be heard wherever people gathered together. Nan was familiar with them,
and, while both she and Gabriel were possibly too young to harbour all
the anxieties entertained by their elders, they nevertheless took a very
keen interest in the situation; and it was not less keen because it had
curiosity for its basis.
Gabriel had no sooner digested the purport of the conversation to which
he had listened than he made up his mind to unravel, if he could, the
mystery of the Union League, and to discover what part the new-comer,
the companion of the Rev. Jeremiah Tomlin, proposed to play. It was
characteristic of the lad that he should act promptly. When he left Nan
so unceremoniously, he ran to the Clopton Place to report what he had
heard to Mr. Sanders, but he found that worthy citizen in no condition
to give him aid, or even advice. Meriwether Clopton chanced to be in
consultation with some gentleman from Atlanta, and could not be seen,
while Francis Bethune was said to be in town somewhere.
It was then that Gabriel made up his mind that he would act alone. He
knew the old school-house in which the league was to be organised, as
well as he knew his own home. It had formerly been called the Shady Dale
Male Academy, and its reputation, before the war, had gone far and wide.
Gabriel had spent many a happy hour there, and some that were memorably
unpleasant, especially during the term that a school-master by the name
of McManus wielded the rod. Among the things that Gabriel remembered was
the fact that the space under the stairway--the building had two
stories--was boarded up so as to form a large closet, where the pupils
deposited their extra coats and wraps, as well as their lunches. The
closet had also been used as a reformatory for refractory pupils, and
this was one reason why Gabriel remembered it so well; he had spent
numerous uncomfortable hours there at a time when darkness and isolation
had real terrors for him.
The building had been abandoned by the whites during the war, and was
for a time used as a hospital. At the close of the war it was turned
over to the negroes, who established there a flourishing school, which
was presided over by a native Southerner, an old gentleman whom the war
had stripped of this world's goods.
Gabriel thought it best to begin operations before the sun went down. He
made a detour wide enough to place the school-house between him and
Shady Dale, so that if by any chance his movements should attract
attention he would have the appearance of approaching the building quite
by accident. Under the circumstances, it was perhaps fortunate that he
took this precaution, for when he drew near the school-house, the Rev.
Jeremiah Tomlin was standing in the back door flourishing a broom.
"Hello, Jeremiah!" said Gabriel by way of salutation. "What's up now?"
"Good-evenin', Mister Gabe," responded the Rev. Jeremiah. "Dey been
havin' some plasterin' done in my chu'ch, suh, an' we 'lowd we'd hol'
pra'r-meetin' here ter-night. An' I'll tell you why, suh: You know
mighty well how we coloured folks does--we ain't got nothin' fer ter
hide, an' we couldn't hide it ef we did had sump'n. Well, suh, dem
mongst us what got any erligion is bleeze ter show it; when de sperret
move um, dey bleeze ter let one an'er know it; an' in dat way, suh, dey
do a heap er movin' 'bout. Dey rastles wid Satan, ez you may say, when
dey gits in a weavin' way; an' I wuz fear'd, suh, dat dey mought shake
de damp plasterin' down."
"But you have no pulpit here," suggested Gabriel, who associated a
pulpit with all religious gatherings.
"So much de better, suh," replied the Rev. Jeremiah. "Ef you wuz ter
come ter my chu'ch, you'd allers see me come down when I gits warmed up.
Dey ain't no pulpit big nuff for me long about dat time. No, suh; I'm
bleeze ter have elbow-room, an' I'm mighty glad dey ain't no pulpit in
here. But whar you been, Mr. Gabe?" inquired the Rev. Jeremiah, craftily
changing the subject.
"Just walking about in the woods and fields," answered Gabriel.
"'Twant no use fer ter ax you, suh; you been doin' dat sence you wuz big
nuff ter clime a fence. Ef you wan't wid Miss Nan, you wuz by yo'se'f. I
uv seed you many a day, suh, when you didn't see me. You wuz wid Miss
Nan dis ve'y day." The Rev. Jeremiah dropped his head to one side, and
smiled a knowing smile. "Oh, you needn't be shame un it, suh," the negro
went on as the colour slowly mounted to Gabriel's face. "I uv said it
befo' an' I'll say it ag'in, an' I don't keer who hears me--Miss Nan is
boun' ter make de finest 'oman in de lan'. An' dat ain't all, suh: when
I hear folks hintin' dat she's gwine ter make a match wid Mr. Frank
Bethune, sez I, 'Des keep yo' eye on Mr. Gabe'; dat zackly what I sez."
