CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
_Malvern Has a Holiday_
Very early the next morning Malvern aroused itself to the fact that thefiremen and the police, and a very large crowd of the rag, tag andbobtail that hangs on the edge of all holiday occasions, were out for afrolic. A band was playing, and the old-fashioned apparatus with whichfire departments were provided in that day and time, was showing theamazed and amused crowd how to put out an imaginary conflagration. Andit succeeded, too. Worked as it was by hand-power, it sent a famouslystrong stream into the very midst of the imaginary conflagration; andwhen the fire raged no longer, the gallant firemen turned the stream onthe rag, tag and bobtail, and such screams and such a scattering asensued has no parallel in the history of Malvern, which is a long andvaried one.
But what did it all mean? It was some kind of a celebration, of course,but why then did the _Malvern Recorder_, one of the most enterprisingnewspapers in the State, as its editors and proprietors were willing toadmit, why, then, did the _Recorder_ fail to have an appropriateannouncement of an event so interesting and important? Was our publicpress, the palladium of our liberties, losing its prestige andinfluence? Certainly it seemed so, when such an affair as this could bedevised and carried out without an adequate announcement in the organ ofpublic opinion.
After awhile there was a lull in the display. The Chief, who wasstationed near the depot, received authoritative information that thetrain from Savannah was approaching. He waved his trumpet, and thefiremen formed themselves into a procession, and passed twice in reviewbefore their Chief, and then halted, with their hose reels, and theirhook and ladder waggons almost completely blocking up the entrance tothe station. The crowd had followed them, but the police managed to keepthe street clear, so that vehicles might effect a passage.
It was well that the officers of the law had been thus thoughtful in thematter, otherwise a countryman who chanced to be coming along just thenwould have found it difficult to drive his team even half way throughthe jam. He was a typical Georgia farmer in his appearance. He wore awide straw hat to preserve his complexion, a homespun shirt and jeanstrousers, the latter being held in place by a dirty pair of home-madesuspenders. He drove what is called a spike-team, two oxen at thewheels, and a mule in the lead. The day was warm, but he was warmer. Thecrowd had flurried him, and he was perspiring more profusely than usual.He was also inclined to use heated language, as those nearest him had nodifficulty in discovering. In fact, he was willing to make a speech, asthe crowd into which he was wedging his team grew denser and denser. Itwas observed that when the crowd really impeded the movements of histeam, he had a way of touching the mule in the flank with the long whiphe carried. This was invariably the signal for such gyrations on thepart of the mule as were calculated to make the spectators pay duerespect to the animal's heels.
"I don't see," said the countryman, "why you fellers don't get outsome'rs an' go to work. They's enough men in this crowd to make a cropbig enough to feed a whole county, ef they'd git out in the field an'buckle down to it stidder loafin' roun' watchin' 'em spurt water atnothin'. It's a dad-blamed shame that the courts don't take a han' inthe matter. Ef you lived in my county, you'd have to work or go to thepoor-house. Whoa, Beck! Gee, Buck! Why don't you gee, contrive yourhide!"
At a touch from the whip, the rearing, plunging, and kicking of the mulewere renewed, and the team managed to fight its way to a point oppositewhere the chief officials of the Police and Fire Department werestanding. The waggon to which the team was attached was a ramshackleaffair apparently, but was strong enough, nevertheless, to sustain theweight of three bales of cotton, one of the bales being somewhat largerthan the others.
"My friend," said the Chief of Police, elevating his voice so that thecountryman could hear him distinctly, "this is not a warehouse. If youwant to sell your cotton, carry it around the corner yonder, and thereyou'll find the warehouse of Vardeman & Stark."
"If I want to sell my cotton? Well, you don't reckon I want to give itaway, do you? Way over yander in the fur eend of town, they told me thatthe cotton warehouse was down here some'rs, an' that it was made ofbrick. This shebang is down yander, an' it's made of brick. How fur ist'other place?"
"Right around the corner," said one in the crowd.
"Humph--yes; that's the way wi' ever'thing in this blamed town; it'suther down yander, or right around the corner. But ef it was right here,how could I git to it? Deliver me from places whar they celebrateChristmas in the hottest part of June! Ef I ever git out'n the townyou'll never ketch me here ag'in--I'll promise you that."
"Oh, Mister, please don't say that!" wailed some humourist in the crowd."There's hundreds of us that couldn't live without you."
