Joseph A. Altsheler – The Complete Collection

Chapter 24

He spoke the last words in a tone half insinuating, half ironical. Prescott flushed a deep red. He did love Helen Harley; he had always loved her. He had not been away from her so much recently because of any decrease in that love; it was his misfortune--the pressure of ugly affairs that compelled him. Was the love he bore her to be thrown aside for a price? A price like that was too high to pay for anything.

"Mr. Secretary," he replied icily, "they say that you are not of the South in some of your characteristics, and I think you are not. Do you suppose that I would accept such a proposition? I could not dream of it. I should despise myself forever if I were to do such a thing."

He stopped and faced the Secretary angrily, but he saw no reflection of his own wrath in the other's face; on the contrary, he had never before seen him look so despondent. There was plenty of expression now on his countenance as he moodily kicked a lump of snow out of his way. Then Mr. Sefton said:

"Do you know in my heart I expected you to make that answer. You would never have put such an alternative to a rival, but I--I am different. Am I responsible? No; you and I are the product of different soils and we look at things in a different way. You do not know my history. Few do here in Richmond--perhaps none; but you shall know, and then you will understand."

Prescott saw that this man, who a moment ago was threatening him, was deeply moved, and he waited in wonder.

"You have never known what it is," resumed the Secretary, speaking in short, choppy tones so unlike his usual manner that the voice might have belonged to another man, "to belong to the lowest class of our people--a class so low that even the n***o slaves sneered at and despised it; to be born to a dirt floor, and a rotten board roof and four log walls! A goodly heritage, is it not? Was not Providence kind to me? And is it not a just and kind Providence?"

He laughed with concentrated bitterness, and a feeling of pity for this man whom he had been dreading so much stole over Prescott.

"We talk of freedom and equality here in the South," continued the Secretary, "and we say we are fighting for it; but not in England itself is class feeling stronger, and that is what we are fighting to perpetuate. I say that you have no such childhood as mine to look back to--the squalour, the ignorance, the sin, the misery, and above all the knowledge that you have a brain in your head and the equal knowledge that you are forbidden to use it--that places and honours are not for you!"

Again he fiercely kicked a clump of snow from his path and gazed absently across the fields toward the wintry horizon, his face full of passionate protestation. Prescott was still silent, his own position forgotten now in the interest aroused by this sudden outburst.

"If you are born a clod it is best to be a clod," continued the Secretary, "but that I was not. As I said, I have a brain in my head, and eyes to see. From the first I despised the squalour and the misery around me, and resolved to rise above it despite all the barriers of a slave-holding aristocracy, the most exclusive aristocracy in the world. I thought of nothing else. You do not know my struggles; you cannot guess them--the years and the years and all the bitter nights. They say that any oppressed and despised race learns and practises craft and cunning. So does a man; he must--he has no other choice.

"I learned craft and cunning and practised them, too, because I had to do so. I did things that you have never done because you were not driven to them, and at last I saw the seed that I had planted begin to grow. Then I felt a joy that you can never feel because you have never worked for an object, and never will work for it, as I have done. I have triumphed. The best in the South obey me because they must. It is not the title or the name, for there are those higher than mine, but it is the power, the feeling that I have the reins in my hand and can guide."

"If you have won your heart's desire why do you rail at fate?" asked Prescott.

"Because I have not won my wish--not all of it. They say there is a weak spot in every man's armour; there is always an Achilles' heel. I am no exception. Well, the gods ordained that I, James Sefton, a man who thought himself made wholly of steel, should fall in love with a piece of pink-and-white girlhood. What a ridiculous bit of nonsense! I suppose it was done to teach me I am a fool just like other men. I had begun to believe that I was exceptional, but I know better now."

"Then you call this a weakness and regret it?"

"Yes, because it interferes with all my plans. The time that I should be devoting to ambition I must sacrifice for a weakness of the heart."

The low throb of a distant drum came from a rampart, and the Secretary raised his head, as if the sound gave a new turn to his thoughts.

"Even the plans of ambition may crumble," he said. "Since I am speaking frankly of one thing, Captain Prescott, I may speak likewise of another. Have you ever thought how unstable may prove this Southern Confederacy for which we are spending so much blood?"

"I have," replied Prescott with involuntary emphasis.

