THE SHADOW OF THE FLAG.
As soon as it became known that the plan of having a polling-place
at Red Wing had been abandoned, there was an almost universal
expression of discontent among the colored people. Never before had
the authority or wisdom of the teachers been questioned. The purity
of their motives and the devotion they had displayed in advancing
every interest of those to whom they had come as the missionaries
of light and freedom, had hitherto protected them from all jealousy
or suspicion on the part of the beneficiaries of their devotion.
Mollie Ainslie had readily and naturally fallen into the habit
of controlling and directing almost everything about her, simply
because she had been accustomed to self-control and self-direction,
and was by nature quick to decide and resolute to act. Conscious
of her own rectitude, and fully realizing the dangers which might
result from the experiment proposed, she had had no hesitation
about withholding her consent, without which the school-house could
not be used, and had not deemed it necessary to consult the general
wish of the villagers in regard to it. Eliab Hill had approved her
action, and she had briefly spoken of it to Nimbus--that was all.
Now, the people of Red Wing, with Nimbus at their head, had set
their hearts upon having the election held there. The idea was
flattering to their importance, a recognition of their manhood
and political co-ordination which was naturally and peculiarly
gratifying. So they murmured and growled, and the discontent grew
louder and deeper until, on the second day thereafter, Nimbus, with
two or three other denizens of Red Wing, came, with gloomy, sullen
faces, to the school-house at the hour for dismissal, to hold an
interview with Miss Ainslie on the subject. She knew their errand,
and received them with that cool reserve which so well became her
determined face and slight, erect figure. When they had stated
their desire, and more than half indicated their determination to
have the election held there at all hazards, she said briefly,
"I have not the slightest objection."
"Dar now," said Nimbus exultingly; "I 'llowed dar mus' be somethin'
wrong 'bout it. They kep' tellin' me that you 'posed it, an' tole
de Capting dat it couldn't never be held here wid your consent
while you wuz in de school."
"So I did."
"You don't say? an' now yer's changed yer mind."
"I have not changed my mind at all." "No? Den what made you say
yer hadn't no 'jections, just now."
"Because I have not. It is a free country. You say you are determined
to have the election here, I am fully convinced that it would do
harm. Yet you have a right to provide a place, and hold it here,
if you desire. That I do not question, and shall not attempt
to prevent; only, the day that you determine to do so I shall
pack up my trunk, ride over to Boyleston, deliver the keys to the
superintendent, and let him do as he chooses about the matter."
"Yer don't mean ter say yer'd go an' leave us fer good, does yer,
Miss Mollie?" asked Nimbus in surprise.
"Certainly," was the reply; "when the people have once lost confidence
in me, and I am required to give up my own deliberate judgment to
a whimsical desire for parade, I can do no more good here, and will
leave at once."
"Sho, now, dat won't do at all--no more it won't," responded Nimbus.
"Ef yer feel's dat er way 'bout it, der ain't no mo' use a-talkin'.
Dere's gwine ter be nary 'lection h'yer ef it really troubles you
ladies dat 'er way."
So it was decided, and once again there was peace.
To compensate themselves for this forbearance, however, it was
suggested that the colored voters of Red Wing and vicinity should
meet at the church on the morning of election and march in a body
to the polls with music and banners, in order most appropriately and
significantly to commemorate their first exercise of the electoral
privilege. To this Miss Ainslie saw no serious objection, and
in order fully to conciliate Nimbus, who might yet feel himself
aggrieved by her previous decision, she tendered him the loan of
her horse on the occasion, he having been elected marshal.
From that time until the day of the election there was considerable
excitement. There were a number of political harangues made in
the neighborhood; the League met several times; the colored men
appeared anxious and important about the new charge committed to
their care; the white people were angry, sullen, and depressed.
The school at Red Wing went peaceably on, interrupted only by the
excitement attendant upon the preparations making for the expected
parade.
