Upon reaching home shortly after nightfall the Major found visitors
waiting for him in the library--Wash Sanders, old Gid, Jim Taylor, Low,
and a red bewhiskered neighbor named Perdue. A bright fire was crackling
in the great fire-place; and with stories of early steamboat days upon
the Mississippi, Gid was regaling the company when the hero of the yarn
opened the door and looked in. Getting to their feet with a scuffle and
a clatter of shovel and tongs (which some one knocked down) they cried
him a welcome to his own house.
"Gentlemen," said the Major, "just wait till I eat a bite and I'll be
with you. Have you all been to supper?"
"We have all been stuffed," Gid took the liberty to answer, "all but
Wash Sanders and he----"
"Don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive," Sanders struck in. "Wish I
could eat with you, Major, but I ain't got no relish for vidults. But
I'm glad to know that other folks ain't that bad off. Jest go on and
take your time like we want here waitin' for you."
While the Major was in the dining-room, Gid came out and told him that
the priest had said to him and to others that it might be well to call
at the Major's house immediately upon his return from Brantly.
"He's all right," said the Major, getting up and taking the lead toward
the library. And when he had sat down in his chair, bottomed with
sheep-skin, he told his friends of his fears of a negro insurrection, of
the dispatch and of the answer from the governor; and he related his
talk with the Frenchman, whereupon Low, the Englishman, spoke up:
"I know that chap. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that he put some
rascally black up to the trick of punching that hole in my bath. For a
time he came about my place quite a bit, you know, but I gave him to
understand one day that I vastly preferred to choose my own associates.
And you may rest with the assurance that he will be against the whites.
Ah, with a Frenchman it is never a question as to which side he shall
take. By jove, he always finds out which side the Englishman is on and
then takes the other. I have brought with me a bit of Scotch whisky and
I shall be pleased to have you gentlemen join me."
"Wait a minute," said the Major. "I have some liquor that was distilled
sixty years ago by the grandfather of the commander of the Alabama.
We'll try that first."
"Good!" cried the Briton. "I can't deny the Alabama claim, you know."
And then he added: "Most extraordinary, I assure you."
"Just wait till you smack your mouth on it," said Gid. "Why, sir,
there's the smile of a goddess in each drop and a 'Paradise Regained' in
a swallow. Sit down, Wash Sanders--a swig of it would shoot you into the
air like a rocket."
"But really, Mr. Gid, I think a little of it would help my appetite,"
Sanders replied, looking anxiously toward the Major.
"Appetite!" Gid cried. "You can eat the hind leg of a rhinoceros right
now."
"Do you mean to insult me, sir?" Sanders retorted, weakly bristling up;
and the Major turning from the sideboard, with the odd-shaped bottle and
several glasses in his hands, looked at Batts and said: "Don't, Gid."
"All right, but I was joking," the old rascal declared. "Wash and I
always prank with each other. You can take a joke, can't you, Wash?"
"With the best of them," Sanders answered. "Yes, sir, and before the
doctors proved to me that I couldn't get well I was joking all the
time." He raised his hand and with his long finger nail scratched his
chin. "But they showed me that I couldn't get well and if that ain't
enough to sadden a man's life I don't know what is."
"Now, gentlemen," said the Major, "I want you to help yourselves, and
not be afraid, for the glasses are shallow and the bottle is deep."
The red bewhiskered man Perdue, who had said nothing, took out his quid
of tobacco and with a loud "spat," threw it against the chimney-back.
"I'll join you," he said, grinning. "Never saw any liquor too old for
me."
They stood and touched glasses. Gid walled his eyes like a steer, and
with a rub of his breast and an "ah-hah," he nodded at Low. "What do you
think of that?" he cried. "Isn't it a miracle?"
"Ah, it is very smooth," Low answered, sipping. "Most uncommon I should
think."
"Smooth," said Gid. "Did you say smooth? It is as silk woven in the loom
of a dream. Wash, how does it strike you?"
"I think it will help me," Sanders answered.
