"Leiutent Ropes Send me with the bearrer of This 2 strappin felloes
capble of doin a touhgh Job."
This letter was duly signed, and duly delivered, and it brought the "2
strappin felloes." The internal evidence it bore, that Lysander had not
pursued his studies at school half as earnestly as he had of late
pursued the schoolmaster, made no difference with the result.
The two strapping fellows returned with Toby. They were raw recruits,
who had travelled a long distance on foot in order to enlist in the
confederate ranks. They had an unmistakable foreign air. They called
themselves Germans. They were brothers.
"All right, Toby!" said Lysander, well pleased. "What are you bowing and
grinning at me for? O, I was to give you something!"
"If you please, sar," said Toby--wretched, deceived, cajoled, devoted
Toby.
"Well, you go to the woodshed and bring the clothes line for these
fellows--to make a swing for the ladies, you know--then I'll tell you
what you're to have."
"Sartin, sar." And Toby ran for the clothes line.
"Good old Toby! Now, what you have deserved so long, and what these
stout Dutchmen will proceed to give you, is the damnedest licking you
ever had in your life!"
Toby almost fainted; falling upon his knees, and rolling up his eyes in
consternation. Sprowl smiled. The "Dutchmen" grinned. Just then Salina
darted into the room.
"Lysander! what are you going to do with that old man?"
She put the demand sharply, her short upper lip quivering, cheeks
flushed, eyes flaming.
"I'm going to have him whipped."
"No, you are not. You promised me you wouldn't. You told me that if he
would go to the Academy for you, and be respectful, you would forgive
him. If I had known what you were sending for, he should never have left
this house. Now send those men back, and let him go."
"Not exactly, my lady. I am master in this house, whatever turns up. I
am this nigger's master, too."
"You are not; you never were. Toby has his freedom. He shall not be
whipped!" And with a gesture of authority, and with a stamp of her foot,
Salina placed herself between the kneeling old servant and the grinning
brothers.
Alas! this woman's dream of love and happiness had been brief, as all
such dreams, false in their very nature, must ever be. She loved him
well enough to concede much. She was not going to quarrel with him any
more. To avoid a threatened quarrel, she betrayed Toby. But she was not
heartless: she had a sense of justice, pride, temper, an impetuous will,
not yet given over in perpetuity to the keeping of her husband.
The captain laughed devilishly, and threw his arms about his wife (this
time in no loving embrace), and seizing her wrists, held them, and
nodded to the soldiers to begin their work.
They laid hold of Toby, still kneeling and pleading, bound his arms
behind him with the cord, and then looked calmly at Lysander for
instructions.
"Take him to the shed," said the captain. "One of you carry this light.
You can string him up to a crossbeam. If you don't understand how that's
done, I'll go and show you. He's to have twenty lashes to begin with,
for lying to me. Then he's to be whipped till he tells where our escaped
prisoners are hid in the mountains. You understand?"
"Ve unterstan," said the brothers, coldly.
Toby groaned. They took hold of him, and dragged him away.
"Now will you behave, my girl? A pretty row you're making! Ye see it's
no use. I am master. The nigger'll only get it the worse for your
interference."
Lysander looked insolently in his wife's face. It was livid.
"Hey?" he said. "One of your tantrums?"
He placed her on a chair. She was rigid; she did not speak; he would
have thought she was in a fit but for the eyes which she never took off
of him--eyes fixed with deep, unutterable, deadly, despairing hate.
"I reckon you'll behave--you'd better!" he said, shaking his finger
warningly at her as he retired backwards from the room.
She saw the door close behind him. She did not move: her eyes were still
fixed on that door: heavy and cold as stone, she sat there, and gazed,
with that same look of unutterable hate. Perhaps five minutes. Then she
heard blows and shrieks. Toby's shrieks: he had no Carl now to rush in
and cut his bands.
