Red Rock: A Chronicle of Reconstruction Read online

  CHAPTER I

  IN WHICH THERE ARE SEVERAL INTRODUCTIONS

  The old Gray plantation, “Red Rock,” lay at the highest part of therich rolling country, before it rose too abruptly in the woodedfoothills of the blue mountains away to the westward. As everybody inthe country knew, who knew anything, it took its name from the greatred stain, as big as a blanket, which appeared on the huge bowlder inthe grove, beside the family grave-yard, at the far end of the RedRock gardens. And as was equally well known, or equally well believed,which amounted almost to the same thing, that stain was the blood ofthe Indian chief who had slain the wife of the first Jacquelin Gray whocame to this part of the world: the Jacquelin who had built the firsthouse at Red Rock, around the fireplace of which the present mansionwas erected, and whose portrait, with its piercing eyes and fiercelook, hung in a black frame over the mantel, and used to come down as awarning when any peril impended above the house.

  The bereft husband had exacted swift retribution of the murderer, onthat very rock, and the Indian’s heart blood had left that deep stainin the darker granite as a perpetual memorial of the swift vengeance ofthe Jacquelin Grays.

  This, at least, was what was asserted and believed by the old negroes(and, perhaps, by some of the whites, too, a little). And if thenegroes did not know, who did? So Jacquelin often pondered.

  Steve Allen, who was always a reckless talker, however, used to saythat the stain was nothing but a bit of red sandstone which hadoutcropped at the point where that huge fragment was broken off, androlled along by a glacier thousands of years ago, far to the northward;but this view was to the other children’s minds clearly untenable; forthere never could have been any glacier there—glaciers, as they knewfrom their geographies, being confined to Switzerland, and the worldhaving been created only six thousand years ago. The children werewell grounded by their mothers and Miss Thomasia in Bible history.Besides, there was the picture of the “Indian-killer,” in the blackframe nailed in the wall over the fireplace in the great hall, and onecould not go anywhere in the hall without his fierce eyes following youwith a look so intent and piercing that Mammy Celia was wont to use ithalf jestingly as a threat effectual with little Jacquelin when he wasrefractory—that if he did not mind, the “Indian-killer” would see himand come after him. How often Mammy Celia employed it with Jacquelin,and how severe she used to be with tall, reckless Steve, because hescoffed at the story, and to tease her, threatened, with appropriategesture, to knock the picture out of the frame, and see what was inthe secret cabinet behind it! What would have happened had Stevecarried out his threat, Jacquelin, as a boy, quite trembled to think;for though he admired Steve, his cousin, above all other mortals, asany small boy admires one several years his senior, who can ride wildhorses and do things he cannot do, this would have been to engage in acontest with something supernatural and not mortal. Still he used tourge Steve to do it, with a certain fascinating apprehensiveness thatmade the chills creep up and down his back. Besides, it would havebeen very interesting to know whether the Indian’s scalp was still inthe hollow space behind the picture, and if so, whether it was stillbleeding, and that red stain on the bottom of the frame was reallyblood.

  Jacquelin Gray—the one who figures in these pages—was born whilehis father, and his father’s cousin, Dr. Cary, of Birdwood, and Mr.Legaie were in Mexico, winning renown in those battles which helpedto establish the security of the United States. He grew up to be justwhat most other boys of his station, stature, and blood, living on aplantation, under similar conditions, would have been. He was a hale,hearty boy, who adored his cousin, Steve Allen, because Steve was olderand stronger than he; despised Blair Cary because she was a girl;disliked Wash Still, the overseer’s son, partly because Steve sneeredat him, and partly because the negro boys disliked him, and enviedevery cart-driver and stable-boy on the place. He used to drive withstring “lines” two or four or six of his black boon companions, givingthem the names of his father’s horses in the stable; or sometimes,even the names of those steeds of which his Aunt Thomasia, a famousstory-teller, told him in the hour before the candles were lighted.But if he drove the black boys in harness, it was because they lethim do it, and not because he was their master. If he possessed anyprivileges or power, he did not know it. If anything, he thought theadvantage rather on their side than on his, as they could play all thetime, while he had to go to school to his Aunt Thomasia, whose bellhe thought worse than any curfew; for that rang only at night, whileMiss Thomasia’s bell was sure to tinkle just at the moment when he washaving the most beautiful time in the world. How gladly would he haveexchanged places to mind the cows and ride the horses to the stable,and be free all day long; and whenever he could slip off he was withthe boys, emulating them and being adored by them.

