xt7fqz22cb2s https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7fqz22cb2s/data/mets.xml Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946. 1914 books b92-201-30752212 English D. Appleton, : New York ; London : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Davis, Jefferson, 1808-1889 Fiction. Victim : a romance of the real Jefferson Davis / by Thomas Dixon ... ; illustrated by J.N. Marchand. text Victim : a romance of the real Jefferson Davis / by Thomas Dixon ... ; illustrated by J.N. Marchand. 1914 2002 true xt7fqz22cb2s section xt7fqz22cb2s

THE VICTIM

BOOKS BY THOMAS DIXON

The Victim
The Southerner
The Sins of the Father
The Leopard's Spots
The Clansman
The Traitor
The One Woman
Comrades
The Root of Evil
The Life Worth Living

176

This page in the original text is blank.

"The man in front gave a short laugh and advanced
on the girl "
[Page 3001

LLL

THE

VIC TIM

A ROM.ANGCE OF
THE REAL JEFFERSON DA VIS

BY
THOMAS DIXON

"A majestic soul heas padsed"-CHARLEs A. DANA

ILLUSTRATED BY
J. N. MARCHAND

NEW YORK
D. APPLETON

AND LONDON
AND COMPANY
914

COPrRLGHT, 1914, BY
THOMAS DIXON

Printed in the United States of America

TO
THE BRAVE WHO DIED
FOR WHAT THEY BELIEVED
TO BE RIGHT

Fold up the banners! Smelt tie guns!
Love rules. Her gentle purpose runs.
A mighty mother turns in tears
The pages of her battle years
Lamenting. all her fallen sons!
THOMPSON

TO THE READER

In the historical romance which I haze woven of the
orainatic events of the life of Jeffcrson Davis I haz.e
drawn his real character unobscured by passion or
prejudice. Forced by his people to lead their cause.
his genius created an engine of war so terrible in its
power that through. it five million Southerners, w-ithout
money, without a market, wit/oiut credit, withstood for
four years the shock of twenty million men of their owU
blood and of equal daring, backed by boundless re-
son rces.
The achievenment is without a parallel in history, and
adds new glory to the records of our race.
The scenes have all been drawn from authentic
records in nmy possession. 1 have not at any point
taken a liberty with an essential detail of historiy.
THOMNfAS DIXON.

This page in the original text is blank.

CONTENTS

PAGE
..

PROLOGUE . . . . . .
Cf AVPTER

I THE CURTAIN RISES . .
II THE PARTING.
III A MIDNIGHT SESSION .
IV A FRIENDLY WARNING . .
V BOY AND GIRL. . . .
VI GOD'S WILL . . . . .
VII THE BEST SAN WINS . . ..
VIII THE STORM CENTER . . .
IX THE OLD REGIME.
X THE GAUGE OF BATTLE . .
XI JENNIE'S VISION . . . .
XII A LITTLE CLOUD . . . .
XIII THE CLOSING OF THE RANKS
XIV RICHMOND IN GALA DRESS
XV THE HOUSE ON CHURCH HILL
XNI THE FLOWER-DECKED TENT
XV"II THE FATAL VICTORY . .
XVIII THE AFTERMATH . . . .
XIX SOCOLA'S PROBLEM.
XX THE ANACONDA . .
XXI GATHERING CLOUDS .
XXII JENNIE'S RECRUIT.
XXIII THE FATAL BLUNDER .
XXIV THE SLEEPING LIONESS . .
XXV THE BOMBARDMENT .
XXVI THE IRREPARABLE Loss

.. 69
. . . 82
. L. . 100
. . . 107
109.
115
. . . 120
125
., . 137
145
. . 156
.164
. . . 166
179
. 189
. 195
. . 201
.219
. 233
242
. 245
. . . 257
... 264
. . . 274
. 284
. . 305

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
XXVII THE LIGHT THAT FAILED
XXVIII THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER
XXIX THE PANIC IN RICHTMOND
XXX THE DELIVERANCE .
XXXI LOVE AND WAR .
XXXII THE PATH OF GLORY
XXXIII THIE ACCUSATION.
XXXIV THE TURN OF THE TIDE .
XXXV SUSPICION. . . . . .
XXX VI TILE FATAL DEED .
XXXVII THE RAIDERS
XXXVIII THE DISCOVERY . . .
XXXIX THE CONSPIRATORS . .
XL IN SIGHT OF VICTORY
XLI THE FALL OF RICHMIOND
XLII THE CAPTURE.
XLIII TILE VICTOR . . .
XLIV PRISON BARS
XLV TIIE -MASTER 'MIND. .
XLVI THiE TORTURE . . . .
XLVII VINDICATION . . . .

