his box, an' got his ha'r ketched in a rough plank, an' then he bust out
cryin' jest like you use to do when you got hurt. I kinder muched him
up, an' then he up an' tol' me a whole lot of stuff about a young lady:
how he was gwine to win her ef he had to stop chawin' tobacco, an'
cussin'. I'll name no names, bekaze I promised him I wouldn't."
"I think that is disgusting," Nan declared. "Do you mean to tell me he
never asked about his grandmother?"
"Fiddlesticks, Nan! he looked at me like he was hungry, an' I told him
all about his grandmother, an' he kep' on a-lookin' hungry, an' I told
him all about her neighbours. What he said I couldn't tell you no more
than the man in the moon. He done jest like any other healthy boy would
'a' done, an' that's all I know about it."
"That's what I thought," said Nan wearily; "boys are so tiresome!"
"Well, Gabriel didn't look much like a boy when I seed him last. He
hadn't shaved in a month of Sundays, and his beard was purty nigh as
long as my little finger. He couldn't go to a barber-shop in Malvern
for fear some of the niggers might know him an' report him to the
commander of the post there. I begged him not to shave the beard off. He
looks mighty well wi' it."
"His beard!" cried Nan. "If he comes home with a beard I'll never speak
to him again. Gabriel with a beard! It is too ridiculous!"
"Don't worry," Mr. Sanders remarked soothingly. "Ef I git word of his
comin' I'll git me a pa'r of shears, an' meet him outside the
corporation line, an' lop his whiskers off for him; but I tell you now,
it won't make him look a bit purtier--not a bit."
"You needn't trouble yourself," said Nan, with considerable dignity. "I
have no interest in the matter at all."
"Well, I thought maybe you'd be glad to git Gabriel's beard an' make it
in a sofy pillow."
"Why, whoever heard of such a thing?" cried Nan. In common with many
others, she was not always sure when Mr. Sanders was to be taken
seriously.
"I knowed a man once," replied Mr. Sanders, by way of making a practical
application of his suggestion, "that vowed he'd never shave his beard
off till Henry Clay was elected President. Well, it growed an' growed,
an' bimeby it got so long that he had to wrop it around his body a time
or two for to keep it from draggin' the ground. It went on that away for
a considerbul spell, till one day, whilst he was takin' a nap, his wife
took her scissors an' whacked it off. The reason she give was that she
wanted to make four or five sofy pillows; but I heard afterwards that
she changed her mind, an' made a good big mattress."
Nan looked hard at the solemn countenance of Mr. Sanders, trying to
discover whether he was in earnest, but older and wiser eyes than hers
had often failed to penetrate behind the veil of child-like serenity
that sometimes clothed his features.
One day while Gabriel was deep in a law-book, Colonel Tom Vardeman came
in smiling. He had a telegram in his hand, which he tossed to Gabriel.
It was from Major Tomlin Perdue, and contained an urgent request for
Gabriel to take the next train for Halcyondale, where he would meet the
prisoners who had been released pending their trial by the State courts,
an event that never came off. Gabriel had seen in the morning paper that
the prisoners were to be released in a day or two; but undoubtedly Major
Perdue had the latest information, for he was in communication with
Meriwether Clopton and other friends of the prisoners who were in
Atlanta watching the progress of the case.
Gabriel lost no time in making his arrangements to leave, and he was in
Halcyondale some hours before the Atlanta train was due. When all had
arrived, they were for going home at once; but the citizens of
Halcyondale, led by Major Perdue and Colonel Blasengame, would not hear
of such a thing.
"No, sirs!" exclaimed Major Perdue. "You young ones have been away from
home long enough to be weaned, and a day or two won't make any
difference to anybody's feelings. We have long been wanting a red-letter
day in this section, and now that we've got the excuse for making one,
we're not going to let it go by. Everything is fixed, or will be by day
after to-morrow. We're going to have a barbecue half-way between this
town and Shady Dale. The time was ripe for it anyhow, and you fellows
make it more binding. The people of the two counties haven't had a
jollification since the war, and they couldn't have one while it was
going on. They haven't had an excuse for it; and now that we have the
excuse we're not going to turn it loose until the jollification is
over."
And so it was arranged. Notice was given to the people in the
old-fashioned way, and nearly everybody in the two counties not only
contributed something to the barbecue, but came to enjoy it, and when
they were assembled they made up the largest crowd that had been seen
together in that section since the day when Alexander Stephens and Judge
Cone had their famous debate--a debate which finally ended in a personal
encounter between the two.
