JACQUELIN GRAY GOES ON A LONG VOYAGE AND RED ROCK PASSES OUT OF HIS
HANDS
Jacquelin had never recovered from the rough handling which he had
received that night from Leech. His wound had broken out afresh and he
was now confined to his bed all the time. There was one cause which,
perhaps, more than all the rest, weighed him down, and that, certainly,
Dr. Cary did not know, though, no doubt, Mrs. Cary and Mrs. Gray knew.
It was a secret wound, deeper than that which Dr. Cary was treating. He
had never been the same since the evening of his misunderstanding with
Blair Cary. The affair in which the negro soldiers were killed, and
Rupert’s and Steve’s part in it, with the necessity of sending Rupert
away, and the consequences which followed, seemed to be the finishing
stroke, and it appeared to be only a question of a few months with
Jacquelin.
One other reason for his anxiety Dr. Cary had. Reports of threats made
by Leech came to the Doctor.
“Another arrest, and he will go,” said Dr. Cary. “We must get him away.
Send him first to a city where he can have better surgical treatment
than he is able to receive in the country. Then, when he is fit for
it, put him on a sailing vessel and send him around the world.” How
cleverly he had managed it, thought the Doctor!
Mrs. Gray also had her own reasons for wishing to get Jacquelin away,
though they were not mainly what Dr. Cary thought. With a keener
insight than the good Doctor had, she had seen Blair Cary’s change
and its effect on Jacquelin. And she eagerly sought to carry out the
Doctor’s suggestions. The chief difficulty in the way was want of
funds. The demands of the plantation, according to Mr. Still’s account,
had been enough of late to consume everything that was made on it. The
negroes had to be supported whether they worked or not, and the estate
was running behind.
The Doctor felt certain he could manage the matter of means. Hiram
Still had just offered to lend him a further sum. Indeed, Still had
himself brought up the matter of Jacquelin’s health, and had even
asked the Doctor if he did not think a long visit somewhere might do
Jacquelin good.
“He is a strange mixture, that man Still. He is undoubtedly a very
kind-hearted man,” asserted the Doctor.
Mrs. Gray did not altogether agree with her cousin in his estimate of
Still; she had her own opinion of him; but she was somewhat mollified
by hearing of his interest in Jacquelin’s welfare. She could not,
however, allow her cousin to borrow money in his own name on her
account, but, in the face of Jacquelin’s steady decline, she finally
yielded and bowed her pride so far as to permit the Doctor to borrow
it for her, only stipulating that the plate and pictures in the house
should be pledged to secure it. This would relieve her partly from
personal obligations to Still. One other stipulation she made: that
Jacquelin was not to know of the loan.
When the Doctor applied to Still he obtained the loan without
difficulty, and Still, having taken an assignment of the plate and
pictures, agreed without hesitation to his condition of silence, even
expressing the deepest interest in Jacquelin’s welfare, and reiterating
his protestations of friendship for him and Mrs. Gray.
“It is the most curious thing,” said the Doctor to Mrs. Cary,
afterward: “I never apply to that man without his doing what I ask.
I always expect to be refused. I am always surprised—and yet my
suspicion is not relieved—I do not know why it is. I think I must be a
very suspicious man.”
Mrs. Cary’s mouth shut closely. But she would not add to her husband’s
worries by a suggestion, the very idea of which she thought was an
indignity.
“I wish you had not applied to him,” she said. “I do not want to be
under any obligations to him whatever. I do not think Helen should have
asked it of you.”
“Oh! my dear!” said the Doctor. “She didn’t ask it of me, I offered it
to her.”
“I cannot bear him,” declared Mrs. Cary, with the tone of one who
delivers a convincing argument. “And the son is more intolerable than
the father. It requires all my politeness to prevent my asking him out
of the house whenever he comes. He comes here entirely too often.”
“My dear, he is a young doctor who is trying to practise his
profession, and needs advice,” expostulated the old doctor, but Mrs.
