Brantly long ago was a completed town. For the most part it was built of
wood, and its appearance of decay was so general and so even as to
invite the suspicion that nearly all its building had been erected on
the same day. In the center of the town was the public square, and about
it were ranged the business houses, and in the midst of it stood the
court house with its paint blistered and its boards warping. It was
square, with a hall and offices below. Above was the court room, and
herein was still heard the dying echo of true oratory. On the top of
this building, once the pride of the county, was a frail tower, and in
it was a clock, always slow. It was never known to record an hour until
that hour had long since been due. Sometimes it would save up its
strokes upon the bell until fifty or more were accumulated, and then, in
the midst of an intense jury trial, it would slowly turn them loose. A
mathematician, a man who kept the dates of late and early frosts, had it
in his record that the hammer struck the bell sixty-eight times on the
afternoon when John Maffy was sentenced to be hanged, and that the
judge had to withhold his awful words until this flood of gathered time
was poured out. Once or twice the county court had appropriated money to
have the clock brought back within the bounds of reason, but a more
pressing need had always served to swallow up the sum thus set aside.
A stone planted at one corner of the public square marked the site of a
bit of bloody history. Away back in the fifties a man named Antrem, from
New England, came to Brantly and, standing where the stone now stands,
made an abolition speech. It was so bold an impudence that the citizens
stood agape, scarcely able to believe their ears. At last the passive
astonishment was broken by a slave-owner named Peel. He drew two
pistols, handed one to the speaker, stepped off and told him to defend
himself. The New Englander had nerve. He did defend himself, and with
deadly effect. Both men were buried on the public square.
A railway had skipped Brantly by ten long and sandy miles, and a new
town springing up about a station on the line--an up-start of yesterday,
four-fifths of it being a mere paper town, and the other fifth
consisting of cheap and hastily built stores, saloons, boarding houses,
a livery stable, a blacksmith shop, and a few roughly constructed
dwellings--clamored for the county seat; and until this question was
finally settled old Brantly could not look with confidence toward any
improvement. Indeed, some of her business men stood ready to desert her
in the event that she should be beaten by the new town, and while all
were bravely willing to continue the fight against the up-start, every
one was slow to hazard his money to improve his home or his place of
business. Whenever a young man left Brantly it was predicted that he
would come to no good, and always there came a report that he was
gambling, or drinking himself to death. The mere fact that he desired to
leave the old town was fit proof of his general unworthiness to succeed
in life.
The Major rode into town, nodding at the loungers whom he saw on the
corners of the streets, and tying his horse to the rack on the square,
went straightway to the shop of the only hardware dealer and asked for
cartridges.
"My stock is running pretty low," said the dealer, wrapping up the
paste-board box. "I've sold more lately than I ever sold in any one
season before, and yet there's no game in the market."
The Major whistled. "Who has been buying them?" he asked.
"Come to think of it I have sold the most to a Frenchman named
Larnage--lives over on the Potter place, I believe. And that reminds me
that I'll have a new lot in to-day, ordered for him."
"Do you know anything about that fellow?" the Major asked.
"Not very much."
"Well, don't let him have another cartridge. Keep all you get. We'll
need them to protect life and property."
"What! I don't understand."
"I haven't time to explain now, for I'm reminded that I must go at once
to the telegraph office. Come over to the court-house."
The Major sent a dispatch to the governor and then went to the county
clerk's office where he found the hardware dealer and a number of men
waiting for him. The report that he was charged with serious news was
already spread about; and when he entered, the clerk of the county
court, an old fellow with an ink-blot on his bald head, came forward
with an inquiry as to what had been meant when the Major spoke of the
cartridges. The Major explained his cause for alarm. Then followed a
brief silence, and then the old fellow who kept the records of the
frosts and the clock, spoke up with the assertion that for some time he
had expected it. "Billy," he said, speaking to the clerk, "I told you
the other day that we were going to have trouble mighty soon. Don't you
recollect?"
"Don't believe I do, Uncle Parker."
"But I said so as sure as you are standing there this minute. Let me try
a little of your tobacco." The clerk handed him a plug, and biting off a
chew, the old man continued: "Yes, sir, I've had it in mind for a long
time."
"Everybody has talked more or less about it," said the clerk.
"Oh, I know they have, Billy, but not p'intedly, as I have. Yes, sir,
bound to come."
