The Bondwoman

“Uniform, is it? Well, now, you see, I’ve only been a matter of hours in the country, and small chance to look up a tailor. Are–are they a necessity to the preservation of life here?”

He spoke with a doubtful pretense of timidity, and looked at her quizzically. She smiled, but made a little grimace, a curve of the lips and nod of the head conveying decision.

“You will learn it is the only dress for a man that makes life worth living, for him, around here,” she replied. “Every man who is not superannuated or attached to the state government in some way has to wear a uniform unless he wants his loyalty questioned.”

The un-uniformed man smiled at her delightful patriotic frankness.

“Faith, now, I’ve no objection to the questions if you are appointed questioner. But let me get you a chair. Even when on picket duty and challenging each new comer, you are allowed a more restful attitude than your present one, I hope. You startled me into forgetting–”

“I startled you? Well!”

“Oh, yes. I was the one to do the bouncing out and nabbing you, wasn’t I? Well, now, I can’t believe you were the more frightened of the two, for all that. Have this chair, please; it is the most comfortable. You see, I fancied Raquel had changed under my touch from dusky brown to angelic white. The hat hid your face, you know, until you turned around, and then–”

“Well?” At the first tone of compliment she had forgotten all the strangeness of their meeting, and remembered only the coquetry so naturally her own. With or without the uniform of her country, he was at least a man, and there had been a dearth of men about their plantation, “The Terrace,” of late.

“Well,” he repeated after her, “when you tipped the hat back I thought in a wink of all the fairy stories of transformation I used to hear told by the old folks in Ireland.”

“Do you really mean that you believe fairy stories?” Her tone was severe and her expression chiding.

“On my faith I believed them all that minute.”

Her eyes dropped to the toe of her slipper. It was all very delightful, this tete-a-tete with the complimentary unknown, and to be thought a fairy! She wished she had gone up with Aunt Sajane and brushed her hair. Still–

“I was sure it was Mr. Loring who had hold of me until I looked around,” she confessed, “and that frightened me just as much as the wickedest fairy or goblin could ever do.”

“Indeed, now, would it?”

She glanced around to see if her indiscreet speech had been overheard and then nodded assent.

“Oh, you needn’t smile,” she protested; and his face at once became comically grave. “You didn’t have him for a bug-a-boo when you were little, as I did. That doctor of his gave orders that no one was to see him just now, and I am glad Gertrude will be back before we are admitted. With Gertrude to back me up I could be brave as–as–”

“A sheep,” suggested the stranger.

“I was going to say a lion, but lions are big, and I’m not very.”

“No, you are not,” he agreed. “Sad, isn’t it?”

Then they both laughed. She was elated, bubbling over with delight, at meeting some one in Loringwood who actually laughed.

“Gertrude’s note last night never told us she had company, and I had gloomy forebodings of Uncle Matthew and Uncle Matthew’s doctor, to whom I would not dare speak a word, and the relief of finding real people here is a treat, so please don’t mind if I’m silly.”

“I shan’t–when you are,” he agreed, magnanimously. “But pray enlighten me as to why you will be unable to exchange words with the medical stranger? He’s no worse a fellow than myself.”

“Of course not,” she said, with so much fervor that her listener’s smile was clearly a compromise with laughter. “But a doctor from Paris! Our old Doctor Allison is pompous and domineering enough, and he never was out of the state, but this one from Europe, he is sure to oppress me with his wonderful knowledge. Indeed, I don’t know who he will find to talk to here, now, except Judge Clarkson. The judge will be scholarly enough for him.”

“And does he, also, oppress you with his professional knowledge?”

Evilena’s laugh rang out clear as a bird’s note.

“The Judge? Never! Why I just love him. He is the dearest, best–”

“I see. He’s an angel entirely, and no mere mortal from Paris is to be mentioned in the same breath.”

“Well, he is everything charming,” she insisted. “You would be sure to like him.”

“I wish I could be as sure you might change your mind and like the new-comer from Paris.”

“Do you? Oh, well, then, I’ll certainly try. What is he like, nice?”

“I really can’t remember ever having heard any one say so,” confessed the stranger, smiling at her.

