THE EXODIAN.
Hesden and Mollie were on their way homeward from Eupolia, where
they had inspected their property and had seen Nimbus united with
his family and settled for a new and more hopeful start in life.
They had reached that wonderful young city of seventy-seven hills
which faces toward free Kansas and reluctantly bears the ban which
slavery put upon Missouri. While they waited for their train in
the crowded depot in which the great ever-welcoming far West meets
and first shakes hands with ever-swarming East, they strolled about
among the shifting crowd.
Soon they came upon a dusky group whose bags and bundles, variegated
attire, and unmistakable speech showed that they were a party of
those misguided creatures who were abandoning the delights of the
South for the untried horrors of a life upon the plains of Kansas.
These were of all ages, from the infant in arms to the decrepit
patriarch, and of every shade of color, from Saxon fairness with
blue eyes and brown hair to ebon blackness. They were telling
their stories to a circle of curious listeners. There was no lack
of variety of incident, but a wonderful similarity of motive assigned
for the exodus they had undertaken.
There were ninety-four of them, and they came from five different
States--Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. They
had started without preconcert, and were unacquainted with each
other until they had collected into one body as the lines of travel
converged on the route to Kansas. A few of the younger ones said
that they had come because they had heard that Kansas was a country
where there was plenty of work and good wages, and where a colored
man could get pay for what he did. Others told strange tales
of injustice and privation. Some, in explanation of their evident
poverty, showed the contracts under which they had labored. Some
told of personal outrage, of rights withheld, and of law curiously
diverted from the ends of justice to the promotion of wrong. By far
the greater number of them, however, declared their purpose to be
to find a place where their children could grow up free, receive
education, and have "a white man's chance" in the struggle of life.
They did not expect ease or affluence themselves, but for their
offspring they craved liberty, knowledge, and a fair start.
While Hesden and Mollie stood watching this group, with the interest
one always feels in that which reminds him of home, seeing in
these people the forerunners of a movement which promised to assume
astounding proportions in the near future, they were startled by
an exclamation from one of the party:
"Wall, I declar'! Ef dar ain't Miss Mollie--an' 'fore God, Marse
Hesden, too!" Stumbling over the scattered bundles in his way, and
pushing aside those who stood around, Berry Lawson scrambled into
the presence of the travelers, bowing and scraping, and chuckling
with delight; a battered wool hat in one hand, a shocking assortment
of dilapidated clothing upon his person, but his face glowing with
honest good-nature, and his tones resonant of fun, as if care and
he had always been strangers.
"How d'ye, Miss Mollie--sah'vent, Marse Hesden. I 'llow I must be
gittin' putty nigh ter de promised lan' when I sees you once mo'.
Yah, yah! Yer hain't done forgot Berry, I s'pose? Kase ef yer hez,
I'll jes hev ter whistle a chune ter call myself ter mind. Jes,
fer instance now, like dis h'yer."
Then raising his hands and swaying his body in easy accompaniment,
he began to imitate the mocking-bird in his mimicry of his feathered
companions. He was very proud of this accomplishment, and his
performance soon drew attention from all parts of the crowded depot.
Noticing this, Hesden said,
"There, there, Berry; that will do. There is no doubt as to your
identity. We both believe that nobody but Berry Lawson could do
that, and are very glad to see you." Mollie smiled assent.
"T'ank ye, sah. Much obleeged fer de compliment. Hope I see yer
well, an' Miss Mollie de same. Yer do me proud, both on yer," said
Berry, bowing and scraping again, making a ball of his old hat,
sidling restlessly back and forth, and displaying all the limpsy
litheness of his figure, in his embarrassed attempts to show his
enjoyment. "'Pears like yer's trabblin' in company," he added, with
a glance at Mollie's hand resting on Hesden's arm.
"Yes," said Hesden good-naturedly; "Miss Mollie is Mrs. Le Moyne
now."
"Yer don't say!" said Berry, in surprise. "Der Lo'd an' der nation,
what will happen next? Miss Mollie an' Marse Hesden done married
an' a-meetin' up wid Berry out h'yer on de berry edge o' de kingdom!