"Oh, the dickens and Tom Walker!" exclaimed Gabriel impatiently; "who's
been talking of the affairs of Miss Dorrington in that way?"
"Why, purty nigh eve'ybody, suh," remarked the Rev. Jeremiah, smacking
his lips. "What white folks say in de parlour, you kin allers hear in de
kitchen."
After firing this homely truth at Gabriel, the Rev. Jeremiah went to
work with his broom and made a great pretence of sweeping and moving the
benches about. The lad followed him in, and looked about him with
interest. It was the first time he had revisited the old school-house
since he was a boy of ten, and he was pleased to find that there had
been few changes. The desk at which he had sat was intact. His initials,
rudely carved, stared him in the face, and there, too, was the hole he
had cut in the seat. He remembered that this was a dungeon in which he
had imprisoned many a fly. These mute evidences of his idleness seemed
to be as solid as the hills. Between those times and the present, the
wild and furious perspective of war lay spread out, and Gabriel could
imagine that the idler who had hacked the desk belonged to another
generation altogether.
He went to the blackboard, found a piece of chalk, and wrote in a large,
bold hand: "Rev. Jeremiah Tomlin will lecture here to-night, beginning
at early candle-light."
The Rev. Jeremiah, witnessing the performance, had his curiosity
aroused: "What is de word you uv writ, suh?" he inquired, and when
Gabriel had read it off, the negro exclaimed, "Well, suh! You put all
dat down, an' it didn't take you no time; no, suh, not no time. But I
might uv speckted it, bekase I hear lots er talk about how smart you is
on all sides--dey all sesso."
"Does Tasma Tid belong to your church?" Gabriel inquired with a most
innocent air.
"Do which, suh?" exclaimed Rev. Jeremiah, pausing with his broom
suspended in the air. When Gabriel repeated his inquiry, the Rev.
Jeremiah drew a deep breath, his nostrils dilated, and he seemed to grow
several inches taller. "No, suh, she do not; no, suh, she do not belong
ter my chu'ch. You kin look at her, suh, an' see de mark er de Ol' Boy
on her. She got de hoodoo eye, suh; an' de blue gums dat go long wid it,
an' ef she wuz ter jine my chu'ch, she'd be de only member."
It was very clear to Gabriel that nothing was to be gained by remaining,
so he bade the Rev. Jeremiah good-bye, and went toward Shady Dale. When
he was well out of sight, the negro approached the blackboard, and, with
the most patient curiosity, examined the inscription or announcement
that Gabriel had written. With his forefinger, he traced over the lines,
as if in that way he might absorb the knowledge that was behind the
writing. Then, stepping back a few paces, he viewed the writing
critically. Finally he shook his head doubtfully, exclaiming aloud:
"Dat's whar dey'll git us--yes, suh, dat's whar dey sho' will git us."
After which, he carefully closed the doors of the school-house and
followed the path leading to Shady Dale--the path that Gabriel had
taken. The Rev. Jeremiah mumbled as he walked along, giving oral
utterance to his thoughts, but in a tone too low to reveal their import.
He had taken a step which it was now too late to retrace. He was not a
vicious negro. In common with the great majority of his race--in
common, perhaps with the men of all races--he was eaten up by a desire
to become prominent, to make himself conspicuous. Generations of
civilisation (as it is called) have gone far to tone down this desire in
the whites, and they manage to control it to some extent, though now and
then we see it crop out in individuals. But there had been no toning
down of the Rev. Jeremiah's egotism; on the contrary, it had been fed by
the flattery of his congregation until it was gross and rank.
It was natural, therefore, under all the circumstances, that the Rev.
Jeremiah should become the willing tool of the politicians and
adventurers who had accepted the implied invitation of the radical
leaders of the Republican Party to assist in the spoliation of the
South. The Rev. Jeremiah, once he had been patted on the back, and
addressed as Mr. Tomlin by a white man, and that man a representative of
the Government, was quite ready to believe anything he was told by his
new friends, and quite as ready to aid them in carrying out any scheme
that their hatred of the South and their natural rapacity could suggest
or invent.
