 CHAPTER XVIII DREAD Harry spent the night at the place of Mr. John Gordon, and arose the next morning in a very discontented mood of mind. Nothing is more vexatious to an active and enterprising person than to be thrown into a state of entire idleness, and Harry, after lounging about for a short time in the morning, found his indignation increased by every moment of enforced absence from the scene of his daily labours and interest. Having always enjoyed substantially the privileges of a free man in the ability to regulate his time according to his own ideas, to come and go, to buy and sell, and transact business unfettered by any felt control, he was the more keenly alive to the degradation implied in his present position. Here I must skulk around, said he to himself, like a partridge in the bushes, allowing everything to run at loose ends, preparing the way for my being found fault with for a lazy fellow by and by, and all for what? Because my younger brother chooses to come, without right or reason, to domineer over me, to insult my wife, and because the laws will protect him in it if he does it. Ah! Ah! That's it. They are all leagued together, no matter how right I am, no matter how bad he is. Everybody will stand up for him, and put me down. All because my grandmother was born in Africa, and his grandmother was born in America. Count found it all, I won't stand it. Who knows what he'll be saying and doing to Lisette while I am gone? I'll go back and face him like a man. I'll keep straight about my business, and if he crosses me, let him take care. He hasn't got but one life any more than I have. Let him look out. And Harry jumped upon his horse and turned his head homeward. He struck into a circuitous path, which led among that immense belt of swampy land to which the name of Disimal had been given. As he was riding along immersed in thought, the clatter of horse's feet was heard in front of him. A sudden turn of the road brought him directly facing to Tom Gordon and Mr. Jekyll, who had risen early and started off on horseback in order to reach a certain stage depot before the heat of the day. There was a momentary pause on both sides, when Tom Gordon, like one who knows his power and has determined to use it to the utmost, broke out scornfully. Stop, you damn nigger, and tell your master where you are going. You are not my master, said Harry, in words whose concentrated calmness conveyed more bitterness and wrath than could have been given by the most violent outburst. You damned whelp, said Tom Gordon, striking him across the face twice with his whip. Take that and that. We'll see if I'm not your master. There now. Help yourself, won't you? Isn't that a master's mark? It had been the lifelong habit of Harry's position to repress every emotion of anger within himself. But at this moment, his face wore a deadly and frightful expression. Still, there was something majestic and almost commanding in the attitude with which he reigned back his horse and slowly lifted his hand to heaven. He tried to speak, but his voice was choked with repressed passion. At last he said, You may be sure, Mr. Gordon, this mark will never be forgotten. There are moments of high excitement, when all that is in a human being seems to be roused, and to concentrate itself in the eye and the voice. And in such moments, any man, apparently by virtue of his mere humanity, by the mere awfulness of the human soul that is in him, gains power to over all those who in other hours scorn him. There was a minute's pause in which neither spoke, and Mr. Jekyll, who was a man of peace, took occasion to touch Tom's elbow and say, It seems to me this isn't worthwhile. We shall miss the stage. And as Harry had already turned his source and was riding away, Tom Gordon turned his, shouting after him with a scornful laugh. I called on your wife before I came away this morning, and I liked her rather better the second time than I did the first. This last taunt flew like a Parthian arrow backward and struck into the soul of the bondman with even a keener power than the degrading blow. The sting of it seemed to wrinkle more bitterly as he rode along till at last he dropped the reins on his horse's neck and burst into a transport of bitter cursing. Aha! It has come nigh thee, has it? You touchest thee and thou faintest! said a deep voice from the swampy thicket beside him. Harry stopped his horse and his implications. There was a crackling in the swamp and a movement among the cops of briars, and at last the speaker emerged and stood before Harry. He was a tall black man of magnificent stature and proportions. His skin was intensely black and polished like marble. A loose shirt of red flannel, which opened very wide at the breast, gave a display of a neck and chest of Herculean strength. The sleeves of the shirt, rolled up nearly to the shoulders, showed the muscles of a gladiator. The head, which rolls with an imperial air from the broad shoulders, was large and massive and developed with equal force both in the reflective and perceptive department. The perceptive organs jutted like dark ridges over the eyes, while that part of the head, which phrenologists attribute to the moral and intellectual sentiments, rolls like an ample dome above them. The large eyes had a peculiar and solemn effect of unfathomable blackness and darkness, which is often a striking characteristic of the African eye. But they're burned in them, like tongues of flame in a black pool of naphtha, a subtle and restless fire that pitoken habitual excitement to the verge of insanity. If any organs were predominant in the head, they were those of ideality, wonder, veneration, and firmness. And the whole combination was such as might have formed one of the wild old warrior prophets of the heroic ages. He wore a fantastic sort of turban, apparently of an old scarlet shawl, which added to the outlandish effect of his appearance. His nether garments, of course, negro cloth, were girded around the waist by a strip of scarlet flannel, in which was thrust a bowy knife and hatchet. Over one shoulder he carried a rifle, and a shot pouch was suspended to his belt. A rude game-bag hung upon his arm. Wild and startling as the apparition might have been, it appeared to be no stranger to Harry. For after the first movement of surprise, he said in a tone of familiar recognition in which there was blended somewhat of awe and respect. Ah, it is you then, Dred. I didn't know that you were hearing me. Have I not heard? said the speaker, racing his arm and his eyes, gleaming with wild excitement. How long will thou halt between two opinions? Did not Moses refuse to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter? How long will thou cast in thy lot with the oppressors of Israel, who say unto thee, Bow down, that we may walk over thee? Shall not the Red Sea be divided? Yay, saith the Lord, it shall. Dred, I know what you mean, said Harry, trembling with excitement. Yay, thou dust, said the figure. Yay, thou dust. Has thou not eaten the fat and drunk the sweet with the oppressor, and hid thine eyes from the oppression of thy people? Have not our wives been for a prey, and thou hast not regarded? Has not our cheek been given to the smiter? Have we not been counted as sheep for the slaughter? But thou sest, lull, I knew it not, and disd hide thine eyes. Therefore the curse of mirrors is upon thee, saith the Lord, and thou shalt bow down to the oppressor, and his rod shall be upon thee, and thy wife shall be for a prey. Don't talk that way, don't, said Harry, striking out his hands with a frantic gesture as if to push back the words. You are raising the very devil in me. Look here, Harry, said the other, dropping from the high tone he had at first used, to that of common conversation, and speaking in bitter irony, did your master strike you? It's sweet to kiss the rod, isn't it? Bend your neck and ask to be struck again, won't you? Be meek and lowly. That's the religion for you. You are a slave, and you wear broad cloth and sleep soft. By and by he will give you a fit to buy salve for those cuts. Don't fret about your wife. Women always like the master better than the slave. Why shouldn't they? When a man licks his master's foot, the wife scorns him, serves him right. Take it meekly, my boy. Servants, obey your masters. Take your master's old coats. Take your wife when he's done with her, and bless God that brought you under the light of the gospel. Go, you are a slave. But as for me, he said, drawing up his head and throwing back his shoulders with a deep inspiration, I am a free man, free by this, holding not his rifle, free by the Lord of hosts that numbereth the stars and calleth them forth by their names. Go home. That's all I have to say to you. You sleep in a curtain to bed. I sleep on the ground in the swamps. You eat the fat of the land. I have what ravens bring me. But no man whips me. No man touches my wife. No man says to me, why do you so? Go, you are a slave. I am free. And with one athletic bound he sprang into the thicket and was gone. The effect of this address on the already excited mind of the bondman may be better conceived than described. He ground his teeth and clenched his hands. Stop! he cried. Dread. I will. I will. I'll do as you tell me. I will not be a slave. A scornful laugh was the only reply, and the sound of crackling footsteps retreated rapidly. He, who retreated, stuck up in a clear, loud voice. One of those peculiar melodies in which figure and spirit are blended with a wild, inexpressible mournfulness. The voice