Sons and Fathers
Page 14
CHAPTER XIV.
THE OLD SOUTH DRAWS THE SWORD.
When Royson reached his office he quietly locked himself in, and,lighting a cigar, threw himself into his easy-chair. He recalled withcarefulness the minutest facts of his interview with Annie Montjoy, fromthe moment he seated himself beside her, until his departure. Havingestablished these in mind he began the course of reasoning he alwayspursued in making an estimate of testimony. The basis of his cousin'saction did not call for much attention; he knew her well. She was asambitious as Lucifer and possessed that peculiar defect which wouldexplain so many women if given proper recognition--lack of ability toconcede equal merit to others. They can admit no uninvited one to theirplane; not even an adviser. They demand flattery as a plant demandsnitrogen, and cannot survive the loss of attention.
And, reading deeper, Royson saw that the steadfast, womanly soul of thesister-in-law had, even in the knowledge of his cousin, over-shadowedhers until she resented even the old colonel's punctilious courtesy;that in her heart she raged at his lack of informality and accused himof resting upon the young girl. If she had been made much of, set up asa divinity, appealed to and suffered to rule, all would have been fairand beautiful. And then the lawyer smiled and said aloud to that otherself, with whom he communed: "For a while." Such was the woman.
Long he sat, studying the situation. Once he arose and paced the floor,beating his fist into his hand and grinding his teeth.
"Both or none!" he cried, at last. "If Montjoy is nominated I amshelved; and as for Mary, there have been Sabine women in all ages."
That night the leaders of the opposition met in secret caucus, calledtogether by Royson. When, curious and attentive, they assembled in hisprivate office, he addressed them:
"I have, gentlemen, to-day found myself in a very embarrassing position;a very painful one. You all know my devotion to our friend; I need notsay, therefore, that here to-night the one overpowering cause of theaction which I am about to take is my loyalty to him. To-day, from asource I am not at liberty to state here, I was placed in possession ofa fact which, if used, practically ends this campaign. You must none ofyou express a doubt, nor must any one question me upon the subject. Theonly question to be discussed is, shall we make use of the fact--andhow?" He waited a moment until the faces of the committee betrayed theirdeep interest.
"Whom do you consider in this city the most powerful single man behindthe movement to nominate Montjoy?"
"Morgan," said one, promptly. It was their unanimous judgment.
"Correct! This man, with his money and zeal, has made our chancesuncertain if not desperate, and this man," he continued, excitedly, "whois posing before the public and offering odds of three to one against uswith old Morgan's money, is not a white man!"
He had leaned over the table and concluded his remarks in almost awhisper. A painful silence followed, during which the excited lawyerglared inquiringly into the faces turned in horror upon him. "Do youunderstand?" he shouted at last. They understood.
A southern man readily takes a hint upon such a matter. These men satsilent, weighing in their minds the final effect of this announcement.Royson did not give them long to consider.
"I am certain of this, so certain that if you think best I will publishthe fact to-morrow and assume the whole responsibility." There was butlittle doubt remaining then. But the committee seemed weighed uponrather than stirred by the revelation; they spoke in low tones to eachother. There was no note of triumph in any voice. They were men.
Presently the matter took definite shape. An old man arose and addressedhis associates:
"I need not say, gentlemen, that I am astonished by this information,and you will pardon me if I do say I regret that it seems true. As faras I am concerned I am opposed to its use. It is a very difficult matterto prove. Mr. Royson's informant may be mistaken, and if proof was notforthcoming a reaction would ruin our friend." No one replied, althoughseveral nodded their heads. At length Royson spoke:
"The best way to reach the heart of this matter is to follow out in yourminds a line of action. Suppose in a speech I should make thecharge--what would be the result?"
"You would be at once challenged!" Royson smiled.
"Who would bear the challenge?"
"One of the Montjoys would be morally compelled to."
"Suppose I convince the bearer that a member of his family was myauthority?" Then they began to get a glimpse of the depth of the plot.One answered:
"He would be obliged to withdraw!"
"Exactly! And who else after that would take Montjoy's place? Or howcould Montjoy permit the duel to go on? And if he did find a fool tobring his challenge, I could not, for the reason given in the charge,meet his principal!"
"A court of honor might compel you to prove your charge, and then youwould be in a hole. That is, unless you could furnish proof."
"And still," said Royson, "there would be no duel, because there wouldbe no second. And you understand, gentlemen," he continued, smiling,"that all this would not postpone the campaign. Before the court ofhonor could settle the matter the election would have been held. You canimagine how that election would go when it is known that Montjoy'scampaign manager and right-hand man is not white. This man ishail-fellow-well-met with young Montjoy; a visitor in his home and isspending money like water. What do you suppose the country will say whenthese facts are handled on the stump? Col. Montjoy is ignorant of it, weknow, but he will be on the defensive from the day the revelation ismade.
