terri- ble, mysterious fact of death was certain. Accusation by secret denunciation ; sentence without hearing ; execution without warning, mercy, or appeal. In the deaths alone, terrible be- yond utterance; but in the manner of death — the secret, intangible doom from which fate springs — more terrible still: in the treachery which made the neighbor a disguised assassin, most horrible of all the feuds and hates which history portrays. And then the wounded, — those who escaped the harder fate, — the whipped, the mangled, the bleeding, the torn ! men despoiled of manhood! women gravid with dead children 1 bleeding backs ! broken limbs ! Ah ! the wounded in this silent warfare were more thousands than those who groaned upon the slopes of Gettysburg! Dwellings and schools and churches burned ! People driven from their homes, and dwell- ing in the woods and fields ! The poor, the weak, the despised, maltreated and persecuted — by whom? Always the same intangible presence, the same invisible power. Well did it name itself "The Invisible Empire." Unseen and unkno\Yn ? In one State ten thousand, in another twenty thousand, in another forty thousand ; in all an army greater than the Rebellion, from the moldering remains of which it sprung, could ever put into the field ! An Invisible Empire, with a trained and disciplined army of masked midnight marauders, making war upon the weakling " powers " which the Wise Men had set up in the lately rebellious territory 1 THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. 247 And then the defense! — no, not the defense, — ihe excuse, the avoidance set up to rebut the charge, to mitigate the guilt ! Ah, me 1 it is sad, sadder almost than the bloody facts them- selves. What is it? " We were rebels in arms : we surrendered, and by the terms of surrender were promised immunity so long as we obeyed the laws. This meant that we should govern ourselves as of old. Instead of this, they put military officers over us; they imposed disabilities on our best and bravest ; they liberated our slaves, and gave them power over us. Men born at the North came among us, and were given place and power by the votes of slaves and renegades. There were incompetent offi- cers. The revenues of the State were squandered. We were taxed to educate the blacks. Enormous debts were contracted. We did not do these acts of violence from political motives, but only because the parties had made themselves obnoxious." Alas, alas that a people who had inaugurated and carried through a great war should come to regard any thing as an excuse for organized Thuggism ! Yet it was a magnificent sentiment that underlay it all, — an unfaltering determination, an invincible defiance to all that had the seeming of compulsion or tyranny. One can not but regard with pride and sympathy the indomitable men, who, being conquered in war, yet resisted every effort of the con- queror to change their laws, their customs, or even the personnel of their ruling class; and this, too, not only with unyielding stubbornness, but with success. One can not but admire the arrogant boldness with which they charged the nation which had overpowered them — even in the teeth of her legislators — with perfidy, malice, and a spirit of unworthy and contemptible revenge. How they laughed to scorn the Reconstruction Acts of which the Wise Men boasted ! How boldly they declared the conflict to be irrepressible, and that white and black could not and should not live together as co-ordinate ruling elements! How lightly they told the tales of blood, — of the Masked Night-Riders, of the Invisible Empire of Rifle Clubs and Saber Clubs (all organized for peaceful purposes), of warnings and whippings and slaughters! Ah, it is wonderful I 248 A FOOL'S ERRAND. And then the organization itself, so complete, and yet SO portable and elastic ! So perfect in disguise, that, of the thou- sands of victims, scarce a score could identify one of their persecutors ! And among the hundreds of thousands of its members, of the few who confessed and revealed its character, hardly one knew any thing more than had already been dis- covered ; or, if he knew it, did not disclose it ! It is all amazing, but sad and terrible. Would that it might be blotted out, or disappear as a fevered dream before the brightness of a new day! Yet in it we may recognize the elements which should go to make up a grand and kingly people. They felt themselves insulted and oppressed. Xo matter whether they were or not, be the fact one way or another, it does not affect their conduct. If the Reconstruction which the Wise Men ordained was un- just; if the Korth was the aggressor and wrongful assailant of the South in war; if, to humiliate and degrade her enemy, the terms of surrender were falsified, and new and irritating con- ditions imposed ; if the outcasts of Northern life were sent or went thither to encourage and induce the former slave to act against his former master, — if all this icere true, it would be no more an excuse or justification for the course pursued than would the fact that these things were honestly believed to be true by the masses who formed the rank and file of this gro- tesquely uniformed body of partisan cavalry. In anj^ case, it must be counted but as the desperate effort of a proud, brave, and determined people to secure and hold what they deemed to he their rights. It is sometimes said, by those who do not comprehend its purpose, to have been a base, cowardly, and cruel barbarism. " What!" says the Northern man, — who has stood aloof from it all, and with Pharisaic assumption, or comfortable ignorance of facts, denounced "Ku-Klux," "carpet-baggers," "scala- wags," and "niggers " alike, — " was it a brave thing, worthy of a brave and chivalric people, to assail poor, weak, defenseless men and women with overwhelming forces, to terrify, maltreat, and murder ? Is this brave and commendable? " THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. 249 All, my friend ! you quite mistake. If that ^vere all that was intended and done, no, it was not brave and commenda- ble. But it was not alone the poor colored man whom the daring band of night-riders struck, as the falcon strikes the sparrow; that indeed would have been cowardly: but it was the Nation which had given the victim citizenship and power, on whom their blow fell. It was no brave thing in itself for old John Brown to seize the arsenal at Harper's Ferry; con- sidered as an assault on the almost solitary watchman, it was cowardly in the extreme: but, when we consider what power stood behind that powerless squad, we are amazed at the daring of the Hero of Ossawattomie. So it was with this magnificent organization. It was not the individual negro, scalawag, or carpet-bagger, against whom the blow was directed, but the power — the Government — the idea which they represented. Xot unfre- quently, the individual victim was one toward whom the individual members of the Klan who executed its decree upon him had no little of kindly feeling and respect, but whose influence, energy, boldness, or official position, was such as to demand that he should be "visited." In most of its assaults, the Klan was not instigated by cruelty, nor a desire for revenge ; but these were simply the most direct, perhaps the only, means to secure the end it had in view. The brain, the wealth, the chivalric spirit of the South, was restive under what it deemed degradation and oppression. This association offered a ready and effective method of overturning the hated organization, and throwing off. the rule which had been im- posed upon them. From the first, therefore, it spread like wildfire. It is said that the first organization was instituted in May, or perhaps as late as the 1st of June, 1868; yet by August of that year it was firmly established in every State of the South. It was builded upon an ineradicable sentiment of hostility to the negro as a political inter/er, and a fierce de- termination that the white people of the South, or a majority of that race, should rule, — if not by the power of the ballot, then by force of skill, brain, and the habit of domination. 250 A FOOVS ERRAND. The bravest and strongest and best of the South gave it their recognition and support, — in most cases actively, in some passively. Thousands believed it a necessity to prevent an- archy and the destruction of all valuable civilization ; others regarded it as a means of retaliating upon the government, which they conceived to have oppressed them; while still others looked to it as a means of acquiring place and power. That it outgrew the designs of its originators is more than probable ; but the development was a natural and unavoidable one. It is probable that it was intended, at first, to act solely upon the superstitious fears of the ignorant and timid colored race. The transition from moral to physical compulsion was easy and natural, especially to a people who did not regard the colored man as having any inherent right to liberty and self-government, or the personal privileges attendant thereon, but only such right as was conferred by a legislation which was deemed at least questionable. The native whites who had identified themselves with that movement which gave political power to the blacks were regarded not only as mercenaries and renegades who had deserted their section, but also as traitors to their race. The Northern men who did likewise were regarded as intruders and invaders, and believed to be insti- gated, not only by the basest personal motives, but also by that concentrated hate which the Southern man always attrib- uted to the Korthern opponent of slavery. Unaccustomed to immigration as the South was, accustomed, indeed, to regard all strangers with suspicion, until assured of their harmless- ness as regarded the main institution of their land, it needed but the conviction of oppression, and the chagrin of defeat, to make them look upon every individual from the hostile section as an active and virulent enemy, whose claim of citizen- ship there was a false pretense, constituting the owner, in effect, an emissary of the enemy, entitled only to the con- sideration and treatment of the spy. All this was natural, and should have been foreseen and acted upon by the Wise IMen whose task it was to reform the shat- tered nation. As it was nut done, however, and the cry for THE HARVEST OF WISDOM. 251 relief came up from so many thousands, the Congress ap- pointed this committee, and enacted certain laws in regard to the matter for the protection of its citizens. At the same time, the various State governments in the South (which, it will be remembered, had been placed in power by the new political elements) began to move in the same direction. Li some, the Executive levied troops, and suspended the writ of Habeas Corpus, on the ground that the power of the State was threatened and subverted by this organization. But meantime, and before either power had carried their designs into practical execution, the Klan organization had accomplished its primary object, the majority which had pronounced in favor of the Reconstruction measures had been suppressed in quite a number of the States, and the minority found themselves in legislative control. Instantly, upon this being ascertained, the power of such States was turned upon those who had exerted extraordinary powers to protect their people from the raids and violence of the Klan. The governors of some were impeached And deposed for this cause. Others were threatened with the 6ame fate, and resigned to avoid it. This new revolution which had begun w^ent on. The Klan increased in numbers and in power, — an imperium in imperio, — until its decrees were far more potent, and its power more dreaded, than that of the visible commonwealths which it either dominated or terrorized. This fact, together with the fear of the new laws which had been adopted by the National Government, the authority of which had not then been ques- tioned, tended somewhat to repress actual violence. Having gained what was sought, — to wit, the control of their States, — the leaders now exercised their authority to prevent further raids; and the hostility against the colored man and his allies gradually died out as these suppressed classes ceased to be a political element which need be feared, in the struggle for domination. The national law, moreover, could not extend to the crimes perpetrated before its enactment. They were still only cognizable in the State tribunals, in which it was not supposed that prosecution would ever be possible. So the 252 A FOOUS ERRAND. organization was easily maintained, lying quiet and unnoticed, except when, upon occasions, it was deemed proper to mani- fest its power to restrain or punish some daring leader who refused to obey the logic of events, and give up the contest for the rule of the majority of voters in those States, instead of the majority of the White Leaguers therein. The revolution had been inaugurated, and its feasibility demonstrated. Henceforth it was only a question of time as to its absolute and universal success. The rule of the majori- ty had been overthrown, the power of the Government boldly defied, and its penalties for crime successfully evaded, that the enfranchisement of the colored man might be rendered a farce, and the obnoxious Amendments and Reconstruction legislation had been shown to be practically nullified. Read by the light of other days, the triumph of the ancient South "was incredibly grand ; in the then present there was little lacking to give it completeness; in the futui'e — well, that could take care of itself. CHAPTER XXXVI. AN AWAKENING. Lily, the one child of Comfort and IMetta Servosse, had developed under the Southern sun, until, almost before her parents had noted the fact, she had the rounded form and softened outlines indicative of womanhood. The atmosphere in which she had lived had also developed her mind not less rapidly. From her infancy almost, owing to the peculiar circumstances which surrounded their life, she had been the constant companion and trusted confidant of her mother. Shut out from all that may be termed "society" by the unfortunate relations which her husband and she herself sus- tained to those around them, regarded either as enemies, AN AWAKENING. 