The details of the barbecue were in the hands of Mr. Sanders, who was
famous in those days for his skill in such matters. The fires had been
lighted the night before, and when the sun rose, long lines of carcasses
were slowly roasting over the red coals, contributing to the breezes an
aroma so persistent and penetrating that it could be recognised miles
away, and so delicious that, as Mr. Sanders remarked, "it would make a
sick man's mouth water."
A speaker's stand had been erected, and everything was arranged just as
it would have been for a political meeting. There was a good deal of
formality too. Major Perdue prided himself on doing such things in
style. He was a great hand to preside at political meetings, in which
there is considerable formality. As the Major managed the affair, the
friends of the young men caught their first glimpse of them as they went
upon the stand. By some accident, or it may have been arranged by Major
Perdue, Gabriel was the first to make his appearance, but he was closely
followed by the rest. A tremendous shout went up from the immense
audience, which was assembled in front of the stand, and this was what
the Major had arranged for. The shouts and cheers of a great assemblage
were as music in his ears. He comported himself with as much pride as if
all the applause were a tribute to him. He advanced to the front, and
stood drinking it in greedily, not because he was a vain man, but
because he was fond of the excitement with which the presence of a crowd
inspired him. It made his blood tingle; it warmed him as a glass of
spiced wine warms a sick person.
When the applause had subsided, the Major made quite a little speech, in
which he referred to the spirit of martyrdom betrayed by the young
patriots, who had been seized and carried into captivity by the strong
hand of a tyrannical Government, and he managed to stir the crowd to a
great pitch of excitement. He brought his remarks to a close by
introducing his young friend, Gabriel Tolliver.
There was tremendous cheering at this, and all of a sudden Gabriel woke
up to the fact that his name had been called, and he looked around with
a dazed expression on his face. He had been trying to see if he could
find the face of Nan Dorrington in the crowd, but so far he had failed,
and he woke out of a dream to hear a multitude of voices shouting his
name. "Why, what do they mean?" he asked.
"Get up there and face 'em," said Major Perdue.
Now, Nan was not so very far from the stand, so close, indeed, that she
had not been in Gabriel's field of vision while he was sitting down; but
when he rose to his feet she was the first person he saw, and he
observed that she was very pale. In fact, Nan had shrunk back when the
Major announced that Gabriel would speak for his fellow-martyrs, and for
a moment or two she fairly hated the man. She might not be very fond of
Gabriel, but she didn't want to see him made a fool of before so many
people.
Somehow or other, the young fellow divined her thought, and he smiled in
spite of himself. He had no notion what to say, but he had the gift of
saying something, very strongly developed in him; and he knew the moment
he saw Nan's scared face that he must acquit himself with credit. So he
looked at her and smiled, and she tried to smile in return, but it was a
very pitiful little smile. Gabriel walked to the small table and leaned
one hand on it, and his composure was so reassuring to everybody but
Nan, that the cheering was renewed and kept up while the youngster was
trying to put his poor thoughts together.
He began by thanking Major Perdue for his sympathetic remarks, and then
proceeded to take sharp issue with the whole spirit of the Major's
speech, using as the basis of his address an idea that had been put into
his head by Judge Vardeman. The day before he left Malvern, the Judge
had asked him this question: "Why should a parcel of politicians turn us
against a Government under which we are compelled to live?"
This was the basis of Gabriel's remarks. He elaborated it, and was
perhaps the first person in the country to ask if there was any
Confederate soldier who had feelings of hatred against the soldiers of
the Union. He had not gone far before he had the audience completely
under his control. Almost every statement he made was received with
shouts of approval, and in some instances the applause was such that he
had time to stand and gaze at Nan, whose colour had returned, and who
occasionally waved the little patch of lace-bordered muslin that she
called a handkerchief.
She was almost frightened at Gabriel's composure. The last time she had
seen him, he was an awkward young man, whose hands and feet were always
in his way. She felt that she was his superior then; but how would she
feel in the presence of this grave young man, who was as composed while
addressing an immense crowd as if he had been talking to Cephas, and who
was dealing out advice to his seniors right and left? Nan was very sure
in her own mind that she would never understand Gabriel again, and the
thought robbed the occasion of a part of its enjoyment. She allowed her
thoughts to wander to such an extent that she forgot the speech, and
had her mind recalled to it only when the frantic screams of the
audience split her ears, and she saw Gabriel, flushed and triumphant,
returning to his seat. Then the real nature of his triumph dawned on
her, as she saw Meriwether Clopton and all the others on the stand
crowding around Gabriel and shaking his hand. She sat very quiet and
subdued until she felt some one touch her shoulder. It was Cephas, and
he wanted to know what she thought of it all. Wasn't it splendiferous?
