An Arkansas Planter | Page 2

years later won applause as
commander of one of the most stubborn batteries of the Confederate
Army. The house was originally built of cypress logs, but as time
passed additions of boards and brick were made, resulting in a formless
but comfortable habitation, with broad passage ways and odd lolling
places set to entrap cool breezes. The plantation comprised about one
thousand acres. The land for the most part was level, but here and there
a hill arose, like a sudden jolt. From right to left the tract was divided
by a bayou, slow and dark. The land was so valuable that most of it had
been cleared years ago, but in the wooded stretches the timber was
thick, and in places the tops of the trees were laced together with wild
grape vines. Far away was a range of pine-covered hills, blue cones in
the distance. And here lived the poorer class of people, farmers who
could not hope to look to the production of cotton, but who for a mere
existence raised thin hogs and nubbins of corn. In the lowlands the
plantations were so large and the residences so far apart that the
country would have appeared thinly settled but for the negro quarters
here and there, log villages along the bayous.
In this neighborhood Major John Cranceford was the most prominent
figure. The county was named in honor of his family. He was called a
progressive man. He accepted the yoke of reconstruction and wore it
with a laugh, until it pinched, and then he said nothing, except to tell
his neighbors that a better time was coming. And it came. The years
passed, and a man who had been prominent in the Confederate council
became Attorney-General of the American Nation, and men who had
led desperate charges against the Federal forces made speeches in the
old capitol at Washington. And thus the world was taught a lesson of
forgiveness--of the true greatness of man.
In New Orleans the Major was known as a character, and his nerve was
not merely a matter of conjecture. Courage is supposed to hold a
solemn aspect, but the Major was the embodiment of heartiness. His
laugh was catching; even the negroes had it, slow, loud and long.

Sometimes at morning when a change of season had influenced him, he
would slowly stride up and down the porch, seeming to shake with
joviality as he walked. Years ago he had served as captain of a large
steamboat, and this at times gave him an air of bluff authority. He was
a successful river man, and was therefore noted for the vigor and
newness of his profanity. His wife was deeply religious, and year after
year she besought him to join the church, pleaded with him at evening
when the two children were kissed good night--and at last he stood the
rector's cross-examination and had his name placed upon the register. It
was a hard struggle, but he weeded out his oaths until but one was
left--a bold "by the blood." He said that he would part even with this
safety valve but that it would require time; and it did. The Major
believed in the gradual moral improvement of mankind, but he swore
that the world intellectually was going to the devil. And for this
conviction he had a graded proof. "Listen to me a minute," he was wont
to say. "I'll make it clear to you. My grandfather was graduated with
great honors from Harvard, my father was graduated with honor, I got
through all right, but my son Tom failed."
CHAPTER II.
One hot afternoon the Major sat in his library. The doors were open and
a cool breeze, making the circuitous route of the passage ways, swept
through the room, bulging a newspaper which he held opened out in
front of him. He was scanning the headlines to catch the impulsive
moods of the world. The parlor was not far away, down the hall, and
voices reached him. And then there came the distressing hack, hack, of
a hollow cough. He put down the newspaper, got up, and slowly strode
about the room, not shaking with joviality as he walked. In the parlor
the voices were hushed, there was a long silence, and then came the
hollow cough. He sat down and again took up the newspaper, but the
cough, hack, hack, smote him like the recurrence of a distressing
thought, and he crumpled the paper and threw it upon the floor. Out in
the yard a negro woman was singing; far down the stream a steamboat
whistled. And again came the hollow cough. There was another long
silence, and then he heard light footsteps in the hall. A young woman
halted at the door and stood looking