253 intruders, or inferiors, by those whose culture rendered their society desirable, Metta had not sought to remove this impres- sion, but, acting upon her husband's advice, had calmly and proudly accepted the isolation thus imposed upon her, only compensating herself by a more intimate and constant associa- tion with her husband, sharing his thoughts, entering into his plans and purposes, and interesting herself in all that in- terested him. It resulted that she took the liveliest interest in all that concerned the present and future of that community in which they dwelt. Side by side with her husband she had digged into the history of the past, studied the development of the present, and earnestly endeavored to find some clew to the clouded and obscure future. In this absorbing question her heart had become weaned from many of those things which constitute so much of the ordinary life of woman; and, in the society of her husband and the care and education of her daughter, she had almost ceased to miss those social enjoyments to which she had been accustomed before their migration. The exciting events which had occurred around them had drawn this little family into even closer relations with each other than this involuntary isolation would, of itself, have compelled. The difficulties and dangers attending the Fool's life and duties had woven themselves into the daily life of the wife and daughter, until they became the one engrossing theme of their thought and the burden of their conversations. During his absence, anxiety for his safety, and, during his presence, thankfulness for his preservation, filled their hearts. Every act of violence perpetrated by the mysterious enemy which lay hidden all about them was one more evidence of the peril which surrounded him on whom all their hopes were centered. Every call of duty which took him from their sight was another trial of their faith in the great Deliverer. Every absence and every return increased the intensity of their anxiety, and fixed their minds more exclusively upon those events which were passing day by day about them. Each farewell came to have the solemnity of a death-bed, and each return, the solemn joy of an unexpected resurrection. ^o^ A FOODS ERRAND. In this fumace-blast of excitement and apprehension the young girl's heart and mind had matured even more rapidly than her person. A prudence unknown to one of her years who had lived in quiet times and under other conditions of society, had come to be habitual with her. The constant apprehension of attack from the masked marauders had famil- iarized her with danger, and given her a coolness and decision of character which nothing else could have developed. She had seen the dread cavalcade pass in the dim moonlight, and had stood at her chamber-window, revolver in hand, prepared to take part in the expected defense of their home. She had learned to watch for danger, to see that all precautions were adopted against it, to be cautious what she said, and to whom she said it, to weigh with suspicious doubt the words and acts of all whom she met. Many a time, while yet a mere child, she had been called upon to be her mother's consoler in seasons of doubt and apprehended danger. A thousand times she had seen the dull gray look of agonized foreboding steal into the loved face, and had bravely undertaken the duty of lightening the mother's woe. All this had ripened her mind with won- derful rapidity. As she had shared the anxieties and perils of her parents, she had participated also in their joys. She had early been trained to the saddle ; and, from the very outset of their life in the new home, her pony had been the frequent companion of both Lollard and Jaca in many a long ride. As she grew older, the pony gave way to her own petted mare; and a more easy, graceful, and daring rider it was hard to find, even in tliat region of unrivaled horsemen and horsewomen. She had also been trained to the use of arms, and handled both rifle and revolver, not only without fear, but with readiness and precision. In person she was by no means unattractive. She had the lithe, trim figure of her mother, and, united with it, that soft- ness of outline, delicacy of color, and ease and grace of carriage which the free, untrammeled life, and soft, kindly climate of that region, give in such rich measure to those AN AWAKENING. 255 reared under their influences. Her eyes were of that deep blue which evinces fortitude and sincerity ; while her luxuriant hair took the character of its hue from the light in which it was viewed, — " golden in the sunshine, in the shadow brown," and, touched by the moonbeam, a spray of tinted silver. It had been the joy and pride of the fond mother. Shears had never marred its glossy sheen ; and it had rarely felt the restraint of twist or braid, but had hung naturally about the child's shoulders, until it fell, in a rippling cascade, to her waist. To these personal attributes Lily joined a sunniness of temper, a sparkle and vivacity of mind, inherited from far- away French ancestors, which seemed to have been brought out by the sunny brightness of the kindred clime in which she had been reared. These charms combined to render her an exceedingly piquant and charming maiden ; so that, as she rode here and there with her parents, or scrambled about the shady bridle-paths of the adjacent country alone, her beauty came to be remarked. The young people of the vicinity began shyly to court her presence, and finally opened their social circles and their hearts to her, only regretting that her parents were not "our people," and kindly exercising more or less forgetfulness of her origin. Among those who had seen and admired the bright presence which reigned supreme at Warrington was Melville Gurney, the son of General Marion Gurney of Pultowa County, adjoining that in which the Fool resided. Young Gurney was a splendid specimen of the stock of Southern gentlemen from which he sprung, being tall and commanding in person, of that easy grace which is rarely matched in other portions of the country, and admirably adapted to excel in field-sports, in all of which he was an acknowledged proficient. His early youth had cov- ered the period of the war, in which his father had won no little renown, and before his sixteenth birthday he had run away from home, riding his own horse, to take part in the last campaign of Early in the Valley of the Shenandoah, where his father's command was engaged. After the last defeat he found his father lying wounded in a Federal hospital, aud by unre- 256 A FOOVS ERRAND. mitting exertion saved him from fatal prostration, and brought him home to slow but certain recovery. The daring youngster could not, after that, confine himself to the dull routine of the college ; but in his father's library, and afterwards in his office, he had received a culture not less complete, although very dif- ferent from what he would have gathered in the course of a collegiate career. This young man, bold, active, and endowed with a superabundant vitality, had met the little lady of War- rington at a festive gathering near his father's home a few months before the time to which our story has advanced, and, with the frank impetuosity characteristic of his nativity, had forthwith testified his admiration, and asked an invitation to Warrington. That the young girl should be flattered by the attentions of so charming a cavalier, was but natural. It was the first time, however, that she had been asked to extend the hospitalities of her father's house to any of her associates, and at once the anomalous position in which they stood to those by whom they were surrounded forced itself upon her thought. Her face flushed for an instant, and then, looking up quietly into his, she said, — "Are you in earnest, IMr. Gurney? Would you really like to visit Warrington? " The inquiry brought the young man to a serious considera- tion of his own request. When he had first preferred it, he had thought only of the fair creature by his side : now, he thought of a thousand incidents which might flow from it. Bold almost to recklessness, he was sincere almost to bluntness also, even with himself : therefore, ready as he would have been with the words of a mere outward politeness, he honestly hesi- tated before answering the question. Instantly the quick per- ceptions and natural pride of the "carpet-bagger's" daughter were aroused; and she said somewhat haughtily, but with a studied courtesy of tone, — " I see, Mr. Gurney, that your request was merely intended as an empty compliment, which it is not worth the trouble either to accept or decline. Excuse me," — and, having already re- AN AWAKENTNG. 257 moved her hand from his arm, she bowed lightly, and turned with a smile to begin a lively conversation with a friend who stood near. The incident showed such coolness and self-control, as well as frank sincerity, that the admiration of Melville Gurney was increased rather than diminished thereby. He did not regard it as a rebuff, but as a self-respecting assertion that one who doubted as to the propriety of visiting her father's house had no right to prefer such a request to her. So he did not approach her again during the evening, but watched her attentively. And the next day, ^vhen he saw her pass his father's office, mounted upon Lollard (now full of years, but still a horse of magnificent action and unabated fire), her fair hair falling free over her dark habit until it almost touched the glossy coat of her steed, each fiber transformed by the sunlight into a gleaming thread of gold, he began to feel something of regret that he had not answered her question, and pressed for an answer to his request. General Gurney was as active and prominent a political leader upon the other side as the Fool was upon his, and was looked upon as a partisan of similar intensity of conviction. Both were pronounced and positive men. They were well- matched opponents too, had more than once met upon the stump, and had served together in public bodies. There was that acquaintance between them which such association gives, without further personal relations, and perhaps something of that esteem which is sure to prevail between men often pitted against each other without decisive victory. The general was the representative of an old and honored family, and felt, with the utmost keenness, the degradation resulting from defeat, and the subsequent elevation of the colored man to a position of political co-ordination with the white race. He had married early; Melville was the oldest child, and on him the hopes, aspirations, and love of the father were centered in an unusual degree. " What do you think of Colonel Servosse, Pa ? " asked the son a few moments after Lily had passed. 258 A FOOrS ERRAND, "Think about him? That he is the worst Radical in tho State. He has the most ineradicable hate of every tiling Southern that I have ever known," answered the father. " But aside from his politics, — as a man, Pa, what do you think of him?" "Oh! as a man he is well enough ; in fact, better than I could wish. Personally there seems to be no weak spot in his armor. They did try to make some attack upon his character ; but no one really believed it, and I am of the notion that it did us more harm than good. I never did believe it, though I have sometimes hinted at it, just because I saw that I could get under his hide in no other way. He is the coolest and most collected man I have ever met in public life." " Is he a gentleman ? " " Well —yes, in a Northern sense," answered the father. " I have no doubt that if he had staid at the North, and I had known him as a Northern man, I should have enjoyed him thoroughly. Everybody who is acquainted with him admits that he has fine social qualities. He is somewhat reserved to strangers. He is a man of decided ability and culture, and I count him one of the most dangerous Radicals in the State. But why do you ask ? " "Well, I thought I would like to know all sides of him,'* replied the son. " I had read so much of him, and had heard you speak of him so often in a semi-public manner, that I thought I would like to know your actual opinion in regard to him." " That's right. You ought to learn every thing you can of a man of his mark. You will meet his influence in the State as long as you live. He has left an impress upon it that would remain, even if he should die to-morrow." Soon afterwards Melville Gurney wrote a note to Lily Ser- rosse, which contained only these words : — " Miss Lily, — Will you allow me, after mature deliberation, to renew the request which 1 made to you? " Respectfully, "jVIelville Gurney." AN AWAKENING. 