THE UNIVERSITY OF
NORTH CAROLINA
LIBRARY
THE )\/lLMER COLLECTION
OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS
PRESENTED BY
RICHARD H. WILMER, JR.
S'iLMEH COLLECTION
PINE KNOT
SOME PRESS OPINIONS OF DR. BARTON'S
A HERO IN HOMESPUN,
"Vigorous, spirited, truthful, absorbing." — AVtf Vori
Critic.
"A thoroughly interesting, red-blooded, virile story,
and at the same time a historical document of the very
greatest value." — The Bookman.
" Will be read with keen enjoyment." — Nevi York
Times.
" The story is one of intense interest." — Boston Herald.
"In his writings of the mountains in war time Dr.
Barton has a virgin field." — New York Independent.
" Abounds in life and incident. The men and women
move and act spontaneously. The primitive customs and
usages of the mountaineers have been carefully pictured."
— Philadelphia Ledger.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2010 with funding from
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
http://www.archive.org/details/pineknotstoryofkOObart
"Tell your father that I forbid him to open school."
(.See page 60.)
Pine Knot
A Story of Kentucky Life
By
William E. Barton
Author of A Hero in Homespun, Etc.
Illustrated by F. T. Merrill
16&
New York
D. Appleton and Company
1900
Copyright, 1900
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
TO MV FRIEND
Mrs. MARY E. STEARNS,
AND
IN HONOR OF THE WORK OF HER HUSBAND,
Major GEORGE L. STEARNS.
5342S7
CONTENTS
I. — The Pine Knot ghost .
II. — Smith Hemphill's passengers
III. — Uncle Simon Peter
IV. — The school board chairman
V. — A possible castaway
VI. — The chimney corner
VII. — Twenty dollars a month .
VIII. — The making of a philanthropist
IX. — The surprise at the schoolhouse
X. — The top side of the earth.
XI. — Widow Braniman and her neighbor
XII. — Daddy Campbell's funeral
XIII. — A VERSATILE SCHOOLMASTER
XIV. — Granny White's remedies
XV. — The heart of Joe Lakes
XVI. — The same ghost or another
XVII. — Swift's buried secret .
XVIII. — The thread that slipped
XIX. — The circular rainbow .
XX. — The widow's revenge .
XXI. — The meaning of it .
XXII. — The glorious discovery
XXIII. — For the cause of freedom
XXIV. — The mob, the man, and the ghosts
PAGE
I
23
35
44
56
64
78
88
100
112
127
135
144
151
163
169
184
193
203
211
220
231
237
243
viii Pine Knot
CHAPTER PAGB
XXV. — A BLUE-GRASS CHRISTMAS 253
XXVI. — The new teacher 263
XXVII. — The Freedom Mining Company . . . 271
XXVIII. — A MEMBER OF THE STATE GUARD . . . 277
XXIX. — Near the cataract 286
XXX. — The plunge 294
XXXI. — Fanatic or philanthropist .... 312
XXXII. — In Lexington 320
XXXIII. — What's in a name? 328
XXXIV. — With the rank of captain .... 337
XXXV. — An ideal and a reality 343
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACIKG PAGE
" Tell your father that I forbid him to open
school " Frontispiece
"Who are you?" I7g
"If we let ye go, will ye git out?" ..... 247
" I can never repay you " 314
ix
V.
PINE KNOT
CHAPTER I
THE PINE KNOT GHOST
Noel Davis moved his inverted nail keg a little
farther within the shade in front of Bill Blake's store,
kicking Widow Braniman's long-eared hound out of
the way. He was moving less to get out of the sun
than to get farther from his companions. He was
feeling a little sore, for they had laughed at him, and
he had just had charged to his account a bushel of
corn meal which he had too confidently offered to pay
for if Granny White could pack it home. With visi-
ble efifort, but still successfully, she tugged at the sack
until she got it upon her shoulder, and then tottered
off home with it. Noel watched her eagerly as at
times she seemed likely to fail, but at last when she
gathered strength with the effort and moved more
briskly to her cabin, he joined with the rest in shout-
ing words of encouragement to her, and pretended
that he had sought that way of dispensing a charity.
No one contradicted this declaration, and no one be-
lieved it, and the group, on one pretext or another,
laughed at Noel several times thereafter.
"Leave the dog alone, cyan't ye?" demanded
Widow Braniman, coming to the door in answer to
the familiar yelp.
2 Pine Knot
"Who's tetched yer dog?" demanded Noel.
" You kicked him," said she.
" You cyan't prove it," retorted Davis.
" I don't have obleeged to prove it," replied
the widow. " They hain't nary 'nother man any-
whurs near Pine Knot that's triflin' mean enough to
do it."
With this sally the widow returned to the inspec-
tion of some calico, the purchase of which, if she
really decided to buy it, would require all her eggs
and butter for some time. Bill Blake had received
a new order of goods since last mail day, and several
women, as well as the usual number of men, had come
to await the advent of the mail.
Dan Brafiford had not arrived yet. It was not
time for him to arrive for that matter, and even if it
had been there was more time. Nothing else was so
plentiful about Pine Knot. If, therefore, Dan de-
layed, as was sometimes inevitable, and the mail was
an hour or four hours late. Pine Knot accepted the
fact not without comment, but with composure. The
men outside and the women within were both con-
genially occupied.
The men, who had been animated momentarily by
the promise of a set-to between the widow and Noel,
settled back again into their listless attitudes. Neze
Post looked dejectedly into the puddle of tobacco
juice between his feet. That was his customary posi-
tion when in repose, his elbows resting on his knees.
He was unusually dejected to-day. The hotel busi-
ness was not flourishing of late. The single tourist
who had come to town this week had gone to Green
Best's new hotel. Green sat to-day with his box
The Pine Knot Ghost
tipped back, his thumbs under his knit " galluses,'*
and his cob pipe tilted high.
"What ails ye, Neze?" he asked. "Tears lack
ye ain't so pert as you uster be when we was a-settin'
up to the same gal."
" Old age comin' on, I reckon," said Ebenezer,
with a faint attempt at pleasantry.
" I don't reckon hit's that," said Green. " Must
be piety. You kep' both the preachers over last Sun-
day."
" They ain't much money in keepin' preachers,"
said Neze. " P'ti'lar when they feed their own
beastis."
" They don't let 'em starve, that's a fac' ! " laughed
Green. " When old Preacher Taulbee comes on his
horse — hit ain't rightly a horse, but jist the frame
of one — you kin hang me if I don't believe it's all the
feed that old nag gits till his next meetin' day, without
it's faith and papaw bushes."
" Neze gits the preachers and you git the cattle
buyers, ain't that so. Green ? " asked Blake.
" Oh, Pm liable to git the preachers next time,"
said Green. " They go around. If they give Neze
any special attention hit's because he needs it worse
than what I do. But I reckon I need money worse'n
what he does, and that's comin' to-wards me a leetle
mite faster now. Things goes where they's the most
need, I've most gen'rally always noticed."
Neze colored. " I don't think hit's plumb right
for you to put up that ar new sign that calls yourn The
Best Hotel," said he.
Green laughed, and the others joined with him, for
Green's answer was already known.
4 Pine Knot
" Hit's a case of needcessity, Neze," he said. " I
couldn't call it The Post Hotel."
" But hit ain't nary bit nor grain better than mine,"
urged Neze.
" I never said hit was," rejoined Best, with con-
tagious good humor. " I jest call my hotel by my
own name, and you kin call your hotel by yourn."
" I don't want to call it by my own name," said
Post. " But if I was to, my name wouldn't be no
sorter insult to yourn. But yourn is to mine."
" Good lordy, Neze," said Green, laughing louder
than ever. " Hit's a right daggon shame ef a feller
cyan't use his own name without some other feller
feelin' lack he was insulted. I'd pinely like to ac-
commodate ye, Neze, I would for a fack ; but the
truth is I cyan't afford to pay the Legislature to
change my name. Of course you needn't under-
stand that my hotel's better'n yourn, but I don't see
no help for it but to use the name that the Lord and
my daddy gin me."
This explanation did not satisfy Neze, who knew
that Green was chaffing him and gloating over the
situation. The name had unmistakable advertising
value, and, while it was respectable to keep the
preachers, they were likely to go to Best's or some-
where else next meeting day ; and they paid nothing,
and were as hungry as their horses.
" I wisht Dan would come," said Green, taking up
the conversation again after a pause. Green had led
in the laughter against Noel, and had worsted Neze
in the argument over the sign, but there are disadvan-
tages in a victory too sweeping, and Green felt the ob-
ligation of starting the conversation which the demor-
The Pine Knot Ghost
alization of Neze and Noel had brought to a temporary
close.
" What d'ye want Dan to come for ? " asked
Blake. " He ain't got no mail for you."
" I'd sorter like to hear about politics," said Green.
" They say," said Neze, " that things are getting
pinely mixed up."
" Yes," said Green, " the nomination of this man
Lincoln is a mighty sorter surprise to the Jimmy-
crats."
" Hit'll be a surprise to them that nominated him
come November," said Neze.
" I ain't right sure of that," said Blake. " I've
got a sorter idy they're goin' to run that man in."
" Tell you what I'll do, Neze," said Green ; " I'll
undertake to eat and sleep the Republicans and you
take keer of the Jimmycrats."
" All right," said Neze. " Will you call your
hotel The Black Republican ? "
" I'll take that under advisemaint, as the jedge
says," said Green.
The men laughed at Green this time, and good
nature was restored all around.
" Here comes Jake Crawford," said Noel. " How-
dy, Jake. Got ary flask about ye ? "
" Nary un," said Jake. " Been a-movin' my still-
house."
"Wharisitat?"
" Right acrost the Gov'maint survey for the State
line."
" What's yer idy in that ? "
" Well, they're a-gittin' sorter ornery about the
laws agin sellin' and stillin', and I've sorter made up'
6 Pine Knot
my mind to preepare, as the feller says, for the eenevi-
table. When I have my still in Kaintuck and my
worm in Tennessy, who's a-goin' to say whar the stuff
was made? And ef I stand in Tennessy, and the man
that buys it stands in Kaintuck, whar is the sale?
And ef the sheriff comes from one State, and finds the
barrel rolled acrost the floor into the other, and me
a-settin' on it lack a law-abidin' citizen, what's he got
to do, as a man and a gentleman, but jest to own up
beat, and step acrost to whar he hain't got no juris-
diction, and take a drink, and go home about his busi-
ness, sayin' that when he arrived he found I was out
of the State."
" Jake," said Green admiringly, " by ginger,
you'd orter be a member of the Legislature ! I never
heerd tell of nothing slicker ! "
" Well, I jist now begin to see the use of this
Gov'maint survey," said Neze.
" Yes," said Jake, " the State line is a real special
Providaince, When I git fired up agin, boys, come
over and we'll have somethin' wet."
We know many things now about which there
was once a reasonable doubt. Thereby we have need-
lessly increased our sorrows. The whole world
knows now that Pine Knot is in Kentucky, but in
i860 it was assumed to be exactly on the line between
that State and Tennessee. What good it has done
any one to learn that the line runs two miles south
it would be hard to say, and it compelled Jake Craw-
ford to move his bar again.
However, he could afford it. No man profited
better than Jake by the proximity of the State line
except old Tommy Jones at Cumberland Gap after
The Pine Knot Ghost
the war. He took the shanty which the Federal sol-
diers built exactly under the war-time bridge that
connected the pinnacles, and then sold liquor till the
railroad went through and demolished the bridge and
old Tommy's business. Tommy Jones had both Ken-
tucky and Tennessee as a base of operations, and if
he had been pressed hard, as some good men have
been in these later years, by a concerted attack of offi-
cers from both States at once, he had five or six
square, or rather triangular, feet of the very tip end of
Virginia in his chimney corner. That is, it was so
believed then. More recent surveys, forever unset-
tling things, have changed this, too, and moved the
corner a distance up the hill where a three-colored
sandstone rock marks the corner of the three States.
The stone below, which people sit upon to snap their
kodaks at each other and then chip for relics, is sim-
ply a witness stone now, though it serves the igno-
rance of tourists quite as well as the genuine mark,
and for that matter it served the ignorance, if you
choose to call it so, of Tommy Jones.
But Tommy Jones is gone from the Gap, and Jake
Crawford's new store on the new State line is as ob-
solete as his old store in Pine Knot itself. Yet — and
I have always counted it a curious fact — the State-line
habit clings to Jake. When his regular business
became demoralized through the joint operation of
the officers of the law and the manufacturers of the
dirty red whisky they make in Cincinnati (the moun-
tain whisky is uncolored), he was driven back to
making his own liquor in order to have a good article,
and to be able to sell it at a living profit. Now rev-
enue officers have no more regard for a State line
8 Pine Knot
than they have for human rights in general ; but
Jake's present establishment, whose exact location
is known to certain discreet individuals in a very
rocky hollow among the spurs of Pine Mountain, is
built on the line of the newer Government survey. It
must be either from sentiment or from pure force of
habit, but the round-bellied copper still is in Ken-
tucky, and the barrel containing the worm is in
Tennessee.
Jake Crawford is gone, and Bill Blake no longer
keeps the store and post office, and the hooting,
whanging locomotive brings a daily mail. Few, if
any, of those whose history this book relates now live
at Pine Knot. Time changes everything; and the
war — that awful Government survey that staked ofif
with little rows of white marble stones at the head of
low mounds the whole eternity that had been from
the present and the future — the war made more
than war's usual changes about Pine Knot. In one
of its many invasions of the place, when the Federal
army was on the Cumberland and was moving south
to capture Knoxville and Cumberland Gap, a Union
teamster was shot from ambush near there. Whether
it was the commanding general or some of his officers
of the commissary department that gave the order
to burn the houses, is perhaps uncertain. Anyway,
it was assumed that a region where teamsters were
shot could not be counted loyal territory, and a com-
pany was detached to ride from Point Burnside to the
State line and burn every house along the way. Pos-
sibly those of us who knew the inhabitants of Pine
Knot before and during the war might hazard a guess
as to who shot the teamster. At any rate, we know
The Pine Knot Ghost
that those who would have done it were few. But
the ofificers in the Federal army were slow in learning
how few there were in that region who wished
them ill.
Many thousands of Americans have wept over
the destruction of Grand Pre and the scattering of its
ill-fated inhabitants by their enemies ; possibly some-
time some one will write of tragedies not wholly un-
like it in which communities in our own land suffered
at the hands of their friends.
They burned every house in Pine Knot, and for
thirty miles north. The houses were not many, but
they were all burned. And yet they spared the house
in which Granny White lay a-dying. The captain
himself went in to see if she could not be moved.
They say he wiped his eyes as he came out. She
begged him to bring in the flag, and when it was
brought in she kissed the hem and thanked God
that she had lived to see it again. It was evident
that she was not one to shoot teamsters, and the cap-
tain, who followed his hard orders to the letter else-
where, set a guard before her house with orders to
shoot any man that would do it harm. The flag, too,
was hung over the door.
But the other houses were burned. It was a small
afifair in its way, for the houses were so few. But the
husbands and fathers and brothers and sons of those
homeless women and children who shivered that night
about the embers of their homes were fighting in the
Union army. So many things of the kind happened,
and on a scale so much larger, that it would not be
worth while to mention this one, except that it ac-
counts in part for the fact that the present residents
lo Pine Knot
of Pine Knot are not those who were there " before
the war." They may be talked about with freedom,
therefore, and with no danger of hurting anybody's
feehngs.
That is enough about the war for the present,
though we shall come to it again. Unless it might
be worth while to remember, as we are leaving the
subject, that Granny White died that night. The
whole town was there to see her die, as it probably
would have been in any event, for the solemn dignity
of death is not lightly regarded at Pine Knot. Granny
White did not know who had burned the town. She
thought that it had been the Confederates from Knox-
ville, and that the captain whom she had seen had
driven them oflf, though too late to save the houses.
The friends let her think so. It was a fearful respon-
sibility, and lay hard on their consciences that they
let her go into eternity with a falsehood of their own
making or conniving, but they could not help it. She
died blessing God that she had lived to see the flag
again. They tried vainly each to persuade some one
else to tell her the truth, but while they were agree-
ing that she ought not to die cherishing a delusion,
and that some one ought to tell her, but were not
agreed who should do it, she died, and the happy
look upon her sunken, toothless old face was there
when the earth covered the coffin. She died, and
that ended the discussion, and they turned the
two or three pictures to the wall and stopped the
clock.
But all this happened later and belongs to a story
that is yet to be told. Granny White was alive and
well in i860, and, old as she was, packed home the
The Pine Knot Ghost ii
bushel of meal for which Noel Davis had promised
to pay. The men still sat about waiting for the
mail.
" Heerd tell anything about the ghost lately,
Noel ? " asked Jake.
"Which ghost?" asked Noel.
" Deck Morgan's."
" How d'ye know hit's Deck's ? "
" Whose is it if it ain't Deck's ? "
" I don't know's it's any person's," said Noel.
" You don't ? " exclaimed Widow Braniman,
coming to the door. " Then how'd it come to be a
ghost?"
" Of course it's Deck's," said Neze ; " and that's
the quare thing about it."
" I don't see nothin' more quare about it bein'
Deck's nor about ary 'nother person's," said Noel.
" Why, sartin," said Green, " Deck's ghost hadn't
no ambition agin Pine Knot."
" No, nor no person was ever ambitious agin him,"
said Widow Braniman.
" Then," said Green, " he was so mighty anxious
to rest when he was alive I don't see his idy in not
restin' now he's got a chance."
" Deck never was no hand to exert hisself when
they wa'n't no needcessity," said Blake. " He uster
allow that he was jist naterally horned tard,"
In truth his natal fatigue had pursued Deek at a
leisurely pace all his life, and there was apparent jus-
tice in the complaint that he ought to rest now that
opportunity afforded.
" Ef they was ary person livin' that Deek had a
gredge again," said Neze, " hit would be diflfernt."
12 Pine Knot
" Without it was his wife," said Widow Brani-
man.
" Shore enough," said Jake. " But she's married
to Abednego Williams, and they've done gone to
Missouri."
" I wisht the ghost 'd go thar, too," said Noel.
" Well, if he don't pester them I don't see why he
should pester us," said Green.
" I reckon 'Bednego don't need no ghosts," said
Widow Braniman,
There was a laugh at this.
" Well, if 'Bednego is gittin' his sheer the ghost
mout go to haintin' his wife, or less let us alone, one."
" Wa'n't she a main buster?" asked Jake. "1
uster go by on my way to the mill, and he'd be in his
cornfield, above the house. That cornfield's so steep,
anyhow, a feller's in plumb danger of fallin' out
of it and breakin' his laig. But Deck wa'n't in no
danger. He couldn't even fall fast enough to hurt
hisself. Lordy, I've seed him when he'd see some
person comin' down the road, and he'd yell, ' Hello,
Jake, I want to see you a minute ! ' Then I'd pull up
under the dead sycamore where the haint walks now,
and he'd come down sorter lack they was somethin'
in him pullin' back agin the slope of the hill and hatin'
to come down so fast, and down he'd come, sorter
makin' a swing around not to come too clost to the
door, and Peggy she'd yell out : ' Wha' d'ye wanter go
down to the road fur? You hain't got no business
with Jake. Let him go on to mill, and git his turn
ground and git back to the stillhouse afore night,
and you go back ter your hoein' ! The crab grass '11
take that ar corn if you don't stir yer lazy bones !
The Pine Knot Ghost 13
Loafin' all day yistidy at the store, and now no good
when ye git ter work ; runnin' off down thar to that
ar sycamore tree ter see Jake ! I never seed sech an-
other triflin', no-'count man in all my horned days ! '
But Deck wouldn't never stop, and jest hurried on —
ef it's right to say that Deek ever hurried — and thar
he'd set under the old dead sycamore, carvin' its
roots with his barlow and yellin' back to Peggy onct
in a while when he das'n't let on not to hear, ' All
right, Peggy, I'm comin' tereckly ! ' but I allers
knowed that he was in for another ten minutes. And
he was a right divertin' talker. And that old syca-
more root was his favor-ite seat."
" I allers allowed that that ar nail kaig was his
favor-ite seat," said Blake. " He'd set thar and tell
yarns by the hour, his old nag standin' hitched to the
fence thar, till the fear of Peggy 'd drive him home or
I'd lock up the store, one."
" Peggy was a main hard one, that's a fact," said
Green ; " but then we all suffer that away."
" You don't suffer half so much as what you'd
orter," retorted his wife. " I do believe Peggy had a
hard time of it."
" So did Deek — and me," laughed her husband.
" You both got a good right to a hard time," she
answered, and the laugh turned on Green, who re-
joiced to have his wife get the better of him in public.
Peggy was not the only woman who complained
of Deek. Many a wife whose husband did not come
home promptly from the store or mill told her good
man that she " jes' knowed he'd be'n aloafin' a-longer
that triflin', no-'count Deek Morgan " ; to which state-
ment she would add such specific denunciation as the
14 Pine Knot
particular occasion called for, ending with a command
to her husband to have nothing more to do with
Deek. But these same women — and it grieves me to
record their inconsistency — received Deek when he
came to their kitchen doors with scant civility at first,
to be sure, but with a tartness which gradually wore
off when the owner felt that it had had its moral effect.
Ill humor, except Peggy's, always lost itself in his
presence. He was so humble, so genial, and knew
so many good stories and so much gossip. If there
was anything good to eat in the house Deek always
got it. After one of his visits, the good housewives
of Pine Knot were wont to profess shame that they
had harbored him, and to tell what they would do
with such a man if he were their husband. Few liv-
ing men have been more hypothetically married for
the sake of working out a wholesome reformation
than Deek, But these good women were wont to
add as a last word that " Deek wa'n't so bad a feller,
atter all, ef he jes' had a chance to home. What won-
der, with a wife that lietcheled him all the time, ef a
man did git mighty triflin' an' no 'count ? "
"What's Deck's haint been a-doin' now?" asked
Bill.
" Oh, hit jest raises up in front of the dead syca-
more and says : ' Oh, leave me be, Peggy ; hit ain't
mornin' yit!' or 'Hold on, boys, I know another
un ! ' lack he was a-goin' to tell a story. Hit would be
right comical ef it wa'n't so mighty skeery."
" I reckon that house that was Deck's will stand
empty a right smart spell," said Neze.
" I heerd it was goin' to be occupied," said
Noel.
The Pine Knot Ghost 15
" Did ye ? Land o' massy ! Who ? " demanded
Widow Braniman.
" I dunno," said Noel. " I didn't hear no more."
" Here comes Dan with the mail," said Green
Best, and they started up, expectant.
" That ain't Dan," said Neze Post. " That horse
ain't a patchin' to hisn. You could cut four len'ths
off Bill's for the mill, and then he'd have more cord
wood left in him than they is in that nag."
" Bill's horse is providaintially built for carryin'
the mails," suggested Widow Braniman, coming to
the door just then ; " they couldn't no common horse
ford high water lack hisn."
" Hit's Preacher Jim Fletcher," said Best. " His
nag has a white left hind foot and a star in his face."
" I'd like to swap my nag to hisn," said Noel
Davis.
" Like to swap yer chance of heaven with him, too,
wouldn't ye, Noel ? " asked Bill Blake, for the whole
business of shopping had been suspended at the first
word that a horse that might be Dan Brafford's was
in sight, and all within were at the door.
" I wouldn't swap hit for yourn," retorted Noel.
" Mine ain't for sale," said Bill.
" I didn't allow you had anything that wa'n't for
sale," said Neze.
" Amounts to the same thing," said Green.
" Reason he hain't got none for sale is he hain't got
none nohow."
" What you alls pickin' at Bill fur ? " asked Widow
Braniman. " Bill, ain't you got ary friend to stand up
fur ye?"
" Bill don't need yer sympathy," said Green, " and
1 6 Pine Knot
hit's wasted on him. Bill's done married. Here's
Noel here, he needs sympathy more'n ary 'nother
person, and being single hit mout not be wasted."
" Green Best ! " said Mrs. Braniman, " if I could
get at you with this here hickory I'd pinely w'ar you
out ! "
" All right, Mis' Braniman," cried Green amid the
laughter of all. " Looks like I'd need sympathy my-
self, if I keep on."
" Then you best not keep on," said the widow.
" How do you make out to live with him ? " she con-
tinued, directing her question to Mrs. Best, who was
inspecting some cotton sheeting, and had brought
the bolt to the door to see it to better advantage.
" I just have to stand it best I kin," said Mrs. Best
admiringly.
" Law, if she was as bald as I be ! " said Best, rub-
bing his hand over his thin hair.
" I'd pull it all out if you was my man," said the
widow. " 'Twouldn't be no more than what you de-
serve."
" Howdy, parson ? " called Blake. " 'Light and
lift your saddle."
The young minister did not reply to the salutation,
but hitched his horse to a swinging beech limb, and,
flinging his leg over the saddle, swung himself to the
ground, and taking his saddlebags on his arm strode
up to the front of the store.
He was very tall and and swarthy, with high cheek
bones that stood out prominently on his sallow face.
His head was held erect on a strong neck that seemed
even larger than it was in the loose and rolling collar
of his unstarched white shirt. He wore no vest, and
The Pine Knot Ghost 17
his coat and trousers were of jeans, and fitted loosely.
His stride was long and swinging, and his whole body
hurled itself forward at each step. Unlike the aver-
age mountaineer, who walks leisurely and with regard
for the inequalities of the surface of the earth, Fletcher
strode forward over stones and roots, with his black
eye straight ahead. His eye was fixed on Davis, and
he disregarded the greetings of the others, saying:
" Noel Davis, I'd like to see you a minute."
" Well, you're a-lookin' right at me, ain't you ? "
asked Davis in a surly tone.
" Yes, I am, and I've had my eye on you for some
time. I want to talk to you alone."
Nothing is more common in the mountains than
the calling of a person to step out for private con-
ference. The homes and public places afiford little
opportunity for privacy, and personal conversations
are almost invariably preceded by a request to step
out. To decline such an invitation is usually the
mark of discourtesy or cowardice.
" If you got anything to say to me say it here,"
said Davis.
" All right, I can say it here. I want to know
what you gave that school away for ? "
" I thought you wanted to say something to me ?
'Pears like you're a-astin' me to say something to
you."
" I'll say something to you, then. You promised
me last year, you and Bill Blake here, that I could
keep the school this year. You allowed there'd be
public money enough to pay rising twenty dollars a
month for a three months' school, and you promised
it to me."
i8 Pine Knot
" Maybe Bill did," said Noel ; " I didn't have much
to do with it."
" You needn't lay it on to me," said Bill. " What
I agree to I stick to. I thought Jim kept a good
school last year, and I told him I was willing he
should have it agin. You said the same, and so did
Jake Trosper."
" Jake Trosper hain't got nothing to do with it,"
said Noel. " He wasn't re-elected."
" No, but you two held over, and you're a major-
ity of the trustees," said Fletcher. " I could a had
the Marsh Creek school — I preach there the fourth
Sunday — but I counted on this one. But Bill Trosper
went out, and Peleg Goodwin he got on, and he and
Noel Davis have given the school to a straggler no
person knows anything about."
" Is that so, Noel ? " asked Bill. " Have you give
the school away and not said nothin' to me ? "
" Peleg didn't 'low it was necessary," said Noel.
" He said we was a majority ; and we had a chance to
git a first-class, A No. i teacher, and Peleg he
thought we'd best do it, and I sorter gin my consent."
" I have nothing to say against Peleg Goodwin,"
said Fletcher, " you all know what he is ; but I've got
this to say about you. You promised, and you broke
your promise. You've told a plumb lie, and you
don't have sand or honor ary one enough to last you
in hell for ten minutes ! "
" You mean to call me a liar ? " asked Davis blus-
teringly.
" Yes, I do. And what's more, you know it's so."
" If you wasn't a preacher," said Davis deprecat-
ingly, " I'd see whether you'd call me a liar ! "
The Pine Knot Ghost i^
" You would, would you ? You needn't stop for
that. If I was to treat you as you deserve I'd duck
you in the branch."
" Look here, parson," remonstrated Best, " Noel
won't fight you, and they hain't no use p'tic'lar in
worryin' a 'possum atter he curls up and stops fight-
in'. I don't beHeve I'd sass him much more.
James Fletcher felt the justice of this word. By
his display of temper he had lost in large measure the
sympathy of the spectators. He bit his lip, and, turn-
ing without a word, mounted his horse and rode
away.
There was silence for a little while after he de-
parted, and then Best restored the conversation by
remarking with a laugh, " You seem to be ketchin' it
all round this evenin', Noel."
Then the mail came, and all gathered about Dan
Brafford as he brought in the lank, double pouch,
and threw it on the counter. His greeting was hearty
and went around the group.
" Howdy, Bill ? Forgot to order that sand scoop
for your sugar sack. Howdy, Mis' Best? Still
boardin' with Green, be ye? Git better board over
to the other house, I reckon. Ain't that so, Neze?
Howdy, Mis' Braniman? Still single, be ye? Law,
I've laid of¥ to come over and set up with you my-
self, but I hain't had time. I reckon you'll jest have
to take up with Noel thar. Hello, Noel! Say, that
last sang I took for you wasn't dry enough. Got
any tobacker. Bill? I'm mighty nigh dyin' for a
smoke."
There was a hush as the strap was pulled through
the metal loops and the postmaster's arm was thrust
20 Pine Knot
in, first one side and then the other, and all gathered
around. It is not to be supposed that any of them
expected or desired to receive a letter. The chief
function of the mail carrier was social. What news
he brought in his pouch was a mere fraction of what
he gathered and disseminated along the way, and he
performed certain commercial services, buying sundry
little packages in exchange for ginseng or angelica
(known as jellico) root; but he served chiefly to get
people together at intervals along his route. As the
chief business of county court day at Whitley Court-
house (the profane have changed the name to Wil-
liamsburg) was done outside the courtroom, and the
interest in a big baptizing (pronounced baptizin') on
Marsh Creek was largely independent of the precise
religious character of the event which gave name to
the gathering, so the coming of the mail was of inter-
est principally for other reasons than that the inhab-
itants of Pine Knot were large senders or receivers of
letters. In these days people send letters on the
slightest pretext and wholly without justifiable excuse,
but in that day and at Pine Knot letter writing was
not counted a thing to be entered upon lightly or unad-
visedly, but soberly, reverently, and discreetly.
There was about the usual assortment of mail : a
few letters for Whitley Courthouse and points be-
yond, a meager assortment of mail for intervening
points, and a letter and a paper for Pine Knot, with
a good-sized package of printed matter.
" That's a main big one, Dan," said Bill.
" I had a right good notion to put me a rock in
the end with the other mail to balance it," said Dan.
"Who's hit for?" asked Mrs. Braniman.
The Pine Knot Ghost 21
" J. Howard Buzbee." Bill read the name labori-
ously, and turned to the letter and the paper.
" Who in creation is that ? " asked Mrs. Best.
" What on airth does a man want to part his name
in the middle that away for ? " demanded Mrs. Brani-
man.
" J. Howard Buzbee," read Bill from the paper.
" Who's the letter for? " asked Post.
" Mrs. J. Howard Buzbee," read Bill.
" Well, I never ! " cried Mrs. Best. " Whoever
heerd tell of a woman's name same as her man's?
Do you reckon that's her sure-enough name ? "
" Course it is," said her husband. " What would
they call her that for if it wasn't ? "
" Maybe hit's for her man," said Post.
" No, hit's ' Mrs. J. Howard Buzbee,' plain as kin
be," said Bill.
" Who do you reckon that kin be ? " asked one
and another.
'* Nobody of that name around this neck of woods,"
said Bill.
" Well, put that other stufif back in the sack and
lock it up. Do you reckon the Gov'maint pays me to
stand around here while you alls gawp at that mail
lack you was young ducks gawpin' at a toad in the
feed trought? I gotter git on to Marsh Creek,"
said Dan.
" They hain't so anxious to see you there as we be
to have ye go," said Mrs. Braniman. Such are the
pleasantries of Pine Knot.
" That's the way you talk jest because I hain't got
time to come over and set up with you. I didn't think
you'd talk to me that away. Mis' Braniman."
22 Pine Knot
" Go 'long with your fool talk," said Mrs. Brani-
man.
" I always 'lowed you keered a heap for me," an-
swered Dan.
" Well, I don't, so you know it now."
" Noel's cut me out, I reckon," said Dan, holding
the mail bag to protect himself from her riding whip
as he escaped through the door.
" Well, what I want to know is, who is this here
J. Howard Buzbee ? " demanded the widow.
No one answered. Noel Davis knew, but he was
in no mood to g^ve information.
CHAPTER II
SMITH Hemphill's passengers
" Now jist let me tell you about the like of sich
roads as these here ! " exclaimed Smith Hemphill, as
one wheel tilted high upon the summit of a rock and
the other sought the nadir in a fathomless mudhole.
The bright-haired girl on the seat beside him
caught herself midway between the upward lunge and
the downward pitch, and, after a moment's waiting,
looked at the driver with an expectant " Well ? "
" Well, what ? " demanded Smith Hemphill.
" You proposed to tell me about the roads."
" That was my way of sw'aring at 'em in the pres-
ence of ladies," he said grimly. " Hit ain't safe for
me to say nothin' more."
" Oh, I see," replied the young woman.
A heavy rain had washed and gullied the roads and
raised the streams so that fording was disagreeable.
The creaking wagon, drawn by a span of mules, was
making its way painfully along Marsh Creek toward
Pine Knot.
" Are we almost there ? " asked Mrs. Buzbee in a
soft, refined voice that had in it the pleasant accent
of the blue grass, as well as a trace of semi-invalidism,
and just a faint suggestion of suppressed complaint.
3 23
24 Pine Knot
" Almost there, my dear," answered her husband.
" Barbara, hold on carefully, my child. The road, I
grant, is very unpleasant, but we must be near. It
can not be more than a mile "
" Hit's a good two mile and a half," drawled the
driver, in tones that perceptibly lengthened the dis-
tance. " And they maisure the miles with a coon skin,
and throw in the tail ever' time for good maisure."
" They certainly are long," said Mrs. Buzbee.
" They air, now that's a fact," admitted Smith.
" I've pinely noticed that myself. And they ain't no
way to git shet of 'em but for them two mules to laig
'em ofif, one step at a time."
" They seem short steps and many to the mile,"
said Mrs. Buzbee.
" That is true," said Mr. Buzbee. " I wonder just
how many steps are required. Let me compute it.
There are five thousand two hundred and eighty "
" O father ! Please don't ! " exclaimed Barbara.
" Aren't the roads bad enough without arithmetic ? "
" I will desist if you desire, my daughter," said her
father.
" Hold on more carefully, Barbara," said her
mother.
" I'm all right, mother. Can I do anything for
you?"
" Nothing, my child."
" I will care for your mother," said Mr. Buzbee,
coming back at that instant from his mathematical
abstraction. " I estimate that these mules step not far
from two thousand eight hundred and forty-three times
to the mile."
"With one laigpr all four?" asked Smith.
Smith Hemphill's Passengers 25
" With one pair. That reminds me, I forgot to
consider that they have four legs, I will begin
again."
" Not now, John," said Mrs. Buzbee, wearily.
" Very well, my love," said he. " We will talk of
other things. Two and one half miles, my dear. So
near is the fruition of our hopes."
" I trust so, John," said she, " for it is hope long
deferred even if it comes now."
" And your heart has done well not to be sick, my
love," said he. " But better things are coming. My
dear, we are living in a formative time. The foun-
tains of the great deep of human opinion are about to
be broken up. There will be new social and political
conditions. The old Democratic party is divided.
The Republicans have put in nomination a man un-
known, but certain to become known. We are on the
verge "
" Hold on goin' down this here little pitch," said
the driver, interrupting Mr. Buzbee, who was speaking
as if addressing a meeting.
" But what I do not see, father," said Barbara, " is
how we are to accomplish anything at such a time
back in these hills. Even the sunshine gets lost in
these valleys "
" Ya-as," said the driver. " They's a holler over
in back here whar they hatter dip their sunshine up
with a bucket and a sweep and pour it down."
" Where do they dip it from ? " asked Barbara,
entering into the spirit of the mountain pleasantry.
" South side the same ridge. Clk-clk ! Clk-clk ! "
The first two clucks were uttered in appreciation of his
own joke ; the last two, louder and in a different key,
26 Pine Knot
were to the mules, who responded to the jerk of the
one rope Hne.
Mr. Buzbee paid no attention to the byplay of
humor. He was thoughtfully preparing his answer
to Barbara's question.
" These mountains," said he, " afford me the very
situation I want as a place to stand while I adjust my
Archimedean lever."
" Any place where we can stand or rest, with a
roof above us, will be acceptable, John," said Mrs.
Buzbee.
There was a just perceptible shade of reproach in
her voice.
" It isn't just like Lexington, mother," said Bar-
bara ; " but it is a healthful region, I have no doubt,
and will be good for us all."
" The worst thing about this country is the titles
to the land," said Smith.
" How so? " asked Barbara.
" The rain washes the land off 'm the hills. The
title won't hold it."
Barbara laughed, but the joke was lost on Mr.
Buzbee.
" These mountains," resumed Mr. Buzbee, " are
the home of freedom. Here was created the State of
Franklin, and before it was the Watauga Association,
the first free commonwealth formed by American-
born citizens."
" Are there no slaves here ? " asked Mrs. Buzbee
of the driver.
" Wall, they's a sprinklin'. The houses in the hol-
lers don't have none, but the houses on the hills has
one or two, mebby."
Smith Hemphill's Passengers 27
" How do you make the distinction ? "
" Wall, most of the folks in these knobs is too pore
to own a nigger or to dig a well."
" But the hills and the hollows ? "
" The springs is in the hollers, mostly."
" Oh, I see ! They build their houses with refer-
ence to convenience in getting water."
" Sartin," said the driver, in a tone that implied
great self-restraint in not intimating that so elementary
a truth ought to have been perceived with less ex-
planation.
" Precisely so," said Mr. Buzbee, making a mental
note for a future research concerning the relation of
altitude to slavery. " And you notice that there are
very few houses upon the hills."
" This mud is very deep and sticky," said Barbara,
attempting to turn the conversation.
" Hit's so sticky hit'll pull a shoe right off a horse's
hoof," said Smith.
" Is there no other road? " asked Mrs. Buzbee.
" Yas'm. But I most ginerally always aim to go
this way, for hit's a heap the best. I aim to go back
the other."
" Why do you do that ? " asked Barbara.
" Hit saves me from studyin' while I go along
about how I've got to go back through the same mud-
holes. I'd a heap druther take the ones that I don't
know jest how bad they be. For they ain't no mud-
hole so bad as to know hit's ahead and have to
study about it."
Barbara laughed,
" That does not accord with the philosophers," said
Mr. Buzbee. "They affirm that it is the unknown
28 Pine Knot
that has the greater terror. Shakespeare represents
Hamlet as preferring to suffer with the ills we see "
" Wall, I go straight ahead if I don't see no hats in
the road."
" Hats ? "
" Yais. Whar some feller has done gone down,
mules and wagon and all, and left his hat top side of
the mud."
Again Barbara laughed, a merry, ringing laugh.
" I see nothing to laugh at, Barbara," remonstrated
her father. " I am sure if such a thing should happen
it would be anything but a laughing matter."
" Howdy, Mr. Strunk ? " called out the driver as
they passed a cabin. " Dog my cats if I know which
Strunk that is ! " he added in an aside. " But hit's a
Kaintuck Strunk."
" Howdy ? " was the reply. " Whar you alls go-
ing?"
" I cyan't tell ye till I come back," replied Smith.
" Clk-clk ! "
" His name is Strunk ? " asked Barbara.
" Most ever' person's is in this neck of woods.
They was two brothers, Abram and Daniel, and they
come in here nigh on to a hundred years ago, I reckon,
and both of 'em married twict, and one had twenty-four
children and the t'other twenty-eight. And all of 'em
bred mightily in this wilderness country; and now
when you don't know a feller you call him Strunk.
They're on both sides of the line, and the Kaintuck
Strunks is a heap different from the Tennessy
Strunks."
" In what way? "
" Wall, the people are right smart divided about
Smith Hemphill's Passengers 29
that," said Smith dehberately, cutting off a chew of
pigtail twist. " The Tennessy Strunks says the Kain-
tuck Strunks is the oneriest, and the Kaintuck Strunks
says the Tennessy Strunks is a heap the oneriest. But
they both favor each other right smart, after all."
" How far are we now? " asked Barbara.
" Here's the forks," said the driver. " Hit's a
mile to Pine Knot."
" Which way do we go ? " asked Barbara.
" Keep the main road."
" One looks to me about like the other," said Bar-
bara, with a woman's insistence on a more tangible
discrimination.
" Jes' keep the main, big road all the way. That's
all they is of it," said the driver.
" But there's always a right and a left," insisted
Barbara.
" Yes, they is. But jest s'posin' some person had
a-told you the way from Whitley Courthouse here.
Jest s'posin' that driver from Lexington had a-come
plumb through with you alls and you alls' plunder.
Jes s'posin' I had a-told you fust left, then right, then
down the branch, then foller the ridge, then down
the holler to the ford, then over the mounting to
the head waters of 'Tater Branch, then down 'Tater
Branch to whar hit empties inter Marsh Creek,
then "
" Oh, we should have been lost, like the babes in
the wood, I know. But twenty times you have told
me that you were keeping the main road when one
road looked just like the other ! "
" Mebby hit did to you. But hit wasn't jest like
it, don't ye see ? "
3o Pine Knot
" No, I confess I don't."
" Wall, t'other un wouldn't have fetched ye to Pine
Knot. Now do you see the difference ? "
" Oh, I see that difference, of course "
" Well, then ! " said the driver, and Barbara knew
that that argument was ended.
Smith Hemphill was a civil driver, and was willing
to answer any reasonable question, and quite liked to
have a passenger sufficiently stupid to justify him in
elongating his explanations, but there were limits to
his willingness to recur to a given topic. Barbara had
kept up a conversation with him a good part of the
way, and had found no little pleasure in calling out
his argumentative powers.
Mr. Buzbee, finding the conversation lagging, re-
verted to his former theme, nothing disconcerted by
the interruption.
" These mountains are the natural home of free-
dom."
" Ya-as," admitted Smith, " a feller is free to do
about as he pleases if he don't keep no sheep-killin'
dogs."
" That is just it," said Mr. Buzbee eagerly. " That
is the very illustration I was seeking. Now, a man
has a natural right to keep sheep. That is funda-
mental. Sheep are "
" Sheep are mighty unsartin critters," interrupted
Smith. " What with dogs, and wolves, and foxes, and
hoof rot, and the whole daggon flock dyin' oflf if one
of 'em ketches anything ketchin', I've made up my
mind to stick to hogs."
" That may be, that may be," said Mr. Buzbee.
*' But, as I was saying, a man has a right to keep sheep.
Smith Hemphill's Passengers 31
Now the same can not be affirmed without quaUfica-
tion of his right to keep dogs. Slavery is "
" Dogs," observed Mr. Hemphill, " is, next to
women, the most valuable and the most wuthless prop-
erty ary man ever owned."
" Oh, shame, Mr. Hemphill ! " cried Barbara in
mock surprise. " I thought you were too gallant to
say such a thing of women ! "
" I said they was the most valuable, didn't I ? "
" So you did. I see. And dogs the least. Oh,
thank you."
" Wall, I didn't put it jest that away," said Smith ;
" but I kin say this, the man that gits you "
" Oh, don't. I thought you were above flattery."
" How did ye know I was goin' to flatter ye ? "
" Why, of course, you were not going to say any-
thing bad ! "
" Wall, if you're sure of that, you may as well not
know what I had in mind to say."
" You make me curious."
" No, I never. The Lord made all women that
away."
" You do not know all women."
" Wall, I've read the Bible, and I know about Eve,
and I've got a wife o' my own."
" Poor Eve ! She has pointed every slander that
men have ever devised against her daughters."
" Oh, you think hit's slander now, do ye? "
" Flattery and slander are much alike. What were
you going to say ? "
" I was goin' to say — " said Mr. Hemphill medita-
tively. "Whoa, thar!" he continued, and jumped
from his seat. " That's the first pennyroyal I've seed
32 Pine Knot
this side of the mountain." He gathered a bunch,
and, first rubbing his horses' ears with it, drew it under
their bridles, making a plume on each mule.
" Yea, thar ! " he said, climbing to his seat and
jerking the rope line. The mules started ahead.
" Them horseflies is the worst things that come out
of the ark. Daggon me if I wouldn't 'a' liked to been
one of Noah's deck hands for one day ! I'd 'a' thinned
out his live stock consid'able ! "
" They don't like pennyroyal ? " asked Barbara.
" They like it," observed Mr. Hemphill, " about
lack a short-haired bainch-legged feist dog lacks hot
soap grease."
" How far are we now? " asked Mrs. Buzbee.
" You can see Pine Knot," said Smith, " from the
top of yan hill. Hit ain't more'n a half."
" Half of what ? " asked Barbara.
" Half a mile, of course," said Mr. Hemphill.
" What did you reckon it'd be half of? "
" Barbara," remonstrated her mother, " I'm afraid
you're bothering Mr. Hemphill."
" Oh, no'm ; not at all," said Smith. " I've got a
heap of charity for folks that hain't had my advan-
tages."
Barbara laughed again.
" You know more'n I do about some things," ad-
mitted Mr. Hemphill, " but when it comes to knowing
which fork o' the road to take or how to keep oflf horse-
flies, mebby I know more about that 'n you do."
" I should think," said Mr. Buzbee, " that horse-
flies might afford opportunity for an interesting study.
To what order do they belong ? "
" I never heerd tell that they belonged to no p'tic'-
Smith Hemphill's Passengers 33
lar order," replied Hemphill deliberately ; " but I
reckon they're predestinarians of some sort. They
believe in perseverance of the saints."
Barbara laughed again. It would be hard to tell
where she got that ringing laugh. Her mother never
laughed, but sometimes smiled a wan smile. Her
father was absolutely devoid of any sense of humor,
and took the world not only seriously, but strenuously
as well.
" I did not quite mean that," said Mr. Buzbee, not
at all annoyed. He had learned to be patient with a
world that was slow in understanding his purposes and
explanations. " How many varieties are there ? "
"Which? Of predestinarians? Thar's the Pres-
byterians, and they're skase around here, and the Two-
Seed Babtists, and the horseflies."
"No, no! Of the flies?"
" Oh, yes. Wall, they's one kind that pesters a
horse about the ears jest whar you cyan't retch 'em
with a whip, and another that jumps up and hits 'em
under the chin and gives 'em the botts, and another
that overcomes 'em by main stren'th. And thar's Pine
Knot. Hold on acrost this holler, and we'll be thar
in a minute."
" I want to stop at the post office," said Mr. Buz-
bee. " I must have some mail waiting."
" Let us get to our home as soon as possible," said
Mrs. Buzbee.
" Yes, my dear."
Busy as they were, he was inclined to stop and tell
the idlers at the store, in response to questions about
the political news that was just beginning to percolate
through the many strata that separated Pine Knot
34 Pine Knot
from the outer world, about the nomination of Lincoln,
and what it meant to the country and the world ; but
a sight of the patient, weary face of his wife and a
much less patient reminder from Smith that he
" wanted to unload this here plunder and start back "
brought him to inquire the way to " Mr. Goodwin's
house — the one formerly occupied by the late Mr.
Morgan."
" Deck Morgan's old house ? " asked Bill Blake.
" He ain't a-goin' to put no human thar, is he ? "
The point of the question was lost on Mr. Buzbee,
but not on Barbara, who kept it in her heart and pon-
dered it. Thither the wagon made its way amid the
gossip of the community.
When Smith Hemphill had unloaded his passen-
gers and their " plunder," consisting of three trunks, a
box of books, two beds, a pinched little dresser, a few
chairs, and a meager equipment of cooking utensils,
and had collected his pay and gone back, Mrs. Buz-
bee looked over the rickety old cabin with its curling
roof board, its unchinked cracks, its dilapidated stick
chimney, and its loose, treacherous floor puncheons,
and, sitting down upon the doorstep, dissolved her
long-tried, half-complaining patience in a flood of
tears, and even Barbara's lip quivered till she saw
her mother's need of courage. Then she laughed, but
it was not a happy laugh.
CHAPTER III
UNCLE SIMON PETER
" Eb'nin', missie."
Barbara looked up, and saw an old negro framed
in the doorway, holding in his left hand a young opos-
sum, whose tail curled around his finger.
" Good evening, uncle," said Barbara. " What
have you there ? "
" I got de one t'ing de Lawd nebbah made."
"How is that?"
" De Lawd nebbah made de possum."
" Why, I thought the Lord made all things."
" Mos' all t'ings. But not de possum."
" Who did make him, then ? "
" De debbil done made him."
" Then most colored people have not renounced
the devil and all his works, have they? "
" De debbil ? Yas'm. But all he works ? Wall,
some of he works."
" Then, I suppose you don't like possum ? "
" Mus' be, missie, you sholy got weak eyes."
"Weak eyes?"
" Yas'm. You surely don' notice the colah ub my
complexion ? "
" Well, I should never suspect that you were
white."
35
36 Pine Knot
" No'm ; I ain't. Dat's a fack, I ain't. When I
gits tar on me hit meek a light mahk — he-he ! Hit do,
dat's a fack."
" Well, I supposed that all colored people liked
possum ; but if the devil made him, of course they
don't."
" Ya-as'm. I reckon dat why de debbil alles has it
so easy wid de niggahs."
" But how did the devil happen to make him ? "
" Dat's it. How did de debbil come to make so
good a t'ing? "
" I'm sure I don't know. Do you ? "
" Yas'm. Same reason de 'possum don't got no
har on he tail."
" Tell me about it, uncle ; but here, help me set up
this bed."
" No'm. I ain' goin' do nuflfin' de sort. You
ain' fitten to set up no beds. You des se' down in dat
ah cheer, an' I'll set up de bed. Hoi' on a minute."
He moved two chairs back to back, hung a broom
across them, and transferred the prehensile tail of the
possum to the broom handle while he set up the bed-
stead.
"Whahyo' pappy?"
" He has gone to dig out the spring, and mother
has gone with him to bathe her head. She has a head-
ache."
" She g^ine ober to my mawsYs, dah whah she
gwine."
" You came to invite her? "
" Yas'm. An' you alls. Dye ain't no use settin'
up no bed. You ain' gwine sleep here dis night. I
gwine come ober in de mawnin', an' Dinah comin' too.
Uncle Simon Peter '37
an' we gwine clean up de house an' set up de beds.
You ain' gwine dirty dem lill white han's ob youn set-
tin' up no bed. Mis' Renfro she gwine lick me, if I
let you set up bed. I jes' move dis plunder in de
house, an' we gwine git away 'fo' sundown."
" My father and mother will be back soon. Tell
me about the possum."
" Wall, ef dat ain't de quares' story, sho' 'nufT !
Wall, you see, de Lawd, he made de sun, and de moon,
and de animiles, and de coon. De las' t'ing he made
'fo' sundown on de animile day dat was de coon. Wall,
ebery night de debbil he come out he hole, and he
look around in de moonlight to see what de good
Lawd done made. Wall, de debbil he p'tic'lar inter-
ested in de coon. He see him wid de fine tail wid de
rings around hit, and de sharp eyes, and de fur and all,
and he say he gwine make one des' presackly like hit.
He-he ! "
"Well?"
" Well, de coon he made so late, you see, he ain't
mo'n hardly dry, and de place whah de Lawd got de
mud to make him out'en, dat was in plain sight, and
de water gourd and de stirrin' stick still dar. So de
debbil he sot to wuck to make a coon."
" And he made the possum instead ? "
" Yas'm. Dat's jes' presackly what he went and
did. He made de possum. He was jus' lack he be
now, all but de tail."
" What kind of tail had he? "
" I don' know, missie, I don' know. Dey don'
nobody know. Dey's a mystery 'bout dat ah tail from
dat day to dis."
" How do you know it was different ? "
38 Pine Knot
" Ca'se hit had to be diffunt. Hit was 'bleedged to
be diflfunt. Dat's de reason. Yas'm. Yas, missie.
Hit had to be diffunt. Hit had ha'r on it, sorter lack de
debbil he try to make a tail lack de coon tail. But it's
unpossible to make a tail lack de coon tail. Dat coon
tail am de fines' tail de Lawd put on to any critter. De
Lawd made dat when he got de tail-makin' trade
lunned, and had dat tail hung up on a tree in de garden
waitin' fo' some critter good enough to put it on."
" And the coon was good enough ? "
" No'm, he ain't. But he was de las' critter, and
de Lawd had de tail hangin' up, and he put dat tail on
de las' critter. Yas'm."
" It is certainly very different from the possum's."
" Yas'm. Hit am, fo' a fack, but it's diffunter dan
hit was when de possum was fust made."
" Here comes father. — Father, here is a message
for you. Uncle "
" Unc' Simon Peter," said the slave.
" He has come from one of our neighbors,
Mr. "
" Maws'r Renfro ; he send he compliments to
Maws'r an' Mis' Buzbee an' de young missie, an' you
alls gwine come home wid me, and stay dar till we git
de house sorter fix up. He ain' gwine hab you stay
heah till we got dis house clean up."
" Thank your master for m.e," said Mr. Buzbee,
" and say that if Mrs. Buzbee can stay there to-
night "
" He done tole me you alls comin', and for me to
set in de t'ings an' carry you right ober."
" We will go," said Barbara. " It is a hospitality
which we are needing sorely just now. — Yes, mother.
Uncle Simon Peter 39
we will go. — Come, Uncle Simon Peter, we will go
with you. Set in the things as quickly as you like.
— Mother, sit down till I see to this matter."
Mrs. Buzbee dropped into a chair and rose with a
little nervous scream.
"Oh! What is it? Take it out!"
" De law sake I " cried Simon Peter. " Ef dat
ain't keerless — me leabin' dat possum dah for missis
to knock off ! "
The opossum was waddling across the room with
tail up. Simon Peter caught it, cuffed it first one side
and then the other, not enough to hurt it, but enough
to make it think that it was being injured, and tossed
it into a corner, where it lay down limp and apparently
dead.
" He gwine stay dah now," he said, and hurried to
get in the furniture that was still outside before the
possum should think it time to get up.
The task was a short one. Mr. Buzbee took hold
with him and lifted at the trunks spite of Simon Peter's
protest, and with an evident drop in Simon Peter's
good opinion, who did not esteem a white man the
more highly for being ready to work. Then he took
the unresisting creature by the tail and announced that
he was ready to go home.
" What are you going to do with that creature ? "
asked Mrs. Buzbee.
" Gwine keep him till de papaws gits ripe, and
cook him."
" It is a hideous-looking object," said Mrs. Buz-
bee.
"Yas'm. Dat so."
" Uncle Simon Peter was just telling me when you
4
40 Pine Knot
came in that it was the devil that made the possum,"
said Barbara. " Tell me the rest, uncle."
Simon Peter crossed to the other side of the road
that the shadow of the great white tree where the
ghost was wont to stand should not fall upon him, and
was somewhat silent for a few minutes. Then he be-
gan his story again.
" Yas'm. When de debbil got de coon made "
" I thought you said it was the possum."
" So it war. But it war a coon to de debbil. Dat
what he staht to make, an' dat what he t'ink he done
made. De debbil he don' know he made de possum.
He 'low he done made a no-'count coon. Wall, when
he got de critter made, he look at him, and den at
de coon, what sot on a limb ob de tree of knowledge.
An' when de debbil see de Lawd's coon and de coon
he make — he-he ! He take de critter by de tail and go
to kill him. He des' swing de coon he make 'round
he haid, and go to knock he brains out 'gainst de gate
postis of de garden. Well, de critter was new, and
de skin on he tail was lack de bark on a willow limb in
de spring, and when de debbil he swing de critter dat-
away, de skin come off de tail, an' de debbil kep' it
right in he hand. De debbil got dat skin from de pos-
sum's tail yet. De possum don't got it, no sah.
Wall, de possum he fly right t'rough de air when de
debbil throw him dataway, right t'rough de gate ob de
garden and catch hold ub a limb wid he tail and hang
dah, and he turn and grin at de debbil. Yas, sah!
He-he! And dat's why de possum is de one critter
dat ain't under de curse ob Adam."
It had not taken half an hour for all the inhabitants
of Pine Knot to learn that the man for whom the mail
Uncle Simon Peter 41
was waiting at the post office had arrived. No one
had any doubt who J. Howard Buzbee was, or by
what means he had been appointed teacher. Nor did
any one fail to learn that he had arrived with a wife
and daughter, and had no other home than the tumble-
down, haunted house that had been Deck Morgan's,
and, be this remembered among its virtues, there was
not a house in Pine Knot that would not have swung
its doors wide open that night to take in the strangers.
That there were not a dozen invitations instead of one
was because the whole community learned — and all
these things were made known in that supernatural
way in which news spreads in such a community —
that for that night, and as much longer as there was
need, the family was cared for at Mr. Renfro's. Mr.
Renfro's was the best house in Pine Knot, and his
two slaves were a large fraction of the total black popu-
lation of the settlement.
" Come in ! come in ! Don't stop to knock or
holler," called Mr. Renfro, coming to the door. He
was a tall, spare man, past fifty, and with a sprinkling
of gray in his hair and his mustache and heavy, long
goatee. " I just got home from court, and heerd
you'd come. We cyan't let you set up housekeeping
for yourselves till we git things fixed up a spell.
Come in. This is Mr. Buzbee, I reckon ? My name's
Renfro, Mr. Buzbee. And this is Mrs. Buzbee, I
reckon? Proud to meet you, madam. And Miss
Buzbee? Come right in; you're right welcome.
— Pete, call your mistress."
Mrs. Renfro came bustling in from the room across
the wide hall. " Good evening," she said. " It's just
a plumb shame that you've come here with no place
42 Pine Knot
to go but that old tumble-down house ; I didn't know
a thing about it. Come right in this way. We've got
lots of room, and I never feel like I'm at home unless
I have a houseful. No, no ! It ain't just for to-night.
You ain't a-going to step out of this house to no other
home till we see things fixed up a little."
" That's the way she talks," said Renfro gleefully ;
" and she most ginerally always has her way. I've
learned not to oppose her."
" Jest hear him talk ! " exclaimed Mrs. Renfro to
Mrs. Buzbee. " He don't seem to remember that he's
talking to folks that don't know how he stories ! "
" I think we understand him," said Barbara, " and
I am sure we are grateful. My dear mother is very
tired."
" And no wonder ! Riding over that awful road !
■ — Here, Dinah, fetch in some hot water. — Or mebby
you'd like cold water? — Simon Peter, you run to the
spring. — Now this room is for you. It's got two
good beds, and — Would you like a fire ? Well, it is
warm, that's a fact. It gets cool toward night. Now,
if I was you, I'd just undress and wash my feet in hot
water and lay right down. Dinah'll have supper after
a while. And if you say one word about leaving here
this week I sha'n't like it one bit ! "
So the Buzbees were installed in the large, square
room, with its two beds, springy with fresh, fragrant
straw, billowy with feathers, and spotless in sheets of
Dinah's best laundering and white homespun counter-
panes. A new rag carpet adorned the floor in a gor-
geous pattern of stripe alternating with hit-or-miss,
and the odd old dresser and the few chairs left the
room still so wide, and open, and restful that the
Uncle Simon Peter 43
hearts of the mother and daughter found instant com-
fort there. The hospitahty was so genuine, the hearts
of the host and hostess were so warm, and their sin-
cerity was so manifest that from the first hour the
Buzbees counted the Renfros their friends indeed.
CHAPTER IV
THE SCHOOL BOARD CHAIRMAN
Mrs, Goodwin stopped to sit down for a few
minutes while the pones were baking, and, from force
of habit rather than from urgent demand on the part
of the youngster, caught up the ten months' baby from
the floor and offered him his supper. He was a big,
strong baby, able to walk by pushing a chair over the
rough floor, except when one leg got into a crack be-
tween the puncheons, when he would howl viciously.
He was usually vociferous for his rations, which his
thin, angular mother gave him in installments. The
boy was not insistent to-day. His father had returned
from the store, and had taken his one cent of change in
candy. The baby lay now in his mother's arms, tug-
ging hard at the breast and holding fast to the candy.
" Gimme a suck of your candy, honey," she asked
the baby ; but the urchin kicked a dissent and tried to
grunt an emphatic negative without relinquishing any
of his natural rights.