"So have I; again I speak to you with perfect frankness, because it will not be to your profit to repeat what I say. Do you realize that we are fighting against the tide, or, to put it differently, against the weight of all the ages? When one is championing a cause opposed to the tendency of human affairs his victories are worse than his defeats because they merely postpone the certain catastrophe. It is impossible for a slave-holding aristocracy under any circumstances to exist much longer in the world. When the apple is ripe it drops off the tree, and we cannot stay human progress. The French Revolution was bound to triumph because the institutions that it destroyed were worn out; the American Colonies were bound to win in their struggle with Britain because nature had decreed the time for parting; and even if we should succeed in this contest we should free the slaves ourselves inside of twenty years, because slavery is now opposed to common sense as well as to morality."

"Then why do you espouse such a cause?" asked Prescott.

"Why do you?" replied the Secretary very quickly.

It was a question that Prescott never yet had been able to answer to his own complete satisfaction, and now he preferred silence. But no reply seemed to be expected, as the Secretary continued to talk of the Southern Confederacy, the plan upon which it was formed, and its abnormal position in the world, expressing himself, as he had said he would, with the most perfect frankness, displaying all the qualities of a keen analytical and searching mind. He showed how the South was one-sided, how it had cultivated only one or two forms of intellectual endeavour, and therefore, so he said, was not fitted in its present mood to form a calm judgment of great affairs.

"The South is not sufficiently arithmetical," he said; "statistics are dry, but they are very useful on the eve of a great war. The South, however, has always scorned mathematics; she doesn't know even now the vast resources of the North, her tremendous industrial machinery which also supports the machinery of war, and above all she does not know that the North is only now beginning to be aroused. Even to this day the South is narrow, and, on the whole, ignorant of the world."

Prescott, who knew these things already, did not like, nevertheless, to hear them said by another, and he was in arms at once to defend his native section.

"It may be as you say, Mr. Secretary," he replied, "and I have no doubt it is true that the North is just gathering her full strength for the war, but you will see no shirking of the struggle on the part of the Southern people. They are rooted deep in the soil, and will make a better fight because of the faults to which you point."

The Secretary did not reply. They were now close to the fortifications and could see the sentinels, as they walked the earthworks, blowing on their fingers to keep them warm. On one side they caught a slight glimpse of the river, a sheet of ice in its bed, and on the other the hills, with the trees glittering in icy sheaths like coats of mail.

"It is time to turn back," said Mr. Sefton, "and I wish to say again that I like you, but I also warn you once more that I shall not spare you because of it; my weakness does not go so far. I wish you out of my way, and I have offered you an alternative which you decline. Many men in my position would have crushed you at once; so I take credit to myself. You adhere to your refusal?"

"Certainly I do," replied Prescott with emphasis.

"And you take the risk?"

"I take the risk."

"Very well, there is no need to say more. I warn you to look out for yourself."

"I shall do so," replied Prescott, and he laughed lightly and with a little irony.

They walked slowly back to the city, saying no more on the subject which lay nearest to their hearts, but talking of the war and its chances. A company of soldiers shivering in their scanty gray uniforms passed them.

"From Mississippi," said the Secretary; "they arrived only yesterday, and this, though the south to us, is a cruel north to them. But there will not be many like these to come."

They parted in the city, and the Secretary did not repeat his threats; but Prescott knew none the less that he meant them.

CHAPTER XII

A FLIGHT BY TWO

It was about ten by the watch, and a very cold, dark and quiet night, when Prescott reached the Grayson cottage and paused a moment at the gate, the dry snow crumbling under his heels. There was no light in the window, nor could he see any smoke rising from the chimney. The coal must be approaching the last lump, he thought, and the gold would be gone soon, too. But there was another and greater necessity than either of those driving him on, and, opening the gate, he quickly knocked upon the door. It was low but heavy, a repeated and insistent knock, like the muffled tattoo of a drum, and at last Miss Grayson answered, opening the door a scant four inches and staring out with bright eyes.

"Mr. Prescott!" she exclaimed, "it is you! You again! Ah, I have warned you and for your own good, too! You cannot enter here!"

"But I must come in," he replied; "and it is for my own good, too, as well as yours and Miss Catherwood's."

She looked at him with searching inquiry.

"Don't you see that I am freezing on your doorstep?" he said humourously.

He saw her frown plainly by the faint flicker of the firelight, and knew she did not relish a jest at such a time.

"Let me in and I will tell you everything," he added quickly. "It is an errand more urgent than any on which I have come before."