xt73n58cg567 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt73n58cg567/data/mets.xml Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946. 1913  books b92-201-30752183 English D. Appleton, : New York : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865 Fiction. Southerner  : a romance of the real Lincoln / by Thomas Dixon ; illustrated by J.N. Marchand. text Southerner  : a romance of the real Lincoln / by Thomas Dixon ; illustrated by J.N. Marchand. 1913 2002 true xt73n58cg567 section xt73n58cg567 













THE SOUTHERNER

 














   BOOKS BY MR. DIXON

      The Southerner
      The Sins of the Father
I     The Leopard's Spots
I     The Clansman
      The Traitor

      The One Woman
i Comrades
      The Root of Evil

      The Life Worth Living

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"From a thousand throats rose the cry: 'Lee to the
                       rear! ' "                11age 455]

 





THE SOUTHERNER


           A ROMANCE OF
        THE REAL LINCOLN


                   BY

          THOMAS DIXON



"Have you never realized it, my friends, that Lincoln,
though grafted on the WIVest, is essentially, in personnel and
character, a Southern contribution  !_WALT WXHITMAN.








           ULLUSTRATED BY
        J. N. 1MARCHAND



    NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
              1913

 


























                COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY
              THOMAS DIXON

All rights reserved, including that of translation into all
    foreign languages, including the Scandinavian



Printed in the United States of America

 





















            DEDICATED TO

OUR FIRST SOUTHERN-BORN PRESIDENT SINCE

LINCOLN, MY FRIEND AND COLLEGEM1ATE

        WOODROW WILSON

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             TO THE READER

  Lest my readers should feel that certain incidents
of this story are startling and improbable, I Wish to
say that every word in it relating to the issues of our
national life has been drawn from authentic records
in my possession. Nor have I at any point taken a
liberty with an essential detail in historical scenes.
                                  THOMAS DixoN.

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CONTENTS



  PROLOGUE
  (MAPTER
    I. THE M AN OF THE HOUR

    II. JANGLING VOICES

    III. IN BETTY'S GARDEN

    IV. A PAIR OF YOUNG EYES

    V. THE FIRST SHOT

    VI. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

  VII. LOVE AND DITTY

  VIIr. TIHE TRIAL BY FIRE

  IX. VICTORY IN DEFEAT

    X. TiHE AWAKENING

    XI. TnE MAN ON HORSEBACK -

  XII. LOVE AND PRIDE  .

  XIII. THE SPIRES OF RICHMOND .

  XIV. THE RETREAT   ...

  XV. TANGLED THREADS .

  XVI. TiEn CHALLENGE   .

  XVII. THE DAY'S WORK E

XVIII. DIPLOMACY.

XIX. TriE REBEL .

  XX. THE INSULT.

  XXI. THE BLOODIEST DAY

XXII. BENEATH THE SKIN

XXIII. TiE USURPER    . .    .

XXIV. THE CONSPIRACY   ...

XXV. TiiE TUG OF WAR .     .

XXVI. THE REST HOUR      . .



        PAGE
 .  .    3


 . . 93

.       . 1.1


    .  135


        145

        153

        162


      . 187

        195

        205

        217




        059

 .  .  276

     .  293
   . 319;





       32 3


. .  . 333

       3241
       373
 .  . 348

 ..  878

 





              CONTENTS

  CMAPTER                               PAGE
  XXVII. DEEPENING SHADOWS...           381
  XXVIII. THE MOONLIT RIVER....          409
  XXIX. TilE PANIC . . . . . . . . 418
  XXX. SUNSHINE AND STORI . .  . . . 431
  XXXI. BETWEEN THE LINES . . . .      447
  XXXII. THE WHIRLWIND   . . . . . . 451
  XXXIII. THE BROTHERS MEET . . . . . 466
  XXXIV. LOVE'S PLEDGE.  . . . . . . 477
  XXXV. THE DARKEST HOUR   . . .   . . 483
  XXXVI. THE ASSASSIN . .   . . . . . 506
XXXVII. MR. DAVIS SPEAKS.  . . . . . 519
XXXVIII. THE STOLEN MARCH  . . . . . 525
XXXIX. VICTORY .  . . . . . . . . 533
     XL. WITH MALICE TOWARD NONE . . . 539


 















           LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
                                              FACING
                                              PAGE
"From a thousand throats rose the cry: 'Lee
      to the rear!"' . .   .  .    Frotispiece.