Cary was not to be convinced.
“A young doctor, indeed! a young—” The rest of the sentence was lost
as she went out with her head in the air.
When the matter of removing Jacquelin was broached to him, a new and
unexpected difficulty arose. He refused to go. The idea of his getting
better treatment than Dr. Cary was able to give was, he said, all
nonsense, and they could not stand the expense of such a plan as was
proposed. In this emergency his mother was forced to bow her pride.
She summoned Blair Cary as an ally. Blair yielded so far as to add
an expression of her views to the mother’s, because she did not know
how to refuse; but, with a woman’s finesse, she kept herself within
limitations, which Jacquelin, at least, would understand. She came over
on a visit, and went in to see him, and took occasion to say that she
thought he ought to go to the city. It was a very prim and stiff little
speech that she made. Jacquelin’s face showed the first tinge of color
that had been on it for months, as he turned his eyes to her almost
eagerly. So impassive, though, was she, that the tinge faded out.
“Do you ask me to go?”
“No—I have nothing to do with it. I only think you ought to do what
your mother wishes.” The mouth was closer than usual. There was a
little deeper color in her face now.
“Oh! it was only a moral idea you wished to inculcate?”
“If you choose to call it so.” The mouth drew closer.
“Well—will you ask me?”
“I don’t mind doing it—for your mother.” It was no accident that a
woman was chosen to be the oracle at Delphi. Jacquelin could make no
more of the face before him than if he had never seen it before, and he
had studied it for years.
Jacquelin agreed to go to the hospital. So he was sent off to the city,
where an operation was performed to remove some of the splintered bone
and relieve him. And as soon as he was well enough he was sent off
on a sailing vessel trading to China. He thus escaped the increasing
afflictions that were coming on the county, and his mother, who would
have torn out her heart for him, for fear he would come home if he knew
the state of affairs, kept everything from him, and bore her burdens
alone.
The burdens were heavy.
The next few years which passed brought more changes to the old county
than any years of the war. The war had destroyed the Institution
of slavery; the years of the carpet-bagger’s domination well-nigh
destroyed the South. As Miss Thomasia said, sighing, it was the
fulfilment of the old prophecy: “After the sword shall come the
cankerworm.” And the Doctor’s speech was recalled by some: “You ask for
war, but you do not know what it is. A fool can start a conflagration,
but the Sanhedrim cannot stop it. War is never done. It leaves its
baleful seed for generations.”
Dr. Cary, when he uttered this statement, had little idea how true it
was.
Events had proved that although the people were impoverished, their
spirit was not broken. Unhappily, the power was in the hands of those
who did not understand them, and Leech and his fellows had their ear.
It was deemed proper to put them in absolute control. Leech wrote
the authorities that he and his party must have power to preserve the
Union; he wrote to Mrs. Welch that they must have it to preserve the
poor freedmen. The authorities promised it, and kept the promise. It
was insanity.
One provision gave the ballot to the former slave, just as it was taken
from the former master. An act was so shrewdly framed that, while it
appeared simply to be intended to secure loyalty to the Union, it was
aimed to strike from the rolls of citizenship almost the entire white
population of the South; that is, all who would not swear they had
never given aid or comfort to the Confederacy. It was so all-embracing
that it came to be known as the “ironclad” oath.
“It is the greatest Revolution since the time of Poland,” said Dr.
Cary, his nostrils dilating with ire. “They have thrown down the man
of intelligence, character, and property, and have set up the slave
and the miscreant. ‘Syria is confederate with Ephraim.’ More is yet to
come.”
“It is the salvation of the Union,” wrote Leech to Mrs. Welch, who was
the head of an organization that sent boxes of clothes to the negroes
through Leech. Leech was beginning to think himself the Union.
