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.
While Hesden and Mollie stood watching this group, with the interest one always feels in that which reminds him of home, seeing in these people the forerunners of a movement which promised to assume astounding proportions in the near future, they were startled by an exclamation from one of the party:
"Wall, I declar'! Ef dar ain't Miss Mollie—an' 'fore God, Marse Hesden, too!" Stumbling over the scattered bundles in his way, and pushing aside those who stood around, Berry Lawson scrambled into the presence of the travelers, bowing and scraping, and chuckling with delight; a battered wool hat in one hand, a shocking assortment of dilapidated clothing upon his person, but his face glowing with honest good-nature, and his tones resonant of fun, as if care and he had always been strangers.
"How d'ye, Miss Mollie—sah'vent, Marse Hesden. I 'llow I must be gittin' putty nigh ter de promised lan' when I sees you once mo'. Yah, yah! Yer hain't done forgot Berry, I s'pose? Kase ef yer hez, I'll jes hev ter whistle a chune ter call myself ter mind. Jes, fer instance now, like dis h'yer."
Then raising his hands and swaying his body in easy accompaniment, he began to imitate the mocking-bird in his mimicry of his feathered companions. He was very proud of this accomplishment, and his performance soon drew attention from all parts of the crowded depot. Noticing this, Hesden said,
"There, there, Berry; that will do. There is no doubt as to your identity. We both believe that nobody but Berry Lawson could do that, and are very glad to see you." Mollie smiled assent.
"T'ank ye, sah. Much obleeged fer de compliment. Hope I see yer well, an' Miss Mollie de same. Yer do me proud, both on yer," said Berry, bowing and scraping again, making a ball of his old hat, sidling restlessly back and forth, and displaying all the limpsy litheness of his figure, in his embarrassed attempts to show his enjoyment. "'Pears like yer's trabblin' in company," he added, with a glance at Mollie's hand resting on Hesden's arm.
"Yes," said Hesden good-naturedly; "Miss Mollie is Mrs. Le Moyne now."
"Yer don't say!" said Berry, in surprise. "Der Lo'd an' der nation, what will happen next? Miss Mollie an' Marse Hesden done married an' a-meetin' up wid Berry out h'yer on de berry edge o' de kingdom! Jest ez soon hab expected to a' seen de vanguard o' de resurrection. Yer orter be mighty proud, Marse Hesden. We used ter t'ink, 'bout Red Wing, dat dar wa'n't nary man dat ebber cast a shadder good 'nough fer Miss Mollie."
"And so there isn't," said Hesden, laughing, "But we can't stand here and talk all day. Where are you from?"
"Whar's I frum? Ebbery place on de green yairth, Marse Hesden, 'ceptin' dis one, whar dey hez ter shoe de goats fer ter help 'em climb de bluffs; an' please de Lo'd I'll be from h'yer jest es soon ez de train come's 'long dat's 'boun' fer de happy land of Canaan.'"
"We shall have to stop over, dear," said Hesden to his wife. "There's no doing anything with Berry in the time we have between the trains. Have you any baggage?" he asked of Berry,
"Baggage? Dat I hab—a whole handkercher full o' clean clo'es—jest ez soon ez dey's been washed, yer know. Yah, yah!"
"Where are you going?"
"Whar's I gwine? Gwine West, ter grow up wid de kentry, MarseHesden." "There, there, take your bundle and come along."
"All right, Marse Hesden. Jest ez soon wuk fer you ez ennybody. Good-by, folkses," said he, waving his hat to his late traveling companions. "I'se mighty sorry to leave yer, but biz is biz, yer know, an' I'se got a job. Wish yer good luck, all on yer. Jes let 'em know I'm on der way, will yer?
Ef yo' gits dar afo' I do,Jes tell 'em I'se a-comin' too,"
he sang, as he followed Hesden and Mollie out of the depot, amid the laughter of the crowd which had gathered about them. Their baggage was soon removed from the platform, and, with Berry on the seat with the driver, they went to the hotel. Then, taking him down the busy street that winds around between the sharp hills as though it had crawled up, inch by inch, from the river-bottom below, Hesden procured him some new clothes and a valise, which Berry persisted in calling a "have'em-bag," and took him back to the hotel as his servant. As Hesden started to his room, the rejuvenated fugitive inquired,
"Please, Marse Hesden, does yer know ennyt'ing what's a come ob—ob my Sally an' de chillen. It's been a powerful time sence I seed 'em, Marse Hesden. I 'llow ter send fer 'em jest ez quick ez I find whar dey is, an' gits de money, yer know."
"They are all right, Berry. You may come to my room in half an hour, and we will tell you all about them," answered Hesden.
Hardly had he reached his room when he heard the footsteps of Berry without. Going to the door he was met by Berry with the explanation,
"Beg parding, Marse Hesden. I knowed 'twa'n't de time fer me ter come yit, but somehow I'llowed it would git on pearter ef I wuz somewhar nigh you an' Miss Mollie. I'se half afeared I'se ies been dreamin' ennyhow."
"Well, come in," said Hesden. Berry entered the room, and sat in unwonted silence while Mollie and her husband told him what the reader already knows about his family and friends. The poor fellow's tears flowed freely, but he did not interrupt, save to ask now and then a question. When they had concluded, he sat a while in silence, and then said,
"Bress de Lo'd! Berry won't nebber hab no mo' doubt 'bout de Lo'd takin' keer ob ebberybody—speshully niggas an' fools. H'yer I'se been a-feelin' mighty hard kase de Ole Marster 'llowed Berry ter be boxed roun', h'yer an' dar, fus' dis way an' now dat, an' let him be run off from his wife an' chillen dat he t'ought der couldn't nobody take keer on but hissef; an' h'yer all de time de good Lo'd hez been a-lookin' atter 'em an' a-nussin' 'em like little lambs, widout my knowin' ennyt'ing about it, er even axin' fer him ter do it. Berry!" he continued, speaking to himself, "yer's jest a gran' rascal, an' desarve ter be whacked roun' an' go hungry fer—"
"Berry," interrupted Mollie, "have you had your breakfast?"
