The Crisis — Volume 02

  Produced by David Widger

  THE CRISIS

  By Winston Churchill

  Volume 2.

  CHAPTER VIII

  BELLEGARDE

  Miss Virginia Carvel came down the steps in her riding-habit. And Ned,who had been waiting in the street with the horses, obsequiously held hishand while his young mistress leaped into Vixen's saddle. Leaving thedarkey to follow upon black Calhoun, she cantered off up the street,greatly to the admiration of the neighbor. They threw open their windowsto wave at her, but Virginia pressed her lips and stared straight ahead.She was going out to see the Russell girls at their father's countryplace on Bellefontaine Road, especially to proclaim her detestation for acertain young Yankee upstart. She had unbosomed herself to Anne Brinsmadeand timid Eugenie Renault the day before.

  It was Indian summer, the gold and purple season of the year. Frost hadcome and gone. Wasps were buzzing confusedly about the eaves again,marvelling at the balmy air, and the two Misses Russell, Puss and Emily,were seated within the wide doorway at needlework when Virginiadismounted at the horseblock.

  "Oh, Jinny, I'm so glad to see you," said Miss Russell. "Here's EliseSaint Simon from New Orleans. You must stay all day and to-night."

  "I can't, Puss," said Virginia, submitting impatiently to Miss Russell'swarm embrace. She was disappointed at finding the stranger. "I only came--to say that I am going to have a birthday party in a few weeks. You mustbe sure to come, and bring your guest."

  Virginia took her bridle from Ned, and Miss Russell's hospitable facefell.

  "You're not going?" she said.

  "To Bellegarde for dinner," answered Virginia.

  "But it's only ten o'clock," said Puss. "And, Jinny?"

  "Yes."

  "There's a new young man in town, and they do say his appearance is verystriking--not exactly handsome, you know, but strong-looking."

  "He's horrid!" said Virginia. "He's a Yankee."

  "How do you know?" demanded Puss and Emily in chorus.

  "And he's no gentleman," said Virginia.

  "But how do you know, Jinny?"

  "He's an upstart."

  "Oh. But he belongs to a very good Boston family, they say."

  "There are no good Boston families," replied Virginia, with conviction,as she separated her reins. "He has proved that. Who ever heard of a goodYankee family?"

  "What has he done to you, Virginia?" asked Puss, who had brains.

  Virginia glanced at the guest. But her grievance was too hot within herfor suppression.

  Do you remember Mr. Benbow's Hester, girls? The one I always said Iwanted. She was sold at auction yesterday. Pa and I were passing theCourt House, with Clarence, when she was put up for sale. We crossed thestreet to see what was going on, and there was your strong-looking Yankeestanding at the edge of the crowd. I am quite sure that he saw me asplainly as I see you, Puss Russell."

  "How could he help it?" said Puss, slyly.

  Virginia took no notice of the remark.

  "He heard me ask Pa to buy her. He heard Clarence say that he would bidher in for me. I know he did. And yet he goes in and outbids Clarence,and buys her himself. Do you think any gentleman would do that, PussRussell?"

  "He bought her himself!" cried the astonished Miss Russell. "Why Ithought that all Bostonians were Abolitionists."

  "Then he set her free," said Miss Carvel, contemptuously Judge Whipplewent on her bond to-day."

  "Oh, I'm just crazy to see him now," said Miss Russell.

  "Ask him to your party, Virginia," she added mischievously.

  "Do you think I would have him in my house?" cried Virginia.

  Miss Russell was likewise courageous--"I don't see why not. You haveJudge Whipple every Sunday dinner, and he's an Abolitionist."

  Virginia drew herself up.

  "Judge Whipple has never insulted me," she said, with dignity.

  Puss gave way to laughter. Whereupon, despite her protests and prayersfor forgiveness, Virginia took to her mare again and galloped off. Theysaw her turn northward on the Bellefontaine Road.

  Presently the woodland hid from her sight the noble river shining farbelow, and Virginia pulled Vixen between the gateposts which marked theentrance to her aunt's place, Bellegarde. Half a mile through the coolforest, the black dirt of the driveway flying from Vixen's hoofs, andthere was the Colfax house on the edge of the, gentle slope; and beyondit the orchard, and the blue grapes withering on the vines,--and beyondthat fields and fields of yellow stubble. The silver smoke of a steamboathung in wisps above the water. A young negro was busily washing the broadveranda, but he stopped and straightened at sight of the younghorsewoman.