" He's got his pappy's head on his shoulders," said
Goodwin admiringly.
" I reckon that's so," said Mrs. Goodwin proudly.
Mrs. Goodwin admired her husband with a docile
and submissive admiration which flourished in the
44
The School Board Chairman 45
shadow of a willingly endured tyranny. She was his
second wife, and the farm that had been hers, across
the mountain, was in his name now, and she was glad
to be relieved of the responsibility,
" Hit's plumb time for me to be a-weanin' you," she
said to the baby. " Hit's as much as I kin do to git
enough stren'th for myself, let alone feedin' a big boy
with a mouthful of teeth."
" Not yet," said Goodwin. " Let him git a good
start first."
" Gimme a bite of your candy, honey," she pleaded
again; but the request had the efifect of inducing the
youngster to drop the breast and transfer the candy to
his mouth. Soon, however, he returned again and
pounded his mother's bare breast with the candy while
he devoted himself to his native food.
" He feels so good over havin' both at onct," said
Goodwin, " he don't hardly know which to take. I
wisht I could have a run of luck lack that."
" Now I ain't a-goin' to stand that," said Mrs.
Goodwin to the baby with mock severity. " I am
goin' to quit if you don't quit daubin' me up like
that ! "
" You're wastin' a heap of your candy that away,
Bill," suggested his father; at which economical sug-
gestion the baby desisted and conserved his candy for
later consumption. Mrs. Goodwin leaned forward
and removed the candy stains with the corners of the
little shoulder shawl she wore, which served at times
in lieu of a handkerchief.
" Peleg," she said, " don't you reckon hit's about
time to build on a new house on to the front of this
here?"
46 Pine Knot
" Wha' d'ye want a new house fur ? " he asked.
" Why, you know you promised when we was
married."
" A feller promises a heap of things when he gits
married that he forgits atter a spell."
" Well, I ain't a-goin' to let you forgit that."
" I cyan't aliford it now."
" Well, you kin pay for it out of my farm if you
want to."
" Your farm ? Hain't that mine ? "
" Why, yes, of course. Only "
" Well, then, if hit's mine, don't call it yourn. Dog
take it, if there's anything I hate to hear hit's a woman
talkin' about what's hern just like she wasn't mar-
ried."
" You needn't git ill, Peleg. Only I hate to
have Renfros in that house all made out of sawed lum-
ber from the mill and ceiled up in the front rooms with
walnut and pine — fust a plank of one and then one of
t'other — and we a-livin' in this old house that hain't
but mighty little better than the one you got on the
morgidge from Deck Morgan's widder. And you
know you told me you was worth more'n Renfro."
" Shet up ! " said he. " Didn't I tell you not to tell
that?"
" I hain't told it to nobody but you."
" Well, I knowed it a'ready. A man is a plumb
fool to tell a woman all he knows when they're first
married."
" Don't be ill. Cyan't you call in some of that
money you've got loaned out in Laurel and build a
front part to the house like Renfro's ? "
" No. I cyan't," said he. " That money is a-fetchin'
The School Board Chairman 47
good intrust. But looky here, old gal! How'd you
like to have Renfro's house and Renfro's niggers?
Hey? Since you know so daggon much, I'll tell ye
what I've got a sorter idy of doin'. I've bought some
timber land down by the river in partnership with Ren-
fro, and lent him money for his half. He don't know
he's borried hit from me — he-he! He thinks I'm jest
agunt. But I've had the morgidge transferred to me,
and Renfro hain't no idy how hard hit's a-goin' to be
for him to pay off that morgidge ! They's one or two
conditions thar that I reckon he didn't notice p'tic'lar.
But I noticed 'em. He's put on style in this commu-
nity a heap longer than he's goin' to."
" How long do you allow hit'll take ? " asked his
wife.
" Three years, I reckon. Mebby five. But hit's
got to come."
" That's a long time to wait," said Mrs. Goodwin.
"Long?" demanded her husband. "Hit won't
be long. I've been a-layin' low for ten year. But he
won't put no morgidge on his house, and he don't
know that he's a-goin' to have obleeged to do it. But
I've got my plans ! I've got my plans ! Now, look
here ! Don't you go to doin' none of your fool blab-
bin'."
" Peleg," said she, " you know I won't. Still, I
sorter hate to think of gittin' their house. One jest
like hit or a leetle grain better would suit me as well, I
reckon."
" Hit wouldn't suit me. Not half so well," said her
husband. "And I'll tell you another thing. We've
lived pore and we're a-goin' to live pore till the time
comes. But the time ain't a-goin' to last forever. You
48 Pine Knot
know Doc Mallory in Huntsville that come here when
the baby was borned ? "
" I reckon I do. He was mighty good to me."
" Well, he is a clever feller when he ain't a-drinkin'.
But he's drinkin' harder, and he's had to borry money.
And there's a feller in Pine Knot has lent him some
money as a sort of favor, and took a chattel morgidge
on his pair of niggers and their young 'uns."
" But, Peleg, I'd hate to git his niggers away from
him."
" Why, he's a-goin' to lose 'em anyhow, and hit's
better for 'em to go to some one that's be'n a friend to
him, ain't it? And I've got some other lines out.
And they're all on the quiet, but some day in three or
four year I'm goin' to pull in my fish, that's what I'm
a-goin' to do. And you'll jest hatter live in this old
house till then."
Mrs. Goodwin laid down the sleeping boy and lifted
the cover from the baker.
" They ain't quite done," she said, and replaced it.
She was eager to hear more, and this was one of
Goodwin's communicative days. She sat down, lean-
ing forward expectantly.
Goodwin sat for a time in silence. He was a
strongly built man of fifty-five, and wore a full bushy
beard. A pair of steel-bowed spectacles sat constantly
on his nose, and his wide wool hat sat level on his
head. Decision and cunning were written together on
his features. As he sat his jaws worked decisively on
the tobacco in his mouth, and he spat from time to
time, straight across the baker and into the fire with-
out the slightest inclination of his head or uncertainty
of aim.
The School Board Chairman 49
" You was a-speakin about the Deck Morgan
house," he said after a pause.
" Yes," said she.
" I've rented hit," said he.
" Peleg Goodwin ! You ain't found no hvin' hu-
man willin' to go into that house, have ye ? "
Peleg chuckled.
" Well, if you hain't the master hand ever I seed 1 "
said she admiringly. " Who is it ? "
" The new teacher," said he.
" Why, Peleg Goodwin ! Is he, for sure ? "
" He wouldn't 'a' got the school if he hadn't."
"Who is he?"
" Oh, he's a innocent sort of a feller, with a wife
and one gal, he said ; and he's a-fetching them here
from Lexington."
" I'm sorter a-feared they won't like the house,"
said Mrs. Goodwin timidly.
" They don't know nothing about this fool story of
the ghost, and hit won't pester them, nohow."
" But didn't the trustees promise the school to
Preacher Jim Fletcher ? "
" They hadn't no right to if they did. What busi-
ness had the old board to promise the school before
the election ? "
" Well, two of 'em held over."
" Yes, but how'd they know but the third man
would have so much more sense than the other two
that he'd win 'em over ? "
" Ain't that jest about what happened ? "
" I reckon hit is. I've had my way this time,
anyhow. I never did like that Jim Fletcher, nohow,
and I've got some rent money out of that house."
50 Pine Knot
"How much?"
" Two dollars a month. And he thought hit was
cheap ! He's a man that's got a heap of book learnin',
but he ain't got no more wild-hog sense than the toe of
my boot."
" Which of the trustees come over? "
" Noel Davis. I had to give him the first month's
rent to put in the place whar he keeps his conscience."
" Did ye git the first month's rent in advance ? "
" Eh, did I ! And I reckon hit was about all the
feller had. Here's Smart. Come in, Smart. Well,
did you git that corn ? "
" Yes, sir ; I got hit. He's to deliver fifty bushels
of years for six dollars and a quarter paid now, and
the corn is to be delivered when hit's ripe."
Smart was not a prepossessing man in his appear-
ance. He was a man of thirty, sadly stooped, and
wore a very ragged coat and a nondescript hat of
the worst possible character. It had been brown,
with a narrow brim, but the color was one now that
would escape all classification ; and as for the shape,
the loss of band, and the drawn-down rim and battered
and broken crown made it as scandalous a piece of
headgear as ever man wore. When he removed it,
he exhibited a bullet head, close cropped, as though he
had escaped from prison, but the low receding brow
and unkempt appearance raised a question whether he
would have been held sufficiently responsible to be
sent to prison, and his meek, obliging deportment cer-
tainly was an indication that he did not deserve it.
Yet there was a glitter in his eye that showed intelli-
gence beyond what his general appearance promised;
and when he talked, though at first you might not
The School Board Chairman 51
have noticed it, he gave indication of having seen and
thought to better advantage than at first seemed pos-
sible. If he did not improve with acquaintance, cer-
tainly acquaintance served to increase one's sense of
his ability, and to raise a doubt whether the first glance,
in which one set him down as a shiftless ne'er-do-well,
with just a touch of viciousness restrained by natu-
ral indolence, adequately gauged his character.
" All right," said Goodwin ; " I reckon I'll have
obleeged to let him have the money. Money's right
short now, but a man's got to be neighborly. Keep
watch of that crap. Smart, and if you see the yield's
goin' to be good I'll manage to lend him a leetle more
to-wards fall. I like to be neighborly, and he's got a
line lot of young hogs comin' on."
" Who's that ? " inquired Mrs. Goodwin, her scru-
ples at her husband's method quite overborne by her
admiration of his farsightedness and shrewdness.
" Dave Cecil," said Goodwin. " He's had a sick
young un, and he'll sell so much corn afore it's growed ;
if he ain't keerful he'll hatter sell his hogs, come
winter, to whoever's got the corn to feed 'em."
" And that'll be you," tittered Smart.
" Shet up, you fool ! " said Goodwin.
But Smart laughed the more heartily, and hence
the less loudly, for he knew that Goodwin's command
to shut up was really a compliment, and intended to
commend him for an insight into motives which, just
in proportion as Goodwin desired to conceal them
from the world at large, he wished also to have recog-
nized by the few people whom he was compelled to
trust.
" Supper's ready," said Mrs. Goodwin.
52 Pine Knot
Goodwin and Smart rose from their chairs, Good-
win as he pushed back catching one leg of his chair
in the cracks between the puncheons. He swore so
loudly that he woke the baby. Mrs. Goodwin caught
up the child as the men sat down to supper. The baby
rescued the candy, and resumed the dinner with the
alternating courses, his mother singing meantime an
old-time ballad ;
"And bury far Eleanor in my arms,
And the brown gal at my feet."
Still she had an ear for the conversation between
Goodwin and Smart, who sat in the shed room, with
the open door between.
" That feller's come," said Smart.
"What feller?"
" The one that's rented the Deek Morgan place."
"Who told you?"
" Noel Davis. Didn't you know ? "
" Yes. I heerd it at the store a spell atter he'd
went by."
" Wonder whar he'll stay till he gits the old house
fixed up ? "
" I dunno. I've done my sheer in providing the
house for him. Some one else can look out for him
now."
" Is Mr. Goodwin in ? " asked a voice at the door
at that moment.
Mrs. Goodwin rose, the baby still holding tightly
to her.
"Howdy?" she said. "Come in. — Peleg, I
reckon this is the new teacher."
Peleg rose from the table and came into the front
The School Board Chairman 53
room. The sun was still an hour above the horizon,
pouring its light through the open door, casting
the teacher's shadow the length of the room and on
the wall beyond.
Goodwin greeted him courteously. " Howdy, Mr.
Buzbee ? " he said. " Right proud to see you. Got
here, did ye? If I'd knowed you was coming, I'd 'a'
met you."
" Quite unnecessary, Mr. Goodwin ; quite unneces-
sary. We are overwhelmed by the kindness of the
people already. Mr. Renfro has taken us in."
'* Yas. Renfro's a right clever feller, and he's got
a house that can take keer of folks that's been used to
having things like they'd ought to be. Pore folks has
pore ways. We feel ashamed a heap of times that we
cyan't do more for folks than what we can. You'd be
right welcome to such as we've got."
" I thank you. But at present we are provided for,
and we hope to be in our own home soon. I — I —
I came over to ask, Mr. Goodwin, whether some repairs
may not be made on the schoolhouse — and — I hesitate
to ask so much — on the house that is to be my
home also. I — I — Believe me, I dislike to trouble
you "
" Wall, as to the repairs on the schoolhouse, I'll
call a meeting of the board. I reckon they is some re-
pairs needed. Hit stood open all last winter, and some
hogs got in, I reckon. We'll have a workin', and see
to that. Smart, you go over to Noel's and tell him
we got to git the fellers out and fix that schoolhouse
up."
With such heartiness did Mr. Goodwin accept the
part of the request which he could share generously
54 Pine Knot
with others that it was doubly hard for Mr. Buzbee to
press his own request.
" Thank you, thank you. And may I ask if you
can at the same time repair the house which I have
rented ? "
" What's the matter with hit? "
" I — I had not observed anything. But my wife
noticed some leaks in the roof, and my daughter
thought the chimney defective. And I myself noticed,
when they called my attention to these things, that the
cracks in the walls and floor are very large."
" They's cracks in my floor," said Goodwin. " Hit
don't seem as if I'd orter have to fix a better house for
other folks than what I live in myself."
" I — I thought of suggesting," stammered Mr,
Buzbee, " that if you thought right, I would bear a
share in the expense of the repairs."
" I reckon that would do," said Goodwin. " Do
you reckon you could advance me a couple of months'
rent to-wards my sheer? "
" I — I think so. I do not have the money with
me. But I will procure it."
"All right, Mr. Buzbee. We'll fix the chimbly
and the roof and chink the walls. I reckon we'll have
to let the floor go."
" You are very generous," said Mr. Buzbee.
" Your kindness really touches me. I know that I ask
much, far more than I would for myself. But I wish
to provide a home for my wife and family."
" Tell your wife Howdy for me," said Mrs. Good-
win, " and ask her and your gal to come over and
see me."
" Thank you," said Mr. Buzbee. " I will do so.
The School Board Chairman 55
Good evening, Mr. Goodwin. Good evening, mad-
am."
" I lay off to come over to Renfro's atter a spell,"
said Goodwin. " I reckon you'll be thar?"
" Yes ; I shall be there to-night."
" All right. I'll come over and see how things is
moving. We'd oughter be a-stirring a little about the
opening of school."
" I shall be glad to have you come and talk matters
over. Good evening."
" Good-by. You'd best stop and spend the night
here."
" No, thank you. I will see you at Mr. Renfro's.'*
CHAPTER V
A POSSIBLE CASTAWAY
James Fletcher was riding to fill his appointment
at No Bus'ness, where he was to preach at early candle
lighting. No Bus'ness creek is formed by the junc-
tion of Troublesome and Difficulty, and there was to
be night preaching there. His heart was hot and bit-
ter as he approached Pine Knot. Here was the scene
of his most joyous and remunerative work. He had
taught the three months' school last year, when the
wages were only fifteen dollars a month, and now,
when the district had been enlarged and the pay would
be something handsome, it had been taken from him.
He had not been able to carry out his plan with the
earnings of the first year. His mother, who lived on
Roundstone, had been sick, and he had done a son's
duty. She was convalescent now, and his stepfather
was doing a little better, and there was not likely to be
any demand upon him this year. The books that he
longed for were almost within reach. There was a
concordance ; he had never seen one, and it did not
seem possible that there could be such a thing, but
the presiding elder had recommended it and told him
that with it one could find any passage in the Bible in
half a minute. Watson's Theology, too, and Barnes's
56
A Possible Castaway 57
Notes on the Gospels were on his Hst, and a text-book
on logic, and a book on science. He had conned the
list and prices a thousand times. He was to receive
deacon's orders at the annual conference this year.
With such reading as he could do in another year he
hoped to be able to take a regular circuit next year,
and to be listed as a circuit rider, and not, as now, an
exhorter. This had been his day dream. Bitterly had
he struggled over it last year; yes, it had cost him a
struggle to pay his money even for his mother's illness.
He read many times the words of Christ condemning
the gift of corban, when money dedicated to God left
a parent to suffer. There had been little love lost be-
tween him and his stepfather, and home going had
g^ven him no pleasure in recent years. Indeed, his
mother had seemed no longer his, till that terrible sick-
ness came just as he received his school money. If he
was tempted to glory in the fact that he had given his
money for her recovery, he had shame in the recollec-
tion that it cost him such a struggle. For James
Fletcher had one consuming ambition, an ambition
that took stronger hold upon him because it possessed
so many good and true elements, and that was to be
a preacher of the Gospel, and the ablest and wisest one
in Whitley County. About him were few preachers
that cared for books. The Baptists were ignorant,
almost to a man ; he did not know a preacher among
them that thought the earth to be round, and several
of them could not even read. The Methodists were
driven to some reading by their conference examina-
tions, but the examinations were necessarily superfi-
cial, and hardly touched the branches they professed
to cover. How could it be otherwise, in the rude
58 Pine Knot
and stern conditions of life that left little time for
reading ?
He had no thought of earning his living by preach-
ing. There was not a minister about who did that.
They all owned farms and worked them, and what
they received was free board and horse feed, a pitiful
quarterage, paid mostly in produce, and an annual do-
nation just before conference that sometimes in its
best estate sufficed to buy a new suit of clothes and a
stock of horseshoes. That was all he expected. It
was not for money's sake that he wanted money, but
his soul hungered for knowledge, and he had read and
reread his few books till he could tell their contents
as he could spell the column of words that began with
" ba-ker " in Webster's old blue-back speller.
He was thinking bitterly of these things when he
met Jake Trosper.
" Howdy, parson ? " said Jake,
"Howdy, Jake?" said Fletcher. "I didn't see
you till you spoke."
" Studyin' 'bout something, was ye? "
" Yes."
" Your sarmon ? "
" No, not this time."
" I reckon I know," said Jake.
" I reckon you do," said Jim.
There was silence a moment, then Jake said, " He's
come, parson."
"Who?"
" The feller that's to keep the school. He's goin'
to live in Deek Morgan's old house."
A sudden resolution came over Fletcher, and he
started to ride on.
A Possible Castaway 59
" Good evening', Jake ; I'll have to be riding on. I
got to preach at No Bus'ness to-night."
" Good night, parson. I'm mighty sorry. I
reckon the other fellers sold ye out. I wist I'd 'a' been
re-elected, and me and Bill would have done gin ye
the school."
" Thank you, Jake. I know you would. Good
night."
He touched his fine horse with the switch he car-
ried, and started ahead. A mile farther was the house
of Deek Morgan, owned, as he knew, by Peleg Good-
win. It was all plain to him. The stranger had
bribed the new trustee by paying rent on this old
house. It was a game of fraud, and he was the victim
of threefold dishonesty. He had been hot and sullen
before, he was well-nigh furious when he drew rein be-
fore the house. The door was ajar. He rode up
and called, " Hello ! "
There was a moment's delay, and then there came
to the door not the man whom he expected to see, but
a young woman, rosy-cheeked, and with bright, gold-
en hair glistening under the white sunbonnet that,
slipping back, formed with the hair a halo round her
face as she stood in the doorway in the glow of the
westering sun.
James Fletcher sat spellbound on his horse. If
Deek Morgan's ghost had confronted him it would
have astonished him less than the sight of this beauti-
ful creature. For a full minute he did not speak.
Then he touched his hat with his whip, and said :
" Good evening, miss. I want to see the man who
has come to keep the school."
" My father ? He is at Mr. Renfro's ; or, no ! I do
6o Pine Knot
not think he is there, I heard him asking if he would
have time before supper to walk over to Mr. Good-
win's and see about some repairs on the house. If he
is not at Mr. Renfro's, however, he will be back soon."
" I have not time to wait," said Fletcher. " I will
see him another time."
" I will take a message to him," said Barbara. " I
am going back at once. I came to get a few things
which my mother needs. I will deliver any word
which you wish me to take."
Fletcher stopped to think. Well, why should she
not take the message? Was not his cause a just one?
Was he ashamed of his message because it was to be
sent by a girl ? Was this his courage, that oozed out
at sight of a pretty face ? He turned, and with rising
warmth said :
" Tell your father that I forbid him to open school.
Tell him I know that he has obtained it by bribery and
fraud. Tell him that the school was promised to me
nine months ago, and that it is mine by every right.
Tell him that I warn him not to begin school."
Barbara looked straight at the man before her,
and with indignation asked : " And what effect, sir,
do you expect this message to have upon my father ? "
" That depends," said Fletcher, " on whether he
has any honor left."
" Honor ! " she cried. " You question my father's
honor? My father, of all men who ever lived! My
father, sir, is the soul of honor ! "
" Of course," said Fletcher, stumbling, " I didn't
start to accuse your father to you, but "
" But you have done so, and have questioned his
honor, and accused him of fraud, and have sent a
A Possible Castaway 6i
threatening message. Well, sir, I will deliver it. And
do you think you will frighten my father? He has
faced a score of mobs single-handed and unarmed.
Do you think he will fear one bully? He has stood
before great audiences that seethed with passion while
he was the only calm man in the house. He has raised
his voice against dishonor in half the States of this
Union, and do you, a threatening, angry bully, ques-
tion his honor? My father, sir, though tender as a
woman and sensitive as a child to pain or unkindness,
has the courage of a lion. He would snap his fingers
at your brutal threats."
" I did not threaten," explained Fletcher.
" You told me to warn him not to begin school.
And he will despise your warning, as I do."
James Fletcher rode away, chagrined and amazed.
He had been in the wrong again. The very justice of
his cause had given him a self-confidence that had led
him into sin. And he was going to preach the Gospel
that very night — he who had shown passion and ill-
will, he who had questioned the honor of a man whom
he did not know, and insulted a woman beside. Why
should he preach to others, who was perhaps himself
a castaway? Had he fallen from grace, and was his
disappointment and humiliation the mark of Divine
displeasure ?
He whipped his horse into a gallop and sped to-
ward No Bus'ness; but half a mile short of his ap-
pointment he stopped, turned from the road, and,
hitching his horse, spent an hour on the hillside over-
looking the No Bus'ness valley in what he called silent
prayer. The people who were gathering for the serv-
ice heard him there, and knew that he was coming to
62 Pine Knot
the meeting from his knees. They prayed, too, for
he was late in coming, and an earnest, expectant spirit
filled the room when he entered, and, hanging his sad-
dlebags across a chair, took out his Bible and began
to preach :
" My friends," said he, " I ain't worthy to preach
the Gospel. I'm a poor sinner, and I sometimes doubt
my own salvation. Satan has desired me to sift me as
wheat, and he's sifted me, and I reckon the reason he
didn't take me was that I wasn't worth while. But
the word of God is not bound by the human weak-
nesses of the preacher, and I'm going to preach to
you as a dying man and a sinner to dying men and sin-
ners. Pray for me while I preach, brethren, for I need
your prayers."
Far from discrediting the message which followed,
this introduction was accepted as the badge of a prop-
er, though unusual humility, and made the sermon
that followed, which was a powerful one, most efifec-
tive. There were fifteen " souls " at the altar for
prayers that night, of whom six " got through " before
the meeting closed, and were taken in on probation.
Besides this, Larkin Sumner, who joined the Baptists
later, dated his conversion from that sermon of James
Fletcher's.
Among those who heard James Fletcher that night
there was one who always heard him with admiration,
and who listened to-night with rapt attention. It was
no secret that Liberty Preston admired James Fletcher,
and there were not a few who looked for the announce-
ment of the engagement between them whenever
Fletcher came to No Bus'ness and stayed at Pres-
ton's big double house, near the fork of Trouble-
A Possible Castaway 63
some and Difficulty. Fletcher himself had thought
of it as a possibility; and, while denying himself all
present thought of matrimony, was fond of staying
at Preston's. He did not always stay there, to be
sure, but Silas Preston was class leader on No
Bus'ness, and Liberty was the leading singer, and
Mrs. Preston could fry a chicken to perfection and
make such biscuits as are the joy of a preacher's heart.
She put four kinds of preserves on the table, too — or
three besides honey — when the preacher came, and,
unlike the Forbeses, who always displayed all they had,
but were careful not to have it all used, Mrs. Preston
put a spoon in each jar. So it was natural that the
minister should go often to Preston's, for it is well
known that righteous men, such as ministers of the
Gospel, are fond of spring chicken and beaten biscuits
with honey and preserves. But, much as there was
to take a minister to Preston's, a man could not al-
ways go to the same place, and Brother Forbes was
first in inviting him that night. So, although Liberty
stayed with her father till the last " mourner " at the
bench had been prayed for and sung with, and though
the invitation was pressed upon him, and a promise ob-
tained that he would stop there next time, the Pres-
tons rode home without him. But Liberty comforted
herself with his promise.
CHAPTER VI
THE CHIMNEY CORNER
" There ain't nothing I love like an evening like
this," said Renfro after supper. " An evening when it
ain't too hot nor ain't too cold, when you jest set by
the light of the pine knots, not needing a lire nor find-
ing a little blaze uncomfortable. Hit sorter thaws out
all the good they is in me, and makes me feel like the
kingdom was coming, sure enough. Some folks loves
one thing and some another, but I pinely believe they
ain't nothing I love so well as to set by the fire of an
evening, having a good visit, and sorter gittin' a little
more logy all the time, and then kiver up the fire and
lay down on a bed that's got some goose ha'r on top
of the straw. As I git older I find I keer a heap more
than I did for goose ha'r."
Mr. Buzbee looked troubled, and was about to in-
quire whether any new variety of goose had made Pine
Knot its habitat, but Barbara laughed, and Mr. Buz-
bee saw that the reference to goose hair must be a
humorous allusion to feathers.
" This village has abundance of the knot for which
it is named," said Barbara.
" Thousands, thousands of it," said Mr. Renfro,
who used the term en masse. " Nothing so plenty
64
The Chimney Corner 65
here, and nothing in it's way so good. Who's that?
— Pete, run to the door and see who's there."
" Hit's Daddy Campbell, sah," said Pete.
" Run down, Pete, and help him in," said Renfro.
" Yas, sah," said Simon Peter, and hastened to the
front gate.
" Howdy, Pete, howdy ? Reckon your maws'r's
got room for me to-night? Gimme a lift on that
wheel, than"
" Ce't'nly, sah. Ce't'nly ; Maws'r Daddy, he's al-
ways got room for you."
" Wheel him in, Pete. — Right in this way, daddy.
— Git out, Ben! — Pete, kick them dogs out of the
chimbley corner, and make room for daddy's wagon. —
Where'U you have it, daddy — about thar? Stick out
your toes and git 'em warm."
" Thank you, thank you," said the crippled old
man, extending toward the fire a pair of shriveled
legs. " I ain't cold, but a fire feels good. I ain't so
young as I used to be."
" Le's see, how old are you ? I've heerd so many
times I've plumb forgot. Over a hundred, ain't
you ? "
" No. Ninety-nine and about ten months. I've
sorter had a hope lately, Mr. Renfro, that when I git
to be a hundred the Lord'll have mercy on me. I
don't look for no relief till then."
" Now you look a-here ! Don't you go to talkin'
like that. You're gittin' up a conspiracy to go ofif
and die ! I pinely don't like that. What'll we do for
wooden bowls and sich? You just got to stay on ! "
" Oh, but I'd like to git outen folks's way. And
it's a awful thing to be cussed so's one cyan't die."
66 Pine Knot
" I reckon that's so, daddy. But you've lived now
till you've skeered off the hoodoo, I reckon."
" I've outlived the bitterness of the cuss, and that's
a sure-enough blessing ; but still, it ain't like the bless-
ing hit would be to die. — Howdy, Mis' Renfro? Yes,
I've come to pester you ag'in. They had company
come over to Mr. Strunk's, and they said I mout stay
right on, but I allowed I'd best git away if you could
keep me a day or so. I got sorter late, comin' by
Granny White's with a gourd I've been a-cuttin' out
for her and to git me some goose grease for my rheu-
matiz. I didn't know you had company, too, Mis'
Renfro."
" Bless my heart, daddy, that ain't no matter ! "
said Mrs. Renfro, wiping her hands on her apron,
" We've always got room for you ! — Mr. Renfro, I do
believe you hain't made Daddy Campbell acquainted
with the teacher and Miss Barbara. Have you plumb
forgot your manners ? "
" I never had none, only them I've got invested
in my wife's name," said Renfro. " You'll have
to make allowance for me, Mr. Buzbee. I'm a
rough sorter feller, I reckon. This here is Daddy
Campbell, And this here's his daughter, Miss Bar-
bara."
" She ain't neither his daughter ; she's Mr. Buz-
bee's," said Mrs. Renfro.
" That's what I said, ain't it? "
" No, you didn't. You said she was Daddy Camp-
bell's."
" Well, if I did I'll stick to it, I've been to court
often enough to learn that if a man tells a lie he's got
to stick to it. And Daddy Campbell's daddy to every-
The Chimney Corner 67
body around here. So, Miss Barbara, you've got
more kin folks than what you knew."
" That's the way he gits out of his awkwardness in
introducing people," said Mrs. Renfro admiringly.
Her sparring matches with her husband were designed
in part to show him ofT, and she was justly proud of
him.
Barbara took the thin, drawn-up hand that was
extended toward her, noticing a certain gracefulness
in the manner of the deformed old man.
" Right proud to meet you, my lady," said daddy.
" Here comes Dinah to see you, daddy. And this
here is her daughter Sallie's little nigger. I reckon
you remember Sallie? She was about the smartest
darkey of 'em all ! We hated to let her go, but she got
into love with one of Jim Cecil's niggers, and a right
likely yeller feller he is, too ; and we let Sal go so's to
live with her man. — Come right up, honey, and see
daddy. He's mighty good to little children."
The little one came up timidly, its wool tied in
short pigtails all over its head, and these tied down
so tight to threads that ran from one to another that
the tails were hardly in evidence at all, and the head
showed a series of dark patches separated by the
partings, and looking like a phrenological chart.
" Come here, honey, come to daddy. I've got a
pretty for you," and he held up a beautiful bit of shell,
delicately tinted and water worn.
The child came to him, accepted the gift, and soon
was so happy with him that it required some force to
get her away.
" Run along to the kitchen now, honey. I'm
gwine come and put you into yo' bed."
68 Pine Knot
" That's a likely child, Dinah," said daddy.
" I nebbah could b'ar her," said Dinah proudly.
" She show de dirt so easy."
" You run along, Dinah, and git Daddy Campbell
something to eat."
" I've done got it, misses," said Dinah.
" Wheel yourself right out, daddy," said Mrs.
Renfro ; " and when you git your supper come back."
" What's them dogs a-barkin' at ? They's some
person out thar," said Renfro. " Go out, Pete, and
see."
" I ain't got to go out to see," said Peter, shuffling
toward the door. " Hey dah, Ben ! You Ben, come
hyah! Come heah, Bruno! 'Peah's lack de dogs
knows who to like. Come in, Maws'r Goodwin."
" Howdy, Goodwin ? Come in. Take a cheer and
put yourself level on it. Rest your hat. You've met
Mr. Buzbee? This here's his daughter. Mis' Buz-
bee had a headache, and laid down early. Mis' Ren-
fro's here somewheres — she was here a minute ago. I
reckon she's gone to see about Daddy Campbell's sup-
per. Well, Goodwin, what do you know ? "
" I come over to talk about repairing the school-
house. I reckoned we could get up a sort of a workin',
and have the hull deestrick turn out and fix up the
schoolhouse and mebby do a leetle grain to the teach-
er's house, too."
" Hit needs it right bad," admitted Renfro, with a
possible touch of sarcasm. " Well, I'll do my share.
When '11 you go at it ? "
"' Monday, I reckon."
" All right. Send out word. We can norate it
around at meetin' come Sunday."
The Chimney Corner 69
" I wish it could be done sooner," said Mr. Buzbee.
" I should like to get into my house soon."
" Well, I reckon hit won't hurt you to live over
Sunday on what we live on all the while," said Renfro.
" You stay right here till we git your house in shape."
" You are very good," said Barbara.
" Here comes daddy," said Renfro. " Well, daddy,
couldn't you find nothin' more to eat ? I didn't reckon
you could eat up what Dinah had so soon."
" Plenty, plenty," said daddy. " I don't eat much,
and they all feed me well. I ain't got no teeth to do no
good."
" Well, set up to the fire and tell us what you know.
Didn't you know this old feller over on Copper
Creek — this man Mundy ? "
" I knowed him well," said daddy.
" He's right sick," said Renfro.
" Is he ? " asked Goodwin eagerly.
" Yes, they don't allow he'll live long," said Renfro.
" I've got some business with him," said Goodwin.
" I reckon I'd best ride over to-morrow."
" I knowed his father," said Daddy. " He come
over from No'th C'liny with Swift — you've heerd about
Swift that had the mine ? They uster tell a right quare
tale about a lode of silver back by the river, and how
him and a feller named Wright got the secret of it
from an Injun."
" How was that ? " asked Goodwin.
" Well, you know Swift found a great mine here
in these mountains, and got silver out of it so pure he
made it up into dollars and took 'em back into No'th
C'liny and passed 'em."
" I've heerd tell about that," said Renfro, " and
70 Pine Knot
about their arresting him, and not being able to con-
vict him because his dollars had more silver than the
ones the Gov'maint made."
" I've wished a heap of times I knowed where he
buried the money he left here in the mountains," said
Goodwin.
" What was the tale about Mundy ? " asked Renfro.
" Well, they told how him and Wright and a feller
name of Jeflferson was with Swift, and how they begun
to feel that Swift was gettin' more than his sheer of the
silver. And one day when they was off in the woods
they met an Injun that told 'em that he'd tell them
where the main lode was for their two guns, and they
agreed to it. Well, the tale runs that he told 'em, but
when hit come to givin' up both guns, they was a-feared
to do it, thinkin' mebby the Injun would kill 'em. And
so they asked the Injun to take one. The Injun said
he darsn't, for the other Injuns, like as not, would
want to kill him for tellin', and he'd got to have both
guns to defend hisself. And they got all the more
skeered, and they finally come to the conclusion be-
tween theirselves that they'd kill the Injun. So they
did. They shot him down by the river, jest above the
falls, and he went down over the falls ; and as he went
he shrieked out a cuss on their souls and on the secret
he'd told 'em, and said his spirit would ha'nt the place.
Old Mundy never dared to go to the place, but they
say he had a paper that he got from Swift, and that
onct he and this boy of hisn tried to locate it, but they
got a skeer that killed the old man — he died two three
weeks atter — and this boy of hisn ain't never been the
same sence,"
Goodwin had listened eagerly to every word of this.
The Chimney Corner 71
In his mind something began to form that promised
much larger returns than the scheme at which he was
already working. " Did ye say that was at the falls
of the Cumberland ? " he asked.
" Right thar," said Daddy Campbell.
" That's where we've bought our timber land,
Goodwin," said Renfro. " Mebby we've got some-
thing better than to raft logs from there down the
river."
Goodwin made no answer. " Hit's time for me
to go," said he. " I got to take a ride to-morrow."
Daddy Campbell also retired early, and Mr. Ren-
fro and Mr. Buzbee had an errand to the Buzbee house,
as it was to be to get something which Mrs. Buzbee
had forgotten. Mrs. Renfro and Barbara were left
alone before the fire.
" He is a very singular man," said Barbara.
" Who — Goodwin ? He's a snake ! Eh, is he !
He's got some idy about that silver. He's goin' over
thar to-morrow and pester that dyin' old man, that's
what he's goin' to do! I wisht Mr. Renfro wouldn't
have nothing to do with him, that's what I wisht ! "
Barbara felt the same. Some uncanny influence
seemed to attach itself to the man. And a certain fas-
cinating horror seemed to hang about the story of the
abandoned mine.
" Tell me about Daddy Campbell," said Barbara.
" Well, that's a quare tale, too. I reckon hit's too
long to tell to-night, and you that tired."
" Oh, no, tell me," said Barbara.
" He's been conjured," said Mrs. Renfro. " That's
why he cyan't die."
"Conjured?" asked Barbara. "By whom?"
72 Pine Knot
" By a slave woman. He sold her baby. Hit was
hisn, too. That was more'n seventy year ago. No-
body don't tell it on him no more. But I've heerd it
often years ago, how his wife hated the slave woman
and her baby, and wouldn't give him no peace till he
sold the little feller down the river. The nigger wom-
an cursed him then, but she died atter awhile, and,
dying, she cursed him with a conjure curse — slapped
him in the face with her two bloody hands and cursed
him to live till he was a hundred years old, and bear
his curse ever' day. She cursed his own children to
scatter and die, and him to live and repent."
" It is dreadful ! " said Barbara. " Yet it interests
me. Tell me all about it, please."
So Mrs. Renfro told the story, in the chimney cor-
ner, of the black Hagar and her curse that had con-
demned Daddy Campbell to live on, a sad and peni-
tent old man and a pauper. Mrs. Renfro began back
with the selling of the child from the home over on No
Bus'ness Creek, to appease the wrath of Campbell's
wife.
The black Hagar had pleaded to be sold with her
baby if the child must go, but Mrs. Campbell not only
valued her services, but sought a more cruel revenge,
daily twitting her husband with the sin which she took
care should not be repeated, and daily goading the
dark but comely slave with a woman's petty but malig-
nant persecutions. Already she had borne her hus-
band three children, and was about to bear a fourth ;
and when the baby came Hagar watched her mistress
with a tenderness that had as yet learned only sorrow
and not revenge. She had cursed, indeed, when her
baby was torn from her, but it was the resentful curse
The Chimney Corner 73
of an acute sorrow, and not the curse of a long-cher-
ished bitterness. But that same curse she repeated
and distilled in more of her soul's deep venom as the
years went by, and repeated at last under circum-
stances of peculiar horror.
For, once recovered, Mrs. Campbell had found a
new occasion of jealousy in the love that existed be-
tween her own babe and its slave nurse. The slave
cherished her mistress's child as in some sort a compen-
sation for the loss of her own, and while she never
smiled after the day that her own child was taken from
her, she had a kind of fierce joy in the possession of
this little one, and secretly gloried in the fact that the
child loved her more than its own mother.
Then the mother tore the baby from her, ordered
her from its presence, hastened to thrust herself be-
tween the two if at any time the little creeper started
for her, and to snatch him if he cried after her. It was
for this, the neighbors believed, that Hagar conjured
the child, and it died. They did not know at the time
that he was conjured, but later they were sure of it.
But if indeed the fault was Hagar's there was no more
passionate mourner at the little grave than the black
woman, who went there nightly to pour out her heart-
broken sobs above the little mound where, in her
thought, her two babies lay buried — the white child
that had died in his mother's arms (and Hagar had
been shut out of the room) and the mulatto boy that
had been sold down the river and was thrice dead
to her.
For four years more the bitterness continued, and
John Campbell had never known a happy day. Yet
as the fourth year drew to a close he had hope again.
74 Pine Knot
but it was a hope that went out in a horror that had
been his nightmare since. Another child was born to
him, a daughter, and so ill was his wife that she forgot
her hatred in her weakness, and found comfort in the
nursing of Hagar. The child was three days old, and
was lying at its mother's breast, and the mother light
was in the weak eyes that looked down upon the little
head; every cruel thought was absent, as for three
days it had been, when she looked up and saw Hagar
looking down upon the little one with eyes so hungry
and pitiful that in a moment it all came back. With
bitter reproaches and many vile names she shrieked
to the slave woman to leave her side and never to come
near her or the child again. In that moment there
rushed into the black soul all the shame and sorrow
and pent-up revenge that had been harbored there.
With the cry of a tigress she fell upon the infant and
tore it limb from limb, and then — for it took only an
instant — she fell upon the mother and choked her to
death. In fearful horror she fled from the presence of
her awful crime — fled damning herself to the lowest
hell for the sin that she had done, yet gloating savagely
over the fearful vengeance that had been hers.
Ah, but the hounds were on her track, and she
led them a weary chase through glade and swamp, and
over mountain and field. And the men rode hard be-
hind the hounds. Two days they followed her, now
losing the trail where she walked in the water, now
put to confusion where she doubled on her own track,
but ever relentlessly following, and John Campbell
rode with the hunters that followed the bloodhounds.
They found her at last in a tree, and the dogs were
barking about her. They could not see her at first,
The Chimney Corner 75
and doubted if the dogs had not lost the trail and fol-
lowed an animal. They gathered under the tree ; it
was twilight, and they peered into the thick branches
and called for a light. It was then that she sprang
down, when John Campbell stood just below her, and
as she sprang she drove her keen knife hard into his
shoulder, and a thousand times he mourned that she
missed his heart.
They shot her as she struck, and the two lay side
by side beneath the tree. They drew the knife from
his wound, and let her alone to die while they cared
for him.
John Campbell raised himself on his elbow and
looked at the woman who had struck him. " I shall
not die," said he to his companions ; " my wound bleeds
freely, but I shall live." Then he looked at the dying
slave, some said in hatred, and others said in pity, and
one or two believed in love.
One of her hands was wet in his blood and the
other she wet in her own. With her dying strength
she raised herself and smote him on the one cheek
and the other, and fell back, crying :
" Yes, live ! Live to be a hundred years old !
May you see your own children scatter and die, and
may God's curse follow you ! "
John Campbell had lost standing with his neigh-
bors when he sold the slave child. No Bus'ness was
in a part of the country that hated a slave trader ; per-
haps there was no other man who was not welcome
to a night's shelter on the creek; and they disap-
proved the man who would buy a slave that broke a
family, or sell one except from necessity or to keep
households together. For years after his wife's death
76 Pine Knot
no neighbor crossed his threshold. He walked alone
among his fellow-men as did the lepers of old, and
all knew that he was living under a curse. One by
one his children left him. Two died in childhood;
one, a son, was shot on a Mississippi steamboat ; and
the daughter that left home died far away, and after a
life of shame. And then for fifty years more he had
lived the loxieliest man that ever walked the earth.
For half of this time he lived apart and cared for him-
self. But sickness came upon him. White swelling
left him helpless and old. His property, already sadly
diminished, was soon exhausted, and Daddy Campbell,
as he now came to be called, was a pauper.
They had no poorhouse in Whitley County, and
Daddy Campbell was for years the only person " on
the county." They farmed him out by the year, pay-
ing a pitiful sum to any one who would take him. At
first it was with contempt, but even then with some-
thing of pity, that he who had lived a hermit was re-
ceived into human habitations. But as the years
went by the contempt vanished, and something of
reverence mingled with the pity. The sad, patient,
suffering old man somehow came to receive a sort of
veneration, as one who by years of suffering had ob-
tained absolution, and through the very extremity of
his sin found more of grace. The face that had looked
hunted and pinched and accursed came to have a trans-
figured look, as if from a patience that had had her
perfect work and a peace that followed a storm-swept
life that had been rocked between the billows of the
mightiest emotions and nov/ was calm.
Seated in the crude little cart which his own hands
had fashioned, and into which he was lifted every day,
The Chimney Corner *]*]
he made his way slowly up and down among the neigh-
bors, welcomed by young and old, but held especially
dear by the children. It was as beautiful as it was
pathetic to see him among them. They knew not
the bitter past, and their parents were trying to forget
it. They had long since ceased to tell it, save in pity,
and they ran at his shout to lift his cart over the bars
or to push behind as he wheeled it upon the punch-
eoned porch, and they made a wide place at the table
where his cart might stand among the children at meal-
time.
" And he has been a pauper all these years ? "
asked Barbara.
" I wouldn't like to say pauper," said Mrs. Renfro.
"No person don't count him a burden. He kin use his
hands right smart, though his laigs is shriveled and
twisted up. He digs out wooden bowls and trenchers,
and he mends cheers and a heap of things. Folks
likes to have have him come, and the money the
county pays for him gits less and less ever' year. I've
plumb forgot who gits it this year. It's divided
among several, and he sorter boards round. Here
comes your pa and Mr. Renfro. I reckon I've plumb
tired you out with my long stories. Hit's time to
lay down now."
CHAPTER VII
TWENTY DOLLARS A MONTH
" And this, my dear, is our home."
It was the second Sunday morning, and the Buz-
bees had had their first meal in their own home. They
had seen no ghost, nor had any untoward event oc-
curred save the message of James Fletcher, which Mr.
Buzbee had passed unheeding.
" A mere irritable and thoughtless word from a
disgruntled applicant for the school," he said. " I am
sorry that my coming should be a disappointment to
any one. I must see him and explain how important
this work is to my cause."
Saturday night they had moved over from the
Renfros'. The house had been swept and garnished,
and was supplied with provisions for immediate needs.
Some little had been done by way of repairs ; not, how-
ever, at the expense of Peleg Goodwin, but under his
direction and by voluntary labor contributed by a
number of the men of the district, who patched
the roofs both of the teacher's house and the school-
house and made some simple improvements besides
that involved labor only and no expenditure of
money.
" Yes, this is our home," said Mrs. Buzbee, " and,
78
Twenty Dollars a Month 79
humble as it is, I rejoice in it. It is so long since we
have been together under our own roof."
" Yes, and we have worked at a disadvantage.
This home, dear as it will be for domestic reasons,
will become still dearer because of the work which I
hope to accomplish here."
A slight shadow crossed the face of Mrs. Buzbee.
" The work, I know, is important, but I hope that we
may now give a little thought to our own need and
comfort."
" Comfort, my love, except as we have it in con-
sciousness of doing our duty, I fear, will never come to
us. But something better will."
" Father," said Barbara, " how are we to live here ?
When you told us that you had a position as teacher,
with assured salary, I did not ask you how much, for I
did not want to seem curious. Since coming here and
seeing the poverty of the people I do not see how they
can afiford to pay a teacher much."
" They do not pay, my child. The pay is received
from the State school fund."
" How much is the school fund, father ? "
*' The school fund, my dear, consists of $1,326,770,
invested mostly in five-per-cent bonds, beside a five-
cent tax on every hundred dollars' worth of property."
" And we get all that ? "
" Preposterous, my child ! We get the proportion
which comes to Pine Knot per capita. That is, at the
rate of about sixty-two and one half cents per scholar
of school age. Pine Knot, having ninety-seven schol-
ars, will receive a gross amount of sixty-one dollars
and sixty-three cents."
"Per month?"
8o Pine Knot
" No, no. For three months. That is what makes
the school so desirable. In the more prosperous por-
tions of the State the public money is increased by
local taxation. That is quite out of the question here.
If there are one hundred scholars or more, there must
be a five months' school. Three more pupils would
compel me to teach five months instead of three, and
for practically the same amount. Ours is a very fortu-
nate condition, my child."
" Then this is the sum over which men are break-
ing their hearts — this princely salary of twenty dollars
a month? " asked Mrs. Buzbee.
" I am most sorry, my dear, if any one is breaking
his heart about it. I will cheerfully explain to any
who are disappointed. There must be not one, but
many. It is unfortunate that our successes in life do
thus involve the disappointment of others. I grieve
that it must be so ; indeed, I do not think that I could
accept it if it were not that it gives us leverage for our
great work."
" And what do we pay for the rental of this miser-
able old shanty ? " asked Mrs. Buzbee.
" Don't, mother, dear," said Barbara. " Do not
speak so of our home. Poor as it is, let us make it
beautiful with our love and sympathy. Yes, let us
idealize it, if need be."
" You are right, my child. But, oh, it is hard
to idealize poverty such as we must face! I had no
idea that we had so meager an income to depend
upon."
" We pay only two dollars a month, my dear ! "
said Mr. Buzbee.
" For twelve months ? "
Twenty Dollars a Month 8i
" Certainly."
" And out of a gross income of sixty dollars ! "
" That, my dear, is counted a large sum here."
It was indeed so counted.
It was by an arrangement with the adjacent county
of Tennessee that so large a sum was possible, for some
of these children were over the line, and all were
counted as in Kentucky. To make up for this an
equal number of Kentucky children on No Bus'ness,
where the school was taught in Tennessee, were
counted as living in the latter State. It was thus the
result of a peculiarly favorable set of conditions
that Mr. Buzbee had come to his twenty dollars a
month.
The sum seemed great to the district and a fortune
to John Howard Buzbee, who thought of the sixty dol-
lars in a lump, and estimated it as though, having it all
at once, he would have it throughout the school term
and for nine months thereafter. He had not often han-
dled sixty dollars of late. But Mrs. Buzbee and Bar-
bara, when they came to know in detail the terms of
the teaching contract, looked each other in the face in
blank amazement, and then in despair, till Barbara saw
the funny side of it and burst into a laugh.
" Sixty dollars, for three months ! As we have no
other assured income and must pay our expenses for
the year, twenty-four dollars will go for rent, and —
help me with my arithmetic, father — thirty-six dollars
will remain for food, clothing, and your tracts "
" Yes, indeed, my daughter," interrupted her fa-
ther, " we must contrive, however small our income, to
save a little for tracts."
" Thirty-six dollars ! A dollar a month apiece !
82 Pine Knot
How shall I ever spend it ? " And Barbara laughed,
a merry, but half-ironic laugh.
" It is doubtless small," conceded her father, " but
our expenses of living will be small. Eggs are but
six cents a dozen. Corn meal is but thirty cents a
bushel, and flour, which is coarse indeed, but still is
the more wholesome, is but fifty."
" And meat "
" As for meat, we are the better without it. In-
deed, I am now studying a method of dieting which
will enable us to live, not only without using the prod-
ucts of slave labor, such as cotton, molasses, and
rice "
" Except the mountain sorghum, I suppose."
" Yes, and that will take the place of sugar."
" Think of it, mother, dear, sorghum in your after-
dinner coffee, served in the two little Dresden chinas I
have in my trunk ! "
" My dear," said her mother, "don't; pray, don't.
I am in despair."
" Very well, father, what else ? I will be good, and
if at first I don't succeed, I'll try, try again ! "
" As I was remarking," said her father, not in the
least tried by the interruption, " I am involved in a
plan which I hope to make plain, first to myself and
then to the world, by which we may avoid, first the
use of slave products, and then the use of all articles
^ which involve the murdering, enslaving, or robbing of
dumb animals."
" Well, father, and what will you leave us to eat and
wear? "
" I do not claim as yet to have developed the
theory consistently. I spoke of eggs. Technically,
Twenty Dollars a Month 83
my theory would exclude them, as involving either
slavery, robbery, or murder, or perhaps all."
" O father, I shall be in State's prison before sup-
per time at this rate ! "
" But even if the theory be fully carried out, we
shall not suffer. We shall live upon corn, wheat, nuts,
fruit, maple sugar, sorghum, oil of the cotton seed,
which is far more wholesome than lard "
"But cotton, father, is a product of slave labor."
" My child, by the time the world is ready to adopt
this theory there will be no human slavery."
" I quite agree with you, father. The millennium
will be well advanced by that time. But as for our
clothes ? "
" Cotton, when that is freed from the incubus of
slavery; paper, which civilization will surely come to
use more and more ; straw of different grades and corn
husks, for hats of different kinds ; and, most of all, flax
— the blue-flowered, hand-wrought flax — a small field
of which, easily within the care of a man using only his
own arms with hoe, and flail, and break, and a woman
with spinning wheel and loom, will clothe a family in
comfort, aye, with the vesture of kings ; for with native
dyes it may be of varied hue. The meanest man that
lifts his head in self-respecting manhood may lift his
hands guiltless of blood or the spoil of his fellow-men
or the dumb animals about him and stand clothed not
only in purple and fine linen, but clad also, as Solomon
in all his glory was not clad, in innocence and right-
eousness."
It was thus that John Howard Buzbee mingled his
chimerical visions with prophetic insight, and from
shallow and impractical reasoning rose in the joy of
84 Pine Knot
argument, and the warmth which argument always
brought to him, into something Uke eloquence. Bar-
bara ceased to laugh, and looked at her father. There
he stood in the simplicity of his childlike soul, that at
threescore years was guileless as in infancy, a simplic-
ity that caused his daughter many a merry laugh at his
inconsequentiality, his hopeless inability to cope with
the problems of life, and Barbara looked at him and
loved him. He was impractical, he was visionary, but
he was learned, eloquent, unselfish, and without fear
or reproach. He had met the world at its worst, and
was not blackened by its pitch, nor soured by its re-
buffs, nor made hateful by its hatred. He stood in the
rough, almost uninhabitable cabin on the Sunday be-
fore the school began, dressed in his best, which was
so poor and plain, but he looked a gentleman, every
inch, and her heart went out to him. She flung her-
self into his arms, kissed him again and again, crying :
" O father, father ! My dear, dear, lovely, loving
father ! Forgive me for laughing at you, and annoy-
ing you with my arguments. I'm not good enough to
understand you, father, and the world is not good
enough. You're a dear, dear, impractical, visionary
old dreamer, so the world thinks ; but you're the dear-
est, truest, bravest, kindest man that ever lived, and
I'm proud of you, father ; I'm proud of you ! "
Mrs. Buzbee, too, drew near and kissed him, cry-
ing as she did so : " Yes, John, yes, we do love you,
even if we don't always understand you, and we will
love you and help you till we succeed or starve to-
gether."
Mr. Buzbee turned first to one and then to the
other, responding to their caresses in a dazed sort of
Twenty Dollars a Month 85
fashion, and said, as he disposed of Mrs. Buzbee on a
chair and released himself from the caresses of Bar-
bara : " Why, my dears, of course you love me ! I
know that very well. This is very delightful, though
I don't quite see the occasion that prompts it at this
moment. As to laughing at me, Barbara, I never sus-
pected that you were laughing at me, but you are quite
welcome to do so, my child, if it affords you pleasure.
And, as to not understanding me, I thought I was un-
usually lucid. Let me go over those points at a little
greater length. I am sure that I can make it plain to
you."
" Oh, no, father, don't ! " said Barbara. " We are
too stupid. There is only one thing that we need to
understand, and that we do understand more and more
every day, that you are the best and dearest father in
the world."
It was thus that John Howard Buzbee met the
world, shrinking from its rare caresses, disclaiming its
few well-merited kind words, laboring patiently to
make his position clear, and never doubting that its
thoughtless laughter at his expense was prompted by
a harmless joy of its own, which, while he did not
share, he did not grudge. But the little outbreak of
demonstrative affection which followed the sad discov-
ery of their pitiful outlook did all good. It cheered
Mr. Buzbee to be reminded that his wife and daughter
loved him and trusted him, even though he could not
understand why they should have supposed it neces-
sary to tell him so. And it put a curb upon Barbara's
somewhat tantalizing laughter, and her mother's quiet
but complaining anxiety. So it was from a happy,
though an anxious home, that John Howard Buzbee
86 Pine Knot
went forth that morning to attend meeting in Pine
Knot. It was the third Sunday in the month, and the
regular preaching day. Preachers were there — a herd
of them — and they all participated. Mr. Buzbee, be-
ing understood to be " a public brother," was asked
to add a word at the close, and was said to have given
" a mighty good lecture, but hit wa'n't no preach-
ing."
One noticeable thing about it was that Jim Fletch-
er, who should have been there to preach, did not ap-
pear. Ominous threats from him were quoted, how-
ever, as the men sat about on logs outside the school-
house.
" You trustees better hit the turf right early in the
morning and git out of here," said Neze Post.
" What for? " asked Noel Davis.
" Jim Fletcher allows he's goin' to have a finger
in the pie."
" What's he got to do with it ? "
" Wall, he met Jake Trosper t'other night, when he
was on his way to No Bus'ness, an' he 'lowed that
when the school opened to-morrow he'd be thar and
take a hand. Then he rode on to Deck Morgan's old
house, whar the new man is a-stayin' — that was mighty
shifty o' you, Peleg, to put him in thar ! Daggon me,
if I had a room to my hotel like that old hainted house
if I wouldn't expect to see the Old Boy himself with
all his hoofs and horns if I put a man to sleep there!
And he told the new teacher, so I've heerd, that one
man's curse rested on that roof already, and another
man's was on the schoolhouse if he ever undertook to
open school."
By all the absence of Fletcher was considered sig-
Twenty Dollars a Month 87
nificant, and Noel Davis remembered his bitter words
in front of the store, and questioned whether it would
not be more prudent to be called away in the morning,
and to let the other trustees open the school and sign
the contract with the teacher.
CHAPTER VIII
THE MAKING OF A PHILANTHROPIST
Mrs. Buzbee and Barbara did not go to meeting
that Sunday morning, but remained to make prepara-
tions for their simple dinner, and to enjoy the quiet
of their own home.
" Mother," said Barbara, " I wish that I knew my
father."
" What do you mean, Barbara? "
" I know him, of course, as a good, true, kind man,
a man of talent and of education, and I know, too, his
hobby. When I think of him in that way, I — forgive
me, mother, I almost pity him, and feel like making
apologies for him. And then again I am so proud of
him ! After all, mother, I do not know him very well,
you know. He has been gone from us so much. I
have sometimes wanted to ask you something,
mother."
"What is it, dear?"
" I have wondered how you came to marry fa-
ther."
" You know the story in part ? "
" Just enough so that I want to know it all. Begin
at the beginning, and tell me. Tell me about his fa-
ther, and all that."
88
The Making of a Philanthropist 89
" I think that you know the most of it, but I will
tell you what I know. Your father's father, you know,
my dear, was a minister in Virginia. He came of the
old families, and was a good and honored man. It
was not in his pulpit that he was greatest, but in his
philanthropy."
" I have heard about his work among the prisons."
" That was one of his special hobbies. * I was sick
and in prison, and ye visited me ' was his great text.
It was that which caused him to name your father
after his ideal philanthropist. But that was not all his
work. He was interested in the destitute in the new
settlements, in the work of the Tract Society, in the
temperance movement, and in foreign missions."
" He owned slaves ? "
" Yes, and was kind to them. They were members
of his own church, as were those of his congregation.
They sat in the same church house, and received the
communion at the same table, after the white people
had been served. This, in his thought, was his full
duty to his slaves. None of them ever suflfered for
attention or were treated with severity, but he ac-
cepted slavery as a fact. While he did not approve it,
he did not feel responsible for its abolition, and set
himself about philanthropy in other directions. He
dedicated your father to the work of philanthropy."
" That was rather a perilous thing to do, was it
not?"
" Yes, for most men's philanthropy has its metes
and bounds, and the son's philanthropy soon came to
oppose the limitations of the father's."
" Father was educated in the North ? "
" At Yale. He graduated young, and led his class.
90 Pine Knot
At eighteen he began studying theology, and at
twenty-one had finished his course. But he had read
much beside theology, and had become a radical abo-
litionist."
" That was not rare in Virginia in his youth,
was it ? "
" No, it was very common at that time. I have
heard your father say that all the great statesmen of
Virginia in that day were abolitionists. His own fa-
ther was one, in a certain sense — that is, he would have
been glad to see universal freedom, but he did not
count it a great evil as it then existed in Virginia, and
thought the practical difficulties of emancipation too
great to justify any aggressive movement toward it."
" But he must have been a narrow, bigoted man."
" Not quite that. He disinherited your father, to
be sure. But I am not sure that your father, in the
first enthusiasm of his outspoken conviction, was al-
ways as prudent and gentle as he has now become.
He was always considerate, always a gentleman, but
he was always fearless and outspoken, and he doubtless
was a disappointment to his father, who had looked
to have him engage in what he counted practical phi-
lanthropy, instead of a quixotic fighting of windmills,
as he was wont to express it."
" I know about his disinheriting father, and that
sad scene."
" Well, then he came to East Tennessee, where
Benjamin Lundy had established his paper. The Gen-
ius of Universal Emancipation, first at Greenville and
afterward at Jonesboro. Your father was between
twenty-one and twenty-two — he was born, you know,
with the century — and he flung himself with ardor into
The Making of a Philanthropist 91
that work. It is the memory of that work in these
mountains that has always inclined him to come back
again."
" How did he get to Baltimore ? "
" Mr. Lundy moved the paper there. Then Mr.
Lundy went to Boston and met William Lloyd Gar-
rison."
" Was Mr. Garrison then in antislavery work ? "
" No, he was editing a temperance paper. He met
Mr. Lundy at Garrison's boarding house, and became
a convert."
" I remember about that."
" Then Mr. Garrison went to Baltimore, and
worked with Mr. Lundy on the paper Your father at
that time was away on a lecture tour."
" Then Mr. Garrison entered into the work with
great enthusiasm ? "
" Yes, with all the zeal of a new convert. And his
editorials, instead of being kind and temperate, like
Lundy's and your father's, were vehement and denun-
ciatory. Mr. Lundy had to come to an understanding
with him at once, and it resulted in each man signing
his own editorials with his initials."