PAGE
. 315
. 326
. 336
. 350
. 360
. 363
. 385
. 392
. 406
. 409
. 417
. 424
. 440
447
. 459
. 470
. 484
. 487
. 496
5. 01
. 506

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FAG! SG
PAGE
"The man in front gave a short laugh and
advanced on the girl". . . . . Frontispiece
You have given me new eves -'".4-

"W'e have won, sir! ' was the short curt answer" 16

"Dick saluted and sprang into the saddle -' I under-

stand, sir ' ".. . . . . . . . . . 310

"Jennie thrust her trembling little figure between the

two men and confronted Dick" . . . . . 38s

Do your duty - put them on him! ' " . . . . 490

LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY

The Prologue
1814-1853
LT. JEFFERSON DAVIS, Of the U. S. Army.
JOSEPH E. DAVIS, His Big Brother.
COLONEL ZACHARY TAYLOR, "Old Rough and Ready."
SARAH KNOX TAYLOR, His Daughter.
JAMES PEMBERTON, A Faithful Slave.

The Story
1860-1867
HON. ROGER BARTON, An Original Secessionist.
JENNIE, His Daughter.
DICK WELFORD, A Confederate Soldier.
JOSEPH HOLT, A Renegade Southerner.
HENRICO SOCOLA, A Soldier of Fortune.
THE PRESIDENT, Of the Confederacy.
MRS. DAVIS, His Wife.
BURTON HARRISON, His Secretary.
JOSEPH E. JOHNSTON, A Master of Retreat.
P. G. T. BEAUREGARD, The First Hero.
STONEWALL JACKSON, Of the "Foot Cavalry."
ROBERT E. LEE, The Southern Commander.
U. S. GRANT, The Bull Dog Fighter.
NELSON A. MILES, A Jailor.
JOHN C. UNDERWOOD, A Reconstruction Judge.

THE VICTIM

Tbte irologue

This page in the original text is blank.

THE VICTIM

PROLOGUE

I
KIDNAPPED
The hot sun of the South was sinking in red glow
through the giant tree-tops of a Mississippi forest be-
yond the village of Woodville. A slender girl stood in
the pathway watching a boy of seven trudge manfully
away beside his stalwart brother.
Her lips trembled and eyes filled with tears.
" Wait - wait! " she cried.
With a sudden bound she snatched him to her heart.
" Don't, Polly - you hurt! " the little fellow fal-
tered, looking at her with a feeling of sudden fear.
"Why did you squeeze me so hard "
"You shouldn't have done that, honey," the big
brother frowned.
" I know," the sister pleaded, " but I couldn't help
it."
"What are you crying about " the boy questioned.
Again the girl's arm stole around his neck.
" What's the matter with her, Big Brother " he
asked with a brave attempt at scorn.
The man slowly loosened the sister's arms.
I'm just going honme with you, ain't I " the child
wcnt on, with a quiver in his voice.
3

THE VICTIMI

The older brother led him to a fallen log, sat down,
and held his hands.
" No, Boy," he said quietly. " I'd as well tell you
the truth now. I'm going to send you to Kentucky to
a wonderful school, taught by learned men from the Old
World - wise monks who know everything. You want
to go to a real school, don't you"
"But my Mamma don't know-
That's just it, Boy. We can't tell her. She
wouldn't let you go."
" Why "
" Well, she's a good Baptist, and it's a long, long way
to the St. Thomas monastery."
" How far' "
" A thousand miles, through these big woods-"
The blue eyes dimmed.
" I want to see my -Mamma before I go -" his voice
broke.
The man shook his head.
" No, Boy; it won't do. You're her baby-"
The dark head sank with a cry.
" I want to see her! "
" Come, come, Jeff Davis, you're going to be a sol-
dier. Remember you're the son of a soldier who fought
under General Washington and won our freedom.
You're named after Thomas Jefferson, the great Presi-
dent. Your three brothers have just come home from
New Orleans. Under Old Hickory we drove the Brit-
i..hi back into their ships and sent 'cm flying home to
England. The son of a soldier -the brother of sol-
diers - can't cry
" I will if I want to !"
" All right! " the man laughed -" I'll hold my hat
and you can cry it full -"
He removed his hat and held it smilingly under the
boy's finn little chin. The childish lips tightened and
4

