_Thirty-three_
THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP
"It's a shame," asserted John Taylor with something like real feeling.He was spending Sunday with his father-in-law, and both, over theirafter-dinner cigars, were gazing thoughtfully at the swamp.
"What's a shame?" asked Colonel Cresswell.
"To see all that timber and prime cotton-land going to waste. Don't youremember those fine bales of cotton that came out of there severalseasons ago?"
The Colonel smoked placidly. "You can't get it cleared," he said.
"But couldn't you hire some good workers?"
"Niggers won't work. Now if we had Italians we might do it."
"Yes, and in a few years they'd own the country."
"That's right; so there we are. There's only one way to get that swampcleared."
"How?"
"Sell it to some fool darkey."
"Sell it? It's too valuable to sell."
"That's just it. You don't understand. The only way to get decent workout of some niggers is to let them believe they're buying land. In ninecases out of ten he works hard a while and then throws up the job. Weget back our land and he makes good wages for his work."
"But in the tenth case--suppose he should stick to it?"
"Oh,"--easily, "we could get rid of him when we want to. White peoplerule here."
John Taylor frowned and looked a little puzzled. He was no moralist, buthe had his code and he did not understand Colonel Cresswell. As a matterof fact, Colonel Cresswell was an honest man. In most matters ofcommerce between men he was punctilious to a degree almost annoying toTaylor. But there was one part of the world which his code of honor didnot cover, and he saw no incongruity in the omission. The uninitiatedcannot easily picture to himself the mental attitude of a formerslaveholder toward property in the hands of a Negro. Such propertybelonged of right to the master, if the master needed it; and sinceridiculous laws safeguarded the property, it was perfectly permissibleto circumvent such laws. No Negro starved on the Cresswell place,neither did any accumulate property. Colonel Cresswell saw to bothmatters.
As the Colonel and John Taylor were thus conferring, Zora appeared,coming up the walk.
"Who's that?" asked the Colonel shading his eyes.
"It's Zora--the girl who went North with Mrs. Vanderpool," Taylorenlightened him.
"Back, is she? Too trifling to stick to a job, and full of Northernnonsense," growled the Colonel. "Even got a Northern walk--I thought fora moment she was a lady."
Neither of the gentlemen ever dreamed how long, how hard, howheart-wringing was that walk from the gate up the winding way beneaththeir careless gaze. It was not the coming of the thoughtless, carelessgirl of five years ago who had marched a dozen times unthinking beforethe faces of white men. It was the approach of a woman who knew how theworld treated women whom it respected; who knew that no such treatmentwould be thought of in her case: neither the bow, the lifted hat, noreven the conventional title of decency. Yet she must go on naturally andeasily, boldly but circumspectly, and play a daring game with twopowerful men.
"Can I speak with you a moment, Colonel?" she asked.
The Colonel did not stir or remove his cigar; he even injected a littlegruffness into his tone.
"Well, what is it?"
Of course, she was not asked to sit, but she stood with her handsclasped loosely before her and her eyes half veiled.
"Colonel, I've got a thousand dollars." She did not mention the othernine.
The Colonel sat up.
"Where did you get it?" he asked.
"Mrs. Vanderpool gave it to me to use in helping the colored people."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Well, that's just what I came to see you about. You see, I might giveit to the school, but I've been thinking that I'd like to buy some landfor some of the tenants."
"I've got no land to sell," said the Colonel.
"I was thinking you might sell a bit of the swamp."
Cresswell and Taylor glanced at each other and the Colonel re-lit hiscigar.
"How much of it?" he asked finally.
"I don't know; I thought perhaps two hundred acres."
"Two hundred acres? Do you expect to buy that land for five dollars anacre?"
"Oh, no, sir. I thought it might cost as much as twenty-five dollars."
"But you've only got a thousand dollars."
"Yes, sir; I thought I might pay that down and then pay the rest fromthe crops."
"Who's going to work on the place?"
Zora named a number of the steadiest tenants to whom she had spoken.
"They owe me a lot of money," said the Colonel.
"We'd try to pay that, too."
Colonel Cresswell considered. There was absolutely no risk. The cost ofthe land, the back debts of the tenants--no possible crops could pay forthem. Then there was the chance of getting the swamp cleared for almostnothing.
"How's the school getting on?" he asked suddenly.
"Very poorly," answered Zora sadly. "You know it's mortgaged, and MissSmith has had to use the mortgage money for yearly expenses."
The Colonel smiled grimly.
