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diff --git a/10621-h/10621-h.htm b/10621-h/10621-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f12b2ae --- /dev/null +++ b/10621-h/10621-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11089 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" + content="text/html; charset=us-ascii"> +<meta content="pg2html (binary version 0.12a)" + name="generator"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of + Birthright, + by T.S. Stribling. +</title> +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + * { font-family: Times; + } + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + font-size: 12pt; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + BLOCKQUOTE { margin-top: .75 em; + margin-bottom: .75 em; + margin-left: 4 em; + font-size: 12 pt; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; } + PRE { font-family: Courier, monospaced;} + .toc { margin-left: 15%; font-size: 10pt; margin-bottom: 0em;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + // --> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Birthright, by T.S. Stribling + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Birthright + A Novel + +Author: T.S. Stribling + +Release Date: January 7, 2004 [EBook #10621] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIRTHRIGHT *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Shimmin and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<a name="image-1"><!--IMG--></a> +<center> +<img src="birth01.png" +alt="'Yes, Cissie, I Understand Now' +"> +<br>'Yes, Cissie, I Understand Now' +</center> +<!--IMAGE END--> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h1> + BIRTHRIGHT +</h1> +<center> + A NOVEL +</center> +<center><b> + BY T.S. STRIBLING +</b></center> +<hr> +<center> + <b>Illustrated by F. Luis Mora</b> +</center> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<center> + 1922 +</center> +<a name="2H_4_1"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<center> + TO MY MOTHER +</center> +<center> + AMELIA WAITS STRIBLING +</center> +<a name="2HLIS2"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS +</h2> +<p> + <a href="#image-1">"Yes, Cissie, I understand now"</a> +</p> +<p> + <a href="#image-2">Peter recognized the white aprons and the swords and spears of the + Knights and Ladies of Tabor</a> +</p> +<p> + <a href="#image-3">Up and down its street flows the slow negro life of the village</a> +</p> +<p> + <a href="#image-4">In the Siner cabin old Caroline Siner berated her boy</a> +</p> +<p> + <a href="#image-5">The old gentleman turned around at last</a> +</p> +<p> + <a href="#image-6">"You-you mean you want m-me—to go with you, Cissie?" he stammered</a> +</p> +<p> + <a href="#image-7">"Naw yuh don't," he warned sharply. "You turn roun' an' march on to + Niggertown"</a> +</p> +<p> + <a href="#image-8">The bridal couple embarked for Cairo</a> +</p> +<a name="2H_4_3"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + BIRTHRIGHT +</h2> +<a name="2HCH4"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER I +</h2> +<p> + At Cairo, Illinois, the Pullman-car conductor asked Peter Siner to take + his suitcase and traveling-bag and pass forward into the Jim Crow car. + The request came as a sort of surprise to the negro. During Peter + Siner's four years in Harvard the segregation of black folk on Southern + railroads had become blurred and reminiscent in his mind; now it was + fetched back into the sharp distinction of the present instant. With a + certain sense of strangeness, Siner picked up his bags, and saw his own + form, in the car mirrors, walking down the length of the sleeper. He + moved on through the dining-car, where a few hours before he had had + dinner and talked with two white men, one an Oregon apple-grower, the + other a Wisconsin paper-manufacturer. The Wisconsin man had furnished + cigars, and the three had sat and smoked in the drawing-room, indeed, + had discussed this very point; and now it was upon him. +</p> +<p> + At the door of the dining-car stood the porter of his Pullman, a negro + like himself, and Peter mechanically gave him fifty cents. The porter + accepted it silently, without offering the amenities of his whisk-broom + and shoe-brush, and Peter passed on forward. +</p> +<p> + Beyond the dining-car and Pullmans stretched twelve day-coaches filled + with less-opulent white travelers in all degrees of sleepiness and + dishabille from having sat up all night. The thirteenth coach was the + Jim Crow car. Framed in a conspicuous place beside the entrance of the + car was a copy of the Kentucky state ordinance setting this coach apart + from the remainder of the train for the purposes therein provided. +</p> +<p> + The Jim Crow car was not exactly shabby, but it was unkept. It was half + filled with travelers of Peter's own color, and these passengers were + rather more noisy than those in the white coaches. Conversation was not + restrained to the undertones one heard in the other day-coaches or the + Pullmans. Near the entrance of the car two negroes in soldiers' uniforms + had turned a seat over to face the door, and now they sat talking loudly + and laughing the loose laugh of the half intoxicated as they watched the + inflow of negro passengers coming out of the white cars. +</p> +<p> + The windows of the Jim Crow car were shut, and already it had become + noisome. The close air was faintly barbed with the peculiar, penetrating + odor of dark, sweating skins. For four years Peter Siner had not known + that odor. Now it came to him not so much offensively as with a queer + quality of intimacy and reminiscence. The tall, carefully tailored negro + spread his wide nostrils, vacillating whether to sniff it out with + disfavor or to admit it for the sudden mental associations it evoked. +</p> +<p> + It was a faint, pungent smell that played in the back of his nose and + somehow reminded him of his mother, Caroline Siner, a thick-bodied black + woman whom he remembered as always bending over a wash-tub. This was + only one unit of a complex. The odor was also connected with negro + protracted meetings in Hooker's Bend, and the Harvard man remembered a + lanky black preacher waving long arms and wailing of hell-fire, to the + chanted groans of his dark congregation; and he, Peter Siner, had + groaned with the others. Peter had known this odor in the press-room of + Tennessee cotton-gins, over a river packet's boilers, where he and other + roustabouts were bedded, in bunk-houses in the woods. It also recalled a + certain octoroon girl named Ida May, and an intimacy with her which it + still moved and saddened Peter to think of. Indeed, it resurrected + innumerable vignettes of his life in the negro village in Hooker's Bend; + it was linked with innumerable emotions, this pungent, unforgetable odor + that filled the Jim Crow car. +</p> +<p> + Somehow the odor had a queer effect of appearing to push his + conversation with the two white Northern men in the drawing-room back to + a distance, an indefinable distance of both space and time. +</p> +<p> + The negro put his suitcase under the seat, hung his overcoat on the + hook, and placed his hand-bag in the rack overhead; then with some + difficulty he opened a window and sat down by it. +</p> +<p> + A stir of travelers in the Cairo station drifted into the car. Against a + broad murmur of hurrying feet, moving trucks, and talking there stood + out the thin, flat voice of a Southern white girl calling good-by to + some one on the train. Peter could see her waving a bright parasol and + tiptoeing. A sandwich boy hurried past, shrilling his wares. Siner + leaned out, with fifteen cents, and signaled to him. The urchin + hesitated, and was about to reach up one of his wrapped parcels, when a + peremptory voice shouted at him from a lower car. With a sort of start + the lad deserted Siner and went trotting down to his white customer. A + moment later the train bell began ringing, and the Dixie Flier puffed + deliberately out of the Cairo station and moved across the Ohio bridge + into the South. +</p> +<p> + Half an hour later the blue-grass fields of Kentucky were spinning + outside of the window in a vast green whirlpool. The distant trees and + houses moved forward with the train, while the foreground, with its + telegraph poles, its culverts, section-houses, and shrubbery, rushed + backward in a blur. Now and then into the Jim Crow window whipped a + blast of coal smoke and hot cinders, for the engine was only two cars + ahead. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner looked out at the interminable spin of the landscape with a + certain wistfulness. He was coming back into the South, into his own + country. Here for generations his forebears had toiled endlessly and + fruitlessly, yet the fat green fields hurtling past him told with what + skill and patience their black hands had labored. +</p> +<p> + The negro shrugged away such thoughts, and with a certain effort + replaced them with the constructive idea that was bringing him South + once more. It was a very simple idea. Siner was returning to his native + village in Tennessee to teach school. He planned to begin his work with + the ordinary public school at Hooker's Bend, but, in the back of his + head, he hoped eventually to develop an institution after the plan of + Tuskeegee or the Hampton Institute in Virginia. +</p> +<p> + To do what he had in mind, he must obtain aid from white sources, and + now, as he traveled southward, he began conning in his mind the white + men and white women he knew in Hooker's Bend. He wanted first of all to + secure possession of a small tract of land which he knew adjoined the + negro school-house over on the east side of the village. +</p> +<p> + Before the negro's mind the different villagers passed in review with + that peculiar intimacy of vision that servants always have of their + masters. Indeed, no white Southerner knows his own village so minutely + as does any member of its colored population. The colored villagers see + the whites off their guard and just as they are, and that is an attitude + in which no one looks his best. The negroes might be called the black + recording angels of the South. If what they know should be shouted aloud + in any Southern town, its social life would disintegrate. Yet it is a + strange fact that gossip seldom penetrates from the one race to the + other. +</p> +<p> + So Peter Siner sat in the Jim Crow car musing over half a dozen + villagers in Hooker's Bend. He thought of them in a curious way. + Although he was now a B.A. of Harvard University, and although he knew + that not a soul in the little river village, unless it was old Captain + Renfrew, could construe a line of Greek and that scarcely two had ever + traveled farther north than Cincinnati, still, as Peter recalled their + names and foibles, he involuntarily felt that he was telling over a roll + of the mighty. The white villagers came marching through his mind as + beings austere, and the very cranks and quirks of their characters + somehow held that austerity. There were the Brownell sisters, two old + maids, Molly and Patti, who lived in a big brick house on the hill. + Peter remembered that Miss Molly Brownell always doled out to his + mother, at Monday's washday dinner, exactly one biscuit less than the + old negress wanted to eat, and she always paid her in old clothes. Peter + remembered, a dozen times in his life, his mother coming home and + wondering in an impersonal way how it was that Miss Molly Brownell could + skimp every meal she ate at the big house by exactly one biscuit. It was + Miss Brownell's thin-lipped boast that she understood negroes. She had + told Peter so several times when, as a lad, he went up to the big house + on errands. Peter Siner considered this remembrance without the faintest + feeling of humor, and mentally removed Miss Molly Brownell from his list + of possible subscribers. Yet, he recalled, the whole Brownell estate had + been reared on negro labor. +</p> +<p> + Then there was Henry Hooker, cashier of the village bank. Peter knew + that the banker subscribed liberally to foreign missions; indeed, at the + cashier's behest, the white church of Hooker's Bend kept a paid + missionary on the upper Congo. But the banker had sold some village lots + to the negroes, and in two instances, where a streak of commercial + phosphate had been discovered on the properties, the lots had reverted + to the Hooker estate. There had been in the deed something concerning a + mineral reservation that the negro purchasers knew nothing about until + the phosphate was discovered. The whole matter had been perfectly legal. +</p> +<p> + A hand shook Siner's shoulder and interrupted his review. Peter turned, + and caught an alcoholic breath over his shoulder, and the blurred voice + of a Southern negro called out above the rumble of the car and the roar + of the engine: +</p> +<p> + "'Fo' Gawd, ef dis ain't Peter Siner I's been lookin' at de las' twenty + miles, an' not knowin' him wid sich skeniptious clo'es on! Wha you fum, + nigger?" +</p> +<p> + Siner took the enthusiastic hand offered him and studied the heavily + set, powerful man bending over the seat. He was in a soldier's uniform, + and his broad nutmeg-colored face and hot black eyes brought Peter a + vague sense of familiarity; but he never would have identified his + impression had he not observed on the breast of the soldier's uniform + the Congressional military medal for bravery on the field of battle. Its + glint furnished Peter the necessary clew. He remembered his mother's + writing him something about Tump Pack going to France and getting + "crowned" before the army. He had puzzled a long time over what she + meant by "crowned" before he guessed her meaning. Now the medal aided + Peter in reconstructing out of this big umber-colored giant the rather + spindling Tump Pack he had known in Hooker's Bend. +</p> +<p> + Siner was greatly surprised, and his heart warmed at the sight of his + old playmate. +</p> +<p> + "What have you been doing to yourself, Tump?" he cried, laughing, and + shaking the big hand in sudden warmth. "You used to be the size of a + dime in a jewelry store." +</p> +<p> + "Been in 'e army, nigger, wha I's been fed," said the grinning brown + man, delightedly. "I sho is picked up, ain't I?" +</p> +<p> + "And what are you doing here in Cairo?" +</p> +<p> + "Tryin' to bridle a lil white mule." Mr. Pack winked a whisky-brightened + eye jovially and touched his coat to indicate that some of the "white + mule" was in his pocket and had not been drunk. +</p> +<p> + "How'd you get here?" +</p> +<p> + "Wucked my way down on de St. Louis packet an' got paid off at Padjo + [Paducah, Kentucky]; 'n 'en I thought I'd come on down heah an' roll + some bones. Been hittin' 'em two days now, an' I sho come putty nigh + bein' cleaned; but I put up lil Joe heah, an' won 'em all back, 'n 'en + some." He touched the medal on his coat, winked again, slapped Siner on + the leg, and burst into loud laughter. +</p> +<p> + Peter was momentarily shocked. He made a place on the seat for his + friend to sit. "You don't mean you put up your medal on a crap game, + Tump?" +</p> +<p> + "Sho do, black man." Pack became soberer. "Dat's one o' de great + benefits o' bein' dec'rated. Dey ain't a son uv a gun on de river whut + kin win lil Joe; dey all tried it." +</p> +<p> + A moment's reflection told Peter how simple and natural it was for Pack + to prize his military medal as a good-luck piece to be used as a last + resort in crap games. He watched Tump stroke the face of his medal with + his fingers. +</p> +<p> + "My mother wrote me; about your getting it, Tump. I was glad to hear + it." +</p> +<p> + The brown man nodded, and stared down at the bit of gold on his barrel- + like chest. +</p> +<p> + "Yas-suh, dat 'uz guv to me fuh bravery. You know whut a skeery lil + nigger I wuz roun' Hooker's Ben'; well, de sahgeant tuk me an' he drill + ever' bit o' dat right out 'n me. He gimme a baynit an' learned me to + stob dummies wid it over at Camp Oglethorpe, ontil he felt lak I had de + heart to stob anything; 'n' 'en he sont me acrost. I had to git a new + pair breeches ever' three weeks, I growed so fas'." Here he broke out + into his big loose laugh again, and renewed the alcoholic scent around + Peter. +</p> +<p> + "And you made good?" +</p> +<p> + "Sho did, black man, an', 'fo' Gawd, I 'serve a medal ef any man ever + did. Dey gimme dish-heah fuh stobbin fo' white men wid a baynit. 'Fo' + Gawd, nigger, I never felt so quare in all my born days as when I wuz a- + jobbin' de livers o' dem white men lak de sahgeant tol' me to." Tump + shook his head, bewildered, and after a moment added, "Yas-suh, I never + wuz mo' surprised in all my life dan when I got dis medal fuh stobbin' + fo' white men." +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner looked through the Jim Crow window at the vast rotation of + the Kentucky landscape on which his forebears had toiled; presently he + added soberly: +</p> +<p> + "You were fighting for your country, Tump. It was war then; you were + fighting for your country." +</p> +<hr> +<p> + At Jackson, Tennessee, the two negroes were forced to spend the night + between trains. Tump Pack piloted Peter Siner to a negro cafe where they + could eat, and later they searched out a negro lodging-house on Gate + Street where they could sleep. It was a grimy, smelly place, with its + own odor spiked by a phosphate-reducing plant two blocks distant. The + paper on the wall of the room Peter slept in looked scrofulous. There + was no window, and Peter's four-years régime of open windows and fresh- + air sleep was broken. He arranged his clothing for the night so it would + come in contact with nothing in the room but a chair back. He felt dull + next morning, and could not bring himself either to shave or bathe in + the place, but got out and hunted up a negro barber-shop furnished with + one greasy red-plush barber-chair. +</p> +<p> + A few hours later the two negroes journeyed on down to Perryville, + Tennessee, a village on the Tennessee River where they took a gasolene + launch up to Hooker's Bend. The launch was about fifty feet long and had + two cabins, a colored cabin in front of, and a white cabin behind, the + engine-room. +</p> +<p> + This unremitting insistence on his color, this continual shunting him + into obscure and filthy ways, gradually gave Peter a loathly sensation. + It increased the unwashed feeling that followed his lack of a morning + bath. The impression grew upon him that he was being handled with tongs, + along back-alley routes; that he and his race were something to be kept + out of sight as much as possible, as careful housekeepers manoeuver + their slops. +</p> +<p> + At Perryville a number of passengers boarded the up-river boat; two or + three drummers; a yellowed old hill woman returning to her Wayne County + home; a red-headed peanut-buyer; a well-groomed white girl in a tailor + suit; a youngish man barely on the right side of middle age who seemed + to be attending her; and some negro girls with lunches. The passengers + trailed from the railroad station down the river bank through a slush of + mud, for the river had just fallen and had left a layer of liquid mud to + a height of about twenty feet all along the littoral. The passengers + picked their way down carefully, stepping into one another's tracks in + the effort not to ruin their shoes. The drummers grumbled. The youngish + man piloted the girl down, holding her hand, although both could have + managed better by themselves. +</p> +<p> + Following the passengers came the trunks and grips on a truck. A negro + deck-hand, the truck-driver, and the white master of the launch shoved + aboard the big sample trunks of the drummers with grunts, profanity, and + much stamping of mud. Presently, without the formality of bell or + whistle, the launch clacked away from the landing and stood up the wide, + muddy river. +</p> +<p> + The river itself was monotonous and depressing. It was perhaps half a + mile wide, with flat, willowed mud banks on one side and low shelves of + stratified limestone on the other. +</p> +<p> + Trading-points lay at ten- or fifteen-mile intervals along the great + waterway. The typical landing was a dilapidated shed of a store half + covered with tin tobacco signs and ancient circus posters. Usually, only + one man met the launch at each landing, the merchant, a democrat in his + shirt-sleeves and without a tie. His voice was always a flat, weary + drawl, but his eyes, wrinkled against the sun, usually held the + shrewdness of those who make their living out of two-penny trades. +</p> +<p> + At each place the red-headed peanut-buyer slogged up the muddy bank and + bargained for the merchant's peanuts, to be shipped on the down-river + trip of the first St. Louis packet. The loneliness of the scene embraced + the trading-points, the river, and the little gasolene launch struggling + against the muddy current. It permeated the passengers, and was a + finishing touch to Peter Siner's melancholy. +</p> +<p> + The launch clacked on and on interminably. Sometimes it seemed to make + no headway at all against the heavy, silty current. Tump Pack, the white + captain, and the negro engineer began a game of craps in the negro + cabin. Presently, two of the white drummers came in from the white cabin + and began betting on the throws. The game was listless. The master of + the launch pointed out places along the shores where wildcat stills were + located. The crap-shooters, negro and white, squatted in a circle on the + cabin floor, snapping their fingers and calling their points + monotonously. One of the negro girls in the negro cabin took an apple + out of her lunch sack and began eating it, holding it in her palm after + the fashion of negroes rather than in her fingers, as is the custom of + white women. +</p> +<p> + Both doors of the engine-room were open, and Peter Siner could see + through into the white cabin. The old hill woman was dozing in her + chair, her bonnet bobbing to each stroke of the engines. The youngish + man and the girl were engaged in some sort of intimate lovers' dispute. + When the engines stopped at one of the landings, Peter discovered she + was trying to pay him what he had spent on getting her baggage trucked + down at Perryville. The girl kept pressing a bill into the man's hand, + and he avoided receiving the money. They kept up the play for sake of + occasional contacts. +</p> +<p> + When the launch came in sight of Hooker's Bend toward the middle of the + afternoon, Peter Siner experienced one of the profoundest surprises of + his life. Somehow, all through his college days he had remembered + Hooker's Bend as a proud town with important stores and unapproachable + white residences. Now he saw a skum of negro cabins, high piles of + lumber, a sawmill, and an ice-factory. Behind that, on a little rise, + stood the old Brownell manor, maintaining a certain shabby dignity in a + grove of oaks. Behind and westward from the negro shacks and lumber- + piles ranged the village stores, their roofs just visible over the top + of the bank. Moored to the shore, lay the wharf-boat in weathered greens + and yellows. As a background for the whole scene rose the dark-green + height of what was called the "Big Hill," an eminence that separated the + negro village on the east from the white village on the west. The hill + itself held no houses, but appeared a solid green-black with cedars. +</p> +<p> + The ensemble was merely another lonely spot on the south bank of the + great somnolent river. It looked dead, deserted, a typical river town, + unprodded even by the hoot of a jerk-water railroad. +</p> +<p> + As the launch chortled toward the wharf, Peter Siner stood trying to + orient himself to this unexpected and amazing minifying of Hooker's + Bend. He had left a metropolis; he was coming back to a tumble-down + village. Yet nothing was changed. Even the two scraggly locust-trees + that clung perilously to the brink of the river bank still held their + toe-hold among the strata of limestone. +</p> +<p> + The negro deck-hand came out and pumped the hand-power whistle in three + long discordant blasts. Then a queer thing happened. The whistle was + answered by a faint strain of music. A little later the passengers saw a + line of negroes come marching down the river bank to the wharf-boat. + They marched in military order, and from afar Peter recognized the white + aprons and the swords and spears of the Knights and Ladies of Tabor, a + colored burial association. +</p> +<p> + Siner wondered what had brought out the Knights and Ladies of Tabor. The + singing and the drumming gradually grew upon the air. The passengers in + the white cabin, came out on the guards at this unexpected fanfare. As + soon as the white travelers saw the marching negroes, they began joking + about what caused the demonstration. The captain of the launch thought + he knew, and began an oath, but stopped it out of deference to the girl + in the tailor suit. He said it was a dead nigger the society was going + to ship up to Savannah. +</p> +<p> + The girl in the tailor suit was much amused. She said the darkies looked + like a string of caricatures marching down the river bank. Peter noticed + her Northern accent, and fancied she was coming to Hooker's Bend to + teach school. +</p> +<p> + One of the drummers turned to another. +</p> +<p> + "Did you ever hear Bob Taylor's yarn about Uncle 'Rastus's funeral? + Funniest thing Bob ever got off." He proceeded to tell it. +</p> +<p> + Every one on the launch was laughing except the captain, who was + swearing quietly; but the line of negroes marched on down to the wharf- + boat with the unshakable dignity of black folk in an important position. + They came singing an old negro spiritual. The women's sopranos thrilled + up in high, weird phrasing against an organ-like background of male + voices. +</p> +<p> + But the black men carried no coffin, and suddenly it occurred to Peter + Siner that perhaps this celebration was given in honor of his own home- + coming. The mulatto's heart beat a trifle faster as he began planning a + suitable response to this ovation. +</p> +<p> + Sure enough, the singing ranks disappeared behind the wharf-boat, and a + minute later came marching around the stern and lined up on the outer + guard of the vessel. The skinny, grizzly-headed negro commander held up + his sword, and the Knights and Ladies of Tabor fell silent. +</p> +<p> + The master of the launch tossed his head-line to the wharf-boat, and + yelled for one of the negroes to make it fast. One did. Then the + commandant with the sword began his address, but it was not directed to + Peter. He said: +</p> +<a name="image-2"><!--IMG--></a> +<center> +<img src="birth02.png" +alt="Peter Recognized the White Aprons and The Swords And +Spears of the Knights and Ladies Of Tabor +"> +<br>Peter Recognized the White Aprons and The Swords And +Spears of the Knights and Ladies Of Tabor +</center> +<!--IMAGE END--> +<p> + "Brudder Tump Pack, we, de Hooker's Ben' lodge uv de Knights an' Ladies + uv Tabor, welcome you back to yo' native town. We is proud uv you, a + colored man, who brings back de highes' crown uv bravery dis Newnighted + States has in its power to bestow. +</p> +<p> + "Two yeahs ago, Brudder Tump, we seen you marchin' away fum Hooker's + Ben' wid thirteen udder boys, white an' colored, all marchin' away + togedder. Fo' uv them boys is already back home; three, we heah, is on + de way back, but six uv yo' brave comrades, Brudder Pack, is sleepin' + now in France, an' ain't never goin' to come home no mo'. When we honors + you, we honors them all, de libin' an' de daid, de white an' de black, + who fought togedder fuh one country, fuh one flag." +</p> +<p> + Gasps, sobs from the line of black folk, interrupted the speaker. Just + then a shriveled old negress gave a scream, and came running and half + stumbling out of the line, holding out her arms to the barrel-chested + soldier on the gang-plank. She seized him and began shrieking: +</p> +<p> + "Bless Gawd! my son's done come home! Praise de Lawd! Bless His holy + name!" Here her laudation broke into sobbing and choking and laughing, + and she squeezed herself to her son. +</p> +<p> + Tump patted her bony black form. +</p> +<p> + "I's heah, Mammy," he stammered uncertainly. "I's come back, Mammy." +</p> +<p> + Half a dozen other negroes caught the joyful hysteria. They began a + religious shouting, clapping their hands, flinging up their arms, + shrieking. +</p> +<p> + One of the drummers grunted: +</p> +<p> + "Good God! all this over a nigger getting back!" +</p> +<p> + At the extreme end of the dark line a tall cream-colored girl wept + silently. As Peter Siner stood blinking his eyes, he saw the octoroon's + shoulders and breasts shake from the sobs, which her white blood + repressed to silence. +</p> +<p> + A certain sympathy for her grief and its suppression kept Peter's eyes + on the young woman, and then, with the queer effect of one picture + melting into another, the strange girl's face assumed familiar curves + and softnesses, and he was looking at Ida May. +</p> +<p> + A quiver traveled deliberately over Peter from his crisp black hair to + the soles of his feet. He started toward her impulsively. +</p> +<p> + At that moment one of the drummers picked up his grip, and started down + the gang-plank, and with its leathern bulk pressed Tump Pack and his + mother out of his path. He moved on to the shore through the negroes, + who divided at his approach. The captain of the launch saw that other of + his white passengers were becoming impatient, and he shouted for the + darkies to move aside and not to block the gangway. The youngish man + drew the girl in the tailor suit close to him and started through with + her. Peter heard him say, "They won't hurt you, Miss Negley." And Miss + Negley, in the brisk nasal intonation of a Northern woman, replied: "Oh, + I'm not afraid. We waste a lot of sympathy on them back home, but when + you see them—" +</p> +<p> + At that moment Peter heard a cry in his ears and felt arms thrown about + his neck. He looked down and saw his mother, Caroline Siner, looking up + into his face and weeping with the general emotion of the negroes and + this joy of her own. Caroline had changed since Peter last saw her. Her + eyes were a little more wrinkled, her kinky hair was thinner and very + gray. +</p> +<p> + Something warm and melting moved in Peter Siner's breast. He caressed + his mother and murmured incoherently, as had Tump Pack. Presently the + master of the launch came by, and touched the old negress, not ungently, + with the end of a spike-pole. +</p> +<p> + "You'll have to move, Aunt Ca'line," he said. "We're goin' to get the + freight off now." +</p> +<p> + The black woman paused in her weeping. "Yes, Mass' Bob," she said, and + she and Peter moved off of the launch onto the wharf-boat. +</p> +<p> + The Knights and Ladies of Tabor were already up the river bank with + their hero. Peter and his mother were left alone. Now they walked around + the guards of the wharf-boat to the bank, holding each other's arms + closely. As they went, Peter kept looking down at his old black mother, + with a growing tenderness. She was so worn and heavy! He recognized the + very dress she wore, an old black silk which she had "washed out" for + Miss Patti Brownell when he was a boy. It had been then, it was now, her + best dress. During the years the old negress had registered her + increasing bulk by letting out seams and putting in panels. Some of the + panels did not agree with the original fabric either in color or in + texture and now the seams were stretching again and threatening a rip. + Peter's own immaculate clothes reproached him, and he wondered for the + hundredth, or for the thousandth time how his mother had obtained + certain remittances which she had forwarded him during his college + years. +</p> +<p> + As Peter and his mother crept up the bank of the river, stopping + occasionally to let the old negress rest, his impression of the meanness + and shabbiness of the whole village grew. From the top of the bank the + single business street ran straight back from the river. It was stony in + places, muddy in places, strewn with goods-boxes, broken planking, + excelsior, and straw that had been used for packing. Charred rubbish- + piles lay in front of every store, which the clerks had swept out and + attempted to burn. Hogs roamed the thoroughfare, picking up decaying + fruit and parings, and nosing tin cans that had been thrown out by the + merchants. The stores that Peter had once looked upon as show-places + were poor two-story brick or frame buildings, defiled by time and wear + and weather. The white merchants were coatless, listless men who sat in + chairs on the brick pavements before their stores and who moved slowly + when a customer entered their doors. +</p> +<p> + And, strange to say, it was this fall of his white townsmen that moved + Peter Siner with a sense of the greatest loss. It seemed fantastic to + him, this sudden land-slide of the mighty. +</p> +<p> + As Peter and his mother came over the brow of the river bank, they saw a + crowd collecting at the other end of the street. The main street of + Hooker's Bend is only a block long, and the two negroes could easily + hear the loud laughter of men hurrying to the focus of interest and the + blurry expostulations of negro voices. The laughter spread like a + contagion. Merchants as far up as the river corner became infected, and + moved toward the crowd, looking back over their shoulders at every tenth + or twelfth step to see that no one entered their doors. +</p> +<p> + Presently, a little short man, fairly yipping with laughter, stumbled + back up the street to his store with tears of mirth in his eyes. A + belated merchant stopped him by clapping both hands on his shoulders and + shaking some composure into him. +</p> +<p> + "What is it? What's so funny? Damn it! I miss ever'thing!" +</p> +<p> + "I-i-it's that f-fool Tum-Tump Pack. Bobbs's arrested him!" +</p> +<p> + The inquirer was astounded. +</p> +<p> + "How the hell can he arrest him when he hit town this minute?" +</p> +<p> + "Wh-why, Bobbs had an old warrant for crap-shoot—three years old— + before the war. Just as Tump was a-coming down the street at the head of + the coons, out steps Bobbs—" Here the little man was overcome. +</p> +<p> + The merchant from the corner opened his eyes. +</p> +<p> + "Arrested him on an old crap charge?" +</p> +<p> + The little man nodded. They gazed at each other. Then they exploded + simultaneously. +</p> +<p> + Peter left his obese mother and hurried to the corner, Dawson Bobbs, the + constable, had handcuffs on Tump's wrists, and stood with his prisoner + amid a crowd of arguing negroes. +</p> +<p> + Bobbs was a big, fleshy, red-faced man, with chilly blue eyes and a + little straight slit of a mouth in his wide face. He was laughing and + chewing a sliver of toothpick. +</p> +<p> + "O Tump Pack," he called loudly, "you kain't git away from me! If you + roll bones in Hooker's Bend, you'll have to divide your winnings with + the county." Dawson winked a chill eye at the crowd in general. +</p> +<p> + "But hit's out o' date, Mr. Bobbs," the old gray-headed minister, Parson + Ranson, was pleading. +</p> +<p> + "May be that, Parson, but hit's easier to come up before the J.P. and + pay off than to fight it through the circuit court." +</p> +<p> + Siner pushed his way through the crowd. "How much do you want, Mr. + Bobbs?" he asked briefly. +</p> +<p> + The constable looked with reminiscent eyes at the tall, well-tailored + negro. He was plainly going through some mental card-index, hunting for + the name of Peter Siner on some long-forgotten warrant. Apparently, he + discovered nothing, for he said shortly: +</p> +<p> + "How do I know before he's tried? Come on, Tump!" +</p> +<p> + The procession moved in a long noisy line up Pillow Street, the white + residential street lying to the west. It stopped before a large shaded + lawn, where a number of white men and women were playing a game with + cards. The cards used by the lawn party were not ordinary playing-cards, + but had figures on them instead of spots, and were called "rook" cards. + The party of white ladies and gentlemen were playing "rook." On a table + in the middle of the lawn glittered some pieces of silver plate which + formed the first, second, and third prizes for the three leading scores. +</p> +<p> + The constable halted his black company before the lawn, where they stood + in the sunshine patiently waiting for the justice of the peace to finish + his game and hear the case of the State of Tennessee, plaintiff, versus + Tump Pack, defendant. +</p> +<a name="2HCH5"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER II +</h2> +<p> + On the eastern edge of Hooker's Bend, drawn in a rough semicircle around + the Big Hill, lies Niggertown. In all the half-moon there are perhaps + not two upright buildings. The grimy cabins lean at crazy angles, some + propped with poles, while others hold out against gravitation at a + hazard. +</p> +<p> + Up and down its street flows the slow negro life of the village. Here + children of all colors from black to cream fight and play; deep-chested + negresses loiter to and fro, some on errands to the white section of the + village on the other side of the hill, where they go to scrub or cook or + wash or iron. Others go down to the public well with a bucket in each + hand and one balanced on the head. +</p> +<p> + The public well itself lies at the southern end of this miserable + street, just at a point where the drainage of the Big Hill collects. The + rainfall runs down through Niggertown, under its sties, stables, and + outdoor toilets, and the well supplies the negroes with water for + cooking, washing, and drinking. Or, rather, what was once a well + supplies this water, for it is a well no longer. Its top and curbing + caved in long ago, and now there is simply a big hole in the soft, + water-soaked clay, about fifteen feet wide, with water standing at the + bottom. +</p> +<p> + Here come the unhurried colored women, who throw in their buckets, and + with a dexterity that comes of long practice draw them out full of + water. Black mothers shout at their children not to fall into this pit, + and now and then, when a pig fails to come up for its evening slops, a + black boy will go to the public well to see if perchance his porker has + met misfortune there. +</p> +<p> + The inhabitants of Niggertown suffer from divers diseases; they develop + strange ailments that no amount of physicking will overcome; young wives + grow sickly from no apparent cause. Although only three or four hundred + persons live in Niggertown, two or three negroes are always slowly dying + of tuberculosis; winter brings pneumonia; summer, malaria. About once a + year the state health officer visits Hooker's Bend and forces the white + soda-water dispensers on the other side of the hill to sterilize their + glasses in the name of the sovereign State of Tennessee. +</p> +<p> + The Siner home was a three-room shanty about midway in the semicircle. + Peter Siner stood in the sunlight just outside the entrance, watching + his old mother clean the bugs out of a tainted ham that she had bought + for a pittance from some white housekeeper in the village. It had been + too high for white people to eat. Old Caroline patiently tapped the + honeycombed meat to scare out the last of the little green householders, + and then she washed it in a solution of soda to freshen it up. +</p> +<p> + The sight of his bulky old mother working at the spoiled ham and of the + negro women in the street moving to and from the infected well filled + Peter Siner with its terrible pathos. Although he had seen these + surroundings all of his life, he had a queer impression that he was + looking upon them for the first time. During his boyhood he had accepted + all this without question as the way the world was made. During his + college days a criticism had arisen in his mind, but it came slowly, and + was tempered by that tenderness every one feels for the spot called + home. Now, as he stood looking at it, he wondered how human beings lived + there at all. He wondered if Ida May used water from the Niggertown + well. +</p> +<p> + He turned to ask old Caroline, but checked himself with a man's + instinctive avoidance of mentioning his intimacies to his mother. At + that moment, oddly enough, the old negress brought up the topic herself. +</p> +<p> + "Ida May wuz 'quirin' 'bout you las' night, Peter." +</p> +<p> + A faint tingle filtered through Peter's throat and chest, but he asked + casually enough what she had said. +</p> +<p> + "Didn' say; she wrote." +</p> +<p> + Peter looked around, frankly astonished. +</p> +<p> + "Wrote?" +</p> +<p> + "Yeah; co'se she wrote." +</p> +<p> + "What made her write?" a fantasy of Ida May dumb flickered before the + mulatto. +</p> +<a name="image-3"><!--IMG--></a> +<center> +<img src="birth03.png" +alt="Up and Down Its Street Flows the Slow Negro Life of The +Village +"> +<br>Up and Down Its Street Flows the Slow Negro Life of The Village +</center> +<!--IMAGE END--> +<p> + "Why, Ida May's in Nashville." Caroline looked at Peter. "She wrote to + Cissie, astin' 'bout you. She ast is you as bright in yo' books as you + is in yo' color." The old negress gave a pleased abdominal chuckle as + she admired her broad-shouldered brown son. +</p> +<p> + "But I saw Ida May standing on the wharf-boat the day I came home," + protested Peter, still bewildered. +</p> +<p> + "No you ain't. I reckon you seen Cissie. Dey looks kind o' like when you + is fur off." +</p> +<p> + "Cissie?" repeated Peter. Then he remembered a smaller sister of Ida + May's, a little, squalling, yellow, wet-nosed nuisance that had annoyed + his adolescence. So that little spoil-sport had grown up into the girl + he had mistaken for Ida May. This fact increased his sense of + strangeness—that sense of great change that had fallen on the village + in his absence which formed the groundwork of all his renewed + associations. +</p> +<p> + Peter's prolonged silence aroused certain suspicions in the old negress. + She glanced at her son out of the tail of her eyes. +</p> +<p> + "Cissie Dildine is Tump Pack's gal," she stated defensively, with the + jealousy all mothers feel toward all sons. +</p> +<p> + A diversion in the shouts of the children up the mean street and a + sudden furious barking of dogs drew Peter from the discussion. He looked + up, and saw a negro girl of about fourteen coming down the curved + street, with long, quick steps and an occasional glance over her + shoulder. +</p> +<p> + From across the thoroughfare a small chocolate-colored woman, with her + wool done in outstanding spikes, thrust her head out at the door and + called: +</p> +<p> + "Whut's de matter, Ofeely?" +</p> +<p> + The girl lifted a high voice: +</p> +<p> + "Oh, Miss Nan, it's that constable goin' th'ugh the houses!" The girl + veered across the street to the safety of the open door and one of her + own sex. +</p> +<p> + "Good Lawd!" cried the spiked one in disgust, "ever', time a white + pusson gits somp'n misplaced—" She moved to one side to allow the girl + to enter, and continued staring up the street, with the whites of her + eyes accented against her dark face, after the way of angry negroes. +</p> +<p> + Around the crescent the dogs were furious. They were Niggertown dogs, + and the sight of a white man always drove them to a frenzy. Presently in + the hullabaloo, Peter heard Dawson Bobbs's voice shouting: +</p> +<p> + "Aunt Mahaly, if you kain't call off this dawg, I'm shore goin' to kill + him." +</p> +<p> + Then an old woman's scolding broke in and complicated the mêlée. + Presently Peter saw the bulky form of Dawson Bobbs come around the + curve, moving methodically from cabin to cabin. He held some legal- + looking papers in his hands, and Peter knew what the constable was + doing. He was serving a blanket search-warrant on the whole black + population of Hooker's Bend. At almost every cabin a dog ran out to + blaspheme at the intruder, but a wave of the man's pistol sent them + yelping under the floors again. +</p> +<p> + When the constable entered a house, Peter could hear him bumping and + rattling among the furnishings, while the black householders stood + outside the door and watched him disturb their housekeeping + arrangements. +</p> +<p> + Presently Bobbs came angling across the street toward the Siner cabin. + As he entered the rickety gate, old Caroline called out: +</p> +<p> + "Whut is you after, anyway, white man?" +</p> +<p> + Bobbs turned cold, truculent eyes on the old negress. "A turkey + roaster," he snapped. "Some o' you niggers stole Miss Lou Arkwright's + turkey roaster." +</p> +<p> + "Tukky roaster!" cried the old black woman, in great disgust. "Whut you + s'pose us niggers is got to roast in a tukky roaster?" +</p> +<p> + The constable answered shortly that his business was to find the + roaster, not what the negroes meant to put in it. +</p> +<p> + "I decla'," satirized old Caroline, savagely, "dish-heah Niggertown is a + white man's pocket. Ever' time he misplace somp'n, he feel in his pocket + to see ef it ain't thaiuh. Don'-chu turn over dat sody-water, white man! + You know dey ain't no tukky roaster under dat sody-water. I 'cla' 'fo' + Gawd, ef a white man wuz to eat a flapjack, an' it did n' give him de + belly-ache, I 'cla' 'fo' Gawd he'd git out a search-wa'nt to see ef some + nigger had n' stole dat flapjack goin' down his th'oat." +</p> +<p> + "Mr. Bobbs has to do his work, Mother," put in Peter. "I don't suppose + he enjoys it any more than we do." +</p> +<p> + "Den let 'im git out'n dis business an' git in anudder," scolded the old + woman. "Dis sho is a mighty po' business." +</p> +<p> + The ponderous Mr. Bobbs finished with a practised thoroughness his + inspection of the cabin, and then the inquisition proceeded down the + street, around the crescent, and so out of sight and eventually out of + hearing. +</p> +<p> + Old Caroline snapped her chair back beside her greasy table and sat down + abruptly to her spoiled ham again. +</p> +<p> + "Dat make me mad," she grumbled. "Ever' time a white pusson fail to lay + dey han' on somp'n, dey comes an' turns over ever'thing in my house." + She paused a moment, closed her eyes in thought, and then mused aloud: + "I wonder who is got Miss Arkwright's roaster." +</p> +<p> + The commotion of the constable's passing died in his wake, and + Niggertown resumed its careless existence. Dogs reappeared from under + the cabins and stretched in the sunshine; black children came out of + hiding and picked up their play; the frightened Ophelia came out of + Nan's cabin across the street and went her way; a lanky negro youth in + blue coat and pin-striped trousers appeared, coming down the squalid + thoroughfare whistling the "Memphis Blues" with bird-like virtuosity. + The lightness with which Niggertown accepted the moral side glance of a + blanket search-warrant depressed Siner. +</p> +<p> + Caroline called her son to dinner, as the twelve-o'clock meal is called + in Hooker's Bend, and so ended his meditation. The Harvard man went back + into the kitchen and sat down at a rickety table covered with a red- + checked oil-cloth. On it were spread the spoiled ham, a dish of poke + salad, a corn pone, and a pot of weak coffee. A quaint old bowl held + some brown sugar. The fat old negress made a slight, habitual settling + movement in her chair that marked the end of her cooking and the + beginning of her meal. Then she bent her grizzled, woolly head and + mumbled off one of those queer old-fashioned graces which consist of a + swift string of syllables without pauses between either words or + sentences. +</p> +<p> + Peter sat watching his mother with a musing gaze. The kitchen was + illuminated by a single small square window set high up from the floor. + Now the disposition of its single ray of light over the dishes and the + bowed head of the massive negress gave Peter one of those sharp, tender + apprehensions of formal harmony that lie back of the genre in art. It + stirred his emotion in an odd fashion. When old Caroline raised her + head, she found her son staring with impersonal eyes not at herself, but + at the whole room, including her. The old woman was perplexed and a + little apprehensive. +</p> +<p> + "Why, son!" she ejaculated, "didn' you bow yo' haid while yo' mammy ast + de grace?" +</p> +<p> + Peter was a little confused at his remissness. Then he leaned a little + forward to explain the sudden glamour which for a moment had + transfigured the interior of their kitchen. But even as he started to + speak, he realized that what he meant to say would only confuse his + mother; therefore he cast about mentally for some other explanation of + his behavior, but found nothing at hand. +</p> +<p> + "I hope you ain't forgot yo' 'ligion up at de 'versity, son." +</p> +<p> + "Oh, no, no, indeed, Mother, but just at that moment, just as you bowed + your head, you know, it struck me that—that there is something noble in + our race." That was the best he could put it to her. +</p> +<p> + "Noble—" +</p> +<p> + "Yes. You know," he went on a little quickly, "sometimes I—I've thought + my father must have been a noble man." +</p> +<p> + The old negress became very still. She was not looking quite at her son, + or yet precisely away from him. +</p> +<p> + "Uh—uh noble nigger,"—she gave her abdominal chuckle. "Why—yeah, I + reckon yo' father wuz putty noble as—as niggers go." She sat looking at + her son, oddly, with a faint amusement in her gross black face, when a + careful voice, a very careful voice, sounded in the outer room, gliding + up politely on the syllables: +</p> +<p> + "Ahnt Carolin'! oh, Ahnt Carolin', may I enter?" +</p> +<p> + The old woman stirred. +</p> +<p> + "Da''s Cissie, Peter. Go ast her in to de fambly-room." +</p> +<p> + When Siner opened the door, the vague resemblance of the slender, creamy + girl on the threshold to Ida May again struck him; but Cissie Dildine + was younger, and her polished black hair lay straight on her pretty + head, and was done in big, shining puffs over her ears in a way that Ida + May's unruly curls would never have permitted. Her eyes were the most + limpid brown Peter had ever seen, but her oval face was faintly + unnatural from the use of negro face powder, which colored women insist + on, and which gives their yellows and browns a barely perceptible + greenish hue. Cissie wore a fluffy yellow dress some three shades deeper + than the throat and the glimpse of bosom revealed at the neck. +</p> +<p> + The girl carried a big package in her arms, and now she manipulated this + to put out a slender hand to Peter. +</p> +<p> + "This is Cissie Dildine, Mister Siner." She smiled up at him. "I just + came over to put my name down on your list. There was such a mob at the + Benevolence Hall last night I couldn't get to you." +</p> +<p> + The girl had a certain finical precision to her English that told Peter + she had been away to some school, and had been taught to guard her + grammar very carefully as she talked. +</p> +<p> + Peter helped her inside amid the handshake and said he would go fetch + the list. As he turned, Cissie offered her bundle. "Here is something I + thought might be a little treat for you and Ahnt Carolin'." She paused, + and then explained remotely, "Sometimes it is hard to get good things at + the village market." +</p> +<p> + Peter took the package, vaguely amused at Cissie's patronage of the + Hooker's Bend market. It was an attitude instinctively assumed by every + girl, white or black, who leaves the village and returns. The bundle was + rather large and wrapped in newspapers. He carried it into the kitchen + to his mother, and then returned with the list. +</p> +<p> + The sheet was greasy from the handling of black fingers. The girl spread + it on the little center-table with a certain daintiness, seated herself, + and held out her hand for Peter's pencil. She made rather a graceful + study in cream and yellow as she leaned over the table and signed her + name in a handwriting as perfect and as devoid of character as a copy- + book. She began discussing the speech Peter had made at the Benevolence + Hall. +</p> +<p> + "I don't know whether I am in favor of your project or not, Mr. Siner," + she said as she rose from the table. +</p> +<p> + "No?" Peter was surprised and amused at her attitude and at her precise + voice. +</p> +<p> + "No, I'm rather inclined toward Mr. DuBois's theory of a literary + culture than toward Mr. Washington's for a purely industrial training." +</p> +<p> + Peter broke out laughing. +</p> +<p> + "For the love of Mike, Cissie, you talk like the instructor in Sociology + B! And haven't we met before somewhere? This 'Mister Siner' stuff—" +</p> +<p> + The girl's face warmed under its faint, greenish powder. +</p> +<p> + "If I aren't careful with my language, Peter," she said simply, "I'll be + talking just as badly as I did before I went to the seminary. You know I + never hear a proper sentence in Hooker's Bend except my own." +</p> +<p> + A certain resignation in the girl's soft voice brought Peter a qualm for + laughing at her. He laid an impulsive hand on her young shoulder. +</p> +<p> + "Well, that's true, certainly, but it won't always be like that, Cissie. + More of us go off to school every year. I do hope my school here in + Hooker's Bend will be of some real value. If I could just show our + people how badly we fare here, how ill housed, and unsanitary—" +</p> +<p> + The girl pressed Peter's fingers with a woman's optimism for a man. +</p> +<p> + "You'll succeed, Peter, I know you will. Some day the name Siner will + mean the same thing to coloured people as Tanner and Dunbar and + Braithwaite do. Anyway, I've put my name down for ten dollars to help + out." She returned the pencil. "I'll have Tump Pack come around and pay + you my subscription, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "I'll watch out for Tump," promised Peter in a lightening mood, "—and + make him pay." +</p> +<p> + "He'll do it." +</p> +<p> + "I don't doubt it. You ought to have him under perfect control. I meant + to tell you what a pretty frock you have on." +</p> +<p> + The girl dimpled, and dropped him a little curtsy, half ironical and + wholly graceful. +</p> +<p> + Peter was charmed. +</p> +<p> + "Now keep that way, Cissie, smiling and human, not so grammatical. I + wish I had a brooch." +</p> +<p> + "A brooch?" +</p> +<p> + "I'd give it to you. Your dress needs a brooch, an old gold brooch at + the bosom, just a glint there to balance your eyes." +</p> +<p> + Cissie flushed happily, and made the feminine movement of concealing the + V-shaped opening at her throat. +</p> +<p> + "It's a pleasure to doll up for a man like you, Peter. You see a girl's + good points—if she has any," she tacked on demurely. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, just any man—" +</p> +<p> + "Don't think it! Don't think it!" waved down Cissie, humorously. +</p> +<p> + "But, Cissie, how is it possible—" +</p> +<p> + "Just blind." Cissie rippled into a boarding-school laugh. "I could wear + the whole rue del Opera here in Niggertown, and nobody would ever see it + but you." +</p> +<p> + Cissie was moving toward the door. Peter tried to detain her. He enjoyed + the implication of Tump Pack's stupidity, in their badinage, but she + would not stay. He was finally reduced to thanking her for her present, + then stood guard as she tripped out into the grimy street. In the + sunshine her glossy black hair and canary dress looked as trim and + brilliant as the plumage of a chaffinch. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner walked back into the kitchen with the fixed smile of a man + who is thinking of a pretty girl. The black dowager in the kitchen + received him in silence, with her thick lips pouted. When Peter observed + it, he felt slightly amused at his mother's resentment. +</p> +<p> + "Well, you sho had a lot o' chatter over signin' a lil ole paper." +</p> +<p> + "She signed for ten dollars," said Peter, smiling. +</p> +<p> + "Huh! she'll never pay it." +</p> +<p> + "Said Tump Pack would pay it." +</p> +<p> + "Huh!" The old negress dropped the subject, and nodded at a huge double + pan on the table. "Dat's whut she brung you." She grunted + disapprovingly. +</p> +<p> + "And it's for you, too, Mother." +</p> +<p> + "Ya-as, I 'magine she brung somp'n fuh me." +</p> +<p> + Peter walked across to the double pans, and saw they held a complete + dinner—chicken, hot biscuits, cake, pickle, even ice-cream. +</p> +<p> + The sight of the food brought Peter a realization that he was keenly + hungry. As a matter of fact, he had not eaten a palatable meal since he + had been evicted from the white dining-car at Cairo, Illinois. Siner + served his own and his mother's plate. +</p> +<p> + The old woman sniffed again. +</p> +<p> + "Seems to me lak you is mighty onobsarvin' fuh a nigger whut's been off + to college." +</p> +<p> + "Anything else?" Peter looked into the pans again. +</p> +<p> + "Ain't you see whut it's all in?" +</p> +<p> + "What it's in?" +</p> +<p> + "Yeah; whut it's in. You heared whut I said." +</p> +<p> + "What is it in?" +</p> +<p> + "Why, it's in Miss Arkwright's tukky roaster, dat's whut it's in." The + old negress drove her point home with an acid accent. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner was too loyal to his new friendship with Cissie Dildine to + allow his mother's jealous suspicions to affect him; nevertheless the + old woman's observations about the turkey roaster did prevent a complete + and care-free enjoyment of the meal. Certainly there were other turkey + roasters in Hooker's Bend than Mrs. Arkwright's. Cissie might very well + own a roaster. It was absurd to think that Cissie, in the midst of her + almost pathetic struggle to break away from the uncouthness of + Niggertown, would stoop to—Even in his thoughts Peter avoided + nominating the charge. +</p> +<p> + And then, somehow, his memory fished up the fact that years ago Ida May, + according to village rumor, was "light-fingered." At that time in + Peter's life "light-fingeredness" carried with it no opprobrium + whatever. It was simply a fact about Ida May, as were her sloe eyes and + curling black hair. His reflections renewed his perpetual sense of + queerness and strangeness that hall-marked every phase of Niggertown + life since his return from the North. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + Cissie Dildine's contribution tailed out the one hundred dollars that + Peter needed, and after he had finished his meal, the mulatto set out + across the Big Hill for the white section of the village, to complete + his trade. +</p> +<p> + It was Peter's program to go to the Planter's Bank, pay down his + hundred, and receive a deed from one Elias Tomwit, which the bank held + in escrow. Two or three days before Peter had tried to borrow the + initial hundred from the bank, but the cashier, Henry Hooker, after + going into the transaction, had declined the loan, and therefore Siner + had been forced to await a meeting of the Sons and Daughters of + Benevolence. At this meeting the subscription had gone through promptly. + The land the negroes purposed to purchase for an industrial school was a + timbered tract tying southeast of Hooker's Bend on the head-waters of + Ross Creek. A purchase price of eight hundred dollars had been agreed + upon. The timber on the tract, sold on the stump, would bring almost + that amount. It was Siner's plan to commandeer free labor in Niggertown, + work off the timber, and have enough money to build the first unit of + his school. A number of negro men already had subscribed a certain + number of days' work in the timber. It was a modest and entirely + practical program, and Peter felt set up over it. +</p> +<p> + The brown man turned briskly out into the hot afternoon sunshine, down + the mean semicircular street, where piccaninnies were kicking up clouds + of dust. He hurried through the dusty area, and presently turned off a + by-path that led over the hill, through a glade of cedars, to the white + village. +</p> +<p> + The glade was gloomy, but warm, for the shade of cedars somehow seems to + hold heat. A carpet of needles hushed Siner's footfalls and spread a + Sabbatical silence through the grove. The upward path was not smooth, + but was broken with outcrops of the same reddish limestone that marks + the whole stretch of the Tennessee River. Here and there in the grove + were circles eight or ten feet in diameter, brushed perfectly clean of + all needles and pebbles and twigs. These places were crap-shooters' + circles, where black and white men squatted to shoot dice. +</p> +<p> + Under the big stones on the hillside, Peter knew, was cached illicit + whisky, and at night the boot-leggers carried on a brisk trade among the + gamblers. More than that, the glade on the Big Hill was used for still + more demoralizing ends. It became a squalid grove of Ashtoreth; but now, + in the autumn evening, all the petty obscenities of white and black + sloughed away amid the religious implications of the dark-green aisles. +</p> +<p> + The sight of a white boy sitting on an outcrop of limestone with a strap + of school-books dropped at his feet rather surprised Peter. The negro + looked at the hobbledehoy for several seconds before he recognized in + the lanky youth a little Arkwright boy whom he had known and played with + in his pre-college days. Now there was such an exaggerated wistfulness + in young Arkwright's attitude that Peter was amused. +</p> +<p> + "Hello, Sam," he called. "What you doing out here?" +</p> +<p> + The Arkwright boy turned with a start. +</p> +<p> + "Aw, is that you, Siner?" Before the negro could reply, he added: "Was + you on the Harvard football team, Siner? Guess the white fellers have a + pretty gay time in Harvard, don't they, Siner? Geemenettie! but I git + tired o' this dern town! D' reckon I could make the football team? Looks + like I could if a nigger like you could, Siner." +</p> +<p> + None of this juvenile outbreak of questions required answers. Peter + stood looking at the hobbledehoy without smiling. +</p> +<p> + "Aren't you going to school?" he asked. +</p> +<p> + Arkwright shrugged. +</p> +<p> + "Aw, hell!" he said self-consciously. "We got marched down to the + protracted meetin' while ago—whole school did. My seat happened to be + close to a window. When they all stood up to sing, I crawled out and + skipped. Don't mention that, Siner." +</p> +<p> + "I won't." +</p> +<p> + "When a fellow goes to college he don't git marched to preachin', does + he, Siner?" +</p> +<p> + "I never did." +</p> +<p> + "We-e-ll," mused young Sam, doubtfully, "you're a nigger." +</p> +<p> + "I never saw any white men marched in, either." +</p> +<p> + "Oh, hell! I wish I was in college." +</p> +<p> + "What are you sitting out here thinking about?" inquired Peter of the + ingenuous youngster. +</p> +<p> + "Oh—football and—women and God and—how to stack cards. You think + about ever'thing, in the woods. Damn it! I got to git out o' this little + jay town. D' reckon I could git in the navy, Siner?" +</p> +<p> + "Don't see why you couldn't, Sam. Have you seen Tump Pack anywhere?" +</p> +<p> + "Yeah; on Hobbett's corner. Say, is Cissie Dildine at home?" +</p> +<p> + "I believe she is." +</p> +<p> + "She cooks for us," explained young Arkwright, "and Mammy wants her to + come and git supper, too." +</p> +<p> + The phrase "get supper, too," referred to the custom in the white homes + of Hooker's Bend of having only two meals cooked a day, breakfast and + the twelve-o'clock dinner, with a hot supper optional with the mistress. +</p> +<p> + Peter nodded, and passed on up the path, leaving young Arkwright seated + on the ledge of rock, a prey to all the boiling, erratic impulses of + adolescence. The negro sensed some of the innumerable difficulties of + this white boy's life, and once, as he walked on over the silent + needles, he felt an impulse to turn back and talk to young Sam + Arkwright, to sit down and try to explain to the youth what he could of + this hazardous adventure called Life. But then, he reflected, very + likely the boy would be offended at a serious talk from a negro. Also, + he thought that young Arkwright, being white, was really not within the + sphere of his ministry. He, Peter Siner, was a worker in the black world + of the South. He was part of the black world which the white South was + so meticulous to hide away, to keep out of sight and out of thought. +</p> +<p> + A certain vague sense of triumph trickled through some obscure corner of + Peter's mind. It was so subtle that Peter himself would have been the + first, in all good faith, to deny it and to affirm that all his motives + were altruistic. Once he looked back through the cedars. He could still + see the boy hunched over, chin in fist, staring at the mat of needles. +</p> +<p> + As Peter turned the brow of the Big Hill, he saw at its eastern foot the + village church, a plain brick building with a decaying spire. Its side + was perforated by four tall arched windows. Each was a memorial window + of stained glass, which gave the building a black look from the outside. + As Peter walked down the hill toward the church he heard the and + somewhat nasal singing of uncultivated voices mingled with the snoring + of a reed organ. +</p> +<p> + When he reached Main Street, Peter found the whole business portion + virtually deserted. All the stores were closed, and in every show-window + stood a printed notice that no business would be transacted between the + hours of two and three o'clock in the afternoon during the two weeks of + revival then in progress. Beside this notice stood another card, giving + the minister's text for the current day. On this particular day it read: +</p> +<center> + GO YE INTO ALL THE WORLD +</center> +<center> + Come hear Rev. E.B. Blackwater's great<br> + Missionary Address on +</center> +<center> + CHRISTIANIZING AFRICA +</center> +<center> + ELOQUENT, PROFOUND, HEART-SEARCHING.<br> + ILLUSTRATED WITH SLIDES. +</center> +<p> + Half a dozen negroes lounged in the sunshine on Hobbett's corner as + Peter came up. They were amusing themselves after the fashion of blacks, + with mock fights, feints, sudden wrestlings. They would seize one + another by the head and grind their knuckles into one another's wool. + Occasionally, one would leap up and fall into one of those grotesque + shuffles called "breakdowns." It all held a certain rawness, an + irrepressible juvenility. +</p> +<p> + As Peter came up, Tump Pack detached himself from the group and gave a + pantomime of thrusting. He was clearly reproducing the action which had + won for him his military medal. Then suddenly he fell down in the dust + and writhed. He was mimicking with a ghastly realism the death-throes of + his four victims. His audience howled with mirth at this dumb show of + the bayonet-fight and of killing four men. Tump himself got up out of + the dust with tears of laughter in his eyes. Peter caught the end of his + sentence, "Sho put it to 'em, black boy. Fo' white men—" +</p> +<p> + His audience roared again, swayed around, and pounded one another in an + excess of mirth. +</p> +<p> + Siner shouted from across the street two or three times before he caught + Tump's attention. The ex-soldier looked around, sobered abruptly. +</p> +<p> + "Whut-chu want, nigger?" His inquiry was not over-cordial. +</p> +<p> + Peter nodded him across the street. +</p> +<p> + The heavily built black in khaki hesitated a moment, then started across + the street with the dragging feet of a reluctant negro. Peter looked at + him as he came up. +</p> +<p> + "What's the matter, Tump?" he asked playfully. +</p> +<p> + "Ain't nothin' matter wid me, nigger." Peter made a guess at Tump's + surliness. +</p> +<p> + "Look here, are you puffed up because Cissie Dildine struck you for a + ten?" +</p> +<p> + Tump's expression changed. +</p> +<p> + "Is she struck me fuh a ten?" +</p> +<p> + "Yes; on that school subscription." +</p> +<p> + "Is dat whut you two niggers wuz a-talkin' 'bout over thaiuh in yo' + house?" +</p> +<p> + "Exactly." Peter showed the list, with Cissie's name on it. "She told me + to collect from you." +</p> +<p> + Tump brightened up. +</p> +<p> + "So dat wuz whut you two niggers wuz a-talkin' 'bout over at yo' house." + He ran a fist down into his khaki, and drew out three or four one-dollar + bills and about a pint of small change. It was the usual crap-shooter's + offering. The two negroes sat down on the ramshackle porch of an old + jeweler's shop, and Tump began a complicated tally of ten dollars. +</p> +<p> + By the time he had his dimes, quarters, and nickels in separate stacks, + services in the village church were finished, and the congregation came + filing up the street. First came the school-children, running and + chattering and swinging their books by the straps; then the business men + of the hamlet, rather uncomfortable in coats and collars, hurrying back + to their stores; finally came the women, surrounding the preacher. +</p> +<p> + Tump and Peter walked on up to the entrance of the Planter's Bank and + there awaited Mr. Henry Hooker, the cashier. Presently a skinny man + detached himself from the church crowd and came angling across the dirty + street toward the bank. Mr. Hooker wore somewhat shabby clothes for a + banker; in fact, he never could recover from certain personal habits + formed during a penurious boyhood. He had a thin hatchet face which just + at this moment was shining though from some inward glow. Although he was + an unhandsome little man, his expression was that of one at peace with + man and God and was pleasant to see. He had been so excited by the + minister that he was constrained to say something even to two negroes. + So as he unlocked the little one-story bank, he told Tump and Peter that + he had been listening to a man who was truly a man of God. He said + Blackwater could touch the hardest heart, and, sure enough, Mr. Hooker's + rather popped and narrow-set eyes looked as though he had been crying. +</p> +<p> + All this encomium was given in a high, cracked voice as the cashier + opened the door and turned the negroes into the bank. Tump, who stood + with his hat off, listening to all the cashier had to say, said he + thought so, too. +</p> +<p> + The shabby interior of the little bank, the shabby little banker, + renewed that sense of disillusion that pervaded Peter's home-coming. In + Boston the mulatto had done his slight banking business in a white + marble structure with tellers of machine-like briskness and neatness. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Hooker strolled around into his grill-cage; when he was thoroughly + ensconced he began business in his high voice: +</p> +<p> + "You came to see me about that land, Peter?" +</p> +<p> + Yes, sir." +</p> +<p> + "Sorry to tell you, Peter, you are not back in time to get the Tomwit + place." +</p> +<p> + Peter came out of his musing over the Boston banks with a sense of + bewilderment. +</p> +<p> + "How's that? why, I bought that land—" +</p> +<p> + "But you paid nothing for your option, Siner." +</p> +<p> + "I had a clear-cut understanding with Mr. Tomwit—" +</p> +<p> + Mr. Hooker smiled a smile that brought out sharp wrinkles around the + thin nose on his thin face. +</p> +<p> + "You should have paid him an earnest, Siner, if you wanted to bind your + trade. You colored folks are always stumbling over the law." +</p> +<p> + Peter stared through the grating, not knowing what to do. +</p> +<p> + "I'll go see Mr. Tomwit," he said, and started uncertainly for the door. +</p> +<p> + The cashier's falsetto stopped him: +</p> +<p> + "No use, Peter. Mr. Tomwit surprised me, too, but no use talking about + it. I didn't like to see such an important thing as the education of our + colored people held up, myself. I've been thinking about it." +</p> +<p> + "Especially when I had made a fair square trade," put in Peter, warmly. +</p> +<p> + "Exactly," squeaked the cashier. "And rather than let your project be + delayed, I'm going to offer you the old Dillihay place at exactly the + same price, Peter—eight hundred." +</p> +<p> + "The Dillihay place?" +</p> +<p> + "Yes; that's west of town; it's bigger by twenty acres than old man + Tomwit's place." +</p> +<p> + Peter considered the proposition. +</p> +<p> + "I'll have to carry this before the Sons and Daughters of Benevolence, + Mr. Hooker." +</p> +<p> + The cashier repeated the smile that bracketed his thin nose in wrinkles. +</p> +<p> + "That's with you, but you know what you say goes with the niggers here + in town, and, besides, I won't promise how long I'll hold the Dillihay + place. Real estate is brisk around here now. I didn't want to delay a + good work on account of not having a location." Mr. Hooker turned away + to a big ledger on a breast-high desk, and apparently was about to + settle himself to the endless routine of bank work. +</p> +<p> + Peter knew the Dillihay place well. It lacked the timber of the other + tract; still, it was fairly desirable. He hesitated before the tarnished + grill. +</p> +<p> + "What do you think about it, Tump?" +</p> +<p> + "You won't make a mistake in buying," answered the high voice of Mr. + Hooker at his ledger. +</p> +<p> + "I don' think you'll make no mistake in buyin', Peter," repeated Tump's + bass. +</p> +<p> + Peter turned back a little uncertainly, and asked how long it would take + to fix the new deed. He had a notion of making a flying canvass of the + officers of the Sons and Daughters in the interim. He was surprised to + find that Mr. Hooker already had the deed and the notes ready to sign, + in anticipation of Peter's desires. Here the banker brought out the set + of papers. +</p> +<p> + "I'll take it," decided Peter; "and if the lodge doesn't want it, I'll + keep the place myself." +</p> +<p> + "I like to deal with a man of decision," piped the cashier, a wrinkled + smile on his sharp face. +</p> +<p> + Peter pushed in his bag of collections, then Mr. Hooker signed the deed, + and Peter signed the land notes. They exchanged the instruments. Peter + received the crisp deed, bound in blue manuscript cover. It rattled + unctuously. To Peter it was his first step toward a second Tuskegee. +</p> +<p> + The two negroes walked out of the Planter's Bank filled with a sense of + well-doing. Tump Pack was openly proud of having been connected, even in + a casual way, with the purchase. As he walked down the steps, he turned + to Peter. +</p> +<p> + "Don' reckon nobody could git a deed off on you wid stoppers in it, does + you?" +</p> +<p> + "We don't know any such word as 'stop,' Tump," declared Peter, gaily. +</p> +<p> + For Peter was gay. The whole incident at the bank was beginning to + please him. The meeting of a sudden difficulty, his quick decision—it + held the quality of leadership. Napoleon had it. +</p> +<p> + The two colored men stepped briskly through the afternoon sunshine along + the mean village street. Here and there in front of their doorways sat + the merchants yawning and talking, or watching pigs root in the piles of + waste. +</p> +<p> + In Peter's heart came a wonderful thought. He would make his industrial + institution such a model of neatness that the whole village of Hooker's + Bend would catch the spirit. The white people should see that something + clean and uplifting could come out of Niggertown. The two races ought to + live for a mutual benefit. It was a fine, generous thought. For some + reason, just then, there flickered through Peter's mind a picture of the + Arkwright boy sitting hunched over in the cedar glade, staring at the + needles. +</p> +<p> + All this musing was brushed away by the sight of old Mr. Tomwit crossing + the street from the east side to the livery-stable on the west. That + human desire of wanting the person who has wronged you to know that you + know your injury moved Peter to hurry his steps and to speak to the old + gentleman. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Tomwit had been a Confederate cavalryman in the Civil War, and there + was still a faint breeze and horsiness about him. He was a hammered-down + old gentleman, with hair thin but still jet-black, a seamed, sunburned + face, and a flattened nose. His voice was always a friendly roar. Now, + when he saw Peter turning across the street to meet him, he halted and + called out at once: +</p> +<p> + "Now Peter, I know what's the matter with you. I didn't do you right." +</p> +<p> + Peter went closer, not caring to take the whole village into his + confidence. +</p> +<p> + "How came you to turn down my proposition, Mr. Tomwit," he asked, "after + we had agreed and drawn up the papers?" +</p> +<p> + "We-e-ell, I had to do it, Peter," explained the old man, loudly. +</p> +<p> + "Why, Mr. Tomwit?" +</p> +<p> + "A white neighbor wanted me to, Peter," boomed the cavalryman. +</p> +<p> + "Who, Mr. Tomwit?" +</p> +<p> + "Henry Hooker talked me into it, Peter. It was a mean trick, Peter. I + done you wrong." He stood nodding his head and rubbing his flattened + nose in an impersonal manner. "Yes, I done you wrong, Peter," he + acknowledged loudly, and looked frankly into Peter's eyes. +</p> +<p> + The negro was immensely surprised that Henry Hooker had done such a + thing. A thought came that perhaps some other Henry Hooker had moved + into town in his absence. +</p> +<p> + "You don't mean the cashier of the bank?" +</p> +<p> + Old Mr. Tomwit drew out a plug of Black Mule tobacco, set some gapped, + discolored teeth into corner, nodded at Peter silently, at the same time + utilizing the nod to tear off a large quid. He rolled tin about with his + tongue and after a few moments adjusted it so that he could speak. +</p> +<p> + "Yeah," he proceeded in a muffled tone, "they ain't but one Henry + Hooker; he is the one and only Henry. He said if I sold you my land, + you'd put up a nigger school and bring in so many blackbirds you'd run + me clean off my farm. He said it'd ruin the whole town, a nigger school + would." +</p> +<p> + Peter was astonished. +</p> +<p> + "Why, he didn't talk that way to me!" +</p> +<p> + "Natchelly, natchelly," agreed the old cavalryman, dryly.—"Henry has a + different way to talk to ever' man, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "In fact," proceeded Peter, "Mr. Hooker sold me the old Dillihay place + in lieu of the deal I missed with you." +</p> +<p> + Old Mr. Tomwit moved his quid in surprise. +</p> +<p> + "The hell he did!" +</p> +<p> + "That at least shows he doesn't think a negro school would ruin the + value of his land. He owns farms all around the Dillihay place." +</p> +<p> + Old Mr. Tomwit turned his quid over twice and spat thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> + "That your deed in your pocket?" With the air of a man certain of being + obeyed he held out his hand for the blue manuscript cover protruding + from the mulatto's pocket. Peter handed it over. The old gentleman + unfolded the deed, then moved it carefully to and from his eyes until + the typewriting was adjusted to his focus. He read it slowly, with a + movement of his lips and a drooling of tobacco-juice. Finally he + finished, remarked, "I be damned!" in a deliberate voice, returned the + deed, and proceeded across the street to the livery-stable, which was + fronted by an old mulberry-tree, with several chairs under it. In one of + these chairs he would sit for the remainder of the day, making an + occasional loud remark about the weather or the crops, and watching the + horses pass in and out of the stable. +</p> +<p> + Siner had vaguely enjoyed old Mr. Tomwit's discomfiture over the deed, + if it was discomfiture that had moved the old gentleman to his + sententious profanity. But the negro did not understand Henry Hooker's + action at all. The banker had abused his position of trust as holder of + a deed in escrow snapping up the sale himself; then he had sold Peter + the Dillihay place. It was a queer shift. +</p> +<p> + Tump Pack caught his principal's mood with that chameleon-like mental + quality all negroes possess. +</p> +<p> + "Dat Henry Hooker," criticized Tump, "allus was a lil ole dried-up snake + in de grass." +</p> +<p> + "He abused his position of trust," said Peter, gloomily; "I must say, + his motives seem very obscure to me." +</p> +<p> + "Dat sho am a fine way to put hit," said Tump, admiringly. +</p> +<p> + "Why do you suppose he bought in the Tomwit tract and sold me the + Dillihay place?" +</p> +<p> + Asked for an opinion, Tump began twiddling military medal and corrugated + the skin on his inch-high brow. +</p> +<p> + "Now you puts it to me lak dat, Peter," he answered with importance, "I + wonders ef dat gimlet-haided white man ain't put some stoppers in dat + deed he guv you. He mout of." +</p> +<p> + Such remarks as that from Tump always annoyed Peter. Tump's intellectual + method was to talk sense just long enough to gain his companion's ear, + and then produce something absurd and quash the tentative interest. +</p> +<p> + Siner turned away from him and said, "Piffle." +</p> +<p> + Tump was defensive at once. +</p> +<p> + "'T ain't piffle, either! I's talkin' sense, nigger." +</p> +<p> + Peter shrugged, and walked a little way in silence, but the soldier's + nonsense stuck in his brain and worried him. Finally he turned, rather + irritably. +</p> +<p> + "Stoppers—what do you mean by stoppers?" +</p> +<p> + Tump opened his jet eyes and their yellowish whites. "I means nigger- + stoppers," he reiterated, amazed in his turn. +</p> +<p> + "Negro-stoppers—" Peter began to laugh sardonically, and abruptly quit + the conversation. +</p> +<p> + Such rank superiority irritated the soldier to the nth power. +</p> +<p> + "Look heah, black man, I knows I <i>is</i> right. Heah, lonme look at + dat-aiuh, deed. Maybe I can find 'em. I knows I suttinly is right." +</p> +<p> + Peter walked on, paying no attention to the request Until Tump caught + his arm and drew him up short. +</p> +<p> + "Look heah, nigger," said Tump, in a different tone, "I faded dad deed + fuh ten iron men, an' I reckon I got a once-over comin' fuh my money." +</p> +<p> + The soldier was plainly mobilized and ready to attack. To fight Tump, to + fight any negro at all, would be Peter's undoing; it would forfeit the + moral leadership he hoped to gain. Moreover, he had no valid grounds for + a disagreement with Tump. He passed over the deed, and the two negroes + moved on their way to Niggertown. +</p> +<p> + Tump trudged forward with eyes glued to paper, his face puckered in the + unaccustomed labor of reading. +</p> +<p> + His thick lips moved at the individual letters, and constructed them + bunglingly into syllables and words. He was trying to uncover the verbal + camouflage by which the astute white brushed away all rights of all + black men whatsoever. +</p> +<p> + To Peter there grew up something sadly comical in Tump's efforts. The + big negro might well typify all the colored folk of the South, + struggling in a web of law and custom they did not understand, + misplacing their suspicions, befogged and fearful. A certain penitence + for having been irritated at Tump softened Peter. +</p> +<p> + "That's all right, Tump; there's nothing to find." +</p> +<p> + At that moment the soldier began to bob his head. +</p> +<p> + "Eh! eh! eh! W-wait a minute!" he stammered. "Whut dis? B'lieve I done + foun' it! I sho is! Heah she am! Heah's dis nigger-stopper, jes lak I + tol' you!" Tump marked a sentence in the guaranty of the deed with a + rusty forefinger and looked up at Peter in mixed triumph and accusation. +</p> +<p> + Peter leaned over the deed, amused. +</p> +<p> + "Let's see your mare's nest." +</p> +<p> + "Well, she 'fo' God is thaiuh, an' you sho let loose a hundud dollars uv + our 'ciety's money, an' got nothin' fuh hit but a piece o' paper wid a + nigger-stopper on hit!" +</p> +<p> + Tump's voice was so charged with contempt that Peter looked with a + certain uneasiness at his find. He read this sentence switched into the + guaranty of the indenture: +</p> +<p> + "Be it further understood and agreed that no negro, black man, Afro- + American, mulatto, quadroon, octoroon, or any person whatsoever of + colored blood or lineage, shall enter upon, seize, hold, occupy, reside + upon, till, cultivate, own or possess any part or parcel of said + property, or garner, cut, or harvest therefrom, any of the usufruct, + timber, or emblements thereof, but shall by these presents be estopped + from so doing forever." +</p> +<p> + Tump Pack drew a shaken, unhappy breath. +</p> +<p> + "Now, I reckon you see whut a nigger-stopper is." +</p> +<p> + Peter stood in the sunshine, looking at the estoppel clause, his lips + agape. Twice he read it over. It held something of the quality of those + comprehensive curses that occur in the Old Testament. He moistened his + lips and looked at Tump. +</p> +<p> + "Why that can't be legal." His voice sounded empty and shallow. +</p> +<p> + "Legal! 'Fo' Gawd, nigger, whauh you been to school all dese yeahs, + never to heah uv a nigger-stopper befo'!" +</p> +<p> + "But—but how can a stroke of the pen, a mere gesture, estop a whole + class of American citizens forever?" cried Peter, with a rising voice. + "Turn it around. Suppose they had put in a line that no white man should + own that land. It—it's empty! I tell you, it's mere words!" +</p> +<p> + Tump cut into his diatribe: "No use talkin' lak dat. Our 'ciety thought + you wuz a aidjucated nigger. We didn't think no white man could put + nothin' over on you." +</p> +<p> + "Education!" snapped Siner. "Education isn't supposed to keep you away + from shysters!" +</p> +<p> + "Keep you away fum 'em!" cried Tump, in a scandalized voice. "'Fo' Gawd, + nigger, you don' know nothin'! O' co'se a aidjucation ain't to keep you + away fum shysters; hit's to mek you one 'uv 'em!" +</p> +<p> + Peter stood breathing irregularly, looking at his deed. A determination + not to be cheated grew up and hardened in his nerves. With unsteady + hands he refolded his deed and put it into his pocket, then he turned + about and started back up the village street toward the bank. +</p> +<p> + Tump stared after him a moment and presently called out: +</p> +<p> + "Heah, nigger, whut you gwine do?" A moment later he repeated to his + friend's back: "Look heah, nigger, I 'vise you ag'inst anything you's + gwine do, less'n you's ready to pass in you' checks!" As Peter strode on + he lifted his voice still higher: "Peter! Hey, Peter, I sho' 'vise you + 'g'inst anything you's 'gwine do!" +</p> +<p> + A pulse throbbed in Siner's temples. The wrath of the cozened heated his + body. His clothes felt hot. As he strode up the trash-piled street, the + white merchants lolling in their doors began smiling. Presently a laugh + broke out at one end of the street and was caught up here and there. It + was the undying minstrel jest, the comedy of a black face. Dawson Bobbs + leaned against the wide brick entrance of the livery-stable, his red + face balled into shining convexities by a quizzical smile. +</p> +<p> + "Hey, Peter," he drawled, winking at old Mr. Tomwit, "been investin' in + real estate?" and broke into Homeric laughter. +</p> +<p> + As Peter passed on, the constable dropped casually in behind the brown + man and followed him up to the bank. +</p> +<p> + To Peter Siner the walk up to the bank was an emotional confusion. He + has a dim consciousness that voices said things to him along the way and + that there was laughter. All this was drowned by desperate thoughts and + futile plans to regain his lost money, flashing through his head. The + cashier would exchange the money for the deed; he would enter suit and + carry it to the Supreme Court; he would show the money had not been his, + he had had no right to buy; he would beg the cashier. His head seemed to + spin around and around. +</p> +<p> + He climbed the steps into the Planter's Bank and opened the screen-door. + The cashier glanced up briefly, but continued busily at his ledger. +</p> +<p> + Peter walked shakenly to the barred window in the grill. +</p> +<p> + "Mr. Hooker." +</p> +<p> + "Very busy now, Peter," came the high voice. +</p> +<p> + "I want to know about this deed." +</p> +<p> + The banker was nimbly setting down long rows of figures. "No time to + explain deeds, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "But—but there is a clause in this deed, Mr. Hooter, estopping colored + persons from occupying the Dillihay place." +</p> +<p> + "Precisely. What about it?" Mr. Hooker snapped out his inquiry and + looked up suddenly, catching Peter full in the face with his narrow-set + eyes. It was the equivalent of a blow. +</p> +<p> + "According to this, I—I can't establish a school on it." +</p> +<p> + "You cannot." +</p> +<p> + "Then what can I do with it?" cried Peter. +</p> +<p> + "Sell it. You have what lawyers call a cloud on the title. Sell it. I'll + give you ten dollars for your right in it, just to clear up my title." +</p> +<p> + A queer trembling seized Peter. The little banker turned to a fantastic + caricature of a man. His hatchet face, close-set eyes, harsh, straight + hair, and squeaky voice made him seem like some prickly, dried-up gnome + a man sees in a fever. +</p> +<p> + At that moment the little wicket-door of the window opened under the + pressure of Peter's shoulder. Inside on the desk, lay neat piles of + bills of all denominations, ready to be placed in the vault. In a + nervous tremor Peter dropped in his blue-covered deed and picked up a + hundred-dollar bill. +</p> +<p> + "I—I won't trade," he jibbered. "It—it wasn't my money. Here's your + deed!" Peter was moving away. He felt a terrific impulse to run, but he + walked. +</p> +<p> + The banker straightened abruptly. "Stop there, Peter!" he screeched. +</p> +<p> + At that moment Dawson Bobbs lounged in at the door, with his perpetual + grin balling up his broad red face. He had a toothpick, in his mouth. +</p> +<p> + "'S matter?" he asked casually. +</p> +<p> + "Peter there," said the banker, with a pale, sharp face, "doesn't want + to stick to his trade. He is just walking off with one of my hundred- + dollar bills." +</p> +<p> + "Sick o' yo' deal, Peter?" inquired Bobbs, smiling and shifting the + toothpick. He bit down on it. "Well, whut-chu want done, Henry?" +</p> +<p> + "Oh," hesitated the cashier in a quandary, "nothing, I suppose. Siner + was excited; you know how niggers are. We can't afford to send every + nigger to the pen that breaks the law." He stood studying Peter out of + his close-set eyes. "Here's your deed, Peter." He shoved it back under + the grill. "And lemme give you a little friendly advice. I'd just run an + ordinary nigger school if I was you. This higher education don't seem to + make a nigger much smarter when he comes back than when he starts out." + A faint smile bracketed the thin nose. +</p> +<p> + Dawson Bobbs roared with sudden appreciation, took the bill from Peter's + fingers, and pushed it back under the grill. +</p> +<p> + The cashier picked up the money, casually. He considered a moment, then + reached for a long envelop. As he did so, the incident with Peter + evidently passed from his mind, for his hatchet face lighted up as with + some inward illumination. +</p> +<p> + "Bobbs," he said warmly, "that was a great sermon Brother Blackwater + preached. It made me want to help according as the Lord has blessed me. + Couldn't you spare five dollars, Bobbs, to go along with this?" +</p> +<p> + The constable tried to laugh and wriggle away, but the cashier's gimlet + eyes kept boring him, and eventually he fished out a five-dollar bill + and handed it in. Mr. Hooker placed the two bills in the envelop, sealed + it, and handed it to the constable. +</p> +<p> + "Jest drop that in the post-office as you go down the street, Bobbs," he + directed in his high voice. Peter caught a glimpse of the type-written + address. +</p> +<p> + It was +</p> +<pre> + Rev. Lemuel Hardiman, + c/o United Missions, + Katuako Post, + Bahr el Ghazal, + Sudan, + East Africa. +</pre> +<a name="2HCH6"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER III +</h2> +<p> + The white population of Hooker's Bend was much amused and gratified at + the outcome of the Hooker-Siner land deal. Every one agreed that the + cashier's chicanery was a droll and highly original turn to give to a + negro exclusion clause drawn into a deed. Then, too, it involved several + legal points highly congenial to the Hooker's Bend intellect Could the + Sons and Daughters of Benevolence recover their hundred dollars? Could + Henry Hooker force them to pay the remaining seven hundred? Could not + Siner establish his school on the Dillihay place regardless of the + clause, since the cashier would be estopped from obtaining an injunction + by his own instrument? +</p> +<p> + As a matter of fact, the Sons and Daughters of Benevolence sent a + committee to wait on Mr. Hooker to see what action he meant to take on + the notes that paid for his spurious deed. This brought another harvest + of rumors. Street gossip reported that Henry had compromised for this, + that, and the other amount, that he would not compromise, that he had + persuaded the fool niggers into signing still other instruments. Peter + never knew the truth. He was not on the committee. +</p> +<p> + But high above the legal phase of interest lay the warming fact that + Peter Siner, a negro graduate of Harvard, on his first tilt in Hooker's + Bend affairs had ridden to a fall. This pleased even the village women, + whose minds could not follow the subtle trickeries of legal disputation. + The whole affair simply proved what the white village had known all + along: you can't educate a nigger. Hooker's Bend warmed with pleasure + that half of its population was ineducable. +</p> +<p> + White sentiment in Hooker's Bend reacted strongly on Niggertown. Peter + Siner's prestige was no more. The cause of higher education for negroes + took a mighty slump. Junius Gholston, a negro boy who had intended to go + to Nashville to attend Fisk University, reconsidered the matter, packed + away his good clothes, put on overalls, and shipped down the river as a + roustabout instead. +</p> +<p> + In the Siner cabin old Caroline Siner berated her boy for his stupidity + in ever trading with that low-down, twisting snake in the grass, Henry + Hooker. She alternated this with floods of tears. Caroline had no + sympathy for her offspring. She said she had thrown away years of self- + sacrifice, years of washing, a thousand little comforts her money would + have bought, all for nothing, for less than nothing, to ship a fool + nigger up North and to ship him back. +</p> +<p> + Of all Niggertown, Caroline was the most unforgiving because Peter had + wounded her in her pride. Every other negro in the village felt that + genial satisfaction in a great man's downfall that is balm to small + souls. But the old mother knew not this consolation. Peter was her + proxy. It was she who had fallen. +</p> +<p> + The only person in Niggertown who continued amiable to Peter Siner was + Cissie Dildine. The octoroon, perhaps, had other criteria by which to + judge a man than his success or mishaps dealing with a pettifogger. +</p> +<p> + Two or three days after the catastrophe, Cissie made an excursion to the + Siner cabin with a plate of cookies. Cissie was careful to place her + visit on exactly a normal footing. She brought her little cakes in the + role of one who saw no evil, spoke no evil, and heard no evil. But + somehow Cissie's visit increased the old woman's wrath. She remained + obstinately in the kitchen, and made remarks not only audible, but + arresting, through the thin partition that separated it from the poor + living-room. +</p> +<p> + Cissie was hardly inside when a voice stated that it hated to see a gal + running after a man, trying to bait him with a lot of fum-diddles. +</p> +<p> + Cissie gave Peter a single wide-eyed glance, and then attempted to + ignore the bodiless comment. +</p> +<p> + "Here are some cookies, Mr. Siner," began the girl, rather nervously. "I + thought you and Ahnt Carolin'—" +</p> +<p> + "Yeah, I 'magine dey's fuh me!" jeered the spectral voice. +</p> +<p> + "Might like them," concluded the girl, with a little gasp. +</p> +<p> + "I suttinly don' want no light-fingered hussy ma'yin' my son," proceeded + the voice, "an' de whole Dildine fambly 'll bear watchin'." +</p> +<a name="image-4"><!--IMG--></a> +<center> +<img src="birth04.png" +alt="In the Siner Cabin Old Caroline Siner Berated Her Boy. +"> +<br>In the Siner Cabin Old Caroline Siner Berated Her Boy. +</center> +<!--IMAGE END--> +<p> + "Won't you have a seat?" asked Peter, exquisitely uncomfortable. +</p> +<p> + Cissie handed him her plate in confusion. +</p> +<p> + "Why, no, Mr. Siner," she hastened on, in her careful grammar, "I just— + ran over to—" +</p> +<p> + "To fling herse'f in a nigger's face 'cause he's been North and got + made a fool uv," boomed the hidden censor. +</p> +<p> + "I must go now," gasped Cissie. +</p> +<p> + Peter made a harried gesture. +</p> +<p> + "Wait—wait till I get my hat." +</p> +<p> + He put the plate down with a swift glance around for his hat. He found + it, and strode to the door, following the girl. The two hurried out into + the street, followed by indistinct strictures from the kitchen. Cissie + breathed fast, with open lips. They moved rapidly along the semicircular + street almost with a sense of flight. The heat of the early autumn sun + stung them through their clothes. For some distance they walked in a + nervous silence, then Cissie said: +</p> +<p> + "Your mother certainly hates me, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "No," said Peter, trying to soften the situation; "it's me; she's + terribly hurt about—" he nodded to-ward the white section—"that + business." +</p> +<p> + Cissie opened her clear brown eyes. +</p> +<p> + "Your own mother turned against you!" +</p> +<p> + "Oh, she has a right to be," began Peter, defensively. "I ought to have + read that deed. It's amazing I didn't, but I—I really wasn't expecting + a trick, Mr. Hooker seemed so—so sympathetic—" He came to a lame halt, + staring at the dust through which they picked their way. +</p> +<p> + "Of course you weren't expecting tricks!" cried Cissie, warmly. "The + whole thing shows you're a gentleman used to dealing with gentlemen. But + of course these Hooker's Bend negroes will never see that!" +</p> +<p> + Peter, surprised and grateful, looked at Cissie. Her construction of the + swindle was more flattering than any apology he had been able to frame + for himself. +</p> +<p> + "Still, Cissie, I ought to have used the greatest care—" +</p> +<p> + "I'm not talking about what you 'ought,'" stated the octoroon, crisply; + "I'm talking about what you are. When it comes to 'ought,' we colored + people must get what we can, any way we can. We fight from the bottom." + The speech held a viperish quality which for a moment caught the brown + man's attention; then he said: +</p> +<p> + "One thing is sure, I've lost my prestige, whatever it was worth." +</p> +<p> + The girl nodded slowly. +</p> +<p> + "With the others you have, I suppose." +</p> +<p> + Peter glanced at Cissie. The temptation was strong to give the + conversation a personal turn, but he continued on the general topic: +</p> +<p> + "Well, perhaps it's just as well. My prestige was a bit too flamboyant, + Cissie. All I had to do was to mention a plan. The Sons and Daughters + didn't even discuss it. They put it right through. That wasn't healthy. + Our whole system of society, all democracies are based on discussion. + Our old Witenagemot—" +</p> +<p> + "But it wasn't <i>our</i> old Witenagemot," said the girl. +</p> +<p> + "Well—no," admitted the mulatto, "that's true." +</p> +<p> + They moved along for some distance in silence, when the girl asked: +</p> +<p> + "What are you going to do now, Peter?" +</p> +<p> + "Teach, and keep working for that training-school," stated Peter, almost + belligerently. "You didn't expect a little thing like a hundred dollars + to stop me, did you?" +</p> +<p> + "No-o-o," conceded Cissie, with some reserve of judgment in her tone. + Presently she added, "You could do a lot better up North, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "For whom?" +</p> +<p> + "Why, yourself," said the girl, a little surprised. +</p> +<p> + Siner nodded. +</p> +<p> + "I thought all that out before I came back here, Cissie. A friend of + mine named Farquhar offered me a place with him up in Chicago,—a string + of garages. You'd like Farquhar, Cissie. He's a materialist with an + absolutely inexorable brain. He mechanizes the universe. I told him I + couldn't take his offer. 'It's like this,' I argued: 'if every negro + with a little ability leaves the South, our people down there will never + progress.' It's really that way, Cissie, it takes a certain mental + atmosphere to develop a people as a whole. A few individuals here and + there may have the strength to spring up by themselves, but the run of + the people—no. I believe one of the greatest curses of the colored race + in the South is the continual draining of its best individuals North. + Farquhar argued—" just then Peter saw that Cissie was not attending his + discourse. She was walking at his side in a respectful silence. He + stopped talking, and presently she smiled and said: +</p> +<p> + "You haven't noticed my new brooch, Peter." She lifted her hand to her + bosom, and twisted the face of the trinket toward him. "You oughtn't to + have made me show it to you after you recommended it yourself." She made + a little <i>moue</i> of disappointment. +</p> +<p> + It was a pretty bit of old gold that complimented the creamy skin. Peter + began admiring it at once, and, negro fashion, rather overstepped the + limits white beaux set to their praise, as he leaned close to her. +</p> +<p> + At the moment the two were passing one of the oddest houses in + Niggertown. It was a two-story cabin built in the shape of a steamboat. + A little cupola represented a pilot-house, and two iron chimneys served + for smoke-stacks. +</p> +<p> + This queer building had been built by a negro stevedore because of a + deep admiration for the steamboats on which he had made his living. + Instead of steps at the front door, this boat-like house had a stage- + plank. As Peter strolled down the street with Cissie, admiring her + brooch, and suffused with a sense of her nearness, he happened to glance + up, and saw Tump Pack walk down the stage-plank, come out, and wait for + them at the gate. +</p> +<p> + There was something grim in the ex-soldier's face and in the set of his + gross lips as the two came up, but the aura of the girl prevented Peter + from paying much attention to it. As the two reached Tump, Peter had + just lifted his hand to his hat when Tump made a quick step out at the + gate, in front of them, and swung a furious blow at Peter's head. +</p> +<p> + Cissie screamed. Siner staggered back with flames dancing before his + eyes. The soldier lunged after his toppling man with gorilla-like blows. + Hot pains shot through Peter's body. His head roared like a gong. The + sunlight danced about him in flashes. The air was full of black fists + smashing him, and not five feet away, the bullet head of Tump Pack + bobbed this way and that in the rapid shifts of his attack. A stab of + pain cut off Peter's breath. He stood with his diaphragm muscles tense + and paralyzed, making convulsive efforts to breathe. At that moment he + glimpsed the convexity of Tump's stomach. He drop-kicked at it with + foot-ball desperation. Came a loud explosive groan. Tump seemed to rise + a foot or two in air, turned over, and thudded down on his shoulders in + the dust. The soldier made no attempt to rise, but curled up, twisting + in agony. +</p> +<p> + Peter stood in the dust-cloud, wabbly, with roaring head. His open mouth + was full of dust. Then he became aware that negroes were running in from + every direction, shouting. Their voices whooped out what had happened, + who it was, who had licked. Tump Pack's agonized spasms brought howls of + mirth from the black fellows. Negro women were in the crowd, grinning, a + little frightened, but curious. Some were in Mother-Hubbards; one had + her hair half combed, one side in a kinky mattress, the other lying flat + and greased down to her scalp. +</p> +<p> + When Peter gradually became able to breathe and could think at all, + there was something terrible to him in Tump's silent attack and in this + extravagant black mirth over mere suffering. Cissie was gone,—had fled, + no doubt, at the beginning of the fight. +</p> +<p> + The prostrate man's tortured abdomen finally allowed him to twist around + toward Peter. His eyes were popped, and seemed all yellows and streaked + with swollen veins. +</p> +<p> + "I'll git you fuh dis," he wheezed, spitting dust "You did n' fight + fair, you—" +</p> +<p> + The black chorus rolled their heads and pounded one another in a gale of + merriment. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner turned away toward his home filled with sick thought. He had + never realized so clearly the open sore of Niggertown life and its great + need of healing, yet this very episode would further bar him, Peter, + from any constructive work. He foresaw, too plainly, how the white town + and Niggertown would react to this fight. There would be no + discrimination in the scandal. He, Peter Siner, would be grouped with + the boot-leggers and crap-shooters and women-chasers who filled + Niggertown with their brawls. As a matter of simple fact, he had been + fighting with another negro over a woman. That he was subjected to an + attack without warning or cause would never become a factor in the + analysis. He knew that very well. +</p> +<p> + Two of Peter's teeth were loose; his left jaw was swelling; his head + throbbed. With that queer perversity of human nerves, he kept biting his + sore teeth together as he walked along. +</p> +<p> + When he reached home, his mother met him at the door. Thanks to the + swiftness with which gossip spreads among black folk, she had already + heard of the fight, and incidentally had formed her judgment of the + matter. Now she looked in exasperation at her son's swelling face. +</p> +<p> + "I 'cla' 'fo' Gawd!