259 Lily took this to her mother, and told her all that had oc- curred. For the first time the mother realized that her daugh- ter was growing into womanhood. The blushes which accom- panied hsr narrative told that her heart was awakened. It seemed but a little while since she was only a prattling child ; but now, as the mother looked on her budding beauty, she could but admit, with a pang of sorrow, that the days of girl- hood were over, that the summer of love had come, and that her pretty bird was but pluming her wings for the inevitable flight. Like a prudent mother, she determined to do nothing to hasten this result, and yet to so act as to keep her daughter's confidence as implicit and spontaneous as it had hitherto been. So she only kissed the girl's blushing cheek, asking lightly, — '* And would you like to have him come? " " I don't know, mamma," answered Lily artlessly. " I icould like to be more like — like our neighbors, and have more young companions." " And so you shall, my daughter," answered the mother. So it resulted, that, a few weeks after, a party was given at War- rington, and ^Ir. Melville Gurney, with several others of Lily's friends in Pultowa, received an invitation to be present. Mctta did not see fit to confide any thing of this to the Fool, who only knew that young Gurney came with others to a party given for his daughter's pleasure. It was the first time that wife or daughter had ever had a secret which the husband and father had not shared. Mr. Denton, the district-attorney, whose letter to Comfort Servosse has already been given to the reader, had been elected a judge of the State courts, and had recently, before the period at which we have now arrived, been very active in his efforts to suppress the operation of the Klan, and punish those engaged in its raids. By so doing, he had incurred the hostility of the Klan at large, and especially of that portion with which the suspected parties had been actually connected. There had long been threats and denunciations afloat in regard to him; but he was a brave man, who did not turn aside from the path 260 A FOOVS ERRAND. of his duty for any obstacles, and -who, while he did not despise the power of the organization which he had taken by the throat, was yet utterly oblivious to threats of personal violence. He would do his duty, though the heavens fell. This was a fact well known and recognized by all who knew him ; and for this very reason, most probably, it was generally believed that he would be put out of the way by the Klan before the time for the trial of its members arrived. It was under these circumstances that the Fool received a telegram from Judge Denton, requesting him to come to Ver- denton on a certain day, and go with him to his home in an adjoining county. It was seven miles from Glenville, the nearest railroad-station, to the plantation of Judge Denton. To reach it, the chief river of that region had to be crossed on a long wooden bridge, four miles from the station. The Fool accepted this invitation, and with Metta drove into Yerdenton on the day named. The railroad which ran nearest to the home of Judge Denton connected at an acute angle with that on which he was to arrive at Yerdenton. Between the two was the residence of Colonel Servosse, six miles from Yerdenton, and sixteen from Glenville. The train left Yerdenton at eight and a half o'clock in the evening, and ran to the junction, where it awaited the coming of the northward-bound train on the other road ; so that they would not arrive at Glenville until ten o'clock, and would reach the river-bridge about eleven, and the judge's mansion perhaps a half-hour later. By previous arrangement, his carriage would meet them at the station. Metta intended to remain until the train reached Yerdenton, and bring home a friend who was expected to arrive upon it. Lily remained at home. She was the " only white person on the lot," to use the familiar phrase of that region, which means that upon her rested all the responsibility of the house. The existence of a servile, or recently servile race, devolves upon the children at a very early age a sort of vice-regal power in the absence of the parents. They are expected to see that AN AWAKENING. 261 « every thing goes on right on the plantation" and about the house in such absence; and their commands are as readily obeyed by the servants and employees as those of their elders. It is this early familiarity with the affairs of the parents, and ready assumption of responsibility, which give to the youth of the South that air of self-control, and readiness to assume com- mand of whatever matter he may be engaged in. It is thus that they are trained to rule. To this training, in large meas- ure, is due the fact, that, during all the ante helium period, the Southern minority dominated and controlled the government, monopolized its honors and emoluments, and dictated its policy, in spite of an overwhelming and hostile majority at the North. The Southrons are the natural rulers, leaders, and dictators of the country, as later events have conclusively proved. It was just at sundown, and Lily was sitting on the porch at Warrington, watching the sunset glow, when a horseman came in sight, and rode up to the gate. After a moment's scrutiny of the premises, he seemed satisfied, and uttered the usual halloo which it is customary for one to give who desires to communicate with the household in that country. Lily rose, and advanced to the steps. " Here's a letter," said the horseman, as he held an envelope up to view, and then, as she started down the steps, threw it over the gate into the avenue, and, wheeling his horse, cantered easily away. Lily picked up the letter. It was directed in a coarse, sprawling hand, — "Colonel Comfort Servosse, " Warrington." In the lower left hand-corner, in a more compact and busi- ness-like hand, were written the words, " Read at once." Lily read the superscription carelessly as she went up the broad avenue. It awakened no curiosity in her mind; but, after she had resumed her seat on the porch, it occurred to her that both the messenger and his horse were unknown to her. The former was a white lad of fourteen or fifteen years of age, whom she might very well fail to recognize. What struck 262 A FOOVS ERRAND. her as peculiar was the fact that he was evidently unacquainted with Warrington, which was a notable place in the country; and a lad of that age could hardly be found in a circuit of many miles who could not have directed the traveler to it. It was evident from the demeanor of this one, that, when he first rode up, he was uncertain whether he had reached his destination, and had only made sure of it by recognizing some specific object which had been described to him. In other words, he had been traveling on what is known in that country as a " way-bill," or a description of a route received from another. Then she remembered that she had not recognized the horse, which was a circumstance somewhat remarkable; for it was an iron-gray of notable form and action. Her love of horses led her instinctively to notice those which she saw, and her daily rides had made her familiar with every good horse in a circle of many miles. Besides this, she had been accustomed to go almost everywhere with her father, when he had occasion to make journeys not requiring more thau a day's absence. So that it was quite safe to say that she knew by sight at least twice as many horses as people. These reflections caused her to glance again, a little curi- ously, at the envelope. It occurred to her, as she did so, that the superscription was in a disguised hand. Her father had received so many letters of that character, all of threat or warning, that the bare suspicion of that fact aroused at once the apprehension of evil or danger. While she had been thinking, the short Southern twilight had given place to the light of the full moon rising in the East. She went into the house, and, calling for a light, glanced once more at the en- velope, and then broke the seal. It read, — " Colonel Servosse, — A raid of K.K. has been ordered to intercept Judge Denton on his way home to-night (the 23d inst.). It is understood that he has telegraphed to you to accompany him home. Do not do it. If you can by any means, give him warning. It is a big raid, and means business. AN AWAKENING. 263 The decree is, that he shall be tied, placed in the middle of the bridge across the river, the planks taken up on each side, so as to prevent a rescue, and the bridge set on fire. I send this warning for your sake. Do not trust the telegraph. I shall try to send this by a safe hand, but tremble lest it should be too late. I dare not sign my name, but subscribe myself your " Unknown Friend." The young girl stood for a moment paralyzed with horror at the danger which threatened her father. It did not once occur to her to doubt the warning she had received. She glanced at the timepiece upon the mantel. The hands pointed to eight o'clock. " Too late, too late ! " she cried as she clasped her hands, and raised her eyes to heaven in prayerful agony. She saw that she could not reach Verdenton in time to prevent their taking the train, and she knew it would be useless to telegraph afterwards. It was evident that the wires were under the control of the Klan, and there was no probability that a message would be delivered, if sent, in time to prevent the catastrophe. " O my dear, dear papa ! " she cried, as she realized more fully the danger. " O God ! can nothing be done to save him! " Then a new thought flashed upon her mind. She ran to the back porch, and called sharply, but quietly, — "William! 0^, William I " A voice in the direction of the stables answered, — « Ma'am V " " Come here at once." " Oh, Maggie I " she called. " Ma'am V " from the kitchen. "Bring me a cup of coffee, some biscuits, and an ^g^—^ quick I " " Law sakes, chile, what makes ye in sech a hurry? Supper '11 be ready direckly Miss jNIettie gits home. Can't yer wait ? " answered the colored woman querulously. 264 A FOOVS ERRAND. "Never mind. I'll do -without it, if it troubles you," said Lily quietly. "Bress my soul ! Xo trouble at all, Miss Lily," said the woman, entirely mollified by the soft answer. " On'y I couldn't see -what made yer be in sech a powerful hurry. Ye'se hev 'em in a minit, honey." " AVilliam," said Lily, as the stable-boy appeared, " put my saddle on Young Lollard, and bring him round as quick as possible." "But Miss Lily, you know dat boss" — the servant began to expostulate. " I know all about him, William. Don't wait to talk. Bring him out." " All right, Miss Lily," he replied, with a bow and a scrape. But, as he went toward the stable, he soliloquized angrily, " Xow, what for Miss Lily want to ride dat pertickerler boss, you s'pose ? Never did afore. Nobody but de kunnel ebber on his back, an' lie hab his hands full wid him sometimes. Dese furrer-bred bosses jes' de debbil anyhow ! Dar's dat Young Lollard now, it's jest 'bout all a man's life's wuth ter rub him down, an' saddle him. Why can't she take de ole un! Here you, Lollard, come outen dat ! " He threw open the door of the log-stable where the horse had his quarters, as he spoke, and almost instantly, with a short, vicious whinney, a powerful dark-brown horse leaped into the moonlight, and w'ith ears laid back upon his sinuous neck, white teeth bare, and thin, blood-red nostrils distended, rushed towards the servant, who, with a loud, "Dar now! Look at him! Whoa! See de dam rascal ! " retreated quickly behind the door. The horse rushed once or twice around the little stable-yard, and then stopped suddenly beside his keeper, and stretched out his head for the bit, quivering in every limb with that excess of vitality which only the thor- ough-bred horse ever exhibits. He was anxious for the bit and saddle, because they meant exercise, a race, an opportunity to show his speed, which the thorough-bred recognizes as the one great end of his existence. AN A WAKENING. 265 Before the horse was saddled, Lily had donned her riding- habit, put a revolver in her belt, as she very frequently did when riding alone, swallowed a hasty supper, scrawled a short note to her mother on the envelope of the letter she had received, — which she charged AVilliam at once to carry to her, — and was ready to start on a night-ride to Glenville. She had only been there across the country once; but she thought she knew the way, or was at least so familiar with the " lay " of the country that she could find it. The brawny groom with difficulty held the restless horse by the bit; but the slight girl, who stood upon the block with pale face and set teeth, gathered the reins in her hand, leaped fearlessly into the saddle, found the stirrup, and said, " Let him go ! " without a quaver in her voice. The man loosed his hold. The horse stood upright, and pawed the air for a moment with his feet, gave a few mighty leaps to make sure of his liberty, and then, stretching out his neck, bounded forward in a race which would require all the mettle of his endless line of noble sires. Almost without words, her errand had become known to the household of servants; and as she flew down the road, her bright hair gleaming in the moonlight, old Maggie, sobbing and tearful, was yet so impressed with admi- ration, that she could only say, — "De Lor' bress her! Tears like dat chile ain't 'fear'd o' noffin' ! " As she was borne like an arrow down the avenue, and turned into the Glenville road, Lily heard the whistle of the train as it left the depot at Verdenton, and knew that upon her cool- ness and resolution alone depended the life of her father. 