"Brekfas', Miss Mollie?" said Berry, "what Berry want ob any brekfas'? Ain't what yer's been a-tellin' on him brekfas' an' dinner an' supper ter him? Brekfas' don't matter ter him now. He's jes dat full o' good t'ings dat he won't need no mo' for a week at de berry least."
"Tell the truth, Berry; when did you eat last?"
"Wal, I 'clar, Miss Mollie, ef Berry don't make no mistake, he bed a squar meal night afo' las', afo' we leave Saint Lewy. De yemergrant train runs mighty slow, an' Berry wa'n't patronizin' none o' dem cheap shops 'long de way—not much; yah, yah!"
Hesden soon arranged to relieve his discomfort, and that night he told them where he had been and what had befallen him in the mean time.
"Yer see, atter I lef Bre'er Nimbus, I went back down inter Hanson County; but I wuz jes dat bad skeered dat I darn't show myse'f in de daytime at all. So I jes' tuk Sally an' de chillen in de carry-all dat Nimbus lent me wid de mule, an' started on furder down east. 'Clar, I jes hev ter pay Nimbus fer dat mule an' carry-all, de berry fus' money I gits out h'yer in Kansas. It certain war a gret help ter Berry. Jest as long ez I hed dat tertrabbel wid, I knowed I war safe; kase nobody wouldn't nebber'spect I was runnin' away in dat sort ob style. Wal, I went way down east, an' denex' spring went ter crappin' on sheers on a cotting plantation. Sally 'n' me we jes made up ourminds dat we wouldn't draw no rations from de boss man. ner ax him fer ary cent ob money de whole yeah, an' den, yer know, dar wouldn't be nary 'count agin us when de year wuz ober. So Sally, she 'llowed dat she'd wuk fer de bread an' meat an' take keer ob de chillen, wid de few days' help I might spar' outen de crap. De boss man, he war boun' by de writin's ter feed de mule. Dat's de way we sot in.
"We got 'long mighty peart like till some time atter de crap wuz laid by, 'long bout roastin'-ear-time. Den Sally tuk sick, an' de fus' dat I knowed we wuz out o' meat. Sally wuz powerful sot agin my goih' ter de boss man fer enny orders on destore, kase we knowed how dat wukked afo'. Den I sez, 'See h'yer, Sally, I'se done got it. Dar's dat piece ob corn dar, below de house, is jest a-gittin' good fer roastin-yeahs, Now, we'll jes pick offen de outside rows, an' I'll be dod-dinged ef we can't git 'long wid dat till de crap comes off; an' I'll jes tell Maise Hooper—dat wuz de name o' de man what owned de plantation—dat I'll take dem rows inter my sheer.' So it went on fer a week er two, an' I t'ought I wuz jes gittin' on like a quarter hoss. Sally wuz nigh 'bout well, an' 'llowed she'd be ready ter go ter wuk de nex' week; when one mo'nin' I tuk the basket an' went down ter pick some corn. Jest ez I'd got de basket nigh 'bout full, who should start up dar, outen de bushes, on'y jes Marse Hooper; an' he sez, mighty brisk-like, 'So? I 'llowed I'd cotch yer 'fore I got fru! Stealin' corn, is yer?'
"Den I jes larfed right out, an' sez I, 'Dat's de fus' time I ebber heerd ob ennybody a-stealin' corn out ob his own field! Yah! yah!' Jes so-like. 'Ain't dis yer my crap, Marse Hooper? Didn't I make it, jest a-payin' ter you one third on't for de rent?' T'ought I hed him, yer know. But, law sakes, he didn't hev no sech notion, not much. So he sez, sez he:
"'No yer don't! Dat mout a' done once, when de Radikils wuz in power, but de legislatur las' winter dey made a diff'rent sort ob a law, slightually. Dey sed dat ef a renter tuk away enny o' de crap afo' it wuz all harvested an' diwided, widout de leave o' de owner, got afo' hand, he was guilty o' stealin' '—larsininy, he called it, but its all de same. An' he sed, sez he, 'Dar ain't no use now, Berry Lawson. Yer's jes got yer choice. Yer kin jes git up an' git, er else I hez yer 'dicted an' sent ter State prison fer not less ner one year nor more'n twenty—dat's 'cordin' ter de law.' "Den I begun ter be skeered-like, an' I sez, sez I, 'Arn't yer gwine ter let me stay an' gether my crap?'
"'Damn de crap,' sez he (axin' yer parding, Miss Mollie, fer usin' cuss-words), 'I'll take keer o' de crap; don't yer be afeared o' dat. Yer t'ought yer was damn smart, didn't yer, not takin' enny store orders, an' a-tryin' to fo'ce me ter pay yer cash in de lump? But now I'se got yer. Dis Lan'lo'd an' Tenant Act war made fer jes sech cussed smart niggers ez you is.'
"'Marse Hooper,' sez I, 'is dat de law?'
"'Sartin,' sez he, 'jes you come long wid me ober ter Squar Tice's, an' ef he don't say so I'll quit—dat's all.'
"So we went ober ter Squar Tice's, an' he sed Marse Hooper war right—dat it war stealin' all de same, even ef it war my own crap. Den I seed dat Marse Hooper hed me close, an' I begun ter beg off, kase I knowed it war a heap easier ter feed him soft corn dan ter fight him in de law, when I wuz boun' ter git whipped. De Squar war a good sort ob man, an' he kinder 'suaded Marse Hooper ter 'comp' de matter wid me; an' dat's what we did finally. He gin me twenty dollahs an' I signed away all my right ter de crap. Den he turned in an' wanted ter hire me fer de nex yeah; but de Squar, he tuk me out an' sed I'd better git away from dar, kase ennybody could bring de matter up agin me an' git me put in de penitentiary fer it, atter all dat hed been sed an' done. So we geared up, an' moved on. Sally felt mighty bad, an' it did seem hard; but I tried ter chirk her up, yer know, an' tole her dat, rough ez it war, it war better nor we'd ebber done afo', kase we hed twenty dollahs an' didn't owe nuffin'.