"'Be a man among men, for your mother's
     sake-"' ...   .  .  . .  . . .    ..      88

"'Good-bye-Ned!' she breathed softly." .    . 132

"Betty glanced at the stolid, set face and firm
     lips."     .. . . . . .                  L.. 254

"'You're a brave man, Ned Vaughan."'. . . 314

"Waving his plumed hat . .. he put himself at
     the head of his troops and charged."  . 400

 














LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY



                  1809-1818

          Scene: A Cabin in the Woods

TOM, A Man of the Forest and Stream.
NANCY, The Woman Who Saw a Vision.
THE Boy, Her Son.
DENNIS, His Cousin.
BONEY, A Fighting Coon Dog.

                  1861-1865

            Scene: The White House

SENATOR GILBERT WINTER, The Radical Leader.
BETTY, His Daughter.
JOHN VAUGHAN, A Union Soldier.
NED VAUGHAN, His Brother, a Rebel.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN, The President.
MRS. LINCOLN, His Wife.
PHIEBE, Her Maid.
JULIUS CSAR THORNTON, Who Was Volunteered.
COLONEL NICOLAY, The President's Secretary.
MAJOR JOHN HAY, Assistant Secretary.
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN, Who Stole a March.
GEORGE B. MCCLELLAN, The Man on Horseback.
ROBERT E. LEE, The Southern Commander.

 













THE SOUTHERNER

   4e protoga

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     THE SOUTHERNER


                    PROLOGUE

                         I

  Tom seated himself at the table and looked into his
wife's face with a smile:
  "Nancy, it's a meal fit for a king!"
  The supper over, he smoked his pipe before the
cabin fire of blazing logs, while she cleared the wooden
dishes.  He watched her get the paper, goose-quill
pen and ink as a prisoner sees the scaffold building
for his execution.
  "Now we're all ready," she said cheerfully.
  The man laid his pipe down with a helpless look.
A brief respite flashed through his mind. Maybe he
could sidestep the lessons before she pinned him down.
  "Lord, Nancy, I forgot my gun. I must grease her
right away," he cried.
  He rose with a quick decisive movement and took
his rifle from the rack. She knew it was useless to
protest and let him have his way.
  Over every inch of its heavy barrel and polished
walnut stock he rubbed a piece of greased linen with
loving care, drew  back the flint-lock and greased
                         3

 



            THE SOUTHERNER

carefully every nook and turn of its mechanism, lifted
the gun finally to his shoulder and drew an imaginary
bead on the head of a turkey gobbler two hundred
yards away. A glowing coal of hickory wood in the
fire served for his game.
  He lowered the gun and held it before him with
pride:
  "Nancy, she's the dandiest piece o' iron that wuz
ever twisted inter the shape of a weepon. Old 'Speak-
easy"s her name! She's got the softest voice that
ever whispered death to a varmint or an Injun-hit
ain't much louder'n the crack of a whip, but, man
alive, when she talks she says somethin'. 'Kerpeow !'
she whispers soft an' low! She's got a voice like
yourn, Nancy-kinder sighs when she speaks-"
  "Well," the wife broke in with a shake of her dark
head, "has mother's little boy played long enough with
his toy"
  "I reckon so," Tom laughed.
  "Then it's time for school." She gently took the
rifle from his hands, placed it on the buck horns and
took her seat at the table.
  The man looked ruefully at the stool, suddenly
straightened his massive frame, lifted his hand above
his head and cocked his eye inquiringly:
  "May I git er drink er water fust"
  The teacher laughed in spite of herself:
  "Yes, you big lubber, and hurry up."
  Tom seized the water bucket and started for the
door.
  "Where are you going" she cried in dismay.
  "I'll jest run down to the spring fer a fresh
bucket-"
                         4

 



