A PARTICULAR TENANCY LAPSES.
The second day after the visit of the sheriff, Nimbus was sitting
on his porch after his day's work when there was a call at his
gate.
"Who's dar?" he cried, starting up and gazing through an opening
in the honeysuckle which clambered up to the eaves and shut in
the porch with a wall of fragrant green. Seeing one of his white
neighbors, he went out to the gate, and after the usual salutations
was greeted with these words:
"I hear you's gwine to sell out an' leave, Nimbus?"
"How'd ye hear dat?"
"Wal, Sheriff Gleason's a' been tellin' of it 'round, and ther
ain't no other talk 'round the country only that."
"What 'ud I sell out an' leave for? Ain't I well 'nough off whar
I is?"
"The sheriff says you an' 'Liab Hill has been gittin' into some
trouble with the law, and that the Ku Klux has got after you too,
so that if you don't leave you're likely to go to States prison or
have a whippin' or hangin' bee at your house afore you know it."
"Jes let 'em come," said Nimbus, angrily--"Ku Kluckers or sheriffs,
it don't make no difference which. I reckon it's all 'bout one
an' de same ennyhow. It's a damn shame too. Dar, when de 'lection
come las' time we put Marse Gleason in agin, kase we hadn't nary
white man in de county dat was fitten for it an' could give de
bond; an' of co'se dere couldn't no cullu'd man give it. An' jes
kase we let him hev it an' he's feared we mout change our minds
now, here he is a runnin' 'roun' ter Ku Klux meetin's an' a tryin'
ter stir up de bery ole debble, jes ter keep us cullu'd people from
hevin' our rights. He can't do it wid me, dat's shore. I hain't done
nuffin' an' I won't run. Ef I'd a-done ennythin' I'd run, kase I
don't b'lieve more'n ennybody else in a, man's stayin' ter let de
law git a holt on him; but when I hain't done nary ting, ther ain't
nobody ez kin drive me outen my tracks."
"But the Ku Klux mout _lift_ ye outen 'em," said the other
with a weak attempt at wit.
"Jes let 'em try it once!" said Nimbus, excitedly. "I'se purty
well prepared for 'em now, an' atter tomorrer I'll be jes ready
for 'em. I'se gwine ter Louisburg to-morrer, an' I 'llow that
atter I come back they won't keer ter meddle wid Nimbus. Tell yer
what, Mister Dossey, I bought dis place from ole Marse Desmit,
an' paid for it, ebbery cent; an' I swar I ain't a gwine ter let
no man drive me offen it--nary foot. An' ef de Ku Klux comes, I's
jest a gwine ter kill de las' one I gits a chance at. Now, you min'
what I say, Mister Dossey, kase I means ebbery word on't."
The white man cowered before the other's energy. He was of that
class who were once denominated "poor whites." The war taught him
that he was as good a man to stop bullets as one that was gentler
bred, and during that straggle which the non-slaveholders fought
at the beck and in the interest of the slaveholding aristocracy,
he had learned more of manhood than he had ever known before. In the
old days his father had been an overseer on a plantation adjoining
Knapp-of-Reeds, and as a boy he had that acquaintance with Nimbus
which every white boy had with the neighboring colored lads--they
hunted and fished together and were as near cronies as their color
would allow. Since the war he had bought a place and by steady
work had accumulated some money. His plantation was on the river
and abutted on the eastern side with the property of Nimbus. After
a moment's silence he said:
"That reminds me of what I heard to-day. Your old Marse Potem is
dead."
"Yer don't say, now!"
"Yes--died yesterday and will be buried to-morrow."
"La, sakes! An' how's he lef ole Missus an' de gals, I wonder?"
"Mighty pore I'm afraid. They say he's been mighty bad off lately,
an' what he's got won't more'n half pay his debts. I reckon the
widder an' chillen'll hev ter 'homestead it' the rest of their
lives."
"Yer don't tink so? Wal, I do declar', hit's too bad. Ez rich ez he
was, an' now ter come down ter be ez pore ez Nimbus--p'raps poorer!"
"It's mighty hard, that's sure. It was all along of the wah that
left everybody pore in this country, just as it made all the Yankees
rich with bonds and sech-like."
"Sho'! what's de use ob bein' a fool? 'Twan't de wah dat made Marse
Desmit pore. 'Twuz dat ar damn fool business ob slavery afo' de
wah dat wound him up. Ef he'd never been a 'speculator' an' hadn't
tried to grow rich a raisin' men an' wimmen for market he'd a been
richer'n ever he was, when he died."
"Oh, you're mistaken 'bout that, Nimbus. The wah ruined us all."
"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Nimbus, derisively. "What de wah ebber take
from you, Mister Dossey, only jes yer oberseer's whip? An' dat wur
de berry best ting ebber happen ter ye, kase it sot yer to wuk an'
put yer in de way ob makin' money for yerself. It was hard on sech
ez ole Mahs'r, dat's a fac, even ef 'twas mostly his own fault; but
it was worth a million ter sech ez you. You 'uns gained mo' by de
outcome ob de wah, right away, dan we cullu'd folks'll ebber git,
I'm afeared."
"Yer may be right," said Dawsey, laughing, and with a touch of
pride in his tone. "I've done pretty well since the wah. An' that
brings me back to what I come over for. I thought I'd ax, if ye
should git in a notion of selling, what yer'd take fer yer place
here?"
"I hain't no idea uv selling, Mister Dossey, an' hain't no notion
uv hevin' any 'nuther. You an' ebberybody else mout jest ez well
larn, fust ez las', dat I shan't never sell only jes ter make money.
Ef I put a price on Red Wing it'll be a big one; kase it ain't done
growing yet, an' I might jest ez well stay h'yr an' grow ez ter go
West an' grow up wid de kentry, ez dat fool Berry Lawson's allers
tellin' about."
"Wal, that's all right, only ef you ever want ter sell, reasonable-like,
yer know who to come to for your money. Good-night!"
The man was gathering up his reins when Nimbus said:
"When did yer say ole Mahsr's funeral was gwine ter be?"
"To-morrow afternoon at four o'clock, I heerd."
"Thank ye. I'se 'bout made up my mind ter go ter Louisburg to-morrer,
stay ter dat funeral, an' come back nex' day. Seems ter me ole
Mahs'r'd be kind o' glad ter see Nimbus at his funeral, fer all I
wan't no gret fav'rite o' his'n. He wa'nt sich a bad marster, an'
atter I bought Red Wing he use ter come ober ebbery now an' agin,
an' gib me a heap ob advice 'bout fixin' on it up. I allus listened
at him, tu, kase ef ennybody ever knowed nex' do' ter ebberyting,
dat ar man wuz ole Marse Potem. I'se sorry he's dead, I is; an'
I'se mighty sorry for ole Missus an' de gals. An' I'se a gwine ter
go ter dat er funeral an' see him laid away, ef it do take anudder
day outen de crap; dat I is, shore.
"An' that 'minds me," said the white man, "that I heard at the same
time, that Walter Greer, who used to own the plantation afore yer
Marse Desmit bought it, died sometime lately, 'way out in Texas.
It's quare, ain't it, that they should both go nigh about the same
time. Good-night."
The "poor-white" neighbor rode away, little dreaming that the
colored man had estimated him aright, and accounted him only an
emissary of his foes, nor did he comprehend the importance of the
information he had given.