Читать книгу The Man in Gray - Jr. Thomas Dixon - Страница 10

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As the sun was sinking across the gray waters of the river, reflecting in its silver surface a riot of purple and scarlet, the master of Arlington sat in thoughtful silence holding the fateful Book of the Slave in his hand. He had promised his friend, Edmund Ruffin, to give him an answer early next week as to a public statement.

He was puzzled as to his duty. To his ready protest that he was not a politician his friend had instantly replied that his word would have ten times the weight for that reason. So deep was his brooding he did not notice the two boys in a heated argument at the corner of the house.

Robbie Lee had drawn his barefoot friend, John, thus far. He had balked and refused to go farther.

"Come on, John," Robbie pleaded.

"I'm skeered."

"Scared of what?"

"Colonel Lee."

"Didn't you come to see him?"

"I thought I did."

"Well, didn't ye?"

"Yes."

"Come on, then!"

"No—"

"What you scared of him for?"

"He's a great man."

"But he's my Papa."

"He don't want to be bothered with little boys."

"Yes, he does, too. He hears everything I've got to say to him."

"Ain't you skeered of him?"

"No!"

Robbie seized John's hand again and before he could draw back dragged him to his father's side.

Lee turned the friendliest smile on John's flushed face and won his confidence before a word was spoken.

"Well, Robbie, what's your handsome little friend's name?"

"John Doyle, Papa."

"Your father lives on the farm just outside our gate, doesn't he?"

"Yessir," the boy answered eagerly.

His embarrassment had gone. But it was hard to begin his story. It had seemed easy at first, the need was so great. Now it seemed that he had no right to make the request he had in his heart.

He hung his head and dug his big toe in the gravel.

Robbie hastened to his rescue.

"John wants to tell you something, Papa," he began tenderly.

"All right," Lee cheerfully answered as he drew one boy within each arm and hugged them both. "What can I do for you, Johnnie?"

"I dunno, sir. I hope you can do somethin'."

"I will, if I can. I like to do things for boys. I was a little boy once myself and I know exactly how it feels. What is it?"

Again the child hesitated.

Lee studied the lines of his finely molded face and neck and throat. A handsomer boy of ten he had never seen. He pressed his arm closer and held him a moment until he looked up with a tear glistening in his blue eyes.

"Tell me, sonny—"

"My Ma's been cryin' all day, sir, and I want to do somethin' to help her—"

He paused and his voice failed.

"What has she been crying about?"

"We've lost our home, sir, and my daddy's drunk."

"You've lost your home?"

"Yessir. The sheriff come this mornin'. And he's goin' to put us out.

Ma's most crazy. I ain't been a very good boy here lately—"

"No?"

"No, sir. I've been runnin' away and goin' fishin' and hurtin' my Ma's feelin's and now I wish I hadn't done it. I heard her sayin' this mornin' while she wuz cryin', that you wuz the only man she knowed on earth who could help us. She was afeared to come to see you. And I slipped out to tell ye. I thought if I could get you to come to see us, maybe you could tell Ma what to do and that would make up for my hurtin' her so when I run away from my lessons this week."

The Colonel gently pressed the boys away and rose with quick decision.

"I'll ride right up, sonny, and see your mother."

"Will you, Colonel Lee?" the child asked with pathetic eagerness.

"Just as soon as I can have my horse saddled."

Lee turned abruptly into the house and left the boy dazed. He threw his arms around Robbie, hugged him in a flash and was gone. Up the dusty way to the gate the little bare feet flew to tell glad tidings to a lonely woman.

She stood beside the window looking out on the wreck of her life in a stupor of wordless pain. She saw her boy leap the fence as a hound and rushed from the house in alarm to meet him.

He was breathless, but he managed to gasp his message.

"Ma—Ma—Colonel Lee's comin' to see you!"

"To see me?"

"Yes'm. I told him we'd lost our home and he said he'd come right up.

And he's comin', too—"

The mother looked into the child's flushed face, saw the love light in his eyes and caught him to her heart.

"Oh, boy, boy, you're such a fine young one—my baby—as smart as a whip. You'll beat 'em all some day and make your poor old mother proud and happy."