—ain't been home a week befo' he's fightin' over a + nigger wench lak a roustabout!" +</p> +<p> + Peter's head throbbed so he could hardly make out the details of + Caroline's face. +</p> +<p> + "But, Mother—" he began defensively, "I—" +</p> +<p> + "Me sweatin' over de wash-pot," the negress went on, "so's you could go + up North an' learn a lil sense; heah you comes back chasin' a dutty + slut!" +</p> +<p> + "But, Mother," he begged thickly, "I was simply walking home with Miss + Dildine." +</p> +<p> + "Miss Dildine! Miss Dildine!" exploded the ponderous woman, with an + erasing gesture. "Ef you means dat stuck-up fly-by-night Cissie Dildine, + say so, and don' stan' thaiuh mouthin', 'Miss Dildine, Miss Dildine'!" +</p> +<p> + "Mother," asked Peter, thickly, through his swelling mouth, "do you want + to know what did happen?" +</p> +<p> + "I knows. I tol' you to keep away fum dat hussy. She's a fool 'bout her + bright color an' straight hair. Needn't be givin' herse'f no airs!" +</p> +<p> + Peter stood in the doorway, steadying himself by the jamb. The world + still swayed from the blows he had received on the head. +</p> +<p> + "What girl would you be willing for me to go with?" he asked in faint + satire. +</p> +<p> + "Heah in Niggertown?" +</p> +<p> + Peter nodded. The movement increased his headache. +</p> +<p> + "None a-tall. No Niggertown wench a-tall. When you mus' ma'y, I's + 'speckin' you to go off summuhs an' pick yo' gal, lak you went off to + pick yo' aidjucation." She swung out a thick arm, and looked at Peter + out of the corner of her eyes, her head tilted to one side, as negresses + do when they become dramatically serious. +</p> +<p> + Peter left his mother to her stare and went to his own room. This + constant implication among Niggertown inhabitants that Niggertown and + all it held was worthless, mean, unhuman depressed Peter. The mulatto + knew the real trouble with Niggertown was it had adopted the white + village's estimate of it. The sentiment of the white village was + overpowering among the imitative negroes. The black folk looked into the + eyes of the whites and saw themselves reflected as chaff and skum and + slime, and no human being ever suggested that they were aught else. +</p> +<p> + Peter's room was a rough shed papered with old newspapers. All sorts of + yellow scare-heads streaked his walls. Hanging up was a crayon + enlargement of his mother, her broad face as unwrinkled as an egg and + drawn almost white, for the picture agents have discovered the only way + to please their black patrons is to make their enlargements as nearly + white as possible. +</p> +<p> + In one corner, on a home-made book-rack, stood Peter's library,—a Greek + book or two, an old calculus, a sociology, a psychology, a philosophy, + and a score of other volumes he had accumulated in his four college + years. As Peter, his head aching, looked at these, he realized how + immeasurably removed he was from the cool abstraction of the study. +</p> +<p> + The brown man sat down in an ancient rocking-chair by the window, leaned + back, and closed his eyes. His blood still whispered in his ears from + his fight. Notwithstanding his justification, he gradually became filled + with self-loathing. To fight—to hammer and kick in Niggertown's dust— + over a girl! It was an indignity. +</p> +<p> + Peter shifted his position in his chair, and his thoughts took another + trail. Tump's attack had been sudden and silent, much like a bulldog's. + The possibility of a simple friendship between a woman and a man never + entered Tump's head; it never entered any Niggertown head. Here all + attraction was reduced to the simplest terms of sex. Niggertown held no + delicate intimacies or reserves. Two youths could not go with the same + girl. Black women had no very great powers of choice over their suitors. + The strength of a man's arm isolated his sweetheart. That did not seem + right, resting the power of successful mating entirely upon brawn. +</p> +<p> + As Peter sat thinking it over, it came to him that the progress of any + race depended, finally, upon the woman having complete power of choosing + her mate. It is woman alone who consistently places the love accent upon + other matters than mere flesh and muscle. Only woman has much sex + selectiveness, or is inclined to select individuals with qualities of + mind and spirit. +</p> +<p> + For millions of years these instinctive spiritualizers of human breeding + stock have been hampered in their choice of mates by the unrestrained + right of the fighting male. Indeed, the great constructive work of + chivalry in the middle ages was to lay, unconsciously, the corner-stone + of modern civilization by resigning to the woman the power of choosing + from a group of males. +</p> +<p> + Siner stirred in his chair, surprised at whither his reverie had lead + him. He wondered how he had stumbled upon these thoughts. Had he read + them in a book? In point of fact, a beating administered by Tump Pack + had brought the brown man the first original idea he had entertained in + his life. +</p> +<p> + By this time, Peter's jaw had reached its maximum swelling and was eased + somewhat. He looked out of his little window, wondering whether Cissie + Dildine would choose him—or Tump Pack. +</p> +<p> + Peter was surprised to find blue dusk peering through his panes. All the + scare-heads on his walls had lapsed into a common obscurity. As he rose + slowly, so as not to start his head hurting again, he heard three rapid + pistol shots in the cedar glade between Niggertown and the white + village. He knew this to be the time-honored signal of boot-leggers + announcing that illicit whisky was for sale in the blackness of the + glade. +</p> +<a name="2HCH7"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER IV +</h2> +<p> + Next day the Siner-Pack fight was the focus of news interest in Hooker's + Bend. White mistresses extracted the story from their black maids, and + were amused by it or deprecated Cissie Dildine's morals as the mood + moved them. +</p> +<p> + Along Main Street in front of the village stores, the merchants and + hangers-on discussed the affair. It was diverting that a graduate of + Harvard should come back to Hooker's Bend and immediately drop into such + a fracas. Old Captain Renfrew, one-time attorney at law and + representative of his county in the state legislature, sat under the + mulberry in front of the livery-stable and plunged into a long + monologue, with old Mr. Tomwit as listener, on the uneducability of the + black race. +</p> +<p> + "Take a horse, sir," expounded the captain; "a horse can be trained to + add and put its name together out of an alphabet, but no horse could + ever write a promissory note and figure the interest on it, sir. Take a + dog. I've known dogs, sir, that could bring your mail from the post- + office, but I never saw a dog stop on the way home, sir, to read a post- + card." +</p> +<p> + Here the old ex-attorney spat and renewed the tobacco in a black brier, + then proceeded to draw the parrallel between dogs and horses and Peter + Siner newly returned from Harvard. +</p> +<p> + "God'lmighty has set his limit on dogs, horses, and niggers, Mr. Tomwit. + Thus far and no farther. Take a nigger baby at birth; a nigger baby has + no fontanelles. It has no window toward heaven. Its skull is sealed up + in darkness. The nigger brain can never expand and absorb the universe, + sir. It can never rise on the wings of genius and weigh the stars, nor + compute the swing of the Pleiades. Thus far and no farther! It's + congenital. +</p> +<p> + "Now, take this Peter Siner and his disgraceful fight over a nigger + wench. Would you expect an educated stud horse to pay no attention to a + mare, sir? You can educate a stud till—" +</p> +<p> + "But hold on!" interrupted the old cavalryman. "I've known as + gentlemanly stallions as—as anybody!" +</p> +<p> + The old attorney cleared his throat, momentarily taken aback at this + failure of his metaphor. However he rallied with legal suppleness: +</p> +<p> + "You are talking about thoroughbreds, sir." +</p> +<p> + "I am, sir." +</p> +<p> + "Good God, Tomwit! you don't imagine I'm comparing a nigger to a + thoroughbred, sir!" +</p> +<p> + On the street corners, or piled around on cotton-bales down on the wharf, + the negro men of the village discussed the fight. It was for the most + part a purely technical discussion of blows and counters and kicks, and + of the strange fact that a college education failed to enable Siner + utterly to annihilate his adversary. Jim Pink Staggs, a dapper gentleman + of ebony blackness, of pin-stripe flannels and blue serge coat— + altogether a gentleman of many parts—sat on one of the bales and + indolently watched an old black crone fishing from a ledge of rocks just + a little way below the wharf-boat. Around Jim Pink lounged and sprawled + black men and youths, stretching on the cotton-bales like cats in the + sunshine. +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink was discussing Peter's education. +</p> +<p> + "I 'fo' Gawd kain't see no use goin' off lak dat an' den comin' back an' + lettin' a white man cheat you out'n yo' hide an' taller, an' lettin' a + black man beat you up tull you has to 'kick him in the spivit. Ef a + aidjucation does you any good a-tall, you'd be boun' to beat de white man + at one en' uv de line, or de black man at de udder. Ef Peter ain't to be + foun' at eider en', wha is he?" +</p> +<p> + "Um-m-m!" "Eh-h-h!" "You sho spoke a moufful, Jim Pink!" came an + assenting chorus from the bales. +</p> +<p> + Eventually such gossip died away and took another flurry when a report + went abroad that Tump Pack was carrying a pistol and meant to shoot + Peter on sight. Then this in turn ceased to be news and of human + interest. It clung to Peter's mind longer than to any other person's in + Hooker's Bend, and it presented to the brown man a certain problem in + casuistry. +</p> +<p> + Should he accede to Tump Pack's possession of Cissie Dildine and give up + seeing the girl? Such a course cut across all his fine-spun theory about + women having free choice of their mates. However, the Harvard man could + not advocate a socialization of courtship when he himself would be the + first beneficiary. The prophet whose finger points selfward is damned. + Furthermore, all Niggertown would side with Tump Pack in such a + controversy. It was no uncommon thing for the very negro women to fight + over their beaux and husbands. As for any social theory changing this + régime, in the first place the negroes couldn't understand the theory; + in the second, it would have no effect if they could. Actions never grow + out of theories; theories grow out of actions. A theory is a looking- + glass that reflects the past and makes it look like the future, but the + glass really hides the future, and when humanity comes to a turn in its + course, there is always a smash-up, and a blind groping for the lost + path. +</p> +<p> + Now, in regard to Cissie Dildine, Peter was not precisely afraid of Tump + Pack, but he could not clear his mind of the fact that Tump had been + presented with a medal by the Congress of the United States for killing + four men. Good sense and a care for his reputation and his skin told + Peter to abandon his theory of free courtship for the time being. This + meant a renunciation of Cissie Dildine; but he told himself he renounced + very little. He had no reason to think that Cissie cared a picayune + about him. +</p> +<p> + Peter's work kept him indoors for a number of days following the + encounter. He was reviewing some primary school work in order to pass a + teacher's examination that would be held in Jonesboro, the county seat, + in about three weeks. +</p> +<p> + To the uninitiated it may seem strange to behold a Harvard graduate + stuck down day after day poring over a pile of dog-eared school-books— + third arithmetics, primary grammars, beginners' histories of Tennessee, + of the United States, of England; physiology, hygiene. It may seem + queer. But when it comes to standing a Wayne County teacher's + examination, the specific answers to the specific questions on a dozen + old examination slips are worth all the degrees Harvard ever did confer. +</p> +<p> + So, in his newspapered study, Peter Siner looked up long lists of + questions, and attempted to memorize the answers. But the series of + missteps he had made since returning to Hooker's Bend besieged his brain + and drew his thoughts from his catechism. It seemed strange that in so + short a time he should have wandered so far from the course he had set + for himself. His career in Niggertown formed a record of slight + mistakes, but they were not to be undone, and their combined force had + swung him a long way from the course he had plotted for himself. There + was no way to explain. Hooker's Bend would judge him by the sheer + surface of his works. What he had meant to do, his dreams and altruisms, + they would never surmise. That was the irony of the thing. +</p> +<p> + Then he thought of Cissie Dildine who did understand him. This thought + might have been Cissie's cue to enter the stage of Peter's mind. Her + oval, creamy face floated between Peter's eyes and the dog-eared primer. + He thought of Cissie wistfully, and of her lonely fight for good + English, good manners, and good taste. There was a pathos about Cissie. +</p> +<p> + Peter got up from his chair and looked out at his high window into the + early afternoon. He had been poring over primers for three days, + stuffing the most heterogeneous facts. His head felt thick and slightly + feverish. Through his window he saw the side of another negro cabin, but + by looking at an angle eastward he could see a field yellow with corn, a + valley, and, beyond, a hill wooded and glowing with the pageantry of + autumn. He thought of Cissie Dildine again, of walking with her among + the burning maples and the golden elms. He thought of the restfulness + such a walk with Cissie would bring. +</p> +<p> + As he mused, Peter's soul made one of those sharp liberating movements + that occasionally visit a human being. The danger of Tump Pack's + jealousy, the loss of his prestige, the necessity of learning the + specific answers to the examination questions, all dropped away from him + as trivial and inconsequent. He turned from the window, put away his + books and question-slips, picked up his hat, and moved out briskly + through his mother's room toward the door. +</p> +<p> + The old woman in the kitchen must have heard him, for she called to him + through the partition, and a moment later her bulky form filled the + kitchen entrance. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked at him + accusingly. +</p> +<p> + "Wha you gwine, son?" +</p> +<p> + "For a walk." +</p> +<p> + The old negress tilted her head aslant and looked fixedly at him. +</p> +<p> + "You's gwine to dat Cissie Dildine's, Peter." +</p> +<p> + Peter looked at his mother, surprised and rather disconcerted that she + had guessed his intentions from his mere footsteps. The young man + changed his plans for his walk, and began a diplomatic denial: +</p> +<p> + "No, I'm going to walk by myself. I'm tired; I'm played out." +</p> +<p> + "Tired?" repeated his mother, doubtfully. "You ain't done nothin' but + set an' turn th'ugh books an' write on a lil piece o' paper." +</p> +<p> + Peter was vaguely amused in his weariness, but thought that he concealed + his mirth from his mother. +</p> +<p> + "That gets tiresome after a while." +</p> +<p> + She grunted her skepticism. As Peter moved for the door she warned him: +</p> +<p> + "Peter, you knows ef Tump Pack sees you, he's gwine to shoot you sho!" +</p> +<p> + "Oh, no he won't; that's Tump's talk." +</p> +<p> + "Talk! talk! Whut's matter wid you, Peter? Dat nigger done git crowned + fuh killin' fo' men!" She stood staring at him with white eyes. Then she + urged, "Now, look heah, Peter, come along an' eat yo' supper." +</p> +<p> + "No, I really need a walk. I won't walk through Niggertown. I'll walk + out in the woods." +</p> +<p> + "I jes made some salmon coquettes fuh you whut'll spile ef you don' eat + 'em now." +</p> +<p> + "I didn't know you were making croquettes," said Peter, with polite + interest. +</p> +<p> + "Well, I is. I gotta can o' salmon fum Miss Mollie Brownell she'd opened + an' couldn't quite use. I doctered 'em up wid a lil vinegar an' sody, + an' dey is 'bout as pink as dey ever wuz." +</p> +<p> + A certain uneasiness and annoyance came over Peter at this persistent + use of unwholesome foods. +</p> +<p> + "Look here, Mother, you're not using old canned goods that have been + left over?" +</p> +<p> + The old negress stood looking at him in silence, but lost her coaxing + expression. +</p> +<p> + "I've told and told you about using any tainted or impure foods that the + white people can't eat." +</p> +<p> + "Well, whut ef you is?" +</p> +<p> + "If it's too bad for them, it's too bad for you!" +</p> +<p> + Caroline made a careless gesture. +</p> +<p> + "Good Lawd, boy! I don' 'speck to eat whut's good fuh me! All I says is, + 'Grub, keep me alive. Ef you do dat, you done a good day's wuck.'" +</p> +<p> + Peter was disgusted and shocked at his mother's flippancy. Modern + colleges are atheistic, but they do exalt three gods,—food, + cleanliness, and exercise. Now here was Peter's mother blaspheming one + of his trinity. +</p> +<p> + "I wish you 'd let me know when you want anything Mother. I'll get it + fresh for you." His words were filial enough, but his tone carried his + irritation. +</p> +<p> + The old negress turned back to the kitchen. +</p> +<p> + "Huh, boy! you been fotch up on lef'-overs," she said, and disappeared + through the door. +</p> +<p> + Peter walked to the gate, let himself out, and started off on his + constitutional. His tiff with his mother renewed all his nervousness and + sense of failure. His litany of mistakes renewed their dolor in his + mind. +</p> +<p> + An autumn wind was blowing, and long plumes of dust whisked up out of + the curving street and swept over the ill-kept yards, past the cabins, + and toward the sere fields and chromatic woods. The wind beat at the + brown man; the dust whispered against his clothes, made him squint his + eyes to a crack and tickled his nostrils at each breath. +</p> +<p> + When Peter had gone two or three hundred yards, he became aware that + somebody was walking immediately behind him. Tump Pack popped into his + mind. He looked over his shoulder and then turned. Through the veils of + flying dust he made out some one, and a moment later identified not Tump + Pack, but the gangling form of Jim Pink Staggs, clad in a dark-blue + sack-coat and white flannel trousers with pin stripes. It was the sort + of costume affected by interlocutors of minstrel shows; it had a + minstrel trigness about it. +</p> +<p> + As a matter of fact, Jim Pink was a sort of semi-professional minstrel. + Ordinarily, he ran a pressing-shop in the Niggertown crescent, but + occasionally he impressed all the dramatic talent of Niggertown and + really did take the road with a minstrel company. These barn-storming + expeditions reached down into Alabama, Mississippi, and Arkansas. + Sometimes they proved a great success, and the darkies rode back several + hundred dollars ahead. Sometimes they tramped back. +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink hailed Peter with a wave of his hand and a grotesque + displacement of his mouth to one side of his face, which he had found + effective in his minstrel buffoonery. +</p> +<p> + "Whut you raisin' so much dus' about?" he called out of the corner of + his mouth, while looking at Peter out of one half-closed eye. +</p> +<p> + Peter shook his head and smiled. +</p> +<p> + "Thought it mout be Mister Hooker deliverin' dat lan' you bought." Jim + Pink flung his long, flexible face into an imitation of convulsed + laughter, then next moment dropped it into an intense gravity and + declared, "'Dus' thou art, to dus' returnest.'" The quotation seemed + fruitless and silly enough, but Jim Pink tucked his head to one side as + if listening intently to himself, then repeated sepulchrally, "'Dus' + thou art, to dus' returnest.' By the way, Peter," he broke off cheerily, + "you ain't happen to see Tump Pack, is you?" +</p> +<p> + "No," said Peter, unamused. +</p> +<p> + "Is he borrowed a gun fum you?" inquired the minstrel, solemnly. +</p> +<p> + "No-o." Peter looked questioningly at the clown through half-closed + eyes. +</p> +<p> + "Huh, now dat's funny." Jim Pink frowned, and pulled down his loose + mouth and seemed to study. He drew out a pearl-handled knife, closed his + hand over it, blew on his fist, then opened the other hand, and + exhibited the knife lying in its palm, with the blade open. He seemed + surprised at the change and began cleaning his finger-nails. Jim Pink + was the magician at his shows. +</p> +<p> + Peter waited patiently for Jim Pink to impart his information, "Well, + what's the idea?" he asked at last. +</p> +<p> + "Don' know. 'Pears lak dat knife won't stay in any one han'." He looked + at it, curiously. +</p> +<p> + "I mean about Tump," said Peter, impatiently. +</p> +<p> + "O-o-oh, yeah; you mean 'bout Tump. Well, I thought Tump mus' uv + borrowed a gun fum you. He lef' Hobbett's corner wid a great big forty- + fo', inquirin' wha you is." Just then he glanced up, looked + penetratingly through the dust-cloud, and added, "Why, I b'lieve da' 's + Tump now." +</p> +<p> + With a certain tightening of the nerves, Peter followed his glance, but + made out nothing through the fogging dust. When he looked around at Jim + Pink again, the buffoon's face was a caricature of immense mirth. He + shook it sober, abruptly, minstrel fashion. +</p> +<p> + "Maybe I's mistooken," he said solemnly. "Tump did start over heah wid a + gun, but Mister Dawson Bobbs done tuk him up fuh ca'yin' concealed + squidjulums; so Tump's done los' dat freedom uv motion in de pu'suit uv + happiness gua'anteed us niggers an' white folks by the Constitution uv + de Newnighted States uv America." Here Jim Pink broke into genuine + laughter, which was quite a different thing from his stage grimaces. + Peter stared at the fool astonished. +</p> +<p> + "Has he gone to jail?" +</p> +<p> + "Not prezactly." +</p> +<p> + "Well—confound it!—exactly what did happen, Jim Pink?" +</p> +<p> + "He gone to Mr. Cicero Throgmartins'." +</p> +<p> + "What did he go there for?" +</p> +<p> + "Couldn't he'p hisse'f." +</p> +<p> + "Look here, you tell me what's happened." +</p> +<p> + "Mr. Bobbs ca'ied Tump thaiuh. Y' see, Mr. Throgmartin tried to hire + Tump to pick cotton. Tump didn't haf to, because he'd jes shot fo' + natchels in a crap game. So to-day, when Tump starts over heah wid his + gun, Mr. Bobbs 'resses Tump. Mr. Throgmartin bails him out, so now + Tump's gone to pick cotton fuh Mr. Throgmartin to pay off'n his fine." + Here Jim Pink yelped into honest laughter at Tump's undoing so that dust + got into his nose and mouth and set him sneezing and coughing. +</p> +<p> + "How long's he up for?" asked Peter, astonished and immensely relieved + at this outcome of Tump's expedition against himself. +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink controlled his coughing long enough to gasp: +</p> +<p> + "Th-thutty days, ef he don' run off," and fell to laughing again. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner, long before, had adopted the literate man's notion of what + is humorous, and Tump's mishap was slap-stick to him. Nevertheless, he + did smile. The incident filled him with extraordinary relief and + buoyancy. At the next corner he made some excuse to Jim Pink, and turned + off up an alley. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + Peter walked along with his shoulders squared and the dust peppering his + back. Not till Tump was lifted from his mind did he realize what an + incubus the soldier had been. Peter had been forced into a position + where, if he had killed Tump, he would have been ruined; if he had not, + he would probably have murdered. Now he was free—for thirty days. +</p> +<p> + He swung along briskly in the warm sunshine toward the multicolored + forest. The day had suddenly become glorious. Presently he found himself + in the back alleys near Cissie's house. He was passing chicken-houses + and stables. Hogs in open pens grunted expectantly at his footsteps. +</p> +<p> + Peter had not meant to go to Cissie's at all, but now, when he saw he + was right behind her dwelling, she seemed radiantly accessible to him. + Still, it struck him that it would not be precisely the thing to call on + Cissie immediately after Tump's arrest. It might look as if—Then the + thought came that, as a neighbor, he should stop and tell Cissie of + Tump's misfortune. He really ought to offer his services to Cissie, if + he could do anything. At Cissie's request he might even aid Tump Pack + himself. Peter got himself into a generous glow as he charged up a side + alley, around to a rickety front gate. Let Niggertown criticize as it + would, he was braced by a high altruism. +</p> +<p> + Peter did not shout from the gate, as is the fashion of the crescent, + but walked up a little graveled path lined with dusty box-shrubs and + tapped at the unpainted door. +</p> +<p> + Doors in Niggertown never open straight away to visitors. A covert + inspection first takes place from the edges of the window-blinds. +</p> +<p> + Peter stood in the whipping dust, and the caution of the inmates spurred + his impatience to see Cissie. At last the door opened, and Cissie + herself was in the entrance. She stood quite still a moment, looking at + Peter with eyes that appeared frightened. +</p> +<p> + "I—I wasn't expecting to see you," she stammered. +</p> +<p> + "No? I came by with news, Cissie." +</p> +<p> + "News?" She seemed more frightened than ever. "Peter, you—you haven't— + " She paused, regarding him with big eyes. +</p> +<p> + "Tump Pack's been arrested," explained Peter, quickly, sensing the + tragedy in her thoughts. "I came by to tell you. If there's anything I + can do for you—or him, I'll do it." +</p> +<p> + His altruistic offer sounded rather foolish in the actual saying. +</p> +<p> + He could not tell from her face whether she was glad or sorry. +</p> +<p> + "What did they arrest him for?" +</p> +<p> + "Carrying a pistol." +</p> +<p> + She paused a moment. +</p> +<p> + "Will he—get out soon?" +</p> +<p> + "He's sentenced for thirty days." +</p> +<p> + Cissie dropped her hands with a hopeless gesture. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, isn't this all sickening!—sickening!" she exclaimed. She looked + tired. Ghosts of sleepless nights circled her eyes. Suddenly she said, + "Come in. Oh, do come in, Peter." She reached out and almost pulled him + in. She was so urgent that Peter might have fancied Tump Pack at the + gate with his automatic. He did glance around, but saw nobody passing + except the Arkwright boy. The hobbledehoy walked down the other side of + the street, hands thrust in pockets, with the usual discontented + expression on his face. +</p> +<p> + Cissie slammed the door shut, and the two stood rather at a loss in the + sudden gloom of the hall. Cissie broke into a brief, mirthless laugh. +</p> +<p> + "Peter, it's hard to be nice in Niggertown. I—I just happened to think + how folks would gossip—you coming here as soon as Tump was arrested." +</p> +<p> + "Perhaps I'd better go," suggested Peter, uncomfortably. +</p> +<p> + Cissie reached up and caught his lapel. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, no, don't feel that way! I'm glad you came, really. Here, let's go + through this way to the arbor. It isn't a bad place to sit." +</p> +<p> + She led the way silently through two dark rooms. Before she opened the + back door, Peter could hear Cissie's mother and a younger sister moving + around the outside of the house to give up the arbor to Cissie and her + company. +</p> +<p> + The arbor proved a trellis of honeysuckle over the back door, with a + bench under it. A film of dust lay over the dense foliage, and a few + withered blooms pricked its grayish green. The earthen floor of the + arbor was beaten hard and bare by the naked feet of children. +</p> +<p> + Cissie sat down on the bench and indicated a place beside her. +</p> +<p> + "I've been so uneasy about you! I've been wondering what on earth you + could do about it." +</p> +<p> + "It's a snarl, all right," he said, and almost immediately began + discussing the peculiar <i>impasse</i> in which his difficulty with Tump + had landed him. Cissie sat listening with a serious, almost tragic face, + giving a little nod now and then. Once she remarked in her precise way: +</p> +<p> + "The trouble with a gentleman fighting a rowdy, the gentleman has all to + lose and nothing to gain. If you don't live among your own class, Peter, + your life will simmer down to an endless diplomacy." +</p> +<p> + "You mean deceit, I suppose." +</p> +<p> + "No, I mean diplomacy. But that isn't a very healthy frame of mind,— + always to be suppressing and guarding yourself." +</p> +<p> + Peter didn't know about that. He was inclined to argue the matter, but + Cissie wouldn't argue. She seemed to assume that all of her statements + were axioms, truths reduced to the simplest possible mental terms, and + that proof was unnecessary, if not impossible. So the topic went into + the discard. +</p> +<p> + "Been baking my brains over a lot of silly little exam questions," + complained Peter. "Can you trace the circulation of the blood? I think + it leaves the grand central station through the right aorta, and then, + after a schedule run of nine minutes, you can hear it coming up the + track through the left ventricle, with all the passengers eager to get + off and take some refreshment at the lungs. I have the general idea, but + the exact routing gets me." +</p> +<p> + Cissie laughed accommodatingly. +</p> +<p> + "I wonder why it's necessary for everybody to know that once. I did. I + could follow the circulation the right way or backward." +</p> +<p> + "Must have been harder backward, going against the current." +</p> +<p> + Cissie laughed again. A girl's part in a witty conversation might seem + easy at first sight. She has only to laugh at the proper intervals. + However, these intervals are not always distinctly marked. Some girls + take no chances and laugh all the time. +</p> +<p> + Cissie's appreciation was the sedative Peter needed. The relief of her + laughter and her presence ran along his nerves and unkinked them, like a + draft of Kentucky Special after a debauch. The curves of her cheek, the + tilt of her head, and the lift of her dull-blue blouse at the bosom wove + a great restfulness about Peter. The brooch of old gold glinted at her + throat. The heavy screen of the arbor gave them a sweet sense of + privacy. The conversation meandered this way and that, and became quite + secondary to the feeling of the girl's nearness and sympathy. Their talk + drifted back to Peter's mission here in Hooker's Bend, and Cissie was + saying: +</p> +<p> + "The trouble is, Peter, we are out of our <i>milieu</i>." Some portion + of Peter's brain that was not basking in the warmth and invitation of + the girl answered quite logically: +</p> +<p> + "Yes, but if I could help these people, Cissie, reconstruct our life + here culturally—" +</p> +<p> + Cissie shook her head. "Not culturally." +</p> +<p> + This opposition shunted more of Peter's thought to the topic in hand. He + paused interrogatively. +</p> +<p> + "Racially," said Cissie. +</p> +<p> + "Racially?" repeated the man, quite lost. +</p> +<p> + Cissie nodded, looking straight into his eyes. "You know very well, + Peter, that you and I are not—are not anything near full bloods. You + know that racially we don't belong in—Niggertown." +</p> +<p> + Peter never knew exactly how this extraordinary sentence had come about, + but in a kind of breath he realized that he and this almost white girl + were not of Niggertown. No doubt she had been arguing that he, Peter, + who was one sort of man, was trying to lead quite another sort of men + moved by different racial impulses, and such leading could only come to + confusion. He saw the implications at once. +</p> +<p> + It was an extraordinary idea, an explosive idea, such as Cissie seemed + to have the faculty of touching off. He sat staring at her. +</p> +<p> + It was the white blood in his own veins that had sent him struggling up + North, that had brought him back with this flame in his heart for his + own people. It was the white blood in Cissie that kept her struggling to + stand up, to speak an unbroken tongue, to gather around her the delicate + atmosphere and charm of a gentlewoman. It was the Caucasian in them + buried here in Niggertown. It was their part of the tragedy of millions + of mixed blood in the South. Their common problem, a feeling of their + joint isolation, brought Peter to a sense of keen and tingling nearness + to the girl. +</p> +<p> + She was talking again, very earnestly, almost tremulously: +</p> +<p> + "Why don't you go North, Peter? I think and think about you staying + here. You simply can't grow up and develop here. And now, especially, + when everybody doubts you. If you'd go North—" +</p> +<p> + "What about you, Cissie? You say we're together—" +</p> +<p> + "Oh, I'm a woman. We haven't the chance to do as we will." +</p> +<p> + A kind of titillation went over Peter's scalp and body. +</p> +<p> + "Then you are going to stay here and marry—Tump?" He uttered the name + in a queer voice. +</p> +<p> + Tears started in Cissie's eyes; her bosom lifted to her quick breathing. +</p> +<p> + "I—I don't know what I'm going to do," she stammered miserably. +</p> +<p> + Peter leaned over her with a drumming heart; he heard her catch her + breath. +</p> +<p> + "You don't care for Tump?" he asked with a dry mouth. +</p> +<p> + She gasped out something, and the next moment Peter felt her body sink + limply in his groping arms. They clung together closely, quiveringly. + Three nights of vigil, each thinking miserably and wistfully of the + other, had worn the nerves of both man and girl until they were ready to + melt together at a touch. Her soft body clinging to his own, the little + nervous pressures of her arms, her eased breathing at his neck, wiped + away Siner's long sense of strain. Strength and peace seemed to pour + from her being into his by a sort of spiritual osmosis. She resigned her + head to his palm in order that he might lift her lips to his when he + pleased. After all, there is no way for a man to rest without a woman. + All he can do is to stop work. +</p> +<p> + For a long time they sat transported amid the dusty honeysuckles and + withered blooms, but after a while they began talking a little at a time + of the future, their future. They felt so indissolubly joined that they + could not imagine the future finding them apart. There was no need for + any more trouble with Tump Pack. They would marry quietly, and go away + North to live. Peter thought of his friend Farquhar. He wondered if + Farquhar's attitude would be just the same toward Cissie as it was + toward him. +</p> +<p> + "North," was the burden of the octoroon's dreams. They would go North to + Chicago. There were two hundred and fifty thousand negroes in Chicago, a + city within itself three times the size of Nashville. Up North she and + Peter could go to theaters, art galleries, could enter any church, could + ride in street-cars, railroad-trains, could sleep and eat at any hotel, + live authentic lives. +</p> +<p> + It was Cissie planning her emancipation, planning to escape her lifelong + disabilities. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, I'll be so glad! so glad! so glad!" she sobbed, and drew Peter's + head passionately down to her deep bosom. +</p> +<a name="2HCH8"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER V +</h2> +<p> + Peter Siner walked home from the Dildine cabin that night rather + dreading to meet his mother, for it was late. Cissie had served + sandwiches and coffee on a little table in the arbor, and then had kept + Peter hours afterward. Around him still hung the glamour of Cissie's + little supper. He could still see her rounded elbows that bent softly + backward when she extended an arm, and the glimpses of her bosom when + she leaned to hand him cream or sugar. She had accomplished the whole + supper in the white manner, with all poise and daintiness. In fact, no + one is more exquisitely polite than an octoroon woman when she desires + to be polite, when she elevates the subserviency of her race into + graciousness. +</p> +<p> + However, the pleasure and charm of Cissie were fading under the + approaching abuse that Caroline was sure to pour upon the girl. Peter + dreaded it. He walked slowly down the dark semicircle, planning how he + could best break to his mother the news of his engagement. Peter knew + she would begin a long bill of complaints,—how badly she was treated, + how she had sacrificed herself, her comfort, how she had washed and + scrubbed. She would surely charge Cissie with being a thief and a drab, + and all the announcements of engagements that Peter could make would + never induce the old woman to soften her abuse. Indeed, they would make + her worse. +</p> +<p> + So Peter walked on slowly, smelling the haze of dust that hung in the + blackness. Out on the Big Hill, in the glade, Peter caught an occasional + glimmer of light where crap-shooters and boot-leggers were beginning + their nightly carousal. +</p> +<p> + These evidences of illicit trades brought Peter a thrill of disgust. In + a sort of clear moment he saw that he could not keep Cissie in such a + sty as this. He could not rear in such a place as this any children that + might come to him and Cissie. His thoughts drifted back to his mother, + and his dread of her tongue. +</p> +<p> + The Siner cabin was dark and tightly shut when Peter let himself in at + the gate and walked to the door. He stood a moment listening, and then + gently pressed open the shutter. A faint light burned on the inside, a + night-lamp with an old-fashioned brass bowl. It sat on the floor, turned + low, at the foot of his mother's bed. The mean room was mainly in + shadow. The old-style four-poster in which Caroline slept was an + indistinct mound. The air was close and foul with the bad ventilation of + all negro sleeping-rooms. The brass lamp, turned low, added smoke and + gas to the tight quarters. +</p> +<p> + The odor caught Peter in the nose and throat, and once more stirred up + his impatience with his mother's disregard of hygiene. He tiptoed into + the room and decided to remove the lamp and open the high, small window + to admit a little air. He moved noiselessly and had stooped for the lamp + when there came a creaking and a heavy sigh from the bed, and the old + negress asked: +</p> +<p> + "Is dat you, son?" +</p> +<p> + Peter was tempted to stand perfectly still and wait till his mother + dozed again, thus putting off her inevitable tirade against Cissie; but + he answered in a low tone that it was he. +</p> +<p> + "Whut you gwine do wid dat lamp, son?" +</p> +<p> + "Go to bed by it, Mother." +</p> +<p> + "Well, bring hit back." She breathed heavily, and moved restlessly in + the old four-poster. As Peter stood up he saw that the patched quilts + were all askew over her shapeless bulk. Evidently, she had not been + resting well. +</p> +<p> + Peter's conscience smote him again for worrying his mother with his + courtship of Cissie, yet what could he do? If he had wooed any other + girl in the world, she would have been equally jealous and grieved. It + was inevitable that she should be disappointed and bitter; it was bound + up in the very part and parcel of her sacrifice. A great sadness came + over Peter. He almost wished his mother would berate him, but she + continued to lie there, breathing heavily under her disarranged covers. + As Peter passed into his room, the old negress called after him to + remind him to bring the light back when he was through with it. +</p> +<p> + This time something in her tone alarmed Peter. He paused in the + doorway. +</p> +<p> + "Are you sick, Mother?" he asked. +</p> +<p> + The old woman gave a yawn that changed to a groan. +</p> +<p> + "I—I ain't feelin' so good." +</p> +<p> + "What's the matter, Mother?" +</p> +<p> + "My stomach, my—" But at that moment her sentence changed to an + inarticulate sound, and she doubled up in bed as if caught in a spasm of + acute agony. +</p> +<p> + Peter hurried to her, thoroughly frightened, and saw sweat streaming + down her face. He stared down at her. +</p> +<p> + "Mother, you are sick! What can I do?" he cried, with a man's + helplessness. +</p> +<p> + She opened her eyes with an effort, panting now as the edge of the agony + passed. There was a movement under the quilts, and she thrust out a + rubber hot-water bottle. +</p> +<p> + "Fill it—fum de kittle," she wheezed out, then relaxed into groans, and + wiped clumsily at the sweat on her shining black face. +</p> +<p> + Peter seized the bottle and ran into the kitchen. There he found a brisk + fire popping in the stove and a kettle of water boiling. It showed him, + to his further alarm, that his mother had been trying to minister to + herself until forced to bed. +</p> +<p> + The man scalded a finger and thumb pouring water into the flared mouth, + but after a moment twisted on the top and hurried into the sick-room. +</p> +<p> + He reached the old negress just as another knife of pain set her + writhing and sweating. She seized the hot-water bottle, pushed it under + the quilts, and pressed it to her stomach, then lay with eyes and teeth + clenched tight, and her thick lips curled in a grin of agony. +</p> +<p> + Peter set the lamp on the table, said he was going for the doctor, and + started. +</p> +<p> + The old woman hunched up in bed. With the penuriousness of her station + and sacrifices, she begged Peter not to go; then groaned out, "Go tell + Mars' Renfrew," but the next moment did not want Peter to leave her. +</p> +<p> + Peter said he would get Nan Berry to stay while he was gone. The Berry + cabin lay diagonally across the street. Peter ran over, thumped on the + door, and shouted his mother's needs. As soon as he received an answer, + he started on over the Big Hill toward the white town. +</p> +<p> + Peter was seriously frightened. His run to Dr. Jallup's, across the Big + Hill, was a series of renewed strivings for speed. Every segment of his + journey seemed to seize him and pin him down in the midst of the night + like a bug caught in a black jelly. He seemed to progress not at all. +</p> +<p> + Now he was in the cedar glade. His muffled flight drove in the sentries + of the crap-shooters, and gamesters blinked out their lights and + listened to his feet stumbling on through the darkness. +</p> +<p> + After an endless run in the glade, Peter found himself on top of the + hill, amid boulders and outcrops limestone and cedar-shrubs. His flash- + light picked out these objects, limned them sharply against the + blackness, then dropped them into obscurity again. +</p> +<p> + He tried to run faster. His impatience subdivided the distance into + yards and feet. Now he was approaching that boulder, now he was passing + it; now he was ten feet beyond, twenty, thirty. Perhaps his mother was + dying, alone save for stupid Nan Berry. +</p> +<p> + Now he was going down the hill past the white church. All that was + visible was its black spire set against a web of stars. He was making no + speed at all. He panted on. His heart hammered. His legs drummed with + Lilliputian paces. Now he was among the village stores, all utterly + black. At one point the echo of his feet chattered back at him, as if + some other futile runner strained amid vast spaces of blackness. +</p> +<p> + After a long time he found himself running up a residential street, and + presently, far ahead, he saw the glow of Dr. Jallup's porch light. Its + beam had the appearance of coming from a vast distance. When he reached + the place, he flung his breast against the top panel of the doctor's + fence and held on, exhausted. He drew in his breath, and began shouting, + "Hello, Doctor!" +</p> +<p> + Peter called persistently, and as he commanded more breath, he called + louder and louder, "Hello, Doctor! Hello, Doctor! Hello, Doctor!" in + tones edging on panic. +</p> +<p> + The doctor's house might have been dead. Somewhere a dog began barking. + High in the Southern sky a star looked down remotely on Peter's frantic + haste. The black man stood in the black night with cries: "Hello, + Doctor! Hello, Doctor! Hello, Doctor!" +</p> +<p> + At last, in despair, he tried to think of other doctors. He thought of + telephoning to Jonesboro. Just as he decided he must turn away there + came a stirring in the dead house, a flicker of light appeared on the + inside now here, now there; it steadied into a tiny beam and approached + the door. The door opened, and Dr. Jallup's head and breast appeared, + illuminated against the black interior. +</p> +<p> + "My mother's sick, Doctor," began Peter, in immense relief. +</p> +<p> + "Who is it?" inquired the half-clad man, impassively. +</p> +<p> + "Caroline Siner; she's been taken with a—" +</p> +<p> + The physician lifted his light a trifle in an effort to see Peter. +</p> +<p> + "Lemme see: she's that fat nigger woman that lives in a three-roomed + house—" +</p> +<p> + "I'll show you the way," said Peter. "She's very ill." +</p> +<p> + The half-dressed man shook his head. +</p> +<p> + "No, Ca'line Siner owes me a five-dollar doctor's bill already. Our + county medical association made a rule that no niggers should—" +</p> +<p> + With a drying mouth, Peter Siner stared at the man of medicine. +</p> +<p> + "But, my God, Doctor," gasped the son, "I'll pay you—" +</p> +<p> + "Have you got the money there in your pocket?" asked Jallup, + impassively. +</p> +<p> + A sort of chill traveled deliberately over Peter's body and shook his + voice. +</p> +<p> + "N-no, but I can get it—" +</p> +<p> + "Yes, you can all get it," stated the physician in dull irritation. "I'm + tired of you niggers running up doctors' bills nobody can collect. You + never have more than the law allows; your wages never get big enough to + garnishee." His voice grew querulous as he related his wrongs. "No, I'm + not going to see Ca'line Siner. If she wants me to visit her, let her + send ten dollars to cover that and back debts, and I'll—" The end of + his sentence was lost in the closing of his door. The light he carried + declined from a beam to a twinkling here and there, and then vanished in + blackness. Dr. Jallup's house became dead again. The little porch light + in its glass box might have been a candle burning before a tomb. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner stood at the fence, licking his dry lips, with nerves + vibrating like a struck bell. He pushed himself slowly away from the top + plank and found his legs so weak that he could hardly walk. He moved + slowly, back down the unseen street. The dog he had disturbed gave a few + last growls and settled into silence. +</p> +<p> + Peter moved along, wetting his dry lips, and stirring feebly among his + dazed thoughts, hunting some other plan of action. There was a tiny + burning spot on the left side of his occiput. It felt like a heated + cambric needle which had been slipped into his scalp. Then he realized + that he must go home, get ten dollars, and bring them back to Dr. + Jallup. He started to run, but almost toppled over on his leaden legs. +</p> +<p> + He plodded through the darkness, retracing the endless trail to + Niggertown. As he passed a dark mass of shrubbery and trees, he recalled + his mother's advice to ask aid of Captain Renfrew. It was the old + Renfrew place that Peter was passing. +</p> +<p> + The negro hesitated, then turned in at the gate in the bare hope of + obtaining the ten dollars at once. Inside the gate Peter's feet + encountered the scattered bricks of an old walk. The negro stood and + called Captain Renfrew's name in a guarded voice. He was not at all sure + of his action. +</p> +<p> + Peter had called twice and was just about to go when a lamp appeared + around the side of the house on a long portico that extended clear + around the building. Bathed in the light of the lamp which he held over + his head, there appeared an old man wearing a worn dressing gown. +</p> +<p> + "Who is it?" he asked in a wavery voice. +</p> +<p> + Peter told his name and mission. +</p> +<p> + The old Captain continued holding up his light. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, Peter Siner; Caroline Siner's sick? All right I'll have Jallup run + over; I'll phone him." +</p> +<p> + Peter was beginning his thanks preparatory to going, when the old man + interrupted. +</p> +<p> + "No, just stay here until Jallup comes by in his or He'll pick us both + up. It'll save time. Come on inside. What's the matter with old + Caroline?" +</p> +<p> + The old dressing-gown led the way around the continuous piazza, to a + room that stood open and brightly lighted on the north face of the old + house. +</p> +<p> + A great relief came to Peter at this unexpected succor. He followed + around the piazza, trying to describe Caroline's symptoms. The room + Peter entered was a library, a rather stately old room, lined with books + all around the walls to about as high as a man could reach. Spaces for + doors and windows were let in among the book-cases. The volumes + themselves seemed composed mainly of histories and old-fashioned + scientific books, if Peter could judge from a certain severity of their + bindings. On a big library table burned a gasolene-lamp, which threw a + brilliant whiteness all over the room. The table was piled with books + and periodicals. Books and papers were heaped on every chair in the + study except a deep Morris chair in which the old Captain had been + sitting. A big meridional globe, about two and a half feet in diameter, + gleamed through a film of dust in the embrasure of a window. The whole + room had the womanless look of a bachelor's quarters, and was flavored + with tobacco and just a hint of whisky. +</p> +<p> + Old Captain Renfrew evidently had been reading when Peter called from + the gate. Now the old man went to a telephone and rang long and briskly + to awaken the boy who slept in the central office. Peter fidgeted as the + old Captain stood with receiver to ear. +</p> +<p> + "Hard to wake." The old gentleman spoke into the transmitter, but was + talking to Peter. "Don't be so uneasy, Peter. Human beings are harder to + kill than you think." +</p> +<p> + There was a kindliness, even a fellowship, in Captain Renfrew's tones + that spread like oil over Peter's raw nerves. It occurred to the negro + that this was the first time he had been addressed as an authentic human + being since his conversation with the two Northern men on the Pullman, + up in Illinois. It surprised him. It was sufficient to take his mind + momentarily from his mother. He looked a little closely at the old man + at the telephone. The Captain wore few indices of kindness. Lines of + settled sarcasm netted his eyes and drooped away from his old mouth. The + very swell of his full temples and their crinkly veins marked a sardonic + old man. +</p> +<p> + At last he roused central over the wire, and impressed upon him the + necessity of creating a stridor in Dr. Jallup's dead house, and a moment + later a continued buzzing in the receiver betokened the operator's + efforts to do so. +</p> +<p> + The old gentleman turned around at last, holding the receiver a little + distance from his ear. +</p> +<p> + "I understand you went to Harvard, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "Yes, sir." Peter took his eyes momentarily from the telephone. The old + Southerner in the dressing-gown scrutinized the brown man. He cleared + his throat. +</p> +<p> + "You know, Peter, it gives me a—a certain satisfaction to see a Harvard + man in Hooker's Bend. I'm a Harvard man myself." +</p> +<p> + Peter stood in the brilliant light, astonished, not at Captain Renfrew's + being a Harvard man,—he had known that,—but that this old gentleman + was telling the fact to him, Peter Siner, a negro graduate of Harvard. +</p> +<p> + It was extraordinary; it was tantamount to an offer of friendship, not + patronage. Such an offer in the South disturbed Peter's poise; it + touched him queerly. And it seemed to explain why Captain Renfrew had + received Peter so graciously and was now arranging for Dr. Jallup to + visit Caroline. +</p> +<p> + Peter was moved to the conventional query, asking in what class the + Captain had been graduated. But while his very voice was asking it, + Peter thought what a strange thing it was that he, Peter Siner, a negro, + and this lonely old gentleman, his benefactor, were spiritual brothers, + both sprung from the loins of Harvard, that ancient mother of souls. +</p> +<a name="image-5"><!--IMG--></a> +<center> +<img src="birth05.png" +alt="The Old Gentleman Turned Around at Last +"> +<br>The Old Gentleman Turned Around at Last +</center> +<!--IMAGE END--> +<p> + From the darkness outside, Dr. Jallup's horn summmoned the two men. + Captain Renfrew got out of his gown and into his coat and turned off his + gasolene light. They walked around the piazza to the front of the house. + In the street the head-lights of the roadster shot divergent rays + through the darkness. They went out. The old Captain took a seat in the + car beside the physician, while Peter stood on the running-board. A + moment later, the clutch snarled, and the machine puttered down the + street. Peter clung to the standards of the auto top, peering ahead. +</p> +<p> + The men remained almost silent. Once Dr. Jallup, watching the dust that + lay modeled in sharp lights and shadows under the head-lights, mentioned + lack of rain. Their route did not lead over the Big Hill. They turned + north at Hobbett's corner, drove around by River Street, and presently + entered the northern end of the semicircle. +</p> +<p> + The speed of the car was reduced to a crawl in the bottomless dust of + the crescent. The head-lights swept slowly around the cabins on the + concave side of the street, bringing them one by one into stark + brilliance and dropping them into obscurity. The smell of refuse, of + uncleaned stables and sties and outhouses hung in the darkness. Peter + bent down under the top of the motor and pointed out his place. A minute + later the machine came to a noisy halt and was choked into silence. At + that moment, in the sweep of the head-light, Peter saw Viny Berry, one + of Nan's younger sisters, coming up from Niggertown's public well, + carrying two buckets of water. +</p> +<p> + Viny was hurrying, plashing the water over the sides of her buckets. The + importance of her mission was written in her black face. +</p> +<p> + "She's awful thirsty," she called to Peter in guarded tones. "Nan called + me to fetch some fraish water fum de well." +</p> +<p> + Peter took the water that had been brought from the semi-cesspool at the + end of the street. Viny hurried across the street to home and to bed. + With the habitual twinge of his sanitary conscience, Peter considered + the water in the buckets. +</p> +<p> + "We'll have to boil this," he said to the doctor. +</p> +<p> + "Boil it?" repeated Jallup, blankly. Then, he added: "Oh, yes—boil. + Certainly." +</p> +<hr> +<p> + A repellent odor of burned paper, breathed air, and smoky lights filled + the close room. Nan had lighted another lamp and now the place was + discernible in a dull yellow glow. In the corner lay a half-burned wisp + of paper. Nan herself stood by the mound on the bed, putting straight + the quilts that her patient had twisted awry. +</p> +<p> + "She sho am bad, Doctor," said the colored woman, with big eyes. +</p> +<p> + Seen in the light, Dr. Jallup was a little sandy-bearded man with a + round, simple face, oddly overlaid with that inscrutability carefully + cultivated by country doctors. With professional cheeriness, he + approached the mound of bedclothes. +</p> +<p> + "A little under the weather, Aunt Ca'line?" He slipped his fingers + alongside her throat to test her temperature, at the same time drawing a + thermometer from his waistcoat pocket. +</p> +<p> + The old negress stirred, and looked up out of sick eyes. +</p> +<p> + "Doctor," she gasped, "I sho got a misery heah." She indicated her + stomach. +</p> +<p> + "How do you feel?" he asked hopefully. +</p> +<p> + The woman panted, then whispered: +</p> +<p> + "Lak a knife was a-cuttin' an' a-tearin' out my innards." She rested, + then added, "Not so bad now; feels mo' lak somp'n's tearin' in de nex' + room." +</p> +<p> + "Like something tearing in the next room?" repeated Jallup, emptily. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, suh," she whispered. "I jes can feel hit—away off, lak." +</p> +<p> + The doctor attempted to take her temperature, but the thermometer in her + mouth immediately nauseated her, so he slipped the instrument under her + arm. +</p> +<p> + Old Caroline groaned at the slightest exertion, then, as she tossed her + black head, she caught a glimpse of old Captain Renfrew. +</p> +<p> + She halted abruptly in her restlessness, stared at the old gentleman, + wet her dry lips with a queer brown-furred tongue. +</p> +<p> + "Is dat you, Mars' Milt?" she gasped in feeble astonishment. A moment + later she guessed the truth. "I s'pose you had to bring de doctor. 'Fo' + Gawd, Mars' Milt—" She lay staring, with the covers rising and falling + as she gasped for breath. Her feverish eyes shifted back and forth + between the grim old gentleman and the tall, broad-shouldered brown man + at the foot of her bed. She drew a baggy black arm from under the cover. +</p> +<p> + "Da' 's Peter, Mars' Milt," she pointed. "Da' 's Peter, my son. He—he + use' to be my son 'fo' he went off to school; but sence he come home, he + been a-laughin' at me." Tears came to her eyes; she panted for a moment, + then added: "Yeah, he done marked his mammy down fuh a nigger, Mars' + Milt. Whut I thought wuz gwine be sweet lays bitter in my mouf." She + worked her thick lips as if the rank taste of her sickness were the very + flavor of her son's ingratitude. +</p> +<p> + A sudden gasp and twist of her body told Nan that the old woman was + again seized with a spasm. The neighbor woman took swift control, and + waved out Peter and old Mr. Renfrew, while she and the doctor aided the + huge negress. +</p> +<p> + The two evicted men went into Peter's room and shut the door. Peter, + unnerved, groped, and presently found and lighted a lamp. He put it down + on his little table among his primary papers and examination papers. He + indicated to Captain Renfrew the single chair in the room. +</p> +<p> + But the old gentleman stood motionless in the mean room, with its head- + line streaked walls. Sounds of the heavy lifting of Peter's mother came + through the thin door and partition with painful clearness. Peter opened + his own small window, for the air in his room was foul. +</p> +<p> + Captain Renfrew stood in silence, with a remote sarcasm in his wrinkled + eyes. What was in his heart, why he had subjected himself to the + noisomeness of failing flesh, Peter had not the faintest idea. Once, out + of studently habit, he glanced at Peter's philosophic books, but + apparently he read the titles without really observing them. Once he + looked at Peter. +</p> +<p> + "Peter," he said colorlessly, "I hope you'll be careful of Caroline's + feelings if she ever gets up again. She has been very faithful to you, + Peter." +</p> +<p> + Peter's eyes dampened. A great desire mounted in him to explain himself + to this strange old gentleman, to show him how inevitable had been the + breach. For some reason a veritable passion to reveal his heart to this + his sole benefactor surged through the youth. +</p> +<p> + "Mr. Renfrew," he stammered, "Mr. Renfrew—I—I—" His throat abruptly + ached and choked. He felt his face distort in a spasm of uncontrollable + grief. He turned quickly from this strange old man with a remote sarcasm + in his eyes and a remote affection in his tones. Peter clenched his + jaws, his nostrils spread in his effort stoically to bottle up his grief + and remorse, like a white man; in an effort to keep from howling his + agony aloud, like a negro. He stood with aching throat and blurred eyes, + trembling, swallowing, and silent. +</p> +<p> + Presently Nan Berry opened the door. She held a half-burned paper in her + hand; Dr. Jallup stood near the bed, portioning out some calomel and + quinine. The prevalent disease in Hooker's Bend is malaria; Dr. Jallup + always physicked for malaria. On this occasion he diagnosed it must be a + very severe attack of malaria indeed, so he measured out enormous doses. +</p> +<p> + He took a glass of the water that Viny had brought, held up old + Caroline's head, and washed down two big capsules into the already + poisoned stomach of the old negress. His simple face was quite + inscrutable as he did this. He left other capsules for Nan to administer + at regular intervals. Then he and Captain Renfrew motored out of + Niggertown, out of its dust and filth and stench. +</p> +<p> + At four o'clock in the morning Caroline Siner died. +</p> +<a name="2HCH9"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER VI +</h2> +<p> + When Nan Berry saw that Caroline was dead, the black woman dropped a + glass of water and a capsule of calomel and stared. A queer terror + seized her. She began such a wailing that it aroused others in + Niggertown. At the sound they got out of their beds and came to the + Siner cabin, their eyes big with mystery and fear. At the sight of old + Caroline's motionless body they lifted their voices through the night. +</p> +<p> + The lamentation carried far beyond the confines of Niggertown. The last + gamblers in the cedar glade heard it, and it broke up their gaming and + drinking. White persons living near the black crescent were waked out of + their sleep and listened to the eerie sound. It rose and fell in the + darkness like a melancholy organ chord. The wailing of the women + quivered against the heavy grief of the men. The half-asleep listeners + were moved by its weirdness to vague and sinister fancies. The dolor + veered away from what the Anglo-Saxon knows as grief and was shot + through with the uncanny and the terrible. White children crawled out of + their small beds and groped their way to their parents. The women + shivered and asked of the darkness, "<i>What</i> makes the negroes howl + so?" +</p> +<p> + Nobody knew,—least of all, the negroes. Nobody suspected that the + bedlam harked back to the jungle, to black folk in African kraals + beating tom-toms and howling, not in grief, but in an ecstasy of terror + lest the souls of their dead might come back in the form of tigers or + pythons or devils and work woe to the tribe. Through the night the + negroes wailed on, performing through custom an ancient rite of which + they knew nothing. They supposed themselves heartbroken over the death + of Caroline Siner. +</p> +<p> + Amid this din Peter Siner sat in his room, stunned by the sudden taking + off of his mother. The reproaches that she had expressed to old Captain + Renfrew clung in Peter's brain. The brown man had never before realized + the faint amusement and condescension that had flavored all his + relations with his mother since his return home. But he knew now that + she had felt his disapproval of her lifelong habits; that she saw he + never explained or attempted to explain his thoughts to her, assuming + her to be too ignorant; as she put it, "a fool." +</p> +<p> + The pathos of his mother's last days, what she had expected, what she + had received, came to Peter with the bitterness of what is finished and + irrevocable. She had been dead only a few minutes, yet she could never + know his grief and remorse; she could never forgive him. She was utterly + removed in a few minutes, in a moment in the failing of a breath. The + finality of death overpowered him. +</p> +<p> + Into his room, through the thin wall, came the catch of numberless sobs, + the long-drawn open wails, and the spasms of sobbing. Blurred voices + called, "O Gawd! Gawd hab mercy! Hab mercy!" Now words were lost in the + midst of confusion. The clamor boomed through the thin partition as if + it would shake down his newspapered walls. With wet cheeks and an aching + throat, Peter sat by his table, staring at his book-case in silence, + like a white man. +</p> +<p> + The dim light of his lamp fell over his psychologies and philosophies. + These were the books that had given him precedence over the old + washwoman who kept him in college. It was reading these books that had + made him so wise that the old negress could not even follow his + thoughts. Now in the hour of his mother's death the backs of his + metaphysics blinked at him emptily. What signified their endless pages + about dualism and monism, about phenomenon and noumenon? His mother was + dead. And she had died embittered against him because he had read and + had been bewildered by these empty, wordy volumes. +</p> +<p> + A sense of profound defeat, of being ultimately fooled and cozened by + the subtleties of white men, filled Peter Siner. He had eaten at their + table, but their meat was not his meat. The uproar continued. Standing + out of the din arose the burden of negro voices "Hab mercy! Gawd hab + mercy!" +</p> +<p> + In the morning the Ladies of Tabor came and washed and dressed Caroline + Siner's body and made it ready for burial. For twenty years the old + negress had paid ten cents a month to her society to insure her burial, + and now the lodge made ready to fulfil its pledge. After many comings + and goings, the black women called Peter to see their work, as if for + his approval. +</p> +<p> + The huge dead woman lay on the four-poster with a sheet spread over the + lower part of her body. The ministrants had clothed it in the old black- + silk dress, with its spreading seams and panels of different materials. + It reminded Peter of the new dress he had meant to get his mother, and + of the modish suit which at that moment molded his own shoulders and + waist. The pitifulness of her sacrifices trembled in Peter's throat. He + pressed his lips together, and nodded silently to the black Ladies of + Tabor. +</p> +<p> + Presently the white undertaker, a silent little man with a brisk yet + sympathetic air, came and made some measurements. He talked to Peter in + undertones about the finishing of the casket, how much the Knights of + Tabor would pay, what Peter wanted. Then he spoke of the hour of burial, + and mentioned a somewhat early hour because some of the negroes wanted + to ship as roustabouts on the up-river packet, which was due at any + moment. +</p> +<p> + These decisions, asked of Peter, kept pricking him and breaking through + the stupefaction of this sudden tragedy. He kept nodding a mechanical + agreement until the undertaker had arranged all the details. Then the + little man moved softly out of the cabin and went stepping away through + the dust of Niggertown with professional briskness. A little later two + black grave-diggers set out with picks and shovels for the negro + graveyard. +</p> +<p> + Numberless preparations for the funeral were going on all over + Niggertown. The Knights of Tabor were putting on their regalia. Negro + women were sending out hurry notices to white mistresses that they would + be unable to cook the noonday meal. Dozens of negro girls flocked to the + hair-dressing establishment of Miss Mallylou Speers. All were bent on + having their wool straightened for the obsequies, and as only a few of + them could be accommodated, the little room was packed. A smell of + burning hair pervaded it. The girls sat around waiting their turn. Most + of them already had their hair down,—or, rather loose, for it stood out + in thick mats. The hair-dresser had a small oil stove on which lay + heating half a dozen iron combs. With a hot comb she teased each strand + of wool into perfect straightness and then plastered it down with a + greasy pomade. The result was a stiff effect, something like the hair of + the Japanese. It required about three hours to straighten the hair of + one negress. The price was a dollar and a half. +</p> +<p> + By half-past nine o'clock a crowd of negro men, in lodge aprons and with + spears, and negro women, with sashes of ribbon over their shoulders and + across the breasts, assembled about the Siner cabin. In the dusty + curving street were ranged half a dozen battered vehicles,—a hearse, a + delivery wagon, some rickety buggies, and a hack. Presently the + undertaker arrived with a dilapidated black hearse which he used + especially for negroes. He jumped down, got out his straps and coffin + stands, directed some negro men to bring in the coffin, then hurried + into the cabin with his air of brisk precision. +</p> +<p> + He placed the coffin on the stands near the bed; then a number of men + slipped the huge black body into it. The undertaker settled old + Caroline's head against the cotton pillows, running his hand down beside + her cheek and tipping her face just so. Then he put on the cover, which + left a little oval opening just above her dead face. The sight of old + Caroline's face seen through the little oval pane moved some of the + women to renewed sobs. Eight black men took up the coffin and carried it + out with the slow, wide-legged steps of roustabouts. Parson Ranson, in a + rusty Prince Albert coat, took Peter's arm and led him to the first + vehicle after the hearse. It was a delivery wagon, but it was the best + vehicle in the procession. +</p> +<p> + As Peter followed the coffin out, he saw the Knights and Ladies of Tabor + lined up in marching order behind the van. The men held their spears and + swords at attention; the women carried flowers. Behind the marchers came + other old vehicles, a sorry procession. +</p> +<p> + At fifteen minutes to ten the bell in the steeple of the colored church + tolled a single stroke. The sound quivered through the sunshine over + Niggertown. At its signal the poor procession moved away through the + dust. At intervals the bell tolled after the vanishing train. +</p> +<p> + As the negroes passed through the white town the merchants, lolling in + their doors, asked passers-by what negro had died. The idlers under the + mulberry in front of the livery-stable nodded at the old negro preacher + in his long greenish-black coat, and Dawson Bobbs remarked: +</p> +<p> + "Well, old Parson Ranson's going to tell 'em about it to-day," and he + shifted his toothpick with a certain effect of humor. +</p> +<p> + Old Mr. Tomwit asked if his companions had ever heard how Newt Bodler, a + wit famous in Wayne County, once broke up a negro funeral with a + hornets' nest. The idlers nodded a smiling affirmative as they watched + the cortège go past. They had all heard it. But Mr. Tomwit would not be + denied. He sallied forth into humorous reminiscence. Another loafer + contributed an anecdote of how he had tied ropes to a dead negro so as + to make the corpse sit up in bed and frighten the mourners. +</p> +<p> + All their tales were of the vintage of the years immediately succeeding + the Civil War,—pioneer humor, such as convulsed the readers of Peck's + Bad Boy, Mr. Bowser, Sut Lovingood. The favorite dramatic properties of + such writers were the hornets' nest, the falling ladder, the banana + peel. They cultivated the humor of contusions, the wit of impact. This + style still holds the stage of Hooker's Bend. +</p> +<p> + In telling these tales the white villagers meant no special disrespect + to the negro funeral. It simply reminded them of humorous things; so + they told their jokes, like the naïve children of the soil that they + were. +</p> +<p> + At last the poor procession passed beyond the white church, around a + bend in the road, and so vanished. Presently the bell in Niggertown + ceased tolling. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + Peter always remembered his mother's funeral in fragments of intolerable + pathos,—the lifting of old Parson Ranson's hands toward heaven, the + songs of the black folk, the murmur of the first shovelful of dirt as it + was lowered to the coffin, and the final raw mound of earth littered + with a few dying flowers. With that his mother—who had been so near to, + and so disappointed in, her son—was blotted from his life. The other + events of the funeral flowed by in a sort of dream: he moved about; the + negroes were speaking to him in the queer overtones one uses to the + bereaved; he was being driven back to Niggertown; he reentered the Siner + cabin. One or two of his friends stayed in the room with him for a while + and said vague things, but there was nothing to say. +</p> +<p> + Later in the afternoon Cissie Dildine and her mother brought his dinner + to him. Vannie Dildine, a thin yellow woman, uttered a few disjointed + words about Sister Ca'line being a good woman, and stopped amid + sentence. There was nothing to say. Death had cut a wound across Peter + Siner's life. Not for days, nor weeks, nor months, would his existence + knit solidly back together. The poison of his ingratitude to his + faithful old black mother would for a long, long day prevent the + healing. +</p> +<a name="2HCH10"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER VII +</h2> +<p> + During a period following his mother's death Peter Siner's life drifted + emptily and without purpose. He had the feeling of one convalescing in a + hospital. His days passed unconnected by any thread of purpose; they + were like cards scattered on a table, meaning nothing. +</p> +<p> + At times he struggled against his lethargy. When he awoke in the morning + and found the sun shining on his dusty primers and examination papers, + he would think that he ought to go back to his old task; but he never + did. In his heart grew a conviction that he would never teach school at + Hooker's Bend. +</p> +<p> + He would rise and dress slowly in the still cabin, thinking he must soon + make new plans and take up some work. He never decided precisely what + work; his thoughts trailed on in vague, idle designs. +</p> +<p> + In fact, during Peter's reaction to his shock there began to assert + itself in him that capacity for profound indolence inherent in his negro + blood. To a white man time is a cumulative excitant. Continuous and + absolute idleness is impossible; he must work, hunt, fish, play, gamble, + or dissipate,—do something to burn up the accumulating sugar in his + muscles. But to a negro idleness is an increasing balm; it is a + stretching of his legs in the sunshine, a cat-like purring of his + nerves; while his thoughts spread here and there in inconsequences, like + water without a channel, making little humorous eddies, winding this way + and that into oddities and fantasies without ever feeling that + constraint of sequence which continually operates in a white brain. And + it is this quality that makes negroes the entertainers of children + <i>par excellence</i>. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner's mental slackening made him understandable, and gave him a + certain popularity in Nigger-town. Black men fell into the habit of + dropping in at the Siner cabin, where they would sit outdoors, with + chairs propped against the wall, and philosophize on the desultory life + of the crescent. Sometimes they would relate their adventures on the + river packets and around the docks at Paducah, Cairo, St. Joe, and St. + Louis; usually a recountal of drunkenness, gaming, fighting, venery, + arrests, jail sentences, petty peculations, and escapes. Through these + Iliads of vagabondage ran an irresponsible gaiety, a non-morality, and a + kind of unbrave zest for adventure. They told of their defeats and + flights with as much relish and humor as of their charges and victories. + And while the spirit was thoroughly pagan, these accounts were full of + the clichés of religion. A roustabout whom every one called the + Persimmon confided to Peter that he meant to cut loose some logs in a + raft up the river, float them down a little way, tie them up again, and + claim the prize-money for salvaging them, God willing. +</p> +<p> + The Persimmon was so called from a scar on his long slanting head. A + steamboat mate had once found him asleep in the passageway of a lumber + pile which the boat was lading, and he waked the negro by hitting him in + the head with a persimmon bolt. In this there was nothing unusual or + worthy of a nickname. The point was, the mate had been mistaken: the + Persimmon was not working on his boat at all. In time this became one of + the stock anecdotes which pilots and captains told to passengers + traveling up and down the river. +</p> +<p> + The Persimmon was a queer-looking negro; his head was a long diagonal + from its peak down to his pendent lower lip, for he had no chin. The + salient points on this black slope were the Persimmon's sad, protruding + yellow eyeballs, over which the lids always drooped about half closed. + An habitual tipping of this melancholy head to one side gave the + Persimmon the look of one pondering and deploring the amount of sin + there was in the world. This saintly impression the Persimmon's conduct + and language never bore out. +</p> +<p> + At the time of the Persimmon's remarks about the raft two of Peter's + callers, Jim Pink Staggs and Parson Ranson, took the roustabout to task. + Jim Pink based his objection on the grounds of glutting the labor + market. +</p> +<p> + "Ef us niggers keeps turnin' too many raf's loose fuh de prize-money," + he warned, "somebody's goin' to git 'spicious, an' you'll ruin a good + thing." +</p> +<p> + The Persimmon absorbed this with a far-away look in his half-closed + eyes. +</p> +<p> + "It's a ticklish job," argued Parson Ranson, "an' I wouldn't want to + wuck at de debbil's task aroun' de ribber, ca'se you mout fall in, + Persimmon, an' git drownded." +</p> +<p> + "I wouldn't do sich a thing a-tall," admitted the Persimmon, "but I jes' + natchelly got to git ten dollars to he'p pay on my divo'ce." +</p> +<p> + "I kain't see whut you want wid a divo'ce," said Jim Pink, yawning, + "when you been ma'ied three times widout any." +</p> +<p> + "It's fuh a Christmas present," explained the Persimmon, carelessly, + "fuh th' woman I'm libin' wid now. Mahaly's a great woman fuh style. I'm + goin' to divo'ce my other wives, one at a time lak my lawyer say." +</p> +<p> + "On what grounds?" asked Peter, curiously. +</p> +<p> + "Desuhtion." +</p> +<p> + "Desertion?" +</p> +<p> + "Uh huh; I desuhted 'em." +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink shook his head, picked up a pebble, and began idly juggling it, + making it appear double, single, treble, then single again. +</p> +<p> + "Too many divo'ces in dis country now, Persimmon," he moralized. +</p> +<p> + "Well, whut's de cause uv 'em?" asked the Persimmon, suddenly bringing + his protruding yellow eyes around on the sleight-of-hand performer. +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink was slightly taken aback; then he said: +</p> +<p> + "'Spicion; nothin' but 'spicion." +</p> +<p> + "Yeah, 'spicion," growled the Persimmon; "'spicion an' de husban' + leadin' a irreg'lar life." +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink looked at his companion, curiously. +</p> +<p> + "The husban'—leadin' a irreg'lar life?" +</p> +<p> + "Yeah,"—the Persimmon nodded grimly,—"the husban' comin' home at + onexpected hours. You know whut I means, Jim Pink." +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink let his pebble fall and lowered the fore legs of his chair + softly to the ground. +</p> +<p> + "Now, look heah, Persimmon, you don' want to be draggin' no foreign + disco'se into yo' talk heah befo' Mr. Siner an' Parson Ranson." +</p> +<p> + The Persimmon rose deliberately. +</p> +<p> + "All I want to say is, I drapped off'n de matrimonial tree three times + a'ready, Jim Pink, an' I think I feels somebody shakin' de limb ag'in." +</p> +<p> + The old negro preacher rose, too, a little behind Jim Pink. +</p> +<p> + "Now, boys! boys!" he placated. "You jes think dat, Persimmon." +</p> +<p> + "Yeah," admitted Persimmon, "I jes think it; but ef I b'lieve ever'thing + is so whut I think is so, I'd part Jim Pink's wool wid a brickbat." +</p> +<p> + Parson Ranson tried to make peace, but the Persimmon spread his hands in + a gesture that included the three men. "Now, I ain't sayin' nothin'," he + stated solemnly, "an' I ain't makin' no threats; but ef anything + happens, you-all kain't say that nobody didn' tell nobody about + nothin'." +</p> +<p> + With this the Persimmon walked to the gate, let himself out, still + looking back at Jim Pink, and then started down the dusty street. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Staggs seemed uncomfortable under the Persimmon's protruding yellow + stare, but finally, when the roustabout was gone, he shrugged, regained + his aplomb, and remarked that some niggers spent their time in studyin' + 'bout things they hadn't no info'mation on whatever. Then he strolled + off up the crescent in the other direction. +</p> +<p> + All this would have made fair minstrel patter if Peter Siner had shared + the white conviction that every emotion expressed in a negro's patois is + humorous. Unfortunately, Peter was too close to the negroes to hold such + a tenet. He knew this quarrel was none the less rancorous for having + been couched in the queer circumlocution of black folk. And behind it + all shone the background of racial promiscuity out of which it sprang. + It was like looking at an open sore that touched all of Niggertown, men + and boys, young girls and women. It caused tragedies, murders, fights, + and desertions in the black village as regularly as the rotation of the + calendar; yet there was no public sentiment against it. Peter wondered + how this attitude of his whole people could possibly be. +</p> +<p> + With the query the memory of Ida May came back to him, with its sense of + dim pathos. It seemed to Peter now as if their young and uninstructed + hands had destroyed a safety-vault to filch a penny. +</p> +<p> + The reflex of a thought of Ida May always brought Peter to Cissie; it + always stirred up in him a desire to make this young girl's path gentle + and smooth. There was a fineness, a delicacy about Cissie, that, it + seemed to Peter, Ida May had never possessed. Then, too, Cissie was + moved by a passion for self-betterment. She deserved a cleaner field + than the Niggertown of Hooker's Bend. +</p> +<p> + Peter took Parson Ranson's arm, and the two moved to the gate by common + consent. It was no longer pleasant to sit here. The quarrel they had + heard somehow had flavored their surroundings. +</p> +<p> + Peter turned his steps mechanically northward up the crescent toward the + Dildine cabin. Nothing now restrained him from calling on Cissie; he + would keep no dinner waiting; he would not be warned and berated on his + return home. The nagging, jealous love of his mother had ended. +</p> +<p> + As the two men walked along, it was borne in upon Peter that his + mother's death definitely ended one period of his life. There was no + reason why he should continue his present unsettled existence. It seemed + best to marry Cissie at once and go North. Further time in this place + would not be good for the girl. Even if he could not lift all + Niggertown, he could at least help Cissie. He had had no idea, when he + first planned his work, what a tremendous task he was essaying. The + white village had looked upon the negroes so long as non-moral and non- + human that the negroes, with the flexibility of their race, had + assimilated that point of view. The whites tried to regulate the negroes + by endless laws. The negroes had come to accept this, and it seemed that + they verily believed that anything not discovered by the constable was + permissible. Mr. Dawson Bobbs was Niggertown's conscience. It was best + for Peter to take from this atmosphere what was dearest to him, and go + at once. +</p> +<p> + The brown man's thoughts came trailing back to the old negro parson + hobbling at his side. He looked at the old man, hesitated a moment, then + told him what was in his mind. +</p> +<p> + Parson Ranson's face wrinkled into a grin. +</p> +<p> + "You's gwine to git ma'ied?" +</p> +<p> + "And I thought I'd have you perform the ceremony." +</p> +<p> + This suggestion threw the old negro into excitement. +</p> +<p> + "Me, Mr. Peter?" +</p> +<p> + "Yes. Why not?" +</p> +<p> + "Why, Mr. Peter, I kain't jine you an' Miss Cissie Dildine." +</p> +<p> + Peter looked at him, astonished. +</p> +<p> + "Why can't you?" +</p> +<p> + "Whyn't you git a white preacher?" +</p> +<p> + "Well," deliberated Peter, gravely, "it's a matter of principle with me, + Parson Ranson. I think we colored people ought to be more self-reliant, + more self-serving. We ought to lead our own lives instead of being mere + echoes of white thought." He made a swift gesture, moved by this passion + of his life. "I don't mean racial equality. To my mind racial equality + is an empty term. One might as well ask whether pink and violet are + equal. But what I do insist on is autonomous development." +</p> +<p> + The old preacher nodded, staring into the dust. "Sho! 'tonomous + 'velopment." +</p> +<p> + Peter saw that his language, if not his thought, was far beyond his old + companion's grasp, and he lacked the patience to simplify himself. +</p> +<p> + "Why don't you want to marry us, Parson?" +</p> +<p> + Parson Ranson lifted his brows and filled his forehead with wrinkles. +</p> +<p> + "Well, I dunno. You an' Miss Cissie acts too much lak white folks fuh a + nigger lak me to jine you, Mr. Peter." +</p> +<p> + Peter made a sincere effort to be irritated, but he was not. +</p> +<p> + "That's no way to feel. It's exactly what I was talking about,—racial + self-reliance. You've married hundreds of colored couples." +</p> +<p> + "Ya-as, suh,"—the old fellow scratched his black jaw.—"I kin yoke up a + pair uv ordina'y niggers all right. Sometimes dey sticks, sometimes dey + don't." The old man shook his white, kinky head. "I'll bust in an' try + to hitch up you-all. I—I dunno whedder de cer'mony will hol' away up + North or not." +</p> +<p> + "It'll be all right anywhere, Parson," said Peter, seriously. "Your name + on the marriage-certificate will—can you write?" +</p> +<p> + "N-no, suh." +</p> +<p> + After a brief hesitation Peter repeated determinedly: +</p> +<p> + "It'll be all right. And, by the way, of course, this will be a very + quiet wedding." +</p> +<p> + "Yas-suh." The old man bobbed importantly. +</p> +<p> + "I wouldn't mention it to any one." +</p> +<p> + "No, suh; no, suh. I don' blame you a-tall, Mr. Peter, wid dat Tump Pack + gallivantin' roun' wid a forty-fo'. Hit would keep 'mos' anybody's + weddin' ve'y quiet onless he wuz lookin' fuh a short cut to heab'n." +</p> +<p> + As the two negroes passed the Berry cabin, Nan Berry thrust out her + spiked head and called to Peter Captain Renfrew wanted to see him. +</p> +<p> + Peter paused, with quickened interest in this strange old man who had + come to his mother's death-bed with a doctor. Peter asked Nan what the + Captain wanted. +</p> +<p> + Nan did not know. Wince Washington had told Nan that the Captain wanted + to see Peter. Bluegum Frakes had told Wince; Jerry Dillihay had told + Bluegum; but any further meanderings of the message, when it started, or + what its details might be, Nan could not state. +</p> +<p> + It was a typical message from a resident of the white town to a denizen + of Niggertown. Such messages are delivered to any black man for any + other black man, not only in the village, but anywhere in the outlying + country. It may be passed on by a dozen or a score of mouths before it + reaches its objective. It may be a day or a week in transit, but + eventually it will be delivered verbatim. This queer system of + communication is a relic of slavery, when the master would send out word + for some special negro out of two or three hundred slaves to report at + the big house. +</p> +<p> + However, as Peter approached the Dildine cabin, thoughts of his + approaching marriage drove from his mind even old Captain Renfrew's + message. His heart beat fast from having made his first formal step + toward wedlock. The thought of having Cissie all to himself, swept his + nerves in a gust. +</p> +<p> + He opened the gate, and ran up between the dusty lines of dwarf box, + eager to tell her what he had done. He thumped on the cracked, unpainted + door, and impatiently waited the skirmish of observation along the edge + of the window-blinds. This was unduly drawn out. Presently he heard + women's voices whispering to each other inside. They seemed urgent, + almost angry voices. Now and then he caught a sentence: +</p> +<p> + "What difference will it make?" "I couldn't." "Why couldn't you?" + "Because—" "That's because you've been to Nashville." "Oh, well—" A + chair was moved over a bare floor. A little later footsteps came to the + entrance, the door opened, and Cissie's withered yellow mother stood + before him. +</p> +<p> + Vannie offered her hand and inquired after Peter's health with a stopped + voice that instantly recalled his mother's death. After the necessary + moment of talk, the mulatto inquired for Cissie. +</p> +<p> + The yellow woman seemed slightly ill at ease. +</p> +<p> + "Cissie ain't so well, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "She's not ill?" +</p> +<p> + "N-no; but the excitement an' ever'thing—" answered Vannie, vaguely. +</p> +<p> + In the flush of his plans, Peter was keenly disappointed. +</p> +<p> + "It's very important, Mrs. Dildine." +</p> +<p> + Vannie's dried yellow face framed the ghost of a smile. +</p> +<p> + "Ever'thing a young man's got to say to a gal is ve'y important, Peter." +</p> +<p> + It seemed to Peter a poor time for a jest; his face warmed faintly. +</p> +<p> + "It—it's about some of the details of our—our wedding." +</p> +<p> + "If you'll excuse her to-day, Peter, an' come after supper—" +</p> +<p> + Peter hesitated, and was about to go away when Cissie's voice came from + an inner room, telling her mother to admit him. +</p> +<p> + The yellow woman glanced at the door on the left side of the hall, + crossed over and opened it, stood to one side while Peter entered, and + closed it after him, leaving the two alone. +</p> +<p> + The room into which Peter stepped was dark, after the fashion of negro + houses. Only after a moment's survey did he see Cissie sitting near a + big fireplace made of rough stone. The girl started to rise as Peter + advanced toward her, but he solicitously forbade it and hurried over to + her. When he leaned over her and put his arms about her, his ardor was + slightly dampened when she gave him her cheek instead of her lips to + kiss. +</p> +<p> + "Surely, you're not too ill to be kissed?" he rallied faintly. +</p> +<p> + "You kissed me. I thought we had agreed, Peter, you were not to come in + the daytime any more." +</p> +<p> + "Oh, is that it?" Peter patted her shoulder, cheerfully. "Don't worry; I + have just removed any reason why I shouldn't come any time I want to." +</p> +<p> + Cissie looked at him, her dark eyes large in the gloom. +</p> +<p> + "What have you done?" +</p> +<p> + "Got a preacher to marry us; on my way now for a license. Dropped in to + ask if you 'll be ready by tomorrow or next day." +</p> +<p> + The girl gasped. +</p> +<p> + "But, Peter—" +</p> +<p> + Peter drew a chair beside her in a serious argumentative mood. +</p> +<p> + "Yes I think we ought to get married at once. No reason why we shouldn't + get it over with—Why, what's the matter?" +</p> +<p> + "So soon after your mother's death, Peter?" +</p> +<p> + "It's to get away from Hooker's Bend, Cissie—to get you away. I don't + like for you to stay here. It's all so—" he broke off, not caring to + open the disagreeable subject. +</p> +<p> + The girl sat staring down at some fagots smoldering on the hearth. At + that moment they broke into flame and illuminated her sad face. +</p> +<p> + "You'll go, won't you?" asked Peter at last, with a faint uncertainty. +</p> +<p> + The girl looked up. +</p> +<p> + "Oh—I—I'd be glad to, Peter,"—she gave a little shiver. "Ugh! this + Niggertown is a—a terrible place!" +</p> +<p> + Peter leaned over, took one of her hands, and patted it. +</p> +<p> + "Then we'll go," he said soothingly. "It's decided—tomorrow. And we'll + have a perfectly lovely wedding trip," he planned cheerfully, to draw + her mind from her mood. "On the car going North I'll get a whole + drawing-room. I've always wanted a drawing-room, and you'll be my + excuse. We'll sit and watch the fields and woods and cities slip past + us, and know, when we get off, we can walk on the streets as freely as + anybody. We'll be a genuine man and wife." +</p> +<p> + His recital somehow stirred him. He took her in his arms, pressed her + cheek to his, and after a moment kissed her lips with the trembling + ardor of a bridegroom. +</p> +<p> + Cissie remained passive a moment, then put up he hands, turned his face + away, and slowly released herself. +</p> +<p> + Peter was taken aback. +</p> +<p> + "What <i>is</i> the matter, Cissie?" +</p> +<p> + "I can't go, Peter." +</p> +<p> + Peter looked at her with a feeling of strangeness. +</p> +<p> + "Can't go?" +</p> +<p> + The girl shook her head. +</p> +<p> + "You mean—you want us to live here?" +</p> +<p> + Cissie sat exceedingly still and barely shook her head. +</p> +<p> + The mulatto had a sensation as if the portals which disclosed a new and + delicious life were slowly closing against him. He stared into her oval + face. +</p> +<p> + "You don't mean, Cissie—you don't mean you don't want to marry me?" +</p> +<p> + The fagots on the hearth burned now with a cheerful flame. Cissie stared + at it, breathing rapidly from the top of her lungs. She seemed about to + faint. As Peter watched her the jealousy of the male crept over him. +</p> +<p> + "Look here, Cissie," he said in a queer voice, "you—you don't mean, + after all, that Tump Pack is—" +</p> +<p> + "Oh no! No!" Her face showed her repulsion. Then she drew a long breath + and apparently made up her mind to some sort of ordeal. +</p> +<p> + "Peter," she asked in a low tone, "did you ever think what we colored + people are trying to reach?" She stared into his uncomprehending eyes. + "I mean what is our aim, our goal, whom are we trying to be like?" +</p> +<p> + "We aren't trying to be like any one." Peter was entirely at a loss. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, yes, we are," Cissie hurried on. "Why do colored girls straighten + their hair, bleach their skins, pinch their feet? Aren't they trying to + look like white girls?" +</p> +<p> + Peter agreed, wondering at her excitement. +</p> +<p> + "And you went North to college, Peter, so you could think and act like a + white man—" +</p> +<p> + Peter resisted this at once; he was copying nobody. The whole object of + college was to develop one's personality, to bring out— +</p> +<p> + The girl stopped his objections almost piteously. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, don't argue! You know arguing throws me off. I—now I've forgotten + how I meant to say it!" Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. +</p> +<p> + Her mood was alarming, almost hysterical. Peter began comforting her. +</p> +<p> + "There, there, dear, dear Cissie, what is the matter? Don't say it at + all." Then, inconsistently, he added: "You said I copied white men. + Well, what of it?" +</p> +<p> + Cissie breathed her relief at having been given the thread of her + discourse. She sat silent for a moment with the air of one screwing up + her courage. +</p> +<p> + "It's this," she said in an uncertain voice: "sometimes we—we—girls— + here in Niggertown copy the wrong thing first." +</p> +<p> + Peter looked blankly at her. +</p> +<p> + "The wrong thing first, Cissie?" +</p> +<p> + "Oh, yes; we—we begin on clothes and—and hair and—and that isn't the + real matter." +</p> +<p> + "Why, no-o-o, that isn't the real matter," said Peter puzzled. +</p> +<p> + Cissie looked at his face and became hopeless. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, <i>don't</i> you understand! Lots of us—lots of us make that + mistake! I—I did; so—so, Peter, I can't go with you!" She flung out + the last phrase, and suddenly collapsed on the arm of her chair, + sobbing. +</p> +<p> + Peter was amazed. He got up, sat on the arm of his own chair next to + hers and put his arms about her, bending over her, mothering her. Her + distress was so great that he said as earnestly as his ignorance + permitted: +</p> +<p> + "Yes, Cissie, I understand now." But his tone belied his words, and the + girl shook her head. "Yes, I do, Cissie," he repeated emptily. But she + only shook her head as she leaned over him, and her tears slowly formed + and trickled down on his hand. Then all at once old Caroline's + accusation against Cissie flashed on Peter's mind. She had stolen that + dinner in the turkey roaster, after all. It so startled him that he sat + up straight. Cissie also sat up. She stopped crying, and sat looking + into the fire. +</p> +<p> + "You mean—morals?" said Peter in a low tone. +</p> +<p> + Cissie barely nodded, her wet eyes fixed on the fire. +</p> +<p> + "I see. I was stupid." +</p> +<p> + The girl sat a moment, drawing deep breaths. At last she rose slowly. +</p> +<p> + "Well—I'm glad it's over. I'm glad you know." She stood looking at him + almost composedly except for her breathing and her tear-stained face. + "You see, Peter, if you had been like Tump Pack or Wince or any of the + boys around here, it—it wouldn't have made much difference; but—but + you went off and—and learned to think and feel like a white man. You— + you changed your code, Peter." She gave a little shaken sound, something + between a sob and a laugh. "I—I don't think th-that's very fair, Peter, + to—to go away an'—an' change an' come back an' judge us with yo' n-new + code." Cissie's precise English broke down. +</p> +<p> + Just then Peter's logic caught at a point. +</p> +<p> + "If you didn't know anything about my code, how do you know what I feel + now?" he asked. +</p> +<p> + She looked at him with a queer expression. +</p> +<p> + "I found out when you kissed me under the arbor. It was too late then." +</p> +<p> + She stood erect, with dismissal very clearly written in her attitude. + Peter walked out of the room. +</p> +<a name="2HCH11"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER VIII +</h2> +<p> + With a certain feeling of clumsiness Peter groped in the dark hall for + his hat, then, as quietly as he could, let himself out at the door. + Outside he was surprised to find that daylight still lingered in the + sky. He thought night had fallen. The sun lay behind the Big Hill, but + its red rays pouring down through the boles of the cedars tinted long + delicate avenues in the dusty atmosphere above his head. A sharp chill + in the air presaged frost for the night. Somewhere in the crescent a boy + yodeled for his dog at about half-minute intervals, with the persistence + of children. +</p> +<p> + Peter walked a little distance, but finally came to a stand in the dust, + looking at the negro cabins, not knowing where to go or what to do. + Cissie's confession had destroyed all his plans. It had left him as + adynamic as had his mother's death. It seemed to Peter that there was a + certain similarity between the two events; both were sudden and + desolating. And just as his mother had vanished utterly from his reach, + so now it seemed Cissie was no more. Cissie the clear-eyed, Cissie the + ambitious, Cissie the refined, had vanished away, and in her place stood + a thief. +</p> +<p> + The thing was grotesque. Peter began a sudden shuddering in the cold. + Then he began moving toward the empty cabin where he slept and kept his + things. He moved along, talking to himself in the dusty emptiness of the + crescent. He decided that he would go home, pack his clothes, and + vanish. A St. Louis boat would be down that night, and he would just + have time to pack his clothes and catch it. He would not take his books, + his philosophies. He would let them remain, in the newspapered room, + until all crumbled into uniform philosophic dust, and the teachings of + Aristotle blew about Niggertown. +</p> +<p> + Then, as he thought of traveling North, the vision of the honeymoon he + had just planned revived his numb brain into a dismal aching. He looked + back through the dusk at the Dildine roof. It stood black against an + opalescent sky. Out of the foreground, bending over it, arose a clump of + tall sunflowers, in whose silhouette hung a suggestion of yellow and + green. The whole scene quivered slightly at every throb of his heart. He + thought what a fool he was to allow a picaresque past to keep him away + from such a woman, how easy it would be to go back to the soft luxury of + Cissie, to tell her it made no difference; and somehow, just at that + moment it seemed not to. +</p> +<p> + Then the point of view which Peter had been four years acquiring swept + away the impulse, and it left him moving toward his cabin again, empty, + cold, and planless. +</p> +<p> + He was drawn out of his reverie by the soft voice of a little negro boy + asking him apprehensively whom he was talking to. +</p> +<p> + Peter stopped, drew forth a handkerchief and dabbed the moisture from + his cold face in the meticulous fashion of college men. +</p> +<p> + With the boy came a dog which was cautiously smelling Peter's shoes and + trousers. Both boy and dog were investigating the phenomenon of Peter. + Peter, in turn, looked down at them with a feeling that they had + materialized out of nothing. +</p> +<p> + "What did you say?" he asked vaguely. +</p> +<p> + The boy was suddenly overcome with the excessive shyness of negro + children, and barely managed to whisper: +</p> +<p> + "I—I ast wh-who you wuz a-talkin' to." +</p> +<p> + "Was I talking?" +</p> +<p> + The little negro nodded, undecided whether to stand his ground or flee. + Peter touched the child's crisp hair. +</p> +<p> + "I was talking to myself," he said, and moved forward again. +</p> +<p> + The child instantly gained confidence at the slight caress, took a fold + of Peter's trousers in his hand for friendliness, and the two trudged on + together. +</p> +<p> + "Wh-whut you talkin' to yo' se'f for?" +</p> +<p> + Peter glanced down at the little black head that promised to think up a + thousand questions. +</p> +<p> + "I was wondering where to go." +</p> +<p> + "Lawsy! is you los' yo' way?" +</p> +<p> + He stroked the little head with a rush of self-pity. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, I have, son; I've completely lost my way." +</p> +<p> + The child twisted his head around and peered up alongside Peter's arm. + Presently he asked: +</p> +<p> + "Ain't you Mr. Peter Siner?" +</p> +<p> + "Yes." +</p> +<p> + "Ain't you de man whut's gwine to ma'y Miss Cissie Dildine?" +</p> +<p> + Peter looked down at his small companion with a certain concern that his + marriage was already gossip known to babes. +</p> +<p> + "I'm Peter Siner," he repeated. +</p> +<p> + "Den I knows which way you wants to go," piped the youngster in sudden + helpfulness. "You wants to go over to Cap'n Renfrew's place acrost de + Big Hill. He done sont fuh you. Mr. Wince Washington tol' me, ef I seed + you, to tell you dat Cap'n Renfrew wants to see you. I dunno whut hit's + about. I ast Wince, an' he didn' know." +</p> +<p> + Peter recalled the message Nan Berry had given him some hours before. + Now the same summons had seeped around to him from another direction. +</p> +<p> + "I—I'll show you de way to Cap'n Renfrew's ef—ef you'll come back wid + me th'ugh de cedar glade," proposed the child. "I—I ain't skeered in de + cedar glade, b-b-but hit's so dark I kain't see my way back home. +</p> +<center> + I—I—" +</center> +<p> + Peter thanked him and declined his services. After all, he might as well + go to see Captain Renfrew. He owed the old gentleman some thanks—and + ten dollars. +</p> +<p> + The only thing of which Peter Siner was aware during his walk over the + Big Hill and through the village was his last scene with Cissie. He went + over it again and again, repeating their conversation, inventing new + replies, framing new action, questioning more fully into the octoroon's + vague confession and his benumbed acceptance of it. The moment his mind + completed the little drama it started again from the very beginning. +</p> +<p> + At Captain Renfrew's gate this mental mummery paused long enough for him + to vacillate between walking in or going around and shouting from the + back gate. It is a point of etiquette in Hooker's Bend that negroes + shall enter a white house from the back stoop. Peter had no desire to + transgress this custom. On the other hand, if Captain Renfrew was + receiving him as a fellow of Harvard, the back door, in its way, would + prove equally embarrassing. +</p> +<p> + After a certain indecision he compromised by entering the front gate and + calling the Captain's name from among the scattered bricks of the old + walk. +</p> +<p> + The house lay silent, half smothered in a dark tangle of shrubbery. + Peter called twice before he heard the shuffle of house slippers, and + then saw the Captain's dressing-gown at the piazza steps. +</p> +<p> + "Is that you, Peter?" came a querulous voice. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, Captain. I was told you wanted to see me." +</p> +<p> + "You've been deliberate in coming," criticized the old gentleman, + testily. "I sent you word by some black rascal three days ago." +</p> +<p> + "I just received the message to-day." Peter remained discreetly at the + gate. +</p> +<p> + "Yes; well, come in, come in. See if you can do anything with this + damnable lamp." +</p> +<p> + The old man turned with a dignified drawing-together of his dressing- + gown and moved back. Apparently, the renovation of a cranky lamp was the + whole content of the Captain's summons to Peter. +</p> +<p> + There was something so characteristic in this incident that Peter was + moved to a vague sense of mirth. It was just like the old régime to call + in a negro, a special negro, from ten miles away to move a jar of ferns + across the lawn or trim a box hedge or fix a lamp. +</p> +<p> + Peter followed the old gentleman around to the back piazza facing his + study. There, laid out on the floor, were all the parts of a gasolene + lamp, together with a pipe-wrench, a hammer, a little old-fashioned + vise, a bar of iron, and an envelop containing the mantels and the more + delicate parts of the lamp. +</p> +<p> + "It's extraordinary to me," criticized the Captain, "why they can't make + a gasolene lamp that will go, and remain in a going condition." +</p> +<p> + "Has it been out of fix for three days?" asked Peter, sorry that the old + gentleman should have lacked a light for so long. +</p> +<p> + "No," growled the Captain; "it started gasping at four o'clock last + night; so I put it out and went to bed. I've been working at it this + evening. There's a little hole in the tip,—if I could see it,—a hair- + sized hole, painfully small. Why any man wants to make gasolene lamps + with microscopic holes that ordinary intelligence must inform him will + become clogged I cannot conceive." +</p> +<p> + Peter ventured no opinion on this trait of lampmakers, but said that if + the Captain knew where he could get an oil hand-lamp for a little more + light, he thought he could unstop the hole. +</p> +<p> + The Captain looked at his helper and shook his head. +</p> +<p> + "I am surprised at you, Peter. When I was your age, I could see an + aperture like that hole under the last quarter of the moon. In this + strong light I could have—er—lunged the cleaner through it, sir. You + must have strained your eyes in college." He paused, then added: "You'll + find hand-lamps in any of the rooms fronting this porch. I don't know + whether they have oil in them or not—the shiftless niggers that come + around to take care of this building—no dependence to be put in them. + When I try it myself, I do even worse." +</p> +<p> + The old gentleman's tone showed that he was thawing out of his irritable + mood, and Peter sensed that he meant to be amusing in an austere, + unsmiling fashion. The Captain rubbed his delicate wrinkled hands + together in a pleased fashion and sat down in a big porch chair to await + Peter's assembling of the lamp. The brown man started down the long + piazza, in search of a hand-light. +</p> +<p> + He found a lamp in the first room he entered, returned to the piazza, + sat down on the edge of it, and began his tinkering. The old Captain + apparently watched him with profound satisfaction. Presently, after the + fashion of the senile, he began endless and minute instructions as to + how the lamp should be cleaned. +</p> +<p> + "Take the wire in your left hand, Peter,—that's right,—now hold the + tip a little closer to the light—no, place the mantels on the right + side—that's the way I do it. System...." the old man's monologue ran on + and on, and became a murmur in Peter's ears. It was rather soothing than + otherwise. Now and then it held tremulous vibrations that might have + been from age or that might have been from some deep satisfaction + mounting even to joy. But to Peter that seemed hardly probable. No doubt + it was senility. The Captain was a tottery old man, past the age for any + fundamental joy. +</p> +<p> + Night had fallen now, and a darkness, musky with autumn weeds, hemmed in + the sphere of yellow light on the old piazza. A black-and-white cat + materialized out of the gloom, purring, and arching against a pillar. + The whole place was filled with a sense of endless leisure. The old man, + the cat, the perfume of the weeds, soothed in Peter even the rawness of + his hurt at Cissie. +</p> +<p> + Indeed, in a way, the old manor became a sort of apology for the + octoroon girl. The height and the reach of the piazza, exaggerated by + the darkness, suggested a time when retinues of negroes passed through + its dignified colonnades. Those black folk were a part of the place. + They came and went, picked up and used what they could, and that was all + life held for them. They were without wage, without rights, even to the + possession of their own bodies; so by necessity they took what they + could. That was only fifty-odd years ago. Thus, in a way, Peter's + surroundings began a subtle explanation of and apology for Cissie, the + whole racial training of black folk in petty thievery. And that this + should have touched Cissie—the meanness, the pathos of her fate moved + Peter. +</p> +<p> + The negro was aroused from his reverie by the old Captain's getting out + of his chair and saying, "Very good," and then Peter saw that he had + finished the lamp. The two men rose and carried it into the study, where + Peter pumped and lighted it; a bit later its brilliant white light + flooded the room. +</p> +<p> + "Quite good." The old Captain stood rubbing his hands with his odd air + of continued delight. "How do you like this place, anyway, Peter?" He + wrapped his gown around him, sat down in the old Morris chair beside the + book-piled table, and indicated another seat for Peter. +</p> +<p> + The mulatto took it, aware of a certain flexing of Hooker's Bend custom, + where negroes, unless old or infirm, are not supposed to sit in the + presence of whites. +</p> +<p> + "Do you mean the study, Captain?" +</p> +<p> + "Yes, the study, the whole place." +</p> +<p> + "It's very pleasant," replied Peter; "it has the atmosphere of age." +</p> +<p> + Captain Renfrew nodded. +</p> +<p> + "These old places," pursued Peter, "always give me an impression of + statesmanship, somehow. I always think of grave old gentlemen busy with + the cares of public policy." +</p> +<p> + The old man seemed gratified. +</p> +<p> + "You are sensitive to atmosphere. If I may say it, every Southron of the + old régime was a statesman by nature and training. The complete care of + two or three hundred negroes, a regard for their bodily, moral, and + spiritual welfare, inevitably led the master into the impersonal + attitude of statecraft. It was a training, sir, in leadership, in social + thinking, in, if you please, altruism." The old gentleman thumped the + arm of his chair with a translucent palm. "Yes, sir, negro slavery was + God's great lesson to the South in altruism and loving-kindness, sir! My + boy, I do believe with all my heart that the institution of slavery was + placed here in God's country to rear up giants of political leadership, + that our nation might weather the revolutions of the world. Oh, the + Yankees are necessary! I know that!" The old Captain held up a palm at + Peter as if repressing an imminent retort. "I know the Yankees are the + Marthas of the nation. They furnish food and fuel to the ship of state, + but, my boy, the reservoir of our country's spiritual and mental + strength, the Mary of our nation, must always be the South. Virginia is + the mother of Presidents!" +</p> +<p> + The Captain's oration left him rather breathless. He paused a moment, + then asked: +</p> +<p> + "Peter, have you ever thought that we men of the leisure class owe a + debt to the world?" +</p> +<p> + Peter smiled. +</p> +<p> + "I know the theory of the leisure class, but I've had very little + practical experience with leisure." +</p> +<p> + "Well, that's a subject close to my heart. As a scholar and a thinker, I + feel that I should give the fruits of my leisure to the world. Er—in + fact, Peter, that is why I sent for you to come and see me." +</p> +<p> + "Why you sent for me?" Peter was surprised at this turn. +</p> +<p> + "Precisely. You." +</p> +<p> + Here the old gentleman got himself out of his chair, walked across to + one of a series of drawers in his bookcases, opened it, and took out a + sheaf of papers and a quart bottle. He brought the papers and the bottle + back to the table, made room for them, put the papers in a neat pile, + and set the bottle at a certain distance from the heap. +</p> +<p> + "Now, Peter, please hand me one of those wineglasses in the religious + section of my library—I always keep two or three glasses among my + religious works, in memory of the fact that our Lord and Master wrought + a miracle at the feast of Cana, especially to bless the cup. Indeed, + Peter, thinking of that miracle at the wedding-feast, I wonder, sir, how + the prohibitionists can defend their conduct even to their own + consciences, because logically, sir, logically, the miracle of our + gracious Lord completely cuts away the ground from beneath their feet! +</p> +<p> + "No wonder, when the Mikado sent a Japanese envoy to America to make a + tentative examination of Christianity as a proper creed for the state + religion of Japan—no wonder, with this miracle flouted by the + prohibitionists, the embassy carried back the report that Americans + really have no faith in the religion they profess. Shameful! Shameful! + Place the glass there on the left of the bottle. A little farther away + from the bottle, please, just a trifle more. Thank you." +</p> +<p> + The Captain poured himself a tiny glassful, and its bouquet immediately + filled the room. There was no guessing how old that whisky was. +</p> +<p> + "I will not break the laws of my country, Peter, no matter how godless + and sacrilegious those laws may be; therefore I cannot offer you a + drink, but you will observe a second glass among the religious works, + and the bottle sits in plain view on the table—er—em." He watched + Peter avail himself of his opportunity, and then added, "Now, you may + just drink to me, standing, as you are, like that." +</p> +<p> + They drank, Peter standing, the old gentleman seated. +</p> +<p> + "It is just as necessary," pursued the old connoisseur, when Peter was + reseated, "it is just as necessary for a gentleman to have a delicate + palate for the tints of the vine as it is for him to have a delicate eye + for the tints of the palette. Nature bestowed a taste both in art and + wine on man, which he should strive to improve at every opportunity. It + is a gift from God. Perhaps you would like another glass. No? Then + accommodate me." +</p> +<p> + He drained this one, with Peter standing, worked his withered lips back + and forth to experience its full taste, then swallowed, and smacked. +</p> +<p> + "Now, Peter," he said, "the reason I asked you to come to see me is that + I need a man about this house. That will be one phase of your work. The + more important part is that you shall serve as a sort of secretary. I + have here a manuscript." He patted the pile of papers. "My handwriting + is rather difficult. I want you to copy this matter out and get it ready + for the printer." +</p> +<p> + Peter became more and more astonished. +</p> +<p> + "Are you offering me a permanent place, Captain Renfrew?" he asked. +</p> +<p> + The old man nodded. +</p> +<p> + "I need a man with a certain liberality of culture. I will no doubt have + you run through books and periodicals and make note of any points + germane to my thesis." +</p> +<p> + Peter looked at the pile of script on the table. +</p> +<p> + "That is very flattering, Captain; but the fact is, I came by your place + at this hour because I am just in the act of leaving here on the + steamboat to-night." +</p> +<p> + The Captain looked at Peter with concern on his face. "Leaving Hooker's + Bend?" +</p> +<p> + "Yes, sir." +</p> +<p> + "Why?" +</p> +<p> + Peter hesitated. +</p> +<p> + "Well, my mother is dead—" +</p> +<p> + "Yes, but your—your—your work is still here, Peter." The Captain fell + into a certain confusion. "A man's work, Peter; a man's work." +</p> +<p> + "Do you mean my school-teaching?" +</p> +<p> + Then came a pause. The conversation somehow had managed to leave them + both somewhat at sea. The Captain began again, in a different tone: +</p> +<p> + "Peter, I wish you to remain here with me for another reason. I am an + old man, Peter. Anything could happen to me here in this big house, and + nobody would know it. I don't like to think of it." The old man's tone + quite painted his fears. "I am not afraid of death, Peter. I have walked + before God all my life save in one or two points, which, I believe, in + His mercy, He has forgiven me; but I cannot endure the idea of being + found here some day in some unconsidered posture, fallen out of a chair, + or a-sprawl on the floor. I wish to die with dignity, Peter, as I have + lived." +</p> +<p> + "Then you mean that you want me to stay here with you until—until the + end, Captain?" +</p> +<p> + The old man nodded. +</p> +<p> + "That is my desire, Peter, for an honorarium which you yourself shall + designate. At my death, you will receive some proper portion of my + estate; in fact, the bulk of my estate, because I leave no other heirs. + I am the last Renfrew of my race, Peter." +</p> +<p> + Peter grew more and more amazed as the old gentleman unfolded this + strange proposal. What queerer, pleasanter berth could he find than that + offered him here in the quietude of the old manor, among books, tending + the feeble flame of this old aristocrat's life? An air of scholasticism + hung about the library. In some corner of this dark oaken library his + philosophies would rest comfortably. +</p> +<p> + Then it occurred to Peter that he would have to continue his sleeping + and eating in Niggertown, and since his mother had died and his rupture + with Cissie, the squalor and smells of the crescent had become + impossible. He told the old Captain his objections as diplomatically as + possible. The old man made short work of them. He wanted Peter to sleep + in the manor within calling distance, and he might begin this very night + and stay on for a week or so as a sort of test whether he liked the + position or not. The Captain waited with some concern until Peter agreed + to a trial. +</p> +<p> + After that the old gentleman talked on interminably of the South, of the + suffrage movement, the destructive influence it would have on the home, + the Irish question, the Indian question, whether the mound-builders did + not spring from the two lost tribes of Israel—an endless outpouring of + curious facts, quaint reasoning, and extraordinary conclusions, all + delivered with the great dignity and in the flowing periods of an + orator. +</p> +<p> + It was fully two o'clock in the morning when it occurred to the Captain + that his new secretary might like to go to bed. The old man took the + hand-lamp which was still burning and led the way out to the back piazza + past a number of doors to a corner bedroom. He shuffled along in his + carpet slippers, followed by the black-and-white cat, which ran along, + making futile efforts to rub itself against his lean shanks. Peter + followed in a sort of stupor from the flood of words, ideas, and strange + fancies that had been poured into his ears. +</p> +<p> + The Captain turned off the piazza into one of those old-fashioned + Southern rooms with full-length windows, which were really glazed doors, + a ceiling so high that Peter could make out only vague concentric rings + of stucco-work among the shadows overhead, and a floor space of ball- + room proportions. In one corner was a huge canopy bed, across from it a + clothes-press of dark wood, and in another corner a large screen hiding + the bathing arrangements. +</p> +<p> + Peter's bedroom was a sleeping apartment, in the old sense of the word + before the term "apartment" had lost its dignity. +</p> +<p> + The Captain placed the lamp on the great table and indicated Peter's + possession with a wave of the hand. +</p> +<p> + "If you stay here, Peter, I will put in a call-bell, so I can awaken you + if I need you during the night. Now I wish you healthful slumbers and + pleasant dreams." With that the old gentleman withdrew ceremoniously. +</p> +<p> + When the Captain was gone, the mulatto remained standing in the vast + expanse, marveling over this queer turn of fortune. Why Captain Renfrew + had selected him as a secretary and companion Peter could not fancy. +</p> +<p> + The magnificence of his surroundings revived his late dream of a + honeymoon with Cissie. Certainly, in his fancy, he had visioned a + honeymoon in Pullman parlor cars and suburban bungalows. He had been + mistaken. This great chamber rose about him like a corrected proof of + his desire. +</p> +<p> + Into just such a room he would like to lead Cissie; into this great room + that breathed pride and dignity. What a glowing heart the girl would + have made for its somber magnificence! +</p> +<p> + He walked over to the full-length windows and opened them; then he + unbolted the jalousies outside and swung them back. The musk of autumn + weeds breathed in out of the darkness. Peter drew a long breath, with a + sort of wistful melting in his chest. +</p> +<a name="2HCH12"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER IX +</h2> +<p> + A turmoil aroused Peter Siner the next morning, and when he discovered + where he was, in the big canopy bed in the great room, he listened + curiously and heard a continuous chattering and quarreling. After a + minute or two he recognized the voice of old Rose Hobbett. Rose was + cooking the Captain's breakfast, and she performed this function in a + kind of solitary rage. She banged the vessels, slammed the stove-eyes on + and off, flung the stove-wood about, and kept up a snarling + animadversion upon every topic that drifted through her kinky head. She + called the kitchen a rat-hole, stated the Captain must be as mean as the + devil to live as long as he did, complained that no one ever paid any + attention to her, that she might as well be a stray cat, and so on. +</p> +<p> + As Peter grew wider awake, the monotony of the old negress's rancor + faded into an unobserved noise. He sat up on the edge of his bed between + the parted curtains and divined there was a bath behind the screen in + the corner of his room. Sure enough, he found two frayed but clean + towels, a pan, a pitcher, and a small tub all made of tin. Peter + assembled his find and began splashing his heavily molded chest with a + feeling of well-being. As he splashed on the water, he amused himself by + listening again to old Rose. She was now complaining that some white + young'uns had called her "raving Rose." She hoped "God'lmighty would + send down two she bears and eat 'em up." Peter was amazed by the old + crone's ability to maintain an unending flow of concentrated and aimless + virulence. +</p> +<p> + The kitchen of the Renfrew manor was a separate building, and presently + Peter saw old Rose carrying great platters across the weed-grown + compound into the dining-room. She bore plate after plate piled high + with cookery,—enough for a company of men. A little later came a + clangor on a rusty triangle, as if she were summoning a house party. Old + Rose did things in a wholesale spirit. +</p> +<p> + Peter started for his door, but when he had opened the shutter, he stood + hesitating. Breakfast introduced another delicate problem. He decided + not to go to the dining-room at once, but to wait and allow Captain + Renfrew to indicate whether he, Peter, should break his fast with the + master in the dining-room or with old Rose in the kitchen. +</p> +<p> + A moment later he saw the Captain coming down the long back piazza. + Peter almost addressed his host, but the old Southerner proceeded into + the dining-room apparently without seeing Peter at all. +</p> +<p> + The guest was gathering his breath to call good morning, but took the + cue with a negro's sensitiveness, and let his eyes run along the weeds + in the compound. The drying stalks were woven with endless spider-webs, + all white with frost. Peter stood regarding their delicate geometries a + moment longer and then reentered his room, not knowing precisely what to + do. He could hear Rose walking across the piazza to and from the dining- + room, and the clink of tableware. A few minutes later a knock came at + his door, and the old woman entered with a huge salver covered with + steaming dishes. +</p> +<p> + The negress came into the room scowling, and seemed doubtful for a + moment just how to shut the door and still hold the tray with both + hands. She solved the problem by backing against the door tremendously. + Then she saw Peter. She straightened and stared at him with outraged + dignity. +</p> +<p> + "Well, 'fo' Gawd! Is I bringin' dish-here breakfus' to a nigger?" +</p> +<p> + "I suppose it's mine," agreed Peter, amused. +</p> +<p> + "But whuffo, whuffo, nigger, is it dat you ain't come to de kitchen an' + eat off'n de shelf? Is you sick?" +</p> +<p> + Peter admitted fair bodily vigor. +</p> +<p> + "Den whut de debbil is I got into!" cried Rose, angrily. "I ain't gwine + wuck at no sich place, ca'yin' breakfus' to a big beef uv a nigger, + stout as a mule. Say, nigger, wha-chu doin' in heah, anyway? Hoccum + dis?" +</p> +<p> + Peter tried to explain that he was there to do a little writing for the + Captain. +</p> +<p> + "Well, 'fo' Gawd, when niggers gits to writin' fuh white folks, ants'll + be jumpin' fuh bullfrogs—an havin' other niggers bring dey breakfusses. + You jes as much a nigger as I is, Peter Siner, de brightes' day you ever + seen!" +</p> +<p> + Peter began a conciliatory phrase. +</p> +<p> + Old Rose banged the platter on the table and then threatened: +</p> +<p> + "Dis is de las' time I fetches a moufful to you, Peter Siner, or any + other nigger. You ain't no black Jesus, even ef you is a woods calf." +</p> +<p> + Peter paused in drawing a chair to the table. +</p> +<p> + "What did you say, Rose?" he asked sharply. +</p> +<p> + "You heared whut I say." +</p> +<p> + A wave of anger went over Peter. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, I did. You ought to be ashamed to speak ill of the dead." +</p> +<p> + The crone tossed her malicious head, a little abashed, perhaps, yet very + glad she had succeeded in hurting Peter. She turned and went out the + door, mumbling something which might have been apology or renewed + invectives. +</p> +<p> + Peter watched the old virago close the door and then sat down to his + breakfast. His anger presently died away, and he sat wondering what + could have happened to Rose Hobbett that had corroded her whole + existence. Did she enjoy her vituperation, her continual malice? He + tried to imagine how she felt. +</p> +<p> + The breakfast Rose had brought him was delicious: hot biscuits of + feathery lightness, three wide slices of ham, a bowl of scrambled eggs, + a pot of coffee, some preserved raspberries, and a tiny glass of whisky. +</p> +<p> + The plate which Captain Renfrew had set before his guest was a delicate + dawn pink ringed with a wreath of holly. It was old Worcester porcelain + of about the decade of 1760. The coffee-pot was really an old Whieldon + teapot in broad cauliflower design. Age and careless heating had given + the surface a fine reticulation. His cup and saucer, on the contrary, + were thick pieces of ware such as the cabin-boys toss about on + steamboats. The whole ceramic mélange told of the fortuities of English + colonial and early American life, of the migration of families westward. + No doubt, once upon a time, that dawn-pink Worcester had married into a + Whieldon cauliflower family. A queer sort of genealogy might be traced + among Southern families through their mixtures of tableware. +</p> +<p> + As Peter mused over these implications of long ancestral lines, it + reminded him that he had none. Over his own past, over the lineage of + nearly every negro in the South, hung a curtain. Even the names of the + colored folk meant nothing, and gave no hint of their kin and clan. At + the end of the war between the States, Peter's people had selected names + for themselves, casually, as children pick up a pretty stone. They meant + nothing. It occurred to Peter for the first time, as he sat looking at + the chinaware, that he knew nothing about himself; whether his kinsmen + were valiant or recreant he did not know. Even his own father he knew + little about except that his mother had said his name was Peter, like + his own, and that he had gone down the river on a tie boat and was + drowned. +</p> +<p> + A faint sound attracted Peter's attention. He looked out at his open + window and saw old Rose making off the back way with something concealed + under her petticoat. Peter knew it was the unused ham and biscuits that + she had cooked. For once the old negress hurried along without railing + at the world. She moved with a silent, but, in a way, self-respecting, + flight. Peter could see by the tilt of her head and the set of her + shoulders that not only did her spoil gratify her enmity to mankind in + general and the Captain in particular, but she was well within her + rights in her acquisition. She disappeared around a syringa bush, and + was heard no more until she reappeared to cook the noon meal, as + vitriolic as ever. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + When Peter entered the library, old Captain Renfrew greeted him with + morning wishes, thus sustaining the fiction that they had not seen each + other before, that morning. +</p> +<p> + The old gentleman seemed pleased but somewhat excited over his new + secretary. He moved some of his books aimlessly from one table to + another, placed them in exact piles as if he were just about to plunge + into heroic labor, and could not give time to such details once he had + begun. +</p> +<p> + As he arranged his books just so, he cleared his throat. +</p> +<p> + "Now, Peter, we want to get down to this," he announced dynamically; "do + this thing, shove this work out!" He started with tottery briskness + around to his manuscript drawer, but veered off to the left to aline + some magazines. "System, Peter, system. Without system one may well be + hopeless of performing any great literary labor; but with system, the + constant piling up of brick on brick, stone on stone—it's the way Rome + was built, my boy." +</p> +<p> + Peter made a murmur supposed to acknowledge the correctness of this + view. +</p> +<p> + Eventually the old Captain drew out his drawer of manuscript, stood + fumbling with it uncertainly. Now and then he glanced at Peter, a + genuine secretary who stood ready to help him in his undertaking. The + old gentleman picked up some sheets of his manuscript, seemed about to + read them aloud, but after a moment shook his head, and said, "No, we'll + do that to-night," and restored them to their places. Finally he turned + to his helper. +</p> +<p> + "Now, Peter," he explained, "in doing this work, I always write at + night. It's quieter then,—less distraction. My mornings I spend + downtown in conversation with my friends. If you should need me, Peter, + you can walk down and find me in front of the livery-stable. I sit there + for a while each morning." +</p> +<p> + The gravity with which he gave this schedule of his personal habits + amused Peter, who bowed with a serious, "Very well, Captain." +</p> +<p> + "And in the meantime," pursued the old man, looking vaguely about the + room, "you will do well to familiarize yourself with my library in order + that you may be properly qualified for your secretarial labors." +</p> +<p> + Peter agreed again. +</p> +<p> + "And now if you will get my hat and coat, I will be off and let you go + to work," concluded the Captain, with an air of continued urgency. +</p> +<p> + Peter became thoroughly amused at such an outcome of the old gentleman's + headlong attack on his work,—a stroll down to the village to hold + conversation with friends. The mulatto walked unsmilingly to a little + closet where the Captain hung his things. He took down the old + gentleman's tall hat, a gray greatcoat worn shiny about the shoulders + and tail, and a finely carved walnut cane. Some reminiscence of the + manners of butlers which Peter had seen in theaters caused him to swing + the overcoat across his left arm and polish the thin nap of the old hat + with his right sleeve. He presented it to his employer with a certain + duplication of a butler's obsequiousness. He offered the overcoat to the + old gentleman's arms with the same air. Then he held up the collar of + the greatcoat with one hand and with the other reached under its skirts, + and drew down the Captain's long day coat with little jerks, as if he + were going through a ritual. +</p> +<p> + Peter grew more and more hilarious over his barber's manners. It was his + contribution to the old gentleman's literary labors, and he was doing it + beautifully, so he thought. He was just making some minute adjustments + of the collar when, to his amazement, Captain Renfrew turned on him. +</p> +<p> + "Damn it, sir!" he flared out. "What do you think you are? I didn't + engage you for a kowtowing valet in waiting, sir! I asked you, sir, to + come under my roof as an intellectual co-worker, as one gentleman asks + another, and here you are making these niggery motions! They are + disgusting! They are defiling! They are beneath the dignity of one + gentleman to another, sir! What makes it more degrading, I perceive by + your mannerism that you assume a specious servility, sir, as if you + would flatter me by it!" +</p> +<p> + The old lawyer's face was white. His angry old eyes jerked Peter out of + his slight mummery. The negro felt oddly like a grammar-school boy + caught making faces behind his master's back. It shocked him into + sincerer manners. +</p> +<p> + "Captain," he said with a certain stiffness, "I apologize for my + mistake; but may I ask how you desire me to act?" +</p> +<p> + "Simply, naturally, sir," thundered the Captain, "as one alumnus of + Harvard to another! It is quite proper for a young man, sir, to assist + an old gentleman with his hat and coat, but without fripperies and + genuflections and absurdities!" +</p> +<p> + The old man's hauteur touched some spring of resentment in Peter. He + shook his head. +</p> +<p> + "No, Captain; our lack of sympathy goes deeper than manners. My position + here is anomalous. For instance, I can talk to you sitting, I can drink + with you standing, but I can't breakfast with you at all. I do that + <i>in camera</i>, like a disgraceful divorce proceeding. It's precisely + as I was treated coming down here South again; it's as I've been treated + ever since I've been back; it's—" He paused abruptly and swallowed down + the rancor that filled him. "No," he repeated in a different tone, + "there is no earthly excuse for me to remain here, Captain, or to let + you go on measuring out your indulgences to me. There is no way for us + to get together or to work together—not this far South. Let me thank + you for a night's entertainment and go." +</p> +<p> + Peter turned about, meaning to make an end of this queer adventure. +</p> +<p> + The old Captain watched him, and his pallor increased. He lifted an + unsteady hand. +</p> +<p> + "No, no, Peter," he objected, "not so soon. This has been no trial, no + fair trial. The little—little—er—details of our domestic life here, + they will—er—arrange themselves, Peter. Gossip—talk, you know, we + must avoid that." The old lawyer stood staring with strange eyes at his + protégé. "I—I'm interested in you, Peter. My actions may seem—odd, + but—er—a negro boy going off and doing what you have done— + extraordinary. I—I have spoken to your mother, Caroline, about you + often. In fact, Peter, I—I made some little advances in order that you + might complete your studies. Now, now, don't thank me! It was purely + impersonal. You seemed bright. I have often thought we gentle people of + the South ought to do more to encourage our black folk—not—not as + social equals—" Here the old gentleman made a wry mouth as if he had + tasted salt. +</p> +<p> + "Stay here and look over the library," he broke off abruptly. "We can + arrange some ground of—of common action, some—" +</p> +<p> + He settled the lapels of his great-coat with precision, addressed his + palm to the knob of his stick, and marched stiffly out of the library, + around the piazza, and along the dismantled walk to the front gate. +</p> +<p> + Peter stood utterly astonished at this strange information. Suddenly he + ran after the old lawyer, and rounded the turn of the piazza in time to + see him walk stiffly down the shaded street with tremulous dignity. The + old gentleman was much the same as usual, a little shakier, perhaps, his + tall hat a little more polished, his shiny gray overcoat set a little + more snugly at the collar. +</p> +<a name="2HCH13"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER X +</h2> +<p> + The village of Hooker's Bend amuses itself mainly with questionable + jests that range all the way from the slightly brackish to the + hopelessly obscene. Now, in using this type of anecdote, the Hooker's- + Benders must not be thought to design an attack upon the decencies of + life; on the contrary, they are relying on the fact that their hearers + have, in the depths of their beings, a profound reverence for the object + of their sallies. And so, by taking advantage of the moral shock they + produce and linking it to the idea of an absurdity, they convert the + whole psychical reaction into an explosion of humor. Thus the ring of + raconteurs telling blackguardly stories around the stoves in Hooker's + Bend stores, are, in reality, exercising one another in the more + delicate sentiments of life, and may very well be classed as a round + table of Sir Galahads, <i>sans peur et sans reproche</i>. +</p> +<p> + However, the best men weary in well doing, and for the last few days + Hooker's Bend had switched from its intellectual staple of conversation + to consider the comedy of Tump Pack's undoing. The incident held + undeniably comic elements. For Tump to start out carrying a forty-four, + meaning to blow a rival out of his path, and to wind up hard at work, + picking cotton at nothing a day for a man whose offer of three dollars a + day he had just refused, certainly held the makings of a farce. +</p> +<p> + On the heels of this came the news that Peter Siner meant to take + advantage of Tump's arrest and marry Cissie Dildine. Old Parson Ranson + was responsible for the spread of this last rumor. He had fumbled badly + in his effort to hold Peter's secret. Not once, but many times, always + guarded by a pledge of secrecy, had he revealed the approaching wedding. + When pressed for a date, the old negro said he was "not at lib'ty to + tell." +</p> +<p> + Up to this point white criticism viewed the stage-setting of the black + comedy with the impersonal interest of a box party. Some of the round + table said they believed there would be a dead coon or so before the + scrape was over. +</p> +<p> + Dawson Bobbs, the ponderous constable, went to the trouble to telephone + Mr. Cicero Throgmartin, for whom Tump was working, cautioning + Throgmartin to make sure that Tump Pack was in the sleeping-shack every + night, as he might get wind of the wedding and take a notion to bolt and + stop it. "You know, you can't tell what a fool nigger'll do," finished + Bobbs. +</p> +<p> + Throgmartin was mildly amused, promised the necessary precautions, and + said: +</p> +<p> + "It looks like Peter has put one over on Tump, and maybe a college + education does help a nigger some, after all." +</p> +<p> + The constable thought it was just luck. +</p> +<p> + "Well, I dunno," said Throgmartin, who was a philosopher, and inclined + to view every matter from various angles. "Peter may of worked this out + somehow." +</p> +<p> + "Have you heard what Henry Hooker done to Siner in the land deal?" +</p> +<p> + Throgmartin said he had. +</p> +<p> + "No, I don't mean <i>that</i>. I mean Henry's last wrinkle in + garnisheeing old Ca'line's estate in his bank for the rest of the + purchase money on the Dilihay place." +</p> +<p> + There was a pause. +</p> +<p> + "You don't mean it!" +</p> +<p> + "Damn 'f I don't." +</p> +<p> + The constable's sentence shook with suppressed mirth, and the next + moment roars of laughter came over the telephone wire. +</p> +<p> + "Say, ain't he the bird!" +</p> +<p> + "He's the original early bird. I'd like to get a snap-shot of the worm + that gets away from him." +</p> +<p> + Both men laughed heartily again. +</p> +<p> + "But, say," objected Throgmartin, who was something of a lawyer + himself,—as, indeed, all Southern men are,—"I thought the Sons and + Daughters of Benevolence owed Hooker, not Peter Siner, nor Ca'line's + estate." +</p> +<p> + "Well, it <i>is</i> the Sons and Daughters, but Ca'line was one of 'em, + and they ain't no limited li'bility 'sociation. Henry can jump on + anything any of 'em's got. Henry got the Persimmon to bring him a copy + of their by-laws." +</p> +<p> + "Well, I swear! Say, if Henry wasn't kind of held back by his religion, + he'd use a gun, wouldn't he?" +</p> +<p> + "I dunno. I can say this for Henry's religion: 'It's jest like Henry's + wife,—it's the dearest thing to his heart; he'd give his life for it, + but it don't do nobody a damn bit of good except jest Henry.'" +</p> +<p> + The constable's little eyes twinkled as he heard Throgmartin roaring + with laughter and sputtering appreciative oaths. +</p> +<p> + At that moment a ringing of the bell jarred the ears of both + telephonists. A voice asked for Dr. Jallup. It was an ill time to + interrupt two gentlemen. The flair of a jest is lost in a pause. The + officer stated sharply that he was the constable of Wayne County and was + talking business about the county's prisoners. His tone was so charged + with consequence that the voice that wanted a doctor apologized hastily + and ceased. +</p> +<p> + Came a pause in which neither man found anything to say. Laughter is + like that,—a gay bubble that a touch will destroy. Presently Bobbs + continued, gravely enough: +</p> +<p> + "Talking about Siner, he's stayin' up at old man Renfrew's now." +</p> +<p> + "'At so?" +</p> +<p> + "Old Rose Hobbett swears he's doin' some sort of writin' up there and + livin' in one of the old man's best rooms." +</p> +<p> + "Hell he is!" +</p> +<p> + "Yeah?" the constable's voice questioned Throgmartin's opinion about + such heresy and expressed his own. +</p> +<p> + "D' recken it's so? Old Rose is such a thief and a liar." +</p> +<p> + "Nope," declared the constable, "the old nigger never would of made up a + lie like that,—never would of thought of it. Old Cap'n Renfrew's + gettin' childish; this nigger's takin' advantage of it. Down at the + liver'-stable the boys were talkin' about Siner goin' to git married, + an' dern if old man Renfrew didn't git cut up about it!" +</p> +<p> + "Well," opined Throgmartin, charitably, "the old man livin' there all by + himself—I reckon even a nigger is some comp'ny. They're funny damn + things, niggers is; never know a care nor trouble. Lord! I wish I was as + care-free as they are!" +</p> +<p> + "Don't you, though!" agreed the constable, with the weight of the white + man's burden on his shoulders. For this is a part of the Southern + credo,—that all negroes are gay, care-free, and happy, and that if one + could only be like the negroes, gay, care-free, and happy—Ah, if one + could only be like the negroes! +</p> +<p> + None of this gossip reached Peter directly, but a sort of back-wash did + catch him keenly through young Sam Arkwright and serve as a conundrum + for several days. +</p> +<p> + One morning Peter was bringing an armful of groceries up the street to + the old manor, and he met the boy coming in the opposite direction. The + negro's mind was centered on a peculiar problem he had found in the + Renfrew library, so, according to a habit he had acquired in Boston, he + took the right-hand side of the pavement, which chanced to be the inner + side. This violated a Hooker's-Bend convention, which decrees that when + a white and a black meet on the sidewalk, the black man invariably shall + take the outer side. +</p> +<p> + For this <i>faux pas</i> the gangling youth stopped Peter, fell to + abusing and cursing him for his impudence, his egotism, his attempt at + social equality,—all of which charges, no doubt, were echoes from the + round table. Such wrath over such an offense was unusual. Ordinarily, a + white villager would have thought several uncomplimentary things about + Peter, but would have said nothing. +</p> +<p> + Peter stopped with a shock of surprise, then listened to the whole + diatribe with a rising sense of irritation and irony. Finally, without a + word, he corrected his mistake by retracing his steps and passing Sam + again, this time on the outside. +</p> +<p> + Peter walked on up the street, outwardly calm, but his ears burned, and + the queer indignity stuck in his mind. As he went along he invented all + sorts of ironical remarks he might have made to Arkwright, which would + have been unwise; then he thought of sober reasoning he could have used, + which would perhaps have been just as ill-advised. Still later he + wondered why Arkwright had fallen into such a rage over such a trifle. + Peter felt sure there was some contributing rancor in the youth's mind. + Perhaps he had received a scolding at home or a whipping at school, or + perhaps he was in the midst of one of those queer attacks of megalomania + from which adolescents are chronic sufferers. Peter fancied this and + that, but he never came within hail of the actual reason. +</p> +<p> + When the brown man reached the old manor, the quietude of the library, + with its blackened mahogany table, its faded green Axminster, the + meridional globe with its dusty twinkle, banished the incident from his + mind. He returned to his work of card-indexing the Captain's books. He + took half a dozen at a time from the shelves, dusted them on the piazza, + then carried them to the embrasure of the window, which offered a + pleasant light for reading and for writing the cards. +</p> +<p> + He went through volume after volume,—speeches by Clay, Calhoun, Yancy, + Prentiss, Breckenridge; an old life of General Taylor, Foxe's "Book of + Martyrs"; a collection of the old middle-English dramatists, such as + Lillo, Garrick, Arthur Murphy, Charles Macklin, George Colman, Charles + Coffey, men whose plays have long since declined from the boards and + disappeared from the reading-table. +</p> +<p> + The Captain's collection of books was strongly colored by a religious + cast,—John Wesley's sermons, Charles Wesley's hymns; a treatise + presenting a biblical proof that negroes have no souls; a little book + called "Flowers Gathered," which purported to be a compilation of the + sayings of ultra-pious children, all of whom died young; an old book + called "Elements of Criticism," by Henry Home of Kames; another tome + entitled "Studies of Nature," by St. Pierre. This last was a long + argument for the miraculous creation of the world as set forth in + Genesis. The proof offered was a résumé of the vegetable, animal, and + mineral kingdoms, showing their perfect fitness for man's use, and the + immediate induction was that they were designed for man's use. Still + another work calculated the exact age of the earth by the naïve method + of counting the generations from Adam to Christ, to the total adding + eighteen hundred and eighty-five years (for the book was written in + 1885), and the original six days it required the Lord to build the + earth. By referring to Genesis and finding out precisely what the + Creator did on the morning of the first day, the writer contrived to + bring his calculation of the age of the earth and everything in the + world to a precision of six hours, give or take,—a somewhat closer + schedule than that made by the Tennessee river boats coming up from St. + Louis. +</p> +<p> + These and similar volumes formed the scientific section of Captain + Renfrew's library, and it was this paucity of the natural sciences that + formed the problem which Peter tried to solve. All scientific additions + came to an abrupt stop about the decade of 1880-90. That was the date + when Charles Darwin's great fructifying theory, enunciated in 1859, + began to seep into the South. +</p> +<p> + In the Captain's library the only notice of evolution was a book called + "Darwinism Dethroned." As for the elaborations of the Darwinian + hypothesis by Spencer, Fiske, DeVries, Weismann, Haeckel, Kidd, Bergson, + and every subsequent philosophic or biologic writer, all these men might + never have written a line so far as Captain Renfrew's library was + informed. +</p> +<p> + Now, why such extraordinary occlusions? Why should Captain Renfrew deny + himself the very commonplaces of thought, theories familiarly held by + the rest of America, and, indeed, by all the rest of the civilized + world? +</p> +<p> + Musing by the window, Peter succeeded in stating his problem more + broadly: Why was Captain Renfrew an intellectual reactionist? The old + gentleman was the reverse of stupid. Why should he confine his selection + of books to a few old oddities that had lost their battle against a + theory which had captured the intellectual world fifty years before? +</p> +<p> + Nor was it Captain Renfrew alone. Now and then Peter saw editorials + appearing in leading Southern journals, seriously attacking the + evolutionary hypothesis. Ministers in respectable churches still + fulminated against it. Peter knew that the whole South still clings, in + a way, to the miraculous and special creation of the earth as described + in Genesis. It clings with an intransigentism and bitterness far + exceeding other part of America. Why? To Peter the problem appeared + insoluble. +</p> +<p> + He sat by the window lost in his reverie. Just outside the ledge half a + dozen English sparrows abused one another with chirps that came faintly + through the small diamond panes. Their quick movements held Peter's + eyes, and their endless quarreling presently recalled his episode with + young Arkwright. It occurred to him, casually, that when Arkwright grew + up he would subscribe to every reactionary doctrine set forth in the + library Peter was indexing. +</p> +<p> + With that thought came a sort of mental flare, as if he were about to + find the answer to the whole question through the concrete attack made + on him by Sam. +</p> +<p> + It is an extraordinary feeling,—the sudden, joyful dawn of a new idea. + Peter sat up sharply and leaned forward with a sense of being right on + the fringe of a new and a great perception. Young Arkwright, the old + Captain, the whole South, were unfolding themselves in a vast answer, + when a movement outside the window caught the negro's introspective + eyes. +</p> +<p> + A girl was passing; a girl in a yellow dress was passing the Renfrew + gate. Even then Peter would not have wavered in his synthesis had not + the girl paused slightly and given a swift side glance at the old manor. + Then the man in the window recognized Cissie Dildine. +</p> +<p> + A slight shock traveled through Siner's body at the sight of Cissie's + colorless face and darkened eyes. He stood up abruptly, with a feeling + that he had some urgent thing to say to the young woman. His sharp + movement toppled over the big globe. +</p> +<p> + The crash caused the girl to stop and look. For a moment they stood + thus, the girl in the chill street, the man in the pleasant window, + looking at each other. Next moment Cissie hurried on up the village + street toward the Arkwright house. No doubt she was on her way to cook + the noon meal. +</p> +<p> + Peter remained standing at the window, with a heavily beating heart. He + watched her until she vanished behind a wing of the shrubbery in the + Renfrew yard. +</p> +<p> + When she had gone, he looked at his books and cards, sat down, and tried + to resume his indexing. But his mind played away from it like a restive + horse. It had been two weeks since he last saw Cissie. Two weeks.... His + nerves vibrated like the strings of a pianoforte. He had scarcely + thought of her during the fortnight; but now, having seen her, he found + himself powerless to go on with his work. He pottered a while longer + among the books and cards, but they were meaningless. They appeared an + utter futility. Why index a lot of nonsense? Somehow this recalled his + flare, his adumbration of some great idea connected with young Arkwright + and the old Captain, and the South. +</p> +<p> + He put his trembling nerves to work, trying to recapture his line of + thought. He sat for ten minutes, following this mental train, then that, + losing one, groping for another. His thoughts were jumpy. They played + about Arkwright, the Captain, Cissie, his mother's death, Tump Pack in + prison, the quarrel between the Persimmon and Jim Pink Staggs. The whole + of Niggertown came rushing down upon him, seizing him in its passion and + dustiness and greasiness, putting to flight all his cultivated white-man + ideas. +</p> +<p> + After half an hour's searching he gave it up. Before he left the room he + stooped, and tried to set up again the globe that the passing of the + girl had caused him to throw down; but its pivot was out of plumb, and + he had to lean it against the window-seat. +</p> +<p> + The sight of Captain Renfrew coming in at the gate sent Peter to his + room. The hour was near twelve, and it had become a little point of + household etiquette for the mulatto and the white man not to be together + when old Rose jangled the triangle. By this means they forestalled the + mute discourtesy of the old Captain's walking away from his secretary to + eat. The subject of their separate meals had never been mentioned since + their first acrimonious morning. The matter had dropped into the + abeyance of custom, just as the old gentleman had predicted. +</p> +<p> + Peter had left open his jalousies, but his windows were closed, and now + as he entered he found his apartment flooded with sunshine and filled + with that equable warmth that comes of straining sunbeams through glass. +</p> +<p> + He prepared for dinner with his mind still hovering about Cissie. He + removed a book and a lamp from the lion-footed table, and drew up an old + chair with which the Captain had furnished his room. It was a delicate + old Heppelwhite of rosewood. It had lost a finial from one of its back + standards, and a round was gone from the left side. Peter never moved + the chair that vague plans sometime to repair it did not occur to him. +</p> +<p> + When he had cleared his table and placed his chair beside it, he + wandered over to his tall west window and stood looking up the street + through the brilliant sunshine, toward the Arkwright home. No one was in + sight. In Hooker's Bend every one dines precisely at twelve, and at that + hour the streets are empty. It would be some time before Cissie came + back down the street on her way to Niggertown. She first would have to + wash and put away the Arkwright dishes. It would be somewhere about one + o'clock. Nevertheless, he kept staring out through the radiance of the + autumn sunlight with an irrational feeling that she might appear at any + moment. He was afraid she would slip past and he not see her at all. The + thought disturbed him somewhat. It kept him sufficiently on the alert to + stand tapping the balls of his fingers against the glass and looking + steadily toward the Arkwright house. +</p> +<p> + Presently the watcher perceived that a myriad spider-webs filled the + sunshine with a delicate dancing glister. It was the month of voyaging + spiders. Invisible to Peter, the tiny spinners climbed to the tip-most + twigs of the dead weeds, listed their abdomens, and lassoed the wind + with gossamer lariats; then they let go and sailed away to a hazard of + new fortunes. The air was full of the tiny adventurers. As he stared up + the street, Peter caught the glint of these invisible airships whisking + away to whatever chance might hold for them. There was something epic in + it. It recalled to the mulatto's mind some of Fabre's lovely + descriptions. It reminded him of two or three books on entomology which + he had left in his mother's cabin. He felt he ought to go after them + while the spiders were migrating. He suddenly made up his mind he would + go at once, as soon as he had had dinner; somewhere about one o'clock. +</p> +<p> + He looked again at the Arkwright house. The thought of walking down the + street with Cissie, to get his books, quickened his heart. +</p> +<p> + He was still at the window when his door opened and old Rose entered + with his dinner. She growled under her breath all the way from the door + to the table on which she placed the tray. Only a single phrase detached + itself and stood out clearly amid her mutterings, "Hope it chokes you." +</p> +<p> + Peter arranged his chair and table with reference to the window, so he + could look up the street while he was eating his dinner. +</p> +<p> + The ill-wishing Rose had again furnished a gourmet's meal, but Peter's + preoccupation prevented its careful and appreciative gustation. An + irrational feeling of the octoroon's imminence spurred him to fast + eating. He had hardly begun his soup before he found himself drinking + swiftly, looking up the street over his spoon, as if he meant to rush + out and swing aboard a passing train. +</p> +<p> + Siner checked his precipitation, annoyed at himself. He began again, + deliberately, with an attempt to keep his mind on the savor of his food. + He even thought of abandoning his little design of going for the books; + or he would go at a different hour, or to-morrow, or not at all. He told + himself he would far better allow Cissie Dildine to pass and repass + unspoken to, instead of trying to arrange an accidental meeting. But the + brown man's nerves wouldn't hear to it. That automatic portion of his + brain and spinal column which, physiologists assert, performs three + fourths of a man's actions and conditions nine tenths of his volitions— + that part of Peter wouldn't consider it. It began to get jumpy and + scatter havoc in Peter's thoughts at the mere suggestion of not seeing + Cissie. Imperceptibly this radical left wing of his emotions speeded up + his meal, again. He caught himself, stopped his knife and fork in the + act of rending apart a broiled chicken. +</p> +<p> + "Confound it! I'll start when she comes in sight, no matter whether I've + finished this meal or not," he promised himself. +</p> +<p> + And suddenly he felt unhurried, in the midst of a large leisure, with a + savory broiled chicken dinner before him,—not exactly before him, + either; most of it had been stuffed away. Only the fag-end remained on + his plate. A perfectly good meal had been ruined by an ill-timed + resistance to temptation. +</p> +<p> + The glint of a yellow dress far up the street had just prompted him to + swift action when the door opened and old Rose put her head in to say + that Captain Renfrew wanted to see Peter in the library. +</p> +<p> + The brown man came to a shocked standstill. +</p> +<p> + "What! Right now?" he asked. +</p> +<p> + "Yeah, right now," carped Rose. "Ever'thing he wants, he wants right + now. He's been res'less as a cat in a bulldog's den ever sence he come + home fuh dinner. Dunno whut's come into he ole bones, runnin' th'ugh his + dinner lak a razo'-back." She withdrew in a continued mumble of censure. +</p> +<p> + Peter cast a glance up the street, timed Cissie's arrival at the front + gate, picked up his hat, and walked briskly to the library in the hope + of finishing any business the Captain might have, in time to encounter + the octoroon. He even began making some little conversational plans with + which he could meet Cissie in a simple, unstudied manner. He recalled + with a certain satisfaction that he had not said a word of condemnation + the night of Cissie's confession. He would make a point of that, and was + prepared to argue that, since he had said nothing, he meant nothing. In + fact he was prepared to throw away the truth completely and enter the + conversation as an out-and-out opportunist, alleging whatever appeared + to fit the occasion, as all men talk to all women. +</p> +<p> + The old Captain was just getting into his chair as Peter entered. He + paused in the midst of lowering himself by the chair-arms and got erect + again. He began speaking a little uncertainly: +</p> +<p> + "Ah—by the way, Peter—I sent for you—" +</p> +<p> + "Yes, sir." Peter looked out at the window. +</p> +<p> + The old gentleman scrutinized Peter a moment; then his faded eyes + wandered about the library. +</p> +<p> + "Still working at the books, cross-indexing them—" +</p> +<p> + "Yes, sir." Peter could divine by the crinkle of his nerves the very + loci of the girl as she passed down the thoroughfare. +</p> +<p> + "Very good," said the old lawyer, absently. He was obviously preoccupied + with some other topic. "Very good," he repeated with racking + deliberation; "quite good. How did that globe get bent?" +</p> +<p> + Peter, looking at it, did not remember either knocking it over or + setting it up. +</p> +<p> + "I don't know," he said rapidly. "I hadn't noticed it." +</p> +<p> + "Old Rose did it," meditated the Captain aloud, "but it's no use to + accuse her of it; she'd deny it. And yet, on the other hand, Peter, + she'll be nervous until I do accuse her of it. She'll be dropping + things, breaking up my china. I dare say I'd best accuse her at once, + storm at her some to quiet her nerves, and get it over." +</p> +<p> + This monologue spurred Peter's impatience into an agony. +</p> +<p> + "I believe you were wanting me, Captain?" he suggested, with a certain + urge for action. +</p> +<p> + The Captain's little pleasantry faded. He looked at Peter and became + uncomfortable again. +</p> +<p> + "Well, yes, Peter. Downtown I heard—well, a rumor connected with you—" +</p> +<p> + Such an extraordinary turn caught the attention of even the fidgety + Peter. He looked at his employer and wondered blankly what he had heard. +</p> +<p> + "I don't want to intrude on your private affairs, Peter, not at all— + not—not in the least—" +</p> +<p> + "No-o-o," agreed Peter, completely at a loss. +</p> +<p> + The old gentleman rubbed his thin hands together, lifted his eyebrows up + and down nervously. "Are—are you about to—to leave me, Peter?" +</p> +<p> + Peter was greatly surprised at the slightness and simplicity of this + question and at the evidence of emotion it carried. +</p> +<p> + "Why, no," he cried; "not at all! Who told you I was? It is a deep + gratification to me—" +</p> +<p> + "To be exact," proceeded the old man, with a vague fear still in his + eyes, "I heard you were going to marry." +</p> +<p> + "Marry!" This flaw took Peter's sails even more unexpectedly than the + other. "Captain, who in the world—who could have told—" +</p> +<p> + "Are you?" +</p> +<p> + "No." +</p> +<p> + "You aren't?" +</p> +<p> + "Indeed, no!" +</p> +<p> + "I heard you were going to marry a negress here in town called Cissie + Dildine." A question was audible in the silence that followed this + statement. The obscure emotion that charged all the old man's queries + affected Peter. +</p> +<p> + "I am not, Captain," he declared earnestly; "that's settled." +</p> +<p> + "Oh—you say it's settled," picked up the old lawyer, delicately. +</p> +<p> + "Yes." +</p> +<p> + "Then you had thought of it?" Immediately, however, he corrected this + breach of courtesy into which his old legal habit of cross-questioning + had led him. "Well, at any rate," he said in quite another voice, "that + eases my mind, Peter. It eases my mind. It was not only, Peter, the + thought of losing you, but this girl you were thinking of marrying—let + me warn you, Peter—she's a negress." +</p> +<p> + The mulatto stared at the strange objection. +</p> +<p> + "A negress!" +</p> +<p> + The old man paused and made that queer movement with his wrinkled lips + as if he tasted some salty flavor. +</p> +<p> + "I—I don't mean exactly a—a negress," stammered the old gentleman; "I + mean she's not a—a good girl, Peter; she's a—a thief, in fact—she's a + thief—a thief, Peter. I couldn't endure for you to marry a thief, + Peter." +</p> +<p> + It seemed to Peter Siner that some horrible compulsion kept the old + Captain repeating over and over the fact that Cissie Dildine was a + thief, a thief, a thief. The word cut the very viscera in the brown man. + At last, when it seemed the old gentleman would never cease, Peter + lifted a hand. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, yes," he gasped, with a sickly face, "I—I've heard that before." +</p> +<p> + He drew a shaken breath and moistened his lips. The two stood looking at + each other, each profoundly at a loss as to what the other meant. Old + Captain Renfrew collected himself first. +</p> +<p> + "That is all, Peter." He tried to lighten his tones. "I think I'll get + to work. Let me see, where do I keep my manuscript?" +</p> +<p> + Peter pointed mechanically at a drawer as he walked out at the library + door. Once outside, he ran to the front piazza, then to the front gate, + and with a racing heart stood looking up and down the sleepy + thoroughfare. The street was quite empty. +</p> +<a name="2HCH14"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XI +</h2> +<p> + Old Captain Renfrew was a trustful, credulous soul, as, indeed, most + gentleman who lead a bachelor's life are. Such men lack that moral + hardening and whetting which is obtained only amid the vicissitudes of a + home; they are not actively and continuously engaged in the employment + and detection of chicane; want of intimate association with a woman and + some children begets in them a soft and simple way of believing what is + said to them. And their faith, easily raised, is just as easily + shattered. Their judgment lacks training. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner's simple assertion to the old Captain that he was not going + to marry Cissie Dildine completely allayed the old gentleman's + uneasiness. Even the further information that Peter had had such a + marriage under advisement, but had rejected it, did not put him on his + guard. +</p> +<p> + From long non-intimacy with any human creature, the old legislator had + forgotten that human life is one long succession of doing the things one + is not going to do; he had forgotten, if he ever knew, that the human + brain is primarily not a master, but a servant; its function is not to + direct, but to devise schemes and apologies to gratify impulses. It is + the ways and means committee to the great legislature of the body. +</p> +<p> + For several days after his fear that Peter Siner would marry Cissie + Dildine old Captain Renfrew was as felicitous as a lover newly + reconciled to his mistress. He ambled between the manor and the livery- + stable with an abiding sense of well-being. When he approached his home + in the radiance of high noon and saw the roof of the old mansion lying a + bluish gray in the shadows of the trees, it filled his heart with joy to + feel that it was not an old and empty house that awaited his coming, but + that in it worked a busy youth who would be glad to see him enter the + gate. +</p> +<p> + The fear of some unattended and undignified death which had beset the + old gentleman during the last eight or ten years of his life vanished + under Peter's presence. When he thought of it at all now, he always + previsioned himself being lifted in Peter's athletic arms and laid + properly on his big four-poster. +</p> +<p> + At times, when Peter sat working over the books in the library, the + Captain felt a prodigious urge to lay a hand on the young man's broad + and capable shoulder. But he never did. Again, the old lawyer would sit + for minutes at a time watching his secretary's regular features as the + brown man pursued his work with a trained intentness. The old gentleman + derived a deep pleasure from such long scrutinies. It pleased him to + imagine that, when he was young, he had possessed the same vigor, the + same masculinity, the same capacity for persistent labor. Indeed, all + old gentlemen are prone to choose the most personable and virile young + man they can find for themselves to have been like. +</p> +<p> + The two men had little to say to each other. Their thoughts beat to such + different tempos that any attempt at continued speech discovered unequal + measures. As a matter of fact, in all comfortable human conversation, + words are used as mere buoys dropped here and there to mark well-known + channels of thought and feeling. Similarity of mental topography is + necessary to mutual understanding. Between any two generations the + landscape is so changed as to be unrecognizable. Our fathers are + monarchists; our sons, bolsheviki. +</p> +<p> + Old Rose Hobbett was more of an age with the Captain, and these two + talked very comfortably as the old virago came and went with food at + meal-time. For instance, the Captain always asked his servant if she had + fed his cat, and old Rose invariably would sulk and poke out her lips + and put off answering to the last possible moment of insolence, then + would grumble out that she was jes 'bout to feed the varmint, an' 't wuz + funny nobody couldn't give a hard-wuckin' colored woman breathin'-space + to turn roun' in. +</p> +<p> + This reply was satisfactory to the Captain, because he knew what it + meant,—that Rose had half forgotten the cat, and had meant wholly to + forget it, but since she had been snapped up, so to speak, in the very + act of forgetting, she would dole it out a piece or two of the meat that + she had meant to abscond with as soon as the dishes were done. +</p> +<p> + While Rose was fulminating, the old gentleman recalled his bent globe + and decided the moment had come for a lecture on that point. It always + vaguely embarrassed the Captain to correct Rose, and this increased his + dignity. Now he cleared his throat in a certain way that brought the old + negress to attention, so well they knew each other. +</p> +<p> + "By the way, Rose, in the future I must request you to use extraordinary + precautions in cleansing and dusting articles of my household furniture, + or, in case of damage, I shall be forced to withhold an indemnification + out of your pay." +</p> +<p> + Eight or ten years ago, when the Captain first repeated this formula to + his servant, the roll and swing of his rhetoric, and the last word, + "pay," had built up lively hopes in Rose that the old gentleman was + announcing an increase in her regular wage of a dollar a week. + Experience, however, had long since corrected this faulty + interpretation. +</p> +<p> + She came to a stand in the doorway, with her kinky gray head swung + around, half puzzled, wholly rebellious. +</p> +<p> + "Whut is I bruk now?" +</p> +<p> + "My globe." +</p> +<p> + The old woman turned about with more than usual innocence. +</p> +<p> + "Why, I ain't tech yo' globe!" +</p> +<p> + "I foresaw that," agreed the Captain, with patient irony, "but in the + future don't touch it more carefully. You bent its pivot the last time + you refrained from handling it." +</p> +<p> + "But I tell you I ain't tech yo' globe!" cried the negress, with the + anger of an illiterate person who feels, but cannot understand, the + satire leveled at her. +</p> +<p> + "I agree with you," said the Captain, glad the affair was over. +</p> +<p> + This verbal ducking into the cellar out of the path of her storm stirred + up a tempest. +</p> +<p> + "But I tell you I ain't bruk it!" +</p> +<p> + "That's what I said." +</p> +<p> + "Yeah, yeah, yeah," she flared; "you says I ain't, but when you says I + ain't, you means I is, an' when you says I is, you means I ain't. Dat's + de sort o' flapjack I's wuckin' fur!" +</p> +<p> + The woman flirted out of the dining-room, and the old gentleman drew + another long breath, glad it was over. He really had little reason to + quarrel about the globe, bent or unbent; he never used it. It sat in his + study year in and year out, its dusty twinkle brightened at long + intervals by old Rose's spiteful rag. +</p> +<p> + The Captain ate on placidly. There had been a time when he was dubious + about such scenes with Rose. Once he felt it beneath his dignity as a + Southern gentleman to allow any negro to speak to him disrespectfully. + He used to feel that he should discharge her instantly and during the + first years of their entente had done so a number of times. But he could + get no one else who suited him so well; her biscuits, her corn-light- + bread, her lye-hominy, which only the old darkies know how to make. And, + to tell the truth, he missed the old creature herself, her understanding + of him and his ideas, her contemporaneity; and no one else would work + for a dollar a week. +</p> +<p> + Presently in the course of his eating the old gentleman required another + biscuit, and he wanted a hot one. Three mildly heated disks lay on a + plate before him, but they had been out of the oven for five minutes and + had been reduced to an unappetizing tepidity. +</p> +<p> + A little hand-bell sat beside the Captain's plate whose special use was + to summon hot biscuits. Now, the old lawyer looked at its worn handle + speculatively. He was not at all sure Rose would answer the bell. She + would say she hadn't heard it. He felt faintly disgruntled at not + foreseeing this exigency and buttering two biscuits while they were hot, + or even three. +</p> +<p> + He considered momentarily a project of going after a hot biscuit for + himself, but eventually put it by. South of the Mason-Dixon Line, self- + help is half-scandal. At last, quite dubiously, he did pick up the bell + and gave it a gentle ring, so if old Rose chose not to hear it, she + probably wouldn't: thus he could believe her and not lose his temper and + so widen an already uncomfortable breach. +</p> +<p> + To the Captain's surprise, the old creature not only brought the + biscuits, but she did it promptly. No sooner had she served them, + however, than the Captain saw she really had returned with a new line of + defense. +</p> +<p> + She mumbled it out as usual, so that her employer was forced to guess at + a number of words: "Dat nigger, Peter, mus' 'a' busted yo' gl—" +</p> +<p> + "No, he didn't." +</p> +<p> + "Mus' uv." +</p> +<p> + "No, he didn't. I asked him, and he said he didn't." +</p> +<p> + The old harridan stared, and her speech suddenly became clear-cut: +</p> +<p> + "Well, 'fo' Gawd, I says I didn't, too!" +</p> +<p> + At this point the Captain made an unintelligible sound and spread the + butter on his hot biscuit. +</p> +<p> + "He's jes a nigger, lak I is," stated the cook, warmly. +</p> +<p> + The Captain buttered a second hot biscuit. +</p> +<p> + "We's jes two niggers." +</p> +<p> + The Captain hoped she would presently sputter herself out. +</p> +<p> + "Now look heah," cried the crone, growing angrier and angrier as the + reaches of the insult spread itself before her, "is you gwine to put one + o' us niggers befo' de udder? Ca'se ef you is, I mus' say, it's Kady- + lock-a-do' wid me." +</p> +<p> + The Captain looked up satirically. +</p> +<p> + "What do you mean by Katie-lock-the-door with you?" he asked, though he + had an uneasy feeling that he knew. +</p> +<p> + "You know whut I means. I means I 's gwine to leab dis place." +</p> +<p> + "Now look here, Rose," protested the lawyer, with dignity, "Peter Siner + occupies almost a fiduciary relation to me." +</p> +<p> + The old negress stared with a slack jaw. "A relation o' yo's!" +</p> +<p> + The lawyer hesitated some seconds, looking at the hag. His high-bred old + face was quite inscrutable, but presently he said in a serious voice: +</p> +<p> + "Peter occupies a position of trust with me, Rose." +</p> +<p> + "Yeah," mumbled Rose; "I see you trus' him." +</p> +<p> + "One day he is going to do me a service, a very great service, Rose." +</p> +<p> + The hag continued looking at him with a stubborn expression. +</p> +<p> + "You know better than any one else, Rose, my dread of some—some + unmannerly death—" +</p> +<p> + The old woman made a sound that might have meant anything. +</p> +<p> + "And Peter has promised to stay with me until—until the end." +</p> +<p> + The old negress considered this solemn speech, and then grunted out: +</p> +<p> + "Which en'?" +</p> +<p> + "Which end?" The Captain was irritated. +</p> +<p> + "Yeah; yo' en' or Peter's en'?" +</p> +<p> + "By every law of probability, Peter will outlive me." +</p> +<p> + "Yeah, but Peter 'll come to a en' wid you when he ma'ies dat stuck-up + yellow fly-by-night, Cissie Dildine." +</p> +<p> + "He's not going to marry her," said the Captain, comfortably. +</p> +<p> + "Huh!" +</p> +<p> + "Peter told me he didn't intend to marry Cissie Dildine." +</p> +<p> + "Shu! Then whut fur dey go roun' peepin' at each other lak a couple o' + niggers roun' a haystack?" +</p> +<p> + The old lawyer was annoyed. +</p> +<p> + "Peeping where?" +</p> +<p> + "Why, right in front o' dis house, dat's wha; ever' day when dat hussy + passes up to de Arkwrights', wha she wucks. She pokes along an' walls + her eyes roun' at dis house lak a calf wid de splivins." +</p> +<p> + "That going on now?" +</p> +<p> + "Ever' day." +</p> +<p> + A deep uneasiness went through the old man. He moistened his lips. +</p> +<p> + "But Peter said—" +</p> +<p> + "Good Gawd! Mars' Renfrew, whut diff'ence do it make whut Peter say? + Ain't you foun' out yit when a he-nigger an' a she-nigger gits to + peepin' at each udder, whut dey says don't lib in de same neighbo'hood + wid whut dey does?" +</p> +<p> + This was delivered with such energy that it completely undermined the + Captain's faith in Peter, and the fact angered the old gentleman. +</p> +<p> + "That'll do, Rose; that'll do. That's all I need of you." +</p> +<p> + The old crone puffed up again at this unexpected flare, and went out of + the room, plopping her feet on floor and mumbling. Among these + ungracious sounds the Captain caught, "Blin' ole fool!" But there was no + need becoming offended and demanding what she meant. Her explanation + would have been vague and unsatisfactory. +</p> +<p> + The verjuice which old Rose had sprinkled over Peter and Cissie by + calling them "he-nigger" and "she-nigger" somehow minimized them, + animalized them in the old lawyer's imagination. Rose's speech was + charged with such contempt for her own color that it placed the mulatto + and the octoroon down with apes and rabbits. +</p> +<p> + The lawyer fought against his feeling, for the sake of his secretary, + who had come to occupy so wide a sector of his comfort and affection. + Yet the old virago evidently spoke from a broad background of + experience. She was at least half convincing. While the Captain repelled + her charge against his quiet, hard-working brown helper, he admitted it + against Cissie Dildine, whom he did not know. She was an animal, a + female centaur, a wanton and a strumpet, as all negresses are wantons + and strumpets. All white men in the South firmly believe that. They + believe it with a peculiar detestation; and since they used these + persons very profitably for a hundred and fifty years as breeding + animals, one might say they believe it a trifle ungratefully. +</p> +<a name="2HCH15"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XII +</h2> +<p> + The semi-daily passings of Cissie Dildine before the old Renfrew manor + on her way to and from the Arkwright home upset Peter Siner's working + schedule to an extraordinary degree. +</p> +<p> + After watching for two or three days, Peter worked out a sort of time- + table for Cissie. She passed up early in the morning, at about five + forty-five. He could barely see her then, and somehow she looked very + pathetic hurrying along in the cold, dim light of dawn. After she had + cooked the Arkwright breakfast, swept the Arkwright floors, dusted the + Arkwright furniture, she passed back toward Niggertown, somewhere near + nine. About eleven o'clock she went up to cook dinner, and returned at + one or two in the afternoon. Occasionally, she made a third trip to get + supper. +</p> +<p> + This was as exactly as Peter could predict the arrivals and departures + of Cissie, and the schedule involved a large margin of uncertainty. For + half an hour before Cissie passed she kept Peter watching the clock at + nervous intervals, wondering if, after all, she had gone by unobserved. + Invariably, he would move his work to a window where he had the whole + street under his observation. Then he would proceed with his indexing + with more and more difficulty. At first the paragraphs would lose + connection, and he would be forced to reread them. Then the sentences + would drop apart. Immediately before the girl arrived, the words + themselves grew anarchic. They stared him in the eye, each a complete + entity, self-sufficient, individual, bearing no relation to any other + words except that of mere proximity,—like a spelling lesson. Only by an + effort could Peter enforce a temporary cohesion among them, and they + dropped apart at the first slackening of the strain. +</p> +<p> + Strange to say, when the octoroon actually was walking past, Peter did + not look at her steadily. On the contrary, he would think to himself: + "How little I care for such a woman! My ideal is thus and so—" He would + look at her until she glanced across the yard and saw him sitting in the + window; then immediately he bent over his books, as if his stray glance + had lighted on her purely by chance, as if she were nothing more to him + than a passing dray or a fluttering leaf. Indeed, he told himself during + these crises that he had no earthly interest in the girl, that she was + not the sort of woman he desired,—while his heart hammered, and the + lines of print under his eyes blurred into gray streaks across the page. +</p> +<p> + One afternoon Peter saw Cissie pass his gate, hurrying, almost running, + apparently in flight from something. It sent a queer shock through him. + He stared after her, then up and down the street. He wondered why she + ran. Even when he went to bed that night the strangeness of Cissie's + flight kept him awake inventing explanations. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + None of Peter's preoccupations was lost upon Captain Renfrew. None is so + suspicious as a credulous man aroused. After Rose had struck her blow at + the secretary, the old gentleman noted all of Peter's permutations and + misconstrued a dozen quite innocent actions on Peter's part into signs + of bad faith. +</p> +<p> + By a little observation he identified Cissie Dildine and what he saw did + not reëstablish his peace of mind. On the contrary, it became more than + probable that the cream-colored negress would lure Peter away. This + possibility aroused in the old lawyer a grim, voiceless rancor against + Cissie. In his thoughts he linked the girl with every manner of evil + design against Peter. She was an adventuress, a Cyprian, a seductress + attempting to snare Peter in the brazen web of her comeliness. For to + the old gentleman's eyes there was an abiding impudicity about Cissie's + very charms. The passionate repose of her face was immodest; the + possession of a torso such as a sculptor might have carved was brazen. + The girl was shamefully well appointed. +</p> +<p> + One morning as Captain Renfrew came home from town, he chanced to walk + just behind the octoroon, and quite unconsciously the girl delivered an + added fillip to the old gentleman's uneasiness. +</p> +<p> + Just before Cissie passed in front of the Renfrew manor, womanlike, she + paused to make some slight improvements in her appearance before walking + under the eyes of her lover. She adjusted some strands of hair which had + blown loose in the autumn wind, looked at herself in a purse mirror, + retouched her nose with her greenish powder; then she picked a little + sprig of sumac leaves that burned in the corner of a lawn and pinned its + flame on the unashamed loveliness of her bosom. +</p> +<p> + This negro instinct for brilliant color is the theme of many jests in + the South, but it is entirely justified esthetically, although the + constant sarcasm of the whites has checked its satisfaction, if it has + not corrupted the taste. +</p> +<p> + The bit of sumac out of which the octoroon had improvised a nosegay + lighted up her skin and eyes, and created an ensemble as closely + resembling a Henri painting as anything the streets of Hooker's Bend + were destined to see. +</p> +<p> + But old Captain Renfrew was far from appreciating any such bravura in + scarlet and gold. At first he put it down to mere niggerish taste, and + his dislike for the girl edged his stricture; then, on second thought, + the oddness of sumac for a nosegay caught his attention. Nobody used + sumac for a buttonhole. He had never heard of any woman, white or black, + using sumac for a bouquet. Why should this Cissie Dildine trig herself + out in sumac? +</p> +<p> + The Captain's suspicions came to a point like a setter. He began + sniffing about for Cissie's motives in choosing so queer an ornament. He + wondered if it had anything to do with Peter Siner. +</p> +<p> + All his life, Captain Renfrew's brain had been deliberate. He moved + mentally, as he did physically, with dignity. To tell the truth, the + Captain's thoughts had a way of absolutely stopping now and then, and + for a space he would view the world as a simple collection of colored + surfaces without depth or meaning. During these intervals, by a sort of + irony of the gods the old gentleman's face wore a look of philosophic + concentration, so that his mental hiatuses had given him a reputation + for profundity, which was county wide. It had been this, years before, + that had carried him by a powerful majority into the Tennessee + legislature. The voters agreed, almost to a man, that they preferred + depth to a shallow facility. The rival candidate had been shallow and + facile. The polls returned the Captain, and the young gentleman—for the + Captain was a young gentleman in those days—was launched on a typical + politician's career. But some Republican member from east Tennessee had + impugned the rising statesman's honor with some sort of improper + liaison. In those days there seemed to be proper and improper liaisons. + There had been a duel on the banks of the Cumberland River in which the + Captain succeeded in wounding his traducer in the arm, and was thus + vindicated by the gods. But the incident ended a career that might very + well have wound up in the governor's chair, or even in the United States + Senate, considering how very deliberate the Captain was mentally. +</p> +<p> + To-day, as the Captain walked up the street following Cissie Dildine, + one of these vacant moods fell upon him and it was not until they had + reached his own gate that it suddenly occurred to the old gentleman just + what Cissie's sumac did mean. It was a signal to Peter. The simplicity + of the solution stirred the old man. Its meaning was equally easy to + fathom. When a woman signals any man it conveys consent. Denials receive + no signals; they are inferred. In this particular case Captain Renfrew + found every reason to believe that this flaring bit of sumac was the + prelude to an elopement. +</p> +<p> + In the window of his library the Captain saw his secretary staring at + his cards and books with an intentness plainly assumed. Peter's fixed + stare had none of those small movements of the head that mark genuine + intellectual labor. So Peter was posing, pretending he did not see the + girl, to disarm his employer's suspicions,—pretending not to see a + girl rigged out like that! +</p> +<p> + Such duplicity sent a queer spasm of anguish through the old lawyer. + Peter's action held half a dozen barbs for the Captain. A fellow-alumnus + of Harvard staying in his house merely for his wage and keep! Peter bore + not the slightest affection for him; the mulatto lacked even the + chivalry to notify the Captain of his intentions, because he knew the + Captain objected. And yet all these self-centered objections were + nothing to what old Captain Renfrew felt for Peter's own sake. For Peter + to marry a nigger and a strumpet, for him to elope with a wanton and a + thief! For such an upstanding lad, the very picture of his own virility + and mental alertness when he was of that age, for such a boy to fling + himself away, to drop out of existence—oh, it was loathly! +</p> +<p> + The old man entered the library feeling sick. It was empty. Peter had + gone to his room, according to his custom. But in this particular + instance it seemed to Captain Renfrew his withdrawal was flavored with a + tang of guilt. If he were innocent, why should not such a big, strong + youth have stayed and helped an old gentleman off with his overcoat? +</p> +<p> + The old Captain blew out a windy breath as he helped himself out of his + coat in the empty library. The bent globe still leaned against the + window-seat. The room had never looked so somber or so lonely. +</p> +<p> + At dinner the old man ate so little that Rose Hobbett ceased her + monotonous grumbling to ask if he felt well. He said he had had a hard + day, a difficult day. He felt so weak and thin that he foretold the gray + days when he could no longer creep to the village and sit with his + cronies at the livery-stable, when he would be house-fast, through + endless days, creeping from room to room like a weak old rat in a huge + empty house, finally to die in some disgusting fashion. And Now Peter + was going to leave him, was going to throw himself away on a lascivious + wench. A faint moisture dampened the old man's withered eyes. He drank + an extra thimbleful of whisky to try to hearten himself. Its bouquet + filled the time-worn stateliness of the dining-room. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + During the weeks of Peter's stay at the manor it had grown to be the + Captain's habit really to write for two or three hours in the afternoon, + and his pile of manuscript had thickened under his application. +</p> +<p> + The old man was writing a book called "Reminiscences of Peace and War." + His book would form another unit of that extraordinary crop of personal + reminiscences of the old South which flooded the presses of America + during the decade of 1908-18. During just that decade it seemed as if the + aged men and women of the South suddenly realized that the generation who + had lived through the picturesqueness and stateliness of the old slave + régime was almost gone, and over their hearts swept a common impulse to + commemorate, in the sunset of their own lives, its fading splendor and + its vanished deeds. +</p> +<p> + On this particular afternoon the Captain settled himself to work, but + his reminiscences did not get on. He pinched a bit of floss from the nib + of his pen and tried to swing into the period of which he was writing. + He read over a few pages of his copy as mental priming, but his thoughts + remained flat and dull. Indeed, his whole life, as he reviewed it in the + waning afternoon, appeared empty and futile. It seemed hardly worth + while to go on. +</p> +<p> + The Captain had come to that point in his memoirs where the Republican + representative from Knox County had set going the petard which had + wrecked his political career. +</p> +<p> + From the very beginnings of his labors the old lawyer had looked forward + to writing just this period of his life. He meant to clear up his name + once for all. He meant to use invective, argument, testimony and a + powerful emotional appeal, such as a country lawyer invariably attempts + with a jury. +</p> +<p> + But now that he had arrived at the actual composition of his defense, he + sat biting his penholder, with all the arguments he meant to advance + slipped from his mind. He could not recall the points of the proof. He + could not recall them with Peter Siner moving restlessly about the room, + glancing through the window, unsettled, nervous, on the verge of eloping + with a negress. +</p> +<p> + His secretary's tragedy smote the old man. The necessity of doing + something for Peter put his thoughts to rout. A wild idea occurred to + the Captain that if he should write the exact truth, perhaps his memoirs + might serve Peter as a signal against a futile, empty journey. +</p> +<p> + But the thought no sooner appeared than it was rejected. In the Anglo- + Saxon, especially the Anglo-Saxon of the Southern United States, abides + no such Gallic frankness as moved a Jean-Jacques. Southern memoirs + always sound like the conversation between two maiden ladies,—nothing + intimate, simply a few general remarks designed to show from what nice + families they came. +</p> +<p> + So the Captain wrote nothing. During all the afternoon he sat at his + desk with a leaden heart, watching Peter move about the room. The old + man maintained more or less the posture of writing, but his thoughts + were occupied in pitying himself and pitying Peter. Half a dozen times + he looked up, on the verge of making some plea, some remonstrance, + against the madness of this brown man. But the sight of Peter sitting in + the window-seat staring out into the street silenced him. He was a weak + old man, and Peter's nerves were strung with the desire of youth. +</p> +<p> + At last the two men heard old Rose clashing in the kitchen. A few + minutes later the secretary excused himself from the library, to go to + his own room. As Peter was about to pass through the door, the Captain + was suddenly galvanized into action by the thought that this perhaps was + the last time he would ever see him. He got up from his chair and called + shakenly to Peter. The negro paused. The Captain moistened his lips and + controlled his voice. +</p> +<p> + "I want to have a word with you, Peter, about a—a little matter. I— + I've mentioned it before." +</p> +<p> + "Yes, sir." The negro's tone and attitude reminded the Captain that the + supper gong would soon sound and they would best separate at once. +</p> +<p> + "It—it's about Cissie Dildine," the old lawyer hurried on. +</p> +<p> + Peter nodded slightly. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, you mentioned that before." +</p> +<p> + The old man lifted a thin hand as if to touch Peter's arm, but he did + not. A sort of desperation seized him. +</p> +<p> + "But listen, Peter, you don't want to do—what's in your mind!" +</p> +<p> + "What is in my mind, Captain?" +</p> +<p> + "I mean marry a negress. You don't want to marry a negress!" +</p> +<p> + The brown man stared, utterly blank. +</p> +<p> + "Not marry a negress!" +</p> +<p> + "No, Peter; no," quavered the old man. "For yourself it may make no + difference, but your children—think of your children, your son growing + up under a brown veil! You can't tear it off. God himself can't tear it + off! You can never reach him through it. Your children, your children's + children, a terrible procession that stretches out and out, marching + under a black shroud, unknowing, unknown! All you can see are their sad + forms beneath the shroud, marching away—marching away. God knows where! + And yet it's your own flesh and blood!" +</p> +<p> + Suddenly the old lawyer's face broke into the hard, tearless contortions + of the aged. His terrible emotion communicated itself to the sensitive + brown man. +</p> +<p> + "But, Captain, I myself am a negro. Whom should I marry?" +</p> +<p> + "No one; no one! Let your seed wither in your loins! It's better to do + that; it's better—" At that moment the clashing of the supper gong fell + on the old man's naked nerves. He straightened up by some reflex + mechanism, turned away from what he thought was his last interview with + his secretary, and proceeded down the piazza into the great empty + dining-room. +</p> +<a name="2HCH16"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XIII +</h2> +<p> + With overwrought nerves Peter Siner entered his room. At five o'clock + that afternoon he had seen Cissie Dildine go up the street to the + Arkwright home to cook one of those occasional suppers. He had been + watching for her return, and in the midst of it the Captain's + extraordinary outburst had stirred him up. +</p> +<p> + Once in his room, the negro placed the broken Hepplewhite in such a + position that he could rake the street with a glance. Then he tried to + compose himself and await the coming of his supper and the passage of + Cissie. There was something almost pathetic in Peter's endless watching, + all for a mere glimpse or two of the girl in yellow. He himself had no + idea how his nerves and thoughts had woven themselves around the young + woman. He had no idea what a passion this continual doling out of + glimpses had begotten. He did not dream how much he was, as folk naïvely + put it, in love with her. +</p> +<p> + His love was strong enough to make him forget for a while the old + lawyer's outbreak. However, as the dusk thickened in the shrubbery and + under the trees, certain of the old gentleman's phrases revisited the + mulatto's mind: "A terrible procession ... marching under a black + shroud.... Your children, your children's children, a terrible + procession,... marching away, God knows where.... And yet—it's your own + flesh and blood!" They were terrific sentences, as if the old man had + been trying to tear from his vision some sport of nature, some + deformity. As the implications spread before Peter, he became more and + more astonished at its content. Even to Captain Renfrew black men were + dehumanized,—shrouded, untouchable creatures. +</p> +<p> + It delivered to Peter a slow but a profound shock. He glanced about at + the faded magnificence of the room with a queer feeling that he had been + introduced into it under a sort of misrepresentation. He had taken up + his abode with the Captain, at least on the basis of belonging to the + human family, but this passionate outbreak, this puzzling explosion, cut + that ground from under his feet. +</p> +<p> + The more Peter thought about it, the stranger grew his sensation. Not + even to be classed as a human being by this old gentleman who in a weak, + helpless fashion had crept somewhat into Peter's affections,—not to be + considered a man! The mulatto drew a long, troubled breath, and by the + mere mechanics of his desire kept staring through the gloom for Cissie. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner had known all along that the unread whites of Hooker's Bend + —and that included nearly every white person in the village—considered + black men as simple animals; but he had supposed that the more thoughtful + men, of whom Captain Renfrew was a type, at least admitted the Afro- + American to the common brotherhood of humanity. But they did not. +</p> +<p> + As Peter sat staring into the darkness the whole effect of the + dehumanizing of the black folk of the South began to unfold itself + before his imagination. It explained to him the tragedies of his race, + their sufferings at the hand of mob violence; the casualness, even the + levity with which black men were murdered: the chronic dishonesty with + which negroes were treated: the constant enactment of adverse + legislation against them; the cynical use of negro women. They were all + vermin, animals; they were one with the sheep and the swine; a little + nearer the human in form, perhaps, and, oddly enough, one that could be + bred to a human being, as testified a multitude of brown and yellow and + cream-colored folk, but all marching away, as the Captain had so + passionately said, marching away, their forms hidden from human + intercourse under a shroud of black, an endless procession marching + away, God knew whither! And yet they were the South's own flesh and + blood. +</p> +<p> + The horror of such a complex swelled in Peter's mind to monstrous + proportions. As night thickened at his window, the negro sat dazed and + wondering at the mightiness of his vision. His thoughts went groping, + trying to solve some obscure problem it posed. He thought of the + Arkwright boy; he thought of the white men smiling as his mother's + funeral went past the livery-stable; he thought of Captain Renfrew's + manuscript that he was transcribing. Through all the old man's memoirs + ran a certain lack of sincerity. Peter always felt amid his labors that + the old Captain was making an attorney's plea rather than a candid + exposition. At this point in his thoughts there gradually limned itself + in the brown man's mind the answer to that enigma which he almost had + unraveled on the day he first saw Cissie Dildine pass his window. With + it came the answer to the puzzle contained in the old Captain's library. + The library was not an ordinary compilation of the world's thought; it, + too, was an attorney's special pleading against the equality of man. Any + book or theory that upheld the equality of man was carefully excluded + from the shelves. Darwin's great hypothesis, and every development + springing from it, had been banned, because the moment that a theory was + propounded of the great biologic relationship of all flesh, from worms + to vertebrates, there instantly followed a corollary of the brotherhood + of man. +</p> +<p> + What Christ did for theology, Darwin did for biology,—he democratized + it. The One descended to man's brotherhood from the Trinity; the other + climbed up to it from the worms. +</p> +<p> + The old Captain's library lacked sincerity. Southern orthodoxy, which + persists in pouring its religious thought into the outworn molds of + special creation, lacks sincerity. Scarcely a department of Southern + life escapes this fundamental attitude of special pleader and + disingenuousness. It explains the Southern fondness for legal + subtleties. All attempts at Southern poetry, belles-lettres, painting, + novels, bear the stamp of the special plea, of authors whose exposition + is careful. +</p> +<p> + Peter perceived what every one must perceive, that when letters turn + into a sort of glorified prospectus of a country, all value as + literature ceases. The very breath of art and interpretation is an eager + and sincere searching of the heart. This sincerity the South lacks. Her + single talent will always be forensic, because she is a lawyer with a + cause to defend. And such is the curse that arises from lynchings and + venery and extortions and dehumanizings,—sterility; a dumbness of soul. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner's thoughts lifted him with the tremendous buoyancy of + inspiration. He swung out of his chair and began tramping his dark room. + The skin of his scalp tickled as if a ghost had risen before him. The + nerves in his thighs and back vibrated. He felt light, and tingled with + energy. +</p> +<p> + Unaware of what he was doing, he set about lighting the gasolene-lamp. + He worked with nervous quickness, as if he were in a great hurry. + Presently a brilliant light flooded the room. It turned the gray + illumination of the windows to blackness. +</p> +<p> + Joy enveloped Peter. His own future developed under his eyes with the + same swift clairvoyance that marked his vision of the ills of his + country. He saw himself remedying those ills. He would go about showing + white men and black men the simple truth, the spiritual necessity for + justice and fairness. It was not a question of social equality; it was a + question of clearing a road for the development of Southern life. He + would show white men that to weaken, to debase, to dehumanize the negro, + inflicted a more terrible wound on the South than would any strength the + black man might develop. He would show black men that to hate the + whites, constantly to suspect, constantly to pilfer from them, only + riveted heavier shackles on their limbs. +</p> +<p> + It was all so clear and so simple! The white South must humanize the + black not for the sake of the negro, but for the sake of itself. No one + could resist logic so fundamental. +</p> +<p> + Peter's heart sang with the solemn joy of a man who had found his work. + All through his youth he had felt blind yearnings and gropings for he + knew not what. It had driven him with endless travail out of Niggertown, + through school and college, and back to Niggertown,—this untiring Hound + of Heaven. But at last he had reached his work. He, Peter Siner, a + mulatto, with the blood of both white and black in his veins, would come + as an evangel of liberty to both white and black. The brown man's eyes + grew moist from Joy. His body seemed possessed of tremendous energy. +</p> +<p> + As he paced his room there came into the glory of Peter's thoughts the + memory of the Arkwright boy as he sat in the cedar glade brooding on the + fallen needles Peter recalled the hobbledehoy's disjointed words as he + wrestled with the moral and physical problems of adolescence. Peter + recalled his impulse to sit down by young Sam Arkwright, and, as best he + might, give him some clue to the critical and feverish period through + which he was passing. +</p> +<p> + He had not done so, but Peter remembered the instance down to the very + desperation in the face of the brooding youngster. And it seemed to + Peter that this rejected impulse had been a sign that he was destined to + be an evangel to the whites as well as to the blacks. +</p> +<p> + The joy of Peter's mission bore him aloft on vast wings. His room seemed + to fall away from him, and he was moving about his country, releasing + the two races from their bonds of suspicion and cruelty. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + Slowly the old manor formed about Peter again, and he perceived that a + tapping on the door had summoned him back. He walked to the door with + his heart full of kindness for old Rose. She was bringing him his + supper. He felt as if he could take the old woman in his arms, and out + of the mere hugeness of his love sweeten her bitter life. The mulatto + opened the door as eagerly as if he were admitting some long-desired + friend; but when the shutter swung back, the old crone and her salver + were not there. All he could discern in the darkness were the white + pillars marking the night into panels. There was no light in the outer + kitchen. The whole manor was silent. +</p> +<p> + As he stood listening, the knocking was repeated, this time more + faintly. He fixed the sound at the window. He closed the door, walked + across the brilliant room, and opened the shutters. +</p> +<p> + For several moments he saw nothing more than the tall quadrangle of + blackness which the window framed; then a star or two pierced it; then + something moved. He saw a woman's figure standing close to the casement, + and out of the darkness Cissie Dildine's voice asked in its careful + English: +</p> +<p> + "Peter, may I come in?" +</p> +<a name="2HCH17"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XIV +</h2> +<p> + For a full thirty seconds Peter Siner stared at the girl at the window + before, even with her prompting, he thought of the amenity of asking her + to come inside. As a further delayed courtesy, he drew the Heppelwhite + chair toward her. +</p> +<p> + Cissie's face looked bloodless in the blanched light of the gasolene- + lamp. She forced a faint, doubtful smile. +</p> +<p> + "You don't seem very glad to see me, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "I am," he assured her, mechanically, but he really felt nothing but + astonishment and dismay. They filled his voice. He was afraid some one + would see Cissie in his room. His thoughts went flitting about the + premises, calculating the positions of the various trees and shrubs in + relation to the windows, trying to determine whether, and just where, in + his brilliantly lighted chamber the girl could be seen from the street. +</p> +<p> + The octoroon made no further comment on his confusion. Her eyes wandered + from him over the stately furniture and up to the stuccoed ceiling. +</p> +<p> + "They told me you lived in a wonderful room," she remarked absently. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, it's very nice," agreed Peter in the same tone, wondering what + might be the object of her hazardous visit. A flicker of suspicion + suggested that she was trying to compromise him out of revenge for his + renouncement of her, but the next instant he rejected this. +</p> +<p> + The girl accepted the chair Peter offered and continued to look about. +</p> +<p> + "I hope you don't mind my staring, Peter," she said. +</p> +<p> + "I stared when I first came here to stay," assisted Peter, who was + getting a little more like himself, even if a little uneasier at the + consequences of this visit. +</p> +<p> + "Is that a highboy?" She nodded nervously at the piece of furniture. + "I've seen pictures of them." +</p> +<p> + "Uh huh. Revolutionary, I believe. The night wind is a little raw." He + moved across the room and closed the jalousies, and thus cut off the + night wind and also the west view from the street. He glanced at the + heavy curtains parted over his front windows, with a keen desire to + swing them together. Some fragment of his mind continued the surface + conversation with Cissie. +</p> +<p> + "Is it post-Revolutionary or pre-Revolutionary?" she asked with a + preoccupied air. +</p> +<p> + "Post, I believe. No, pre. I always meant to examine closely." +</p> +<p> + "To have such things would almost teach one history," Cissie said. +</p> +<p> + "Yeah; very nice." Peter had decided that the girl was in direct line + with the left front window and an opening between the trees to the + street. +</p> +<p> + The girl's eyes followed his. +</p> +<p> + "Are those curtains velour, Peter?" +</p> +<p> + "I—I believe so," agreed the man, unhappily. +</p> +<p> + "I—I wonder how they look spread." +</p> +<p> + Peter seized on this flimsy excuse with a wave of relief and + thankfulness to Cissie. He had to restrain himself as he strode across + the room and swung together the two halves of the somber curtains in + order to preserve an appearance of an exhibit. His fingers were so + nervous that he bungled a moment at the heavy cords, but finally the two + draperies swung together, loosing a little cloud of dust. He drew + together a small aperture where the hangings stood apart, and then + turned away in sincere relief. +</p> +<p> + Cissie's own interest in historic furniture and textiles came to an + abrupt conclusion. She gave a deep sigh and settled back into her chair. + She sat looking at Peter seriously, almost distressfully, as he came + toward her. +</p> +<p> + With the closing of the curtains and the establishment of a real privacy + Peter became aware once again of the sweetness and charm Cissie always + held for him. He still wondered what had brought her, but he was no + longer uneasy. +</p> +<p> + "Perhaps I'd better build a fire," he suggested, quite willing now to + make her visit seem not unusual. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, no,"—she spoke with polite haste,—"I'm just going to stay a + minute. I don't know what you'll think of me." She looked intently at + him. +</p> +<p> + "I think it lovely of you to come." He was disgusted with the triteness + of this remark, but he could think of nothing else. +</p> +<p> + "I don't know," demurred the octoroon, with her faint doubtful smile. + "Persons don't welcome beggars very cordially." +</p> +<p> + "If all beggars were so charming—" Apparently he couldn't escape + banalities. +</p> +<p> + But Cissie interrupted whatever speech he meant to make, with a return + of her almost painful seriousness. +</p> +<p> + "I really came to ask you to help me, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "Then your need has brought me a pleasure, at least." Some impulse kept + the secretary making those foolish complimentary speeches which keep a + conversation empty and insincere. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, Peter, I didn't come here for you to talk like that! Will you do + what I want?" +</p> +<p> + "What do you want, Cissie?" he asked, sobered by her voice and manner. +</p> +<p> + "I want you to help me, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "All right, I will." He spaced his words with his speculations about the + nature of her request. "What do you want me to do?" +</p> +<p> + "I want you to help me go away." +</p> +<p> + Peter looked at her in surprise. He hardly knew what he had been + expecting, but it was not this. +</p> +<p> + Some repressed emotion crept into the girl's voice. +</p> +<p> + "Peter, I—I can't stay here in Hooker's Bend any longer. I want to go + away. I—I've got to go away." +</p> +<p> + Peter stood regarding her curiously and at the same time + sympathetically. +</p> +<p> + "Where do you want to go, Cissie?" +</p> +<p> + The girl drew a long breath; her bosom lifted and dropped abruptly. +</p> +<p> + "I don't know; that was one of the things I wanted to ask you about." +</p> +<p> + "You don't know where you want to go?" He smiled faintly. "How do you + know you want to go at all?" +</p> +<p> + "Oh, Peter, all I know is I must leave Hooker's Bend!" She gave a little + shiver. "I'm tired of it, sick of it—sick." She exhaled a breath, as if + she were indeed physically ill. Her face suggested it; her eyes were + shadowed. "Some Northern city, I suppose," she added. +</p> +<p> + "And you want me to help you?" inquired Peter, puzzled. +</p> +<p> + She nodded silently, with a woman's instinct to make a man guess the + favor she is seeking. +</p> +<p> + Then it occurred to Peter just what sort of assistance the girl did + want. It gave him a faint shock that a girl could come to a man to beg + or to borrow money. It was a white man's shock, a notion he had picked + up in Boston, because it happens frequently among village negroes, and + among them it holds as little significance as children begging one + another for bites of apples. +</p> +<p> + Peter thought over his bank balance, then started toward a chest of + drawers where he kept his checkbook. +</p> +<p> + "Cissie, if I can he of any service to you in a substantial way, I'll be + more than glad to—" +</p> +<p> + She put out a hand and stopped him; then talked on in justification of + her determination to go away. +</p> +<p> + "I just can't endure it any longer, Peter." She shuddered again. "I + can't stand Niggertown, or this side of town—any of it. They—they have + no <i>feeling</i> for a colored girl, Peter, not—not a speck!" She rave + a gasp, and after a moment plunged on into her wrongs: "When—when one + of us even walks past on the street, they—they whistle and say a-all + kinds of things out loud, j-just as if w-we weren't there at all. Th- + they don't c-care; we're just n-nigger w-women." Cissie suddenly began + sobbing with a faint catching noise, her full bosom shaken by the + spasms; her tears slowly welling over. She drew out a handkerchief with + a part of its lace edge gone, and wiped her eyes and cheeks, holding the + bit of cambric in a ball in her palm, like a negress, instead of in her + fingers, like a white woman, as she had been taught. Then she drew a + deep breath, swallowed, and became more composed. +</p> +<p> + Peter stood looking in helpless anger at this representative of all + women of his race. +</p> +<p> + "Cissie, that's street-corner scum—the dirty sewage—" +</p> +<p> + "They make you feel naked," went on Cissie in the monotone that succeeds + a fit of weeping, "and ashamed—and afraid." She blinked her eyes to + press out the undue moisture, and looked at Peter as if asking what else + she could do about it than to go away from the village. +</p> +<p> + "Will it be any better away from here?" suggested Peter, doubtfully. +</p> +<p> + Cissie shook her head. +</p> +<p> + "I—I suppose not, if—if I go alone." +</p> +<p> + "I shouldn't think so," agreed Peter, somberly. He started to hearten + her by saying white women also underwent such trials, if that would be a + consolation; but he knew very well that a white woman's hardships were + as nothing compared to those of a colored woman who was endowed with any + grace whatever. +</p> +<p> + "And besides, Cissie," went on Peter, who somehow found himself arguing + against the notion of her going, "I hardly see how a decent colored + woman gets around at all. Colored boarding-houses are wretched places. I + ate and slept in one or two, coming home. Rotten." The possibility of + Cissie finding herself in such a place moved Peter. +</p> +<p> + The girl nodded submissively to his judgment, and said in a queer voice: + "That's why I—I didn't want to travel alone, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "No, it's a bad idea—" and then Peter perceived that a queer quality + was creeping into the tête-à-tête. +</p> +<p> + She returned his look unsteadily, but with a curious persistence. +</p> +<a name="image-6"><!--IMG--></a> +<center> +<img src="birth06.png" +alt="'You-you Mean You Want M-me—to Go With You, Cissie?' He +Stammered +"> +<br>'You-you Mean You Want M-me—to Go With You, Cissie?' He +Stammered +</center> +<!