"Help you!" And under his breath Gid added: "Ought to kill you."
"What did you say?" Sanders asked.
"Said it wouldn't kill you."
"Oh, I think not. Really, after a while I might be tempted to go out and
eat something. How are you gettin' along, Perdue?"
"Shakin' hands with my grandfather in the speret," Perdue declared, and
running his fingers through his fiery whiskers he laughed with a hack
that cut like the bleat of a sheep.
"Jim," said the Major, turning to Taylor, who had not left his seat,
"you'd better try a little. It won't hurt you."
"No, thank you, Major, I'm afraid of it."
"Let him alone," Gid spoke. "One drink of this and he'd carry off the
gate, posts and all and leave them on the hill. Don't tempt him."
"Gentlemen," said Perdue, "I have always made it a rule never to repeat
anything that my children say, for I know how such a thing bores folks,
but I will tell you what my son Ab said the other night. His mother was
gettin' him ready for bed--just a little more, Major. There, that's a
plenty. Mother was gettin' him ready for bed and he looked up----"
"I feel the blood of youth mounting from the feet of the past to the
head of the present," Gid broke in. "I can jump a ten rail fence, staked
and ridered."
"And I'm pretty jumpy myself," the Major declared. "But what were you
going to say, Perdue?"
"I was goin' to say that I always make it a rule never to repeat
anything that my children say, for I have often had fellers bore me with
the smart sayin's of their children--and I know that most every man
thinks that his children are the brightest in the country and all
that--but the other night as my wife was gettin' Ab ready for bed he
looked up----"
"We never had any children at our house," said Wash Sanders, scratching
his chin with his polished finger-nail, "but I jest as good as raised
one nephew. You remember Dan, don't you, Major?"
"Mighty well. Went to Texas, didn't he?"
"Yes, and got to cowboyin' around and was killed."
"I recall that he was a very bright young man," said the Major. "But
what were you going to say, Perdue?"
"I was goin' to say that I always make it a rule never to tell anything
that my children say, knowin' how it seems to pester folks, for I have
been nearly bored to death by fellers breakin' in and tellin' what they
of course thought was a powerful smart thing, said by one of their
children--so I am mighty keerful about such things, makin' it a rule
never to repeat anything said by my children, but the other night as my
wife was gettin' Ab ready for bed----"
"Somebody's hollering helloa at the gate," said Jim. "Hush a minute.
There it is again."
The Major went out and presently returned, bringing with him a large
blue envelope. "It's from the county clerk," he said, sitting down and
breaking the seal. "Brought by a deputy sheriff, and he said that he had
ridden hard all the way and was in a great hurry to get back. Let's see
what old Billy has to say." And now having put on his spectacles, he
read aloud the following:
"Marcus T. Berry, sheriff of this the county of Cranceford, in the
State of Arkansas, did on this day seek to break up a den of negro
gamblers at Sassafras, in the before mentioned county of
Cranceford, and State as above set forth, and while in the
discharge of his duty, was then and there fired upon and so
desperately wounded that in his home in the town of Brantly, seat
of the said county of Cranceford, State as before mentioned, he now
lies at the point of death. The negroes claimed that they were not
gambling, but engaged in lawful merchandise; but be that as it may,
the sheriff and his posse were there and then fired upon, and
besides the wounding of the sheriff, two men were killed outright,
to-wit, one James Mattox and one Leon Smyers, and the same were
left there. The sheriff managed to make his escape, albeit he was
followed and repeatedly fired upon. And be it known that the report
now reaches here that the atrocity did not cease with the firing on
of the sheriff's posse, but that a sharp fight afterward took place
between negroes and white men near by; and we are now informed that
a strong force of negroes, at the instance of one Mayo, is now
gathering in the southwestern part of the county, preparatory to a
march upon this, the seat of the county of Cranceford. Therefore,
it behooves all good citizens to meet in the before mentioned town
for the defense of life and property, as it is here that the blow
is to fall.
William N. Haines,
Clerk of the County of Cranceford, in the State of Arkansas."
