CHAPTER 17.
CHADWICK BUFORD, GENTLEMAN
And so, returned to the Bluegrass, the midsummer of that year, ChadwickBuford gentleman. A youth of eighteen, with the self-possession of aman, and a pair of level, clear eyes, that looked the world in the faceas proudly as ever but with no defiance and no secret sense of shame Itwas a curious story that Chad brought back and told to the Major, onthe porch under the honeysuckle vines, but it seemed to surprise theMajor very little: how old Nathan had sent for him to come to hisdeath-bed and had told Chad that he was no foundling; that one of hisfarms belonged to the boy; that he had lied to the Major about Chad'smother, who was a lawful wife, in order to keep the land for himself;how old Nathan had offered to give back the farm, or pay him the priceof it in livestock, and how, at old Joel's advice he had taken thestock and turned the stock into money. How, after he had found hismother's grave, his first act had been to take up the rough bee-gumcoffin that held her remains, and carry it down the river, and bury herwhere she had the right to lie, side by side with her grandfather andhis--the old gentleman who slept in wig and peruke on thehill-side--that her good name and memory should never again sufferinsult from any living tongue. It was then that Major took Chad by theshoulders roughly, and, with tears in his eyes, swore that he wouldhave no more nonsense from the boy; that Chad was flesh of his fleshand bone of his bone; that he would adopt him and make him live wherehe belonged, and break his damned pride. And it was then that Chad toldhim how gladly he would come, now that he could bring him anuntarnished name. And the two walked together down to the old familygraveyard, where the Major said that the two in the mountains should bebrought some day and where the two brothers who had parted nearlyfourscore years ago could, side by side, await Judgment Day.
When they went back into the house the Major went to the sideboard.
"Have a drink, Chad?"
Chad laughed: "Do you think it will stunt my growth?"
"Stand up here, and let's see," said the Major.
The two stood up, back to back, in front of a long mirror, and Chad'sshaggy hair rose at least an inch above the Major's thin locks of gray.The Major turned and looked at him from head to foot with affectionatepride.
"Six feet in your socks, to the inch, without that hair. I reckon itwon't stunt you--not now."
"All right," laughed Chad, "then I'll take that drink." And togetherthey drank.
Thus, Chadwick Buford, gentleman, after the lapse of three-quarters ofa century, came back to his own: and what that own, at that day and inthat land, was!
It was the rose of Virginia, springing, in full bloom, from new andricher soil--a rose of a deeper scarlet and a stronger stem: and thebig village where the old University reared its noble front was thevery heart of that rose. There were the proudest families, thestateliest homes, the broadest culture, the most gracious hospitality,the gentlest courtesies, the finest chivalry, that the State has everknown. There lived the political idols; there, under the low sky, rosethe memorial shaft to Clay. There had lived beaux and belles, memoriesof whom hang still about the town, people it with phantom shapes, andgive an individual or a family here and there a subtle distinctionto-day. There the grasp of Calvinism was most lax. There were thedance, the ready sideboard, the card table, the love of the horse andthe dog, and but little passion for the game-cock. There were as manlyvirtues, as manly vices, as the world has ever known. And there, lovewas as far from lust as heaven from hell.
It was on the threshold of this life that Chad stood. Kentucky hadgiven birth to the man who was to uphold the Union--birth to the manwho would seek to shatter it. Fate had given Chad the early life ofone, and like blood with the other; and, curiously enough, in his ownshort life, he already epitomized the social development of the nation,from its birth in a log cabin to its swift maturity behind the columnsof a Greek portico. Against the uncounted generations of gentlepeoplethat ran behind him to sunny England, how little could the short sleepof three in the hills count! It may take three generations to make agentleman, but one is enough, if the blood be there, the heart beright, and the brain and hand come early under discipline.
It was to General Dean that the Major told Chad's story first. The twoold friends silently grasped hands, and the cloud between them passedlike mist.
"Bring him over to dinner on Saturday, Cal--you and Miss Lucy, won'tyou? Some people are coming out from town." In making amends, there wasno half-way with General Dean.
