CHAPTER VI.
It was still the pleasant month of May when, as the Colonel sat in his favorite seat on the back piazza, just before noon Bill Thomson rode up to the back of the house followed by a strange horseman.
“I’ve brought you a visitor, Colonel, a stranger and yet not a stranger, bein’ as we’ve met before. He brings you news,” Thomson called out as they prepared to mount the piazza steps. “Mr. Maxwell, Colonel Titus. Mr. Maxwell has come all the way from London to bring you news from the Hall. Now I know he’s welcome. Mr. Maxwell, sir, in the Colonel you see a Southron of the Southrons, but old England will always hold first place in his hospitable heart. So, Colonel?”
“That’s the right sound, William. Mr. Maxwell, do you stop with us over night sir?”
“I fear that I must tax your hospitality to that extent. Your uncle died six months ago. The estate will be yours in one year if the direct heir is not found. Your signature will be needed to certain papers that will prove your identity and residence here, and we shall also want affidavits made out for filing. All this is a mere formality required by law. Of course, Mr. Pendleton has charge of the estates, being the family lawyer, and is only anxious that the rightful heir inherit. You remember Mr. Pendleton, do you not, Colonel Titus?”
“Oh, yes! Old Pen, we boys used to call him. I hope he’ll continue to look after my affairs, if the estate comes to me. I remember him as a very reliable man.”
Warren bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment paid his chief. “I have no doubt he will be pleased to serve you. There is very little doubt of your succeeding to the baronetcy—practically we have demonstrated that fact, and I think your claims pass unquestioned.”
“Be seated, Mr. Maxwell; make yourself comfortable. Jude!” he called, “Jude, I say!”
Maxwell started involuntarily, as Judah came out from the hallway. At last he had found a clew to the lost ones! His pulses beat fast, but his facial muscles told no tale. But his almost imperceptible start was noticed by the two men, who exchanged glances.
“Take the gentleman’s horse, and tell Mrs. Thomson we have a guest over night,” said the Colonel to the waiting servant. Judah’s impassive face gave forth not a gleam of intelligence as he departed to obey his master’s orders.
“Now, Mr. Maxwell,” said the Colonel as they sat sipping the fragrant mixture sent out to them by Mrs. Thomson by the unfortunate Tennie, “you said something about no dispute over my being next of kin. Kindly explain that remark.”
“Certainly,” replied Warren, smiling. “This is my second trip to America in two years, hunting up the Carlingford heirs. I thought I had found Lord George’s younger son, Henry, on my first trip, but after a fruitless chase, I was forced to give it up. We are convinced that he is dead and without issue.”
“Just so! Poor Henry! His was a sad fate. But it was his destiny. Do you believe in destiny, my young friend?”
“I believe that many things we call destiny may be overcome by resolving to conquer difficulties, not allowing them to conquer us.”
“True, very true,” replied the Colonel, meditatively.
“Mr. Maxwell, you have expressed the position of our people to a dot concerning the little difficulty we are having with Kansas. Now the North thinks they’re going to beat in the fight, and the fools are going to try to fight us, but it’s the destiny of the South to rule in this glorious country, an’ if it ain’t our destiny we’ll make it so, d——d if we don’t when I get the boys fixed. Got a cool two hundred and fifty coming down here from Virginia nex’ week; boys who don’ care a cuss what they do so long as they beat the Free States out.”
“Thomson,” broke in the Colonel, “it appears to me that I have seen Mr. Maxwell before. What do you say?”
“I reckon you have. Don’ you remember our hunting trip up at Erie two years ago? and the murder of White Eagle?”
“Sure enough! Mr. Maxwell was the young Englishman who took such a prominent part in the affair.”
Warren bowed gravely.
“Most unfortunate affair! Strange, too, that the man should have been killed just when the children needed him most. If he had lived, Thomson, in all probability, would not have recovered his property.” He paused with a keen glance in Warren’s quiet face, but it told nothing. His voice, too, was calm and even as he inquired:
“Then Mr. Thomson was the owner of the unfortunate children?”
“Yes,” returned Thomson, “I’d been hunting them gals and their mother for nigh fifteen years, an’ it was just luck and chance my meeting up with them young ones.”
Warren puffed away at his cigar as though it were his only object in life.
“Fine cigar,” he observed, at length.
“Particularly fine. The tobacco was raised by my own hands right over there for my private use,” said the Colonel.
“What do you think of our institutions, Mr. Maxwell?” asked Thomson, nonchalantly. “They’ve made this country. ’Spose you have some compunctions of conscience over us, eh? Most Englishmen do at first. But, man, look at the advantage it gives, the prosperity it brings, the prestige it gives our fine gentry all over the world. You must confess that we are a grand people.”
“Yet you complained of a tea tax, and fought a ‘liberty fight’ on that pretext,” observed Warren drily.
“Jes’ so, jes’ so! But see what we’ve done for the Africans, given them the advantages of Christian training, and a chance to mingle, although but servants, in the best circles of the country. The niggers have decidedly the best of it. The masters suffer from their ignorance and incompetency.”
“How do you think the excitement over the Kansas-Nebraska matter will end?” questioned Maxwell, avoiding a statement of his own opinions.