Almost every night, after work was over, the colored people would
gather in the little hamlet and march to the music of a drum and
fife, and under the command of Nimbus, whose service in the army
had made him a tolerable proficient in such tactical movements as
pertained to the "school of the company." Very often, until well
past midnight the fife and drum, the words of command, and the
rumble of marching feet could be heard in the little village. The
white people in the country around about began to talk about "the
niggers arming and drilling," saying that they intended to "seize
the polls on election day;" "rise up and murder the whites;" "burn
all the houses along the river;" and a thousand other absurd and
incredible things which seemed to fill the air, to grow and multiply
like baleful spores, without apparent cause. As a consequence
of this there grew up a feeling of apprehension among the colored
men also. They feared that these things were said simply to make a
ready and convenient excuse for violence which was to be perpetrated
upon them in order to prevent the exercise of their legal rights.
So there were whisperings and apprehension and high resolve upon
both sides. The colored men, conscious of their own rectitude, were
either unaware of the real light in which their innocent parade was
regarded by their white neighbors, or else laughed at the feeling
as insincere and groundless. The whites, having been for generations
firm believers in the imminency of servile insurrections; devoutly
crediting the tradition that the last words of George Washington,
words of wisdom and warning, were, "Never trust a nigger with a gun;"
and accustomed to chafe each other into a fever heat of excitement
over any matter of public interest, were ready to give credence
to any report--all the more easily because of its absurdity. On
the other hand, the colored people, hearing these rumors, said to
themselves that it was simply a device to prevent them from voting,
or to give color and excuse for a conflict at the polls.
There is no doubt that both were partly right and partly wrong.
While the parade was at first intended simply as a display, it came
to be the occasion of preparation for an expected attack, and as
the rumors grew more wild and absurd, so did each side grow more
earnest and sincere. The colored men determined to exercise their
rights openly and boldly, and the white men were as fully determined
that at any exhibition of "impudence" on the part of the "niggers"
they would teach them a lesson they would not soon forget.
None of this came to the ears of Mollie Ainslie. Nevertheless she
had a sort of indefinite foreboding of evil to come out of it, and
wished that she had exerted her influence to prevent the parade.
On the morning of the election day a motley crowd collected at an
early hour at Red Wing. It was noticeable that every one carried
a heavy stick, though there was no other show of arms among them.
Some of them, no doubt, had pistols, but there were no guns in the
crowd. They seemed excited and alarmed. A few notes from the fife,
however, banished all irresolution, and before eight o'clock two
hundred men gathered from the country round marched away toward
Melton, with a national flag heading the column, in front of which
rode Eliab Hill in the carryall belonging to Nimbus. With them
went a crowd of women and children, numbering as many more, all
anxious to witness the first exercise of elective power by their
race, only just delivered from the bonds of slavery. The fife
screeched, the drum rattled; laughter and jests and high cheer
prevailed among them all. As they marched on, now and then a white
man rode past them, silent and sullen, evidently enraged at the
display which was being made by the new voters. As they drew nearer
to the town it became evident that the air was surcharged with
trouble. Nimbus sent back Miss Ainslie's horse, saying that he was
afraid it might get hurt. The boy that took it innocently repeated
this remark to his teacher.
Within the town there was great excitement. A young man who had passed
Red Wing while the men were assembling had spurred into Melton and
reported with great excitement that the "niggers" were collecting
at the church and Nimbus was giving out arms and ammunition; that
they were boasting of what they would do if any of their votes were
refused; that they had all their plans laid to meet negroes from
other localities at Melton, get up a row, kill all the white men,
burn the town, and then ravish the white women. This formula of
horrors is one so familiar to the Southern tongue that it runs off
quite unconsciously whenever there is any excitement in the air
about the "sassy niggers." It is the "form of sound words," which
is never forgotten. Its effect upon the Southern white man is
magical. It moves him as the red rag does a mad bull. It takes away
all sense and leaves only an abiding desire to kill.
So this rumor awakened great excitement as it flew from lip to lip.
