PREPARATIONS.
“Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world,
Like a Colossus; and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.”
CASCA, IN JULIUS CAESAR.
THE 8th of July, 1876, was an exceedingly hot day, and few white
residents of the State of South Carolina ventured out of doors in the
hotter hours, though, as is usual, the colored race needed less caution
to avoid sunstroke.
About nine o’clock, A. M., two gentlemen issued from an attractive
residence, which was situated on a slight eminence on the outskirts of
a little village called Enfield Court-House. Leaving the broad piazza,
they walked leisurely down the gently sloping lawn to the street. As
they closed the gate behind them a covered buggy passed, in which was
seated a middle-aged man who bore a decidedly commanding air.
His hat lay upon the seat beside him, and the light hot breeze lifted
the long iron-gray hair which lay upon his shoulders, and fluttered his
linen duster and the loose flapping curtains of the carriage with a
cool and comfortable appearance.
His horse was fresh, and so spirited that the neatly-gloved hands of
the gentleman were well-exercised in controlling him.
He found time to gaze at the two gentlemen upon the ground, however,
but gave no sign of recognition, save possibly a little more lofty
elevation of the head.
“The General is off on professional business, judging from his manner
and duster,” remarked the elder of the two pedestrians.
“I often find it hard to repress a smile, even in his presence, at
his _wondrous pomposity_. What kind of a business would he do in the
North—Ohio, say—with all his airs? He wouldn’t have a client.”
“Oh, yes, he would. There are plenty of people everywhere, who never
know what estimate to put upon others till they, or some one else tell
them. But the General’s “airs,” as you call them, are his stock in
trade here.”
Both men laughed heartily.
“But to think of a man passing his neighbor and State Senator as he did
you, Mr. Cone! He should respect your office, at least.”
“Ah! that’s what he does not do when a radical is the incumbent. He was
once quite condescending and affable to me, when I let politics and
education alone, and didn’t meddle with them at all.”
“Meddle! Senator! Who has a better right than you to take an interest
in politics?”
“Young man you forget yourself, you must learn meekness and
discretion—not to put too fine a point on it—or you will get into
trouble.”
“But we are immensely in the majority,—the State is really in our
hands. Why should we cringle and bow to this haughty minority just
because the blood of their families, is in our veins, mixed with
various proportions of African?”
“But you’re a ‘nigger’!”
“True, and they used to say that black men had no rights that white men
were bound to respect. That was their day. This is ours.”
“Ah, but I want a better pattern for my life than they have been. I
say, because we are in the majority, let us take all the honors and
offices we can, but wear them meekly for our safety’s sake, and fill
them honorably for conscience’s sake. Good morning!” and the twain
separated to go, the one to his law studies, and the other to his
duties as planter and legislator.
We will accompany the General. Right through the torrid heat he kept
on, over hill and valley, only stopping occasionally to cool his
reeking horse in the shade of some friendly tree, or to converse with
some white man whose house he entered briefly, or whom he beckoned to
his carriage if within call.
At length he descended a long hill, and, reining his horse below the
bridge, he drove into a small stream, where, in the shade of some
overhanging trees, he paused a few moments, allowing his horse to drink
while he hastily pencilled a few figures in his notebook. Adding them
up he shook his head thoughtfully, and said, in a low tone: “That will
not do. Which way next?”
On looking up, he descried a horseman descending the hill before him.
Driving out of the water, and regaining the road, he awaited his
approach.
“Howdy do, General?” said the equestrian, pausing beside the carriage.
“Hot day this.”
“Infernally hot, Dr. Wise!” and he grasped the extended hand, as he
wiped the perspiration from his face and neck with his left, and,
though apparently irritated by the heat, he shook hands cordially.
“It _is_ hot here, hot as that hottest of all places, and I hear they
are going to have that over here in Baconsville pretty soon; I hear
so,” and the Doctor shook his fat sides with a chuckling laugh, adding:
“You must have important business to call you out to-day.”
“It is quite important, _quite_,” replied General Baker. “I have got a
suit on hand in Baconsville that is quite important, and if that other
place you are talking about comes there, I hope I shall not find it
hotter than this hollow is. Niggers may stand it, but I cannot.”
Both gentlemen were delighted and laughed loudly.
“I’ve just come from there,” said Dr. Wise.
“From where—Baconsville? or the other hot place?”
“Oh, from Baconsville,” replied the medical man, laughing. “I couldn’t
have got away from the other place with all this fat.”
The laugh again subsiding, he continued: “You see I have a patient I
am watching over there; and being in the neighborhood, was called in
to see two or three of the better class of colored people. I’m afraid
you’ll have trouble, there, at that suit. The niggers are saucy, and
very angry about that collision between the Bakers and the militia.”
“Well, Doctor, the colored people in South Carolina have become so
insolent and insurrectionary, and intractable, and have taken on so
many intolerable airs, that they must be made to know their places.