“Well,” and Evilena regarded him with wide, astonished eyes, “no one else likes him, yet you hoped I would. Why, I don’t see how–”

The soft quick beat of horse hoofs on the white shelled road interrupted her, or gave opportunity for interrupting herself.

“I hope it’s Gertrude. Oh, it is! You dear old darling.”

She flounced down the steps, followed by the man, who was becoming a puzzle. He gave his hand to Miss Loring, who accepted that assistance from the horse block, and then he stepped aside that the embrace feminine might have no obstacle in its path.

“My dear little girl,” and the mistress of Loringwood kissed her guest with decided fondness. “How good of you to come at once–and Mrs. Nesbitt, too? I’m sorry you had to wait even a little while for a welcome, but I just had to ride over to the quarters, and then to the far fields. Thank you, doctor, for playing host.”

“Doctor?” gasped Evilena, gripping Miss Loring’s arm. There was a moment of hesitation on the part of all three, when she said, reproachfully, looking at the smiling stranger, “Then it was you all the time?”

“Was there no one here to introduce you?” asked Miss Loring, looking from one to the other. “This is Dr. Delavan, dear, and this, doctor, is Kenneth’s sister.”

“Thanks. I recognized her at once, and I trust you will forgive me for not introducing myself sooner, mademoiselle, but–well, we had so many other more interesting things to speak of.”

Evilena glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and with her arm about Gertrude walked in silence up the steps. She wanted time to think over what awful things she had said to him, not an easy thing to do, for Evilena said too many things to remember them all.

Margeret was in the hall. Evilena wondered by what occult messages she learned when any one ascended those front steps. She took Miss Loring’s riding hat and gloves.

“Mistress Nesbitt is just resting,” she said, in those soft even tones. “She left word to call her soon as you got back–she’d come down.”

“I’ll go up and see her,” decided Miss Loring. “Will you excuse us, doctor? And Margeret, have Chloe get us a bit of lunch. We are all a little tired, and it is a long time till supper.”

“I have some all ready, Miss Gertrude. Was only waiting till you got back.”

“Oh, very well. In five minutes we will be down.”

Then, with her arm about Evilena, Miss Loring ascended the wide stairway, where several portraits of vanished Lorings hung, none of them resembling her own face particularly.

She was what the Countess Biron had likened her to when the photograph was shown–a white lily, slender, blonde, with the peculiar and attractive combination of hazel eyes and hair of childish flaxen color. Her features were well formed and a trifle small for her height. She had the manner of a woman perfectly sure of herself, her position and her own importance.

Her voice was very sweet. Sometimes there were high, clear tones in it. Delaven had admired those bell-like intonations until now, when he heard her exchange words with Margeret. All at once the mellow, contralto tones of the serving woman made the voice of the lovely mistress sound metallic–precious metal, to be sure, nothing less than silver. But in contrast was the melody, entirely human, soft, harmonious, alluring as a poet’s dream of the tropics.

CHAPTER XII

“How that child is petted on, Gideon,” and Mrs. Nesbitt looked up from her work, the knitting of socks, to be worn by unknown boys in gray. Even the material for them was growing scarce, and she prided herself on always managing, someway, to keep her knitting needles busy. At present she was using a coarse linen or tow thread, over which she lamented because of its harshness.

Miss Loring, who appeared very domestic, with a stack of household linen beside her, glanced up, with a smile.

“Rather fortunate, isn’t it, considering–” an arch of the brows and a significant expression were allowed to finish her meaning. Mrs. Nesbitt pursed up her lips and shook her head.

“I really and truly wonder sometimes, Gertrude, if it’s going on like this always. Ten years if it’s a day since he commenced paying court there, and what she allows to do, at least is more than I can guess.”

“Marry him, no doubt,” suggested Gertrude, inspecting a sheet carefully, and then proceeding to tear it in widths designated by Dr. Delaven for hospital bandages. “She certainly esteems him very highly.”

“Oh, esteem!” and Mrs. Nesbitt’s tone was dubious.

“Well, people don’t think much of getting married these days, where there is fighting and mourning everywhere.”

The older lady gave her a quick glance over the tow yarn rack, but the fair face was very serene, and without a trace of personal feeling on the subject.

