THE EYES OF THE JUNGLE
Elsie stood dreaming for a moment in the shadow of the arbor-vitae,
breathing the sensuous perfumed air and listening to the distant music of
the falls, her heart quivering in pity for the anguish of which she had
been a witness. Again the spectral cry of the whippoorwill rang near-by,
and she noted for the first time the curious cluck with which the bird
punctuated each call. A sense of dim foreboding oppressed her.
She wondered if the chatter of Marion about the girl in Nashville were
only a child's guess or more. She laughed softly at the absurdity of the
idea. Never since she had first looked into Ben Cameron's face did she
feel surer of the honesty and earnestness of his love than to-day in this
quiet home of his native village. It must be the queer call of the bird
which appealed to superstitions she did not know were hidden within her
being.
Still dreaming under its spell, she was startled at the tread of two men
approaching the gate.
The taller, more powerful-looking man put his hand on the latch and
paused.
"Allow no white man to order you around. Remember you are a freeman and as
good as any pale-face who walks this earth."
She recognized the voice of Silas Lynch.
"Ben Cameron dare me to come about de house," said the other voice.
"What did he say?"
"He say, wid his eyes batten' des like lightnen', 'Ef I ketch you hangin'
'roun' dis place agin', Gus, I'll jump on you en stomp de life outen
ye.'"
"Well, you tell him that your name is Augustus, not 'Gus,' and that the
United States troops quartered in this town will be with him soon after
the stomping begins. You wear its uniform. Give the white trash in this
town to understand that they are not even citizens of the nation. As a
sovereign voter, you, once their slave, are not only their equal--you are
their master."
"Dat I will!" was the firm answer.
The negro to whom Lynch spoke disappeared in the direction taken by Marion
and her mother, and the figure of the handsome mulatto passed rapidly up
the walk, ascended the steps and knocked at the door.
Elsie followed him.
"My father is too much fatigued with his journey to be seen now; you must
call to-morrow," she said.
The negro lifted his hat and bowed:
"Ah, we are delighted to welcome you, Miss Stoneman, to our land! Your
father asked me to call immediately on his arrival. I have but obeyed his
orders."
Elsie shrank from the familiarity of his manner and the tones of authority
and patronage with which he spoke.
"He cannot be seen at this hour," she answered shortly.
"Perhaps you will present my card, then--say that I am at his service, and
let him appoint the time at which I shall return?"
She did not invite him in, but with easy assurance he took his seat on the
joggle-board beside the door and awaited her return.
Against her urgent protest, Stoneman ordered Lynch to be shown at once to
his bedroom.
When the door was closed, the old Commoner, without turning to greet his
visitor or moving his position in bed, asked:
"Are you following my instructions?"
"To the letter, sir."
"You are initiating the negroes into the League and teaching them the new
catechism?"
"With remarkable success. Its secrecy and ritual appeal to them. Within
six months we shall have the whole race under our control almost to a
man."
"_Almost_ to a man?"
"We find some so attached to their former masters that reason is
impossible with them. Even threats and the promise of forty acres of land
have no influence."
The old man snorted with contempt.
"If anything could reconcile me to the Satanic Institution it is the
character of the wretches who submit to it and kiss the hand that strikes.
After all, a slave deserves to be a slave. The man who is mean enough to
wear chains ought to wear them. You must teach, _teach_, TEACH these black
hounds to know they are men, not brutes!"
The old man paused a moment, and his restless hands fumbled the cover.
"Your first task, as I told you in the beginning, is to teach every negro
to stand erect in the presence of his former master and assert his
manhood. Unless he does this, the South will bristle with bayonets in
vain. The man who believes he is a dog, is one. The man who believes
himself a king, may become one. Stop this snivelling and sneaking round
the back doors. I can do nothing, God Almighty can do nothing, for a
coward. Fix this as the first law of your own life. Lift up your head! The
world is yours. Take it. Beat this into the skulls of your people, if you
do it with an axe. Teach them the military drill at once. I'll see that
Washington sends the guns. The state, when under your control, can furnish
the powder."
"It will surprise you to know the thoroughness with which this has been
done already by the League," said Lynch. "The white master believed he
could vote the negro as he worked him in the fields during the war. The
League, with its blue flaming altar, under the shadows of night, has
wrought a miracle. The negro is the enemy of his former master and will be
for all time."
"For the present," said the old man meditatively, "not a word to a living
soul as to my connection with this work. When the time is ripe, I'll show
my hand."
Elsie entered, protesting against her father's talking longer, and showed
Lynch to the door.
He paused on the moonlit porch and tried to engage her in familiar talk.
She cut him short, and he left reluctantly.
As he bowed his thick neck in pompous courtesy, she caught with a shiver
the odour of pomade on his black half-kinked hair. He stopped on the lower
step, looked back with smiling insolence, and gazed intently at her
beauty. The girl shrank from the gleam of the jungle in his eyes and
hurried within.
She found her father sunk in a stupor. Her cry brought the young surgeon
hurrying into the room, and at the end of an hour he said to Elsie and
Phil:
"He has had a stroke of paralysis. He may lie in mental darkness for
months and then recover. His heart action is perfect. Patience, care, and
love will save him. There is no cause for immediate alarm."