You will see their wenches on the streets of Augusta and Charleston,
and all our cities, with their “pin-backs” and “button shoes,” and
“bustles,” and indeed imitating our ladies in everything; and they
even act as though they expected a white man to step aside and let
them pass, as if they were the ladies themselves. I saw an affair in
Charleston the other day that _made my blood boil_, and I involuntarily
laid my hand upon my pistol, but fortunately I was preserved from using
it.
“Three great black—_creatures_, I suppose I must call them _men_—were
walking up the street, and met three young ladies whom I know to be
members of one of our best families. What do you think but that these
impudent brutes actually crowded our ladies into the gutter—made
them actually step off the pavement for want of room to pass! Quite
fortunately the ditch was dry, and not deep—four or five inches, at
most. But such indignities are too great a tax on the forbearance of a
gentleman of gallantry! Only one of the ladies actually stepped off,
but then, time was when I could have blown out the brains of all three
of the rascals, and the community and the State would have sustained
me. But those were days of “home rule.” Alas! when shall we ever see
them again!
“I do not know what they are meditating at Baconsville, but I hear they
have been performing military evolutions, with arms in their hands, two
or three times a week, recently, and at night too; and I am called over
to put a stop to it. Why, we are not safe in our beds! It is one of the
atrocities of our carpet-bag government that they are allowed arms _at
all_, and now they have attacked our people.”
“Now, you don’t say so, General!” exclaimed the Doctor.
“To be sure! This case of mine would bear that construction; though Mr.
Robert Baker has, in the absence of counsel, very mildly, and I fear
unwisely, put it on the ground of ‘obstructing the highway.’ He might
have made a case much stronger, for they obstructed the way with their
guns and bayonets, and Gaston says some of them, at least, were seen to
load their guns on the spot.”
“It is a case of positive violence, then, and insurrection?”
“Oh, positive insubordination,” said the General, with great emphasis
and indignation. “And they have been making such threats that I’m
called over to see if there is any redress possible—any law or means
by which they can be restrained.”
“If anybody can straighten them out, _you_ can, General; whether it
is to be done by law or by force of arms. We haven’t forgotten your
record in the Confederate service. But have you no help? You will need
backing, I fear.”
“I have called upon several gentlemen along the way, and interested
them and their clubs, I think; and the club at Enfield promise to come
over to my assistance one hundred strong at least. But I have just been
computing and could desire even a larger force, especially should the
Judge decide adversely to us; for something _must_ be done to insure
our protection. I confess I feel some concern.”
“On reflection, I think you need not, General, for the community is
fully aroused by a report that the negroes intend to _mob_ those young
men.”
“Mob them!” ejaculated General Baker, with an oath. “They will scarcely
dare to do that. They know my military reputation too well to try that,
and I shall be prepared for them, now that you have kindly forewarned
me. But to be so Doctor, I must bid you good-day, and hasten forward,
for a good seven miles lies before me yet.”
“I have great confidence in your ability to command success, and am
sure the darkies have a wholesome respect for the same. So, wishing you
all success, I also bid you good-day.”
The General now called more frequently upon the white people along the
way, but soon found them anticipating his coming and ready to join him
soon; forming quite an escort of cavalry as they proceeded.
It was two o’clock and intensely hot when they arrived at Sommer Hill,
and found about one hundred and fifty men grouped in the shade of two
wide-spreading oak trees near a church there, and around a grog shop
opposite.
The General’s arrival was greeted with three cheers, three times
repeated, and three “tigers;” and the men, anxious to do him honor,
pressed around his carriage to shake his hand and assure him that they
still cherished the recollections of his gallantry on behalf of the
“lost cause.”
Though quite animated, this scene was brief, for courteously declining
the scores of invitations to “drink,” General Baker informed his
followers that the call to duty was still more imperative to his mind
than those to eat or drink, and he must hasten forward to consult with
his clients before the hour for court arrived.
Directing them to remain there till signaled, and to keep an outlook
from the brow of the hill overlooking Baconsville, two miles away,
he bravely rode thitherward entirely unattended, notwithstanding the
earnest protestations of his numerous friends.
“So brave a man who can decline such entreaties to drink, and as
gracefully as the General did, ought to be at the head of a temperance
society,” said a young man, lounging near the church.
“That’s so, Jimminy!” replied a comrade. “Wonder if he isn’t.”
“I’m afraid not. I suppose he takes his wine, and probably something
stronger sometimes; though he wants a cool head now. I wish those
fellows over there wouldn’t drink so. I’m for breaking up the nigger
militia; but we want cool heads for it. We can _scare_ the niggers out
of it if we work it right, and all keep sober.”
“That’s what I think, but you see already how it will be. I would go
home and give it up, but they’ll say I was afraid. I don’t want to get
into no collisions with the United States, for my part; and if a lot
of them get drunk, I’m afraid something will be done that will lead to
that.”
Less than half a mile from where this conversation was passing, Harry
Gaston sat in his shady porch.
“Don’t set there doing nothing but watching,” said a tall lean young
woman who sat just inside of the door, busying herself by rocking in an
easy chair. “The General will think yo’ reckon on ’im awfully, an’ he’s
conceited enough now, mercy knows! There, take them old papers of yo’re
uncle’s, and make as if yo’ was studying politics on yo’ own hook;” and
she tossed a handful of newspapers upon the floor beside him.
