CHAPTER X

This is the letter that I wrote:

"Dear Grandmama: I cannot describe to you the conditions that surround

me. The boundless extent of the country, the wildness and beauty of the

prairies, the roughness of this frontier town, above all the people

themselves. The house I am living in is unlike anything you ever saw;

but yet it is very comfortable. And my hostess, Mrs. Spurgeon, as well

as her granddaughter, have treated me with all the consideration that

my own kindred could do. I was very dangerously ill and they took care

of me with wonderful solicitude; particularly Zoe, who nursed me and

scarcely left my side. Now I am well, or nearly so, and they insist on

my living with them. I pay two dollars a week, or about eight shillings.

And everything is clean and nice; the food very good, delicious bacon

smoked with hickory wood; but altogether the diet is unlike what I was

accustomed to in England. It all seems like a story, first that I

should meet Reverdy Clayton when I landed in Chicago from the steamboat

which had brought me from Buffalo. He offered to bring me here on his

Indian pony. But I was afraid to risk so long a ride, especially as at

that time I was beginning to feel very badly. Then it is strange that

I should get here and awake from an illness so serious in the house

of Mrs. Spurgeon, whose granddaughter Sarah is going to marry

Reverdy ... one never knows whether to attribute these things to

Providence or to the accidents of life.... Perhaps you were right never

to tell me about my father's marriage to the octoroon girl; but you must

have known that I would find it out on arriving here. It has caused me

much thought, if not disturbance of mind; but I have worked out my

problems, perhaps impulsively, but still to my own satisfaction. Zoe is

about the color of an Indian from Bombay. She is a beautiful girl, and

shows her English blood in her manner and her active mind. I do not

believe that there was the slightest danger that she would have attacked

the will; but many considerations moved me to divide the estate with her

equally. She took care of me with the most affectionate interest when I

was ill. Besides, the land is not worth so very much, and one half of it

will give her no fortune to mention. She is in danger even now, and the

future for her is not reassuring. Illinois is supposed to be free

territory, but it is not so many years ago that a vote was taken in

Illinois to have slavery here, and it was defeated by no very great

majority. And now the Illinois laws are rather strict as to colored

people. The country is beginning to be feverish about the slavery

question. I saw evidence of this in New York and on the way here; though

just in this place the matter is not so much agitated. Yet the other day

a copy of a periodical arrived here called _The Liberator_, and it made

much angry talk. I will not tire you with this subject, dear grandmama,

but only say that the effort here and everywhere in America seems to be

directed toward hushing the matter up. But to return to Zoe: if her

mother's father wished to secure the mother against misfortune by

bringing her north and marrying her to a white man (my father, as it

turned out) why should not I, her half-brother, try to protect her

against the future that her mother might have incurred? I reason that I

have taken the place of Zoe's grandfather, and must do for her what he

tried to do for Zoe's mother. This inheritance of duty comes to me as the

land comes to me, without my will. Zoe's grandfather gave my father his

start, gave him the $2500 bonus to marry Zoe's mother. I think, in

considering what share of the estate Zoe should have, these things cannot

be ignored. Of course I don't know exactly how much of the $2500 went

into this land. From things I have heard I think my father spent money

freely; he went about a good deal and was not as temperate as he should

have been for his own health and prosperity. Something was evidently

preying upon his mind. Anyway, I have decided the matter, and I hope you

will approve of me. I went to father's grave this morning, and it made me

sad. Afterwards Mr. Brooks, the lawyer, drove me to the farm and around

most of it. I am going to take hold of it at once. This country is

growing rapidly, and I mean to do what my father didn't exactly. I am

going to be rich; that is my ambition. And I must think and work. I am

well again, or nearly so, and full of hope and plans, though sometimes

lonely for you and for England. Some day I shall come back to see you. My

love to you, dear grandmama. And do write me as often as you can.

"Affectionately, James."

And that evening Douglas came. He was of the smallest stature, but with

a huge chest and enormous head. His hair was abundant and flowing,

tossed back from his full forehead like a cataract. His eyes were blue

and penetrating, but kindly. His face rather square. His voice deep and

resonant. His words were clearly spoken, and fell from his lips freely,

as if he were loosening them into a channel worn by long thinking. His

ideas were clearly envisioned. He had read books of which I had never

heard. But apart from books his sallies of wit, the aptness of his

stories and allusions quite dazzled me.