  "Sambo, where's your mistress?"

  "Clar t' goodness, Miss Jinny, she was heah leetle while ago."

  "Yo' git atter Miss Lilly, yo' good-fo'-nuthin' niggah," said Ned,warmly. "Ain't yo' be'n raised better'n to stan' theh wif yo'mouf open?"

  Sambo was taking the hint, when Miss Virginia called him back.

  "Where's Mr. Clarence?

  "Young Masr? I'll fotch him, Miss Jinny. He jes come home f'um seein'that thar trottin' hose he's gwine to race nex' week."

  Ned, who had tied Calhoun and was holding his mistress's bridle, sniffed.He had been Colonel Carvel's jockey in his younger days.

  "Shucks!" he said contemptuously. "I hoped to die befo' the day agemman'd own er trottah, Jinny. On'y runnin' hosses is fit fo' gemmen."

  "Ned," said Virginia, "I shall be eighteen in two weeks and a young lady.On that day you must call me Miss Jinny."

  Ned's face showed both astonishment and inquiry.

  "Jinny, ain't I nussed you always? Ain't I come upstairs to quiet youwhen yo' mammy ain't had no power ovah yo'? Ain't I cooked fo' yo', andain't I followed you everywheres since I quit ridin' yo' pa's bosses tovict'ry? Ain't I one of de fambly? An' yit yo' ax me to call yo' MissJinny?"

  "Then you've had privileges enough," Virginia answered. "One week fromto-morrow you are to say 'Miss Jinny.'"

  "I'se tell you what, Jinny," he answered mischievously, with an emphasison the word, "I'se call you Miss Jinny ef you'll call me Mistah Johnson.Mistah Johnson. You aint gwinter forget? Mistah Johnson."

  "I'll remember," she said. "Ned," she demanded suddenly, "would you liketo be free?"

  The negro started.

  "Why you ax me dat, Jinny?"

  "Mr. Benbow's Hester is free," she said.

  "Who done freed her?"

  Miss Virginia flushed. "A detestable young Yankee, who has come out hereto meddle with what doesn't concern him. I wanted Hester, Ned. And youshould have married her, if you behaved yourself."

  Ned laughed uneasily.

  "I reckon I'se too ol' fo' Heste'." And added with privileged impudence,"There ain't no cause why I can't marry her now."

  Virginia suddenly leaped to the ground without his assistance.

  "That's enough, Ned," she said, and started toward the house.

  "Jinny! Miss Jinny!" The call was plaintive.

  "Well, what?"

  "Miss Jinny, I seed that than young gemman. Lan' sakes, he ain' look likeer Yankee."

  "Ned," said Virginia, sternly, "do you want to go back to cooking?"

  He quailed. "Oh, no'm--Lan' sakes, no'm. I didn't mean nuthin'."

  She turned, frowned, and bit her lip. Around the corner of the verandashe ran into her cousin. He, too, was booted and spurred. He reachedout, boyishly, to catch her in his arms. But she drew back from hisgrasp.

  "Why, Jinny," he cried, "what's the matter?"

  "Nothing, Max." She often called him so, his middle name being Maxwell."But you have no right to do that."

  "To do what?" said Clarence, making a face.

  "You know," ans
wered Virginia, curtly. "Where's Aunt Lillian?"

  "Why haven't I the right?" he asked, ignoring the inquiry.

  "Because you have not, unless I choose. And I don't choose."

  "Are you angry with me still? It wasn't my fault. Uncle Comyn made mecome away. You should have had the girl, Jinny, if it took my fortune."

  "You have been drinking this morning, Max," said Virginia.

  "Only a julep or so," he replied apologetically. "I rode over to the racetrack to see the new trotter. I've called him Halcyon, Jinny," hecontinued, with enthusiasm. "And he'll win the handicap sure."

  She sat down on the veranda steps, with her knees crossed and her chinresting on her hands. The air was heavy with the perfume of the grapesand the smell of late flowers from the sunken garden near by. A blue hazehung over the Illinois shore.

  "Max, you promised me you wouldn't drink so much."

  "And I haven't been, Jinny, 'pon my word," he replied. "But I met oldSparks at the Tavern, and he started to talk about the horses, and--andhe insisted."

  "And you hadn't the strength of character," she said, scornfully, "torefuse."

  "Pshaw, Jinny, a gentleman must be a gentleman. I'm no Yankee."