" But that did not save the paper ? "
" No, Mr. Garrison's editorials soon caused it to be
broken up. Your father, in common with many of
Mr. Lundy's friends, thought it a sad thing that the
work of so many years should have been ruined, as
they thought, needlessly."
" Still, father went to Boston and worked with Mr.
Garrison ? "
" Yes, though always dissenting from Mr. Garri-
son's methods. It became apparent in time that they
92 Pine Knot
could not agree. Mr. Garrison was an avowed seces-
sionist; your father has always held that the slavery
question is in the widest sense a national question,
and must be settled within the nation. Mr. Garrison
uttered most bitter words against the Church ; your
father, while often tried with the indiflference and timid-
ity of the Church, has yet held that the support of the
Church is an absolute necessity."
" But he did not continue to preach ? "
" At times he did, and at times he stopped entirely.
He came to bring almost everything to the test of its
relation to the antislavery work. Yet, while this may
have narrowed him, it did not embitter him, and, even
toward Mr. Garrison, whose methods he came so thor-
oughly to distrust, he always maintained the profound-
est charity."
" I have heard him say that it was a great pity that
Mr. Garrison ever became associated with the conduct
of the Genius."
" Yes, but he said that without bitterness. The
Genius was published in a Southern State, and had a
small but influential Southern patronage. Beside that,
Lundy traveled the whole country over, and had
societies formed in many cities. North and South, at
the time when Mr. Garrison, editing his second or
third paper, had done nothing to show where he
stood on the slavery question. Your father felt that
it was wrong for him, a new arrival and a Northern
man, to oppose his own theory of the conduct of
the paper to that of the men who had from the be-
ginning managed it, especially when the change
was certain to wreck the paper, which was not his
own."
The Making of a Philanthropist 93
" Then, he felt, did he not, that the stamping out of
Lundy's paper made the question more sectional ? "
" Yes, and he deplored that. For the antislavery
sentiment of the South was waning, and, while they
tolerated Lundy's paper, they were quite unwilling to
hear such words as Mr. Garrison had to say hurled at
them from New England."
"And then?"
" After your father severed his relation with Mr.
Garrison's paper. The Liberator, where he worked for
a little time, he thought of the law as affording him his
best opportunity. He had preached now and then,
but his preaching, though tender, earnest, and eloquent,
was objected to by many because of his views on slav-
ery, so he turned from the pulpit and studied law,
teaching school the while. As a teacher he was a
great success, being versatile, widely read, and full of
an enthusiasm for his subject which always captivated
his pupils. In the classics and in natural science he
excelled, and in literature and belles-lettres he was ever
at home. But the time came when he could claim ad-
mission to the bar, and he left the schoolroom to plead
the cause of the slave in court."
" He never sought general practice, did he ? "
" No, it was unpleasant to him, and so the law itself
became. The grasping, haggling, selfish spirit which
he found in the courtroom was uncongenial. He
would not badger witnesses nor seek to blind juries.
The cases for which he cared were those that paid
nothing, and where he had hardly thanks for his pains.
Yet he pleaded the cause of the fugitive slave in many
courts, and with eloquence, though seldom with suc-
cess. Disheartened, he turned from the law as from
94 Pine Knot
the pulpit, though at rare intervals in recent years he
has sometimes pleaded and sometimes preached."
" It was then he came to Lexington, was it not? "
" Yes, a little more than twenty years ago. He
was teaching again, and, as ever, he was a success in
the schoolroom. Only he was always counted im-
practical and visionary. But the success which he
might have achieved he always frustrated by his oppo-
sition to slavery."
" Yet Henry Clay was opposed to slavery ? "
" Yes, and hundreds of slaveholding people.
Slavery in Kentucky and in all the border States was
and is dying of its own weight, but social reasons and
the practical difficulties of emancipation made and still
makes opposition to definite antislavery work intense.
I came to know your father then, and loved him. My
father was a member of the State Senate, as you know,
a proud, hot-blooded man. He and your father never
agreed, and I think my father disliked him more be-
cause he never got angry, as my father did, in their
discussions."
" And then I know about your marriage, and your
leaving home and all that. You left Lexington ? "
" Yes, for three years. They were years of trial,
and poverty, and privation. A part of the time we
were at Danville with James G. Birney. He was a
Kentuckian, you know, who freed his slaves in 1834,
and established an antislavery paper. But for two
years we were on the road. We traveled far, and re-
ceived little for our labor, your father lecturing against
slavery."
" And then Henry Clay called you back ? "
" Not Henry, but Cassius M. Clay. He founded
The Making of a Philanthropist 95
his True American, and at one time had to defend his
office with a cannon, and had all his men armed."
" Did father go armed ? "
" No, But he was not a noncombatant, like Mr.
Garrison. He used to say that Mr. Garrison opposed
fighting, but did his best to provoke mob violence,
while he, who believed in the right of self-defense, was
the true friend of peace. He believed that he had a
right to go armed, but that to do so was inexpedient
and likely to cause trouble."
" You must have trembled for him in those days."
" Yes, and was proud of him, too. He was so fear-
less, and withal so far from blustering. He was a true
knight in his spirit."
" And yet, mother, you never fully agreed with his
views ? "
" It was not for his views that I loved him, Bar-
bara. And in these years when we have lived with-
out servants and I have so needed help I have some-
times thought that I knew of no slave so poorly re-
warded for his toil as your father ; and I may have
said sometimes when I have been ill and impa-
tient that there is such a thing as enslavement to an
idea. But I have always admired him, yes, and loved
him."
" And he has loved you ardently."
" Yes, and yet your father loves his cause first
and dearest, and I will not deny that there have been
times when I have yearned for a love more personal
and demonstrative than he could show. But when I
have done so I have reproached myself, remembering
that his love, though abstract, is so true and strong
and tender."
96 Pine Knot
" I am sure I understand you, mother. Father
quarreled with Mr. Clay ? "
" There was no quarrel. The Mexican War came,
and Mr. Clay, though disapproving the war and its
purpose, enlisted, declaring that in Kentucky a man
to succeed in public life must have a military record.
Your father called this doing evil that good might
come of it, and he parted from Mr. Clay. Then he
studied medicine."
'' I remember about that. He taught again while
studying, did he not ? "
" Yes, in Louisville. For a time he seemed dis-
couraged with his antislavery work, and thought that
in healing the sick he could do what he called one
man's work for human well-being."
" And, oh, I remember to have heard how devoted
he was to his patients, how they came to love him and
to trust him ! "
" Yes, but they were very few. And few of them
could pay. And because few could pay him, the
rest did not. He had the constant humiliation of see-
ing quacks and charlatans prosper while he was in
poverty. Moreover, he came to feel that he had done
wrong in leaving the platform, and that duty called
him to public work. About that time my mother was
taken sick."
" And she sent for you."
" Yes, and I hastened to her deathbed."
" Had she never forgiven you while you were in
Lexington ? "
" No ; and because we were so near we seemed
more distant. But when she was about to die, she
relented and longed to see me and you. She loved
The Making of a Philanthropist 97
you the moment she saw you, and forgave me. She
left a provision in her will for your education, and a
Httle for me in the hands of my father. I suppose that
we have long since spent it. I never knew the details
about it, as it was wholly in his hands. She left it so
because "
" Because she feared father would use it "
" She feared that I would give it to him, and she
knew how he would use it if it were his."
" And so we went to grandpa's ? "
" Yes, after the death of my mother, my father
could not bear to have me leave. Your father was
about to give up his practice and go into the field
again, and it was arranged that I should stay at home
and take care of father and you. You have had your
education. Father has been more than a father to
us both. But you know your father's visits have never
been very happy. We were provided for, and that left
him free to devote all his earnings, which were never
large, to his work. Indeed, I think he forgot that we
required money, and I do not question that he has
thought as little of sending money to us as of spending
money for himself. It was well ; we have lacked for
nothing. We have had one purse with your grand-
father, who has given to us unstintedly. We have
never been so comfortable financially."
" But we have not been comfortable when father
and grandpa have had their discussions."
" No, and for a long time they avoided controversy
by mutual consent. Your father came home but once
or twice a year. He saw you growing to womanhood,
and loved and admired you more and more. He saw
me, with health broken from our years of hardship,
98 Pine Knot
cared for in the home of my father, and then he went
off again, a year longer, perhaps, writing to me, almost
daily, letters which I treasure, and pouring out his own
life in effort for others. He was happy, and so were
we ; though we wanted him with us we felt that on the
whole it was best."
"But this last time?"
" Men's minds are getting heated now. This
presidential campaign is driving men crazy. Topics
long laid aside between your father and grandfather
came up. Your grandfather grows more irritable as
he grows older, and he was never a patient man. And
when he drove your father from the house there was
nothing for us to do but to go forth with him. We
stayed till your father sought and found this opening.
It was all that he could find. Turning to the moun-
tains as the place where summer and autumn schools
are the rule, he remembered again the early days when
he worked with Lundy here. He read the Knoxville
Whig, in which Mr. Brownlow, though not an aboli-
tionist, is fighting so splendidly for the idea of a loyal
sentiment for the whole united nation. And so we are
here. It seems hard. We might have stayed with
father, and your father would always have had a home
to come to — which is all that he needed — and we a
permanent home. Father will not live for many years,
and he would not have left us unprovided for. You
could have married Boyd Estill "
" Mother ! " cried Barbara, her cheeks red.
" No matter, my dear, it is all past now."
" And you do not regret it ? "
" No, no. If I seem to complain it is because it
seems so needless, and we were so happy. If only
The Making of a Philanthropist 99
men could agree to differ, and let matters rest! I do
not know what will grow out of this terrible discussion
that is rending homes asunder. Ours is not the only
one, nor yet the saddest one. But I do not regret it.
When your father came and went as he chose, and was
at liberty to come to us, it was in some sense as though
he was with us all the time, and we could be content to
stay though he came to us but once or twice a year.
But when he was driven from the house, Barbara, all
the love that made me leave father and mother for his
sake came back with double power, and I would have
gone with him to the stake. If I complain, it is my
flesh that is weak. Barbara, I shall never be well again.
Sometimes I am impatient, I know. But what I have
done I would do again a thousand times."
Barbara had been sitting on the rough floor, hold-
ing her mother's hand as she reclined on the bed and
told this story. She rose and kissed her mother, and
said:
" God bless you, mother ! I would have done the
same. And we will stand by him, and help him, the
dear, brave man, even if we can not always understand
him. And now, mother, I'll put the kettle on. Even
philanthropists and their families can not live without
eating."
CHAPTER IX
THE SURPRISE AT THE SCHOOLHOUSE
Bill Blake, the chairman of the board of trustees,
slapped the log side of the schoolhouse vigorously
with a discarded roof board, and thus made known the
fact that school had " took up." It was eight o'clock
on Monday morning, and the trustees had demurred
a little at beginning school so late in the day, averring
that a teacher ought to work from sun to sun the same
as other men, and as had been the case in years past ;
but that question had been settled, and the contract
had been signed in the presence of a goodly number
of the patrons of the school, whose children meantime
scampered about the building, or peered through the
door, or played at " bull pen," if they were boys, or at
" chickeny-chickeny-craney-crow," if they were girls.
The seats of the Pine Knot school were of punch-
eon, with legs that were driven through auger holes.
It had not been thought necessary to saw oflf the legs
where they projected through the bench. The pupils
extemporized desks by placing their feet on the backs
of the seats in front, and writing on their knees.
A section of log cut out on either side made a win-
dow, guiltless of glass, and the lighting and ventilating
spaces were greatly increased by the ample cracks be-
The Surprise at the Schoolhouse loi
tween the logs, and the door stood ever open. A great
fireplace filled one end, and had not the heating con-
tract involved the warming of a considerable adjacent
portion of the two States of Kentucky and Tennessee
as they then were supposed to lie there would have
been no trouble in keeping warm. There was not
much trouble anyway with a three months' school,
which would be over before the weather got cold, but
the theory was that the school might be prolonged by
subscription.
The school came in, the girls giggling and choos-
ing seatmates with much whispering and some diffi-
culty. The boys shambled to their places, the big
boys crowding their way to the seats for which they
cared, and the little boys sitting where they could. A
few of the parents sat with their children, and more
stood up. The teacher had no chair, but it was opined
that he could borrow one from one of the neighbors,
A barrel did service as a desk. Jake Crawford had
contributed that.
After the school came in Bill Blake had another
whispered conference with the other trustees, the pur-
pose of which was to manifest to the crowd now as-
sembled that he assumed the position of spokesman
only after proper urging. Then he rose, hitched up
his galluses, and addressed the school :
" This here school is tuck up, and Mr. Buzbee here
is goin' to keep it. He ain't the teacher we was lookin'
for at one time, but I reckon he's as good, and some
thinks he's better. One thing I know. We've got it
from headquarters that he's the lickin'st teacher they
ever had over where he's been a-teachin', and if you
don't look out he'll take a hickory to you ! "
I02 Pine Knot
Mr. Blake was kneedeep in falsehood here, and
only indulged in this sort of talk by way of moral
support to the new teacher. That he used the rod
plentifully was taken as a matter of course. That any
fear of the rod in his hand would be a present incite-
ment to righteousness, and be justified in the outcome,
he did not question. So the barefaced falsehood was
not wholly without excuse. Indeed, Mr. Blake knew
no other way of endeavoring to convey a proper
warning.
He proceeded : " This teacher is a heap stouter than
he looks, and a heap smarter, too. If you big fellers
that thought you could run the other teacher out ever
try it on this one, you'll get what you got before, and
worse, now I can tell you. He'll bring you back to
taw. Now, we've got a few rules from the trustees, and
the teacher can make his own. The girls is to take
turns sweeping the house. Jest git ye a good bunch
of papaw bushes and pitch in every noon time. Then,
if there comes a cold day or a wet one, so's you need a
fire, the big boys is to cut the wood, and you may as
well see to gittin' in a backlog and a forestick and
some pine knots while hit's dry. Then they's another
thing. The hogs has got in here, and they's a heap
more fleas in this house and under it than what you'll
need. Now, when you go out to-day for recess, you
jest all of you bring in a big bunch of pennyroyal and
drap it on the floor, and tromp on it as ye go back and
for'ards to class, and keep that up till the fleas is gone.
And then there hain't to be no sparkin' here at noon
times, nor on the way to school and back ; and havin'
said that to the gals, I'll say this to the boys, that they
ain't to be no fighting, not unless somebody yells
The Surprise at the Schoolhouse 103
' School-butter ! ' * Now we'll make up the roll, and I
reckon we best begin with the strip of timber we
fetched in from Dif^culty, and clean out that branch
first, and then take the others in regular order."
* " School-butter." To any who have known the conditions
existing in backwoods schools it is unnecessary to explain this
phrase. What it originally meant, if indeed it meant anything,
the writer has never been able to learn, nor to obtain a reason-
able explanation. But from rural Pennsylvania to Arkansas,
and even in parts of Indiana and Michigan, it was known as
the most humiliating insult, and one certain to provoke swift re-
venge. All rules against fighting stood aside in favor of a pur-
suit of the person who called the word to the school. No pupil,
of course, unless an expelled pupil, would thus insult the school,
for it was the school as a whole that suffered from it ; and while
the teacher did not commonly join in the pursuit of the culprit,
he often found means of retribution against him, especially if a
former pupil,
Richard Malcolm Johnston has contributed to the Annual
Reports of the Commissioner of Education two interesting
papers on Early Education in Middle Georgia. The conditions
there described are practically identical with those that the
writer has himself observed in the mountain schools of Kentucky
and Tennessee. On the use of this phrase Mr. Johnston says :
" No satisfactory account that this writer has heard has
ever been given of the origin of this notable phrase in country
schools. Its utterance by a passer-by in tones loud enough to
be heard was regarded as the grossest insult that could be per-
petrated. The utterer, on making the cry, immediately fled
amain, and every boy rushed from the house in pursuit of him.
If overtaken, he was either ducked in the spring branch or, his
hands and feet being seized by four of the stoutest boys, he was
bumped against a tree until the insult was avenged. Seldom a
traveler on foot dared to take the risk. Even a horseman was
sometimes overtaken after a chase of several miles by two or
more who came to school on horseback mainly for the purpose.
"Some persons have speculated upon the phrase having
originated from that of ' I am your school's better.' Whatever
I04 Pine Knot
The parents present as called upon gave the names
of their children, and the other children gave their own
names. Some gave abbreviated names, as Dan and
Sam and Bill, and others gave names in full, as Wil-
liam Henry Harrison and Julius Csesar, Widow
Braniman was there, at the head of a long and very
much overcrowded bench.
" Them's all your gals, be they, Mis' Braniman? "
asked Bill Blake.
" Yes," she answered ; " I've had sorter bad luck
with my gals. The chimbley fell down on 'em and
killed all but nine ! "
" Dear me," exclaimed Mr. Buzbee, who took
but little part in the organization of the school, " how
unfortunate ! " But all the others understood the
characteristic mountain joke about the widow's nine
daughters, the youngest of whom was five and the
eldest seventeen.
The making of the roll consumed a good deal of
time, and the discussion which followed was on the
method of classification, a matter involving some diffi-
culty, as there were all grades, from the lowest primary
to such studies as might be pursued by young men and
women, and while there were a few nondescript text-
books, almost the only one of which there were two
copies — and of that there were at least sixty — was
Webster's Elementary Speller, known in mountain
schools as The Old Blue-back. Mr. Buzbee relieved
the trustees, however, by saying that he could attend to
the classification alone.
its origin, it was the universal custom in old-field schools to
regard it an insult, and attempt was made, with the master's
full assent, to punish it."
The Surprise at the Schoolhouse 105
The work of registration over, Mr. Buzbee took the
school in charge, saying:
" I will not announce any rules at this time except
that each pupil is to seek to promote the welfare of the
school and do to others as he would be done by. You
may take your books and study while I call you up
one by one and assign to you your classes."
There was a shufifling of bare feet on the log floor,
a pushing and a sliding along benches, and then the
books were opened, and the whole school began to
study, each one conning his lesson aloud, and in a tone
that, if alone, would have been distinctly audible
throughout the room. Such was the fashion in the
old-time " blab-school," and the teacher was wont to
insist upon a loud, clear tone as an evidence that the
studying was being faithfully done.*
* Blab-schools had become rare when the writer taught
school in the mountains of Kentucky in 1881 and following
years. Their disappearance was rapid, and they must now be
almost if not wholly extinct. At one time they had been prac-
tically universal. It was astonishing to see the skill of teach-
ers, even in moments of abstraction or of other cares, in detect-
ing the dropping out of a single voice, or the use of the babel of
voices to cover communication of a forbidden nature. Richard
Malcolm Johnston, in his paper on Early Educational Life in
Middle Georgia, writes, in a note which accords with the au-
thor's experience, as follows : " The fashion of studying aloud
in schools, now so curious to recall, did not produce the con-
fusion which those not accustomed to it would suppose. Be-
sides the natural desire to avoid punishment, rivalries were
often very active, particularly among girls, and during the time
devoted wholly to study there were few who did not make rea-
sonable effort to prepare for recitation. Spellers, readers, geog-
raphers, grammarians, getters-by-heart, all except cipherers,
each in his or her own tongue and tone, raised to height suffi-
cient to be clearly distinguished from others by individual ears,
io6 Pine Knot
Mr. Buzbee tapped lightly with his pencil and said :
" We will have no studying aloud. The room must be
quiet."
The trustees looked at each other in amazement,
and the pupils sat open-mouthed, wondering what they
could be expected to do.
The teacher then began his classification. " Can
you read ? " he asked the first boy.
" I dunno. I never tried."
" Can you spell ? "
" Yes, sir. I kin spell through the book sight les-
sons, and over to * horseback ' heart lessons." *
filled the room and several square rods of circumambient space
outside. In this while the master, deaf to the various multitu-
dinous sounds, sat in his chair, sometimes watching for a silent
tongue, at others with lackluster eyes gazing through the door
into the world beyond, perhaps musing when and where, if ever
in this life, this toiling, fighting, migratory, isolated, and about
friendless career would find respite."
* In the use of Webster's Elementary Speller, the word at
the head of the page comes to be a familiar designation for the
section of the book containing it. Thus, to have " spelled over
as far as baker," signifies familiarity with the simplest words of
two syllables ; " horseback," the hardest common words of two
syllables, and so on. The book itself contains division headings,
as, " words of three syllables, accented on the second," but it is
simpler to say "sirocco." Under each section are short sen-
tences, some of them very quaint, used as reading lessons, and
often committed as proverbs. For instance, under "sirocco"
the pupil is informed that "the chewing of tobacco is a useless
custom," the statement being suggested by the word " tobacco,"
which falls in this section. In the back of the book are certain
tales, as of the farmer and the rude boys, the milkmaid and
her day dream, and the ox that had been gored by the bull.
This part of the book is known as " the grammar of it." The
book is much less elaborate than the newer spellers, but it is
said to sell a million copies a year even to this day. In the
The Surprise at the Schoolhouse 107
" Very well. You should have been taught to read
while learning to spell. Now, take your speller, and
study this line, which tells you that * Ann can spin
flax.' Spend the next hour in looking at it, finding out
from what you know of spelling which word it is that
corresponds to each of those groups of letters. Be able
to read the sentence as a whole, and to point out each
word at sight, to print it on the slate and to spell it.
Have it so that you will know every word in that sen-
tence wherever you find it. I will have a blackboard
here in a few days, and I shall expect you to be able
to print your lesson upon it. You have no slate?
You may borrow one, if you can. If not, study it the
more, for I shall require you to do it."
The boy stood astonished. It had never occurred
to him before that the printed words which he had
spelled in the long columns were intended to be put
together so as to convey information.
The trustees looked anxious. Peleg Goodwin, who
felt chiefly responsible for the teacher, was first to
question this new and singular method.
" Mr. Buzbee," said he, " don't you have 'em spell
three or four times through the book before you have
'em read ? "
" No," said he, " I expect them to read at once."
" I never heerd tell of no sech way o' teachin'," said
Noel Davis.
" I will illustrate it," said Mr. Buzbee. " Let all
who do not know their letters step forward."
There was a long, wavy row across the room, girls
in linsey-woolsey, boys in new suits of tow, hastily
judgment of the writer, who has used it enough to know its
merits, it deserves its continued popularity.
io8 Pine Knot
finished for the day, and as yet very new and very
scratchy.
" All look this way," said he, and with a bit of red
keel he printed on the hewn face of a log, " See my
cat."
" Now, children, I want you to look at this that
I have done. I have written here the three words,
* See my cat.' Look at this sentence. It is in three
parts, and each of them is a word. They are not alike.
They are just as dififerent as are the three words which
I speak when I say, ' See my cat.' Look hard at them.
This one is * cat.' You must be able to know it when-
ever you see it, just as you would know a picture of a
cat. It never means anything else than cat. I will
talk to you about the other two words later, but now I
will print this one word on a piece of paper. Take it,
and go down to the road, and make it in the dust with
short sticks. Help each other to get it right. I shall
come and look at it at recess time. Do not stop till
you can make this word in the dust. You may try to
draw a cat, too, if you like. Wait a minute. If I
should tell you the three letters in that word, could
you remember them ? Perhaps some one of you knows
already how to spell cat? Do you know, my little
man? Well, do not tell it now, but when you get
down to the road tell all the others. Teach them the
three letters. And whatever any one of you knows, he
may teach the others. Whoever learns anything be-
fore the rest of the class will have this reward, that he
will be the teacher of that thing to the others."
It astonished the trustees and parents, and Widow
Braniman was not the only one who threatened to
take her " young 'uns out if they was goin' on that
The Surprise at the Schoolhouse 109
away " ; but as the parents straggled home, they found
their hopefuls regarding their work in the road. There
were printed cats, and drawn cats of all stages of im-
perfection, and mud pies as well, and a few had orna-
mented their work with borders of barefoot tracks, and
a few of the ambitious ones were teaching the others
how to improve their work. But there was not a
child in the school who, at the end of the first day, did
not know the word " cat," and most of them knew the
other two words.
" I wish the trustees to prepare me a blackboard,"
said Mr. Buzbee. " You may plane four boards a foot
wide and five feet long and fasten them together on
the back, and stain them black with pokeberry juice."
" What's that fur? " asked Noel Davis.
" That is to write upon with chalk, where all the
school can see it."
It was a new idea, but it took, and the blackboard
of Pine Knot, with red keel for chalk, was inspected
by many schools about, a few of which copied it for
their own use.
Arithmetic was the one branch, except spelling,
that was well taught in the mountain schools. The
pupils had a natural talent for figures, and not a few
of the larger pupils had hard problems of their own
with which they attempted " to floor " every new
teacher. Woe to the reputation of the teacher who
confessed that he could not work them !
There was no geography or history, and the gram-
mar was of the most arbitrary sort, as impractical as
could be imagined, and many a boy finished the course
in it with no idea that " nominative, he ; possessive,
his ; objective, him," really meant anything. Mr. Buz-
no Pine Knot
bee discarded the two or three grammar books, and
arranged a method of oral teaching. As to geography,
he made a class of his own, and promised to tell them
a story each day, and have them repeat it to him the
day after. The same method he pursued in history,
and as this did not give him classes enough, he asked
each pupil to bring from home a few kernels of corn,
a bean or two, and certain other seeds, which they
would plant beside the spring branch, and dig up
specimens day by day for examination.
" Hit ain't no way to keep school," whispered Noel
Davis to Peleg Goodwin.
" He'll lam 'em a heap," said Goodwin, " but hit
ain't what we send 'em to larn. Daggon me, ef I
wouldn't like to come here to school myself."
There was a spirited discussion about it all, and
the neighbors were of at least two minds about the
matter. It was strange, to say the least. One group
of little folks was sent to the woods to see how the
sycamore leaf protects its buds, and to compare the
way of the oak and the hickory, and another was sent
to watch an ant nest, while the teacher was grouping
his larger pupils into classes. One thing was certain,
he was master of the situation, and another thing was
probable, that the children would learn something,
whether it was what Mr. Goodwin thought they ought
to learn or not.
This work was nearing completion, when a whis-
pered word passed around directed all eyes to the
door. Noel Davis shifted his seat, and got well into
the corner, yet where the open door would serve him,
if a retreat became necessary. Bill Blake looked anx-
ious, and Peleg Goodwin grew nervous and a little
The Surprise at the Schoolhouse iii
pale. Jim Fletcher came riding up the road, over the
children's printed lesson, and hitched his horse to a
tree hard by. Then, with a determined look on his
dark face, he strode up the path to the schoolhouse,
and crossed the threshold. There was fear on almost
every face within. No one was unmoved except the
teacher, who greeted the newcomer, and asked him
to take a seat. The whole company waited for the
outburst which was to follow. James Fletcher reached
in his pocket, and drew forth, not a pistol, but a silver
dollar, which he handed to the teacher, saying :
" That's my tuition for a month. I'm not in school
age, but I want to come to school and learn all I can."
Then he took his seat among the children who had
been his pupils, and the hush that fell on the room was
like the silence which follows a thunderclap.
CHAPTER X
THE TOP SIDE OF THE EARTH
What is the shape of the earth? They were dis-
cussing this question around the cane mill at Sile
Parker's. It was at the time of the stir-off, and the
talk which had started earlier in the day grew more
voluminous and more intense after supper. The com-
pany was larger then, and the grinding being done,
and the sap at its final boiling, there was more time
to talk.
" It ain't what I send my young uns to school to
larn," said Green Best.
" You'd best be glad to have 'em larn anything.
They'll be just that much ahead of their daddy," re-
torted Neze Post with a laugh.
" Without it's develmaint," added Jake Crawford.
" You want to remember, fellers, that they got a
mammy," replied Green good-naturedly. " I hain't
never sot up to be no Solomon myself, but the chaps
ain't likely to be fools ef they favor their ma."
"Oh, we knowed which side o' the house the brains
was on," said Post, and the laugh grew more boisterous.
This was characteristic Pine Knot humor, and Green
counted it a family compliment, since it reflected credit
on his wife.
The Top Side of the Earth 113
" Brains is one thing, and this here talk about the
earth bein' round is another," said Green.
" That's so," said Preacher Taulbee. " I lay off to
have as much brains as the next feller, and I thank
the Lord that my jeans coat hain't never breshed no
dust offn nary college wall. This here talk about the
earth bein' round is a-goin' to ruin this country ef we
ain't keerful."
Preacher Taulbee owned the cane mill, and hauled
it from place to place in the autumn, grinding out the
sap from the little patches of sorghum along the creek,
and boiling it down into molasses.
" What do you aim to do about it ? " asked Post.
" I ain't a-goin' to stand it," said Taulbee.
" But the teacher's a-teachin' it right along."
" I'll take my boy out of school."
" That won't stop him a-larning the rest of the
chaps."
" No, but the rest kin do the same ef they feel as
I do."
" But he's laming the chaps a sight," said Parker.
" It ain't the larning," said the preacher. " I
don't like to have our young uns larned what's goin'
to make 'em infidels."
" Mr. Buzbee ain't no infidel," said Parker. " He's
a good man, and you alls know it."
" But he cyan't ride over this community with his
fool talk about the earth bein' round," said Noel Davis.
" I know one thing," said Taulbee, " he cyan't
ride me. He kin saddle me, but he cyan't ride me."
" Nor him nor no other man cyan't ride me," said
Davis. " Ef he comes up to whar I'm a-standin' at the
trought a-eatin' my oats, and gits his foot in my stirrup
114 Pine Knot
and goes to throw his laig acrost, about the time the
dust clars off I'll be a-standin' thar like I was before,
and he'll be a-layin' off about ten foot, and one o' his
galluses'll be wropped around my hind foot."
Just what the teacher had done to give wings to
this brilliant flight of rhetoric may be inferred from the
conversation. He had taught the children of Pine
Knot that the earth is round.
" What be you a-doin' thar, Noel ? 'Pears to me
you're keepin' mighty still," said Green.
" The still sow steals the swill, I've heerd tell/' said
Neze.
" I ain't a-doin' nothin'," said Noel, concealing a
shovel in the dark.
"I know what you're a-doin'," said Green. "You're
a-fixin' you a glory hole."
" Shet up ! " said Noel. " Hit's for the teacher ! "
The teacher did not step into the glory hole that
night. He had been at one or two stir-off's before,
and had learned to locate the hole where the skim-
mings were poured, and to expect that it would be
lightly covered with sod as a trap for some unwary
victim. Noel himself forgot and stepped in it before
the evening was over, and thus poetic justice was done
in a manner not wholly unusual. But the teacher got
his foot into another situation that evening by ac-
cepting Preacher Taulbee's challenge to a debate on
the shape of the earth.
The fire was glowing under the long sheet-iron
pan. The furnace had been made by digging a shallow
trench a foot longer than the pan in the bank of the
creek. From the lower level it was easy to tend the
fire, and the elevation of the pan to the top of the
The Top Side of the Earth 115
bank made it easy to pour in the sap and dip out the
molasses. The fire showed out at the door and cast
its red hght across the creek, and also from the chim-
ney, if the hole at the other end could be so called,
making a nearly vertical cone of light above the pan.
But later when they lifted off the pan, the whole bed
of red-hot coals blazed out, and, to quote the felicitous
phrase of No Bus'ness, " burned a hole in the night."
Mr. Buzbee appeared just as the pan was lifted off,
and the young folks, who by this time numbered a
score or more, crowded around the pan with their
whittled paddles, and scraped the edges where the
molasses cooled first, and licked the paddles and came
again. The teacher soon had all the molasses he
wanted, and withdrew from the crowd of youngsters
who were laughing over Noel's mishap, as since the
day of Haman people have laughed or moralized —
and it amounts to the same thing often — over the
fate of the man who falls into his own snare. The
group of men who stood aside were talking about his
teaching that the earth is round, and his approach
resulted in a frank challenge from the preacher to dis-
cuss the question publicly in the Pine Knot school-
house. The teacher promptly accepted, and the de-
tails were arranged.
It was a crisp autumn evening when the first de-
bate occurred. From up the creek and down people
came with unlighted pine-knot torches, or with little
brass lamps. A fire was kindled in the ample fire-
place, and several of the brass lamps, smoking furi-
ously, and incidentally lighting a little spot about them,
made the darkness visible. Before it was dark the log
schoolhouse was crowded.
ii6 Pine Knot
With Buzbee came James Fletcher, who was to
be his colleague. With Taulbee was Green Baker, a
preacher of note from Laurel County. Baker was
noted for various things. He always removed his
coat when preaching, but this was not enough to
distinguish him. He had served one term in the peni-
tentiary at Frankfort, and while it would be a gross
libel to mention this as if it were common among
mountain preachers, still it is worthy of note that not
a few converted ruffians become preachers there; the
ministry is the one respectable career left for such men,
with dignity comparable to their past estate. And
it certainly is characteristic of the region that while
common fame declared that the particular oflfense for
which he had been sentenced in his sinful days was
hog-stealing, Baker himself declared that it was for
" stobbin' a feller." He was well past both stealing
and stabbing now, however, but had in him the some-
what sanctified spirit of the desperado turned to
righteous ends. He was to be the chief speaker to-
night, and his old spirit was up. He was righteously
indignant that any man should be teaching pernicious
doctrine, and he was enjoying the prospect of a fight
for the truth,
Renfro was chosen chairman by mutual agreement.
At Fletcher's suggestion, Mr. Buzbee also chose him
as judge. The preachers chose another preacher, and
so it was certain in advance that the vote would stand
paired, with the third man to decide. It was agreed
also that each man should speak three quarters of an
hour, and that the leaders should close the discussion.
Mr. Buzbee began by stating the arguments given
in the geographies. He told of the ships whose masts.
The Top Side of the Earth 117
though smaller, appear before the hulls; of the round
shadow upon the moon, cast by the earth in time of
an eclipse, and so on. It seemed to him a clear and
convincing statement. But it was evident, even while
he was speaking, that any argument based on unob-
structed vision was inefifective ; people living among
the hills had no experience which enabled them to
interpret such an argument.
Taulbee made the most of this in his reply. Even
if it was true, he said, it proved nothing, and nothing
was so certain as that the earth was solid. He ap-
pealed to the evidences of the senses, to the experi-
ence of mankind, to common sense, and to the Bible.
Who of all the people here ever saw the creek, which
flowed west, begin running east at midnight, as it cer-
tainly must do when the earth tipped sufficiently ? As
to eclipses, they were freaky things. He had once
seen one come on and go ofif on the same side of the
moon ; the fact was, no one could predict the turn they
might take, and it was a pure assumption that they
were caused by the earth's shadow. Besides, even if
it were possible to prove that eclipses were caused by
the shadow of the earth, it might be merely the shadow
of a round hill on the top side of it.
Fletcher followed, and dwelt upon the facts of
human experience. Men had actually sailed around
the earth. Men whom they had seen on the other
side were no more on the bottom than they them-
selves; they, also, thought themselves to be standing
with heads up, and suffered no discomfort. He urged
his hearers to believe that the earth's motion made it
seem that the sun and stars moved ; even so he had
seen on horseback a whole landscape in apparent mo-
ii8 Pine Knot
tion, and he had heard that people on a train were un-
certain whether their own train or one on an adjoin-
ing track was moving.
Then Baker rose. He was a giant in stature, and
stooped a Httle to get down to the level of other people.
He was stooping when he began to speak, but he
straightened as he proceeded, and the effect was as if he
added cubits to his stature by the mere force of his
argument. He took his stand beside Buzbee's chair,
and made sweeping gestures over his head, his ponder-
ous fist descending over the head of the teacher as
though he would crush his skull.
" Mr. Presidaint," he said, " this here ain't no time
for smooth talking. I've come here to-night from clar
over the aidge of the yarth in Laurel " — there was in-
finite sarcasm in the words, and a plain attempt to
establish his own reputation as a traveler — " and I've
come too fur to have ary false idy of politeness to these
here gentlemen, I'm a-goin' to hew to the line, and
let the chips fall whar they will. This here's a age of
new idys, and most of 'em false; this here's a time
that people wants to believe a lie and be damned. And
hit's a time for them that believes the truth to stand
together and fight for the truth, and not be mealy-
mouthed about it. I ain't a-sayin' my colleage ain't
right in bein' so p'tic'lar to be polite to these gentle-
men, and I ain't disputin' that they're very nice young
gentlemen, but they got a heap to larn, and some
things that ain't down in the books in college.
R-r-r-r-ck ! "
Thus he ended his paragraphs with a hostile clear-
ing of the throat, and a threatening gesture. Then
he began his argument.
The Top Side of the Earth 119
Who did not know, he asked, that travelers were
notorious Uars? They came back, knowing that it is
impossible to disprove their tales and that people ex-
pect them to have seen great things. People expect
them to lie, and they do lie.
" Why, I remember," said he, becoming facetious,
" when Bill Geddes went off with a hog drove. He
come back plum heavy under the heft of the wisdom
he'd got. All the neighbors ast him whar he'd ben,
and he said he didn't know. And so they kep' a-pes-
terin' him to know somethin' about it. * I dunno,'
says he, ' but I know I got a long ways off and to a
mighty quare place.' * How was hit quare ? ' says
some one. * Wal,' says he, ' they called sop, gravy.' "
This story provoked a roar of laughter, and, while
the point was not quite in sight, it was evident that it
militated against Buzbee and Fletcher.
" Now, who's a-goin' to believe that down under
the dirt and rocks and sich thar's folks a-livin' with
haids down, and foolish enough to allow they're up?
I've heerd tell of folks not a-knowin' which end thar
haids was on, but I hadn't no My of meetin' none till
to-night ! I reckon that's whar these gentlemen come
from; anyhow, they come from whar men's idys gits
that away. R-r-r-r-ck !
" Now, all this here talk about men sailin' round
the yarth. Now you know as well as I do that water
would run off the aidge and take them with it. And
if they thought they sailed around, why mebby they
sailed around as clost to the aidge as they could and
kept a-goin' till they come back."
He illustrated this by telling of a man who thought
himself to be going straight ahead, but who really was
9
I20 Pine Knot
lost, and who, after a night of wandering, found him-
self where he started from. " But even he wasn't fool
enough to allow he'd went around the yarth to git to
the back side of his own barn. R-r-r-r-ck ! "
Then he advanced to the positive part of his argu-
ment. He had been something of a traveler himself.
He had been through Cumberland Gap into Old Vir-
giny, and had been the other way as far as Frankfort.
He had found that the earth was not all so broken into
knobs as it was here, but he had found no place where it
appeared round, and his eye was as good as the next
man's. He had sat up all night grinding when water
had been low, and the need of meal was great, and at
no instant during the night had the mill pond, the one
level sheet of what water was near his home, even hesi-
tated about running over the dam. " Hit didn't appear
to know what these gentlemen expected of it. I hain't
no doubt ef the water had a-knowed how it ort to act,
hit would have done different when the yarth began
to tip ; but 'peared lack hit didn't know no better than
to do like it done. Hit never went to no college, and
couldn't be blamed for hit's ignorance. Nobody
larned the water how to run but God A'mighty.
R-r-r-r-ck ! "
By this time Baker's form seemed to tower among
the rafters, and the planes of light made by the flicker-
ing lamps added to his apparent height. He wore no
vest, and his jeans coat had been laid aside. His long
arms were swinging, and his right fist was descending
over the teacher's head.
" But all this ain't a patchin' to what I've got to
say. The question ain't what I think nor what these
here nice gentlemen think. I hain't got no quarrel
The Top Side of the Earth 121
with them, nor I don't intend to run for no office here,
neither, nor come over here a-sparkin' nor apply for
no schools to keep. I'm to tell the truth without fear
or favor, and I say that this doctrine is plum agin the
word of God."
Then he told how the Bible declares that God laid
the corner stone of the earth, and stretched the line
upon it, and he asked what need a ball had for a corner
or a corner stone — " no more need than a hog has for
a sidesaddle," he answered — and how a straight line
could conform to a curve. He added that the Bible
affirms that the course of the sun is from one end of
the heaven to the other, and that if the sun is station-
ary the Bible must be false. He affirmed that, if the
Bible is true, nothing is hid from the heat of the sun,
whereas, if his opponents were right, the poles were
long in darkness. He was in the midst of a long array
of quotations when his time expired.
It was evident that the argument was not ex-
hausted, and adjournment was had for a week. Public
sentiment was divided concerning the merits of the
discussion, but no one questioned that Baker had made
a profound impression. He himself conceded, as
modestly as he knew how, that he had delivered a
great speech, and added, " Hit takes a college-bred to
dror me out ! "
Mr. Buzbee and his colleague got together and
compared notes. It was evident that they were to have
a harder task than they anticipated. Anxious as they
were to succeed — and to be defeated would be only
less fatal to their reputation in the community than
to be the victims of a successful lockout — they were
also anxious to convince their audience, many of
122 Pine Knot
whom indeed agreed with them, but not a few of whom
counted their teaching a dangerous heresy. And, in-
deed, a man who has seen sincere people in the throes
of an effort to beUeve the earth round and the Bible
true comes to look rather calmly on discussions about
higher criticism and evolution and the other minor
afifairs which trouble the faith of weaker souls than
these stalwart mountaineers. And if it seem to any
reader that a man must be counted ignorant because
he believes the earth fiat and stationary, let him re-
member that Sir Francis Bacon never fully accepted
the Copernican theory; that Turretin defends the
theory that the earth is flat ; and that one great Ameri-
can university is said to have taught the Ptolemaic
theory for conscience' sake down to the second decade
of the nineteenth century.
The simple globes and luminaries and the home-
made orrery were fairly successful, and made an im-
pression on the audience when exhibited, and it im-
pressed the third judge, Tom Lawson the blacksmith.
The teachers appreciated his growing interest, and
they noted gladly that Mr. Taulbee could do little more
than thrash over the straw of the previous meeting.
But Mr. Baker had not exhausted his argument, and
when he rose it was to an argument chiefly biblical
and full of power. As he went on he grew more heated
and indulged more in sarcasm. Looking down in
scorn upon Buzbee, and clearing his throat, he said:
" R-r-r-r-ck ! Here's a college-bred — ah ! And he's
come out here into this wilderness country — ah! — to
larn us and to instruct us about the shape of the yarth
— ah! And he knows more'n what Joshua did — ah!
Brethering, do you reckon Joshua needed him to tell
The Top Side of the Earth 123
him what to pray for — ah ! Did he say, * Yarth, stand
thou still on thine axletree ' — ah ! No, he says, says
he, * Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon ' — ah ! — ' and
thou moon in the valley of Ajalon ' — ah ! But he
knows more'n what Joshua did — ah! I reckon he'd
like to take Joshua inter this little school of hisn — ah !
— and lam him about the shape of the yarth — ah ! He
knows more'n Joshua — ah! Yes, I reckon he thinks
he knows more'n God A'mighty that writ this Book —
ah ! I tell ye, brethering, hit's the doctrine of infidelity
— ah ! And ary man that'll teach it ort to be drummed
out of the country — ah ! R-r-r-r-r-r-r-ck ! "
He also explained his theory of the continual
energy of the sun. Said he :
" I've got an idy about how it is that the sun comes
up just as bright as what it went down and don't lose no
light. Ef hit kep' on a-shinin' in Chiny and them other
places day and night right along, hit would burn out
atter a while. But every night when hit goes down hit
rolls right through hell and comes up a-blazin'. Any-
how, that's my notion, though I don't know as they's
ary Scripture on the p'int, but hit stands to reason."
The discussion closed ; the judges went out into
the dark and cast their vote, two to one in favor of
the teachers, though Mr. Lawson desired to have it
understood that his vote was strictly on the merits of
the argument, and not on the question of fact. After
the meeting he said to Mr. Buzbee that he was some-
what troubled about the matter, and he wished to settle
the question now he had begun. He asked Mr. Buzbee
if he might come over some night and explain some
questions that had arisen in his mind during the prog-
ress of the discussion.
124 Pine Knot
A few evenings later he came over, and Mr. Buz-
bee took a ball of yarn and a knitting needle and a
candle, and, pushing the needle through the ball, illus-
trated by walking around the candle the alternation
of day and night, and the progression of the seasons.
At last Lawson declared that he understood it, and
wondered how he had misunderstood so long. So
Lawson went home and the Buzbees retired for the
night, and the earth soon rolled around into sunlight
again.
But Lawson was not a permanent convert. Mr.
Buzbee heard that he had fallen from grace, and asked
him about it.
" I reckon I mout as well own up," said Lawson.
" They say an honest confession is good for the soul.
You made that look mighty plain, but I wasn't easy
in my mind, 'Peared like ever' time the old thing
flopped over she was goin' to spill us off. And I
couldn't git over Joshua, and the angels standin' on
the corners of the earth, and I said, ' Let God be true,
and ever' man a liar ! ' And I made up my mind I
didn't want to believe it, and I wasn't a-goin' to, and
I hain't ! "
Another man's heart sank as he viewed the failure
of his conversion to last, but Mr. Buzbee had learned
to expect the world to receive his ideas somewhat
slowly, and said : " Mr. Lawson, I don't blame you.
If I were in your place, I don't believe I'd try."
" It's no use trying to deal with such ignorant
people," said Mrs. Buzbee, who resented Lawson's
fall from grace.
" We must not call them ignorant, my dear," he
replied patiently. "After all, we are not so far removed
The Top Side of the Earth 125
from this condition that we can afford to call it igno-
rance. When Cotton Mather, who, spite of his vanities
and minor follies, was a progressive man in his day,
preached that the sun is the center of the solar sys-
tem, so intelligent a man as Chief-Justice Samuel
Sewall, of Boston, went home and recorded his protest
in his diary. Let us not hasten to call them ignorant
who went into isolation in Sewall's day, and have re-
tained so well the civilization of his time."
The debate showed Mr. Buzbee at his best. He
was used to controversy and wonderfully patient under
opposition. He was master of the learning of the
subject, and astonished even Fletcher with his skill
and resource. And it made his place more secure in
the community. The people felt proud of his learn-
ing, even if they did not share his views, and they
resented Baker's assaults as in some sort a reflection
upon the district that had employed him as teacher.
" That man Baker kin preach here whenever he
wants to, but he cyan't git a jury out to hear him
atter this," was the common remark.
Fletcher, too, had appeared at his best. His
espousal of Mr. Buzbee's cause made it seem a home
product, and Pine Knot felt itself a sort of Galileo
among mountain communities. Not that all the
people approved the theory, but that the right to hold
it was established beyond cavil. Even Preacher Taul-
bee came to exhibit a certain respect for the doc-
trine, and with appropriate gestures admitted that
" the yarth may be round this away " (that is cylin-
drical), " but hit ain't round this away," that is spheri-
cal. So, notwithstanding the lapse of some of the con-
verts to the new idea, the debate scored a real triumph
126 Pine Knot
for the teacher and his assistant, and made for prog-
ress.
But there was one person who watched it all with
anxiety. Mrs. Buzbee could not fail to see that this
discussion, which brought Fletcher still more con-
stantly to their home, was making his devotion to
Barbara apparent to every one except Mr. Buzbee,
and possibly Barbara. Did Barbara, too, understand
what it meant? And did she respond? Sometimes
Mrs. Buzbee thought she did.
CHAPTER XI
WIDOW BRANIMAN AND HER NEIGHBOR
It is no disparagement of other pupils of the Pine
Knot school to say that James Fletcher was the most
eager pupil, and the one who gained the most. The
studies which he pursued — history, composition, natu-
ral science, having for its basis an old text-book in
physical geography, with theology and biblical inter-
pretation— were not all in the curriculum arranged for
common schools, but he pursued all these and more.
Boarding around among his friends as he had done
while a teacher, and as he still was welcome to do as
a preacher and a friend, he devoted his whole time, ex-
cept when preaching, to his studies. And what he
learned was almost phenomenal. He brought to his
task a mind so eager, and questions which he had
so long pondered, he felt so profoundly that this was
his life chance to get the most from a man whose col-
lege training and wide reading made him a mint of
knowledge, that he allowed no opportunity to escape
him for the learning of a fact or principle.
Mr. Buzbee liked him from the first, and was never
tired of speaking to his wife of Fletcher's magnanimity
in coming to school after his disappointment.
" It was good sense," she replied, " but I can hard-
127
128 Pine Knot
ly call it magnanimity, and I am sure he is profiting
richly by it."
" No doubt, no doubt. But I also am profiting.
Aside from the tuition, which I am most reluctant to
accept, but which he forces upon me, he is a great
help. It was he who dissuaded the boys from their
intended lockout : I am told that it is a universal cus-
tom to lock the teacher out one day, to test his ability
to master the school. Of course, had they done this,
I should have mastered them."
" How?" asked Barbara, a little disappointed that
her father had not been permitted to triumph over
them.
" Oh, I can hardly tell, not knowing the way their
fancy might prompt them to move; but just by way
of a beginning, I have carried a pound of sulphur
in my bag ever since school opened. It is far easier
to set it on fire and drop it down the chimney than
to force the door. If that had failed, I have other
devices. But it is far better to have avoided all this.
Then, when the complaint began about my teaching
that the earth is round, it was he who assured the
Methodists that I was right, though the Baptists, I
believe, still hold me a heretic there. At dififerent
times, too, he has heard my classes in the lower grades,
that I might devote more time to the higher ones.
He has been, in fact, my assistant."
" But you," said Mrs. Buzbee, " have given him
much more than what you have imparted in school
hours. He comes here almost every night."
" It is a pleasure to see his eagerness to learn. I
have taught him a little Latin, and have begun to
teach him Greek, using the Greek Testament, and
Widow Braniman and her Neighbor 129
beginning with simple sight-reading in the Fourth
Gospel. It is a method of my own, so much simpler
than that commonly employed that I have long won-
dered why it is not in use in colleges and preparatory
schools. It is quite astonishing to see how he gets
on. He has actually read three chapters, and has
learned not a little of the grammar, and almost without
effort."
" John," asked Mrs. Buzbee, as Barbara left the
room for a moment, " do you think that it is solely for
his lessons that James Fletcher comes here ? "
" Why, surely so, my dear. What else should
bring him? "
Mrs. Buzbee said nothing for a moment.
" I can think of nothing else, I am sure," he re-
peated.
" Men are so blind ! " said Mrs. Buzbee.
" You can not mean — ? " he asked.
" Certainly, I mean just that," she replied.
" But, my dear, Barbara is but a child."
" You are mistaken again," said she. " Barbara
is eighteen, and a woman."
" Eighteen ! So she is ! Time flies so quickly !
And I have accomplished so little! Eighteen years
ago I expected that by the time I was sixty, as I now
am, I should see the end of many things now hardly
begun. But we are approaching a consummation, my
dear. Lincoln will be elected. The Knoxville Whig,
which I have been reading this afternoon, gives the
most certain assurance that the election will result so.
And then "
" But, John, I wanted to say a word about Bar-
bara."
130 Pine Knot
" Barbara, oh yes, to be sure ! Well, she is eight-
een, as you say. Well, what of it ? "
" Only that James Fletcher is in love with her."
" Do you think so, my dear? "
" I know it."
" Has Barbara told you ? "
" Certainly not."
" Has he spoken to Barbara? "
" Not to my knowledge."
" Then how do you know ? Perhaps you only
imagine."
" My dear, wise old goose of a husband, if you will
only open your eyes, you will see for yourself."
" Well, my dear, perhaps it is so. I had not thought
of such a thing, but I do not see that anything is to
be done."
" Yet, I don't like to have him heart-broken."
" No, of course not ; and yet, perhaps he would
not be so."
" John ! You don't mean that you would be will-
ing to have Barbara marry him ? "
" Why, my love, the whole subject is new to me.
I have not thought of such a thing. I suppose that
Barbara will marry some time, though she seems to
me very young. I do not know that I seriously object
to him."
" Why, John ! You do not consider ! What is his
social position? What are his prospects in life? She
could have had, had she stayed in Lexington, offers
of marriage from some of the best men there. There
is one with whom, I am sure, she practically had an
understanding."
"Who was that?"
Widow Braniman and her Neighbor 131
" Boyd Estill."
" The son of Philip Estill, who married Lydia
Boyd?"
" Yes."
" My dear," said Mr. Buzbee, with a quiet emphasis,
" the Estills own slaves, and so do the Boyds."
" Yes, but they are excellent people, and of the
very best families. And I am not sure but Barbara
encouraged him."
" They are not engaged ? "
" No, but I think Barbara is fond of him."
" She has not told you so ? "
" No."
" Then I must talk with Barbara."
" John ! What will you say to her ? "
" I will say that I would rather see her in her cofifin
than married to a slaveholder."
" John, John ! Be wise, as you are good ! Re-
member how father's interference worked in our case!
There is nothing between them, I am sure. Don't
meddle, or you will do harm. I ought not to have
told you. Promise me, John, that you will not speak
to her."
" They do not correspond ? "
" No, I think they had some slight misunderstand-
ing."
" Ah, well, it was doubtless nothing but a girl's
fancy, and is past, I doubt not."
" I am not sure of that. But you let her alone
about Boyd Estill, and I will say nothing at present
about James Fletcher."
"Very well, my love," said he, "that seems fair.
I had so much trouble in my own love aflfair through
132 Pine Knot
interference that I have little inclination to meddle
with others."
Barbara came in at this moment, and announced :
" Mrs. Braniman wants to see you, father."
" Come in, Mrs. Braniman," said Mr. Buzbee.
" Let me take your horse."
" No, I won't git down. I ain't got time to stop.
Deck Morgan never was no 'count to fix up no stile-
blocks so's a woman could git oflf a horse here. I'll
set right here. Be you a lawyer ? "
" I am a member of the bar, but I do not practice."
" Well, I want you to git me up a proteck."
" A what, my good woman ? "
" Lordy, I ain't your good woman ! I ain't no-
body's! I sorter wisht I was, sometimes, till I think
how I was pestered with my old man that died. But
he got good to-wards the last. He was sorter good all
the time. But right to-wards the last he got real sweet.
Hit seemed right like he was settin' up with me agin.
And when he found he'd got to die, he made me prom-
ise to plant tobacker on his grave, and nobody smoke
it or chaw it but jrst me."
" That was a mark of his affection, doubtless.
What can I do for you now ? "
Barbara, who had been standing in the door, dis-
appeared now and stifled her laughter at the late
lamented Mr. Braniman's sentiment as best she could.
" I want a proteck agin Noel Davis. He don't
keep up his critters. His farm jines mine, and he lets
his hogs and his yearlin's run all over creation, and
in my corn. He wouldn't 'a' done it onct when my
old man was alive. He wouldn't do it now, if I had
any one to stand up for me. But 1 hain't. I ain't got
Widow Braniman and her Neighbor 133
no man of no description, nor boy nuther. No man,
nor no boy, nor no nothin'. Only jest " — and she
added this in a tone of profound contempt — " only
jest nine head o' gal children."
" I am sorry, very sorry. What do you wish me
to do?"
" I want you to draw me up a paper, to swear to
before a justice of the peace, to make him keep up his
stock, or his line fences, one."
" I see. My good woman — I beg your pardon,
Mrs. Braniman — line fences are a source of perpetual
trouble between neighbors. Could you not so plan
with him what you will plant in adjacent fields that
each shall have the same crop maturing at the same
time, so that he will have to keep his stock away from
the line fence to protect his own crop ? "
" I didn't allow to do nothin' of the kind. I jest
allowed that I'd law him till he larned to behave his-
self like he oughter."
" I should not like to help you go to law. Law is
very uncertain and unsatisfactory. Would not this be
the better way ? "
" But good land, ef I've got to ast him what to
plant in this field, and tell him what to plant in
that, I mout jest as well marry him and git shet of
him."
" That may be the better way."
" Do you reckon so ? "
" It is certainly worth considering."
" Wall, I've said a hundred times I wouldn't marry
him, if he was the next to the last man, and the other
was a bald-headed, cross-eyed heathen."
" But the heathen might prove as disagreeable as
134 Piiie Knot
Noel, and besides he would not have the line fence
with you."
" I'll study about it, Mr. Buzbee. Say, you
wouldn't mind mentioning it to Noel, would ye? But
then I reckon you needn't. I'd like to think it over
first."
" You understand, Mrs. Braniman, I had no
thought of suggesting such a thing. It was your
remark that brought it to my mind. But as you put
the case, it seems to me an admirable way of settling
the difficulty. At any rate, I should say the risks were
less and the prospects better than going to law."
" Well, I b'lieve you're right. I've no doubt that
house o' Noel's is all seven ways for Sunday inside.
I've jest thought a million times I'd like to git in thar
and give it a good clarin' up jest for spite. I don't
know but what he needs a woman as much as I need
a man. But don't say nothing about it to Noel. I
ain't sure whether I'd have him yet, and I wouldn't
like to disappoint him. And hit's better such things
should come around nateral. But whether I marry
him or don't, he's got to keep up his yearlin's."
It is characteristic of the difference in their tem-
perament that Mrs. Buzbee was shocked by what she
overheard of this conversation ; Barbara was on the
point of explosion with laughter; and her father re-
turned to the house with entire seriousness, having
found in the conversation no cause either of anxiety
or of amusement.
CHAPTER XII
DADDY Campbell's funeral
" My dearly beloved frien's, and neighbors, and
neighbors' childering, and dyin' congregation."
It was Brother Taulbee's usual form of opening
the service. And " The Unclouded Day " was his
regular opening hymn. He would have been as un-
able to begin a service without this formula and hymn
as he would have been to conclude his exhortation
without warning the sinner who was endeavoring to
satisfy himself with " huskis " * that he was liable " to
be turned out to graze in the broad pastures of sin
like Nee-buck-a-nee-zer-ah ! " and the certainty that
he would " gnaw his tongue in the tormaints of ever-
lastin' tradition — ah ! " If Brother Taulbee had known
any other way of opening the service, this would have
been the time for an unusual introduction, for this was
an unusual occasion. Daddy Campbell was to have his
funeral preached.
Daddy Campbell was popularly believed to be
much more than a hundred years old, but he had re-
* Many of the strange-sounding forms of speech in the Cum-
berland Mountains are good Elizabethan words, as the strong
Saxon plural, plurals ; husk, huskis ; beast, beastis ; post,
postis, etc.
lo 135
136 Pine Knot
cently corrected that impression. He was ninety-nine
years and more than eleven months. He would die
when he was a hundred.
Daddy Campbell's approaching death brought
back to the older ones the secret of his longevity, and
they told it in whispers to those who had a right to
know.
Though active in many household industries,
Daddy Campbell had had much time on his hands, and
he had employed it well. Ever looking forward with
hope to the time of his death, he had made himself a
coffin. It was such a coffin as no man in Whitley
County had ever been buried in, for it was the work
of years. The planks were carved with curious em-
blems, and the top bore, in a tracery of oak leaves,
the single verse, " God be merciful to me a sinner."
That coffin, worked upon for years, had been put
together recently, and, covered with a strip of cot-
ton cloth, had been put away in the loft of Mr.
Preston's smoke house. It was brought out to-day,
and Daddy Campbell was sitting in it before the
pulpit, for his hundredth birthday would come be-
fore the next Baptist meeting day, and he wanted
his funeral preached at the time of a regular meet-
ing.
It was little enough to ask, and the request met
with no objection. And, while Daddy Campbell was
a Baptist, Daddy Campbell himself was so catholic
and so widely known, and the event was so unusual
in its character, that the Methodists were invited to
share in it. If James Fletcher had any doubt about
the propriety of giving up his Marsh Creek appoint-
ment to be at No Bus'ness on the Baptist day, that
Daddy Campbell's Funeral 137
doubt was relieved by the assurance that all his Marsh
Creek congregation would be at No Bus'ness.
Besides these considerations, it should be recorded
that as the month came in on a Sunday, there was
the semi-occasional conflict between the Methodists
and Baptists — for the Baptists " rule by Saturdays "
and the Methodists " rule by Sundays." This makes
invariable confusion in all months that begin on Sun-
day, for the Baptist " second Saturday and Sunday "
is the same as the Methodists' third. And not always
is there so harmonious a compromise at hand as that
afforded by the funeral of Daddy Campbell.
The No Bus'ness church house was too small to
hold the congregation. The seats were moved outside
and placed beneath the golden-leaved beeches ; a fence
was robbed of its top rails and used to extemporize
more seats ; groups sat on mounds left by the up-
turned roots of trees or on logs or grassy slopes ; and
the horses that were hitched to swinging limbs could
be heard nickering at their tether two hundred yards
and more up the creek and down. It was the largest
congregation that had gathered at No Bus'ness for
many a day.
Funerals are always attractive affairs there, and
autumn is the best time for them. Not infrequently
they are bunched, and several are preached in a day.