Few questioned its verity, and most of those who heard felt bound
in conscience to add somewhat to it as they passed it on to the
next listener. Each one that came in afterward was questioned
eagerly upon the hypothesis of a negro insurrection having already
taken shape. "How many are there?" "Who is at the head of it?"
"How are they armed?" "What did they say?" were some of the queries
which overwhelmed every new comer. It never seemed to strike any
one as strange that if the colored men had any hostile intent they
should let these solitary horsemen pass them unmolested. The fever
spread. Revolvers were flourished and shot-guns loaded; excited
crowds gathered here and there, and nearly everybody in the
town sauntered carelessly toward the bridge across which Nimbus'
gayly-decked column must enter the town. A few young men rode out
to reconnoitre, and every few minutes one would come dashing back
upon a reeking steed, revolver in hand, his mouth full of strange
oaths and his eyes flaming with excitement.
It was one of these that precipitated the result. The flag which
waved over the head of the advancing column had been visible from
the town for some time as now and then it passed over the successive
ridges to the eastward. The sound of fife and drum had become more
and more distinct, and a great portion of the white male population,
together with those who had come in to the election from the
surrounding country, had gathered about the bridge spanning the swift
river which flowed between Melton and the hosts of the barbarous
and bloodthirsty "niggers" of the Red Wing country. Several of
the young scouts had ridden close up to the column with tantalizing
shouts and insulting gestures and then dashed back to recount their
own audacity; until, just as the Stars and Stripes began to show
over the last gullied hill, one of them, desirous of outdoing his
comrades in bravado, drew his revolver, flourished it over his head,
and cast a shower of insulting epithets upon the colored pilgrims
to the shrine of ballatorial power. He was answered from the dusky
crowd with words as foul as his own. Such insult was not to be
endured. Instantly his pistol was raised, there was a flash, a puff
of fleecy smoke, a shriek from amid the crowd.
At once all was confusion. Oaths, cries, pistol-shots, and a shower
of rocks filled the air as the young man turned and spurred back
to the town. In a moment the long covered-bridge was manned by
a well-armed crowd, while others were seen running toward it. The
town was in an uproar.
The officers of election had left the polls, and in front of the
bridge could be seen Hesden Le Moyne and the burly sheriff striving
to keep back the angry crowd of white men. On the hill the colored
men, for a moment struck with amazement, were now arming with stones,
in dead earnest, uttering loud cries of vengeance for one of their
number who, wounded and affrighted, lay groaning and writhing by
the roadside. They outnumbered the whites very greatly, but the
latter excelled them in arms, in training, and in position. Still,
such was their exasperation at what seemed to them a wanton and
unprovoked attack, that they were preparing to charge upon the
bridge without delay. Nimbus especially was frantic with rage.
"It's the flag!" he shouted; "the damned rebels are firing on the
flag!" He strode back and forth, waving an old cavalry sabre
which he had brought to mark his importance as marshal of the day,
and calling on his followers to stand by him and they would "clean
out the murderous crowd." A few pistol shots which were fired from
about the bridge but fell far short, added to their excitement and
desperation.
Just as they were about to rush down the hillside, Mollie Ainslie,
with a white set face, mounted on her black horse, dashed in front
of them, and cried,
"Halt!"
Eliab Hill had long been imploring them with upraised hands to be
calm and listen to reason, but his voice was unheeded or unheard
in the wild uproar. The sight of the woman, however, whom all of
them regarded so highly, reining in her restive horse and commanding
silence, arrested the action of all. But Nimbus, now raging like a
mad lion, strode up to her, waving his sword and cursing fearfully
in his wild wrath, and said hoarsely:
"You git out o' de way, Miss Mollie! We all tinks a heap ob you,
but yer hain't got no place h'yer! De time's come for _men_
now, an' dis is men's wuk, an' we's gwine ter du it, too! D'yer
see dat man dar, a-bleedin' an' a-groanin'? Blood's been shed! We's
been fired into kase we wuz gwine ter exercise our rights like men
under de flag ob our kentry, peaceable, an' quiet, an' disturbin'
nobody! 'Fore God, Miss Mollie, ef we's men an' fit ter hev enny
rights, we won't stan' dat! We'll hev blood fer blood! Dat's what
we means! You jes git outen de way!" he added imperiously. "We'll
settle dis yer matter ourselves!" He reached out his hand as he
spoke to take her horse by the bit.