"It will cost you fifty dollars an acre," he said finally. Zora lookeddisappointed and figured out the matter slowly.
"That would be one thousand down and nine thousand to pay--"
"With interest," said Cresswell.
Zora shook her head doubtfully.
"What would the interest be?" she asked.
"Ten per cent."
She stood silent a moment and Colonel Cresswell spoke up:
"It's the best land about here and about the only land you can buy--Iwouldn't sell it to anybody else."
She still hesitated.
"The trouble is, you see, Colonel Cresswell, the price is high and theinterest heavy. And after all I may not be able to get as many tenantsas I'd need. I think though, I'd try it if--if I could be sure you'dtreat me fairly, and that I'd get the land if I paid for it."
Colonel Cresswell reddened a little, and John Taylor looked away.
"Well, if you don't want to undertake it, all right."
Zora looked thoughtfully across the field--
"Mr. Maxwell has a bit of land," she began meditatively.
"Worked out, and not worth five dollars an acre!" snapped the Colonel.But he did not propose to hand Maxwell a thousand dollars. "Now, seehere, I'll treat you as well as anybody, and you know it."
"I believe so, sir," acknowledged Zora in a tone that brought a suddenkeen glance from Taylor; but her face was a mask. "I reckon I'll makethe bargain."
"All right. Bring the money and we'll fix the thing up."
"The money is here," said Zora, taking an envelope out of her bosom.
"Well, leave it here, and I'll see to it."
"But you see, sir, Miss Smith is so methodical; she expects some papersor receipts."
"Well, it's too late tonight."
"Possibly you could sign a sort of receipt and later--"
Cresswell laughed. "Well, write one," he indulgently assented. And Zorawrote.
When Zora left Colonel Cresswell's about noon that Sunday she knew herwork had just begun, and she walked swiftly along the country roads,calling here and there. Would Uncle Isaac help her build a log home?Would the boys help her some time to clear some swamp land? Would Robbecome a tenant when she asked? For this was the idle time of the year.Crops were laid by and planting had not yet begun.
This too was the time of big church meetings. She knew that in her partof the country on that day the black population, man, woman, and child,were gathered in great groups; all day they had been gathering,streaming in snake-like lines along the country roads, in well-brushed,brilliant attire, half fantastic, half crude. Down where theToomsville-Montgomery highway dipped to the stream that fed theCresswell swamp squatted a square barn that slept through day and weeksin dull indifference. But on the First Sunday it woke to sudden mightylife. The voices of men
and children mingled with the snorting ofanimals and the cracking of whips. Then came the long drone andsing-song of the preacher with its sharp wilder climaxes and theanswering "amens" and screams of the worshippers. This was the shrine ofthe Baptists--shrine and oracle, centre and source of inspiration--andhither Zora hurried.
The preacher was Jones, a big man, fat, black, and greasy, with littleeyes, unctuous voice, and three manners: his white folks manner, soft,humble, wheedling; his black folks manner, voluble, important,condescending; and above all, his pulpit manner, loud, wild, and strong.He was about to don this latter cloak when Zora approached with arequest briefly to address the congregation. Remembering some formersnubs, his manner was lordly.
"I doesn't see," he returned reflectively, wiping his brows, "as how Ican rightly spare you any time; the brethren is a-gettin' mightyonpatient to hear me." He pulled down his cuffs, regarding herdoubtfully.
"I might speak after you're through," she suggested. But he objectedthat there was the regular collection and two or three othercollections, a baptism, a meeting of the trustees; there was no time, inshort; but--he eyed her again.
"Does you want--a collection?" he questioned suspiciously, for he couldimagine few other reasons for talking. Then, too, he did not want to betoo inflexible, for all of his people knew Zora and liked her.
"Oh, no, I want no collection at all. I only want a little voluntarywork on their part." He looked relieved, frowned through the door at theaudience, and looked at his bright gold watch. The whole crowd was notthere yet--perhaps--
"You kin say just a word before the sermont," he finally yielded; "butnot long--not long. They'se just a-dying to hear me."
So Zora spoke simply but clearly: of neglect and suffering, of the sinsof others that bowed young shoulders, of the great hope of thechildren's future. Then she told something of what she had seen and readof the world's newer ways of helping men and women. She talked ofcooperation and refuges and other efforts; she praised their way ofadopting children into their own homes; and then finally she told themof the land she was buying for new tenants and the helping hands sheneeded. The preacher fidgeted and coughed but dared not actuallyinterrupt, for the people were listening breathless to a kind ofstraightforward talk which they seldom heard and for which they werehungering.