"I'm going to try now, Ma—you see if I don't."

"I know you will, my son."

"I'll never run away again. You see if I do."

The boy stopped suddenly at the sight of Colonel Lee swiftly approaching.

"Run and wash your face," the mother whispered, "and tell your brothers to put on clean shirts. I want them to see the Colonel, too."

The boy darted into the house.

The woman looked about the yard to see if there were any evidences of carelessness. She had tried to keep it clean. The row of flowers that flamed in the beds beside the door was the finest in the county. She knew that. She was an expert in the culture of the prolific tall cosmos that blooms so beautifully in the Indian summers of Old Virginia.

A cur dog barked.

"Get under the house, sir!" she commanded.

The dog continued to look down the road at the coming horseman.

"Get under the house, I say—" she repeated and the dog slowly obeyed.

She advanced to meet her visitor. He hitched his horse to a swinging limb outside the gate and hurried in.

No introduction was necessary. The Colonel had known her husband for years and he had often lifted his hat to his wife in passing.

He extended his hand and grasped hers in quick sympathy.

"I'm sorry to learn of your great misfortune from your fine boy, Mrs.

Doyle."

The woman's eyes filled with tears in spite of her firm resolution to be dignified.

"He is a fine—boy—isn't he, Colonel?"

"One of the handsomest little chaps I ever saw. You should be proud of him."

"I am, sir."

She drew her figure a bit higher instinctively. The movement was not lost on the keen observer of character. He had never noticed before the distinction of her personality. In a simple calico dress, and forty years of age, she presented a peculiarly winsome appearance. Her features were regular, and well rounded, the coloring of cheeks and neck and hands the deep pink of perfect health. Her eyes were a bright glowing brown. They were large, soulful eyes that spoke the love of a mother. She might scold her husband if provoked. But those eyes could never scold a child. They could only love him into obedience and helpfulness. They were shining mother eyes.

Lee studied her in a quick glance before speaking. He knew instinctively that he could trust her word.

"Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Doyle?"

"Oh, I hope so, sir. My man's gone all to pieces to-day. He's good-hearted and kind if I do have to say it myself. But when the sheriff come to put us out, he just flopped and quit. And then he got drunk. I don't blame him much. If I hadn't been a woman and the mother of three fine boys and two as pretty little gals as the Lord ever give to a woman, I reckon I'd a got drunk, too."

She stopped, overcome with emotion and Lee hastened to ask:

"How did it happen, Mrs. Doyle?"

"Well, sir, you see, we hadn't quite paid for the place. You know it's hard with a big family of children on a little farm o' ten acres. It's hard to make a livin' let alone save money to pay for the land. But we wuz doin' it. We didn't have but two more payments to make when my man signed a note for his brother. His brother got sick and couldn't pay and they come down on us and we're turned out o' house and home. The sheriff's give us till Wednesday to get out and we've nowhere to go—"

A sob caught her voice.

"Don't say that, Madame. No neighbor of mine will ever be without a home so long as I have a house with a roof on it."

"Thank you, Colonel Lee," she interrupted, "but you know I can't let my man be a renter and see my husband and my sons workin' other people's land like nigger slaves. I got pride. I jus' can't do it. I'd rather starve."

"I understand, Madame," Lee answered.

The two older boys came awkwardly out into the yard. One of them was fourteen years old and the other sixteen.

The mother beckoned and they came to her with embarrassed step. Her face lighted with pride in their stalwart figures and well-shaped, regular features.

"Here's my oldest boy, William, Colonel Lee."

The Colonel took the outstretched hand with cordial grasp.

"I'm glad to know you, young man."

"And glad to see you, sir," he stammered, blushing.

"My next boy Drury, sir. He ain't but fourteen but he's a grown man."

Drury flushed red but failed to make a sound.

When they had moved away and leaned against the fence watching the scene out of the corner of an eye, the mother turned to the Colonel and asked:

"Do you blame me if I'm proud of my boys, Colonel?"

"I do not, Madame."

"The Lord made me a mother. All I know is to raise fine children and love 'em. My little gals is putty as dolls."

