A SWEET AND BITTER FRUITAGE.
The charms of the soft, luxurious climate were peculiarly grateful
to Mollie after the harshness of the Kansas winter and the sultry
summer winds that swept over the heated plains. There was something,
too, very pleasant in renewing her associations with that region
in a relation so different from that under which she had formerly
known it. As the teacher at Red Wing, her life had not been wholly
unpleasant; but that which had made it pleasant had proceeded
from herself and not from others. The associations which she then
formed had been those of kindly charity--the affection which one
has for the objects of sympathetic care. So far as the world in
which she now lived was concerned--the white world and white people
of Horsford--she had known nothing of them, nor they of her, but
as each had regarded the other as a curious study. Their life had
been shut out from her, and her life had been a matter that did not
interest them. She had wondered that they did not think and feel
as she did with regard to the colored people; and they, that any
one having a white skin and the form of woman should come a thousand
miles to become a servant of servants. The most charitable among
them had deemed her a fool; the less charitable, a monster.
In the few points of contact which she had with them personally,
she had found them pleasant. In the few relations which they held
toward the colored people, and toward her as their friend, she had
found them brutal and hateful beyond her power to conceive. Then,
her life had been with those for whom she labored, so far as it
was in or of the South at all. They had been the objects of her
thought, her interest, and her care. Their wrongs had entered into
her life, and had been the motive of her removal to the West. Out
of these conditions, by a curious evolution, had grown a new life,
which she vainly tried to graft upon the old without apparent
disjointure.
Now, by kinship and by marriage, she belonged to one of the most
respectable families of the region. It was true that Hesden. had
sullied his family name by becoming a Radical; but as he had never
sought official position, nor taken any active part in enforcing or
promulgating the opinions which he held; had, in fact, identified
himself with the party of odious principles only for the protection
of the victims of persecution or the assertion of the rights of
the weak--he was regarded with much more toleration and forbearance
than would otherwise have been displayed toward him.
In addition to this, extravagant rumors came into the good county
of Horsford respecting the wealth which Mollie Ainslie had acquired,
and of the pluck and enterprise which she had displayed in the far
West. It was thought very characteristic of the brave young teacher
of Red Wing, only her courage was displayed there in a different
manner. So they took a sort of pride in her, as if she had been
one of themselves; and as they told to each other the story of her
success, they said, "Ah, I knew she would make her mark! Any girl
that had her pluck was too good to remain a nigger-teacher long.
It was lucky for Hesden, though. By George! he made his Radicalism
pay, didn't he? Well, well; as long as he don't trouble anybody,
I don't see why we should not be friends with him--if he _is_
a Radical." So they determined that they would patronize and
encourage Hesden Le Moyne and his wife, in the hope that he might
be won back to his original excellence, and that she might be
charmed with the attractions of Southern society and forget the
bias of her Yankee origin.
The occupants of Mulberry Hill, therefore, received much attention,
and before the death of Hesden's mother had become prime favorites
in the society of Horsford. It is true that now and then they met
with some exhibition of the spirit which had existed before, but
in the main their social life was pleasant; and, for a considerable
time, Hesden felt that he had quite regained his original status as
a "Southern gentleman," while Mollie wondered if it were possible
that the people whom she now met upon such pleasant terms were
those who had, by their acts of violence, painted upon her memory
such horrible and vivid pictures. She began to feel as if she had
done them wrong, and sought by every means in her power to identify
herself with their pleasures and their interests.
At the same time, she did not forget those for whom she had before
labored, and who had shown for her such true and devoted friendship.
The school at Red Wing was an especial object of her care and
attention. Rarely did a week pass that her carriage did not show
itself in the little hamlet, and her bright face and cheerful tones
brought encouragement and hope to all that dwelt there. Having learned
from Hesden and Eliab the facts with regard to the disappearance of
Nimbus, she for a long time shared Lugena's faith in regard to her
husband, and had not yet given up hope that he was alive. Indeed,
she had taken measures to discover his whereabouts; but all these
had failed. Still, she would not abandon the hope that he would some
time reappear, knowing how difficult it was to trace one altogether
unnoted by any except his own race, who were not accustomed to be
careful or inquisitive with regard to the previous life of their
fellows.
Acting as his trustee, not by any specific authority, but through
mere good-will, Hesden had managed the property, since the conclusion
of the Winburn suit, so as to yield a revenue, which Lugena had
carefully applied to secure a home in the West, in anticipation of
her husband's return. This had necessarily brought him into close
relations with the people of Red Wing, who had welcomed Mollie
with an interest half proprietary in its character. Was she not
_their_ Miss Mollie? Had she not lived in the old "Or'nary,"
taught in their school, advised, encouraged, and helped them? They
flocked around her, each reminding her of his identity by recalling
some scene or incident of her past life, or saying, with evident
pride, "Miss Mollie, I was one of your scholars--I was."
