The Colonel's Dream

by Charles W. Chesnutt

  _Nine_

  Furnished with money for his keep, Peter was ordered if again molestedto say that he was in the colonel's service. The latter, since his ownplans were for the present uncertain, had no very clear idea of whatdisposition he would ultimately make of the old man, but he meant toprovide in some way for his declining years. He also bought Peter aneat suit of clothes at a clothing store, and directed him to presenthimself at the hotel on the following morning. The interval would givethe colonel time to find something for Peter to do, so that he wouldbe able to pay him a wage. To his contract with the county he attachedlittle importance; he had already intended, since their meeting in thecemetery, to provide for Peter in some way, and the legalresponsibility was no additional burden. To Peter himself, to whosehomeless old age food was more than philosophy, the arrangement seemedentirely satisfactory.

  Colonel French's presence in Clarendon had speedily become known tothe public. Upon his return to the hotel, after leaving Peter to hisown devices for the day, he found several cards in his letter box,left by gentlemen who had called, during his absence, to see him.

  The daily mail had also come in, and the colonel sat down in theoffice to read it. There was a club notice, and several letters thathad been readdressed and forwarded, and a long one from Kirby inreference to some detail of the recent transfer. Before he hadfinished reading these, a gentleman came up and introduced himself. Heproved to be one John McLean, an old schoolmate of the colonel, andlater a comrade-in-arms, though the colonel would never haverecognised a rather natty major in his own regiment in this shabbymiddle-aged man, whose shoes were run down at the heel, whose linenwas doubtful, and spotted with tobacco juice. The major talked aboutthe weather, which was cool for the season; about the Civil War, aboutpolitics, and about the Negroes, who were very trifling, the majorsaid. While they were talking upon this latter theme, there was somecommotion in the street, in front of the hotel, and looking up theysaw that a horse, attached to a loaded wagon, had fallen in theroadway, and having become entangled in the harness, was kickingfuriously. Five or six Negroes were trying to quiet the animal, andrelease him from the shafts, while a dozen white men looked on andmade suggestions.

  "An illustration," said the major, pointing through the window towardthe scene without, "of what we've got to contend with. Six niggerscan't get one horse up without twice as many white men to tell themhow. That's why the South is behind the No'th. The niggers, in one wayor another, take up most of our time and energy. You folks up therehave half your work done before we get our'n started."

  The horse, pulled this way and that, in obedience to the conflictingadvice of the bystanders, only became more and more intricatelyentangled. He had caught one foot in a manner that threatened, witheach frantic jerk, to result in a broken leg, when the colonel,leaving his visitor without ceremony, ran out into the street, leaneddown, and with a few well-directed movements, released the threatenedlimb.

  "Now, boys," he said, laying hold of the prostrate animal, "give ahand here."

  The Negroes, and, after some slight hesitation, one or two white men,came to the colonel's aid, and in a moment, the horse, trembling andblowing, was raised to its feet. The driver thanked the colonel andthe others who had befriended him, and proceeded with his load.

  When the flurry of excitement was over, the colonel went back to thehotel and resumed the conversation with his friend. If the newfranchise amendment went through, said the major, the Negro would beeliminated from politics, and the people of the South, relieved of thefear of "nigger domination," could give their attention to betterthings, and their section would move forward along the path ofprogress by leaps and bounds. Of himself the major said little exceptthat he had been an alternate delegate to the last Democratic NationalNominating Convention, and that he expected to run for coroner at thenext county election.

  "If I can secure the suppo't of Mr. Fetters in the primaries," hesaid, "my nomination is assured, and a nomination is of co'seequivalent to an election. But I see there are some other gentlementhat would like to talk to you, and I won't take any mo' of yo' timeat present."

  "Mr. Blake," he said, addressing a gentleman with short side-whiskerswho was approaching them, "have you had the pleasure of meetingColonel French?"

  "No, suh," said the stranger, "I shall be glad to have the honour ofan introduction at your hands."

  "Colonel French, Mr. Blake--Mr. Blake, Colonel French. You gentlemenwill probably like to talk to one another, because you both belong tothe same party, I reckon. Mr. Blake is a new man roun' heah--come downfrom the mountains not mo' than ten yeahs ago, an' fetched hispolitics with him; but since he was born that way we don't entertainany malice against him. Mo'over, he's not a 'Black and TanRepublican,' but a 'Lily White.'"

