The Strength of Gideon | Page 5

talked in secret corners. There were hurried saddlings and feverish
rides to town. Somewhere in the quarters was whispered the forbidden
word "freedom," and it was taken up and dropped breathlessly from the

ends of a hundred tongues. Some of the older ones scouted it, but from
some who held young children to their breasts there were deep-souled
prayers in the dead of night. Over the meetings in the woods or in the
log church a strange reserve brooded, and even the prayers took on a
guarded tone. Even from the fulness of their hearts, which longed for
liberty, no open word that could offend the mistress or the young
master went up to the Almighty. He might know their hearts, but no
tongue in meeting gave vent to what was in them, and even Gideon
sang no more of the gospel army. He was sad because of this new
trouble coming hard upon the heels of the old, and Martha was grieved
because he was.
Finally the trips into town budded into something, and on a memorable
evening when the sun looked peacefully through the pines, young
Dudley Stone rode into the yard dressed in a suit of gray, and on his
shoulders were the straps of office. The servants gathered around him
with a sort of awe and followed him until he alighted at the porch. Only
Mam' Henry, who had been nurse to both him and his sister, dared
follow him in. It was a sad scene within, but such a one as any
Southern home where there were sons might have shown that awful
year. The mother tried to be brave, but her old hands shook, and her
tears fell upon her son's brown head, tears of grief at parting, but
through which shone the fire of a noble pride. The young Ellen hung
about his neck with sobs and caresses.
"Would you have me stay?" he asked her.
"No! no! I know where your place is, but oh, my brother!"
"Ellen," said the mother in a trembling voice, "you are the sister of a
soldier now."
The girl dried her tears and drew herself up. "We won't burden your
heart, Dudley, with our tears, but we will weight you down with our
love and prayers."
It was not so easy with Mam' Henry. Without protest, she took him to
her bosom and rocked to and fro, wailing "My baby! my baby!" and the

tears that fell from the young man's eyes upon her grey old head cost
his manhood nothing.
Gideon was behind the door when his master called him. His sleeve
was traveling down from his eyes as he emerged.
"Gideon," said his master, pointing to his uniform, "you know what this
means?"
"Yes, suh."
"I wish I could take you along with me. But--"
"Mas' Dud," Gideon threw out his arms in supplication.
"You remember father's charge to you, take care of the women-folks."
He took the servant's hand, and, black man and white, they looked into
each other's eyes, and the compact was made. Then Gideon gulped and
said "Yes, suh" again.
Another boy held the master's horse and rode away behind him when
he vaulted into the saddle, and the man of battle-song and warrior name
went back to mind the women-folks.
Then began the disintegration of the plantation's population. First
Yellow Bob slipped away, and no one pursued him. A few blamed him,
but they soon followed as the year rolled away. More were missing
every time a Union camp lay near, and great tales were told of the
chances for young negroes who would go as body-servants to the
Yankee officers. Gideon heard all and was silent.
Then as the time of his marriage drew near he felt a greater strength, for
there was one who would be with him to help him keep his promise and
his faith.
The spirit of freedom had grown strong in Martha as the days passed,
and when her lover went to see her she had strange things to say. Was
he going to stay? Was he going to be a slave when freedom and a

livelihood lay right within his grasp? Would he keep her a slave? Yes,
he would do it all--all.
She asked him to wait.
Another year began, and one day they brought Dudley Stone home to
lay beside his father. Then most of the remaining negroes went. There
was no master now. The two bereaved women wept, and Gideon forgot
that he wore the garb of manhood and wept with them.
Martha came to him.
"Gidjon," she said, "I's waited a long while now. Mos' eve'ybody else is
gone. Ain't you goin'?"
"No."
"But, Gidjon, I wants to be free. I know how good dey've been to us;
but, oh, I