"I will," said the Major, "gladly."
The cool of the coming autumn was already in the air that Saturday whenMiss Lucy and the Major and Chad, in the old carriage, with old Tom asdriver and the pickaninny behind, started for General Dean's. The Majorwas beautiful to behold, in his flowered waistcoat, his ruffled shirt,white trousers strapped beneath his highly polished, high-heeled boots,high hat and frock coat, with only the lowest button fastened, in orderto give a glimpse of that wonderful waistcoat, just as that, too, wasunbuttoned at the top that the ruffles might peep out upon the world.Chad's raiment, too, was a Solomon's--for him. He had protested, but invain; and he, too, wore white trousers with straps, high-heeled boots,and a wine-colored waistcoat and slouch hat, and a brave, though veryconscious, figure he made, with his tall body, well-poised head, strongshoulders and thick hair. It was a rare thing for Miss Lucy to do, butthe old gentlewoman could not resist the Major, and she, too, rode instate with them, smiling indulgently at the Major's quips, and now,kindly, on Chad. A drowsy peace lay over the magnificent woodlands,unravaged then except for firewood; the seared pastures, just beginningto show green again for the second spring; the flashing creek, the seasof still hemp and yellow corn, and Chad saw a wistful shadow cross MissLucy's pale face, and a darker one anxiously sweep over the Major'sjesting lips.
Guests were arriving, when they entered the yard gate, and guests werecoming behind them. General and Mrs. Dean were receiving them on theporch, and Harry and Dan were helping the ladies out of theircarriages, while, leaning against one of the columns, in pure white,was the graceful figure of Margaret. That there could ever have beenany feeling in any member of the family other than simple, graciouskindliness toward him, Chad could neither see nor feel. At once everytrace of embarrassment in him was gone, and he could but wonder at theswift justice done him in a way that was so simple and effective. Evenwith Margaret there was no trace of consciousness. The past was wipedclean of all save courtesy and kindness. There were the Hunts--Nellie,and the Lieutenant of the Lexington Rifles, Richard Hunt, adauntless-looking dare-devil, with the ready tongue of a coffee-housewit and the grace of a cavalier. There was Elizabeth Morgan, to whomHarry's grave eyes were always wandering, and Miss Jennie Overstreet,who was romantic and openly now wrote poems for the Observer, and wholooked at Chad with no attempt to conceal her admiration of hisappearance and her wonder as to who he was. And there were theneighbors roundabout--the Talbotts, Quisenberrys, Clays, Prestons,Morgans--surely no less than forty strong, and all for dinner. It wasno little trial for Chad in that crowd of fine ladies, judges,soldiers, lawyers, statesmen--but he stood it well. While hisself-consciousness made him awkward, he had pronounced dignity ofbearing; his diffidence emphasized his modesty, and he had the goodsense to stand and keep still. Soon they were at table--and what atable and what a dinner that was! The dining-room was the biggest andsunniest room in the house; its walls covered with hunting prints,pictures of game and stag heads. The table ran the length of it. Thesnowy tablecloth hung almost to the floor. At the head sat Mrs. Dean,with a great tureen of calf's head soup in front of her. Before theGeneral was the saddle of venison that was to follow, drenched in abottle of ancient Madeira, and flanked by flakes of red-currant jelly.Before the Major rested broiled wild ducks, on which he could show hiscarving skill--on game as well as men. A great turkey supplanted thevenison, and last to come, and before Richard Hunt, Lieutenant of theRifles, was a Kentucky ham. That ham! Mellow, aged, boiled inchampagne, baked brown, spiced deeply, rosy pink within, and of aflavor and f
ragrance to shatter the fast of a Pope; and without, abrown-edged white layer, so firm that the lieutenant's deft carvingknife, passing through, gave no hint to the eye that it was deliciousfat. There had been merry jest and laughter and banter and gallantcompliment before, but it was Richard Hunt's turn now, and story afterstory he told, as the rose-flakes dropped under his knife in such thinslices that their edges coiled. It was full half an hour before thecarver and story-teller were done. After that ham the tablecloth waslifted, and the dessert spread on another lying beneath; then that,too, was raised, and the nuts and wines were placed on a third--reddamask this time.