She did not repel their approaches, nor deny their claim to her
attention. She recognized it as a duty that she should still minister
to their wants, and do what she could for their elevation. And,
strangely enough, the good people of Horsford did not rebel nor cast
her off for so doing. The rich wife of Hesden Le Moyne, the queen
of the growing Kansas town, driving in her carriage to the colored
school-house, and sitting as lady patroness upon the platform, was
an entirely different personage, in their eyes, from the Yankee girl
who rode Midnight up and down the narrow streets, and who wielded
the pedagogic sceptre in the log school-house that Nimbus had built.
She could be allowed to patronize the colored school; indeed, they
rather admired her for doing so, and a few of them now and then went
with her, especially on occasions of public interest, and wondered
at the progress that had been made by that race whose capacity they
had always denied.
Every autumn Hesden and Mollie went to visit her Kansas home, to
look after her interests there, help and advise her colored proteges,
breathe the free air, and gather into their lives something of the
busy, bustling spirit of the great North. The contrast did them
good. Hesden's ideas were made broader and fuller; her heart was
reinvigorated; and both returned to their Southern home full of
hope and aspiration for its future.
So time wore on, and they almost forgot that they held their places
in the life which was about them by sufferance and not of right;
that they were allowed the privilege of associating with the "best
people of Horsford," not because they were of them, or entitled to
such privilege, but solely upon condition that they should submit
themselves willingly to its views, and do nothing or attempt nothing
to subvert its prejudices.
Since the county had been "redeemed" it had been at peace. The vast
colored majority, once overcome, had been easily held in subjection.
There was no longer any violence, and little show of coercion,
so far as their political rights were concerned. At first it was
thought necessary to discourage the eagerness with which they sought
to exercise the elective franchise, by frequent reference to the
evils which had already resulted therefrom. Now and then, when
some ambitious colored man had endeavored to organize his people
and to secure political advancement through their suffrages, he
had been politely cautioned in regard to the danger, and the fate
which had overwhelmed others was gently recalled to his memory.
For a while, too, employers thought it necessary to exercise the
power which their relations with dependent laborers gave them, to
prevent the neglect of agricultural interests for the pursuit of
political knowledge, and especially to prevent absence from the
plantation upon the day of election. After a time, however, it
was found that such care was unnecessary. The laws of the State,
carefully revised by legislators wisely chosen for that purpose,
had taken the power from the irresponsible hands of the masses, and
placed it in the hands of the few, who had been wont to exercise
it in the olden time.
That vicious idea which had first grown up on the inclement shores
of Massachusetts Bay, and had been nourished and protected and
spread abroad throughout the North and West as the richest heritage
which sterile New England could give to the states her sons had
planted; that outgrowth of absurd and fanatical ideas which had made
the North free, and whose absence had enabled the South to remain
"slave"--the township system, with its free discussion of all matters,
even of the most trivial interest to the inhabitants; that nursery
of political virtue and individual independence of character,
comporting, as it did, very badly with the social and political
ideas of the South--this system was swept away, or, if retained in
name, was deprived of all its characteristic elements.
In the foolish fever of the reconstruction era this system had
been spread over the South as the safeguard of the new ideas and
new institutions then introduced. It was foolishly believed that
it would produce upon the soil of the South the same beneficent
results as had crowned its career at the North. So the counties were
subdivided into small self-governing communities, every resident
in which was entitled to a voice in the management of its domestic
interests. Trustees and school commissioners and justices of the
peace and constables were elected in these townships by the vote of
the inhabitants. The roads and bridges and other matters of municipal
finance were put directly under the control of the inhabitants of
these miniature boroughs. Massachusetts was superimposed upon South
Carolina. That system which had contributed more than all else to
the prosperity, freedom, and intelligence of the Northern community
was invoked by the political theorists of the reconstruction era
as a means of like improvement there. It did not seem a dangerous
experiment. One would naturally expect similar results from the
same system in different sections, even though it had not been
specifically calculated for both latitudes. Especially did this
view seem natural, when it was remembered that wherever the township
system had existed in any fullness or perfection, there slavery
had withered and died without the scath of war; that wherever in
all our bright land the township system had obtained a foothold
and reached mature development, there intelligence and prosperity
grew side by side; and that wherever this system had not prevailed,
slavery had grown rank and luxuriant, ignorance had settled upon
the people, and poverty had brought its gaunt hand to crush the
spirit of free men and establish the dominion of class.
The astute politicians of the South saw at once the insane folly
of this project. They knew that the system adapted to New England,
the mainspring of Western prosperity, the safeguard of intelligence
and freedom at the North, could not be adapted to the social and
political elements of the South. They knew that the South had grown
up a peculiar people; that for its government, in the changed state
of affairs, must be devised a new and untried system of political
organization, assimilated in every possible respect to the institutions
which had formerly existed. It is true, those institutions and
that form of government had been designed especially to promote and
protect the interests of slavery and the power of caste. But they
believed that the mere fact of emancipation did not at all change
the necessary and essential relations between the various classes
of her population, so far as her future development and prosperity
were concerned.
Therefore, immediately upon the "redemption" of these states from
the enforced and sporadic political ideas of the reconstruction
era, they set themselves earnestly at work to root out and destroy
all the pernicious elements of the township system, and to restore
that organization by which the South had formerly achieved power
and control in the national councils, had suppressed free thought
and free speech, had degraded labor, encouraged ignorance,
and established aristocracy. The first step in this measure of
counter-revolution and reform was to take from the inhabitants of
the township the power of electing the officers, and to greatly
curtail, where they did not destroy, the power of such officers.