266 A FOOVS ERRAND. CHAPTER XXXVIL A RACE AGAINST TIME. It was, perhaps, well for the accomplishment of her pur- pose, that, for some time after setting out on her perilous journey, Lily Servosse had enough to do to maintain her seat, and guide and control her horse. Young Lollard, whom the servant had so earnestly remonstrated against her taking, added to the noted pedigree of his sire the special excellences of the Glencoe strain of his dam, from whom he inherited also a darker coat, and that touch of native savageness which characterizes the stock of Emancipator. Upon both sides his blood was as pure as that of the great kings of the turf, and what we have termed his savagery was more excess of spirit than any inclination to do mischief. It was that uncontrolla- ble desire of the thorough-bred horse to be always doing his best, which made him restless of the bit and curb, while the native sagacity of his race had led him to practice somewhat on the fears of his groom. AVith that care which only the true lover of the horse can appreciate. Colonel Servosse had watched over the growth and training of Young Lollard, hoping to see him rival, if he did not surpass, the excellences of his sire. In every thing but temper, he had been gratified at the result. In build, power, speed, and endurance, the horse offered all that the most fastidious could desire. In order to prevent the one defect of a quick temper from developing into a vice, the colonel had established an inflexi- ble rule that no one should ride him but himself. His great interest in the colt had led Lily, who inherited all her father's love for the noble animal, to look very carefully during his enforced absences after the welfare of his favorite. Once or twice she had summarily discharged grooms who were guilty of disobeying her father's injunctions, and had A RACE AGAINST TIME. 267 always made it a rule to visit his stall every day; so that, although she had never ridden him, the horse was familiar with her person and voice. It was well for her that this was the case; for, as he dashed away with the speed of the wind, she felt how power- less she was to restrain him by means of the bit. Nor did she attempt it. Merely feeling his mouth, and keeping her eye upon the road before him, in order that no sudden start to right or left should take her by surprise, she coolly kept her seat, and tried to soothe him by her voice. With head outstretched, and sinewy neck strained to its uttermost, he flew over the ground in a wild, mad race with the evening wind, as it seemed. Without jerk or strain, but easily and steadily as the falcon flies, the highbred horse skimmed along the ground. A mile, two, three miles were made, in time that would have done honor to the staying quality of his sires, and still his pace had not slackened. He was now nearing the river into which fell the creek that ran by Warrington. As he went down the long slope that led to the ford, his rider tried in vain to check his speed. Pressure upon the bit but resulted in an impatient shaking of the head, and laying back of the ears. He kept up his magnificent stride until he had reached the very verge of the river. There he stopped, threw up his head in inquiry, as he gazed upon the fretted waters lighted up by the full moon, glanced back at his rider, and, with a Mcrd of encouragement from her, marched proudly into the waters, casting up a silvery spray at every step. Lily did not miss this opportunity to establish more intimate relations with her steed. She patted his neck, praised him lavishly, and took occasion to assume control of him while he was in the deepest part of the channel, turning him this way and that much more than was needful, simply to accustom him to obey her will. When he came out on the other bank, he would have resumed his gallop almost at once ; but she required him to walk to the top of the hill. The night was growing chilly by this time. As the wind struck her at the hill-top, she remem- 268 A FOOrS ERRAND. bered that she had thrown a hooded waterproof about her before starting. She stopped her horse, and, taking off her hat, gathered her long hair into a mass, and thrust it into the hood, which she drew over her head, and pressed her hat down on it ; then she gathered the reins, and they went on in that long, steady stride which marks the highbred horse when he gets thoroughly down to his work. Once or twice she drew rein to examine the landmarks, and determine which road to take. Sometimes her way lay through the forest, and she was startled by the cry of the owl ; anon it was through the reedy bottom-land, and the half-wild hogs, starting from their lairs, gave her an instant's fright. The moon cast strange shadows around her ; but still she pushed on, with this one only thought in her mind, that her father's life was at stake, and she alone could save him. She had written to her mother to go back to Verdenton, and telegraph to her father ; but she put no hope in that. How she trembled, as she passed each fork ia the rough and ill-marked country road, lest she should take the right-hand when she ought to turn to the left, and so lose precious, priceless moments! How her heart beat with joy when she came upon any remembered landmark! And all the time her mind was full of tumultuous prayer. Sometimes it bubbled over her lips in tender, disjointed accents. " Father ! Papa, dear, dear Papa ! " she cried to the bright still night that lay around ; and then the tears bu?-st over the quivering lids, and ran down the fair cheeks in torrents. She pressed her hand to her heart as she fancied that a gleam of redder light shot athwart the northern sky, and she thought of a terrible bonfire that would rage and glow above that horizon if she failed to bring timely warning of the danger. }Iow her heart throbbed with thankfulness as she galloped through an avenue of giant oaks at a cross-roads where she remembered stopping with her father one day ! He had told her that it was half way from Glenville to Warrington. He had watered their horses there; and she remembered every word of pleasapfc badinage he had addressed to her as they rode home. Had ohq ever before so dear, so teader a parent? The tears cai«« A RACE AGAINST TIME. 269 again; but she drove them back -with a half-involuntary laugh. " Not now, not now ! " she said. " No; nor at all. They shall not come at all; for I will save him. O God, help me! I am but a weak girl. AVhy did the letter come so late? But I will save him! Help me, Heaven ! — guide and help ! " She glanced at her watch as she passed from under the shade of the oaks, and, as she held the dial up to the moonlight, gave a scream of joy. It was just past the stroke of nine. She had still an hour, and half the distance had been accomplished in half that time. She had no fear of her horse. Pressing on now in the swinging fox-walk which he took whenever the character of the road or the mood of his rider demanded, there was no sign of weariness. As he threw his head upon one side and the other, as if asking to be allowed to press on, she saw his dark eye gleam with the fire of the inveterate racer. His thin nostrils were distended; but his breath came regularly and full. She had not forgotten, even in her haste and fright, the lessons her father had taught ; but, as soon as she could control her horse, she had spared him, and compelled him to husband his strength. Her spirits rose at the prospect. She even caroled a bit of exultant song as Young Lollard swept on through a forest of towering pines, w^ith a white sand-cushion stretched beneath his feet. The fragrance of the pines came to her nostrils, and with it the thought of frankincense, and that brought up the hymns of her childhood. The Star in the East, the Babe of Bethlehem, the Great Deliverer, — all swept across her wrapt vision ; and then came the priceless promise, " I will not leave thee, nor forsake." Still on and on the brave horse bore her with untiring Umb. Half the remaining distance is now consumed, and she comes to a place where the road forks, not once, but into four branches. It is in the midst of a level old field covered with a thick growth of scrubby pines. Through the masses of thick green are white lanes which stretch away in every direction, with no visible difference save in the density or frequency of the shadows which fall across them. She tries to think which of the many intersecting paths lead to her destination. Sho 270 A FOOV^ ERRAND. tries this and then that for a few steps, consults the stars to determine in what direction Gleuville lies; and has almost decided upon the first to the right, when she hears a sound which turns her blood to ice in her veins. A shrill whistle sounds to the left, — once, twice, thrice, — and then it is answered from the road in front. There are two others. O God! if she but knew which road to take! She knows well enough the meaning of those signals. She has heard them before. The masked cavaliers are closing in upon her ; and, as if frozen to stone, she sits her horse in the clear moonlight, and can not choose. She is not thinking of herself. It is not for herself that she fears ; but there has come over her a horrible numbing sensa- tion that she is lost, that she does not know which road leads to those she seeks to save ; and at the same time there comes tlie certain conviction that to err would be fatal. There are but two roads now to choose from, since she has heard the fate- ful signals from the left and front : but how much depends upon that choice I " It must be this," she says to herself ; and, as she says it, the sickening conviction comes, "Ko, no: it is the other ! " She hears hoof-strokes upon the road in front, on that to her left, and now, too, on that which turns sheer to the right. From one to the other the whistle sounds, — sharp, short signals. Her heart sinks within her. She has halted at the very rendezvous of the enemy. They are all about her. To attempt to ride down either road now is to invite destruction. She woke from her stupor when the first horseman came in sight, and thanked God for her dark horse and colorless habit. She urged young Lollard among the dense scrub-pines which grew between the two roads from which she knew that she must choose, turned his head back towards the point of inter- section, drew her revolver, leaned over upon his neck, and peered through the overhanging branches. She patted her horse's head, and whispered to him softly to keep him still. Hardly had she placed herself in hiding, before the open space around the intersecting roads was alive with disguised horsemen. She could catch glimpses of their figures as she A RACE AGAINST TIME. 271 gazed through the clustering spines. Three men came into the road which ran along *o the right of where she stood. They were hardly five steps from where she lay, panting, but deter^ mined, on the faithful horse, which moved not a muscle. Once he had neighed before they came so near ; but there were so many horses neighing and snufRng, that no one had heeded it. She remembered a little flask which Maggie had put into her pocket. It was whiskey. She put up her revolver, drew out the .flask, opened it, poured some in her hand, and, leaning for- ward, rubbed it on the horse's nose. He did not offer to neigh again. One of the men who stood near her spoke. " Gentlemen, I am the East Commander of Camp No. 5 of Pultowa County." " And I, of Camp No. 8, of Wayne." « And I, of No. 12, Sevier." " You are the men I expected to meet," said the first. " We were ordered to report to you," said the others. "This is Bentley's Cross, then, I presume." "The same." " Four miles from Glenville, I believe ? " " Nigh about that," said one of the others. "We leave this road about a mile and a half from this place ? " " Yes, and cross by a country way to the river-road." " What is the distance to the river-road by this route ? " " Not far from five miles." "It is now about half-past nine; so that there is no haste. How many men have you each V " " Thirty-two from No. 8." " Thirty-one from No. 12." "I have myself /or/2/. Are yours informed of the work on hand?" "Not a word." " Are we quite secure here ? " "I have had the roads picketed since sundown," answered one. "I myself just came from the south, not ten minutes before you signaled." 272 A FOOUS ERRAND. " Ah ! I thought I heard a horse on that road.