Bricks Without Straw

A >> Albion W. Tourgee >> Bricks Without Straw

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This address was received by his white hearers with surprised silence;
by the colored men with half-appreciative cheers. They recognized
that the speaker was their friend, and in favor of their being
allowed the free exercise of the rights of citizenship. His white
auditors saw that he was assailing with some bitterness and earnest
indignation both their conduct and what they had been accustomed to
term their principles. There was no immediate display of hostility
or anger; and Hesden Le Moyne returned to his home full of hope
that the time was at hand for which he had so long yearned, when the
people of his native South should abandon the career of prejudice
and violence into which they had been betrayed by resentment and
passion.

Early the next morning some of his friends waited upon him and adjured
him, for his own sake, for the sake of his family and friends, to
withdraw from the canvass. This he refused to do. He said that what
he advocated was the result of earnest conviction, and he should
always despise himself should he abandon the course he had calmly
decided to take. Whatever the result, he would continue to the end.
Then they cautiously intimated to him that his course was fraught
with personal danger. "What!" he cried, "do you expect me to flinch
at the thought of danger? I offered my life and gave an arm for a
cause in which I did not believe; shall I not brave as much in the
endeavor to serve my country in a manner which my mind and conscience
approve? I seek for difficulty with no one; but it may as well be
understood that Hesden Le Moyne does not turn in his tracks because
of any man's anger. I say to you plainly that I shall neither offer
personal insult nor submit to it in this canvass."

His friends left him with heavy hearts, for they foreboded ill.
It was not many days before he found that the storm of detraction
and contumely through which he had once passed was but a gentle
shower compared with the tornado which now came down upon his head.
The newspapers overflowed with threat, denunciation, and abuse.
One of them declared:

"The man who thinks that he can lead an opposition against the
organized Democracy of Horsford County is not only very presumptuous,
but extremely bold. Such a man will require a bodyguard of Democrats in
his canvass and a Gibraltar in his rear on the day of the election."

Another said:

"The Radical candidate would do well to take advice. The white men
of the State desire a peaceful summer and autumn. They are wearied
of heated political strife. If they are forced to vigorous action
it will be exceedingly vigorous, perhaps unpleasantly so. Those
who cause the trouble will suffer most from it. Bear that in mind,
persons colored and white-skinned. We reiterate our advice to the
reflective and argumentative Radical leader, to be careful how he
goes, and not stir up the animals too freely; they have teeth and
claws."

Still another said:

"Will our people suffer a covert danger to rankle in their midst
until it gains strength to burst into an open enemy? Will they
tamely submit while Hesden Le Moyne rallies the colored men to
his standard and hands over Horsford to the enemy? Will they stand
idly and supinely, and witness the consummation of such an infamous
conspiracy? No! a thousand times, No! Awake! stir up your clubs;
let the shout go up; put on your red shirts and let the ride begin.
Let the young men take the van, or we shall be sold into political
slavery."

Another sounded the key-note of hostility in these words:

"Every white man who dares to avow himself a Radical should be
promptly branded as the bitter and malignant enemy of the South;
every man who presumes to aspire to office through Republican votes
should be saturated with stench. As for the negroes, let them amuse
themselves, if they will, by voting the Radical ticket. We have
the count. We have a thousand good and true men in Horsford whose
brave ballots will be found equal to those of five thousand vile
Radicals."

One of his opponents, in a most virulent speech, called attention
to the example of a celebrated Confederate general. "He, too,"
said the impassioned orator, "served the Confederacy as bravely as
Hesden Le Moyne, and far more ably. But he became impregnated with
the virus of Radicalism; he abandoned and betrayed the cause for
which he fought; he deserted the Southern people in the hour of
need and joined their enemies. He was begged and implored not to
persevere in his course, but he drifted on and on, and floundered
deeper and deeper into the mire, until he landed fast in the slough
where he sticks to-day. And what has he gained? Scorn, ostracism,
odiurn, ill-will--worse than all, the contempt of the men who stood
by him in the shower of death and destruction. Let Hesden Le Moyne
take warning by his example."