KIDNAPPED

the cheeks flushed with anger. His bare toes began to
dig holes in the soft rich earth. The appeal to his sol-
(ier blood had struck into the pride of his heart and the
insult of a hat full of tears had hurt.
At last he found his tongue:
" Does Pa know I'm goin' "
" Yes. He thinks you're a very small boy to go so
far, but knows it's for the best."
That's why he kissed me when I left
" Yes."
"I thought it was funny," he murmured with a half
sob; "he never kissed me before-"
"He's quiet and reserved, Boy, but he's wise and
good and loves you. He's had a hard time out here in
the wilderness fighting his way with a, wife and ten chil-
dren. He never had a chance to get an education and
the children didn't either. Some of us are too old now.
There's time for you. We're going to stand aside and
let you pass. You're our baby brother, and we love
Vou."
The child's hand slowly stole into the rough one of
the man.
"And I love you, Big Brother -" the little voice
faltered, " and all the others, too, and that's-why-I'm-
not-goin'! "
" I'm so glad!" The girl clapped her hands and
laughed.
Polly !-"
"Well, I am, and I don't care what you say. He's
too little to go so far and you know he is -"
The man grasped her hand and whispered:
" Hush !
The brother slipped his ann around the Boy and
drew him on his knee. Ile waited a moment until the
hard lines at the corners of the firm mouth had relaxed
under the pressure of his caress, pushed the tangled hair
.5

THE VICTIM

back from his forehead and looked into the fine blue-
gray eyes. His voice was tender and his speech slow.
" You must make up your mind to go, Boy. I don't
want to force you. I like to see your eyes flash when
you say you won't go. You've got the stuff in you
that real men are made of. That's why it's worth
while to send you. I've seen that since you could toddle
about the house and stamp your feet when things didn't
suit you. Now, listen to me. I've made a vow to God
that you shall have as good a chance as any man
to make your way to the top. We're going to b)e
the greatest nation in the world. I saw it in the red
flash of guns that day at New Orleans as I lay there in
the trench and watched the long lines of Red Coats go
down before us. Just a lot of raw recruits with
old flintlocks! The men who charged us, the picked
veterans of England's grand army. But we cut
'emn to pieces, Boy! I fired a cannon loaded with grape
shot that mowed a lane straight through 'em. It must
have killed two hundred men. They burned our Cap-
itol at Washington and the Federalist traitors at Hart-
ford were firin' on us in the rear, but Old Hickory
showed the world that we could lick England with one
hand tied behind our back. And we did it. We drove
'em like sheep - drove 'em into the sea.
" There's but one name on every lip in this country
now, Boy, and that's Old Hickory. He'd be President
next time-but for one thing,- just one thing-lhe
didn't have a chance to learn when he was a boy. He's
not educated."
The brother paused, and a dreamv look came into his
eyes. " We may make him President anyhow. But if
he'd been educated - there wouldn't be anv if or and
about it. Washington and Jefferson and Madison be-
long to the rich and powerful class. Jackson is a yeo-
wan like your father. But he'd be President, Boy, if
6

KIDNAPPED

he'd been educated! Nothing could stop him. Don't
you see this is your country This is a poor man's
world. All vou have to do is to train your mind.
You've got to do this - you understand - you've got
to do it -"
The man paused suddenly and looked into the Boy's
wondering eyes. He had forgotten the child's rebel-
lion. The young pioneer of the wilderness was talking
to himself. Again he had seen a vision.
He seized the Boy's arms:
" Don't you see, Boy, don't you"
The child's mouth hardened again:
"No, I don't. I'm just a little boy. I love my
Mamma. She's good and sweet to me and I'm not go-
ing to leave her -"
Again Polly laughed.
A smile slowly played about the brother's lips and
eves. He must show his trump card.
"But you don't know what I've got for you-
"What "
"Something you've always wanted to have for your
own
" A pony"
The man slowly rose:
" Come out to the big road-"
The Boy seized his sister's hand:
" Polly, let's see! "
The girl's eyes grew dim:
"Oh, Jeff, I know you're goin'!"
"No - we'll just see what it is- come on!"
In five minutes they emerged from the deep woods
into the clearing around a cabin. Beside the roadway
stood a horse and pony, both bridled and saddled.
The swift feet of the Boy flew across the opening.
the sister wide-eyed and trembling, close on his heels.
He threw his arms around the pony's neck and stroked
7

