Bricks Without Straw Part 31

"Wal, Sheriff Gleason's a' been tellin' of it 'round, and ther ain't no other talk 'round the country only that."

"What 'ud I sell out an' leave for? Ain't I well 'nough off whar I is?"

"The sheriff says you an' 'Liab Hill has been gittin' into some trouble with the law, and that the Ku Klux has got after you too, so that if you don't leave you're likely to go to States prison or have a whippin' or hangin' bee at your house afore you know it."

"Jes let 'em come," said Nimbus, angrily--"Ku Kluckers or sheriffs, it don't make no difference which. I reckon it's all 'bout one an' de same ennyhow. It's a d.a.m.n shame too. Dar, when de 'lection come las' time we put Ma.r.s.e Gleason in agin, kase we hadn't nary white man in de county dat was fitten for it an' could give de bond; an' of co'se dere couldn't no cullu'd man give it. An' jes kase we let him hev it an' he's feared we mout change our minds now, here he is a runnin' 'roun' ter Ku Klux meetin's an' a tryin'

ter stir up de bery ole debble, jes ter keep us cullu'd people from hevin' our rights. He can't do it wid me, dat's sh.o.r.e. I hain't done nuffin' an' I won't run. Ef I'd a-done ennythin' I'd run, kase I don't b'lieve more'n ennybody else in a, man's stayin' ter let de law git a holt on him; but when I hain't done nary ting, ther ain't n.o.body ez kin drive me outen my tracks."

"But the Ku Klux mout _lift_ ye outen 'em," said the other with a weak attempt at wit.

"Jes let 'em try it once!" said Nimbus, excitedly. "I'se purty well prepared for 'em now, an' atter tomorrer I'll be jes ready for 'em. I'se gwine ter Louisburg to-morrer, an' I 'llow that atter I come back they won't keer ter meddle wid Nimbus. Tell yer what, Mister Dossey, I bought dis place from ole Ma.r.s.e Desmit, an' paid for it, ebbery cent; an' I swar I ain't a gwine ter let no man drive me offen it--nary foot. An' ef de Ku Klux comes, I's jest a gwine ter kill de las' one I gits a chance at. Now, you min'

what I say, Mister Dossey, kase I means ebbery word on't."

The white man cowered before the other's energy. He was of that cla.s.s who were once denominated "poor whites." The war taught him that he was as good a man to stop bullets as one that was gentler bred, and during that straggle which the non-slaveholders fought at the beck and in the interest of the slaveholding aristocracy, he had learned more of manhood than he had ever known before. In the old days his father had been an overseer on a plantation adjoining Knapp-of-Reeds, and as a boy he had that acquaintance with Nimbus which every white boy had with the neighboring colored lads--they hunted and fished together and were as near cronies as their color would allow. Since the war he had bought a place and by steady work had acc.u.mulated some money. His plantation was on the river and ab.u.t.ted on the eastern side with the property of Nimbus. After a moment's silence he said:

"That reminds me of what I heard to-day. Your old Ma.r.s.e Potem is dead."

"Yer don't say, now!"

"Yes--died yesterday and will be buried to-morrow."

"La, sakes! An' how's he lef ole Missus an' de gals, I wonder?"

"Mighty pore I'm afraid. They say he's been mighty bad off lately, an' what he's got won't more'n half pay his debts. I reckon the widder an' chillen'll hev ter 'homestead it' the rest of their lives."

"Yer don't tink so? Wal, I do declar', hit's too bad. Ez rich ez he was, an' now ter come down ter be ez pore ez Nimbus--p'raps poorer!"

"It's mighty hard, that's sure. It was all along of the wah that left everybody pore in this country, just as it made all the Yankees rich with bonds and sech-like."

"Sho'! what's de use ob bein' a fool? 'Twan't de wah dat made Ma.r.s.e Desmit pore. 'Twuz dat ar d.a.m.n fool business ob slavery afo' de wah dat wound him up. Ef he'd never been a 'speculator' an' hadn't tried to grow rich a raisin' men an' wimmen for market he'd a been richer'n ever he was, when he died."

"Oh, you're mistaken 'bout that, Nimbus. The wah ruined us all."