It had been observed by these sagacious statesmen that in not a few
instances incapable men had been chosen to administer the laws, as
justices of the peace and as trustees of the various townships. Very
often, no doubt, it happened that there was no one of sufficient
capacity who would consent to act in such positions as the
representatives of the majority. Sometimes, perhaps, incompetent
and corrupt men had sought these places for their own advantage.
School commissioners may have been chosen who were themselves
unable to read. There may have been township trustees who had
never yet shown sufficient enterprise to become the owners of land,
and legislators whose knowledge of law had been chiefly gained by
frequent occupancy of the prisoner's dock.
Such evils were not to be endured by a proud people, accustomed
not only to self-control, but to the control of others. They did
not stop to inquire whether there was more than one remedy for these
evils. The system itself was attainted with the odor of Puritanism.
It was communistic in its character, and struck at the very deepest
roots of the social and political organization which had previously
prevailed at the South.
So it was changed. From and after that date it was solemnly enacted
that either the Governor of the State or the prevailing party in
the Legislature should appoint all the justices of the peace in
and for the various counties; that these in turn should appoint in
each of the subdivisions which had once been denominated townships,
or which had been clothed with the power of townships, school
commissioners and trustees, judges of election and registrars
of voters; and that in the various counties these chosen few, or
the State Executive in their stead, should appoint the boards of
commissioners, who were to control the county finances and have
direction of all municipal affairs.
Of course, in this counter-revolution there was not any idea of
propagating or confirming the power of the political party instituting
it! It was done simply to protect the State against incompetent
officials! The people were not wise enough to govern themselves,
and could only become so by being wisely and beneficently governed
by others, as in the ante-bellum era. From it, however, by a _curious
accident_, resulted that complete control of the ballot and the
ballot-box by a dominant minority so frequently observed in those
states. Observe that the Legislature or the Executive appointed
the justices of the peace; they in turn met in solemn conclave, a
body of electors, taken wholly or in a great majority from the same
party, and chose the commissioners of the county. These, again, a
still more select body of electors, chose with the utmost care the
trustees of the townships, the judges of election, and the registrars
of voters. So that the utmost care was taken to secure entire
harmony throughout the state. It mattered not how great the majority
of the opposition in this county or in that; its governing officers
were invariably chosen from the body of the minority.
By these means a _peculiar safeguard_ was also extended to
the ballot. All the inspectors throughout the state being appointed
by the same political power, were carefully chosen to secure the
results of good government. Either all or a majority of every
board were of the same political complexion, and, if need be,
the remaining members, placed there in order that there should be
no just ground of complaint upon the part of the opposition, were
unfitted by nature or education for the performance of their duty.
If not blind, they were usually profound strangers to the Cadmean
mystery. Thus the registration of voters and the elections were
carefully devised to secure for all time the beneficent results
of "redemption." It was found to be a very easy matter to allow
the freedman to indulge, without let or hindrance, his wonderful
eagerness for the exercise of ballotorial power, without injury to
the public good.
From and after that time elections became simply a harmless amusement.
There was no longer any need of violence. The peaceful paths of
legislation were found much more pleasant and agreeable, as well
as less obnoxious to the moral feelings of that portion of mankind
who were so unfortunate as to dwell without the boundaries of these
states.
In order, however, to secure entire immunity from trouble or
complaint, it was in many instances provided that the ballots should
be destroyed as soon as counted, and the inspectors were sworn to
execute this law. In other instances, it was provided, with tender
care for the rights of the citizen, that if by any chance there
should be found within the ballot-box at the close of an election
any excess of votes over and above the number the tally-sheet should
show to have exercised that privilege at that precinct, instead
of the whole result being corrupted, and the voice of the people
thereby stifled, one member of the board of inspectors should
be blindfolded, and in that condition should draw from the box so
many ballots as were in excess of the number of voters, and that
the result, whatever it might be, should be regarded and held as
the voice of the people. By this means formal fraud was avoided,
and the voice of the people declared free from all legal objection.
It is true that when the ticket was printed upon very thin paper,
in very small characters, and was very closely folded and the box
duly shaken, the smaller ballots found their way to the bottom,
while the larger ones remained upon the top; so that the blindfolded
inspector very naturally removed these and allowed the tissue ballots
to remain and be counted. It is true, also, that the actual will of
the majority thus voting was thus not unfrequently overwhelmingly
negatived. Yet this was the course prescribed by the law, and the
inspectors of elections were necessarily guiltless of fraud.
So it had been in Horsford. The colored majority had voted when
they chose. The ballots had been carefully counted and the result
scrupulously ascertained and declared. Strangely enough, it was
found that, whatever the number of votes cast, the majorities were
quite different from those which the same voters had given in the
days before the "redemption," while there did not seem to have
been any great change in political sentiment. Perhaps half a dozen
colored voters in the county professed allegiance to the party
which they had formerly opposed; but in the main the same line still
separated the races. It was all, without question, the result of
wise and patriotic legislatioa!