was one of a singular and indescribable quality of tone. It was heavy as the sub-base of an organ and of a velvety softness, and yet it seemed to pierce the air with a keen, dividing force, which is generally characteristic of voices of much less volume. The words were the commencement of a wild camp meeting him, much in vogue in those parts. Brethren, don't you hear the sound? The marshal trumpet now is blowing, men in order, listing round, and soldiers to the standard flowing. There is a wild, exultant fullness of liberty that rolled in the note, and to Harry's excited ear there seemed in it a fierce challenge of contempt to his imbecility, and his soul at that moment seemed to be rent asunder with a pang such as only those can know who have felt what it is to be a slave. There was an uprising within him, vague, tumultuous, overpowering, dim instincts, heroic aspirations, the will to do, the soul to dare, and then in a moment there followed the picture of all society leagued against him, the hopeless impossibility of any outlet to what was burning within him. The waters of a nature naturally rally noble, pent up, and without outlet, rolled back upon his heart with a suffocating force, and in his hasty anguish he cursed the day of his birth. The spasm of his emotion was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Millie, coming along the path. Why bless you, Millie, said Harry, in a sudden surprise. Where are you going? Oh bless you, honey child, I was going on to take the stage. They wanted to get up the wagon for me, but bless you, says I, what you suppose the Lord gave us legs for. I never want no critters to tug me around when I can walk myself, and then, honey, it's so pleasant like to be a walking long in the bush here in the morning, appears like the voice of the Lord is walking among the trees. But bless you, child, honey, what's the matter with your face? It's Tom Gordon, damn him, said Harry. Don't talk that away, child, said Millie, using the freedom with Harry which her years and weight of character had gradually secured for her among the members of the plantation. I will talk that way, why shouldn't I? I'm not going to be good any longer. Why, don't help the matter to be bad, will it, Harry? Cause you hate Tom Gordon, does you want to act just like him? No, said Harry. I won't be like him. But I'll have my revenge. Old Dredd has been talking to me again this morning. He always did stir me up so that I could hardly live. And I won't stand it any longer. Child, said Millie, you take care. Keep clear on him. He's in the wilderness of Sinai. He is with the blackness and darkness and tempest. He had come to the heavenly Jerusalem. Oh, oh, honey, there's a blood of sprinkling that speaks us better things than that of Abel. Jerusalem above is free. It is free. Honey, so don't you mind now what happens in this year time? Ah, Aunt Millie, this may do well enough for old women like you, but stand opposite to a young fellow like me with good strong arms and a pair of doubled fists and a body and soul just as full of light as they can be. It don't answer to go to telling about a heavenly Jerusalem. We want something here and we'll have it too. How do you know there is any heaven anyhow? Know it? said Millie, her eye kindling and striking her staff on the ground. Know it? I knows it by the hankering after it. I got in here. Giving her broad chest a blow which made it resound like a barrel. The Lord knowed what he was about when he made us, when he made babies rooting around with their poor little mouths open. He made milk and the mammaries for him too. Child, we's nothing but great babies, but ain't got our eyes opened, rooting round and round, but the father will feed us yet. He will so. He's a long time about it, said Harry suddenly. Well, child, ain't it a long time for your corns brails, a long time for it gets into the ears? But you plant for all that. What's that to me? What eye is here? Shant I reign with the Lord Jesus? I don't know, said Harry. Well, honey, eye does. Just so sure as I'm standing on this year ground I knows in a few years I shall be reigning with the Lord Jesus and casting my crown at his feet. That's what I know. Flesh and blood didn't reveal it unto me, but the spirit of the father. It's no oz to me what I does here. Every road leads stright to glory, and the glory ain't got no end to it. And Millie uplifted her voice into a favorite stave. When we've been there ten thousand years, bright and shining like the sun, we've no less days to sing God's praise than when we first begun. Child, she says to him solidly, I ain't no fool. Do you suppose that I think folks has any business to be sitting on their chairs all their life long and working me and living on my money? Why, I knows they hand. Ain't it all wrong from first to last the way they make merchandise of us? Well, I know it is, but I still about it for the Lord's sake. I don't work for Miss Lou. I works for the Lord Jesus, and he is good pay. No mistake now, I tell you. Well, said Harry a little shaken, but not convinced. After all, there isn't much use in trying to do any other way. But you're lucky in feeling so, ain't Millie, but I can't. Well, child, anyway, don't you do nothing rash, and don't you hear him? That air way out is through seas of blood. Why, child, would you turn against Miss Nina? Child, if they get a going, they won't spare nobody. Don't you start up that air tiger? Cause I tell you, you can't chain him if you dare. Yes, said Harry. I see it's all madness. Perfect madness. There's no use thinking, no use talking. Well good morning, Aunt Millie. Peace go with you, and the young man started his horse and was soon out of sight. CHAPTER XIX THE CONSPIRITORS We owe our readers now some words of explanation respecting the new personage who has been introduced into our history. Therefore, we must go back somewhat and allude to certain historical events of painful significance. It has been a problem to many how the system of slavery in America should unite the two apparent inconsistencies of a code of slave laws more severe than that of any other civilized nation, with an average practice at least as indulgent as any other. For bad as slavery is at the best, it may yet be admitted that the practice as a whole has been less cruel in this country than in many. An examination into history will show us that the cruelty of the laws resulted from the effects of indulgent practice. During the first years of importation of slaves into South Carolina, they enjoyed many privileges. Those who lived with intelligent families and had any desire to learn were instructed in reading and writing. Liberty was given to them to meet in assemblies of worship, in class meetings, and otherwise without the presence of white witnesses. And many were raised to situations of trust and consequence. The result of this was the development of a good degree of intelligence and manliness among the slaves. There arose among them grave thoughtful energetic men with their ears and eyes open and their minds constantly awake to compare and reason. When minds come into this state, in a government professing to be founded on principles of universal equality, it follows that almost every public speech, document or newspaper, becomes an incendiary publication. Of this fact the Southern slave states have ever exhibited the most singular unconsciousness. Documents containing sentiments most dangerous for slaves to hear have been publicly read and applauded among them. The slave has heard amid shouts on the 4th of July that his masters held the truth to be self-evident that all men were born equal and had an inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and that all governments derived their just power from the consent of the governed. Even the mottos of newspapers have embodied sentiments of the most insurrectionary character. Such inscriptions as resistance to tyrants is obedience to God stand to this day in large letters at the head of Southern newspapers. While speeches of senators and public men in which the principles of universal democracy are asserted are constant matters of discussion. Under such circumstances it is difficult to induce the servant, who feels that he is a man, to draw those lines which seem so obvious to masters by whom this fact has been forgotten. Accordingly we find that when the discussions for the admission of Missouri as a slave state produced a wave whose waters undulated in every part of the union there were found among the slaves men of unusual thought and vigor who were no inattentive witnesses and listeners. The discussions were printed in the newspapers and what was printed in the newspapers was further discussed at the post office door in the tavern in the bar room at the dinner party where black servants were listening behind the chairs. A free colored man in the city of Charleston named Denmark Vessie was the one who had the hardy hood to seek to use the electric fluid in the cloud thus accumulated. He conceived the hopeless project of imitating the example set by the American race and achieving independence for the blacks. Our knowledge of this man is derived entirely from the printed reports of the magistrates who gave an account of the insurrection of which he was the instigator and who will not of course be supposed to be unduly prejudiced in his favor. They state that he was first brought to the country by one Captain Vessie, a young lad distinguished for personal beauty and great intelligence, and that he proved for twenty years a most faithful