“Yes, that’s so,” she admitted, “but I used to think they were only waiting till Kenneth came of age, or until he graduated. But my! I didn’t see it make a spec of difference. They danced together at the party given for him, and smiled, careless as you please, and now the dancing is ended, they keep on friendly and smiling, and I’m downright puzzled to know what they do mean.”

“Maybe no more than those two, who are only amusing themselves,” said Gertrude, with a glance towards the lawn where Evilena and Delaven were fencing with long stalks of a wild lily they had brought from the swamps, and when Evilena was vanquished by the foe her comforter was a white-haired gentleman, inclined to portliness, and with much more than an inclination to courtliness, whom Evilena called “My Judge.”

It was two weeks after the descent of Aunt Sajane and Evilena upon Loringwood. The former, after a long consultation with Dr. Delaven, had returned to her own home, near the McVeigh plantation, and putting her household in order for a more prolonged visit than at first intended, she had come back to be near Gertrude in case–

None of them had put into words to each other their thought as to Matthew Loring’s condition, but all understood the seriousness of it, and Gertrude, of course, must not be left alone.

Dr. Delaven had meant only to accompany the invalid home, consult with their local physician, and take his departure after a visit to Mrs. McVeigh, and possibly a sight of their new battlefield beside Kenneth, if his command was not too far away.

Kenneth McVeigh was Col. McVeigh now, to the great delight of the sister, who loved men who could fight. On his return from Paris he had, at his own request, and to the dismay of his family, been sent to the frontier. At the secession of his state he was possessed of a captaincy, which he resigned, returned home, and in six weeks tendered a regiment, fully equipped at his own expense, to the Confederate government. His offer had been accepted and himself made a colonel. His regiment had already seen one year of hard service, were veterans, with a colonel of twenty-five–a colonel who had been carried home wounded unto death, the surgeons said, from the defeat of Fort Donaldson. He had belied their prophecies of death, however, and while not yet equal to the rigors of camp life, he had accepted a commission abroad of decided importance to his government, and became one of the committee to deal with certain English sympathizers who were fitting out vessels for the Confederate navy.

Mrs. McVeigh had been called to Mobile by the serious illness of an aged relative and had been detained by something much less dreary, the marriage of her brother, who had command of a garrison at that point.

Thus barred from seeing either of his former Parisian friends, Delaven would have gone back to Charleston, or else gone North or West to view a new land in battle array.

But Mr. Loring’s health, or Miss Loring’s entreaties had interfered with both those plans. He could not desert a young lady on an isolated plantation with only the slaves about her, and a partial paralytic to care for, especially when all the most capable physicians were at military posts, and no one absolutely reliable nearer than Charleston.

So he had promised to stay, and had advised Miss Loring to induce Mrs. Nesbitt to remain until a few weeks’ rest and the atmosphere of home would, he hoped, have a beneficial influence on the invalid.

All his suggestions had been carried out. Aunt Sajane (who had not a niece or nephew in the world, yet was “aunt” to all the young folks) was to remain, also Evilena, until the return of Mr. McVeigh, after which they all hoped Mr. Loring could be persuaded to move up the river to a smaller estate belonging to Gertrude, adjoining The Terrace, as the nearness of friends would be a great advantage under the circumstances. The isolation of Loringwood had of late become oppressive to its mistress, who strongly advocated its sale. They had enough land without, and she realized it was too large a tract to be managed properly or to profit so long as her uncle was unable to see to affairs personally. But above all else, the loneliness of it was irksome since her return.

“Though we never did use to think Loringwood isolated, did we, Gideon?” asked Mrs. Nesbitt, who remembered the house when full of guests, and the fiddles and banjos of the colored musicians always ready for dance music.

“Relentless circumstances over (he called it ovah, and Delaven delighted in the charming dialect of the South, as illustrated by the Judge) which we have no control have altered conditions through this entire (entiah) commonwealth. But, no. I should not call Loringwood exactly isolated, with the highway of the Salkahatchie at its door.”

“But when no one travels the highway?” said Delaven, whose comments had aroused the discussion. “No one but black hunters in log canoes have I seen come along it for a week, barring yourselves. Faith, I should think their presence alone would be enough to give a young lady nervous chills, the daily and nightly fear of insurrection.”