And Zora forgot time and occasion. The moments flew; the crowd increaseduntil the wonderful spell of those dark and upturned faces pulsed in herblood. She felt the wild yearning to help them beating in her ears andblinding her eyes.
"Oh, my people!" she almost sobbed. "My own people, I am not asking youto help others; I am pleading with you to help yourselves. Rescue yourown flesh and blood--free yourselves--free yourselves!" And from theswaying sobbing hundreds burst a great "Amen!" The minister's dusky facegrew more and more sombre, and the angry sweat started on his brow. Hefelt himself hoaxed and cheated, and he meant to have his revenge. Twohundred men and women rose and pledged themselves to help Zora; and whenshe turned with overflowing heart to thank the preacher he had left theplatform, and she found him in the yard whispering darkly with twodeacons. She realized her mistake, and promised to retrieve it duringthe week; but the week was full of planning and journeying and talking.
Saturday dawned cool and clear. She had dinner prepared for cooking inthe yard: sweet potatoes, hoe-cake, and buttermilk, and a hog to bebarbecued. Everything was ready by eight o'clock in the morning. Emmaand two other girl helpers were on the tip-toe of expectancy. Nineo'clock came and no one with it. Ten o'clock came, and eleven. Highnoon found Zora peering down the highway under her shading hand, but nosoul in sight. She tried to think it out: what could have happened? Herpeople were slow, tardy, but they would not thus forget her anddisappoint her without some great cause. She sent the girls home at duskand then seated herself miserably under the great oak; then at last onehalf-grown boy hurried by.
"I wanted to come, Miss Zora, but I was afeared. Preacher Jones has beentalking everywhere against you. He says that your mother was a voodoowoman and that you don't believe in God, and the deacons voted that themembers mustn't help you."
"And do the people believe that?" she asked in consternation.
"They just don't know what to say. They don't 'zactly believe it, butthey has to 'low that you didn't say much 'bout religion when youtalked. You ain't been near Big Meetin'--and--and--you ain't saved." Hehurried on.
Zora leaned her head back wearily, watching the laced black brancheswhere the star-light flickered through--as coldly still and immovable asshe had watched them from those gnarled roots all her life--and shemurmured bitterly the world-old question of despair: "What's the use?"It seemed to her that every breeze and branch was instinct withsympathy, and murmuring, "What's the use?" She wondered vaguely why, andas she wondered, she knew.
For yonder where the black earth of the swamp heaved in a formless moundshe felt the black arms of Elspeth rising from the sod--gigantic,mighty. They stole toward her with stealthy hands and claw-like talons.They clutched at her skirts. She froze and could not move. Down, downshe slipped toward the black slime of the swamp, and the air about washorror--down, down, till the chilly waters stung her knees; and thenwith one grip she seized the oak, while the great hand of Elspethtwisted and tore her soul. Faint, afar, nearer and nearer and evermightier, rose a song of mystic melody. She heard its human voice andsought to cry aloud. She strove again and again with that gripping,twisting pain--that awful hand--until the shriek came and she awoke.
She lay panting and sweating across the bent and broken roots of theoak. The hand of Elspeth was gone but the song was still there. She rosetrembling and listened. It was the singing of the Big Meeting in thechurch far away. She had forgotten this religious revival in her days ofhurried preparation, and the preacher had used her absence and apparentindifference against her and her work. The hand of Elspeth was reachingfrom the grave to pull her back; but she was no longer dreaming now.Drawing her shawl about her, she hurried down the highway.
The meeting had overflowed the church and spread to the edge of theswamp. The tops of young trees had been bent down and interlaced to forma covering and benches twined to their trunks. Thus a low and widecathedral, all green and silver in the star-light, lay packed with aliving mass of black folk. Flaming pine torches burned above thedevotees; the rhythm of their stamping, the shout of their voices, andthe wild music of their singing shook the night. Four hundred peoplefell upon their knees when the huge black preacher, uncoated, red-eyed,frenzied, stretched his long arms to heaven. Zora saw the throng fromafar, and hesitated. After all, she knew little of this strange faith oftheirs--had little belief in its mummery. She herself had been broughtup almost without religion save some few mystic remnants of ahalf-forgotten heathen cult. The little she had seen of religiousobservance had not moved her greatly, save once yonder in Washington.There she found God after a searching that had seared her soul; but Hehad simply pointed the Way, and the way was human.