slave. But on drawing a prize of fifteen hundred dollars in the lottery he purchased his freedom of his master and worked as a carpenter in the city of Charleston. He was distinguished for strength and activity and as the account state maintained such an irreproachable character and enjoyed so much the confidence of the whites that when he was accused the charge was not only discredited but he was not even arrested for several days after. And not till the proof of his guilt had become too strong to be doubted. His historians go on with considerable naivete to remark, quote, it is difficult to conceive what motive he had to enter into such a plot unless it was for the one mentioned by one of the witnesses who said that Vessie had several children who were slaves and that he said on one occasion he wished he could see them free as he himself artfully remarked in his defense on his trial, unquote. It appears that the project of rousing and animating the blacks to this enterprise occupied the mind of Vessie for more than four years during which time he was continually making opportunities to animate and inspire the spirits of his countrymen. The account states that the speeches in Congress of those opposed to the admission of Missouri into the Union, perhaps garbled and misrepresented, furnished him with ample means for inflaming the minds of the colored population. Even while walking on the street the account goes on to say, he was not idle, for if his companion bowed to a white person, as slaves universally do, he would rebuke him and observe that all men were born equal and that he was surprised that anyone would degrade himself by such conduct, that he would never cringe to the whites nor ought anyone to who had the feelings of a man. When answered, we are slaves, he would say sarcastically and indignantly, you deserve to remain slaves. And if he were further asked, what can we do, he would remark, go and buy a spelling book and read the fable of Hercules and the Wagoner. He also sought every opportunity of entering into conversation with white persons during which conversations he would artfully introduce some bold remark on slavery and sometimes went from the character he was conversing with, he found he might be still bolder, he would go so far that had not his declarations been clearly proved, they would scarcely have been credited. But his great instrument of influence was a book that has always been prolific of insurrectionary movements under all systems of despotism. He rendered himself perfectly familiar with all those parts of Scripture which he thought he could pervert to his purpose and would readily quote them to prove that slavery was contrary to the laws of God and that slaves were bound to attempt their emancipation, however shocking and bloody might be the consequences, that such efforts would not only be pleasing to the Almighty, but were absolutely enjoined. Vessi in the course of time associated himself with five slavemen of marked character, Rola, Ned, Peter, Mundy and Gola Jack. These the account goes on to say, in the selection of his leaders Vessi showed great penetration and sound judgment. Rola was plausible and possessed uncommon self-possession. Bold and ardent he was not to be deterred from his purpose by danger. Ned's appearance indicated that he was a man of firm nerves and desperate courage. Peter was intrepid and resolute, true to his engagements, and cautious in observing secrecy where it was necessary. He was not to be daunted nor impeded by difficulties, and though confident of success was careful in providing against any obstacles or casualties which might arise, an intent upon discovering every means which might be in their power, if thought of beforehand. Gola Jack was regarded as a sorcerer and as such feared by the natives of Africa, who believed in witchcraft. He was not only considered invulnerable, but that he could make others so by his charms, and that he could and certainly would provide all his followers with arms. He was artful, cruel, bloody. His disposition in short was diabolical. His influence among the Africans was inconceivable. Monday was firm, resolute, discreet, and intelligent. It is the melancholy truth that the general good conduct of all the leaders, except Gola Jack, was such as rendered them objects least liable to suspicion. Their conduct had secured them not only the unlimited confidence of their owners, but they had been indulged in every comfort and allowed every privilege compatible with their situation in the community. And though Gola Jack was not remarkable for the correctness of his department, he by no means sustained a bad character. But as the report, not only were the leaders of good character and very much indulged by their owners, but this was very generally the case with all who were convicted, many of them possessing the highest confidence of their owners and not one a bad character. The conduct and behavior of Vessie and his five leaders during their trial and imprisonment may be interesting to many. When Vessie was tried, he folded his arms and seemed to pay great attention to the testimony given against him. But with his eyes fixed on the floor. In this situation he remained immovable until the witnesses had been examined by the court and cross-examined by his counsel, when he requested to be allowed to examine the witnesses himself, which he did. The evidence being closed, he addressed the court at considerable length. When he received his sentence, tears trickled down his cheeks. Rola, when arraigned, affected not to understand the charge against him, and when at his request it was explained to him, assumed with wonderful adroitness astonishment and surprise. He was remarkable throughout his trial for composure and great presence of mind. When he was informed that he was convicted and was advised to prepare for death, he appeared perfectly confounded, but exhibited no signs of fear. In Ned's behavior there was nothing remarkable. His countenance was stern and immovable, even while he was receiving sentence of death. From his looks it was impossible to discover or conjecture what were his feelings. Not so with Peter Poise. In his countenance were strongly marked disappointed ambition, revenge, indignation, and an anxiety to know how far the discoveries had extended. He did not appear to fear personal consequences, for his whole behavior indicated the reverse, but exhibited an evident anxiety for the success of their plan in which his whole soul was embarked. His countenance and behavior were the same when he received his sentence, and his only words were on retiring. I suppose you'll let me see my wife and family before I die, and that in no supplicating tone. When he was asked a day or two after, if it was possible that he could see his master and family murdered, who had treated him so kindly, he replied to the question only by a smile. In their prison the convicts resolutely refused to make any confessions or communications which might implicate others, and Peter Poise sternly enjoyed it upon them to maintain this silence. Do not open your lips, die silent, as you will see me do. And in this resolute silence they met their fate. Twenty-two of the conspirators were executed upon one gowse. The account says that Peter Poise was one of the most active of the recruiting agents. All the principal conspirators kept a list of those who had consented to join them, and Peter was said by one of the witnesses to have had six hundred names on his list. But so resolutely to the last did he observe his pledge of secrecy to his associates, that of the whole number rested and tried, not one of them belonged to his company. In fact, in an insurrection in which thousands of persons were supposed to have been implicated, only thirty-six were convicted. Among the children of Denmark Vessie was a boy by a Mandingo slave woman, who was his father's particular favorite. The Mandingals are one of the finest of African tribes, distinguished for intelligence, beauty of form, and an indomitable pride and energy of nature. As slaves they are considered particularly valuable by those who have tacked enough to govern them, because of their great capability and their proud faithfulness. But they resent a government of brute force, and under such are always fractious and dangerous. This boy received from his mother the name of Dredd, a name not unusual among the slaves, and generally given to those of great physical force. The development of this child's mind was so uncommon as to excite astonishment among the negroes. He early acquired the power of reading by an apparent instinctive faculty, and would often astonish those around him with things which he had discovered in books. Like other children of a deep and fervent nature, he developed great religious art, and often surprised the older negroes by his questions and replies on this subject. A son so endowed could not but be an object of great pride and interest to a father like Denmark Vessie. The impressions seemed to prevail universally among the negroes that this child was born for extraordinary things, and perhaps it was the yearning to acquire liberty for the development of such a mind which first led Denmark Vessie to reflect on the nature of slavery, and the terrible weights which it lays on the human intellect and to conceive the project of liberating a race. The Bible of which Vessie was an incessant reader stimulated this desire. He likened his own position of comparative education, competence, and general esteem among the whites, to