The Judge smiled, indulgently, willing to humor the fancies of foreigners, who were not supposed to understand American institutions.

“Your ideas would be perfectly sound, my dear sir, if you were dealing with any other country, where the colored man is the recognized servant of the land and of the land owners. But we of the South, sir, understand their needs and just the proper amount of control necessary to be enforced for mutual protection. They have grown up under that training until it is a part of themselves. There are refractory blacks, of course, just as there are worthless demoralized whites, but I assure you, sir, I voice the sentiments of our people when I state that the families of Southern planters feel much more secure when guarded by their colored folk than they would if surrounded by a troop of Northern soldiery. There have been no cases where white women and children have had reason to regret having trusted to the black man’s guardianship, sir. In that respect I believe we Southrons hold a unique place in history. The evils of slavery, perfectly true in many lands, are not true here. The proofs of it are many. Their dependence on each other is mutual. Each understands and respects that fact, sir, and the highest evidence of it is shown when the master marches to meet their common enemy, and leaves his wife and children to the care of the oldest or most intelligent of his bondsmen.

“I tell you, sir, the people of Europe cannot comprehend the ties between those two races, because the world has seen nothing like it. The Northern people have no understanding of it, because, sir, their natures are not such as to call forth such loyalty. They are a cold, unresponsive people, and the only systematic cruelty ever practiced against the colored folks by Americans has been by the New England slavers, sir. The slave trade has always been monopolized by the Northern folks in this country–by the puritanical New Englanders who used to sell the pickaninnies at so much a pound, as cattle or sheep are sold.

“They are no longer able to derive a profit from it, hence their desire to abolish the revenue of the South. I assure you, sir, if the colored man could endure the climate of their bleak land there would be no shouting for abolition.”

It was only natural that Delaven should receive a good deal of information those days from the Southern side of the question. Much of it was an added education to him–the perfect honesty of the speakers, the way in which they entered heart and soul into the discussion of their state’s rights, the extreme sacrifices offered up, the lives of their sons, the wealth, the luxury in which they had lived, all given up without protest for the cause. Women who had lived and ruled like queens over the wide plantations, were now cutting their living expenses lower and lower, that the extra portion saved might be devoted to their boys at the front. The muslins and linens for household purposes were used as Gertrude Loring was using them now; everything possible was converted into bandages for hospital use.

“I simply don’t dare let the house servants do it,” she explained, in reply to the Judge’s query. “They could do the work, of course, but they never have had to practice economy, and I can’t undertake to teach it to them as well as myself, and to both at the same time. Oh, yes, Margeret is capable, of course, but she has her hands full to watch those in the cook house.”

Her smile was very bright and contented. It hinted nothing of the straightened circumstances gradually surrounding them, making a close watch in all directions absolutely necessary. Affairs were reaching a stage where money, except in extravagant quantities, was almost useless. The blockade had raised even the most simple articles to the price of luxuries. All possessions, apart from their home productions, must be husbanded to the utmost.

“You are a brave little woman, Miss Gertrude,” said the Judge, bowing before her with a certain reverence. “All the battles of this war are not fought to the sound of regimental music, and our boys at the front shoot straighter when they have at home women like you to guard. Our women of the South are an inspiration–an inspiration!”

No courtier of storied Castile could have rivaled the grace of manner with which the praise was spoken, so thought Delaven, for all his mental pictures of Castillian courtesies revealed them as a bit theatrical, while the Judge was sincerity itself.

As he spoke, the soft sound of wheels was heard in the hall, and Matthew Loring, in his invalid chair, was rolled slowly out on the veranda by his man, Ben. Margeret followed with a light robe over her arm, and a fan.

“Not there, Ben,” she said, in the low tone of one giving an order entirely personal and not intended to be heard by the others, “the draught does seem to coax itself round that corner, and–”

“Not a bit of it,” broke in the master of Loringwood, abruptly. “No more draught there than anywhere else. It’s all right, Ben, wheel me to that railing.”

