by Jack Thorne
CHAPTER V.
Molly Pierrepont.
"Sweet and low, sweet and low Wind of the Western sea Low, low, breathe and blow Wind of the Western sea Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon and blow Blow him again to me While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps."
This sweet old lullaby of Longfellow's, sung by a rich soprano voicefloated upon the cool October air out from a beautiful and richlyfurnished suburban cottage in Wilmington. The singer sat alone at thepiano. Though vulgarly called a "Negress," her skin was almost as fairas a Saxon's; and because of the mingling of Negro blood--more beautifulin color. She was gowned in an evening dress of gossamer material, ashesof rose in color. Her hair let out to its full length hung in silkyprofusion down her back. There were plain old fashioned half moon ringsin her ears, and bands of gold upon her bare arms enhanced their beauty.No one will deny that among the women of mixed blood in the South, thereare types of surpassing beauty. The inter-mixture of Negro and Saxon,Negro and Spanish and Indian blood gives the skin a more beautiful colorthan exists in the unadulterated of either race. While the mulatto andoctoroon may reveal the Saxon in the fairness of the skin, the Negroreinforcement shows itself generally in the slight inclination of thelips toward thickness, the lustrious black of the eye and hair which isgenerally abundant and slightly woolly in texture. This is brought outplainly in the case of the Jew. Although centuries have passed since theJews very extensively amalgamated with the dark races of Egypt andCanaan, their dark complexions, lustrous black eyes, abundant woollyhair plainly reveal their Hamatic lineage. To pass through the Bowery orlower Broadway in the great metropolis at an hour when the shop andfactory girl is hurrying to or from her work, one is struck by thebeauty of Jewish womanhood. King David's successful campaigns placedSolomon over large dominions of Moabitish and Canaanitish peoples; andfor the stability of his kingdom, Solomon took wives out of all of thesenationalities; and Solomon's most favored wife was his black princess,Naamah, the mother of Rehoboam, his successor. The poet describes Naamahas the "Rose of Sharon, the most excellent of her country." The marriageof Solomon to his black princess was the most notable of any of hismarriages; for that wonderful poem, "Solomon's Songs," is mainly aeulogy to this one of his many wives. "I am black but comely, O yedaughters of Jerusalem as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains ofSolomon. Look not upon me because I am black, because the sun hathlooked upon me." In the most beautiful language in the gift of the poetsof that day Solomon converses with Naamah in the following dialogue:"Return, return O Shulamite; return, return that we may look upon thee."Naamah, "What will you see in Shulamite?" Solomon, "As it were a companyof two armies."
We have conclusive evidence that the Southern gentleman did, and doessing such love ditties, and talk sweet nothings to the Southern blackwoman, and the woman of mixed blood, but unlike Solomon, he is too muchof a coward to publicly extol her. During the slave period in the WestIndian Islands a child born to a slave woman shared the fortunes of itsfather; and if the father was free, so was the child. But the Americanslave holder reversed that law so that he could humble the bond-womanand damn her offspring with impunity. Upheld by the law the Southernersold his own daughter and sister into a life of shame. The prettyNegress and the woman of mixed blood brought extortionate prices inSouthern markets. Northern sympathizers may talk of the New South, andthe Southern orator may harp upon the shortcomings of the "inferiorrace," but on this line of thought and conduct, the Southern whites havenot changed one whit. Before the war, Sambo only had a quit-claim on hisblack or mulatto wife, and now the laws are so framed that he cannotdefend the woman of his race against the encroachments of his whitebrother, who looks at the destruction of the Negro woman as only anindiscretion. The humble black fool is often forced away from his ownwife or sweet-heart at the point of a revolver, cowed by the feelingthat a manly stand against a white man might cause incalculable loss oflife. Yet the advocate of Lynch Law pictures this humble fellow, thisman who is afraid to attempt to defend his own home, as a recklessdare-devil, keeping the whites in constant terror. How incompatiblethese two traits of character. No; it is not the reckless dare deviltryof the Negro that terrorizes the South, but the conscience of the whiteman whose wrong treatment of a defenseless people fills him with fearand intensifies his hatred. He is determined to fill to overflow his cupof iniquity. Like Macbeth, he has waded in so far, that to return wereas tedious as to go over. It matters not how loud the Southerner shoutsabout "the good-for-nothing Nigger," he still has the same oldanti-bellum liking for the women of that race. Bishop Turner is the onlyhonest and earnest advocate of Negro Emigration, the others have only ahalf-hearted leaning in that direction. If it were possible foremigration to become a reality, the Southern whites would be the hardestkickers against the scheme. The only beneficiaries from this wonderfulenterprise would be the steamship companies; for after the hundreds ofyears of transportation are over, then excursion parties would be theorder of the day for time immemorial. Our Southern gentleman will not bedeprived of the Negro woman. There is no ocean too wide for him tocross; no wall too high for him to scale; he'd risk the fires of hell tobe in her company, intensely as he pretends to hate her. Wilmington,North Carolina, the scene of that much regretted phenomenon--the fatalclashing of races in November, 1898, was not, and is not without itsharems, its unholy minglings of Shem with Ham; where the soft-fingeredaristocrat embraces the lowest dusky sirene in Paddy's Hollow, andthinks nothing of it. Molly Pierrepont whom I introduce to the reader inthis chapter, is a type of Negro women whose progress along ennoblingavenues is more hotly contested than any other woman in the South,because of her beauty. To decide between the honor with poverty offeredby the black man and the life of ease with shame offered by the whiteone is her "Gethsemine." Yet where love of honor has conquered, she hasmade a devoted wife and a loving mother.