THE VICTIM

his head with gentle touch. The pony pressed his
mouth against the Boy's cheek in friendly response.
" Did you see him kiss me, Polly " he cried trem-
blingly.
" Yes, I saw him," was the solemn response.
" Isn't he a beauty Look, Polly - he's got a white
spot on every foot and one in his forehead and black
as a coal all over - and Oh - what a saddle - a red
belt and red martingales! "
He touched the saddle lovingly and circled the pony's
neck with his arms.
The brother smiled again:
" Well, what do vou think of that"
The Boy was trembling now from head to foot, his
heart in his throat as he slowly asked:
" You mean that -you'll - give - him - to me-
for - all my own"
" If you'll be a good boy, go to school and work
hard -yes."
" All right, Big Brother," was the quick answer, " I'll
go. Help me on him quick, and let me try him! "
The Boy lifted his bare foot into the strong hand,
sprang into the saddle, bounded down the road, wheeled,
flew back and leaped to the ground.
"He's a dandy!"
Polly dropped her head and started home, making a
brave fight to keep back the tears. Half way across
the clearing she gave up in a long pitiful wail.
The Boy, busy with his pony, had not missed her.
In a moment he was by her side, his arms about her
neck.
" Don't cry, Polly honey, I'll be back before long,"
he pleaded.
The only answer was a sob:
" Good-by, JeffS-
Her hands slowly slipped through his.
8

KIDNAPPED

"Good-by, Polly--"
He watche(l her go with quivering lips, and as the
little figure slowly faded into the shadows of the woods
he called in broken accents:
" Kiss Mamma for me - and tell her I wanted to go
back- and say good-bv -but Joc wouldn't let me!
" Yes, honev
" And you -watch out for that old drunk man we
saw once in the woods, Polly!
" Yes!
" Don't let him get you-
" No - I won't - good -good-by!"
" Good-by -"
The last good-by stuck in the Boy's throat, but he
lifted his blue eyes, saw his pony and smiled through the
tears.

THE WILDERNESS

A journey of a thousand miles through the unbroken
wilderness - the home of the Choctaw and Chickasaw
Indian Nations and all on his own beautiful pony! It
was no time for tears.
The Boy's soul leaped for joy.
The party was a delightful one. Mlajor Hinds, a
veteran of General Jackson's campaign, the commander
of the famous Mississippi Dragoons at the battle of New
Orleans, was the leader, accompanied by his wife, her
sister and niece, and best of all a boy his own age, the
Major's little son Howell.
Howell also was riding a pony. He was a nice
enough pony, of course, as ponies went, but couldn't
compare with his own. He made up his mind to race
9

THE VICTIM

the first chance they got, and show those pretty white
heels to his rival. He was just dying to tell him how
fast they could beat the ground-but he'd wait and
surprise the party.
A negro maid accompanied the ladies and a stalwart
black man rode a pack-mule laden with tents, blankets
and a cooking outfit. They stopped at houses when
one could be reached at nightfall. If not, they camped
in the woods beneath the towering trees. There was
no need of the tents unless it rained. So dense was the
foliage that only here and there a bright star peeped
through, or a moonbeam shot its silvery thread to the
ground. The Indians were all friendly. It was the
boast of the Choctaws that no man of their breed had
ever shed the blood of a white man.
For days they followed the course of the majestic
river rolling its yellow flood to the sea and watched
the lazy flat and keel boats drift slowly down to New
Orleans bearing the wealth of the new Western World.
The men who had manned these rude craft were slowly
tramping on foot back to their homes in the North.
Their boats could not stem the tide for the return trip.
Every day they passed these weary walkers. The Boy
was sorry they couldn't ride. His pony's step was so
firm and quick and strong.
He raced with Howell the first day and beat him so
far there was no fun in it. He never challenged his
rival again. He was the guest of Major Hinds on this
trip. It would be rude. But he slipped out in the
dark that night, and hugged his pony:
"You're the finest horse that ever was!" he whis-
pered.
" Of course I am! " the pony laughed.
s I love you-
" And I love you." was the quick response as the
warm nose touched his cheek.
10