Though he was but two years my senior, I felt like a boy in his

presence. His maturity and self-possession and intellectual mastery of

the hour kept me silent. He recalled what he had done to bring me to the

comforts of Mrs. Spurgeon's house when I arrived in Jacksonville, ill

and helpless. After that he did not exactly ignore me, but I seemed not

to enter into the association of his ideas or their expression. He

talked of the country. There was the matter of Texas, a territory half

as large as central Europe. But if Texas seceded from Mexico he wished

the country absorbed into the domain of the United States. Texas has a

right to secede. All governments derive their powers from the consent of

the governed. Let moralists and dreamers say what they would, the course

of America was toward mastery of the whole of North America. Yes, and

there was Oregon. If the Louisiana Purchase of 1804 did not include

Oregon, what of the Lewis and Clark expedition; what of the founding of

Astoria by Mr. Astor of New York, on the shores of the Columbia River;

what of the restoration of Astoria to the United States in 1818 after it

had been forcibly seized by Great Britain in the War of 1812? Douglas

looked forward to the day when Great Britain would not have an inch of

land from the Gulf of Mexico to the North Pole, and from the Atlantic to

the Pacific. All of this vast territory should be the abiding place of

liberty forever. Homestead laws should be passed with reference to it,

and settlers invited to reduce it to cultivation. It should be tilled by

millions of husbandmen, the most intelligent and progressive of the

world. It should be crossed by railroads and canals. Already there were

the Mohawk and Hudson railroad, the Boston and Albany, and the Baltimore

and Ohio. Illinois should have railroads and canals; the rivers and

harbors should be improved. Lake Michigan should be connected with the

Mississippi River by a canal joining Lake Michigan with the Illinois

River.

What was it all about? National wealth as a foundation for education,

power, the supremacy of the white stocks having the greatest vitality.

Zoe was waiting upon the table, occasionally sitting down to take a

bite. Douglas neither saw her nor was he oblivious of her. He talked

ahead, referring now to the slavery question. He believed the North

should leave the South alone. He had seen the reformer, the

intermeddler, in his native lair in Vermont. Who had brought into this

remote and peaceful town that copy of Garrison's _Liberator_? He was a

half-cracked busybody. People who had no business of their own made the

business of other people their business. He would put all such drivelers

to work upon the roads, and thus make them contribute to the nation's

wealth. He referred to the works of Jefferson, which he had read, to the

_Federalist_, which he had read, and to much else, of which at that time

I did not know a line. I studied Reverdy's face to see whether or not

Reverdy concurred in what Douglas said. I had confidence in Reverdy, and

was willing to go along with Douglas if Reverdy approved of these

programs; although my English blood was stirred to some extent by

Douglas' evident hostility to Great Britain. I sensed that Reverdy did

not wholly agree with Douglas in all his theories and plans. But Reverdy

knew that he could not cope with such a whirlwind as this dynamic

logician. He therefore at times smiled a half disapproval, but did not

express it. For myself I found my mind consenting to the magic of

Douglas' vision. I did not relish the idea of England's surrendering

Oregon; but, on the other hand, since my fortunes were cast in the

United States, did it not behoove me to draw upon the country's

increasing prosperity and to help to increase it? Texas did not matter.

I did not fancy the institution of slavery. It grated upon my

sensibilities; but I had a very slight understanding of it in the

concrete. I was glad that England was rid of it. I had never admired the

Wesleys, the Methodists; but I was glad to give them credit for what

they had done to relieve England of such an abomination. I rejoiced that

more than seven years before I was born Clarkson and Wilberforce had

brought about the abolition of this traffic from the land of my nativity

and its dependencies.

Then here was Zoe. If I was indifferent to slavery I had to be logical

and be indifferent to her becoming a subject of barter. At least what,

but a sentimental reason, could I set up against the enforced servitude

of Zoe? What did it matter in point of justice and civilization that the

South could not carry on her commercial interests without slavery? Was

trade everything? Were the merchants the leaders of civilization? Were

merchants to be permitted to do what they chose in order that they might

create wealth for themselves, or even the nation? In a word, was wealth

everything? My Adam Smith had said no, and I had already read that. He

had classified banks of issue, colonialism, and slavery, as well as some

other things as equal parts of a mercantile program. I was, therefore,

inclined to dissent from any plan that included any one of these things.

And still I was swept along by the torrent of Douglas' thinking. His

vision enthralled me. His outlook upon the country, its increasing power

and wealth, fascinated my imagination. Was I not resolved to be rich

myself? And for moments I was under the spell of his great power. He was

a world thinker, but with his own country forefronted in the playing of

a colossal part. It appealed to my English blood, that blood which does

great deeds through great vision, and then repents the iniquities along

the way and corrects them at last. And who was Douglas in spirit?

Nothing less than the English genius. And so my feelings were mixed, but

admiration for him predominated. I felt his edge and did not like it;

his audacity and resented it; his power and rebelled against it; his

brusqueness and shrank from it; his emphasis upon power and supremacy,

and felt that he might be overlooking finer powers and more lasting

triumphs. But his eyes were full of kindly lights, in spite of their

intellectual penetration; and he was charming to the last degree.

He stood up. I was a head taller than he. But his torso belonged to a

giant, and his head. We all arose. And after a time, saying that he was

spending his evenings in the study of law, he took his leave.

Children of the Market Place · 第 10 / 62 章