The Law of the Land by Emerson Hough (the reader ebook .TXT) 📕

As to the latter, it had promptly withdrawn charges which presently it found impossible to prove. The head men of the railway were keen enough, after all. They studied the growing list of judgments collected against the road throughout the Delta country, but they could find no trace of John Eddring behind these claims. No system of detectives, no hired espionage could belie the truth. Finally convinced, they did the unusual and somewhat handsome thing of writing their former claim agent a full letter of apology and of asking his return to his late employment, at a salary precisely double that which he had resigned. Eddring had replied to this that, though agent of claims, he could not find it in his heart to serve as a corporation claim agent. So, he had labored on, prosperous to a just extent, and happy as only that man can be who finds work which gives him delight in the doing, and which offers a future built upon the honest accomplishment of the present.

On this morning Eddring, humming contentedly as he went about his work at the humble desk before him, heard a knock and a shuffling tread which by instinct he knew belonged to some member of the colored race. “Come in,” said he, without looking up.

“Good mawnin’, Mas’ Edd’ern,” said the newcomer.

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Jack?” said Eddring. “Well, come in.”

Jack by profession was a local expressman, owner of a rickety wagon and a tumble-down mule. He was coffee-colored in complexion. His feet projected quaintly behind as well as in front. His lips projected also, as did his eyes, wide-rimmed and bulging. His trousers were too long for him, and his coat hung limp from his stooped shoulders. His speech was low and soft. Not an heroic figure, you would have said, yet, as it seemed, a person possessed of a certain history.

“Where did you come from, Jack?” said Eddring. “I thought you were in jail up at Jackson.”

“No, sah, Mas’ Edd’ern,” replied Jack. “Dem folks up thah never did put me in jail at all. I got tired of it, an’ at las’ I jest walked on home.”

As to the case of Jack, there had recently been enacted, on the public square of this southern city, a tawdry little tragedy in brown and coffee color, having to do with the fascinations of a certain damsel known in her own circles as the “gold-tooth girl.” The latter had, in her earlier days, drifted northward, where she had learned many things, among these the fact that the white race is exceedingly difficult to imitate, desirable though such imitation may seem. The mistress of Sally chanced to be the possessor of a gold-crowned tooth, and nothing would do Sally herself except the same ornament. Having persuaded a dentist to sacrifice one of her splendid bits of ivory, she became so enamored of her own dazzling smile that perforce she must return again to the South, where such radiance would in all likelihood meet with a better reception. To such charms it was small wonder that Jack, a man of certain solidity and stability of business among his kind, should have fallen victim. Jack and Sally had lived together some six months before Jack had come into Mr. Eddring’s office and asked for the loan of a six-shooter. This latter he had returned a couple of hours later, with the calm remark that he had just shot a “yaller nigger” who had been “pesterin’ ‘round his wife.” Jack’s arrest and trial followed quickly. Eddring, out of friendship, took his case, and promptly lost it, it being the argument of the prosecuting attorney that “we can’t have shooting here on the streets by niggers.” Pending the argument for a new trial, Jack had been sent to Jackson jail, where he met with the difficulty of one for whom there seems to be no place in the social system.

“Dem white folks up thah never would let me in jail at all,” said he, complainingly. “When I got thah, de jailah man and his wife wuz right sick, and dey warn’t no one to take care o’ things. I ain’t bad at nussin’ folks, so I jest turned in an’ nussed dat jailah man an’ his folks fer ‘bout six weeks. I soht o’ run dat jail, up dah, fer a while, myself. De jailah was too po’ly to enjoy wu’kkin’ vehy hahd, so I tuk de keys, an’ when dey didn’t need me at nights, ovah at his house, I allus locked myse’f in reg’lar every night, so’s to feel I wuz doin’ right, you know. In de mawnin’, right early, I made breakfast foh dem, an’ fix dem up like. Fin’lly, dey got well, an’ I giye de keys to de jailah er de she’iff, er whoever he wuz, and I sez I reckon he bettah lock me up now, and he sez to me, ‘Go long, you damn nigger, I ain’t a-goin’ to lock you up at all. I couldn’t,’ says he to me. It looks like dere ain’t no place fer a nigger.”

“Well, Jack,” suggested Eddring, trying not to smile, “why don’t you walk across the bridge there, over into Arkansas, and get clear of this whole thing for good?”

“Now, Mas’ Edd’ern, whut makes you talk like dat? You know I wouldn’ do dat an’ leave you heah, ‘sponsible fer me.”

“Well,” said Eddring, “in some ways your case does seem a little irregular, but perhaps the court would fix it up now and let you stay right where you are. You go and get your mule and wagon, if you can find them, and go to work again. I’ll see Judge Baines this evening, and tell him just what you have told me. Go on, now. I suppose you are going to take that woman back to live with you?”

“Oh, yessah. I kain’t help dat nohow. I done licked her dis mawnin’, fust thing I done. She’s a heap more humble and con-_trite_ now.”

At this Eddring grumbled and turned back to his work. Still Jack hesitated. A certain gravity sat on his face.

“Mas’ Edd’ern,” said he, finally, “kin you tell me why de rivah is out all ovah de lan’ down below, and why dere’s so many people wu’kkin’ tryin’ to stop de breaks?”

“No,” said Eddring. “I know there’s a big overflow, and it’s getting worse.”

“Mas’ Edd’ern,” said Jack, stepping close to him, “dar’s been a heap of devil-_ment_ to wu’k down dah.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I knows a heap about it. De niggers all over in dah is gittin’ mighty bad. Now, my wife she done tol’ me dat dis mawnin’,—she’s a-feelin’ mighty con-_trite.“_

“What did she tell you about it?”

“Well, Mas’ Edd’ern, you know, sah, dere’s a heap o’ things about black folks dat white folks kain’t understand an’ nevah will. You know fer ovah fifty yeahs black folks has been thinkin’ sometime dey’d run dis country. All de time dere’s some ‘ligious doctah, or preacheh or other, tellin’ dem dat. Now, dat sort o’ thing been goin’ on down dah fer long while. Dere’s a sort o’ woman, conjuh woman, ‘mongst dem. Dey call her de Queen now.

“Now, while I wuz up at Jackson, my wife she done had a heap o’ truck wid dem niggers f’om down in dah. My wife tol’ me all about dis yer Queen. She tol’ me all about the devil-_ment_ dat’s been goin’ on and is a-gwine to go on down in dat country. Hit’s right in whah Cunnel Blount lives. I’ve knowed for yeahs, o’ co’se, how frien’ly you two is to each otheh. Now, Mas’ Edd’ern, you’ve been right good to me. I dess thought—seein’ dat I couldn’t pay you nohow—I’d tell you dis heah, and you could do whut you liked. De trufe is, niggers down heah been gittin’ mighty biggoty lately, dey get so much ‘couragement f’om up Norf. Massa Edd’ern, dey sho’ly do think dey gwine ter run dis country atter while. O’ co’se every nigger whut’s got any sense knows diff’rent f’om dat, but it seem like dey allus wuz a heap o’ triflin’ niggers whut ain’t willin’ to wu’k, but is willin’ to make trouble. I dess thought I’d tell you ‘bout dis heah.”

Eddring turned at his desk for a moment. “Take this over to the telegraph office at once, Jack,” said he. “It’s a message to Colonel Blount. I want to see him; and I want you to stay around, so I can get you when he comes up.”