The service at the grave is usually brief and simple,
and often is dispensed with. Death is too uncertain
to admit of a funeral at the time of burial. It may
occur when the water is high, and it is impossible to
send for friends ; it may occur when other members
of the family are sick and unable to attend; it may
occur when the preacher is at a remote part of his cir-
138 Pine Knot
cuit. Death is arbitrary, but the funeral is elastic. It
will occur perhaps six months after the interment ;
the boy Abraham Lincoln sent from Indiana far into
Kentucky for a minister to preach the funeral of his
mother, several months dead. It is so at No Bus'nesS
and Pine Knot. Indeed, among the notices " norated "
at this very funeral of Daddy Campbell's was one that
announced the funeral of Sile Parker's first wife at
Marsh Creek on the fourth Sunday ; and Sile was pres-
ent with his second wife and heard it.
Brother Taulbee announced the purpose of the
meeting. " We air met," said he, " on a most solemn
occasion. Our dear friend and brother, our father
in Israel, after a long life of sorrow and care, of weak-
ness and infirmity, feels in his soul that afore we meet
here again he will have outstripped us in the narrer
la-ane of life — ah ! and go to pe-eple the pa-ale
nations of the dead — ah ! It is his request that we
preach his funeral now, for whether he dies right soon
or not, he cyan't live long. The young may die — ah !
and the old must — ah ! And hit ain't no more'n right
that a man that's lived so long amongst us should
have his last wish gratified — ah! So we'll preach
about the dead, but we'll preach to the livin', and we
invite you all to gether as nigh as you kin, and we'll
begin the service by singin' * The Unclouded Day.' "
Zeke Strunk here moved down the aisle with a
gourd and a bucket of water from the spring. He
started to set it upon the pulpit acciarding to custom,
but as the collfin stood in the way of those who would
be passing up to drink, he set it at the foot of the
coflfin, where all through the service it was visited by
members of the congregation.
Daddy Campbell's Funeral 139
The hymn started as a solo. It was too well known
to need lining, and Brother Taulbee sang it in a voice
at first wavering and then stronger, gathering more
of power as, first a few on the front row, then an occa-
sional voice in the audience, and at length the whole
congregation, gathered up its voice and swelled the
refrain :
" Oh, they tell me of a land far beyond the skies.
Oh, they tell me of a land far away,
Oh, they tell me of a land where no storm-clouds rise,
Oh, they tell me of an unclouded day ! "
It is one of the more perfect of the mountain hymns,
and one famous in the region as a favorite for singing
at executions, and also as Brother Taulbee's favorite.
The audience sang it while seated, but, when it was
finished, rose and repeated the last refrain. It was
then that Daddy Campbell's shrill, broken voice was
heard, singing the hymn from his coffin.
The service that followed had been undertaken in
good faith, but it was carried out with some embarrass-
ment. It was not so easy to speak about Daddy Camp-
bell as if he were dead, and to have him sitting before
you in his coffin — sitting or reclining as the case might
be — for, while the original purpose of the coffin in that
service was as a seat, Daddy Campbell sometimes re-
clined, both from fatigue and the more nearly to realize
his relation to the occasion; and when he lay down,
trying painfully to straighten out his poor, deformed
legs, the audience watched narrowly to see the ex-
pected but uncanny reappearance of his head above
the coffin side. But if the sermons were somewhat gen-
eral in their character, and treated of death in general
140 Pine Knot
rather than the prospective and quasi-actual death of
Daddy Campbell, it was not so strange, after all, and
the funeral as a whole was counted a success, especially
in view of the ending. Yet to the ministers, of whom
there were a good half dozen, and in less degree to the
congregation, the occasion was a somewhat strained
and difficult one,
James Fletcher was the last speaker. He felt as
he rose that his position was peculiarly hard. The
general subject of death with its warnings and hopes
had been thoroughly canvassed, and the only topic
that seemed to have been left for him was the one
which must not be omitted, yet which all the rest had
passed over lightly, with vague personal allusions,
whether in courtesy to the last speaker or because the
theme afforded peculiar difficulties — that of the life and
character of the deceased. If he had been truly dead,
there would have been no hesitation about it, and all
the preachers would have talked about " the life and
character of the departed." All the audience felt the
embarrassment and waited to hear from the last
speaker the words that had special relation to the
occasion.
As James Fletcher rose, the difficulty of his posi-
tion grew upon him. He looked across to a tree in
the rear beneath which sat Mr. Buzbee and Barbara —
his eye had often wandered there while the others were
speaking — and the difficulty increased. Time had been
when he would have delivered his message without
fear or favor in the presence of all the kings of earth,
so at least he had thought ; but he felt strangely em-
barrassed in the presence of the man at whose feet he
sat as a pupil and before whom he felt himself an igno-
Daddy Campbell's Funeral 141
ramus, the woman whom he had come to admire, and
the man whom he must treat as dead, but who lay
there alive. For the first time it seemed to him a sham
and a mockery. He looked at Barbara, and thought he
read the same in her eyes, and then he was doubly sure
of it. He stammered and faltered and forgot what he
had meant to say. He uttered a few pious common-
places, and felt a hypocrite for doing so, but he talked
because he could not think. But his spirit was rising
in disgust with himself, in shame for his failure, and
in determination to say something worthy, if not of
the occasion, at least of his position as a minister and
a man, and to speak a seasonable word to the great,
curious throng.
" My friends," said he, " it ain't easy to treat this
occasion just as we'd like. The feeling that makes us
want to speak well of the dead somehow shuts our
lips when they're living, and, while our brother, at his
age, is standing on the threshold of eternity, it has not
been possible for us to forget that he is here and still
with us. My brothers have felt this, and have left it for
me to speak of the life of the man that lies before us.
What I have to say of him I can say in a few words.
His life is known to you all. For years he has borne
his burden without complaining, and has looked for-
ward to death with hope and not with fear. If his sins
have been great, the grace of God has been greater.
If his youth was wayward, his old age has been kind
and gentle. May God give him rest and peace after
the sorrows and mistakes of life, and may we shun his
faults and imitate his kindness, his gentleness, and his
love ! "
He paused a moment, and started to walk around
142 Pine Knot
the coffin that he might speak unembarrassed by its
presence. He had said all that he intended to say
about Daddy Campbell, and he would now preach to
the living. As he passed around the coffin his eyes
fell again on the face within, and it had changed.
Fletcher started in surprise. Then his plan changed.
He paused before the coffin, his back turned to the
audience, and stood looking down into the pale face
within. The congregation looked and listened, pain-
fully intent.
" Daddy Campbell ! " called Fletcher. There was
no answer.
He placed his hand on the old man's brow, but the
eyes did not open. He took him by the hand ; it fell
back limp. All eyes were fastened upon him in a
strange and horrible fascination. The ministers in the
pulpit rose, and also looked into the coffin. They saw
what Fletcher saw. The congregation strained its eyes
and tried to read what these saw reflected in their faces.
No one spoke, but one of the ministers hurried out and
brought Mr. Buzbee. He stood among them for a
moment and bent over the coffin. The whole audience
was on its feet by this time, and every one was craning
his neck, but there was no movement forward ; every
one stood rooted to his place.
Mr. Buzbee placed his fingers on the old man's
thin wrist, but felt no throb. He lifted the lid of one
eye and looked at the pupil, which did not contract in
the strong light.
" He is dead," said he to the ministers ; " the strain
of the long service has been too much for his strength.
It is what he would have wished for."
Fletcher turned again and faced the congregation.
Daddy Campbell's Funeral 143
" My friends," said he, " our friend has gone. The
kind words that our tongues could not utter we can
now speak freely, and the faults which we did not like
to recall — these too, if we wish, we may now discuss.
But he has passed where our words can neither cause
him pleasure nor pain, and the lesson of his life we
already know. Let us unite in prayer."
After the prayer the congregation passed around,
silent and awe-stricken, and looked into the face that
lay silent and irradiate with a joy which Daddy Camp-
bell's soul caught in the moment when it came to him
that he was dying.
There are those about No Bus'ness who sing " The
Unclouded Day " in solemn tones, for they have heard
how its words were the last that mortal ears heard from
the lips of Daddy Campbell, singing from his coffin.
Barbara and her father went home after the funeral
with Mr. Preston. The hour was late, for the service
had been four hours in length. They were all tired
and hungry, and all were thinking solemnly over the
events of the day. But even at such a time Liberty
Preston could not restrain a feeling of disappointment
that the day must pass without much opportunity to
see Fletcher, and when she waited on him and Bar-
bara, who were seated side by side at the table, she
thought that she detected their affection for each other
even in the silence of that solemn meal, and she hated
this new girl from Lexington who was stealing away
the heart of her lover.
CHAPTER XIII
A VERSATILE SCHOOLMASTER
Be it remembered, as a partial offset to the many
and pathetic failures of John Howard Buzbee in life,
that his teaching of the Pine Knot school was a real
success. A few children were taken from school be-
cause he taught that the earth is round, and a number
who stopped out for fodder-puUin' did not return, but
that was always the case. To offset this depletion of
numbers, a goodly company of young men and women
from other districts came in, learning of the superior
attainments of the new teacher at Pine Knot. As the
Pine Knot school had begun the ist of September,
while many schools about began in July, there was
ample time for teachers whose schools had expired
to study two months in what the inhabitants seriously
began to call "The Pine Knot College." These all
paid tuition, or were supposed to pay it. Some few
brought money, others brought sacks of meal or pota-
toes, and others produce of various kinds. It was this
that kept Mrs. Buzbee's little store of money from
diminishing, for the school money proper would not
be paid before the ist of January. It was an unex-
pected source of income, pitifully small, but, with the
utmost frugality, and the occasional donations of
144
A Versatile Schoolmaster 145
neighbors, it served. These donations were never sent
as charities; they were in part compensations for the
fact that the teacher did not board around, and in
part return for acts of kindness on the part of Mr.
Buzbee.
These services were as varied as they were benefi-
cent. He surveyed a disputed Une, and thus settled
a quarrel between neighbors, and each stopped at his
house when next he returned from the mill. He saved
the life of Dick Falkner's baby after the doctor gave
him up — and with nothing but hot baths and scalded
milk — and Dick hauled him wood enough to last all
winter. He probed Ned Lawton's wound after he and
Pete Calahan had their misunderstanding about Rosie
Jarvis, and dissuaded him from avenging himself upon
Pete, who had taken a mean advantage of Ned's dis-
ability (it was this and not the wound for which Ned
blamed him) to marry Rosie. He refused to preach
or to practice medicine or to plead in court, yet he
sometimes spoke at meetings, and often gave legal
advice to aid in the settlement of disputes, and he rode
far at night when horses were sent for him to help
where the doctor was at his wits' ends.
The first two months were happy ones in the home.
The handful of meal did not disappear from the barrel ;
the kindness of neighbors did not fail ; the fame of the
new teacher, who was also preacher, doctor, and judge
ex officio, spread throughout the county, and he was
sent for once to Whitley Courthouse itself to assist a
perplexed doctor, and to save the life of a mother and
babe.
For a month he never spoke of slavery, and when
in the course of the second month he began to dis-
146 Pine Knot
tribute tracts, his place in the community was so secure
that he was able to say whatever he chose with little
apparent danger.
" Have ye heerd," asked Noel Davis one mail day
at Bill Blake's, " that the new teacher is a abolition-
ist?"
" I heerd so, but I didn't pay no 'tention to it,"
said Mr. Renfro.
" Well, he is," said Noel. " Here's a track he gin
me hisself."
" Did ye read it? " asked Bill Blake.
" I spelled out the most of it," said Noel.
" Let me have it," said Renfro. " I got a use for it.
Have you got ary nigger, Noel ? "
" No."
" Well, I bet if they's anybody makes any furse
about the new teacher bein' a abolitionist, it'll be
some person that don't own a nigger."
" Do you want him to set your niggers up to run
away ? " asked Noel.
" My niggers ? Lord bless you, Noel, if he kin
git old Simon Peter and Dinah to run away, he'll git
a ree-ward, that's what! I'll pay him a good hundred
dollars."
" You don't want Pete to leave, do you ? "
" It would be money in my pocket if he did ! But
no, I don't want him to leave. Him and me was nussed
by his old mammy to onct, and we wrastled and fit
like cats, fust him atop and then me. I'd bawl, if old
Pete was to die, wuss'n I would for ary brother I got.
But if I'd hate to have him leave, it wouldn't be nothin'
to what he'd hate to leave."
" What you goin' to do with that track ? "
A Versatile Schoolmaster 147
" I'm goin' to give it to Pete. I hain't got time to
read it myself."
"Kin Pete read?"
" Yes ; he was raised in Kaintuck, whar they ain't
no law agin learnin' a nigger to read. He larnt when
I did. He cyan't read to do much good, but he'll read,
if I tell him to. I'll tell him if he don't read it I'll free
him, or lick him, one."
This word of Mr. Renfro settled the question for
some time. It was currently said that " if the men
that's got the niggers don't raise no furse, them that
ain't got none needn't a-worry." So Mr. Buzbee dis-
tributed his tracts unmolested, and uttered his senti-
ments to audiences which, if not sympathetic, were at
least tolerant.
" It is as I predicted, my dear," he said to his wife.
" This is the true field for my efifort. I shall have here
a sympathetic and loyal constituency. I will found in
time a paper co-ordinate with the Knoxville Whig, and
co-operative with it. Let Mr. Brownlow continue to
plead for a united nation against extreme proslavery
men in the South, and against extreme abolitionists in
the North, and I, pleading for the freedom of all men,
will meet him in my demand for a nation which, first
of all united, must at last be free."
" In what respect, father, does that differ from Mr.
Garrison's position ? " asked Barbara.
" Radically. Mr. Garrison is for instantaneous free-
dom without regard to the unity of the nation or any
other consideration. He maintains that, if slavery can
be justified for an hour, it can be justified for eternity ;
the truth is that there are many conditions in govern-
ment, human and divine, which are only justifiable
148 Pine Knot
because they are temporary, and in process of evo-
lution."
" Would he really break up the Union ? I supposed
that it was only the South that would do that ? "
" Only the South ? My dear daughter, have you
not read history? Who was it that threatened to
secede, if Louisiana should be purchased — the South?
No, it was Massachusetts. Who was it introduced into
Congress a petition for the dissolution of the Federal
Union? It was John Quincy Adams, who had been
President of the United States. Who was it threat-
ened to impeach him — the North? It was the South.
And who was it that threatened to secede in the time
of the Mexican War? It was the North. I disap-
proved of the Mexican War, and in general agreed
with Mr. Lowell, but I could not agree with his avowed
secessionism :
" ' If I'd my way I hed ruther
We should go to work and part —
We take one way, they take t'other —
Guess it wouldn't break my heart !
Mar hed ought to put asunder
Them that God has noways jined,
And I shouldn't greatly wonder
If there's thousands o' my mind.'
" Has not Wendell Phillips denounced the Consti-
tution as a league with death and a covenant with hell ?
Has he not cursed his own State for belonging to the
Union, and sharing in responsibility for its sins, say-
ing, ' I will not say, God save the Commonwealth of
Massachusetts,' and then adding that awful word, more
terrible because so calmly and deliberately uttered,
' God damn the Commonwealth of Massachusetts ' ?
A Versatile Schoolmaster 149
" No crisis touching the slavery question has failed
to bring out a strong disunion sentiment in the North.
Did not my friend Whittier, one of the noblest of men,
threaten the Union in his poem on Texas? He said:
' Make our Union bond a chain ?
We will snap its links in twain !
We will stand erect again ! '
" Has it not been in New England that the most
bitter denunciations are hurled against Church and
state ? Is it not there that Stephen Foster denounces
the ministry as * a brotherhood of thieves ' ? And do
not the antislavery resolutions adopted at their various
meetings impoverish the English language in their
effort to associate the Church with piracy, fornication,
murder, and every vile offense? Are not the basest
epithets hurled against those who belong to any de-
nomination which has churches in the South? Are
they not called by every name that may be found in
the criminal code ? "
" But this, father," said Barbara, " was some time
ago — at the time of the Mexican War. Is it still so
with these Northern abolitionists ? "
" Not with all, but the same ones believe as they
did. At Worcester, Massachusetts, no longer ago than
in 1857, there was a Disunion Convention ' to con-
sider the practicability, probability, and expediency of
a separation between the free and slave States.' It
was called by the same men who, in 1845, declared
that * the annexation of Texas would be a good and
sufficient cause for the dissolution of the Union.' At
this recent convention Garrison said, ' I am for the
speedy overthrow of the Union.' And the resolu-
150 Pine Knot
tions said : ' The sooner the separation takes place the
more peaceful it will be ; but peace or war is a second-
ary consideration, in view of our present perils.'
" I have no sympathy with the men, North or
South, who would recklessly plunge this nation into
war for the sake of carrying their point. We are one
nation, and are together involved in the meshes of
corporate responsibility for slavery. It is wrong to
pit the North against the South ; it is wrong to say
that we must free the slave to-day, though we divide
the nation to do it ; it is wrong to say that we, being
professed friends of peace, are at liberty to provoke
certain war for the sake of what we call our principles.
It is wrong to say that as abolitionists we may right-
fully perpetuate slavery by dividing the nation. I say
in all earnestness that abolition will come, and in spite
of those who call themselves abolitionists."
It was not often that Mr. Buzbee gave himself lib-
erty to speak on these subjects at length. There was
so little about him to excite his opposition, and so
much to engage his attention that he almost let his
hobby alone. But, as the school term wore on, several
things occurred of somewhat unusual interest — the ap-
proach of the presidential election, the advent of an
important new pupil, the reappearance of the ghost of
Deck Morgan, and the matter of the Swift Silver mine.
CHAPTER XIV
GRANNY white's REMEDIES
" Good morning, Granny White," said Barbara.
" I am sorry that you are not well."
" Puny, honey, puny. Fm powerful weak these
days. Come in. Lord bless ye, dear, yer a sight fer
sore eyes. Se' down," and she wiped a chair with her
apron.
" I heard that you were not well, and wanted to
see me. I brought you over some plum jelly," said
Barbara.
" Bless your dear life, ef that ain't kind ! Well,
honey, I ain't well, and I don't never look to be. But
it's to keep you from not bein' well that I sent fer ye."
" I ? I'm all right, granny."
" Wait till I put this dollar in the churn, and I'll
tell ye."
" What do you put the dollar in for ? "
" That's fer the witches, honey. Hit's a heap better
than a horseshoe. Now Jim Ballard that uster be a
witch-doctor over on Troublesome, he never used
nothin' but a red-hot horseshoe. But that ain't half
so good as a silver dollar. I've kep' this dollar for
forty year, and I never used it for nothin' else but
jest to fetch the butter."
" 151
152 Pine Knot
" Do you use it every time you churn ? "
" Sartin, dear. Now I'll churn and talk to ye all to
onct. How be ye, honey ? "
" I'm well and much interested in what you tell me
about witches. Who do you say is witch-doctor?"
" Tom Lawson is now. He's jest bought the charm
from Jim Ballard. Jim Ballard, sence he got elected
justice of the peace, didn't keer to have it no more.
He sold it for a yearlin' bull that Tom Lawson had."
"What is the charm?"
" They don't nobody know, honey. Every doctor
has his own charm. And the charms is different. Now
mine, I couldn't tell to you. But I kin tell it to a man.
And it was from a man I got it. And he's got to tell
it to a woman. And when you tell the charm, then
you lose it. Jim Ballard cyan't charm the witches no
more sence he sold the charm. But I kin tell you
some things, and I'm goin' ter. You know Tom Law-
son, don't ye ? "
"The blacksmith?"
" Yes. He's mighty shifty. He makes a heap
outen his blacksmithin' and his witch-doctorin'."
" How much does he charge ? "
" Oh, he cyan't charge no money for the witch-
doctorin'. That would spile the charm. But he gits
it back on his reputation. But, I tell ye, I'm a better
witch-doctor than he is."
" I never heard that you were a witch-doctor,
granny," said Barbara.
" No, you heerd I was a witch, didn't ye ? And
Lem Parker says that's what ailed me when I was
tuck this last time with rheumatix in my hip jint. He
says he fired a silver dime at a black cat he seed givin'
Granny White's Remedies 153
his cows a spell, and that he broke her hind laig. That
was the day I tuck down, and he says the spell is done
gone now. Well, I tell ye what, I hain't no witch, but
I could be a witch ef I was to try. They hain't nobody
that kin doctor a thing but kin give a thing, don't ye
see ? They hain't no doctor but could kill as sartin as
cure, ef he was to try. Is they now ? And they hain't
no witch-doctor but could be a witch, ef she wanted to.
And I jest say to you I didn't pester Lem Parker's
cows, but ef he don't look out how he shoots around,
his chickens'Il all have the gapes, that's what they'll
have ! "
" Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't hurt them, granny ! "
" Not 'less I have obleeged to, honey. But I want
to tell you about yourself. They're atter you."
"Who, the witches?"
" One witch."
" What witch is that ? "
" That's a witch that's in love with your sweet-
heart."
" My sweetheart, granny? "
" Sartin, honey."
"Who is he?"
" You needn't a let on lack you don't know. And
I ain't the ony one that knows, nuther. And some that
knows don't like it. But I kin fix 'em, honey. I kin
fix 'em jest as easy as I kin take off a wart or cure the
thrash."
" How do you do that ? "
"Which?"
"The wart or thrash?"
" Why, for thrash, you git a child that ain^t never
seed his pappy, and have him blow in the mouth of the
154 Pii^e Knot
■'■'■■ - ...■,■■■ ■ — — ■■■, - ^
child that's got the thrash, and that'll cure him. And
for the warts, you find out how old the person is, and
cut so many notches in a straight-growin' stick, a
maple ef hit's a woman and a ash ef hit's a man, and
grows up, by that time the warts'U be gone. And for
asthmy in a little chap, you cut a sourwood stick and
cut it jest the lenth of the child, and lay the stick
away, and when the child grows longer than the stick,
the asthmy'Il git well,"
" Ah, granny, I'm afraid the reason of that is that
the child outgrows the disease."
" They's a heap o' that in all sorts of doctorin',
child. But if the doctor's goin' to git the credit of it in
the one case, I don't see no reason why he shouldn't in
all. I've knowed people to git well of a heap o' things
when they wa'n't the least excuse for it. I've knowed
people to git well o' the toothache from usin' old
'Liphalet Lawson's cure for the toothache."
"What was that?"
" You go to some certain field, no odds what field ;
you pick three certain kinds o' weeds, no odds what
weeds ; you grind 'em up jes' so fine, no odds how fine ;
you put 'em in the tooth, no odds what tooth ; and hit'll
git well, no odds when,"
The two women laughed together — the young girl
a hearty laugh, and the old crone a cracked, high-
pitched cackle.
" I can tell you a better cure than that," laughed
Barbara. " I know what root you can hold in your
hand and it will cure the toothache,"
" Tell me, honey, tell me," said granny eagerly.
" The root of the tooth," replied Barbara.
It took Granny White a full quarter of a minute
Granny White's Remedies 155
to see this joke, but when she saw it she laughed and
laughed, stopping every little while afterward as the
interview proceeded, to laugh again.
" That's the way Tom Lawson'd best cure 'em," she
said.
" Does he pull teeth ? "
" Sartin, bein' a blacksmith."
" But I don't see what that has to do with it," said
Barbara.
" He kin make his own pullers. Folks comes a
long ways to have him pull their teeth — fur's they do
to have their horses shod. The reason his craps is
so well hoed is his blacksmithin'."
"How is that?"
" Well, he don't charge 'em no money. He jest
swaps work with the men that comes to have shoein'
done. They fetch their own shoes and nails, and he's
got coal right handy, and the men that comes to have
the horses shod works in the field hoein' corn while he
shoes the beastis or fixes the wagons."
" I should think the advantage would be on the
other side in such an exchange," said Barbara.
" You wouldn't think so, if ever you seed Tom
Lawson's woman hoe corn."
"Does she hoe?"
" She kin turn up more dirt with the hoe in a day
than ary one woman or man this side the mountain.
And the man that gits his wagon fixed has got to
hoe 'longside of her while Tom fixes the wagon, ef it
is a wagon. And Tom never was no hand to pitch
in to work at his forge like killin' snakes, especially
when hoein' 's goin' on jest the same and some other
person a-doin' it. And so he gits to work sorter easy.
156 Pine Knot
and makes up his far, and like's not has to send the
chaps to the hill whar he digs the coal fur some coal,
and then when he gits to work they say that he
watches his woman and the man he's workin' for
streakin' it back and forth acrost the cornfield, she
about eight hills ahead, and he a-puffin' and a-tryin' to
keep up ! Tom always hits the anvil right hard when
they come to his eend of the rows, but they do say
that he don't hurry lack the smallpox was atter him
when they're at the other eend out of sight and hearin'
of the shop. I tell ye, blacksmithin' and witch-doc-
terin' together kin be made profitable, ef a man has
got a woman that kin hoe corn lack Tom's ! "
" Such a woman must be a treasure," laughed Bar-
bara.
" Yes, an' she kin plow, too, and if hit's the season,
Tom hitches up his nag and the feller's that comes to
have the work done. He keeps two bull-tongue plows
and two side-hills jest for that purpose. And hit ain't
no diflference. She's allers about a hundred yards in
the lead. But she ain't got no manners. I've seed her
at the table, and she cyan't break a pone without gittin'
her fingers in it."
" Well, granny, and am I in danger of being be-
witched ? "
" You're in danger of bewitchin' some person,
that's shore."
"Who is it?"
" The preacher. He 'lows the sun rises and sets
with you."
" Oh, shame, granny ! You must be mistaken ! "
" I hain't, and you know I hain't. He loves you,
same as I'm a-tellin' ye. Now, as I've been a-sayin',
Granny White's Remedies 157
they's some charms theft a man kin tell to a man, lack
what Jim Ballard has sold to Tom Lawson, but whether
hit'll work now, I ain't sure. And they's some a man's
got to tell to a woman, or a woman to a man. That's
my kind."
" But you told me several charms, granny."
" Oh, them's about things that witches hain't got
nothin' to do with. Them hain't my real charm. I
cyan't tell that to you, but I kin tell it to the preacher.
But that's the trouble, honey; he don't have confi-
daince lack he'd ort ter have. And so, ef he gits to
whar he needs it right bad, you got to tell him that
he's got to come to me."
" But, granny, suppose I do not care for him ? "
" But you have obleeged to keer for him, hain't
you?"
" Why, no ! "
" Why, ary gal in Pine Knot would give her haid to
git him."
" But suppose I care for some one else ? "
"Ye don't, do ye?"
" I don't know, I'm sure. I wish you'd tell me."
" Whar does he live, honey ? He ain't round here,
is he? Is he off to Lexington? Is he one of them
blue-grass fellers ? Is he rich, and is he dressed up in
store clothes, and has a nigger to black his boots and
another to fetch his horse to the door ? Is he, honey ?
He is, ain't he ? And you don't know, honey, whether
you keer for him or not? And then I reckon you
don't know right shore whether he keers for you, do
ye, honey? He lives in a big house, does he, honey?
And lots o' niggers standin' round to keep the flies
off ye at the table with breshes made o' peacocks'
158 Pine Knot
feathers? And where they have horses that you wipe
your handkercher on and hit don't sile it ? That's the
kind of a man he is, is he, honey? Oh, I'm afeard
the preacher's got a hard row to hoe, and you, too!
I ain't shore but I ort to be a gyuardin' the preacher
agin' wuss things than I was a-thinkin' ! I ain't no
fortune-teller, honey. I ain't got no peep-stone to see
what's a-goin' on inside o' folks, nor way oflf in other
places. I ain't shore as I kin help you, honey. But,
honey, look out when ye cross the road whar hit forks
below the house yer livin' in, and don't let the shadder
of that old dead tree fall on yer. And ye won't play
witch the preacher's heart, nor break it, will ye ? "
Barbara hesitated, and then said, " No, granny, I
won't, if I can help it."
" But tell me about this fine blue-grass feller ; does
he love you ? "
It seemed strange to Barbara afterward that she
should have made a confidant of this withered old
crone, yet the true heart of Granny White was visible
to one who could see it through her superstition and
ignorance, and Barbara told her.
" He was all that you say, and the finest-looking
man! O granny, you should have seen him on
horseback ! and his father was neighbor to my grand-
father. We were much together as we grew up, for I
have lived, you know, in Lexington, for most of my
life. We were always friends, and nothing more,
though as we grew older we seemed always to have
belonged to each other. It was this miserable political
aflfair that separated us. He is an ardent friend of the
South, while his father is strongly for the Union. He
had quarreled with his own father in their talk about
Granny White's Remedies 159
the duty of the South to secede if Lincoln is elected.
Telling me about it, he used hard words concerning the
abolitionists. He was hot and angry, and his words
were bitter and unjust. He has hardly known my
father all these years. My father has been little at
home, and we — well, we all love my father dearly, but
his views were not those of my grandfather, and we
talked little about them. So I do not know that my
friend really knew about him. But it hurt me to have
him speak as he did, and I spoke hastily and angrily.
I did wrong, I know, for I am sure that had I spoken
gently, telling him my father's position, he would have
spoken as a gentleman in return. But he was angry,
and so was I, and he said that, having quarreled with
his own father for the sake of his principles, he was
in no mood to retract the truth for the sake of any
other man. So I sent him away."
"Did he come back?"
" No, my father came a few days after, and we left
Lexington to come here."
"Has he writ?"
" No."
" Nor ye didn't write to him ? "
" No."
" I ain't much at tellin' how to manage them
aflfairs, honey, but, if I kin, I'll help ye. But look
here, honey. Did ye ever hear o' the Alamance ? "
" I think not."
" Like as not. Nor of King's Mountain ? "
" I have heard of that. There was a battle there
in the Revolution, I think."
" I should think they war ! Hit was thar that Corn-
wallis got the best part of his army so bad licked he
i6o Pine Knot
had to surrender to Washington. My daddy was that,
and helped lick him. And he was at the Alamance, too,
whar the Revolution fust broke out."
" I thought that the Revolution broke out at Lex-
ington."
" Is that what the books says ? "
" Yes."
" Well, the books lies. The Revolution started
right in these mountings, that's whar hit started. My
daddy helped to start it. They stood up and fit the
King's sojers till their powder gin out, and two hun-
dred of them got killed — a hundred of them and a hun-
dred of the British. Then they come furder back in
the hills, and my daddy come here to git away from
Tryon, the old sinner! And did ye ever hear of Old
Hickory at N'Orleans? "
" Oh, yes, I have heard of Jackson's great victory."
" Well, my old man was thar. I started him oflf,
saying, ' Don't ye come back till this hull big country
is free from the trompin' feet of the tyrant ! ' That's
what I said. And he didn't ! Now, honey, I jest want
to tell ye one thing. I hain't kep' up with things much
sence then. The Revolution and Old Hickory at
N'Orleans is about the last big things I've heerd tell
about. But, honey, this country has cost too much to
be busted up by them hot-headed men in the North
and them in the South. That young feller in the blue
grass'll know a heap more'n he knows now, ef he tries
to bust up this Union ! "
" But he's a very nice young man, for all that," said
Barbara.
" Yes, and so's the preacher. But, la, honey, they
hain't no accountin' for gals fallin' in love. And when
Granny White's Remedies i6i
they love and are loved, they hain't but one thing to
do, whether the country holds together or splits."
Barbara went her way, and Granny White pondered
long.
" They ain't no tellin' what a gal will do," she ob-
served, as she drew a coal from the fireplace, and patted
it down upon the loose twisted tobacco in her cob
pipe. " The preacher's the neardest, and that counts
fur a heap, and the other feller's got the clo'es and the
big house and the niggers, and that counts fur a heap.
But sometimes both them things works backurds, and
they jest ain't no tellin'. Ef the preacher don't git to
pesterin' her and make her say no, and then she gits
sorter lonesome bein' away from the other feller, and
gits to sorter likin' the preacher — and she likes him
some, a'ready — hit'll be all right. But like as not he'll
pitch right in lack he was a-preachin', and time he gits
to the arousements she won't be thar. And then if
t'other feller was to write to her, mebby that would
make a difference. Letters does a heap more'n the
folks theirselves, a heap o' times. You don't have to
keep yer hair slick when yer writin' letters. But I'd
like to see the preacher git her, ef 'twant for nary other
reason than to see his shirts done up right. But I
know how to find out."
She took two grains of green coflfee, and tied a
thread about one of them. " That's the preacher," she
said, " and t'other one's that blue-grass feller."
She took down from the rafter a round-bottomed
bottle, suspended by a string, and dipped the tip of a
feather into its contents, the oil from the liver of a
black cat, killed in the dark of the moon. With it she
anointed each of the kernels alike, and dropped the two
1 62 Pine Knot
into the neck of a cymlin, which she filled with water
dipped from the east side of the spring, which she first
stirred to a roil and then allowed to clear.
Then she muttered some half-articulate incantation
over the little gourd, and set it away.
" Hit mustn't upset," she said, " or they'll be a
heap o' trouble. And I mustn't look at it till the sign's
in the heart, or hit won't be no good ; and ef the sign
was goin' down hit'd work backurds. But when the
sign's in the heart, comin' up, I'll look, and the one
that's swelled the most's a-goin' to git her."
CHAPTER XV
THE HEART OF JOE LAKES
Not till after her visit to Granny White did Bar-
bara see anything sinister in the entrance of Liberty
Preston into her father's school. At first it had seemed
a satisfactory arrangement all round. The Lakes —
they pronounced their name " Lacks " — were glad to
have her at their house to board, especially Joe Lakes,
who was well in love with her, and his sister Polly,
who was Liberty's dearest friend, and who wanted Lib-
erty for a sister. As for the Buzbees, they were glad
of every new pupil from outside the district. It raised
the grade of the school and brought in money or pro-
visions. Mr. Buzbee had given over the lower grades
almost entirely to his older pupils who had been teach-
ers or who were planning to teach, overseeing their
instruction, however, and outlining methods by which
their work was to be made effective.
So widely had his fame spread that it was not
counted strange that Liberty should come from No
Bus'ness, but only that coming she should not have
come sooner, for the term was ready to begin its last
half. Still, she would be in time to do some good
work in her classes and to share in all the glory of the
exhibition, where her voice would bear a leading part.
163
164 Pine Knot
But there were a few who came to suspect that it was
neither the love of learning nor the desire to share in
the exhibition that had brought Liberty Preston to
Pine Knot, but a determination to keep track of her
lover, whom she had not seen since Daddy Campbell's
funeral, and whose conduct then, as she dwelt upon it,
was quite enough to show that "that stuck-up gal from
Lexington, that set down at the first table with the
men," had altogether too strong a hold upon his affec-
tions.
But if the day of Daddy Campbell's funeral had
brought her occasion of sorrow and distrust, it had en-
hanced in her sight the greatness of the man she loved.
The audience had not read aright the embarrassment
of Fletcher in his introductory words, nor his intention
in walking around the coffin. They had not seen his
indecision, his constraint, his change of plan. They re-
membered only his quiet beginning, his brief but ade-
quate characterization of the man whose funeral he
was preaching, and then the dramatic call to the soul
that had departed, and the hush that fell upon the great
throng when he knelt in prayer on the threshold of
the world into which the spirit had flown. The im-
pression at the time had been profound, and it grew as
the incident was told and retold, and in every telling
of it James Fletcher was easily, next to Daddy Camp-
bell, the hero of the occasion. It raised him also in
the estimation of his brethren in the ministry, to whom
it seemed that such a sign was a peculiar mark of a
call to preach. All this Liberty understood, and her
love for Fletcher grew accordingly. But all this was
wormwood and gall to her if he belonged to another.
Liberty Preston was a bright pupil. She had not
The Heart of Joe Lakes 165
attended school for several years, but she stood with
the most advanced pupils. And she could spell. A
graduate from the district school of No Bus'ness, she
knew the Old Blueback from cover to cover, and on
Fridays, when the school chose up, she was the first
one chosen and the last one down. She had better
clothes than most of the girls ; her white sunbonnet
was a wonder in its wealth of starched frills ; her hair,
instead of perpetually falling down, and needing con-
stant twisting and securing with a comb, held itself in
place with its own curliness and a tortoise-shell comb
which was the envy of all the girls ; and when it fell,
as at times it must when playing at recess, it fell in
such bewitching disarray about her rosy cheeks and
pretty pink ears, that one might have wished to see
it fall more frequently. And when she sang, the rafters
of the old schoolhouse rang. She was a girl of de-
cision, too, and her black eyes could snap in anger or
what passed for anger when any of the large boys
attempted to be free with her; for while she did her
best to make them show their love for her, and she had
lovers other than Joe Lakes, and it was a small task
to tempt them into an exhibition of their affection, she
gave favors to none, wherefore they loved her the more
madly, and envied Joe, who lived in the same house
with her, and Fletcher, for whom some thought she
cared.
At no time did Liberty put herself in the way of
James Fletcher, although they came to have some
things in common. She, as the leading singer, and
he, as practically an assistant teacher, had frequent
need for consultation, and her conduct was above re-
proach. Only once did she single him out in any way,
1 66 Pine Knot
and that was a pleasure to remember. Neither of them
was accustomed to participate in the noontime games,
but one day when they were playing " weavilly wheat,"
that quaint old motion game, whose hero " Charlie "
may well have been originally the Highland " Bonnie
Prince Charlie," that day they prevailed on Liberty
to join them. Round and round they circled, singing :
' I won't have none of your weavilly wheat,
And I won't have none of your barley,
I won't have none of your weavilly wheat
To bake a cake for Charlie."
It came her turn to choose, and she turned her
head and saw Fletcher standing in the door.
The hearts of several young men sank from hope
to disappointment when she called : " O Mr. Jim
Fletcher ! You got to come and help me out ! They've
got me into this game, and I want you for my pard-
ner ! "
Jim hesitated a moment, and then, laughing, came
and took her hand, and went round once. Then he
chose his own successor, and said to Liberty : " I
reckon they can spare you and me now; it's time for
us to look over that song you want them to sing."
They walked ofiF to the schoolhouse together. Joe
Lakes ground his teeth.
Joe was very glum at supper that night, but Lib-
erty was sprightly enough. As Joe was moving away
sullenly after the meal, Liberty slipped out and stopped
him at the spring.
" I don't know what you want to run oflf that way
for," she pouted, " running away like you was mad."
" I be mad," said Joe sullenly.
The Heart of Joe Lakes 167
"Be you? Who at?"
" I ain't a-goin' to tell."
" It ain't at me, is it ? It surely can't be at me, is
it, Joe?"
Joe looked at her, and his eyes met hers. He was
a coward, no doubt, as a thousand men have been in
like places, but he had not the heart to tell her the
truth. " No," he said, " hit ain't at you — that is, not
adzackly."
" Oh, I'm so glad ! " said Liberty. " I'd feel awful
bad if you was mad at me, Joe ! Now tell me, who is
it?"
" Hit's Jim Fletcher," said Joe doggedly.
" Is it ? " asked Liberty. " Well, now that's funny.
I'm sorter mad at him myself, but you mustn't tell
nobody. Say, Joe," she added, as Joe looked up, glad
enough that she should be in any wise mad at Jim
Fletcher, " you wouldn't like to play a real good joke
on Jim Fletcher, would you ? "
" Like it ? By ginger, I'd like to play anything on
him ! I'd saw through the under side of a foot-log
if I knowed he'd cross it ! I'd — I'd — I'd do 'most any-
thing ! " It was Joe's inventive genius that stopped
him with his enumeration of a single prank; it was
not his inclination.
" Oh, no, Joe ! That wouldn't be fun. That's too
old, and like as not he wouldn't be the one that would
cross. I believe I know something that would be lots
of fun, but it would take a real brave man to do it."
" Brave," said Joe, rashly. " If you want some
one that's brave, I'm with you till the cows come
home ! "
Then they conferred long together, Joe sometimes
1 68 Pine Knot
protesting and she reassuring, or he suggesting pos-
sibilities of failure which she met with expedients. At
length they arranged it, and Joe entered upon his
task with real or apparent enthusiasm. Poor Joe ! He
is not the first man who has gone into danger for love's
sake that he might win thereby the success of a rival.
But this aspect of the case Joe did not suspect.
CHAPTER XVI
THE SAME GHOST OR ANOTHER
" There's a good deal of excitement about the
election," said James Fletcher that night, as he sat be-
fore the fire at Mr. Buzbee's, slowly spelling out his
Greek.
" This election," replied Mr. Buzbee, " will be a
great watershed of history. We shall elect Abraham
Lincoln. We shall thus say to the Nation, ' There
shall be no more slavery in the Territories.' And the
inexorable Providence, which makes of one good
choice not merely an opportunity but a necessity, will
say, ' That which you have declared concerning the
Territories you shall yet make true of the States.' It
may come soon, and it may come later, but the doom
of slavery is sealed, and these mountains will have
their just glory in its downfall."
" I have never yet seen," said Barbara, " how the
mountains have any special glory in it. In their pov-
erty they are measurably free from complicity with
slaveholding, but that is no virtue."
" No, but it gives opportunity for the growth of a
virtue. It enables this great mountain region to culti-
vate a love for the Union as such, which is nowhere
more intense. It is not hampered by trade conditions.
169
170 Pine Knot
That is what kills virtue in North and South, While
the extremes of North and South in their heat and
impatience are ready to sacrifice the national unity to
an advantage pro or con, this great mountain section,
firm in its faith that slavery must ultimately end, and
that, as its great commoner, soon to be President,
says, * This country can not permanently exist half
slave and half free,' is willing to wait, if need be, and
to labor while it waits, keeping the Union whole, and
bringing about the final downfall of slavery."
" That is a very rosy picture, father, of public senti-
ment in the mountains."
" I was just thinking," added Fletcher, " that I
did not believe the mountains were ready for so active
an opposition."
" I do not pretend," said Mr. Buzbee, " that the
strong belief which this section has in the integrity
of the Union is primarily antislavery. And I do not
agree with my friend Brownlow in this ; but he is
first of all a Union man, and that will make him an
abolitionist."
" But," said Barbara, " would not Brownlow's plat-
form be adopted by the extreme abolitionists at the
North?"
" Not at all. They must have abolition this instant,
though the heavens fall."
"But can it come without the heavens falling?"
asked Mrs. Buzbee.
" I often fear not, yet my hope is that this mountaia
section will hold the nation together. It was here
that Lundy's great movement started. It was here
that the first antislavery newspaper was founded. It
is this region that is giving to the nation its great new
The Same Ghost or Another 171
President, who will end slavery in the Territories. It
was from the antislavery sentiment of this region that
Garrison learned to be an abolitionist."
"How was that?"
" He was present in Boston when Lundy first called
the ministers together to consider his antislavery
work," *
" There's some one at the door, Barbara," said her
mother. " Go and see who it is."
Barbara went to the door, and found the widow
Braniman. " Come in, Mrs. Braniman," she said.
" No, I won't gi' down. I want to see yer pappy a
minute. Ast him to step out."
" Mrs. Braniman wants you," said Barbara, re-
entering.
" This is inopportune," said Mr. Buzbee. " I was
just getting into my narration."
The others, however, were relieved to have him
* As that meeting has often been described and made to ap-
pear unfavorable to those ministers, it may be well to print the
two accounts of it by eyewitnesses. One is by Mr. Garrison,
looking back at it after eleven years of struggle and debate ;
the other is from Lundy's own journal, at the time.
Mr. Garrison said : " He [Lundy] might as well have urged
the stones in the streets to cry out in behalf of the perishing
captives. O the moral cowardice, the chilling apathy, the
criminal unbelief, the cruel skepticism that were revealed on
that memorable occasion ! Poor Lundy ! That meeting was a
damper on his feelings."
Mr. Lundy, however, recorded in his journal: "The eight
clergymen all cordially approved of my object, and each of
them cheerfully subscribed to my paper, in order to encourage,
by their example, the members of their several congregations to
take it. Mr. Garrison, who sat in the room and overheard our
proceedings, also expressed his approbation of my doctrine."
172 Pine Knot
stop, for Barbara and her mother liked to hear him
talk on any other subject better than this, and Fletcher
was grudging the time from his Greek.
" Howdy, Mr. Buzbee ? " said the widow.
" Good evening, Mrs. Braniman. Won't you
alight?"
" No, I jest come from the mill. Had to wait for
my turn, the water is so low. I had to have the meal,
though. Say, Mr. Buzbee " The widow actually
simpered.
" Yes," said Mr. Buzbee, encouragingly.
" You 'member what you was talkin' to me 'bout? "
" Why, yes, I think so ! Let me see — was it about
the election?"
" No, no ! Election ! Who keers for the shame-
faced old election ? That hain't it."
" I am almost afraid I have forgotten. Oh, yes,
it was about your line fences. Well ? "
" Well, you know you sorter thought me and
Noel'd better jine farms, while we was about it."
" Ah, yes ! What seemed to me a very good sug-
gestion. I declare I had forgotten our conversation,
but it comes to me now. Well ? "
" Well, I've thought about it."
"Yes, and has he?"
" I dunno. But I reckon he's a-thinkin'."
" Is he keeping up his stock? "
" Land o' goodness, yes ! They hain't been a critter
from his place around for a long spell, 'cept him."
" He comes, does he ? "
" Yes. I sorter encouraged him, and was friendly
like, and he's commenced a-comin' reg'lar. We're
talkin' to each other right along now."
The Same Ghost or Another 173
" And have you talked about the fence ? "
" Gracious sakes, no ! That ain't what folks talks
about at sech times."
" Ah, indeed ! "
" No, hit ain't. But, gracious! don't you know? "
" Well, I supposed as that was the point at
issue "
" Yes, but hit wouldn't do to fetch that up till we
git the other things settled."
" Oh, I see. Well, I am glad that matters are going
well."
" Yes, they be. I 'low to find him thar when I git
home. He's thar every night now, pretty nigh. And
he and my oldest gal, Sal, they got in all my fodder,
fast as the rest of the young uns pulled it."
" That was very neighborly, I am sure."
" Yes, and 'pears lack he keers for the young uns
'most as much as he does fur me. He hain't never had
none of his own. I've got 'em till they hain't no
cur'osity to me, but he's as good to 'em as a own
pappy could be."
" I am sure I wish you a happy result from this
pleasant arrangement."
" Yes, I reckon so. I'm goin' home now. Hit
won't hurt him any ef I be a little late. Hit'll make
him all the more anxious, and mebby hurry him up
a little. But I'm mighty keen to git thar myself, but I
thought I'd stop while I was a-passin' and tell you.
Say, you're a preacher, ain't you ? "
" No. I never preach now. I once preached, but
not now."
" You couldn't marry a couple ? "
" I'm afraid not."
174 Pii^c Knot
" That's too bad. I wisht you could. I was jest
layin' off to pay ye for doin' it by fetchin' ye a bed
kiver I made myself. But I reckon I'll have to git
Parson Jim Fletcher, if he kin spare time from his own
courtin' of Lib Preston to marry any other person.
Good night."
Every word that Mrs. Braniman had said was dis-
tinctly audible to those who sat within, and was hugely
enjoyed by Barbara and Fletcher, for the most part.
At the word about Liberty Preston, Barbara laughed,
a cruel, ironical little laugh, and yet it hurt her, too.
Mrs. Buzbee heard it gladly, and said :
" Ah, Mr. Fletcher ! You have kept this from us.
But I forgive you, and wish you joy."
As for Fletcher, he turned red as a beet, and at-
tempted to stammer that the widow was mistaken, but
Mrs. Buzbee cut him off with —
" Your modesty does you credit, Mr. Fletcher.
No, no! You need not tell us about it now. Some
time, some time ! Love and Greek are not good com-
panions, and Greek now is to the fore."
Fletcher looked appealingly to Barbara to help him
out, but she was disinclined, and said :
" Let me dance at your wedding, Mr. Fletcher.
Or no, I can't do that, can I ? You Methodists dont
dance. Not even a harmless little country dance.
How cruel you are ! But perhaps I may dance at the
Widow Braniman's. I'm so sorry you can't dance
with me."
" Barbara ! " said her mother. " Don't, my child ! "
" Oh, he likes to be teased. And he can't help
being a preacher — can you, Mr. Fletcher?"
It was the first moment in his life that James
The Same Ghost or Another 175
Fletcher felt a secret desire to be, for her sake, some-
thing else than a preacher. And for that moment's
thought, which, however, came again and again un-
bidden, he chided himself over and over.
" Go to your Greek now," said Barbara. — " No,
father, don't talk any more politics to Mr. Fletcher.
He's there at the sheep market, waiting with the blind
man who is to be sent to the pool, and he has found
something that troubles him."
" Ah, yes ! " said Mr. Buzbee. " You see, that is
sheep gate and not sheep market."
" It is not that that troubles me," said Fletcher.
" There is a verse gone."
" Oh, yes, the angel troubling the pool. Well, that
is an interpolation. You do not find it in the Greek,
you know — that is, not in the early manuscripts. That
is an ancient superstition."
Fletcher sat aghast. He had had no previous ex-
perience with study of this sort, that plucked out verses
and cast them aside as interpolations, and he was con-
strained to contest the point. The two were soon in
a deep argument on the purity of the text of the Eng-
lish Bible, from which they were called by a shout
from the road.
" Good evening," said Mr. Buzbee from the door.
" Good evenin'. You ain't got no dogs, so I reckon
I mout have come up and knocked, but I allow to be
polite, so I hollered."
" Come in, Mr. Goodwin. — Good evening, Mr.
Renfro. — Barbara, set some chairs."
"We don't lay out to stay long," said Renfro.
" We own some land, Goodwin and me, back on the
river. He owns one side of the Cumberland and I
176 Pine Knot
own the other. We're going back there the last o'
the week, and we reckoned mebby you'd Hke to ride
there with us."
" But my school ? " said Mr. Buzbee.
" We'll go Saturday if you keer to go," said Mr.
Goodwin.
" Why, perhaps I might. — Mrs. Buzbee, do you
think it well for me to go? I suppose that I might,
and yet "
It was in this undecided way that Mr. Buzbee con-
sidered propositions that had no direct bearing upon
his own work, balancing the matter, and turning to
others to find some objective method of deciding.
" Why do you want him to go ? " asked Barbara.
" Well, we got a little matter " said Mr. Good-
win.
" Well, I reckon they ain't no harm in telling it
right out," said Renfro, " though we don't want it
to git 'round much. But we ain't right sure but we've
got a coon of our own up a tree thar.'"
" In other words ? " said Barbara.
" In other words," said Goodwin, " we lay out to
go thar and skin a hog." He winked as he said it.
" I'll go," said Fletcher, " and you may talk it over
together. It is evidently private."
" Don't go, parson. It may not be nothin' private,
atter all," said Renfro. " We ain't right sure yit how
private it is."
" It either ain't private at all," said Goodwin, " or
hit's mighty private."
" It is time for me to go, anyway," said Fletcher.
" I will bid you good night."
They all bade him good night, and he started down
The Same Ghost or Another 177
the road. The night was dark, and a sudden dash of
rain came into his face. It was no storm that was
coming, but a creepy dampness was in the air, and
a few drops were falHng. A hoot-owl gave its weird,
unearthly shriek, like the death cry of a murdered
child. He had heard it all his life, but it startled him
to-night. He was ill at ease. The discussion from
which he had been excluded was nothing which con-
cerned him, and yet he felt a little hurt that he had
been all but asked to leave because of it. And the word
of Widow Braniman rankled in his heart, together with
the consciousness that he had been wholly unable to
extricate himself from the embarrassment of the situ-
ation.
A short distance away he stopped and looked
back. This was the roof that sheltered the woman he
worshiped. Yes, though she teased him about Liberty,
whom he had sometimes fancied he loved, and might
perhaps have loved — who knows ? — but for her, though
she flouted him because he could not dance, and pitied
him because he was a minister, and though he could
never tell whether she was serious or in play, though
he felt in his soul that she could be serious, and was
so at times — in spite of all this, and the hopelessness of
his suit, he was sure he loved her, and that love made
everything else seem small ; yes, in shame he con-
fessed it, his calling itself, his ambition, his hope, his
soul's satisfaction would be less dear to him if she
really despised it. But did she despise it? Under-
neath her raillery, was there not a real respect for
him and reverence for his calling? Sometimes he
thought so, but it had not seemed so to-night.
He smiled to himself to think that anything should
178 Pine Knot
have ever happened to make Deek Morgan's house
seem a beautiful spot to him. Deek Morgan had
done Httle to beautify it while living, and, while
Fletcher did not credit the reports about his ghost, nor
quite believe in ghosts, he had never considered a
house that was reputed to be haunted one that he
would care to visit. Indeed, though free from the
grosser superstitions of his environment, Fletcher him-
self preferred not to carry a hoe through the house,
and was a little relieved when he saw the new moon
in the open and not through brush. Yet, not only was
he coming here nightly without fear, but
Fear ! In an instant he was afraid. He had walked
slowly down to the main road, and was approaching
the fork where the white sycamore stood. His head
was down, and he did not see the tree till he was very
near. The whole tree was white, but the bottom of the
trunk was more white than it was wont. As he stopped,
he heard a groan. It was a low, long-drawn-out groan,
and it went to his very soul. As he stood there, trying
to persuade himself that it was only the trunk of the
tree that he saw, and that the groan was some other
noise, the white figure moved away from the tree, into
the middle of the road down which he must pass, and
stood there, raising its white arms, now silent and
now groaning.
No one had ever called James Fletcher a timid man,
and he was not a feeble one. He had outwitted the
school when it locked him out ; he had faced the leaders
in a body after he had succeeded by strategy in open-
ing the door; he had given blows and taken them,
striking right and left, and receiving the cuflfs and
strikes of the gantlet as he ran it, till he had sent his
".Who are you?'
The Same Ghost or Another 179
most powerful antagonist sprawling, and driven the
rest in terror. He had been known to collar a drunkard
who disturbed a religious service, and, wresting his
knife away, to walk him to the door, and thrust him
bodily from the room. But he paused before this awful
apparition, and felt his hair slowly lifting his hat.
He was tempted to return to the house for help,
but he shrank from the eyes of Barbara. Should he
tell her that he had seen a ghost, and was afraid to go
home alone? He would die first! He thought of
going the other way, but this, too, he knew was cow-
ardly. While he stood debating the figure advanced
a step or two. Fletcher stood, his hair still rising.
Then he stepped backward one or two paces. The
figure came on.
" Who are you ? " he asked, his hair erect.
A muffled groan was the answer, and the figure
drew nearer.
Fletcher was frightened. Few men, however brave-
ly they may meet such a situation, are wholly unmoved
by it. He reaUzed that he was frightened, and on the
verge of panic. A little more of terror and he would
be running down the road, and that awful figure in
pursuit ! And to-morrow night ? Would he have cour-
age to come again? Would he dare for Barbara's
sake to brave it another night ? Men think fast at such
times. All these and a hundred other thoughts flashed
through Fletcher's mind in the time the specter was
advancing a matter of two paces. Then it stopped,
and Fletcher decided.
" Be you man or ghost or devil," he cried, " defend
yourself ! " and he rushed forward.
The ghost gave a terrible shriek and stepped back-
i8o Pine Knot
ward ; then, as Fletcher still came on, it turned and ran,
and Fletcher after it. The ghost ran fast, but Fletcher
gained. A little farther, and he could touch it. He
put forth his hand and grasped the sheet that covered
the fleeing figure, and, as this gave an insecure hold,
reached again, halted the figure, and as he turned it
about with his left hand he struck a heavy blow with
his right. The ghost fell in a heap, and he stumbled
over it and fell headlong. When he picked himself
up the white robes were still in the road, but the man
whom he had knocked down had disengaged himself
and fled through the bushes.
The ghost's scream had brought the Buzbees and
their guests to the door, and they were hallooing at
him, and asking the cause of the disturbance.
" Halloo ! " he called, " I've met a ghost ! "
" A ghost ! " cried Goodwin, trembling visibly.
" Come back, and bring the ghost with you," called
Barbara.
" I will," said he.
A few moments later he appeared at the door, bear-
ing a device constructed out of two sheets, with light
sticks to lengthen the arms and increase the height,
and the whole arranged to adjust to the person of a
man.
" I have the ghost," he said ; " the man got
away."
He told the story in answer to their questions.
" Hit takes a mighty brave man to face a thing like
that," said Renfro. " I pass for a moderately brave
man as such things go, but hang me if I want to meet
any gentleman like that! It must 'a' looked outra-
geous."
The Same Ghost or Another
i»i
" Mr. Fletcher is a brave man," said Barbara, and
that one word Fletcher cherished.
"And is this Deek Morgan's ghost?" asked Bar-
bara, laughing, as she disengaged the sheets, which
were soiled but not greatly damaged.
" Who ever told you about Deek Morgan's ghost? "
asked Goodwin, laughing uneasily.
" Oh, I heard that we are not the only tenants of
this house. Really, Mr. Goodwin, I think you ought
to remit half the rent for the space that ghost occu-
pies.— ^And now, what will you do with these sheets,
Mr. Fletcher?"
" I'll give them to you," said Fletcher.
" Oh, thank you ! That will compensate us for our
loss of Mrs. Braniman's counterpane. But don't you
want them yourself? You might save them to-
ward "
" I've had my fun out of them, thank you," said
Fletcher. " I am glad to get shut of them. — Mrs. Buz-
bee, if Miss Barbara won't take them, I give them to
you."
" Oh, but I didn't say I wouldn't take them. Cer-
tainly, I'll take them. They are a mark of your
prowess. They are your badge of victory. They are
the regalia of your knighthood."
" Barbara, Barbara ! " cried her mother. " Do stop
your nonsense, child! Give Mr. Fletcher his sheets,
and let him find the owner, if he does not wish them
himself."
" Indeed I will not, mother dear, saving my regard
for your authority. I may want an outfit myself some
day, who knows ? The original owner has forfeited all
claim to these sheets. They are — What is the term,
1 82 Pine Knot
father — contraband, is it not? Well, then, they are
contraband, and they belong to him, or they did. But
he has given them to me, and I intend to keep them.
— Please, Mr. Fletcher, go out and find some more
ghosts, and may you find the next one in a blue silk
dress ! "
" If I do," said Fletcher, " I will bring the ghost's
raiment to you."
" But really, gentlemen," said Mr. Buzbee, who had
stood helplessly during this play of fun, " this is seri-
ous. This is some one's malice. This should be in-
vestigated."
" Keep still till the feller that done it asts about it,"
said Renfro. " Then when Mr. Jim meets up with
some feller that says, ' I heerd you seen a ghost,' jest let
him collar the feller and say, ' I heerd you was the
ghost I seen.' That'll fetch him. That's the best way
to investigate."
" It may not be him," said Goodwin.
" If it ain't, it'll be some person he's told, and you
kin blame it on the feller that asts you till he tells who
told him."
" A very good plan, I think," said Mr. Buzbee.
" Let us all keep silent about it. This probably has no
connection with the rumors that have been afloat
before."
" No," said Renfro, " this ain't Deek Morgan's
ghost. It runs too fast — ha, ha ! "
" All the ghost of hisn there ever was, I reckon,"
said Mr. Goodwin, much against his conviction, how-
ever.
" Well, parson, I reckon we'd best all go home.
We're going your way. — All right, Mr. Buzbee. We'll
The Same Ghost or Another 183
come by right early Saturday morning. We'll fetch
you a horse, and we'll take that ride and see if we kin
tree that coon. — Come on, Goodwin ; do you want some
person to walk home with you? They may be other
ghostis, you know. — Come on, parson ; you best go
by with me to-night. We got a place there for sech
fellers as you. If we can't treat you good, we'll treat
you clever, and you kin suffer with us a spell, I reckon.
— Good night."
It may be worth while to record as an interest-
ing item, which some may regard as a coincidence,
that Joe Lakes appeared at school next day with a
black eye. There was a perceptible coolness between
him and Liberty, too, and he manifested no increase
of affection for Fletcher.
13
^^AAiMAAfft^^.
CHAPTER XVII
swift's buried secret
" Gentlemen," said Mr. Buzbee, as he mounted
the horse that Simon Peter led up to the step, " I have
conceived a most unusual interest in this undertaking.
I believe that, if this proves what you hope, it will be
the most wonderful thing that has happened in this
century."
" That's so," said Renfro, greatly pleased to hear
Mr. Buzbee speak with such enthusiasm ; " if it's really
the old Swift mine "
" Shet up ! " said Goodwin. " Don't talk about it
till we git away ! "
" If it be what we are hoping," said Mr. Buzbee,
oblivious to the word of caution which Goodwin had
spoken, " it will have the most important bearing on
the work to which I have given my life."