Scarcely observing a pause the Major had read the letter, and no word of
surprise had been spoken by his listeners; and now in silence they
looked at one another, Gid with his mouth open, Sanders with an
expression of pain.
"Well," said the Major, "that settles it."
"By jove," the Englishman burst out, "I should rather say unsettles it.
I can't conceive of a settlement on that basis, you know. Those blacks
are positively annoying. First they punch a hole in my bath and then
they fire on a sheriff's party. I should call it a most extraordinary
approach toward the settlement of a difficult problem. But now,
gentlemen, if you'll join me we'll take a bit of Scotch whisky."
Old Gid looked hard at him. "What?" said he, "insult old Semmes' liquid
music with a hot breath of peat smoke! Never, sir. And consequently I'll
take another glimpse at this mountain sunrise."
The Englishman laughed. "You have a most extraordinary way of boasting,
you know. You may take your sunrise on the mountain, but I prefer this
moonlight in the heather. A glass about half full of water, please.
Thank you, very kind I assure you." The Briton sat and sipped his Scotch
while the Major paced up and down the room, hands behind him, deep in
thought. But soon he took his chair again, a proof that what now was to
come was not a speculation but the outline of a plan of action.
"Where's Tom?" he asked, nodding at Gid, but with an eye upon Wash
Sanders.
"Over at my house," Wash Sanders answered.
"Well, when you go home, take this message to him. Say that I said go at
once to the neighbors for five miles below your house, along the county
road, and tell them that trouble of a serious nature has come--tell them
to meet, men, women and children, at my house by daylight in the
morning. Have him remind them that his house, on account of its
situation high above the river, is the easiest to defend, and that it
will accommodate more people than any other house in the neighborhood.
Tell the men, of course, to bring their arms and all the ammunition they
have. Explain that a sufficient number of men will be left here to
protect the women and children, while the large majority of us will make
all possible haste to the county seat. Tell the men to come mounted. Now
is it clear to you?"
"Major," Wash Sanders spoke up with more than his usual show of spirit,
"the doctors have condemned my body but they hain't condemned my mind.
It is clear to me, sir, and I will go now."
"All right," said the Major. "And Jim," he added, "you do the same with
the upper end of the road."
The giant was smoking. He stood his pipe against a corner of the
fire-place, got up and without saying a word, strode away. Wash Sanders
was soon gone, after halting at the door to say that he might not be
able to eat enough to keep a setting hen alive, but that he reckoned he
could pull a trigger with any man that ever came over the pike. And now
the Major, old Gid and the Englishman sat looking into the fire.
"War time, Gid," said the Major.
"Yes, without banners and without glory," the old fellow replied.
"You are right. In the opinion of the majority of Americans, bravery on
our part will be set down as a cruelty and a disgrace. The newspaper
press of the north will condemn us. But we can't help that, for a man
must protect his home. Mr. Low, there is nothing so unjust as politics."
"We have had many examples of it in England, sir."
"Yes," said the Major, "there have been examples of it everywhere. In
this country political influences have narrowed some of the broadest
minds."
"In England political prejudices have killed poets," the Englishman
said.
"And now," Gid put in, "while you are discussing the evil I will try a
little more of the good. John, have another peep at the blue dome
above?"
"No, I must go and give Mrs. Cranceford old Billy's letter."
"Won't it alarm her?" the Englishman asked.
"Oh, not in the least," the Major answered, and old Gid smiled. "You
couldn't scare her with a bell-mouth blunderbuss," he declared.
The Major now had reached the door, but turning back he said: "You
gentlemen better sleep here to-night."
In a state of apparent alarm the Englishman sprang to his feet. "My
bath," he cried. "No, I can't stop. I must have my bath."
"But you can bathe here."
"Oh, no, I must have my own tub, you know. But I shall be here early at
morning. I must go now. Good night," he added, reaching the door. "You
are very kind, I assure you." And when thus he had taken his leave, the
Major, pointing at a lamp, said to Gid: "End room down the porch. Go to
bed."