  Once, indeed, his mastership appeared. Wash Still, the overseer’s son,who was about Steve’s age, used to bully the smaller boys, and oneday when Jacquelin was playing about the blacksmith’s shop, Wash, whowas waiting for a horse to be shod, twisted the arm of Doan, one ofJacquelin’s sable team, until the boy whimpered. Jacquelin never knewjust how it happened, but a sudden fulness came over him; he seizeda hatchet lying by, and made an onslaught on Wash, which came nearperforming on that youngster the same operation that Wash’s augustnamesake performed on the celebrated cherry-tree. Jacquelin receiveda tremendous whipping from his father for his vicious attack; but hisdefence saved his sable companions from any further imposition than hisown, and Wash was shortly sent off by his father to school.

  As to learning, Jacquelin was not very apt. It was only when Blair Carycame over one winter and went to school to Miss Thomasia—and he waslaughed at by everyone, particularly by Steve, because Blair, a girlseveral years younger than he, could read Latin better—that Jacquelinreally tried to study. Though no one knew it, many of the things thatJacquelin did were done in the hope that Steve might think well ofhim; and whether it was riding wild colts, with the certainty of beingthrown and possibly hurt; diving into deep pools with the prospect ofbeing drowned, or doing anything else that he was afraid to do, it wasalmost sure that it was done because of Steve.

  With some natures the mere performance of an action is sufficientreward: that man suffers martyrdom; this one does a great act; anotherlives a devoted, saint’s life, impelled solely from within, and withno other idea than to perform nobly. But these are rare natures: theChristophers, à Kempises and Theresas of the world. The common herdmust have some more material motive: “wine, or sleep, or praise.”That charge was led because a dark—or blonde-haired girl was waitingsomewhere; that gate was blown up because an army was standing by,and a small cross might be worn on the breast for it; that poem waswritten for Lalage, or Laura, Stella, or Saccharissa. Even the saintwas crowned, because somewhere, in retired monasteries or in distantcities, deeds were sure to be known at last. So, now it is a big boy’spraise, and later on a fair girl’s favor; now the plaudits of theplayground, and a few years hence salvos of artillery and the thanks ofthe people. And who shall say they are not worthy motives? We are butmen, and only the highest win even these rewards.

  Steve Allen had come to Red Rock before Jacquelin could remember—theyear after Steve’s father was killed in Mexico, leading his companyup the heights of Cerro Gordo, and his mother died of fever far downSouth. Mr. Gray had brought the boy home on his mother’s death; soSteve was part of Red Rock. Everybody spoiled him, particularly MissThomasia, who made him her especial charge and was notoriously partialto him, and old Peggy, Steve’s “Momma,” as she was called, who had comefrom the far South with him, and with her sharp eyes and sharper tonguewas ready to fight the world for him.

  Steve was a tall, brown-haired young fellow, as straight as a sapling,and with broad shoulders; gray eyes that could smile or flash; teethas white as snow, and a chin that Dr. Cary used to say he must havegot from his mother. He was as supple as an eel. He could turnback-somersaults like a circus man, and as he was without fear, sohe was without reverence. He would
tease Miss Thomasia, and playpractical jokes on Mr. Gray and Dr. Cary. To show his contempt for the“Indian-Killer,” he went alone and spent the night on the bloody rock,and when the other boys crept in a body to see if he were really there,he was found by the little party of scared searchers to be tranquillyasleep on the “Indian-Killer’s” very grave. This and similar actsgained Steve Allen, with some, the credit of being in a sort of compactwith the spirit of darkness, and several of the old negroes on theplantation began to tell of his wonderful powers, a reputation whichSteve was not slow to improve; and afterward, many a strange, unearthlysound, that scared the negroes, and ghostly manifestations which wentthe rounds of the plantation might possibly have been traced toSteve’s fertile brain.