John suddenly appeared beside her and pulled her skirt.

"What's the matter?" she whispered.

"Pa's waked up. I told him Colonel Lee's here and he's washed his face and walks straight. Shall I fetch him out, too?"

"Yes, run tell him to come quick."

The boy darted back into the house.

"Johnnie's father wants to see you, Colonel Lee," the woman apologized.

"I'll be glad to talk to him, Madame."

"He'll be all right now. Your comin' to see us'll sober him. He'll be awful proud of the honor, sir."

Doyle emerged from the house and walked quickly toward the Colonel. His head was high. He smiled a welcome to his guest and his step was straight, light and springing, as if he were not quite sure he could rest his full weight on one foot and tried to get them both down at the same time.

Lee's face was a mask of quiet dignity. The tragedy in the woman's heart made the more pathetic the comedy of the half-drunken husband. Besides, he was philosopher enough to know that more than half the drunkenness of the world was the pitiful effort to smother a heartache.

The man's smile was a peculiarly winning one. His face was covered with a full growth of blond beard cut moderately long. He never shaved. His wife trimmed his beard in the manner most becoming to the shape of his head, the poise of his neck and evenly formed shoulders. He wore his hair full long and it curled about his neck in a deep blond wave. He might have posed for the model of Hoffman's famous picture of Christ. His eyes, a clear blue, were the finest feature of his personality. In spite of his lack of education, in spite of his shabby clothes, in spite of the smell of liquor he was a personality. His clean, high forehead, his aquiline nose, his straight eyebrows, his fair skin, his tall figure spoke the heritage of the great Nordic race of men. The race whose leaders achieved the civilization of Rome, conquered Europe and finally dominated civilization.

The difference between this man and the leader who wore the uniform of a Colonel was not in racial stock. It was purely an accident of the conditions of birth and training. Behind Lee lay two hundred years of wealth and culture. The poorer man was his kinsman of the centuries. The world had not been kind to him. He had lost the way of material success. Perhaps some kink in his mind, a sense of comedy, a touch of the old wanderlust of the ages.

Lee wondered what had kept him poor as he looked at the figure approaching. It was straight and fine in spite of the liquor.

Doyle's brain was just clear enough to realize that he had been highly honored in a call from the foremost citizen of Virginia. His politeness was extreme. And it was true. It was instinctive. It leaped from centuries of racial inheritance.

"We're proud of the honor you've done us, Colonel Lee," he announced.

He grasped the extended hand with a cordial, dignified greeting.

"I only hope I can be of some service to you and your family, Mr.

Doyle."

"I'm sure you can, sir. Won't you come in, Colonel?"

"Thank you, it's so pleasant outside, we'll just sit down by the well, if you don't mind."

"Yessir. All right, sir."

Lee moved slowly toward the platform of the well with its old oaken bucket and tall sweep.

His wife threw a warning at her husband under her breath.

"Don't you say nothin' foolish now—"

"I won't."

"Your tongue's too long when it gets to waggin'."

"I'll mind, Ma," he smiled.

The woman called softly to her distinguished guest:

"You'll excuse me, Colonel, while I look after the supper. I'll be back in a minute."

"Certainly, Madame."

He could not have bowed with graver courtesy to the wife of Stephen A.

Douglas.

"Have a seat here on the well, Colonel," Doyle invited.

Lee took his seat on the weather-beaten oak boards.

Doyle turned his foot on a rounded stone and set down a little ungracefully in spite of his effort to be fully himself. He saw at once his misstep and hastened to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, you've caught me with the smell of liquor, sir—"

He paused and looked over his garden in an embarrassed way.

"I know what has happened to you, Mr. Doyle, and you have my deepest sympathy."

"Thank you, sir."

"I might have done the same thing if I'd been in your position. Though, of course, liquor won't help things for you."

Doyle smiled around the corners of his blue eyes.

"No, sir, except while it's a swimmin' in the veins. Then for a little while you're great and rich and you don't care which a way the wind blows."

"The farm is lost beyond hope?"

"Yessir, clean gone—world without end."

"You had a lawyer?"