  "Yes, sir," said Mr. Blake, taking the colonel's hand, "I believe inwhite supremacy, and the elimination of the nigger vote. If theNational Republican Party would only ignore the coloured politicians,and give all the offices to white men, we'll soon build up a strongwhite Republican party. If I had the post-office here at Clarendon,with the encouragement it would give, and the aid of my clerks andsubo'dinates, I could double the white Republican vote in this countyin six months."

  The major had left them together, and the Lily White, ere he in turnmade way for another caller, suggested delicately, that he wouldappreciate any good word that the colonel might be able to say for himin influential quarters--either personally or through friends whomight have the ear of the executive or those close to him--inreference to the postmastership. Realising that the presentadministration was a business one, in which sentiment played smallpart, he had secured the endorsement of the leading business men ofthe county, even that of Mr. Fetters himself. Mr. Fetters was ofcourse a Democrat, but preferred, since the office must go to aRepublican, that it should go to a Lily White.

  "I hope to see mo' of you, sir," he said, "and I take pleasure inintroducing the Honourable Henry Clay Appleton, editor of our localnewspaper, the _Anglo-Saxon_. He and I may not agree on free silverand the tariff, but we are entirely in harmony on the subjectindicated by the title of his newspaper. Mr. Appleton not onlyfurnishes all the news that's fit to read, but he represents thiscounty in the Legislature, along with Mr. Fetters, and he will nodoubt be the next candidate for Congress from this district. He cantell you all that's worth knowin' about Clarendon."

  The colonel shook hands with the editor, who had come with a twofoldintent--to make the visitor's acquaintance and to interview him uponhis impressions of the South. Incidentally he gave the colonel a greatdeal of information about local conditions. These were not, headmitted, ideal. The town was backward. It needed capital to developits resources, and it needed to be rid of the fear of Negrodomination. The suffrage in the hands of the Negroes had proved aghastly and expensive joke for all concerned, and the public welfareabsolutely demanded that it be taken away. Even the white Republicanswere coming around to the same point of view. The new franchiseamendment to the State constitution was receiving their unqualifiedsupport.

  "That was a fine, chivalrous deed of yours this morning, sir," hesaid, "at Squire Reddick's office. It was just what might have beenexpected from a Southern gentleman; for we claim you, colonel, inspite of your long absence."

  "Yes," returned the colonel, "I don't know what I rescued old Peterfrom. It looked pretty dark for him there for a little while. Ishouldn't have envied his fate had he been bought in by the tallfellow who represented your colleague in the Legislature. The lawseems harsh."

  "Well," admitted the editor, "I suppose it might seem harsh, incomparison with your milder penal systems up North. But you mustconsider the circumstances, and make allowances for us. We have somany idle, ignorant Negroes that something must be done to make themwork, or else they'll steal, and to keep them in their place, or theywould run over us. The law has been in operation only a year or two,and is already having its effect. I'll be glad to introduce a bill forits repeal, as soon as it is no longer needed.


  "You must bear in mind, too, colonel, that niggers don't look atimprisonment and enforced labour in the same way white people do--theyare not conscious of any disgrace attending stripes or the ball andchain. The State is poor; our white children are suffering for lack ofeducation, and yet we have to spend a large amount of money on theNegro schools. These convict labour contracts are a source ofconsiderable revenue to the State; they make up, in fact, for most ofthe outlay for Negro education--which I approve of, though I'm frankto say that so far I don't see much good that's come from it. Thisconvict labour is humanely treated; Mr. Fetters has the contract forseveral counties, and anybody who knows Mr. Fetters knows that there'sno kinder-hearted man in the South."

  The colonel disclaimed any intention of criticising. He had come backto his old home for a brief visit, to rest and to observe. He waswilling to learn and anxious to please. The editor took copious notesof the interview, and upon his departure shook hands with the colonelcordially.

