The Man in Gray: A Romance of North and South Part 6

Toombs was becoming a firebrand. His eloquence was doing in the South what Mrs. Stowe's novel was doing in the North--preparing the soil for revolution--planting gunpowder under the foundations of society.

Could these forces yet be controlled or were they already beyond control?

CHAPTER V

After dinner, Jeb Stuart succeeded in separating Mary from Phil and began again his adoration. The men adjourned to the library to discuss the Presidential Campaign and weigh the chances of General Scott against Franklin Pierce. The comment of Toombs was grim in its sarcasm and early let him out of the discussion.

"It doesn't matter in the least, gentlemen, who is elected in November,"

he observed. "There's nothing before the country as yet. Not even an honest-to-G.o.d man."

Lee shook his head gravely.

Toombs parried his protest.

"I know, Colonel Lee, you're fond of the old General. You fought with him in Mexico. But--" he dropped his voice to a friendly whisper--"all the same, you know that what I say is true."

He took a cigar from the mantel, lighted it and waved to the group.

"I'll take a little stroll and smoke."

Custis took Phil to the cottage of the foreman to see a night school in session.

"You mean the overseer's place?" Phil asked eagerly, as visions of Simon Legree flashed through his mind.

"No--I mean Uncle Ike's cottage. He's the foreman of the farm. We have no white overseer."

Phil was shocked. He had supposed every Southern plantation had a white overseer as slave driver with a blacksnake whip in his hand. A negro foreman was incredible. As a matter of fact there were more negro foremen than white overseers in the South.

In Uncle Ike's cottage by the light of many candles the school for boys was in session. Custis' brother "Rooney," was the teacher. He had six pupils besides Sam. Not one of them knew his lesson to-night and Rooney was furious.

As Phil and Custis entered, he was just finis.h.i.+ng a wrathful lecture.

His pupils were standing in a row grinning their apologies.

"I've told you boys for the last three weeks that I won't stand this.

You don't have to go to school to me if you don't want to. But if you join my school you've got to study. Do you hear me?"

"Ya.s.sah!" came the answer in solid chorus.

"Well, you'll do more than hear me to-night. You're going to heed what I say. I'm going to thrash the whole school."

Sam broke into a loud laugh. And a wail of woe came from every dusky figure.

"Dar now!"

"Hear dat, folks--?"

"I been a tellin' ye chillun--"

"I lubs my spellin' book--but, oh, dat hickory switch!"

"Oh, Lordy--"

"Gib us anudder chance, Ma.r.s.e Rooney!"

"Not another chance," was the stern answer. "Lay off your coats."

They began to peel their coats. Big, strapping, husky fellows nudging one another and grinning at their fourteen-year-old schoolmaster. It was no use to protest.

They knew they deserved it. A whipping was one of the minor misfortunes of life. Its application was universal. No other method of discipline had yet been dreamed by the advanced thinkers and rulers of the world.

"Spare the rod and spoil the child" was accepted as the Word of G.o.d and only a fool could doubt it. The rod was the emblem of authority for child, pupil, apprentice and soldier. The negro slave as a workman got less of it than any other cla.s.s. It was the rule of a Southern master never to use the rod on a slave except for crime if it could be avoided.

To flog one for laziness was the exception, not the rule.

The old Virginia gentleman prided himself particularly on the tenderness and care with which he guarded the life of his servants. If the weather was cold and his men exposed, he waited to see that they had dry clothes and a warm drink before they went to bed. He never failed to remember that his white skin could endure more than their sunburned dark ones.

The young school-teacher had no scruples on applying the rod. He selected his switches with care, and tested their strength and flexibility while he gave the bunch a piece of his mind.

"What do you think I'm coming down here every night for, anyhow?" he stormed.

"Lordy, Ma.r.s.e Rooney," Sam pleaded, "doan we all pay you fur our schoolin'?"

"Yes, you do when I can manage to choke it out of you. One dozen eggs a month or one pullet every two months. And I don't even ask you where you got the eggs or the pullet."

"Ma.r.s.e Rooney!" protested Sam. "Yer know we gets 'em outen our own yards er buys 'em from de servants."

"I hope you do. Though my mother says she don't know how we eat so many chickens and eggs at the house. Anyhow I'm not here because I'm going to get rich on the tuition you pay me. I'm not here for my health. I'm here from a sense of duty to you boys--"

"Ya.s.sah, we know dat, sah!"

"Give us annuder chance an' we sho' study dem lessons--"

"I gave you another chance the last time. I'll try a little hickory tea this time."

He began at the end of the line and belabored each one faithfully. They shouted in mockery and roared with laughter, scampered over the room and dodged behind chairs and tables.

Phil fairly split his sides laughing.

When the fun was over, they drew close to their teacher and promised faithfully to have every word of the next lesson. They nudged each other and whispered their jokes about the beating.

"Must er bin er flea bitin' me!"

"I felt sumfin. Don't 'zactly know what it wuz. Mebbe a chigger!"

"Must er been a flea. Hit bit me, too!"

Sam tried to redeem himself for failing on his lessons in arithmetic.

He had long ago learned to read and write and had asked for a course in history. The young teacher had given him a copy of _Gulliver's Travels_.