"Oh, is that you?" cried the countryman. "Tell your sister Molly thatI'll be down as soon as I sell my cotton." This set the crowd in a roar,for though the humourist had no sister Molly, the retort was accepted asa very neat method of putting an end to impertinence.
Inside the station another scene was in the full swing of action.Certain well-known citizens of Halcyondale had been pacing up and downthe planked floor of the station apparently awaiting with someimpatience for the moment to come when the train for Atlanta would beready to leave. But the train itself seemed to be in no particularhurry. The locomotive was not panting and snorting with suppressedenergy, as the moguls do in our day, but stood in its place with theblue smoke curling peacefully from its black chimney. Presently anaccess of energy among the employees of the station gave notice to thosewho were familiar with their movements that the train from Savannah wascrossing the "Y."
Mr. Tidwell, of Shady Dale, who was also among those who were apparentlyanxious to take the train for Atlanta, ceased his restless walking, andstood leaning against one of the brick pillars supporting the rear endof the structure. Major Tomlin Perdue, on the other hand, leanedconfidently on the counter of the little restaurant, where a wearytraveller could get a cup of hasty and very nasty coffee for a dime. TheMajor was acquainted with the vendor of these luxuries, and he informedthe man confidentially that he was simply waiting a fair opportunity toput a few lead plugs into the carcass of the person at the far end ofthe station, who was no other than Mr. Tidwell.
"Is that so?" asked the clerk breathlessly. "Well, I don't mind tellingyou that he has been having some of the same kind of talk about you, andyou'd better keep your eye on him. They say he's 'most as handy with hispistol as Buck Sanford."
Slowly the Savannah train backed in, and slowly and carelessly MajorPerdue sauntered along the raised floor. They had decided that theprisoners would most likely be in the second-class coach, and theypurposed to make that coach the scene of their sham duel. It was a verydelicate matter to decide just when to begin operations. A moment toosoon or too late would be decisive. When this point was referred to Mr.Sanders, he settled it at once. "What's your mouth for, Gus? Shoot wi'that tell the time comes to use your gun. And the Major has got about asmuch mouth as you. Talk over the rough places, an' talk loud. Don'twhisper; rip out a few damns an' then cut your caper. This is about theonly chance you'll have to cuss the Major out wi'out gittin' hurt. Iwisht I was in your shoes; I'd rake him up one side an' down the other.You can stand to be cussed out in a good cause, I reckon, Major."
"Yes--oh, yes! It'll make my flesh crawl, but I'll stand it like ababy."
"Don't narry one on you try to be too polite," said Mr. Sanders, andthis was his parting injunction.
The two men were the length of the car apart when the Savannah traincame to a standstill. "Perdue! they tell me that you have been huntingfor me all over the city," said Mr. Tidwell. He was a trained speaker,and his voice had great carrying power. The firemen of both trains heardit distinctly, caught the note of passion in it and looked curiously outof their cabs.
"Yes, I've been hunting you, and now that I've found you you'll not getaway until you apologise to me for the language you have used about me,"cried Major Perdue. He was not as loud a talker as Mr. Tidwell, but hisvoice pene
trated to every part of the building.
"What I've said I'll stand to," declared Mr. Tidwell, "and if you thinkI have been trying to keep out of your way, you will find outdifferently, you blustering blackguard!" (The Major insisted afterwardthat Tidwell took advantage of the occasion to give his real views.)
"Are you ready, you cowardly hellian?" cried the Major, apparently in arage.
"As ready as you will ever be," replied Tidwell hotly. He was the betteractor of the two.
And then just as the prisoners were coming out of the coach--as soon asGabriel, lean and haggard, had reached the floor of the station, MajorPerdue whipped out his pistol and a shot rang out, clear and distinct,and it was immediately reproduced from the further end of the car by Mr.Tidwell, and then the shooting became a regular fusillade. There was awild scattering on the part of the crowd assembled in the station, ascuffling, scurrying panic, and in the midst of it all Gabriel duckedhis head, and made a rush with the rest. He had been handcuffed, but hiswrist was nearly as large as his hand, and he had found early in hisexperience with these bracelets that by placing his thumb in the palm ofhis hand, he would have no difficulty in freeing himself from the irons.This he had accomplished without much trouble, as soon as he started outof the car, and when he ducked his head and ran, he had nothing toimpede his movements.