"I 'llowed we'd git clean away dat time, an' we didn't stop till we'd got inter anodder State."
"Wal, dar I sot in ter wuk a cotting crap agin. Dis time I 'llowed I'd jes take de odder way; an' so I tuk up all de orders on de sto' dat de boss man would let me hev, kase I 'llowed ter git what I could ez I went 'long, yer know. So, atter de cotting wuz all picked, an' de 'counts all settled up, dar warn't only jest one little bag ob lint a comin' ter Berry. I tuk dat inter de town one Saturday in de ebenin', an' went roun' h'yer an' dar, a-tryin' ter git de biggest price 'mong de buyers dat I could.
"It happened dat I done forgot al 'bout it's comin' on late, an' jest a little atter sun-down, I struck on a man dat offered me 'bout a cent a poun' more'n ennybody else hed done, an' I traded wid him. Den I druv de mule roun', an' hed jes got de cotting out ob de carry-all an' inter de sto', when, fust I knowed, 'long come a p'liceman an' tuk me up for selling cotting atter sun-down. I tole him dat it was my own cotting, what I'd done raised myself, but he sed ez how it didn't make no sort of diff'rence at all. He 'clared dat de law sed ez how ennybody ez sold er offered fer sale any cotting atter sundown an' afore sun-up, should be sent ter jail jes de same ez ef he'd done stole it. Den I axed de man dat bought de cotting ter gib it back ter me, but he wouldn't do dat, nohow, nor de money for it nuther. So dey jes' toted me off ter jail.
"I knowed der warn't no use in savin' nuffin' den. So when Sally come in I tole her ter jes take dat ar mule an' carry-all an' sell 'em off jest ez quick ez she could, so dat nobody wouldn't git hold ob dem. But when she tried ter do it, de boss man stopped her from it, kase he hed a mortgage on 'em fer de contract; an' he sed ez how I hedn't kep' my bargain kase I'd gone an' got put in jail afo' de yeah was out. So she couldn't git no money ter pay a lawyer, an' I don't s'pose 'twould hev done enny good ef she hed. I tole her not ter mind no mo' 'bout me, but jes ter come back ter Red Wing an' see ef Miss Mollie couldn't help her out enny, Yer see I was jes shore dey'd put me in de chain-gang, an' I didn't want her ner de chillen ter be whar dey'd see me a totin' 'roun' a ball an' chain.
"Shore 'nough, when de court come on, dey tried me an' fotch me in guilty o' sellin' cotting alter sundown. De jedge, he lectured me powerful fer a while, an' den he ax me what I'd got ter say 'bout it. Dat's de way I understood him ter say, ennyhow. So, ez he wuz dat kind ez ter ax me ter speak in meetin', I 'llowed twa'n't no mo' dan polite fer me ter say a few words, yer know. I told him squar out dat I t'ought 'twas a mighty quare law an' a mighty mean one, too, dat put a man in de chain-gang jes kase he sold his own cotting atter sundown, when dey let ennybody buy it an' not pay fer it at all. I tole him dat dey let 'em sell whisky an' terbacker an' calico and sto' clo'es an' ebbery t'ing dat a nigger hed ter buy, jest all times o' day an' night; an' I jest bleeved dat de whole t'ing war jest a white man's trick ter git niggas in de chain-gang. Den de jedge he tried ter set down on me an' tole me ter stop, but I wuz dat mad dat when I got a-gwine dar warn't no stoppin' me till de sheriff he jes grabbed me by de scruff o' de neck, an' sot me down jest ennyway—all in a heap, yer know. Den de jedge passed sentence, yer know, an' he sed dat he gib me one year fer de stealin' an' one year fer sassin' de Court.
"So dey tuk me back ter jail, but, Lor' bress ye, dey didn't git me inter de chain-gang, nohow. 'Fore de mo'nin' come I'd jes bid good-by ter dat jail an' was a pintin' outen dat kentry, in my weak way, ez de ministers say, jest ez fast ez I could git ober de groun'.
"Den I jes clean gib up. I couldn't take my back trac nowhar, fer fear I'd be tuk up. I t'ought it all ober while I wuz a trabblin' 'long; an' I swar ter God, Marse Hesden, I jes did peg out ob all hope. I couldn't go back ter Sallie an' de chillen, ner couldn't do 'em enny good ef I did; ner I couldn't send fer dem ter come ter me, kase I hedn't nuffin' ter fotch 'em wid. So I jes kinder gin out, an' went a-sloshin' roun', not a-keerin' what I done er what was ter come on me. I kep' a'sendin' letters ter Sally h'yer an' dar, but, bress yer soul, I nebber heard nuffin' on 'em atterwards. Den I t'ought I'd try an' git money ter go an' hunt 'em up, but it was jes' ez it was afo'. I dunno how, but de harder I wuk de porer I got, till finally I jes started off afoot an' alone ter go ter Kansas; an' h'yer I is, ready ter grow up wid de kentry, Marse Hesden, jest ez soon ez I gits ter Sally an' de chillen."
"I'm glad you have not had any political trouble," said Hesden.
