DAMON AND PYTHIAS.
After his soliloquy in regard to his numerous names, as given in our
first chapter, Nimbus turned away from the gate near which he had
been standing, crossed the yard in front of his house, and entered
a small cabin which stood near it.
"Dar! 'Liab," he said, as he entered and handed the paper which he
had been examining to the person addressed, "I reckon I'se free
now. I feel ez ef I wuz 'bout half free, ennyhow. I wuz a sojer,
an' fought fer freedom. I've got my house an' bit o' lan', wife,
chillen, crap, an' stock, an' it's all mine. An' now I'se done been
registered, an' when de 'lection comes off, kin vote jes' ez hard
an' ez well an' ez often ez ole Marse Desmit. I hain't felt free
afore--leastways I hain't felt right certain on't; but now I reckon
I'se all right, fact an' truth. What you tinks on't, 'Liab?"
The person addressed was sitting on a low seat under the one window
which was cut into the west side of the snugly-built log cabin. The
heavy wooden shutter swung back over the bench. On the other side
of the room was a low cot, and a single splint-bottomed chair stood
against the open door. The house contained no other furniture.
The bench which he occupied was a queer compound of table, desk,
and work-bench. It had the leathern seat of a shoemaker's bench,
except that it was larger and wider. As the occupant sat with his
back to the window, on his left were the shallow boxes of a shoemaker's
bench, and along its edge the awls and other tools of that craft
were stuck in leather loops secured by tacks, as is the custom of
the crispin the world over. On the right was a table whose edge
was several inches above the seat, and on which were some books,
writing materials, a slate, a bundle of letters tied together with
a piece of shoe-thread, and some newspapers and pamphlets scattered
about in a manner which showed at a glance that the owner was
unaccustomed to their care, but which is yet quite indescribable.
On the wall above this table, but within easy reach of the sitter's
hand, hung a couple of narrow hanging shelves, on which a few books
were neatly arranged. One lay open on the table, with a shoemaker's
last placed across it to prevent its closing.
Eliab was already busily engaged in reading the certificate which
Nimbus had given him. The sun, now near its setting, shone in at
the open door and fell upon him as he read. He was a man apparently
about the age of Nimbus--younger rather than older--having a fine
countenance, almost white, but with just enough of brown in its
sallow paleness to suggest the idea of colored blood, in a region
where all degrees of admixture were by no means rare. A splendid
head of black hair waved above his broad, full forehead, and an
intensely black silky beard and mustache framed the lower portion
of his face most fittingly. His eyes were soft and womanly, though
there was a patient boldness about their great brown pupils and a
directness of gaze which suited well the bearded face beneath. The
lines of suffering were deeply cut upon the thoughtful brow and
around the liquid eyes, and showed in the mobile workings of the
broad mouth, half shaded by the dark mustache. The face was not
a handsome one, but there was a serious and earnest calmness about
it which gave it an unmistakable nobility of expression and prompted
one to look more closely at the man and his surroundings.
The shoulders were broad and square, the chest was full, the figure
erect, and the head finely poised. He was dressed with unusual
neatness for one of his race and surroundings, at the time of which
we write. One comprehended at a glance that this worker and learner
was also deformed. There was that in his surroundings which showed
that he was not as other men. The individuality of weakness and
suffering had left its indelible stamp upon the habitation which
he occupied. Yet so erect and self-helping in appearance was the
figure on the cobbler's bench that one for a moment failed to note
in what the affliction consisted. Upon closer observation he saw
that the lower limbs were sharply flexed and drawn to the leftward,
so that the right foot rested on its side under the left thigh.
This inclined the body somewhat to the right, so that the right
arm rested naturally upon the table for support when not employed.
These limbs, especially below the knees, were shrunken and distorted.
The shoe of the right foot whose upturned sole rested on the left
leg just above the ankle, was many sizes too small for a development
harmonious with the trunk.
Nimbus sat down in the splint-bottomed chair by the door and fanned
himself with his dingy hat while the other read.
"How is dis, Nimbus? What does dis mean? _Nimbus Ware?_
Where did you get dat name?" he asked at length, raising his eyes
and looking in pained surprise toward the new voter.
"Now, Bre'er 'Liab, don't talk dat 'ere way ter Nimbus, ef
yo please. Don't do it now. Yer knows I can't help it. Ebberybody
want ter call me by ole Mahs'r's name, an' dat I can't abide nohow;
an' when I kicks 'bout it, dey jes gib me some odder one, Dey all
seems ter tink I'se boun' ter hev two names, though I hain't got
no manner o' right ter but one."
"But how did you come to have dis one--Ware?" persisted Eliab.
"Wal, you see, Bre'er 'Liab, de boss man at der registerin' he
ax me fer my las' name, an' I tell him I hadn't got none, jes so.