Nan made no reply, but gave the little lad a message for Gabriel, which
he delivered with promptness. He edged his way through the crowd,
crawled upon the stand, and pulled at Gabriel's coat-tails. The great
orator--that's what Cephas thought he was--seized the little fellow and
hugged him before all the crowd; and though many years have passed,
Cephas has never had a triumph of any kind that was quite equal to the
pride he felt while Gabriel held him in his arms. The little fellow took
this occasion to deliver his message, which was to the effect that
Gabriel was to ride home in the Dorrington carriage with Nan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
_Nan Surrenders_
It was all over at last, and Gabriel found himself seated in the
carriage, side by side with the demurest and the quietest young lady he
had ever seen. He had shaken hands until his arm was sore, and he had
hunted for Nan everywhere; and finally, when he had given up the search,
he heard her calling him and saw her beckoning him from a carriage.
There was not much of a greeting between them, and he saw at once that,
while this was the Nan he had known all his life, she had changed
greatly. What he didn't know was that the change had taken place while
he was in the midst of his speech. She was just as beautiful as ever; in
fact, her loveliness seemed to be enhanced by some new light in her
eyes--or was it the way her head drooped?--or a touch of new-born
humility in her attitude? Whatever it was, Gabriel found it very
charming.
To his surprise, he found himself quite at ease in her presence. The
change, if it could be called such, had given him an advantage. "You
used to be afraid of me, Gabriel," said Nan, "and now I am afraid of
you. No, not afraid; you know what I mean," she explained.
"If I thought you were afraid of me, Nan, I'd get out of the carriage
and walk home," and then, as the carriage rolled and rocked along the
firm clay road, Gabriel sat and watched her, studying her face whenever
he had an opportunity. Neither seemed to have any desire to talk.
Gabriel had forgotten all about his sufferings in the sweat-boxes of
Fort Pulaski; but those experiences had left an indelible mark on his
character, and on his features. They had strengthened him every
way--strengthened and subdued him. He was the same Gabriel, and yet
there was a difference, and this difference appealed to Nan in a way
that astonished her. She sat in the carriage perfectly happy, and yet
she felt that a good cry would help her wonderfully.
"I had something I wanted to say to you, Nan," he remarked after awhile.
"I've wanted to say it for a long time. But, honestly, I'm afraid----"
"Don't say you are afraid, Gabriel. You used to be afraid; but now I'm
the one to be afraid. I mean I should be afraid, but I'm not."
"I was feeling very bold when I was mouthing to those people; and every
time I looked into your eyes, I said to myself, 'You are mine; you are
mine! and you know it!' And I thought all the time that you could hear
me. It was a very queer impression. Please don't make fun of me to-day;
wait till to-morrow."
"I couldn't hear you," said Nan, "but I could feel what you said."
"That was why you were looking so uneasy," remarked Gabriel. "Perhaps
you were angry, too."
"No, I was very happy. I didn't hear your speech, but I knew from the
actions of the people around me that it was a good one. But, somehow, I
couldn't hear it. I was thinking of other things. Did you think I was
bold to send for you?"
"Why, I was coming to you anyway," said Gabriel.
"Well, if you hadn't I should have come to you," said Nan with a sigh.
"Since I received your letter, I haven't been myself any more."
"Did I send you a letter?" asked Gabriel.
"No; you wrote part of one," answered Nan. "But that was enough. I found
it among your papers. And then when I heard you had been arrested--well,
it is all a dream to me. I didn't know before that one could be
perfectly happy and completely miserable at the same time."
Then, for the first time since he had entered the carriage she looked at
him. Her eyes met his, and--well, nothing more was said for some time.
Nan had as much as she could do to straighten her hat, and get her hair
smoothed out as it should be, so that people wouldn't know that she and
Gabriel were engaged. That was what she said, and she was so cute and
lovely, so sweet and gentle that Gabriel threatened to crush the hat and
get the hair out of order again. And they were very happy.
