The Quest of the Silver Fleece

The Quest of the Silver Fleece

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Title: The Quest of the Silver Fleece A Novel
Author: W. E. B. Du Bois
Release Date: March 5, 2005 [EBook #15265]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE
A Novel W.E.B. DU BOIS
1911
A.C. McClurg & Co.

Contents THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE
Note from the Author 3
_One_: DREAMS 5
_Two_: THE SCHOOL 12
_Three_: MISS MARY TAYLOR 16
_Four_: TOWN 23
_Five_: ZORA 33
_Six_: COTTON 42
_Seven_: THE PLACE OF DREAMS 53
_Eight_: MR. HARRY CRESSWELL 66
_Nine_: THE PLANTING 74
_Ten_: MR. TAYLOR CALLS 84
_Eleven_: THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE 99
_Twelve_: THE PROMISE 108
_Thirteen_: MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER 122
_Fourteen_: LOVE 128
_Fifteen_: REVELATION 134
_Sixteen_: THE GREAT REFUSAL 146
_Seventeen_: THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE 154
_Eighteen_: THE COTTON CORNER 162
_Nineteen_: THE DYING OF ELSPETH 171
_Twenty_: THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE 182
_Twenty-one_: THE MARRIAGE MORNING 191
_Twenty-two_: MISS CAROLINE WYNN 199
_Twenty-three_: THE TRAINING OF ZORA 210
_Twenty-four_: THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN 218
_Twenty-five_: THE CAMPAIGN 230
_Twenty-six_: CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL 244
_Twenty-seven_: THE VISION OF ZORA 254
_Twenty-eight_: THE ANNUNCIATION 263
_Twenty-nine_: A MASTER OF FATE 271
_Thirty_: THE RETURN OF ZORA 283
_Thirty-one_: A PARTING OF WAYS 293
_Thirty-two_: ZORA'S WAY 309
_Thirty-three_: THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 316
_Thirty-four_: THE RETURN OF ALWYN 328
_Thirty-five_: THE COTTON MILL 339
_Thirty-six_: THE LAND 350
_Thirty-seven_: THE MOB 364
_Thirty-eight_: ATONEMENT 371

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

TO ONE
whose name may not be written but to whose tireless faith the shaping of these cruder thoughts to forms more fitly perfect is doubtless due, this finished work is herewith dedicated

Note He who would tell a tale must look toward three ideals: to tell it well, to tell it beautifully, and to tell the truth.
The first is the Gift of God, the second is the Vision of Genius, but the third is the Reward of Honesty.
In The Quest of the Silver Fleece there is little, I ween, divine or ingenious; but, at least, I have been honest. In no fact or picture have I consciously set down aught the counterpart of which I have not seen or known; and whatever the finished picture may lack of completeness, this lack is due now to the story-teller, now to the artist, but never to the herald of the Truth.
NEW YORK CITY
_August 15, 1911_
THE AUTHOR

One DREAMS
Night fell. The red waters of the swamp grew sinister and sullen. The tall pines lost their slimness and stood in wide blurred blotches all across the way, and a great shadowy bird arose, wheeled and melted, murmuring, into the black-green sky.
The boy wearily dropped his heavy bundle and stood still, listening as the voice of crickets split the shadows and made the silence audible. A tear wandered down his brown cheek. They were at supper now, he whispered--the father and old mother, away back yonder beyond the night. They were far away; they would never be as near as once they had been, for he had stepped into the world. And the cat and Old Billy--ah, but the world was a lonely thing, so wide and tall and empty! And so bare, so bitter bare! Somehow he had never dreamed of the world as lonely before; he had fared forth to beckoning hands and luring, and to the eager hum of human voices, as of some great, swelling music.
Yet now he was alone; the empty night was closing all about him here in a strange land, and he was afraid. The bundle with his earthly treasure had hung heavy and heavier on his shoulder; his little horde of money was tightly wadded in his sock, and the school lay hidden somewhere far away in the shadows. He wondered how far it was; he looked and harkened, starting at his own heartbeats, and fearing more and more the long dark fingers of the night.
Then of a sudden up from the darkness came music. It was human music, but of a wildness and a weirdness that startled the boy as it fluttered and danced across the dull red waters of the swamp. He hesitated, then impelled by some strange power, left the highway and slipped into the forest of the swamp, shrinking, yet following the song hungrily and half forgetting his fear. A harsher, shriller note struck in as of many and ruder voices; but above it flew the first sweet music, birdlike, abandoned, and the boy crept closer.
The cabin crouched ragged and black at the edge of black waters.