Jest ez soon hab expected to a' seen de vanguard o' de resurrection.
Yer orter be mighty proud, Marse Hesden. We used ter t'ink, 'bout
Red Wing, dat dar wa'n't nary man dat ebber cast a shadder good
'nough fer Miss Mollie."
"And so there isn't," said Hesden, laughing, "But we can't stand
here and talk all day. Where are you from?"
"Whar's I frum? Ebbery place on de green yairth, Marse Hesden,
'ceptin' dis one, whar dey hez ter shoe de goats fer ter help 'em
climb de bluffs; an' please de Lo'd I'll be from h'yer jest es soon
ez de train come's 'long dat's 'boun' fer de happy land of Canaan.'"
"We shall have to stop over, dear," said Hesden to his wife.
"There's no doing anything with Berry in the time we have between
the trains. Have you any baggage?" he asked of Berry,
"Baggage? Dat I hab--a whole handkercher full o' clean clo'es--jest
ez soon ez dey's been washed, yer know. Yah, yah!"
"Where are you going?"
"Whar's I gwine? Gwine West, ter grow up wid de kentry, Marse
Hesden." "There, there, take your bundle and come along."
"All right, Marse Hesden. Jest ez soon wuk fer you ez ennybody.
Good-by, folkses," said he, waving his hat to his late traveling
companions. "I'se mighty sorry to leave yer, but biz is biz, yer
know, an' I'se got a job. Wish yer good luck, all on yer. Jes let
'em know I'm on der way, will yer?
Ef yo' gits dar afo' I do,
Jes tell 'em I'se a-comin' too,"
he sang, as he followed Hesden and Mollie out of the depot, amid
the laughter of the crowd which had gathered about them. Their
baggage was soon removed from the platform, and, with Berry on the
seat with the driver, they went to the hotel. Then, taking him down
the busy street that winds around between the sharp hills as though
it had crawled up, inch by inch, from the river-bottom below, Hesden
procured him some new clothes and a valise, which Berry persisted
in calling a "have'em-bag," and took him back to the hotel as his
servant. As Hesden started to his room, the rejuvenated fugitive
inquired,
"Please, Marse Hesden, does yer know ennyt'ing what's a come ob--ob
my Sally an' de chillen. It's been a powerful time sence I seed
'em, Marse Hesden. I 'llow ter send fer 'em jest ez quick ez I
find whar dey is, an' gits de money, yer know."
"They are all right, Berry. You may come to my room in half an
hour, and we will tell you all about them," answered Hesden.
Hardly had he reached his room when he heard the footsteps of Berry
without. Going to the door he was met by Berry with the explanation,
"Beg parding, Marse Hesden. I knowed 'twa'n't de time fer me ter
come yit, but somehow I'llowed it would git on pearter ef I wuz
somewhar nigh you an' Miss Mollie. I'se half afeared I'se ies been
dreamin' ennyhow."
"Well, come in," said Hesden. Berry entered the room, and sat in
unwonted silence while Mollie and her husband told him what the
reader already knows about his family and friends. The poor fellow's
tears flowed freely, but he did not interrupt, save to ask now and
then a question. When they had concluded, he sat a while in silence,
and then said,
"Bress de Lo'd! Berry won't nebber hab no mo' doubt 'bout de Lo'd
takin' keer ob ebberybody--speshully niggas an' fools. H'yer I'se
been a-feelin' mighty hard kase de Ole Marster 'llowed Berry ter
be boxed roun', h'yer an' dar, fus' dis way an' now dat, an' let
him be run off from his wife an' chillen dat he t'ought der couldn't
nobody take keer on but hissef; an' h'yer all de time de good Lo'd
hez been a-lookin' atter 'em an' a-nussin' 'em like little lambs,
widout my knowin' ennyt'ing about it, er even axin' fer him ter do
it. Berry!" he continued, speaking to himself, "yer's jest a gran'
rascal, an' desarve ter be whacked roun' an' go hungry fer--"
"Berry," interrupted Mollie, "have you had your breakfast?"
"Brekfas', Miss Mollie?" said Berry, "what Berry want ob any brekfas'?