                  PROLOGUE

  "O Tom !" she exclaimed.
  "I'll be right back in a minute, Honey," he pro-
tested softly. "Hit's goin' ter be powerful hot-I'll
need a whole bucket time I'm through."
  Before she could answer he was gone.
  He managed to stay nearly a half hour. She put
the baby to sleep and sat waiting with her pensive
young eyes gazing at the leaping flames. She heard
him stop and answer the call of an owl from the
woods. A whip-poor-will was softly singing from the
bushes nearby. He stopped to call him also, and then
found an excuse to linger ten minutes more fooling
with his dogs.
  The laggard came at last and dropped on his stool
by her side. He sat for five minutes staring help-
lessly at the copy she had set. Big beads of perspira-
tion stood on his forehead when he took the pen. He
held it awkwardly and timidly as if it were a live rep-
tile. She took his clumsy hand in hers and showed
him how to hold it.
  "My, but yo' hand's soft an' sweet, Nancv,-jest
lemme hold that a while "
  She rapped his knuckles.
  "All right, teacher, I'll be good," he protested, and
bent his huge shoulders low over his task. He bore
so hard on the frail quill pen the ink ran in a big blot.
  "Not so hard, Tom !" she cried.
  "But I got so much strenk in my right arm I jist
can't hold it back."
  "You must try again."
  He tried again and made a heavy tremulous line.
His arm moved at a snail's gait and wobbled fright-
fully.

 



            TIlE SOUTHERNER

   "Make the line quicker," she urged encouragingly.
"Begin at the top and come down-"
  "Here, you show me how!"
  She took his rough hand quietly in hers, and guided
it swiftly from right to left in straight smooth lines
until a dozen were made, when he suddenly drew her
close, kissed her lips, and held the slender fingers in a
grip of iron. She lay still in his embrace for a moment,
released herself and turned from him with a sigh. He
drew her quickly to the light of the fire and saw the
unshed tears in her eyes.
  "What's the use ter worry, Nancy gal" he said.
"Give it up ez a bad job. I wouldn't fool with no
sech scholar ef I wuz you. Ye can't teach an old dog
new tricks-"
  "I won't give up !" she cried with sudden energy.
"I can teach you and I will. I won't give up and be
nobody. 0 Tom, you promised me before we were
married to let me teach you-didn't you promise"
  "Yes, Honey, I did-" he paused and his fine
teeth gleamed through the black beard-"but ye know
a feller'll promise any thing ter git his gal  "
  "Didn't you mean to keep your word" She broke
in sharply.
  "Of course I did, Nancy, I never wuz more earnest
in my life-'ceptin when I got religion. But I had
no idee larnin' come so hard. I'd ruther fight Injuns
an' wil' cats or rob a bee tree any day than ter tackle
them pot hooks you're sickin' after me-"
  "Well, I won't give up," she interrupted impatiently,
"and you'd just as well make up your mind to stick
to it. You can do what other men have done. You're
good, honest and true, you're kindhearted and popular.
                         6

 



PROLOGUE



They've already made you the road supervisor of this
township. Learn to read and write and you can make
a good speech and go to the Legislature."
  "'Ah, Nancy, what do ye want me ter do that fur,
anyhow, gal I'd be the happiest man in the world
right here in this cabin by the woods ef you'd jest be
happy with me. Can't ye quit hankerin' after them
things, Honey"
  She shook her dark head firmly.
  "You know, Nancy, we wuz neighbors to Dan'l
Boone. We thought he wuz about the biggest man
that ever lived. Somehow the love o' the woods an'
fields is always singin' in my heart. Them still shinin'
stars up in the sky out thar to-night keep a caflin'
me. I could hear the music o' my hounds in my soul
ez I stood by the spring a while ago. Ye know what
scares me most ter death sometimes, gal" He paused
and looked into her eyes intently.
  "No, what" she asked.
  "That you'll make a carpenter outen me yit ef I
don't mind."
  Again a smile broke through the cloud in her eyes:
"I don't think there's much danger of that, Tom-"
  "Yes ther is, too," he laughed. "Ye see, I love you
so and try ter make ye happy, an' ef there wuz ter
come er time that there wuz plenty o' work an' real
money in it, I'd stick to it jist ter please you, an' be
a lost an' ruined soul! Yessir, they'd carve on my
headstone jest one line:

  "BORN A MAN-AND DIED A JACKLEG CARPENTER.

  "Wouldn't that be awful"
                        7

 