" Goodwin thinks," said Renfro, " that we'd best
not talk too loud till we git off in the woods."
It was a long and weary ride. The road led first
across the mountain to Marsh Creek, and then down
the creek on the main road toward Whitley Court-
house. But where that road turned off to the right,
they followed the creek till they were near its mouth,
and then bore to the left by an obscure road that be-
184
Swift's Buried Secret 185
came a mere trail. The scenery grew more wild and
grand. In their haste they urged their horses more
than they were aware, and the ascent of a long hill
caused one of them to show signs of fatigue.
" We will rest when we come to the top," said
Renfro ; " our horses are getting blowed."
They gained the top at length, and stopped for a
quarter of an hour, removing the saddles and allowing
the horses to graze.
" It ain't much furder," said Goodwin, " and I hate
to lose the time."
" We are all eager," said Mr. Buzbee, " but it is
not well to override our horses. While we wait, tell
me more about this mine. The point which seems
established is, that Swift found great quantities of
money here, or at least of silver from which he made
money. Now, what evidence have we that we have
discovered the mine ? "
" Well, this man that died last week," said Good-
win, " he said "
" Yes, what did he say ? "
" He said that the mine itself was right close to
the falls in the rock that glitters so, and he left a paper
that tells where there's money buried."
"And you have that paper?" asked Renfro.
" I didn't say I had."
" I know you've got it."
" Yes, I've got it," admitted Goodwin.
" Well, then, shell it out here, and let's see it," said
Renfro impatiently.
" I was sorter thinkin' " said Goodwin.
" You was sorter thinkin' you'd keep that for your
haul, was ye ? " demanded Renfro.
1 86 Pine Knot
" Why, yes, the money's one thing and the mine's
another. If we find the mine, of course we'll all
share."
" We'll all share whatever we find ; now you hear
me. The mine and the money and all is one pot, and
we go in for potluck together. We both own the
land, and we don't know whose land the money is
buried on, but wherever it is we share it, and that
point's to be settled right here. Now you and I put
in what we know, and Mr. Buzbee'll put in his educa-
tion. He'll survey them lines as that paper lays them
down, and he'll test the ore, and if he don't, we're both
helpless. But I tell ye right now, Peleg Goodwin, this
is thirds, share and share alike, or we don't go no
furder with it till we settle the p'int ! "
"How would you settle it?" asked Mr. Buzbee,
apprehensively.
" They ain't but one way to settle disputes about
mines," said Renfro with emphasis.
" Do you mean ? " asked Goodwin.
" I mean jest that, Peleg," said Renfro, calmly.
" We're a-goin' to see that paper, and have a full under-
standin', an' Mr. Buzbee is a-goin' to draw up a writin'
for us three to sign, that we'll share alike in this hull
business. That's what we're goin' to do. That's the
next thing on the programme, as I heerd a feller say."
"I deplore anything in the way of a quarrel,"
began Mr. Buzbee.
" There ain't a-goin' to be no quarrel," said Mr.
Renfro. — " Come, Peleg, hand over that paper."
"Here it is," he said grudgingly.
" Mighty little good it would have done you," said
Renfro, looking over Mr. Buzbee's shoulder in a state
Swift's Buried Secret 187
of bewilderment. — " Kin you make head or tail of it ? "
he asked Mr. Buzbee.
" These are surveyors' measurements," said Mr.
Buzbee, " and the directions and distances are given.
The trouble will be to find the starting point. Here
is traced a stream of considerable size, running nearly
south, which seems to be the point of departure. Ah,
yes! I recognize that sign! It is pounds sterling!
That makes about thirty thousand dollars buried on
that creek! Then, from a tree a distance down the
same stream, a tree bearing a compass and square, a
line is run across to another marked with a trowel,
with fifteen thousand dollars buried there."
" Is that what it means ? " asked Renfro eagerly.
" Certainly. It can mean nothing else."
" Is that all ? " asked Goodwin.
" Evidently not. Here is a rock house marked as
containing thirteen thousand dollars, and a small rock
with a spring under the east end which is a marker for
seventeen thousand dollars, and from there another line
is surveyed."
" How much is there ? " asked Renfro.
" The largest of all, I judge. It is marked * The
Prize.' "
" The Prize ! " To any one of these men a thou-
sand dollars was an almost impossible sum. To find
a record of thousands scattered about, and among them
a reference to " The Prize," was enough to strain
the imagination of all to its utmost limit. Goodwin
had all along shown a covetous eagerness that he
could scarce repress; Renfro had masked an intense
nervousness beneath a stolid exterior ; Mr. Buzbee had
felt his enthusiasm mounting higher and higher.
1 88 Pine Knot
" And all this is ours ! " cried Goodwin.
" Shet up, ye fool ! " said Renfro. " We ain't got
ityit!"
" But it's in these mountains, and we'll git it ! "
cried Goodwin.
" Yes, yes ! " cried Buzbee. " It is providential !
It is the greatest deliverance since Moses led the chil-
dren of Israel out of Egypt ! It has in it the redemp-
tion of a race ! We are here at the cave of Ali Baba !
We are given the lamp of Aladdin ! We are to work
miracles with this mine ! "
His companions looked at him a moment, even in
their own enthusiasm half doubting if he were still
sane, yet catching more enthusiasm from his.
" What be we a-stayin' here for? " demanded Good-
win.
" Sure enough ! " cried Renfro ; " the mine's the
thing to find first ! "
" You are right," said Buzbee. " If we find the
mine we shall know that the money is near. This writ-
ing is old. The marks on these trees are long since
overgrown. The search for the money will be long
and difficult. It may take us months to get our start-
ing point. But if we find the mine, we can smelt our
own silver."
" We must have the money, too ! " cried Good-
win.
" Yes, indeed ! We must have it all ! " replied Buz-
bee ; " but the mine is the most important thing."
They were soon on their horses and pressing for-
ward. They did not spare horseflesh, and the few re-
maining miles were quickly at an end, and the horses*
feet splashed in the soft waters of the Cumberland
Swift's Buried Secret 189
where they ran swift and shallow a mile above the
falls.
" Not so low down," said Renfro. " It's deeper
there, and the current is mighty strong."
They forded the river in safety and tethered their
horses.
" And now," said Mr. Buzbee, " let us get to the
mine ! "
" Tears to me lack we best to hunt for the money
first," said Goodwin.
"You make me sick !" exclaimed Renfro. "You're
so keen for money you'd steal the pennies from your
dead mother's eyes ! "
" Friends," said Mr. Buzbee, " we have a long and
hard task before us and are banded together for noble
ends. We must not quarrel. We shall find much
occasion for irritation, perhaps some disappointment,
but we shall succeed. We shall succeed ! We must
not quarrel. The opening of this mine is something
holy, something sacramental. It must not be done
with strife."
He forgot that the others had little idea to what
high ends he was devoting his share in the mine. It
was characteristic of his generous and not too dis-
cerning nature that he included in his own altruism
all the selfish effort of his associates, the mere com-
mercialism of Renfro and the greed of Goodwin. And
they, not understanding the meaning of his words,
understood his spirit, and were persuaded by it.
Then began an examination of the rocks, Good-
win was impatient, and even Renfro found it trying,
as they climbed up and down, examining the out-
cropped rock above the falls, measuring, breaking
190 Pine Knot
specimens, and thus spending by far the greater part
of the day.
" Maybe you'll tell us," said Goodwin, " what's the
good of all this ? "
" We must find first," said Mr. Buzbee, " where are
the silver-bearing rocks. That will show us in what
strata we must search."
" 'Pears like we're wasting a heap of time," said
Goodwin.
" We shall need patience in this work," said Buz-
bee. " If either of you have a better plan, I will gladly
follow it."
" No," said Renfro, " we hain't. But let's stop
now and eat a snack, and whilst we're a-eatin', mebby
you'll tell us a little more what you're a-drivin' at, so's
we'll have the same in-trust you've got. This seems to
us mighty piddlin' business. I reckon we're too im-
patient."
Mr. Buzbee loked at his watch as they sat down.
It was four o'clock. The short day was nearing its
close. The sun, as they seated themselves, was out of
sight behind the great range of hills behind them.
They were tired and hungry and disappointed.
Patiently he explained to them the position of the
strata, and the necessity of locating the bed of rock
which showed traces of silver. This, he argued, very
likely continued under the entire mountain, or a great
part of it, and once found would enable them to locate
openings at various points, or at least to determine
at what point to begin.
" And now tell me," he said, as he saw that they
were satisfied with his explanation, " a little more about
this man Mundy from whom the paper came."
Swift's Buried Secret 191
" He lived on Copper Creek," said Renfro, " and
was a honest feller, but sorter cracked. His pa and
a feller name of Jefferson was with Swift. There was
another, name of Wright, too. Well, atter the skeer
he got when he was a young feller, trying to find the
mine, he wouldn't never come over here no more,
but he hung to the paper like the cholery to a nigger.
I don't know how Peleg got it, but that's how Mundy
got it, I've heerd tell."
" He owed me," said Goodwin. " I lent him money
long ago, and he couldn't pay. I'd often ast him to
give me the paper for security, but he wouldn't. But
I had other security- When he was a-dyin' I went
over, and he gin it to me for payment of the debt. I
wanted to ast him a heap o' questions, but he couldn't
answer nothin'. I had a notion to keep the thing
to myself, but bein' as how Renfro owned the land
on one side of the river here, and I couldn't make
nothin' out of the paper "
" Specially the last," interrupted Renfro.
" Well, I found I'd got to have pardners to make
a go of it ; that's all."
" It is plain that we shall accomplish nothing to-
night," said Buzbee. " It is all we can do to get
home before it will be pitch dark. I have some speci-
mens to examine, and I will try what I can do with
a blowpipe. I really need a crucible of some sort,
and I may say now that, while I have a fair knowl-
edge of mineralogy, I am no expert in matters of this
kind. I have had no experience in the actual work
of analysis, I must read what my books tell about it,
and must learn how it is done."
"We'll be larnin*, too," said Goodwin.
192 Pine Knot
" Yes, we will all learn together."
" And look here, Mr. Buzbee, you'd best draw up
that paper about us goin' in together, share and share
alike."
" I will. I will do it next week. And now we ought
to go."
CHAPTER XVIII
THE THREAD THAT SLIPPED
" Chickeny-chickeny-craney-crow !
I went to the well to wash my toe,
And when I came back, one o' my chickens was gone.
What time o' day is it, old witch ?"
So sang- the girls of the Pine Knot College, each
holding fast to the skirts of the one before her, and
keeping well behind the big girl who assumed the
role of the old hen, who then, in response to the reply
of the witch that it was near dinner time, put these
questions :
" What be you doin', old witch ? "
" Makin' a fire," replied the squat figure bent over
the sticks.
"What's the fire fur?"
" To bile some water."
" What's the water fur? "
" To scald a chicken."
" Where you goin' to git yer chicken ? "
" Out of your flock."
Sometimes the witch rushed out and attempted to
seize a chick, and sometimes she sat watching, in which
case the swaying line brought one girl after another
before yet not too near her, each one thrusting out a
193
194 Pine Knot
bare foot — though it was the ist of November — and de-
manding, " Is that hit ? " But usually the mother hen
took care to keep herself between the witch and her
brood, and as she turned to right and left the whole
line had to swing with the twistings of her hips. It
ended each time in the capture of a chicken, the re-
formation of the line, the twisting up of hair, the tying
up of disordered petticoats, and the repetition of the
dialogue. But the mother hen fought hard for every
one of her chickens, and not one was lost till the con-
test had been well and long fought. Some little girls
had been thrown from the end of the line as little
boys were at " crack-the-whip," and others had re-
ceived some bumps and bruises, but the game was a
popular one with the girls, though more or less under
their mothers' ban.
It was in this way that Dolly Mason got her skirt
torn ofif, or nearly so, and Liberty Preston was sewing
it up for her, and comforting the little girl, who was
sure she would " git a lickin' at home," with the assur-
ance that she could sew it up so that her mother would
never know of the damage.
" You're just lovely ! " cried Dolly. " I think
you're the loveliest girl ever I seed ! "
Liberty caught the little one in her arms, and
kissed her in return for the compliment.
"Do you really think I'm lovely, Dolly?"
Dolly looked straight at her, and then touched her
curls.
" You're just beautiful," said she.
" I'm afraid they ain't many that thinks so," said
Liberty.
" Ain't they? Who don't think so? "
The Thread that Slipped 195
" Oh, I don't know. I reckon 'most everybody
thinks I'm mighty ugly. They don't nobody tell me
I'm lovely but just you, Dolly."
Dolly stood undecided what to say. The hyperbole
was too much for her to comprehend.
" Why, I should just think everybody would love
you. I just wisht I was a man ! I tell you what I'd
do ! I'd marry you ! "
It was a trivial thing, but it cheered Liberty up a
bit, and gave her some sad thoughts too. She was
pretty, and she knew it. She was popular, and she
knew that too. There were many who would call her
lovely and make love to her, but James Fletcher was
as far away as if he had been in some of the remote
lands of which Mr. Buzbee talked in the geography
class. And the only reason under the sun, as she be-
lieved, why he was not her own was that this girl from
Lexington had bewitched him. .She determined to
bear it no longer, though what she could do was not
then apparent.
Barbara, too, was not at all in peace with herself.
This stalwart young fellow, so earnest and brave, this
young giant of the backwoods, hurling the mountains
of ignorance amain in his struggles after knowledge,
this Saul among his companions, towering head and
shoulders above them not only in stature but in in-
telligence and purpose, was by no means unattractive
to her. That he loved her she could not doubt, that
she could love him she sometimes thought. But then
there came to her mind the memory of Boyd Estill,
the fine, handsome fellow, generous and noble, quick
in temper, but quick also in his courage and manly
strength, and she hesitated.
196 Pine Knot
" Barbara," said her mother that morning, " I'm
troubled about you, my dear."
" Alas that I should be a care to you, mother dear !
Tell me, what is the matter? I'll give all my goods
to feed you, and my body to be burned "
" All these would profit me nothing, my child, I
could spare your goods, which, alas ! are too few, but
I could not spare my merry, cheery, naughty girl."
" What can I do for you, mother? "
" It is not for me that I want you to do ; it is for
yourself."
"Well?"
Barbara was sewing up a tear in one of the sheets
that had constituted the wardrobe of the recent ghost.
" I don't like to have you keep those sheets."
" Are you afraid of them, mother ? "
" No, bless me ! I don't like to have you accept
presents from that young man."
" Presents, mother? Do you call this a present?
Are dilapidated ghosts and ghostesses to be counted
gifts prohibited by good manners ? They never taught
me so in school, mother. I Vt^ant these sheets. They
are the trophies of my knight-errant ! They are the
beginnings of my future outfit! They are all that I
shall need if I myself decide to personate the late
lamented Deek Morgan, and revisit the glimpses of
the moon. See how I would look in them, mother!
I can robe myself d la Hamlet's father, and say :
" I am thy daughter's spirit,
Doomed for a certain time to walk the night " —
What's the rest, mother? I never can remember more
than two lines of my Shakespeare."
The Thread that Slipped 197
" You foolish girl ! Keep the sheets ! It is not
that I care for, and I am not sorry to see your folly
now and then. I am glad that you can be happy. In-
deed, we have been happy here, have we not? Much
more so than I feared. But I am not quite happy over
this, and I have fancied you were not quite yourself
lately. I can not say more. I am almost breaking
my promise in saying so much. Only, my child, re-
member how much of my life and your father's is
bound up in yours."
Barbara was thoughtful that day, and in the after-
noon she went to school to assist in some preparations
for the exhibition.
On her way to school she met Granny White, going
up to Blake's to barter some ginseng for coffee.
" Howdy, honey ? Lord love you, dear ! I'm
mightily pestered about you all ! "
" About me, granny ? "
" Yes. The sign didn't work."
"What sign?"
" The sign I tried for you all."
" I didn't know about that. Tell me what it was."
" I soaked two coffee-grains — one for the preacher
and one for the blue-grass feller,"
" That was kind, I'm sure, though I am afraid one
of them at least will not be here to drink it."
" Hit tain't to drink, honey. No, no ! You rub
'em with ile first — ile from the liver of a black cat that
was killed in the dark of the moon."
" Mercy ! I'm glad it isn't to drink ! "
" And then rile the spring and wait till hit clairs,
and dip in a cymlin inter the east side o' the spring
and put the coffee in thar — when the sign's in the
198 Pine Knot
heart comin' up, and ever which one that swells most
is the feller."
" That is interesting. Well, which swelled most? "
" That's hit. I dunno."
" You don't? Haven't you taken them out?"
" Oh, yes, I done that to-day. But the thread I
tied around one of them come off, and I cyan't tell
which is which. One's swelled a heap more'n t'other,
but I dunno which one hit is."
" That's unfortunate."
" Yes, and hit's a bad sign. I'm afeard you're
goin' to have trouble, honey, with them two fellers."
" Oh, well," laughed Barbara, " I'm grateful for
your interest, anyway."
The old woman laid her skinny finger on the fair
young hand and said :
" I kin tell you, honey, how to ketch the one you
want."
" Tell me, please."
" Take the parin's of yer own toe nails, and wash
'em in water tuck from the spring like I told you, and
when the sign's in the heart goin' down. Hit's got to
go down this time. Then take the coffeepot and dip
some water from the spring, and bile the parin's in hit.
Then rench out the coffeepot, and when he comes
have him drink coffee from that pot. But they mustn't
nobody else use it atter you fix hit that away till the
feller does."
Barbara tried to preserve her gravity, but it was
no use.
" But what would happen, granny," she asked, " if
both should come at once ? "
" But they cyan't ! One of 'em ain't here ! "
The Thread that Slipped 199
" O granny ! You're prejudiced on the case.
But it isn't that I need to know. What shall I put
in the coffeepot to know which one I want, or whether
I want either? "
" I don't know no sign for that," said granny sadly.
" Nor I," said Barbara. " Good-by, granny.
This will buy you a pound of coffee, and you may use
your ginseng for a pretty new apron."
" Lord love you, honey ! You're the prettiest gal
ever I seed, and the preacher ain't ary grain too good
fer ye! Hit would hurt Lib Preston mightily if you
was to git him, and Libby is a right nice girl, too, but
he ain't none too good fer ye, honey, nary grain."
Liberty Preston was putting away her needle after
sewing up Dolly Martin, and was in no amiable mood.
Still she welcomed Barbara, and they conferred to-
gether concerning the music. For great preparations
were under way for an exhibition, and a half hour
each day was given up to formal exercises in prepara-
tion for it, and there was much rehearsing and con-
ferring at recess. It was to be, by any standard of
comparison, the grandest affair of its kind that Pine
Knot had ever known, and the music was to be an
important feature. So they conferred together, and on
that afternoon shared the responsibility for the last
half hour, which was the rehearsal hour. But there
was a visible coldness between them, and Barbara felt
herself unwittingly exulting that she was the victor,
and that this her rival was cherishing toward her the
hatred of failure. She reproached herself for this feel-
ing, but asked herself : " What have I done ? I'm sure
it is not my fault."
When school was out, Barbara tried to avoid Lib-
14
200 Pine Knot
erty, and to walk home with other girls, for her father
was detained at the schoolhouse, but Liberty kept
close beside her with an air that sent the other girls
by themselves. They walked together thus to where
the road forks to go up to the house, and halted under
the dead tree in the road.
" Good evening," said Barbara, glad to end the
walk.
" Hold on," said Liberty.
" Well, what do you want ? "
" I want to ast you one question."
" Ask it."
" Do you love Jim Fletcher, or don't ye ? "
" It is he if any one who should ask me that."
" And it's me that's got a right to ast it too."
" What right have you to ask it ? "
" I've got a good right to."
" Yes, but what right ? Is he engaged to you ? "
" No, nor to you neither."
" Who told you so ? " It was a cruel question, and
it went to Liberty's heart.
" He ain't, is he? He ain't promised to marry you,
has he?"
Truth no less than kindness prompted Barbara's
swift denial.
" No," she said, " he is not engaged to me."
*' Well, then, do you love him ? "
" What right have you to ask me ? I have as good
a right to ask you."
" Ast me, then, and welcome. I'll tell ye. Yes, I
do love him. I've loved him more'n a year."
" Does he love you ? "
" I don't know whether he does or not, but I just
The Thread that Slipped 201
as good as know he did until you come. And now
you're sashayin' off with him at your heels, follerin'
where you crook your finger, and like as not makin'
a fool of him in the end. If you break his heart, I —
I'll kill you ! I will — I will ! I can stand it to have
my own broke, but if you take him away from me, and
break his, I'll kill you sure ! "
The hot passion melted into tears, and Liberty
buried her face in her clean white apron and wept bit-
terly.
Barbara looked at her a moment in indecision, and
then put her arm around her.
" You do love him. Liberty, don't you ? " she asked.
" Yes, God knows I do ! And I just want you
either to take him or give him up, one, and let me
know which. I can't stand this no longer."
Barbara led her a little from the road into the wood
and sat on a log beside her.
" You poor girl," she said, " I wish I knew my
heart as well as you know yours. Don't cry. Liberty.
We must be friends. Come, you have told me your
heart, and I will tell you mine. I don't know. Liberty,
whether I love him or not. I admire him very much.
He has been in our home so much — he comes almost
every night, you know, and is almost the only young
man I have seen — I could not help coming to admire
him, and sometimes when I have seen him struggling
so nobly to learn, fighting so bravely against disadvan-
tages that have hemmed him in, and unconsciously
showing his manhood at every turn — sometimes. Lib-
erty, I have almost loved him. But I had a friend
once, and we liked each other. We had a quarrel,
a little quarrel it was, and I came away before we made
202 Pine Knot
it up. If we had stayed where we were, I am sure we
should have made it up. But we parted with no word
to each other, I often think of him, and sometimes I
think that I love him, and I wonder whether he loves
me. But I don't know. And I wish I did. But,
Liberty, let us be friends. I will not take your lover
from you. I — I will harden my heart against him.
I will not be selfish. I can not send him away, for he
comes to see my father, and not me. He comes to
study, and not to visit. And I will be true to you."
Liberty looked up, and their eyes met.
"Will you? "she asked. "Will you?" And then,
as Barbara's own eyes filled, she added, " I believe you
sorter love him yourself ! "
CHAPTER XIX
THE CIRCULAR RAINBOW
The election of i860 passed uneventfully for the
most part in Pine Knot. There were two elections,
in fact — one in Pine Knot, Kentucky, and one in Pine
Knot, Tennessee. The Kentucky election was held in
Best's barroom, and the Tennessee election was held
at Post's. The election was honestly conducted, for
there was a difference of opinion among the voters.
Time had been in a presidential election of general
interest when the Pine Knot mind was a unit, that the
presence of the State line added its special glory to
an election. Every one in Pine Knot, for instance,
had voted for Henry Clay, and — in that day there was
but one hotel, and the polls for the Kentucky elec-
tion were established in a covered wagon — each voter,
having polled a good and honest vote in his own State,
stepped over the line and voted in the other. But in
i860 there was sufficient difference of opinion to make
such a feat impracticable.
The voting was done viva voce in both States, and
has so continued almost to this day. Indeed, in
a county not far from that in which Pine Knot is lo-
cated, the righteous populace tore out the booths es-
tablished by the new and cumbersome Australian
203
204 Pine Knot
system, and as recently as in 1898 voted in the old
way.
" Hit's a daggon furrin invention," said a local
politician, " and hit's a temptation to fraud. When a
man git's in thar with his lead pencil, who knows
whether he votes the way he says he will ? " And so
the booths came out.
But there were no booths in i860, and every man
stepped up and named his candidate, and as he walked
away the clerk shouted in the ears of all men : " John
Strunk voted for Bell and Everett! Joe Cecil voted
for Abraham Lincoln ! "
There was a good deal of confusion in the Pine
Knot mind. There were four tickets, which were two
too many, and it was not certain just what was the dif-
ference between Bell and Douglas, or just what Lin-
coln or Breckinridge represented.
Sim Cressy waited around to meet his old crony
Dan Spaulding, and they commiserated each other on
the fact that they could not vote together as they had
done in some years.
" How be you alls in Kaintuck votin' ? " asked Sim.
" Dinged ef I know. I sorter had an idy of votin'
for Douglas."
" Did ye ? That's too bad. I sorter layed off to
vote for Bell 'n' Everett. What's the difference ? "
" Dinged if I know," replied Dan again.
"What be you, Dan?"
" I ain't quite made up my mind. I know one
thing, I ain't no rebel."
" Nor me."
" And I ain't no black abolitionist."
" Nor me."
The Circular Rainbow 205
" Nor I ain't none of them daggon fellers that
thinks they know more'n their neighbors."
" Nor me."
They stood on the State line where the way parted
to the polls of the two sovereign States. At length
Dan said, with the suggestion of a smile on his with-
ered old face that peered out from its ring beard as
if from a bag, " Sim, I reckon I know what you be."
" Well, I wisht you'd tell me, for I'd like to know."
" You're jest a ingorant old fool."
" Dan, you're right, by golly ! And say, I know
what you be."
" Well, what be I ? "
" Well, you're another, or I'm a possum ! "
" That's jest what I be, old feller, that's jest what
I be ! Say, before we vote, let's go over and take some-
thin'."
" That's the first sensible word you've said to-day.
I'm right with ye. And say, I hate not to vote with
you. Let's split the difference, and vote for Lincoln.
He's a mountain boy, and some kin of ourn, I reckon."
" All right, Sim. I'll do it."
The two old men went into Post's and drank their
uncolored corn juice with a dry eye, and parted at the
door with the affectionate sally:
" Say, Sim, you're a ingorant old fool, now ain't
you?"
" That's what I be, Dan. And you're another ! "
" Don't you go to callin' me no opprobrious names,
Sim."
" I'll call you all the appropriate names I please,
Dan — you ingorant old fool — he, he ! "
This pleasant conversation accounts for two votes
2o6 Pine Knot
cast for Abraham Lincoln, whereby his minority in two
States was made less small, though the electoral vote
of both States — and of these and Virginia only — was
cast for Bell.
But this was not the general character of the Lin-
coln vote. There were two warm political speeches
that day — one by Mr. Buzbee and one by James
Fletcher, and both were for Lincoln. There was some
opposition to Mr. Buzbee's, for his abolitionism came
out in the most uncompromising way, and not all his
hearers by any means were ready for it. Indeed, as
the day wore on, and liquor flowed somewhat freer,
there was some talk of a merry party to take him out
that night and switch him, with a warning to leave
the county, but nothing came of it. Still, he made
some enemies that day, from whom he had to hear
later. Fletcher took the stump, literally, for it was a
stump on the State line that afforded him a rostrum,
and pleaded for a vote for the whole nation, a vote that
was first of all to keep the Union whole, and next to
limit the political power of the cotton States, between
whom and the manufacturing interests of the North
the great border portions of the nation were forgotten.
It was a line of thought that had come to him from
the reading of the Knoxville Whig and from his de-
bates with Mr. Buzbee, but he developed it independ-
ently, and made a strong impression upon the voters.
When the votes were counted that night — and they
were counted while being cast, for that matter, for
every one could tell, if he chose to count, just how the
vote stood at any time — there was found to be a clear
majority for Abraham Lincoln, and he was thence-
forth inaugurated in the thought of the community as
The Circular Rainbow 207
the President of Pine Knot and the nation. Within
a week, for news had come to travel rapidly, they
learned that the nation had agreed with them, and they
congratulated the nation on its good sense.
The Friday following the election, Buzbee, Renfro,
and Goodwin set out at three o'clock, the school having
been dismissed an hour earlier than usual, to camp for
the night near the Falls of the Cumberland, and spend
the day Saturday in their explorations. Mr. Buzbee
was confident from the specimens of rock he had
brought away with him that the silver lode must lie
below the falls, instead of above, and that the wisest
course for this more extended trip would be to confine
all investigation to the lower strata, giving over all
thought of the money that might be hidden until they
should locate the mine. Renfro and Goodwin, too,
had found occasion for some special labor, for the sys-
tem of land occupation which prevailed in Kentucky
often resulted in overlapping titles, and it was judged
wise for them, before any demonstration was made, to
inspect carefully their titles as recorded at Whitley
Courthouse, and to make good any possible defects.
Meantime, working quietly in their inquiries, they
unearthed a good many interesting stories about the
mine. There was one of an old man and his son who
were hunting in the region near the falls. They sought
shelter from a storm in a "rock house," an overhanging
cliff that deepened into a cave. The son, tiring of the
confinement, began a cautious exploration of the cave,
and passed straight back in the darkness into a large
room, where he found some rusty picks and other
mining tools, with decayed and worm-eaten handles.
Groping his way still farther, he found himself in an-
2o8 Pine Knot
other room, which, suddenly illumined by a flash of
lightning, revealed in the streak of light that pene-
trated the dense shadows a great chest of silver. He
shouted to his father to come and help him carry away
the wealth which he had found, but in answer to his
shout there rushed out at him a frightful shape, the
ghost of one of the partners of Swift, who had been
murdered by one of the others, and who guarded this
treasure that lay beside his skeleton. The son and
father fled together out into the storm, and heard a
mighty roar behind them as the rock house fell, and
they were never able to find the place again.
" It is a superstitious tale," said Buzbee, " but it
undoubtedly has a historical basis. The sound which
the boy heard was the echo of his own shout; the
shape was a creature of his own excited imagination,
or a glare of light from another lightning flash; the
fall of the rock house was another roar of thunder. In
their fright they lost their bearings, and were unable
to get back, which is little wonder. But the cave is
there, somewhere, and the mouth is doubtless open."
There were other dark tales of murder and rob-
bery, of the frequent discovery of the mine or of some
part of the buried treasure, and the sudden disaster or
flight of those who found it.
" If we find it, we shall not leave it," said Mr. Buz-
bee.
" I've got a silver dime in this pistol," said Good-
win. " That'll stop a witch, and I reckon it will a
ghost."
So eager had been their search above the falls, that
the falls themselves had hardly been noticed on their
first visit, though the roar of the plunge could be dis-
The Circular Rainbow 209
tinctly heard for a long distance. But on this visit it
became necessary to inspect the rock at and below the
falls, and this brought to Mr. Buzbee's view the beau-
tiful cataract. Shut in between high ranges of hills,
the river wasted its wealth of scenery where few human
eyes beheld it, but if the stream above and below was
beautiful, that at the falls was of transcendent beauty.
The three men stood upon the bluff beside the curtain
of falling water, just as the sun was rising over the
hill to the east, and the November wind, that was crisp
but not cold, was playing with the mist, Mr. Buzbee
gazed above him, beneath him, and about him, now
at the glorious sunrise, and then at the whirling, foam-
ing abyss that lay seventy feet below, and for a time
forgot the wealth which he was seeking in the wealth
of that rare moment.
A rainbow came and vanished in the spray, and, as
he drew nearer to the verge, the arc lengthened, until,
lying prone upon his face and looking into the pool
below, he saw the rainbow increased to a complete
circle.*
" It is the rainbow of our hope ! " he cried, " and
it is complete ! See, see ! " They could not hear his
words for the din of the waters, but they looked where
* At the Cave of the Winds, at Niagara, one is told by the
guide, and in the printed descriptions, that this is the only spot
on the globe where one may see a rainbow that is a complete
circle. It is a mistake. At the Falls of the Cumberland the
author has seen a circular rainbow. There is no reason why it
should not be seen at other cataracts under favorable conditions
of sun and mist, if the observer can secure a suitable viewpoint.
The lack of this in general accounts for the extreme rarity of
the phenomenon.
2IO Pine Knot
he pointed, and dragging themselves to the edge of
the cHff, they looked at the seven-hued circle, if not
with his appreciation, at least not without admiration
and awe. Then with a feeling as if a benediction had
come down upon them, they clambered down the rocks,
and renewed their search.
CHAPTER XX
THE widow's revenge
It can not be claimed that the success of the closing
month of school was wholly due to the labor of the
teacher. Faithful his work had been in the beginning,
and rare had been his devotion, but the last month was
something of a contrast. Not that he meant to slight
it, but his mind was elsewhere. He came in the morn-
ing barely in time for the beginning of the day's work,
and was off at night as soon as school was dismissed.
He brought books to school which were not text-
books, and was seen reading at noontime so intently
that he once forgot to call school until half an hour
after the time. On Fridays he was of? as soon as school
was over, and once he did not return on Saturday night.
" It is holy work," he said. " There never was more
sacred work than this," and he came back fatigued to
the point of exhaustion late on Sunday night. His
wife and daughter were anxious. He talked to them
little, and when he spoke it was in terms which they
little understood.
" My dear," said he to his wife, " it is unconsti-
tutional to take private property for public purposes
without just compensation. The money consideration
thus makes abolition almost impossible, and the care
212 Pine Knot
of the emancipated slaves will be a task nothing less
than Herculean. But we have the resources in sight,
my dear. They are almost within our grasp, and they
are consecrated to this object."
" Has Goodwin consecrated his share ? " asked Bar-
bara, somewhat cynically.
" Not formally — no. But his interest will grow,
I make no doubt. The scheme must appeal to him. I
have talked with him but little, in fact. We have been
busy with the preliminaries. But my own third, my
dear, is ample. Let me tell you that I now believe
we have located the lobe. We have worked long at
it, and have explored right and left. I am confident
that we have it. It is exactly under the falls. The cata-
ract itself has been the angel at the gate with drawn
sword, forbidding entrance into this cave of untold
wealth. The sides have caved as the falls have re-
ceded, and the detritus covers the stratum which bears
the ore at almost every exposed point, and those that
are exposed are so inaccessible that they can not well
be found. In one such place, however, I have found
the marks of picks and the holes made by drills for
blasting. But this I did not find till I had first located
the stratum behind the sheet of water."
"You climbed behind the falling water, father?"
asked Mrs. Buzbee anxiously.
" Yes, my dear. I will admit that it seemed dan-
gerous. But we had searched up and down, and I had
been able to examine almost all the exposed strata
except that. The way was narrow and the rocks were
slippery, and the roar behind the falls was terrific, but
we gained it, and there I found these specimens. See
them sparkle ! "
The Widow's Revenge 213
He held them in the Hght, and the shining little par-
ticles glistened brightly.
" There are millions of tons of it ! " he said.
" Are you sure it is silver, father ? " asked Bar-
bara.
" Silver, my dear ? " asked Mr. Buzbee, with just
a touch of annoyance, so rare in him. " What else can
it be? Of course it is silver."
" Have you analyzed it? "
" Not yet. We must contrive a little crucible, and
then a larger one. I am studying now the process by
which we may ' cupel,' as they call it, the molten ore.
I have been buying books. My dear, I am sorry to
say that I have had to spend the last three dollars I
received from tuition fees for another work on min-
eralogy. I know we needed it, my love, but bread is
a secondary matter to us now. In this great cause,
' man shall not live by bread alone.' "
" If you are sure that is silver, father," said Bar-
bara, " we can spare the tuition fees ; but if it is not,
we shall be short of food before the end of next week."
" Bear with me for a few anxious weeks, my dears.
If I rob you it is that, being poor, we may make many
rich."
Barbara looked at her mother, and saw the tears
rising, and she went over and kissed her.
" Never mind, mother. We have not yet come to
the condition of old Mother Hubbard. There's a pie
in the cupboard, and I mean to make a hoecake, the
best that you ever saw. — And you, father, shall have
some, too, and you shall watch me turn it. Do you
think I could toss it up the chimney, and, running
out of the house, catch it the other side up? I am
214 Pine Knot
told that no mountain girl is fit to marry till she can
do so."
So the matter settled itself at home, and at school
it moved on fairly well. Barbara went daily now, and
taught a number of her father's classes, and Fletcher
took others. Mr. Buzbee gave daily talks on geology,
interesting the first day or two, but monotonous as
he got beyond the depth of the pupils, and was mani-
festly rehearsing his own reading rather than primarily
instructing his school. His other classes he heard in
a listless way, though Barbara's reminders saved him
several mistakes. But fortunately it was near the end
of the term, and the thought of the school was on the
exhibition. So, while there was some complaint, and
even Bill Blake joined in it sparingly, while Noel Davis
was vehement, the dissatisfaction was not so general
but that the interest in the exhibition overtopped it.
At night Mr. Buzbee was busy with his lump of
charcoal and an extemporized blowpipe, which he
produced as soon as he came home, and put out of
sight reluctantly on the appearance of Fletcher. The
evenings were less enjoyable than formerly, partly be-
cause of his preoccupation, and partly also because
Fletcher noticed a change in Barbara. But he loved
her the more as she seemed further from him, and she,
alas! there were moments when she almost regretted
her rash promise to Liberty Preston. But she and
Liberty remained warm friends. And Liberty herself
came to see that it might be possible for Barbara to
turn Fletcher away, but impossible for her to deliver
him over to her.
" Liberty," said Barbara, " I want you to come
over and spend the last week with me."
The Widow's Revenge 215
" You mean to stay at your house ? "
" Yes ; we shall be working together for the ex-
hibition, and we can plan better if we are together at
night."
Liberty hesitated and said, " I don't believe that's
the reason you asked me."
" That's one reason."
" Do you think I better? "
" I don't see what harm it can do."
" Well, I'll come over this one night. But I won't
come again. No, Barbara, you needn't urge me. I'm
not going to put myself in his way. One night at your
house is all right, but I ain't going there reg'lar."
Mr. Buzbee was manifestly disappointed to see Bar-
bara bring home a friend. " My child," he said, " I
am glad to have you hospitable, but this is incon-
venient. I have an experiment of unusual interest on
hand to-night, and Mr. Renfro and Mr. Goodwin are
coming over."
" My love," said Mrs. Buzbee, " where will she
sleep ? And what can we give her to eat ? "
" She will sleep with me, of course. It is not un-
usual for a family and their guests to occupy one room.
Have I not been invited to * go by ' with forty families
with an average of a dozen children and only one
room? And as to eating, fear not, mother dear; I'll
make a famous hoecake. — And, papa, you may just put
away your old rocks and pipe and charcoal. You're
going to sit up and be sociable to-night."
Soon Liberty came over, and the chicken which
she brought from Mrs. Lake's certainly did improve
the supper,
Goodwin and Renfro came that evening, disap-
2i6 Pine Knot
pointed, indeed, that they could not pursue their ex-
periment, yet taking in the situation. So they sat be-
fore the fire and cracked chestnuts and ate popcorn,
and had a rather merry evening. Fletcher came, too,
and Barbara held him and her father to the lesson,
for she wanted Liberty to see how the time was spent.
But when the lesson was over, she caused him to move
up his chair, and she had him set il beside Liberty's.
Fletcher entered heartily into the spirit of the occasion,
and was pleasant with Liberty, though Liberty felt
sure he would have liked his chair beside Barbara's.
It was ten o'clock when the men rose to go. That
was a very late hour for any of them, and all apolo-
gized for staying so long. But before they got away
the door was pushed open and in stalked Widow
Braniman. She had never entered the door before,
but had ridden up to the step and called. She had
come on foot to-night, and was wet from fording the
branch. She pushed the door open without a word,
and strode in. She was taken aback for a moment
by the presence of so many people, but it was only for
a moment.
" Good evening, Mrs. Braniman," said Barbara.
" Take a chair."
" I won't do nothin' of the sort," she replied.
" Take a cheer yourself, and git out of the way
with it ! "
She was quivering with anger as she spoke.
" Mrs. Braniman," said Mr. Buzbee, " what is the
meaning of this? "
" What is the meanin', you biscuit-faced old hypo-
crite ! You know what's the meanin' ! I want you to
fetch back Noel Davis 1 "
The Widow's Revenge 217
" I beg your pardon, my good woman "
" Daggon ye ! Call me yer good woman, and I'll
hit ye ! "
** Look here. Mis' Braniman," interposed Renfro.
" This ain't no way to act. What's come over ye ?
What's the matter of ye ? "
" Why, Mr. Buzbee here, he sot me up to be good
to Noel Davis, so's he'd talk to me, and I done it, and
he's ben a-comin' and a-comin', and I hadn't no man-
ner of suspicion but what he was talkin' to me all the
time ; and to-night he's run ofi to Tennessy with my
oldest darter Sal, and they're goin' to git married, ef
they ain't married a'ready ! "
" Well, now, that's too bad," said Renfro. " But,
say. Mis' Braniman, hit don't make no difference,
p'tic'lar, as I see : hit's all in the fambly."
" You shet up. Bill Renfro ! You needn't a-make
fun of me ! I ain't in no mood for that."
" But, say. Mis' Braniman, think how much better
this is. You've got a heap better chance at him as
a mother-in-law than as a wife, and you ain't, as you
might say, responsible fur him so much. Don't you
see?"
"Be you in airnest or be you jest a-devilin'
me?"
" Dead in airnest, Mis' Braniman. Why, looky
here : they ain't but mighty few men I'd want fer hus-
bands, nohow, and jest between you and me and the
post, Noel ain't one of 'em. But they's a heap I'd Hke
to be mother-in-law to, and Noel's the very first one
I'd take to train."
There was a hearty laugh all round at this, and even
the widow joined in it.
2i8 Pine Knot
" There is times," she said, " when I more'n half
suspicion that you ain't more'n half idiotic."
" Thank ye. Mis' Braniman. You're complimen-
tary to-night. Now, what you've said is true, and this
here is one of my good nights. Now, ef I was you,
I'd be a first-class mother-in-law to Noel, I would for
a fact. I'd make him come to taw. Why, Mis' Brani-
man, you've got the opportunity of a lifetime, as I
heerd a feller say. Dog my cats if you ain't! Noel
needs such a combin' as you've got it in your power
to give, he jest pinely does."
Mrs. Braniman thought it over for a moment, then
she burst into a hysterical laugh, which modulated
into a cry, and ended in a laugh no longer hysterical,
but determined and a trifle threatening.
" I'll do it," she said. " Don't none of you here say
a word. I'll pack up my mess of young uns and
move over and live with him, and ef I don't comb his
wool!"
" I wouldn't be too hard on Noel," said Mr. Good-
win.
" Shet up ! " said she. " Daggon me if I wouldn't
like to be your mother-in-law ! "
" Noel's enough for a starter," said Renfro.
" You have other daughters, haven't you ? " asked
Mrs. Buzbee, seeking to turn the conversation.
" Yes," said she, " I've had sorter bad luck with
'em. The chimbly fell down and killed all but nine
of 'em."
Mr. Buzbee had heard this before, but he had for-
gotten it, and now, as then, he extended his sympa-
thy, which was spurned. The widow felt better,
however, for getting off her accustomed joke, and
The Widow's Revenge 219
rose to go, charging all to be silent concerning her
visit.
" I won't let him know that I've been mad," said
she, " and you mustn't none of you let on. I had to
walk — Sal rode off on my horse. I keered more for
that than for Noel, anyhow.'
So she departed much less angry than she came,
but she never forgave Mr. Buzbee. Both she and Noel
were from this time forth his implacable enemies.
CHAPTER XXI
THE MEANING OF IT
There was no pretense of getting the company
inside the schoolhouse. They built fires in the woods
and ate their dinner about them, coming in in detach-
ments to listen to the examination in the morning, the
grand general exercise which preceded the afternoon
recess, and the spelling match which concluded the
daytime programme. The wind whistled about the
house and found its way through the cracks, but the
great fireplace was filled till the fire dogs groaned, and
the back log, that had required four men to bring in,
glowed cheerily.
The trustees were out in force. The law required
one trustee to visit the school each week, and the trus-
tees never considered their office a sinecure. Noel
Davis was present with his new wife. They rode one
horse, and Mrs. Braniman rode her own, so that one
point was evidently settled in her favor.
The winter sun set early, and the exhibition, con-
sisting of dialogues, recitations, essays, and music,
began " at early candle lighting," which was before
six o'clock.
However willing the people had been to take turns
in the afternoon, there was a universal desire to get in
The Meaning of it 221
for the evening; and it was wonderful to see how the
log walls expanded to take in the multitude. Pine
Knot was there in force, from Granny White to babies
in arms, whose mothers nursed them as they sat the
exhibition out.
People near the walls got cold and people near the
fire got hot, so there was a constant movement to and
from the fire, but every square inch of floor was filled.
There had been some drinking, and a few men from
a distance were noisy, but they were removed with-
out trouble, and the exhibition proceeded in order.
So the children spoke their pieces and sang their
songs, and the older pupils read their essays and went
through with their dialogues. Fletcher made a speech
for the pupils ; four of the larger girls sang a farewell
song which ended in sobs ; Bill Blake made a speech
for the trustees, in which he said that this had been the
best school ever kept in Pine Knot, and that it was the
universal desire of the patrons that the teacher would
make up a subscription school and continue two
months longer, or at least till Christmas ; and Mr. Buz-
bee made his closing address, thanking patrons, pupils,
and friends, and thus the term came to a close. The
complaints of the last month were all silenced in the
glory of the finale, and John Howard Buzbee rejoiced
in the consciousness of success. It was a rare feeling
with him, and, notwithstanding some inattention in
the closing weeks, he richly deserved it.
In answer to the request that he would continue,
and teach a subscription school, he replied that for the
present he had other and important interests, but that
he would consider the matter, and perhaps would do
so later. It was evident that his mind was upon some-
222 Pine Knot
thing else, and curiosity, already rife about the mys-
terious trips of the three men, now linked together
all manner of impossible fancies. Perhaps the least im-
probable of these, and the one most currently credited,
was that, aided by Goodwin and Renfro, whom he had
converted, or who had been bribed by Northern
money, they were making a refuge for fugitive slaves
far back in the mountains.
Such rumors gain credence in inverse ratio to their
probability, and as the public generally comes to its
conclusion by the elimination of possibilities, and
pounces upon the one that is left, so it came to pass
that people in general, having easily disposed of the
few other theories that presented themselves, settled
back content with this.
Therewith grew up a strong feeling of opposition to
Mr. Buzbee. It was not so much because he was an
abolitionist — though a name is ever a fearful thing,
and a man is saved or half damned in popular thought
as soon as he can be made to answer to one — but be-
cause he was concealing something. It made him
other and more formidable than he had first appeared.
" I tell ye," said Noel Davis, as he sat before
Blake's store, looking up the road with anxiety now
and then lest his mother-in-law should fulfill her threat
and ride after him to husk corn — " I tell ye, we've been
a-harborin' a wolf in sheep's clothing. What's he off
here in the woods fur, keepin' a little school? He
could be a senator or a big preacher or something of
the sort if he'd a-wanted to."
" Or a doctor," said Neze Post. " I had a cattle
buyer sick at my hotel one night, and we went for him,
and, by gum, he uncurled him from where he was all
The Meaning of it 223
drawed up at the foot of the bed, and had him stretched
out and drapin' off to sleep in ten minutes."
" Did he charge him anything?" asked Blake,
" No. He wouldn't make no charge, but "
" You'd ought to 'a' added that to your bill, Neze,"
said Best.
" I reckon so. I ain't larned your way of keepin'
hotel yet. But I was a-goin' to say the man gin him
five dollars. He left it with me, and I tuck it over and
gin it to his gal."
" Lucky you gin it to her fur bread and butter,
stidder givin' it to him for his abolition tracks," said
Blake. " They keep a-comin'. Every mail fetches
him something, but they're books now, mostly."
" I don't guess he's lacked fur bread and butter,"
said Noel. " He's allers had enough when I've been
thar, and he ain't had a cent of his school money yit.
That won't come in till New Year's."
" How d'ye s'pose he's lived? " asked Post.
" They's been tuition, and a heap o' things brung
in on account of him not boarding around," said
Blake.
" That wouldn't dress his wife and gal the way
they're dressed," said Davis.
" They had them clothes before they come," said
Blake. " They ain't bought hardly a rag here.''
" Yes, but how'd he git 'em thar, I'd like to know ?
And how's he able to be so daggon independent about
takin' money for doctorin' ? " demanded Noel.
Alas! ever since Paul was accounted no apostle
because he preached the gospel without charge, it has
been thus that men have found in generosity the final
argument against its possessor. Mr. Buzbee's ability
224 Pine Knot
to live without money was the convincing proof to
many besides Noel that he was in the pay of an
abolition society contemplating some sinister under-
taking.
" Well, what do you reckon they're goin' to do with
the niggers when they git a hull passel of them oflf
thar by the river? " asked Best.
No one answered for a moment. Noel Davis, how-
ever, filled his pipe with a self-conscious air that drew
attention toward him. He did not hurry about filling
it either, but went inside for a coal and came out put-
ting it down on the top of his tobacco.
" I've got an tdy," he said.
"What is it? "asked Best.
Noel puffed away for some moments to get his
pipe well started, and held the attention of all while
he was doing it. Such a tribute does the world pay
now and then to the man who has an idea. It is rare,
to be sure, but at rare intervals it stops its senseless
chatter and waits for the idea to clarify while the pos-
sessor thereof gets his pipe a-going. Such a tribute at
this moment did Pine Knot pay to Noel Davis, and
Noel prolonged it with a delicious sense of variety.
" Well ? " demanded Blake, growing impatient.
" Yer settin' on the aig of that idy a consid'rable
spell, Noel," said Best.
" It's done hatched," said Noel.
" I allowed it was addled by this time. Well, trot
it out."
" Do you fellers remember John Brown ? " asked
Noel.
" The one they hung in Ole V'giny ? "
" Yep."
The Meaning of it 225
" I don't guess we've ary one of us forgot him,"
said Blake. " What d'ye mean ? "
" He's another," said Davis laconically.
"Another what?"
" Another John Brown."
" You go to thunder ! "
"What fur?"
" Mr. Buzbee ain't no fighter ! "
" Ain't he ? And all the time the boys was a-hold-
in' ofif and not barrin' him out of the schoolhouse
because he seemed so sorter meachin', wasn't he
a-packin' stuff in his little bag that he packs to
school every day to blow the schoolhouse higher
than Gilderoy's kite? You think they ain't no fight
in him ! Well, mebby one of you wants to face him,
that's all. Still waters runs deep, I've heerd tell,
and I'll be hanged ef I ain't more a-feard of a quiet,
sneakin' cuss that pretends to be one thing and is
another than I be of a man with a gun out in the
open."
All this was new to all but Noel, and was a rather
wide deduction from Mr. Buzbee's pound of sulphur.
But it had its impression. Even Blake was moved by
it, and the rest almost shuddered as they thought of the
schoolhouse blown to atoms, and coming down with
shattered members of Pine Knot children over the
adjacent portions of the two States of Kentucky and
Tennessee.
" Well, Noel ? " said Best, as the former paused to
resume his smoking.
"Well, you know what that man Brown was
meanin' to do — how him and the secessioners of the
North was a-goin' to upset the Gov'maint and make
226 Pine Knot
a new one with a nigger for President and a nigger
Congress, and nigger sheriffs and postmasters and all
that. Well, they had to let go of that fur a while, for
the niggers wouldn't fight, but they had shipped in
a lot of rifles and knives and pikes and things to arm
the niggers with."
Again he paused and the silence showed that his
argument was followed with interest.
" But Mr. Buzbee ain't had no guns shipped in,"
said Blake.
Noel still smoked in silence.
" Noel ! " said Best.
"Wha' d'ye want?"
" Wake up, and go on ! "
" I've got done."
" No, ye hain't."
" Well, wha' d'ye want me to say ? "
" Bill says Buzbee ain't had no shootin' arms
sent in."
"He does, does he?"
" Yes, and you heerd him, and you didn't say
nothin', but jest went on smokin' and lookin' like you
didn't believe it."
" Well, if Bill Blake says so, I reckon hit must
be so."
" Daggon ye, what d'ye mean ? "
" I hate to tell a good feller like Bill he lies."
" Look here, Noel," said Blake, " go on and tell
what ye know, and shet up yer no 'count talk."
" Well, if you say he ain't had no guns sent in, I
ain't a-goin' to dispute ye."
" I was a-sayin' what I believe, and what I'm goin'
to believe till I git some proof. If you've got any proof,
The Meaning of it 227
spit it out and not set thar talkin' like a cymlin -
headed fool."
" Well, he ain't had much of anything shipped in
here, has he ? "
" Nothing but his mail, and his abolition tracks
and books," said Blake.
" Well, if he wanted anything sent in that was
honest and right, he'd be likely to have it come here,
wouldn't he ? "
" I don't know no reason why not."
" Well, you don't see no sorter reason why he
should be shippin' in stuff by way of Rockhold, do ye,
ef what he's gittin' is straight goods ? "
" There mout be and then there moutn't," said
Bill, not to be drawn too far in preliminary conces-
sion.
" Well, mebby you kin think of some good reason
for him havin' stuff sent in by way of Rockhold, and
packin' it off to the river," said Noel, knocking the
ashes from his pipe, and slowly rising as if to go home.
" I don't have no cause to think up no reason yet,"
said Blake.
"You don't?"
" No. I hain't no reason to think he done no sech
thing."
" Oh, well, if you hain't, all right. But I know he
has done it."
" Has had guns sent to Rockhold ? "
" I didn't say they was guns."
"What was they?"
" Bill Blake, sometimes you talk like a daggon fool.
S'posin' they was guns, would they be marked guns
on the boxes ? Was that the way John Brown's things
228 Pine Knot
was sent in ? Was that the way them Berea folks had
their stuff sent in ? "
" The Berea folks didn't have no guns," said Blake.
" That was only a thing for making candles."
" That's what they said," said Noel.
" That's what it was" said Blake. " I've seen 'em
myself in Loussville, to save dippin'. And them folks
that drew 'em out is fools. That man Rogers is as
good a man as you'll find in Kaintuck, and Fee, for all
he's an abolitionist, is as white a man as you be, and
a blamed sight more ! "
" Then why did they drive 'em out? "
" 'Cause they was a set of fools, and skeered at a
candle mold."
" All right," said Noel. " Hit's time for me to go.
They ain't much fun arguin' with a man that is so
daggon sure he knows it all. That's why I git sorter
tard talkin' to Mis' Braniman. But she's an improve-
ment on you. Bill, the way you're feelin' this evenin'.
I reckon I'd best go home. Hit's gittin' to-wards
night, and I wasn't a-lookin' for no mail p'tic'lar."
" Well, hold on here. Afore you go, tell us a
little more about that stuff he had sent to Rockhold."
" Well, Mis' Braniman was over that away last
week. She's got kinfolks thar and at the Joefields.
She was a-feelin' sorter tard, and she 'lowed that, now
she had some one to leave the young uns with, she'd
sashay around a little more. And I wasn't in no sorter
notion of astin' her not to go, ef she wanted to. And
over thar she heerd about him a-gittin' some boxes of
heavy stuff shipped in thar. They come from the
North, somers, and they didn't have no idy what was
in 'em, and didn't suspicion nothin', till Mis' Brani-
The Meaning of it 229
man up and told 'em about his bein' a abolitionist and
bein' off in the woods by the river on some big abo-
lition scheme. She told 'em of his quare talk about
the greatest thing that had been done for humanity,
and some sich she'd heerd, and I reckon from the way
she tells it she got 'em consid'able stirred up. The
Rockholds owns niggers, you know, and so does a
heap o' others about there. And one of 'em by the
name o' Perkins has a nigger that kin read, and Buz-
bee met him, and says, ' Say,' sezee, ' kin you read ? '
* Yes, massa,' says the nigger, * I kin read.' * Read
that,' sezee, and he gin him a track on slavery by John
Wesley, with some stuff writ onto it by John G. Fee.
Well, the niggers there is mostly Methodists, and they
think Wesley's one of the angels, like Gabriel, I reckon,
and they all know about Fee, and think he's a prophet.
Perkins had to lick the nigger to make him tell, and
he gin up the track. Perkins is goin' to the gran' jury
next Monday and git a indictmaint agin Buzbee if he
kin. If he cyan't, then there's other ways o' killin'
a cat besides chokin' 'em on hot butter."
"Have you seed Perkins yourself?" demanded
Blake.
" Mebby I have and mebby I hain't," replied Noel.
" Be you goin' to court a Monday ? "
" Mebby I be and mebby I ain't," he answered
again.
" Well, what I want to know is, be you and Per-
kins and a litter of them Rockhold fellers fixin' up a
plan to run Mr. Buzbee off? "
" Looky here. Bill Blake," replied Noel, " I ain't
on the witness stand, and you ain't no jury. Now
I've said all I'm a-goin' to, Lordy, I wisht the old
230 Pine Knot
woman was over there yit. I ain't the man I onct was,
boys. Things is consid'able changed at home. Not
that I've got anything to say agin Mis' Braniman.
She's a mighty smart woman. But gittin' married
has its resks — it has, fer sure."
CHAPTER XXII
THE GLORIOUS DISCOVERY
" Is your pa at home ? " asked Bill Blake on Sun-
day morning,
" No," said Barbara, " he has gone with Mr. Ren-
fro and Mr. Goodwin."
"To the river?"
" I suppose so."
" How long's he been gone ? "
" Since Monday."
" Ever stay like this afore ? "
" No ; he could not, on account of the school. He
is much interested in some work there."
Bill Blake rode off again. He fed his horse and
ate his own dinner, thinking very hard the while.
Then he saddled his horse again and started toward
the river.
" They's two more jurymen on Marsh Creek," he
said. " I'll see them, anyhow, and mebby I'll go on."
He called on the first of the jurymen as he passed.
" Howdy, Dave ? " he called from the fence.
" Howdy, Bill ? Light and come in and set
with us."
" No. Hain't got time, I reckon. Say, you and
Nick Tetters is on the jury, ain't ye?"
l6 231
232 Pine Knot
" Yes. Nick's here now, come over to see about
gittin' off in the mornin'."
"That so? Well, that's lucky. Call Nick and
come to the fence. — Howdy, Nick? You two on the
gran jury ? Well, I'll be daggoned ! Ef hit's come
to this ! I reckon they's a pretty good show fer the
rest of us ef the jury begins at home ! "
'* You jest git off that nag and talk that away to
me," laughed Nick, " and I'll duck ye in the branch."
" No more'n I expected ! — You hear him, Dave !
You'll have obleeged to sware to what he's a-sayin'
now ! That's a threat of 'sault and battery ! But to
a feller that's done as much devilmaint as Nick has,
one more 'sault don't count, har'ly. Well, when they
make up juries outer sich fellers as you alls, hit's pore
show fer honest men."
" Quit that slander, now, and save yourself a
lickin'. I'm a-goin' to report you to the jury fer
sellin' me cotton jeans for all wool."
" All right, all right ! I only wisht I could make
you pay the value of cotton."
Strangers to Pine Knot have sometimes accused
its residents of lacking a sense of humor. There are
different kinds of humor, and Pine Knot simply over-
flowed with its own kind. It was thus that its people
were wont to meet, and preface their serious busi-
ness with remarks of this character.
" Well, what do you know ? " asked Dave.
" I know you fellers is likely to do a heap more
harm than what you do good, and I come over to put
a stop to some of it. You know our teacher ? "
"Buzbee?"
" Yep."
The Glorious Discovery 233
" Seed him at the exhibition. He's a main buster,
ain't he?"
" Best teacher ever we had, and as good a man
as ever Uved."
" He's a abolitionist, ain't he ? "
" Yes, but a mighty white one. But he's stirred up
a hornet's nest of some sort over in Rockhold, and
they're comin' down to the gran' jury to-morrow to
git a indictmaint agin him for incitin' slaves to run
away. Noel Davis is behind it, and he's a first cousin
to the old scratch, and his mother-in-law, she's got a
tongue that the devil started to make into a rattle-
snake, but got it too long. Now, I don't know what
they're goin' to swear to. This man Buzbee's the
smartest man and the foolishest ever I seed. In
some points he ain't got no more jedgmaint than a
child. He's ofif in the woods now on some fool scheme,
huntin' rocks or bugs or toads or some blamed thing
or other — I dunno what, nor keer — and them fools is
jest fool enough to think he's goin' to lead an army
of niggers out there into the wilderness, and feed
'em with manna, I reckon, and they've gone as crazy
as he is about it. I jest thought I'd ride over and say,
if the matter comes up, ' Don't you pay no sorter atten-
tion to it' "
It was on this wise that Bill Blake had gone the
rounds of the jurymen within reach, and, whether he
had any influence or not, the records show that an at-
tempt was made to secure an indictment, and that it
failed for lack of sufficient evidence. But Noel Davis
was at court that Monday on other business than that
which the court recorded, and he carried with him a
paper to which he secured a number of signatures,
234 Piric Knot
pledging the signers to secure the removal of J. How-
ard Buzbee from the county, " peaceable if we can,
forcible if we must."