Ain't what yer's been a-tellin' on him brekfas' an' dinner an'
supper ter him? Brekfas' don't matter ter him now. He's jes dat
full o' good t'ings dat he won't need no mo' for a week at de berry
least."
"Tell the truth, Berry; when did you eat last?"
"Wal, I 'clar, Miss Mollie, ef Berry don't make no mistake, he bed
a squar meal night afo' las', afo' we leave Saint Lewy. De yemergrant
train runs mighty slow, an' Berry wa'n't patronizin' none o' dem
cheap shops 'long de way--not much; yah, yah!"
Hesden soon arranged to relieve his discomfort, and that night he
told them where he had been and what had befallen him in the mean
time.
BERRY'S STORY.
"Yer see, atter I lef Bre'er Nimbus, I went back down inter Hanson
County; but I wuz jes dat bad skeered dat I darn't show myse'f
in de daytime at all. So I jes' tuk Sally an' de chillen in de
carry-all dat Nimbus lent me wid de mule, an' started on furder down
east. 'Clar, I jes hev ter pay Nimbus fer dat mule an' carry-all,
de berry fus' money I gits out h'yer in Kansas. It certain war a
gret help ter Berry. Jest as long ez I hed dat tertrabbel wid, I
knowed I war safe; kase nobody wouldn't nebber'spect I was runnin'
away in dat sort ob style. Wal, I went way down east, an' denex'
spring went ter crappin' on sheers on a cotting plantation. Sally
'n' me we jes made up ourminds dat we wouldn't draw no rations
from de boss man. ner ax him fer ary cent ob money de whole yeah,
an' den, yer know, dar wouldn't be nary 'count agin us when de year
wuz ober. So Sally, she 'llowed dat she'd wuk fer de bread an' meat
an' take keer ob de chillen, wid de few days' help I might spar'
outen de crap. De boss man, he war boun' by de writin's ter feed
de mule. Dat's de way we sot in.
"We got 'long mighty peart like till some time atter de crap wuz
laid by, 'long bout roastin'-ear-time. Den Sally tuk sick, an' de
fus' dat I knowed we wuz out o' meat. Sally wuz powerful sot agin
my goih' ter de boss man fer enny orders on destore, kase we knowed
how dat wukked afo'. Den I sez, 'See h'yer, Sally, I'se done got
it. Dar's dat piece ob corn dar, below de house, is jest a-gittin'
good fer roastin-yeahs, Now, we'll jes pick offen de outside rows,
an' I'll be dod-dinged ef we can't git 'long wid dat till de crap
comes off; an' I'll jes tell Maise Hooper--dat wuz de name o' de man
what owned de plantation--dat I'll take dem rows inter my sheer.'
So it went on fer a week er two, an' I t'ought I wuz jes gittin' on
like a quarter hoss. Sally wuz nigh 'bout well, an' 'llowed she'd
be ready ter go ter wuk de nex' week; when one mo'nin' I tuk the
basket an' went down ter pick some corn. Jest ez I'd got de basket
nigh 'bout full, who should start up dar, outen de bushes, on'y
jes Marse Hooper; an' he sez, mighty brisk-like, 'So? I 'llowed
I'd cotch yer 'fore I got fru! Stealin' corn, is yer?'
"Den I jes larfed right out, an' sez I, 'Dat's de fus' time I ebber
heerd ob ennybody a-stealin' corn out ob his own field! Yah! yah!'
Jes so-like. 'Ain't dis yer my crap, Marse Hooper? Didn't I make
it, jest a-payin' ter you one third on't for de rent?' T'ought I
hed him, yer know. But, law sakes, he didn't hev no sech notion,
not much. So he sez, sez he:
"'No yer don't! Dat mout a' done once, when de Radikils wuz in
power, but de legislatur las' winter dey made a diff'rent sort ob
a law, slightually. Dey sed dat ef a renter tuk away enny o' de
crap afo' it wuz all harvested an' diwided, widout de leave o' de
owner, got afo' hand, he was guilty o' stealin' '--larsininy, he
called it, but its all de same. An' he sed, sez he, 'Dar ain't no
use now, Berry Lawson. Yer's jes got yer choice. Yer kin jes git
up an' git, er else I hez yer 'dicted an' sent ter State prison
fer not less ner one year nor more'n twenty--dat's 'cordin' ter de
law.' "Den I begun ter be skeered-like, an' I sez, sez I, 'Arn't
yer gwine ter let me stay an' gether my crap?'