  The colonel had tactfully let his visitors talk, while he listened, ordropped a word here and there to draw them out. One fact was drivenhome to him by every one to whom he had spoken. Fetters dominated thecounty and the town, and apparently the State. His name was on everylip. His influence was indispensable to every political aspirant. Hisacquaintance was something to boast of, and his good will held apromise of success. And the colonel had once kicked the Honourable Mr.Fetters, then plain Bill, in presence of an admiring audience, all theway down Main Street from the academy to the bank! Bill had been, toall intents and purposes, a poor white boy; who could not have namedwith certainty his own grandfather. The Honourable William wasundoubtedly a man of great ability. Had the colonel remained in hisnative State, would he have been able, he wondered, to impress himselfso deeply upon the community? Would blood have been of any advantage,under the changed conditions, or would it have been a drawback to onewho sought political advancement?

  When the colonel was left alone, he went to look for Phil, who wasplaying with the children of the landlord, in the hotel parlour.Commending him to the care of the Negro maid in charge of them, heleft the hotel and called on several gentlemen whose cards he hadfound in his box at the clerk's desk. Their stores and offices werewithin a short radius of the hotel. They were all glad to see him, andif there was any initial stiffness or shyness in the attitude of anyone, it soon became the warmest cordiality under the influence of thecolonel's simple and unostentatious bearing. If he compared the cut oftheir clothes or their beards to his own, to their disadvantage, or ifhe found their views narrow and provincial, he gave no sign--theirhearts were warm and their welcome hearty.

  The colonel was not able to gather, from the conversation of hisfriends, that Clarendon, or any one in the town--always exceptingFetters, who did not live in the town, but merely overshadowed it--wasespecially prosperous. There were no mills or mines in theneighbourhood, except a few grist mills, and a sawmill. The bulk ofthe business consisted in supplying the needs of an agriculturalpopulation, and trading in their products. The cotton was baled andshipped to the North, and re-imported for domestic use, in the shapeof sheeting and other stuffs. The corn was shipped to the North, andcame back in the shape of corn meal and salt pork, the staple articlesof diet. Beefsteak and butter were brought from the North, attwenty-five and fifty cents a pound respectively. There were cottonmerchants, and corn and feed merchants; there were dry-goods andgrocery stores, drug stores and saloons--and more saloons--and theusual proportion of professional men. Since Clarendon was the countyseat, there were of course a court house and a jail. There werechurches enough, if all filled at once, to hold the entire populationof the town, and preachers in proportion. The merchants, of whom anumber were Jewish, periodically went into bankruptcy; the majority oftheir customers did likewise, and thus a fellow-feeling was promoted,and the loss thrown back as far as possible. The lands of the largefarmers were mostly mortgaged, either to Fetters, or to the bank ofwhich he was the chief stockholder, for all that could be borrowed onthem; while the small farmers, many of whom were coloured, werepractically tied to the soil by ropes of debt and chains of contract.

  Every one the colonel met during the afternoon had heard of SquireReddick's good joke of the morning. That he should have sold Peter tothe colonel for life was regarded as extremely clever. Some of themknew old Peter, and none of them had ever known any harm of him, andthey were unanimous in their recognition and applause of the colonel'sgoodheartedness. Moreover, it was an index of the colonel's views. Hewas one of them, by descent and early associations, but he had beenaway a long time, and they hadn't really known how much of a Yankee hemight have become. By his whimsical and kindly purchase of old Peter'stime--or of old Peter, as they smilingly put it, he had shown hisappreciation of the helplessness of the Negroes, and of their properrelations to the whites.

  "What'll you do with him, Colonel?" asked one gentleman. "An olenigger like Peter couldn't live in the col' No'th. You'll have to buya place down here to keep 'im. They wouldn' let you own a nigger atthe No'th."

  The remark, with the genial laugh accompanying it, was sounding in thecolonel's ears, as, on the way back to the hotel, he stepped into thebarber shop. The barber, who had also heard the story, was burstingwith a desire to unbosom himself upon the subject. Knowing fromexperience that white gentlemen, in their intercourse with colouredpeople, were apt to be, in the local phrase; "sometimey," or uncertainin their moods, he first tested, with a few remarks about the weather,the colonel's amiability, and finding him approachable, proved quitetalkative and confidential.

  "You're Colonel French, ain't you, suh?" he asked as he began applyingthe lather.

  "Yes."