Then came the toasts: to the gracious hostess from Major Buford; toMiss Lucy from General Dean; from valiant Richard Hunt to blushingMargaret, and then the ladies were gone, and the talk was politics--theelection of Lincoln, slavery, disunion.
"If Lincoln is elected, no power but God's can avert war," said RichardHunt, gravely.
Dan's eyes flashed. "Will you take me?"
The lieutenant lifted his glass. "Gladly, my boy."
"Kentucky's convictions are with the Union; her kinship and sympathieswith the South," said a deep-voiced lawyer. "She must remain neutral."
"Straddling the fence," said the Major, sarcastically.
"No; to avert the war, if possible, or to act the peacemaker when thetragedy is over."
"Well, I can see Kentuckians keeping out of a fight," laughed theGeneral, and he looked around. Three out of five of the men present hadbeen in the Mexican war. The General had been wounded at Cerro Gordo,and the Major had brought his dead home in leaden coffins.
"The fanatics of Boston, the hot-heads of South Carolina--they aremaking the mischief."
"And New England began with slavery," said the lawyer again.
"And naturally, with that conscience that is a national calamity, wasthe first to give it up," said Richard Hunt, "when the market price ofslaves fell to sixpence a pound in the open Boston markets." There wasan incredulous murmur.
"Oh, yes," said Hunt, easily, "I can show you advertisements in Bostonpapers of slaves for sale at sixpence a pound."
Perhaps it never occurred to a soul present that the word "slave" wasnever heard in that region except in some such way. With Southerners,the negroes were "our servants" or "our people"--never slaves. Two ladsat that table were growing white--Chad and Harry--and Chad's lipsopened first.
"I don't think slavery has much to do with the question, really," hesaid, "not even with Mr. Lincoln." The silent surprise that followedthe boy's embarrassed statement ended in a gasp of astonishment whenHarry leaned across the table and said, hotly:
"Slavery has EVERYTHING to do with the question."
The Major looked bewildered; the General frowned, and the keen-eyedlawyer spoke again:
"The struggle was written in the Constitution. The framers evaded it.Logic leads one way as well as another and no man can logically blameanother for the way he goes."
"No more politics now, gentlemen," said the General quickly. "We willjoin the ladies. Harry," he added, with some sternness, "lead the way!"
As the three boys rose, Chad lifted his glass. His face was pale andhis lips trembled.
"May I propose a toast, General Dean?"
"Why, certainly," said the General, kindly.
"I want to drink to one man but for whom I might be in a log cabin now,and might have died there for all I know--my friend and, thank God! mykinsman--Major Buford."
It was irregular and hardly in good taste, but the boy had waited tillthe ladies were gone, and it touched the Major that he should want tomake such a public acknowledgment that there should be no false colorsin the flag he meant henceforth to bear.
The startled guests drank blindly to the confused Major, though theyknew not why, but as the lads disappeared the lawyer asked:
"Who is that boy, Major?"
Outside, the same question had been asked among the ladies and the samestory told. The three girls remembered him vaguely, they said, and whenChad reappeared, in the eyes of the poetess at least, the halo ofromance floated above his head.
She was waiting for Chad when he came out on the porch, and she shookher curls and flashed her eyes in a way that almost alarmed him. OldMammy dropped him a curtsey, for she had had her orders, and, behindher, Snowball, now a tall, fine-looking coal-black youth, grinned awelcome. The three girls were walking under the trees, with their armsmysteriously twined about one anther's waists, and the poetess walkeddown toward them with the three lads, Richard Hunt following. Chadcould not know how it happened, but, a moment later, Dan was walkingaway with Nellie Hunt one way; Harry with Elizabeth Morgan the other;the Lieutenant had Margaret alone, and Miss Overstreet was leading himaway, raving meanwhile about the beauty of field and sky. As they wenttoward the gate he could not help flashing one look toward the pairunder the fir tree. An amused smile was playing under the Lieutenant'sbeautiful mustache, his eyes were dancing with mischief, and Margaretwas blushing with anything else than displeasure.