"'Damn de crap,' sez he (axin' yer parding, Miss Mollie, fer usin'
cuss-words), 'I'll take keer o' de crap; don't yer be afeared o'
dat. Yer t'ought yer was damn smart, didn't yer, not takin' enny
store orders, an' a-tryin' to fo'ce me ter pay yer cash in de lump?
But now I'se got yer. Dis Lan'lo'd an' Tenant Act war made fer jes
sech cussed smart niggers ez you is.'
"'Marse Hooper,' sez I, 'is dat de law?'
"'Sartin,' sez he, 'jes you come long wid me ober ter Squar Tice's,
an' ef he don't say so I'll quit--dat's all.'
"So we went ober ter Squar Tice's, an' he sed Marse Hooper war
right--dat it war stealin' all de same, even ef it war my own crap.
Den I seed dat Marse Hooper hed me close, an' I begun ter beg off,
kase I knowed it war a heap easier ter feed him soft corn dan ter
fight him in de law, when I wuz boun' ter git whipped. De Squar war
a good sort ob man, an' he kinder 'suaded Marse Hooper ter 'comp'
de matter wid me; an' dat's what we did finally. He gin me twenty
dollahs an' I signed away all my right ter de crap. Den he turned
in an' wanted ter hire me fer de nex yeah; but de Squar, he tuk
me out an' sed I'd better git away from dar, kase ennybody could
bring de matter up agin me an' git me put in de penitentiary fer
it, atter all dat hed been sed an' done. So we geared up, an' moved
on. Sally felt mighty bad, an' it did seem hard; but I tried ter
chirk her up, yer know, an' tole her dat, rough ez it war, it war
better nor we'd ebber done afo', kase we hed twenty dollahs an'
didn't owe nuffin'.
"I 'llowed we'd git clean away dat time, an' we didn't stop till
we'd got inter anodder State."
"Wal, dar I sot in ter wuk a cotting crap agin. Dis time I 'llowed
I'd jes take de odder way; an' so I tuk up all de orders on de
sto' dat de boss man would let me hev, kase I 'llowed ter git what
I could ez I went 'long, yer know. So, atter de cotting wuz all
picked, an' de 'counts all settled up, dar warn't only jest one
little bag ob lint a comin' ter Berry. I tuk dat inter de town one
Saturday in de ebenin', an' went roun' h'yer an' dar, a-tryin' ter
git de biggest price 'mong de buyers dat I could.
"It happened dat I done forgot al 'bout it's comin' on late, an'
jest a little atter sun-down, I struck on a man dat offered me
'bout a cent a poun' more'n ennybody else hed done, an' I traded
wid him. Den I druv de mule roun', an' hed jes got de cotting out
ob de carry-all an' inter de sto', when, fust I knowed, 'long come
a p'liceman an' tuk me up for selling cotting atter sun-down. I
tole him dat it was my own cotting, what I'd done raised myself,
but he sed ez how it didn't make no sort of diff'rence at all. He
'clared dat de law sed ez how ennybody ez sold er offered fer sale
any cotting atter sundown an' afore sun-up, should be sent ter jail
jes de same ez ef he'd done stole it. Den I axed de man dat bought
de cotting ter gib it back ter me, but he wouldn't do dat, nohow,
nor de money for it nuther. So dey jes' toted me off ter jail.