** " Has the party we ^vant left Verdenton? " " A messenger from Glenville says he is on the train with the carpet-bagger Servosse." *' Going home with him ? " "Yes." " The decree does not cover Servosse ? " "Ko." *' I don't half like the business, anyhow, and am not inclined to go beyond express orders. What do you say about it ? " asked the leader. " Hadn't we better say the decree covers both ? " asked one. "I can't do it," said the leader with decision. " Tou remember our rules," said the third, — " ' when a party is made up by details from different camps, it shall constitute a camp so far as to regulate its own action; and all matters per- taining to such action which the officer in command may see fit to submit to it shall be decided by a majority vote.' I think this had better be left to the camp ? " " I agree with you," said the leader. " But, before we do so, let's have a drink." He produced a flask, and they all partook of its contents. Then they went back to the intersection of the roads, mounted their horses, and the leader commanded, " Attention ! " The men gathered closer, and then all was still. Then the leader said, in words distinctly heard by tl*e trembling girl, — "Gentlemen, we have met here, under a solemn and duly authenticated decree of a properly organized camp of the county of llockford, to execute for them the extreme penalty of our order upon Thomas Denton, in the way and manner therein prescribed. This unpleasant duty of course will be done as becomes earnest men. AVe are, however, informed that there will be with the said Denton at the time we are directed to take him another notorious Radical well known to you all, Colonel Comfort Servosse. He is not included in the decree ; and I now submit for your determination the question, ' What shall be done with hiin V ' " A RACE AGAINST TIME. 273 There was a moment's buzz in the crowd. One careless-toned fellow said that he thought it would be well enough to wait till they caught their hare before cook- ing it. It was not the first time a squad had thought they had Servosse in their power ; but they had never ruffled a hair of his head yet. The leader commanded, " Order ! " and one of the associate Commanders moved that the same decree be made against him as against the said Denton. Then the vote was taken. All were in the affirmative, except the loud-voiced young man who had spoken before, who said with emphasis, — •' No, bv Granny ! I'm not in favor of killing anybody ! 1*11 have you know, gentlemen, it's neither a pleasant nor a safe business. First we know, we'll all be running our necks into hemp. It's what we call murder, gentlemen, in civilized and Christian countries! " <' Order ! " cried the commander. " Oh, you needn't yell at me ! " said the young man fearlessly. «' I'm not afraid of anybody here, nor all of you. Mel. Gurney and I came just to take some friends' places who couldn't obey the summons, — we're not bound to stay, but I suppose I shall go along. I don't like it, though, and, if I get much sicker, I shall leave. You can count on that ! " " If you stir from your place," said the leader sternly, " I shall put a bullet th^-ough you." " Oh, you «:o to hell ! " retorted the other. « You don't expect to frighten v*ie of the old Louisiana Tigers in that way, do you ? No>y look here, Jake Carver," he continued, drawing a huge navy revolver, and cocking it coolly, " don't try any such little game on me, 'cause, if ye do, there may be more'n one of us fit for a spy-glass when it's over." At this, considerable confusion arose; and Lily, with her revolver ready cocked in her hand, turned, and cautiously made her way to the road which had been indicated as the one which led to Glenville. Just as her horse stepped into the path, an overhanging limb caught her hat, and pulled it off, together with the hood of her waterproof, so that her hair fell down 274 A FOOLS ERRAND. again upon her shoulders. She hardly noticed the fact in her excitement, and, if she had, could not have stopped to repair the accident. She kept her horse upon the shady side, walking upon the grass as much as possible to prevent attracting atten- tion, watching on all sides for any scattered members of the Klan. She had proceeded thus about a hundred and fifty yards, when she came to a turn in the road, and saw, sitting before her in the moonlight, one of the disguised horsemen, evidently a sentry who had been stationed there to see that no one came upon the camp unexpectedly. He was facing the other way, but just at that instant turned, and, seeing her indis- tinctly in the shadow, cried out at once, — "Who's there? Halt!" They were not twenty yards apart. Toung Lollard was trembling with excitement under the tightly-drawn rein. Lily thought of her father half-prayerfully, half-fiercely, bowed close over her horse's neck, and braced herself in the saddle, with every muscle as tense as those of the tiger wait- ing for his leap. Almost before the words were out of the sentry's mouth, she had given Young Lollard the spur, and shot like an arrow into the bright moonlight, straight towards the black muffled horseman. "My God! " he cried, amazed at the sudden apparition. She was close upon him in an instant. There was a shot ; his startled horse sprang aside, and Lily, urging Young Lol- lard to his utmost speed, was flying down the road toward Glenville. She heard an uproar behind, — shouts, and one or two shots. On, on, she sped. She knew now every foot of the road beyond. She looked back, and saw her pursuers swarming out of the wood into the moonlight. Just then she was in shadow. A mile, two miles, were passed. She drew in her horse to listen. There was the noise of a horse's hoofs coming down a hill she had just descended, as her gallant steed bore her, almost with undiminished stride, up the opposite slope. She laughed, even in her terrible excite- ment, at the very thought that any one should attempt to over- take her. A RACE AGAINST TIME. 275 ** They'll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young Lochinvar," she hummed as she patted Young Lollard's outstretched neck. She turned when they reached the summit, her long hair streaming backward in the moonlight like a golden banner, and saw the solitary horseman on the opposite slope ; then turned back, and passed over the hill. He halted as she dashed out of sight, and after a moment turned round, and soon met the entire camp, now in perfect order, galloping forward dark and silent as fate. The Commander halted as they met the returning sentinel. " What was it ? " he asked quickly. " Nothing," replied the sentinel carelessly. " I was sitting there at the turn examining my revolver, when a rabbit ran across the road, and frightened my mare. She jumped, and the pistol went off. It happened to graze my left arm, so I could not hold the reins ; and she like to have taken me into Glenville before I could pull her up." "I'm glad that's all," said the officer, with a sigh of relief. " Did it hurt you much ? " " Well, it's used that arm up, for the present." A hasty examination showed this to be true, and the reck- less-talking young man was detailed to accompany him to some place for treatment and safety, while the others passed on to perform their horrible task. The train from Verdenton had reached and left Glenville. The incomers had been divided between the rival hotels, the porters had removed the luggage, and the agent was just entering his office, when a foam-flecked horse with bloody nostrils and fiery eyes, ridden by a young girl with a white, set face, and fair, flowing hair, dashed up to the station. " Judge Denton ! " the rider shrieked. The agent had but time to motion with his hand, and she had swept on towards a carriage which was being swiftly driven away from the station, and which was just visible at the turn of the village street. 276 A FOOUS ERRAND. " Papa, Papa ! " shrieked the girlish voice as she swept on. A frightened face glanced backward from the carriage, and in an instant Comfort Servosse was standing in the path of the rushing steed. " Ho, Lollard ! " he shouted, in a voice which rang over the sleepy town like a trumpet-note. The amazed horse veered quickly to one side, and stopped as if stricken to stone, while Lily fell insensible into her father's arms. When she recovered, he was bending over her with a look in his eyes which she will never forget. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE "REB" TIEW^ of IT. Lily had faltered out her message of horror even in the unconscious moments when she was being carried in her father's arms to the hotel. Lideed, her unexpected appear- ance, and clamorous haste to prevent her father's departure from the town, would have been sufficient to inform him that she knew of some danger that impended. Her unconscious mutterings had still further advised him of the character of the danger and the fact that she herself had narrowly es- caped. This was all he could glean from her. Her over- taxed system had given way with excitement and fatigue, and, fortunately for her, she slept. A physician was called, who, after examination of her condition, directed that she should in no event be aroused. A telegram from Metta, which should have been delivered on the arrival of the train, confirmed the conclusion at which Servosse had arrived. He left the bed- side of the daughter who to his eyes had grown to woman- hood since the noon of the day before, but once during the night, and that was but to telegraph to Metta, to provide that Young Lollard should be well cared for, and to consult with THE ''REB'' VIEW OF IT. 211 Judge Denton, who had remained with them in the town. It was by no means certain that the danger had passed by : so these two men concluded to watch until morning. It was broad daylight when Lily opened her eyes, to find her father holding her hand, and gazing upon her with inexpressi- ble affection. She told him all as soon as her weakness and her sobs w^ould permit, and was more than repaid for all she had dared and suffered by the fervent embrace and the tremu- lous " God bless you, my daughter ! " which followed her recital. Then he ordered some refreshments for her, and recommended further sleep, while he went to recount her story to his friend. Somehow the story seemed to have leaked out during the night, and every one about the town was aware of its main features. That there had been a raid intended, nay, that it had even been organized, and proceeded to the bridge across the river, for the purpose of intercepting Judge Denton on his way home, was undoubted. That the party had rendezvoused at Bentley's Cross-Roads was also known, as well as the fact that the judge's carriage had been stopped and turned back, just on the outskirts of Glenville, by the arrival of the daughter of Colonel Servosse, bareheaded, and mounted on a foaming steed. That she had come from Warrington was presumed, and that she must have passed Bentley's Cross about the time of the rendezvous was more than probable. Added to this was the fact that a countryman coming to market early had brought in a lady's riding-hat w'hich he had found at the very spot where the Klan had met. He was closely examined as to the appearance of the ground, and the precise point at ■which he found it. Of course, it w^as by no means sure that it was Miss Lily's hat ; but such was evidently the impression. The loud-voiced young man who had been detailed to take care of the wounded sentinel, and w^ho had come into the same tow-n with his charge, volunteered to ascertain that fact, and took the hat into his possession. Returning to the hotel, and entering the room where a young man lounged upon the bed, with his left arm in a sling, he exclaimed, — 278 A FOOrS ERRAND. "I thought it was mighty queer that a rabbit had made Melville Gurney shoot himself, and let his horse run away too. I think I understand it now." He laid the hat upon the bed beside his friend as he spoke. Melville Gurney recognized it in an instant; but he tried to betray no emotion, as he asked, — " Well, what is it you understand, John Burleson? " " The whole thing. I see it now from beginning to end. The little Yankee girl had just come to the Cross when our bands began to close in on her. She hid in the pines, — proba- bly right there at the Forks, — and no doubt saw and heard every thing that went on. By Gad ! she's a plucky little piece! But how the deuce do you suppose she kept that horse still, •with a hundred horses all around her ? Gad ! it was close quarters ! Then, as she is coming out, she stumbles on Mr. Melville Gurney standing sentry over that devil's gang of respectable murderers, shoots him before he has time to say Jack Robinson, and comes sailing in here like a bird, on that magnificent thorough-bred, overhauls Judge Denton's carriage, and saves her father's life like a heroine, and a lady too, as she is. Dang my buttons if I ain't ready to kiss the hem of her garments even! Mel. Gurney, I'll be hanged if I don't envy you the pleasure of being shot by such a splendid plucky little girl 1 D'ye know her ? Ever met her ? " "Yes." " Of course. They say she knows almost as many people as her father, who, by the way, Mel., is no slouch, either. I know him, and like him too, if he is a carpet-bagger. I'm glad I put in a good word for him last night. No doubt she heard me. Mel. Gurney, I'm in luck for once. Give me that hat! What am I going to do with it ? Why, restore it to the owner, make my peace with her pa and Judge Denton, and in the fullness of time offer her my hand and heart." " Pshaw ! " exclaimed Gurney. " Pshaw V My dear friend, you seem smitten with a big disgust all at once. Perhaps you would like to take my place V Remember you can't have all the good things. It's enough THE '' REB'' VIEW OF IT. 279 for you to have her sling a lump of cold lead through your carcass. Be thankful for what you enjoy, and don't envy other people their little pleasures." "I wish you would stop fooling, and talk sense for a moment, Burleson," said Gurney fretfully. "Hear him now! As if I had been doing any thing else! By Gad ! the more sense I talk, the less I am appreciated. Witness Jake Carver last night, and Mel. Gurney this morn- ing. I'm no spring-chicken; and, allowing me to be the judge, I feel free to say that I have never listened to more sound and convincing sense than flowed from these lips on those two occa- sions," responded Burleson. " Are you in earnest ? " asked Gurney. " What, about the sense ? Entirely so. " " No, about Miss Lily Servosse," said Gurney. " And the proffer of my heart and hand ? " answered Burle- son. " No. Unfortunately, — don't you blow on me, and tell that I ever used that word ; but in earnest truth I never came nearer feeling it, — unfortunately, I say, I am, as you have reason to know, under bonds to confer my precious personality upon another, — a Miss Lily too, (thank Heaven for the name, at least ! ) — and so must deny myself the distinguished privi- lege I for a moment dreamed of. No, I'm not in earnest about that part of it." "Well, I am," said Gurney emphatically. " The devil you say ! " exclaimed Burleson in surprise. "You don't mean it ! " " I will win and wed Lily Servosse, if I can," said Gurney modestly. " Well, / swear ! " exclaimed Burleson. " But do you know, old fellow, I don't think you put that in the hypothetical with- out reason ? It's my notion you'll have a hard time of it, even if you manage to pull through at all on that line. Remember, old fellow, your family, position, and all that, won't count a rush for you in this matter. These carpet- baggers don't care a continental cuss how many niggers your ancestors had. Then your father is an especial antagonist of aSO A FOOVS ERRAND. Servosse ; and for yourself — all that / can see that you have to put up is, that you went along with a crowd of respectable gentlemen to kill her father, and would have done so, but for her nerve : in fact, you can claim very justly that you would have prevented her saving him, if she had not shot you, and effected her escape." " That is not so. Her father was not included in the decree, and I had no reason to suppose he would be in company with Denton," interrupted Gurney. " Well, we will say on your way to roast — yes, by Heaven 1 to roast alive — Judge Denton ! Think of that, will you ? General Gurney's son, in the middle of the nineteenth century, nay, almost in its last quarter, — in the blaze of American freedom and civilization at all events, — goes out by night to broil a neighbor, without even the cannibal's excuse of hunger ! Bah ! that's a fine plea for a lover, isn't it ? " "My God, Burleson!" cried Gurney, jumping up. "You don't think she'll look at it in that light, do you ? " "Why not? Oughtn't any decent woman to do so, not to say a carpet-bagger's daughter? I vow I shouldn't blame her if she took another shot at you for your impudence ! " " Nor I either, Burleson, that's a fact ! " said Gurney musingly. " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed Burleson. " I understand that rabbit story now. You recognized Miss Lily ? " " Of course," said Gurney simply. " ' Of course,' it is, indeed ! " said Burleson. " I might have known it would have taken more than one broken arm to make Mel. Gurney let a rider run his guard unhurt. You recognized her, and galloped after her to prevent suspicion, and on the way invented that story about the rabbit, and your pistol going off. By Gad ! it was a gallant thing, old fellow, if we were on a heathen errand. Give me your hand, my boy f It's not so bad, after all. Perhaps Miss Lily might make a decent man of you in time ; though we both ought to be hanged, that's a fact ! " " I never thought of it in that way, Burleson ; but it is horri- ble," said Gurney, with a shudder. THE "REB'' VIEW OF IT. 281 « Horrible ? — it's hellish, Mel. Gurney ! That's what it is ! If I were the Yankees, and had the power of the government, I wouldn't see these things go on one hour. By Gad ! I'm ashamed of them as Americans ! AV hen the war was going on and we met them in battle, there was always one satisfaction, whoever got "fanned out," —it was always our own folks that did it, and one couldn't w^ell help being proud of the job. I tell you what, Mel., there's been many a time when I could hardly tell which I was proudest of, — Yank, or Reb. There was Gettysburg, now ! You know I was in the artillery, and had a better chance to see the ensemble of a battle than one in the infantry line. We had been pouring a perfect hell of shot upon the cemetery for an hour, when the charge was ordered, and we ceased firing. We were black and grim, and almost deaf with the continuous roar. I remember the sweat poured down the sooty faces of my gun-mates, and I don't suppose there was a dry rag about them. Some leaned on the smoking piece, and some threw themselves on the ground ; but every one kept his eyes riveted on that line of bright steel and dirty gray which was sweeping up to the low wall that we had been salt- ing with fire so long. We thought they would go over it as the sea breaches a sand-dike. But we were mistaken. Those men who had hung to their ground through it all, sent their plague of leaden death in our fellows' faces, and met them at the'point of the bayonet as coolly and stubbornly as if it were but the opening of the ball, instead of its last gallopade. Bad as I felt when our fellows fell back, I could have given three cheers for those Yanks with a will. I thought then, that rf the worst came, as I always believed it would, we could have a genuine pride in our conquerors. " And so I had, until this Ku-Klux business came up. I told our fellows on the start, they would burn their fingers; for I could not forget that the men they were whipping and hangmg were the friends of those same Yankees, — the only friends they had here too, — and I had no idea that such men would suffer them to be abused at that rate. Some of the boys got the notion, however, that I was afraid; and I went in just to show S^'^ A FOOL'S ERRAND, them I \vas not. For a time I looked every day for an earth- quake, and, when it didn't come, I felt an unutterable contempt for the whole Yankee nation; and damn ine if I don't feel it yet ! I really pity this man, Servosse ! He feels ashamed of his people, and knows that even the white Republicans — poor shotes as many of them are — despise the whining, canting sycophancy which makes their Northern allies abandon help- less friends to powerful enemies. I tell you what, Mel. Gur- ney, if we Southerners had come out ahead, and had such friends as these niggers and Union men, vf\i\\ now and then one of our own kidney, scattered through the Xorth, we would have gone through hell-Jire before we would have deserted them in this way ! " " That is no justification to us, though," said Gurney, who was now walking back and forth across the room, quite forget- ful of the pain of his arm. " On the contrary, it makes it worse," said Burleson. " We are advancing the power of a party to which we are devoted, it is true ; but in so doing we are merely putting power in the hands of its worst elements, against whom we shall have to rebel sooner or later. The leaders in these cowardly raids — such men as Jake Carver and a hundred more whom I could name — will be pur representatives, senators, legislators, judges, and so forth, hereafter. It is the simple rule of human nature. Leadership in any public movement is the sure pathway to public honor. It has been so since the war. Look at the men to whom we have given civic honors. How many of them would have been heard of, but for their soldiering? In that case, I don't complain of it. They were all brave men, though some were great fools. But when it comes to preferring mid- night murderers and brutal assassins for legislators and govern- ors and judges, and the like, simply because they were leaders in crime, I swear, Mel. Gurney, it comes hard ! Some time or other we shall be sick and ashamed of it." " I am that now," said Gurney. " No doubt ; especially since you have thought how Lily Ser- vosse must look at it. Now, I'll tell you what, Mel., I like THE ''REB'' VIEW OF IT. 283 you, and I like Servosse's little girl too. I believe you can get her, — after a while, you know, — if you've got pluck enough to own up and reform, ' repent and be baptized,' you know. And it ivill be a baptism to you : you can bet on that, - a baptism of fire ! " "You don't suppose I'd 'peach,' do you, John Burleson?" ■Vaid Gurney, turning indignantly towards his friend. '• Hell ! You don't think I've turned fool, do you ? " asked Burleson, with equal indignation. " See here, Gurney, you and I were boys together. Did you ever know me to do a mean thing?" "Never!" « Well now, listen. I'm going to bolt this whole business. I'm not going to tell on anybody else (you know I'd be drawn and quartered first) ; but I'm going to own up mij connection with it, tell as much as I can, without implicating any one else, and do my best to break it up. I never thought of just this way of doing it before, and should not have hit on it now but for your sake." " For my sake? " asked Gurney in surprise. " Yes, for your sake. Don't you see you will have to own up in this way, before either father or daughter will look at you? " "Well?" " AVell ? I'll just go ahead and break the way, that's all." "'When will you begin ? " " To-day — now ! " "How?" " I shall go down upon the street, and publish as much as I well can of this raid, and try to laud the pluck of that young lady about half as highly as it deserves. God bless her ! I would like to kiss the place where she has set her foot, just to show my appreciation of her! " "Do you really think you had better venture upon such a course ? It might be a very dangerous business," said Gurney. " The very reason above all others why John Burleson should undertake the job. Some one must do it, and it would not do for you to be the first. It's not often one has a chance to serve 284 A FOOVS ERRAND. his friend and do a patriotic duty at once. It's all out now, in fact. The guesses and rumors that are afloat are within an ace of the facts. There may as well be some advantage gained by that, as not. I shall take the young lady her hat " — " Let me do that, if you please," said Gumey anxiously. " All right, if you think you can face the fire." So down upon the street went John Burleson. The first man whom he met ascending the steps of the hotel was Judge Denton. Extending his hand cordially, he said in a voice that all could hear, — "Judge, I am ashamed to say I was in that hellish affair last night. I did not know what it was till we got to the Cross, nor did any of them but the Commanders. That made no dif- ference, though. We were in for it, and I do not doubt would have carried it through, but for Miss Lily Servosse. She de- serves a statue, judge. I've no excuse to make. I'm not a child, and was not deceived. Any time you want me, I'm ready to plead guilty to any thing I've done. In any event, this is the last raid I shall join, and the last that will be made, if I can prevent it." He stalked off, leaving the astonished judge to gaze after him, and wonder if he had heard aright. Burleson repeated the same language, with various addenda, to every group of loungers he met on the street, so that in a quarter of an hour the word had gone out that John Burleson had " gone back " on the Ku-Klux. It spread like wildfire. He had occupied a prominent place in the order, and it was known that he knew many fatal secrets connected with it. It was telegraphed in every direction, and went from man to man among the mem- bers of the Klan in a dozen counties where he was well known. They knew that he could not be silenced by threats or bribes. A great fear took hold of them when they heard it, and many fled the county without further inquiry. The little town in "which they were was almost deserted in an hour. Perceiving this effect, and thoroughly comprehending its cause, John Bur- leson approached Judge Denton and Colonel Servosse, and said to them, — THE ^'REB'' VIEW OF IT. 285 " Gentlemen, the train will be here in an hour. I have no right to advise with regard to your movements; but you \Yill allow me to say that I think, after what occurred last night, that the more prudent course would be for Judge Denton to return with lis to Verdenton, and then spend a few days at Warrington. It will be only an exchange of hospitalities anyhow. " On the contrary," said Denton, "I was just trying to per- suade Colonel Servosse to send for his wife, and make his visit, despite our contretemps last night." "It is quite impossible," said Servosse. "Lily says she could never endure to cross that bridge ; and, in her present condition, I do not think she should be subjected to any un- necessary excitement." " Certainly not ! " said Denton. " After her heroism of