Bricks Without Straw Part 39

"It's a lie! A clar, straight-out lie!" interrupted Lugena. "Nimbus don't owe n.o.body nary cent--not nary cent, Miss Mollie! Tole me dat hisself jest a little time ago."

"Yes, but this man _claims_ he owes him--swears so, in fact; and that he has run away or hidden to keep from paying it," said Mollie. "He swears he is a non-resident--don't live here, you know; lives out of the State somewhere."

"An' Peyton Winburn swars ter dat?" asked the woman, eagerly.

"Yes, certainly."

"Didn't I tell yer dat Nimbus was safe, Miss Mollie?" she cried, springing from her chair. "Don't yer see how dey cotch derselves?

Ef der's ennybody on de green yairth dat knows all 'bout dis Ku Kluckin' it's Peyton Winburn, and dat ar Sheriff Gleason. Now, don't yer know dat ef he was dead dey wouldn't be a suin' on him an' a swearin' he'd run away?"

"I'm sure I don't know, but it would seem so," responded Mollie.

"Seem so! it's boun' ter be so, honey," said the colored woman, positively.

"I don't know, I'm sure," said Mollie. "It's a matter I don't understand. I think I had better take these papers over to Captain Pardee, and see what ought to be done about them. I am afraid there is an attempt to rob you of all your husband has acquired, while he is away."

"Dat's what I'se afeared on," said the other. "An' it wuz what Nimbus 'spected from de fust ob dis h'yer Ku Kluck matter. Dear me, what ebber will I do, I dunno--I dunno!" The poor woman threw her ap.r.o.n over her head and began to weep.

"Don't be discouraged, 'Gena," said Mollie, soothingly. "I'll stand by you and get Mr. Pardee to look after the matter for you."

"T'ank ye, Miss Mollie, t'ank ye. But I'se afeared it won't do no good. Dey's boun' ter break us up, an' dey'll do it, sooner or later! It's all of a piece--a Ku Kluckin' by night, and a-suin' by day. 'Tain't no use, t'ain't no use! Dey'll hab dere will fust er last, one way er anudder, sh.o.r.e!"

Without uncovering her head, the sobbing woman turned and walked out of the room, across the porch and down the path to the gate.

"Not if I can help it!" said the little Yankee woman, as she smoothed down her hair, shut her mouth close, and turned to make a more thorough perusal of the papers Lugena had left with her.

Hardly had she finished when she was astonished by Lugena's rus.h.i.+ng into the room and exclaiming, as she threw herself on her knees:

"Oh, Miss Mollie, I done forgot--I was dat ar fl.u.s.tered 'bout de 'tachment an' de like, dat I done forgot what I want ter tell yer most ob all. Yer know, Miss Mollie, dem men dat got hurt dat ar night--de Ku Kluckers, two on 'em, one I 'llow, killed out-an'-out, an' de todder dat bad cut--oh, my G.o.d!" she cried with a shudder, "I nebber see de likes--no nebber, Miss Mollie. All down his face--from his forehead ter his chin, an' dat too--yes, an' his breast-bone, too--looked like dat wuz all split open an' a-bleedin'!

Oh, it war horrible, horrible, Miss Mollie!"

The woman buried her face in the teacher's lap as if she would shut out the fearful spectacle.

"There, there," said Mollie, soothingly, as she placed a hand upon her head. "You must not think of it. You must try and forget the horrors of that night."

"Don't yer know, Miss Mollie, dat dem Ku Kluckers ain't a-gwine ter let de one ez done dat lib roun' h'yer, ner ennywhar else dat dey can come at 'em, world widout end?"

"Well, I thought you were sure that Nimbus was safe?"

"Nimbus?" said the woman in surprise, uncovering her face and looking up. "Nimbus? 'Twan't him, Miss Mollie, 'twan't him. I 'llows it mout hev been him dat hurt de one dat 'peared ter hev been killed straight out; but it was _me_ dat cut de odder one, Miss Mollie."

"You?" cried Mollie, in surprise, instinctively drawing back.

"You?"

"Yes'm," said Lugena, humbly, recognizing the repulse. "Me--wid de axe! I hope yer don't fault me fer it, Miss Mollie."

"Blame you? no indeed, 'Gena!" was the reply. "Only it startled me to hear you say so. You did entirely right to defend yourself and Nimbus. You should not let that trouble you for a moment."

"No, Miss Mollie, but don't yer know dat de Ku Kluckers ain't a-gwine ter fergit it?"

"Heavens!" said the Yankee girl, springing up from her chair in uncontrollable excitement. "You don't think they would hurt you--a woman?"

"Dat didn't save me from bein' stripped an' beat, did it?"

"Too true, too true!" moaned the teacher, as she walked back and forth wringing her hands. "Poor child! What can you do?--what can you do?"

"Dat's what I want ter know, Miss Mollie," said the woman. "I da.s.sent sleep ter home at night, an' don't feel safe ary hour in de day.