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Nimbus, derisively. "What de wah ebber take from you, Mister Dossey, only jes yer oberseer's whip? An' dat wur de berry best ting ebber happen ter ye, kase it sot yer to wuk an'

put yer in de way ob makin' money for yerself. It was hard on sech ez ole Mahs'r, dat's a fac, even ef 'twas mostly his own fault; but it was worth a million ter sech ez you. You 'uns gained mo' by de outcome ob de wah, right away, dan we cullu'd folks'll ebber git, I'm afeared."

"Yer may be right," said Dawsey, laughing, and with a touch of pride in his tone. "I've done pretty well since the wah. An' that brings me back to what I come over for. I thought I'd ax, if ye should git in a notion of selling, what yer'd take fer yer place here?"

"I hain't no idea uv selling, Mister Dossey, an' hain't no notion uv hevin' any 'nuther. You an' ebberybody else mout jest ez well larn, fust ez las', dat I shan't never sell only jes ter make money.

Ef I put a price on Red Wing it'll be a big one; kase it ain't done growing yet, an' I might jest ez well stay h'yr an' grow ez ter go West an' grow up wid de kentry, ez dat fool Berry Lawson's allers tellin' about."

"Wal, that's all right, only ef you ever want ter sell, reasonable-like, yer know who to come to for your money. Good-night!"

The man was gathering up his reins when Nimbus said:

"When did yer say ole Mahsr's funeral was gwine ter be?"

"To-morrow afternoon at four o'clock, I heerd."

"Thank ye. I'se 'bout made up my mind ter go ter Louisburg to-morrer, stay ter dat funeral, an' come back nex' day. Seems ter me ole Mahs'r'd be kind o' glad ter see Nimbus at his funeral, fer all I wan't no gret fav'rite o' his'n. He wa'nt sich a bad marster, an'

atter I bought Red Wing he use ter come ober ebbery now an' agin, an' gib me a heap ob advice 'bout fixin' on it up. I allus listened at him, tu, kase ef ennybody ever knowed nex' do' ter ebberyting, dat ar man wuz ole Ma.r.s.e Potem. I'se sorry he's dead, I is; an'

I'se mighty sorry for ole Missus an' de gals. An' I'se a gwine ter go ter dat er funeral an' see him laid away, ef it do take anudder day outen de c.r.a.p; dat I is, sh.o.r.e.

"An' that 'minds me," said the white man, "that I heard at the same time, that Walter Greer, who used to own the plantation afore yer Ma.r.s.e Desmit bought it, died sometime lately, 'way out in Texas.

It's quare, ain't it, that they should both go nigh about the same time. Good-night."

The "poor-white" neighbor rode away, little dreaming that the colored man had estimated him aright, and accounted him only an emissary of his foes, nor did he comprehend the importance of the information he had given.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

THE BEACON-LIGHT OF LOVE.

Mollie Ainslie had been absent from Red Wing more than a month.

It was nearly midnight. The gibbous moon hung over the western tree-tops. There was not a sound to be heard in the little hamlet, but strangely draped figures might have been seen moving about in the open glades of the piney woods which skirted Red Wing upon the west.

One after another they stole across the open s.p.a.ce between the church and the pine grove, in its rear, until a half-dozen had collected in its shadow. One mounted on another's shoulders and tried one of the windows. It yielded to his touch and he raised it without difficulty. He entered and another after him. Then two or three strange-looking packages were handed up to them from the outside. There was a whispered discussion, and then the parties within were heard moving cautiously about and a strong benzoic odor came from the upraised window. Now and then a sharp metallic clang was heard from within. At length the two that had entered returned to the window. There was a whispered consultation with those upon the outside. One of these crept carefully to the corner and gave a long low whistle. It was answered after a moment's interval, first from one direction and then from another, until every part of the little hamlet resounded with short quick answers.

Then the man at the corner of the church crept back and whispered,

"All right!"

One of the parties inside came out upon the window-sill and dropped lightly to the ground. The other mounted upon the window-sill, and turned round upon his knees; there was a gleam of light within the building, a flicker and a hiss, and then with a mighty roar the flame swept through it as if following the trail of some combustible.

Here and there it surged, down the aisles and over the desks, white and clear, showing in sharpest silhouette every curve and angle of building and furniture.