last night, she is entitled to the gratification of her every wish." " That being your feeling," said Servosse, " I am emboldened to second IMr. Burleson's view by saying that it is my daughter's especial desire that you should come home with us. She is under a terrible apprehension in regard to the future, and es- pecially in reference to you, sir. She thinks, that, if you should go off into the country there, you would be sure to be assassi- nated. She thinks there is far less danger, if we are together; not only because there would be more hesitation in attacking two, but because, being both men of some prominence, our joint assassination would be more likely to attract the atten- tion, and awaken the resentment, of the government and the people of the North, than our individual destruction. Indeed, she has an idea that the very fact of my Northern birth — my prominence as a ' carpet-bagger,' so to speak — is in itself a sort of protection." "And in that she is quite correct," said Burleson. "I have wondered that it has not occurred to you gentlemen before, to inquire why it is that so few Northern men of any standing or position have been molested. It's not been from any kindly feeling for them, I assure you ; but there has been a notion that if such men as you — Northern men of some prominence — were interfered with, it might stir up a hornet's nest that would 286 A FOOUS ERRAND. make us trouble. This very fact is all that has saved more than one man whom I could name." "That is her very idea," said Servosse, "and there maybe some truth in it. Certainly ]\Ir. Burleson should know " he added, with a meaning glance at Denton ; for the judge was too suspicious, and the new fact was too imaccountable to allow him yet to put full confidence in the professed change of that gentleman. His suspicion was increased by the next remark of Burleson. " By the way," he said, " it never occurred to me before ; but how on earth did Miss Lily get information of that raid ? I don't reckon she was out riding your pet racing-horse at that time of night just for fun ! " " We do not feel at liberty to speak of that at this time," said Comfort seriously. " All right ! " responded Burleson. " I only hope it is a hole that will let light in upon the thing. I have always supposed it would come, and have known, that, if one ever pipped the shell, a thousand would try to be the first to get their heads out. If the idea once goes out, Judge, that any one has given the thing away, you will have your hands full taking confessions. They will be full of horrors too, — more than you ever dreamed of. You'll think you've tilted off the lid of the bottomless pit, and that the devils are pouring out by brigades." " Perhaps," said Denton, with a look of keen scrutiny, " you could tell something yourself ? " " "Whether I could or not," said Burleson, " is all the same. You know me well enough, Judge, to know that I will not tell any thing which would compromise anybody else. I am will- ing to admit that I belonged to this organization, that I was the chief of a county, because I think it is necessary that I should do so in order to break it up ; but I do not intend to confess myself into the penitentiary nor on to the gallo-^s. Yet I would go there sooner than to betray those who have trusted their lives and honor with me. So far as I can go without such betrayal, I am willing to act with you. That is one reason I ^ish you to return to Verdenton : I want it clearly understood THE ^^REB" VIEW OF IT. 237 that I have renounced the whole business. It is by no means a safe proceeding, and I may have to turn in with you, gentle- men, and fight for my life. If it comes to that, I propose to make every edge cut, and, if I go down, I mean to have lots of good company. I would like to have you go in order to be convenient if the fight comes ! " Judge Denton yielded to these solicitations, and accom- panied his friends, first sending word to his family to follow on the next day. Before the train left, INIelville Gurney sent a servant to Colonel Servosse, asking a moment's interview. AYhen Ser- vosse came to his room, and, seeing his injury, asked the cause, he betrayed himself by asking, — " And has not your daughter told you, sir ? " " My God ! " said Servosse, sinking into a chair, over- whelmed with amazement. " Was it you, Mr. Gurney ? Can it be that the son of one who has known me so long as your father, even though as an opponent, should have engaged in an attempt on my life ? I could not have believed it." He covered his face with his hands, and shuddered as he spoke. "I assure you. Colonel Servosse," said Gurney, "I had no idea that such was the purpose of the raid, nor, indeed, did I know its purpose. I was well aware that it must be an unlaw- ful one, however, and can not blame you for the horror you manifest. I am horrified myself, and am amazed that I could ever have regarded it otherwise." "lean not understand it, — I can not understand it," said the carpet-bagger. " I always thought your father was an honest, high-minded man, and a good citizen." "And so he is, sir," said Gurney hotly. "There is none better nor purer ! " " And you," said Servosse, rising, and looking keenly at him, — " you are a murderer ! " "I suppose," answered Gurney, with some confusion, "that I should have been, constructively at least, but for your daughter's daring interference." 288 A FOOrS ERRAND. "Nay, you were already," said Servosse severely. "Yon had started out on an unlawful errand, and were ready to shed blood, if need were, to accomplish it, — whether it were my blood or another's it is immaterial to consider. That is almost always the mental condition of the murderer. Murder is usually a means, not an end." " It is a hard word, Colonel Servosse; yet I do not know but I must submit," said Gurney. " I wish to say, however, that I did not engage in this at the wish or suggestion, nor with the knowledge, of my father. Indeed, my greatest trouble comes from the fact that I must inform him of the fact." "Gad!" said Burleson, who had entered unperceived by both, "you needn't trouble yourself ao much about that. He belongs to it himself." " John Burleson ! " cried Gurney, springing to his feet. "Oh, you needn't mind!" said Burleson. "Colonel Ser- vosse is too much of a gentleman to take advantage of such a statement made by me at this time." He turned, and bowed toward Servosse as he spoke. " Certainly," said the latter. "I should not think of using a private conversation." "It is not that!" exclaimed Gurney, — "not that at all! But it is false ! " "H'st! Steady, my young friend!" said Burleson hotly. "I happen to know whereof I speak. I was present, and helped initiate him. Do you believe me now, Mel. Gurney ? " "Great heavens!" exclaimed Gurney. "I did not know that ! I would not have believed it but upon your assurance." " I declare," said the Fool, " I can not understand, — I can not understand ! " " Well," said Burleson, laughing, and taking Lily's hat from the bed, " here is something you can understand, I reckon." "My daughter's hat I" said Servosse in surprise, looking from one to the other. " For that matter," said Burleson bluffly, " I brought it here. You see, when Miss Lily rode out of the pines last night, she lost this; and so, when she charged on Gurney there, ho THE ''REB" VIEW OF IT, 289 recognized her, — for it was as light as day : our chaplain could have seen to read the burial-service, — and, being a fellow that has his wits about him, Gurney quietly jogged on behind, her after she had shot him, with that broken arm flopping up and down at every step, until he was sure she had got clean off, when he came back with a cock-and-bull story about a rabbit having scared his horse, and his pistol having gone off, and busted that arm." " Is that so? " asked Comfort in surprise. " Lit-er-ally," said Burleson, with distinct enunciation. '< Not a man in that camp had any idea that a woman had witnessed its proceedings, until we heard of your daughter having interrupted your journey. Even then it was a mere surmise, except with Gurney here." "Then," said Servosse, extending his hand to Gurney, "it seems I have to thank you for an intent to save my daughter." "Indeed, sir," replied Gurney, "with that horse, she had little need of my aid." " Young Lollard is not easily matched," said Servosse, with some prid°e. "But that does not detract from the merit of your intention. I suppose," he added, smiling, and touching the hat, " that you wish me to relieve you of this toy." "On the contrary," said Gurney earnestly, "my request for this interview was because I desired to ask your leave to return it to the owner myself." " Well, sir," said Servosse thoughtfully, "I do not see but you have earned the right to do so. I will see if she can receive you." A few moments later, Melville Gurney, somewhat weak and tremulous from the loss of blood and subsequent excitement, came down stairs, leaning on the arm of his friend Burleson, and was ushered into the parlor of the hotel, where Lily Ser- vosse leaned upon her father's arm. Pale and trembling, he presented the hat with a low bow, and withdrew without a word. " Well, I swear! " said Burleson a minute after, " if I had thought you would show the white feather just at the last, I never would have seconded you ! " 290 A FOOL'S ERRAND. Comfort Servosse never once dreamed that the trembling creature clinging to his arm, and dropping tears upon the hat as she brushed and picked at it, was any thing more than a simple child. So he said, with an amused smile, — " It's not even rumpled, is it, dear ? " CHAPTER XXXIX. **AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA." The train which brought Lily and her father, Judge Denton, Burleson, and Gurney to Verdenton, did not arrive unnoted. The report of Lily's heroic ride, and of Burleson's defection from the Klan, had preceded it ; and a great crowd had col- lected, anxious for a sight of the brave girl who had courage and wit enough to circumvent the Ku-Klux, and of the yet braver man, who, having been one of their number, had yet courage to denounce them. What he would say, what he would do, there was the utmost anxiety to know. For once no imputation was made upon the motives of one who saw fit to stem the popular current. Men cursed and denounced him; but it was for what he had done, or was supposed to have done, and not on account of the motives which they believed to have animated him. No one attributed either cowardice, ambition, or avaricious- ness to John Burleson. He was known to have disapproved from the first, at least of all the violent features of the organi- zation, and to have done not a little to prevent their being carried into execution. He had been advanced to be the Chief of the County, both because of his known and acknowledged capacity for organization and leadership, and also because this very disinclination to promote unlawful acts had met the ap- proval of many of the more conservative members of the order. As he had said, he went upon the raid which we have described ''AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA/' 291 simply to accommodate a friend, who, being required to attend, had afterward sickened. He was recognized as bold, gener- ous, and impulsive. He was one of the very few private soldiers who survived the surrender of the Confederate armies. Enter- ing the service at the very outset of the war, he had never failed to perform his full duty, and not seldom had done considerably more; yet he had received no promotion, and, since the collapso of the Rebellion, not a sign of any military title had attached itself to his name. The man who should have saluted him as " Captain" would probably have been whipped first, and invited to drink afterwards, for his temerity. The reason of this was twofold. In the first place, young Burleson, a man of unusu- ally broad and catholic feeling, and of varied personal experi- ence and wide observation, was as thoroughly convinced of the hopelessness of the Confederate cause in the field of battle at the outset of the war as at its close. This view he did not hesitate to declare on all occasions ; and, when reproved for so doing by an upstart superior, he had the boldness and arrogance to assure the official, that, if he knew half as much as himself, he would desert to the Yankees in two days. Besides this, it suited his humor to boast of his disinclination for a military life. When offered promotion, he curtly declined it, on the ground that he did not wish to do any thing that might remove his dislike for the service. Of course such a man, though he had been of the ripest culture and most marked capacity,- was only fitted for the place of a private soldier ; and so a soldier he remained, always scornful of control, and utterly regardless of the Pharisaical distinctions of rank, respected for his unshrinking bluntness, and feared for his terrible directness of thought, and explicit- ness of statement. He was perhaps the most dangerous man who could have renounced his fealty to the Klan. As he stepped upon the platform at Yerdenton, a man whom he knew to be a very prominent member of the Klan touched him upon the shoulder, and said, with a meaning look towards the rear of the train, — *' Let me see you a moment." 