And so it went on, day after day. Personal affront was studiously
avoided, but in general terms he was held up to the scorn and
contempt of all honest men as a renegade and a traitor. Those who
had seemed his friends fell away from him; the home which had been
crowded with pleasant associates was desolate, or frequented only
by those who came to remonstrate or to threaten. He saw his mistake,
but he knew that anger was worse than useless. He did not seek to
enrage, but to convince. Failing in this, he simply performed the
duty which he had undertaken, as he said he would do it--fearlessly,
openly, and faithfully.

The election came, and the result--was what he should have been
wise enough to foresee. Nevertheless, it was a great and grievous
disappointment to Hesden Le Moyne. Not that he cared about a seat
in the Legislature; but it was a demonstration to him that in his
estimate of the people of whom he had been so proud he had erred
upon the side of charity. He had believed them better than they had
shown themselves. The fair future which he had hoped was so near
at hand seemed more remote than ever. His hope for his people and
his State was crushed, and apprehension of unspeakable evil in the
future forced itself upon his heart.

CHAPTER LIX.

THE SHUTTLECOCK OF FATE.

"Marse Hesden, Marse Hesden!" There was a timorous rap upon the
window of Hesden Le Moyne's sleeping-room in the middle of the night,
and, waking, he heard his name called in a low, cautious voice.

"Who is there?" he asked.

"Sh--sh! Don't talk so loud, Marse Hesden. Please come out h'yer
a minnit, won't yer?"

The voice was evidently that of a colored man, and Hesden had no
apprehension or hesitancy in complying with the request. In fact,
his position as a recognized friend of the colored race had made
such appeals to his kindness and protection by no means unusual.
He rose at once, and stepped out upon the porch. He was absent for
a little while, and when he returned his voice was full of emotion
as he said to his wife,

"Mollie, there is a man here who is hungry and weary. I do not wish
the servants to know of his presence. Can you get him something to
eat without making any stir?"

"Why, what--" began Mollie.

"It will be best not to stop for any questions," said Hesden
hurriedly, as he lighted a lamp and, pouring some liquor into a
glass, started to return. "Get whatever you can at once, and bring
it to the room above. I will go and make up a fire."

Mollie rose, and, throwing on a wrapper, proceeded to comply with
her husband's request. But a few moments had elapsed when she went
up the stairs bearing a well-laden tray. Her slippered feet made
no noise, and when she reached the chamber-door she saw her husband
kneeling before the fire, which was just beginning to burn brightly.
The light shone also upon a colored man of powerful frame who sat
upon a chair a little way back, his hat upon the floor beside him,
his gray head inclined upon his breast, and his whole attitude
indicating exhaustion.

"Here it is, Hesden," she said quietly, as she stepped into the
room.

The colored man raised his head wearily as she spoke, and turned
toward her a gaunt face half hidden by a gray, scraggly beard. No
sooner did his eyes rest upon her than they opened wide in amazement.
He sprang from his chair, put his hand to his head, as if to assure
himself that he was not dreaming, and said,

"What!--yer ain't--'fore God it must be--Miss Mollie!"

"Oh, Nimbus!" cried Mollie, with a shriek. Her face was pale as
ashes, and she would have fallen had not Hesden sprang to her side
and supported her with his arm, while he said,

"Hush! hush! You must not speak so loud. I did not expect you so
soon or I would have told you."

The colored man fell upon his knees, and gazed in wonder on the
scene.

"Oh, Marse Hesden!" he cried, "is it--can it be our Miss Mollie,
or has Nimbus gone clean crazy wid de rest ob his misfortins?"

"No, indeed!" said Hesden. "It is really Miss Mollie, only I have
stolen her away from her old friends and made her mine."

"There is no mistake about it, Nimbus," said Mollie, as she extended
her hand, which the colored man clasped in both his own and covered
with tears and kisses, while he said, between his sobs,

"Tank God! T'ank God! Nimbus don't keer now! He ain't afeared ob
nuffin' no mo', now he's seen de little angel dat use ter watch
ober him, an' dat he's been a-dreamin' on all dese yeahs! Bress
God, she's alive! Dar ain't no need ter ax fer 'Gena ner de little
ones now; I knows dey's all right! Miss Mollie's done tuk keer o'
dem, else she wouldn't be h'yer now. Bress de Lord, I sees de deah
little lamb once mo'."

