My Master's troop was composed for the most part of young men who had
struggled with principle and with family opposition and who regarded
it wise to meet in secret to prepare themselves for battle. In many
families the dividing line ran as in our house, across the dinner
table. Sometimes a "Confederate" and a "Federal" company would go
through with their maneuvers in the same wood pasture; and on such
occasions the strictest dignity and decorum were maintained, with
never a jeer or idle word passing from one side to the other. The
quarreling was indulged by older men and irresolute persons who had
great bitterness, but not enough nerve to impel them into the ranks.
From the moment when Young Master was forced openly to take his stand,
his spirits seemed to rise, though my accustomed eye could sometimes
see a sadness striving to pull his gayety down, as when he heard Old
Master's voice or met him unexpectedly. Sometimes they saluted each
other coldly as they passed, but often they appeared almost to forget
the difference lying like a shrouded corpse between them. One cool
morning they met in the yard. By a silent agreement they no longer sat
together at the table.
"A crisp and beautiful day," said the old man, bowing. "By such a day I
am always reminded of a shaggy dog we used to own--we called him Wolf.
Do you remember him?"
"Yes," Young Master answered, his countenance illumined with a sudden
light. "One of his eyes was brown and the other blue. He must have
died long ago, for he seems now to trot around the outer rim of my
recollection."
At this figure the old man was so much pleased that he laughed. "You
were very young," he said, "but little taller than old Wolf's back;"
and here he fell into a meditation, leaning against a locust tree. The
dog was still in his mind when he spoke again. "On a frosty day he
was always frisky. He believed that the chill in the air foretold a
rabbit hunt; and frequently it did. He used to come to my door early at
morning and scratch to awake me. And I think he treed the first 'possum
you ever saw. Old Simon brought the 'possum to the house, and you asked
him why there was no hair on his tail. This gave him an opportunity to
tell a story that I heard when I was a boy and which has been told in
every negro cabin. The Lord made a raccoon and the devil was so taken
with the work that he was resolved to imitate it. Well, he made a thing
as near like a coon as he could, but was so disgusted at the appearance
of the result that he seized the animal by the tail and swung him round
to dash his brains out against the jamb, but the hair slipped off, the
animal escaped with his life but with a hairless tail. Yes, sir, and I
believed the story until I was nearly grown."
"I remember the story," said Bob, "though I don't recall the one
particular 'possum used by Simon as an illustration. But I remember
that Simon took me on his back one night, out into the woods where the
dogs had treed one. It must have been long after Simon told the 'possum
story, for I don't think that old Wolf went with us. He must have been
dead."
"Yes, he was," the old man agreed. "I recollect the night. A coon was
treed in an enormous oak, and the boys were a long time in cutting it
down. Do you remember, Dan?"
"Yes, sir," I spoke up. "It was the night that Mr. Bill Putney was
killed in town by Mr. Tom Ellis Gray."
"That's a fact," said the old man. "But how do you happen to associate
the two events?"
"Why, when we came back to the house, a boy was waiting for you. They
wanted you to come to town and go on a bond."
"But that couldn't have fastened it on your mind. What else was there?
Out with it, sir."
"Why, Old Miss got mad at me for coming through the hall and slapped me
off the front steps."
"Ah, that was it," he said, musing. "And it seems long ago, even to me,
much longer than happenings thirty years before."
"Dan," said Young Master, "get my horse. But wait a moment. You may
hitch up the buggy if you want to go over to Potter's with me."
"I don't care to go unless you would much rather have me," I replied.
"All right, then; saddle the horse."
"He has a love affair of his own, I am inclined to think," the old
gentleman said, talking to Bob, but winking at me. "How about it, Dan?"
I had turned to go, but had halted and faced about. "A very empty love
affair I am afraid, Master."
"Tut, sir, tut. There is no such thing as an empty love affair if it's
managed rightly. You are too faint-hearted. Do you remember what the
poet said?"
This was the first time that he had addressed himself to what I
conceived to be my learning, and I was flattered.
"You mean Pope's master, sir."
"Hang the scoundrel, to talk about Pope's master. He had no master, or
if he had, he bought his freedom with his genius."
I was still flattered and I made bold to venture upon a criticism. "Not
with his genius, but with his pains and his polish."
"Confound you, sir, go on and get that horse, you yellow scoundrel."
When I had led the horse round to the gate, Bob and the old man came
out talking in easy good-humor.
"Your mother is mightily tickled," said Old Master. "She thinks you
have drawn a prize. And so do I. She's a charming young woman, sir. But
you have said nothing as to when the wedding is to take place."
Bob had put his foot in the stirrup to mount, but he took it out and
stood there irresolute, as if he knew not what to do or say.
"You haven't said a word as to the time set for the marriage," Old
Master repeated.
"No, sir. She is to wait--wait until I come home."
A dark shadow fell upon the old man's face, and without another word,
he wheeled about and strode into the yard.
Old Miss came to the door and commanded me to bring a stick of wood to
mend the parlor fire. When I went in with a log on my shoulder, I found
Titine sitting by the fire, trying to amuse the little girl.