Dem folks won't fergit, an' 'Gena won't nebber be safe ennywhar dat dey kin come, night ner day. What will I do, Miss Mollie, what will I do? Yer knows Nimbus 'll 'llow fer 'Gena ter take keer ob herself an' de chillen an' de plantation, till he comes back, er sends fer me, an' I da.s.sent stay, not 'nudder day, Miss Mollie!

What'll I do? What'll I do?"

There was silence in the little room for a few moments, as the young teacher walked back and forth across the floor, and the colored woman sat and gazed in stupid hopelessness up into her face. Presently she stopped, and, looking down upon Lugena, said with impetuous fervor:

"You shall not stay, Lugena! You shall not stay! Can you stand it a few nights more?"

"Oh, yes, I kin stan' it, 'cause I'se got ter. I'se been sleepin'

in de woods ebber sence, an' kin keep on at it; but I knows whar it'll end, an' so der you, Miss Mollie."

"No, it shall not, 'Gena. You are right. It is not safe for you to stay. Just hide yourself a few nights more, till I can look after things for you here, and I will take you away to the North, where there are no Ku Klux!"

"Yer don't mean it, Miss Mollie!"

"Indeed I do."

"An' de chillen?"

"They shall go too."

"G.o.d bress yer, Miss Mollie! G.o.d bress yer!"

With moans and sobs, the torrent of her tears burst forth, as the poor woman fell p.r.o.ne upon the floor, and catching the hem of the teacher's robe, kissed it again and again, in a transport of joy.

CHAPTER XLV.

ANOTHER OX GORED.

There was a caller who begged to see Mr. Le Moyne for a few minutes.

Descending to the sitting-room, Hesden found there Mr. Jordan Jackson, who was the white candidate for the Legislature upon the same ticket with a colored man who had left the county in fright immediately after the raid upon Red Wing. Hesden was somewhat surprised at this call, for although he had known Mr. Jackson from boyhood, yet there had never been more than a pa.s.sing acquaintance between them. It is true, Mr Jackson was a neighbor, living only two or three miles from Mulberry Hill; but he belonged to such an entirely different cla.s.s of society that their knowledge of each other had never ripened into anything like familiarity.

Mr. Jackson was what used to be termed a poor man. He and his father before him, as Hesden knew, had lived on a little, poor plantation, surrounded by wealthy neighbors. They owned no slaves, and lived, scantily on the products of the farm worked by themselves. The present occupant was about Hesden's own age. There being no free schools in that county, and his father having been unable, perhaps not even desiring, to educate him otherwise, he had grown up almost entirely illiterate. He had learned to sign his name, and only by strenuous exertions, after his arrival at manhood, had become able, with difficulty, to spell out words from the printed page and to write an ordinary letter in strangely-tangled hieroglyphics, in a spelling which would do credit to a phonetic reformer. He had entered the army, probably because he could not do otherwise, and being of stalwart build, and having great endurance and native courage, before the struggle was over had risen, despite his disadvantages of birth and education, to a lieutenancy.

This experience had been of advantage to him in more ways than one.

Chief among these had been the opening of his eyes to the fact that he himself, although a poor man, and the scion of a poor family, was, in all the manly requisites that go to make up a soldier, always the equal, and very often the superior, of his aristocratic neighbors. Little by little, the self-respect which had been ground out of him and his family by generations of that condition of inferiority which the common-liver, the self-helper of the South, was forced to endure under the old slave _regime_, began to grow up in his heart. He began to feel himself a man, and prized the rank-marks on his collar as the certificate and endors.e.m.e.nt of his manhood. As this feeling developed, he began to consider the relations between himself, his family, and others like them, and the rich neighbors by whom they were surrounded and looked down upon. And more and more, as he did so, the feeling grew upon him that he and his cla.s.s had been wronged, cheated--"put upon," he phrased it--in all the past. They had been the "c.h.i.n.king" between the "mud" of slavery and the "house-logs" of aristocracy in the social structure of the South--a little better than the mud because of the same grain and nature as the logs; but useless and nameless except as in relation to both. He felt the bitter truth of that stinging aphorism which was current among the privates of the Confederate army, which characterized the war of Rebellion as "the poor man's war and the rich man's fight."

So, when the war was over, Lieutenant Jordan Jackson did not return easily and contentedly to the niche in the social life of his native region to which he had been born and bred. He found the habit of leaders.h.i.+p and command very pleasant, and he determined that he would rise in the scale of Horsford society as he had risen in the army, simply because he was brave and strong. He knew that to do this he must acquire wealth, and looking about, he saw opportunities open before him which others had not noticed. Almost before the smoke of battle had cleared away, Jordan Jackson had opened trade with the invaders, and had made himself a prime favorite in the Federal camps. He coined money in those days of transition. Fortunately, he had been too poor to be in debt when the war broke out. He was independently poor, because beyond the range of credit.

He had lost nothing, for he had nothing but the few poor acres of his homestead to lose.