"I knowed der warn't no use in savin' nuffin' den. So when Sally
come in I tole her ter jes take dat ar mule an' carry-all an' sell
'em off jest ez quick ez she could, so dat nobody wouldn't git hold
ob dem. But when she tried ter do it, de boss man stopped her from
it, kase he hed a mortgage on 'em fer de contract; an' he sed ez
how I hedn't kep' my bargain kase I'd gone an' got put in jail afo'
de yeah was out. So she couldn't git no money ter pay a lawyer,
an' I don't s'pose 'twould hev done enny good ef she hed. I tole
her not ter mind no mo' 'bout me, but jes ter come back ter Red
Wing an' see ef Miss Mollie couldn't help her out enny, Yer see I
was jes shore dey'd put me in de chain-gang, an' I didn't want her
ner de chillen ter be whar dey'd see me a totin' 'roun' a ball an'
chain.
"Shore 'nough, when de court come on, dey tried me an' fotch me in
guilty o' sellin' cotting alter sundown. De jedge, he lectured me
powerful fer a while, an' den he ax me what I'd got ter say 'bout
it. Dat's de way I understood him ter say, ennyhow. So, ez he wuz
dat kind ez ter ax me ter speak in meetin', I 'llowed twa'n't no
mo' dan polite fer me ter say a few words, yer know. I told him
squar out dat I t'ought 'twas a mighty quare law an' a mighty mean
one, too, dat put a man in de chain-gang jes kase he sold his own
cotting atter sundown, when dey let ennybody buy it an' not pay
fer it at all. I tole him dat dey let 'em sell whisky an' terbacker
an' calico and sto' clo'es an' ebbery t'ing dat a nigger hed ter buy,
jest all times o' day an' night; an' I jest bleeved dat de whole
t'ing war jest a white man's trick ter git niggas in de chain-gang.
Den de jedge he tried ter set down on me an' tole me ter stop, but
I wuz dat mad dat when I got a-gwine dar warn't no stoppin' me till
de sheriff he jes grabbed me by de scruff o' de neck, an' sot me
down jest ennyway--all in a heap, yer know. Den de jedge passed
sentence, yer know, an' he sed dat he gib me one year fer de stealin'
an' one year fer sassin' de Court.
"So dey tuk me back ter jail, but, Lor' bress ye, dey didn't git
me inter de chain-gang, nohow. 'Fore de mo'nin' come I'd jes bid
good-by ter dat jail an' was a pintin' outen dat kentry, in my
weak way, ez de ministers say, jest ez fast ez I could git ober de
groun'.
"Den I jes clean gib up. I couldn't take my back trac nowhar, fer
fear I'd be tuk up. I t'ought it all ober while I wuz a trabblin'
'long; an' I swar ter God, Marse Hesden, I jes did peg out ob all
hope. I couldn't go back ter Sallie an' de chillen, ner couldn't
do 'em enny good ef I did; ner I couldn't send fer dem ter come
ter me, kase I hedn't nuffin' ter fotch 'em wid. So I jes kinder
gin out, an' went a-sloshin' roun', not a-keerin' what I done er what
was ter come on me. I kep' a'sendin' letters ter Sally h'yer an'
dar, but, bress yer soul, I nebber heard nuffin' on 'em atterwards.
Den I t'ought I'd try an' git money ter go an' hunt 'em up, but it
was jes' ez it was afo'. I dunno how, but de harder I wuk de porer
I got, till finally I jes started off afoot an' alone ter go ter
Kansas; an' h'yer I is, ready ter grow up wid de kentry, Marse
Hesden, jest ez soon ez I gits ter Sally an' de chillen."
"I'm glad you have not had any political trouble," said Hesden.
"P'litical trouble?" said Berry. "Wal, Marse Hesden, yer knows dat
Berry is jes too good-natered ter do ennyt'ing but wuk an' larf,
an' do a little whistlin' an banjo-pickin' by way ob a change; but
I be dinged ef it don't 'pear ter me dat it's all p'litical trouble.