“There are warm times ahead. The Yankees have got to be forced to leave the States. We’ll make ourselves a living terror to them. The trouble is bein’ stirred up by a lot of psalm singing abolitionists and an old lunatic named Brown. Yankees won’t fight; they’ll scatter like chaff before my Rangers. Now, there’s fighting blood for you; every man owns a nigger and loves the South and her institutions, an’ they ain’t goin’ to be beat out o’ Kansas for an extension to the institution.”
“Well, gentlemen, my opinion is that you are wrong. A government cannot prosper founded on crushed and helpless humanity,” replied Maxwell firmly.
“Well, well,” interrupted the Colonel, “There are two sides to every question. Some day—soon, perhaps, you will realize that we are a chivalrous, gallant people, worthy of the admiration of the world.”
“While the Free Staters think themselves in the right, you also feel that your side is right.”
“Precisely. They have inherited their ideas as we have ours. We do not agree. It is our duty to convince them of their error, and with God’s help we will do it.”
“But surely, you do not defend the atrocities committed against helpless women and children that are perpetrated by your side in Kansas every day?”
“Defend them? No! But I sympathize with the feelings of the perpetrators. You condemn them wholly without comprehending them or their motives, thus injuring them and doing mischief to yourself. Each group of men in this country has its own standard of right and wrong, and we won’t give our ideas up for no d——d greasy, Northern mechanic.”
“That’s the right sort, Colonel,” nodded Thomson, in sympathetic approval.
The announcement that dinner was served cut short further discussion, much to Warren’s relief. The Colonel’s words impressed the young man greatly. But ever in opposition to specious argument arose thoughts of Winona and Judah and the terrible work done at the sacking of Osawatamie.
The remainder of the day was spent in riding over the plantation, and studying the beauties of the ‘institution’ as propounded by the philosophical Colonel. Once only, Warren’s anxious gaze descried Winona wheeling the chair of her crippled mistress up and down the lawn, but when the men returned to the house both were invisible.
He and the Colonel were seated upon the piazza in the soft Southern night talking over the points of law in claiming the Carlingford estate, when Mrs. Thomson called the latter for a moment into the house. Something blacker than the black night passed him as he sat there alone. Warren was startled, and it was some moments after the figure passed, before he realized that a man had spoken to him in passing: “Leave your window unlatched.”
Pleading fatigue, the young man retired early, but not to sleep. His pulse beat at fever heat; his excited fancy could detect the sound of drums and the hurrying of marching feet. He sunk into a feverish slumber, from which he was awakened by the weeping of distressed females. He listened—all was still; it was the imagination again. He could not sleep, so he arose and looked carefully after his pistols. Danger seemed all about him, but he unlatched the window and drew it back softly, then stretched himself again upon the bed.
About one o’clock he was awakened from a light slumber by some one shaking him, and sitting up, found Judah beside him,—his dark face distinctly visible by the moon’s dim light. Sitting in the darkness, the sweet scent of the magnolia enveloping them in its fragrance, the faint sounds of insect life mingling with the murmur of rustling leaves, Warren Maxwell listened to whispered words that harrowed up his very soul. To emphasize his story, Judah stripped up his shirt and seizing the young white man’s hand pressed it gently over the scars and seams stamped upon his back.
“I could bear it all, Mr. Maxwell,” he concluded, “but Winona——” here his voice broke. “They’ve educated her to increase her value in the slave market, and next week Mr. Thomson takes her and me up the river to sell us to the highest bidder. If help does not come I have sworn to kill her before she shall become slavery’s victim. It is impossible for me to put in words the fate of a beautiful female slave on these plantations; the torture of hell cannot surpass it.”
A great wave of admiration swept over Warren at Judah’s words. It was the involuntary tribute of Nature to nobility of soul wherever found. The boy had become a man, and his demeanor was well calculated to inspire admiration and trust. Something truly majestic—beyond his years—had developed in his character. Warren thought him a superb man, and watched him, fascinated by his voice, his language, and his expressive gestures. Slavery had not contaminated him. His life with White Eagle had planted refinement inbred. In him was the true expression of the innate nature of the Negro when given an opportunity equal with the white man.
Impulsively, Maxwell laid his arm affectionately about the neck and shoulders of the youth.
“No extremes, Judah, until all else fails. I can buy you both if it comes to that, and my promise to take you to England with me still holds good.”
“I doubt that you will be allowed to buy us. There is a stronger reason for our destruction underlying all this than is apparent. Don’t let it be known that we have held any communication with you, or that you are at all interested in our fate. Be cautious.”
“I will remember. But I shall have to study this matter over. I hardly know how to meet this issue if the use of money is denied us. When do you leave?”
“Monday, on the ‘Crescent.’”
“Then I’ll plead pressing business and leave to-morrow to meet you on board the steamer when she sails. Trust me, Judah, I will not fail you.”
The tears were in Judah’s throat as he tried to thank him. “I do trust you, Mr. Maxwell, next to God. I knew you would be here soon; I dreamt a year ago that I saw you coming toward me out of a cloud of intense blackness. I have watched for you ever since. I was not at all surprised when I saw you riding up the avenue to-day; only for my hope in you as our deliverer, I’d have shot myself months ago.”
“There is a God, Judah,” replied Warren solemnly.
“But He seems far off from my unfortunate race,” replied the man bitterly.
“Never doubt Him; His promises are aye and amen. With God’s aid, I will save you or sacrifice myself.”
They parted as silently as they had met.