  For a space Virginia answered nothing. Then she said, without changingher position:

  "If you were, you might be worth something."

  "Virginia!"

  She did not reply, but sat gazing toward the water. He began to pace theveranda, fiercely.

  "Look here, Jinny," he cried, pausing in front of her. "There are somethings you can't say to me, even in jest."

  Virginia rose, flicked her riding-whip, and started down the steps.

  "Don't be a fool, Max," she said.

  He followed her, bewildered. She skirted the garden, passed the orchard,and finally reached a summer house perched on a knoll at the edge of thewood. Then she seated herself on a bench, silently. He took a place onthe opposite side, with his feet stretched out, dejectedly.

  "I'm tired trying to please you," he said. "I have been a fool. You don'tcare that for me. It was all right when I was younger, when there was noone else to take you riding, and jump off the barn for your amusement,Miss. Now you have Tom Catherwood and Jack Brinsmade and the Russell boysrunning after you, it's different. I reckon I'll go to Kansas. There areYankees to shoot in Kansas."

  He did not see her smile as he sat staring at his feet.

  "Max," said she, all at once, "why don't you settle down to something?Why don't you work?"

  Young Mr. Colfax's arm swept around in a circle.

  There are twelve hundred acres to look after here, and a few niggers.That's enough for a gentleman."

  "Pooh!" exclaimed his cousin, "this isn't a cotton plantation. AuntLillian doesn't farm for money. If she did, you would have to check yourextravagances mighty quick, sir."

  "I look after Pompey's reports, I do as much work as my ancestors,"answered Clarence, hotly.

  "Ah, that is the trouble," said Virginia.

  "What do you mean?" her cousin demanded.

  "We have been gentlemen too long," said Virginia.

  The boy straightened up and rose. The pride and wilfulness of generationswas indeed in his handsome face. And something else went with it. Aroundthe mouth a grave tinge of indulgence.

  "What has your life been?" she went on, speaking rapidly. "A mixture ofgamecocks and ponies and race horses and billiards, and idleness at theVirginia Springs, and fighting with other boys. What do you know? Youwouldn't go to college. You wouldn't study law. You can't write a decentletter. You don't know anything about the history of your country. Whatcan you do--?"

  "I can ride and fight," he said. "I can go to New Orleans to-morrow tojoin Walker's Nicaragua expedition. We've got to beat the Yankees,--they'll have Kansas away from us before we know it."

  Virginia's eye flashed appreciation.

  "Do you remember, Jinny," he cried, "one day long ago when those Dutchruffians were teasing you and Anne on the road, and Bert Russell and Jackand I came along? We whipped 'em, Jinny. And my eye was closed. And youwere bathing it here, and one of my buttons was gone. And you counted therest."

  "Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief, doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief,"she recited, laughing. She crossed over and sat beside him, and her tonechanged. "Max, can't you understand? It isn't that. Max, if you wouldonly work at something. That is why the Yankees beat us. If you wouldlearn to weld iron, or to build bridges, or railroads. Or if you wouldlearn business, and go to work in Pa's store."

  "You do not care for me as I am?"

  "I knew that you did not understand," she answered passionately. "It isbecause I care for you that I wish to make you great. You care too muchfor a good time, for horses, Max. You love the South, but you think toolittle how she is to be saved. If war is to come, we shall want men likethat Captain Robert Lee who was here. A man who can turn the forces ofthe earth to his own purposes."

  For a moment Clarence was moodily silent.

  "I have always intended to go into politics, after Pa's example," he saidat length.

  "Then--" began Virginia, and paused.

  "Then--?" he said.

  "Then--you must study law."

  He gave her the one keen look. And she met it, with her lips tightlypressed together. Then he smiled.

  "Virginia, you will never forgive that Yankee, Brice."

  "I shall never forgive any Yankee," she retorted quickly. "But we are nottalking about him. I am thinking of the South, and of you."

  He stooped toward her face, but she avoided him and went back to thebench.

  "Why not?" he said.

  "You must prove first that you are a man," she said.

  For years he remembered the scene. The vineyard, the yellow stubble; andthe river rushing on and on with tranquil power, and the slow panting ofthe steamboat. A doe ran out of the forest, and paused, her head raised,not twenty feet away.

  "And then you will marry me, Jinny?" he asked finally.

  "Before you may hope to control another, we shall see whether you cancontrol yourself, sir."

  "But it has all been arranged," he exclaimed, "since we played heretogether years ago!"