  The only persons on the place who did not get on well with Steve wereHiram Still, the manager, and his son, Wash. Between them and Stevethere was declared enmity, if not open war. Steve treated Hiram withsuperciliousness, and Wash with open contempt. The old negroes—whoremembered Steve’s father, Captain Allen, Mr. Gray’s cousin, and thedislike between him and Hiram—said it was “bred in the bone.”

  At length Steve went off to school to Dr. Maule, at “The Academy,” asit was called, no further designation being needed to distinguish it,as no other academies could for a moment have entered into competitionwith it, and there was a temporary suspension of the supernaturalmanifestations on the plantation. Jacquelin missed him sorely and triedto imitate him in many things; but he knew it was a poor imitation,for often he could not help being afraid, whilst Steve did not knowwhat fear was. Jacquelin’s knees would shake, and his teeth sometimeschatter, whilst Steve performed his most dangerous feats with mantlingcheeks and dancing eyes. However, the boy kept on, and began to dothings simply because he was afraid. One day he read how a greatgeneral, named Marshal Turenne, on being laughed at because his kneeswere shaking as he mounted his horse to go into battle, replied thatif his knees knew where he was going to take them that day they wouldshake still more. This incident helped Jacquelin mightily, and he tookhis knees into many dangerous places. In time this had its effect, andas his knees began to shake less he began to grow more self-confidentand conceited. He began to be very proud of himself, and to takeopportunities to show his superiority over others, which developed withsome rapidity the character existent somewhere in most persons: theprig.

  Blair Cary gave the first, if not the final, shock to this development.

  She was the daughter of Dr. Cary, Mr. Gray’s cousin, who lived a fewmiles off across the river, at “Birdwood,” perhaps the next mostconsiderable place to Red Rock in that section. She was a slim littlegirl with a rather pale face, large brown eyes, and hair that wasalways blowing into them.

  She would have given her eyes, no doubt, to have been accepted ascompanion by Jacquelin, who was several years her senior; but as thatyoung man was now aspiring to be comrade to Steve and to Blair’sbrother, Morris, he relegated Blair to the companionship of his smallbrother, Rupert, who was as much younger than Blair as she was youngerthan himself, and treated her with sovereign disdain. The first shockhe received was when he found how much better Blair could read Latinthan he could, and how much Steve thought of her on that account. Afterthat, he actually condescended to play with her occasionally, and,sometimes, even to let her follow him about the plantation to admirehis feats, whilst he tried to revenge himself on her for her superiorscholastic attainments by showing her how much more a boy could dothan a girl. It was all in vain. For, with this taunt for a spur, shewould follow him even to the tops of trees, or the bottoms of ponds:so he determined to show his superiority by one final and supreme act.This was to climb to the roof of the “high barn,” as it was called,and spring off into the top of a tree which spread its branches below.He had seen Steve do it, but had never ventured to try it himself. Hehad often climbed to the roof, and had fancied himself performing thisfeat to escape from pursuing Indians, but had never really contemplateddoing it in fact, until Blair’s persistent emulation, daunted bynothing that he attempted, spurred him to undertake it. So one day,after some boasting, he climbed to the peak of the roof. His heartbeat so as he gazed down into the green mass far below him and saw thepatches of brown earth through the leaves, that he wished he had notbeen so boastful; but there was Blair behind him, astride of the roof,her eyes fastened on him with a somewhat defiant gaze. He thought howSteve would jeer if he knew he had turned back. So, with a call ofderision to Blair to see what “a man could do,” he set his teeth, shuthis eyes, and took the jump, and landed safely below, among the boughs,his outstretched arms gathering them in as he sank amidst them, untilthey stopped his descent and he found a limb and climbed down, hisheart bumping with excitement and pride. Blair, he felt sure, was atlast “stumped.” As he sprang to the ground and looked up he saw a sightwhich made his heart give a bigger bound than it had ever done in allhis life. There was little Blair on the very peak of the roof, the verypoint of the gable, getting ready to follow him. Her face was white,her lips were compressed, and her eyes were opened so wide that hecould see them even from where he was. She was poised like a bird readyto fly.