And Gabriel was always swift of foot, as Cephas will tell you. On thepresent occasion, he brought all his strength, and energy, and will tobear on his efforts to escape. Running half-bent, he was afraid thecrowd which he saw all about him, pushing and shoving, and apparentlymaking frantic efforts to escape, would give him some trouble. Butstrangely enough, this struggling crowd seemed to help him along. He sawmen all around him with uniforms on, and wearing queerly shaped hats.They opened a way before him and closed in behind him. He heard a sharpcry, "Prisoner escaped!" and he heard the energetic commands of theofficer in charge, but still the crowd opened a way in front of him, andclosed up behind him. This pathway, formed of struggling firemen, ledGabriel away from the main entrance, and conducted him to the side,where there was an opening between the pillars. Not twenty feet away wasthe countryman with his queer-looking team. He was still complaining ofthe way he had been taken in by the town fellers who had told him thatthe station was a cotton warehouse.
Gabriel recognised the voice and ran toward it, jumped into the waggon,and crawled under the cover. "Now here--now here!" cried the countryman,"you kin rob me of my money, an' make a fool out'n me about your cottonwarehouses, but be jigged ef I'll let you take my waggin an' team. Idunner what you're up to, but you'll have to git out'n my waggin." Withthat he stripped the cover from the top, and, lo! there was no onethere!
He turned to the astonished crowd with open mouth. "Wher' in the nationdid he go?" he cried. There was no answer to this, for the spectatorswere as much astonished as Mr. Sanders professed to be. The man who hadcrawled under the waggon-cover had disappeared.
He turned to the astonished crowd with a face on which amazement wasdepicted, crying out, "Now, you see, gentlemen, what honest men have toendyore when they come to your blame town. Whoever he is, an' wharsoeverhe may be, that chap ain't up to no good." Then he looked under thewaggon and between the bales of cotton, and, finally, took the cover andshook it out, as if it might be possible for one of the "slick cityfellers" to hide in any impossible place.
There was a tremendous uproar in the station, caused by the soldierstrying to run over the firemen and the efforts of the firemen to preventthem. In a short time, however, a squad of soldiers had forcedthemselves through the crowd, and as they made their appearance, Mr.Sanders gave the word to old Beck, saying as he moved off, "Ef you gentswill excuse me, I'll mosey along, an' the next time I have a crap ofcotton to sell, I'll waggin it to some place or other wher' w'arhousesain't depots, an' wher' jugglers don't jump on you an' make the'rdisappearance in broad daylight. This is my fust trip to this greattown, an' it'll be my last ef I know myself, an' I ruther reckon I do."
As he spoke, his team Was moving slowly off, and the soldiers who werein pursuit of Gabriel had no idea that it was worth their while to givethe countryman and his superannuated equipment more than a passingglance. It was providential that Captain Falconer, who was to haveconveyed the prisoners to Atlanta, should have been confined to his bedwith an attack of malarial fever when the order for their removal came.The Captain would surely have recognised the countryman as Mr. Sanders,and the probability is that Gabriel would have been recaptured, thoughCaptain Buck Sanford, who was sitting in an upper window of the hotel,with his Winchester across his lap, says not.
The officer in charge did all that he could have been expected to dounder the circumstances. By a stroke of good-luck, as he supposed, hefound the Chief of Police near the entrance of the station andinterested that official in his effort to recapture the prisoner who hadescaped. By order of the military commander in Atlanta, the train washeld a couple of hours while the search for Gabriel proceeded. The wholetown was searched and researched, but all to no purpose. Gabriel haddisappeared, and was not to be found by any person hostile to hisinterests.
Mr. Sanders drove his team around to the warehouse of Vardeman & Stark,where he was met by Colonel Tom Vardeman, who, besides being a cottonfactor, was one of the political leaders of the day, and as popular aman as there was in the State.
"I heard a terrible fusillade in the direction of the depot," he said toMr. Sanders, as the latter drove up. "I hope nobody's hurt."
"Well, they ain't much damage done, I reckon. Gus Tidwell an' MajorPerdue took a notion to play a game of tag wi' pistols. They're doin' itjest for fun, I reckon. They want to show you city fellers that all thepublic sperrit an' enterprise ain't knocked out'n the country chaps."
"Well, they're almost certain to get in the lock-up," remarked ColonelTom Vardeman.
"It reely looks that away," said Mr. Sanders, drily; "the Chief ofPolice was standin' in front of the depot, an' ev'ry time a gun'd go offhe'd wink at me."
Colonel Tom laughed, and then turned to Mr. Sanders with a serious air."What did I tell you about that wild plan of yours to rescue one of theprisoners? You've had all your trouble for nothing, and the probabilityis that you are out considerable cash first and last. You don't catchgrown men asleep any more. Why, if the officer in charge of those poorboys were to permit one of them to escape, he'd be court-martialled, andit would serve him right."