"Get out of the way, Jessie," she cried. "Dan, let me help you ease it
down."
I was strong enough to have tossed the log in the air but I told her
yes, and I caught at her hand as she stood close to lend her aid. She
laughed and stepping back declared that I might help myself. I put the
log into the fire-place and stood on the hearth to brush my coat.
"You ought to be proud of your strength," she said.
"That may be, and I ought to deplore my weakness."
"Yes, you ought. Jessie, don't go near the fire."
"And I do."
"Then you are climbing toward firmer ground. Put down the tongs,
Jessie."
"The ground may be firm and yet slippery."
"If salt were given in exchange for words, you might have enough to
sell. Jessie, put down the cat; you'll get all covered with fleas."
"Titine, I believe that hateful and unjust remark made by Old Miss has
set you against me. You cleave to it as if it were a piece of wisdom
inspired of the Lord."
"But wasn't it the truth? And isn't there wisdom in all truth?"
"No, it was not the truth. It was spite. She hates me and you ought to
have sense enough to see it. But if truth were a diamond and sparkled
in my favor, you would shut your eyes to it. I came to you with the
devotion of a strong man. I showed you my heart. I threw it at your
feet and let it flutter there, and so far from taking it up out of the
dirt, you did not even look down upon it. You have no heart. An old
woman killed it and left a senseless whim to vibrate in your breast.
You could have made of me--"
"Nothing," she broke in. "How could I make anything of a thing that
could never belong to me? Jessie, you'll fall out of that rocking chair
if you don't mind. I once told you that I have the instincts of a lady,
and I have, and I will not turn upon those instincts and mock them."
"But if you would only acknowledge that you care for me," I pleaded;
"if you would only light a candle, call it hope and hold it aloft, no
matter how far down the road, I could keep my eyes fastened upon it and
live on faith."
She looked at me, whether in pity or in scorn I could not tell. But I
could gather no comfort from her words. "Flies scorch their wings in
the candle lighted down the road," she said.
At this moment Old Miss came into the room. "Why, gracious alive, why
do you let that fire smoke so?" she cried. "Shove that log further
back. I never saw as worthless a negro as you are. To bring a log in
and throw it down right in front of the fire where it can do nothing
but smoke! Go out. It makes me weary to look at you."
She had not the opportunity much longer to look at me, for on the
morrow, Young Master's troop, now but a play-thing, was to become a
part of the great machinery of war. It was known that we were going,
but at the supper table not a word bearing upon that subject was
uttered by Old Miss, Mr. Clem or Miss May. We heard Old Master walking
up and down the hall. At night Mr. Clem came to the room.
"Well, you march to-morrow, I suppose," said he.
"Yes," Young Master replied, "we go, rain or shine."
"And I go very soon. I am waiting for my commission. Having once been a
soldier gives me some little importance."
"Uncle Clem, do you think we can get through within ninety days?"
"Get through what?"
"Do you think that the war will be over within that time?"
"Yes, if the South lays down her arms."
"She won't do that."
"Then the war will last until she does. You people have a peculiar idea
of this government. Do you think we are going to suffer it to go to
pieces, that we will submit to disruption as long as there is an arm to
strike? Why, the women in this community, your mother included, look
upon it as a pic-nic excursion. Dan?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you going to shoot at the men who would free you?"
"I am going with Young Master, sir, to do as he bids me."
"He is not going as a soldier, but as a servant, Uncle Clem."
"Same thing, Bob. The teamster is as much of a soldier, when results
are estimated, as the man who carries a gun. But it is all right, Dan.
No one can hold you responsible. Bob, old Potter is a hot rebel, isn't
he?"
"Rampageous; and his daughter is making a Confederate flag--for me.
We'll stop there and get it as we pass to-morrow."
Early the next morning our troop was marshalled on the turn-pike about
a mile from the house. From the rear veranda Old Master could see the
flashing of their steel. He stood there gazing until Bob came out from
breakfast.
"One moment," said the old man, stepping into the hall. "You do not go
with my curse, but with my wounded love. There, sir, not a word from
you."
They shook hands, but did not look into each other's eyes. Old Miss,
Miss May and Mr. Clem walked with him to the gate. The parting was not
sad, for no one of us, except Mr. Clem, attached much importance to the
war cry, the bugle and the drum. Young Master mounted first, and then,
turning to me, said: "Dan, I have forgotten something. Run up stairs
and get my Horace. You can overtake me."
When I came down, Titine was standing alone at the gate. "They are
about to leave you," she said, laughing.
"It would delight me to be left if I thought you--"
"Too late for nonsense, now, Dan."
"You have made it too late for sense, Titine."
"Of course you blame me with everything."
"No, but I blame you with one thing, which, after all, is nearly
everything--the death of my heart. But why talk of heart to a heartless
creature--Titine, let me kiss you."
"Go away!" she cried, waving me off. But I seized her in my arms,
kissed her and sprang upon my horse. And she threw a stone at me as I
galloped away.