--IMAGE END--> +<p> + "I—I d-don't want to travel a-alone, Peter," she gasped. +</p> +<p> + Her look, her voice suddenly brought home to the an the amazing + connotation of her words. He stared at her, felt his face grow warm with + a sharp, peculiar embarrassment. He hardly knew what to say or do before + her intent and piteous eyes. +</p> +<p> + "You—you mean you want m-me—to go with you, Cissie?" he stammered. +</p> +<p> + The girl suddenly began trembling, now that her last reserve of + indirection had been torn away. +</p> +<p> + "Listen, Peter," she began breathlessly. "I'm not the sort of woman you + think. If I hadn't accused myself, we'd be married now. I—I wanted you + more than anything in the world, Peter, but I did tell you. Surely, + surely, Peter, that shows I am a good woman—th-the real I. Dear, dear + Peter, there is a difference between a woman and her acts. Peter, you're + the first man in all my life, in a-all my life who ever came to me k- + kindly and gently; so I had to l-love you and t-tell you, Peter." +</p> +<p> + The girl's wavering voice broke down completely; her face twisted with + grief. She groped for her chair, sat down, buried her face in her arms + on the table, and broke into a chattering outbreak of sobs that sounded + like some sort of laughter. +</p> +<p> + Her shoulders shook; the light gleamed on her soft, black Caucasian + hair. There was a little rent in one of the seams in her cheap jacket, + at one of the curves where her side molded into her shoulder. The + customer made garment had found Cissie's body of richer mold than it had + been designed to shield. And yet in Peter's distress and tenderness and + embarrassment, this little rent held his attention and somehow misprized + the wearer. +</p> +<p> + It seemed symbolic in the searching white light. He could see the very + break in the thread and the widened stitches at the ends of the rip. Her + coat had given way because she was modeled more nearly like the Venus de + Milo than the run of womankind. He felt the little irony of the thing, + and yet was quite unable to resist the comparison. +</p> +<p> + And then, too, she had referred again to her sin of peculation. A woman + enjoys confessions from a man. A man's sins are mostly vague, indefinite + things to a woman, a shadowy background which brings out the man in a + beautiful attitude of repentance; but when a woman confesses, the man + sees all her past as a close-up with full lighting. He has an intimate + acquaintance with just what she's talking about, and the woman herself + grows shadowy and unreal. Men have too many blots not to demand + whiteness in women. By striking some such average, nature keeps the race + a going moral concern. +</p> +<p> + So Peter, as he stood looking down on the woman who was asking him to + marry her, was filled with as unhappy and as impersonal a tenderness as + a born brother. He recalled the thoughts which had come to him when he + saw Cissie passing his window. She was not the sort of woman he wanted + to marry; she was not his ideal. He cast about in his head for some + gentle way of putting her off, so that he would not hurt her any + further, if such an easement were possible. +</p> +<p> + As he stood thinking, he found not a pretext, but a reality. He stooped + over, and put a hand lightly on each of her arms. +</p> +<p> + "Cissie," he said in a serious, even voice, "if I should ever marry any + one, it would be you." +</p> +<p> + The girl paused in her sobbing at his even, passionless voice. +</p> +<p> + "Then you—you won't?" she whispered in her arms. +</p> +<p> + "I can't, Cissie." Now that he was saying it, he uttered the words very + evenly and smoothly. "I can't, dear Cissie, because a great work has + just come into my life." He paused, expecting her to ask some question, + but she lay silent, with her face in her arms, evidently listening. +</p> +<p> + "Cissie, I think, in fact I know, I can demonstrate to all the South, + both white and black, the need of a better and more sincere + understanding between our two races." +</p> +<p> + Peter did not feel the absurdity of such a speech in such a place. He + patted her arm, but there was something in the warmth of her flesh that + disturbed his austerity and caused him to lift his hand to the more + impersonal axis of her shoulder. He proceeded to develop his idea. +</p> +<p> + "Cissie, just a moment ago you were complaining of the insults you meet + everywhere. I believe if I can spread my ideas, Cissie, that even a + pretty colored girl like you may walk the streets without being + subjected to obscenity on every corner." His tone unconsciously + patronized Cissie's prettiness with the patronage of the male for the + less significant thing, as though her ripeness for love and passion and + children were, after all, not comparable with what he, a male, could do + in the way of significantly molding life. +</p> +<p> + Cissie lifted her head and dried her eyes. +</p> +<p> + "So you aren't going to marry me, Peter?" Woman-like, now that she was + well into the subject, she was far less embarrassed than Peter. She had + had her cry. +</p> +<p> + "Why—er—considering this work, Cissie—" +</p> +<p> + "Aren't you going to marry anybody, Peter?" +</p> +<p> + The artist in Peter, the thing the girl loved in him, caught again that + Messianic vision of himself. +</p> +<p> + "Why, no, Cissie," he said, with a return of his inspiration of an hour + ago; "I'll be going here and there all over the South preaching this + gospel of kindliness and tolerance, of forgiveness of the faults of + others." Cissie looked at him with a queer expression. "I'll show the + white people that they should treat the negro with consideration not for + the sake of the negro, but for the sake of themselves. It's so simple, + Cissie, it's so logical and clear—" +</p> +<p> + The girl shook her head sadly. +</p> +<p> + "And you don't want me to go with you, Peter?" +</p> +<p> + "Why, n-no, Cissie; a girl like you couldn't go. Perhaps I'll be + misunderstood in places, perhaps I may have to leave a town hurriedly, + or be swung over the walls, like Paul, in a basket." He attempted to + treat it lightly. +</p> +<p> + But the girl looked at him with a horror dawning in her melancholy face. +</p> +<p> + "Peter, do you really mean that?" she whispered. +</p> +<p> + "Why, truly. You don't imagine—" +</p> +<p> + The octoroon opened her dark eyes until she might have been some weird. +</p> +<p> + "Oh, Peter, please, please put such a mad idea away from you! Peter, + you've been living here alone in this old house until you don't see + things clearly. Dear Peter, don't you <i>know?</i> You can't go out and + talk like that to white folks and—and not have some terrible thing + happen to you! Oh, Peter, if you would only marry me, it would cure you + of such wildness!" Involuntarily she got up, holding out her arms to + him, offering herself to his needs, with her frightened eyes fixed on + his. +</p> +<p> + It made him exquisitely uncomfortable again. He made a little sound + designed to comfort and reassure her. He would do very well. He was + something of a diplomat in his way. He had got along with the boys in + Harvard very well indeed. In fact, he was rather a man of the world. No + need to worry about him, though it was awfully sweet of her. +</p> +<p> + Cissie picked up her handkerchief with its torn edge, which she had laid + on the table. Evidently she was about to go. +</p> +<p> + "I surely don't know what will become of me," she said, looking at it. +</p> +<p> + In a reversal of feeling Peter did not want her to go away quite then. + He cast about for some excuse to detain her a moment longer. +</p> +<p> + "Now, Cissie," he began, "if you are really going to leave Hooker's + Bend—" +</p> +<p> + "I'm not going," she said, with a long exhalation. "I—" she swallowed— + "I just thought that up to—ask you to—to—You see," she explained, a + little breathless, "I thought you still loved me and had forgiven me by + the way you watched for me every day at the window." +</p> +<p> + This speech touched Peter more keenly than any of the little drama the + girl had invented. It hit him so shrewdly he could think of nothing more + to say. +</p> +<p> + Cissie moved toward the window and undid the latch. +</p> +<p> + "Good night, Peter." She paused a moment, with her hand on the catch. + "Peter," she said, "I'd almost rather see you marry some other girl than + try so terrible a thing." +</p> +<p> + The big, full-blooded athlete smiled faintly. +</p> +<p> + "You seem perfectly sure marriage would cure me of my mission." +</p> +<p> + Cissie's face reddened faintly. +</p> +<p> + "I think so," she said briefly. "Good night," and she disappeared in the + dark space she had opened, and closed the jalousies softly after her. +</p> +<a name="2HCH18"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XV +</h2> +<p> + Cissie Dildine's conviction that marriage would cure Peter of his + mission persisted in the mulatto's mind long after the glamour of the + girl had faded and his room had regained the bleak emptiness of a + bachelor's bedchamber. +</p> +<p> + Cissie had been so brief and positive in her statement that Peter, who + had not thought on the point at all, grew more than half convinced she + was right. +</p> +<p> + Now that he pondered over it, it seemed there was a difference between + the outlook of a bachelor and that of a married man. The former + considered humanity as a balloonist surveys a throng,—immediately and + without perspective,—but the latter always sees mankind through the + frame of his family. A single man tends naturally to philosophy and + reform; a married man to administration and statesmanship. There have + been no great unmarried statesmen; there have been no great married + philosophers or reformers. +</p> +<p> + Now that Cissie had pointed out this universal rule, Peter saw it very + clearly. And Peter suspected that beneath this rough classification, and + conditioning it, lay a plexus of obscure mental and physical reactions + set up by the relations between husband and wife. It might very well be + there was a difference between the actual cerebral and nervous structure + of a married man and that of a single man. +</p> +<p> + At any rate, after these reflections, Peter now felt sure that marriage + would cure him of his mission; but how had Cissie known it? How had she + struck out so involved a theory, one might say, in the toss of a head? + The more Peter thought it over the more extraordinary it became. It was + another one of those explosive ideas which Cissie, apparently, had the + faculty of creating out of a pure mental vacuum. +</p> +<p> + All this philosophy aside, Cissie's appearance just in the nick of his + inspiration, her surprising proposal of marriage, and his refusal, had + accomplished one thing: it had committed Peter to the program he had + outlined to the girl. +</p> +<p> + Indeed, there seemed something fatalistic in such a concatenation of + events. Siner wondered whether or not he would have obeyed his vision + without this added impulse from Cissie. He did not know; but now, since + it had all come about just as it had, he suspected he would have been + neglectful. He felt as if a dangerous but splendid channel had been + opened before his eyes, and almost at the same instant a hand had + reached down and directed his life into it. This fancy moved the + mulatto. As he got himself ready for bed, he kept thinking: +</p> +<p> + "Well, my life is settled at last. There is nothing else for me to do. + Even if this should end terribly for me, as Cissie imagines, my life + won't be wasted." +</p> +<p> + Next morning Peter Siner was awakened by old Rose Hobbett thrusting her + head in at his door, staring around, and finally, seeing Peter in bed, + grumbling: +</p> +<p> + "Why is you still heah, black man?" +</p> +<p> + The secretary opened his eyes in astonishment. +</p> +<p> + "Why shouldn't I be here?" +</p> +<p> + "Nobody wuz 'speckin' you to be heah." The crone withdrew her head and + vanished. +</p> +<p> + Peter wondered at this unaccustomed interest of Rose, then hurried out + of bed, supposing himself late for breakfast. +</p> +<p> + A dense fog had come up from the river, and the moisture floating into + his open windows had dampened his whole room. Peter stepped briskly to + the screen and began splashing himself. It was only in the midst of his + ablutions that he remembered his inspiration and resolve of the previous + evening. As he squeezed the water over his powerfully molded body, he + recalled it almost impersonally. It might have happened to some third + person. He did not even recall distinctly the threads of the logic which + had lifted him to such a Pisgah, and showed him the whole South as a new + and promised land. However, he knew that he could start his train of + thought again, and again ascend the mountain. +</p> +<p> + Floating through the fog into his open window came the noises of the + village as it set about living another day, precisely as it had lived + innumerable days in the past. The blast of the six-o'clock whistle from + the planing-mill made the loose sashes of his windows rattle. Came a + lowing of cows and a clucking of hens, a woman's calling. The voices of + men in conversation came so distinctly through the pall that it seemed a + number of persons must be moving about their morning work, talking and + shouting, right in the Renfrew yard. +</p> +<p> + But the thing that impressed Peter most was the solidity and stability + of this Southern village that he could hear moving around him, and its + certainty to go on in the future precisely as it had gone on in the + past. It was a tremendous force. The very old manor about him seemed + huge and intrenched in long traditions, while he, Peter Siner, was just + a brown man, naked behind a screen and rather cold from the fog and damp + of the morning. +</p> +<p> + He listened to old Rose clashing the kitchen utensils. As he drew on his + damp underwear, he wondered what he could say to old Rose that would + persuade her into a little kindliness and tolerance for the white + people. As he listened he felt hopeless; he could never explain to the + old creature that her own happiness depended upon the charity she + extended to others. She could never understand it. She would live and + die precisely the same bitter old beldam that she was, and nothing could + ever assuage her. +</p> +<p> + While Peter was thinking of the old creature, she came shuffling along + the back piazza with his breakfast. She let herself in by lifting one + knee to a horizontal, balancing the tray on it, then opening the door + with her freed hand. +</p> +<p> + When the shutter swung open, it displayed the crone standing on one + foot, wearing a man's grimy sock, which had fallen down over a broken, + run-down shoe. +</p> +<p> + In Peter's mood the thought of this wretched old woman putting on such + garments morning after morning was unspeakably pathetic. He thought of + his own mother, who had lived and died only a shade or two removed from + the old crone's condition. +</p> +<p> + Rose put down her foot, and entered the room with her lips poked out, + ready to make instant attack if Peter mentioned his lack of supper the + night before. +</p> +<p> + "Aunt Rose," asked the secretary, with his friendly intent in his tones, + "how came you to look in this morning and say you didn't expect to find + me in my room?" +</p> +<p> + She gave an unintelligible grunt, pushed the lamp to one side, and eased + her tray to the table. +</p> +<p> + Peter finished touching his tie before one of those old-fashioned + mirrors, not of cut-glass, yet perfectly true. He came from the mirror + and moved his chair, out of force of habit, so he could look up the + street toward the Arkwrights'. +</p> +<p> + "Aunt Rose," said the young man, wistfully, "why are you always angry?" +</p> +<p> + She bridled at this extraordinary inquiry. +</p> +<p> + "Me?" +</p> +<p> + "Yes, you." +</p> +<p> + She hesitated a moment, thinking how she could make her reply a personal + assault on Peter. +</p> +<p> + "'Cause you come heah, 'sputin' my rights, da' 's' why." +</p> +<p> + "No," demurred Peter, "you were quarreling in the kitchen the first + morning I came here, and you didn't know I was on the place." +</p> +<p> + "Well—I got my tribulations," she snapped, staring suspiciously at + these unusual questions. +</p> +<p> + There was a pause; then Peter said placatingly: +</p> +<p> + "I was just thinking, Aunt Rose, you might forget your tribulations if + you didn't ride them all the time." +</p> +<p> + "Hoccum! What you mean, ridin' my tribulations?" +</p> +<p> + "Thinking about them. The old Captain, for instance; you are no happier + always abusing the old Captain." +</p> +<p> + The old virago gave a sniff, tossed her head, but kept her eyes rolled + suspiciously on Peter. +</p> +<p> + "Very often the way we think and act makes us happy or unhappy," + moralized Peter, broadly. +</p> +<p> + "Look heah, nigger, you ain't no preacher sont out by de Lawd to me!" +</p> +<p> + "Anyway, I am sure you would feel more friendly toward the Captain if + you acted openly with him; for instance, if you didn't take off all his + cold victuals, and handkerchiefs and socks, soap, kitchenware—" +</p> +<p> + The cook snorted. +</p> +<p> + "I'd feel dat much mo' nekked an' hongry, dat's how I'd feel." +</p> +<p> + "Perhaps, if you'd start over, he might give you a better wage." +</p> +<p> + "Huh!" she snorted in an access of irony. "I see dat skinflint gib'n' me + a better wage. Puuh!" The suddenly she realized where the conversation + had wandered, and stared at the secretary with widening eyes "Good Lawd! + Did dat fool Cap'n set up a nigger in dis bedroom winder jes to ketch + ole Rose packin' off a few ole lef'-overs?" Peter began a hurried + denial, but she rushed on: "'Fo' Gawd, I hopes his viddles chokes him! I + hope his ole smoke-house falls down on his ole haid. I hope to Jesus—" +</p> +<p> + Peter pleaded with her not to think the Captain was behind his + observations, but the hag rushed out of the bedroom, swinging her head + from side to side, uttering the most terrible maledictions. She would + show him! She wouldn't put another foot in his old kitchen. Wild horses + couldn't drag her into his smoke-house again. +</p> +<p> + Peter ran to the door and called after her down the piazza, trying to + exonerate the Captain: but she either did not or would not hear, and + vanished into the kitchen, still furious. +</p> +<p> + Old Rose made Peter so uneasy that he deserted his breakfast midway and + hurried to the library. In the solemn old room he found the Captain + alone and in rather a pleased mood. The old gentleman stood patting and + alining a pile of manuscript. As the mulatto entered he exclaimed: +</p> +<p> + "Well, here's Peter again!" as if his secretary had been off on a long + journey. Immediately afterward he added, "Peter, guess what I did last + night." His voice was full of triumph. +</p> +<p> + Peter was thinking about Aunt Rose, and stood looking at the Captain + without the slightest idea. +</p> +<p> + "I wrote all of this,"—he indicated his manuscript,—"over a hundred + pages." +</p> +<p> + Peter considered the work without much enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> + "You must have worked all night." +</p> +<p> + The old attorney rubbed his hands. +</p> +<p> + "I think I may claim a touch of inspiration last night, Peter. + Reminiscences rippled from under my pen, propitious words, prosperous + sentences. Er—the fact is, Peter, you will see, when you begin copying, + I had come to a matter—a—a matter of some moment in my life. Every + life contains such moments, Peter. I had meant to write something in the + nature of a defen—an explanation, Peter. But after you left the library + last night it suddenly occurred to me just to give each fact as it took + place, quite frankly. So I did that—not—not what I meant to write, at + all—ah. As you copy it, you may find it not entirely without some + interest to yourself, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "To me?" repeated Peter, after the fashion of the unattentative. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, to yourself." The Captain was oddly moved. He took his hands off + the script, walked a little away from the table, came back to it. "It— + ah—may explain a good many things that—er—may have puzzled you." He + cleared his throat and shifted his subject briskly. "We ought to be + thinking about a publisher. What publisher shall we have publish these + reminiscences? Make some stir in Tennessee's political circles, + Peter; tremendous sales; clear up questions everybody is interested in. + H-m—well, I'll walk down town and you"—he motioned to the script— + "begin copying—" +</p> +<p> + "By the way, Captain," said Peter as the old gentleman turned for the + door, "has Rose said anything to you yet?" +</p> +<p> + The old man detached his mind from his script with an obvious effort. +</p> +<p> + "What about?" +</p> +<p> + "About leaving your service." +</p> +<p> + "No-o, not especially; she's always leaving my service." +</p> +<p> + "But in this case it was my fault; at least I brought it about. I + remonstrated with her about taking your left-over victuals and socks and + handkerchiefs and things. She was quite offended." +</p> +<p> + "Yes, it always offends her," agreed the old man, impatiently. "I never + mention it myself unless I catch her red-handed; then I storm a little + to keep her in bounds." +</p> +<p> + Naturally, Peter knew of this extraordinary system of service in the + South; nevertheless he was shocked at its implications. +</p> +<p> + "Captain," suggested Peter, "wouldn't you find it to your own interest + to give old Rose a full cash payment for her services and allow her to + buy her own things?" +</p> +<p> + The Captain dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "She's a + nigger, Peter; you can't hire a nigger not to steal. Born in 'em. Then + I'm not sure but what it would be compounding a felony, hiring a person + not to steal; might be so construed. Well, now, there's the script. Read + it carefully, my boy, and remember that in order to gain a certain + <i>status quo</i> certain antecedents are—are absolutely necessary, + Peter. Without them my—my life would have been quite empty, Peter. + It's—it's very strange—amazing. You will understand as you read. I'll + be back to dinner, so good-by." In the strangest agitation the old + Captain walked out of the library. The last glimpse Peter had of him was + his meager old figure silhouetted against the cold gray fog that filled + the compound. +</p> +<p> + Neither the Captain's agitation nor his obvious desire that Peter should + at once read the new manuscript really got past the threshold of the + mulatto's consciousness. Peter's thoughts still hovered about old Rose, + and from that point spread to the whole system of colored service in the + South. For Rose's case was typical. The wage of cooks in small Southern + villages is a pittance—and what they can steal. The tragedy of the + mothers of a whole race working for their board and thievings came over + Peter with a rising grimness. And there was no public sentiment against + such practice. It was accepted everywhere as natural and inevitable. The + negresses were never prosecuted; no effort was made to regain the stolen + goods. The employers realized that what they paid would not keep soul + and body together; that it was steal or perish. +</p> +<p> + It was a fantastic truth that for any colored girl to hire into domestic + service in Hooker's Bend was more or less entering an apprenticeship in + peculation. What she could steal was the major portion of her wage, if + two such anomalous terms may be used in conjunction. +</p> +<p> + Yet, strange to say, the negro women of the village were quite honest in + other matters. They paid their small debts. They took their mistresses' + pocket-books to market and brought back the correct change. And if a + mistress grew too indignant about something they had stolen, they would + bring it back and say: "Here is a new one. I'd rather buy you a new one + than have you think I would take anything." +</p> +<p> + The whole system was the lees of slavery, and was surely the most + demoralizing, the most grotesque method of hiring service in the whole + civilized world. It was so absurd that its mere relation lapses into + humor, that bane of black folk. +</p> +<p> + Such painful thoughts filled the gloomy library and harassed Peter in + his copying. He took his work to the window and tried to concentrate + upon it, but his mind kept playing away. +</p> +<p> + Indeed, it seemed to Peter that to sit in this old room and rewrite the + wordy meanderings of the old gentleman's book was the very height of + emptiness. How utterly futile, when all around him, on every hand, girls + like Cissie Dildine were being indentured to corruption! And, as far as + Peter knew, he was the only person in the South who saw it or felt it or + cared anything at all about it. +</p> +<p> + When Cissie Dildine came to the surface of Peter's mind she remained + there, whirling around and around in his chaotic thoughts. He began + talking to her image, after a certain dramatic trick of his mind, and + she began offering her environment as an excuse for what had come + between them and estranged them. She stole, but she had been trained to + steal. She was a thief, the victim of an immense immorality. The charm + of Cissie, her queer, swift-working intuition, the candor of her + confession, her voluptuousness—all came rushing down on Peter, + harassing him with anger and love and desire. To copy any more script + became impossible. He lost his place; he hardly knew what he was + writing. +</p> +<p> + He flung aside the whole work, got to his feet with the imperative need + of an athlete for the open. He started out of the room, but as an + afterthought scribbled a nervous line, telling the Captain he might not + be back for dinner. Then he found his hat and coat and walked briskly + around the piazza to the front gate. +</p> +<p> + The trees and shrubs were dripping, but the fog had almost cleared away, + leaving only a haze in the air. A pale, level line of it cut across the + scarp of the Big Hill. The sun shone with a peculiar soft light through + the vapors. +</p> +<p> + As Peter passed out at the gate, the fancy came to him that he might + very well be starting on his mission. It came with a sort of surprise. + He wondered how other men had set about reforms. With unpremeditation? + He wondered to whom Jesus of Nazareth preached his first sermon. The + thought of that young Galilean, sensitive, compassionate, inexperienced, + speaking to his first hearer, filled Peter with a strange trembling + tenderness. He looked about the familiar street of Hooker's Bend, the + old trees over the pavement, the shabby village houses, and it all held + a strangeness when thus juxtaposed to the thought of Nazareth nineteen + hundred years before. +</p> +<p> + The mulatto started down the street with his footsteps quickened by a + sense of spiritual adventure. +</p> +<a name="2HCH19"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XVI +</h2> +<p> + On the corner, against the blank south wall of Hobbett's store, Peter + Siner saw the usual crowd of negroes warming themselves in the soft + sunshine. They were slapping one another, scuffling, making feints with + knives or stones, all to an accompaniment of bragging, profanity, and + loud laughter. Their behavior was precisely that of adolescent white + boys of fifteen or sixteen years of age. +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink Staggs was furnishing much amusement with an impromptu sleight- + of-hand exhibition. The black audience clustered around Jim Pink in his + pinstripe trousers and blue-serge coat. They exhibited not the least + curiosity as to the mechanics of the tricks, but asked for more and + still more, with the naïve delight of children in the mysterious. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner walked down the street with his Messianic impulse strong + upon him. He was in that stage of feeling toward his people where a + man's emotions take the color of religion. Now, as he approached the + crowd of negroes, he wondered what he could say, how he could transfer + to them the ideas and the emotion that lifted up his own heart. +</p> +<p> + As he drew nearer, his concern mounted to anxiety. Indeed, what could he + say? How could he present so grave a message? He was right among them + now. One of the negroes jostled him by striking around his body at + another negro. Peter stopped. His heart beat, and he had a queer + sensation of being operated by some power outside himself. Next moment + he heard himself saying in fairly normal tones: +</p> +<p> + "Fellows, do you think we ought to be idling on the street corners like + this? We ought to be at work, don't you think?" +</p> +<p> + The horse-play stopped at this amazing sentiment. +</p> +<p> + "Whuffo, Peter?" asked a voice. +</p> +<p> + "Because the whole object of our race nowadays is to gain the respect of + other races, and more particularly our own self-respect. We haven't it + now. The only way to get it is to work, work, work." +</p> +<p> + "Ef you feel lak you'd ought to go to wuck," suggested one astonished + hearer, "you done got my p'mission, black boy, to hit yo' natchel gait + to de fust job in sight." +</p> +<p> + Peter was hardly less surprised than his hearers at what he was saying. + He paid no attention to the interruption. +</p> +<p> + "Fellows, it's the only way our colored people can get on and make the + most out of life. Persistent labor is the very breath of the soul, men; + it—it is." Here Peter caught an intimation of the whole flow of energy + through the universe, focusing in man and being transformed into mental + and moral values. And it suddenly occurred to him that the real worth of + any people was their efficiency in giving this flow of force moral and + spiritual forms. That is the end of man; that is what is prefigured when + a baby's hand reaches for the sun. But Peter considered his audience, + and his thought stammered on his tongue. The Persimmon, with his + protruding, half-asleep eyes, was saying: +</p> +<p> + "I don' know, Peter, as I 's so partic'lar 'bout makin' de mos' out'n + dis worl'. You know de Bible say—hit say,"—here the Persimmon's voice + dropped a tone lower, in unconscious imitation of negro preachers,—"la- + ay not up yo' treasure on uth, wha moss do corrup', an' thieves break + th'ugh <i>an'</i> steal." +</p> +<p> + Came a general nodding and agreement of soft, blurry voices. +</p> +<p> + "'At sho whut it say, black man!" +</p> +<p> + "Sho do!" +</p> +<p> + "Lawd God loves a nigger on a street corner same as He do a millionaire + in a six-cylinder, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "Sho do, black man; but He's jes about de onlies' thing on uth 'at do." +</p> +<p> + "Well, I don' know," came a troubled rejoinder. "Thaiuh 's de debbil, + ketchin' mo' niggers nowadays dan he do white men, I 'fo' Gawd + b'liebes." +</p> +<p> + "Well, dat's because dey <i>is</i> so many mo' niggers dan dey is white + folks," put in a philosopher. +</p> +<p> + "Whut you say 'bout dat, Brudder Peter?" inquired the Persimmon, + seriously. None of this discussion was either derision or burlesque. + None of the crowd had the slightest feeling that these questions were + not just as practical and important as the suggestion that they all go + to work. +</p> +<p> + When Peter realized how their ignorant and undisciplined thoughts flowed + off into absurdities, and that they were entirely unaware of it, it + brought a great depression to his heart. He held up a hand with an + earnestness that caught their vagrant attention. +</p> +<p> + "Listen!" he pleaded. "Can't you see how much there is for us black + folks to do, and what little we have done?" +</p> +<p> + "Sho is a lot to do; we admits dat," said Bluegum Frakes. "But whut's de + use doin' hit ef we kin manage to shy roun' some o' dat wuck an' keep on + libin' anyhow, specially wid wages so high?" +</p> +<p> + The question stopped Peter. Neither his own thoughts, nor any book that + he had ever read nor any lecture that he had heard ever attempted to + explain the enormous creative urge which is felt by every noble mind, + and which, indeed, is shared to some extent by every human creature. Put + to it like that, Siner concocted a sort of allegory, telling of a negro + who was shiftless in the summer and suffered want in the winter, and + applied it to the present high wage and to the low wage that was coming; + but in his heart Peter knew such utilitarianism was not the true reason + at all. Men do not weave tapestries to warm themselves, or build temples + to keep the rain away. +</p> +<p> + The brown man passed on around the corner, out of the faint warmth of + the sunshine and away from the empty and endless arguments which his + coming had provoked among the negroes. +</p> +<p> + The futile ending of his first adventure surprised Peter. He walked + uncertainly up the business street of the village, hardly knowing where + to turn next. +</p> +<p> + Cold weather had driven the merchants indoors, and the thoroughfare was + quite deserted except for a few hogs rooting among the refuse heaps + piled in front of the stores. It was not a pleasant sight, and it + repelled Peter all the more because he was accustomed to the antiseptic + look of a Northern city. He walked up to the third door from the corner, + when a buzz of voices brought him to a standstill and finally persuaded + him inside. +</p> +<p> + At the back end of a badly lighted store a circle of white men and boys + had formed around an old-fashioned, egg-shaped stove. Near by, on some + meal-bags, sat two negroes, one of whom wore a broad grin, the other, a + funny, sheepish look. +</p> +<p> + The white men were teasing the latter negro about having gone to jail + for selling a mortgaged cow. The men went about their fun-making + leisurely, knowing quite well the negro could not get angry or make any + retort or leave the store, all of these methods of self-defense being + ruled out by custom. +</p> +<p> + "You must have forgot your cow was mortgaged, Bob." +</p> +<p> + "No-o-o, suh; I—I—I didn't fuhgit," drawling his vowels to a + prodigious length. +</p> +<p> + "Didn't you know you'd get into trouble?" +</p> +<p> + "No-o-o, suh." +</p> +<p> + "Know it now, don't you?" +</p> +<p> + "Ya-a-s, suh." +</p> +<p> + "Have a good time in jail, Bob?" +</p> +<p> + "Ya-a-s, suh. Shot cra-a-aps nearly all de time tull de jailer broke hit + up." +</p> +<p> + "Wouldn't he let you shoot any more?" +</p> +<p> + "No-o-o, suh; not after he won all our money." Here Bob flung up his + head, poked out his lips like a bugle, and broke into a grotesque, "Hoo! + hoo! hoo!" It was such an absurd laugh, and Bob's tale had come to such + an absurd denouement, that the white men roared, and shuffled their feet + on the flared base of the stove. Some spat in or near a box filled with + sawdust, and betrayed other nervous signs of satisfaction. When a man so + spat, he stopped laughing abruptly, straightened his face, and stared + emptily at the rusty stove until further inquisition developed some + other preposterous escapade in Bob's jail career. +</p> +<p> + The merchant, looking up at one of these intermissions, saw Peter + standing at his counter. He came out of the circle and asked Peter what + he wanted. The mulatto bought a package of soda and went out. +</p> +<p> + The chill north wind smelled clean after the odors of the store. Peter + stood with his package of soda, breathing deeply, looking up and down + the street, wondering what to do next. Without much precision of + purpose, he walked diagonally across the street, northward toward a + large faded sign that read, "Killibrew's Grocery." A little later Peter + entered a big, rather clean store which smelled of spices, coffee, and a + faint dash of decayed potatoes. Mr. Killibrew himself, a big, rotund + man, with a round head of prematurely white hair, was visible in a + little glass office at the end of his store. Even through the glazed + partition Peter could see Mr. Killibrew smiling as he sat comfortably at + his desk. Indeed, the grocer's chief assets were a really expansive + friendliness and a pleasant, easily provoked laughter. +</p> +<p> + He was fifty-two years old, and had been in the grocery business since + he was fifteen. He had never been to school at all, but had learned + bookkeeping, business mathematics, salesmanship, and the wisdom of the + market-place from his store, from other merchants, and from the drummers + who came every week with their samples and their worldly wisdom. These + drummers were, almost to a man, very sincere friends of Mr. Killibrew, + and not infrequently they would write the grocer from the city, or send + him telegrams, advising him to buy this or to unload that, according to + the exigencies of the market. As a result of this was very well off + indeed, and all because he was a friendly, agreeable sort of man. +</p> +<p> + The grocer heard Peter enter and started to come out of his office, when + Peter stopped him and asked if he might speak with him alone. +</p> +<p> + The white-haired man with the pink, good-natured face stood looking at + Peter with rather a questioning but pleasant expression. +</p> +<p> + "Why, certainly, certainly." He turned back to the swivel-chair at his + desk, seated himself, and twisted about on Peter as he entered. Mr. + Killibrew did not offer Peter a seat,—that would have been an + infraction of Hooker's Bend custom,—but he sat leaning back, evidently + making up his mind to refuse Peter credit, which he fancied the mulatto + would ask for and yet do it pleasantly. +</p> +<p> + "I was wondering, Mr. Killibrew," began Peter feeling his way along, "I + was wondering if you would mind talking over a little matter with me. + It's considered a delicate subject, I believe, but I thought a frank + talk would help." +</p> +<p> + During the natural pauses of Peter's explanation Mr. Killibrew kept up a + genial series of nods and ejaculations. +</p> +<p> + "Certainly, Peter. I don't see why, Peter. I'm sure it will help, + Peter." +</p> +<p> + "I'd like to talk frankly about the relations of our two races in the + South, in Hooker's Bend." +</p> +<p> + The grocer stopped his running accompaniment of affirmations and looked + steadfastly at Peter. Presently he seemed to solve some question and + broke into a pleasant laugh. +</p> +<p> + "Now, Peter, if this is some political shenanigan, I must tell you I'm a + Democrat. Besides that, I don't care a straw about politics. I vote, and + that's all." +</p> +<p> + Peter put down the suspicion that he was on a political errand. +</p> +<p> + "Not that at all, Mr. Killibrew. It's a question of the white race and + the black race. The particular feature I am working on is the wages paid + to cooks." +</p> +<p> + "I didn't know you were a cook," interjected the grocer in surprise. +</p> +<p> + "I am not." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Killibrew looked at Peter, thought intensely for a few moments, and + came to an unescapable conclusion. +</p> +<p> + "You don't mean you've formed a cook's union here in Hooker's Bend, + Peter!" he cried, immensely amazed. +</p> +<p> + "Not at all. It's this," clarified Peter. "It may seem trivial, but it + illustrates the principle I'm trying to get at. Doesn't your cook carry + away cold food?" +</p> +<p> + It required perhaps four seconds for the merchant to stop his + speculations on what Peter had come for and adjust his mind to the + question. +</p> +<p> + "Why, yes, I suppose so," he agreed, very much at sea. "I—I never + caught up with her." He laughed a pleasant, puzzled laugh. "Of course + she doesn't come around and show me what she's making off with. Why?" +</p> +<p> + "Well, it's this. Wouldn't you prefer to give your cook a certain cash + payment instead of having her taking uncertain amounts of your + foodstuffs and wearing apparel?" +</p> +<p> + The merchant leaned forward in his chair. +</p> +<p> + "Did old Becky Davis send you to me with any such proposition as that, + Peter?" +</p> +<p> + "No, not at all. But, Mr. Killibrew, wouldn't you like better and more + trustworthy servants as cooks, as farm-hands, chauffeurs, stable-boys? + You see, you and your children and your children's children are going to + have to depend on negro labor, as far as we can see, to the end of + time." +</p> +<p> + "We-e-ell, yes," admitted Mr. Killibrew, who was not accustomed to + considering the end of time. +</p> +<p> + "Wouldn't it be better to have honest, self-respecting help than + dishonest help?" +</p> +<p> + "Certainly." +</p> +<p> + "Then let's think about cooks. How can one hope to rear an honest, self- + respecting citizenry as long as the mothers of the race are compelled to + resort to thievery to patch out an insufficient wage?" +</p> +<p> + "Why, I don't suppose niggers ever will be honest," admitted the grocer, + very frankly. "You naturally don't trust a nigger. If you credit one for + a dime, the next time he has any money he'll go trade somewhere else." + The grocer broke into his contagious laugh. "Do you know how I've built + up my business here, Peter? By never trusting a nigger." Mr. Killibrew + continued his pleased chuckle. "Yes, I get the whole cash trade of the + niggers in Hooker's Bend by never cheating one and never trusting one." +</p> +<p> + The grocer leaned back in his squeaking chair and looked out through the + glass partition, over the brightly colored packages that lined his + shelves from floor to ceiling. All that prosperity had come about + through a policy of honesty and distrust. It was something to be proud + of. +</p> +<p> + "Now, let me see," he proceeded, recurring pleasantly to what he + recalled of Peter's original proposition: "Aunt Becky sent you here to + tell me if I'd raise her pay, she'd stop stealin' and—and raise some + honest children." Mr. Killibrew threw back his head broke into loud, + jelly-like laughter. "Why, don't you know, Peter, she's an old liar. If + I gave her a hundred a week, she'd steal. And children! Why, the old + humbug! She's too old; she's had her crop. And, besides all that, I + don't mind what the old woman takes. It isn't much. She's a good old + darky, faithful as a dog." He arose from his swivel-chair briskly and + floated Peter out before him. "Tell her, if she wants a raise," he + concluded heartily, "and can't pinch enough out of my kitchen and the + two dollars I pay her—tell her to come to me, straight out, and I'll + give her more, and she can pinch more." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Killibrew moved down the aisle of his store between fragrant barrels + and boxes, laughing mellowly at old Aunt Becky's ruse, as he saw it. As + he turned Peter out, he invited him to come again when he needed + anything in the grocery line. +</p> +<p> + And he was so pleasant, hearty, and sincere in his friendliness toward + both Peter and old Aunt Becky that Peter, even amid the complete side- + tracking and derailing of his mission, decided that it ever he did have + occasion to purchase any groceries, he would do his trading at this + market ruled by an absolute honesty with, and a complete distrust in, + his race. +</p> +<p> + At the conclusion of the Killibrew interview Peter instinctively felt + that he had just about touched the norm of Hooker's Bend. The village + might contain men who would dive a little deeper into the race question + with Peter; assuredly, there would be hundreds who would not dive so + deep. Mr. Killibrew's attitude on the race question turned on how to + hold the negro patronage of the village to his grocery. It was not an + abstract question at all, but a concrete fact, which he had worked out + to his own satisfaction. With Mr. Killibrew, with all Hooker's Bend, + there was no negro question. +</p> +<a name="2HCH20"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XVII +</h2> +<p> + When Peter Siner started on his indefinite errand among the village + stores he believed it would require much tact and diplomacy to discuss + the race question without offense. To his surprise, no precaution was + necessary. Everybody agreed at once that the South would be benefited by + a more trustworthy labor, that if the negroes were trustworthy they + could be paid more; but nobody agreed that if negroes were paid more + they would become more trustworthy. The prevailing dictum was, A + nigger's a nigger. +</p> +<p> + As Peter came out into the shabby little street of Hooker's Bend + discouragement settled upon him. He felt as if he had come squarely + against some blank stone wall that no amount of talking could budge. The + black man would have to change his psychology or remain where he was, a + creature of poverty, hovels, and dirt; but amid such surroundings he + could not change his psychology. +</p> +<p> + The point of these unhappy conclusions somehow turned against Cissie + Dildine. The mulatto became aware that his whole crusade had been + undertaken in behalf of the octoroon. Everything the merchants said + against negroes became accusations against Cissie in a sharp personal + way. "A nigger is a nigger"; "A thief is a thief"; "She wouldn't quit + stealing if I paid her a hundred a week." Every stroke had fallen + squarely on Cissie's shoulders. A nigger, a thief; and she would never + be otherwise. +</p> +<p> + It was all so hopeless, so unchangeable, that Peter walked down the + bleak street unutterably depressed There was nothing he could do. The + situation was static. It seemed best that he should go away North and + save his own skin. It was impossible to take Cissie with him. Perhaps in + time he would come to forget her, and in so doing he would forget the + pauperism and pettinesses of all the black folk of the South. Because + through Cissie Peter saw the whole negro race. She was flexuous and + passionate, kindly and loving, childish and naïvely wise; on occasion + she could falsify and steal, and in the depth of her Peter sensed a + profound capacity for fury and violence. For all her precise English, + she was untamed, perhaps untamable. +</p> +<p> + Cissie was a far cry from the sort of woman Peter imagined he wanted for + a mate; yet he knew that if he stayed on in Hooker's Bend, seeing her, + desiring her, with her luxury mocking the loneliness of the old Renfrew + manor, presently he would marry her. Already he had had his little + irrational moments when it seemed to him that Cissie herself was quite + fine and worthy and that her speculations were something foreign and did + not pertain to her at all. +</p> +<p> + He would better go North. It would be safer up there. No doubt he could + find another colored girl in the North. The thought of fondling any + other woman filled Peter with a sudden, sharp repulsion. However, Peter + was wise. He knew he would get over that in time. +</p> +<p> + With this plan in mind, Peter set out down the street, intending to + cross the Big Hill at the church, walk over to his mother's shack, and + pack his few belongings preparatory to going away. +</p> +<p> + It was not a heroic retreat. The conversation which he had had with his + college friend Farquhar recurred to Peter. Farquhar had tried to + persuade Peter to remain North and take a position in a system of + garages out of Chicago. +</p> +<p> + "You can do nothing in the South, Siner," assured Farquhar; "your + countrymen must stand on their own feet, just as you are doing." +</p> +<p> + Peter had argued the vast majority of the negroes had no chance, but + Farquhar pressed the point that Peter himself disproved his own + statement. At the time Peter felt there was an clench in the + Illinoisan's logic, but he was not skilful enough to analyze it. Now the + mulatto began to see that Farquhar was right. The negro question was a + matter of individual initiative. Critics forgot that a race was composed + of individual men. +</p> +<p> + Peter had an uneasy sense that this was exceedingly thin logic, a mere + smoke screen behind which he meant to retreat back up North. He walked + on down the poor village street, turning it over and over in his mind, + affirming it positively to himself, after the manner of uneasy + consciences. +</p> +<p> + An unusual stir among the negroes on Hobbett's corner caught Peter's + attention and broke into his chain of thought. Half a dozen negroes + stood on the corner, staring down toward the white church. A black boy + suddenly started running across the street, and disappeared among the + stores on the other side. Peter caught glimpses of him among the + wretched alleyways and vacant lots that lie east of Main Street. The boy + was still running toward Niggertown. +</p> +<p> + By this time Peter was just opposite the watchers on the corner. He + lifted his voice and asked them the matter, but at the moment they began + an excited talking, and no one heard him. +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink Staggs jerked off his fur cap, made a gesture, contorted his + long, black face into a caricature of fright, and came loping across the + street, looking back over his shoulder, mimicking a run for life His + mummery set his audience howling. +</p> +<p> + The buffoon would have collided with Peter, but the mulatto caught Jim + Pink by the arm and shoulder, brought him to a halt, and at the same + time helped him keep his feet. +</p> +<p> + To Peter's inquiry what was the matter, the black fellow whirled and + blared out loudly, for the sake of his audience: +</p> +<p> + "'Fo' Gawd, nigger, I sho thought Mr. Bobbs had me!" and he writhed his + face into an idiotic grimace. +</p> +<p> + The audience reeled about in their mirth. Because with negroes, as with + white persons, two thirds of humor is in the reputation, and Jim Pink + was of prodigious repute. +</p> +<p> + Peter walked along with him patiently, because he knew that until they + were out of ear-shot of the crowd there was no way of getting a sensible + answer out of Jim Pink. +</p> +<p> + "Where are you going?" he asked presently. +</p> +<p> + "Thought I'd step over to Niggertown." Jim Pink's humorous air was still + upon him. +</p> +<p> + "What's doing over there? What were the boys raising such a hullabaloo + about?" +</p> +<p> + "Such me." +</p> +<p> + "Why did that boy go running across like that?" +</p> +<p> + Jim Pink rolled his eyes on Peter with a peculiar look. +</p> +<p> + "Reckon he mus' 'a' wanted to git on t'other side o' town." +</p> +<p> + Peter flattered the Punchinello by smiling a little. +</p> +<p> + "Come, Jim Pink, what do you know?" he asked. The magician poked out his + huge lips. +</p> +<p> + "Mr. Bobbs turn acrost by de church, over de Big Hill. Da' 's always a + ba-ad sign." +</p> +<p> + Peter's brief interest in the matter flickered out. Another arrest for + some niggerish peccadillo. The history of Niggertown was one long series + of petty offenses, petty raids, and petty punishments. Peter would be + glad to get well away from such a place. +</p> +<p> + "Think I'll go North, Jim Pink," remarked Peter, chiefly to keep up a + friendly conversation with his companion. +</p> +<p> + "Whut-chu goin' to do up thaiuh?" +</p> +<p> + "Take a position in a system of garages." +</p> +<p> + "A position is a job wid a white color on it," defined the minstrel. + "Whut you goin' to do wid Cissie?" +</p> +<p> + Peter looked around at the foolish face. +</p> +<p> + "With Cissie?—Cissie Dildine?" +</p> +<p> + "Uh huh." +</p> +<p> + "Why, what makes you think I'm going to do anything with Cissie?" +</p> +<p> + "M-m, visitin' roun'." The fool flung his face into a grimace, and + dropped it as one might shake out a sack. +</p> +<p> + Peter watched the contortion uneasily. +</p> +<p> + "What do you mean—visiting around?" +</p> +<blockquote> + "Diff'nt folks go visitin' roun';<br> + Some goes up an' some goes down." +</blockquote> +<p> + Apparently Jim Pink had merely quoted a few words from a poem he knew. + He stared at the green-black depth of the glade, which set in about + half-way up the hill they were climbing. +</p> +<p> + "Ef this weather don' ever break," he observed sagely, "we sho am in fuh + a dry spell." +</p> +<p> + Peter did not pursue the topic of the weather. He climbed the hill in + silence, wondering just what the buffoon meant. He suspected he was + hinting at Cissie's visit to his room. However, he did not dare ask any + questions or press the point in any manner, lest he commit himself. +</p> +<p> + The minstrel had succeeded in making Peter's walk very uncomfortable, as + somehow he always did. Peter went on thinking about the matter. If Jim + Pink knew of Cissie's visit, all Niggertown knew it. No woman's + reputation, nobody's shame or misery or even life, would stand between + Jim Pink and what he considered a joke. The buffoon was the crudest + thing in this world—a man who thought himself a wit. +</p> +<p> + Peter could imagine all the endless tweaks to Cissie's pride Niggertown + would give the octoroon. She had asked Peter to marry her and had been + refused. She had humbled herself for naught. That was the very tar of + shame. Peter knew that in the moral categories of Niggertown Cissie + would suffer more from such a rebuff than if she had lied or committed + theft and adultery every day in the calendar. She had been refused + marriage. All the folk-ways of Niggertown were utterly topsyturvy. It + was a crazy-house filled with the most grotesque moral measures. +</p> +<p> + It seemed to Peter as he entered the cedar-glade that he had lost all + sympathy with this people from which he had sprung. He looked upon them + as strange, incomprehensible beings, just as a man will forget his own + childhood and look upon children as strange, incomprehensible little + creatures. In the midst of his thoughts he heard himself saying to Jim + Pink: +</p> +<p> + "I suppose it is as dusty as ever." +</p> +<p> + "Dustier 'an ever," assured Jim Pink. +</p> +<p> + Apparently their conversation had recurred to the weather, after all. +</p> +<p> + A chill silence encompassed the glade. The path the negroes followed + wound this way and that among reddish boulders, between screens of + intergrown cedars, and over a bronze mat of needles. Their steps were + noiseless. The odor of the cedars and the temple-like stillness brought + to Peter's mind the night of his mother's death. It seemed to him a long + time since he had come running through the glade after a doctor, and + yet, by a queer distortion of his sense of time, his mother's death and + burial bulked in his past as if it had occurred yesterday. +</p> +<p> + There was no sound in the glade to disturb Peter's thoughts except a + murmur of human voices from some of the innumerable privacies of the + place, and the occasional chirp of a waxwing busy over clusters of + cedar-balls. +</p> +<p> + It had been five weeks and a day since Caroline died. Five weeks and a + day; his mother's death drifting away into the mystery and oblivion of + the past. Likewise, twenty-five years of his own life completed and + gone. +</p> +<p> + A procession of sad, wistful thoughts trailed through Peter's brain: his + mother, and Ida May, and now Cissie. It seemed to Peter that all any + woman had ever brought him was wistfulness and sadness. His mother had + been jealous, and instead of the great happiness he had expected, his + home life with her had turned out a series of small perplexities and + pains. Before that was Ida May, and now here was her younger sister. + Peter wondered if any man ever reached the peace and happiness + foreshadowed in his dream of a woman. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + A voice calling his name checked Peter's stride mechanically, and caused + him to look about with the slight bewilderment of a man aroused from a + reverie. +</p> +<p> + At the first sound, however, Jim Pink became suddenly alert. He took + three strides ahead of Peter, and as he went he whispered over his + shoulder: +</p> +<p> + "Beat it, nigger! beat it!" +</p> +<p> + The mulatto recognized one of Jim Pink's endless stupid attempts at + comedy. It would be precisely Jim Pink's idea of a jest to give Peter a + little start. As the mulatto stood looking about among the cedars for + the person who had called his name, it amazed him that Jim Pink could be + so utterly insane; that he performed some buffoonery instantly, by + reflex action as it were, upon the slightest provocation. It was almost + a mania with Jim Pink; it verged on the pathological. +</p> +<p> + The clown, however, was pressing his joke. He was pretending great fear, + and was shouting out in his loose minstrel voice: +</p> +<p> + "Hey, don' shoot down dis way, black man, tull I makes my exit!" And a + voice, rich with contempt, called back: +</p> +<p> + "You needn't be skeered, you fool rabbit of a nigger!" +</p> +<p> + Peter turned with a qualm. Quite close to him, and in another direction + from which he had been looking, stood Tump Pack. The ex-soldier looked + the worse for wear after his jail sentence. His uniform was frayed, and + over his face lay a grayish cast that marks negroes in bad condition. At + his side, attached by a belt and an elaborate shoulder holster, hung a + big army revolver, while on the greasy lapel of his coat was pinned his + military medal for exceptional bravery on the field of battle. +</p> +<p> + "Been lookin' fuh you fuh some time, Peter," he stated grimly. +</p> +<p> + Peter considered the formidable figure with a queer sensation. He tried + to take Tump's appearance casually; he tried to maintain an air of + ordinariness. +</p> +<p> + "Didn't know you were back." +</p> +<p> + "Yeah, I's back." +</p> +<p> + "Have you—been looking for me?" +</p> +<p> + "Yeah." +</p> +<p> + "Didn't you know where I was staying?" +</p> +<p> + "Co'se I did; up 'mong de white folks. You know dey don' 'low no + shootin' an' killin' 'mong de white folks." He drew his pistol from the + holster with the address of an expert marksman. +</p> +<a name="image-7"><!--IMG--></a> +<center> +<img src="birth07.png" +alt="'naw Yuh Don't,' he Warned Sharply. 'you Turn Roun' An' +March on to Niggertown' +"> +<br>'Naw Yuh Don't,' He Warned Sharply. 'You Turn Roun' An' +March on to Niggertown'</center> +<!--IMAGE END--> +<p> + Peter stood, with a quickening pulse, studying his assailant. The glade, + the air, the sunshine, seemed suddenly drawn to a tension, likely to, + break into violent commotion. His abrupt danger brought Peter to a + feeling of lightness and power. A quiver went along his spine. His + nostrils widened unconsciously as he calculated a leap and a blow at + Tump's gun. +</p> +<p> + The soldier took a step backward, at the same time bringing the barrel + to a ready. +</p> +<p> + "Naw you don't," he warned sharply. "You turn roun' an' march on to + Niggertown." +</p> +<p> + "What for?" Peter still tried to be casual, but his voice held new + overtones. +</p> +<p> + "Because, nigger, I means to drap you right on de Main Street o' + Niggertown, 'fo' all dem niggers whut's been a-raggin' me 'bout you an' + Cissie. I's gwine show dem fool niggers I don' take no fumi-diddles + off'n nobody." +</p> +<p> + "Tump," gasped Jim Pink, in a husky voice, "you oughtn't shoot Peter; he + mammy jes daid." +</p> +<p> + "'En she won' worry none. Turn roun', Peter, an' when I says, 'March,' + you march." He leveled his pistol. "'Tention! Rat about face! March!" +</p> +<p> + Peter turned and moved off down the noiseless path, walking with the + stiff gait of a man who expects a terrific blow from behind at any + instant. +</p> +<p> + The mulatto walked twenty or more paces amid a confusion of self- + protective impulses. He thought of whirling on Tump even at this late + date. He thought of darting behind a cedar, but he knew the man behind + him was an expert shot, and something fundamental in the brown man + forbade his getting himself killed while running away. It was too + undignified a death. +</p> +<p> + Presently he surprised himself by calling over his shoulder, as a sort + of complaint: +</p> +<p> + "How came you with the pistol, Tump? Thought it was against the law to + carry one." +</p> +<p> + "You kin ca'y 'em ef you don' keep 'em hid," explained the ex-soldier in + a wooden voice. "Mr. Bobbs tol' me dat when he guv my gun back." +</p> +<p> + The irony of the thing caught Peter, for the authorities to arrest Tump + not because he was trying to kill Peter, but because he went about his + first attempt in an illegal manner. For the first time in his life the + mulatto felt that contempt for a white man's technicalities that flavors + every negro's thoughts. Here for thirty days his life had been saved by + a technical law of the white man; at the end of the thirty days, by + another technical law, Tump was set at liberty and allowed to carry a + weapon, in a certain way, to murder him. It was grotesque; it was + absurd. It filled Peter with a sudden violent questioning of the whole + white régime. His thoughts danced along in peculiar excitement. +</p> +<p> + At the turn of the hill the trio came in sight of the squalid semicircle + of Niggertown. Here and there from a tumbledown chimney a feather of + pale wood smoke lifted into the chill sunshine. The sight of the houses + brought Peter a sharp realization that his life would end in the curving + street beneath him. A shock at the incomprehensible brevity of his life + rushed over him. Just to that street, just as far as the curve, and his + legs were swinging along, carrying him forward at an even gait. +</p> +<p> + All at once he began talking, arguing. He tried to speak at an ordinary + tempo, but his words kept edging on faster and faster: +</p> +<p> + "Tump, I'm not going to marry Cissie Dildine." +</p> +<p> + "I knows you ain't, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "I mean, if you let me alone, I didn't mean to." +</p> +<p> + "I ain't goin' to let you alone." +</p> +<p> + "Tump, we had already decided not to marry." +</p> +<p> + After a short pause Tump said in a slightly different tone: +</p> +<p> + "'Pears lak you don' haf to ma'y her—comin' to yo' room." +</p> +<p> + A queer sinking came over the mulatto. "Listen, Tump, I—we—in my room + —we simply talked, that's all. She came to tell me she was goin away. + I—I didn't harm her, Tump." Peter swallowed. He despaired of being + believed. +</p> +<p> + But his defense only infuriated the soldier. He suddenly broke into + violent profanity. +</p> +<p> + "Hot damn you! shut yo black mouf! Whut I keer whut-chu done! You weaned + her away fum me. She won't speak to me! She won't look at me!" A sudden + insanity of rage seized Tump. He poured on his victim every oath and + obscenity he had raked out of the whole army. +</p> +<p> + Strangely enough, the gunman's outbreak brought a kind of relief to + Peter Siner. It exonerated him. He was not suspected of wronging Cissie; + or, rather, whether he had or had not wronged her made no difference to + Tump. Peter's crime consisted in mere being, in existing where Cissie + could see him and desire him rather than Tump. Why it calmed Peter to + know that Tump held no dishonorable charge against him the mulatto + himself could not have told. Tump's violence showed Peter the certainty + of his own death, and somehow it washed away the hope and the thought of + escape. +</p> +<p> + Half-way down the hill they entered the edge of Niggertown. The smell of + sties and stables came to them. Peter's thoughts moved here and there, + like the eyes of a little child glancing about as it is forced to leave + a pleasure-ground. +</p> +<p> + Peter knew that Jim Pink, who now made a sorry figure in their rear, + would one day give a buffoon's mimicry of this his walk to death. He + thought of Tump, who would have to serve a year or two in the Nashville + Penitentiary, for the murder of negroes is seldom severely punished. He + thought of Cissie. He was being murdered because Cissie desired him. +</p> +<p> + And then Peter remembered the single bit of wisdom that his whole life + had taught him. It was this: no people can become civilized until the + woman has the power of choice among the males that sue for her hand. The + history of the white race shows the gradual increase of the woman's + power of choice. Among the yellow races, where this power is curtailed, + civilization is curtailed. It was this principle that exalted chivalry. + Upon it the white man has reared all his social fabric. +</p> +<p> + So deeply ingrained is it that almost every novel written by white men + revolves about some woman's choice of her mate being thwarted by power + or pride or wealth, but in every instance the rightness of the woman's + choice is finally justified. The burden of every song is love, true + love, enduring love, a woman's true and enduring love. +</p> +<p> + And in his moment of clairvoyance Peter saw that these songs and stories + were profoundly true. Against a woman's selectiveness no other social + force may count. +</p> +<p> + That was why his own race was weak and hopeless and helpless. The males + of his people were devoid of any such sentiment or self-repression. They + were men of the jungle, creatures of tusk and claw and loin. This very + act of violence against his person condemned his whole race. +</p> +<p> + These thoughts brought the mulatto an unspeakable sadness, not only for + his own particular death, but that this idea, this great redeeming + truth, which burned so brightly in his brain, would in another moment + flicker out, unrevealed, and be no more. +</p> +<a name="2HCH21"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XVIII +</h2> +<p> + The coughing and rattling of an old motor-car as it rounded the + Niggertown curve delayed Tump Pack's act of violence. Instinctively, the + three men waited for the machine to pass before Peter walked out into + the road. Next moment it appeared around the turn, moving slowly through + the dust and spreading a veritable fog behind it. +</p> +<p> + All three negroes recognized the first glimpse of the hood and top, for + there are only three or four cars in Hooker's Bend, and these are as + well known as the faces of their owners. This particular motor belonged + to Constable Bobbs, and the next moment the trio saw the ponderous body + of the officer at the wheel, and by his side a woman. As the machine + clacked toward them Peter felt a certain surprise to see that it was + Cissie Dildine. +</p> +<p> + The constable in the car scrutinized the black men, by the roadside in a + very peculiar way. As he came near, he leaned across Cissie and almost + eclipsed the girl. He eyed the trio with his perpetual menace of a grin + on his broad red face. His right hand, lying across Cissie's lap, held a + revolver. When closest he shouted above the clangor of his engine: +</p> +<p> + "Now, none o' that, boys! None o' that! You'll prob'ly hit the gal if + you shoot, an' I'll pick you off lak three black skunks." +</p> +<p> + He brandished his revolver at them, but the gesture was barely seen, and + instantly concealed by the cloud; of dust following the motor. Next + moment it enveloped the negroes and hid them even from one another. +</p> +<p> + It was only after Peter was lost in the dust-cloud that the mulatto + really divined what was meant by Cissie's strange appearance with the + constable, her chalky face, her frightened brown eyes. The significance + of the scene grew in his mind. He stood with eyes screwed to slits + staring into the apricot-colored dust in the direction of the vanishing + noise. +</p> +<p> + Presently Tump Pack's form outlined itself in the yellow obscurity, + groping toward Peter. He still held his pistol, but it swung at his + side. He called Peter's name in the strained voice of a man struggling + not to cough: +</p> +<p> + "Peter—is Mr. Bobbs done—'rested Cissie?" +</p> +<p> + Peter could hardly talk himself. +</p> +<p> + "Don't know. Looks like it." +</p> +<p> + The two negroes stared at each other through the dust. +</p> +<p> + "Fuh Gawd's sake! Cissie 'rested!" Tump began to cough. Then he wheezed: +</p> +<p> + "Mine an' yo' little deal's off, Peter. You gotta he'p git her out." + Here he fell into a violent fit of coughing, and started groping his way + to the edge of the dust-cloud. +</p> +<p> + In the rush of the moment the swift change in Peter's situation appeared + only natural. He followed Tump, so distressed by the dust and disturbed + over Cissie that he hardly thought of his peculiar position. The dust + pinched the upper part of his throat, stung his nose. Tears trickled + from his eyes, and he pressed his finger against his upper lip, trying + not to sneeze. He was still struggling against the sneeze when Tump + recovered his speech. +</p> +<p> + "Wh-whut you reckon she done, Peter? She don' shoot craps, nor boot- + laig, nor—" He fell to coughing. +</p> +<p> + Peter got out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. +</p> +<p> + "Let's go—to the Dildine house," he said. +</p> +<p> + The two moved hurriedly through the thinning cloud, and presently came + to breathable air, where they could see the houses around them. +</p> +<p> + "I know she done somp'n; I know she done somp'n," chanted Tump, with the + melancholy cadence of his race. He shook his dusty head. "You ain't + never been in jail, is you, black man?" +</p> +<p> + Peter said he had not. +</p> +<p> + "Lawd! it ain't no place fuh a woman," declared Tump. "You dunno nothin' + 'bout it, black man. It sho ain't no place fuh a woman." +</p> +<p> + A notion of an iron cage floated before Peter's mind. The two negroes + trudged on through the crescent side by side, their steps raising a + little trail of dust in the air behind them. Their faces and clothes + were of a uniform dust color. Streaks of mud marked the runnels of their + tears down their cheeks. +</p> +<p> + The shrubbery and weeds that grew alongside the negro thoroughfare were + quite dead. Even the little avenue of dwarf box was withered that led + from the gate to the door of the Dildine home. The two colored men + walked up the little path to the door, knocked, and waited on the steps + for the little skirmish of observation from behind the blinds. None + came. The worst had befallen the house; there was nothing to guard. The + door opened as soon as an inmate could reach it, and Vannie Dildine + stood before them. +</p> +<p> + The quadroon's eyes were red, and her face had the moist, slightly + swollen appearance that comes of protracted weeping. She looked so frail + and miserable that Peter instinctively stepped inside and took her arm + to assist her in the mere physical effort of standing. +</p> +<p> + "What is the matter, Mrs. Dildine?" he asked in a shocked tone. "What's + happened to Cissie?" +</p> +<p> + Vannie began weeping again with a faint gasping and a racking of her + flat chest. +</p> +<p> + "It's—it's—O-o-oh, Peter!" She put an arm about him and began weeping + against him. He soothed her, patted her shoulder, at the same time + staring at the side of her head, wondering what could have dealt her + this blow. +</p> +<p> + Presently she steadied herself and began explaining in feeble little + phrases, sandwiched between sobs and gasps: +</p> +<p> + "She—tuk a brooch—Kep'—kep' layin' it roun' in—h-her way, th-that + young Sam Arkwright did,—a-an' finally she—she tuk hit. N-nen, when he + seen he h-had her, he said sh-sh-she 'd haf to d-do wh-whut he said, or + he'd sen' her to-to ja-a-il!" Vannie sobbed drearily for a few moments + on Peter's breast. "Sh-she did fuh a while: 'n 'en sh-she broke off wid + h-him, anyhow, an'—an' he swo' out a wa'nt an sont her to jail!" The + mother sobbed without comfort, and finally added: "Sh-she in a delicate + fix now, an' 'at jail goin' to be a gloomy place fuh Cissie." +</p> +<p> + The three negroes stood motionless in the dusty hallway, motionless save + for the racking of Vannie's sobs. +</p> +<p> + Tump Pack stirred himself. +</p> +<p> + "Well, we gotta git her out." His words trailed off. He stood wrinkling + his half-inch of brow. "I wonder would dey exchange pris'ners; wonder ef + I could go up an' serve out Cissie's term." +</p> +<p> + "Oh, Tump!" gasped the woman, "ef you only could!" +</p> +<p> + "I'll step an' see, Miss Vannie. 'At sho ain't no place fuh a nice gal + lak Cissie." Tump turned on his mission, evidently intending to walk to + Jonesboro and offer himself in the place of the prisoner. +</p> +<p> + Peter supported Vannie back into the poor living-room, and placed her in + the old rocking-chair before the empty hearth. There was where he had + sat the evening Cissie made her painful confession to him. Only now did + he realize the whole of what Cissie was trying to confess. +</p> +<p> + Peter Siner overtook Tump Pack a little way down the crescent, opposite + the Berry cabin. The thoroughfare was deserted, because the weather was + cold and the scantily clad children were indoors. However, from every + cabin came sound of laughing and romping, and now and then a youngster + darted through the cold from one hut to another. +</p> +<p> + It seemed to Peter Siner only a little while since he and Ida May were + skittering through wintry weather from one fire to another, with Cissie, + a wailing, wet-nosed little spoil-sport, trailing after them. And then, + with a wheeling of the years, they were scattered everywhere. +</p> +<p> + As the negroes passed the Berry cabin, Nan Berry came out with an old + shawl around her bristling spikes. She stopped the two men and drew them + to her gate with a gesture. +</p> +<p> + "Wha you gwine?" +</p> +<p> + "Jonesbuh." +</p> +<p> + "Whut you goin' do 'bout po-o-o' Cissie?" +</p> +<p> + "Goin' to see ef the sheriff won' take me 'stid o' Cissie." +</p> +<p> + "Tha's right," said Nan, nodding solemnly. "I hopes he will. You is mo' + used to it, Tump." +</p> +<p> + "Yeah, an' 'at jail sho ain't no place fuh a nice gal lak Cissie." +</p> +<p> + "Sho ain't," agreed Nan. +</p> +<p> + Peter interrupted to say he was sure the sheriff would not exchange. +</p> +<p> + The hopes of his listeners fell. +</p> +<p> + "Weh-ul," dragged out Nan, with a long face, "of co'se now it's lak dis: + ef Cissie goin' to stay in dat ja-ul, she's goin' to need some mo' + clo'es 'cep'n whut she's got on,—specially lak she is." +</p> +<p> + Tump stared down the swing of the crescent. +</p> +<p> + "'Fo' Gawd, dis sho don' seem lak hit's right to me," he said. +</p> +<p> + Nan let herself out at the rickety gate. "You niggers wait heah tull I + runs up to Miss Vannie's an' git some o' Cissie's clo'es fuh you to tote + her." +</p> +<p> + Tump objected. +</p> +<p> + "Jail ain't no place fuh clean clo'es. She jes better serve out her term + lak she is, an' wash up when she gits th'ugh." +</p> +<p> + "You fool nigger!" snapped Nan. "She kain't serve out her term lak she + is!" +</p> +<p> + "Da' 's so," said Tump. +</p> +<p> + The three stood silent, Nan and Tump lost in blankness, trying to think + of something to do for Cissie. Finally Nan said: +</p> +<p> + "I heah she done commit gran' larceny, an' they goin' sen' her to de + pen." +</p> +<p> + "Whut is gran' larceny?" asked Tump. +</p> +<p> + "It's takin' mo' at one time an' de white folks 'speck you to take," + defined the woman. "Well, I'll go git her clo'es." She hurried off up + the crescent. +</p> +<p> + Peter and Tump waited in the Berry cabin for Nan's return. Outside, the + Berry cabin was the usual clapboard-roofed, weather-stained structure; + inside, it was dark, windowless, and strong with the odor of black folk. + Some children were playing around the hearth, roasting chestnuts. Their + elders sat in a circle of decrepit chairs. It was so dark that when + Peter first entered he could not make out the little group, but he soon + recognized their voices: Parson Ranson, Wince Washington, Jerry + Dillihay, and all of the Berry family. +</p> +<p> + They were talking of Cissie, of course. They hoped Cissie wouldn't + really be sent to the penitentiary, that the white folks would let her + out in time for her to have her child at home. Parson Ranson thought it + would be bad luck for a child to be born in jail. +</p> +<p> + Wince Washington, who had been in jail a number of times, suggested that + they bail Cissie out by signing their names to a paper. He had been set + free by this means once or twice. +</p> +<p> + Sally, Nan's little sister, observed tartly that if Cissie hadn't acted + so, she wouldn't have been in jail. +</p> +<p> + "Don' speak lak dat uv dem as is in trouble, Sally," reproved old Parson + Ranson, solemnly; "anybody can say 'Ef.'" +</p> +<p> + "Sho am de troof," agreed Jerry Dillihay. +</p> +<p> + "Sho am, black man." The conversation drifted into the endless + moralizing of their race, but it held no criticism or condemnation of + Cissie. From the tone of the negroes one would have thought some + impersonal disaster had overtaken her. Every one was planning how to + help Cissie, how to make her present state more endurable. They were the + black folk, the unfortunate of the earth, and the pride of righteousness + is only to the well placed and the untempted. +</p> +<p> + Presently Nan came back with a bundle of Cissie's clothes. Tump took the + bundle of dainty lingerie, the intimate garments of the woman he loved, + and set forth on his quixotic errand. He tied it to his shoulder-holster + and set out. Peter went a little of the way with him. It was almost dusk + when they started. The chill of approaching night stung the men's faces. + As they walked past the footpath that led over the Big Hill, three + pistol-shots from the glade announced that the boot-leggers had opened + business for the night. +</p> +<p> + Tump paused and shivered. He said it was a cold night. He thought he + would like to get a kick of "white mule" to put a little heart in him. + It was a long walk to Jonesboro. He hesitated a moment, then turned off + the road around the crescent for the path through the glade. +</p> +<p> + A thought to dissuade Tump from drinking the fiery "singlings" of the + moonshiners crossed Peters mind, but he put it aside. Tump was a habitué + of the glade. All the physiological arguments upon which Peter could + base an argument were far beyond the ex-soldier's comprehension. So Tump + turned off through the dark trees. Peter watched him until all he could + see was the white blur of Cissie's underwear swinging against his + holster. +</p> +<p> + After Tump's disappearance, Peter stood for several minutes thinking. + His brief crusade into Niggertown had ended in a situation far outside + of his volition. That morning he had started out with some vague idea of + taking Niggertown in his hands and molding it in accordance with his + white ideas; but Niggertown had taken Peter into its hands, had + threatened his life, had administered to him profound mental and moral + shocks, and now had dropped him, like some bit of waste, with his face + set over the Big Hill for white town. +</p> +<p> + As Peter stood there it seemed to him there was something symbolic in + his attitude. He was no longer of the black world; he was of the white. + He did not understand his people; they eluded him. +</p> +<p> + He belonged to the white world; not to the village across the hill, but + to the North. Nothing now prevented him from going North and taking the + position with Farquhar. Cissie Dildine was impossible for him now. + Niggertown was immovable, at least for him. He was no Washington to lead + his people to a loftier plane. In fact, Peter began to suspect that he + was no leader at all. He saw now that his initial success with the Sons + and Daughters of Benevolence had been effected merely by the aura of his + college training. After his first misstep he had never rehabilitated + himself. He perhaps had a dash of the artistic in him, and the power to + mold ideas often confuses itself subjectively with the power to mold + human beings. In reality he did not even understand the people he + assumed to mold. A suspicion came to him that under the given conditions + their ways were more rational than his own. +</p> +<p> + As for Cissie Dildine, his duty by the girl, his queer protective + passion for her—all that was surely past now. After her lapse from all + decency there was no reason why he should spend another thought on her. + He would go North to Chicago. +</p> +<p> + The last of the twilight was fading in swift, visible gradations of + light. The cedars, the cabins, and the hill faded in pulse-beats of + darkness. Above the Big Hill the last ember of day smoldered against a + green-blue infinity. Here and there a star pricked the dome with a + wintry brilliance. +</p> +<p> + Then, somehow, the thought of Cissie looking out on that chilly sky + through iron bars tightened Peter's throat. He caught himself up sharply + for his emotion. He began a vague defense of the white man's laws on + grounds as cold and impersonal as the winter evening. Laws, customs, and + conventions were for the strengthening of men, to seed the select, to + winnow the weak. It was white logic, applied firmly, as by a white man. + But somehow the stars multiplied and kept Cissie's image before Peter—a + cold, frightened girl, harassed with coming motherhood, peering at those + chill, distant lights out of the blackness of a jail. +</p> +<p> + The mulatto decided to spend the night in his mother's cabin. He would + do his packing, and be ready for the down-river boat in the morning. He + found his way to his own gate in the darkness. He lifted it around, + entered, and walked to his door. When he tried to open it, he found some + one had bored holes through the shutter and the jamb and had wired it + shut. +</p> +<p> + Peter struck a match to see just what had been done. The flame displayed + a small sheet tacked on the door. He spent two matches investigating it. + It was a notice of levy, posted by the constable in an action of debt + brought against the estate of Caroline Siner by Henry Hooker. The owner + of the estate and the public in general were warned against removing + anything whatsoever from the premises under penalty exacted by the law + governing such offenses. Then Peter untwisted the wire and entered. +</p> +<p> + Peter searched about and found the tiny brass night-lamp which his + mother always had used. The larger glass-bowled lamp was gone. The + interior of the cabin was clammy from cold and foul from long lack of + airing. In the corner his mother's old four-poster loomed in the + shadows, but he could see some of its covers had been taken. He passed + into the kitchen with a notion of building a fire and eating a bite, but + everything edible had been abstracted. Even one of the lids of the old + step-stove was gone. Most of the pans and kettles had disappeared, but + the pretty old Dutch sugar-bowl remained on a bare paper-covered shelf. + Negro-like, whatever person or persons who had ransacked Peter's home + considered the sugar-bowl too fine to take. Or they may have thought + that Peter would want this bowl for a keepsake, and with that queer + compassion that permeates a negro's worst moments they allowed it to + remain. And Peter knew if he raised an outcry about his losses, much of + the property would be surreptitiously restored, or perhaps his neighbors + would bring back his things and say they had found them. They would help + him as best they could, just as they of the crescent would help Cissie + as best they could, and would receive her back as one of them when she + and her baby were finally released from jail. +</p> +<p> + They were a queer people. They were a people who would never get on well + and do well. They lacked the steel-like edge that the white man + achieves. By virtue of his hardness, a white man makes his very laws and + virtues instruments to crush and mulct his fellow-man; but negroes are + so softened by untoward streaks of sympathy that they lose the very uses + of their crimes. +</p> +<p> + The depression of the whole day settled upon Peter with the deepening + night. He held his poor light above his head and picked his way to his + own room. After the magnificence of the Renfrew manor, it had contracted + to a grimy little box lined with yellowed papers. His books were still + intact, but Henry Hooker would get them as part payment on the Dillihay + place, which Henry owned. On his little table still lay the pile of old + examination papers, lists of incoherent questions which somebody + somewhere imagined formed a test of human ability to meet and answer the + mysterious searchings of life. +</p> +<p> + Peter was familiar with the books; many of the questions he had learned + by rote, but the night and the crescent, and the thought of a pregnant + girl caged in the blackness of a jail filled his soul with a great + melancholy query to which he could find no answer. +</p> +<a name="2HCH22"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2> + CHAPTER XIX +</h2> +<p> + Two voices talking, interrupting each other with ejaculations, after the + fashion of negroes under excitement, aroused Peter Siner from his sleep. + He caught the words: "He did! Tump did! The jailer did! 'Fo' God! black + man, whut's Cissie doin'?" +</p> +<p> + Overtones of shock, even of horror, in the two voices brought Peter wide + awake the moment he opened his eyes. He sat up suddenly in his bed, + remained perfectly still, listening with his mouth open. The voices, + however, were passing. The words became indistinct, then relapsed into + that bubbling monotone of human voices at a distance, and presently + ceased. +</p> +<p> + These fragmentary phrases, however, feathered with consternation, filled + Peter with vague premonitions. He whirled his legs out of bed and began + drawing on his clothes. When he was up and into the crescent, however, + nobody was in sight. He stood breathing the chill, damp air, blinking + his eyes. Lack of his cold bath made him feel chilly and lethargic. He + wriggled his shoulders and considered going back, after all, and having + his splash. Just then he saw the Persimmon coming around the crescent. + Peter called to the roustabout and asked about Tump Pack. +</p> +<p> + The Persimmon looked at Peter with his half-asleep, protruding eyeballs. +</p> +<p> + "Don' you know 'bout Tump Pack already, Mister Siner?" +</p> +<p> + "No." Peter was astonished at the formality of the "Mr. Siner." +</p> +<p> + "Then is you 'spectin' somp'n 'bout him?" +</p> +<p> + "Why, no, but I was asleep in there a moment ago, and somebody came + along talking about Tump and Cissie. They—they aren't married, are + they?" +</p> +<p> + "Oh, no-o, no-o-o, no-o-o-o-o." The Persimmon waggled his bullet head + slowly from side to side. "I heared Tump got into a lil trouble wid de + jailer las' night." +</p> +<p> + "Serious?" +</p> +<p> + "I dunno." The Persimmon closed one of his protruding yellow eyes. + "Owin' to whut you call se'ius; maybe whut I call se'ius wouldn't be + se'ius to you at all; 'n 'en maybe whut you call se'ius would be ve'y + insince'ius to Tump." The roustabout's philosophy, which consisted in a + monotonous recasting of a given proposition, trickled on and on in the + cold wind. After a while it fizzled out to nothing at all, and the + Persimmon asked in a queer manner: "Did you give Tump some women's + clo'es, Peter?" +</p> +<p> + It was such an odd question that at first Peter was at loss; then he + recalled Nan Berry's despatching Cissie some underwear. He explained + this to the Persimmon, and tacked on a curious, "Why?" +</p> +<p> + "Oh, nothin'; nothin' 'tall. Ever'body say you a mighty long-haided + nigger. Jim Pink he tell us 'bout Tump Pack marchin' you 'roun' wid a + gun. I sho don' want you ever git mad at me, Mister Siner. Man wid a gun + an' you turn yo' long haid on him an' blow him away wid a wad o' women's + clo'es. I sho don' want you ever cross yo' fingers at me, Mister Siner." +</p> +<p> + Peter stared at the grotesque, bullet-headed roustabout. "Persimmon," he + said uneasily, "what in the world are you talking about?" +</p> +<p> + The Persimmon smiled a sickly, white-toothed smile. "Jim Pink say yo' + aidjucation is a flivver. I say, 'Jim Pink, no nigger don' go off an' + study fo' yeahs in college whut 'n he comes back an' kin throw some kin' + uv a hoodoo over us fool niggers whut ain't got no brains. Now, Tump wid + a gun, an' you wid jes ordina'y women's clo'es! 'Fo' Gawd, aidjucation + is a great thing; sho is a great thing." The Persimmon gave Peter an + apprehensive wink and moved on. +</p> +<p> + There was no use trying to extract information from the Persimmon unless + he was minded to give it. His talk would merely become vaguer and + vaguer. Peter watched him go, then turned and attempted to throw the + whole matter off his mind by assuming a certain brisk Northern mood. He + must pack, get ready for the down-river gasolene launch. The doings of + Tump Pack and Cissie Dildine were, after all, nothing to him. +</p> +<p> + He started inside, when the levy notice on the door again met his eyes. + He paused, read it over once more, and decided that he must go over the + hill to the Planter's Bank and get Henry Hooker's permission to remove + certain small personal belongings that he wanted to take with him. +</p> +<p> + The mere clear-cut decision to go invigorated Peter. +</p> +<p> + Some of the energy that always filled him during his college days in + Boston seemed to come to him now from the mere thought of the North. + Soon he would be in the midst of it, moving briskly, talking to wide- + awake men to whom a slightly unusual English word would not form a + stumbling-block to conversation. He set out down the crescent and across + the Big Hill at a swinging stride. He was glad to get away. +</p> +<p> + Beyond the white church on the other side of the hill he heard a motor + coming in on the Jonesboro road. Presently he saw a battered car moving + around the long swing of the pike, spewing a trail of dust down the + wind. Its clacking became prodigious. +</p> +<p> + The mulatto was just entering that indefinite stretch of thoroughfare + where a country road becomes a village street when there came a wail of + brakes behind him and he looked around. +</p> +<p> + It was Dawson Bobbs's car. The fat man now slowed up not far from the + mulatto and called to him. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, sir," said Peter. +</p> +<p> + Dawson bobbed his fat head backward and upward in a signal for Peter to + approach. It held the casualness of one certain to be obeyed. +</p> +<p> + Although Peter had done no crime, nor had even harbored a criminal + intention, a trickle of apprehension went through him at Bobbs's nod. He + recalled Jim Pink's saying that it was bad luck to see the constable. He + walked up to the shuddering motor and stood about three feet from the + running-board. +</p> +<p> + The officer bit on a sliver of toothpick that he held in his thin lips. +</p> +<p> + "Accident up Jonesboro las' night, Peter." +</p> +<p> + "What was it, Mr. Bobbs?" +</p> +<p> + "Tump Pack got killed." +</p> +<p> + Peter continued looking fixedly at Mr. Bobbs's broad red face. The dusty + road beneath him seemed to give a little dip. He repeated the + information emptily, trying to orient himself to this sudden change in + his whole mental horizon. +</p> +<p> + The officer was looking at Peter fixedly with his chill slits of eyes. +</p> +<p> + "Yeah; trying to make a jail delivery." +</p> +<p> + The two men continued looking at each other, one from the road, the + other from the motor. The flow of Peter's thoughts seemed to divide. The + greater part was occupied with Tump Pack. Peter could vision the + formidable ex-soldier lying dead in Jonesboro jail, with his little + congressional medal on his breast. Some lighter portion of his mind + nickered about here and there on trivial things. He observed a little + hole rusted in the running-board of the motor. He noticed that the + officer's eyes were just the same chill, washed blue as the winter sky + above his head. He remembered a tale that, before electrocution became a + law in Tennessee the county sheriff's nerve had failed him at a hanging, + and the constable Dawson Bobbs had sprung the drop. There was something + terrible about the fat man. He would do anything, absolutely anything, + that came to his hands in the way of legal sewage. +</p> +<p> + In the midst of these thoughts Peter heard himself saying. +</p> +<p> + "He—was trying to get Cissie out?" +</p> +<p> + "Yep." +</p> +<p> + "He—must have been drunk." +</p> +<p> + "Oh, yeah." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Bobbs sat studying the mulatto. As he studied him he said slowly: +</p> +<p> + "Some of 'em say he was disguised as a woman. Others say he had some + women's clothes along, ready to put on. Now, me and the sheriff knowed + Tump Pack purty well, Peter, and we knowed that nigger never in the + worl' would 'a' thought up sich a plan by hisself." +</p> +<p> + He sat looking at Peter so interrogatively that the mulatto began, in a + strained, earnest voice, telling the constable precisely what had + happened in regard to the clothes. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Bobbs sat listening impassively, moving his toothpick up and down + from one side to the other of his small, thin-lipped mouth. At last he + nodded. +</p> +<p> + "Well, I guess that's about the way of it. I didn't exactly understand + the women's clothes business,—damn' fool disguise,—but we figgered it + might pop into the head of a' edjucated nigger." He sucked his teeth, + reflectively. "Peter," he said at last, "seems to me, if I was you, I'd + drift on away from this town. The niggers around here ain't strong for + you now; some say you're a hoodoo; some say this an' some that. The + white folks don't exactly like you trying to get up a cook's union. It's + your right to do that if you want to, of course, but this is a mighty + small city to have unions and things. The fact is, it ain't a big enough + place for a nigger of yore ability, Peter. I b'lieve, if I was you, I'd + jes drift on some'eres else." +</p> +<p> + The officer tipped up his toothpick so that it lifted his upper lip in a + little v-shaped opening and exposed a strong, yellowish tooth. At the + moment his machine started slowly forward. It gave him the appearance of + accidentally rolling off while immersed in deep thought. +</p> +<hr> +<p> + The death of Tump Pack moved Peter with a sense of strange pathos. He + always remembered Tump tramping away through the night to carry Cissie + some underclothes and, if possible, to take her place in jail. At the + foundation of Tump's being lay a faithfulness and devotion to Cissie + that reached the heights of a dog's. And yet, he might have deserted + her, he would probably have beaten her, and he most certainly would have + betrayed her many, many times. It was inexplicable. +</p> +<p> + Now that Tump was dead, the mantle of his fidelity somehow seemed to + fall on Peter. For some reason Peter felt that he should assume Tump's + place as Cissie Dildine's husband and protector. Had Tump lived, Peter + might have gone North in peace, if not in happiness. Now such a journey, + without Cissie, had become impossible. He had a feeling that it would + not be right. +</p> +<p> + As for the disgrace of marrying such a woman as Cissie Dildine, Peter + slowly gave that idea up. The "worthinesses" and "disgraces" implicit in + Harvard atmosphere, which Peter had spent four years of his life + imbibing, slowly melted away in the air of Niggertown. What was + honorable there, what was disgraceful there, somehow changed its color + here. +</p> +<p> + By virtue of this change Peter felt intuitively that Cissie Dildine was + neither disgraced by her arrest nor soiled by her physical condition. + Somehow she seemed just as "nice" a girl, just as "good" a girl, as ever + she was before. Moreover, every other darky in Niggertown held these + same instinctive beliefs. Had it not been for that, Peter would have + thought it was his passion pleading for the girl, justifying itself by a + grotesque morality, as passions often do. But this was not the correct + solution. The sentiment was enigmatic. Peter puzzled over it time and + time again as he waited in Hooker's Bend for the outcome of Cissie's + trial. +</p> +<p> + The octoroon's imprisonment came to an end on the third day after Tump's + death. Sam Arkwright's parents had not known of their son's legal + proceedings, and Mr. Arkwright immediately quashed the warrant, and + hushed up the unfortunate matter as best he could. Young Sam was + suddenly sent away from home to college, as the best step in the + circumstances. And so the wishes of the adolescent in the cedar-glade + came queerly to pass, even if Peter did withhold any grave, mature + advice on the subject which he may have possessed. +</p> +<p> + Naturally, there was much mirth among the men of Hooker's Bend and much + virulence among the women over the peculiar conditions under which young + Sam made his pilgrimage in pursuit of wisdom and morals and the right + conduct of life. And life being problematic and uncertain as it is, and + prone to wind about in the strangest way, no one may say with certitude + that young Sam did not make a promising start. +</p> +<p> + Certainly, over the affair the Knights of the Round Table launched many + a quip and jest, but that simply proved the fineness of their sentiments + toward a certain delicate human relation which forms mankind's single + awful approach to the creative and the holy. +</p> +<p> + Tump Pack became almost a mythical figure in Niggertown. Jim Pink Staggs + composed a saga relating the soldier's exploits in France, his assault + on the jail to liberate Cissie, and his death. +</p> +<p> + In his songs—and Jim Pink had composed a good many—the minstrel + instinctively avoided humor. He always improvised them to the sobbing of + a guitar, and they were as invariably sad as the poetry of adolescents. + It was called "Tump Pack's Lament." The negroes of Hooker's Bend learned + it from Jim Pink, and with them it drifted up and down the three great + American rivers, and now it is sung by the roustabouts, stevedores, and + underlings of our strange black American world. +</p> +<p> + This song commemorating Tump Pack's bravery and faithfulness to his love + may very well take the place of the Congressional medal which, + unfortunately, was lost on the night the soldier was killed. Between the + two, there is little doubt that the accolade of fame bestowed in the + buffoon's simple melody is more vital and enduring than that accorded by + special act of the Congress of the United States of America. +</p> +<p> + When Cissie Dildine returned from jail, she and her mother arranged the + Dildine-Siner wedding as nearly according to white standards in similar + circumstances as they could conceive. They agreed that it should be a + simple, quiet home wedding. However, as every soul in Niggertown, a + number of colored friends in Jonesboro, and a contingent from up-river + villages meant to attend, it became necessary to hold the service in the + church. +</p> +<p> + The officiating minister was not Parson Ranson after all, but a Reverend + Cleotus Haidus, the presiding elder of that circuit of the Afro-American + Methodist Church, whose duties happened to call him to Hooker's Bend + that day. So, notwithstanding Cissie's efforts at simplicity, the + wedding, after all, was resolved into an affair. +</p> +<p> + Once, in one of her moments of clairvoyance, Cissie said to Peter: +</p> +<p> + "Our trouble is, Peter, we are trying to mix what I have learned in + Nashville and what you have learned in Boston with what we both feel in + Hooker's Bend. I—I'm almost ashamed to say it, but I don't really feel + sad and plaintive at all, Peter. I feel glad, gloriously glad. Oh, my + dear, dear Peter!" and she flung her arms around Peter's neck and held + him with all her might against her ripening bosom. +</p> +<p> + To Cissie her theft, her jail sentence, her pregnancy, were nothing more + than if she had taken a sip of water. However, with the imitativeness of + her race and the histrionic ability of her sex, she appeared pensive and + subdued during the elaborate double-ring ceremony performed by the + Reverend Cleotus Haidus. Nobody in the packed church knew how + tremendously Cissie's heart was beating except Peter, who held her hand. +</p> +<p> + The ethical engine that Peter had patiently builded in Harvard almost + ceased to function in this weird morality of Niggertown. Whether he were + doing right or doing wrong, Peter could not determine. He lost all his + moorings. At times he felt himself walking according to the ethnological + law, which is the Harvard way of saying walking according to the will of + God; but at other times he felt party to some unpardonable obscenity. So + deeply was he disturbed that out of the dregs of his mind floated up old + bits of the Scriptures that he was unaware of possessing: "There is a + way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of + death." And Peter wondered if he were not in that way. +</p> +<a name="image-8"><!--IMG--></a> +<center> +<img src="birth08.png" +alt="The Bridal Couple Embarked for Cairo +"> +<br>The Bridal Couple Embarked for Cairo +</center> +<!--IMAGE END--> +<p> + The bridal couple embarked for Cairo on the <i>Red Cloud</i>, a packet + in the Dubuque, Ohio, and Tennessee River trade. Peter and Cissie were + not allowed to walk up the main stairway into the passengers' cabin, but + were required to pick their way along the boiler-deck, through the + stench of freight, lumber, live stock and sleeping roustabouts. Then + they went through the heat and steam of the engine-room up a small + companionway that led through the toilet, on to the rear guard of the + main deck, and thence back to a little cuddy behind the main saloon + called the chambermaid's cabin. +</p> +<p> + The chambermaid's cabin was filled with the perpetual odor of hot soap- + suds, soiled laundry, and the broader smell of steam and the boat's + machinery. The little place trembled night and day, for the steamer's + engines were just beneath them, and immediately behind them thundered + the great stern-wheel of the packet. A single square window in the end + of the chambermaid's cabin looked out on the wheel, but at all times, + except when the wind was blowing from just the right quarter, this + window was deluged with a veritable Niagara of water. The continual + shake of the cabin, the creak of the rudder-beam working to and fro, the + watery thunder of the wheel, and the solemn rumble of the engines made + conversation impossible until the travelers grew accustomed to the + noises. Still, Cissie found it pleasant. She liked to sit and look out + into the main saloon, with its interminable gilded scrolls extending + away up the long cabin, a suave perspective. She liked to watch the + white passengers dine—the white napery, the bouquets, the endless + tables all filled with diners; some swathed in napkins from chin to + waistband, others less completely protected. It gave Cissie a certain + tang of triumph to smile at the swathed ones and to think that she knew + better than that. +</p> +<p> + At night a negro string-band played for the white excursionists to + dance, and Cissie would sit, with glowing eyes, clenching Peter's hand, + every fiber of her asway to the music, and it seemed as if her heart + would go mad. All these inhibitions, all this spreading before her of + forbidden joys, did not daunt her delight. She reveled in them by + propinquity. +</p> +<p> + The chambermaid was a Mrs. Antolia Higgman, a strong, full-bodied + <i>café-au-lait</i> negress. She was a very sensible woman, and during + her work on the boat she had picked up a Northern accent and a number of + little mannerisms from the Chicago and St. Louis excursionists, who made + ten-day round trips from Dubuque to Florence, Alabama, and return. When + Mrs. Higgman was not running errands for the women passengers, she was + working at her perpetual laundering. +</p> +<p> + At first Peter was a little uneasy as to how Mrs. Higgman would treat + Cissie, but she turned out a good-hearted woman, and did everything she + could to make the young wife comfortable. It soon became clear that Mrs. + Higgman knew the whole situation, for one day she said to Cissie in her + odd dialect, burred with Yankeeish "r's" and "ing's." +</p> +<p> + "These river-r towns, Mrs. Siner-r, are jest like one big village, with + the river-r for its Main Street. I know ever-r'thang that goes on, + through the cabin-boys an' cooks, an'—an'—you cerrtainly ar-re a dear- + r, Mrs. Siner-r," and thereupon, quite unexpectedly, she kissed Cissie. +</p> +<p> + So on about the second day down the river Cissie dropped her saddened + manner and became frankly, freely, and riotously happy. After the + fashion of village negresses, she insisted on helping Mrs. Higgman with + her work, and, incidentally, she cultivated Mrs. Higgman's Northern + accent. When the chambermaid was out on her errands and Cissie found a + moment alone with Peter, she would tweak his ear or pull his cheek and + provoke him to kiss her. Indeed, it was all the hot, shuddering little + laundry-room could do to contain the gay and bubbling Cissie. +</p> +<p> + Peter thought and thought, resignedly now, but persistently, how this + strange happiness that belonged to them both could be. He was content, + yet he felt he ought not to be content. He thought there must be + something base in himself, yet he felt that there was not. He drank the + wine of his honeymoon marveling. +</p> +<p> + On the morning before the <i>Red Cloud</i> entered the port of Cairo + Mrs. Higgman was out of the cabin, and Peter stood at the little square + window, with his arm about Cissie's waist, looking out to the rear of + the steamer. A strong east wind blew the spray away from the glass, and + Peter could see the huge wheel covered with a waterfall thundering + beneath him. Back of the wheel stretched a long row of even waves and + troughs. Every seventh or eighth wave tumbled over on itself in a swash + of foam. These flashing stern waves strung far up the river. On each + side of the great waterway stretched the flat shores of Kentucky and + Ohio. Here and there over the broad clay-colored water moved other + boats—tow-boats, a string of government auto-barges, a snag-boat, + another packet. +</p> +<p> + Peter gave up his question. The curves of Cissie's form in his arm held + a sweetness and a restfulness that her maidenhood had never promised. He + felt so deeply sure of his happiness that it seemed strange to him that + he could not aline his emotions and his mind. +</p> +<p> + As Peter stood staring up the Ohio River, it occurred to him that + perhaps, in some queer way, the morals of black folk were not the morals + of white folk; perhaps the laws that bound one race were not the laws + that bound the other. It might be that white anathemas were black + blessings. Peter thought along this line peacefully for several minutes. +</p> +<p> + And finally he concluded that, after all, morals and conventions, right + and wrong, are merely those precepts that a race have practised and + found good in its evolution. Morals are the training rules that keep a + people fit. It might very well be that one moral régime is applicable to + one race, and quite another to another. +</p> +<p> + The single object of all morals is racial welfare, the racial integrity, + the breeding of strong children to perpetuate the species. If the black + race possess a more exuberant vitality than some other race, then the + black would not be forced to practise so severe a vital economy as some + less virile folk. Racial morals are simply a question of having and + spending within safety limits. +</p> +<p> + Peter knew that for years white men had held a prejudice against + marrying widows. This is utterly without grounds except for one reason: + the first born of a woman is the lustiest. Among the still weaker Aryans + of India the widows burn themselves. Among certain South Sea Islanders + only the first-born may live and mate; all other children are slain. + Among nearly every white race marriage lines are strictly drawn, and the + tendency is to have few children to a family, to conserve the precious + vital impulse. So strong is this feeling of birth control that to-day + nearly all American white women are ashamed of large families. This + shame is the beginning of a convention; the convention may harden into a + cult, a law, or a religion. +</p> +<p> + And here is the amazing part of morals. Morals are always directed + toward one particular race, but the individual members of that race + always feel that their brand of morals does and should apply to all the + peoples of the earth; so one has the spectacle of nations sending out + missionaries and battle-ships to teach and enforce their particular + folk-ways. Another queer thing is that whereas the end of morals is + designed solely for the betterment of the race, and is entirely + regardless of the person, to the conscience of the person morals are + always translated as something that binds him personally, that will + shame him or honor him personally not only for the brief span of this + worldly life, but through an eternity to come. To him, his particular + code, surrounded by all the sanctions of custom, law, and religion, + appears earth-embracing, hell-deep, and heaven-piercing, and any human + creature who follows any other code appears fatally wicked, utterly + shameless, and ineluctably lost. +</p> +<p> + And yet there is no such thing as absolute morals. Morals are as + transitory as the sheen on a blackbird's wing; they change perpetually + with the necessities of the race. Any people with an abounding vitality + will naturally practise customs which a less vital people must shun. +</p> +<p> + Morals are nothing more than the engines controlling the stream of + energy that propel a race on its course. All engines are not alike, nor + are all races bound for the same port. +</p> +<p> + Here Peter Siner made the amazing discovery that although he had spent + four years in Harvard, he had come out, just as he went in, a negro. +</p> +<p> + A great joy came over him. He took Cissie whole-heartedly in his arms + and kissed again and again the deep crimson of her lips. His brain and + his heart were together at last. As he stood looking out at the window, + pressing Cissie to him, he wondered, when he reached Chicago, if he + could ever make Farquhar understand.<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Birthright, by T.S. 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