"There, there!" said Mollie gently. "You must not talk any more
now. I have brought you something to eat. You are tired and hungry.
You must eat now. Everything is all right. 'Gena and the children
are well, and have been looking for you every day since you went
away."

"Bress God! Bress God! I don't want nuffin' mo' !" said Nimbus. He
would have gone on, in a wild rhapsody of delight, but both Hesden
and Mollie interposed and compelled him to desist and eat. Ah!
it was a royal meal that the poor fugitive had spread before him.
Mollie brought some milk. A coffee-pot was placed upon the fire,
and while he ate they told him of some of the changes that had taken
place. When at length Hesden took him into the room where Eliab
had remained concealed so long, and closed the door and locked it
upon him, they could still hear the low tones of thankful prayer
coming from within. Hesden knocked upon the door to enjoin silence,
and they returned to their room, wondering at the Providence which
had justified the faith of the long-widowed colored wife.

The next day Hesden went to the Court House to ascertain what
charges there were against Nimbus. He found there were none. The
old prosecution for seducing the laborers of Mr. Sykes had long ago
been discontinued. Strangely enough, no others had been instituted
against him. For some reason the law had not been appealed to to
avenge the injuries of the marauders who had devastated Red Wing.
On his return, Hesden came by way of Red Wing and brought Eliab
home with him.

The meeting between the two old friends was very affecting. Since
the disappearance of Nimbus, Eliab had grown more self-reliant. His
two years and more of attendance at a Northern school had widened
and deepened his manhood as well as increased his knowledge, and
the charge of the school at Red Wing had completed the work there
begun. His self-consciousness had diminished, and it no longer
required the spur of intense excitement to make him forget his
affliction. His last injuries had made him even more helpless, when
separated from his rolling-chair, but his life had been too full
to enable him to dwell upon his weakness so constantly as formerly.

In Nimbus there was a change even more apparent. Gray hairs,
a bowed form, a furrowed face, and that sort of furtive wildness
which characterizes the man long hunted by his enemies, had taken
the place of his former unfearing, bull-fronted ruggedness. His
spirit was broken. He no longer looked to the future with abounding
hope, careless of its dangers.

"Yer's growed away from me, Bre'er 'Liab," he said at length, when
they had held each other's hands and looked into each other's faces
for a long time. "Yer wouldn't know how ter take a holt o' Nimbus
ter hev him tote yer roun', now. Yer's growed away from him--clean
away," he added sadly.

"You, too, have changed, Brother Nimbus," said Eliab soothingly.

"Yes, I'se changed, ob co'se; but not as you hez, Bre'er 'Liab. Dis
h'yer ole shell hez changed. Nimbus couldn't tote yer roun' like
he used. I'se hed a hard time--a hard time, 'Liab, an' I ain't
nuffin' like de man, I used ter be; but I hain't changed inside
like you hez. I'se jes de same ole Nimbus dat I allus wuz--jes
de same, only kinder broke down in sperrit, Bre'er 'Liab. I hain't
growed ez you hev. I hain't no mo' man dan I was den--not so much,
in fac'. I don't keer now no mo' 'bout what's a-gwine ter be. I'se
an' ole man, 'Liab--an' ole man, of I is young."

That night he told his story to a breathless auditory.

"Yes, Bre'er 'Liab, dar's a heap o' t'ings happened sence dat ar
mornin' I lef' you h'yer wid Marse Hesden. Yer see, I went back
fust whar I'd lef Berry, an' we tuk an' druv de mule an' carry-all
inter a big pine thicket, down by de ribber, an' dar we stays all
day mighty close; only once, when I went out by de road an' sees
Miss Mollie ridin' by. I calls out to her jest ez loudez I dared
to; but, la sakes! she didn't h'year me."

"Was that you, Nimbus?" asked Mollie, turning from a bright-eyed
successor to little Hildreth, whom she had been proudly caressing.
"I thought I heard some one call me, but did not think of its being
you. I am so sorry! I stopped and looked, but could see nothing."