Den Sheriff Gleason, he put in his oar, jes ez he allus does, an'
he say my name wuz _Desmit,_ atter ole Mahs'r. Dat made me
mad, an' I 'spute him, an' sez I, 'I won't hev no sech name'. Den
de boss man, he shet up Marse Gleason purty smart like, and _he_
sed I'd a right ter enny name I chose ter carry, kase nobody hadn't
enny sort o' right ter fasten enny name at all on ter me 'cept
myself. But he sed I'd better hev two, kase most other folks hed
'em. So I axed Marse Si War' ef he'd lend me his name jes fer de
'casion, yer know, an' he sed he hadn't no 'jection ter it. So I
tole der boss man ter put it down, an' I reckon dar 'tis."
"Yes, here it is, sure 'nough, Nimbus; but didn't you promise me
you wouldn't have so many names?"
"Co'se I did; an' I did try, but they all 'llowed I got ter have
two names whe'er er no."
"Then why didn't you take your old mahs'r's name, like de rest,
and not have all dis trouble?"
"Now, 'Liab, yer knows thet I won't nebber do dat."
"But why not, Nimbus?"
"Kase I ain't a-gwine ter brand my chillen wid no sech slave-mark!
Nebber! You hear dat, 'Liab? I hain't got no ill-will gin Marse
Desmit, not a mite--only 'bout dat ar lickin, an' dat ain't nuffin
now; but I ain't gwine ter war his name ner giv it ter my chillen
ter mind 'em dat der daddy wuz jes anudder man's critter one time.
I tell you I can't do hit, nohow; an' I _won't,_ Bre'er 'Liab.
I don't hate Marse Desmit, but I does hate slavery--dat what made
me his--worse'n a pilot hates a rattlesnake; an' I hate everyting
dat 'minds me on't, I do!"
The black Samson had risen in his excitement and now sat down upon
the bench by the other.
"I don't blame you for dat, Nimbus, but--"
"I don't want to heah no 'buts' 'bout it, an' I won't."
"But the chillen, Nimbus. You don't want dem to be different from
others and have no surname?"
"Dat's a fac', 'Liab," said Nimbus, springing to his feet. "I
nebber t'ought o' dat. Dey must hev a name, an' I mus' hev one ter
gib 'em, but how's I gwine ter git one? Dar's nobody's got enny right
ter gib me one, an' ef I choose one dis week what's ter hender my
takin' ob anudder nex week?"
"Perhaps nothing," answered 'Liab, "but yourself. You must not do
it."
"Pshaw, now," said Nimbus, "' what sort o' way is dat ter hev
things? I tell ye what orter been done, 'Liab; when de law married
us all, jes out of han' like, it orter hev named us too. Hit mout
hev been done, jes ez well's not. Dar's old Mahs'r now, he'd hev
named all de niggas in de county in a week, easy. An' dey'd been
good names, too."
"But you'd have bucked at it ef he had," said 'Liab, good-naturedly.
"No I wouldn't, 'Liab. I hain't got nuffin 'gin ole Mahrs'r. He
war good enough ter me--good 'nuff. I only hate what _made_
him 'Old Mahs'r,' an' dat I does hate. Oh, my God, how I does hate
it, Liab! I hates de berry groun' dat a slave's wukked on! I do,
I swar! When I wuz a-comin' home to-day an' seed de gullies 'long
der way, hit jes made me cuss, kase dey wuz dar a-testifyin' ob de
ole time when a man war a critter--a dog--a nuffin!"
"Now you oughtn't to say dat, Nimbus. Just think of me. Warn't you
better off as a slave than I am free?"
"No, I warn't. I'd ruther be a hundred times wuss off ner you, an'
free, than ez strong as I am an' a slave."
"But think how much more freedom is worth to you. Here you are a
voter, and I--"
"Bre'er 'Liab," exclaimed Nimbus, starting suddenly up, "what for
you no speak 'bout dat afore. Swar to God I nebber tink on't--not
a word, till dis bressed minit. Why didn't yer say nuffin' 'bout
bein' registered yo'self, eh? Yer knowed I'd a tuk yer ef I hed
ter tote ye on my back, which I wouldn't. I wouldn't gone a step
widout yer ef I'd only a t'ought. Yer knows I wouldn't."
"Course I does, Nimbus, but I didn't want ter make ye no trouble,
nor take the mule out of the crap," answered 'Liab apologetically.
"Damn de crap!" said Nimbus impetuously.
"Don't; don't swear, Nimbus, if you please."
"Can't help it, 'Liab, when you turn fool an' treat me dat 'ere
way. I'd swar at ye ef yer wuz in de pulpit an' dat come ober me,
jes at de fust. Yer knows Nimbus better ner dat. Now see heah, 'Liab
Hill, yer's gwine ter go an' be registered termorrer, jes ez sure
ez termorrer comes. Here we thick-headed dunces hez been up dar
to-day a-takin' de oath an' makin' bleve we's full grown men, an'
here's you, dat knows more nor a ten-acre lot full on us, a lyin'
here an' habin' no chance at all."
"But you want to get de barn full, and can't afford to spend any
more time," protested 'Liab.