THE SOUTHERNER



  The momentary smile on the woman's sensitive face
faded into a look of pain. She tried to make a good-
natured reply, but her lips refused to move.
  The man pressed on eagerly:
  "O Nancy, why can't ye be happy here We've a
snug little cabin nest, we've enough to eat and enough
to wear. The baby's laughin' at yer heels all day and
snugglin' in her little bed at night. The birds make
music fur ye in the trees. The creek down thar's
laughin' an' singing' winter an' summer. The world's
too purty an' life's too short ter throw hit away
fightin' an' scramblin' fur nothin'."
  "For something-Tom-something big-"
  "Don't keer how big 'tis-what of it All turns
ter ashes in yer hands bye an' bye an' yer life's gone.
We can't live these young days over again, can we
Ye know the preacher says: 'What shall hit profit
a man ef he gain the whole world an' lose his life' Let
me off'n these lessons, Honey I'm too old; ye can't
larn me new tricks now. Let me off fer good an' all,
won't ye"
  "No," was the firm answer. "It means too much.
I won't give up and let the man I love sign his name
forever with a cross mark."
  "I ain't goin' ter sign no more papers nohow!" Tom
broke in.
  "I signed our marriage bond with a mark, Tom,"
she went on evenly, "just because you couldn't
write your name. You've got to learn, I won't give
up !"
  "Well, it's too late to-night fur any more lessons,
now ain't it"
  "Yes, we'll make up for it next time."
                        8

 



                  PROLOGUE

  The tired hunter was soon sound asleep dreaming
of the life that was the breath of his nostrils.
  Through the still winter's night the young wife
lay with wide staring eyes. Over and over again she
weighed her chances in the grim struggle begun for
the mastery of his mind. The longer she asked her-
self the question of success or failure the more doubt-
ful seemed the outcome. How still the world!
  The new life within her strong young body suddenly
stirred, and a feeling of awe thrilled her heart. God
had suddenly signalled from the shores of Eternity.
  When her husband waked at dawn he stared at her
smiling face in surprise.
  "What ye laughin' about, Nancy" he cried.
  She turned toward him with a startled look:
  "I had a vision, Tom !"
  "A dream, I reckon."
  "God had answered the prayer of my heart," she
went on breathlessly, "and sent me a son. I saw him
a strong, brave, patient, wise, gentle man.  Thou-
sands hung on his words and great men came to do
him homage. With bowei head he led me into a beau-
tiful home that had shining white pillars. He bowed
low and whispered in my ear: 'This is yours, my angel
mother. I bought it for you with my life. All that I
am I owe to you.' "
  She paused a moment and whispered:
  "O Tom, man, a new song is singing in my soul!"

                        II

  The woman rose quietly and went the rounds of
her daily work. She made her bed to-day in trance-
                         9

 



THIE SOUTHERNER



like silence. It was no gilded couch, but it had been
built by the hand of her lover and was sacred. It
filled the space in one corner of the cabin farthest from
the fire. A single post of straight cedar securely fixed
in the ground held the poles in place which formed
the side and foot rail. The walls of the cabin formed
the other side and head. Across from the pole were
fixed the slender hickory sticks that formed the
springy hammock on which the first mattress of moss
and grass rested. On this was placed a feather bed
made from the wild fowl Tom had killed during the past
two years. The pillows were of the finest feathers
from the breasts of ducks. A single quilt of ample
size covered all, and over this was thrown a huge
counterpane of bear skins. Two enormous bear rugs
almost completely covered the dirt floor, and a carpet
of oak leaves filled out the spaces.
  The feather bed beaten smooth, the fur covering
drawn in place and the pillows set upright against the
cabin wall, she turned to the two bunks in the opposite
corner and carefully re-arranged them. They might
be used soon. This was the corner of her home set
aside for guests. Tom had skillfully built two berths
boat fashion, one above the other, in this corner, and
a curtain drawn over a smooth wooden rod cut this
space off from the rest of the room when occupied at
night by visitors.
  The master of this cabin never allowed a stranger
to pass without urging him to stop and in a way that
took no denial.
  A savory dish of stewed squirrel and corn dumplings
served for lunch. The baby's face was one glorious
smear of joy and grease at its finish.
                         10

 



11ROLOGUE



   The mother took the bucket from its shelf and
walked leisurely to the spring, whose limpid waters
gushed from a rock at the foot of the hill. The child
toddled after her, the little moccasined feet stepping
gingerly over the sharp gravel of the rough places.
   Before filling the bucket she listened again for the
crack of Tom's rifle, and could hear nothing. A
death-like stillness brooded over the woods and fields.
He was probably watching for muskrat under the
bluff of the creek. He had promised to stay within
call to-day.
  The afternoon dragged wearily. She tried to read
the one book she possessed, the Bible.   The pages
seemed to fade and the eyes refused to see.
  "O Man, Mlan, why don't you come home !" she
cried at last.
  She rose, walked to the door, looked and listened-
only the distant rattle of a woodpecker's beak on a
dead tree in the woods. The snow began to fall in
little fitful dabs. It was two miles to the nearest
cabin, and her soul rose in fierce rebellion at her lone-
liness. It was easy for a man who loved the woods,
the fields and running waters, this life, but for the
woman who must wait and long and eat her heart
out alone-she vowed anew that she would not endure
it. By the sheer pull of her will she would lift this
man from his drifting life and make him take his
place in the real battle of the world. If her new baby
were only a boy, he could help her and she would
win. Again she stood dreaming of the vision she had
seen at dawn.
  The dark young face suddenly went white and her
hand gripped the facing of the door.
                         11