that of Moses among the Egyptians, and nourished the idea that like Moses, he was sent as a deliverer. During the process of the conspiracy, this son, though but ten years of age, was his father's confidant, and he often charged him, though he should fail in the attempt, never to be discouraged. He impressed it upon his mind that he should never submit timely to the yoke of slavery, and nourished the idea already impressed that some more than ordinary destiny was reserved for him. After the discovery of the plot and the execution of its leaders, those more immediately connected with them were sold from the state, even though not proved to have participated. With the most guarded caution Vessie had exempted his son from suspicion. It had been an agreed policy with them both, that in the presence of others, they should counterfeit alienation and dislike. Their confidential meetings with each other had been stolen and secret. At the time of his father's execution, Dredd was a lad at fourteen. He could not be admitted to his father's prison, but he was a witness of the undaunted aspect with which he and the other conspirators met their doom. The memory dropped into the depths of his soul, as a stone drops into the desolate depths of a dark mountain lake. Sold to a distant plantation, he became noted for his desperate, unsubduable disposition. He joined in none of the social recreations and amusements of the slaves, labored with proud and silent assiduity. But on the slightest rebuke or threat, fleshed up with a savage fierceness which supported by his immense bodily strength, made him an object of Dredd among his overseers. He was one of those of whom they gladly rid themselves. And like a fractious horse, was sold from master to master. Finally an overseer, hardier than the rest, determined on the task of subduing him. In the scuffle that ensued, Dredd struck him to the earth. A dead man, made his escape to the swamps, and was never afterwards heard of in civilized life. The reader who consults the map will discover that the whole eastern shore of the southern states, with slight interruptions, is belted by an immense chain of swamps, regions of hopeless disorder, where the abundant growth and vegetation of nature, sucking up its forces from the human soil, seem to rejoice in a savage exuberance, and bid defiance to all human efforts, either to penetrate or subdue. These wild regions are the home of the alligator, the moccasin and the rattlesnake. Evergreen trees mingling freely with the deciduous children of the forest, form here dense jungles, verdant all the year round, and which afford shelter to numberless birds with whose warbling the leafy desolation perpetually resounds. Climbing vines and parasitic plants of untold splendor, and boundless exuberance of growth, twine and interlace, and hang from the heights of the highest trees, pinnons of gold and purple, triumphant banners which attest to the solitary majesty of nature. A species of parasitic moss reads its abundant draperies from tree to tree, and hangs in pearly festoons, through which shine the scarlet berry and green leaves of the American holly. With the mountains of Switzerland where to the persecuted vodouah, this swampy belt has been to the American slave. The constant effort to recover from thence fugitives has led to the adoption in these states of a separate profession unknown at the time of any other Christian land, hunters who train and keep dogs for the hunting of men, women, and children. And yet with all the convenience of this profession, the reclaiming of the fugitives from this fastness of nature has been a work of such expense and difficulty that the near proximity of the swamp has always been a considerable check on the otherwise absolute power of the overseer. Dredd carried with him to the swamp, but one solitary companion, the Bible of his father. To him it was not the messenger of peace and good will, but the herald of woe and wrath. As the mind, looking on the great volume of nature, sees there a reflection of its own internal passions, and seizes on that in it, which sympathizes with itself, as the fierce and savage soul delights in the roar of torrents, the thunder of avalanches, and the whirl of ocean storms. So is it in the great answering volume of revelation. There is something there for every phase of man's nature, and hence its endless vitality and stimulating force. Dredd had heard read in the secret meetings of conspirators the wrathful denunciations of ancient prophets against oppression and injustice. He had read of kingdoms convulsed by plagues, of tempests and pestilence, of locusts, of sea cleft in twain, that an army of slaves might pass through, and of their pursuers welled in the returning waters. He had heard of prophets and deliverers, armed with supernatural powers, raised up for oppressed people, had pondered on the nail of Gael, the go to Shamgar, the pitcher and lamp of Gideon, and thrilled with fierce joy as he read how Samson with two strong arms pulled down the pillars of the festive temple and whelmed his triumphant persecutors in one grave with himself. In the vast solitudes which he daily traversed, these things entered deep into his soul, cut off from all human companionship, often going weeks without seeing a human face. There was no recurrence of everyday and prosaic ideas to check the current of the enthusiasm thus kindled. Even in the soil of the cool Saxon heart, the Bible has thrown out its roots with an all-prevading energy, so that the whole framework of society may be said to rest on soil held together by its fibers. Even in cold and misty England, armies have been made defiant and invincible by the incomparable force and deliberate valor which it breathes into men. But when this oriental seed, an exotic among us, is planted back in the fiery soil of a tropical heart, it bursts forth with an incalculable ardor of growth. A stranger cannot fail to remark the fact that, though the slaves of the south are unable to read the Bible for themselves, yet most completely have its language and sentiment penetrated among them, giving a hebraistic coloring to their habitual mode of expression. How much greater then must have been the force of the solitary perusal of this volume on so impassioned a nature, a nature too kindled by memories of the self-sacrificing ardor with which a father and his associates have met death at the call of freedom. For none of us may deny that, wild and hopeless as this scheme was, it was still the same in kind with the more successful one which purchased for our fathers a national existence. A mind of the most passionate energy and vehemence, thus awakened, for years made the wild solitudes of the swamp its home. That book, so full of startling symbols and vague images, had for him no interpreter, but the silent courses of nature. His life passed in a kind of dream, sometimes traversing for weeks these desolate regions. He would compare himself to Elijah traversing for forty days and nights in the solitudes of Horeb. Or to John the Baptist in the wilderness, girding himself with camel's hair, and eating locusts and wild honey. Sometimes he would fast and pray for days, and then voices would seem to speak to him, and strange hieroglyphics would be written upon the leaves. In less elevated moods of mind he would pursue with great judgment and figure those enterprises necessary to preserve existence. The negro's lying out on the swamps are not so wholly cut off from society as might at first be imagined. The slaves of all the adjoining plantations, whatever they may pretend, to secure the good will of their owners, are at heart secretly disposed from Bodhi's both of compassion and policy, to favor the fugitives. They very readily perceive that in the event of any difficulty occurring to themselves, it might be quite necessary to have a friend and protector in the swamp, and therefore they do not hesitate to supply these fugitives so far as they are able with anything which they may desire. The poor whites also who keep small shops in the neighborhood of plantations are never particularly scrupulous, provided they can turn a penny to their own advantage, and willingly supply necessary wares in exchange for gain with which the swamp abounds. Dredd therefore came in possession of an excellent rifle, and never wanted for ammunition, which supplied him with an abundance of food. Besides this there are here and there elevated spots in the swampy land which by judicious culture are capable of great protectiveness, and many such spots Dredd had brought under cultivation either with his own hands or from those of other fugitives whom he had received and protected. From the restlessness of his nature he had not confined himself to any particular region, but had traversed the whole swampy belt of both the Carolinas as well as that of southern Virginia, residing a few months in one place and a few months in another. Wherever he stopped he formed a sort of retreat where he received in harbored fugitives. On one occasion he rescued a trembling and bleeding mulatto woman from the dogs of the hunters who had pursued her into the swamp. This woman he made his wife and appeared to entertain a very deep affection for her. He made a retreat for her with more than common ingenuity in the swamp adjoining the Gordon plantation, and after that he was more especially known in that locality. But he had fixed his eye upon Harry, a person whose ability, address and strength of character, might make him at some day a leader in a conspiracy against the Whites. Harry, in common with many of the slaves of the Gordon plantation, knew perfectly well of the presence of Dredd in the neighborhood, and had often seen and conversed with him, but neither he nor any the rest of them ever betrayed before any white person the slightest knowledge of the fact. This ability of profound secrecy is one of the invariable attendants of a life of slavery. Harry was acute enough to know that his position was by no means so secure that he could afford to dispense with anything which might prove an assistance in some future emergency. The low white traitors in the neighborhood also knew Dredd well, but as long as they could drive an advantageous trade with him he was secure from their intervention. So secure had he been that he had been even known to mingle in the motley throng of a camp meeting unmolested. Thus much with regard to one who is to appear often on the stage before our history is done. End of Chapter 19, The Conspirators. Chapter 20 of Dredd, A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp by Harriet Beecher Stowe. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This recording by Michelle Fry, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Dredd, Chapter 20, Summer Talk at Kanema. In the course of a few days the family circle at Kanema was enlarged by the arrival of Clayton's sister and Carson in excellent spirits had started for a northern watering place. In answer to Nina's letter of invitation Anne had come with her father who was called to that vicinity by the duties of his profession. Nina received her with her usual gay frankness of manner and Anne, like many others, soon found herself liking her future sister much better than she had expected. Perhaps had Nina been in any other situation than that of Hostess her pride might have led her to decline, making the agreeable with Anne, whom, notwithstanding, she very much wished to please. But she was mistress of the mansion and had an Arab's idea of the privileges of a guest, and so she chatted, sang, and played for her. She took her about, showed her the walks, the arbors, the flower garden, waited on her in her own apartment with a thousand little attentions, all the more fascinating from the kind of careless independence with which they were rendered. Besides, Nina had vowed a wicked little vow in her heart that she would ride roughshod over Anne's dignity, that she wouldn't let her be grave or sensible, but that she should laugh and frolic with her. And Clayton could scarce help smiling at the success that soon crowned her exertions. Nina's gaiety, when in full tide, had a breezy infectiousness in it that seemed to stir up everyone about her and carry them on the tide of her own spirits. And Anne, in her company, soon found herself laughing at everything and nothing simply because she felt gay. To crown all, Uncle John Gordon arrived with his cheery jovial face, and he was one of those fearless hit-or-miss talkers that are invaluable in social dilemmas because they keep something or other all the while in motion. With him came Madame Gordon, or as Nina commonly called her, Aunt Maria. She was a portly, finely formed, middle-aged woman who might have been handsome, had not the lines of care and nervous anxiety plowed themselves so deeply in her face. Her bright, keen hazel eyes, fine teeth, and the breadth of her ample form attested the vitality of the old Virginia stock from whence she sprang. There, said Nina to Anne Clayton, as they sat in the shady side of the veranda, I have marshaled Aunt Maria up into Aunt Nesbitt's room, and there they will have a comfortable dish of lamentation over me. Over you? said Anne. Yes, over me, to be sure. That's the usual order of exercises, such a setting down as I shall get. They'll count up on their fingers all the things ought to know and don't, and ought to do and can't. I believe that's the way relatives always show their affection, and, in particular, by mourning over you. And what sort of list will they make out? said Anne. Oh bless me, that's easy enough. Why, there's Aunt Maria is a perfectly virulent housekeeper. Really insane, I believe, on that subject. Why, she chases up every rat and mouse and cockroach, every particle of dust, every scrap of litter. She divides her hours and is as punctual as a clock. She rules her household with a rod of iron and makes everybody stand around and tells each one how many times a day they may wink. She keeps accounts like a very dragon and always is sure to pounce on anybody that is, in the least, out of the way. She cuts out clothes by the bail, she sows and she knits, and she jingles keys, and all this kind of bustle she calls housekeeping. Now what do you suppose she must think of me, who just put on my hat in the morning, and goes sailing down the walks, looking at the flowers, to let Katie calls me back to know what my orders are for the day? Pray, who is Aunt Katie? said Anne. Oh, she's my female prime minister, and she is very much like some prime ministers I have studied about in history, who always contrive to have their own way, let what will come. Now, when Aunt Katie comes and wants to know, so respectfully, what Ms. Nanna is going to have for dinner, do you suppose she has the least expectation of getting anything that I order? She always has 50 objections to anything that I propose. For sometimes the fit comes over me to try to be housekeeping like Aunt Maria, but it's no go, I can tell you. So when she has proved that everything that I propose is the height of absurdity, and shown conclusively that there is nothing fit to be eaten in the neighborhood, by that time I am reduced to a proper state of mind. And when I humbly say, Aunt Katie, what shall we do? Then she gives a little cough and out comes the whole program, just as she had arranged it the night before. And so it goes. As to accounts, why Harry has to look after them, I detest everything about money, except the spending of it. I have a rather talent for that. Now just think how awfully all this must impress poor Aunt Maria. What sighings and rollings I provide, and shakings of heads there are over me. And then Aunt Nesbitt is always dinging at me about improving my mind. And improving my mind means reading some horrid, stupid, boring old book just as she does. Now I'd like the idea of improving my mind. I am sure it wants improving bad enough. But then I can't help thinking that racing through the garden and cantering through the woods improves it faster than getting a sleep over books. It seems to me that books are just like dry hay, very good when there isn't any fresh grass to be had. But I'd rather be out and eat what's growing. Now what people call nature never bores me. But almost every book I ever saw does. Don't you think people are made differently? Some like books and some like things. Don't you think so? I can give you a good fact on your side of the argument, said Clayton, who had come up behind them during the conversation. I didn't know I was arguing, but I shall be glad to have anything on my side, of course. Well then, I'll say that the books that have influenced the world the longest, the widest, and the deepest have been written by men who attended two things more than to books, who, as you say, eat what was growing instead of dry hay. Homer couldn't have had much time to read in his time, nor the poets of the Bible, and they have been the fountains for all ages. I don't believe Shakespeare was much of a reader. Well, but, said Anne, don't you think that for us common folks who are not going to be either Homer's or Shakespeare's, that it's best to have two strings of our bow and to gain instruction both from books and things? To be sure, said Clayton, if we only use books right. With many people, reading is only a form of mental indolence by which they escape the labor of thinking for themselves. Some persons are like Pharaoh's lean kind. They swallow book upon book, but remain as lean as ever. My grandfather used to say, said Anne, that the Bible and Shakespeare were enough for a woman's library. Well, said Nana, I don't like Shakespeare. There, I'm coming out flat with it. In the first place, I don't understand half, he says. And then they talk about his being so very natural? I'm sure I never heard people talk as he makes them. Now, did you ever hear people talk in blank verse with every now and then one or two lines of rhyme, as his characters do when they go off in long speeches? Now, did you? As to that, said Clayton, it's about half and half. His conversations have just about the same resemblance to real life that acting at the opera has. It is not natural for Norma to burst into a song when she discovers the treachery of her husband. You make that concession to the nature of the opera in the first place. And then with that reserve, all the rest strikes you as natural and the music gives an added charm to it. So in Shakespeare, you can see that the plays are to be poems and that the people are to talk in rhythm and with all the exaltation of poetic sentiment. And that being admitted, their conversations may seem natural. But I can't understand a great deal that Shakespeare says, because so many of the usages are altered since he wrote. Because there are so many allusions to incidents that have passed and customs that have perished that you have, as it were, to acquire his language before you can understand him. Suppose a poem were written in a foreign tongue. You couldn't say whether you liked it or disliked it till you could read the language. Now, my