Having done so much, Bill Blake felt some curi-
osity to know what the three were actually doing back
in the hills. Some thought was in his mind that he
had earned a right to know; some thought as well
that positive knowledge on his part would make him
of service; and some also that Mr. Buzbee ought to
be warned. That Mr. Buzbee's intentions were honor-
able he fully believed ; that Renfro, also, though less
altruistic, was above all schemes of dishonor, he also
believed. But he just as truly believed that Renfro
was on no quest of bugs or toads, and that Goodwin
was not spending his time and labor without some
thought of his own interest. So he did not lack
motives to turn his horse's head toward the river, and
as the afternoon was waning he hastened. He had
gathered enough to feel sure that the work in progress,
whatever its character, was at the falls, where he knew
the land of Goodwin and Renfro joined. Thither he
rode as fast as hi^ good horse could carry him.
Fording the river he turned down stream, and
nearing the cataract, hitched his horse, and clambered
among the rocks. A fire attracted his attention to
a ravine hard by, and he stepped cautiously thither.
A small furnace was belching and roaring, and Buzbee,
Renfro, and Goodwin were standing beside it, intently
regarding a small molten mass.
" This is the moment that proves it," said Mr.
Buzbee.
" Is it now we get the coloring?" asked Goodwin
eagerly.
The Glorious Discovery 235
" What do you know about the coloring ? " de-
manded Renfro.
" I've Hstened at Mr. Buzbee when he's told us,"
said Goodwin.
" He has quite astonished me by his apt learning,"
said Mr. Buzbee. " It is to his suggestion we are in-
debted for our present success. We could not have
done this without the charcoal."
" I only hope we've got it," said Renfro. " What's
the coloring ? "
" At the instant the last of the lead is absorbed by
the cupel — You get my meaning, do you ? "
" No, I don't."
" Well, we introduced the lead into our former
blast to separate the silver from the slag."
" I know that."
" Now, we are refining, or cupelling, as the term
is, so as to separate that lead from the silver."
" Yes, I understand."
" Well, this cup we have made out of the bone ash
and wood ash mixed and molded is called a cupel,
and is made to absorb the lead."
" I understand."
" Now, the instant that the last lead is absorbed
we shall see a beautiful sight. It is known as the cor-
uscation, or coloring. It is the sure test of pure silver.
It will not come unless we have silver nor until it
is pure. A rainbow streak will shoot — See ! see ! "
They drew so close to the furnace that the heat
must have burned their faces. A minute they watched
the colored prismatic lights shoot back and forth
across the surface of the ashed dish. Blake could
almost see its reflection in their faces.
236 Pine Knot
" That's hit, ain't it? " asked Renfro.
Goodwin did not need to ask. He took a long-
handled shovel, and slipping it under the dish, re-
moved it from the fire. The dish broke as he set it
down, and the silver ran out and cast itself into a
little ingot in a depression of the rock. They all stood
above it a moment in silence. Goodwin burned his
fingers in his eagerness to hold it in his hand. Renfro
cried :
" They's enough in that little bit of ore to make
a silver dollar ! "
His estimate was a close one.
Buzbee stood without a word till the little bar was
picked out and handed around. Then holding it in
his hand, he seemed suddenly possessed with a new
spirit.
" It is true ! " he cried. " Thank God, it is true !
All my dreams, all the travail of centuries, have waited
for this moment ! Glory to God ! glory to God ! "
Goodwin and Renfro shouted with him, and the roar
of the great cataract found its echo in their rejoicings.
Blake heard them, felt the thrill of their enthusiasm,
and then, remounting his horse with a guilty feeling,
hastened away.
CHAPTER XXIII
FOR THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM
Mr. Buzbee came home late that Sunday night.
He was haggard and worn, and had a troublesome
cough, the result of exposure to the damp, cold winds.
" My dear," said he, " I must leave you for a
time."
" You have been leaving me, John," said Mrs.
Buzbee. " We have seen very little of you since
school closed."
" I know, dear. And I must be absent still more.
I am going North."
" What will you do North, husband ? These are
times of excitement there. It is no time to do your
work."
" It is the fullness of time," said he. " It is the
time for which the ages have waited ! "
" What do you mean ? "
" We have made our discovery ! "
" O father! is it really silver?" asked Barbara.
" Yes, my child. It is. See here ! "
He laid a little ingot on the table, and they exam-
ined it with interest. Barbara's cheeks flushed, and
her mother, even, grew less pale. She had been un-
usually pallid lately.
237
238 Pine Knot
" And this actually came from your mine ? "
" It did, my love. We smelted it to-day."
"To-day, father? This is Sunday."
" And therefore the more appropriate day for such a
discovery. This is the most glorious day the earth
has seen since Jesus rose from the dead. Nay, think
me not irreverent. I was never so reverent as at this
moment. Sometimes in these dark, anxious years
I have questioned the Divine goodness. All this I
now acknowledge to you, and I repent of it. My faith
was never so strong as to-day. As I have ridden
home this night, a weary, weary ride, tired in body and
in brain, I have felt the pomp of the conqueror, return-
ing in triumph! I have ridden to the music of the
morning stars which sang in echo to the shout of
the sons of God when they beheld the wonders of
creation! These mountains, my dears, these moun-
tains, the home of free men, shall build the shrine of
a more perfect freedom. These mountains that have
given to the world Helper's great book, The Impend-
ing Crisis, shall show to the world how that crisis may
be, and please God shall be, averted. These moun-
tains— baptized with the tears of Lundy and Birney
and Fee and Clay, and the blood of the heroes of King's
Mountain and the Alamance — these mountains shall
give of the silver in their rich veins as they have given
the blood in the veins of their sons for human free-
dom."
If at another moment, and in lack of other proof,
Barbara had seen in her father only the visionary and
the deluded enthusiast, she could not doubt him now.
He stood so erect, so grand, he uttered his eloquence
with such a consciousness of unselfish loyalty to truth
For the Cause of Freedom 239
and goodness, that Barbara and her mother were both
swept away. Barbara seized the httle bar of silver and
kissed it again and again, and handed it to her mother,
who bent over it and wept.
" And now — oh, my dear, dear noble father, we
shall never be poor again, shall we ? "
" No, my love, we are rich."
" And you will take comfort, and buy yourself
better clothes, and us a home, will you not ? "
" Perhaps — perhaps. But I had not thought of
this. I can not rest now. There is much to be done.
I must go North, and see my old friends, who are abo-
litionists, and sell stock in this mine, the profits to be
devoted to the cause of freedom. I will go first of all
to Abraham Lincoln, and from there I will go to
Boston and see Garrison and Phillips and the rest."
" But how will you go ? "
" Renfro and Goodwin furnish the money, and
charge it against the profits of the mine. Mr. Good-
win suggested that I should discount my school war-
rant, and thus secure the money, and I consented, but
Renfro reminded us that you would need it to live
upon while I go."
" Thank God ! " said Mrs. Buzbee.
" That man Goodwin is a villain," said Barbara.
" No, no, my daughter," said Mr. Buzbee. " He
has become a very ardent friend of the cause of free-
dom ! It is he who has suggested the plan of dispos-
ing of these shares of stock to abolitionists."
" Tell us your plan of organization," said Mrs.
Buzbee.
" Renfro is president, Goodwin is treasurer and
general manager, and I am secretary."
240 Pine Knot
" Judas still carries the bag," said Barbara.
" Do not malign him, my daughter," said her
father ; " he has shown wonderful skill in this matter.
He has learned smelting and refining quite as fast as
I. Indeed, at one time I was almost persuaded that
we were deceived, but he quickened my hope again
with a suggestion that brought success. The work of
refining, or cupelling, which is done with lead, he took
under his charge, and will henceforth have the entire
work of smelting, while Renfro employs the labor and
I sell the stock. But as yet all is a secret. We have
carefully hidden all traces of our work till I get money
enough to establish a furnace of sufficient size, with
crushers and power, to do our work. The falls will
furnish power for our blast fans, the woods will fur-
nish our charcoal ; we have all we need at hand. I
have the analysis here. It shows twenty grains to the
ounce. Twenty grains, my dears, and with almost no
expense for smelting! There are uncounted millions
there! Now, there are perhaps four million slaves.
One fifth are men, one fifth women, and the rest chil-
dren. If the children are worth two hundred dollars
each, the women six hundred, and the men a thou-
sand, there is an average of less than five hundred
dollars, or about two billion dollars for the whole.
That is a vast sum, and the Government would never
pay it, because the people could not be brought to
vote for the payment of so much from the treasury
direct. But, provide the money, and all is easy ! And
the money is here! — money, not only for their free-
dom, but money also for their education and to pro-
vide them with homes. The supply is unlimited.
Under forty-eight feet of conglomerate rock, over
For the Cause of Freedom 241
which the falls dash, are eighteen feet of black, lami-
nated shale, with clay-iron stones, and six feet of sili-
ceous shale that is simply full of silver. Think of it,
eighteen feet of silver ore! And the mountains there
are underlaid with it. Goodwin and Renfro are buy-
ing more land, though they own now a vast tract,
quite adequate for our needs."
" Are you to be paid a salary for your services as
secretary ? "
" No, we share alike. But my expenses are to be
paid. Oh, but we have had a weary time ! We sent
for tools — we had to have them — and after many and
painful failures we sent for a small crucible. We dared
not have them come by way of Pine Knot. We had
them sent to Rockhold. It was hard getting them
over the mountains, for we had to have them sent
securely boxed to avoid suspicion. Meantime we had
built furnace after furnace. We found remains of one
of Swift's furnaces, which confirms our discovery,
though it needed no confirmation. I wish we might
have found some of his hidden money. We sorely
need some at the start to develop our plant. But no
matter. We can toil and wait, as we have done in the
past. But success is ours, my dear, success is ours,
and the glory is God's ! "
There was that in his manner which awed them
both as he spoke. A shade of weariness passed over
him, and then his face lighted up again.
" Do you know," said he, a litle more softly, and
with a reverent hush that made his words the more
distinct, " I feel to-night as Jesus did when he returned
in the power of the Spirit into Galilee. In the power of
that same Spirit I shall return to the North. I shall
242 Pine Knot
say as he said, ' The Spirit of the Lord God is upon
me, to preach deliverance to the captives and the re-
covering of sight to the bhnd, and to set at liberty them
that are bruised, and to preach the acceptable year of
the Lord ! ' Oh, my dears, after this is over, I must
return to the pulpit again ! There is the great oppor-
tunity, after all ! But meantime I must preach this
glorious message, and I will ring in the ears of the
nation the glad word, ' This day is this Scripture ful-
filled in your ears ! ' "
CHAPTER XXIV
THE MOB, THE MAN, AND THE GHOSTS
The six muffled figures paused under the dead
sycamore tree at the forks, and discussed the plan a
little before proceeding.
" I wisht they was more of us," said one of them.
" Hit's a sight easier to sign a paper than to come
up to taw," said another.
" Mebby we'd best put it off," said Noel Davis.
"Put it off? And then what? Be you goin' to
fetch us over here from Rockhold agin for nothin' ? "
asked another testily.
" Don't git mad. You've been drinkin' too much."
" No more'n you have. You're plumb drunk," re-
torted the other.
" Here, boys, this won't do. Are your masks all
right?"
" I reckon so."
" Well, we'll ride up to the house and fetch him out,
and then we'll come back to this tree, and like as not
they'll be more here by the time we git back. They
got to come this way, one road or t'other."
With some misgivings they assented, and soon
the house was surrounded, and a voice called out,
" Hello ! "
243
244 Pine Knot
" What is wanted ? " asked Mr. Buzbee from his
bed.
" I want Mr. Buzbee. There's a woman sick over
here a piece."
" I will come at once," he said. " Wait till I get
my clothes on."
He rose and dressed, and, opening the door, was
seized on the threshold by two men, who threw him
heavily upon his back and bound him hand and foot.
It was over in a minute, almost before Mrs. Buzbee
could scream. A heavy hand was laid upon her mouth,
and the masked figure with the other hand put out
the light.
" Stay where ye be, right in this bed, and don't ye
stir nor make a light, or we'll shoot it out ! "
They were gone, and Barbara and her mother lay
for a few moments in terror. Then Barbara slipped
from the bed and hastily put on her clothes. " Lie
still, mother," she said. " Do not move from where
you are. I will go for help."
Thankful for the act which had put out the light,
she slipped through the open door and around the
house. Her heart was beating violently. Wakened
from sound sleep to deathly terror, alone and in the
power of masked and desperate men, it was little won-
der that she trembled. But she gained courage as
soon as she was free from the house and found the way
unguarded. She hastened toward the road, yet stopped
midway. They had halted at the tree in the fork.
She crept nearer and yet nearer, and there against
the white trunk she saw her father, tied to the tree, and
surrounded by his captors, some mounted and some
on foot.
The Mob, the Man, and the Ghosts 245
Seeing no opportunity of assisting him, she crept
away again, and, making a detour, gained the road.
If she could only get to Renfro's or the hamlet ! But
they were between her and these. The nearest house
was Granny White's, and she sped thither. She was
running, breathless, down the crooked road, when she
fell into the arms of a man, who held her just a mo-
ment, first in surprise and then, perhaps, almost un-
consciously, for joy.
" Why, Miss Barbara ! Is this you ? And so late ! "
" O Mr. Fletcher ! " she cried, clinging to him. " I
am so glad to find you ! Oh, come with me, and help
my father ! They have bound him ! They are masked
and armed ! Come, come ! "
She seized his hand, and would have dragged
him on.
" Stop ! " said he. " Tell me first, that I may know
what to do."
" There are five or six of them," said she. " I do
not know who they are. They lied to him, and told
him a sick woman needed him, and they sprang upon
him when he opened the door to go with them. Oh,
the cowards, the brutes ! "
" And where are they? Speak a little lower."
" Down by the tree at the fork of the road."
" Wait till I cut a club," said he. " We will release
him."
They walked back together, arm in arm. They
were near the house, when he said :
" Miss Barbara, have you heard the story about that
tree?"
" Yes," said she. " You met the ghost there, you
remember."
246 Pine Knot
" Yes. You have the sheets ? "
"I have them. Why?"
" These men outnumber us. Besides, they are
armed. But they are superstitious, and I know how
dreadful a thing in white can be made to look in the
dark. We must recall the ghost of Deek Morgan.
Slip into the house and get the sheets. I will wait
for you outside."
" O Barbara, my child, is that you ? " asked her
mother anxiously.
" Sh — h ! mother, do not speak ! I will be back
soon ! Mr. Fletcher is with me ! "
Barbara returned in a few moments. " They were
more kind than they thought when they put out the
light," said she.
" Come," said Fletcher, and he led the way around
through the woods behind the tree and at a safe dis-
tance.
" Now," said he, " you must help me to be a
ghost."
" No, no ! " said she. " You would never do. I
will be the ghost. I will wrap myself in these, and
frighten those who are to be frightened by ghosts, and
you must go around with your stick, and fall upon
them as they run."
" I don't like to have you do so," said he. " They
are armed."
" But they will hardly shoot at a ghost ; and if they
do, it is too dark for certain aim. Besides, even if
there is danger, it is my father for whom I face it."
" Very well, then. We should act quickly. They
may be waiting for re-enforcements. I will go around
and get as near as possible. You move straight ahead.
The Mob, the Man, and the Ghosts 247
and be sure that I shall be ready to support you as
soon as you get there."
Save for the bottle that went around more times
than once, there was little pleasure among the group
at the foot of the tree. The Rockhold men were blam-
ing Noel that he had not brought out a larger Pine
Knot contingent, and he was threatening them all that
he would turn State's evidence against them if they did
not proceed.
" But we ain't enough," protested one of the men.
" A thing of this sort ain't safe unless there's twenty-
five at the least. The grand jury will never indict a
crowd, but a half dozen is sure to ketch it every
time." These two sat on their horses. The others,
two of whom held their horses by the bridle rein,
stood near. After this quiet conference, they ap-
proached Mr. Buzbee, who stood tied to the trunk
of the tree, and removed his gag.
" Looky here, old feller," said one of them, " if we
let ye go, will ye git out of here ? "
" I make no promises," said he quietly.
" If ye don't, we're a-goin' to strip ye and lick ye
like blazes ! "
He made no answer.
"Will ye go?"
" I have told you that I would make no promise."
" Well, ye cyan't talk no more abolition talk in this
county, we kin tell ye that."
Again he was silent. They thought that he was
considering the matter, and pressed him again.
" Gentlemen," said he, " your threats do not move
me. Right is on my side, the law is on my side, God
is on my side, and final success is on my side. I am
17
248 Pine Knot
alone and at your mercy. Do your worst. You may
flay me, burn me, crucify me, but you can not move
me.
There was nothing of boastfulness is his tone.
An enthusiast he was, a visionary, but no coward and
no boaster, and each of them felt in his heart that he
said the truth.
" Let's let him go," said one of them,
" Let him go, ye cowards ? " said Davis. " If ye
do, ye won't let me go, I kin tell ye that ! "
So they stopped and drowned their dissension in
another drink.
" Boys," said one of them, " ain't this the place
they say has a haint ? "
" Shet up, I tell ye ! " said Noel.
"What's that?" asked another of the Rockhold
men. " I never heerd tell of that. What sort of haint
is it?"
" Shet up, I tell ye ! " said Noel.
" Look here," said one of them, " I don't like this !
What sort of trap is this you've got us into ? "
Just then the'-e came a faint, moaning cry from
behind the tree. There was a dead silence, and every
man strained his eyes. In a moment there was another
cry, like that of a panther, a short distance up the
road. They turned and looked in that direction. Noel
was the only man who stirred, and he got nearer his
horse. Then there was another cry, a shriek that al-
most curdled their blood, from where the first sound
had come but nearer, and looking, they saw a gigan-
tic, tall, white figure, bending, swaying, and approach-
ing them. A single shot was fired at it, but only one
man stopped to shoot. Pell-mell they started, and,
"If we let ye go, will ye git out'
The Mob, the Man, and the Ghosts 249
while they were gaining their saddles, a great, huge,
black figure burst in among them, laying about him
with a heavy green hickory stick, that raised a black
bruise wherever it struck. One of them left his horse
and broke through the woods, and another was thrown
and dragged by his stirrup as the horse started furious-
ly from a blow of the club.
It took but a minute, and when Fletcher returned
from a chase of the hindmost, whose terror, lest the
devil should get him, was not without reason, the ghost
was embracing the man who stood bound to the tree.
Fletcher's sharp knife quickly cut the thongs, and
Barbara was at him again.
" O father, O my dear, brave father ! Don't you
think I'm a lovely ghost? Oh, I'm so glad we have
saved you ! "
" Barbara, my child," said her father, " your ruse
was very skillful, my dear. — And, Mr. Fletcher, I must
thank you. — But now let me hasten to your mother,
who must be frightened, I know. Take ofif those
sheets before you return, Barbara. Your mother is
not superstitious, but she has suffered a severe fright,
and I would not have her see you thus. In truth you
might well frighten any one."
" Help me, Mr. Fletcher," said Barbara. " I am
entangled in my ghostly trappings. Was I not a tall
ghost? I needed but one sheet to wrap me, and hav-
ing one to spare, I elongated myself with two sticks.
Oh, it was fun to see them run ! And you struck out
like a gladiator ! I could not see you strike, but I could
hear your blows. O Mr. Fletcher ! how can I thank
you enough ? You are so strong, so brave, so kind ! "
Fletcher was untying a knot, and as she spoke it
250 Pine Knot
gave way, and the sheets fell about her to the ground.
He stood a moment with his hands on her shoulders,
then caught her in his arms, and held her, unresisting,
and kissed her.
" O Barbara, Barbara ! " he cried. " To be praised
by you is worth a life ! I love you, my darling, I love
you ! "
" You must not," she cried, though the words hurt
her ; " I can not let you speak so ! "
" But I love you," he said. " You can not forbid
my loving you ? "
" Yes," she said, " I must not let you do so. It
would be wrong. I can not encourage it."
Barbara was sincere in this; and yet she thought
that he would press his suit, and give her opportunity
to explain a little. She did not want to betray Liberty,
nor on the other hand did she want Fletcher to be-
lieve her unmoved by his appeal. She waited, expect-
ing him to proceed.
Now, many a woman pausing thus and looking
back, has been overtaken like Lot's wife ; and Barbara
was not wholly free from danger in that moment. For
her heart swelled with admiration for the stalwart
fellow who had come to her in the hour of need, and
the cheek burned with a warm thrill where he had
kissed her.
But James Fletcher did not press his suit.
" I did not expect you to love me," he said. " I
know how far above me you are in everything. It is
enough for me that you know that I love you. I've
never expected you to love me. I never expected to
tell you that I loved you. But I am glad to have told
you. You praised me just now ; it was heaven to hear
The Mob, the Man, and the Ghosts 251
you. It is not that I love flattery. I am ambitious,
but not foolishly vain. But to merit your praise is a
joy ! Oh, if I could hope that you could love me ! But
I know that this can not be ! I will not ask it. But,
oh, let me ask this one thing : is there any other reason
than that I am not good enough or wise enough ? Is
there any one else ? "
" Yes," said Barbara, " there is some one else."
" I reckoned likely," said he.
" But " said Barbara.
" But what ? " he asked eagerly.
She bit her lip hard. What was she about to say ?
That the person in the way was not Boyd Estill, but
Liberty? That she was refusing him not for another
man's sake, but a woman's ? For shame ! She would
say nothing of the kind. And, then, was she so sure,
after all, that it was not partly on Boyd Estill's ac-
count ?
"What is it?" he asked. "You do not
mean ? "
" No, no ! " she said ; " I do not mean what you are
thinking. I have said it and mean what I say, and it
is final. But I can not have you think that it is be-
cause you are not more — more "
"Because I'm so ignorant?"
" No, no ! It's not that at all ! You are not igno-
rant! You are strong, brave, true, and you will yet
be learned! A courage such as yours must succeed.
And you will bring honor to the woman you marry.
She will be proud of you ! Yes, and I shall be proud
of you, too ! "
" To have you for a friend is more than I deserve,"
said he.
252 Pine Knot
" I am your friend, Mr, Fletcher," said she, " and I,
too, am in need of your friendship. My dear father is
starting North, and no one knows how long he will
be gone. Our old friends in Lexington seem very,
very far away. We shall need all our friends here."
" Count on my friendship always," said he.
" Thank you," said she. " And now I must not
wait here another minute. Mother will be anxious
for me. Yes, I shall be glad to have you walk with
me to the house. Will you carry my armor? You
have borne it once before and right worthily! And
now I must go in, mother will be terrified by this ad-
venture. I ought not to have stayed away so long.
Adieu, sir knight ! "
CHAPTER XXV
A BLUE-GRASS CHRISTMAS
" Christmas gift, father ! " called Boyd Estill,
throwing his bridle rein to a negro who was riding
on a mule behind him, and flinging himself from his
horse.
" Christmas gift, indeed ! And what gift have you
brought me, leaving the house before breakfast and
oflf the whole morning? "
" A good brush, as you see," said Boyd, exhibiting
the tail of a fox. " We had a right good chase, and
old Major led the hounds all the way."
" Ah, that's not so bad ! I could ride to hounds
myself once. To be gone the whole morning fox-hunt-
ing, and Christmas at that, is bad indeed, but to bring
home the brush is ground for pardon."
" I bring it to you, sir."
" That's well. Was there no young lady in the
party that deserved it ? "
" Not any, sir," said Boyd with a forced laugh.
" I'm wedded to my horse and dogs, I reckon."
" Ah, well ! It's no harm in a young fellow. I
saw you riding up the avenue from the pike ; hang me
if I'm not tempted to flog you for riding so well. You'll
be thinking one of these days that you ride better than
253
254 Pii^^ Knot
your father. But go now and get ready for dinner.
Mr. Bernaugh will be over right soon."
" I'll be ready soon, sir. — Here, Sam ! Tell Nico-
demus to rub down that horse well before dinner, and
give old Major something good for his Christmas din-
ner."
Mr. Estill returned to the fire, yet walked nervously
to the window from time to time.
" Hey there, Sam ! " he called. " Sam ! Here
comes Mr. Bernaugh. Run and take his horse."
He was out at the stile ahead of Sam, however, wel-
coming his guest.
" Christmas gift, old friend ! " he called, and from
the quarters and kitchen the negroes ran out calling,
" Christmas gift ! "
"Howdy, howdy?" called Mr. Bernaugh, flinging
his rein to Nicodemus. — " Now, looky here, Nic, you
yellow rascal, if you get to studying about your Christ-
mas dinner to-day till you forget to feed my horse,
I'll get me a hickory and wear you out — you hear? "
" That's the way to talk," laughed Estill.—" You
feed him well, Nic. I don't reckon he gets much to eat
at home ! — That's a fine horse, Bernaugh. Gaited like
a rocking chair, isn't he? I'd like to own him. You
didn't think of bringing him over for a Christmas gift,
did you?"
" Not this Christmas. But that reminds me. —
Here, Nic! Here's something for you alls!— Chloe,
you see that he divides it fair, will you? And if you
give us as good a dinner as I reckon you ain't forgot
how to cook, I've got something at home I'll send
by one of my niggers when they come over to-night to
help you start in Christmas week."
A Blue-Grass Christmas 255
Nic led off the horse, pleased with the largess and
with the threat of the flogging ; for the latter was only-
Mr. Bernaugh's way of saying that he knew his thor-
oughbred was safe in Nic's hands.
" Come in," said Estill. " They're like a crowd of
children. You can't get rid of 'em at Christmas time.
— Hello, here, Brutus ! What you hangin' round here
for?"
"Jest to wish Maws' Bernaugh Christmas gift,
sah," said the old negro.
" Hello, old nigger ! How're you running? Good
Lord, I thought you was dead ! "
" Po'ly, Maws' Bernaugh, po'ly," and then in an-
other tone : " No, sah. Maws' Bernaugh, I ain't dead !
Ef I had a-ben, I know you sho'ly gwine come to my
funeral, now ain' you? An' I'm gwine to live till
spring, bress de Lawd ! "
" How do you know that ? "
" Oh, I mos' ginerally notice when I live till Christ-
mas, I lives t'rough till spring ! "
" Well, how much'U you let me off for ? I thought
when I sold you I'd got done givin' you Christmas
gifts. Will a dollar do you? All right! Now you
divide that with Chloe ; I promised her something for
cooking the dinner. — And look here, Brutus ! I told
Bill to ride over with a haunch of venison — did you
steal it all, or will we have some for dinner ? "
" Hit's dah, sah. I didn't steal none of it. Chloe's
done roastin' it wid de turkey."
" All right, if you've left a little of it."
" He's a good honest nigger," said Estill.
" Salt of the earth, sir ; salt of the earth," said Ber-
naugh. " I hated worst way to sell him to you."
256 Pine Knot
" Don't blame you, sir ; not a mite,"
" Him and Chloe's got another baby, I hear.
What's the name of this one ? "
" Dog my cats if I can remember ! — Here, Brutus !
What's the name of the last chap of yours ? "
" Bessie, sah," said Brutus,
" Yes, I know. But call Dinah. — Here, Dinah, I
want the full name of your Bessie."
"Yes, sah. Hit's
Bessie Fee,
Cora Lee,
Who but she?
Estill."
" That's good ! Still stick to your poetry, don't
you?"
" Yes, sah,"
" And let's see. What was the other one' you had
since I sold Brutus ? "
" Joseph Estill,
William Bernaugh,
Tostle Paul,
And Caleb after all,
Estill,"
" And which of us three do you call him for — me
or Mas'r Estill or the Apostle Paul ? "
" I calls him Benny, sah."
" That's a fair compromise. Now we won't have
any trouble. And what's your oldest ? "
" Lena Belle,
Arise and tell
The glories of Immanuel,
Estill."
" That's good. Here's half a dollar for Christmas,
A Blue-Grass Christmas 257
besides what Brutus has got for you. Now you cook
that venison good, or I'll get your Mas'r Estill to
sell me one of them little niggers of yours. — You've
got a fortune in that gal, Estill. She's a poet. I
ought to have bought her, instead of selling you
Brutus."
" I'd hated to have sold her," said Estill, " even to
you."
" And I felt just so about selling Brutus, for all he's
so old."
"Well, the niggers can't always marry on the
plantation, and it's better to let 'em live together. I
had to feed him Sundays for three years before you
sold him to me, and I reckoned it was cheaper to buy
him and done with it."
" He was getting old, and I reckon you got the
worst of the trade. But I hate to sell a nigger worst
way in the world. I wouldn't sell one on any consid-
eration but for his own good. I did sell one down the
river years ago, but he was a sullen devil ; I couldn't
manage him nohow, and I got plumb afraid to keep
him. But, except for him, I never sold one but to a
neighbor and for good reasons."
" Same with me. My farm's overrun with nig-
gers now — more'n I've got any use for, but I hate to
sell 'em. Now, sir, I've opened a bottle of the pride of
Bourbon County that my old friend Colonel Cole
made for me thirty odd years ago. It's cost me, prin-
cipal and interest, about the price of a good likely nig-
ger, I reckon, and if that interest keeps running on,
I'm a bankrupt, sure ! "
" I'll stop the interest on one glass," laughed Ber-
naugh. " Hot, if you please, and a little sprig of mint.
258 Pine Knot
if you've got some handy. It's a good appetizer for
a Christmas dinner. Where's Boyd ? "
" Dressing. He's been off after a fox, and got
him, too. He wouldn't have been back if he
hadn't."
" Now, look here, that's big talk ! I used to ride to
hounds myself, and for all I'm older than you, I believe
I could outride you yet ! But I've come home a many
a day without a fox."
" Boyd don't."
" Well, now that reminds me. Do you know any
reason why that affair between him and my girl didn't
come about better ? "
" I don't know a thing."
" I'm afraid Boyd struck a cold trail there."
" A fox and a woman are two different sort of
folks."
" Ye-es, maybe so. But I've often wondered.
Estill, this is a sad day for me. It's the first Christmas
ever I ate dinner out from under my own roof."
" I — I sort of had that in mind," said Estill.
" I know you did ! I know you did ! And I didn't
mean to say a word ! Estill, I'm a heart-broken man !
This day, that ought to be a happy one for me, is full
of bitter memories. My wife is gone — and what a
woman she was, Estill ! The queen of 'em all, sir. The
queen of 'em all. God help me, but I never saw her
equal, sir! Never, on God's green earth! And she's
dead. And then my daughter, married to that wild-
eyed abolitionist. Oh, I know I'd shoot any one else
that would say a word against the man my daughter
married, but — Estill, I'm a heart-broken man ! "
" I know it's been hard," said Estill. " And I've
A Blue-Grass Christmas 259
felt for you through it all. He's a man of fine educa-
tion "
" Yes, yes ! And I could have been proud of him
if he'd been different in other things. But no more
judgment, sir, than a yearHng calf ! No, nor so much !
It isn't that I feel bad because he don't earn a living,
though. How much do you suppose he's sent to his
wife in the last ten years? Not a red cent, sir; not a
red cent! Love her? Of course he loves her! His
way! But it's a right poor way. I get mad when I
think of it! But, as I was saying, it ain't that. I've
got enough. And while they don't know it, I've never
touched a penny of the money my wife left for Bar-
bara— not a penny of it! She supposes it's all gone
for her education, but it's there, every red cent of it,
sir ! You know, Estill, I always wanted a son. But I
had but one child, a daughter, and my wife was never
strong after her birth."
" I know," said Estill.
" Of course you do. It's an old story to you. And
I won't say any more, except all the hope I've had has
been in my daughter; all the hope I have is still in
her and in Barbara."
" Yes," said Estill, " and you know how I'm fixed,
too. We're pretty good running mates, though I
haven't had so many disappointments as you. But
all my hopes are in Boyd. And if I could see him
married, and to your Barbara, I'd give half I'm worth
to-day ! "
" I'd cover your money ! " said Bernaugh.
" But Boyd's a fellow you can't drive," said his
father.
" Nor the girl ! " said Bernaugh. " Her mother,
26o Pine Knot
for all she was so gentle, was high strung. She's a
thoroughbred, sir! You can't lay the whip on her!
And Barbara's like her! I'm pretty hard on the bit
at times, and I was at fault, I know. I got to talking
politics with Buzbee. Now it's as much as two sen-
sible men can do to talk politics just now, and on the
same side at table, but with a man with no horse sense
on his side, and a quick-tempered old fool on mine,
I made a mess of it. And when I jerked on the bit
of my daughter, the rein didn't hold, sir ! That's just
what it didn't do ! And now they're down there starv-
ing, I reckon. The Lord only knows what they'll
have for Christmas to-day I "
" If we can only have Boyd marry Barbara," said
Estill, " it'll straighten out the whole aflFair."
" So it would. If Boyd could bring Barbara here,
why, we'd have her first here and then there, and here
her mother could visit her, and we'd soon have things
fixed all right again. And, while I hate to argue with
him, I can't quite hate that hair-brained son-in-law
of mine."
"Sh — sh!" warned Mr. Estill. "Here comes
Boyd! — Well, Boyd, it took you a right smart while
to dress."
" Yes," added Bernaugh, " a young buck like you
needn't spruce up so to dine with two old fellows
like us."
" I have to dress up to seem as young as you two,"
said Boyd.
"Well, is dinner ready? I was plumb uncer-
tain whether we could have any dinner to-day, but
Bernaugh has sent us over some venison," said Es-
till.
A Blue-Grass Christmas 261
" Yes," said Bemaugh. " We tried one haunch
and found it tough ; so I sent the other over."
" Come out and try it," said Estill.
" Well, Boyd, and what's the talk about politics ? "
asked Bemaugh.
" South Carolina has seceded," answered Boyd
briefly.
" Impossible ! " said Bernaugh.
" True, nevertheless," said Boyd.
" Oh, for an hour of Andrew Jackson in the White
House ! " cried Bernaugh.
" Or Henry Clay," said Estill.
" Anyhow, I think we've got the poorest frame of
a man in the White House now we've ever had!
Think of his rattling round in the shoes of George
Washington ! This last message of his was a disgrace
to the American people, sir — a disgrace to the Ameri-
can people ! "'
" Didn't you vote for him? " asked Estill,
" Certainly I did, and being a Democrat I can say
what I don't want an old-line Whig like you to say.
I believe in State rights myself; but when an Ameri-
can President says in his message that the Southern
States would * be justified in revolutionary resistance
to the Government of the United States,' he ought to
be impeached ! "
" I don't agree with you," said Boyd. " If we
believe in State rights, let us live up to our prin-
ciples."
" A right is one thing," said Bernaugh, " and good
sense and justice is another. We've got a right to
secede — I believe that, under the Constitution ; but
we're fools if we do it. Are we border States going
262 Pine Knot
to play monkey for the nigger-buying cotton States,
and bum our fingers raking off their chestnuts ? "
Boyd flushed. Then, biting his lip, he added : " I
reckon, Mr. Bernaugh, you and I'd best come to terms
like father and me. We don't agree on this matter,
and, except for telling the news, and talking a little
about what's going to come of it, we don't discuss it
much."
" That's best," said Bernaugh. " If we'd stuck
to that in our house it would have been better. You're
a member of the State Guard, are you not, Boyd ? "
" Yes, sir. And we have begun to drill in antici-
pation of war."
" And on which side will you fight ? '*
" On the side of the South."
" Against your country ? "
" My country is first of all my State; after that
my allegiance belongs to the Southern Confederacy,
whose germ we have in the secession of South Caro-
lina."
" Ah, well ! Let us stop talking about it. But this
is a sad Christmas in many a home in Kentucky."
CHAPTER XXVI
THE NEW TEACHER
Dan Brafford's tall horse brought the news of
both at once, bearing them through the swollen
streams of the last of April, and along the muddy and
deeply gullied roads, the news of the great fortune of
the Freedom Mining Company, and of the actual be-
ginning of hostilities in the attack upon a Massa-
chusetts regiment in the streets of Baltimore, The
latter news he carried by word of mouth ; the former
he bore locked up in his mail bag in a letter addressed
to Mrs. Buzbee. Mr. Buzbee had actually sold five
shares of stock, and had received the full payment in
cash, five hundred dollars !
The month had gone wearily enough. Mrs. Buz-
bee had pined and drooped. She and Barbara had
had scant food a part of the time, and they never were
overfed. Something they suffered, too, from the sus-
picion which the community had come to cherish
against Mr. Buzbee, and which seemed to make the
whole family semi-impostors. They suffered no per-
secution, and were never in danger, but the sense of
their isolation grew upon them, and gradually Mrs.
Buzbee failed under the stem conditions that sur-
rounded them.
1 8 263
264 Pine Knot
Mr. Buzbee's pathetic letters added to their burden.
It was pitiful to read of his repeated rebuflfs and fail-
ures, and to imagine the hardships which they knew
must be, but which he did not write. At last, when
the tide turned, and he began to receive money, they
waited in vain for the money they needed for them-
selves, but which did not come. He was so intent
upon his great scheme, that he did not think of their
need. Charity may begin at home, but philanthropy
is usually far-sighted and overlooks the need at hand.
For that matter, all our man-and-brother theories work
better at a safe distance.
But Granny White was a true friend. Supersti-
tious, ignorant, and narrow, she was yet discerning,
kind, and true, and again and again she made the two
lonely women feel the comfort of her friendship. The
Renfros too, were faithful, and Simon Peter or Dinah
came often with a sack of meal or a dressed chicken.
Now and then Liberty Preston rode over from No
Bus'ness, and often she brought a jar of preserves or
a peck of Hour.
With the coming of the spring their burden light-
ened ; for, though Mr. Buzbee's success brought them
no money, it brought them hope, and gave relief from
the suspicions of the people, who, hearing the glowing
accounts of the success of Mr. Buzbee, began now to
laud his learning and to speak of him in terms of un-
stinted praise. A few there were, however, who still
uttered their predictions of evil.
It is told us often that misfortunes never come
singly; let us gratefully remember that as much may
be said of our blessings. With the spring came Lib-
erty Preston to the home of the Buzbees.
The New Teacher 265
" I've made up my mind, and I don't want you to
tell me no," she said to Barbara. " I'll pay a dollar
and a half a week for board — that's what I paid at the
Lakes's — and a dollar a month tuition, and I'll help
with the work, and part of the time I'll go home Sun-
days. But you've got to learn me part of what you
know. I'm plumb ashamed of myself when I think
what a dunce I am, and I want to learn."
It proved an admirable arrangement. It made the
home a place of life as the girls ran in and out; it
brought out the books and gave life a new object; it
gave a basis of reality to Barbara's cheery laugh, which
had sometimes seemed a bit forced; and it provided
means of support. Jim Ballard sent over to inquire if
his daughter might attend; Tom Lawson squeezed a
dollar a month from the joint profits of blacksmithing
and witch-doctoring, and sent his daughter. A few
others came irregularly, some for a single month. An
income of perhaps twelve dollars a month was thus
provided by the little private school and its one board-
ing pupil.
Mrs. Buzbee now and then exhibited a little more
of cheerfulness, and sometimes was seen to smile. But
it was a wan, weary smile.
Fletcher came irregularly. A long visit to his
mother at Roundstone during the winter found him
engagement in a " work " — that is to say a protracted
meeting, which resulted in the establishment of a cir-
cuit which he began supplying until conference should
permanently assign the field. He came three or four
times to Pine Knot, and while he called each time,
and manifested the utmost kindness, he showed noth-
ing more. He treated Barbara precisely as he did
266 Pine Knot
Liberty, and seemed so absorbed in his work that Bar-
bara suspected that he had forgotten all about his pas--
sion for her.
This irritated Barbara. To be sure, she had re-
fused him, and finally. And yet — Why must a man
take a woman's answer so seriously? Of course, she
meant it seriously, but still a man of more discern-
ment, or more delicate and sympathetic nature, would
have discerned something — at least of the motive of
her refusal. To be making a martyr of one's self is
well enough, but martyrdom flourishes best when it
has appropriate recognition ; and Barbara now and
then felt that he ought, in simple decency, to look
into the matter far enough to know how unselfishly,
how self-sacrificingly, she had refused him.
It was after his visit in June that she felt this most,
and something of it she must have shown to Liberty.
Fletcher had come to tell them that he had secured the
school for the coming term, and that he would " take
up school " early in August. Barbara's pleasure in
the announcement was short-lived ; for his joy in the
attainment of tne hope so long deferred was so clearly
in the end he hoped to attain through it, and took so
little account of any other consideration, that her
heart went down. The opening of the public school
would rob them, too, of their means of support. Why
need he begin so early? To be sure, there had been
complaint that the school last year was protracted too
far into cold weather, but still he need not have hur-
ried it quite so much. Anyway, what were they to
do now? But for the presence of her mother and
Liberty, she would have had a good cry.
She did have it. Going to the spring after water
The New Teacher 267
she sat beside the branch, filling the gourd and empty-
ing it out again, and thinking and thinking till she
was all in tears.
Poor girl, she needed the relief! And if in this
one matter she showed weakness, in all else she had
been strong. Patient, uncomplaining, she had borne
her mother's growing weakness with unfailing cour-
age, supplying from her own overflow of hope and
good cheer the lack of fortitude in her mother's life.
Through the long, terrible winter never once had she
shown impatience or despondency ; and in the months
that followed, working to keep the wolf from the door,
with hardly a brave or cheerful word from her mother
to lighten the burden, she had endured in the spirit
that bears and hopes and believes and that never fails.
She had earned the right to a good cry, for she had
proved herself nothing less than a heroine ; and even
in an affair of the heart if she showed weakness it
was in good part the result of the other burdens which
she was supporting bravely.
There Liberty found her at the spring, and put her
arms around her and kissed her.
" Barbara," she said, " I know what's the matter.
You can have him. I ain't a-caring."
" Oh, no, no. Liberty ! " said Barbara. " I prom-
ised you, and I will keep my word ! "
" You have kept it," said Liberty. " And I've had
my chance. He don't care for me, and I'm not going
to break my heart about him. You can have him.
There's as good fish in the sea as has ever been
ketched." She spoke a little resentfully, and then,
standing erect, she lifted Barbara to her feet and kissed
her again.
268 Pine Knot
" You dear girl ! " said Barbara.
But Liberty caught her arm and began dancing
her around, singing —
" I'll get another one, skip-t'-m'-loo !
I'll get another one, skip-t'-m'-loo !
I'll get another one, prettier, too,
Skip-t'-m'-loo, my darling !"
" All right, Liberty," laughed Barbara through her
tears. " But you couldn't sing it if you felt toward
him as I do."
" I couldn't ? " asked Liberty, looking at Barbara
hard. " Well, maybe not. But the sooner you get to
singing it with me, the better it'll be for you. There's
nothing comforts a woman so much as to look in the
glass and to reckon she's got another chance. The
question how much you cared for the last one won't
grease the griddle now."
" O Liberty ! You're only joking ! "
" Well, what if I am ? Ain't that the best way to
do ? Come, cheer up !
" I'll get another one, skip-t'-m'-loo !
I'll get "
" I'm tempted to box your ears ! " laughed Bar-
bara.
"You dassn't!" replied Liberty saucily. "School's
let out ! "
Just before his school was to have begun, Fletcher
came over again.
" I've come to ask you to teach the school for me,"
said he to Barbara. " I've got to give it up. I've seen
the trustees, and they consent."
The New Teacher 269
" Why, Mr. Fletcher ! You don't mean it ? No,
no ! You must not ! "
" I'm going to enlist," said he.
" But I thought the Governor had refused to send
troops from Kentucky ? "
" So he has. But troops will be enhsted at once.
I am going to the new camp on the Kentucky River.
I can not stay at home when my country needs me."
" But think of the sacrifice you are making," she
said.
" I will sacrifice more, if necessary," said he quietly.
" Come in and see mother," said Barbara. " She
will miss you."
"Howdy, Mrs. Buzbee?" said Fletcher.
" I am glad to see you, Mr. Fletcher," said she.
— " Barbara, set a chair."
" I'm going to leave you soon," he said. " I'm
going into the army. I start for Camp Nelson to-
morrow."
"And must you leave us, Mr. Fletcher?" asked
Mrs. Buzbee. " Oh, this dreadful war ! Half my friends
are on one side and half on the other. And my poor,
dear father will be heart-broken ! And poor Mr. Buz-
bee is away on this dreadful mining business, that
seems so long in coming to anything! Our friends
seem very few, and scattered far. We shall miss you,
Mr. Fletcher."
" Here comes Liberty," said Barbara. — " O Liberty,
Mr. Fletcher has given up the school to go to the war !
Isn't that too bad ? "
"Just what I expected of him," said Liberty.
— "Howdy, Mr. Fletcher? I wish now I'd Hstened
better to your sermons."
270 Pine Knot
" I don't believe you remember a word of them,"
said Fletcher.
" I reckon not. Who's going to keep the school ? "
" Miss Barbara."
" That's right. She's a right good teacher,"
" And you are to be my assistant, Liberty," said
Barbara.
"I'm willing," said Liberty.— " Well, Mr. Jim
Fletcher, we hate to see you go, but they need you."
" So they do," said Fletcher. " Good-by."
And so he went. Barbara tried to be brave that
afternoon and succeeded in keeping a cheerful face till
they had gone to bed and Liberty was still. Then
she had a quiet little cry. But she stopped when she
heard Liberty gently sobbing beside her. Or, stay!
Was Liberty really sobbing? For the moment Bar-
bara detected the sound and the quiver of the bed,
and by her start proclaimed that she was awake, the
sobs, if they were sobs, modulated into a melody, and
she heard Liberty humming, under the quilts :
" I'll get another one, skip-t'-m'-loo !
Skip-t'-m'-loo, my darling ! "
CHAPTER XXVII
THE FREEDOM MINING COMPANY
It was a weary man who made his way from city
to city in the North for nine long months in 1861,
trying to sell the stock of the Freedom Mining Com-
pany. His threadbare clothes grew thinner, and his
form more bent, and his cough harder and more fre-
quent. There were few who had time to hear him,
and few of those who heard him heeded. How he
lived through the first half of his journey he could
hardly tell. A few times he spoke, and took a collec-
tion which paid his railroad fare a little farther on, and
he seldom had to pay for lodging. But the stock
which he had hoped to sell he did not sell.
One raw April day, when the streets of Boston
rang with the word that a Massachusetts regiment
had been fired upon in Baltimore, and the people were
thronging the streets and buying the extra papers that
were issued, he turned aside, weary and heartsick, and
sat him down in the office of a busy man.
" I came to see Mr. Stearns," said he, " but I know
that he will not want to talk with me to-day. If he
will appoint a time, I will come again."
" Of what do you wish to talk ? " asked the kind-
faced, full-bearded man whom he addressed.
271
2 72 Pine Knot
" About the sale of stock in a silver mine, and the
freedom of the slave," said Mr. Buzbee.
" I have no time to talk of the former, but am never
too busy to talk of the latter," said Mr. Stearns.
" The two are one subject to me," said Mr. Buz-
bee, and then he told of his scheme.
" Have you sold much stock ? " asked Mr. Stearns.
" Not a share," said Mr. Buzbee sadly.
" Has your silver been tested ? "
" Oh, yes, I took pains at once to have my sample
analyzed, and it is pure. I have the analysis of the
rock, showing its richness."
Then he told him the story of those weary months,
how of those to whom he had talked few had any in-
terest, and of those who had interest few had money,
and of those who had money few had confidence in
the scheme. He told how one man had complained
of the war tax, and another of the uncertainty of trade,
and another of the shutting up of his cotton mills,
and another of the closing of his branch house in
Atlanta; and so of the ready excuses, and good ones
for the most pr.rt, of those who should have been, as
he thought, the friends of his project.
The keen business man looked over the papers
submitted to him, and kept back the doubts that pre-
sented themselves to his mind.
" I am not in possession of sufficient knowledge
of mining," said he, " to be sure how good promise
there is that this scheme will pay. But on this day
when Massachusetts men are giving their lives for
freedom, I can not withhold money."
Then he called for his check book and said, " I
will head your list, and take five shares."
The Freedom Mining Company 273
" You need not pay it all now," said Mr. Buzbee.
" The assessments are payable quarterly."
" I will pay mine in cash," said Mr. Steams, and
drew his check,
" Five hundred dollars ! " cried Mr. Buzbee. " It
is years since I have seen so much ! "
" I hope you may see much more from your mine,"
said Mr. Stearns. " And now let us not talk more of
mining. Come out with me for the night. You shall
have a comfortable bed at my home, and meet my
good wife, who is as much interested in these mat-
ters as I."
It was an oasis in a desert experience. Mr, Buz-
bee sat that night in a home of wealth, unostentatious
but elegant, hospitable yet not condescending, cheered
by the sympathy of two warm, true hearts. It was
of this merchant, now long dead, that Whittier wrote :
*' Ah, well, the world is discreet,
There are plenty to pause and wait.
But here was a man who set his feet
Sometimes in advance of fate ;
" Plucked off the old bark when the inner
Was slow to renew it.
And put to the Lord's work the sinner.
When saints failed to do it."
From this home Mr, Buzbee sent the letter telling
of his great good fortune — the letter that brought such
comfort, though no money, to his needy household.
From this time Mr. Buzbee's fortunes revived.
Many a business man looked at the name at the head
of the list and bought a share or two, and the five
hundred dollars soon were as many thousands. Then
2 74 Pine Knot
— blaming himself for his selfishness the while — Mr.
Buzbee made some slight additions to his wardrobe,
and bought meals which, while frugal, were not the
starvation affairs which he had long been living upon.
" Victory is ours," he wrote home. " I am sending
another thousand dollars to Mr. Goodwin. We have
now almost enough to complete our furnace, and it will
be adapted to the smelting of large quantities of ore.
Gold and silver are becoming scarce, and are at a
premium. A dollar in silver will soon be worth two
in paper. We shall thus make our money go further.
We have toiled long and have taken nothing : we are
about to let down our net on the right side of the ship,
and bring it up laden. And oh, how eager I am to
get to work, and to convince the world of our suc-
cess before there is more of bloodshed ! I hope to
return soon. But I must not tarry at Pine Knot. I
am writing Mr. Renfro to have a cabin built for us
at the falls. Move there as soon as possible and I
will meet you there. I go to Washington soon to call
upon President Lincoln. I send you ten dollars. It is
the gift of a good woman, the Mrs. Stearns of whom
I have already written. She forbade my sending it
to the mine, and insisted that I spend it for myself or
send it to you. I have need of nothing, now I see suc-
cess. God bless you both ! I am coming to you soon."
At length the day came when he stood on the steps
of the White House and asked to see the President.
The guard at the door asked him his business, and,
learning that he had stock to sell, refused him admis-
sion. He was turning sadly away, when a man within
stepped by the guard, and asked, " What is it he
wants ? "
The Freedom Mining Company 275
He was very tall and dark, with straight coarse
hair, and eyes that looked sadly out of their cavernous
recesses. He wore a somewhat shabby black coat and
carpet slippers run down at the heel.
" Mr. President," said Mr. Buzbee, " I desire to talk
about the freedom of the slave."
" What office do you want? " asked Lincoln.
" None," said Mr. Buzbee.
" Do your friends want any ? "
" If they do, they are their own representatives. I
have no request to present for them."
" Come in," said the President. " You are the
first man I have seen to-day who did not want an
office."
Then Mr. Buzbee entered and talked with Presi-
dent Lincoln. " I have no money to buy stock," said
the President, " and, if I had, I could not lend my name
to a financial concern of which I have no personal
knowledge. But I enter with sympathy into the spirit
of any effort to remove the burden of slavery peace-
ably. I am in entire sympathy with the plan of com-
pensated emancipation. I am about to recommend
such a plan to Congress, and I am confident that the
coming session of Congress will prohibit slavery in
all the Territories now existing and all that may here-
after be erected. Do you think the border States will
stand this ? "
" I am sure they will ! I am sure they will ! " said
Mr. Buzbee.
Mr. Buzbee went out from the White House
cheered by the sympathy of the President, and assured
that it was in his heart to labor, " with malice toward
none and charity for all," for the united nation, which
276 Pine Knot
in the end must be a free nation. So he turned his
face toward the mountains.
He did not get home, however. Letters from
Goodwin assured him that the furnace was in process
of erection, but that it must be larger than had been
planned, and hence there must be more money. So
he set forth again to sell more stock. It was not so
easy to sell it now. Bull Run had disheartened the
nation. The first enlistments were expiring, and many
men were returning to their homes sadder and wiser
than when they set out to put down the rebellion in
ninety days. The country was awaking to the fact
that a long and terrible struggle was ahead, and it
had lost faith in a gradual emancipation, or in any
financial solution of the problem.
Still, the weary man, who was sick as well as weary,
trudged the streets of city after city, struggling in
his own unselfish soul over the problem which was
taxing the nation's thought and sinew, and strug-
gling with it alone.
Still, now and then he sold more stock, and sent
the money home. He began again to starve himself,
that he might send the more. His eagerness to return
and see some actual output grew every day, but letters
from Goodwin restrained him, each with its call for
more money.
So the summer passed and the autumn came, and
with its raw winds his strength diminished. Sick at
last beyond all denial, yet keeping himself alive upon
the hope of his return, he set his face homeward, and
when he saw the mountains again October had turned
the gum trees to a blaze of glory, and the hickory nuts
were dropping through the curled and yellow leaves.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A MEMBER OF THE STATE GUARD
History was striding on rapidly during these few
months. Early in the new year Mississippi, Alabama,
Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas followed
South Carolina in passing ordinances of secession.
In the border States, however, the case stood dif-
ferently. North Carolina, Arkansas, Missouri, and
Tennessee all voted secession squarely down, and Ken-
tucky refused even to consider the matter. Virginia
and Maryland hesitated.
Fort Sumter was fired upon. The call for troops
went forth, and the nation's blood gave a great leap.
Men who had hesitated did so no longer. Men
who had believed in peace saw now the certainty of
war.
Boyd Estill was a member of the State Guard of
Kentucky, an organization distinctly Southern in its
sympathies, and subject to the control of the Governor,
who also sympathized with the rebellion. That the
State Guard would see immediate service was confi-
dently expected, but it saw none. Its members were
spoiling for fight, and the provocation was not far
distant, but fight they could not, and the position was
most trying.
277
278 Pine Knot
The spring wore away. Summer ripened into
autumn. The August elections were over, and the rest
of the South was hot for action. Tennessee, voting
strongly against secession at the first, had been
carried out of the Union by the indomitable will
of its Governor, Isham G. Harris, and finding itself
out, by a reluctant vote, strongly opposed by the
mountain district, had consented to the separation.
Virginia, too, had joined the Confederacy. And
yet Kentuckians of Southern views had no op-
portunity to act. The special congressional elec-
tion in June showed lifty-four thousand majority
for the Union. This left Kentucky Confederates little
hope.
One afternoon in August Boyd Estill turned from
the limestone pike that led from Lexington to his
home, and riding up the avenue lined with tall old
trees, fiung his rein to Nic, and strode into the house.
" What news, Boyd ? " asked his father.
" Nothing, except that I'm sick of this inaction.
I'm going South to enlist ! "
His father heard him sadly, but, checking his emo-
tion, said : " I had come to expect it. I am sorry, very
sorry. Alas ! my son, I had not thought to live to see
you fighting against our country. But if you go, you
go with my blessings upon you, if not upon your
cause."
" Thank you, father. You have been more than
kind. I would give anything to see things as you do,
but I can't."
" Let us keep our truce," said his father. " We
have had one quarrel and it is over. Let us not dis-
cuss it again. The home is yours, Boyd. You go
A Member of the State Guard 279
forth to do what I am loath to see you do, but you
are my son still. Where will you go ? "
** To join Zollicoffer. He is at Knoxville now."
" Tell me a little more about it. What is moving
you to this at present? The Governor sympathizes
with you, and so do the State Guard."
" Yes, but to be a member of a military organiza-
tion and to be idle now is intolerable. There is noth-
ing to fight."
" But it is only a few months since you were glory-
ing in Governor Magoffin's position of an armed
neutrality."
Boyd laughed. " Lincoln has taken us too much
at our word."
" You mean that you did not expect him to re-
spect it ? "
" Well, at first we did, but just now it is not neu-
trality we want, but action."
" For my part, my son, I thank God for every day
of peace. When I read the accounts of fighting begun
in Virginia and Maryland, I shudder, and am thankful
that as yet Kentucky has escaped."
" I wish we could go with the other Southern
States," said Boyd. " Have you seen this poem from
the Memphis Appeal ? It appears to have been written
to be sung to Yankee Doodle. It reminds us how
Kentuckians are scattered throughout the States that
have seceded, and asks us to come with them, I will
read two or three stanzas :
" ' Kentucky boys and girls have we —
From us ye may not take them ;
Sad-hearted will ye give them up
And for the foe forsake them ?
19
28o Pine Knot
" 'O Tennessee, twin sister, grieves
To take thy hand at parting,
And feel that from its farewell grasp
A brother's blood is starting.
" ' It must not be ! — Kentucky, come !
Virginia loudly calls thee ;
And Maryland defenseless stands.
To share what fate befalls thee.
" ' Come, ere the tyrant's chain is forged,
From out the war cloud looming ;
Come, ere thy palsied knee is bent
To hopeless ruin dooming ! ' "
" I have not seen it." said the father. " But I have
dipped a poem from the Cincinnati Commercial here
which I greatly admire. You know that in 1850 Ken-
tucky sent to the Washington Monument a stone on
which was inscribed :
" ' Kentucky. — She was the first State to enter the
Union after the adoption of the Constitution, and will
be the last to leave.' This poem refers to that in-
scription :
" ' " The first to join the patriot band.
The last bright star to fade and die,"
Oh, first-born daughter of the land.
Wilt thou thy sacred vow deny ?
By all the lofty memories bright
That crown with light thy glorious past,
Oh, speak again those words of might —
" The first to come, to leave the last ! "
" ' The land for which our fathers fought,
The glorious heritage they gave.
The just and equal laws they wrought —
Rise in your might that land to save !
A Member of the State Guard 281
No parricidal daughter thou,
No stain be on thy fealty cast,
But faithful to thy boast and vow,
" Be first to come, to leave the last ! "
" ' Oh, list not to the siren voice
That wooes thee to a traitor cause ;
But answer, " I have made my choice,
I will support my country's laws."
Go, spurn disunion's foul cabal.
All party ties behind thee cast ;
And still at honor's, duty's call,
*' Be first to come, to leave the last ! "
" ' Land of my birth ! how dear to me
Has ever been thy spotless fame ;
Oh, may I never, never see
The brand of traitor on thy name !
Go, gird thee in thy armor bright ;
Be faithful to thy glorious past ;
And in the battle for the right,
" Be first to come, to leave the last ' " '"
" It is beautiful ! " said Boyd. " But, O father,
I must go with the South ! "
" Be it so, my son. But my heart still is with you,
and with my country. I had hoped that you would
have married ere this, and that I should have turned
affairs over to you. I am an old man. I would have
liked that pretty Buzbee girl for a daughter, and to
have seen you here in the old home, with grandchil-
dren to play about my knees. But war puts such
things far out of the way. You hear from her, I sup-
pose ? "
" No sir, I do not. I quarreled with her when I
did with you."
" And have not made up with her as you have with
me? She is well worth it, Boyd."
282 Pine Knot
" I quite agree with you, sir. And, while I have
tried to turn my thoughts away from her, I find myself
caring more for her even than I thought. If she hadn't
such an old fool of a father "
" A most unpractical man — a fanatic. I never
agreed with him. But he is a good man, and sincere,
though fanatical to a degree. Still, love does not stop
at such barriers."
" No, sir, and to tell the truth I plan to see her as
I go to Knoxville. She is at Pine Knot, I learn, and
I hope to find her still caring for me as I do for her."
" Woo her, Boyd. Ay, and marry her if you will,
and send her here to comfort me while you go off on
your wild-goose chase. Well, you and I may as well
talk matters over frankly. We understand each other.
What came of this last exploit of the State Guard ? "
" Nothing. I feel as if we had made fools of our-
selves. Lincoln is laughing at us in his sleeve, I
doubt not."
" I dare say. You appealed to neutrality, and to
neutrality you have had to go."
" Yes. After Sumter was fired upon, and the call
for troops was issued, Magoffin sent his distinct re-
fusal. It was as curt and sharp as could be."
" It was worse than that. It was insulting."