THE WILDERNESS

In the second week, they reached the first stand,
Folsoms'," on the border of the (Choctaw Nation.
These stands were log cabins occupied by squaw men -
whites who had married Indian wonmen. They must
pass three more of these stands the Major said-the
" Leflores," known as the first and second French camps,
and the one at the crossing of the Tennessee River,
which had the unusual distinction of being kept by a
half-breed Chickasaw Indian.
Here, weary, footsore travelers stopped to rest and
refresh themselves - and many drooped and died miles
from those they loved. The little graveyard with its
rude, wooden-marked mounds the Boy saw with a dull
ache in his heart.
And then the first bitter pang of homesickness came.
He wondered if his sweet mother were well. He won-
dered what she said when they told her he had gone.
He knew she had cried. What if she were dead and
he could never see her again He sat down on a log,
buried his face in his hands and tried to cry the ache
out of his heart. He felt that he must turn back or
die. But it wouldn't do. He had promised his Big
Brother. He rose, brushed the tears away, fed and
watered his pony and tenderly rubbed down every inch
of his beautiful black skin. He forgot the ache in his
new-found love and the strength which had come into
his boy's soul from the sense of kinship with Nature
which this beautiful dumb four-footed friend had
brought him. No man could be friendless or forsaken
who possessed the love of a horse. His horse knew and
loved him. He said it in a hundred ways. His wide,
deep, lustrous eyes, shining with intelligence, had told
him! So had the touch of his big warm mouth in
mFany a friendly pony kiss. His pony could laugh, too.
He had seen the smiles flicker about his mouth and eyes
as he pretended to bite his bare legH. How could any
11I

THE VICTIM

human being be cruel or mean to a horse! His pony
had given him new courage and conscious power. He
was the master of Nature now when they flew along the
trail through the deep woods. His horse had given him
wings.
He looked up into the star-sown sky, and promised
God to be kind and gentle to all the dumb world for
the love of the beautiful friend I-le had given.

III

THE HERMITAGE
At the last stand on the banks of the winding Ten-
nessee, the Major sat up late in eager discussion about
Old Hickory with an enthusiastic Tennesseean. The
ladies had retired, and the Boy listened with quiet
eagerness to the talk.
" Waal, we're goin' ter make Andrew Jackson Presi-
dent anyhow, Major! " the Tennesseean drawled.
"I'm afraid they'll beat us," the Major answered,
with a shake of his head.
"How'll thev beat us when we git ready ter make
the fight"
" Old Hickory says himself, he ain't fit-"
" I reckon we know more about that than he does,"
persisted the man from Tennessee.
" The aristocrats don't think so
" What t'ell they got agin him Ain't he the big-
gest man in this country to-day Didn't he lick Spain
and England both at Pensacola and didn't he finish the
Red Coats at New Orleans -"
" They say his education's poor-"
" He knowed enough to make this country cock o'
the walk - what more do they want - damn 'em!"
They sav he swears
12

THE HERMITAGE

The Tennessecan roared:
Waal, if all the cussin' men vote fur him - he'll
sho be elected!"
" The real trouble-" the Major said thoughtfully,
is what the scandal-mongers keep saying about his
wife-"
" Iles killed one son-of-a-gun about that already,
an' they better let him alone-"
" That's just it, my friend; he killed that skunk in a
duel and it's not the only one he has fought either.
Old Hickory's got the temper of the devil."
" Waal, thar ain't nothin' in them lies about his
wife -"
The -Major lifted his hand and moved closer:
" There's just enough truth at the bottom of it all
to give the liars the chance they need to talk forever -"
" I never knowed thar wuz ary grain er truth in hit,
at all -"
" There is, though," the Major interrupted, " and
that's where we're going to have a big fight on our
hands when it comes to the rub. This Lewis Robards,
her first husband, was a quarrelsome cuss. Every man
that looked at his wife, he swore was after her, and if
she lifted her eyes, he was sure she was guilty. There
was no divorce law in Virginia and Robards petitioned
the Legislature to pass an Act of Divorce in his favor.
The dog swore in this petition that his wife had de-
serted him and was living with Andrew Jackson. He
c ws boarding with her mother, the widow Donelson.
The Legislature passed the Act, but it only authorized
the Courts of the Territory of Kentucky to try the
case, and grant the divorce if the facts were proven.
"Robards never went to Court with it for over two
years, and Jackson, under the impression that the
Legislature had given the divorce, married Rachel Ro-
bards at Natchez in August, 1791.
1 3

