_Seventeen_
THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE
When slowly from the torpor of ether, one wakens to the misty sense ofeternal loss, and there comes the exquisite prick of pain, then onefeels in part the horror of the ache when Zora wakened to the worldagain. The awakening was the work of days and weeks. At first in sheerexhaustion, physical and mental, she lay and moaned. The sense ofloss--of utter loss--lay heavy upon her. Something of herself, somethingdearer than self, was gone from her forever, and an infinite lonelinessand silence, as of endless years, settled on her soul. She wishedneither food nor words, only to be alone. Then gradually the pain ofinjury stung her when the blood flowed fuller. As Miss Smith kneltbeside her one night to make her simple prayer Zora sat suddenlyupright, white-swathed, dishevelled, with fury in her midnight eyes.
"I want no prayers!" she cried, "I will not pray! He is no God of mine.He isn't fair. He knows and won't tell. He takes advantage of us--Heworks and fools us." All night Miss Smith heard mutterings of thisbitterness, and the next day the girl walked her room like atigress,--to and fro, to and fro, all the long day. Toward night a dumbdespair settled upon her. Miss Smith found her sitting by the windowgazing blankly toward the swamp. She came to Miss Smith, slowly, and puther hands upon her shoulders with almost a caress.
"You must forgive me," she pleaded plaintively. "I reckon I've beenmighty bad with you, and you always so good to me; but--but, you see--ithurts so."
"I know it hurts, dear; I know it does. But men and women must learn tobear hurts in this world."
"Not hurts like this; they couldn't."
"Yes, even hurts like this. Bear and stand straight; be brave. Afterall, Zora, no man is quite worth a woman's soul; no love is worth awhole life."
Zora turned away with a gesture of impatience.
"You were born in ice," she retorted, adding a bit more tenderly, "inclear strong ice; but I was born in fire. I live--I love; that's all."And she sat down again, despairingly, and stared at the dull swamp. MissSmith stood for a moment and closed her eyes upon a vision.
"Ice!" she whispered. "My God!"
Then, at length, she said to Zora:
"Zora, there's only one way: do something; if you sit thus broodingyou'll go crazy."
"Do crazy folks forget?"
"Nonsense, Zora!" Miss Smith ridiculed the girl's fantastic vagaries;her sound common sense rallied to her aid. "They are the people whoremember; sane folk forget. Work is the only cure for such pain."
"But there's nothing to do--nothing I want to do--nothing worthdoing--now."
"The Silver Fleece?"
The girl sat upright.
"The Silver Fleece," she murmured. Without further word, slowly shearose and walked down the stairs, and out into the swamp. Miss Smithwatched her go; she knew that every step must be the keen prickle ofawakening flesh. Yet the girl walked steadily on.
* * * * *
It was the Christmas--not Christmas-tide of the North and West, butChristmas of the Southern South. It was not the festival of the ChristChild, but a time of noise and frolic and license, the great Pay-Day ofthe year when black men lifted their heads from a year's toiling in theearth, and, hat in hand, asked anxiously: "Master, what have I earned?Have I paid my old debts to you? Have I made my clothes and food? Have Igot a little of the year's wage coming to me?" Or, more carelessly andcringingly: "Master, gimme a Christmas gift."
The lords of the soil stood round, gauging their cotton, measuring theirmen. Their stores were crowded, their scales groaned, their gins sang.In the long run public opinion determines all wage, but in moreprimitive times and places, private opinion, personal judgment of someman in power, determines. The Black Belt is primitive and the landlordwields the power.
"What about Johnson?" calls the head clerk.
"Well, he's a faithful nigger and needs encouragement; cancel his debtand give him ten dollars for Christmas." Colonel Cresswell glowed, as ifhe were full of the season's spirit.
"And Sanders?"
"How's his cotton?"
"Good, and a lot of it."
"He's trying to get away. Keep him in debt, but let him draw what hewants."
"Aunt Rachel?"
"H'm, they're way behind, aren't they? Give her a couple of dollars--nota cent more."
"Jim Sykes?"
"Say, Harry, how about that darky, Sykes?" called out the Colonel.
Excusing himself from his guests, Harry Cresswell came into the office.
To them this peculiar spectacle of the market place was of unusualinterest. They saw its humor and its crowding, its bizarre effects andunwonted pageantry. Black giants and pigmies were there; kerchiefedaunties, giggling black girls, saffron beauties, and loafing white men.There were mules and horses and oxen, wagons and buggies and carts; butabove all and in all, rushing through, piled and flying, bound andbaled--was cotton. Cotton was currency; cotton was merchandise; cottonwas conversation.
All this was "beautiful" to Mrs. Grey and "unusually interesting" toMrs. Vanderpool. To Mary Taylor it had the fascination of a puzzle whoseother side she had already been partially studying. She was particularlyimpressed with the joy and abandon of the scene--light laughter, hugeguffaws, handshakes, and gossipings.
"At all events," she concluded, "this is no oppressed people." Andsauntering away from the rest she noted the smiles of an undersizedsmirking yellow man who hurried by with a handful of dollar bills. At aside entrance liquor was evidently on sale--men were drinking and women,too; some were staggering, others cursing, and yet others singing. Thensuddenly a man swung around the corner swearing in bitter rage:
"The damned thieves, they'se stole a year's work--the white--" But someone called, "Hush up, Sanders! There's a white woman." And he threw astartled look at Mary and hurried by. She was perplexed and upset andstood hesitating a moment when she heard a well-known voice:
"Why, Miss Taylor, I was alarmed for you; you really must be carefulabout trusting yourself with these half drunken Negroes."
"Wouldn't it be better not to give them drink, Mr. Cresswell?"
"And let your neighbor sell them poison at all hours? No, Miss Taylor."They joined the others, and all were turning toward the carriage when afigure coming down the road attracted them.