"Stand back!" cried the brave girl. "Don't you touch him, sir!" She
urged her horse forward, and Nimbus, awed by her intensity, slowly
retreated before her, until she was but a pace or two in front of
the line which stretched across the road. Then leaning forward,
she said,
"Nimbus, give me your sword!"
"What you wants ob dat, Miss Mollie?" he asked in surprise.
"No matter; hand it to me!"
He took it by the blade, and held the heavy basket-hilt toward her.
She clasped her small white fingers around the rough, shark-skin
handle and raised it over her head as naturally as a veteran leader
desiring to command attention, and said:
"Now, Nimbus, and the rest of you, you all know that I am your
friend. My brother was a soldier, and fought for your liberty on
this very horse. I have never advised you except for your good, and
you know I never will. If it is right and best for you to right now,
I will not hinder you. Nay, I will say God-speed, and for aught I
know fight with you. I am no coward, if I am a woman. You know what
I have risked already for your good. Now tell me what has happened,
and what this means."
There was a cheer at this, and fifty excited voices began the
story.
"Stop! stop!'" she cried. "Keep silent, all of you, and let Mr.
Hill tell it alone. He was here in front and saw it all."
Thereupon she rode up beside the carry-all, which was now in the
middle of the throng, and listened gravely while Eliab told the
whole story of the march from Red Wing, There was a buzz when he
had ended, which she stilled by a word and a wave of the hand, and
then turning to Nimbus she said:
"Nimbus, I appoint you to keep order in this crowd until my return.
Do not let any man, woman, or child move forward or back, whatever
may occur. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am, I hears; but whar you gwine, Miss Mollie?"
"Into the town."
"No yer don't, Miss Mollie," said he, stepping before her. "Dey'll
kill you, shore."
"No matter. I am going. You provoked this affray by your foolish
love of display, and it must be settled now, or it will be a matter
of constant trouble hereafter."
"But, Miss Mollie--"
"Not a word! You have been a soldier and should obey orders. Here
is your sword. Take it, and keep order here. Examine that poor
fellow's wound, and I will go and get a doctor for him."
She handed Nimbus his sword and turned her horse toward the bridge.
Then a wail of distress arose from the crowd. The women begged her
not to go, with tears. She turned in her saddle, shook her head,
and raised her hand to show her displeasure at this. Then she took
a handkerchief from her pocket and half waving it as she proceeded,
went toward the bridge.
"Well, I swear," said the sheriff; "if that are gal ain't coming
in with a flag of truce. She's pluck, anyhow. You ought to give
her three cheers, boys."
The scene which had been enacted on the hill had been closely watched
from the bridge and the town, and Mollie's conduct had been pretty
well interpreted though her words could not be heard. The nerve which
she had exhibited had excited universal comment, and it needed no
second invitation to bring off every hat and send up, in her honor,
the shrill yell with which our soldiers became familiar during the
war.
Recognizing this, her pale face became suffused with blushes, and
she put her handkerchief to her lips to hide their tremulousness as
she came nearer. She ran her eyes quickly along the line of strange
faces, until they fell upon the sheriff, by whom stood Hesden Le
Moyne. She rode straight to them and said,
"Oh, Mr. Sheriff--"
Then she broke down, and dropping the rein on her horse's neck,
she pressed her handkerchief to her face and wept. Her slight frame
shook with sobs. The men looked at her with surprise and pity.
There was even a huskiness in the sheriff's voice as he said,
"Miss Ainslie--I--I beg your pardon, ma'am-but--"
She removed the handkerchief, but the tears were still running down
her face as she said, glancing round the circle of sympathizing
faces:
"Do stop this, gentlemen. It's all a mistake. I know it must be a
mistake!"