opinion is that there is a liking for Shakespeare hidden in your nature like a seed that has not sprouted. What makes you think so? Oh, I see it in you, just as a sculptor sees a statue in a block of marble. Oh, and you are going to chisel it out with your leave. After all, I like your sincerity in saying what you think. I have often heard ladies profess an admiration for Shakespeare that I knew couldn't be real. I knew that they had neither the experience of life nor the insight into human nature really to appreciate what is in him and that their liking for him was all a worked up affair because they felt it would be very shocking not to like him. Well, I'm much obliged to you for all the sense you find in my nonsense. I believe I shall keep you to translate my fulleries into good English. You know, I'm quite at your disposal for that or anything else, said Clayton. At this moment, the attention of Nina was attracted by loud exclamations from that side of the house where the Negro cottages were situated. Get long off. Don't want none of your old trash here. No, no, Ms. Nina don't want none of your old fish. She got plenty of niggers to catch her own fish. Somebody's taking my name in vain in those regions, said Nina, running to the other end of the veranda. Time to it, she said to that young worthy, who lay flat on his back, kicking up his heels in the sun, waiting for his knives to clean themselves. Pray, tell me what's going on there. Lows, Mrs. said time. It's just one of these here poor white trash coming around here trying to sell one thing another. Ms. Luce, as it won't do, would encourage them, and eyes the same opinion. Send him round here to me, said Nina, who partly from humanity and partly from a spirit of contradiction had determined to take up for the poor white folks on all occasions. Tom Tit ran accordingly and soon brought to the veranda a man whose wretchedly tattered clothing scarcely formed a decent covering. His cheeks were sunken and hollow and he stood before Nina with a cringing half ashamed attitude. And yet one might see that with better dress and a better keeping he might be made to assume the appearance of a handsome intelligent man. What do you ask for your fish? she said to him. Anything ye pleases. Where do you live? said Nina, drawing out her purse. My folks stay on Mr. Gordon's place. Why don't you get a place of your own to stay on? There was an impatient glance flashed from the man's eye but it gave place immediately to his habitual coward expression as he said, can't get work, can't get money, can't get nothing. Dear me, said her Uncle John, who had been standing for a moment listening to the conversation. This must be the husband of that poor hobgoblin that has laid it down on my place lately. Well you may as well pay him a good price for his fish, keep them from starving one day longer maybe, and Nina pay the man a liberal sum and dismissed him. I suppose now all my eloquence wouldn't make Rose cook those fish for dinner. Why not if you told her so? said Aunt Maria who had also descended to the veranda. Why not? Just because as she would say she hadn't laid out to do it. That's not the way my servants are taught to do, said Aunt Maria. I warrant not, but yours and mine are quite different affairs, Aunt. They all do as they have a mind to in my diggings. All I stipulated for is a little of the same privilege. That man's wife and children have come and squatted down on my place, said Mr. Gordon, laughing, and so all you paid for his fish is just so much saving to me. Yes, to be sure Mr. Gordon is just one of those men who will have a tribe of shiftless hangers on at his heels, said Mrs. Gordon. Well, bless my soul, what's the fella to do? Can't see the poor he then starve, can we? If society could only be organized over now, there would be hope for them. The brain ought to control the hands, but among us the hands try to set up for themselves and see what comes of it. Who do you mean by brain? said Nina. Who? Why we, a per crust, to be sure. We educated people. We ought to have an absolute sway over the working classes, just as the brain rules the hand. It must come to that at last. No other arrangement is possible. The white working classes can't take care of themselves and must be put into a condition for us to take care of them. What is liberty to them? Only a name. Liberty to be hungry and naked, that's all. It's the strangest thing in the world how people stick to names. I suppose that fellow up there would flare up terribly at being put in with my niggers, and yet he and his children are glad of the crumbs that fall from their table. It's astonishing to me how, with such examples before them, any decent man can be so stone-blind as to run a tilt against slavery. Just compare the free working classes with our slaves. Dear me, the blindness of people in this world, it's too much for my patients, particularly in hot weather, said Mr. John, wiping his face with a white pocket handkerchief. Well, but Uncle John, said Nina, my dear old gentleman, you haven't traveled as I have. No, child, I thank the Lord. I never stepped my foot out of a slave state, and I never mean to, said Uncle John. But you ought to see the northern working people, said Nina. Why, the governors of the states are farmers sometimes, and work with their own men. The brain and the hand go together in each one, not one great brain to fifty pair of hands. And I tell you, work is done up there very differently from what's done here. Just look at our plows and our hoes, the most ridiculous things that I ever saw. I should think one of them would weigh ten pounds. Well, if you don't have them heavy enough to go into the ground by their own weight, these cussed lazy nigs won't do anything with them. They'd break a dozen yanky hoes in a forenoon, said Uncle John. Now, Uncle John, you dear old heathen you, do let me tell you a little how it is there. I went up into New Hampshire once with Libby Ray to spend a vacation. Libby's father is a farmer, works part of every day with his own men, hoes, digs, plants, but he is governor of the state. He has a splendid farm, all in first-rate order, and his sons with two or three hired men keep it in better condition than our places ever saw. Mr. Ray is a man who reads a great deal, has a fine library, and he's as much of a gentleman as you'll often see. There are no high and low classes there. Everybody works, and everybody seems to have a good time. Libby's mother has a beautiful dairy, springhouse, and two strong women to help her, and everything in the house looks beautifully. And for the greater part of the day, the house seems so neat and still, you wouldn't know anything had been done in it. Seems to me this is better than making slaves of all the working classes, or having any working classes at all. How wise young ladies always are, said Uncle John. Undoubtedly the millennium is begun in New Hampshire. But pray, my dear, what partner young ladies take in all this. Seems to me nine you haven't picked up much of this improvement in person. Oh, as to that, I labor in my vocation. That is, of enlightening dull sleepy old gentleman who never traveled out of the state they were born in, and who don't know what can be done. I come as a missionary to them, and I'm sure that it's work enough for one. Well, said Aunt Maria, I know I'm as great a slave as any of the poor whites or negroes, either. There isn't a soul in my whole troop that pretends to take any care, except me, either about themselves or their children or anything else. I hope that isn't a slant at me, said Uncle John shrugging his shoulders. I must say you're as bad as any of them, said Aunt Maria. There it goes. Now I'm getting it. I declare the next time we get a preacher out here, I'm going to make him hold forth on the duties of wives. And husbands too, said Aunt Maria. Do, said Nana, I should like a little perspective information. Nana as often spoke before she thought. Uncle John gave a malicious look at Clayton. Nana could not recall the words she colored deeply and went on hastily to change the subject. At any rate, I know that Aunt here has a much harder time than housekeepers do in the free states. Just the shoes she wears out chasing up her negroes would hire help enough to do all her work. They used to have an idea up there that all the Southern ladies did was delight on the sofa. I used to tell them it was as much as they knew about it. Your cares don't seem to have worn you much, said Uncle John. Well, they will, Uncle John, if you don't behave better. It's enough to break anybody down to keep you in order. I wish, said Uncle John, shrugging up his shoulders and looking quizzically at Clayton. Somebody would take warning. For my part, said Aunt Maria, I know one thing. I'd be glad to get rid of my negroes. Sometimes I think life is such a burden that I don't think it's worth having. Oh, no, you don't, mother, said Uncle John, not with such a charming husband as you've got who relieves you from all care so perfectly. I declare, said Nana, looking along the avenue. What's that? Why, if there isn't old Tiff coming along with his children. Who is he? said Aunt Maria. Oh, he belongs to one of these miserable families, said Aunt Nesbitt, that have squatted in the pine woods somewhere about here, a poor worthless set. But Nana has a great idea of patronizing them. Clear Gordon, every inch of her, said Aunt Maria, as Nana ran down to meet Tiff, just like her uncle. Come now, old lady, I'll tell of you if you don't take care, said Mr. Gordon. Didn't I