"The thing to do is to over-awe them," said the Major. "I have just
telegraphed the governor to send the militia down here. And by the way,
that fellow Mayo ought to be arrested without delay. Billy, is the
sheriff in his office?"
"No, Major, he's gone down to Sassafras to break up a gang of negro
toughs that have opened a gambling den. He'll be back this evening and
I'll have the warrant ready for him by the time he gets back. Any of us
can swear it out--reckon all our names better go to it."
"Yes," the Major agreed, "we'd better observe the formalities of the
law. The militia will undo all that has been done, and as for the fellow
that brought about the inquietude, we'll see him hanged in front of this
door."
Old man Parker, who kept the records, nudged his neighbor and said:
"Inquietude is the word. I told my wife last night, says I, 'Nancy,
whenever you want the right word, go to John Cranceford.' That's what I
said. Major; and I might have said go to your father if he was alive,
for he stood 'way up among the pictures, I tell you; and I reckon I
knowd him as well as any man in the county. I ricollect his duel with
Dabney."
"He was to have fought a man named Anderson Green," replied the Major,
"but a compromise was effected."
"Yes," said Parker, "Green's the man I was tryin' to think of. It was
Shelton that fought Dabney."
"Shelton fought Whitesides," said the Major.
The men began to titter, "Well, then, who was it fought Dabney?"
"Never heard of Dabney," the Major answered.
"Well, I have, and somebody fought him, but it makes no difference. So,
in your father's case a compromise was effected. The right word again;
and that's what makes me say to my wife, 'Nancy, whenever you want the
right word go to John Cranceford;' and, as I said a while ago, your
father either, for I knowd him as well as any man, and was present at
the time he bought a flat-boat nigger named Pratt Boyce."
"My father was once forced to sell, but he never bought a negro," the
Major replied.
"That so? Well, now, who was it bought Pratt Boyce? You fellers shut up
your snortin'. I reckon I know what I'm talkin' about."
The county judge and several other men came in and the talk concerning
the threatened negro outbreak was again taken up. "It seems rather
singular," said the Judge, "that we should worry through a storm of
politics and escape any very serious bloodshed and reach a climax after
all these years. Of course when two races of people, wholly at variance
in morals and social standing, inhabit the same community, there is
always more or less danger, still I don't think that the negroes have so
little sense----"
"Ah, the point I made," the Major broke in. "But you see a labor plank
has been added to their platform of grievance."
Parker nudged his neighbor. "I says, says I, 'Nancy, John Cranceford for
the right word.'"
"There's something in that," the Judge replied. "Nothing can be madder
than misled labor. We have been singularly free from that sort of
disturbances, but I suppose our time must come sooner or later. But I
think the militia will have a good effect so far as the negroes
themselves are concerned. But of course if the soldiers come and the
trouble blows over without any demonstration whatever, there will be
considerable dissatisfaction among the people as to why such a step
should have been taken. Uncle Parker," he added, turning to the
record-keeper, "think we'll have much cold weather this winter?"
Parker did not answer at once. He knew that glibness would argue against
due meditation. "I see a good many signs," he slowly answered. "Hornets
hung their nests on the low limbs of the trees, and there are other
indications, still it largely depends on the condition of the wind.
Sometimes a change of wind knocks out all calculations, still, I feel
assured in saying that we are goin' to have a good deal of frost first
and last; but if the militia don't get here in time we are mighty apt to
have it hotter before we have it colder. Last night while I sat at home
by the fire a smokin' of my pipe, and Nancy a-settin' there a-nittin' a
pair of socks for a preacher, I looks up and I says, 'there's goin' to
be trouble in this community before many changes of the moon,' I says,
and I want at all surprised to-day when the Major here come a-ridin' in
with his news. Don't reckon any of you ricollect the time we come mighty
nigh havin' a nigger uprisin' before the war. But we nipped it in the
bud; and I know they hung a yaller feller that cost me fifteen hundred
dollars in gold."
The old man was so pleased to find himself listened to by so large a
company that he squared himself for a longer discourse upon happenings
antedating the memory of any one present, but attention split off and
left him talking to a neighbor, who long ago was weary of the sage's
recollections. Wisdom lends its conceit to the aged, and Parker was
very old; and when his neighbor gave him but a tired ear, he turned from
him and boldly demanded the Major's attention, but at this moment the
telegraph operator came in with a dispatch. And now all interests were
centered. The Major tore open the envelope and read aloud the following
from the governor:
"Troops are at competitive drill in Mississippi. Have ordered them
home."