"We couldn't help it, ma'am," said one impulsive youth, putting in
before the elders had time to speak; "the niggers was marching on
the town here. Did you suppose we was going to sit still and let
them burn and ravage without opposition? Oh, we haven't got so low
as that, if the Yankees did outnumber us. Not yet!"
There was a sneering tone in his voice which did more than sympathy
could, to restore her equanimity. So she said, with a hint of a
smile on her yet tearful face,
"The worst thing those poor fellows meant to do, gentlemen, was
to make a parade over their new-found privileges--march up to the
polls, vote, and march home again. They are just like a crowd of
boys over a drum and fife, as you know. They carefully excluded
from the line all who were not voters, and I had them arranged so
that their names would come alphabetically, thinking it might be
handier for the officers; though I don't know anything about how an
election is conducted," she added, with an ingenuous blush. "It's
all my fault, gentlemen! I did not think any trouble could come
of it, or I would not have allowed it for a moment. I thought it
would be better for them to come in order, vote, and go home than
to have them scattered about the town and perhaps getting into
trouble."
"So 'twould," said the sheriff. "Been a first-rate thing if we'd
all understood it--first-rate."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, gentlemen--so sorry, and I'm afraid one man is
killed. Would one of you be kind enough to go for a doctor?"
"Here is one," said several voices, as a young man stepped forward
and raised his hat respectfully.
"I will go and see him," he said.
He walked on up the hill alone.
"Well, ma'am," said the sheriff, "what do you think should be done
now?"
"If you would only let these people come in and vote, gentlemen.
They will return at once, and I would answer with my life for
their good behavior. I think it was all a misunderstanding."
"Certainly--certainly, ma'am," said the sheriff. "No doubt about
it."
She turned her horse and was about to ride back up the hill, but
Hesden Le Moyne, taking off his hat, said:
"Gentlemen, I think we owe a great deal to the bravery of this
young lady. I have no doubt but all she says is literally true.
Yet we like to have got into trouble which might have been very
serious in its consequences, nay, perhaps has already resulted
seriously. But for her timely arrival, good sense, and courage there
would have been more bloodshed; our town would have been disgraced,
troops posted among us, and perhaps lives taken in retaliation.
Now, considering all this, I move a vote of thanks to the lady,
and that we all pledge ourselves to take no notice of these people,
but let them come in and vote and go out, without interruption.
All that are in favor of that say Aye!"
Every man waved his hat, there was a storm of "ayes," and then the
old rebel yell again, as, bowing and blushing with pleasure, Mollie
turned and rode up the hill.
There also matters had assumed a more cheerful aspect by reason of
her cordial reception at the bridge, and the report of the surgeon
that the man's wound, though quite troublesome, was by no means
serious. She told in a few words what had occurred, explained the
mistake, reminded them that such a display would naturally prove
very exasperating to persons situated as the others were, counselled
moderation and quietness of demeanor, and told them to re-form
their ranks and go forward, quietly vote, and return. A rousing
cheer greeted her words. Eliab Hill uttered a devout prayer
of thankfulness. Nimbus blunderingly said it was all his fault,
"though he didn't mean no harm," and then suggested that the flag
and music should be left there in charge of some of the boys,
which was approved. The wounded man was put into the carry-all by
the side of Eliab, and they started down the hill. The sheriff, who
was waiting at the bridge, called out for them to bring the flag
along and have the music strike up.
So, with flying colors and rattling drum-beat, the voters of Red
Wing marched to the polls; the people of Melton looked good-naturedly
on; the young hot-bloods joked the dusky citizen, and bestowed
extravagant encomiums on the plucky girl who had saved them from
so much threatened trouble; and Mollie Ainslie rode home with a hot,
flushed face, and was put to bed by her co-laborer, the victim of
a raging headache.
"I declare, Mollie Ainslie," said Lucy, "you are the queerest girl I
ever saw. I believe you would ride that horse into a den of lions,
and then faint because you were not eaten up. I could never do what
you have done--never in the world--but if did I wouldn't get sick
because it was all over."