Humanity was near and real. She loved it. But if she talked again ofmere men would these devotees listen? Already the minister had spied hertall form and feared her power. He set his powerful voice and the frenzyof his hearers to crush her.
"Who is dis what talks of doing the Lord's work for Him? What does degood Book say? Take no thought 'bout de morrow. Why is you trying tomake dis ole world better? I spits on the world! Come out from it. SeekJesus. Heaven is my home! Is it yo's?" "Yes," groaned the multitude. Hisarm shot out and he pointed straight at Zora.
"Beware the ebil one!" he shouted, and the multitude moaned. "Beware ofdem dat calls ebil good. Beware of dem dat worships debbils; the debbilsdat crawl; de debbils what forgits God."
"Help him, Lord!" cried the multitude.
Zora stepped into the circle of light. A hush fell on the throng; thepreacher paused a moment, then started boldly forward with upraisedhands. Then a curious thing happened. A sharp cry arose far off downtoward the swamp and the sound of great footsteps coming, coming as fromthe end of the worl
d; there swelled a rhythmical chanting, wilder andmore primitive than song. On, on it came, until it swung into sight. Anold man led the band--tall, massive, with tufted gray hair and wrinkledleathery skin, and his eyes were the eyes of death. He reached thecircle of light, and Zora started: once before she had seen that oldman. The singing stopped but he came straight on till he reached Zora'sside and then he whirled and spoke.
The words leaped and flew from his lips as he lashed the throng withbitter fury. He said what Zora wanted to say with two great differences:first, he spoke their religious language and spoke it with absoluteconfidence and authority; and secondly, he seemed to know each one therepersonally and intimately so that he spoke to no inchoate throng--hespoke to them individually, and they listened awestruck and fearsome.
"God is done sent me," he declared in passionate tones, "to preach Hisacceptable time. Faith without works is dead; who is you that dares toset and wait for the Lord to do your work?" Then in sudden fury, "Yegeneration of vipers--who kin save you?" He bent forward and pointed hislong finger. "Yes," he cried, "pray, Sam Collins, you black devil; pray,for the corn you stole Thursday." The black figure moved. "Moan, SisterMaxwell, for the backbiting you did today. Yell, Jack Tolliver, yousneaking scamp, t'wil the Lord tell Uncle Bill who ruined his daughter.Weep, May Haynes, for that baby--"
But the woman's shriek drowned his words, and he whirled full on thepreacher, stamping his feet and waving his hands. His anger choked him;the fat preacher cowered gray and trembling. The gaunt fanatic toweredover him.
"You--you--ornery hound of Hell! God never knowed you and the devil ownsyour soul!" There leapt from his lips a denunciation so livid, specific,and impassioned that the preacher squatted and bowed, then finally fellupon his face and moaned.
The gaunt speaker turned again to the people. He talked of littlechildren; he pictured their sin and neglect. "God is done sent me tooffer you all salvation," he cried, while the people wept and wailed;"not in praying, but in works. Follow me!" The hour was halfway betweenmidnight and dawn, but nevertheless the people leapt frenziedly to theirfeet.
"Follow me!" he shouted.
And, singing and chanting, the throng poured out upon the black highway,waving their torches. Zora knew his intention. With a half-dozen ofyounger onlookers she unhitched teams and rode across the land, callingat the cabins. Before sunrise, tools were in the swamp, axes and sawsand hammers. The noise of prayer and singing filled the Sabbath dawn.The news of the great revival spread, and men and women came pouring in.Then of a sudden the uproar stopped, and the ringing of axes and gratingof saws and tugging of mules was heard. The forest trembled as by somemighty magic, swaying and falling with crash on crash. Huge bonfiresblazed and crackled, until at last a wide black scar appeared in thethick south side of the swamp, which widened and widened to full twentyacres.
The sun rose higher and higher till it blazed at high noon. The workersdropped their tools. The aroma of coffee and roasting meat rose in thedim cool shade. With ravenous appetites the dark, half-famished throngfell upon the food, and then in utter weariness stretched themselves andslept: lying along the earth like huge bronze earth-spirits, sittingagainst trees, curled in dense bushes.
And Zora sat above them on a high rich-scented pile of logs. Her sensesslept save her sleepless eyes. Amid a silence she saw in the littlegrove that still stood, the cabin of Elspeth tremble, sigh, anddisappear, and with it flew some spirit of evil.
Then she looked down to the new edge of the swamp, by the old lagoon,and saw Bles Alwyn standing there. It seemed very natural; and closingher eyes, she fell asleep.