"P'litical trouble?" said Berry. "Wal, Marse Hesden, yer knows dat Berry is jes too good-natered ter do ennyt'ing but wuk an' larf, an' do a little whistlin' an banjo-pickin' by way ob a change; but I be dinged ef it don't 'pear ter me dat it's all p'litical trouble. Who's Berry ebber hurt? What's he ebber done, I'd like ter know, ter be debbled roun' dis yer way? I use ter vote, ob co'se. T'ought I hed a right ter, an' dat it war my duty ter de kentry dat hed gib me so much. But I don't do dat no mo'. Two year ago I quit dat sort o' foolishness. What's de use? I see'd 'em count de votes, Marse Hesden, an' den I knowed dar warn't no mo' use ob votin' gin dat. Yer know, dey 'pints all de jedges ob de 'lection derselves, an' so count de votes jest ez dey wants 'em. Dar in our precinct war two right good white men, but dey 'pinted nary one o' dem ter count de votes. Oh no, not ter speak on! Dey puts on de Board a good-'nough old cullu'd man dat didn't know 'B' from a bull's foot. Wal, our white men 'ranges de t'ing so dat dey counts our men ez dey goes up ter de box an' dey gibs out de tickets dereselves. Now, dar wuz six hundred an' odd ob our tickets went inter dat box. Dat's shore. But dar wa'n't t'ree hundred come out. I pertended ter be drunk, an' laid down by de chimbly whar dar was a peep-hole inter dat room, an' seed dat countin' done. When dey fust opened de box one on 'em sez, sez he,
"'Lord God! what a lot o' votes!' Den dey all look an' 'llowed dar war a heap mo' votes than dey'd got names. So they all turned in ter count de votes. Dar wuz two kinds on 'em. One wuz little bits ob slick, shiny fellers, and de odders jes common big ones. When dey'd got 'em all counted they done some figurin,' an' sed dey'd hev ter draw out 'bout t'ree hundred an' fifty votes. So dey put 'em all back in de box, all folded up jest ez dey wuz at de start, an' den dey shuck it an' shuck it an' shuck it, till it seemed ter me 'em little fellers wuz boun' ter slip fru de bottom. Den one on 'em wuz blindfolded, an' he drew outen de box till he got out de right number—mostly all on 'em de big tickets, mind ye, kase dey wuz on top, yer know. Den dey count de rest an' make up de papers, an' burns all de tickets.
"Now what's de use o' votin' agin dat? I can't see what fer dey put de tickets in de box at all. 'Tain't half ez fa'r ez a lottery I seed one time in Melton; kase dar dey kep turnin' ober de wheel, an' all de tickets hed a fa'r show. No, Marse Hesden, I nebber does no mo' votin' till I t'inks dar's a leetle chance o' habbin' my vote counted jest ez I drops it inter de box, 'long wid de rest. I don't see no use in it."
"You are quite right, Berry," said Hesden; "but what doyousay is the reason you have come away from the South?"
"Jest kase a poor man dat hain't got no larnin' is wuss off dar dan a cat in hell widout claws; he can't fight ner he can't climb. I'se wukked hard an' been honest ebber sence de S'render an' I hed ter walk an' beg my rations ter git h'yer. [Footnote: The actual words used by a colored man well-known to the writer in giving his reason for joining the "exodus," in a conversation in the depot at Kansas City, in February last.] Dat's de reason!" said Berry, springing to his feet and speaking excitedly.
"Yes, Berry, you have been unfortunate, but I know all are not so badly off."
"T'ank God fer dat!" said Berry. "Yer see I'd a' got' long well 'nough ef I'd hed a fa'r shake an' hed knowd' all 'bout de law, er ef de law hadn't been made ter cotch jes sech ez me. I didn't ebber 'spect nuffin' but jest a tollable libbin', only a bit ob larnin, fer my chillen. I tried mighty hard, an' dis is jes what's come on't. I don't pertend ter say what's de matter, but sunthin' is wrong, or else sunthin' hez been wrong, an' dis that we hez now is jest de fruits on't—I dunno which. I can't understand it, nohow. I don't hate nobody, an' I don't know ez dar's enny way out, but only jes ter wait an' wait ez we did in slave times fer de good time ter come. I wuz jes dat tuckered out a-tryin,' dat I t'ought I'd come out h'yer an' wait an' see ef I couldn't grow up wid de kentry, yer know. Yah, yah!"
The next morning the light-hearted exodian departed, with a ticket for Eupolia and a note to his white fellow-fugitive from the evils which a dark past has bequeathed to the South—Jordan Jackson, now the agent of Hesden and Mollie in the management of their interests at that place. Hesden and Mollie continued their homeward journey, stopping for a few days in Washington on their way.
Two men sat upon one of the benches in the shade of a spreading elm in the shadow of the National Capitol, as the sun declined toward his setting. They had been walking and talking as only earnest, thoughtful men are wont to talk. They had forgotten each other and themselves in the endeavor to forecast the future of the country after a consideration of its past.
One was tall, broad, and of full habit, with a clear blue eye, high, noble forehead, and brown beard and hair just beginning to be flecked with gray, and of a light complexion inclining to floridness. He was a magnificent type of the Northern man. He had been the shaper of his own destiny, and had risen to high position, with the aid only of that self-reliant manhood which constitutes the life and glory of the great free North. He was the child of the North-west, but his ancestral roots struck deep into the rugged hills of New England. The West had made him broader and fuller and freer than the stock from which he sprang, without impairing his earnestness of purpose or intensity of conviction.
The other, more slender, dark, with something of sallowness in his sedate features, with hair and beard of dark brown clinging close to the finely-chiseled head and face, with an empty sleeve pinned across his breast, showed more of litheness and subtlety, and scarcely less of strength, than the one on whom he gazed, and was an equally perfect type of the Southern-born American. The one was the Honorable Washington Goodspeed, M.C., and the other was Hesden Le Moyne.
"Well, Mr. Le Moyne," said the former, after a long and thoughtful pause, "is there any remedy for these things? Can the South and the North ever be made one people in thought, spirit, and purpose? It is evident that they have not been in the past; can they become so in the future? Wisdom and patriotism have thus far developed no cure for this evil; they seem, indeed, to have proved inadequate to the elucidation of the problem. Have you any solution to offer?"
"I think," replied Le Moyne, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, "that there is a solution lying just at our hand, the very simplicity of which, perhaps, has hitherto prevented us from fully appreciating its effectiveness."
"Ah!" said Goodspeed, with some eagerness, "and what may that be?"
"Education!" was the reply.
"Oh, yes," said the other, with a smile. "You have adopted, then, the Fourth of July remedy for all national ills?"