He took up a copy of that celebrated democratic organ of the South, the
Charleston _News and Courier_, dated May, 1875, and read—
“Governor Chamberlain richly deserves the confidence of the people of
this State. The people of South Carolina, who have all at stake, who
see and hear what persons outside the State cannot know, are satisfied
with his honesty. They believe in him as well they may.”
“Bah! the contemptible carpet-bagger!” said Gaston, dashing the paper
on the floor; and picking up another, dated February, 1876, he read
again—
“We believe that, without regard to consequences or to his party, he
(the Governor) will go on in the narrow path of right.”
Another—“January, 1876. In South Carolina the conspicuous leader in
the fight for reform, the one man who has made reform possible at an
early day, is Governor Chamberlain, whose election was the greatest
blessing in disguise that this people has ever known.”
“The greatest curse!” exclaimed Gaston kicking the paper off the porch.
“That the _Courier_?” drawled Mrs. Gaston. “I thought that used to be
the best paper in the South—true to the Confederacy all through the
war. Has it gone over to the Radicals?”
“It don’t pretend so, but it has been bribed, I reckon.”
A voice from the highway, now called the husband away to hold a brief
colloquy with General Baker.
“My horse is very tired and warm, and I myself am in need of
refreshment; so, Mr. Gaston, I shall be obliged if you will strike
across the fields and notify your father-in-law of my arrival, and
bring him and your brother-in-law, Tom, to the store of Mr. Dunn to
meet me for conference about the suit we have in hand,” and the great
man drove on.
“Mary, General Baker wants me to go across the fields to your father’s
for him,” said the young man, with a demure countenance, on re-entering
the house.
“Well, I reckon yo’ won’t do no such a thing!” she replied, forcibly.
“A mighty easy thing it would be for some nigger to pop you over, and
nobody to see. Yo’ won’t go that way.”
“I’ll just gallop down the other road and get to the village ahead o’
the General; Tom’s thar’, we can go together after the old man; though
I a’n’t afraid of the niggers.”
“See! see! Meester Dunn,” said that worthy’s helpful “frau,” as they
sat at their dinner in a room immediately in the rear of their grocery.
“Dar is Shinneral Paker from Enefield, an’ er pe shtopping right here!
Pe quick, now. My laws! but dis vill pe ine goot ebening by de bar!
De Shenneral shtop ’ere, an’ all de gem’mans and companies come, too!
Hurry, now Shorge!”
“Dat alle right now. I fix ’m mit ole Bob gester-tag,” said the
shrewd though moderate husband, George, arising from the table, and
shuffling through the glass door by which the dining-room and grocery
(or more accurately _groggery_), communicated, he greeted the great
military dignity with a volume of broken English that was almost
incomprehensible.
Shaking the dust from his apparel, the distinguished guest ordered food
and drink for his beast, after time given him to cool; adding that he
would refresh himself while waiting for the appearance of his clients.
“Alle right! alle right! De ole voman vill serve you,” replied Dunn, as
he followed his colored servant and the weary horse to the stables.
Gaston and Tommy were by this time crossing the great truck-farm of
Robert Baker, every rood of which was purchased with the earnings of
trained blood-hounds, chasing fugitives from justice or labor, and
mainly the latter.
In a sag of land, between the hills on the right and the river on the
left, was a brickyard, in the office of which Mr. Robert Baker and his
son Hanson were found.
The four men were soon _en route_ for Baconsville. A colored boy, bound
apprentice to the older Baker, skulked along the crooked fence by the
wayside.
“Joe,” said the old man, stopping the horse, “Joe, come here.” The
personal appearance and reputation of the old man, and recollections of
a recent chastisement for drumming for the militia company, made little
Joe’s dark skin quiver as he timidly approached the vehicle.
“Get in,” said the same gruff voice, as room was made for the child
at Baker’s feet, where he gathered himself into the smallest possible
ball, from which two great, soft, timid eyes looked from one face to
another, and from the two glittering guns of the young men who rode on
either side, and the pistol-shaped lumps on the left breasts of their
thin coats, to the breasts of the two men fronting him in the carriage,
where he could see two more bright and shining “nine-shooters” peeping
out.
The wind presently raised a paper from a basket standing beside him,
and disclosed two great horse-pistols lying on a clean white napkin.
“I wonder is dey gwoine to shoot Doc and Watta wid dem ’ar’, as Ned
Dunn said dey is?” thought the child. “Dat looks like dar’s a mighty
nice lunch undah ’em, anyhow?”
Hanson Baker jerked the lap-robe from his knees, and covered the basket
from view.
They soon reached Dunn’s store, and alighted, and removing the basket,
bade Joe return with the horse and carriage, and remember to stay there
closely.
As they sat in close conversation in the back part of that groggery,
while the General partook of the “nice lunch” the basket did contain,
it was plain that “Old Bob Baker, the slave catcher,” and the
aristocratic General had little in common except their patronymic and
their political opinions and ideas.