_ CHAPTER LVI. SOME OLD LETTERS
I.
"RED WING, Saturday, Feb. 15, 1873.
"MISS MOLLIE AINSLIE:
"I avail myself of your kind permission to address you a letter through Captain Pardee, to whom I will forward this to-morrow. I would have written to you before, because I knew you must be anxious to learn how things are at this place, where you labored so long; but I was very busy--and, to tell you the truth, I felt somewhat hurt that you should withhold from me for so long a time the knowledge even of where you were. It is true, I have known that you were somewhere in Kansas; but I could see no reason why you should not wish it to be known exactly where; nor can I now. I was so foolish as to think, at first, that it was because you did not wish the people where you now live to know that you had ever been a teacher in a colored school.
"When I returned here, however, and learned something of your kindness to our people--how you had saved the property of my dear lost brother Nimbus, and provided for his wife and children, and the wife and children of poor Berry, and so many others of those who once lived at Red Wing; and when I heard Captain Pardee read one of your letters to our people, saying that you had not forgotten us, I was ashamed that I had ever had such a thought. I know that you must have some good reason, and will never seek to know more than you may choose to tell me in regard to it. You may think it strange that I should have had this feeling at all; but you must remember that people afflicted as I am become very sensitive--morbid, perhaps--and are very apt to be influenced by mere imagination rather than by reason.
"After completing my course at the college, for which I can never be sufficiently grateful to Mr. Hesden, I thought at first that I would write to you and see if I could not obtain work among some of my people in the West. Before I concluded to do so, however, the President of the college showed me a letter asking him to recommend some one for a colored school in one of the Northern States. He said he would be willing to recommend me for that position. Of course I felt very grateful to him, and very proud of the confidence he showed in my poor ability. Before I had accepted, however, I received a letter from Mr. Hesden, saying that he had rebuilt the school-house at Red Wing, that the same kind people who furnished it before had furnished it again, and that he wished the school to be re-opened, and desired me to come back and teach here. At first I thought I could not come; for the memory of that terrible night--the last night that I was here--came before me whenever I thought of it; and I was so weak as to think I could not ever come here again. Then I thought of Mr. Hesden, and all that he had done for me, and felt that I would be making a very bad return for his kindness should I refuse any request he might make. So I came, and am very glad that I did.
"It does not seem like the old Red Wing, Miss Mollie. There are not near so many people here, and the school is small in comparison with what it used to be. Somehow the life and hope seem to have gone out of our people, and they do not look forward to the future with that confident expectation which they used to have. It reminds me very much of the dull, plodding hopelessness of the old slave time. It is true, they are no longer subject to the terrible cruelties which were for a while visited upon them; but they feel, as they did in the old time, that their rights are withheld from them, and they see no hope of regaining them. With their own poverty and ignorance and the prejudices of the white people to contend with, it does indeed seem a hopeless task for them to attempt to be anything more, or anything better, than they are now. I am even surprised that they do not go backward instead of forward under the difficulties they have to encounter.
"I am learning to be more charitable than I used to be, Miss Mollie, or ever would have been had I not returned here. It seems to me now that the white people are not so much to be blamed for what has been done and suffered since the war, as pitied for that prejudice which has made them unconsciously almost as much
slaves as my people were before the war. I see, too, that these things cannot be remedied at once. It will be a long, sad time of waiting, which I fear our people will not endure as well as they did the tiresome waiting for freedom. I used to think that the law could give us our rights and make us free. I now see, more clearly than ever before, that we must not only make
ourselves free, but must overcome all that prejudice which slavery created against our race in the hearts of the white people. It is a long way to look ahead, and I don't wonder that so many despair of its ever being accomplished. I know it can only be done through the attainment of knowledge and the power which that gives.
"I do not blame for giving way to despair those who are laboring for a mere pittance, and perhaps not receiving that; who have wives and children to support, and see their children growing up as poor and ignorant as themselves. If I were one of those, Miss Mollie, and whole and sound, I wouldn't stay in this country another day. I would go somewhere where my children would have a chance to learn what it is to be free, whatever hardship I might have to face in doing so, for their sake. But I know that they cannot go--at least not all of them, nor many of them; and I think the Lord has dealt with me as he has in order that I might be willing to stay here and help them, and share with them the blessed knowledge which kind friends have given to me.