find you putting up a basket of provisions for those folks? You scolded me so for taking in? Scold, Mr. Gordon, I never scold. I beg pardon that you reproved me for. Ladies generally are not displeased for being reproached for their charities, and Aunt Maria, whose bark to use a vulgar proverb was infinitely worse than her bite, sat fanning herself with an air of self complacency. Meanwhile, Nana had run down the avenue and was busy in a confidential communication with Tiff. On her return, she came skipping up the steps, apparently in high glee. Oh, Uncle John, there's the greatest fun getting up. You must all go, certainly. What do you think? Tiff says there's to be a camp meeting in the neighborhood, only about five miles off from his place. Let's make up a party, and I'll go. That's the time of day, said Uncle John. I enroll myself under your banner at once. I am open to improvement. Anybody wants to convert me? Here I am. The trouble with you, Uncle John, said Nana, is that you don't stay converted. You're just like one of these heavy fishes. You bite very sharp. But before anybody can get you fairly on to the bank, you are flapping and flandering back into the water, and down you go into your sins again. I know at least three ministers who thought they had hooked you out, but they were mistaken. For my part, Aunt Maria, I think these camp meetings do more harm than good. They collect all the scum and the riffraff of the community, and I believe there's more drinking done at camp meetings in one week than is done in six anywhere else. Then, of course, all the hands will want to be off, and Mr. Gordon has brought them up so that they feel dreadfully abused if they're not in with everything that's going on. I shall set down my foot this year that they shan't go any day except Sunday. My wife knows that she was always celebrated for having the handsomest foot in the country, and so she is always setting it down at me, said Mr. Gordon, for she knows that a pretty foot is irresistible with me. Mr. Gordon, how can you talk so? I should think that you'd got old enough not to make such silly speeches, said Aunt Maria. Silly speeches? It's a solemn fact, and you won't hear anything to her at the camp meeting, said Uncle John. But come, Clayton, will you go? My dear fellow, your grave face will be an appropriate ornament to the scene, I can assure you. And as to Miss Anne, it won't do for an old fellow like me in this presence to say what a happiness it would be. I suspect, said Anne, Edward is afraid he may be called on for some of the services. People are always taking him for a clergyman and asking him to say grace at meals and to conduct family prayers when he is traveling among strangers. It's a comment on our religion that these should be thought peculiar offices of clergymen, said Clayton. Every Christian man ought to be ready and willing to take them. I honor that sentiment, said Uncle John. A man ought not so be ashamed of his religion anywhere no more than a soldier of his colors. I believe there's more religion hid in the hearts of honest laymen now than is plastered up behind the white cravats of clergymen and they ought to come out with it. Not that I have any disrespect for the clergy either, said Uncle John. Fine men, a little stiffish, and don't call things by good English names. Always talking about dispensation and sanctification and edification and so forth. But I like them. They are sincere. I suppose they wouldn't any of them give me a chance for heaven because I rip out with an oath every now and then. But the fact is what with niggers and overseers and white trash, my chances of salvation are dreadfully limited. I can't help swearing now and then if I was to die for it. They say it's dreadfully wicked, but I feel more Christian when I let out than when I keep in. Mr. Gordon, said Aunt Maria reprovenly, do consider what you're saying. My dear, I am considering. I am considering all the time. I never do anything else but consider, except as I said before, every now and then, and when what's his name gets the advantage over me. And argue, Mrs. G, let's have things ready at our house, if any of the clergy would like to spend a week or so with us. And we could get them up some meetings or any little thing in their line. I always like to show respect for them. Our beds are always prepared for company, Mr. Gordon, said Aunt Maria with a stately air. Oh yes, yes, I don't doubt that. I only met some special preparation, some little fatted calf killing, and so on. Now, said Donna, shall we set off tomorrow morning? Agreed, said Uncle John. End of Chapter 20. Summer Talk at Canemaw Chapter 21 of Dread, A Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp by Harriet Beecher Stowe This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by William Jones, Benita Springs, Florida. Chapter 21, Tiff's Preparations The announcement of the expected camp meeting produced a vast sensation at Canemaw and other circles besides the hall. In the servants department, everybody was full of the matter from Aunt Katie down to Tom Titt. The women were thinking over their available finery. For these gatherings furnished the Negroes with the same opportunity of display that Grace Church does to the Broadway bells. And so, before old Tiff, who had brought the first intelligence to the plantation, had time to depart? Tom Titt had trumpeted the news through all the cluster of Negro houses that skirted the right side of the mansion, proclaiming that there was Guine to be a camp meeting and tip-top work of Grace and Miss Nana was going to let all the niggers go. Old Tiff, therefore, found himself in a prominent position in a group of Negro women, among whom Rose the cook was conspicuous. Law, Tiff, ye Guine, and Guine to take your children? Ha, ha, ha! said she. Why, Miss Fanny, they'll tink Tiff's your mammy. Yeah, oh, oh, oh, oh! roared in a chorus of laughter on all sides, doing honor to Aunt Rosie's whip. And Tom Titt, who hung upon the skirts of the crowd, threw up the fragment of a hat in the air and kicked it in an abandon of joy, regardless of the neglected dinner knives. Old Tiff, mindful of dignities, never failed to propitiate Rose on his advance to the plantation with the gift which the wise men saith makeeth friends. And on the present occasion he had enriched her own peculiar stock of domestic fowl by the present of a pair of young partridge chicks, a nest of which he had just captured, intending to bring them up by hand, as he did his children. By this discreet course Tiff stood high, where it was of most vital consequence, that he should so stand. And many a choice morsel did Rose cook for him in secret, besides imparting to him most invaluable recipes on the culture and raising of suckling babies. Old Hundred, like many other persons, felt that general attention lavished on any other celebrity was so much taken from his own merits, and therefore on the present occasion set regarding Tiff's evident popularity with a cynical eye. At last, coming up like a wicked fellow as he was, he launched his javelin at Old Tiff by observing to his wife, I astonish at you Rose, you cook to the Gordon's and making yourself so cheap, so familiar with the poor white folk's niggers. Had the slant fallen upon himself personally, Old Tiff would probably have given a jolly crow and left as hardly as he generally did, if he happened to be caught out in a rainstorm. But the reflection on his family connection fired him up like a torch, and his eyes flashed through his big spectacles like firelight through windows. You go long talking about what you don't know nothing about. I like to know what you know about the old Virginia families. Them's the real old stock. You Carolina folks come from them stick and stock every blessed one of you. The Gordon's is a nice family. Ain't nothing to say again the Gordon's, but where was you raised that you didn't hear about them patents? Why, Old General Payton, didn't he used to ride with six black horses up for him as if he had been a king? There wasn't one of them horses that hadn't a tail as long as my arm. You never seen no such critters in your life. I hadn't had I, said Old Hundred. Now in his turn touched in a vital point. Bless me if I hadn't seen the Gordon's riding out there with their eight horses any time of day. Come, come now. There wasn't so many said bros who had her own reasons for staying on Tiff's side. Nobody never rode with eight horses. Dead to you say much more. I'll make 16 on them for my blessed master. How these ear old nears will lie. They's always exaggerating their families. Makes the very high raise on my head to hear these ear old nears talk. They lie so said Old Hundred. You think folks to take the lion is using up your business, don't you? Said Tiff. But I tell you, anyone that says a word against the Patons got me to set in with. Laws. Them children ain't Patons, said Old Hundred. They's Cripses. And I like to know whoever hern of the Cripses. Go away. Don't tell me nothing about them Cripses. They's poor white folks. A body may see that sticking out all over them. You shut up. Said Tiff. I don't believe you is born on the Gordon place cause you ain't got no manners. I expect you some old second hand digger. Colonel Gordon must have took for a day at some time for some of these ear mean Tennessee families that don't know how to keep their money when they gets it. Their nears is always the meanest kind cause all the real Gordon nears is ladies and gentlemen. Every one of them. Said Old Tiff. Like a true orator, bent