"Quite picturesque," observed Mrs. Vanderpool, looking at the tall, slimgirl swaying toward them with a piled basket of white cotton poisedlightly on her head. "Why," in abrupt recognition, "it is our Venus ofthe Roadside, is it not?"
Mary saw it was Zora. Just then, too, Zora caught sight of them, and fora moment hesitated, then came on; the carriage was in front of thestore, and she was bound for the store. A moment Mary hesitated, too,and then turned resolutely to greet her. But Zora's eyes did not seeher. After one look at that sorrow-stricken face, Mary turned away.
Colonel Cresswell stood by the door, his hat on, his hands in hispockets.
"Well, Zora, what have you there?" he asked.
"Cotton, sir."
Harry Cresswell bent over it.
"Great heavens! Look at this cotton!" he ejaculated. His fatherapproached. The cotton lay in silken handfuls, clean and shimmering,with threads full two inches long. The idlers, black and white,clustered round, gazing at it, and fingering it with repeatedexclamations of astonishment.
"Where did this come from?" asked the Colonel sharply. He and Harry wereboth eying the girl intently.
"I raised it in the swamp," Zora replied quietly, in a dead voice. Therewas no pride of achievement in her manner, no gladness; all that hadflown.
"Is that all?"
"No, sir; I think there's two bales."
"Two bales! Where is it? How the devil--" The Colonel was forgetting hisguests, but Harry intervened.
"You'll need to get it picked right off," he suggested.
"It's all picked, sir."
"But where is it?"
"If you'll send a wagon, sir--"
But the Colonel hardly waited.
"Here you, Jim, take the big mules and drive like--Where's that wench?"
But Zora was already striding on ahead, and was far up the red road whenthe great mules galloped into sight and the long whip snapped abovetheir backs. The Colonel was still excited.
"That cotton must be ours, Harry--all of it. And see that none isstolen. We've got no contract with the wench, so don't dally with her."But Harry said firmly, quietly:
"It's fine cotton, and she raised it; she must be paid well for it."Colonel Cresswell glanced at him with something between contempt andastonishment on his face.
"You go along with the ladies," Harry added; "I'll see to this cotton."Mary Taylor's smile had rewarded him; now he must get rid of hiscompany--before Zora returned.
It was dark when the cotton came; such a load as Cresswell's store hadnever seen before. Zora watched it weighed, received the cotton checks,and entered the store. Only the clerk was there, and he was closing. Hepointed her carelessly to the office in the back part. She went into thesmall dim room, and laying the cotton-check on the desk, stood waiting.Slowly the hopelessness and bitterness of it all came back in a greatwhelming flood. What was the use of trying for anything? She was lostforever. The world was against her, and again she saw the fingers ofElspeth--the long black claw-like talons that clutched and dragged herdown--down. She did not struggle--she dropped her hands listlessly,wearily, and stood but half conscious as the door opened and Mr. HarryCresswell entered the dimly lighted room. She opened her eyes. She hadexpected his father. Somewhere way down in the depths of her nature theprimal tiger awoke and snarled. She was suddenly alive from hair tofinger tip. Harry Cresswell paused a second and swept her full lengthwith his eye--her profile, the long supple line of bosom and hip, thelittle foot. Then he closed the door softly and walked slowly towardher. She stood like stone, without a quiver; only her eye followed thecrooked line of the Cresswell blue blood on his marble forehead as shelooked down from her greater height; her hand closed almost caressinglyon a rusty poker lying on the stove nearby; and as she sensed the hotbreath of him she felt herself purring in a half heard whisper.
"I should not like--to kill you."
He looked at her long and steadily as he passed to his desk. Slowly helighted a cigarette, opened the great ledger, and compared thecotton-check with it.
"Three thousand pounds," he announced in a careless tone. "Yes, thatwill make about two bales of lint. It's extra cotton--say fifteen centsa pound--one hundred fifty dollars--seventy-five dollars to you--h'm."He took a note-book out of his pocket, pushed his hat back on his head,and paused to relight his cigarette.
"Let's see--your rent and rations--"
"Elspeth pays no rent," she said slowly, but he did not seem to hear.
"Your rent and rations with the five years' back debt,"--he made a hastycalculation--"will be one hundred dollars. That leaves you twenty-fivein our debt. Here's your receipt."
The blow had fallen. She did not wince nor cry out. She took thereceipt, calmly, and walked out into the darkness.
They had stolen the Silver Fleece.
What should she do? She never thought of appeal to courts, for ColonelCresswell was Justice of the Peace and his son was bailiff. Why had theystolen from her? She knew. She was now penniless, and in a sensehelpless. She was now a peon bound to a master's bidding. If Elspethchose to sign a contract of work for her to-morrow, it would meanslavery, jail, or hounded running away. What would Elspeth do? One neverknew. Zora walked on. An hour ago it seemed that this last blow musthave killed her. But now it was different. Into her first despair hadcrept, in one fierce moment, grim determination. Somewhere in the worldsat a great dim Injustice which had veiled the light before her youngeyes, just as she raised them to the morning. With the veiling, deathhad come into her heart.
And yet, they should not kill her; they should not enslave her. Adesperate resolve to find some way up toward the light, if not to it,formed itself within her. She would not fall into the pit opening beforeher. Somehow, somewhere lay The Way. She must never fall lower; never beutterly despicable in the eyes of the man she had loved. There was nodream of forgiveness, of purification, of re-kindled love; all these sheplaced sadly and gently into the dead past. But in awful earnestness,she turned toward the future; struggling blindly, groping in half formedplans for a way.
She came thus into the room where sat Miss Smith, strangely pallidbeneath her dusky skin. But there lay a light in her eyes.