When they arrived at Shady Dale, Gabriel insisted that Nan go home with
him, and he gave what seemed to the young woman a very good reason. "You
know, Nan, my grandmother has been Bethuning me every time I mentioned
your name, and I have heard her Bethuning you. We'll just go in hand in
hand and tell her the facts in the case."
"Hand in hand, Gabriel? Wouldn't she think I was very bold?"
"No, Nan," replied Gabriel, very emphatically. "There are two things my
grandmother believes in. She believes in her Bible, and she believes in
love."
"And she believes in you, Gabriel. Oh, if you only knew how much she
loves you!" cried Nan.
They didn't go in to the dear old lady hand in hand, for when they
reached the Lumsden Place, they found Miss Polly Gaither there, and they
interrupted her right in the midst of some very interesting gossip. Miss
Polly, after greeting Gabriel as cordially as her lonely nature would
permit, looked at Nan very critically. There was a question in her eyes,
and Nan answered it with a blush.
"I thought as much," said Miss Polly, oracularly. "I declare I believe
there's an epidemic in the town. There's Pulaski Tomlin, Silas Tomlin,
Paul Tomlin, and now Gabriel Tolliver. Well, I wish them well,
especially you, Gabriel. Nan is a little frivolous now, but she'll
settle down."
"She isn't frivolous," said Gabriel, speaking in the ear-trumpet; "she
is simply young."
"Is that the trouble?" inquired Miss Polly, with a smile, "well, she'll
soon recover from that." And then she turned to Gabriel's grandmother,
and took up the thread of her gossip where it had been broken by the
arrival of Nan and Gabriel.
"I declare, Lucy, if anybody had told me, and I couldn't see for
myself, I never would have believed it. Why, Silas Tomlin is a changed
man. He looks better than he did twenty-five years ago. He goes about
smiling, and while he isn't handsome--he never could be handsome, you
know--he is very pleasant-looking. Yes, he is a changed man. He was
going into the house just now as I came out, and he stopped and shook
hands with me, and asked about my health, something he never did before.
Honestly I don't know what to make of it; I'm clean put out. Why, the
man had two or three quarrels with Ritta Claiborne when she first came
here, and now he is going to marry her, or she him--I don't know which
one did the courting, but I'll never believe it was old Silas. I am
really and truly sorry for Ritta Claiborne. We who know Silas Tomlin
better than she does ought to warn her of the step she is about to take.
I have been on the point of doing so several times; but really, Lucy, I
haven't the heart. She is one of the finest characters I ever knew--she
is perfectly lovely. She is all heart, and I am afraid Silas Tomlin has
imposed on her in some way. But she is perfectly happy, and so is Silas.
If I thought such a thing was possible, I'd say they were very much in
love with each other."
"Possible!" cried Gabriel's grandmother; "why, love is the only thing
worth thinking about in this world. Even the Old Testament is full of
it, and there is hardly anything else in the New Testament. Read it,
Polly, and you'll find that all the sacrifice and devotion are based on
love--real love, and unselfish because it is real."
"It may be so, Lucy; I'll not deny it," and then, after some more gossip
less interesting, Miss Polly Gaither took her leave, saying, "I'll
leave you with your grand-children, Lucy."
When she was gone, Gabriel stood up and beckoned to Nan, and she went to
him without a word. He placed his arm around her, and then called the
attention of his grandmother.
"You've been Bethuning Nan and me for ever so long, grandmother: what do
you think of this?"
"Why, I think it is very pretty, if it is real. I have known it all
along; I mean since the night you were carried away. Nan told me."
"Why, Grandmother Lumsden! I never said a word to you about it; I
wouldn't have dared."
"I knew it when you came in the door that day--the day that Meriwether
Clopton was here. Do you suppose I would have sat by you on the sofa,
and held your hand if I had not known it?"
"I'm glad you knew it," said Nan. "I wanted you to know it, but I didn't
dare to tell you in so many words. I am going home now, Gabriel, and you
mustn't call on me to-day or to-night. I want to be alone. I am so
happy," she said to Mrs. Lumsden, as she kissed her, "that I don't want
to talk to any one, not even to Gabriel."
And this was Gabriel's thought too. He saw none of his friends that day,
and when night fell he went out to the old Bermuda hill, and lay upon
the warm damp grass, the happiest person in the world.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Gabriel Tolliver, by Joel Chandler Harris