"If you mean by 'Fourth of July remedy,'" replied Hesdeu with some tartness, "that it is an idea born of patriotic feeling alone, I can most sincerely answer, Yes. You will please to recollect that every bias of my mind and life has been toward the Southern view of all things. I doubt if any man of the North can appreciate the full force and effect of that bias upon the minds and hearts of those exposed to its operation. When the war ended I had no reason or motive for considering the question of rebuilding the national prosperity and power upon a firmer and broader basis than before. That was left entirely to you gentlemen of the North. It was not until you, the representatives of the national power, had acted—ay, it was not until your action had resulted in apparent failure—that I began to consider this question at all. I did so without any selfish bias or hope, beyond that which every man ought to have in behalf of the Nation which he is a part, and in which he expects his children to remain. So that I think I may safely say that my idea of the remedy does spring from a patriotism as deep and earnest as ever finds expression upon the national holiday."
"Oh, I did not mean that," was the half-apologetic rejoinder; "I did not mean to question your sincerity at all; but the truth is, there has been so much impracticable theorizing upon this subject that one who looks for results can scarcely restrain an expression of impatience when that answer is dogmatically given to such an inquiry."
"Without entirely indorsing your view as to the impracticality of what has been said and written upon this subject," answered Le Moyne, "I must confess that I have never yet seen it formulated in a manner entirely satisfactory to myself. For my part, I am thoroughly satisfied that it is not only practicable, but is also the sole practicable method of curing the ills of which we have been speaking. It seems to me also perfectly apparent why the remedy has not previously been applied—why the patriotism and wisdom of the past has failed to hit upon this simple remedy."
"Well, why was it?"
"The difference between the North and the South before the war," said Le Moyne, "was twofold; both the political and the social organizations of the South were utterly different from those of the North, and could not be harmonized with them. The characteristics of thesocialorganization you, in common with the intelligent masses of the North, no doubt comprehend as fully and clearly as is possible for one who has not personally investigated its phenomena. Your Northern social system was builded upon the idea of inherent equality—that is, of equality and opportunity; so that the only inequality which could exist was that which resulted from the accident of wealth or difference of capacity in the individual.
"The social system of the South was opposed to this in its very elements. At the very outset it was based upon a wide distinction, never overlooked or forgotten for a single moment. Under no circumstances could a colored man, of whatever rank or grade of intellectual power, in any respect, for a single instant overstep the gulf which separated him from the Caucasian, however humble, impoverished, or degraded the latter might be. This rendered easy and natural the establishment of other social grades and ideas, which tended to separate still farther the Northern from the Southern social system. The very fact of the African being thus degraded led, by natural association, to the degradation of those forms of labor most frequently delegated to the slave. By this means free labor became gradually to be considered more and more disreputable, and self-support to be considered less and less honorable. The necessities of slavery, as well as the constantly growing pride of class, tended very rapidly toward the subversion of free thought and free speech; so that, even with the white man of any and every class, the right to hold and express opinions different from those entertained by the bulk of the master-class with reference to all those subjects related to the social system of the South soon came to be questioned, and eventually utterly denied. All these facts the North—that is, the Northern people, Northern statesmen, Northern thinkers—have comprehendedasfacts. Their influence and bearings, I may be allowed to say, they have little understood, because they have not sufficiently realized their influence upon the minds of those subjected, generation after generation, to their sway.
"On the other hand, the wide difference between thepoliticalsystems of the North and the South seems never to have affected the Northern mind at all. The Northern statesmen and political writers seem always to have proceeded upon the assumption that the removal of slavery, the changing of the legal status of the African, resulting in the withdrawal of one of the props which supported thesocialsystem of the South, would of itself overthrow not only that system, but the political system which had grown up along with it, and which was skillfully designed for its maintenance and support. Of the absolute difference between the political systems of the South and the North, and of the fact that the social and political systems stood to each other in the mutual relation of cause and effect, the North seems ever to have been profoundly ignorant."
"Well," said Mr. Goodspeed, "I must confess that I cannot understand what difference there is, except what arose out of slavery."
"The questien is not," said Le Moyne, "whether itaroseout of slavery, but whether it would of necessity fall with the extinction of slaveryas a legal status. It is, perhaps, impossible for any one to say exactly how much of the political system of the South grew out of slavery, and how much of slavery and its consequences were due to the Southern political system."
"I do not catch your meaning," said Goodspeed. "Except for the system of slavery and the exclusion of the blacks from the exercise and enjoyment of poitical rights and privileges, I cannot see that the political system of the South differed materially from that of the North."
"Precisely so," said Le Moyne. "Your inability to perceive my meaning very clearly illustrates to my mind the fact which I am endeavoring to impress upon you. If you will consider for a moment the history of the country, you will observe that a system prevailed in the nou-slaveholding States which was unknown, either in name or essential attributes, throughout the slaveholding part of the country."
"Yes?" said the other inquiringly. "What may that have been?"
"In one word," said Le Moyne—"the 'township' system."
"Oh, yes," laughed the Congressman lightly; "the Yankee town-meeting."
"Exactly," responded Le Moyne; "yet I venture to say that the presence and absence of the town-meeting—the township system or its equivalent—in the North and in the South, constituted a difference not less vital and important than that of slavery itself. In fact, sir, I sincerely believe that it is to the township system that the North owes the fact that it is not to-day as much slave territory as the South was before the war."
"What!" said the Northerner, with surprise, "you do not mean to say that the North owes its freedom, its prosperity, and its intelligence—the three things in which it differs from the South most materially—entirely to the Yankee town-meeting?"
"Perhaps not entirely," said Le Moyne; "but in the main I think it does. And there are certain facts connected with our history which I think, when you consider them carefully, will incline you to the same belief."
"Indeed; I should be glad to know them."
"The first of these," continued Le Moyne, "is the fact that in every state in which the township system really prevailed, slavery was abolished without recourse to arms, without civil discord or perceptible evil results. The next is that in the states in which the township system did not prevail in fact as well as name, the public school system did not exist, or had only a nominal existence; and the proportion of illiteracy in those states as a consequence was,among the whites alone, something like four times as great as in those states in which the township system flourished. And this, too, notwithstanding almost the entire bulk of the ignorant immigration from the old world entered into the composition of the Northern populations. And, thirdly, there resulted a difference which I admit to be composite in its causes—that is, the difference in average wealth. Leaving out of consideration the capital invested in slaves, theper capitavaluation of the states having the township system was something more than three times the average in those where it was unknown."