Therefore, let it not be supposed that the Rev. Jeremiah, as he went
along the path, mumbling out his thoughts, was expressing any doubt of
the wisdom or expediency of the part he was expected to play in arraying
the negroes against the whites. No; he was simply putting together as
many sonorous phrases as he could remember, and storing them away in
view of the contingency that he would be called on to address those of
his race who might be present at the organisation of the Union League.
He had been very busy since his conference with the agent of the
Freedman's Bureau, and, in one way and another, had managed to convey
information of the proposed meeting to quite a number of the negroes;
and in performing this service he was careful that a majority of those
notified should be members of his church--negroes with whom his
influence was all-powerful. But he had also invited Uncle Plato,
Clopton's carriage-driver, Wiley Millirons, and Walthall's Jake, three
of the worthiest and most sensible negroes to be found anywhere.
While the Rev. Jeremiah, full of his own importance, and swelling with
childish vanity, was making his way toward Neighbour Tomlin's, on whose
lot he had a house, rent free, there were other plotters at work. In
addition to Gabriel Tolliver, Nan Dorrington was a plotter to be
reckoned with, especially when she had as her copartner Tasma Tid, who
was as cunning as some wild thing.
When the day was far spent, or, as Mrs. Absalom would say, "along to'rds
the shank of the evenin'," Nan and Tasma Tid went wandering out of town
in the direction of the school-house. The excuse Nan had given at home
was that she wanted to see Tasma Tid's hiding-place. As they passed
Tomlin's, they saw the Rev. Jeremiah splitting wood for his wife, who
was the cook. At sight of Jeremiah, Tasma Tid began to laugh, and she
laughed so long and so loud that the parson paused in his labours and
looked at her. He took off his hat and bowed to Nan, whereupon Tasma Tid
raised her hand above her head, and indulged in a series of wild
gesticulations, which, to the Rev. Jeremiah, were very mysterious and
puzzling. He shook his head dubiously, and mopped his face with a large
red handkerchief.
"What are you trying to do to Jeremiah?" inquired Nan, as they went
along.
"Him fool nigger. We make him dream bad dream," responded Tasma Tid
curtly.
The two were in no hurry. They sauntered along leisurely, and, although
the sun had not set, by the time they had entered the woods in which the
school-house stood, the deep shadows of the trees gave the effect of
twilight to the scene. Tasma Tid led Nan to the old building, and told
her to wait a moment. The African crawled under the house, and then
suddenly reappeared at the back door, near which Nan stood waiting.
Tasma Tid had crawled under the house, and lifted a loose plank in the
floor of the closet, making her entrance in that way. The front door was
locked and the key was safe in the pocket of the Rev. Jeremiah, but the
back door was fastened on the inside, and Tasma Tid had no trouble in
getting it open.
It is fair to say that Nan hesitated before entering. Some instinct or
presentiment held her a moment. She was not afraid; her sense of fear
had never developed itself; it was one of the attributes of human nature
that was foreign to her experience; and this was why some of her
actions, when she was younger, and likewise when she was older, were
inexplicable to the rest of her sex, and made her the object of
criticism which seemed to have good ground to go upon. Nan hesitated
with her foot on the step, but it was not her way to draw back, and she
went in. Tasma Tid refastened the door very carefully, and then turned
and led the way toward the closet. The room was not wholly dark; one or
two of the shutters had fallen off, and in this way a little light
filtered in. Nan followed Tasma Tid to the closet, the door of which was
open.
"Dis-a we house," said Tasma Tid; "dis-a de place wey we live at."
"Why did you come here?" Nan asked.
"We had no nurrer place; all-a we frien' gone; da's why."
What further comment Nan may have made cannot even be guessed, for at
that moment there was a noise at one of the windows; some one was trying
to raise the sash. Nan and Tasma Tid held their breath while they
listened, and then, when they were sure that some one was preparing to
enter the building, the African closed the closet door noiselessly, and
pulled Nan after her to the narrowest and most uncomfortable part of the
musty and dusty place--the space next the stairway, where it was so low
that they were compelled to sit flat on the floor.