"No, you didn't see me, Miss Mollie, but it done me a power o'
good ter see _you_. I knowed yer was gwine ter Red Wing, an'
yer'd take keer on an' advise dem ez wuz left dar. Wal, dat night
we went back an' got the 'backer out o' de barn. I tuk a look
roun' de house, an' went ter de smoke-house, an' got a ham of meat
an' some other t'ings. I 'llowed dat 'Gena'd know I'd been dar,
but didn't dare ter say nuffin' ter nobody, fer fear de sheriff's
folks mout be a watchin' roun'. I 'llowed dey'd hev out a warrant
for me, an' p'raps fer Berry too, on account o' what we'd done de
night afo'."

"They never did," said Hesden.

"Yer don't tell me!" exclaimed Nimbus, in surprise.

"No. There has never been any criminal process against you, except
for enticing Berry away from old Granville Sykes," said Hesden.

"Wal," responded Nimbus, "t'was all de same. I t'ought dey would.
De udder wuz 'nough, dough. Ef dey could once cotch me on dat, I
reckon dey could hev hung me fer nuffin', fer dat matter."

"It was a very wise thing in you to leave the country," said Hesden.
"There is no doubt of that."

"T'ank ye, Marse Hesden, t'ank ye," said Nimbus. "I'se glad ter
know I hain't been a fool allus, ef I is now. But now I t'inks on't,
Marse Hesden, I'd like ter know what come of dem men dat 'Gena an'
me put our marks on dat night."

"One of them died a year or two afterward--was never well after
that night--and the other is here, alive and well, with a queer
seam down the middle of his face," said Hesden.

"Died, yer say?" said Nimbus. "Wal, I'se right sorry, but he lived
a heap longer nor Bre'er 'Liab would, ef I hadn't come in jest
about dat time."

"Yes, indeed," said Eliab, as he extended his hand to his old
friend.

"Wal," continued Nimbus, "we went on ter Wellsboro, an' dar we
sold de 'backer. Den we kinder divided up. I tuk most o' de money
an' went on South, an' Berry tuk de mule an' carry-all an' started
fer his home in Hanson County. I tuk de cars an' went on, a-stoppin'
at one place an' anodder, an' a wukkin' a little h'yer an' dar,
but jest a-'spectin' ebbery minnit ter be gobbled up by a officer
an' brought back h'yer. I'd heard dat Texas wuz a good place fer
dem ter go ter dat didn't want nobody ter find 'em; so I sot out
ter go dar. When I got ez fur ez Fairfax, in Louisiana, I was tuk
down wid de fever, an' fer nigh 'bout six month I wa'ant ob no account
whatebber. An' who yer tink tuk keer ob me den, Marse Hesden?"

"I am sure I don't know," was the reply.

"No, yer wouldn't nebber guess," said Nimbus; "but twa'n't nobody
else but my old mammy, Lorency."

"You don't say! Well, that was strange," said Hesden.

"It was quare, Marse Hesden. She was gittin' on to be a old woman
den. She's dead sence. Yer see, she knowed me by my name, an' she
tuk keer on me, else I'd nebber been here ter tell on't. Atter I got
better like, she sorter persuaded me ter stay dar. I wuz powerful
homesick, an' wanted ter h'year from 'Gena an' de chillen, an'
ef I'd hed money 'nough left, I'd a come straight back h'yer; but
what with travellin' an' doctors' bills, an' de like, I hadn't nary
cent. Den I couldn't leave my ole mammy, nuther. She'd hed a hard
time sence de wah, a-wukkin' fer herself all alone, an' I wuz boun'
ter help her all I could. I got a man to write ter Miss Mollie;
but de letter come back sayin' she wa'n't h'yer no mo'. Den I got
him to write ter whar she'd been afo' she come South; but that come
back too."

"Why did you not write to me?" said Hesden.

"Wal," said Nimbus, with some confusion, "I wuz afeared ter do it,
Marse Hesden. I wuz afeared yer mout hev turned agin me. I dunno
why 'twuz, but I wuz mighty skeered ob enny white folks, 'ceptin'
Miss Mollie h'yer. So I made it up wid mammy, dat we should wuk
on till we'd got 'nough ter come back; an' den we'd come, an' I'd
stop at some place whar I wa'n't knowed, an' let her come h'yer
an' see how t'ings wuz.