THE VICTIM

"Two years later, the skunk slips into Court and
gets his divorce!
" As quick as Old Hickory heard this, he married her
over again. There was a mighty hullabaloo kicked tip
about it by the politicians. They tried to run Jackson
out of the country -the little pups who were afraid
of him. He challenged the leader of this pack of
hounds, and shot him dead-"
" Served him right, too," broke in the Tennesseean,
removing his pipe, with a nod of his shaggy head.
"But it don't help him on the way to Washington!"
The Major grunted, suddenly rising and dismissing
the subject for the night.
The Boy's curiosity was kindled to see the great man
whose name had filled the world.
The distance to Nashville was quickly covered. The
Major pressed straight through the town without pause
and drew rein at the General's gate.
The welcome thev received from their distinguished
host was so simple, so genuine, so real, the Boy's heart
went out in loyal admiration.
The house was a big rambling structure of logs, in
front of which stood a stately grove of magnificent for-
est trees. Behind it stretched the grain and cotton
fields.
Nothing could surpass the unaffected and perfect
courtesy with which the General welcomed his guests.
The tall, stately figure, moving with the unconscious
grace of perfect manhood, needed no rules of a dancinc
master for his guidance. He had sprung from the con-
mon people, but he was a born leader and ruler of men.
The Boy listened with keen ears to hear him rip
out one of those terrible oaths of which so much had
been said. His speech was gentle and kind, and he
asked a blessing it every meal exactly as his own quiet,
dignified father at home. In all the three weeks thiy
14

THE HERMITAGE

remained his guests not an oath or an ugly word fell
from his lips. The Boy wondered how people could tell
such lies.
The General liked boys, too. It was easy to see that.
He gave hours of his time to the games and sports of
his adopted son, Andrew Jackson, Jr., and his two lit-
tle guests. He got up contests of all sorts. They
raced their ponies. They ran and jumped. They
played marbles. They followed the hounds. And al-
ways with them as friend and counselor, the General,
gentle, kind, considerate. The only thing he prohib-
ited was wrestling.
" No, boys," he said with a frown. " That's not a
good sport for high spirited youth. To feel the hand
of a rival on your body may lead to a fight."
The deep set eyes flashed with the memory of his own
hot blooded boyhood and young manhood.
The General's wife won the Boy's whole heart from
the moment he saw her.
" How could they tell such lies! " he kept repeating
with boyish indignation. Pure and sweet as the face
of his own mother was hers. Loving, unselfish, tender
and thoughtful, she moved through her house with the
gentle step of a ministering angel. The knightly def-
erence with which the General attended her slightest
wish, stirred the Boy's imagination. He could see him
standing erect, pistol in hand, in the gray dawn of the
morning on which he faced the enemy who had slandered
her. He could see the big firm hand grip the pistol's
handle in a clasp of steel as he waited the signal of
Death. He wondered what sort of wound Dickenson's
bullet had made in the General's breast. Anyhow, it
bad not been fatal. His enemy lived but a few hours.
He set his lips firmly, and repeated the Tennesseean's
verdict:
" Served him right, too."
15

THE VICTIM

The Boy left the Hermitage under the spell of Old
Hickory's personality for life. He had seen a great
man.