" Very well. Perhaps it was. Well, the Northern
papers urged Lincoln to treat it as an aflfront, assert-
ing that it contained in it the very principle of State
rights."
" And so it did, but Lincoln was too shrewd to
interpret it so."
" You know what he told Garret Davis ? "
" Yes, that while he held that Kentucky ought to
A Member of the State Guard 283
furnish her quota of troops, he would not coerce her,
nor treat her neutrality as hostile."
" He went even further to Congressman Under-
wood, saying that while he hoped Kentucky would
stand by the Government, if she did not, but would
preserve her neutrality, he would see that no Northern
soldier entered the State, and that no hostile foot tread
Kentucky's soil."
" That was fair enough on the face of it," said
Boyd. " But what do we have ? Yankee soldiers
mustering under our very noses, and received into the
Federal army as companies and regiments."
" And so," said his father, " your Guard went out
to resist invasion ? "
" Yes, and like the King of France with twice ten
thousand men, we have marched up a hill and then
marched down again."
"What did you find?"
" These troops are all Kentuckians."
" And the officers from the regular army ? "
" They are Kentuckians, too. There is Anderson,
sent here from Fort Sumter. He is a Kentuckian.
There is Nelson, right out of the navy, and made a
general. Why? Simply because he is a Kentuckian,
and Lincoln will not break his promise. But all the
time there are these thousands of men mustering at
Camp Nelson, and virtually holding Kentucky in the
Union by force of arms. And can we attack them?
No, for they are Kentuckians. Can Jefif Davis send
in troops and attack them? No, for he is bound to
respect our neutrality, and fears to make us more
solidly Union by invasion. But all this time, though
Confederates are mustering along the Potomac, and
284 Pine Knot
Confederate bugle calls are heard across the river in
Washington, the line of the Confederacy is pushed a
hundred miles and more south from the Ohio, and
held there by men under arms, arms sent by Lincoln,
and they are drilled by officers sent by Lincoln, but
we dare not lift a finger because they are Kentuckians !
Why, on this last movement of ours we rode on the
same train, these blue-coated Federal soldiers in one
car and we in another. Dared we shoot? They are
Kentucky citizens, bearing arms as they have a right.
We, too, are Kentucky citizens, bearing arms as we
have a right. But we are impotent, while they are
able to muster by thousands, making an army in our
midst. It is a perfect farce ! The Northern news-
papers that are crying out against Lincoln for recog-
nizing the neutrality of Kentucky are the greatest
fools of the century, unless it is we, who have been
fooled by supposing that Kentucky's neutrality would
benefit the South."
" Yet, the North has criticised Lincoln severely."
" So it has."
" I read an article by James Russell Lowell, ask-
ing ' How often must we save Kentucky, and lose our
self-respect ? ' "
" And I have seen a quotation from a Boston min-
ister, who says sarcastically, ' Abraham Lincoln hopes
that he has God on his side, but thinks he must have
Kentucky.' "
" The truth is," said Boyd, " that Lincoln has un-
derstood the situation too well. He will hold off until
the South, angered by this Federal army which it
sees here, invades the State. All the time he will be
gaining the sympathy of undecided people, who are
A Member of the State Guard 285
ready to turn against which ever party proves the
aggressor in Kentucky, The State will then have to
declare itself, and the June elections show that it will
be for the Union."
" God grant it ! " said the father.
" Well, I shall not be here to see it, unless I come
in with the invaders. I go next Monday to Knox-
ville."
" But what about leaving the State Guard ? "
" The State Guard ! " laughed Boyd. " That has
collapsed. They were about gone up before, so many
have resigned. A few have entered the Federal army,
but most have gone South. A dozen go with me. We
shall go straight through to Knoxville, and enlist
under Zollicofifer."
" If you must fight at all," said his father, " there
is no better man on the Confederate side than General
ZollicofTer. He is a true man and a gentleman, though
a rebel."
So the father and son came together after their one
bitter quarrel, discussed their differences warmly, but
in kindness, and the son went forth from his father's
roof to fight in the Confederate army.
CHAPTER XXIX
NEAR THE CATARACT
There was a great sensation in Pine Knot when
the first money was received from Mr. Buzbee. All
concealment was now at an end, and work was begun
in earnest. Blake confessed to Renfro that he knew
of the mine, and, assured by this investment from the
North, pleaded to be allowed to buy some stock, and
was sold two shares. Noel Davis, too, was an early
investor, and a number of the people round about
sold their cows and made their first payments. Then
the working force was gathered. It was a motley
crew. The jail doors were allowed to swing rather
freely just then, and prisoners were permitted to escape
on condition of joining the army, and some of them
preferred to invest in silver. One or two runaway
slaves came up from the South, and the mine pro-
prietors were too intent on larger matters to ask them
many questions, and they were too far back in the
hills to fear arrest. Goodwin and Noel Davis, how-
ever, had them in mind as a possible asset in case of
need. There were some deserters from the two armies,
who settled their differences peaceably in their quest
for silver.
286
Near the Cataract 287
For several weeks no building was attempted.
Renfro favored the immediate erection of a furnace,
but Goodwin declared the amount of money on hand
too small, and set the men at work hunting for the trees
with the compass, square, and trowel, and the search of
the rock houses for the missing hoards of John Swift.
At length, as the men wearied of this, the erection of
a furnace was begun, but work was soon suspended
awaiting the receipt of more money. The people who
subscribed for stock were impoverishing themselves to
pay their assessments, and were only partially satisfied
by Goodwin's explanation that the greater part of the
money had been sent away for machinery, some of
which had to be made to order.
Smart rode hither and thither, selling stock in the
mine, and taking as payments all manner of personal
property, which he disposed of, and credited the same
to the stock account of the investors. The prices
allowed were so generous that they offered great
temptation to those who had anything to sell. When
Tom Lawson learned that he was credited with thirty
dollars for his cow, and then found to a certainty that
Smart had received only twenty-five dollars for her,
he felt so elated over the matter that he straight-
way sold Smart his mule, which the Government con-
tractor at Whitley Courthouse was willing to buy for
a hundred dollars cash ; and Smart sold him two shares
of stock, with fifty-five dollars paid up on each. Tom
Lawson was of two minds about it — delighted to be
making money so fast, and troubled a little in his con-
science ; so he spoke to Goodwin about it. Goodwin
replied that it was all right; that Smart had, indeed,
been over-generous in the matter, but that it was the
288 Pine Knot
policy of the company to favor the neighbors and the
early purchasers ; and he advised Tom to keep still,
and hold on to his stock, which would be worth a
thousand dollars a share some day.
So matters went on until autumn.
" You've got to go off for a visit, old gal," said
Goodwin to his wife. " You've got word that your
aunt is sick, over in Letcher County, do you under-
stand ? Smart'll go with ye, and git ye settled down."
" But I ain't got ary aunt in Letcher," said Mrs.
Goodwin.
"You hain't?" laughed Goodwin. "Well, then,
you kin sorter adopt one — cyan't she. Smart ? "
" She's sorter fell heir to one," laughed Smart.
" Now lookye here," said Goodwin, " when you
git thar, mebby hit won't be in Letcher, atter all. But
hit'll be Letcher till you git thar. And hit's your aunt
you're goin' to see. She's right sick, and I don't
reckon you'll git back before spring. You'll take the
boy, and Smart'll take keer of you till I come."
" What'll you be doin' ? " she asked.
" I'll be a-^ellin' oflf my hogs and cows and things.
The war's makin' good prices, and I'll invest in stock."
" In stock ! " laughed Smart.
" Peleg," said his wife, " you ain't a-puttin' too
much into that mine, be ye ? "
" Well, not skursely," said he dryly.
" Not skursely ! " echoed Smart with immoderate
laughter.
" If you've got ary thing you're sorter sot your
heart on, you best take it," said Goodwin ; " but you
mustn't take no more'n what you need for a long visit.
But you ain't a-comin' back right soon."
Near the Cataract 289
" When I come back, Peleg, will you git me a
new house, or "
" Yes," said he, " but hit won't be the one we
talked about. That's too small game. I've had to
sell a heap of my land around here — for to buy stock,
you understand — and when I build, hit may not be
right here. Now that's enough. And don't you say
a blamed word without that you're goin' to your aunt's
over in Letcher — you hear? You're a-goin' to start
a Monday."
Goodwin spat straight into the fire, looked stern
and uncommunicative through his glasses till his eyes
met Smart's, when his face relaxed a little.
" Quit laughin', you fool ! " he said to Smart, but
not very severely.
But Smart only laughed the louder, and as he sad-
dled his horse to ride ofif after some hogs which Good-
win had bought, and paid for, in part, with stock, he
pulled his nondescript hat lower over his close-cropped
head, and sang gleefully :
" My true love she lives in Letcher,
Ho-de-um-de-diddle-a-de-day !
She won't come, and I cyan't fetch her,
Ho-de-um-de-diddle-a-de-day !
Chickens is a-crovvin' on the Sourwood Mountain,
Ho-de-um-de-diddle-a-de-day !
Seen so many pretty girls I cyan't count 'em,
Ho-de-um-de-diddle-a-de-day ! "
Meantime the school was closing a successful if
not a brilliant session. There was some prejudice
against women teachers, and the community was too
much disturbed about the war and the mine to give
the school a fair chance. Barbara and Liberty did
290 Pine Knot
their duty with fideUty, and Barbara delighted daily
in the companionship of her friend.
They laughed together over the ghost, when Lib-
erty confessed her share in the enterprise, and they
agreed in their admiration of Fletcher, and in their
sympathy for Joe Lakes, who still worshiped Lib-
erty afar ofT, but was too great a man to come to
school to women.
They did not see Fletcher, and they seldom talked
of him; but Barbara cherished the thought that she
was no longer in honor bound, and easily convinced
herself that she cared the more for him now that he
was so far away, and was doing his duty so nobly.
And yet, and yet, there were times when Barbara
thought of Boyd Estill. But all the while Liberty
thought not at all. At least it seemed so; for in the
moments when Barbara caught her at what might have
seemed to be thinking, she began humming. There
was no resisting it, and after awhile Barbara began
hum.ming with her, though with a heavy heart some-
times :
" I'll get another one, skip-t'-m-Ioo !
Skip-t'-m'-loo, my darling !"
All this time Mrs. Buzbee failed visibly. Barbara
often feared that she would not live till her father's
return. Once she broached to her mother a topic
often in her mind, and raised the question whether it
were not better for her to write to her grandfather,
and ask to be received again into the old home at
Lexington. But her mother with great spirit instantly
vetoed the suggestion.
" No, no, my child ! How can you think of such
a thing ? We have burned our bridge behind us. So
Near the Cataract 291
long as your father Hves it is impossible. To return
would be to desert him ! No, no, my child ! "
" It was for your sake I proposed it, mother, not
my own."
" Then for my sake do not mention it again."
In September word came from Mr. Buzbee that he
was starting South, and that they must move to
the falls, as he would be employed there constantly.
Renfro had a pole cabin hastily constructed, so rude
and bare that they longed even for the cabin of Deek
Morgan, and there they moved, when school was out.
The journey was almost fatal to Mrs. Buzbee, and the
suspense that followed was nearly intolerable. For
still Mr. Buzbee delayed to come, and the crowd that
had gathered about the mine was not one in which
they could feel at home. And so October came, and
the rainbow that hovered in the mist above the falls
fell on the foliage on the hillsides above, and Nature
was glorious in her shroud.
Early in October a dozen well-mounted Ken-
tuckians, who rode like human centaurs, pulled up
in front of The Best Hotel, and called for refresh-
ment.
" 'Light, gentlemen, and lift your saddles," said
the pleased proprietor. " If we cyan't treat you good,
we'll treat you clever."
He did his best, no doubt, but the well-fed young
men from the blue grass, whose military experience
in the State Guard had been mostly of a picnic nature,
enjoyed the dinner but moderately, and complained
against Boyd Estill whose whim had brought them
out of their way.
292 Pine Knot
" What is it, Boyd ? Tell us what you wanted in
Pine Knot?"
" What have you against Pine Knot ? " asked
Boyd.
" Nothing except that it is tough as a pine knot,"
answered one of them.
" You libel it," answered Boyd.
" Perhaps so. But I pine not for any more of its
board. Come, let us go on."
" Rest your horses for an hour," said Boyd, " and
I will go with you. I must make a visit here. — Land-
lord, where is the schoolhouse ? "
" 'Bout half a mile up yan branch. Wha' d'ye want
o' the schoolhouse ? "
" I want to see the teacher, Mr. Buzbee."
" That ain't the way to go, then. He's gone to
Boston."
" How long has he been gone ? "
" Sence 'long about Christmas. Wha' d'ye want
to see him about ? "
" I have some business with him. Is — is his family
here?"
" Nope."
" Did they go to Boston with him ? "
" Nope. They moved, Mis' Buzbee and Miss Bar-
bara did. They moved back into the mountains to-
wards the river a-yistiddy. They're clar to the jump-
in'-oflf place, whar the water gives its first leap afore it
gits to the out aidge of the world."
"Where is that?"
" That's at the Falls of the Cumberland. Hit's a
good long ride from here."
" Boys," said Estill, " Pm sorry, but I must ask
Near the Cataract 293
you to ride on without me. I'll meet you in Knox-
ville. I must go to Cumberland Falls,"
" Ah ! this is the situation is it, Estill ? This is the
fair puss in the meal? You bring us around Robin
Hood's barn for an unexplained reason, and lo, it's a
mountain beauty you're hunting! And you want us
to ride on, while you go and visit her? No, by the
girl I left behind me ! "
" I was jest a-goin' to say," suggested Best, " that
if you fellers has any notion of goin' to Knoxville,
hit ain't best for ye to scatter much. They's a heap
of fellers a-comin' up from Tennessy now lo enlist at
Camp Dick Robinson, and the most of 'em are right
smartly in airnest."
" You think to frighten us? " asked Boyd.
" No-o. Not adzackly. But if all I've heerd is
so, something is goin' to take place and happen right
soon now. They's a heap of fellers moving North, and
the rebels theirselves is movin' somers. I've heerd
that old Zolly means to move through the Gap into
Kaintuck. But I ain't no reb. I've give you fair
warnin'. My meat's as good to one as another, and
one man's money's as good as another's to me. I've
told ye what I think. Now do as ye please."
Convinced that a visit to Barbara was imprac-
ticable, yet comforting himself with the thought that
Knoxville was not so far away, Boyd reluctantly
joined his companions and moved South, submitting
to their jests about having taken them out of their
way for a love afifair. And so Barbara did not see the
man who loved her.
CHAPTER XXX
THE PLUNGE
There was never a more beautiful autumn. Had
things been different, Barbara could have gloried in
those weeks beside Cumberland Falls. But they were
weeks of constant anxiety and continued disappoint-
ment. Mr. Buzbee did not arrive, and the hope long
deferred made their hearts sick. Barbara knew that
her mother was dying, a martyr she sometimes said
to herself — and then checked herself in the act of say-
ing it — a martyr to her father's fanaticism.
Meantime the men, who had been paid but little,
and were put off with promises of Mr. Buzbee's re-
turn, grew almost desperate. Ren fro led them on
quest after quest, searching for the hidden money. A
single find just now would be a Godsend. But they
did not find it. Then they dug ore, and began a fur-
nace ; but this again was stopped " for lack of funds."
There was something queenly in Barbara in those
days. The long, hard winter, the experience in the
schoolroom, the endurance of suspicion and neglect,
the positive privation and all had made a woman of
her. As her mother's strength diminished, her own
fortitude increased. With a dignity and maturity
which she had not possessed before she bore those
294
i
The Plunge 295
anxious days that slowly grew to months. And the
longest and hardest of them all were those beside the
falls when the beauty of Nature seemed to be mocking
her own sad heart. At length her father's delay be-
came almost intolerable, not only because of her
mother's extreme weakness, but because of the danger
from the mutinous men.
For a time all labor was suspended. Finally, when
riot threatened, work was resumed, and the small,
rough furnace was completed. The men set them-
selves eagerly at the digging of ore, and then came
another delay while they burned the charcoal. Then
came the first real sign of a result, for the furnace,
heated till the flame roared out of the top, reduced
the rock to a molten mass, and when they punched in
the clay that stopped the furnace, the liquid metal
ran out and filled the little trenches that had been
made for it in the sand.
The men gave a great cheer. They were seeing the
silver at last.
" But this ain't all pure silver," said Goodwin,
hastening to correct a misunderstanding that might
be serious. " Hit's 'most all silver, but not all. We'll
have to cupel it, and for that we'll have to wait till
Mr. Buzbee gits back. He's on the way now."
The men accepted this explanation grudgingly.
Both the workmen and the local capitalists, who had
recently increased to a considerable number, were
eager to see the first pure silver. Still, they possessed
their souls in what for them was patience, and every
day ran another blast of the unrefined ingots, which
soon lay rusting about in great heaps.
At last Mr. Buzbee came. He was a weak and hag-
296 Pine Knot
gard man, and barely able to sit upon a horse. Barely
able to reach the cabin by the falls, he sank upon his
bed, hardly able to rise and stand by the bed of his
wife, who seemed to have lived only that she might
see him again.
" But, oh, my dear," he said, " it is glorious ! I
shall not live long, I know. I am a sick man, but I
have lived to see the triumph of that for which we
have labored. We wait, my dear, only for the first
marketable output from our mine. Then the world
will know ! Then the proclamation may go forth !
Then the President may send to Congress his message,
and add that the money is in sight! Then this awful
war will cease, and we shall die, but the country will
be united and free ! "
Next morning Mrs. Buzbee was worse, and her
husband was better only because he must be so.
Goodwin had gone to Rockhold to see about the lead
that he had ordered to use in cupelling the ingots.
He left word, however, that he would be back by
night, and to melt up as much of the ingot as they had
lead to refine it, and he and Mr. Buzbee would attend
to it together.
Mr. Buzbee rose in pain and weakness and came
to the furnace to see the work that had been done,
" Is this all ? " he cried, when he saw the rude little
furnace.
" All but a cupelling furnace," said Renfro.
" And where has the money been spent ? "
" Goodwin says he's put in every cent he got."
A black suspicion crossed the mind of Mr. Buzbee,
but it was such a stranger to his thought that he in-
stantly dismissed it.
The Plunge 297
" And what are these ? " he asked, pointing to the
ingots lying about.
" That's what we've cast ready for refining."
" But this is simply pig iron ! "
" Well, Goodwin said that was the way. Don't it
count for nothing ? "
" Possibly — possibly. The rock has been elimi-
nated. But we must remelt it with lead before we
get it ready to cupel. Lead and borax. Is there borax
here?"
" Yes, and lead."
" Well, then, remelt as much of this as there is lead
and borax to make flux, and spend to-day and to-
night in getting it ready. Then you must get bones
enough to give us bone ash to mix with our wood
ashes for the cupelling. I will give full directions,
but I must read them over again. Make these prepa-
rations. We shall see no silver to-day. I will read
as I sit by Mrs. Buzbee. To-night Goodwin will
return. To-morrow we will cupel."
The unpaid, disappointed, brutal men liked it little
that they were sent out after other material. But it
was a new sort of work, and hence presumably prog-
ress. They uncovered the charcoal pit which they
had burned, and heaped the charcoal near the refining
furnace. They searched for bones, and found them —
some they thought were human bones, but these, far
from making them shudder, only reminded them again
of Swift, to whose party they presumably belonged.
All day Mrs. Buzbee grew steadily worse, and Buz-
bee was so sick that only his duty to his wife and his
eagerness to see the result of his labors kept him up.
All day his wife lay, growing weaker; all day he sat
298 Pine Knot
by her side, one hand in hers and one holding a book,
returning her appeaHng look with haggard glances of
sympathy that quickly sought the pages of his book
again.
Now and then he would slip away for a moment
and see to the burning of the bones, and later to the
making of the little ashen saucers. Then with a
guilty feeling he would come back, resolved to de-
vote himself to his wife, but soon he would find
himself stealing furtive glances at his book. All
the time the hectic flush was on his own pale, dying
face.
Another night passed, and in the morning Mrs.
Buzbee was still alive, but the end was manifestly near.
Barbara had ceased to hope for anything else, or to
pray that it might be delayed. Mrs. Buzbee was con-
scious, and bore her weakness with patience, yet her
eyes hungered for the undivided thought of her hus-
band, and that she did not get.
Goodwin had not returned the night before, but
was confidently expected early this morning. Against
his return the furnace was heated, and some of the
ingots were remelted with lead and borax, and run
ofif in slag at whose bottom the lead settled, and that,
as Mr. Buzbee explained, contained the silver. This
was a revelation to the workmen. The bars which
they had run out before they had supposed almost
pure silver. These, as now remelted, left but a paltry
residuum, and this must be still further diminished.
Yet doubtless there was silver there, and for this they
waited.
The day wore on. Goodwin did not return. The
men's faces, aflame with the heat, grew dark with sus-
The Plunge 299
picion and passion. The sun set, and the twiUght
deepened.
" Put away your book, father," said Barbara. " The
end is near, I am sure."
With a sigh he laid his book aside, and took the
wrist of his wife in his hand. The pulse grew unmis-
takably fainter. He administered a mild stimulant;
it was all there was left to do. She brightened and
looked up in his face and smiled, but it was a
wan, weak smile, and had in it memories of many
things.
Blake and Renfro came tiptoeing in, and stopped,
hushed by the sight before them. At last Renfro
spoke.
" Mr. Buzbee," said he, " hit's a sin to say a word,
but we just got to. Goodwin ain't back, and the men
are crazy to see silver. They've got some whisky
somehow, I don't know how, and they're about wild.
We've told them everything we kin think of to pacify
them, and we cyan't do it no more. We've got the
refining furnace hot, and the cupels are all ready.
Come, jest long enough to finish one little lot, if it
ain't more than ten cents' worth. We — we wouldn't
ast it, but if you don't, I believe they'll kill us all by
morning. The men that lives around here, our own
sort of folks, you know, they're doin' their best to hold
'em back. They've got their own little money in it,
and they're beginning to suspect they ain't been dealt
with fair. They ain't so desperate as the workmen,
but they're gittin' right mad, too. Come jest long
enough to finish one lot, and we won't pester ye no
more."
Barbara looked at her father, and he turned to her
300 Pine Knot
appealingly, as he always looked to some one to decide
for him in such cases,
" You must go, father," said she, " but hurry
back."
He looked at his wife, and her eyes gave their as-
sent, but she moved her head ever so little, and he
understood it, and, bending over her, kissed her. Then
he hurried out.
The refining crucible was built a little apart from
the main furnace, and was sheltered by the high walls
of the blufif. It was glowing with a great heat, and
the men were gathered about it, for they had been
told that Renfro and Blake had gone to bring Buzbee.
Their dark looks brightened a little as the three men
came walking down. They stood aside and let them
through to the door of the furnace.
Mr. Buzbee took the shovel, and, opening the
muffle, set in a half dozen of the saucer-shaped ash
dishes, and, taking up the leaden lumps with a pair of
tongs, placed one in each.
" It will not take long now," he said. " We will
open these doors soon that the air may pass through,
and separate the molten metals. Forgive me, my
friends, for neglecting you. Only the most painful
duty has kept me in my home this day. But you
shall see now that you have not trusted me in vain. I
am sorry not to have had much experience in this
work, though I have learned the process by reading.
Mr. Goodwin, if here, could assist me very much. But
I can do this, and then I must hasten to my dying
wife."
There was a silence that had in it some element
of sympathy. The small investors who had put in
The Plunge 301
their all stood nearest, and the menacing rabble hud-
dled a little farther back.
" We're mighty sorry to call you away," said Jake
Crawford, " and, much as we want to see this, I for
one would be willing to let it go for to-night."
" No, no ! " cried the crowd.
" No, my friends," said Buzbee ; " you shall see
silver before I leave you. We will open these doors
now, and let the oxidation begin."
After a little while he opened the front door of the
muffle, and the expectant throng huddled closer.
Within, a half dozen saucers of boiling lead were bub-
bling and spluttering and diminishing.
" Hit gits less and less," said Blake.
" That is the lead absorbing," said Mr. Buzbee.
" The silver will remain. And now, watch, for the
beautiful moment is at hand. You are soon to see the
coruscation, which will shoot the surface over with
rainbow streaks ! "
They gathered nearer, but few could look within
at one time. Nearest stood Blake and Renfro, and
the stockholders were behind them. The bubbling
masses grew less and less, and in one of the cupels it
disappeared entirely, leaving a thin, leadlike scum.
A horror seized Mr. Buzbee, and he strained his eyes
at the next one. In another moment it too was gone,
and the cupel was empty. A third went out un-
watched, and the three that remained were sinking
low. For a moment Mr. Buzbee stood dazed, and
then the life within him seemed to him to go out, even
as the lead went out of the ashen saucers, and he stood
with a vacant stare watching the remaining cupels as
one by one the metal vanished and left no silver in
302 Pine Knot
the bottom. It was a moment of blackness from the
very pit; of blindness and groping; of stupor, yet of
pain such as can come only from the refinement of
cruel torment.
Fortunately, those behind did not see all this in
the face of the man whose eyes like theirs were upon
the furnace door. Nor did many of them see within,
or all of these understand what they saw.
" Father, father ! " cried Barbara, running in at the
moment. " Come ! You must come this moment ! "
Mechanically he turned, and she took his arm and
hurried him away.
Renfro slammed the door of the furnace, and said :
" Men, this is plumb wicked ! It's plain we ain't
a-goin' to be able to finish any of this to-night. We're
keepin' a sick man that's turned heaven and airth for
us away from his dyin' wife. We just got to leave this
thing go till mornin'. Mr. Buzbee has done all we
ast, and more'n we'd orter ast. Now we must let him
go till mornin'. In the mornin' we'll finish up this
that's begun, and do some more, and pay you all off.
— Blake, you help Mr. Buzbee to the house. — Don't
nobody interfere with this furnace to-night, for if you
do, when hit's so hot, like as not you'll crack it, and
we cyan't do nothin' to-morrow if ye do that."
The men dispersed, though not without grumbling.
They had waited and been disappointed again and
again. However, the stockholders assured themselves
that an honest eflfort had been made in their behalf,
and this temporarily assured the others. But they
talked together, and those who had stood back recalled
Mr. Buzbee's promise of the rainbow streaks, and
those who had stood near told what they had seen.
The Plunge 303
Then the suspicions grew to mutiny, and the anger
of the drunken rabble rose again.
Renfro had walked slowly from the furnace, at-
tended by a group to whom he was explaining the
need of delay. As soon as he was able he dismissed
them with a plea that he must go to Mrs. Buzbee's
bedside. As soon as he was alone he ran with all his
speed to the rock house that served as a stable.
" Here, Pete ! " he whispered. " Git up and hitch
up the mules! Quick! Hitch four to the covered
wagon, and have 'em ready to start when I come
back! Put the saddles on to my horse and Blake's,
and turn the others loose ! "
Then he hurried to the cabin. Just before him
entered Granny White. " O Miss Barbara ! " she
cried, " you alls must run from here right off ! Good-
win has done run off with the money, and when these
men find it out, they'll kill you alls — every one of
you ! "
Without a word Renfro stepped to the head of
the bed, and motioned Blake to take the foot.
"What do you mean to do?" asked Mr. Buzbee,
but they did not speak. They lifted the straw tick
with the dying woman on it, and, motioning the others
to follow, hastened through the door. It was dark,
and the men at the crucible below found it yet darker
by reason of the light of the fire which was in their
eyes while they poked about the slag.
They laid the pallet in the wagon, and Mr. Buzbee,
unable longer to sit up, was placed upon it with his
wife. Barbara and Granny White sat down to care
for them, though they found themselves unable to do
much aside from holding on.
304 Pine Knot
" Go ! " said Mr. Renfro, and Simon Peter plied
the whip. The four mules started on a run up the
river and through the ford, up the steep and sidling
bank, and on through the dark, rough road that hardly
could be called a road.
Blake and Renfro leaped to their saddles. " Start
on," said Renfro, " and what horses will foller you let
'emfoller!"
Then, breaking a switch, he whipped the loose
horses till they scattered in the woods, some of them
following down the road after the wagon.
The noise of the wheels started the men at the
furnace, and a wild yell broke forth from them. Ren-
fro struck his spurs and hastened after the wagon,
which he overtook at the ford.
" Drive on ! " he cried. " Faster ! Don't stop for
nothing! "
Simon Peter jerked his rein and cracked his whip.
The mules started forward, the wagon lurching heavily
from side to side in the water.
" Wait here with me ! " said Renfro to Blake.
" That's a band of devils straight from hell, and if
they catch us, our lives ain't worth the cost of a
coffin! If we had a road we could beat 'em, but a
man can go faster than a wagon till we get to the
top o' the mointain ! Wait here by the bank, and
the first two men that come near enough to shoot,
shoot ! "
They had not long to wait. They came dashing
through the rapids, a cursing, murderous crowd, the
most brutal well in the front. Big and black their
shapes rose up in the night, against the faint red of
the furnace in the distance.
The Plunge 305
" Now ! " whispered Renfro, and two sharp reports
rang out.
There were cries of pain, there were sounds of
splashing, and calls for help that drifted swiftly down
the rapids. One grew silent after a minute or so, but
the other called in more and more of terror till at last
a frightful sliriek was drowned in the roar of the falls.
The two horsemen turned and rode up the hill.
There was momentary confusion among the pursuers,
and for a little time it seemed that they had given it
up, but later they came on again with shoutings more
terrible. They sounded ominous to the two horsemen
that guarded the rear of the wagon, but they rode on
in grim silence. They struck terror to the heart of
Barbara and Granny White, but they clung on and
spoke no word. But Mr. Buzbee lay as one incapable
of pain or terror, dazed, stunned, made senseless by
this crowning disappointment. Once or twice he
seemed to realize his condition and cried out, " My
God ! my God ! why hast thou forsaken me ? " But for
the most part he lay benumbed, nor heeded the death
moan in which the spirit of his wife found its release.
Again the pursuers gained, and again the horse-
men dropped back and waited in ambush. Again
their shots were followed by a brief respite, and now,
the top of the mountain reached, the mules ran dan-
gerously along the ridge. Simon Peter gave up at-
tempt to guide them, but gave them their head, and,
trusting to their instinct to find the road, crouched
over the pommel of his saddle and urged them on.
Huge branches struck the wagon. Great stones and
roots pitched it from side to side. At times it seemed
that it would be broken and disabled, or its occu-
3o6 Pine Knot
pants spilled out, but the faithful black driver still
urged the mules on.
But now came a new peril, for behind them as they
listened they heard the sound of hoofs. The pursuers
had captured some of the loose horses, and, mounted
on them, were sure to overtake them. They might
have hoped to tire out the men on foot and leave them
behind, but not these. The horses were fresh and
strong, and the battle would be between two on the
one side and a number on the other much larger. As
they listened, the noise of hoofs grew stronger, and
the voices — and they were cruel and bloodthirsty
voices — showed that the number was not small.
" On, Pete, on ! God bless you, old fellow ! Get
us through to-night, and you're a free man to-mor-
row ! " cried Renfro.
And then he added : " Hit's fool talk. He don't
want to be free, but hit's the only thing I kin think of
to encourage him."
Still they moved on, and the miles sped faster now.
The trail grew into a road, and, while a most atrocious
one, was better than that over which they had passed
almost miraculously. But the horsemen were coming
behind them, and not a mile away.
" There's one thing we kin do," said Blake. '* We
kin stop here and unload, and git well back in the
bushes, and have Pete whip on as fur's he thinks he
kin git, and then he git off and run, and start the
mules on."
" I was thinkin' of it," said Renfro. " It's the only
thing they's left for us. I'll ride on and tell Pete what
to do."
"What's that light?" asked Blake.
The Plunge 307
Far down the road a fire shone through the trees,
and burned out a hemisphere of the October night.
" On, Pete, on ! " cried Renfro. " Make that fire
and we're safe ! "
" Halt ! who comes there ? " The challenge rang
out clear and strong, but the sentinel stood aside and
let the wagon pass, for the mules that were white with
lather could not be stopped at once.
" Friends ! " shouted Renfro, " and we need help !
They's a band of cutthroats atter us ! "
"Officer of the guard !" called the sentinel. "Turn
out the guard ! "
Sleepy men in gray crawled out and got their guns.
Blake and Renfro stood back a little in the shadow.
On came the horsemen, pulling up a little for the fire,
and coming to a halt as they saw the soldiers.
" Who comes here ? "
" Friends. Who are you ? "
" An outpost of General ZollicoflFer's army. Ad-
vance with the countersign."
" We don't have it. We're following some people
that have robbed us."
" Jake Crawford," called Renfro, " will ye listen
to reason ? "
"Is that you, Renfro?"
" Yes. Be the men that's with you the same sort
of fellers you be ? "
" I reckon so. All men from around home here."
" Put down your guns, men, and hitch your horses,
and come up to-wards the fire, I want to tell you all
I know."
It was not strange, now that they thought of it,
but it had never occurred to them as they fled, that,
3o8 Pine Knot
while the men who chased them on foot and were
foremost after their blood were the most desperate
characters in the company, those who came upon the
horses were those who, holding back from the first
mad chase, had waited to find their own beasts, and fol-
lowing, still intent on an explanation and some of
them on revenge, were less brutal and more reason-
able than the men on foot.
Renfro and Blake stepped out into the light.
" We're unarmed," said Blake. " Shoot if ye want
to, but hear us first."
" We don't want to shoot nobody," said one of the
party, " but we want to know whether it's so that
we've been robbed."
" I'm afraid it is," said Rehfro. " But it ain't no
person you're chasin' that's robbed ye. We've been
robbed with the rest."
" Who's done it, then ? "
" Come and se' down here, and I'll tell ye all I
know."
They hitched their horses and came into the fire-
light, with faces dark and threatening, but curbing
their anger till they could know it all.
" One thing is certain," said Renfro. " Whoever's
robbed ye, it ain't Mr. Buzbee. They may not be no
Mr. Buzbee by this time, for I ain't much idy that him
or his wife either could outlive a ride like we've took.
And he ain't said one loud word that I've heerd, so
I ain't any right to speak for him. But this I know,
for I read it in his face, that that man's heart died
when he seen that they v/a'n't no silver in that blast.
Men, we've all been fooled, and Peleg Goodwin's the
man. He put that silver into the lead that we cupelled
The Plunge 309
it with before, and that's the only silver they is or ever
was in this mine. That's my honest opinion. And
he's been keepin' the money that's come, and dolin'
out a little bit for buildin' here and doin' somethin'
there, and gittin' trusted for that when he could, and
he's kept us all a-waitin' till Mr. Buzbee got home,
so's he could git the last dollar ; and now he's run ofif
with the money, and left the blame of the failure to
come on Mr. Buzbee. Men, we've all been fools, and
Mr. Buzbee, with all his larnin', has got a fool streak
in him, but he's the kindest-hearted fool God ever
made, and he never wronged no man out of a cent.
No more did Blake nor me."
" Wha' did ye run off fur, if ye wa'n't guilty ? "
asked Crawford.
" We wouldn't 'a' done it if we'd been dealin' with
men like you. And I'll say this, that even you are
more reasonable atter a good hard ride and a little
time to think. But if they'd all been like you — men
from the county here — I'd 'a' stood up like a man and
told you the truth as fur as I knowed it, if you shot
me fur it. But you know as well as I do that the men
that's been workin' there is the most bloodthirsty
devils that ever spent three nights hand runnin' out
of the smell of brimstone. And to think of fallin' into
their hands, with no more reason than so many mud
torkles and as mad as so many painters, and to think
of that dyin' woman and that gal — I done just what
every one of you'd done, and you know it. And I'll
say this too, that whether it's all clear to ye or not,
they ain't a man of you but would drap dead fightin'
before he'd let that gal fall into the hands of them men.
Ef I'd knowed who was ridin' behind us, I'd 'a' stopped
3IO Pine Knot
some distance back. Still, I'd a leetle bit druther have
my first word with you over somebody's bayonet. —
Come, Mr. Sentinal, what's the meanin' of this? We
didn't allow they was ary reb nearer than the Gap."
" We marched through the Gap," said the sentinel.
" But this ain't no road from the Gap."
" We had a fight at Wild Cat, and have changed
our plan. That is all T want to say," said the officer
of the guard. " And now, if you wish to see to your
people in the wagon, pass through the line, and camp
for the night. We must keep the road clear."
" Come with us," said Renfro, and the men dis-
mounted and came in. The wagon was some distance
along the road, and a detail of soldiers went with them
to it. Simon Peter had made a light, and had tenderly
lifted out the bruised body of Mrs. Buzbee, and Mr.
Buzbee lay on the pallet close by, in great pain of
body and mind.
" O my daughter ! " he cried, " what folly have I
done ! I have killed your mother ; I have ruined all
who trusted in me! O my God! was ever a soul so
guilty as I ? "
Barbara strove to comfort him, but unavailingly ;
and when he saw the men who had lost their money
through tjie mine, he raised himself to his knees before
them and said : " Forgive me, my friends, forgive
me ! I confess my sin to you as I do to my God ! I
have not meant to wrong you, but I have ruined you !
I have ruined you ! "
" Now look here, Mr. Buzbee," said Renfro,
" we've all made a blunder, that's plain. But I ain't
a-goin' to hear you take all the blame of it. We've
all been fools, and one man's been a thief. But we
The Plunge 311
don't none of us bear you no grudge. We know
you're a honest man."
" You are too good — you are too good," said he ;
and then : " O my poor wife ! My poor daughter !
God forgive me ! " Then he relapsed into silence,
save for a grateful word to Barbara, who sat beside
him and stroked his hair.
" Git him a tent," said Granny White to the sol-
diers, and they pitched a shelter tent over him. He
sank into a stupor, and Barbara sat beside him.
The men, with homely but tender care, prepared
a bed of pine boughs in the wagon, and there laid out
the body of Mrs. Buzbee, as they were directed by
Granny White. Then the old woman returned to
share Barbara's vigil, and at last the thing that seemed
impossible occurred: the long, hideous night turned
gray in the east, and the sun rose, bringing with it a
new day.
CHAPTER XXXI
fanatic or philanthropist
" Barbara Buzbee ! "
She started to hear her name.
" Boyd Estill ! How came you here ? "
" I came faster than I should like to admit. We
had a fight at Wild Cat, and the Yankees have the
field. But, Barbara, I am surprised to find you here.
I am detailed with a guard to escort you to Pine Knot,
but I did not know it was you. Is your mother really
dead?"
For answer Barbara bowed her face in her hands
and wept.
" My poor, poor darling ! " said Boyd tenderly.
" O Boyd," sobbed Barbara, " I am more glad to
see vou than I can tell! I never needed a friend so
much ! "
" And I — O Barbara, I have so much to say
to you ! "
They started early and slowly. Barbara rode with
her father in an ambulance, and the wagon followed
with the body of Mrs. Buzbee. Renfro, Blake, and
the men from whom they had been fleeing rode behind,
and a guard commanded by Estill led the way. A
messenger was dispatched with a letter to be mailed
312
Fanatic or Philanthropist 313
to Lexington, and it contained a pass from General
Zollicoffer for Barbara's grandfather, for they could
not doubt that he would come in this extremity. To-
ward noon they drew up before the door of Mr. Ren-
fro's, and he and Simon Peter lifted the body of Mrs.
Buzbee, and the soldiers carried Mr. Buzbee into the
house and laid him on the bed.
There he lay, the man whose life had been a series
of failures and who died to be forgotten, save by those
who in after years recalled his memory with a smile.
But it was a great heart that slowly and more slowly
beat out its last two days of life in the home that had
first welcomed him to the mountains.
When the community knew that he was dying,
they came out with one accord and stood about the
yard, and gathered in the house and waited for the
end. It was touching and beautiful to see their anger
all forgotten, and even those who had lost their little
all recalling his kindnesses. Women rode far with
children in their arms to show the little ones the man
who had cared for them when they were sick. Men
talked of the battle at Wild Cat and the war that had
come so near, and then of the life of this man. All
thought that he had deceived them or was other than
he pretended vanished, and popular wrath, content
if it finds some one on whom to vent itself, concerned
itself with Goodwin, who was safe enough from their
revenge. Noel Davis, too, was missing, and there
were some who believed that he had gone to join
Goodwin, and others that he had been shot at the ford
and had gone over the falls. For a good while they
did not know which was true, but later in the war he
appeared again. If he had gone over the falls, the
314 Pine Knot
Union teamster whose wagon was plundered might
never have been shot, or Pine Knot burned.
Mr, Buzbee outHved that day, and toward evening
Boyd Estill and his men mounted and rode back.
" I have much to say to you, Barbara," said Boyd,
" but I realize that this is no time to say it. You will
go to Lexington, of course, and I shall see you there.
Yet, before I let you go I must tell you that I have
never ceased to love you."
" My true friend," said Barbara, " you have been
so good, so kind ! I can never repay you."
" But you still love me ? "
" O Boyd, don't ask me. I'm afraid I don't ! "
" Barbara," said he, " I blame myself. I ought
not to have quarreled with you. And having quar-
reled and let you go, I ought to have found where you
were and come to you. I did not know till lately "
" You could not have come when my need was
greater," said she.
" But, Barbara, surely you will not send me away
heart-broken ? "
" O Boyd," she said, " I fear you will think me
ungrateful. You have been so kind to me, and I care
for you so much ! You are my own, my true friend,
my brother, my own brave, kind friend. Don't think
me fickle, Boyd, or heartless ! I care for you, indeed
I do! I shall never cease to do so. But I do not
love you. I'm sure I don't, though I like you truly."
Boyd stopped in amazement. " Is it because I am
a rebel ? " he asked.
" Oh no, oh no ! I could love you in spite of that."
" Or because I am a slaveholder ? "
Barbara paused a moment and said solemnly : " I
" I can never repay you.'
Fanatic or Philanthropist 315
believe my poor father was right in this at least, how-
ever far he was wrong in his other opinions, that this
war will not end till the slavery question is settled.
No, it is not that."
" Then, do you love some one else ? "
She did not answer.
" Who is he ? " he demanded.
" I — I have not admitted to myself that I loved
him. At first for another girl's sake I did not let my-
self do so, and then for your sake I tried to force him
from my heart."
" He does not know that you love him ? "
" No. He has no hope of it."
" Then, O Barbara, give me one more chance !
Try once more to love me, and let me show myself
worthy ! I will match myself against him ! Tell me
what you love him for, and by all that I hold dear I
will outvie him! Is he wiser, kinder, richer? I shall
make up what I lack, and come back to you ! "
" Oh no, it is not that. Boyd, you are twice as
handsome as he, and your education is far better. And
no man is a truer gentleman than you ! But he is as
true, and I have seen him struggling to conquer his
own passion, struggling to overcome his own igno-
rance, struggling with the disadvantages of his early
life and showing his true manhood, and loving with
no hope of return, he does not know it yet, but I tell
you — I love him, Boyd. So, do not blame me, but be
my friend still as you have always been, my truest,
best friend, except "
"Except ?"
" Except James Fletcher."
Boyd struggled for a time with his own feelings.
3i6 Pine Knot
Then he offered her his hand. She took it, and he
placed his other arm around her waist and kissed her.
"Good-by, Barbara," he said huskily. " God for-
give me for letting you go away till we had made up
our quarrel, and I had made you mine! Good-by.
We still are friends, that's all I have to say. But this
man Fletcher, is he in the army ? "
" Yes," said she, " in the Federal army."
" We may meet some time ! " he said savagely.
" No, no ! " he added, " I ought not to grieve you so.
Good-by. If he loves you more than I do, he deserves
you. But I shall love you still. O Barbara, I know
better than ever before how much I love you ! Good-
by, Barbara."
" Good-by, Boyd."
" Looky here ! " said Granny White as Boyd rode
off, " you didn't send that young feller away, did ye ? "
" He had to go," said Barbara. " He was under
orders."
" Yes, but that ain't what I mean. He's the feller,
hain't he?"
" You mean "
" The one I tied the thread 'round the coffee grain
fur?"
" I'm afraid he is, granny,"
" And you don't mean to say you've let him slip ? "
" Yes, granny, I've let him slip."
" Call him back ! call him back ! " cried granny.
" No, no, granny ! Besides, it's too late. He's
gone."
" What a pity ! what a pity ! " said granny.
" But, granny, I do not love him ! "
" Ye do, too ! The foolishness of a gal's talk !
Fanatic or Philanthropist 317
You jist thought ye keered for the preacher because
you was sorter homesick Uke and he was clost handy !
I know you had a sorter admiration for him, but if ever
I'd a-seed this one, I could 'a' told ye which one ye
loved ! "
" You seem to think you know better than I do,"
said Barbara.
" Sartin I do, and some day you'll know I do," said
granny. " But they ain't but one thing to do now,
and that's to take keer of your pappy. He was a good
man, honey, for all he had so little sense."
It was several days before Barbara's grandfather
arrived, and when he came, it was all over. Mr. Buz-
bee never rallied save for a moment or two at a time,
when his self-reproachful words and looks made even
his stupor a relief. But at the end there came a brief
interval of light and peace, and he drew his daughter
down and kissed her, saying : " God bless you, my dear !
You have been a heroine through it all." And then
came the end.
It was a simple burial, with two coffins made of
planed pine boards, covered on the outside with black
muslin and inside with white, and the sound of the ham-
mer just outside smote hard on the heart of Barbara.
But unnumbered acts of kindness from the people
about brought real comfort. There was no time for
a funeral, nor was it expected, according to the custom
of the country, nor had Barbara the heart for it ; but an
unlettered mountain preacher, with tears streaming
down his face, knelt in the clay beside the grave, and
prayed for the orphan daughter. Then Granny White
and Liberty led her away, and the earth closed above
the double g:rave.
3i8 Pine Knot
It is not easy to gather incidents of war time in the
Cumberland Mountains. The multitude of incidents
so trampled on each other that they were reduced to
an indistinguishable mass. People occasionally begin
to talk to their children about those days, and feel as if
they were talking of other people, and so cease. More-
over, it was impossible for them to idealize the war.
The world said, " Yonder is the soldier, the hero."
The mountaineer said, " Yonder is the man who
shoots our hogs and burns our fences and robs our
smoke houses." The world said, " There is the man
who for his country's sake braves death itself." The
mountaineer said, "Yonder is the man whom I saw
skulking, till he found a tree to shoot from." The
world said, " Yonder are war's awful pomp and glory."
The mountaineer said, " Here are the carnage, the mur-
der, the starvation, the heartless cruelty, the unspeak-
able inhumanity." And so the scenes that for want of
idealization could never become poetry or art or song
were blended into one black terror. One may not step
from a train as it whirls through among those moun-
tains, and accosting the first man he meets, draw on
his fund of incident. He must find it in the chance
remarks and in the talk by the way. But there are
some scenes that are remembered by a few here and
there, and there are those people who still sigh when
they recall that double grave with the background
of the first battle near at hand that seemed to number
these twain among its list of the slain. They are scat-
tered now, and none live near the spot or visit the
grave, but through the distance in space and time they
still see the grief of the brave young girl whose father
and mother lay there side by side.
Fanatic or Philanthropist 319
It was a simple thing in its way, but it touched
Barbara to the heart, when the neighbors prepared a
pair of wooden headstones and marked them with the
juice of the pokeberry, as he had showed them how to
make the blackboard. They asked for the dates of
her parents' birth, and when she went next to the
graves they bore these inscriptions :
JOHN HOWARD BUZBEE,
Philanthropist.
B. Jan. 23, 1800.
D. Oct. 24, 1861.
MARY BERNAUGH,
Wife of J. Howard Buzbee.
B. July 3, 1808.
D. Oct. 22, 1861.
" John Howard Buzbee, Philanthropist ! " It was
a grateful tribute suggested by Renfro, and it com-
forted Barbara that they should have thought to add
that one word. Then she reflected somewhat bitterly
that the world at large would have said " Fanatic."
But it matters little what is said upon a tombstone.
Long ere it would have rotted, the artillery wheels
had broken it down, and the world knows not which
word was there. After all, the difference may not be
so great. History has been busy with suggestions that
philanthropist is but fanatic writ large.
CHAPTER XXXII
IN LEXINGTON
The Bernaugh homestead was old and spacious,
and there was plenty of room in it for the grand-
daughter whom the old man brought home from the
hills.
" And now, Barbara," he said, " this is your home,
yours now, and yours when I die. I drove your
mother from it — God forgive me! No wrong that
you can ever do shall ever make you other than mine
or this home any one's but yours. Your grand-
mother's legacy is untouched, and is already yours.
And you must not leave me, my child. These are hard
times in which we are living. I do not see the end.
But together we will stay till I leave you for good
and all."
" I will not leave you, grandfather," said Barbara.
" I will stay with you. And, O grandpa, there is one
thing I want to speak about. Forgive me if I ought
not. But if I have any money in my own right, may
I have at once a few hundred dollars of it now ? "
" What do you want of it ? " asked her grandfather.
" No crazy abolition scheme, I hope ? Anything but
that ! Let not that come between us, as it did between
me and my daughter ! "
320
In Lexington 321
" No, no, grandpa, it is not that," said Barbara.
" But I want to repay some of the stockholders in the
mine — not the rich ones or the ones far away who can
spare it, nor those who themselves were the plunderers
of others, but the good mountain people who, trust-
ing my father, and infatuated with the prospect of
money, sold their cows or mortgaged their homes for
a few dollars to buy a little of the stock. They are not
many, and their stock was not paid in full."
" Can you get me a list of them ? " asked her grand-
father.
" Mr. Renfro can furnish it, and the sums paid."
" Get it," said the old man, " and I will do the rest."
She flung herself on her knees before him and
thanked him with streaming eyes.
" No, no, my child ! Not that ! Come, sit on my
knee instead, and be your mother over again. I am
a lonely old man, my dear, and all of hope which I
have in life gathers about you. No, no, don't cry.
Or, well, run along and have it out, then. I'm a little
bit unnerved myself."
Of one duty Barbara felt sure. She ought to notify
James Fletcher of her changed address. She owed
it to him for his kindness to invite him to call, even
if that were all — and that was not all, she was very
sure. He was at Camp Nelson, probably ; if not, a
letter addressed there would be forwarded to him. So
she sat down and wrote a simple note :
" Dear Mr. Fletcher : I write to inform you of
the death of my dear parents, and the great sorrow
which their loss has brought to me. My home is now
with my grandfather, Mr. William Bernaugh, at Lex-
322 Pine Knot
ington. If you have a furlough and are able to visit
me here, I shall be glad to see you, and my grand-
father will welcome you to our home,
" Sincerely yours,
" Barbara Buzbee.
" Lexington, Ky., November /, 1861."
The times were big with destiny then, and every
day brought forth its surprise. The Kentucky Legis-
lature, grown more strongly Union under Lincoln's
tolerant attitude, brought over a few more hesi-
tating votes on the day when Zollicolifer marched
through Cumberland Gap, and Pope, on the same
day, moved another Confederate army across the Mis-
sissippi and encamped in Kentucky. The Legisla-
ture demanded the recall of the troops. The Con-
federates replied that they would withdraw if the
Union forces were withdrawn. But the Legislature,
secure in its contention that the Union troops were
native Kentuckians or Tennessee refugees fled to their
sister State for protection, and that there was not an
invading soldier among them, refused to order the
Union soldiers out, and repeated its demand on the
Confederates.
The Governor vetoed the bill, because it did not
demand the same of both armies, and the Legislature
passed it over his veto. It was by the hardest that they
made themselves secure in their two-thirds majority
that enabled them to defy the Governor. To do it
they had to rely on one man whose constituents had
ordered him to support the Governor, The member
who defied his constituents knew that he could never
return to his home among them, and he was guarded
In Lexington 323
day and night by his associates to prevent his assassi-
nation.
Those were stirring times indeed, but the two-
thirds majority held ; the Governor was shorn of his
power ; the sentiment of the State, sadly divided, grad-
ually rallied to the support of the Legislature. And
then came the final and dramatic act. Neutrality had
had its day. The men who had adopted it were hoist
with their own petard. Now, with two Confederate
armies encamped upon their soil, and refusing to with-
draw, all pretense of neutrality was at an end. The
loyal faction of the Legislature had tested its power
till it knew that it was secure, and then, passing their
measure over the Governor's veto, they invited the
Federal Government to send in troops to drive out
the invaders, and, declaring the loyalty of the State
to the Union, pledged themselves to keep her there.
On that day, by authority of the Legislature, the
Union flag was run up on the State-house at Frankfort,
and it never afterward came down.
All this Mr. Bernaugh and his friend Estill talked
about as they visited back and forth almost daily, and
each of them talked it over with Barbara, and each
of them counted her a daughter. The old men were
both for the Union, but their hearts were heavy when
they heard how Zollicofifer was defeated and killed
at Mill Spring, and his army dispersed.
Then Barbara's heart went down, too. Boyd was
with ZollicofTer. Had he escaped, or was he killed or
captured? Day by day she watched the avenue that
led down to the pike ; night after night she lay awake
and listened and prayed for Boyd's safety.
After a fortnight the word came. He had escaped
324 Pine Knot ""
to Knoxville, but his brigade was cut to pieces be-
yond hope of reorganization, and he was going into
another regiment. Then they thanked God and took
courage, and with divided sympathies, with prayers
for the success of the men of the North and for the
safety of the men of the South, they watched the prog-
ress of the war.
If ever an angel came into a home, or two homes
at once, for that matter, it was Barbara Buzbee, who
at this time belonged almost as much in one home
as the other. Neither of the old men asked her ques-
tions about Boyd; they knew that she had seen him,
that he had come to her help in time of need, and
they assumed that the whole affair was settled. In
ways so indefinite and unconscious that she could
not contradict them — and she had hardly the heart
to do it, anyway — they planned under her very eyes for
a future which centered around her and Boyd.
Day by day Barbara found herself more absorbed
in the hopes and plans of the two old men ; their love
of the Union, their pride and sorrow for Kentucky,
their glowing admiration of Lincoln, and their anxiety
for Boyd. Often she thought of Fletcher, and won-
dered why he had not responded to her letter, but
more and more completely she ran her life and hope
into the mold made for them by her grandfather and
Mr. Estill.
Indeed, in that distracted time, the two old men
had but two things left to hope for — the saving of
the Union and the happiness of " our boy and
girl."
" In vain is the net spread in the sight of any
bird " ; yet Barbara saw the old men weaving about
In Lexington 325
her the net of their fondest hopes, and she had not the
heart to break it.
" Barbara," said her grandfather, " you ought to
be twins. There are too few of you to go round. Pap
Estill is that selfish he wants you all the time ; and
I — Lord bless you, my dear, you are your mother
and your grandmother and your own dear self all
in one to me. But it's a bit lonely for you here with
us two old men playing battledoor and shuttlecock
with you."
" Dear grandpa," said Barbara, " I am very happy
with you. Yet I do wish I had a friend. You saw
my friend Liberty Preston when you were at Pine
Knot. I want her to come and visit me. Things are
in a bad way there since Mill Spring battle, and
it will do her good to come. Besides, I want
her."
" Send for her right away. Write, and say that
if she can come I will send for her with horses. And
I'll send you and the carriage to Crab Orchard to
meet her. That's as far as the pike goes."
" I remember very well how far the pike goes,"
said Barbara.
" Tell her to come by Somerset, the road will be
better that way now."
So Liberty came on a visit of indefinite length,
and the two girls had a happy ride together in the
carriage from Crab Orchard.
Liberty brought new life to the home of the Ber-
naughs. A girl of natural refinement, she quickly
adjusted herself to the new conditions, and her ward-
robe was not long in assuming a new appearance. It
would have been difficult to tell, save for an occasional
326 Pine Knot
lapse in speech, which was the mountain and which
the blue-grass girl ; and Liberty set herself to learn and
gain as much as possible from the experience. But
she was loyal to the mountains, and it did both the
old men good to hear her uncompromising mountain
loyalty to the Federal cause.
Cheered by her presence, Barbara grew to her
old self. The memories of hardship and bereave-
ment remained, but receded into the background.
Back and forth the two girls moved between the
old homes, singing as they went, the slaves run-
ning to wait upon them, and the old men mak-
ing their excursions the excuse for more frequent
visits. But over it all hung the black shadow of
the war,
" I never hear you sing * Skip-t'-m'-loo ' now," said
Barbara. " Why have you stopped ? "
" You've stopped, too," said Liberty.
" It was not I who sang it," said Barbara.
" But it's you that's done it," said Liberty.
"Done what?"
" You've ' got another one, skip-t'-m'-loo ' ! "
" Liberty Preston ! "
" Now look here, Barbara Buzbee ! I'm done fool-
ing with you. You're in love with Boyd Estill, and
what's more you've always been, if you'd only had
sense enough to have known it. But if you don't
look out you'll lose him, that's what! And I serve
notice on you right now that while I'm not going
out to hunt up any man living, you're not going
to have Jim Fletcher, and you don't want him,
either."
" But I've refused Boyd."
In Lexington
327
" Well, you did a foolish thing, that's all. Now,
don't you break these old men's hearts telling them
about it, for that don't count. He'll come back some
day. He won't hold you accountable for what you
did then. But he won't come many times."
22
CHAPTER XXXIII
what's in a name?
James Fletcher was a good soldier. He carried
his gun patiently, he fought on the field heroically. No
duty was too hard for him, and he offered himself for
services from which other men shrank. Some men
said it was his religion ; others that he had been crossed
in love. But he was not morbid or misanthropic. No
man was more cheerful, even when cheerfulness was
hardest ; still, there was in his life an undertone of sad-
ness, as of a man who had come up against his im-
passable barrier.
Impassable it was, for he had no hope of winning
Barbara Buzbee. But he enshrined her image in his
heart — that is, he enshrined an image there which he
called Barbara Buzbee, and carefully differentiated it,
for conscience' sake, from the real Barbara. There
were two Barbara Buzbees he told himself; one of
them had refused him, and was engaged to another
man — her words could mean nothing else — and her he
must not love. But there was another Barbara Buz-
bee, the ideal Barbara, whom he cherished as an ideal.
It was a rather fine discrimination, no doubt; but
it served its end. It gave a name to Fletcher's ideal ;
it made it lawful for him to cherish memories which
328
What's in a Name ? 329
else he must have counted sinful, and it gave him the
slightest basis for a hope. It was just a little less than
possible that her words had some other meaning ; and
then, there's many a slip; if anything should happen
that Barbara Buzbee — the real flesh-and-blood Bar-
bara— did not marry some other man, it was just pos-
sible that he still might win her. Sometimes he ad-
mitted as much to himself. But for the most part he
lived in the light of the ideal Barbara.
So it was when the critical hour arrived before Fort
Donelson, the hour that determined the future of the
commanding general as well as of the battle. The
Union right had been forced back by the desperate
effort of the Confederates to break open a line of re-
treat, and the boys from the Prairie State who had
borne the burden of the attack right manfully were
retreating, and even brave Dick Oglesby and intrepid
John A. Logan were recalling their broken regiments
— in that hour when Grant suddenly changed his plan
and ordered the lost ground to be retaken, and Lew
Wallace swung out from the center to support the
right, there was not a braver man among those who
rushed to the charge than James Fletcher. Shivering
in the chill wind and wet with the past night's cruel
sleet — for he had given his overcoat to a wounded
man — shouting with his camp-meeting voice in echo
of the rebel yell, struggling through the entangled
tree tops, wading through the miry clay, close beside
the flag and never behind it, James Fletcher went.
There at the mouth of the cannon and against the
bristling bayonets straight to the top of the hill he
stood, striking right and left with his gunstock. Hurl-
ing a rebel gunner headlong as he was about to fire,
330 Pine Knot
he grasped the flag as it fell from the hand of the
wounded color sergeant and planted it on the mud-
and-log breastwork. Some men thought he was try-
ing to get killed. But he was not. Straight through
the smoke of that battle he had followed the flag, his
sense of duty, and the vision of Barbara Buzbee.
When it was over, he rescued the wounded color
bearer and hung the flag above him in the rude field
hospital. When the roll was called next day, and the
thinned but proud regiment was falling in to receive
the surrender, the captain of his company walked down
the line and in the presence of them all told James
Fletcher that he was the bravest man in the regiment.
The men were under a new commander — a quiet,
modest man, who wore little gold braid, and who
smoked his cigar in a keen scrutiny of affairs and with
a dogged determination. The soldiers dififered in their
estimate of his abilities. But when Fort Donelson
yielded to his demand for an " unconditional surren-
der," the soldiers got a clew to the meaning of his
initials, " U. S. Grant." Opinion concerning him be-
came more nearly a unit then, and the soldiers followed
him south to Shiloh and to victory, and then on to
Appomattox and to the coming of peace.