The intruder, whoever he might be, crawled cautiously through the
window--they could hear the buttons of his coat strike against the
sill--and leaped lightly to the floor. He lowered the window again, and
then, after tiptoeing about among the benches, came straight to the
closet. As Tasma Tid had not taken time to fasten it on the inside, the
door was easily opened. Dark as it was, Nan and the African could see
that the intruder was a man, but, beyond this, they could distinguish
nothing. Nan and her companion would have breathed freer if recognition
had been possible, for the new-comer was Gabriel, who had determined to
take this method of discovering the aim and object of the Union League.
Once in the closet, Gabriel took pains to make the inside fastenings
secure. It was one of the whims of Mr. McManus, the school-master, who
had so often caused Gabriel's head and the blackboard to meet, that the
fastenings of this closet should be upon the inside. It tickled his
humour to feel that a refractory boy should be his own jailer, able, and
yet not daring, to release himself until the master should rap sharply
on the door.
Gabriel was less familiar with these fastenings than he had formerly
been, and he fumbled about in the dark for some moments before he could
adjust them to his satisfaction. He made no effort to explore the
closet, taking for granted that it could have no other occupant. This
was fortunate for Nan, for if he had moved about to any extent, he would
inevitably have stumbled over the African and her young mistress, who
were crouched and huddled as far under the stairway as they could get.
Gabriel stood still a moment, as if listening, and then he sat flat on
the floor, and stretched out his legs with a sigh of relief. After that
there was a long period of silence, during which Nan had a fine
opportunity to be very sorry that she had ever ventured out on such a
fool's errand. "If I get out of this scrape," she thought over and over
again, "I'll never be a tomboy; I'll never be a harum-scarum girl any
more." She had no physical fear, but she realised that she was placed in
a very awkward position.
She was devoured with curiosity to know whether the intruder really was
Gabriel. She hoped it was, and the hope caused her to blush in the dark.
She knew she was blushing; she felt her ears burn--for what would
Gabriel think if he knew that she was crouching on the floor, not more
than an arm's length from him? Why, naturally, he would have no respect
for her. How could he? she asked herself.
As for Gabriel, he was sublimely unconscious of the fact that he was not
alone. Once or twice he fancied he heard some one breathing, but he was
a lad who was very close to nature, and he knew how many strange and
varied sounds rise mysteriously out of the most profound silence; and
so, instead of becoming suspicious, he became drowsy. He made himself as
comfortable as he could, and leaned against the wall, pitting his
patience against the loneliness of the place and the slow passage of
time.
Being a healthy lad, Gabriel would have gone to sleep then and there,
but for a mysterious splutter and explosion, so to speak, which went off
right at his elbow, as he supposed. He was in that neutral territory
between sleeping and waking and he was unable to recognise the sound
that had startled him; and it would have remained a mystery but for the
fact that a sneeze is usually accompanied by its twin. Nan had for some
time felt an inclination to sneeze, and the more she tried to resist it
the greater the inclination grew, until finally, it culminated in the
spluttering explosion that had aroused Gabriel. This was followed by a
sneeze which he had no difficulty in recognising.
The fact that some unknown person was a joint occupant of the closet
upset him so little that he was surprised at himself. He remained
perfectly quiet for awhile, endeavouring to map out a course of action,
little knowing that Nan Dorrington was chewing her nails with anger a
few feet from where he sat.
"Who are you?" he asked finally. He spoke in a firm low tone.
In another moment Nan's impulsiveness would have betrayed her, but Tasma
Tid came to her rescue.
"Huccum you in we house? Whaffer you come dey? How you call you' name?"
"Oh, shucks! Is that you, Tiddy Me Tas?"--this was the way Gabriel
sometimes twisted her name. "I thought you were the booger-man. You'd
better run along home to your Miss Nan. She says she wants to see you.
What are you hiding out here for anyway?"
"We no hide, Misser Gable. 'Tis-a we house, dis. Honey Nan no want we;
she no want nobody. She talkin' by dat Misser Frank what live-a down dey
at Clopton. Dee got cake, dee got wine, dee got all de bittle dee want."
Tasma Tid told this whopper in spite of the fact that Nan was giving her
warning nudges and pinches.
"Yes, I reckon they are having a good time," said Gabriel gloomily.