Such a character as Molly Pierrepont was an exclusive luxury forgentlemen. The poor white could not afford to support a mistress who ofcourse went to the highest bidder. Ben Hartright left the Wigwam beforethe close of the meeting in which he was so deeply interested, andproceeded directly to Molly's cottage; but he did not notice as hetipped lightly through the gate a cloaked and veiled form crouching downin the bushes a few yards away. He heard not the light footsteps as itdrew nearer to be sure that there was no mistaking the visitor. BenHartright entered boldly; knocking was unnecessary, he was master there.The furniture and hangings were all his purchase, even the expensivejewels that the woman wore. The figure on the outside drew still closer,peered in, tip-toed upon the piazza, pressed the ear against the windowto catch as much as possible of what went on within. Only a few minutesdid it tarry however. As the door swung open, Molly arose from the pianoand advanced with outstretched arms to meet him.
"Hello, Ben! I thought you were to be here by eight to-night."
Ben Hartright sank upon a sofa and gently drew the girl down beside himbefore he assayed to answer her.
"Well, Molly, you must remember that I am in politics now," he said,kissing her fondly, "and I must attend the different meetings, businessbefore pleasure you know. We are in the most exciting period of thecampaign; a campaign the like of which has never before been experiencedin North Carolina. We are organized and determined to save the State tothe Democratic party and make white supremacy an established fact if wehave to kill every Nigger and Nigger-hearted white man in it. To makeassurance doubly sure, we are arming ourselves, and seeing to it that noNigger shall buy an ounce of powder, and every Nigger man and woman isto be searched and what weapons they have taken away that no white man'slife may be endangered. There are some Niggers and white men who must bekilled, and they are carefully listed."
Ben Hartright unbosomed to Molly the plots of the White SupremacyLeague in all its blood-curdling details, naming every man and woman whowere to be the victims of the mob's fury.
"Do you think that a very brave thing to do?" asked Molly at theconclusion of Ben's recital.
"Oh, anything is fair in dealing with Niggers," answered Ben. But thelook of astonishment in Molly's black eyes suddenly brought BenHartright to the full realization that he was revealing the secrets ofhis klan to one of the race he was plotting to massacre.
"Of course we don't include such as you, Molly," he said, lightlytapping her on the shoulder. "You are no Nigger, you are nearly as whiteas I am."
"Nearly as white," echoed Molly with a sneer. "Do you mean to try tochoke it down my throat that my whiteness would save me should yourpeople rise up against Niggers in Wilmington? Honestly, Ben Hartright,do you mean that?" Molly arose from the sofa and stood up before herlover that she might the better study his face. Hartright was silent.
In Southern legislative halls white minorities in old Reconstructiondays ruled Republican majorities by appealing to the vanity oflight-skinned Negro representatives.
"You are almost white, why vote with them Niggers?" Ben Hartright wasusing the old tactics; he had realized that he perhaps had been carelesswith his secrets. "What I really mean, Molly, is that you are a friendof white people--that is you are not one of those Nigger wenches whowant to be er--er--ladies--that want Nigger dudes to raise their hats tothem--want to be like white people you know."
"I understand," said Molly.
"We white gentlemen believe in having colored girl friends, and wealways stand by them no matter what happens." Molly momentarily eyed theceiling.
"Benny, did you ever read Uncle Tom's Cabin?"
"Yes, I have," answered Ben, but it has been too long ago to remembervery much of its contents.