"But what reason can you give for this belief?" said Goodspeed. "How do you connect with the consequences, which cannot be doubted, the cause you assign? The differences between the South and the North have hitherto been attributed entirely to slavery; why do you say that they are in so great a measure due to differences of political organization?"
"I can very well see," was the reply, "that one reared as you were should fail to understand at once the potency of the system which has always been to you as much a matter of course as the atmosphere by which you are surrounded. It was not until Harvey's time—indeed, it was not until a much later period—that we knew in what way and manner animal life was maintained by the inhalation of atmospheric air. The fact of its necessity was apparent to every child, but how it operated was unknown. I do not now profess to be able to give all of those particulars which have made the township system, or its equivalent, an essential concomitant of political equality, and, as I think, the vital element of American liberty. But I can illustrate it so that you will get the drift of my thought."
"I should be glad if you would," said Goodspeed.
"The township system," continued Le Moyne, "may, for the present purpose, be denned to be the division of the entire territory of the state into small municipalises, the inhabitants of which control and manage for themselves, directly and immediately, their own local affairs. Each township is in itself a miniature republic, every citizen of which exercises in its affairs equal power with every other citizen. Each of these miniature republics becomes a constituent element of the higher representative republic—namely, a county, which is itself a component of the still larger representative republic, the State. It is patterned upon and no doubt grew out of the less perfect borough systems of Europe, and those inchoate communes of our Saxon forefathers which were denominated 'Hundreds.' It is the slow growth of centuries of political experience; the ripe fruit of ages of liberty-seeking thought.
"The township is the shield and nursery of individual freedom of thought and action. The young citizen who has never dreamed of a political career becomes interested in some local question affecting his individual interests. A bridge is out of repair; a roadmaster has failed to perform his duty; a constable has been remiss in his office; a justice of the peace has failed to hold the scales with even balance between rich and poor; a school has not been properly cared for; the funds of the township have been squandered; or the assumption of a liability is proposed by the township trustees, the policy of which he doubts. He has the remedy in his own hands. He goes to the township meeting, or he appears at the town-house upon election day, and appeals to his own neighbors—those having like interests with himself. He engages in the struggle, hand to hand and foot to foot with his equals; he learns confidence in himself; he begins to measure his own power, and fits himself for the higher duties and responsibilities of statesmanship."
"Well, well," laughed Goodspeed, "there is something in that. I remember that iny first political experience was in trying to defeat a supervisor who did not properly work the roads of his district; but I had never thought that in so doing I was illustrating such a doctrine as you have put forth."
"No; the doctrine is not mine," said Le Moyne. "Others, and especially that noted French political philosopher who so calmly and faithfully investigated our political system—the author of 'Democracy in America'—clearly pointed out, many years ago, the exceptional value of this institution, and attributed to it the superior intelligence and prosperity of the North."
"Then," was the good-natured reply, "your prescription for the political regeneration of the South is the same as that which we all laughed at as coming from Horace Greeley immediately upon the downfall of the Confederacy—that the Government should send an army of surveyors to the South to lay off the land in sections and quarter-sections, establish parallel roads, and enforce topographic uniformity upon the nation?
"Not at all," said Le Moyne. "I think that the use of the term 'township' in adoublesense has misled our political thinkers in estimating its value. It is by no means necessary that the township of the United States survey should be arbitrarily established in every state. In fact, the township system really finds its fullest development where such a land division does not prevail, as in New England, Pennsylvania, and other states. It is thepeoplethat require to be laid off in townships, not the land. Arkansas, Missouri, Alabama, all have their lands laid off in the parallelograms prescribed by the laws regulating United States surveys; but theirpeopleare not organized into self-governing communes."
"But was there no equivalent system of local self-government in those states?"
"No; and there is not to-day. In some cases there are lame approaches to it; but in none of the former slave States were the counties made up of self-governing subdivisions. The South is to-day and always has been a stranger to local self-government. In many of those states every justice of the peace, every school committeeman, every inspector of elections is appointed by some central power in the county, which is in turn itself appointed either by the Chief Executive of the State or by the dominant party in the Legislature. There may be the form of townships, but the differential characteristic is lacking—the self-governing element of the township."
"I don't know that I fully comprehend you," said Goodspeed. "Please illustrate."
"Well, take one state for an example, where the constitution adopted during the reconstruction period introduced the township system, and authorized the electors of each township to choose their justices of the peace, constables, school-cominitteemen, and other local officials. It permitted the people of the county to choose a board of commissioners, who should administer the financial matters of the county, and, in some instances, exeicise a limited judicial authority. But now they have, in effect, returned to the old system. The dominant party in the Legislature appoints every justice of the peace in the state. The justices of the peace of each county elect from their number the county commissioners; the county commissioners appoint the school-committeemen, the roadmasters, the registrars of election and the judges of election; so that every local interest throughout the entire state is placed under the immediate power and control of the dominant party, although not a tenth part of the voters of any particular township or county may belong to that party. In another state all this power, and even more, is exercised by the Chief Executive; and in all of them you will find that the county—or its equivalent, the parish—is the smallest political unit having a municipal character."
There was a moment of silence, after which the Northern man said thoughtfully.
"I think I understand your views, Mr. Le Moyne, and must admit that both the facts and the deductions which you make from them are very interesting, full of food for earnest reflection, and, for aught I know, may fully bear out your view of their effects. Still, I cannot see that your remedy for this state of affairs differs materially in its practicability from that of the departed philosopher of Chappaqua. He prescribed a division of the lands, while, if I understand you, you would have the Government in some way prescribe and control the municipal organisations of the people of the various states. I cannot see what power the National Government has, or any branch of it, which could effectuate that result."
"It can only be done as it was done at the North," said Le Moyne quietly.
"Well, I declare!" said Goodspeed, with an outburst of laughter, "your riddle grows worse and worse—more and more insoluble to my mind. How, pray, was it done at the North? I always thought we got it from colonial times. I am sure the New England town-meeting came over in the Mayflower."