While General Legaie and Steve Allen were discussing constitutional
rights and privileges, and declaring that they would never yield assent
to any measures of the kind proposed, a more arbitrary act than these
was committed: the State itself was suddenly swept out of existence,
and a military government was substituted in its place; the very
name of the State on which those gentlemen and their ancestors had
prided themselves for generations was extinguished and lost in that of
“Military District, Number ——.” The old State, with all others like
it, ceased to be.
Colonel Krafton was the chief authority in that part of the State,
and Major Leech, as he was now called, was his representative in the
county. And between them they had the enforcement of all the measures
that were adopted.
When their hands were deemed strong enough, it was determined to give
them the form of popular government.
It was an easy process; for the whites had been disfranchised, and only
the negroes and those who had taken the ironclad oath could vote.
At the first election that was held under the new system, the spectacle
was a curious one. Krafton was the candidate for governor. Most of
the disfranchised whites stayed away, haughtily or sullenly, from the
polls, where ballots were cast under a guard of soldiers. But others
went to see the strange sight, and to vent their derision on the
detested officials who were in charge. Dr. Cary and General Legaie,
with most men of their age and stamp, remained at home in haughty, and
impotent indignation.
“Why should I go to see my former wagon-driver standing for the seat
my grandfather resigned from the United States Senate to take?” asked
General Legaie, proudly.
Steve Allen and Andy Stamper, however, and many of the young men were
on hand.
Leech and Nicholas Ash were the candidates for the Legislature, and
Steve went to the poll where he thought it likely Leech would be.
Steve had become a leader among the whites. Both men knew that it was
now a fight to the finish between them, and both always acted in full
consciousness of the fact. Leech counted on his power, and the force he
could always summon to his aid, to hold Steve in check until he should
have committed some rashness which would enable him to destroy him.
Steve was conscious that Leech was personally afraid of him, and he
relied on this fact—taking every occasion to assert himself—as the
master of a treacherous animal keeps ever facing him, holding him with
the spell of an unflinching eye.
The negroes were led in lines to cast their votes.
It was a notable thing that in all the county there was not an angry
word that day between a white man and a negro. Leech, in a letter
to Mrs. Welch describing the occasion, declared that the quietness
with which the election passed off was due wholly to the presence of
the soldiery, and he was very eloquent in his denunciation of the
desperadoes who surrounded him, and who were held at bay only by fear
of the bayonets about them. But this was not true. The situation was
too novel not to be interesting, and there was feeling, but it was
suppressed. It was a strange sight, the polls guarded by soldiers; the
men who had controlled the country standing by, disfranchised, and the
lines of blacks who had just been slaves, and not one in one hundred of
whom could read their ballots, voting on questions which were to decide
the fate of the State. There were many gibes flung at the new voters by
the disfranchised spectators, but they were mainly good-natured.
“Whom are you voting for, Uncle Gideon?” asked Steve of one of the old
Red Rock negroes.
“Marse Steve, you know who I votin’ for better’n I does myself.”
To another:
“Whom are you voting for?”
“Gi’ me a little tobacker, Marse Steve, an’ I’ll tell you.” And when it
was given, he turned to the crowd: “Who is I votin’ for? I done forgit.
Oh! yes—old Mr. Linkum—ain’ dat he name?”
“Well, he’s a good one to vote for—he’s dead,” said Steve.
“Hi! is he? When did he die?” protested the old man in unfeigned
astonishment.
“You ain’ votin’ for him—you’se votin’ for Mist’ Grant,” explained
another younger negro, indignant at the old man’s ignorance.
“Is I? Who’s he? He’s one I ain’ never heard on. Marse Steve, I don’
know who I votin’ for—I jis know I votin’, dat’s all.”
This raised a laugh at Steve’s expense which was led by Leech, and to
atone for it the old servant added:
“I done forgit de gent’man’s name.”
“The gentlemen you are voting for are Leech and Nicholas Ash,” said
Steve.
“Marse Steve, you know dey ain’ no gent’mens,” said the old fellow,
undisturbed by the fact that Leech was present.