It had been a long and weary winter, full of dis-
couragement and distress. And the substantial vic-
tories of January and April had later to be won over
again. For, in the summer, when the line of the Con-
federacy had been pushed far South, and Nashville and
Island Number Ten had been captured, there came,
through incredible blundering, that sudden series of
backsets culminating in the invasion of Kentucky.
The Union army that had captured Cumberland Gap
What's in a Name? 331
gave it up again, and hastened toward the Ohio River,
and Kirby Smith threw his seasoned regiments
through the mountain passes and entered the blue-
grass region near Richmond, Kentucky.
Fletcher was back in Kentucky with his regiment,
one of a few regiments of seasoned troops to sprinkle
among the raw recruits that made up Nelson's army
of defense, and he was in the line of skirmishers sent
out to the Big Hill to dispute the way, and then to
fall back toward the Kentucky River ; for Nelson had
chosen his own battle ground, and would meet the
enemy with the river between, and fight from his well-
planned intrenchments on the bluffs.
The soldiers understood that this was the plan of
the battle, and nothing could have surprised them
more than to find as they fell back that General Man-
son had marched out from Richmond to meet the in-
vaders and to give them battle in the open field.
What would have happened if Nelson had carried
out his plan may only be conjectured. But what
actually happened was the absolute annihilation of the
Federal command. In no other battle of the war was
an army so utterly wiped from the earth as in that of
Richmond.
It was a Saturday, and no one was expecting
the fight that day. The Legislature was in session at
Frankfort, secure in its belief that Nelson's defenses
at the river were strong, and on Saturday night it
adjourned without concern, to meet at the usual hour
on Monday, On Sunday morning the members rushed
into the bedroom of Speaker Burnam, crying : " There
has been a battle, and we are defeated ! Kirby Smith
is marching toward Frankfort! Cincinnati is in dan-
332 Pine Knot
ger, and the whole North ! He will establish a base
of supplies on the Ohio River, and cut the country
in two from the Ohio to the lakes ! "
The hastily dressed members gathered in the State-
house, and the Speaker's gavel stilled the noise on
the floor. " The House will come to order ! We must
reconsider and rescind the vote of last night adjourn-
ing till Monday, and cause the record to show ad-
journment to Sunday morning." It was done accord-
ingly. " The reading of the record will be omitted.
It is moved and seconded that we do now adjourn,
to meet to-morrow at the usual hour, and in Louis-
ville." The action was quickly adopted.
Then followed a scene of confusion. A special
train was ordered, and it drew up a long line of freight
cars. The State records, the archives, and the docu-
ments of the Legislature were bundled into wagons
and loaded into the cars. The money from the State
Treasury was similarly transported to the train and
loaded under guard. All the morning and afternoon
they labored to carry all that was of greatest value
beyond the reach of the Confederate army.
The train pulled out in the twilight, and arrived in
Louisville in the night. Next morning the Legisla-
ture unpacked itself and held its session in a peri-
patetic fashion in Louisville.
The whole North was in terror, as it had good
reason to be. The danger that all along had threat-
ened the nation at the East, and which, but for the
loyalty of Kentucky, would have menaced the Middle
States all through the war, was suddenly at hand. Nor
was the terror wholly dispelled till October when
the battle of Perryville — an ill-managed battle, and
What's in a Name ? 333
a meager victory — drove the Confederates from the
State.
It was at Richmond, in August, that Fletcher again
distinguished himself. His regiment was so scattered
that he could hardly find a man whom he knew, and
all about him were raw troops, undisciplined and
poorly commanded, driven like sheep before the ruth-
less and well-trained foe. When Nelson arrived on
the field, called to the scene by the unexpected sound
of battle, his curses were loud and deep and unavail-
ing. He could not rally the disorganized army.
Fletcher was making his way from the field, and
one of the last to leave it, when a wounded man in a
fence corner caused him to turn aside, and he recog-
nized his colonel.
" Come, colonel," he cried, " let me help you out
of here."
" You can't do it," said the colonel. " I'm sure to
be captured, and so are you if you stop. Save your-
self while there is time ! "
But Fletcher got him up on his own strong back,
the blood from the colonel's wound dripping warm
along his arm and hand, and so he carried him, under
fire, till a flanking party intercepted him and they
were both made prisoners. The colonel was sent to
the hospital, where his wound kept him till after the
battle of Perryville, and so he recovered his freedom.
But Fletcher went south to Tuscaloosa Prison.
And so time passed on till one day, in the spring
of 1863, Fletcher's time had expired, and his regi-
ment was almost disbanded, though he learned that
efforts were making to recruit it again to fighting
strength. How gladly would he enlist again, he said
334 Pine Knot
to himself bitterly, if only he were out of here ! Yet,
in the prison he had found his mission, and on its
grim walls he hung the mental picture of the ideal
Barbara. Noting how quickly the loss of self-respect
broke men down, he laboured to keep the prisoners
about him clean, to reduce to a minimum the vermin
that infested the place, and to keep up the courage and
cheer of his comrades. What hope it was that kept
him up none knew, and he could only have told that
it was the desire for the approval of his God and of
fidelity to the ideal of Barbara Buzbee.
It was a disagreeable duty, and one which they
hated, but a certain Kentucky regiment in the Con-
federate army had seen hard service in several cam-
paigns, and was assigned for a time to guard duty at
the prison. One night there came an order for a de-
tail to be exchanged, and it fell to Captain Boyd Estill
— he was a captain now — to make out the roll. There
were certain papers on file, reports as to the condition
of this man and that, with reasons given by the sur-
geon or others why such and such a man should be
exchanged soon, and from these he made his first
choices. There were others to be chosen, and he ran
his eye over the long list of names, wondering upon
what principle he should make his selection. Sud-
denly a name struck his sight, and his breath came
quick and fast — ^James Fletcher, and his regiment and
company. There could hardly be a doubt about it.
The regiment was a mountain regiment, and the State
was Kentucky.
Boyd Estill tipped back in his chair again, and shut
his eyes and thought. Here was his opportunity, he
said to himself, and why should he not improve it?
What's in a Name? 335
He would not harm the man, he would simply leave
him. Why should he send him out, and leave another
man in, perhaps equally deserving ?
He filled out the list, leaving one name blank, and
James Fletcher's name was not among those he wrote.
Then he folded his list and walked out into the night,
and, pacing up and down, fought out his battle alone.
It was a hard thing to do, to be sure, but war was
made up of hard things, and this was an incident of
war. Why should he let this mountaineer, whom
chance had thrown between him and his idol, usurp
the place that belonged to him ? One by one he linked
together arguments that almost persuaded him to
doit.
Then his heart beat faster as he imagined the re-
sult. Perhaps Fletcher would not return — that some-
times happened to men in prison. Some had to stay
and take the chances. Suppose that should happen,
and Barbara should learn, as learn she would, that he
had died in the war? Surely he would be a rival no
longer. Boyd could aflFord to forget her passing fancy
for him, and in time, when her heart grew whole
again, and he returned with his rank, honestly won,
and the greater honors that were no doubt before him,
why might he not honestly claim her?
So for half the night he walked and argued the
case with his own conscience, and looked up at the
stars and asked himself whether indeed there was a
God who concerned himself with such affairs, and
cared to remember them afterward.
And so the night wore on, and the struggle within
him was fierce, and then he thought of the pure soul
of Barbara, and how she would scorn the man who
336 Pine Knot
would do what he was thinking of doing, nay, how he
would scorn himself. He held his possible self, the
guilty, selfish self before his face, and lashed him with
his own manly scorn and contempt. And then he fell
upon his knees, and looked up at the stars, and went
in and filled the blank line with the name of James
Fletcher.
CHAPTER XXXIV
WITH THE RANK OF CAPTAIN
It was a beautiful day in the spring of 1863 when
James Fletcher returned from prison. The men to
be exchanged were loaded into cars, and a fairly long
train was made up.
" We're to be exchanged ! " cried one and another.
" Shut up ! " growled an older man. " They only
tell us that to keep us quiet on the cars, I've been
moved from prison to prison since the fall of '61 —
Belle Isle, Andersonville, Tuscaloosa — I've been the
round of the noted winter resorts, and every time I'm
moved to some hole worse than the last they tell me
I'm to be exchanged! "
The hearts of all who heard him fell; and there
were others who told a similar story of disappoint-
ment. Surely, and with occasional stops, the train
moved on, and as night approached they were run upon
a siding where, in uncertainty and discomfort, they
waited for morning.
There never had been such a day as the one that
dawned — certainly not since the earth was new. The
sunrise was glorious, and the earth was green and
clean and fragrant. Oh, how green were the fields
and how beautiful they looked to the sick, dirty, hun-
337
338 Pine Knot
gry men ! And the uncertainty whether they were to
step out upon the earth that looked too good to set
foot upon, or to be imprisoned again, perhaps this time
in Andersonville, grew almost unbearable.
At length an officer walked along the train bearing
a handful of small white flags, and he attached one to
each car.
Then the men cheered, for they felt sure that those
white flags meant that they were about to enter the
Union lines. Indeed, the Union lines were just across
the river, and as the train slowly started, they could see
the Union soldiers turning out in answer to the bugle
call. Oh, what a clean army it was ! They had worn
out their old clothes in the winter's service, and all had
drawn new clothing, and the new buttons could be
seen farther than the color of the coats that bore them !
Slowly the train moved across the river, and then,
a car at a time, the prisoners were taken out. Two
Confederate officers compared lists with those of Union
officers, and checked the men oflf, car by car.
Within the cars huddled the men in their rags and
filth ; without stood the clean soldiers in their new
clothes; and as the prisoners came out, they were
marched a short distance away to a clean spot where
the regiments nearest were already making coffee, and
would soon pitch tents for them. And now and then
a cheer went up as some one recognized a comrade
among the returned.
James Fletcher stood at the open door, helping out
those who were weaker than himself. Two brawny
soldiers on the ground below were lifting them down.
"All out? Well, then, jump down!" And two
pairs of strong arms were extended to help him.
With the Rank of Captain 339
Then occurred an incident which James Fletcher
remembered all his life ; nor does greater honor come
often to any man. Back in the crowd two men recog-
nized him — his old captain, promoted now, the colo-
nel of another regiment — and the color sergeant,
now a captain, whose flag he had rescued and whose
life he had saved at Fort Donelson. These two
rushed forward, his name on their lips. All unmind-
ful of their new uniforms and of his foul rags, they
seized him, an arm around him on either side ; and
so, amid the cheers of the men in blue and the men
in rags, they bore him from the prison train out
into the glorious sunshine. Many a man had a
warm welcome as he came from the train that day,
but no man was so warmly welcomed as James
Fletcher.
'■ I never look for greater honor," he said years
afterward, " nor can so grand a thing happen to me
again on earth. But I sometimes hope for something
like it in the day of the new heaven and the new earth.
I've thought that maybe in that day Jesus Christ would
cover my rags with his own righteousness, and bear
me into the kingdom. Then I shall remember that
day again."
There was delay in sending the prisoners North,
but after a few weeks Fletcher was returned to Ken-
tucky, where his own regiment was recruiting at Camp
Nelson. There he was glad to meet his old colonel,
whom he had seen last as he was bearing him from
the battlefield at Richmond.
" How are you, Fletcher? "
The colonel greeted him with a ringing slap upon
the shoulder and a warm word in his ear.
340 Pine Knot
" How are you, colonel ? How did you come
here ? "
" I might not have been here but for you. Where
have you been ? "
" In Tuscaloosa."
" Well, you look better fed than some boarders
from that hotel. Your time expired while you were in
prison, I suppose you know ; but your pay runs on."
" I reckon so. And I'm going to enlist again,"
" Of course you are. And in the old regiment."
" I reckoned it would have been recruited up be-
fore this time."
" No, we've been hindered. We had to make the
regiment over new, and so many men prefer to or-
ganize new regiments. But we're getting pretty near
our full strength, and shall move soon. We're camp-
ing here. We'll take you in, of course."
" Of course you will."
" Look here, Fletcher, did you know I recom-
mended you for promotion ? "
" No. I've been where news didn't come very fast."
" Well, it's on record. I'm sorry all the commis-
sioned offices are taken. Having to get so many men,
they came in bunches, from abandoned organizations;
and with what officers they had elected, and what we
had left over, there are more captains and lieutenants
than there are places, I hate to see so good a man
as you carrying a gun."
" Colonel," said Fletcher, " there is not a man in
the army too good to be a private."
" You are right," said the colonel. " I did not
quite mean what I said. What I should have said
is, that I am sorry not to be able to place so good a
With the Rank of Captain 341
man in a higher position, such as I know you are
worthy to fill. Perhaps we can get you a brevet rank,
and something will come of it later. At any rate your
record is in Washington, and I shall not forget you
if anything opens."
" Thank you, colonel, but I am content with mat-
ters as they are."
" By the way," said the colonel, " I have been
carrying a letter for you for a good while. It came
here and followed our regiment to Fort Donelson and
Pittsburg Landing, then somehow missed us when we
came North after Kirby Smith. Finally, it got back
here again when there was talk of recruiting the regi-
ment, and when I came it was given to me. I have
kept it for you."
It was a dainty little note, black-bordered, quite
unlike any that Fletcher was accustomed to receive.
For that matter, he was unaccustomed to much mail.
He opened it and read Barbara's invitation to him to
visit Lexington.
" Colonel," he said, with flushed cheeks, " I want
to get away for a few days."
" Very well. Where do you want to go ? Give me
your address, for I may want to write you."
" Care of Mr. William Bernaugh, Lexington," said
Fletcher.
" Very well. Don't hurry back if you care to stay.
I will send you word if the regiment is to move. I'll
set that down : ' James Fletcher, care of — ' By the
way, Fletcher, isn't it * Rev. James Fletcher ' ? "
" I am a minister, sir, but I have dropped my title,
though I hope not my religion, until after the war."
" Well, that reminds me. When I said the offices
342 Pine Knot
were gone I forgot that of chaplain. Now you know
as well as I do that some chaplains are good post-
masters and no more ; and on the other hand, some of
them are true to the core. Fletcher, I'm going to
appoint you chaplain, and send for your commission.
You are to be the regiment's chaplain, sir, with the
rank of captain."
CHAPTER XXXV
AN IDEAL AND A REALITY
James Fletcher rode as far as Lexington, and
then walked out the pike to the Bernaugh home. He
had started at once on receiving the message, eager to
respond to it; yet as he approached the house he felt
a certain reluctance. He was unused to surroundings
such as these. Moreover, for what purpose had he
come? To take advantage of this girl's grief or her
courtesy and to seek to win her heart against her judg-
ment? No, he would not. He had received his an-
swer in good faith ; he would abide by it. The Barbara
Buzbee of his heart was an ideal against which he
had striven to measure his performance of duty. The
Barbara Buzbee whom he was about to see was as
any other woman to him ; and the Barbara Buzbee of
his past was dead. So he said to himself. But it is
easier dealing with a memory that one counts dead
or with an ideal than with a living woman — or at least
Fletcher thought so — and he was about to meet Bar-
bara Buzbee of real life. Just how he should act he
did not feel sure.
Slowly he walked up the avenue, stepping aside
into the blue grass of the lawn to wipe the dust from
his boots. His uniform, he was glad to remember,
23 243
344 Pi'^^ Knot
though only that of a private, was new, replacing
the one he had worn out in prison. He would
have a chaplain's uniform soon ; he almost wished
he had waited for it. With beating heart, but
with courage screwed up as when charging a bat-
tery, he stepped upon the gallery and rang the
bell.
" Ge'man step in ? " asked the colored girl at the
door.
" Is your master at home ? " asked Fletcher.
" No, sah ; he done gone to Maws' Estill."
" Is your young mistress in ? "
** I ain't right sho. I'll go see."
Fletcher sat in the high old parlor whose wall paper
was imported with that which President Jackson
bought in Paris for the Hermitage. It was all new to
him and very strange. He wished he had written
before coming. Who knew whether he would be wel-
come? He was half resolved to leave his regards and
go back to Lexington, and then next day back to
camp.
A young lady appeared in the door.
"Why, Mr. Fletcher! How do you do?" she
asked.
Something familiar in the voice made his heart
leap.
" Miss Barbara," said he, " I am very glad to see
you."
" Well, Mr. Fletcher ! I'd believe anything rea-
sonable against you, but not to know your old friends !
I wouldn't have believed that."
" Miss Liberty ! " he exclaimed, " How did you
come here ? "
An Ideal and a Reality 345
" Oh, I rode ! Have I changed so much, Mr.
Fletcher?"
" No; it was my stupidity. That is, you have
changed, but it was not that "
" Now, I don't think you're getting out of that very
well. I haven't changed, and I have? No matter.
You have changed! How fine you look in your uni-
form ! Stand up, I want to see you ! That will do. No,
you need not sit so far over there — unless you want to,
I'm sorry Miss Barbara is not home. But her grand-
father will be home soon, and he will welcome you."
Then followed an awkward pause. Fletcher was
getting his bearings, but Liberty was quite at ease, and
Fletcher could not make himself believe that she was
not enjoying his disappointment. He was half angry
with her, and yet not wholly displeased. At length,
and with visible efifort, he resumed the conversation :
" Is — is Miss Barbara far away ? "
" No ; but she will not be home to-night. She is
very busy just now. By the way, when did you meet
Boyd Estill?"
" I have never met him. I do not know him. Who
is he?"
" Miss Barbara's lover." She watched him closely
as she spoke. It was kinder, she thought, to tell him
plainly. Perhaps, also, she had other reasons.
He gave a little start and grew a trifle paler. Then
he asked, " Does her lover live in Lexington ? "
" Yes ; that is, Lexington is his home."
" I knew that she had a lover," said Fletcher
simply.
" You did ? " she asked in surprise.
" Yes," said he.
346 Pine Knot
" How did you know ? "
" She told me so."
Liberty wondered how Barbara had told what she
did not know. In truth it was what she had told, or
rather what he thought she had told, that had enabled
him to supplant in his heart the image of the real Bar-
bara Buzbee and to cherish the ideal for which he
knew no better name.
It was something of a shock to Fletcher, to be
sure, but it was also in part a relief to hear of
Barbara's lover. He must rename his ideal ; he must
no longer give it a name that belonged to another
man's promised wife. It would take an effort, no
doubt, but he could do it, and he would. He had
cherished the name, half against his conscience, but
with the conscious self-delusion that he might have
misunderstood. There was no longer ground for a
misunderstanding, and while he sighed, it was in part a
sigh of relief. Now his duty was clear.
All these things James Fletcher thought in a half
minute. Then he said :
" Miss Barbara's lover is to be congratulated. I
have the highest respect for her, and sincerely wish
her and her lover joy."
Liberty watched Fletcher with a close scrutiny
which veiled itself in a careless manner. She was
enjoying the opportunity of telling this man who had
once passed her for another, that he in turn was sup-
planted. But her manner changed at his last word.
She had not the heart to torture a man who met his
fate so bravely. And then she remembered Boyd, and
her former question how he had come to know
Fletcher.
An Ideal and a Reality 347
" There is something strange about this," said Lib-
erty. " Mr. Estill certainly knows you, and has met
you somewhere."
" I am sure I do not remember him. Where have
we met ? "
" I don't know. He is a Confederate captain."
" I hope it was not on the battlefield," said
Fletcher. " I should be sorry to do anything against
Miss Barbara's lover."
" He has done something to you, whether good or
bad I do not know. But it is on his mind, and troubles
him, and Barbara too."
"Where is he?"
" At his father's home, on the next plantation. You
are not bound to capture him if I tell you, are you ? "
" Hardly ; and perhaps, if capture were in order,
he might capture me."
" No danger of that," said Liberty sadly. " He is
very sick."
" I am sorry, but I do not remember him. I hope
he is not seriously ill? "
" We hope not. But he has delirium, and there is
something on his mind. I am not sure but your com-
ing is just what he will need. Here comes Mr. Ber-
naugh. — O grandpa ! " she cried, and the name showed
how she had grown into the life of the home. " Come
in at once ! "
Mr. Bernaugh entered the parlor.
" This is my friend Mr. Fletcher— Barbara's friend,
too."
" Mr. James Fletcher? " asked Mr. Bernaugh, seiz-
ing his hand eagerly.
" Yes, sir."
348 Pine Knot
" Sit down, Mr. Fletcher. You are very welcome,
sir. You are welcome as a friend of my girls here,
and welcome for the cause you represent — though
many of my friends wear gray, sir, many of them. It
is hard lines for us conservative old folks, sir. But
you are most of all welcome just now if you can help
us with our sick boy. Tell me, sir — you are- a man
of honor — did Captain Boyd Estill ever harm you or
do a dishonorable thing to you? "
" Never, to my knowledge," said Fletcher.
"What did he do?"
" I do not remember ever meeting him."
" That is strange. He talks of you constantly."
" Mr. Fletcher," asked Liberty, " have you been
in prison? "
" Yes — in Tuscaloosa."
" When did you get out ? "
" Two months ago — in April."
" That was while Boyd was there," said Mr. Ber-
naugh with relief.
" Perhaps," said Fletcher, " it will be as well for
you to tell me more about him. How does he talk?
He is delirious, and talks of me ? "
" Yes, sir. He seems in his delirium to consider
you a rival for the afifections of Miss Barbara, sir. I
am right in supposing him to be wrong in this ? "
" Entirely so, sir," said Fletcher with a frankness
that surprised himself.
" Pardon the directness of my question, sir. I have
no wish to intrude, but you understand matters are of
such a nature that frankness is necessary."
" I am entirely willing to tell you," said Fletcher.
" I have the highest regard for Miss Barbara. I do
An Ideal and a Reality 349
not deny that at one time I cherished a hope that she
would regard me favorably, but we are simply friends,
and have been so for nearly two years. If — if I have
ever hoped that she would change toward me, the hope
has been my own. She has never encouraged it, and
I am still and only her friend, with best wishes for her
lover."
" I am glad to hear you say so, sir," said Mr. Ber-
naugh. Fletcher was surprised to find himself glad
also, and for some reason he was conscious all the
while that he was the more glad to have Liberty hear
him.
" Mr. Estill," said Mr. Bemaugh, " is a lifelong
friend of our family, as his parents and grandparents
have been before him. He and Barbara have been
friends and lovers from childhood. You will under-
stand me when I say that, while I have learned through
an experience that has cost me years of sorrow not
to interfere with other people's love affairs, it would
be a bitter disappointment if through death or dis-
agreement any change came about in this matter. I
make this explanation as a partial apology for ques-
tioning you on the threshold of my home."
" I understand you, sir," said Fletcher.
" But you will understand that my reason, after all,
for so discourteous a proceeding is my anxiety for this
young man's life — and honor, sir."
" Do not apologize, sir," said Fletcher. " Ask me
anything ; or better — since as yet I have no clew to the
situation — tell me how Mr. Estill talks of me."
" He was guard officer at the prison in April,"
said Liberty, " and I think he must have been in doubt
whether to send up your name for exchange or not.
350 Pine Knot
He was much run down after a hard campaign, and
on the verge of this terrible fever, and I think he had
a struggle over your name. Did you know nothing
of it?"
" Nothing," said Fletcher, " but I begin to under-
stand."
** A very hard feature of it, sir, both for his father
and for me," said Bernaugh, " is that sometimes he
believes himself to have left you there, a victim of his
jealousy. Of course we did not know the facts "
" But we knew he was the soul of honor," said
Liberty.
" Yes, sir, we knew it," said Mr. Bernaugh, reach-
ing for his handkerchief, " but when we heard him
reproaching himself and suffering remorse — anything
that touches the honor of my family, sir — any "
The old man sobbed.
" Let me hasten to confirm your assurance of his
honor," said Fletcher. " What you say convinces me
that I am indebted to him for my freedom. If he did
this believing that I was his rival, he has shown him-
self a man of the purest honor."
" Come ! " said Mr. Bernaugh. " We must go
over ! — Liberty ! Call the carriage. Where are all
those lazy niggers? — Here you, Bill! You have the
carriage here in half a minute, you no 'count nigger,
or I'll wear you out! — Come, sir! — Come, Liberty!
We must go over ! "
The carriage was at the door, and Fletcher and Mr.
Bernaugh were seated within.
"To Mr. Estill's!" shouted Bernaugh; "and if
you let the horses stop to graze along the pike,
I'll — " But the driver understood the spirit of his
An Ideal and a Reality 351
order, and the horses were already tearing down the
avenue.
What had he done? Fletcher asked himself as the
carriage whirled along the pike. He had renounced
Barbara sight unseen. He had come here hoping to
marry Barbara — yes, he might -as well admit it now.
That little note had stirred his heart to its depths. He
had come denying it to himself all the way, but hop-
ing against his own acknowledgment to himself that
Barbara had relented. And now, on the very thresh-
old, and before he had seen her face, he had disclaimed
her, and conceded the right of a rival. Yet he felt
strangely at peace with himself, and wishing, in a
wholly unaccountable way, that Liberty had driven
over with them.
" You're a godsend, sir, a special providence," said
Mr. Bernaugh, who had been talking all the way.
" You are the very man to save Boyd's life, and re-
store happiness to our two homes. No man can im-
agine the agony, yes, sir, the agony, in which I have
lived. — Bill, you black rascal, if you don't keep those
horses moving! — Why, sir, I knew that Boyd Estill
would never do a mean thing, but to hear him confess
it, sir, to hear him confess it in his delirium — good
Lord ! It was agony, sir, it was agony ! If any other
man had said it, I'd have challenged him at six paces,
sir, old as I am! But to hear him say it, and to be
unable to disprove it — ! My family, sir, has an
honorable record far back into Old V'giny, and the
same of Mr. Estill's! It runs in the blood! Hot-
headed and high strung — yes, sir ; I know our faults !
But honor, sir, honor! And anything that touches
the honor of my family — ! God bless you, sir!
352 Pine Knot
You've saved his life, I know, and the happiness of
all of us ! "
This was confusing to Fletcher in a way, but one
thing he saw as clearly as he ever saw it through the
battle smoke — his present duty. He might regret
afterward that he had spoken so quickly, so irrevoca-
bly. He might see that he had done wrong not to
make more clear the intensity of his love for Barbara.
He might long afterward for her whom he had so
readily given over to another, but to-day, and now, he
had but one duty, and that was to stand squarely by
what he had done, and by all honorable means strive
for the happiness of Barbara and Boyd.
" God help me," said the old man, when the car-
riage stopped, " I'm all unnerved ! I can't go in
now ! "
" Leave it to me," said Fletcher calmly. " Wait
for me here in the porch."
" Yes, yes ! You go in ! — Here, you young nig-
ger— you, what's your name? — you show Maw'sr
Fletcher up to Maw'sr Boyd's room I "
Barbara sai, pale but calm, beside the bed of Boyd
Estill. The sick man, roused from a troubled sleep,
gave a moan, and muttered in his delirium :
" It's an awful place, that prison ! He's starving
there ! He's dead by this time ! No, he isn't ! He's
out! I let him out! I wrote his name on the ex-
change list ! I can see it now, James Fletcher I And
he'll marry Barbara! No, he shall not! I'll see him
die there first ! Who's going to know it, anyhow ? "
And so, as for days past, he fought over again
the battle he had so bravely won in his night strug-
gle.
An Ideal and a Reality 353
The door opened, and James Fletcher entered.
Barbara started. Boyd shrieked.
" There he is ! " he cried. " I killed him ! "
Fletcher passed straight past Barbara and went to
the bedside. Experience in sickness such as this made
him master of the situation.
" Be still, Boyd," he said calmly. " You did not
kill me. You saved my life."
" I know you ! I know you ! " cried Boyd. " I
saw you march to the train ! You've come to marry
Barbara ! "
" You are mistaken again," said Fletcher. " I've
come to marry you to Barbara. I'm a preacher, you
know, a chaplain. You let me out, and they have
promoted me. But you are too tired to-night. You
must rest now."
Barbara started and looked up at Fletcher, and
then down at Boyd. She turned pale and then flushed,
and then she wondered if she was in a dream. Where
had he come from? How did he know? What had
changed him? She could not answer, but her eyes
met those of Fletcher, and she saw in them assurance
and strength of purpose. She trusted him and ac-
cepted her own part.
" You're a spirit ! " cried Boyd. " You're the man
I murdered ! "
" I'm the man you saved," said Fletcher calmly ;
" and I'm here to marry you to Barbara. Rest now,
for we shall have a fine wedding, and you are tired."
The sick man argued it over and over, but with
diminishing vigor. Fletcher's calmness reassured him
at length.
"Is this true, Barbara?" he asked.
354 Pij^6 Knot
" Yes," said Barbara. " It is true. And you must
rest now, and get ready for the wedding,"
All that night Barbara and Fletcher watched beside
him. A score of times they told him the same story.
As often they denied that Boyd had killed his rival.
As morning drew near, Boyd fell sound asleep, and
Fletcher motioned Barbara to the couch in the corner,
where she lay down ; and James Fletcher alone watched
the night die out and the dawn come in. When Boyd
awoke after a rest of four hours he was in his right
mind.
" Then it was not a dream," said he. " Thank
God!"
" No," said Fletcher, " it is all true. Drink this
beef tea now, and go to sleep again ; for before I go
back to camp I must marry you to Barbara."
They were anxious days that followed, and the
delirium returned often, but Fletcher's presence and
Barbara's assurance came to have a charm that quieted
even his wildest ravings ; and when, after a week of
constant watching, the fever abated, the pale, weak
man clasped Fletcher's strong hand in his own thin
white one and said :
" Thank you, chaplain. I reckon you've pulled me
through."
Fletcher held the sick man's hand in his own firm
grasp and looked Boyd in the face. " Yes," said he,
" you will recover, and I shall marry you to Barbara.
And you are worthy of her, Boyd ! God bless you ! "
He took Barbara's hand and stood for a moment
holding a hand of each. Then he placed their hands
in each other's.
Barbara stooped and kissed Boyd's white forehead.
An Ideal and a Reality 355
Boyd raised his weak arm, and drew her face down
upon his own. They forgot Fletcher, and when they
looked up he had gone. They were sitting hand in
hand, Boyd half propped with pillows and Barbara
close beside him when Liberty entered.
" Don't go. Liberty," called Barbara, as she started
back ; " you are not intruding."
" I don't reckon you need me," said Liberty.
" You all look right happy by yourselves."
" We are so happy, so happy ! " said Barbara.
"What about Mr. Jim Fletcher?" asked Liberty,
a little maliciously.
" He's a hero ! " said Boyd. " He's saved my
life."
" I reckon he has," said Liberty quietly.
" It is just like him," said Barbara, " and we are so
happy ! "
" So I see," said Liberty, " and now what's going
to become of the preacher? "
" Is he in any danger? " asked Boyd.
" Oh, I reckon not. Only I was thinking you all
are so happy you don't seem to consider how hard it's
been for him."
" I have not forgotten it," said Boyd.
" Liberty," said Barbara, " I have an idea that the
preacher will not suffer."
" What do you mean ? " asked Liberty, flushing.
" Oh, nothing," laughed Barbara.
" I don't see the joke," said Boyd.
" There is no joke," said Liberty. " You ought to
be ashamed, Barbara. He's broken his heart for you,
and you all are too happy all by yourselves to appre-
ciate it."
356 Pine Knot
Boyd looked troubled. Liberty sat grave and
flushed. Barbara hesitated for a moment, and then,
breaking into a laugh, danced over to Liberty, and
seizing her hands, half forced her from her seat as she
tripped around humming :
" I'll get another one, skip-t*-m'-Ioo,
I'll get another one, skip-t'-m'-loo,
I'll get another one, prettier, too,
Skip-t'-m'-loo, my darling ! "
But Liberty broke from her and ran from the room.
There were weeks of careful nursing still in store
for Boyd, and Liberty shared with Barbara the fatigues
of those days and nights,
Fletcher was constantly at hand, and the relation
between him and Boyd grew to be a very warm one.
As Boyd grew better and needed less constant care,
he and Barbara were left more together ; and then
Fletcher would gladly have been more with Liberty.
He did not admit that he loved her ; he loved an ideal
only, and that had lost its name ; but Liberty had cer-
tainly developed into a very attractive young woman,
and Fletcher rather longed for her society. But Lib-
erty rather avoided him, and, except for the care of
Boyd, they saw less of each other than he could have
thought possible. The two old men were always at
hand, too, and what with their desire to show Fletcher
the farms, and to have him try the best saddle horses
for the sake of the fresh air, and his own occasional
errands to Lexington for news of the war. Liberty
might almost as well have been at No Bus'ness.
All this time the movements of armies went on.
Grant was sawing the Confederacy in twain along the
Mississippi's length, and was tightening his grip on
An Ideal and a Reality 357
Vicksburg, and Lee was crossing Mason and Dixon's
line and invading Pennsylvania.
June passed away and July came in, and day by
day the patient improved. And as his strength grew
they planned together for the wedding, which all agreed
must occur before Fletcher went back. As his leave
was uncertain, the two old men went to Lexington
one Saturday in the beginning of July and obtained
a marriage license, to be kept till Boyd was stronger
if possible, but to be used on any day when Fletcher
found that he must go.
The next day Fletcher walked with Liberty in the
orchard toward the pike. It was a hot day, and the
shade was attractive, and they strolled among the trees
testing the first ripe harvest sweets and the Carolina
Junes. It was Fletcher's first real visit with Liberty,
and he had no mind to shorten it.
" You look very fine in that chaplain's coat," said
Liberty.
" And you in that lovely white dress and sunbon-
net," said he.
" Oh, thank you ! " she said demurely. " A chap-
lain should not flatter."
" I mean it," said he.
" Do you really like it ? " she asked, standing oflf
a little and making a courtesy.
" Yes ; both the dress and you."
" Oh, shame on you for talking to me so ! And
Sunday, too."
" Is that a wrong thing to say on Sunday ? "
" Not if — You didn't know me the day you came,
did you? I don't think you were so very glad to
see me."
358 Pine Knot
James Fletcher looked at her. The ideal was still
in his heart, but an ideal picture is sometimes of the
decalcomania sort, and capable of transfer. He
looked again at the pretty, coquettish, plucky little
woman, and wondered, as during the past weeks he
had wondered a thousand times, how he had ever
preached at the face under her white sunbonnet and
had not seen her beauty as he now saw it. Often of
late he had thought of renaming his ideal, but had
stopped when he remembered that Liberty with her
gayety and coquettish ways was perhaps unsuited to be
the wife of a minister, or again when he had doubted
whether in her fine clothes and new surroundings she
would listen to him. But he looked at her to-day,
straight through the picture of the ideal, and lo! like
a dissolving view it took new features, and when he
sought for the name, it was already named.
" Are you preparing a sermon ? " she asked in an-
swer to his stare.
" It is prepared," said he. " I am about to
preach it."
" It is Sunday ; that's a fact. I hope the sermon is
not long? Where shall I sit? I mustn't get grass
stains on my new white mull dress ! "
" Stand, then, if you prefer."
" Very well. Begin. Is your introduction like
Preacher Taulbee's, * My dear beloved fr ' "
" Yes, that is it."
" ' — iends and neighbors and neighbors' children
and dying congregation,' " continued Liberty, imitat-
ing the tone of Mr, Taulbee.
" You saucy girl ! " said he. " I'm tempted to box
your ears."
An Ideal and a Reality 359
" You can't ! " said she. " I'll pull my sunbonnet
over them, so."
There is a point beyond which it is not safe to
tease a man. The white sunbonnet is by nature the
most tempting bit of headgear that woman can de-
vise ; to pass it in all its crisp, white loveliness and not
peep within is at any time an exercise fit for the pen-
ance of an anchorite; to see it with a face like Lib-
erty's peeping out, so maliciously tempting, so de-
fiantly inviting, was too much for James Fletcher. A
moment he looked, and then he had her in his arms
and was kissing her under the sunbonnet with the
most reckless disregard of its starched frills.
A full minute he held her so, and then looking
down, his eyes met hers under the sunbonnet.
" This isn't very proper for a preacher," said she.
" I will begin my sermon," said he. " ' My dearly
beloved ' "
" I thought you loved Barbara," she added ma-
liciously.
" I thought so, too," said he.
" Are you sure, very sure, you don't love her still ? "
she asked,
" I am sure that I love you, truly, and with all my
heart," said he. " Do you love rae. Liberty ? "
" You're crushing my dress," said she, " and my
bonnet is all out of shape."
He released her, and then deliberately kissed her
again.
" I like the bonnet better so," said he. " I love
you. Liberty."
" I love you, too," she answered, " and the bonnet
will wash."
24
360 Pine Knot
For half an hour they wandered in the orchard,
making more real the joy that had come to them both.
A little cloud of dust far down the limestone pike
drew their attention. Out of it emerged a horseman
in the uniform of a Union orderly.
" Let us go to the fence, and meet him," said
Fletcher. " He must bring news."
The orderly drew up at the fence, his horse wet
and dusty, and saluting, asked, " Is this Chaplain
Fletcher?"
" It is," said Fletcher. " Have you orders for
me?"
" Yes, sir. The regiment is to march on Tuesday.
There's important news, sir."
" Tell us quickly," said Fletcher.
" General Lee has been defeated at Gettysburg, sir ;
and General Pemberton has surrendered Vicksburg to
General Grant ! Good day, sir ! "
" Good day."
They stood watching him as his horse sped away
back along the pike toward Lexington.
" This settles the question of the war, thank God ! "
said Fletcher. " It may end soon or late, but this day
decides it, and the Union is saved."
" We must go to the house and tell them," said
Liberty.
" We have several things to tell them," said
Fletcher. " Come, let us go."
THE END
'^A FRESH AND CHARMING NOVEL/'
The Last Lady of Mulberry.
A Story of Italian New York. By Henry Wil-
ton Thomas. Illustrated by Emil Pollak. i2mo.
Cloth, ^1.50.
♦* By far the most complete and satisfying description that
has been given of life in the Italian quarter of New York, . , .
Incidentally a very good novel, reasonable in its purpose and
character drawing, intricate in plot, and dramatic in its action."
— Philadelphia Times,
"A breezy book. It * goes ' from start to finish, and the ac-
tion moves in a rich atmosphere, albeit that of the poorest of
New York's alien colonies. . . . The best study of Italian life
in New York, and of its special environment that has ever been
drawn." — New York Herald.
" Through a very cleverly contrived course of events the
complex life of the colony shines out in most resplendent pro-
portions. . . . The story is an exceedingly clever piece of hu-
morous writing. ' ' — Pittsburg Chronicle- Telegraph.
"The author has evidently made a close study of the Italian
quarter and its people and customs, and has utilized his knowl-
edge to best advantage." — Denver Republican.
"Character drawing and humor of an excellent quality." —
Rochester Herald.
" Richly humorous, * The Last Lady of Mulberry ' is one
of the most enjoyable little romances we have recently read. It
presents a picture of the Little Italy known in all our larger cities
in a way that is more effective than any number of serious dis-
sertations."— Providence News.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
By ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER.
JUST PUBLISHED.
The Farringdons.
A Novel. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50.
" A most readable story of the fortunes of several interesting; people. . . .
A plot that threads its way through the story reaches a conclusion the unex-
pectedness of which adds to the pleasure that the reader will find in this
romance. " — Providence News,
" Miss Fowler makes her own audience, which, ]arg:e as it is in England,
must be even larger in this country. There is a deeper note in this story
than any she has yet sounded. . . . ' The Farringdons ' is, above all else,
a proclamation to the world that the religion which Christ brought to hu-
manity is a living power, undiminished in strength, the mainspring of the
actions and zispirations of millions of Anglo-Saxons." — New York Mail and
Express.
" A book of intense interest." — Springfield Union.
" Its whole atmosphere is that of a June morning. ... It is full of crisp
and original dialogue, and beneath all the persiflage and gossip there is a
strong undercuiTcnt of wholesome and high-minded phiiosophy." — Chicago
Tribune.
" Sparkling dialogue, careful character drawing, and admirable descrip-
tions are all here, but above all we have real people, and real people who
are interesting. The book is another evidence of the high abilities of the
writer. " — Cincinnati Times-Star.
Concerning Isabel Carnaby.
A Novel. New edition, with Portrait and Biographical Sketch of the
Author. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50.
" No one who reads it will regret it or forget it." — Chicago Tribune.
" For brilliant conversations, epigrammatic bits of philosophy, keenness
of wit, and full insight into human nature, ' Concerning Isabel Carnaby ' is
a remarkable success.'' — Boston Transcript.
" An excellent novel, clever and witty enough to be very amusing, and
serious enough to provide much food for thought." — London Daily Tele-
graph.
A Double Thread.
A Novel. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50.
" The excellence of her writing makes . . . her book delightful reading.
She is genial and sympathetic without being futile, and witty without being
cynical." — Literature, London.
APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK..
By ELEANOR STUART.
Averages.
A Novel of Modern New York. i2mo. Cloth,
^1.50.
**To picture a scheming woman who is also attractive and
even lovable is not an easy task. . . . To have made such a
woman plausible and real in the midst of modern New York life
is what Miss Stuart has achieved in this novel. And the other
characters reach a similar reality. They are individuals and not
types, and, moreover, they are not literary echoes. For a writer
to manage this assortment of original characters with that cool
deliberation which keeps aloof from them, but remorselessly
pictures them, is a proof of literary insight and literary skill. It
takes work as well as talent. The people of the story are real,
plausible, modem creatures, with the fads and weaknesses of
to-day."— A^. r. Life.
**The strength of the book is its entertaining pictures of
human nature and its shrewd, incisive observations upon the
social problems, great and small, which present themselves in the
complex life of society in the metropolis. Those who are fond
of dry wit, a subtle humor, and what Emerson calls * a philos-
ophy of insight and not of tradition,' will find * Averages* a
novel to their taste. . . . There are interesting love episodes
and clever, original situations. An author capable of such work
is to be reckoned with. She has in her the root of the mat-
ter."— N. T. Mail and Express.
Stonepastures.
i2mo. Cloth, 75 cents.
" The story is strongly written, there being a decided Bronte
flavor about its style and English. It is thoroughly interesting
and extremely vivid in its portrayal of actual life." — Boston
Courier.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK..
BOOKS BY FRANK T. BULLEN.
The Log of a Sea- Waif.
Being Recollections of the First Four Years of my Sea Life.
Illustrated. Uniform Edition. 1 2mo. Cloth, ^1.50.
The brilliant author of "The Cruise of the Cachalot" and "Idylls of the
Sea" presents in this new work the continuous story of the actual experiences
of his first four years at sea. In graphic and picturesque phrases he has sketched
the events of voyages to the West Indies, to Bombay and the Coromandel coast,
to Melbourne and Rangoon. Nothing could be of more absorbing interest
than this wonderfully vivid account of foks'l humanity, and the adventures and
strange sights and experiences attendant upon deep-sea voyages. It is easy to see
in this book an English companion to our own " Two Years before the Mast."
Idylls of the Sea.
i2mo. Cloth, $1.25.
"The 'deep-sea wonder and mystery' which Kipling found in Frank T.
BuUen's 'Cruise of the Cachalot' is appreciable again in this literary mate's
new book, 'Idylls of the Sea.' We feel ourselves tossed with him at the
mercy of the weltering elements," etc. — Philadelphia Record.
" Amplifies and intensifies the picture of the sea which Mr. BuIIen had
already produced. . . . Calm, shipwreck, the surface and depths of the sea,
the monsters of the deep, superstitions and tales of the sailors — all find a place
in this strange and exciting book." — Chicago Times-Herald.
The Cruise of the Cachalot,
Round the World after Sperm Whales. Illustrated. i2mo.
Cloth, $1.50.
"It is immense — there is no other word. I've never read anything that
equals it in its deep-sea wonder and mystery, nor do I think that any book before
has so completely covered the whole business of whale fishing, and, at the same
time, given such real and new sea pictures. I congratulate you most heartily.
It's a new world you've opened the door to." — Rudyard Kipling.
" Written with racy freedom of literary expression and luxuriant abundance
of incident, so that ' The Cruise of the Cachalot ' becomes a story of fascinating
vividness which thrills the reader and amuses him. The volume is no less en-
thralling than ' Two Years before the Mast,' and higher praise can not be
accorded to a story of the sea. ... A book of such extraordinary merit as
seldom comes to hand." — Philadelphia Press.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
BOOKS BY CY WARMAN.
Snow on the Headlight.
A Story of the Great Burlington Strike. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25.
" Mr. Warman holds a unique position among our tellers of tales, since he
alone is a practical railroad man, who knows the work, and has done it, in all
its details." — Neiu York Mail and Express.
" Plenty of close-range photographs, interior views, of the great Burlington
strike are to be found in Cy Warman' s book." — Philadelphia Times.
" It has the great virtue of being a plain story plainly told by one who
knows. Whatever other impression it may convey to the reader, it conveys
most strongly the impression of truth. And this plain truth, told in a plain
way, is a terrible thing. One can feel all the way through that half the tale —
and perhaps the worst half — is left untold, yet such as stands in print is
sufficient, and to the reader who cares for something more than the superficial
adventurous incident of the book it will not be without its instructive
influence." — Denver Republican.
" Told with all the freshness and vividness of an eyewitness." — Philadelphia
Call.
" WiU be read with interest by all railroad men." — Galesburg {III.) Mail.
The Story of the Railroad.
Illustrated, izmo. Cloth, ^1.50.
" Far more interesting than the average novel. . . . Mr. Warman's
volume makes us hear and feel the rush of modern civilization. It gives us
also the human side of the picture — the struggles of the frontiersman and his
family, the dismay and cruel wrath of the retreating savage, the heroism of
the advance guard of the railway builders, and the cutthroat struggles of com-
peting lines. He does not deal greatly with statistics, but the figures he uses
help make up the stunning effect of gigantic enterprise. There is not a dull
page in the book." — New Tork E-vening Post.
" Intensely interesting — a history that reads like a romance, and compared
with whose marvelous story indeed most modern romances will seem spiritless
and tame." — Charleston Neivs and Courier.
''Worthy to stand on the same shelf with Hough's Story of the Cowboy.'*
—Milivaukee Journal.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
BY ALBERT LEE.
}2mo. Ootht $1.00; paper, 50 cents.
IN APPLETONS' TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY.
The Gentleman Pensioner.
The scene of this admirable historical romance
is laid in the tumultuous England of the sixteenth
century, at the time when the plots of the parti-
sans of Mary Stuart against Elizabeth seemed to
be approaching a culmination. The hero, Queen
Elizabeth's confidential messenger, has a trust to
execute which involves a thrilling series of adven-
tures. This stirring romance has been compared
to "A Gentleman of France," and it is safe to say
that no reader will find in its pages any reason for
flagging interest or will relinquish the book until
the last page has been reached.
The Key of the Holy House.
A Romance of Old Antwerp.
" A romance of Antwerp in the days of the
Spanish oppression. Mr. Lee handles it in vigor-
ous fashion." — London Spectator.
" This is a fascinating specimen of the historical
romance at its best, the romance which infuses
energetic life into the dry facts of history." —
Philadelphia Press.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
BOOKS BY J. A. ALTSHELER.
In Circling^ Camps.
A Romance of the American Civil War. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50.
"Mr. Altsheler has an enviable reputation. His method is that of Feni-
more Cooper. . . . In ' In Circling Camps ' he tells a good, strong, human story
for its own sake, and not for the sake of showing off his talent as a literary-
story-teller. He gives us some great battle pieces, notably Shiloh and Gettys-
burg. His admiration of the nobler qualities of ' old friends turned foes ' is so
hearty and so sincerely dramatic that we love and pky the terrible valor of
both." — Richard Henry Stoddard, in the New York Mail and Express.
" The author seeks to interpret some of the situations of the civil war,
and read to us out of the well-known records the story of personal bravery,
the drama of personal history, and the old story of love which went on behind
the grim scenes of war." — Philadelphia Call.
A Herald of the West.
An American Story of 181 i-i 81 5. 1 zmo. Cloth, ;^ 1.50.
" A portion of our history that has not before been successfully em-
bodied in fiction. . . . Extremely well written, condensed, vivid, picturesque,
and there is continual action. ... A rattling good story, and unrivaled in
fiction for its presentation of the American feeling toward England during our
second conflict." — Boston Herald.
A Soldier of Manhattan,
And his Adventures at Ticonderoga and Quebec. 1 2mo. Cloth,
;^l.oo; paper, 50 cents.
"The story is told in such a simple, direct way that it holds the reader's
interest to the end, and gives a most accurate picture of the times." — Boston
Transcript.
" Graphic and intensely interesting. . . . The book may be warmly
commended as a good specimen of the fiction that makes history real an4
living." — San Francisco Chronicle.
The Sun of Saratoga.
A Romance of Burgoyne's Surrender. i 2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo;
paper, 50 cents.
"Taken altogether, 'The Sun of Saratoga' is the best historical novel of
American origin that has been written for years, if not, indeed, in a fresh,
simple, unpretending, unlabored, manly way, that we have ever read." — New
York Mail and Express.
" A sprightly and spirited romance gracefully written in a crisp, fresh style
that is simply delightful to read." — Philadelphia Press.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
THE STORY OF THE WEST SERIES.
Edited by RIPLEY HITCHCOC3C
Each, illustrated, I2mo, cloth, $1.50,
The Story of the Railroad.
By Cy Warm AN, author of "The Express Messenger," etc.
With Maps and many Illustrations by B. West Clinedinst and
from photographs.
"As we understand it, the editor's ruling idea in this series has not been
to present chronology or statistics or set essays on the social and political de-
velopment of the great West, but to give to us vivid pictures of the life and the
times in the period of great development, and to let us see the men at their
work, their characters, and their motives. The choice of an author has been
fortunate. In Mr. Warman's boolc we are kept constantly reminded of the
fortitude, the suffering, the enterprise, and the endurance of the pioneers." —
The Railroad Gazette.
The Story of the Cowboy.
By E. Hough, author of "The Singing Mouse Stories," etc.
Illustrated by William L. Wells and C. M. Russell.
" Mr. Hough is to be thanked for having written so excellent a book.
The cowboy story, as this author has told it, will be the cowboy's fitting
eulogy. This volume will be consulted in years to come as an authority on past
conditions of the far West. For fine literary work the author is to be highly
complimented. Here, certainly, we have a choice piece of writing." — Ne-w
York Times.
The Story of the Mine.
As illustrated by the Great Comstock Lode of Nevada. By
Charles Howard Shinn.
"The author has written a book not alone full of information, but replete
with the true romance of the American mine." — Ne-w Tori Times.
The Story of the Indian.
By George Bird Grinnell, author of " Pawnee Hero Stories,"
*♦ Blackfoot Lodge Tales," etc.
"Only an author qualified by personal experience could offer us a profitable
study of a race so alien from our own as is the Indian in thought, feeling, and
culture. Only long association with Indians can enable a white man measur-
ably to comprehend their thoughts and enter into their feelings. Such asso-
ciation has been Mr. Grinnell's." — Neiv York Sun.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
FOR STUDENTS OF SPANISH,
The Spanish Teacher and Colloquial Phrase
Book.
An Easy and Agreeable Method of Acquiring a Speaking Knowl-
edge of the Spanish Language. By Francis Butler, Teacher
and Translator of Languages. New edition, revised and ar-
ranged according to the Rules of the Spanish Academy, by
Herman Ritter. i 8mo. Cloth, 50 cents.
The large sale and continued popularity of this work attest its
merit.
The Spanish Phrase Book ;
Or, Key to Spanish Conversation. Containing the Chief Idioms
of the Spanish Language, with the Conjugations of the Auxiliary
and Regular Verbs. On the plan of the late Abbe Bossut.
By E. M. DE Belem, Teacher of Languages. 1 8mo. Cloth,
30 cents.
This little book contains nearly eight hundred sentences and
dialogues on all common occurrences. It has been the aim
of the compiler to insert nothing but what will really meet the
€ar of every one who visits Spain or associates with Spaniards.
A Grammar of the Spanish Language.
With a History of the Language and Practical Exercises. By
M. ScHELE DE Vere, of the University of Virginia. i2mo.
Cloth, ^i.oo.
This book is the result of many years' experience in teaching
Spanish in the University of Virginia. It contains more of the
etymology and history of the Spanish language than is usually
contained in a grammar.
p. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
FELIX GRAS'S ROMANCES.
The White Terror.
A Romance. Translated from the Provencal by Mrs.
Catharine A. Janvier. Uniform with " The Reds of the
Midi" and "The Terror." i6mo. Cloth, $1.50.
" No one has done this kind of work with finer poetic grrasp or more
convincing truthfulness than F6Hx Gras. . . . This new volume has the
spontaneity, the vividness, the intensity of Interest of a great historical
romance. " — Philadelphia Times.
The Terror.
A Romance of the French Revolution. Uniform with
"The Reds of the Midi." Translated by Mrs. Catharine
A. Janvier. i6mo. Cloth, $1.50.
" If Felix Gras had never done any other work than this novel, it would
at once give him a place in the front rank of the writers of to-day. . . . ' The
Terror ' is a story that deserves to be widely read, for, while it is of thrilling
interest, holding the reader's attention closely, there is about it a literary
quality that makes it worthy of something more than a careless perusal." —
Brooklyn Eagle.
The Reds of the Midi.
An episode of the French Revolution, Translated from
the Provengal by Mrs. Catharine A. Janvier. With an
Introduction by Thomas A. Janvier. "With Frontispiece.
i6mo. Cloth, $1.50.
"I have read with great and sustained interest 'The Reds of the
South,' which you were good enough to present to me. Though a work of
fiction, it aims at painting the historical features, and such works if faith-
fully executed throw more light than many so-called histories on the true
roots and causes of the Revolution, which are so widely and so gravely mis-
understood. As a novel it seems to me to be written with great skill." —
William E. Gladstone.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
By MAARTEN MAARTENS.
Each, i2taOf cloth, $1.50. Uniform Edition.
Some Women I have Known. {Nearly ready)
" Maarten Maartens is one of the best novel writers of this or
any day." — Chicago Times-Herald.
" Maarten Maartens stands head and shoulders above the
average novelist of the day in intellectual subtlety and imaginative
power." — Boston Beacon.
Her Memory. With Photogravure Portrait.
" Maarten Maartens took us all by storm some time ago with
his fine story christened ' God's Fool.' He established himself
at once in our affections as a unique creature who had something
to say and knew how to say it in the most fascinating way. He is
a serious story writer, who sprang into prominence when he first
put his pen to paper, and who has ever since kept his work up to
the standard of excellence which he raised in the beginning." —
New York Herald.
The Greater Glory. A Story of High Life.
"It would take several columns to give any adequate idea of
the superb way in which the Dutch novelist has developed his
theme and wrought out one of the most impressive stories of the
period. ... It belongs to the small class of novels which one
can not afford to neglect. " — San Francisco Chronicle.
God's Fool.
"Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would
make palatable a less interesting story of human lives or one less
deftly told." — London Saturday Review.
Joost Avelingh.
" Aside from the masterly handling of the principal characters
and general interest in the story, the series of pictures of Dutch
life give the book a charm peculiarly its own." — New York
Herald.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
MCMASTER'S FIFTH VOLUME.
History of the People of the United
States.
By Prof. John Bach McMaster. Vols. I, II, III,
IV, and V now ready. 8vo. Cloth, with Maps,
^2.50 per volume.
The fifth volume covers the time of the administrations of
John Quincy Adams and Andrevs^ Jackson, and describes the
development of the democratic spirit, the manifestations of new
interest in social problems, and the various conditions and plans
presented between 1821 and 1830. Many of the subjects in-
cluded have necessitated years of first-hand investigations, and
are now treated adequately for the first time.
" John Bach McMaster needs no introduction, but only a greeting. . . .
The appearance of this fifth volume is an event in American literature
second to none in importance this season." — New York Times.
"This volume contains 576 pages, and every page is worth reading.
The author has ransacked a thousand new sources of information, and has
found a wealth of new details throwing light upon all the private and public
activities of the American people of three quarters of a century ago." —
Chicago Tribune.
" In the fifth volume Professor McMaster has kept up to the high standard
he set for himself in the previous numbers. It is hard to realize thoroughly
the amount of detailed work necessary to produce these books, which con-
tain the best history of our country that has yet been published." — Philadel-
phia Telegraph.
"The first installment of the history came as a pleasant surprise, and
the later volumes have maintained a high standard in regard to research
and style of treatment." — New York Critic.
' ' A monumental work. . . . Professor McMaster gives on every page
ample evidence of exhaustive research for his facts." — Rochester Herald.
" The reader can not fail to be impressed by the wealth of material out
of which the author has weighed and condensed and arranged his matter."
— Detroit Free Press.
" Professor McMaster is our most popular historian. . . . He never
wearies, even when dealing with subjects that would be most wearisome
under clumsier handling. This fifth volume is the most triumphant evi-
dence of his art." — New York Herald.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
A WORK OF GREAT VALUE.
The International Geography.
By Seventy Authors, including Right Hon. James
Bryce, Sir W. M. Conway, Prof. W. M. Davis, Prof.
Angelo Heilprin, Prof. Fridtjof Nansen, Dr. J. Scott
Keltie, and F. C. Selous. With 488 Illustrations.
Edited by Hugh Robert Mill, D. Sc. 8vo. 1088
pages. Cloth, $3.50.
" Can unhesitatingly be given the first place among publications of
its kind in the English language. ... An inspection of the list of asso-
ciate authors leads readily to the conclusion that no single volume in
recent scientific literature embodies, in original contributions, the labor
of so many eminent specialists as this one. . . . The book should find
a place in every library, public or private, that contains an atlas or
gazetteer." — The Nation.
" The attempt to present in one volume an authoritative modern
summary of the whole of geography as fully as space would permit has
been admirably successful." — New York Sun.
" In brief, it may be said to be both a reference book and a con-
nected geographical history of the modern world, something that any
one can read with profit in addition to finding it of constant value in
his library." — Chicago Evening Post,
" In his entirely studious moments the geographer cherishes above
all things facts and accuracy. He must, therefore, value very highly
a work like the ' International Geography.' It should be precious alike
to the specialist and to the beginner. . . . Small but adequate maps are
constantly introduced, and there is, finally, a splendid index." — New
York Tribune.
"Simply invaluable to students, teachers, and others in need of
such a book of reference." — IVashington Times.
" Not only as complete as the limits would allow, but is strictly
up to date." — San Francisco y4rgonaut.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
By EDGAR STANTON MACLAY, A. M.
A History of American Privateers.
By Edgar Stanton Maclay, A. M., author of "A History of
the United States Navy." Uniform with ♦* A History of the
United States Navy." One volume. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth,
$3.50.
After several years of research the distinguished historian of American sea power
presents the first comprehensive account of one of the most picturesque and absorb-
ing phases of our maritime warfare. The importance of the theme is indicated
by the fact that the value of prizes and cargoes taken by privateers in the Revo-
lution was three times that of the prizes and cargoes taken by naval vessels,
while in the War of 1812 we had 517 privateers and only 13 vessels in our
navy. The intimate connection between privateers and the navy, the former
serving often as a training school for the latter, is brought out in the author's
narrative. From forgotten monographs, the records of historical societies, from
unpublished log books, and from descendants of noted privateersmen, he has
obtained intimate and vivid accounts of the fitting out of the vessels, the
incidents of their voyages, and the thrilling adventures of the brave sailors who
manned them. Mr. Maclay's romantic tale is accompanied by reproductions of
contemporary pictures, portraits, and documents, and also by illustrations by
Mr. George Gibbs.
A History of the United States Navy, from
1775 to 1898.
By Edgar Stanton Maclay, A. M. With Technical Revision
by Lieutenant Roy C. Smith, U. S. N. New edition, revised
and enlarged, with new chapters and several new Illustrations.
In two volumes, 8vo. Per volume, cloth, $3.50.
TAis ivork has been adopted as the Text-Book upon United States Naval
History in the U. S. Naval Academy at Annapolis.
The Private Journal of William Maclay,
United States Senator from Pennsylvania, 1 789-1 791. With
Portrait from Original Miniature. Edited by Edgar S. Maclay,
A.M. Large 8 vo. Cloth, ;^2. 25.
During his two years in the Senate William Maclay kept a journal of his
own in which he minutely recorded the transactions of each day. This record
throws a flood of light on the doings of our first legislators.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
RARE BOOK
COLLECTION
THE LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF
NORTH CAROLINA
AT
CHAPEL HILL
Wilmer
92
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11