Who's Berry ebber hurt? What's he ebber done, I'd like ter know,
ter be debbled roun' dis yer way? I use ter vote, ob co'se. T'ought
I hed a right ter, an' dat it war my duty ter de kentry dat hed
gib me so much. But I don't do dat no mo'. Two year ago I quit dat
sort o' foolishness. What's de use? I see'd 'em count de votes,
Marse Hesden, an' den I knowed dar warn't no mo' use ob votin' gin
dat. Yer know, dey 'pints all de jedges ob de 'lection derselves,
an' so count de votes jest ez dey wants 'em. Dar in our precinct
war two right good white men, but dey 'pinted nary one o' dem
ter count de votes. Oh no, not ter speak on! Dey puts on de Board
a good-'nough old cullu'd man dat didn't know 'B' from a bull's
foot. Wal, our white men 'ranges de t'ing so dat dey counts our men
ez dey goes up ter de box an' dey gibs out de tickets dereselves.
Now, dar wuz six hundred an' odd ob our tickets went inter dat box.
Dat's shore. But dar wa'n't t'ree hundred come out. I pertended
ter be drunk, an' laid down by de chimbly whar dar was a peep-hole
inter dat room, an' seed dat countin' done. When dey fust opened
de box one on 'em sez, sez he,
"'Lord God! what a lot o' votes!' Den dey all look an' 'llowed dar
war a heap mo' votes than dey'd got names. So they all turned in
ter count de votes. Dar wuz two kinds on 'em. One wuz little bits
ob slick, shiny fellers, and de odders jes common big ones. When
dey'd got 'em all counted they done some figurin,' an' sed dey'd
hev ter draw out 'bout t'ree hundred an' fifty votes. So dey put
'em all back in de box, all folded up jest ez dey wuz at de start,
an' den dey shuck it an' shuck it an' shuck it, till it seemed ter
me 'em little fellers wuz boun' ter slip fru de bottom. Den one
on 'em wuz blindfolded, an' he drew outen de box till he got out
de right number--mostly all on 'em de big tickets, mind ye, kase
dey wuz on top, yer know. Den dey count de rest an' make up de
papers, an' burns all de tickets.
"Now what's de use o' votin' agin dat? I can't see what fer dey
put de tickets in de box at all. 'Tain't half ez fa'r ez a lottery
I seed one time in Melton; kase dar dey kep turnin' ober de wheel,
an' all de tickets hed a fa'r show. No, Marse Hesden, I nebber
does no mo' votin' till I t'inks dar's a leetle chance o' habbin'
my vote counted jest ez I drops it inter de box, 'long wid de rest.
I don't see no use in it."
"You are quite right, Berry," said Hesden; "but what do _you_
say is the reason you have come away from the South?"
"Jest kase a poor man dat hain't got no larnin' is wuss off dar
dan a cat in hell widout claws; he can't fight ner he can't climb.
I'se wukked hard an' been honest ebber sence de S'render an' I hed
ter walk an' beg my rations ter git h'yer. [Footnote: The actual
words used by a colored man well-known to the writer in giving his
reason for joining the "exodus," in a conversation in the depot
at Kansas City, in February last.] Dat's de reason!" said Berry,
springing to his feet and speaking excitedly.
"Yes, Berry, you have been unfortunate, but I know all are not so
badly off."
"T'ank God fer dat!" said Berry. "Yer see I'd a' got' long well
'nough ef I'd hed a fa'r shake an' hed knowd' all 'bout de law,
er ef de law hadn't been made ter cotch jes sech ez me. I didn't
ebber 'spect nuffin' but jest a tollable libbin', only a bit ob
larnin, fer my chillen. I tried mighty hard, an' dis is jes what's
come on't. I don't pertend ter say what's de matter, but sunthin'
is wrong, or else sunthin' hez been wrong, an' dis that we hez
now is jest de fruits on't--I dunno which. I can't understand it,
nohow. I don't hate nobody, an' I don't know ez dar's enny way
out, but only jes ter wait an' wait ez we did in slave times fer
de good time ter come. I wuz jes dat tuckered out a-tryin,' dat I
t'ought I'd come out h'yer an' wait an' see ef I couldn't grow up
wid de kentry, yer know. Yah, yah!"
The next morning the light-hearted exodian departed, with a ticket
for Eupolia and a note to his white fellow-fugitive from the evils
which a dark past has bequeathed to the South--Jordan Jackson, now
the agent of Hesden and Mollie in the management of their interests
at that place. Hesden and Mollie continued their homeward journey,
stopping for a few days in Washington on their way.