“Uncle Tom, you know something, anyhow,” said Steve, enjoying the
Provost’s discomfiture.
The only white man of any note in the upper end of the county who took
the new “ironclad” oath was Hiram Still. Andy Stamper met him after
Hiram had voted. Still tried to dodge him.
“Don’t run, Hiram,” said the little Sergeant, contemptuously, “I ain’t
a going to hurt ye. The war’s over. If I had known at the time you was
givin’ the Yanks information, I might ’a’ done it once—and I would
advise you, Hiram, never to give ’em too much information about _me_
now. You’ve already giv’ ’em too much once about me. See there?” He
stretched out his arm and showed a purple mark on his wrist. It was
the scar that had been left by the handcuff when he was arrested for
the riot at Deal’s. “It won’t come out. You understand?” The little
fellow’s eyes shot at the renegade so piercing a glance that Still
cowered and muttered that he had nothing to do with him one way or
another.
“Maybe, if you didn’t give no aid and comfort to the rebels you’d like
to give me back that little piece of paper you took from my old mother
to secure the price of that horse you let me have to go back in the
army?” drawled Stamper, while one or two onlookers laughed.
The renegade made his escape as quickly as possible.
Still’s reply to the contempt that was visited on him was to bring suit
on the bonds he held. Leech was his counsel. One of the first suits was
against Andy Stamper. Andy was promptly sold out under the deed which
had been given during the war; the place was bought by Still, and Andy
and Delia rented another little house. This was only the beginning,
however.
When Still flung away his mask, he went as far as he dared. It was now
open war, and he had thrown in his fortune with the other side.
Dr. Cary received a note one morning from Mrs. Gray asking him to come
and see her immediately. He found her in a state of agitation very
unusual with her. She had the night before received a letter from
Still, stating that he was a creditor of her husband’s estate and held
his bonds for over fifty thousand dollars. Mrs. Gray had known that
there were some outstanding debts of her husband due him, though she
had supposed they were nearly paid off—but fifty thousand dollars! It
would take the whole estate!
“Why, it is incredible,” declared the Doctor. “Quite incredible! The
man is crazy. You need give yourself no uneasiness whatever about it. I
will see him and clear up the whole matter.”
Yet, even as the Doctor spoke, he recalled certain hints of Still’s,
dropped from time to time, recently, as to balances due by his former
employer on old accounts connected with his Southern estate, and Mr.
Gray was a very easy man, thought the Doctor, who believed himself one
of the keenest and most methodical of men.
Women love to have encouragement from men, even though they may feel
the reverse of what they are told to believe. So Mrs. Gray and Miss
Thomasia were more comforted than they could have found ground for.
When Dr. Cary did look into the matter, to his amazement he found that
the bonds were in existence. Still gave the account of them which he
had already given to Leech, and produced some corroborative evidence in
the shape of letters relating to the transaction of buying and stocking
the sugar plantation. There was hope for awhile that the writers of
the letters might be able to throw some light on the matter, but, on
investigation, it turned out that they were without exception dead,
and Mrs. Gray herself, on seeing the big bond, pronounced it genuine,
and declared that she remembered her husband once spoke of it, though
she thought he had told her it was all settled. She hunted all through
his papers, but though she found other bonds of his which he had taken
in she could find no record of this big one. Jacquelin was written to,
but in his reply he said that no matter what the cost, he wanted his
father’s debts paid. So no defence was made to the suit which Still
had instituted by Leech as his counsel, and judgment was obtained by
default. And soon afterward the Red Rock place, with everything on it,
was sold under this judgment and was bought in by Still for less than
the amount of his claim.
Jacquelin was still abroad and Mrs. Gray purposely kept him in
ignorance of what was going on; for her chief anxiety at this time was
to prevent Jacquelin from returning home until all this matter was
ended. He had written that his health was steadily improving.