"Mr. Hesden comes over to see the school very often, and is very much interested in it. I have been over to Mulberry Hill once, and saw the dear old 'Mistress.' She has failed a great deal, Miss Mollie, and it does seem as if her life of pain was drawing to an end. She was very kind to me, asked all about my studies, how I was getting on, and inquired very kindly of you. She seemed very much surprised when I told her that I did not know where you were, only that you were in the West. It is no wonder that she looks worn and troubled, for Mr. Hesden has certainly had a hard time. I do not think it is as bad now as it has been, and some of the white people, even, say that he has been badly treated. But, Miss Mollie, you can't imagine the abuse he has had to suffer because he befriended me, and is what they call a 'Radical.'
"There is one thing that I cannot understand. I can see why the white people of the South should be so angry about colored people being allowed to vote. I can understand, too, why they should abuse Mr. Hesden, and the few like him, because they wish to see the colored people have their rights and become capable of exercising them. It is because they have always believed that we are an inferior race, and think that the attempt to elevate us is intended to drag them down. But I cannot see why the people of the
North should think so ill of such men as Mr. Hesden. It would be a disgrace for any man there to say that he was opposed to the colored man having the rights of a citizen, or having a fair show in any manner. But they seem to think that if a man living at the South advocates those rights, or says a word in our favor, he is a low-down, mean man. If we had a few men like Mr, Hesden in every county, I think it would soon be better; but if it takes as long to get each one as it has to get him, I am afraid a good many generations will live and die before that good time will come.
"I meant to have said more about the school, Miss Mollie; but I have written so much that I will wait until the next time for that. Hoping that you will have time to write to me, I remain
"Your very grateful pupil,
"ELIAB HILL."
II.
"MULBERRY HILL, Wednesday, March 5, 1873.
"Miss MOLLIE AINSLIE:
"Through the kindness of our good friend, Captain Pardee, I send you this letter, together with an instrument, the date of which you will observe is the same as that of my former letter. You will see that I have regarded myself only as a trustee and a beneficiary, during life, of your self-denying generosity. The day after I received your gift, I gave the plantation back to you, reserving only the pleasing privilege of holding it as my own while I lived. The opportunity which I then hoped might some time come has now arrived. I can write to you now without constraint or bitterness. My pride has not gone; but I am proud of you, as a relative proud as myself, and far braver and more resolute than I have ever been.
"My end is near, and I am anxious to see you once more. The dear old plantation is just putting on its spring garment of beauty. Will you not come and look upon your gift in its glory, and gladden the heart of an old woman whose eyes long to look upon your face before they see the brightness of the upper world?
"Come, and let me say to the people of Horsford that you are one of us--a Richards worthier than the worthiest they have known!
"Yours, with sincerest love,
"HESTER RICHARDS LE MOYNE.
"P. S.--I ought to say that, although Hesden is one of the witnesses to my will, he knows nothing of its contents. He does not know that I have written to you, but I am sure he will be glad to see you.
"H. R. LE M."
III.
Mrs. Le Moyne received the following letter in reply: "March 15, 1873.
"MY DEAR MRS. LE MOYNB:
"Your letter gave me far greater pleasure than you can imagine. But you give me much more credit for doing what I did than I have any right to receive. While I know that I would do the same now, to give you pleasure and save you pain, as readily as I did it then from a worse motive, I must confess to you that I did it, almost solely I fear, to show you that a Yankee girl, even though a teacher of a colored school, could be as proud as a Southern lady. I did it to humiliate
you. Please forgive me; but it is true, and I cannot bear to receive your praise for what really deserves censure. I have been ashamed of myself very many times for this unworthy motive for an act which was in itself a good one, but which I am glad to have done, even so unworthily.
"I thank you for your love, which I hope I may better deserve hereafter. I inclose the paper which you sent me, and hope you will destroy it at once. I could not take the property you have so kindly devised to me, and you can readily see what trouble I should have in bestowing it where it should descend as an inheritance.