  "Yes, suh; I had heard you wuz in town, an' I wuz hopin' you wouldcome in to get shaved. An' w'en I heard 'bout yo' noble conduc' thismawnin' at Squire Reddick's I wanted you to come in all de mo', suh.Ole Uncle Peter has had a lot er bad luck in his day, but he has fellon his feet dis time, suh, sho's you bawn. I'm right glad to see you,suh. I feels closer to you, suh, than I does to mos' white folks,because you know, colonel, I'm livin' in the same house you wuz bawnin."

  "Oh, you are the Nichols, are you, who bought our old place?"

  "Yes, suh, William Nichols, at yo' service, suh. I've own' de olehouse fer twenty yeahs or mo' now, suh, an' we've b'en mightycomfo'table in it, suh. They is a spaciousness, an' a air of elegantsufficiency about the environs and the equipments of the ed'fice, suh,that does credit to the tas'e of the old aristocracy an' of you-all'sfamily, an' teches me in a sof' spot. For I loves the aristocracy; an'I've often tol' my ol' lady, 'Liza,' says I, 'ef I'd be'n bawn white Isho' would 'a' be'n a 'ristocrat. I feels it in my bones.'"

  While the barber babbled on with his shrewd flattery, which wassincere enough to carry a reasonable amount of conviction, the colonellistened with curiously mingled feelings. He recalled each plank, eachpane of glass, every inch of wall, in the old house. No spot waswithout its associations. How many a brilliant scene of gaiety hadtaken place in the spacious parlour where bright eyes had sparkled,merry feet had twinkled, and young hearts beat high with love and hopeand joy of living! And not only joy had passed that way, but sorrow.In the front upper chamber his mother had died. Vividly he recalled,as with closed eyes he lay back under the barber's skilful hand, theirlast parting and his own poignant grief; for she had been not only hismother, but a woman of character, who commanded respect and inspiredaffection; a beautiful woman whom he had loved with a devotion thatbordered on reverence.

  Romance, too, had waved her magic wand over the old homestead. Hismemory smiled indulgently as he recalled one scene. In a corner of thebroad piazza, he had poured out his youthful heart, one summerevening, in strains of passionate devotion, to his first love, abeautiful woman of thirty who was visiting his mother, and who hadtold him between smiles and tears, to be a good boy and wait a littlelonger, until he was sure of his own mind. Even now, he breathed, inmemory, the heavy odour of the magnolia blossoms which overhung thelong wooden p
orch bench or "jogging board" on which the lady sat,while he knelt on the hard floor before her. He felt very young indeedafter she had spoken, but her caressing touch upon his hair had sostirred his heart that his vanity had suffered no wound. Why, thefamily had owned the house since they had owned the cemetery lot! Itwas hallowed by a hundred memories, and now!----

  "Will you have oil on yo' hair, suh, or bay rum?"

  "Nichols," exclaimed the colonel, "I should like to buy back the oldhouse. What do you want for it?"

  "Why, colonel," stammered the barber, somewhat taken aback at thesuddenness of the offer, "I hadn' r'ally thought 'bout sellin' it. Yousee, suh, I've had it now for twenty years, and it suits me, an' mychild'en has growed up in it--an' it kind of has associations, suh."

  In principle the colonel was an ardent democrat; he believed in therights of man, and extended the doctrine to include all who bore thehuman form. But in feeling he was an equally pronounced aristocrat. Aservant's rights he would have defended to the last ditch; familiarityhe would have resented with equal positiveness. Something of thisancestral feeling stirred within him now. While Nichols's position inreference to the house was, in principle, equally as correct as thecolonel's own, and superior in point of time--since impressions, likephotographs, are apt to grow dim with age, and Nichols's were of muchmore recent date--the barber's display of sentiment only jarred thecolonel's sensibilities and strengthened his desire.

  "I should advise you to speak up, Nichols," said the colonel. "I hadno notion of buying the place when I came in, and I may not be of thesame mind to-morrow. Name your own price, but now's your time."