"Oho!" he said, as Chad and his companion passed on. "Sits the wind inthat corner? Bless me, if looks could kill, I'd have a happy death hereat your feet, Mistress Margaret. SEE the young man! It's the secondtime he has almost slain me."
Chad could scarcely hear Miss Jennie's happy chatter, scarcely saw theshaking curls, the eyes all but in a frenzy of rolling. His eyes werein the back of his head, and his backward-listening ears heard onlyMargaret's laugh behind him.
"Oh, I do love the autumn"--it was at the foot of those steps, thoughtChad, that he first saw Margaret springing to the back of her pony anddashing off under the fir trees--"and it's coming. There's one scarletleaf already"--Chad could see the rock fence where he had sat thatspring day--"it's curious and mournful that you can see in any season asign of the next to come." And there was the creek where he found Danfishing, and there the road led to the ford where Margaret had spurnedhis offer of a slimy fish--ugh! "I do love the autumn. It makes mefeel like the young woman who told Emerson that she had such mammoththoughts she couldn't give them utterance--why, wake up, Mr. Buford,wake up!" Chad came to with a start.
"Do you know you aren't very polite, Mr. Buford?" Mr. Buford! That didsound funny.
"But I know what the matter is," she went on. "I saw you look"--shenodded her head backward. "Can you keep a secret?" Chad nodded; he hadnot yet opened his lips.
"Thae's going to be a match back there. He's only a few years older.The French say that a woman should be half a man's age plus sevenyears. That would make her only a few years too young, and she canwait." Chad was scarlet under the girl's mischievous torture, but a cryfrom the house saved him. Dan was calling them back.
"Mr. Hunt has to go back early to drill the Rifles. Can you keepanother secret?" Again Chad nodded gravely. "Well, he is going to driveme back. I'll tell him what a dangerous rival he has." Chad was dumb;there was much yet for him to learn before he could parry with a tonguelike hers.
"He's very good-looking," said Miss Jennie, when she joined the girls,"but oh, so stupid."
Margaret turned quickly and unsuspiciously. "Stupid! Why, he's thefirst man in his class."
"Oh," said Miss Jennie, with a demure smile, "perhaps I couldn't drawhim out," and Margaret flushed to have caught the deftly tossed bait soreadily.
A moment later the Lieutenant was gathering up the reins, with MissJennie by his side. He gave a bow to Margaret, and Miss Jennie noddedto Chad.
"Come see me when you come to town, Mr. Buford," she called, as thoughto an old friend, and still Chad was dumb, though he lifted his hatgravely.
At no time was Chad alone with Margaret, and he was not sorry--hermanner so puzzled him. The three lads and three girls walked togetherthrough Mrs. Dean's garden with its grass walks and flower beds andvegetable patches surrounded with rose bushes. At the lower edge theycould see the barn with sheep in the yard around it, and there were thevery stiles where Harry and Margaret had sat in state when Dan and Chadwere charging in the tourname
nt. The thing might never have happenedfor any sign from Harry or Dan or Margaret, and Chad began to wonder ifhis past or his present were a dream.
How fine this courtesy was Chad could not realize. Neither could heknow that the favor Margaret had shown him when he was little more thanoutcast he must now, as an equal, win for himself. Miss Jennie hadcalled him "Mr. Buford." He wondered what Margaret would call him whenhe came to say good-by. She called him nothing. She only smiled at him.
"You must come to see us soon again," she said, graciously, and so saidall the Deans.
The Major was quiet going home, and Miss Lucy drowsed. All evening theMajor was quiet.
"If a fight does come," he said, when they were going to bed, "I reckonI'm not too old to take a hand."
"And I reckon I'm not too young," said Chad.