"So it did!" responded Hesden, springing to his feet; "so it did; it came over in the hearts of men who demanded, and were willing to give up everything else to secure the right of local self-government. The little colony upon the Mayflower was a township, and every man of its passengers carried the seed of the ideal township system in his heart."
"Admitted, admitted, Mr. Le Moyne," said the other, smiling at his earnestness. "But how shall we repeat the experiment? Would you import men into every township of the South, in order that they might carry the seeds of civil liberty with them, and build up the township system there?"
"By no means. I would make the men on the spot. I would so mold the minds of every class of the Southern people that all should be indoctrinated with the spirit of local self-government."
"But how would you do it?"
"With spelling-books!" answered Hesden sententiously.
"There we are," laughed the other, "at the very point we started from. Like the poet of the Western bar-room, you may well say, my friend, 'And so I end as I did begin.'"
"Yes," said Le Moyne, "we have considered thedesirabilityof education, and you have continually cried, with good-natured incredulity, 'How shall it be done?' Are you not making that inquiry too soon?"
"Not at all," said the Congressman earnestly; "I see how desirable is the result, and I am willing to do anything in my power to attain it, if there is any means by which it can be accomplished."
"That is it," said Le Moyne; "you arewilling; you recognize that it would be a good thing; you wish it might be done; you have no desire to stand in the way of its accomplishment. That is not the spirit which achieves results. Nothing is accomplished by mere assent. The American people must first be thoroughly satisfied that it is a necessity. The French may shout over a red cap, and overturn existing systems for a vague idea; but American conservatism consists in doing nothing until it is absolutely necessary. We never move until the fifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour.
"Only think of it! You fought a rebellion, based professedly upon slavery as a corner-stone, for almost two years before you could bring yourselves to disturb that corner-stone. You knew the structure would fall if that were done; but the American people waited and waited until every man was fully satisfied that there was no other possible road to success. It is just so in this matter. I feel its necessity. You do not.'
"There I think you do me injustice," said Goodspeed, "I feel the necessity of educating every citizen of the Republic, as well as you."
"No doubt, in a certain vague way," was the reply; "but you do not feel it as the only safety to the Republic to-day; and I do."
"I confess I do not see, as you seem to, the immediate advantage, or the immediate danger, more than that which has always threatened us," answered the Congressman.
"This, after all, is the real danger, I think," said Le Moyne. "The states containing only one third of the population of this Union contain also more than two thirds of its entire illiteracy. Twenty-five out of every hundred—one out of every four—of thewhite votersof the former slave states cannot read the ballots which they cast; forty-five per cent of the entire voting strength of those sixteen states are unable to read or write."
"Well?" said the other calmly, seeing Le Moyne look at him as though expecting him to show surprise.
"Well!" said Le Moyne. "I declare your Northern phlegm is past my comprehension.—'Well,' indeed! it seems to me as bad as bad can be. Only think of it—only six per cent of intelligence united with this illiterate vote makes a majority!"
"Well?" was the response again, still inquiringly.
"And that majority," continued Le Moyne, "would choose seventy-two per cent of the electoral votes necessary to name a President of the United States!"
"Well," said the other, with grim humor, "they are not very likely to do it at present, anyhow."
"That is true," replied Le Moyne. "But there is still the other danger, and the greater evil. That same forty-five per cent are of course easily made the subjects of fraud or violence, and we face this dilemma: they may either use their power wrongfully, or be wrongfully deprived of the exercise of their ballotorial rights. Either alternative is alike dangerous. If we suppose the illiterate voter to be either misled or intimidated, or prevented from exercising his judgment and his equality of right with others in the control of our government, then we have the voice of this forty-five per cent silenced—whether by intimidation or by fraud matters not. Then a majority of the remaining fifty-four per cent, or, say, twenty-eight per cent of one third of the population of the Nation in a little more than one third of the States, might exercise seventy-two per cent of the electoral power necessary to choose a President, and a like proportion of the legislative power necessary to enact laws. Will the time ever come, my friend, when it will be safe to put in the way of any party such a temptation as is presented by this opportunity to acquire power?"
"No, no, no," said the Northern man, with impatience. "But what can you do? Education will not make men honest, or patriotic, or moral."
"True enough," was the reply. "Nor will the knowledge of toxicology prevent the physician from being a poisoner, or skill in handwriting keep a man from becoming a forger. But the study of toxicology will enable the physician to save life, and the study of handwriting is a valuable means of preventing the results of wrongful acts. So, while education does not make the voter honest, it enables him to protect himself against the frauds of others, and not only increases his power but inspires him to resist violence. So that, in the aggregate, you Northerners are right in the boast which you make that intelligence makes a people stronger and braver and freer."
"So your remedy is—" began the other.
"Notmyremedy, but theonlyremedy, is to educate the people until they shall be wise enough to know what they ought to do, and brave enough and strong enough to do it."
"Oh, that is all well enough, if it could be done," said Goodspeed.
"Therefore it is," returned Hesden, "that itmustbe done."
"Buthow?" said the other querulously. "You know that theConstitution gives the control of such matters entirely to theStates. The Nation cannot interfere with it. It is the duty of theStates to educate their citizens—a clear and imperative duty;but if they will not do it the Nation cannot compel them."
"Yes," said Hesden, "I know. For almost a century you said that about slavery; and you have been trying to hunt a way of escape from your enforced denial of it ever since. But as a matter of fact, when you came to the last ditch and found no bridge across, you simply made one. When it became an unavoidable question whether the Union or slavery should live, you chose the Union. The choice may come between the Union and ignorance; and if it does, I have no fear as to which the people will choose. The doctrine of State Rights is a beautiful thing to expatiate upon, but it has been the root of nearly all the evil the country has suffered. However, I believe that this remedy can at once be applied without serious inconvenience from that source."
"How?" asked the other; "that is what I want to know."
"Understand me," said Le Moyne; "I do not consider the means so important as the end. When the necessity is fully realized the means will be discovered; but I believe that we hold the clue even now in our hands."
