II

The major was standing on the steamboat wharf in Baltimore, nervously

consulting his watch, when Jack and I stepped from a cab next day.

"Well, by gravy! is this all? Where are the other gentlemen?"

"They'll be down in the morning, major," said Jack. "Where shall we send

this baggage?"

"Here, just give it to me! Po'ter, _po'ter_!" in a stentorian voice. "Take

these bags and guns, and put 'em on the upper deck alongside of my

luggage. Now, gentlemen, just a sip of somethin' befo' they haul the

gang-plank,--we've six minutes yet."

The bar was across the street. On the way over, the major confided to Jack

full information regarding the state-rooms, remarking that he had selected

the "fo' best on the upper deck," and adding that he would have paid for

them himself only a friend had disappointed him.

It was evident that the barkeeper knew his peculiarities, for a tall,

black bottle with a wabbly cork--consisting of a porcelain marble confined

in a miniature bird-cage--was passed to the major before he had opened his

mouth. When he did open it--the mouth--there was no audible protest as

regards the selection. When he closed it again the flow line had fallen

some three fingers. It is, however, fair to the major to say that only one

third of this amount was tucked away under his own waistcoat.

The trip down the bay was particularly enjoyable, brightened outside on

the water by the most brilliant of sunsets, the afternoon sky a glory of

purple and gold, and made gay and delightful inside the after-cabin by

the charm of the major's talk,--the whole passenger-list entranced as he

skipped from politics and the fine arts to literature, tarrying a moment

in his flight to discuss a yellow-backed book that had just been

published, and coming to a full stop with the remark:--

"And you haven't read that book, Jack,--that scurrilous attack on the

industries of the South? My dear fellow! I'm astounded that a man of yo'

gifts should not--Here--just do me the favor to look through my baggage on

the upper deck, and bring me a couple of books lyin' on top of my

dressin'-case."

"Which trunk, major?" asked Jack, a slight smile playing around his mouth.

"Why, my sole-leather trunk, of co'se; or perhaps that English

hat-box--no, stop, Jack, come to think, it is in the small valise. Here,

take my keys," said the major, straightening his back, squeezing his fat

hand into the pocket of his skin-tight trousers, and fishing up with his

fore-finger a small bunch of keys. "Right on top, Jack; you can't miss

it."

"Isn't he just too lovely for anything?" said Jack to me, when we reached

the upper deck,--I had followed him out. "He's wearing now the only

decent suit of clothes he owns, and the rest of his wardrobe you could

stuff into a bandbox. English sole-leather trunk! Here, put your thumb on

that catch," and he drew out the major's bag,--the one, of course, that

Jefferson unpacked, with the galvanized-iron clasps and paper-leather

sides.

The bag seemed more rotund, and heavier, and more important looking than

when I handled it that afternoon in front of Delmonico's, presenting a

well-fed, even a bloated, appearance. The clasps, too, appeared to have

all they could do to keep its mouth shut, while the hinges bulged in an

ominous way.

I started one clasp, the other gave way with a burst, and the next

instant, to my horror, the major's wardrobe littered the deck. First the

books, then a package of tobacco, then the one shirt, porcelain-finished

collars, and the other necessaries, including a pair of slippers and a

comb. Next, three bundles loosely wrapped, one containing two wax dolls,

the others some small toys, and a cheap Noah's ark, and last of all,

wrapped up in coarse, yellow butcher's paper, stained and moist, a freshly

cut porter-house steak.

Jack roared with laughter as he replaced the contents. "Yes; toys for the

little children--he never goes back without something for them if it takes

his last dollar; tobacco for his old cook, Rachel; not a thing for

himself, you see--and this steak! Who do you suppose he bought that for?"

"Did you find it?" called out the major, as we reëntered the cabin.

"Yes; but it wasn't in the English trunk," said Jack, handing back the

keys, grave as a judge, not a smile on his face.

"Of co'se not; didn't I tell you it was in the small bag? Now, gentlemen,

listen!" turning the leaves. "Here is a man who has the impertinence to

say that our industries are paralyzed. It is not our industries; it is our

people. Robbed of their patrimony, their fields laid waste, their estates

confiscated by a system of foreclosure lackin' every vestige of decency

and co'tesy,--Shylocks wantin' their pound of flesh on the very hour and

day,--why shouldn't they be paralyzed?" He laughed heartily. "Jack, you

know Colonel Dorsey Kent, don't you?"

Jack did not, but the owners of several names on the passenger-list did,

and hitched their camp-stools closer.

"Well, Kent was the only man I ever knew who ever held out against the

damnable oligarchy."

Here an old fellow in a butternut suit, with a half-moon of white whiskers

tied under his chin, leaned forward in rapt attention.

The major braced himself, and continued: "Kent, gentlemen, as many of you

know, lived with his maiden sister over on Tinker Neck, on the same piece

of ground where he was bo'n. She had a life interest in the house and

property, and it was so nominated in the bond. Well, when it got down to

hog and hominy, and very little of that, she told Kent she was goin' to

let the place to a strawberry-planter from Philadelphia, and go to

Baltimo' to teach school. She was sorry to break up the home, but there

was nothin' else to do. Well, it hurt Kent to think she had to leave home

and work for her living, for he was a very tender-hearted man.

"'You don't say so, Jane,' said he, 'and you raised here! Isn't that very

sudden?' She told him it was, and asked him what he was going to do for a

home when the place was rented?

"'Me, Jane? I shan't do anythin'. I shall stay here. If your money affairs

are so badly mixed up that you're obliged to leave yo' home, I am very

deeply grieved, but I am powerless to help. I am not responsible for the

way this war ended. I was born here, and here I am going to stay." And he

did. Nothing could move him. She finally had to rent him with the

house,--he to have three meals a day, and a room over the kitchen.

"For two years after that Kent was so disgusted with life, and the turn of

events, that he used to lie out on a rawhide, under a big sycamore tree in

front of the po'ch, and get a farm nigger to pull him round into the shade

by the tail of the hide, till the grass was wore as bare as yo' hand. Then

he got a bias-cut rockin'-chair, and rocked himself round.

"The strawberry man said, of co'se, that he was too lazy to live. But I

look deeper than that. To me, gentlemen, it was a crushin', silent protest

against the money power of our times. And it never broke his spirit,

neither. Why, when the census man came down a year befo' the colonel's

death, he found him sittin' in his rockin'-chair, bare-headed. Without

havin' the decency to take off his own hat, or even ask Kent's permission

to speak to him, the census man began askin' questions,--all kinds, as

those damnable fellows do. Colonel Kent let him ramble on for a while,

then he brought him up standin'.

"'Who did you say you were, suh?'

"'The United States census-taker.'

"'Ah, a message from the enemy. Take a seat on the grass.'

"'It's only a matter of form,' said the man.

"'So I presume, and very bad form, suh,' looking at the hat still on the

man's head. 'But go on.'

"'Well, what's yo' business?' asked the agent, taking out his book and

pencil.

"'My business, suh?' said the colonel, risin' from his chair, mad clear

through,--'I've no business, suh. I am a prisoner of war waitin' to be

exchanged!' and he stomped into the house."

Here the major burst into a laugh, straightened himself up to his full

height, squeezed the keys back into his pocket, and said he must take a

look into the state-rooms on the deck to see if they were all ready for

his friends for the night.

When I turned in for the night, he was on deck again, still talking, his

hearty laugh ringing out every few moments. Only the white-whiskered man

was left. The other camp-stools were empty.