  “Blair! Blair!” he cried, waving her back. “Don’t! don’t!” But Blairtook no heed. She only settled herself for a firmer foothold, and thenext second, with outstretched arms, she sprang into space. Whetherit was that his cry distracted her, or whether her hair blew into hereyes and made her miss her step, or whether she would have misjudgedher distance anyhow, instead of reaching the thickly leaved part whereJacquelin had landed, she struck where the boughs were much less thick,and came crashing through: down, down, from bough to bough, until shelanded on the lowest limb, where she stopped for a second, and thenrolled over and fell in a limp little bundle on the ground, where shelay quite still. Jacquelin never forgot the feeling he had at thatmoment. He was sure she was dead, and that he was a murderer. In asecond he was down on his knees, bending over her.

  “Blair, Blair,” he cried. “Dear Blair, are you hurt?” But there wasno answer. And he began to whimper in a very unmanly fashion for onewho had been so boastful a moment before, and to pray, too, whichis not so unmanly; but his wits were about him, and it came to himquite clearly that, if she were not dead, the best thing to do was tounfasten her neck-band and bathe her face. So off to the nearest waterhe put as hard as his legs could take him, and dipped his handkerchiefin the horse-trough, and then, grabbing up a bucket near by, filledit and ran back with it. Blair was still motionless and white, but hewiped her little, scratched face and bathed it again and again, and,presently, to his inexpressible joy, she sighed and half opened hereyes and sighed again, and then, as he was still asking her how shefelt, said, faintly:

  “I’m all right—I did it.”

  In his joy Jacquelin actually kissed her. It seemed to him afterward tomark an epoch.

  The next quarter of an hour was passed in getting Blair’s breath back.Fortunately for her, if not for her dress, her clothes had caught hereand there as she came crashing through the branches, and though thebreath was knocked out of her, and she was shaken and scratched andstunned, no bones were broken, and she was not seriously hurt afterall. She proposed that they should say nothing about it to anyone: shecould get his Mammy to mend her clothes. But this magnanimous offerJacquelin firmly declined. He was afraid that Blair might be hurt someway that she did not know, and he declared that he should go straightand tell it at the house.

  “But I did it myself,” persisted little Blair; “you were not to blame.You called to me not to do it.”

  “Did you hear me call? Then why did you do it?”

  “Because you had done it and said I could not.”

  “But didn’t you know you would get hurt?”

  She nodded.

  “I thought so.”

  Jacquelin looked at her long and seriously, and that moment a new ideaseemed to him to enter his mind: that, after all, it might be as braveto do a dangerous thing which you are afraid to do, as if you are notat all afraid.
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  “Blair, you are a brick,” he said; “you are braver than any boy Iknow—as brave as Steve. As brave as Marshal Turenne.” Which was sweetenough to Blair to make amends for all her bruises and scratches.

  From that time Jacquelin made up his mind that he would never try tostump her again, but would guard her, and this sweetened to him thebitterness of having to confess when he got to the house. He did itlike a man, going to his father, of whom, at heart, he was mightilyafraid, and telling him the whole story alone without the leastreference to Blair’s part in it, taking the entire blame on himself;and it was only after he had received the punishment which was deemeddue him that Blair’s joint responsibility was known from her own lips.

  This escapade, however, proved a little too much for the elders, andJacquelin was sent off to school, to the Academy at Brutusville, underthe learned Doctor Maule, where, still emulating Steve, who was theleader in most of the mischief that went on at that famous institutionof learning, he made more reputation by the way he constructed a trapto catch one of the masters, Mr. Eliphalet Bush, than in construing theancient language which was that gentleman’s particular department.