"The best in the county, old Jim Randolph. I didn't have no money to pay him. He said we'd both always voted the Whig ticket and he'd waive his retainer. I didn't know what he was wavin', but anyhow he tuck my case. And I will say he put up a nasty fight for me. He made one of the greatest speeches I ever heared in my life. Hit wuz mighty nigh worth losin' the farm ter hear him tell how I'd been abused and how fine a feller I wuz. An' when he los' the case, he cussed the Judge, he cussed the jury, he cussed the lawyers. He swore they was all fools and didn't know the first principles er law nohow. I sho enjoyed the fight, ef I did lose it. I couldn't pay him nothin' yet. But I did manage to get him a gallon of the best apple brandy I ever tasted."

"What do you think of doing?"

"I ain't had time ter think, sir. I don't think fast nohow and the first thing I had to do when I come home and tole the ole 'oman and she bust out cryin'—wuz ter get drunk. Somehow I couldn't stand it."

"You've never learned a trade?"

"No sir—nothin' 'cept farmin'. I said to myself—what's the use? These damned nigger slaves have learned all the trades. They say in the old days, they wuz just servants in the house and stables, and field hands. Now they've learnt all the trades. They're mechanics, blacksmiths, carpenters, wagon makers and everything. What chance has a poor white man got agin 'em? They don't have to worry about nothin'. They have everything they need before they lift their hands to do anything. They got plenty to eat for themselves and their families, no matter how many children they have. All they can eat, all they can wear, a warm house and a big fire in the winter. I have to fight and scratch to keep a roof over my head, wood in my fireplace, clothes on my back and somethin' to eat on my table. How can I beat the slave at a trade? Tain't no use to try. Ef you want to build a house, your own carpenters can do it. And if you haven't enough slave carpenters of your own, your neighbors have. They can hire 'em to you cheaper than I can work and live. They're goin' to live anyhow. That's settled because they're slaves. They're worth twelve hundred dollars apiece. Their life is precious. Mine don't count. I got to look after that myself and I got to look after my wife and children, too. Hit ain't right, Colonel, this Slavery business. You know that as well as I do. I've heard you say it, too—"

"I agree with you, Mr. Doyle. But if we set them all free to-morrow, and you had to compete with their labor, you couldn't live down to their standard of wages, could you?"

"No, I couldn't. They would kill me at that game, too. That's why I hate a free nigger worse than a slave—"

He paused and his face knotted with fury.

"Damn 'em all—why are they here anyhow?"

"Come, come, my friend," Lee protested. "It doesn't help to swear about it. They are here. Not by any wish of mine or of yours. We inherited this curse from the past. We have clung to old delusions while our smart Yankee friends have shifted the responsibilities on others."

"What can I do, Colonel?" Doyle asked desperately. "I don't know how to do anything but farm. I can't go into the fields and work with slaves as a field hand. And I couldn't get such work to do if I'd do it. I'll die before I'll come down to it. I might rent a little farm alongside of a free nigger. But he can beat me at that game. He can live on less and work longer hours than I do. He'll underbid me as a cropper. He can live and pay the owner four-fifths of the crop. I'd starve. What am I goin' to do?"

"Had you thought of moving West into one of the new Territories just opening?"

"Yessir. I'd thought of it. But how am I goin' to get there with a wife and five children?"

Lee rose and looked about the place thoughtfully.

"How much could you realize from the sale of your things?"

Doyle scratched his head doubtfully.

"I ain't got no idee, sir. I'm afraid not much. Ye see it's just home stuff. The old 'oman's awful smart. She raises enough chickens and turkeys and ducks and guineas to eat, and she sells a few eggs and young chickens and turkeys when they brings anything in the market. I got six sheep, a cow, a calf, a mule, a couple o' pigs in the pen. But they won't bring much money. Ye see I never felt so poor ez long ez I had a home where I can live independent like. That house ain't much, sir. But you ain't no idea how deep down in my heart it's got."

He paused and looked at it. The Colonel followed his gaze. It was a small frame structure standing in a yard filled with trees. A one-story affair with a sharp, gabled attic. Two dormer windows projected from the high roof and a solid brick chimney at each end gave it dignity. A narrow porch came straight out from the front door. On either side of the porch were built wooden benches and behind them on a lattice grew a luxuriant rambler rose. It was still blooming richly in the warm September sun.