292 A FOOL'S ERRAND. " Oh, go to the devil ! " said Burleson, in a loud but good- natured tone of voice. " I know what you want ; and I had just as lief tell you here as around the corner, or. in the camp. I am neither afraid nor ashamed. I am out of it, and opposed to it root and branch. If any one has any thing he wants to say or do about it, he knows where to find John Burleson. "Judge Denton ! " he cried in the same tone, as that gentle- man appeared on the platform, "these people are my Ku-Klux friends and neighbors, who have come to see if John Burleson has the pluck to renounce what he was a fool for engaging in, and knew himself to be such at the time. They don't look like Ku-Klux, do they? But they are — nearly every man you can see. I don't believe there are a dozen white men on this plat- form whom I don't know to be such, and have not seen in their meetings more than once. They are most of them church- members, and all of them respectable. You ought to see them with their gowns and masks on ! they look savage enough then. You know a good many of them. Judge, and will get acquainted with them all if Justice ever gets her dues. There's right smart of men here who to my knowledge deserve a hanging." Such language as this increased the consternation which already prevailed ; and, before it was ended, nearly every white man had left the platform, and only a crowd of wondering colored men remained to grin applause to his concluding re- marks. He knew that he had thrown a bomb, but he was not ignorant that its explosion might endanger himself. He knew very thoroughly the temper of the people whom he had been addressing, and did not under-estimate his own danger. So when he had bidden good-by to Gurney, who went on to his home, he went and assisted his other fellow-travelers to enter their carriage. Then he took the Fool aside, and said in a low voice, — "Colonel Servosse, I dislike to ask a favor of you; but it may be that I shall be able to render you a like service before long. You know what has occurred. If I remain here to- night, the probabilities are that I shall not be troubled about getting up in the morning. I wish you would invite me to "AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA.'' 293 Warrington for a day or two. I do not think you will be at- tacked there. If you shovild, you would not find me entirely useless in the defense. I think we three would make a bad crowd for any force to attack. In a short time we can tell what will be the result. Either they will cry for mercy, or we must fight. I don't know which it will be as yet." " Certainly, certainly, i\Ir. Burleson!" said Servosse heartily. " I have been studying for the last hour, as to whether I ought not to invite both you and your friend." " Oh, he is all right! " said Burleson lightly. "He is not tainted with my offense. No one regards him now except as the poor fellow who had the good fortune to be shot by your daughter." " The fact is," said Servosse apologetically, " I have become so suspicious since I have been a 'carpet-bagger,' that I am never quite sure whether it is expected or desired that I -should either tender or receive hospitality as a matter of course. Besides that, you will permit me to confess that I was by no means sure that you were in earnest until within the last few minutes. Of course we shall be glad to have you at "Warring- ton, and hope you may find it both safe and agreeable there, though I confess I share your apprehensions." It was a very thoughtful company which drove to Warring- ton that evening. Metta, with the overwrought Lily in her arms, listened, with overflowing eyes and irrepressible sobs, to the girl's broken recital of that adventure which had been so perilous to her, and so providential to her father and one of their guests, whose hearts were of course deeply affected at the thought of the barbarous death they had escaped. The other guest, realizing even more clearly than they both what they had escaped and what still impended, was deeply con- cerned lest he had added to the peril of those with whom he had sought shelter. A few colored people had collected at t^e depot, anxious to welcome those in whom they took so deep an interest, after the great peril they had escaped. A few of them had spoken to the Fool ; and all had manifested a sense of the utmost satis- 294 A FOOrS ERRAND. faction, both at their arrival and at what had transpired at the station, but made no chimorous demonstrations of joy. Hardly had they started for home, however, than it became evident that the excitement extended to all classes of society. From almost every house along the road they saw white faces peering at them with troubled and apprehensive looks, while the cabin of every colored man gave them looks and words of cheerful greeting ; and, long before they reached Warrington, it became evident that the negroes were hastening from all directions to meet Servosse. Arrived in the neighborhood of his home, the Fool found that the news of his coming had gone before, as well as the report in regard to Burleson's defection from the Klan ; and a great crowd of colored people, as well as many of their white political associates, had gathered to con- gratulate them on their escape, and to make inquiry as to the other r.eport. It was a most cordial welcome which the Fool and his brave daughter received from these neighbors ; and the presence of Judge Denton and j\lr. Burleson fully confirmed the rumor in regard to the latter. Several parties who seemed ill at ease with the company which had gathered on the lawn were cordially greeted by Burleson in his loud, careless manner ; but they were rendered still more uncomfortable by this, and soon slunk away, one by one, and left only the constantly increasing crowd of colored men and friendly neighbors, whose gratulations could not find sufficient words . As night came on, it became evident that these good friends, apprehensive of an attack from the Klan, had determined to stand guard about the Fool's house. This was deemed unad- visable; and, after thanking them again for their sympathy, he requested them to disperse, saying that ample precautions had been taken to secure the safety of Warrington, and nam- ing a number of their most devoted white friends who would sleep there that night. So with cheers, and overflowing wishes for their peace and happiness, the colored people dispersed, and an eventful night settled down upon Warrington. ''AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA.'' 295 It was a little after dark, and while the company at War- rington were seated at supper, that a man rode up to the gate, who, after the customary hail had been answered by a servant, made some cautious inquiries as to who was within, and then asked to see ISIr. Eyebright, a prominent Union man of the neighborhood. On being informed that he was at supper, he finally consented, not without considerable hesitation and evi- dent doubt, to enter and take a seat in the Fool's library, enjoining again and again upon the servant that only he whom he had inquired for should be informed of his presence. ]\Ir. Eyebright was a portly, well-to-do planter, whose bluff and hearty manliness gave everybody the utmost confidence in his sincerity and kindliness. He had been noted for his un- sparing denunciations of the Klan at all times and in all places. To hear him lavish curses upon them as he filled his pipe, *or puffed at the long reed stem before a glowing fire, a stranger would have imagined that nothing would have afforded him more intense and unadulterated satisfaction than the utter destruction of the Klan, and the incineration of each and every one of its individual members, unless he should note the twinkle in his soft, lazy-rolling brown eye, or mark the lurking smiles that passed over his rotund countenance, or hid away at the corners of his wide, mobile mouth. At home he was known as the gruffest and kindliest of neighbors; abroad he was accounted one of the most sanguinary and revengeful of the degraded Radicals. A noticeable birth- mark had given him a ludicrous nickname, which had con- tributed not a little to confer upon one of the kindliest and most peaceful of men a reputation for blood-thirstiness and savagery almost equal to that of the original Blue-beard. This quaint and humorous giant, with his assumed ferocity, abun- dance of unmeaning oaths, and real goodness of heart, was a special favorite of the Fool, whose devotedness he heartily returned. He had insisted upon staying as one of the sort of guard of honor that night, upon the ground that he would be of the utmost value in case of an attack, which was very true ; but the Fool knew very well that the prospect of a jolly night 296 A FOOL'S ERRAXD. beside the smoldering fire in the library, ^-ith abundance of good company, and now and then a sup of good peach-brandy, made at his own still, and softened with honey, interspersed with pipes and politics, and stories of " the good old time when we had a country," had far more attractions for his fat friend than a night of actual guard-duty. As they filed out of the dining-room, Eyebright laid one ponderous arm on the Fool's shoulder, and, extending the other over his own expansive person, remarked, — "After such a supper as that, Colonel, one could not help enjoying a smoke." Servosse merely answered with a low chuckle, to which F-yebright responded, — " I know what you mean, you rascal ! You think I just staid here to-night to have a good time. Suppose I did, now. It's not often we poor devils can get a dozen good fellows together, and I am for making the most of the opportunity. I tell you, you don't know how hungry I get sometimes to hear somebody else talk sense beside myself [with a laugh] ! There's Judge Denton, I'm going to pull him out to-night. They say he's just about the best company in the State — that is, they used to say so before he became one of us 'scalawags.' I s'pose that's had a bad effect on him, as well as the rest of us. There's that Burleson : I like him. He'd be a good fellow if he hadn't been a Ku-Klux. Cussed if I can ever get over that! Oh, don't tell me he's out of it now, and all that! It's like sheep-killing in a dog: once they've learned how, they never forget. I wouldn't sleep in the same room with him for the State ! I wouldn't, I swear I I should expect to wake up with my throat cut, at the very least." "Hush ! He'll hear you," said Servosse. " Oh, that's nothing I " responded Eyebright. " I've been trying to devil him all the evening. He asked me at supper — you were serving the meat, and didn't hear it — if I didn't think Judge Denton and himself represented the lion and the lamb very well. I told him I'd never heard before of a lion that took his lamb roasted" ''AND ALL THE WORLD WAS IN A SEA.'' 297 Just then the servant who had waited on the door touched him, and whispered in his ear. "Wants to see me, you say, Jim?" he asked in surprise. " What does the damn Ku-Klux want of me, Jim ? " " Dunno, sah," answered Jim. " Sed he want ter see you mighty pertickeler. " " He didn't say what about ? " "No, sah." " Well, give me a light," said he, feeling in one pocket after another for his pipe, " and let me go and see what 'tis, and send him off. We don't want no such cattle around here to-night, Jim. Heh ? AVhere is he ? " "In de libery, sah." So, puffing his long reed pipe, Eyebright rolled down the steps of the porch, and across the intervening space to the de- tached wooden building which served as the Fool's office and library. Pushing the door open with his stick, he ascended the steps and entered, exclaiming, as the door swung together be- hind him, — " Hello, Kirkwood, is this you ? What the devil are you doing here ? " The rest of the company drifted into the spacious sitting- room, and for half an hour Eyebright and his visitor were forgotten. At the end of that time his rotund face appeared at the door, and he hastily motioned to the Fool to come out into the hall. As soon as he came, and the sitting-room door was shut, Eyebright caught his hand, and said, in tones trem- bling with excitement, — " Colonel, I'll be damned if the bottom hasn't fallen out at last ! Don't ask me any questions. Bring Judge Denton over to the office. Quick ! Don't let on that any thing is up ! I daren't show my head in there : everybody would know some- thing was wrong. But you Yankees — you could keep your faces straight if the world was coming to an end ! " The Fool did as requested; and, upon their entering the office, was surprised to find there a young man of good family in the neighborhood, whom Mr. Eyebright introduced to the judge as Ralph Kirkwood. 208 A FOOL'S ERRAND. "He says he's got something to say to you, Mr. Denton, ■which, judging from what he's told me, will be of interest to a good many." Eyebright spoke with a great effort at self-restraint. "Yes," said Kirkwood absently: "there's a thing on my mind I've wanted to get off it for a long time." " I will hear any thing you have to say, Mr. Kirkwood," said the judge with some formality; "but I must warn you that any thing you say must be purely voluntary, and is given with- out threat or promise. I can not hear it otherwise." " So Mr. Eyebright said," responded Kirkwood, without look- ing up. "And I must further advise you," remarked the judge, *