 



THE SOUTHERNER



   She waited half doubting, half amused at her fears.
It was only the twinge of a muscle perhaps.  She
smiled at her sudden panic. The thought had scarcely
formed before she blanched the second time and the
firm lips came together with sudden energy as she
glanced at the child playing on the rug at her feet.
  She seized the horn that hung beside the door and
blew the pioneer's long call of danger. Its shrill note
rang through the woods against the hills in cadences
that seemed half muffled by the falling snow.
  Again her anxious eyes looked from the doorway.
Would he never come! The trembling slender hand
once more lifted the horn, a single wild note rang
out and broke suddenly into silence. The horn fell
from her limp grasp and she lifted her eyes to the
darkening sky in prayer, as Tom's voice from the
edge of the woods came strong and full:
  "Yes, Honey, I'm comin' !"
  There was no question of doctor or nurse. The
young pioneer mother only asked for her mate.
  For two fearful hours she gripped his rough hands
until at last her nails brought the blood, but the man
didn't know or care. Every smothered cry that came
from her lips began to tear the heart out of his body
at last. He could hold the long pent agony no longer
without words.
  "My God, Nancy, what can I do for ye, Honey"
  Her breath came in gasps and her eyes were shining
with a strange intensity.
  "Nothing, Tom, nothing now-I'm looking Death
in the face and I'm not afraid--"
  "Please lemme give ye some whiskey," he pleaded,
pressing the glass to laer lips.
                        12

 



                  PROLOGUE

   "No-no, take it away-I hate it. My baby shall
be clean and strong or I want to die."
  The decision seemed to brace her spirit for the last
test when the trembling feet entered the shadows of
the dim valley that lies between Life and Death.
  The dark, slender figure lay still and white at last.
A sharp cry from lusty lungs, and the grey eyes
slowly opened, with a timid wondering look.
  "Tom!" she cried with quick eager tones.
  "Yes, Nancy, yes!"
  "A boy"
  "Of course-and a buster he is, too."
  "Give him to me-quick !"
  The stalwart figure bent over the bed and laid
the little red bundle in her arms. She pressed him
tenderly to her heart, felt his breath on her breast
and the joyous tears slowly poured down her cheeks.


                        III
  Before the first year of the boy's life had passed
the task of teaching his good-natured, stubborn father
became impossible. The best the wife could do was to
make him trace his name in sprawling letters that
resembled writing and painfully spell his way through
the simplest passages in the Bible.
  The day she gave up was one of dumb despair.
She resolved at last to live in her boy. All she had
hoped and dreamed of life should be his and he would
be hers. Her hands could make him good or bad,
brave or cowardly, noble or ignoble.
  He was a remarkable child physically, and grew
out of his clothes faster than she could make them.
                         1 3

 



           THE SOUTHERNER

It was easy to see from his second year that he
would be a man of extraordinary stature. Both mother
and father were above the average height, but he
would overtop them both. When he tumbled over
the bear rugs on the cabin floor his father would
roar with laughter:
  "For the Lord's sake, Nancy, look at them legs!
Thev're windin' blades. Ef he ever gits grown, he
won't have ter ax fer a blessin', he kin jest reach
up an' hand it down hisself!"
  He was four years old when he got the first vision
of his mother that time should never blot out. His
father was away on a carpenter job of four days.
Sleeping in the lower bunk in the corner, he waked
with a start to hear the chickens cackling loudly.
His mother was quietly dressing. Ile leaped to his
feet shivering in the dark and whispered:
  "What is it, Ala"
  "Something's after the chickens."
  "Not a hawk "
  "No, nor an owl, or fox, or weasel-or they'd
squall-they're cackling."
  The rooster cackled louder than ever and the Boy
recognized the voice of his speckled hen accompany-
ing him. How weird it sounded in the darkness of
the still spring night! The cold chills ran down his
back and he caught his mother's dress as she reached
for the rifle that stood beside her bed.
  "You're not goin' out there, Ma" the Boy pro-
tested.
  "Yes. It's a dirty thief after our horse."
  Her voice was low and steady and her hand was
without tremor as she grasped his.
                        14

