The Strength of Gideon | Page 6

wants to own myse'f. They're talkin' 'bout settin' us free every
hour."
"I can wait."
"They's a camp right near here."
"I promised."
"The of'cers wants body-servants, Gidjon--"
"Go, Martha, if you want to, but I stay."
She went away from him, but she or some one else got word to young
Captain Jack Griswold of the near camp that there was an excellent
servant on the plantation who only needed a little persuading, and he
came up to see him.
"Look here," he said, "I want a body-servant. I'll give you ten dollars a
month."

"I've got to stay here."
"But, you fool, what have you to gain by staying here?"
"I'm goin' to stay."
"Why, you'll be free in a little while, anyway."
"All right."
"Of all fools," said the Captain. "I'll give you fifteen dollars."
"I do' want it."
"Well, your girl's going, anyway. I don't blame her for leaving such a
fool as you are."
Gideon turned and looked at him.
"The camp is going to be moved up on this plantation, and there will be
a requisition for this house for officers' quarters, so I'll see you again,"
and Captain Griswold went his way.
Martha going! Martha going! Gideon could not believe it. He would
not. He saw her, and she confirmed it. She was going as an aid to the
nurses. He gasped, and went back to mind the women-folks.
They did move the camp up nearer, and Captain Griswold came to see
Gideon again, but he could get no word from him, save "I'm goin' to
stay," and he went away in disgust, entirely unable to understand such
obstinacy, as he called it.
[Illustration: "'IT'S FREEDOM, GIDEON.'"]
But the slave had his moments alone, when the agony tore at his breast
and rended him. Should he stay? The others were going. He would
soon be free. Every one had said so, even his mistress one day. Then
Martha was going. "Martha! Martha!" his heart called.

The day came when the soldiers were to leave, and he went out sadly to
watch them go. All the plantation, that had been white with tents, was
dark again, and everywhere were moving, blue-coated figures.
Once more his tempter came to him. "I'll make it twenty dollars," he
said, but Gideon shook his head. Then they started. The drums tapped.
Away they went, the flag kissing the breeze. Martha stole up to say
good-bye to him. Her eyes were overflowing, and she clung to him.
"Come, Gidjon," she plead, "fu' my sake. Oh, my God, won't you come
with us--it's freedom." He kissed her, but shook his head.
"Hunt me up when you do come," she said, crying bitterly, "fu' I do
love you, Gidjon, but I must go. Out yonder is freedom," and she was
gone with them.
He drew out a pace after the troops, and then, turning, looked back at
the house. He went a step farther, and then a woman's gentle voice
called him, "Gideon!" He stopped. He crushed his cap in his hands, and
the tears came into his eyes. Then he answered, "Yes, Mis' Ellen, I's
a-comin'."
He stood and watched the dusty column until the last blue leg swung
out of sight and over the grey hills the last drum-tap died away, and
then turned and retraced his steps toward the house.
Gideon had triumphed mightily.

MAMMY PEGGY'S PRIDE
In the failing light of the midsummer evening, two women sat upon the
broad veranda that ran round three sides of the old Virginia mansion.
One was young and slender with the slightness of delicate girlhood.
The other was old, black and ample,--a typical mammy of the old south.
The girl was talking in low, subdued tones touched with a note of
sadness that was strange in one of her apparent youth, but which
seemed as if somehow in consonance with her sombre garments.

"No, no, Peggy," she was saying, "we have done the best we could, as
well as even papa could have expected of us if he had been here. It was
of no use to keep struggling and straining along, trying to keep the old
place from going, out of a sentiment, which, however honest it might
have been, was neither common sense nor practical. Poor people, and
we are poor, in spite of the little we got for the place, cannot afford to
have feelings. Of course I hate to see strangers take possession of the
homestead, and--and--papa's and mamma's and brother Phil's graves are
out there on the hillside. It is hard,--hard, but what was I to do? I
couldn't plant and hoe and plow, and you couldn't, so I am beaten,
beaten." The girl threw out her hands with a despairing gesture and
burst into tears.
Mammy