"Nebber you min' 'bout de barn. Dat's Nimbus' business, an" he'll
take keer on't. Let him alone fer dat. Yis, honey, I'se comin'
d'reckly!" he shouted, as his wife called him from his own cabin.
"Now Bre'er 'Liab, yer comes ter supper wid us. Lugena's jes' a
callin' on't."
"Oh, don't, Nimbus," said the other, shrinking away. "I can't! You
jes send one of the chillen in with it, as usual."
"No yer don't," said Nimbus; "yer's been a scoldin' an' abusin' me
all dis yer time, an' now I'se gwine ter hab my way fer a little
while."
He went to the door and called:
"Gena! _Oh,_ Gena!" and as his wife did not answer, he said to
one of his children, "_Oh,_ Axylone, jes run inter de kitchen,
son, an' tell yer ma ter put on anudder plate, fer Bre'er 'Liab's
comin' ober ter take a bite wid us."
Eliab kept on protesting, but it was in vain. Nimbus bent over him
as tenderly as a mother over the cradle of her first-born, clasped
his arms about him, and lifting him from the bench bore him away
to his own house.
With an unconscious movement, which was evidently acquired by long
experience, the afflicted man cast one arm over Nimbus' shoulder,
put the other around him, and leaning across the stalwart breast
of his friend so evenly distributed his weight that the other bore
him with ease. Entering his own house, Nimbus placed his burden in
the chair at the head of the table, while he himself took his seat
on one of the wooden benches at the side.
"I jes brought Bre'er 'Liab in ter supper, honey," said he to
his wife; "kase I see'd he war gettin' inter de dumps like, an' I
'llowed yer'd chirk him up a bit ef yer jes hed him over h'yer a
while."
"Shan't do it," said the bright-eyed woman saucily.
"Kase why?" queried her husband.
"Kase Bre'er 'Liab don't come oftener. Dat's why."
"Dar, now, jes see what yer done git fer being so contrary-like,
will yer?" said the master to his guest. H'yer, you Axylone,"
he continued to his eldest born, " fo'd up yer han's while Bre'er
'Liab ax de blessin'. You, too, Capting," shaking his finger at
a roll of animated blackness on the end of the seat opposite.
"Now, Bre'er 'Liab."
The little black fingers were interlocked, the close-clipped, kinky
heads were bowed upon them; the master of the house bent reverently
over his plate; the plump young wife crossed her hands demurely
on the bright handle of the big coffee-pot by which she stood, and
"Bre'er 'Liab," clasping his slender fingers, uplifted his eyes
and hands to heaven, and uttered a grace which grew into a prayer.
His voice was full of thankfulness, and tears crept from under his
trembling lids.
The setting sun, which looked in upon the peaceful scene, no doubt
flickered and giggled with laughter as he sank to his evening couch
with the thought, "How quick these 'sassy' free-niggers do put on
airs like white folks!"
In the tobacco-field on the hillside back of his house, Nimbus and
his wife, Lugena, wrought in the light of the full moon nearly all
the night which followed, and early on the morrow Nimbus harnessed
his mule into his canvas-covered wagon, in which, upon a bed
of straw, reclined his friend Eliab Hill, and drove again to the
place of registration. On arriving there he took his friend in his
arms, carried him in and sat him on the railing before the Board.
Clasping the blanket close about his deformed extremities the
cripple leaned upon his friend's shoulder and answered the necessary
questions with calmness and precision.
"There's a pair for you, captain," said Gleason, nodding good-naturedly
toward Nimbus as he bore his helpless charge again to the wagon.
"Is he white?" asked the officer, with a puzzled look.
"White?" exclaimed Sheriff Gleason, with a laugh. "No, indeed! He's
a nigger preacher who lives with Nimbus down at Red Wing. They're
great cronies--always together. I expect he's at the bottom of all
the black nigger's perversity, though he always seems as smooth
and respectful as you please. He's a deep one. I 'llow he does
all the scheming, and just makes Nimbus a cat's-paw to do his work.
I don't know much about him, though. He hardly ever talks with
anybody."
"He seems a very remarkable man," said the officer.
"Oh, he is," said the sheriff. "Even in slave times he was a very
influential man among the niggers, and since freedom he and Nimbus
together rule the whole settlement. I don't suppose there are ten
white men in the county who could control, square out and out, as
many votes as these two will have in hand when they once get to
voting."
"Was he a slave? What is his history?"
"I don't exactly know," answered the sheriff. "He is quite a young
man, and somehow I never happened to hear of him till some time
during the war. Then he was a sort of prophet among them, and while
he did a power of praying for you Yanks, he always counselled the
colored people to be civil and patient, and not try to run away or
go to cutting up, but just to wait till the end came. He was just
right, too, and his course quieted the white folks down here on the
river, where there was a big slave population, more than a little."
"I should like to know more of him," said the chairman.
"All right," said Gleason, looking around. "If Hesden Le Moyne
is here, I'll get him to tell you all about him, at noon. If he is
not here then, he will come in before night, I'm certain."