  The barber caught his breath. Such dispatch was unheard-of inClarendon. But Nichols, a keen-eyed mulatto, was a man of thrift andgood sense. He would have liked to consult his wife and children aboutthe sale, but to lose an opportunity to make a good profit was to flyin the face of Providence. The house was very old. It needed shinglingand painting. The floors creaked; the plaster on the walls was loose;the chimneys needed pointing and the insurance was soon renewable. Heowned a smaller house in which he could live. He had been told to namehis price; it was as much better to make it too high than too low, asit was easier to come down than to go up. The would-be purchaser was arich man; the diamond on the third finger of his left hand alone wouldbuy a small house.

  "I think, suh," he said, at a bold venture, "that fo' thousand dollarswould be 'bout right."

  "I'll take it," returned the colonel, taking out his pocket-book."Here's fifty dollars to bind the bargain. I'll write a receipt foryou to sign."

  The barber brought pen, ink and paper, and restrained his excitementsufficiently to keep silent, while the colonel wrote a receiptembodying the terms of the contract, and signed it with a steady hand.

  "Have the deed drawn up as soon as you like," said the colonel, as heleft the shop, "and when it is done I'll give you a draft for themoney."

  "Yes, suh; thank you, suh, thank you, colonel."

  The barber had bought the house at a tax sale at a time of greatfinancial distress, twenty years before, for five hundred dollars. Hehad made a very good sale, and he lost no time in having the deeddrawn up.

  When the colonel reached the hotel, he found Phil seated on thedoorstep with a little bow-legged black boy and a little white dog.Phil, who had a large heart, had fraternised with the boy and fallenin love with the dog.

  "Papa," he said, "I want to buy this dog. His name is Rover; he canshake hands, and I like him very much. This little boy wants ten centsfor him, and I did not have the money. I asked him to wait until youcame. May I buy him?"

  "Certainly, Phil. Here, boy!"

  The colonel threw the black boy a silver dollar. Phil took the dogunder his arm and followed his father into the house, while the otherboy, his glistening eyes glued to the coin in his hand, scampered offas fast as his limbs would carry him. He was back next morning with apretty white kitten, but the colonel discouraged any further purchasesfor the time being.

  * * * * *

  "My dear Laura," said the colonel when he saw his friend the sameevening, "I have been in Clarendon two days; and I have already boughta dog, a house and a man."

  Miss Laura was startled. "I don't understand," she said.

  The colonel proceeded to explain the transaction by which he hadacquired, for life, the services of old Peter.

  "I suppose it is the law," Miss Laura said, "but it seems hardlyright. I had thought we were well rid of slavery. White men do notwork any too much. Old Peter was not idle. He did odd jobs, when hecould get them; he was polite and respectful; and it was an outrage totreat him so. I am glad you--hired him."

  "Yes--hired him. Moreover, Laura. I have bought a house."

  "A house! Then you are going to stay! I am so glad! we shall all be soglad. What house?"

  "The old place. I went into the barber shop. The barber complimentedme on the family taste in architecture, and grew sentimental about_his_ associations with the house. This awoke _my_ associations, andthe collocation jarred--I was selfish enough to want a monopoly of theassociations. I bought the house from him before I left the shop."

  "But what will you do with it?" asked Miss Laura, puzzled. "You couldnever _live_ in it again--after a coloured family?"

  "Why not? It is no less the old house because the barber has rearedhis brood beneath its roof. There were always Negroes in it when wewere there--the place swarmed with them. Hammer and plane, soap andwater, paper and paint, can make it new again. The barber, Iunderstand, is a worthy man, and has reared a decent family. Hisdaughter plays the piano, and sings:

  _'I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and serfs by my side.'_

  I heard her as I passed there yesterday."

  Miss Laura gave an apprehensive start.

  "There were Negroes in the house in the old days," he went onunnoticing, "and surely a good old house, gone farther astray thanours, might still be redeemed to noble ends. I shall renovate it andlive in it while I am here, and at such times as I may return; or if Ishould tire of it, I can give it to the town for a school, or for ahospital--there is none here. I should like to preserve, so far as Imay, the old associations--_my_ associations. The house might not fallagain into hands as good as those of Nichols, and I should like toknow that it was devoted to some use that would keep the old namealive in the community."

  "I think, Henry," said Miss Laura, "that if your visit is long enough,you will do more for the town than if you had remained here all yourlife. For you have lived in a wider world, and acquired a broaderview; and you have learned new things without losing your love for theold."