Mrs. Gray did not remain at Red Rock twenty-four hours after Still
became its owner. She and Miss Thomasia moved next day to Dr. Cary’s,
where they were offered a home. She congratulated herself anew that
morning that Jacquelin was yet absent.
Mrs. Gray and Miss Thomasia walked out with their heads up, bidding
good-by to their old servants, who had assembled outside of the house,
their faces full of concern and sorrow.
There was hardly a negro on the place who was not there. However they
might follow Still in politics, they had not yet learned to forget
the old ties that bound them in other matters to their old masters,
and they were profoundly affected by this step, which they could all
appreciate.
“I drives you away, my mistis,” said the driver, old Waverley. “I prays
Gord I may live to drive you back.”
“Not me, Waverley; but, maybe, this boy,” said Mrs. Gray, laying her
hand on Rupert’s shoulder.
“Yes’m, we heah him say he comin’ back,” said the old driver, with
pride. “Gord knows we hopes so.”
Just then Hiram Still, accompanied by Leech, rode up into the yard.
He had evidently kept himself informed as to Mrs. Gray’s movements.
He rode across the grass and gave orders to the negroes to clear
away. Mrs. Gray took not the least notice of him, but, outraged by
his insolence, Rupert suddenly sprang forward and denounced him
passionately. His mother checked him: “Rupert, my son.” But the boy was
wild with anger. “We are coming back some day,” he cried to Still. “You
have robbed us; but wait till my brother returns.”
Both Still and Leech laughed, and Still ostentatiously ordered the
negroes off. Still moved in that afternoon.
Before Still had been installed in his new mansion twenty-four hours he
repented of his indiscretion, if not of his insolence. He was absent a
part of the evening, and on his return he heard that Captain Allen had
been to see him. The face of the servant who gave the message told more
than the words he delivered.
“What did he want?” Still asked, sharply.
“He say he want to see you, and he want to see you pussonally.” The
negro looked significant.
“Well, he knows where to find me.”
“Yes, he say he _gwine_ fine you—dat’s huccome he come, an’ he gwine
_keep on_ till he do fine you.” Still’s heart sank.
“I don’t know what he wants with me,” he growled, as he turned away
and went into the house. The great hall filled with pictures had never
looked so big or so dark. The eyes fastened on him from the walls
seemed to search him. Those of the “Indian-Killer” pierced him wherever
he went.
“Curse them; they are all alike,” he growled. “I wish I had let them
have the d——d rubbish. I would, but for having to take that one down.”
Poor Virgy, who had been given the room that had formerly been
Jacquelin’s, came toward him. She was scared and lonely in her new
surroundings, and had been crying.
This increased her father’s ill-humor. He inquired if she had seen
Captain Allen. She had, but he had only bowed to her; all he had said
was to the servant.
“Did he seem excited?” Still asked.
“No, he only looked quiet. He looked like one of those pictures up
there.” It was an unlucky illustration. Her father broke out on her so
severely that she ran to her own room weeping. It was only of late that
he had begun to be so harsh.
Still, left alone, sat down and without delay wrote a letter to Captain
Allen, expressing regret that he had been away when he called. He also
wrote a letter to Dr. Cary, which he sent out that night, apologizing
to Mrs. Gray and calling heaven to witness that he had not meant to
offend her, and did not even know she was on the place when he rode up.
He did not wait for replies. The next morning before daylight he left
for the city.
“I would not mind one of them,” he complained to his counsel, Leech.
“I’m as good a man as any one of ’em; but you don’t know ’em. They
stick together like Indians, and if one of ’em got hurt, the whole
tribe would come down on me like hornets.”
“Wait till we get ready for ’em,” counselled Leech. “We’ll bring their
pride down. We’ll be more than a match for the whole tribe. Wait till
I get in the Legislature; I’ll pass some laws that will settle ’em.”
His blue eyes were glistening and he was opening his hands and shutting
them tightly in a way he had, as if he were crushing something in his
palms.
“That’s it—that’s it,” said Still, eagerly.