"I'd jest about got ter dat pint, when I hed anodder pull-back. Yer
see, dar wuz two men, both claimed ter be sheriff o' dat parish.
Dat was--let me see, dat was jes de tenth yeah atter de S'render,
fo' years alter I left h'yer. One on 'em, ez near ez I could make
out, was app'inted by de Guv'ner, an' t'odder by a man dat claimed
ter be Guv'ner. De fust one called on de cullu'd men ter help him
hold de Court House an' keep t'ings a-gwine on right; an' de t'odder,
he raised a little army an' come agin' us. I'd been a sojer, yer
know, an' I t'ought I wuz bound ter stan' up fer de guv'ment. So
I went in ter fight wid de rest. We t'rew up some bres'wuks, an'
when dey druv us outen dem we fell back inter de Court House. Den
dar come a boat load o' white folks down from Sweevepo't, an' we
hed a hard time a-fightin' on 'em. Lots ob us got killed, an' some
o' dem. We hadn't many guns ner much ammunition. It war powerful
hot, an' water wuz skeerce.

"So, atter a while, we sent a flag o' truce, an' 'greed ter s'render
ebberyting, on condition dat dey wouldn't hurt us no mo'. Jest ez
quick ez we gib up dey tuk us all pris'ners. Dar was twenty-sebben
in de squad I wuz wid. 'Long a while atter dark, dey tuk us out
an' marched us off, wid a guard on each side. We hadn't gone more'n
two or t'ree hundred yards afo' de guard begun ter shoot at us. Dey
hit me in t'ree places, an' I fell down an' rolled inter a ditch
by de roadside, kinder under de weeds like. Atter a while I sorter
come ter myself an' crawled off fru de weeds ter de bushes. Nex'
day I got a chance ter send word ter mammy, an' she come an' nussed
me till we managed ter slip away from dar."

"Poor Nimbus!" said Mollie, weeping. "You have had a hard time
indeed!"

"Not so bad as de odders," was the reply. "Dar wuz only two on us
dat got away at all. The rest wuz all killed."

"Yes," said Hesden, "I remember that affair. It was a horrible
thing. When will our Southern people learn wisdom!"

"I dunno dat, Marse Hesden," said Nimbus, "but I do know dat de
cullu'd folks is larnin' enough ter git outen dat. You jes mark my
words, ef dese t'ings keep a-gwine on, niggers'll be skeerce in
dis kentry purty soon. We can't be worse off, go whar we will, an'
I jes count a cullu'd man a fool dat don't pole out an' git away
jest ez soon ez he finds a road cut out dat he kin trabbel on."

"But that was three years ago, Nimbus," said Hesden. "Where have
you been since?"

"Wal, yer see, atter dat," said Nimbus, "we wuz afeared ter stay
dar any mo'. So we went ober inter Miss'ippi, mammy an' me, an'
went ter wuk agin. I wasn't berry strong, but we wukked hard an'
libbed hard ter git money ter come back wid. Mammy wuz powerful
anxious ter git back h'yer afo' she died. We got along tollable-like,
till de cotting wuz about all picked, an' hadn't drawed no wages
at all, to speak on. Den, one day, de boss man on de plantation,
he picked a quarrel wid mammy 'bout de wuk, an' presently hit her
ober her ole gray head wid his cane. I couldn't stan' dat, nohow,
so I struck him, an' we hed a fight. I warn't nuffin' ter what I
war once, but dar war a power o' strength in me yet, ez he found
out.