 




PROLOGUE



   "Get back in bed. I won't be gone a minute."
   She left the cabin and noiselessly walked toward
the low shed in which the horse was stabled.
   The Boy was at her heels. She knew and rejoiced
in the love that made him brave for her sake.
   She paused a moment, listened, and then lifted her
tall, slim form and advanced steadily. Her bare feet
made no noise. The waning moon was shining with
soft radiance. The Boy's heart was in his throat as
he watched her slender neck and head outlined against
the sky. Never had he seen anything so calm and
utterly brave.
  There was a slight noise at the stable. The chickens
cackled with louder call.  Five minutes passed and
they were silent. A shadowy figure appeared at the
corner of the stable. She raised the rifle and flashed
at dagger-like flame into the darkness.
  A smothered cry, the shadow leaped the fence and
the beat of swift feet could be heard in the distance.
  The Boy clung close to her side and his voice was
husky as he spoke:
  "Ain't you afraid, Ma"
  The calm answer rang forever through his memory:
  "I don't know what fear means, my Boy. It's not
the first time I've caught these prowling scoundrels."
  Next morning he saw the dark blood marks on the
trail over which the thief had fled, and looked into
his mother's wistful grey eyes with a new reverence
and awe.
                         IV

  The Boy was quick to know and love the birds of
hedge and field and woods. The martins that built in
                         15

 



TILE SOUTHERNER



his gourds on the tall pole had opened his eyes. Tlje
red and bluebirds, the thrush, the wren, the robin,
the catbird, and song sparrows were his daily com-
panions.
   A mocking-bird came at last to build her nest in a
bush beside the garden, and her mate began to make
the sky ring with his song. The puzzle of the feathered
tribe whose habits he couldn't fathom was the whip-
poor-will. His mother seemed to dislike his ominous
sound. But the soft mournful notes appealed to the
Boy's fancy. Often at night he sat in the doorway
of the cabin watching the gathering shadows and the
flicker of the fire when supper was cooking, listening
to the tireless song within a few feet of the house.
  "Why don't you like 'em, AMa" he asked, while
one was singing with unusually deep and haunting
voice so near the cabin that its echo seemed to come
from the chimney jamb.
  It was some time before she replied:
  "They say it's a sign of death for them to come
so close to the house."
  The Boy laughed:
  "You don't believe it"
  "I don't know."
  "Well, I like 'em," he stoutly declared. "I like to
feel the cold shivers when they sing right under my
feet. You're not afraid of a little whip-poor-will"
  He looked up into her sombre face with a smile.
  "No," was the gentle answer, "but I want to live
to see my Boy a fine strong man," she paused, stooped,
and drew him into her arms.
  There was something in her tones that brought
a lump into his throat. The moon was shining in
                        16

 



                  PROLOGUE

the full white glory of the Southern spring.  A
night of marvellous beauty enfolded the little cabin.
He looked into her eyes and they were shining with
tears.
  "What's the matter" he asked tenderly.
  "Nothing, Boy, I'm just dreaming of you!"
        X                          

  The first day of the fall in his sixth year he asked
his mother to let him go to the next corn-shucking.
  "You're too little a boy."
  "I can shuck corn," he stoutly argued.
  "You'll be good, if I let you go" she asked.
  "What's to hurt me there"
  "Nothing, unless you let it. The men drink whiskey,
the girls dance. Sometimes there's a quarrel or fight."
  "It won't hurt me ef I 'tend to my own business,
will it"
  "Nothing will ever hurt you, if you'll just do that,
Boy," the father broke in.
  "May I go "
  "Yes, we're invited next week to a quilting and
corn-shucking. I'll go with you."
  The Boy shouted for joy and counted the days
until the wonderful event.  They left home at two
o'clock in the wagon. The quilting began at three,
the corn-shucking at sundown.
  The house was a marvellous structure to the Boy's
excited imagination.  It was the first home he had
ever seen not built of logs.
  "Why, Ma," he cried in open-eyed wonder, "there
ain't no logs in the house! How did they ever put
it together"
                         17

 