  "No one shall arrange that for me," replied Virginia promptly. "And Ishould think that you would wish to have some of the credit foryourself."

  "Jinny!"

  Again she avoided him by leaping the low railing. The doe fled into theforest, whistling fearfully. Virginia waved her hand to him and startedtoward the house. At the corner of the porch she ran into her aunt Mrs.Colfax was a beautiful woman. Beautiful when Addison Colfax married herin Kentucky at nineteen, beautiful still at three and forty. This, I amaware, is a bald statement. "Prove it," you say. "We do not believe it.It was told you by some old beau who lives upon the memory of the past."

  Ladies, a score of different daguerrotypes of Lillian Colfax are inexistence. And whatever may be said of portraits, daguerrotypes do notflatter. All the town admitted that she was beautiful. All the town knewthat she was the daughter of old Judge Colfax's overseer at Halcyondale.If she had not been beautiful, Addison Colfax would not have run awaywith her. That is certain. He left her a rich widow at five and twenty,mistress of the country place he had bought on the Bellefontaine Road,near St. Louis. And when Mrs. Colfax was not dancing off to the Virginiawatering-places, Bellegarde was a gay house.

  "Jinny," exclaimed her aunt, "how you scared me! What on earth is thematter?"

  "Nothing," said Virginia

  "She refused to kiss me," put in Clarence, half in play, half inresentment.

  Mrs. Colfax laughed musically. She put one of her white hands on each ofher niece's cheeks, kissed her, and then gazed into her face untilVirginia reddened.

  "Law, Jinny, you're quite pretty," said her aunt

  "I hadn't realized it--but you must take care of your complexion. You'rehorribly sunburned, and you let your hair blow all over your face. It'sbarbarous not to wear a mask when you ride. Your Pa doesn't look afteryo
u properly. I would ask you to stay to the dance to-night if your skinwere only white, instead of red. You're old enough to know better,Virginia. Mr. Vance was to have driven out for dinner. Have you seen him,Clarence?"

  "No, mother."

  "He is so amusing," Mrs. Colfax continued, "and he generally bringscandy. I shall die of the blues before supper." She sat down with a grandair at the head of the table, while Alfred took the lid from the silversoup-tureen in front of her. "Jinny, can't you say something bright? Do Ihave to listen to Clarence's horse talk for another hour? Tell me somegossip. Will you have some gumbo soup?"

  "Why do you listen to Clarence's horse talk?" said Virginia. "Why don'tyou make him go to work!"

  "Mercy!" said Mrs. Colfax, laughing, "what could he do?"

  "That's just it," said Virginia. "He hasn't a serious interest in life."

  Clarence looked sullen. And his mother, as usual, took his side.

  "What put that into your head, Jinny," she said. "He has the place hereto look after, a very gentlemanly occupation. That's what they do inVirginia."

  "Yes," said Virginia, scornfully, "we're all gentlemen in the South. Whatdo we know about business and developing the resources of the country?Not THAT."

  "You make my head ache, my dear," was her aunt's reply. "Where did youget all this?"

  "You ask me because I am a girl," said Virginia. "You believe that womenwere made to look at, and to play with,--not to think. But if we aregoing to get ahead of the Yankees, we shall have to think. It was allvery well to be a gentleman in the days of my great-grandfather. But nowwe have railroads and steamboats. And who builds them? The Yankees. We ofthe South think of our ancestors, and drift deeper and deeper into debt.We know how to fight, and we know how to command. But we have been ruinedby--" here she glanced at the retreating form of Alfred, and lowered hervoice, "by niggers."

  Mrs. Colfax's gaze rested languidly on her niece's faces which glowedwith indignation.

  "You get this terrible habit of argument from Comyn," she said. "He oughtto send you to boarding-school. How mean of Mr. Vance not to come! You'vebeen talking with that old reprobate Whipple. Why does Comyn put up withhim?"

  "He isn't an old reprobate," said Virginia, warmly.

  "You really ought to go to school," said her aunt. "Don't be eccentric.It isn't fashionable. I suppose you wish Clarence to go into a factory."

  "If I were a man," said Virginia, "and going into a factory would teachme how to make a locomotive or a cotton press, or to build a bridge, Ishould go into a factory. We shall never beat the Yankees until we meetthem on their own ground."

  "There is Mr. Vance now," said Mrs. Colfax, and added fervently, "Thankthe Lord!"