The twenty lashes for lying had been administered on the negro's bare
back. Then Lysander put the question: Was he prepared to tell all he
knew about the fugitives and the cave?
"O, pardon, sar! pardon, sar!" the old man implored; "I can't tell
nuffin', dat am de troof!"
"Work away, boys," said Lysander.
Was it supposed that the good old practice of applying torture to
enforce confession had long since been done away with? A great mistake,
my friend. Driven from that ancient stronghold of conservatism, the
Spanish Inquisition, it found refuge in this modern stronghold of
conservatism, American Slavery. Here the records of its deeds are
written on many a back.
But Toby was not a slave. No matter for that. For in the school of
slavery, this is the lesson that soon or late is learned: Not simply
that there are two castes, freeman and slave; two races, white and
black; but that there are two great classes, the rich and the poor, the
strong and the weak, the lord and the laborer, one born to rule, and the
other to be ruled. All, who are not masters, are, or ought to be,
slaves: black or white, it makes no difference; and the slave has no
rights. This is the first principle of human slavery. This every slave
society tends directly to develop. It may be kept carefully out of
sight, but there it lurks, in the hardened hearts of men, like water
within rocks. It is forever gushing up in little springs of despotism.
Once it burst forth in a vast convulsive flood, and that was the
Rebellion.
Although Lysander had never owned a slave, he had all his life breathed
the atmosphere of the institution, and imbibed its spirit. He hated
labor. He was ambitious. But he was poor. Like a flying fish, he had
forced himself out of the lower element of society, to which he
naturally belonged, and had long desperately endeavored to soar. The
struggle it had cost him to attain his present position rendered him all
the more violent in his hatred of the inferior class, and all the more
eager to enjoy the privileges of the aristocracy. Do not blame this man
too much. The injustice, the cruelty, the atrocious selfishness he
displays, do not belong so much to the individual as to the institution.
The milk of this wolf makes the child it nourishes wolfish.
Torture to the extent of ten lashes was applied; then once more the
question was put. Gashed, bleeding, strung up by his thumbs to the
crossbeam; every blow of the extemporized whips extorting from him a
howl of agony; no rescue at hand; Lysander looking on with a merciless
smile; the brothers doing their assigned work with merciless
nonchalance; well might poor Toby cry out, in the wild insanity of
pain,--
"Yes, sar! I'll tell, I'll tell, sar!"
"Very good," said Lysander. "Let him breathe a minute, boys."
But in that minute Toby gathered up his soul again, dismissed the
traitor, Cowardice, and took counsel of his fidelity. Betray his good
old master to these ruffians? Break his promise to Virginia, his oath to
Cudjo and Pomp? No, he couldn't do that. He thought of Penn, who would
certainly be hung if captured; and hung through his treachery!
"Now, out with it," said Lysander. "All about the cave. And don't ye
lie, for you'll have to go and show it to us when we're ready."'
"I can't tell!" said Toby. "Dar ain't no cave! none't I knows
about--dat's shore!" This was of course a downright lie; but it was told
to save from ruin those he loved; and I do not think it stands charged
against his soul on the books of the recording angel.
"Ten more, boys," said Lysander.
"O, wait, wait, sar!" shrieked Toby. "Des guv me time to tink!"
He thought of ten lashes; ten more afterwards; and still another ten;
for he knew that the whipping would not cease until either he betrayed
the fugitives or died; and every lash was to him an agony.
"Think quick," said Captain Sprowl.
Just then the door, of the kitchen opened. Toby grasped wildly at that
straw of hope. It broke instantly. The comer was Salina. She had had the
power to betray him, but not the power to save. She stood with folded
arms, and smiled.
"I can't help you, Toby, but I can be revenged."
"Hello!" cried Lysander, with a start. "What smoke is that?"
She had left the door open, and a draught of air wafted a strange smell
of burning cloth and pine wood to his nostrils.
"Nothing," replied Salina, "only the house is afire."