"Ye see, sir," Doyle went on, "what we've got that's worth havin' can't be sold. I love the smell o' them roses. I wake up in the night and the breeze brings it in the window and it puts me to sleep like an old song my mother used to sing when I was a little shaver—"

He stopped short.

"I didn't mean to snivel, sir."

"I understand, my friend. No apologies are necessary."

"And that big scuppernong grape vine out there in the garden—I couldn't sell that. I planted it fifteen years ago. Folks told us we was too fur north here fur it to grow good. But I knowed better. You can see its covered a place as big ez the house. And you can smell them ripe grapes a hundred yards before ye get to the gate. I make a little wine outen 'em. We have 'em to eat a whole month. That garden keeps us goin' winter and summer. You see them five rows of flat turnips and the ruttabaggers beside 'em? I've cabbage enough banked under them pine tops to make a fifty-gallon barrel o' kraut and give us cabbage with our bacon all winter. We've got turnip greens, onions and collards. I've got corn and wheat in my crib and bacon enough to last me till next year. I raise the finest watermelons and mushmelons in the county and it ain't much trouble to live here. I never knowed how well off I wuz till the Sheriff come and told me I had to go."

"You're in the prime of life. You can go to a new country and begin over again. Why not?"

"If I could get there. I reckon I could."

He stopped short as his wife appeared by his side. She had heard Colonel

Lee's last question.

"Of course, you can begin over again. Haven't we got three of the finest boys the Lord ever give a mother? They ain't got no chance here nohow. My baby boy's one o' the smartest youngsters in the county. Ef old Andy Jackson wuz a poor boy an' got ter be President, he might do the same thing ef we give him a chance—"

"Yes, I reckon we could, ef we had a chance," Doyle agreed doubtfully. "But it would be a hard pull to leave my ole Virginy home. You know that would pull you, Colonel—now wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would," was the earnest answer.

"You see I wuz born in this country an' me daddy before me. I like it here. I like the feel of the air in the fall. There's a flock o' ducks now circlin' over that bend o' the river. The geese are comin'. I heard 'em honk high up in the sky last night. I like my oysters and terrapin. I like to shoot ducks and geese, rabbits and quail. I like the smell o' the water. I like the smell o' these fields. I like the way the sun shines and the winds blow down here. It's in my blood."

"But you'll go if you can get away," his wife interrupted cheerfully.

Two little girls timidly drew near. Their faces were washed clean and their shining blonde hair gleamed in circles of golden light as the rays of the setting sun caught it.

Lee smiled, took them both in his arms and kissed them.

A tear softened his eyes as he placed them on the ground.

"You're darling little dolls. No wonder your mother loves you."

"Run back in the house now, honeys," the mother said.

The children slowly obeyed, glancing back at the great man who had kissed them. They wondered why their daddy hadn't kissed them oftener.

"What do you think we ought to do, Colonel Lee?" the woman asked eagerly.

"I can tell you what I would do, Madame, in your place—"

"What?"

The husband and wife spoke the word in chorus.

"I'd go West and begin again."

"But how'm I goin' to get away, sir?" the man asked blankly.

"Sell your things for the best price you can get and I'll loan you the balance of the money you'll need."

"Will you, sir?" the woman gasped.

"I ain't got no security for ye, Colonel—" Doyle protested.

"You are my friend and neighbor, Mr. Doyle. You're in distress. You don't need security. I'll take your note, sir, without endorsement."

"Glory to God!" the mother cried with face uplifted in a prayer of thanksgiving.

Doyle couldn't speak for a moment. He looked out over the roadway and got control of his feelings before trying. There was a lump in his throat which made his speech thick when at last he managed to grasp Lee's hand.

"I dunno how to thank you, sir."

"It will be all right, Mr. Doyle. Look after the sale of your things and

I'll find out the best way for you to get there and let you know."

He mounted his horse and rode away into the fading sunset as they watched him through dimmed eyes.