Black Canaan | Page 4

win, they'll come back. If we don't, they'll take
refuge in Sharpsville."
I found his matter-of-factness a bit ghastly, as if the actuality of the
uprising were an assured fact.
"Well, what have you done?" I demanded.
"Ain't much we could do," he confessed. "The niggers ain't made no
open move, outside of killin' Ridge Jackson; and we couldn't prove
who done that, or why they done it.
"They ain't done nothin' but clear out. But that's mighty suspicious. We
can't keep from thinkin' Saul Stark's behind it."
"Who is this fellow?" I asked.
"I told you all I know, already. He got permission to settle in that old
deserted cabin on the Neck; a great big black devil that talks better
English than I like to hear a nigger talk. But he was respectful enough.
He had three or four big South Carolina bucks with him, and a brown
wench which we don't know whether she's his daughter, sister, wife or
What. He ain't been in to Grimesville but that one time, and a few
weeks after he came to Canaan, the niggers begun actin' curious. Some

of the boys wanted to ride over to Goshen and have a show-down, but
that's takin' a desperate chance."
I knew he was thinking of a ghastly tale told us by our grandfathers of
how a punitive expedition from Grimesville was once ambushed and
butchered among the dense thickets that masked Goshen, then a
rendezvous for runaway slaves, while another red-handed band
devastated Grimesville, left defenseless by that reckless invasion.
"Might take all the men to get Saul Stark," said McBride. "And we
don't dare leave the town unprotected. But we'll soon have to-hello,
what's this?"
We had emerged from the trees and were just entering the village of
Grimesville, the community center of the white population of Canaan.
It was not pretentious. Log cabins, neat and whitewashed, were
plentiful enough. Small cottages clustered about big, old-fashioned
houses which sheltered the rude aristocracy of that backwoods
democracy. All the "planter" families lived "in town." "The country"
was occupied by their tenants, and by the small independent farmers,
white and black.
A small log cabin stood near the point where the road wound out of the
deep forest. Voices emanated from it, in accents of menace, and a tall
lanky figure, rifle in hand, stood at the door.
"Howdy, Esau!" this man hailed us. "By golly, if it ain't Kirby Buckner!
Glad to see you, Kirby."
"'What's up, Dick?" asked McBride.
"Got a nigger in the shack, tryin' to make him talk. Bill Reynolds seen
him sneakin' past the edge of town about daylight, and nabbed him."
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Tope Sorley. John Willoughby's gone after a blacksnake."

With a smothered oath I swung off my horse and strode in, followed by
McBride. Half a dozen men in boots and gunbelts clustered about a
pathetic figure cowering on an old broken bunk. Tope Sorley (his
forebears had adopted the name of the family that owned them, in slave
days) was a pitiable sight just then. His skin was ashy, his teeth
chattered spasmodically, and his eyes seemed to be trying to roll back
into his head.
"Here's Kirby!" ejaculated one of the men as I pushed my way through
the group. "I'll bet he'll make this coon talk!"
"Here comes John with the blacksnake!" shouted someone, and a
tremor ran through Tope Sorley's shivering body.
I pushed aside the butt of the ugly whip thrust eagerly into my hand.
"Tope," I said, "you've worked one of my father's farms for years. Has
any Buckner ever treated you any way but square?"
"Nossuh," came faintly.
"Then what are you afraid of? Why don't you speak up? Something's
going on in the swamps. You know, and I want you to tell us why the
town niggers have all run away, why Ridge Jackson was killed, why
the swamp niggers are acting so mysteriously."
"And what kind of devilment that cussed Saul Stark's cookin' up over
on Tularoosa!" shouted one of the men.
Tope seemed to shrink into himself at the mention of Stark.
"I don't dast," he shuddered. "He'd put me in de swamp!"
"Who?" I demanded. "Stark? Is Stark a conjer man?"
Tope sank his head in his hands and did not answer. I laid my hand on
his shoulder.
"Tope," I said, "you know if you'll talk, we'll protect you. If you don't

talk, I don't think Stark can treat you much rougher than these men are
likely to. Now spill itwhat's it all about?"
He lifted desperate eyes.
"You-all got to lemme stay here," he shuddered. "And guard me, and
gimme money to git away on when de trouble's over."
"We'll do all that," I agreed instantly. "You can stay right here in