"So it would," replied Mr. Sanders, "an' I'm mighty glad it wa'n'tCaptain Falconer. This feller that had the boys in tow is a stranger tome, an' I'm glad of it. He'll never know who lost him his job. He's aright nice-lookin' feller, too, but when he run out'n the depot awhileago, his face kinder spoke up an' said he had had a dram too much sometime endyorin' of the night; or his colour mought 'a' been high bekazehe was flurried or skeered. Now, then, Colonel Tom, ef you've done whatyou laid off to do, an' I don't misdoubt it in the least, you've got asafe place wher' I kin store a bale of long-staple cotton, ag'in a risein prices. Ef you've got it fixed, I'll drive right in, bekaze the kindof cotton I'm dealin' in will spile ef it lays in the sun too long."
"Do you mean to tell me----"
"I'm mean enough for anything, Colonel Tom; but right now, I want togit wher' I can drench a long-sufferin' friend of mine wi' a biggourdful of cold water."
"But, Mr. Sanders----"
"Ef you'd 'a' stuck in the William H., you'd 'a' purty nigh had my wholename," remarked Mr. Sanders with a solemn air.
"Why, dash it, man! you've taken my breath away. Drive right in there.John! Henry! come here, you lazy rascals, and take this team out! I toldyou," said Colonel Tom to Mr. Sanders as the negroes came forward, "thatyou couldn't get any better prices for your cotton than I offered you.We treat everybody right over here, and that's the way we keep ourtrade."
The two negroes were detailed to convey the mule and the oxen to thestable where Mr. Sanders had arranged for their "keep," as he termed it,and as soon as they were out of sight, Mr. Sanders went to the
rear ofthe waggon, and said playfully, "Peep eye, Gabriel!" Receiving noanswer, he was suddenly seized with the idea that the young man hadsuffocated behind the loose cotton which was intended to conceal him.But no such thing had happened. Gabriel had plenty of breathing-room,and the practical and unromantic rascal was sound asleep. His quarterswere warm, but the sweat-boxes at Fort Pulaski were hotter. It was veryfortunate for Gabriel that the reaction from the strain under which hehad been, took the blessed shape of sleep.
Gabriel's place of concealment was simplicity itself. With his own handsMr. Sanders had constructed a stout box of oak boards, and around thishe had packed cotton until the affair, when complete, had theappearance of an extra large bale of cotton, covered with bagging, androped as the majority of cotton-bales were in those days. The only wayto discover the sham was to pull out the cotton that concealed theopening in the end of the box. In delivering his message to Cephas, Mr.Sanders had called this loose cotton a plug, and the fact that the wordwas new to the vocabulary of the school-children gave great trouble toGabriel, causing him to lose considerable sleep in the effort totranslate it satisfactorily to himself. The meaning dawned on him onenight when he had practically abandoned all hope of discovering it, andthen the whole scheme became so clear to him that he could have shoutedfor joy.
It was thought that a search would be made for Gabriel in theneighbourhood of Shady Dale, and it was decided that it would be bestfor him to remain in the city until all noise of the pursuit had diedaway. But no pursuit was ever made, and it soon became apparent to thepublic at large that radicalism was burning itself out at last, after aweary time. When rage has nothing to feed upon it consumes itself,especially when various chronic maladies common to mankind take a handin the game.
Not only was no pursuit made of Gabriel, but the detachment of Federaltroops which had been stationed at Shady Dale was withdrawn. The youngmen who had been arrested with Gabriel were placed on trial before amilitary court, but with the connivance of counsel for the prosecution,the trial dragged along until the military commander issued aproclamation announcing that civil government had been restored in theState, and the prisoners were turned over to the State courts. And asthere was not the shadow of a case against them, they were never broughtto trial, a fact which caused some one to suggest to Mr. Sanders thatall his work in behalf of Gabriel had been useless.
"Well, it didn't do Gabriel no good, maybe," remarked the veteran, "butit holp me up mightily. It gi' me somethin' to think about, an' it holpme acrosst some mighty rough places. You have to pass the time awayanyhow, an' what better way is they than workin' for them you like? Why,I knowed a gal, an' a mighty fine one she was, who knit socks for afeller she had took a fancy to. The feller died, but she went rightahead wi' her knittin' just the same. Now, that didn't do the feller amite of good, but it holp the gal up might'ly."
Gabriel Tolliver: A Story of Reconstruction Page 33