Margeret silently spread the robe over his knees, laid the fan in his lap, adjusted the cushion back of his head, and re-entered the house with a slight gesture to Ben, who followed her.

“She’s a puzzle entirely,” remarked Delaven, who was watching them from the rustic seat nearest the steps. Evilena was seated there, and he stood beside her.

“Margeret? Why?” she asked, in the same low tone.

“I’ll tell you. Not thirty minutes ago I told her he could be brought out and have his chair placed so that the sun would be on his limbs, but not on his head. Now, what does she do but pilot him out and discourage him from going to just the corner that was best.”

“And you see the result,” whispered the girl, who was laughing. “Margeret knows a lot. Just see how satisfied he is, now, the satisfaction of having had to fight some one. If he knew it was anybody’s orders, even yours, he would not enjoy that corner half so much. That is the sweet disposition of our Uncle Matthew.”

Overhanging eyebrows of iron-gray were the first thing to arrest attention in Matthew Loring’s face. They shadowed dark expressive eyes in a swarthy setting. His hair and mustache were of the same grey, and very bushy. He had the broad head and square jaw of the aggressive type. Not a large man, even in his prime, he looked almost frail as he settled back in his chair. He was probably sixty, but looked older.

“Still knitting socks, Mistress Nesbitt?” he inquired, with a caustic smile. “Charming occupation. Do you select that quality and color for any beauties to be found in them? I can remember seeing your mother using knitting needles on this very veranda thirty–yes, forty years ago. But I must say I never saw her make anything heavier than lace. And what’s all this, Gertrude? Do you entertain your visitors these days by dragging out the old linen for their inspection? Why are you dallying with the servants’ tasks?”

“No; it is my own task, uncle,” returned his niece, with unruffled serenity. “Not a very beautiful one, but consoling because of its usefulness.”

“Usefulness–huh! In your mother’s day ladies were not expected to be useful.”

“Alas for us that the day is past,” said the girl, tearing off another strip of muslin.

“Now, do you wonder that I adore my Judge?” whispered Evilena to Delaven.

CHAPTER XIII

Despite his natural irritability, to which no one appeared to pay much attention, Mr. Loring grew almost cordial under the geniality and hopefulness emanating from Judge Clarkson, whom he was really very glad to see, and of whom he had numberless queries to ask regarding the hostilities of the past few months.

The enforced absence abroad had kept him in a highly nervous condition, doing much to counteract the utmost care given him by the most learned specialists of Europe. Half his fortune had been lost by those opening guns at Sumter. His warehouses, piled with great cotton bales for shipment to England, had been fired–burned to the ground. The capture of Beaufort, near which was another plantation of his, had made further wreck for him, financially, and whatever the foreign doctors might to with his body, his mind was back in Carolina, eager, questioning, combative. He was burning himself up with a fever of anxiety.

“It is all of no use, Mademoiselle,” said the most distinguished specialist whom she had consulted, “Monsieur, your uncle will live for many years if but the mind is composed–no shocks, no heavy loads to carry. But the mind, you perceive–it is impossible for him to allow himself to be composed away from his country. We have done all that can be done here. To return to his own land under the care of a competent physician, of course, would be now the best arrangement I could suggest. He may live there for many years; here, he will most certainly die.”

At Loring’s request Dr. Delaven was the physician who had been approached with the proposal to accompany him to Carolina. Why, it would be hard to guess, for they were totally unlike in every way–had not, apparently, a single taste in common. But the physician in charge of the hospital approved his judgment.

“It is a most wise one, Monsieur Loring. Dr. Delaven has shown as his specialty cases similar to your own, and has proven most successful. Withal, he is adventurous. He will enjoy the new country, and he is of your own language. All I could do for you he can do, perhaps more; for I am old, while he is young and alive with enthusiasms with which to supplement his technical knowledge.”

Gertrude only delayed their departure long enough to write Col. McVeigh, who was in London. He secured for them transportation to Nassau under the guardianship of an official who would take most extreme care that the party be conveyed from there by some blockade runner to be depended upon. And that the Federal blockade often failed of its purpose was evidenced by the fact that they were quietly landed one night in a little inlet south of Charleston, which they reached by carriage, and rested there a few days before attempting the journey overland.