on carrying his audits along with him. A general shout chorus discomplement and Tiff, undercover of the applause, shook up his reins and rode off in triumph. There now you aggravate an old nigger. Said Rose, turning to her bosom lord. I hope you got it now. The plague is old nigger that I ever see. And you Tom, go along and clean your knives if you don't mean to be cracked over. Meanwhile, Tiff restored to his usual tranquility and rolled along, homered behind this one-eyed horse, singing I'm bound for the land of Canaan with some surprising variations. At last, Miss Fanny as he constantly called her interposed with a very pregnant question. Uncle Tiff, where is the land of Canaan? The Lord of Mercy, child, that is what I'd like to know myself. Is it heaven, said Fanny? Well, I reckon so, said Tiff dubiously. Is it where Maul is gone, said Fanny? Child, I reckon it is, said Tiff. Is it down underground, said Fanny? Why, no, no, honey, said Tiff, laughing heartily. What put that air in your head, Miss Fanny? Didn't Maul go that way, said Fanny, down through the ground? Lordy, no, child, heaven's up, said Tiff, pointing up to the intense blue sky, which appeared through the fringy hollows of the pine trees above them. Is there any stairs anywhere, or any ladder to get up by, said Fanny? Or do they walk to where the sky touches the ground and get up? Perhaps they climb up on the rainbow? I don't know, child, how they works it, said Uncle Tiff. They get stairs somehow. I stood in up on that air. I was going to camp, meeting to find out. I has been to plenty of them air, and I never could quite see clear. Peers like to talk about everything else more than they does about dead. There's the Methodist, they cuts up the Presbyterians, and the Presbyterians pitches into the Methodist, and then both of them down on the Piscopals. My old mist was Piscopal, and I never see no harm in it. And the Baptist think they ain't none of them, and while they all are blowing out at each other, that airway, eyes are wondering, where's the way to Canaan? It takes a mighty heap of learning to know about these ear things, and I ain't got no learning. I don't know nothing, only the Lord. He peered to your maw, and he knows the way, and he took her. But now, child, I was going to fix you up right smart, and take you, Teddy, and the baby, to this year's camp meeting, so you can seek the Lord in your youth. Tiff, if you please, I'd rather not go, said Fanny, in an apprehensive tone. O breast, the Lord, Miss Fanny, why not? First rate, times there. Oh, there'll be too many people, I don't want them to see us. The fact was that Rose's slant speech about Tiff's maternal relationship, united with the sneers of old hundred, had their effect upon Fanny's mind. Naturally proud and fearful of ridicule, she shrank from the public display, which would thus be made of their family condition. Yet she would not for the world have betrayed to her kind old friend the real reason of her hesitation. But old Tiff's keen eye had noticed the expression of her love, had noticed the expression of the child's countenance at the time. If anybody supposes that the faithful old preacher's heart was at all wounded by the perception, they were greatly mistaken. To Tiff, it appeared a joke of the very richest quality. And as he had rode along in silence for some time, he indulged himself in one of his quiet, long laughs, actually shaking his old sides till the tears streamed down his cheek. What's the matter with you, Tiff? said Fanny. Oh, Miss Fanny, Tiff knows. Tiff knows the reason you don't want to go to the camp meeting. Tiff's seen it in your face. Oh, Miss Fanny, is you afraid they'll take old Tiff for your mammy? For your mammy? And Teddy's and the baby's, bless his little soul? And the amphibious old creature rolect over the idea with infinite merriment. Don't I look like it, Miss Fanny? Lord, you poor dear lamb, can't folks see you're a born lady with your white little hands? Don't you be feared, Miss Fanny? Oh, I know it's silly, said Fanny. But besides, I don't like to be called poor white folksy. Oh, child, it's only them mean niggers. Miss Nanna is always good to you, ain't she? Speaks to you so handsome? You must memorize that error, Miss Fanny, and talk like Miss Nanna. I feared, now your mamma's dead, you'll fall into some of my narrow ways of talking. Remember, you mustn't talk like old Tiff, cause young ladies and gentlemen, mustn't talk like niggers. Now I says, this and that, this year and that air. That air is nigger talk, and poor white folksy too. Only the poor white folks stays miserable, cause niggers knows what's a good talk, and they doesn't. Lord, child, old Tiff knows what good talk is, ain't he heard the greatest ladies and gentlemen in the land talk? But he don't want the trouble to talk that airway, cause he's a nigger. Tiff likes his own talk, it's good enough for Tiff. Tiff's talk serves him might well, I tell ya, but then white children mustn't talk so. Now you see Miss Nanna has got the prettiest way of saying her words. They drops out one after another, one after another so pretty. Now you mind, cause she's coming to see us off, and on. Oh, she promised so. And then you keep a good luck out how she walks, and how she holds her pocket anchor shaft, and when she sits down, she kinda gives a little flirt to her clothes, so they all set out round her lack ruffles. These year, little wise, ladies have. Why, these year, poor white folks, did you ever mind their sitting down? Why, they just slaps down into a chair, like a spoon-filled mush, and their clothes all stick tight about them. I don't want nothing poor white folksy about you. Then, if you don't understand what people are saying to you anytime, you mustn't stare like poor white children, and say what, but you must say, I beg pardon, sir, or I beg pardon, ma'am. That errors the way, and Miss Fannie, you and Teddy, you must study your books, cause if you can't read, then they'll be sure to say you're poor white folks. And then, Miss Fannie, you say that ladies don't demand themselves with sweeping and scribbling and damn things, and yet they does work, honey. They sews and they nets, and it would be good for you to learn how to sew and knit, cause, you know, I can't always make up all your clothes, cause you see, young ladies have ways with them that niggers can't get. Now, you see, Miss Fannie, all these here things I was telling you, you must observe. Now you see, if you was one of these here poor white folks, there'd be no use of your trying, cause that error's description of people could never be ladies, if they was wearing themselves out of trying. But, you see, you's got it in you. You was born within, honey. It's in the blood, and what's in the blood must come out, and with this final laugh, Tiff drew up to his dwelling. A busy day was before, old Tiff, for he was to set his house in order for a week's campaign. There was his corn to behold, his parsley to be weeded, and there was his orphan family of young partridges to be cared for. And Tiff, after some considerable consideration, resolved to take them along with him in a basket. Thinking in the intervals of devotion, he should have an abundant opportunity to minister to their wants, and superintend their education. Then he went to one of his favorite sprunges, and brought from thence not a fatted calf to be sure, but a fatted coon, which he intended to take with him to serve as the basis of a savory stew on the campground. Tiff had a thriving company of pot herbs and a flourishing young colony of onions, so that whatever might be true of the sermons, it was evident that the stew would lack no savor. Teddy's clothes also were to be passed in review, washing and ironing to be done. The baby fitted up to do honor to his name, or rather to the name of his grandfather. With all these cares upon his mind, the old creature was even more than usually alert. The day was warm, and he resolved, therefore, to perform his washing operations in the magnificent kitchen of nature. He accordingly kindled a splendid bonfire, which was soon crackling at a short distance from the house, slung over at his kettle, and proceeded to some other necessary applications. The pine wood, which had been imperfectly seasoned, served him the ungracious trick that pine wood is apt to do. It crackled and roared merrily while he was present, but while he was down examining his traps in the woods, went entirely out, leaving only the blackened sticks. Uncle Tiff, said Teddy, the fire is all gone out. Ho, ho, ho, has it? said Tiff, coming up. Curious enough, well, blessed the Lord got all the wood left, anyway, had a real bright fire beside, said Tiff, intent on upholding the sunniest side of things. Lord, it's the sun that puts the fire out of countenance. Did you ever see fire that wouldn't go out when the sun shining right in its face? That area is a curious fact. Eyes minded to heaps of times. Well, I'll just have to come out with my light wood kindlings. That's all. Brass to Lord, ho, ho, ho, said Tiff, laughing to himself. If these here ain't the very spirit of the camp-meeting professors, they blaze as a way at the camp-meeting, and then they black all the year round. See them in the camp-meetings? You'd say they were going right into the kingdom, sure enough. Well, Lord have mercy on us all, cause our legions dreadful poor stuff. We don't know but a desperate little, and what we does know, we don't do. The good master above must have his hands full with us. End of Chapter 21, Tiff's Preparations