"Dey tuk me up an' carried me ter jail, an' when de court come on,
my ole mammy wuz dead; so I couldn't prove she war my mammy, an'
I don't 'llow 'twould hev made enny difference ef I had. The jury
said I war guilty, an' de judge fined me a hundred dollars an' de
costs, an' sed I wuz ter be hired out at auction ter pay de fine,
an' costs, an' sech like. So I wuz auctioned off, an' brought
twenty-five cents a day. 'Cordin' ter de law, I hed ter wuk two
days ter make up my keep fer ebbery one I lost. I war sick an'
low-sperrited, an' hadn't no heart ter wuk, so I lost a heap o'
days. Den I run away once or twice, but dey cotch me, an' brought
me back. So I kep' losin' time, an' didn't git clean away till 'bout
four months ago. Sence den I'se been wukkin' my way back, jes dat
skeery dat I dassent hardly walk de roads fer fear I'd be tuk up
agin. But I felt jes like my ole mammy dat wanted ter come back
h'yer ter die."

"But you are not going to die," said Mollie, smiling through her
tears. "Your plantation is all right. We will send for 'Gena and
the children, and you and Eliab can live again at Red Wing and be
happy."

"I don't want ter lib dar, Miss Mollie," said Nimbus. "I ain't
a-gwine ter die, ez you say; but I don't want ter lib h'yer, ner
don't want my chillen ter. I want 'em ter lib whar dey kin be free,
an' hev 'bout half a white man's chance, ennyhow."

"But what about Red Wing?" asked Hesden.

"I'd like ter see it once mo'," said the broken-hearted man, while
the tears ran down his face. "I 'llowed once that I'd hab a heap
o' comfort dar in my ole days. But dat's all passed an' gone,
now--passed an' gone! I'll tell yer what, Marse Hesden, I allus
'llowed fer Bre'er 'Liab ter hev half o' dat plantation. Now yer
jes makes out de papers an' let him hev de whole on't, an' I goes
ter Kansas wid 'Gena."

"No, no, Nimbus," said Eliab; "I could not consent--"

"Yes yer kin, 'Liab," said Nimbus quickly, with some of his old-time
arrogance. "Yer kin an' yer will. You kin use dat er trac' o'
lan' an' make it wuth sunthin' ter our people, an' I can't. So, yer
sees, I'll jes be a-doin' my sheer, an' I'll allus t'ink, when I
hears how yer's gittin' along an' a-doin' good, dat I'se a pardner
wid ye in de wuk o' gibbin' light ter our people, so dat dey'll
know how ter be free an' keep free forebber an' ebber. Amen!"

The listeners echoed his "amen," and Eliab, flinging himself into
the arms of Nimbus, by whom he had been sitting, and whose hand
he had held during the entire narrative, buried his face upon his
breast and wept.

CHAPTER LX.

THE EXODIAN.

Hesden and Mollie were on their way homeward from Eupolia, where
they had inspected their property and had seen Nimbus united with
his family and settled for a new and more hopeful start in life.
They had reached that wonderful young city of seventy-seven hills
which faces toward free Kansas and reluctantly bears the ban which
slavery put upon Missouri. While they waited for their train in
the crowded depot in which the great ever-welcoming far West meets
and first shakes hands with ever-swarming East, they strolled about
among the shifting crowd.

Soon they came upon a dusky group whose bags and bundles, variegated
attire, and unmistakable speech showed that they were a party of
those misguided creatures who were abandoning the delights of the
South for the untried horrors of a life upon the plains of Kansas.
These were of all ages, from the infant in arms to the decrepit
patriarch, and of every shade of color, from Saxon fairness with
blue eyes and brown hair to ebon blackness. They were telling
their stories to a circle of curious listeners. There was no lack
of variety of incident, but a wonderful similarity of motive assigned
for the exodus they had undertaken.

There were ninety-four of them, and they came from five different
States--Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas. They
had started without preconcert, and were unacquainted with each
other until they had collected into one body as the lines of travel
converged on the route to Kansas. A few of the younger ones said
that they had come because they had heard that Kansas was a country
where there was plenty of work and good wages, and where a colored
man could get pay for what he did. Others told strange tales
of injustice and privation. Some, in explanation of their evident
poverty, showed the contracts under which they had labored. Some
told of personal outrage, of rights withheld, and of law curiously
diverted from the ends of justice to the promotion of wrong. By far
the greater number of them, however, declared their purpose to be
to find a place where their children could grow up free, receive
education, and have "a white man's chance" in the struggle of life.
They did not expect ease or affluence themselves, but for their
offspring they craved liberty, knowledge, and a fair start.

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