"Miss Nan gave me an invitation, but I couldn't go." It was something
new in Nan's experience to hear Gabriel call her Miss Nan, and she
rather relished the sensation it gave her. She was now ready to believe
that she was really and truly a young lady.
"Whaffer you ain't gone down dey?" inquired Tasma Tid. "Ef you kin come
dis-a way, you kin go down dey."
"I was obliged to come here," responded Gabriel.
"Shoo! dem fib roll out lak dey been had grease on top um," exclaimed
Tasma Tid derisively. "Who been ax you fer come by dis way? 'Tis-a we
house, dis. You better go, Misser Gable; go by dat place wey Honey Nan
live, an' look in de blin' wey you see dat Misser Frank, and dat Misser
Paul Tomlin, an' watch um how dee kin make love. Maybe you kin fin' out
how fer make love you'se'f."
Gabriel laughed uneasily. "No, Tiddy Me Tas--no love-making for me. I'm
either too old or too young, I forget which."
They ceased talking, for they heard footsteps outside, and the sound of
voices. Presently some one opened the door, and it seemed from the noise
that was made, the shuffling of feet, and the repressed tones of
conversation, that a considerable number of negroes had responded to the
Rev. Jeremiah's invitation.
The first-comers evidently lit a candle, for a phantom-like shadow of
light trickled through a small crack in the closet door, and a faint,
but unmistakable, odour of a sulphur match readied Gabriel's nostrils.
There were whispered consultations, and a good deal of muffled and
subdued conversation, but every word that was distinctly enunciated was
clearly heard in the sound-box of a closet. But suddenly all
conversation ceased, and complete silence took possession of those
present.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
_The Union League Organises_
The silence was presently broken by a very clear and distinct voice,
which both Nan and Gabriel recognised as that of the stranger whom they
had overheard talking to the Rev. Jeremiah.
"Before we proceed to the business that has called us together," said
the voice, "it is best that we should come to some clear understanding.
I am not here in my own behalf. I have nothing to lose except my life,
and nothing to gain but the betterment of those who have been released
from the horrors of slavery. Very few of you know even my name, but the
very fact that I am here with you to-night should go far to reassure
you. It is sufficient to say that I represent the great party that has
given you your freedom. That fact constitutes my credentials."
"Bless God!" exclaimed the Rev. Jeremiah, piously. He rolled the word
"credentials" under his tongue, and resolved to remember it and bring it
out in one of his sermons. The stranger had a very smooth and pleasing
delivery. There was a sort of Sunday-school cadence to his voice well
calculated to impress his audience. The language he employed was far
above the heads of those to whom he spoke, but his persuasive tone, and
his engaging manner carried conviction. The great majority of the
negroes present were ready to believe what he said whether they
understood it or not.
"My name," he went on, "is Gilbert Hotchkiss, and I belong to a family
that has been striving for more than a generation to bring about the
emancipation of the negroes. My father worked until the day of his death
for the abolition of slavery; and now that slavery has been abolished,
I, with thousands of devoted women and men whom you have never seen and
doubtless never will see, have begun the work of uplifting the coloured
people in order that they may be placed in a position to appreciate the
benefits that have been conferred on them, and enable them to enjoy the
fruits of freedom. It is a great work, a grand work, and all we ask is
the active co-operation and assistance of the coloured people
themselves."
These were the words of Mr. Hotchkiss, the philanthropist; but now Mr.
Hotchkiss, the politician, took his place, and there was an indefinable
change in the tone of his voice.
"There is no need to ask," he said, "why we do not, in this great work
of uplifting the coloured race, ask the assistance of those who were
lately in rebellion against the best and the greatest Government on
which the sun ever shone. It would be foolish and unreasonable to expect
their assistance. They fought to destroy the Union, and they were
defeated; they fought to perpetuate slavery, and they failed. More than
that, there is every reason to believe that they will refuse to abide
by the results of the war. They are very quiet now, but they are merely
waiting their opportunity. With our troops withdrawn, and with the
Republican Party weakened by opposition, what is to prevent your late
masters from placing you back in slavery? Could we expect anything less
from those who have been brought up to believe that slavery is a divine
institution?"
"You hear dat, people?" cried the Rev. Jeremiah.