"Well, what is it?" was the impatient inquiry.
"A fund of about a million dollars," said Le Moyne, "has already been distributed to free public schools in the South, upon a system which does not seriously interfere with the jealously-guarded rights of those states."
"You mean the Peabody Fund?"
"Yes; I do refer to that act of unparalleled beneficence and wisdom."
"But that was not the act of the Nation."
"Very true; but why should not the Nation distribute a like bounty upon the same system? It is admitted, beyond serious controversy, that the Nation may raise and appropriate funds for such purposes among the different states, provided it be not for the exclusive benefit of any in particular. It is perhaps past controversy that the Government might distribute a fund to the different statesin the proportion of illiteracy. This, it is true, would give greater amounts to certain states than to others, but only greater in proportion to the evil to be remedied."
"Yes," said the other; "but the experience of the Nation in distributing lands and funds for educational purposes has not been encouraging. The results have hardly been commensurate with the investment."
"That is true," said Hesden, "and this is why I instance the Peabody Fund. That is not given into the hands of the officers of the various states, but when a school is organized and fulfills the requirements laid down for the distribution of that fund, in regard to numbers and average attendance—in other words, is shown to be an efficient institution of learning—then the managers of the fund give to it a sum sufficient to defray a certain proportion of its expenses."
"And you think such a system might be applied to a Government appropriation?"
"Certainly. The amount to which the county, township, or school district would be entitled might be easily ascertained, and upon the organization and maintenance of a school complying with the reasonable requirements of a well-drawn statute in regard to attendance and instruction, such amount might be paid over."
"Yes," was the reply, after a thoughtful pause; "but would not that necessitate a National supervision of State schools?"
"To a certain extent, yes. Yet there would be nothing compulsory about it. It would only be such inspection as would be necessary to determine whether the applicant had entitled himself to share the Nation's bounty. Surely the Nation may condition its own bounty."
"But suppose these states should refuse to submit to such inspection, or accept such appropriation?"
"That is the point, exactly, to which I desire to bring your attention," said Le Moyne. "Ignorance, unless biased by religious bigotry, always clamors for knowledge. You could well count upon the forty-five per cent of ignorant voters insisting upon the reception of that bounty. The number of those that recognize the necessity of instructing the ignorant voter, even in those states, is hourly increasing, and but a brief time would elapse until no party would dare to risk opposition to such a course. I doubt whether any party would venture upon it, even now."
"But are not its results too remote, Mr. Le Moyne, to make such a measure of present interest in the cure of present evils?"
"Not at all," answered Hesden. "By such a measure you bring the purest men of the South into close and intimate relations with the Government. You cut off the sap which nourishes the yet living root of the State Rights dogma. You bring every man to feel as you feel, that there is something greater and grander than his State and section. Besides that, you draw the poison from the sting which rankles deeper than you think. The Southern white man feels, and justly feels, that the burden of educating the colored man ought not to be laid upon the South alone. He says truly, 'The Nation fostered and encouraged slavery; it gave it greater protection and threw greater safeguards around it than any other kind of property; it encouraged my ancestors and myself to invest the proceeds of generations of care and skill and growth in slaves. When the war ended it not only at one stroke dissipated all these accumulations, but it also gave to these men the ballot, and would now drive me, for my own protection, to provide for their education. This is unjust and oppressive. I will not do it, nor consent that it shall be done by my people or by our section alone.' To such a man—and there are many thousands of them—such a measure would come as an act of justice. It would be a grateful balm to his outraged feelings, and would incline him to forget, much more readily than he otherwise would, what he regards to be the injustice of emancipation. It will lead him to consider whether he has not been wrong in supposing that the emancipation and enfranchisement of the blacks proceeded from a feeling of resentment, and was intended as a punishment merely. It will incline him to consider whether the people of the North, the controlling power of the Government at that time, did not act from a better motive than he has given them credit for. But even if this plan should meet with disapproval, instead of approval, from the white voters of the South, it would still be the true and wise policy for the Nation to pursue."
"So you really think," said the Northerner dubiously, "that such a measure would produce good results even in the present generation?"
"Unquestionably," was the reply. "Perhaps the chief incentive to the acts which have disgraced our civilization—which have made the white people of the South almost a unit in opposing by every means, lawful and unlawful, the course of the Government in reconstruction, has been a deep and bitter conviction that hatred, envy, and resentment against them on the part of the North, were the motives which prompted those acts. Such a measure, planned upon a liberal scale, would be a vindication of the manhood of the North; an assertion of its sense of right as well as its determination to develop at the South the same intelligence, the same freedom of thought and action, the same equality of individual right, that have made the North prosperous and free and strong, while the lack of them has made the South poor and ignorant and weak."
"Well, well," said the Congressman seriously, "you may be right. I had never thought of itquitein that light before. It is worth thinking about, my friend; it is worth thinking about."
"That it is!" said Le Moyne, joyfully extending his hand. "Think! If you will onlythink—if the free people of the North will only think of this matter, I have no fears but a solution will be found. Mine may not be the right one. That is no matter. As I said, the question of method is entirely subordinate to the result. But let the people think, and they will think rightly. Don't think of it as a politician in the little sense of that word, but in the great one. Don't try to compel the Nation to accept your view or mine; but spur the national thought by every possible means to consider the evil, to demand its cure, and to devise a remedy."
So, day by day, the "irrepressible conflict" is renewed. The Past bequeaths to the Present its wondrous legacy of good and ill. Names are changed, but truths remain. The soil which slavery claimed, baptized with blood becomes the Promised Land of the freedman and poor white. The late master wonders at the mockery of Fate. Ignorance marvels at the power of Knowledge. Love overleaps the barriers of prejudice, and Faith laughs at the Impossible.
"The world goes up and the world goes down,The sunshine follows the rain;And yesterday's sneer and yesterday's frownCan never come over again."
On the trestle-board of the Present, Liberty forever sets beforethe Future some new query. The Wise-man sweats drops of blood.The Greatheart abides in his strength. The King makes commandment.The Fool laughs.