"Why? Everybody should read that book it seems to me; read and readagain Cassie's story of her love for the man who after promising toprotect and defend her, sneaked away and sold her. Cassie was almostwhite. Cassie was a white man's friend, and to that man she was true;but Cassie's story of betrayal, disappointment, misery at the hands ofthat long haired brute who afterwards became her master, would make thestrongest heart weep. _You will stand by your colored girl friend._Perhaps you think you would, but I doubt it, Ben Hartright. When thattime comes that the two races are arrayed against each other, my faircomplexion will be of no avail. I am a Nigger, and will be dealt with assuch, even by the man who now promises me protection."
Ben Hartright quailed under Molly's biting sarcasm. He was unpreparedfor this change of front on the part of his mistress. His pretention oflove were not sufficient to create in Molly a feeling of security.
"Then d'm it all! you as good as tell a gentleman to his teeth that helies then?" said he doggedly.
"No; I don't mean to say that you lie. What you say to me _now_, you mayearnestly mean, but under circumstances just mentioned, you would denythat you ever knew me. What you have revealed tonight concerning youraims and plots, portrays to my mind just who and what you are, and justwho and what I am. Samson has revealed his secret to his Delilah, andits Delilah's duty to warn her people of the dangers that await them.Men whose lives are threatened must be warned; women who are in dangerof being ignominiously dealt with must be put upon their guard; mustknow that these defenders of virtue, these Southern gentlemen who arethirsting for the blood of a slanderer (?) of white women arehypocrites, who strain out a gnat and swallow a camel."
"By the thunder, what do you mean by such language?" and Ben Hartrightarose from the sofa and glared at the girl, his eyes flashing. "Do youknow that you are talking to a gentleman?"
"Be careful," said Molly, "You wouldn't have the women for whom youwould be so chivalrous know who Ben Hartright _really is_, would you?"
"Why, what's the matter Molly?" said Hartright in a more subdued voice."Have you joined the sanctified band?"
"No; but I realize as never before just who and what I am, and yourtrying to flatter me into the belief that I am better than black womenwho try to be pure, is a revelation to me who and what _you are_. Thereare men whom you have named to be killed whose only offense is that theyare respectable and independent; and women who are hated because theyare not easy victims such as I am--women who will live honestly uponbread and water. These are colored people who have so much confidence inthe better class of white people, that they would not believe that sucha plot is being laid for their destruction."
Ben Hartright put his arms around Molly's waist. "I thought you were atrue friend of white people, Molly; but I find that you are not, solet's drop the unpleasant subject. If the Niggers keep away from thepolls, and don't attempt to run a ticket, there will be no trouble; butif they persist in defying the whites, there'll be hell. But all prettyNigger gals such as you will be all right."
"Unhand me!" said Molly, twisting herself from his grasp. "Go tell yourhypocritical associates in crime that the deed they are about to commitwill recoil upon their own heads, and upon the heads of their children."
"But--er--now Molly--"
"Go!" hissed Molly, pointing to the door.
Ben Hartright walked slowly to the door paused and wistfully eyed Mollywho stood with uplifted hand pointing in that direction. "Oh, you arequite full of race pride just now, but when it comes to deciding betweenthe easy life that a white man pays for and Nigger drudgery, you'lldoubtless change your tune. I leave you to reflect."
Hartright walked out. Molly sank upon the sofa and buried her face inher hands. "How true!" she sobbed. "What have I done?" but she rose andher anguish was gone in a twinkling. "Easy life! Drudgery! But _here Iswear from this hour Molly Pierrepont will live no longer such a life_."
Ben Hartright reached his home in Orange street about three o'clock,noiselessly opened the door and strode up to his apartments, thinking hewould get to bed without disturbing his young wife; but she was notthere. The bed remained as it was when the chambermaid left it thatmorning, after giving it its finishing touches. Ben Hartright lookedabout the room in wild amazement. He drew out his watch, scanned itsface eagerly. "By ginger!" he exclaimed, "it's past three o'clock.Wonder where is Emily? This is indeed something unusual." Thinkingperhaps that his child might have taken ill during the night and thathis wife had remained in the nurse's room with it, he crossed the halland rapped upon the door; a second rap brought the nurse to the doorrubbing her eyes. "What's the matter, Fannie; is the baby sick?"
"No, sah!" answered the girl.
"Isn't Miss Emily in there?"
"No, sah; Mr. Benny she aint in heah, sah."
"_Where in the thunder is she then?_" roared Ben Hartright, now besidehimself with rage. "_Is this the way you look after your mistress?_" andhe seized the already frightened girl by the shoulders and shook hervigorously, turned away before she could utter a word of excuse, andbounded down to his mother's apartments.
Mrs. Hartright, aroused by the noise above, was just emerging from herdoor to learn the cause of it all. "Why, what's the matter, son?" shequestioned gently, as Ben, both angry and frightened, strode up to whereshe stood.