"I have said my action is compelled by my loyalty to Swearingen, and Ireiterate it, but we owe something to the community, to the white race,to good morals and posterity. And if I am mistaken in my proofs,gentlemen, why, then, I can withdraw my charge. It will not affect thecampaign already over. But I will not have to withdraw."
"As far as I am concerned," said another gentleman, rising and speakingemphatically, "this is a matter upon which, under the circumstances, Ido not feel called to vote! I cannot act without full information! Thefact is, I am not fond of such politics! If Mr. Royson has proofs thathe cannot use publicly or here, the best plan would be to submit them toCol. Montjoy and let him withdraw, or pull off his lieutenant." Hepassed out and several with him. Royson argued with the others, but oneby one they left him. He was bursting with rage.
"I will determine for myself!" he said, "the victory shall rest in me!"
Then came the speech of the campaign at the court house. The relationsof Col. Montjoy, his family friends, people connected with him in theremotest degree by marriage, army friends, members of the bar,merchants, warehousemen and farmers generally, and a large sprinkling ofpersonal and political enemies of Swearingen made up the vast crowd.
In the rear of the hall, a smile upon his face, was Amos Royson. And yetthe secret glee in his heart, the knowledge that he, one man in all thatthrong, by a single sentence could check the splendid demonstration andsweep the field, was clouded. It came to him that no other member of theMontjoy clan was a traitor. Nowhere is the family tie so strong as inthe south, and only the power of his ambition could have held him aloof.Swearingen had several times represented the district in Congress; itwas his turn when the leader moved on. This had been understood foryears by the political public. In the meantime he had been state'sattorney and there were a senatorship, a judgeship and possibly thegovernorship to be grasped. He could not be expected to sacrifice hiscareer upon the altar of kinship remote. Indeed, was it not the duty ofMontjoy to stand aside for the sake of a younger man? Was it not truethat a large force in his nomination had been the belief thatSwearingen's right-hand man would probably be silenced thereby? It hadbeen a conspiracy.
These thoughts ran through his mind as he stood watching the gathering.
On the stage sat Edward Morgan, a prominent figure and one largelyscanned by the public; and Royson saw his face light up and turn to aprivate box; saw his smile and bow. A hundred eyes were turned with his,and discovered there, half concealed by the curtains, the face o
f MaryMontjoy. The public jumped to the conclusion that had previously beenforced on him.
Over Royson's face surged a wave of blood; a muttered oath drewattention to him and he changed his position. He saw the advancingfigure of Gen. Evan and heard his introductory speech. The morning papersaid it was the most eloquent ever delivered on such an occasion; andall that the speaker said was:
"Fellow-citizens, I have the honor to introduce to you this evening Col.Norton Montjoy. Hear him."
His rich bass voice rolled over the great audience; he extended his armtoward the orator of the evening, and retired amid thunders of applause.Then came Col. Montjoy.
The old south was famous for its oratory. It was based upon personalindependence, upon family pride and upon intellect unhampered bypersonal toil in uncongenial occupations; and lastly upon sentiment.Climate may have entered into it; race and inheritance undoubtedly did.The southern orator was the feature of congressional displays, and backin congressional archives lie orations that vie with the best of Athensand of Rome. But the flavor, the spectacular effects, linger only in thememory of the rapidly lessening number who mingled deeply in ante-bellumpolitics. No pen could have faithfully preserved this environment.
So with the oration that night in the opening of the Montjoy campaign.It was not transmissible. Only the peroration need be reproduced here:
"God forbid!" he said in a voice now husky with emotion and its longstrain, "God forbid that the day shall come when the south willapologize for her dead heroes! Stand by your homes; stand by yourtraditions; keep our faith in the past as bright as your hopes for thefuture! No stain rests upon the honor of your fathers! Transmit theirmemories and their virtues to posterity as its best inheritance! Defendyour homes and firesides, remembering always that the home, the familycircle, is the fountain head of good government! Let none enter therewho are unclean. Keep it the cradle of liberty and the hope of theEnglish race on this continent, the shrine of religion, of beauty, ofpurity!"
He closed amid a tumult of enthusiasm. Men stood on chairs to cheer;ladies wept and waved their handkerchiefs, and then over all arose thestrange melody that no southern man can sit quiet under. "Dixie" rangout amid a frenzy of emotion. Veterans hugged each other. The oldgeneral came forward and clasped hands with his comrade, the bandchanging to "Auld Lang Syne." People crowded on the stage and outsidethe building the drifting crowd filled the air with shouts.
The last man to rise from his seat was Edward Morgan. Lost in thought,his face lowered, he sat until some one touched him on the shoulder andcalled him back to the present. And out in the audience, clinging to apost, to resist the stream of humanity, passing from the aisles, hiseyes strained forward, heedless of the banter and jeers poured upon him,Royson watched as best he could every shade upon the stranger's face. Acry burst from his lips. "It was true!" he said, and dashed from thehall.