I went with my young master immediately to his room. He was beginning
already to withdraw himself from other studies and to devote all his
time to the law; so taking up a sheep-bound book, he began to read
aloud. Suddenly he flung the book down and leaned back in his chair.
"Law," he said, "is supposed to be common sense, but I have about
reached the conclusion that there is no common sense in the human
family."
"So soon?" I asked.
"So late, you mean," he replied. "A boy can sometimes see what an old
man has failed to discover. Now take that preacher, as good an old
fellow as you would find in a day's ride, and note how pinched his mind
is."
"In what way, Bob?" I asked.
He stiffened up and looked hard at me, and standing near, I bowed until
my head almost touched the table. I had called him Bob, a familiarity
that I don't think I had ever before ventured upon, and it fell like
a mallet. When I straightened up, he bowed to me and not a word was
spoken on the subject of my neglect to put "Mars." before his name.
"You ask in what way is his mind pinched. I might answer by saying in
every way, but I'll specify one. He believes that he's serving God
when he puts tar and feathers on a man who has ventured to express his
opinion."
"But in this respect is he more narrow than others I could mention?" I
asked, for I could take issue with him, argue and even quarrel with him
without treading upon ground too oozy with familiarity. "He believes
that slavery is a God-ordained institution. Don't you?"
I shall never forget the look he gave me. I stood with my arms folded
looking down upon his handsome face, his Greek head. A lock of hair had
fallen upon his brow, and he slowly put it back, still looking at me,
and there was a strange, thrilling music in his voice when he spoke:
"Did I teach your mind to eat that it might gulp such food?"
"You gave me the bill of fare and were generous enough to invite me to
help myself," was the answer I made.
"But I didn't tell you to eat filth."
"And filth I did not eat, but I swallowed many a mouthful of reason."
"But did any one of those mouthfuls tell you that I considered slavery
a God-ordained institution?"
"Not you especially, but you belong to a caste."
"Still I am no fool. Who gave the slaves to Rome? Conquest. What led to
conquest? Physical superiority. And wasn't there a grandeur in that?
And is not a grandeur almost a sacred thing?"
Now here was an argument and it might have been prolonged, but at that
moment there came a tap at the door. Master cried an invitation to come
in, and Mr. Clem entered.
"What are you boys talking so loud about?" he inquired, taking a chair
and putting his feet upon the table. "Didn't know but you might be
trying to swap horses."
"An exchange of night mares," Bob replied, reaching over and moving his
inkstand.
"That's all right, but do you make him stand up all the time?" Mr. Clem
asked, nodding at me.
Bob laughed. "He can sit down if he wants to."
"Well, then, please do," Mr. Clem said, looking at a chair and
motioning toward me. "It makes my legs hurt to see you standing there."
I sat down and he continued: "I noticed that our old preacher rode
pretty good stock over here."
"You didn't see him when he rode up," said Bob.
"No, but I took a lantern just now and went out to the stable and had
one of the boys find his horse for me. Yes, sir, pretty good sorrel
horse, fine shoulders, but nostrils rather small. Good bottom, though.
I went to his room after I came back and found him in bed, but I got
him interested in my nag, and if he ain't walking before three weeks
pass he'll ride on a straight line out of my circuit. Does he hold
prayers of a morning? Of course he does, though; wouldn't miss an
opportunity, you know. Well, I'll join him, and afterwards put in a few
petitions of my own. It's not right for a preacher to ride such a horse
any way. Ought to walk; for don't the Bible say something about how
beautiful are the feet of those that tread the path of righteousness?
Strikes me that I've heard something of the sort. Tarred and feathered
him, eh? Bob, do you know what would happen if they should dab any of
their tar on me?"
"I don't believe you would submit very quietly, Uncle Clem."
"Well, I wot not. Wot's all right there, ain't it? Yes, I guess it is.
They might put the stuff on me, but do you know what would happen
after they got all through with their fun? There'd be more fun. I'd
get one of these old fashioned blunder-busses, load it with nails and
scraps of iron and scatter flesh all over this community. By the flint
hoofs of the devil I wish they'd smear tar on me. But I musn't argue
any more with that preacher. I want his horse."
"You wouldn't cheat him, would you, Uncle Clem?"
There was astonishment in the look Mr. Clem bent upon the young man.
"Cheat him? I don't exactly understand. Bob, there's no such thing as
cheating in a horse trade. Man tells me that his horse has good eyes.
I look at the eyes and see that they are defective. Man is a liar,
but hasn't deceived me, therefore I am not cheated. I tell a man that
my horse has good eyes. He looks and fails to see a defect and swaps.
Afterward finds out horse blind of an eye. Who's fault? His own--error
in judgment."
"That is a very comfortable way to put it," said the young man. "But
suppose you buy something and the dealer misrepresents it?"
"I hold him accountable," Mr. Clem replied. "Merchandising is one thing
and trading horses another. The keeper of a store is a catch-penny
figurer upon small or large margins of profit, whichever the case may
be. Some little shrewdness is required, but above all, he must be a
fawner and a man of dogged patience. He advertises that the world may,
with perfect safety, take his word. On the other hand, the horse trader
is a sort of adventurer, a knight with sharp judgment for a lance and
with strong assertion for a battle-axe. He takes no advantage of man's
necessity, but challenges him. He needn't enter the combat--he can say,
'no, thank you,' and ride on."