"Didn't you hear me asking Fannie where Emily is? Didn't you know thatshe hasn't been in her room, and here it is nearly four o'clock in themorning!"
"Emily went out just after tea, and I thought she had returned,"answered the mother. "Perhaps she went walking with some of her girlfriends, was taken ill and had to stop at one of their homes. WaitBenny, I'll dress and help you to look for her."
Ben Hartright turned and walked slowly to the door and paused to waitfor his mother. There was a turn of the door latch, a vigorous twist ofa key in the lock; the door flew open and Emily Hartright walked in. Sheapparently did not see her husband who stood and eyed her angrily as sheentered and began to ascend the steps to her room.
"Emily," said Ben, following and seizing his wife by the arm. "Are youmad, if not explain this extraordinary conduct of yours. Where have youbeen?" She turned, gazed into her husband's eyes for a moment, then withone vigorous tug, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and proceeded upthe steps. The mother by this time had joined her son, and they bothfollowed the young lady who had entered her room and was removing herwraps.
"
What's the matter my darling?" said Mrs. Hartright, throwing her armsaround her daughter's waist. "I was so troubled about you. What kept youout so late, Emily?"
"Wait, mother, until I have rested and composed myself, then I willexplain," answered Emily, softly.
Ben had sank into a chair and sat with his chin resting upon the palm ofhis hand. Emily sat upon the side of the bed.
"Men go night after night," she said, "stay as long as they please, andreturn in whatever condition they please; and to queries of their wives,they are evasive in their answers; but when a woman takes the privilegeof exercising her rights--"
"_Her rights_," roared Ben, jumping to his feet. "A lady goes out of herresidence, leaves her servant and relatives in ignorance of herdestination, returns at four o' clock in the morning to tell anxioushusband and mother about _her rights_! We'll have a direct explanationfrom you, Mrs. Hartright, without preambling."
"I'll not be bullied, Ben Hartright," answered the young wife calmly."Remember that when you married _me_, you didn't marry a chambermaid orhousekeeper, but a lady of one of the first families of Virginia, andsuch people brook _no bullying_," and Emily arose and glared at herhusband like a tigress.
Ben Hartright quailed. Never had he seen his little wife in such a stateof anger and defiance.
"If you are man enough to reveal your whereabouts until the small hoursof the morning, you can tell where your wife was."
Ben Hartright raised his eyes from the floor and looked at his wife inamazement.
"When you entered the house of your mistress, Molly Pierrepont,to-night, I saw you. I, your _wife_, whom _you_ swore to honor andprotect, saw you. She saw you embrace and kiss a Negro woman, the womanof a race whom you pretend to despise, and whom you and your pals aresecretly scheming to cold bloodedly murder and drive from their homes.Take care! God knows your hypocrisy and the deeds you commit will recoilupon your own heads."
"Emily, are you mad?" gasped the elder lady who stood as if transfixedto the floor.
"Ask him," returned the young lady, "he knows whether or not I utter thetruth, or whether I am a victim of a beclouded brain. He knows that hehas wronged me; he knows that he has lied to me. I care not for yourfrowns. _You_ a gentleman? You hate Niggers, yet you can embrace one sofondly. I will no longer live with such a gentleman, who night afternight under the excuse of 'clubs' and 'business' spends his time awayfrom his wife, and in company of a Negro woman. I am going home to mypeople."
"Now, Emily," said the elder Mrs. Hartright, "don't start a scandal;remember that you are a Southerner. Southern people do not countenancethe airing of unpleasant family matters!"
"Yes," replied the young lady, "this fear of airing family troubles onthe part of our women, has made us slaves, while the men are licensed toindulge in all manner of indecencies with impunity. I will be the firstSouthern woman to sever the chain of 'formality,' and cry aloud to theworld that I leave my husband because of his unfaithfulness. It is myright, and I will exercise that right."
Ben who had again sank into his seat arose and advanced toward his wifeto sue for forgiveness.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, with uplifted hand. "The cup is full. Goback to her who has monopolized the best portion of your time since youhave married me."
Ben Hartright sank again into his chair and buried his face into hishands.
"Now, my darlings, let mother be the daysman between you," said theelder Mrs. Hartright, coming near carressing the young wife. "Bennyknows just to what extent he has wronged you my dear, and I believe himhonest enough and manly enough to acknowledge it, and sue forforgiveness. I leave you to yourselves. God grant that you may beenabled to peacably settle your difficulties satisfactorily to you both,without giving license to Madame Gossip. God bless you." Kissing Emily,Mrs. Hartright descended to her room.
Ben Hartright succeeded in patching up matters with his wife bypromising to live a more honest life, only to break it, which caused herto make good her threat and leave him.