The group at the window stood gazing within for a moment, the light playing on their faces and making them seem ghastly and pale by the reflection; then they crept hastily back into the shadow of the wood--all but one, who, clad in the horribly grotesque habit of the Ku Klux Klan, stood at the detached bell-tower, and when the flames burst forth from the windows solemnly tolled the bell until driven from his post by the heat.

One had hardly time to think, before the ma.s.sive structure of dried pitch-pine which northern charity had erected in the foolish hope of benefiting the freedmen, where the young teachers had labored with such devotion, and where so many of the despised race had laid the foundation of a knowledge that they vainly hoped might lift them up into the perfect light of freedom, was a solid spire of sheeted flame.

By its ghastly glare, in various parts of the village were to be seen groups and single armed sentries, clad in black gowns which fell to their very feet, spire-pointed caps, grotesquely marked and reaching far above the head, while from the base a flowing masque depended over the face and fell down upon the shoulders, hiding all the outlines of the figure.

The little village was taken completely by surprise. It had been agreed that the ringing of the church bell should be the signal for a.s.sembling at the church with such arms as they had to resist the Ku Klux. It had not been thought that the danger would be imminent until about the expiration of the time named in the notice; so that the watch which had been determined upon had not been strictly kept, and on this night had been especially lax on one of the roads leading into the little hamlet.

At the first stroke of the bell all the villagers were awake, and from half-opened doors and windows they took in the scene which the light of the moon and the glare of the crackling fire revealed.

Then dusky-skinned forms stole hastily away into the shadows of the houses and fences, and through the rank-growing corn of the little truck-patches, to the woods and fields in the rear. There were some who since the warning had not slept at home at all, but had occupied little leafy shelters in the bush and half-hid burrows on the hillside. On the eyes of all these gleamed the blaze of the burning church, and each one felt, as he had never realized before, the strength of that mysterious band which was just putting forth its power to overturn and nullify a system of laws that sought to clothe an inferior and servile race with the rights and privileges theretofore exercised solely by the dominant one.

Among those who looked upon this scene was Eliab Hill. Sitting upon his bench he gazed through the low window of his little cottage, the flame lighting up his pale face and his eyes distended with terror.

His clasped hands rested on the window-sill and his upturned eyes evidently sought for strength from heaven to enable him manfully to perform the part he had declared his determination to enact.

What he saw was this:

A company of masked men seemed to spring out of the ground around the house of Nimbus, and, at a whistle from one of their number, began swiftly to close in upon it. There was a quick rush and the door was burst open. There were screams and blows, angry words, and protestations within. After a moment a light shot up and died quickly out again--one of the party had struck a match. Eliab heard the men cursing Lugena, and ordering her to make up a light on the hearth. Then there were more blows, and the light shone upon the window. There were rough inquiries for the owner, and Eliab thanked G.o.d that his faithful friend was far away from the danger and devastation of that night. He wondered, dully, what would be his thought when he should return on the morrow, and mark the destruction wrought in his absence, and tried to paint his rage.

While he thought of these things the neighboring house was ransacked from top to bottom. He heard the men cursing because their search was fruitless. They brought out the wife, Lugena, and two of her children, and coaxed and threatened them without avail. A few blows were struck, but the wife and children stoutly maintained that the husband and father was absent, attending his old master's funeral, at Louisburg. The yellow light of the blazing church shone on the house, and made fantastic shadows all around. The lurid glare lighted up their faces and pictured their terror. They were almost without clothing. Eliab noticed that the hand that clasped Lugena's black arm below the band of the chemise was white and delicate.

The wife and children were crying and moaning in terror and pain.

Oaths and blows were intermingled with questions in disguised voices, and gasping broken answers. Blood was running down the face of the wife. The younger children were screaming in the house.

Children and women were shrieking in every direction as they fled to the shelter of the surrounding woods. The flame roared and crackled as it licked the resin from the pine logs of the church and leaped aloft. It shone upon the glittering needles of the surrounding pines, lighted up the ripening tobacco on the hillside, sparkled in the dewy leaves of the honeysuckle which clambered over the freedman's house and hid the staring moon with its columns of black smoke.