He took out a large plug of tobacco and with a Barlow knife, cut off a
wedge-shaped piece, wiped the blade on his trousers, snapped it shut,
returned both knife and tobacco to his pocket, put the wedge into his
mouth and turned it about with exceeding satisfaction.
"Yes, sir," he went on, "the horse trader is a man of skill, going
about sharpening the wits of society. He stirs the blood of cupidity
and then teaches man a lesson, enforcing the moral that the glittering
is not always the gold. He is an orator and his subject is horse.
Through the horse he reads human nature. He is self-confident, never
tells too long a story, and people like to hear him talk. Ladies
sometimes sniff at him and say that he is horsey, but when they have
been sufficiently bored by the empty prattle of the refined dolt, they
return to the horseman to be entertained. Bob," he added, after going
to the fire-place to spit, and returning to put his feet upon the
table, "there is one type of man that I should like to see hanged--the
negro-trader."
"Nearly always a brute," Young Master replied.
"Always, Bob. And society, even in this State, holds him in contempt,
yet recognizes the justice, or I should say, fails to recognize the
injustice of the institution he serves. D-- me if it ain't riling!" he
cried, striking the table with his heel. Master moved the ink stand
till further away and leaned back in his chair. Mr. Clem continued:
"The South is an exotic, living under glass. But one day the glass
will be smashed and the cold air will blow in. What could be more
disease-breeding than our present state of affairs, one end of the
republic heating with degenerate luxury, the other end cool with
self-reliant industry?"
"Uncle Clem, they have turned you into a Yankee," said the young man.
"By the hoofs, they have opened my eyes and if to see is to be a
Yankee, then I am one."
"But having seen, do you now come to sow eye-opening seeds, in fact, to
scatter trouble?"
"I've got as much right in this State as any man that lives in it; I
carried a gun into Mexico and I wear the scar of a leaden missile."
"No one questions your right, and I, for one, am warm in welcome of
you. But you turned your back upon Kentucky, shifted your citizenship
to another State."
Mr. Clem jerked his feet off the table, went to the fire-place, spat
out his tobacco, and began to walk up and down the room, with his hands
behind him after the manner of Old Master.
"Bob," he said, pointing as he spoke, "there, at the north corner
of the lane, where the steps go over the stone fence, I stood in my
country's uniform and told a girl good-bye. She clung to me like a
sweet vine, and with trembling fingers I loosened the tendrils of her
love. Behind a gallant warrior I marched into the City of Mexico,
thrilled not with the victory, but with the thought that my face should
soon be homeward set. That night I received a letter telling me of her
perfidy. She did not write--my brother's hand sent the news. I couldn't
believe it--in my breast I called him a liar. But I came home with a
quaking heart, to find that she had married a negro-trader. And then,
in taking up my small belongings to leave the State, I swore that I
would never return so long as she was in it alive. Once that fellow
came to Illinois to catch a run-away slave. He caught the fugitive at
a town called Princeton. I chanced to be there. A noble-hearted man
named Bryant, brother of the poet, heard the negro's pitiful story and
then turned upon the trader. 'Sir,' said he, 'the shadow of a black and
outrageous law may fall upon your case, but humanity which is above all
law, cries out for the protection of this poor creature. Be gone from
here.'
"'Not until I have had my say,' I cried. 'Bring a rope and I will
hang him.' There was an uneasy stir among the men assembled in the
little court-room. The trader looked at me sharply. A grim smile
spread over his dastardly face. I had learned more than I have yet
told you--He held a mortgage upon the negroes that belonged to the
father of that girl and she had married him to save the negroes, to
keep them from being taken South and sold to the heartless drivers.
This she had written and given to a friend to send to me, but he was
tardy in sending it. However, I could not have forgiven her, although
there might have been some truth in what she said and some nobility
in her act. The fellow leered at me, and turning to the justice of
the peace, said to him: This man ought not to have a word to say. He
hates me because I married the girl he loved.' This set the idlers
to tittering, and I got out of the court-room, frothing at the mouth.
Under protection of the law, the rascal was permitted to go away in
peace, but he did not take the negro, not then, but got him afterward.
Bob, I'm strong enough to confess a weakness, and the man that isn't,
isn't game. I'm bold enough to defend a prejudice, for prejudices are
sometimes our dearest inheritance."
He resumed his walk, went to the door, halted and came back to the
table. "I said that I would never come back to the State so long as
that woman was in it alive, and I didn't. She died less than a year
ago, and her husband is now a planter in Mississippi, and about all
I ask of the Lord is that I may some time meet him--accidentally."
He looked at his watch. "It's getting late and I guess you boys are
sleepy. Believe I'll take another look at that horse and go to bed.
Good night."
I went to bed, leaving master in his chair, settled in a deep
consideration. The candle-wick fell into the socket, but the fire-light
showed him still musing, his eyes wide open but dreaming. I fell asleep
and awoke in the dark, aroused by the sound of the young man's voice.
He was making a speech, had sat with it running in his mind while the
words of Mr. Clem had fallen upon me like burning coals.