The Major stood leaning with his elbow on the top of the clerk's tall
desk. He looked again at the dispatch, reading it to himself, and about
him was the sound of shuffling feet.
"Well, it won't take them more than twenty-four hours to get home," he
said, "and that will be time enough. But Billy, we'd better not swear
out that warrant till they come."
"That's wise," said the Judge, a cautious man. "His followers would not
stand to see him taken in by the civil authorities; it's not showy
enough."
And Parker, speaking up, declared the Judge was right. "I ricollect the
militia come down here once durin' the days of the carpet-baggers,
and----"
"But let no one speak of the dispatch having been sent to the governor,"
said the Judge. "Billy, when the sheriff comes back you'd better tell
him to appoint forthwith at least a hundred deputies."
"In fact," the Major replied, "every law-abiding man in the county might
be declared a deputy."
Old Parker found his neighbor and nudged him. "I says to my wife,
'Nancy,' says I, 'whenever you want the right idee, go to John
Cranceford and you'll get it.'"
"That's all right, Uncle Parker," the irritated man replied. "I don't
give a continental and you needn't keep on coming to me with it."
"You don't? Then what sort of a man are you?"
"You boys quit your mowling over there," the county clerk commanded.
"Major," said the Judge, "the troops will doubtless come by boat and
land near your place. Don't you think it would be a good idea for you to
come over with them? The truth is you know our people are always more or
less prejudiced against militia, and it is therefore best to have a
well-known citizen come along with them."
"I don't know but that you are right," said the Major. "Yes, I will come
with them."
He bade the men good day and turned to go, and out into the hall the
Judge came following him. "By the way, Major," said he, "you are of
course willing to take all responsibility; and I'd a little rather you
wouldn't mention my name in connection with the militia's coming down
here, for the ordering out of troops is always looked upon as a sort of
snap judgment."
"I thought you said that you were not going to run for office again,"
the Major bluntly replied.
The Judge stammered and though the hall was but dimly lighted, the Major
saw that his face was growing red.
"I have reconsidered that," confessed the politician, "and next season I
shall be a candidate for re-election."
"And I will oppose you, sir."
"Oppose me? And why so?"
"Because you've got no nerve. I believe, sir, that in your smooth way
you once took occasion to say that Gideon Batts was a loud-mouth and
most imprudent man. But, sir, there is more merit in the loud bark of a
dog than in the soft tread of a cat. I will oppose you when the time
comes, but I will shoulder the responsibility of martial law in this
community. Good day, sir."
"Major----"
"I said good day, sir."
The old gentleman strode hotly out to the rack where his horse was tied,
and thereabout was gathered a number of boys, discussing the coming
danger which in their shrewdness they had keenly sniffed. Among them he
distributed pieces of money, wherewith to buy picture books, he said,
but they replied that they were going to buy powder and he smiled upon
them as he mounted his horse to ride away.
In the road not far distant from the town he met Larnage, the Frenchman.
The day before he would have passed him merely with a nod, as he
scarcely knew him by sight and had forgotten his name; but the hardware
dealer had recalled it and upon it had put an emphasis; so, reining up
his horse, he motioned the man to stop.
"How long have you been in this neighborhood?" the Major asked. At this
abruptness the Frenchman was astonished.
"I do not understand," he replied.
"Yes you do. How long have you been here?"
"Oh, I understand that, but I do not understand why you should ask."
"But can't you tell me?"
"I can be so obliging. I have lived here two years."
"And how long in the United States?"
"Ten years. And now will you have the goodness to tell me why you wish
to know? Will you be so kind as I have been?"
"Well, to be frank, I don't hear a very good report of you."
"But who is appointed to make a report of me? I attend to my own
business, and is this a bad report to make of a citizen of the country?
If you will have the goodness to pardon me I will ride on."
"Wait a moment. Why are you buying so many cartridges?"
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "Has not the citizen of the
country a right to spend his money? I have heard that the Major is
polite. He must not be well to-day. Shall I ride on now? Ah, I thank
you."
Onward the Frenchman rode, and gazing back at him the Major mused: "The
frog-eater gave me the worst of it. But I believe he's a scoundrel all
the same. I didn't get at him in the right way. Sorry I said anything to
him."