THE MION-ASTERY BELLS

The journey from Nashville to Springfield, Kentucky,
was quick and uneventful. Long before the spire of
St. Thomas' church loomed on the horizon, they passed
through the wide, fertile fields of the Dominican monks.
The grim figure of a black friar was directing the har-
vest of a sea of golden-yellow wheat. His workmen
were sleek negro slaves. Herds of fat cattle grazed
on the hills. A flock of a thousand sheep were nip-
ping the fresh sweet grass in the valley. They passed
a big flour mill, whose lazy wheel swung in rhythmic uni-
son with the laughing waters of the creek that watered
the rich valley. The monks were vowed to poverty and
self-denial. But their Order was rich in slaves and
land, in mills and herds and flocks and generous har-
vests.
As the sun sank in a smother of purple and red be-
hind the hills, they saw the church and monastery. The
bells were chanting their call to evening prayer.
The Boy held his breath in silent ecstasy. He had
never heard anything like it before. It was wonder-
ful - those sweet notes echoing over hill and valley in
the solemn hush of the gathering twilight.
They waited for the priests to emerge from the chapel
before making their presence known. Through the open
windows the deep solemn throb of the organ pealed.
The soul of the Boy rose enchanted on new wings whose
power he had never dreamed. Hidden depths were
16

THE MONASTERY BELLS

sounded of whose existence he could not know. There
was no organ in the little bare log church the Baptists
had built near his father's farm in Mississippi. His
father and mother were Baptists and of course he was
going to be a Baptist some day. But why didn't they
have stained glass windows like those through which
he saw the light now streaming - wonderful flashing
lights, whose colors seemed to pour from the soul of
the organ. And why didn't they have a great organ
He was going to lke these Roman Catholics. He
wondered what his mother would say to that
It all seemed so familiar, too. Where had he heard
those bells Where had he heard the peal of that or-
gan and seen the flash of those gorgeous lights In
the sky at sunset perhaps, and in the rumble of the
storm. MNavbe in dreams - and now they had come
true.
In a few months, he found himself the only Protestant
bon in school and the smallest of all the scholars. The
monks were kind. They seemed somehow to love him
better than the others. Father Wallace reminded him
of his big brother. He was so gentle.
The Boy made up his mind to join the Catholic
Church and went straight to Father Wilson, the vener-
able head of the college.
The old man smiled pleasantly:
" And why do you wish this, my son
"Oh, it's so much more beautiful than the Baptist
Church. Besides it's so much easier-
Indeed "
"Yes, sir. The Baptists have such a hard time get-
ting religion. They seek and mourn so long--"
Really "
"Indeed they do - yes, sir - I've seen stubborn sin-
ners mourn all summer in three protracted meetings
and then not come through!"
3 17

THE VICTIM

"And you don't like that sort of penance"
"No, sir. I've always dreaded it. And the worst
thing is the new converts have to stand right up in
church before all the crowd and tell their experience
out loud. I'd hate that-"
" And you like our ways better'"
" A great deal better. The Catholics manage things
so nicely. All you have to do is to go to church, learn
the catechism and the good priests do all the rest-"
" Oh -I see!"
" Yes, sir."
Father Wilson laid his wrinkled hand tenderly on the
Boy's head:
"You are very, very young, my son, and you are
growing rapidly. What you really need is good Catho-
lic food. Sit down and have a piece of bread and cheese
with me."
The Boy sat down and ate the offered bread and
cheese in silence.
" I can't join, Father Wilson " he asked at last.
The priest smiled again:
" No, my son."
" You don't like me, Father " the boy asked wist-
fully.
" We like you very much, sir. But we are responsi-
ble for the trust your father and mother have put
in us. In God's own time when you are older and know
the full meaning of your act, I should be glad -but not
this way."
The Boy was so small, in fact, that a fine old priest
in pity for his tender years had a little bed put in his
own room for him to watch the light and shadows in
eager young eyes when homesickness threatened. And
then he talked of the wonders and glory of Rome on her
seven hills by the Tiber, of the Coliseum, the death of
Christian martyrs in the arena - of the splendors of
18

THE MONASTERY BELLS

St. Peter's, beside whose glory all other churches pale
into insignificance. He lifted the curtain of history
and gave the child's mind flashes of the Old World whose
pageants stretch down the ages into the mists of eter-
nity.
Of books, the Boy learned little - but the monks kin-
dled a light in his soul the years could not dim.
To the other students the old man was not so gentle.
They were tougher and he set their tasks accordingly.
They rebelled at last and decided on revenge. The plot
was hatched and all in readiness for its execution. The
only problem was how to put the light out in his room.
The Boy held the key to the citadel. He was on the
inside. He could blow the candle out and the thing was
done. He refused at first, but the rebels crowded
around him and appealed to his sense of loyal