"Do not think that I need it at all. I had a few thousands which I invested in the great West when I left the South, three years ago, in order to aid those poor colored people at Red Wing, whose sufferings appealed so strongly to my sympathies. By good fortune a railroad has come near me, a town has been built up near by and grown into a city, as in a moment, so that my venture has been blessed; and though I have given away some, the remainder has increased in value until I feel myself almost rich. My life has been very pleasant, and I hope not altogether useless to others. "I am sorry that I cannot do as you wish. I know that you will believe that I do not now act from any un-worthy motive, of from any lack of appreciation of your kindness, or doubt of your sincerity. Thanking you again for your kind words and hearty though undeserved praises, I remain,
"Yours very truly,
"MOLLIE AINSLIE."
"Hesden," said Mrs. Le Moyne to her son, as he sat by her bedside while she read this letter, "will you not write to Miss Ainslie?"
"What!" said he, looking up from his book in surprise. "Do you mean it?"
"Indeed I do, my son," she answered, with a glance of tenderness. "I tried to prepare you a surprise, and wrote for her to come and visit us; but she will not come at my request. I am afraid you are the only one who can overcome her stubbornness.
"I fear that I should have no better success," he answered.
Nevertheless, he went to his desk, and, laying out some paper, he placed upon it, to hold it in place while he wrote, a great black hoof with a silver shoe, bearing on the band about its crown the word "Midnight." After many attempts he wrote as follows:
"Miss MOLLIE AINSLIE:
"Will you permit me to come and see you, upon the conditions imposed when I saw you last?
"HESDEN LE MOYNE."
IV.
While Hesden waited for an answer to this letter, which had been forwarded through Captain Pardee, he received one from Jordan Jackson. It was somewhat badly spelled, but he made it out to be as follows:
"EUPOLIA, KANSAS, Sunday, March 23, 1873.
"MY DEAR LE MOYNE:
"I have been intending to write to you for a long time, but have been too busy. You never saw such a busy country as this. It just took me off my legs when I first came out here. I thought I knew what it meant to 'git up and git.' Nobody ever counted me hard to start or slow to move, down in that country; but here--God bless you, Le Moyne, I found I wasn't half awake! Work? Lord! Lord! how these folks do work and tear around! It don't seem so very hard either, because when they have anything to do they don't do nothing else, and when have nothing to do they make a business of that, too.
"Then, they use all sorts of machinery, and never do anything by hand-power that a horse can be made to do, in any possible way. The horses do all the ploughing, sowing, hoeing, harvesting, and, in fact, pretty much all the farm-work; while the man sits up on a sulky-seat and fans himself with a palm-leaf hat. So that, according to my reckoning, one man here counts for about as much as four in our country.
"I have moved from where I first settled, which was in a county adjoining this. I found that my notion of just getting a plantation to settle down on, where I could make a living and be out of harm's way, wasn't the thing for this country, nohow. A man who comes here must pitch in and count for all he's worth. It's a regular ground-scuffle, open to all, and everybody choosing his own hold. Morning, noon, and night the world is awake and alive; and if a man isn't awake too, it tramps on right over him and wipes him out, just as a stampeded buffalo herd goes over a hunter's camp.
"Everybody is good-natured and in dead earnest. Every one that comes is welcome, and no questions asked. Kin and kin-in-law don't count worth a cuss. Nobody stops to ask where you come from, what's your politics, or whether you've got any religion. They don't care, if you only mean 'business.' They don't make no fuss over nobody. There ain't much of what we call 'hospitality' at the South, making a grand flourish and a big lay-out over anybody; but they just take it, as a matter of course, that you are all right and square and honest, and as good as anybody till you show up diferent. There ain't any big folks nor any little ones. Of course, there are rich folks and poor ones, but the poor are just as respectable as the rich, feel just as big, and take up just as much of the road. There ain't any crawling nor cringing here. Everybody stands up straight, and don't give nor take any sass from anybody else. The West takes right hold of every one that comes into it and makes him a part of itself, instead of keeping him outside in the cold to all eternity, as the South does the strangers who go there.
"I don't know as you'd like it; but if any one who has been kept down and put on, as poor men are at the South, can muster pluck enough to get away and come here, he'll think he's been born over again, or I'm mistaken. Nobody asks your politics. I don't reckon anybody knew mine for a year. The fact is, we're all too busy to fuss with our neighbors or cuss them about their opinions. I've heard more politics in a country store in Horsford in a day than I've heard here in Eupolia in a year--and we've got ten thousand people here, too. I moved here last year, and am doing well. I wouldn't go back and live in that d--d hornet's nest that I felt so bad about leaving--not for the whole State, with a slice of the next one throwed in.
