"I thank you, suh," he said, taking it. "I'm very fond of a good
seegyar, though I don't git 'em any too often, suh. Are you a Tennessee
man, suh?"
"No," said I. "I come from Maine. That's a good way from here."
And then it came. The old fellow gave a great chuckle, and reached out
his hand and seized me by mine.
"I want to shake your hand, suh," he said with rare cordiality. "_The
last time I see a Maine man, suh, was durin' the wah, an' I was chasin'
him with a gun. He was a darned good runner; but I ketched him, an' I'm
glad I did, fo' he was a dam sight better feller than he was a runner!_"
I must confess that when later in the day I saw the old gentleman get
off the train in the midst of a welcoming multitude of old friends, with
his battered old suitcase in one hand, and the slatted soap box
containing the yelping Bobby in the other--all his earthly
possessions--I was glad to feel that he had come "home"; and as he waved
a feeble but courteous adieu to me from the platform as the train drew
out I knew that I had met a Southern gentleman of a peculiarly true and
lovable sort.
One finds much in these little jaunts in the Southland to appeal to
one's sense of humor; but after all there is much more that appeals to
one's sympathies. I had the pleasure of riding once in Louisiana on a
train in company with an old Confederate soldier, who made me as
completely his prisoner in the shackles of affectionate regard as he
might, because of his powerful build, have made me a prisoner in fact
had we met face to face on the field of battle. He was a man of
convictions; but he was always so thoroughly the honest-hearted
gentleman in presenting his points of view that, although we differed
radically upon almost every matter of present political interest, I
found for the moment, anyhow, a sweet reasonableness in his principles.
His manner was so calm, and gracious, and transparently sincere, that I
found him wholly captivating.
His chance remark that he hoped to attend the great Confederate reunion
shortly to be held at Chattanooga, or Chattanoogy, as he called it
(there is always a soft, caressing accent in the real Southerner's
discourse that changes a mere word or name into a term of endearment),
naturally brought up a reference to the great conflict, and I took a
certain amount of human pleasure out of the old man's present content
with the general situation, as shown in the naive statement with which
he began to talk on the subject.
"You know, suh," said he, "I feel pretty well satisfied with the way
things turned out, even though at the time, suh, I didn't want 'em to
turn out just that a-way."
"We are undoubtedly stronger as a nation to-day than if it had turned
out differently," I ventured.
"Yes, suh," he said. "If we'd got away, suh, it wouldn't ha' been long
befo' the principle o' the right o' secession havin' been established,
we'd all ha' been secedin' from each othah, suh; and after the States
had done all the secedin' they could the parishes would ha' begun
secedin' from the States; an' the towns would ha' seceded from the
parishes--until the whole damn country would ha' landed in Mexico!"
"I never thought of it in that light before," I smiled; "but I guess
you're right."
"An' that ain't all, neither, suh," he went on. "I'd ha' felt a great
sight worse about it if we'd been licked, suh. If we'd been licked in
that great fight, suh, I don't think I'd evah have got ovah it, suh."
I maintained a discreet silence; for I could not but feel that I was on
the verge of a great philosophical discovery.
"When a fellah's licked, suh," the old man went on, "he just natcherly
kain't help feelin' sore, suh; _but if he's merely ovahpowahed, suh--why
that's very different_."
There may be minds to which that distinction is too subtle to be either
obvious or convincing; but the more I have thought it over since the
more has it seemed to me to involve a profound philosophy which would
make the world happier were it more widely accepted by those suffering
from reverses of fortune. To me there was a whole sermon in that brief
utterance, and the difference between being "licked" and being "merely
overpowered" has been one out of which I have derived no end of comfort
myself in hours of difficulty. To be whipped is one thing; to be merely
overcome is indeed another!
Nor was the old man's kindly feeling concerning the God of Things as
They Are, as expressed in words, mere lip service; for in the course of
our morning's chat other things developed which I am glad enough to put
upon record for Northern eyes.
"I wish," said he, "that you might stay ovah hyah at my home a day or
two, suh, and let me take you to one of our Post meetin's, suh. We'd
make you more than welcome."
"Yank though I be, eh?" I laughed.
"Yes, indeed, suh," he replied. "We ain't got anything against you on
that score, suh. My first meetin' with Yanks in a not strictly fightin'
capacity was once when a half a dozen of 'em took me prisoner. I found
myself surrounded by 'em one day durin' the wah when I was doin' picket
duty, and the way they run me in was a caution, suh. They bein' six to
one, I just let on that I was satisfied if they was."
"And what did they do to you?" I asked.
"They near killed me, suh, with seegyars, and mo' real food than I'd
seen in six months," he said with a chuckle. "The' wasn't anything they
had, from plug tobacker and seegyars up to a real meat dinner that I
didn't git mo' 'n my faiah share of."
"And how long did they keep you?" I queried.
"Fo' as long as I was willin' to stay, suh," was his reply. "The minute
they see I was beginnin' to feel oneasy they run me back to the line
again, and turned me loose. Speakin' about Yanks," he went on, "we've
got five of 'em buried in our own Confederate graveyard in the cemetery,
suh; and I'm kind of afraid it won't be long befo' they's six of 'em.
One of yo' old soldiers from up No'th come down here fo' his health last
year; but he's gone down steadily, and I reckon it ain't for long that
he'll be with us. When we heard he was an old soldier our Post sent him
to the hospital, and he's dyin' there now. He seemed to feel so bad
about the idee o' bein' buried in the Potter's Field that we voted to
give him a grave with the rest of the boys, and when he goes he'll lie
with soldiers, like he's allers wanted to do."
I could not find any words in the languages known to me, dead or alive,
to express what I felt, and so I kept silent.
"He won't be forgotten, neither, after he gits there," the old fellow
went on. "We have our Memorial Day, just as you have your Decoration
Day, and every year we go up to the lot and decorate the graves of 'em
all, Yank or Johnny, just the same. We put a little Confederate flag at
the head of every grave that holds one of our own; and every one o' them
Yanks has a little flag at the head of his grave too, only his is the
flag he fought for, just as ours is the flag we fought for. It's a
pretty sight, my friend," he added softly, "with them five little
American flags flutterin' away among the sixty or seventy others."
Verily this Southern hospitality is no vain thing, no mere empty show,
or ingratiating veneer to make a spurious article seem real. Personal
interest may sometimes rest at the basis of a seeming courtesy.
Selfishness may lie often at the bottom of a superficial graciousness of
manner assumed for the moment to conceal that very selfishness; but the
hospitality that leads a body of old soldiers to grant at their own
cost, and to take care of with their own loving hands, a green resting
place, a last sanctuary, for a former foe, that indeed is an unselfish,
genuine kind of hospitality which, like the peace of God, passeth all
understanding.