            TIlE SOUTHERNER

   "With bricks and mortar."
   The Boy couldn't keep his eyes off this building.
It was a simple, one-story square structure of four
rooms and an attic, with little dormer windows peep-
ing from the four sides of the pointed roof. McDonald,
the thrifty Scotch-Irishman, from the old world, had
built it of bricks he had ground and burnt on his
own place.
  The dormer windows peeping from the roof caught
the Boy's fancy.
  "Do you reckon his boys sleep up there and peep out
of them holes "
  The mother smiled.
  "Maybe so."
  "Why don't we build a house like that' he asked
at last. "Don't you want it"
  The mother squeezed his little hand:
  "When you're a man will you build your mother
one"
  He looked into her eyes a moment, caught the pen-
sive longing and answered:
  "Yes. I will."
  She stooped and kissed the firm mouth and was
about to lead him into the large work-room where
the women were gathering around the quilts stretched
on their frames, when a negro slave suddenly ap-
peared to take her horse to the stable. He was fat,
jolly and coal black. His yellow teeth gleamed in
their blue gums with a jovial welcome.
  The Boy stood rooted to the spot and watched
until the negro disappeared. It was the first black
man he had ever seen.   He had heard of negroes
and that they were slaves.   But he had no idea
                        18

 



PROLOGUE



that one human being could be so different from an-
other.
  In breathless awe be asked:
  "Is he folks"
  "Of course, Boy," his mother answered, smiling.
  "What made him so black"
  "The sun in Africa."
  "What made his nose so flat and his lips so
thick "
  "He was born that way."
  "What made him come here "
  "He didn't. The slave traders put him in chains
and brought him across the sea and sold him into
slavery."
  The little body suddenly stiffened:
  "Why didn't he kill 'em"
  "He didn't know how to defend himself."
  "Why don't he run away"
  "He hasn't sense enough, I reckon. He's got a
home, plenty to eat and plenty to wear, and he's afraid
he'll be caught and whipped."
  The mother had to pull the Boy with her into the
quilting room. His eyes followed the negro to the
stable with a strange fascination. The thing that
puzzled him beyond all comprehension was why a big
strong man like that, if he were a man, would submit.
Why didn't lie fight and die A curious feeling of
contempt filled his mind. This black thing that looked
like a man, walked like a man and talked like a man
couldn't be one! No real man would grin and laugh
and be a slave. The black fool seemed to be happy.
He had not only grinned and laughed, but he went
away whistling and singing.
                        19

 



THE SOUTHERNER



   In three hours the quilts were finished and the men
had gathered for the corn-shucking.
   Before eight o'clock the last ear was shucked, and
a long white pile of clean husked corn lay glistening
in the moonlight where the dark pyramid had stood at
sunset.
   With a shout the men rose, stretched their legs and
washed their hands in the troughs filled with water,
provided for the occasion. They sat down to supper
at four long tables placed in the kitchen and work
room, where the quilts had been stretched.
  Never had the Boy seen such a feast-barbecued
shoat, turkeys, ducks, chickens, venison, bear meat,
sweet potatoes, wild honey, corn dodgers, wheat bis-
cuit, stickies and pound cake pound cake until you
couldn't eat another mouthful and still they brought
more!
  After the supper the young folks sang and danced
before the big fires until ten o'clock, and then the
crowd began to thin, and by eleven the last man was
gone and the harvest festival was over.
  It was nearly twelve before the Boy knelt at his
mother's knee to say his prayers.
  When the last words were spoken he still knelt,
his eyes gazing into the flickering fire.
  The mother bent low:
  "What are you thinking about, Boy The house
you're going to build for me"
  'No."
  "What "
  "That nigger-wasn't he funny You don't want
me to get you any niggers with the house do you"

                        20

 




                  PROLOGUE

  "1 didn't think you would," he went on thoughtfully,
"because you said General Washington set his slaves
free and wanted everybody else to do it too."
  He paused and shook his head thoughtfully. "But
he was funny-he was laughin' and whistlin' and
singim'!"
                         V

  The air of the Southern autumn was like wine. The
Boy's heart beat with new life.  The scarlet and
purple glory of the woods fired his imagination. He
found himself whistling and singing at his tasks. He
proudly showed a bee tree to his mother, the honey
was gathered and safely stored. A barrel of walnuts,
a barrel of hickorynuts and two bushels of chestnuts
were piled near his bed in the loft.
  But the day his martins left, he came near break-
ing down. He saw them circle high in graceful sweep-
ing curves over the