"I've meant to tell you, a half dozen times, about that little Yankee gal that used to be at Red Wing; but I've been half afraid to, for fear you would get mad about it. My wife said that when she came away there was a heap of talk about you being sorter 'sweet' on the 'nigger-school-marm.' I knew that she was sick at your house when I was there, and so, putting the two together, I 'llowed that for once there might be some truth in a Horsford rumor. I reckon it must have been a lie, though; or else she 'kicked' you, which she wouldn't stand a speck about doing, even if you were the President, if you didn't come up to her notion. It's a mighty high notion, too, let me tell you; and the man that gits up to it'll have to climb. Bet your life on that!
"But that's all no matter. I reckon you'll be glad to know how she's gettin' on out here, anyhow. She come here not a great while after I did; but, bless your stars, she wasn't as green as I, not by any manner of means. She didn't want to hide out in a quiet part of the country, where the world didn't turn around but once in two days. No, sir! She was keen--just as keen as a razor-blade. She run her eye over the map and got inside the railroad projects somehow, blessed if I know how; and then she just went off fifty miles out of the track others was taking, and bought up all the land she could pay for, and got trusted for all the credit that that brought her; and here she is now, with Eupolia building right up on her land, and just a-busting up her quarter-sections into city lots, day after day, till you can't rest.
"Just think on't, Moyne! It's only three years ago and she was teaching a nigger school, there in Red Wing; and now, God bless you, here she is, just a queen in a city that wasn't nowhere then. I tell you, she's a team! Just as proud as Lucifer, and as wide-awake as a hornet in July. She beats anything I ever did see. She's given away enough to make two or three, and I'll be hanged if it don't seem to me that every cent she gives just brings her in a dollar. The people here just worship her, as they have a good right to; but she ain't a bit stuck up. She's got a whole lot of them Red Wing niggers here, and has settled them down and put them to work, and made them get on past all expectation. She just tells right out about her having taught a nigger school down in Horsford, and nobody seems to think a word on't. In fact, I b'lieve they rather like her better for it.
"I heard about her soon after she came here, but, to tell the truth, I thought I was a little better than a 'nigger-teacher,' if I was in Kansas. So I didn't mind anything about her till Eupolia began to grow, and I came to think about going into trading again. Then I came over, just to look around, you know. I went to see the little lady, feeling mighty 'shamed, you may bet, and more than half of the notion that she wouldn't care about owning that she'd ever seen me before. But, Lord love you! I needn't have had any fear about that. Nobody ever had a heartier welcome than she gave me, until she found that I had been living only fifty miles away for a year and hadn't let her know. Then she come down on me--Whew! I thought there was going to be a blizzard, sure enough.
"'Jordan Jackson,' said she, 'you just go home and bring that wife and them children here, where they can see something and have a rest.'
"I had to do it, and they just took to staying in Eupolia here nigh about all the time. So I thought I might as well come too; and here I am, doing right well, and would be mighty glad to see an old friend if you could make up your mind to come this way. We are all well, and remember you as the kindest of all old friends in our time of need.
"I never wrote as long a letter as this before, and never 'llow to do it again.
"Your true friend,
"JORDAN JACKSON."
V.
In due time there came to Hesden Le Moyne an envelope, containing only a quaintly-shaped card, which looked as if it had been cut from the bark of a brown-birch tree. On one side was printed, in delicate script characters,
"Miss Mollie Ainslie, Eupolia, Kansas."
On the other was written one word: "Come."
A bride came to Mulberry Hill with the May roses, and when Mrs. Le Moyne had kissed her who knelt beside her chair for a maternal benison, she placed a hand on either burning cheek, and, holding the face at arm's length, said, with that archness which never forsook her, "What am I to do about the old plantation? Hesden refuses to be my heir, and you refuse to be my devisee; must I give it to the poor?"
The summer bloomed and fruited; the autumn glowed and faded; and peace and happiness dwelt at Red Wing. But when the Christmas came, wreaths of
immortelles lay upon a coffin in "Mother's Room," and Hesden and Mollie dropped their tears upon the sweet, pale face within.
So Hesden and Mollie dwelt at Red Wing. The heirs of "Red Jim" had their own, and the children of "Black Jim" were not dispossessed. _