Chapter II: Part 2

And when “the chillun” had gone to bed she sat through her lonely vigil, pondering over the advents and the changes the room had known since the time she and her “ole man” had been its first occupants, gazing mournfully upon the string of hats still hanging as she had found them, and going now and then to look out on the changing sky. She had calculated the extra three miles around by Parson Damon’s would make it twelve o’clock by the time they could arrive, and at eleven the moon had disappeared and clouds were gathering thick and ominous. She moved about restlessly, threw on a fresh pine knot, trimmed the small lamp, and was just settling herself to renewed rumination when a low “Whoa!” fell on her ears. Rising quickly, she flung wide the door so that the friendly light streamed out.

“Well, ye’ve come!” she called into the darkness.

Gabe and the mare disappeared in the direction of the stable, and Luce came in rather uncertainly after her cramped ride in the chill air. “Yes,” she replied, blinking in the light, “an’ I brung yer this,” holding out an old woolen hat. “When Lige Bozeman come back er wearin’ it, I says, ‘That thar ain’t the hat you went off from here with,’ an’ he says, ‘No, this yere’s one o’ ole man Freeler’s,’ an’ I says, ‘Well, jes give it here, an’ I’ll take it back,’ I says. Which I did, knowin’ what store you set by them hats—an’ here it is!”

The old woman was trembling violently. She looked at the girl with eyes that saw only the lost and recovered treasure. When Luce had finished she turned from her without a word, and, hurrying across the room, restored, with little inarticulate cries of joy and love, the precious hat to its place with the other ten, then, mounting a chair, fastened the end of string to the joist again. Descending stiffly she turned to her with glistening eyes.

“Ye’re welcome,” she said. “It’s the most I’ve ever said to any of ’em. I inginerally waits to see how it’s goin’ to turn out—yer never kin tell. But this time, I says, ye’re welcome—an’ Gabe’ll treat yer right; he allus good to his wives. Yer know, Gabe’s a master han’ for marryin’!”

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_Knowledge is not so much in knowing as in knowing how to know._

* * * * *

_It was Plautus who said: “To make any gain some outlay is necessary.”_

MEMORIES

O mystic Land of Smiles and Tears,
O Land that Was and Is,
Alone—unchanging with the years—
The Land of Memories.

—JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE.

Matthew Fontaine Maury

PAPER BY MRS. H. P. COCHRANE, FRANKLIN, TENN. AND MRS. MARY LEWIS PRESTON, VA.

It seems but fitting that those who are interested in the great seaman’s life should know something of his ancestors and early life.

His maternal ancestor in America was Dudas Minor, an English gentleman who received large grants of land from King Charles II and settled in Virginia.

On the father’s side he was of Huguenot descent. Rev. Jas. Fontaine thus gives an account of Maury’s ancestor, Jean de la Fontaine, a French nobleman who held an exalted position in the court of Francis I:

When the “Edict of Nantes” was revoked the persecution of the Protestants followed, and Fontaine was a shining light for the Catholics, and it was deemed advisable to get rid of so prominent a heretic as soon as possible. A band of ruffians were dispatched on the memorable St. Bartholomew’s eve, and Fontaine and his wife were dragged from their beds and their throats cut. “Oh, my children!” exclaimed the narrator, “let us not forget that the blood of martyrs flows in our veins.” This may explain the strong religious bent of Maury’s nature, which was evident to all long before he connected himself with the Episcopal Church.

He was born near Fredericksburg, in Spottsylvania County, Va., January 24, 1806. When he was four years old his parents moved to Tennessee and settled near Franklin. Maury assisted his father and brothers on the farm, and lived the life of the early settler in a new country. He thus became a sturdy, healthy boy. Here in the wilderness schools and churches were alike few and far between, and the education of the pioneer’s children was derived at home, or in the “old held school.” Plain living and high thinking was the motto in the Maury household.

Matthew’s father was strict in the religious training of his family. He would assemble them night and morning to read the Psalter for the day antiphonally, and in this way so familiar did the barefooted boy become with the Psalms of David that in after life he could cite a quotation and give chapter and verse, as if he had the Bible open before him. Surrounded by simple and pure influences, Maury passed his youth. He possessed a deep and inquiring mind and an insatiable craving for truth.

Perhaps his greatest mental strength lay in the direction of mathematics. “My first ambition,” he says, “to become a mathematician was excited by an old cobbler, Neal by name, who lived not far from my father’s home, and who used to send the shoes home to his customers with the soles scratched all over with little x’s and y’s.” Maury was sent to the Harpeth Academy, taught by the Rev. James Otey, first Bishop of Tennessee, and Wm. Hasbrouck, afterwards a prominent lawyer of New York. Here his brilliant mind and studious habits won the esteem of his teacher, which lasted through life.

Maury had an exceeding fondness for the sea, which was fostered by the adventures of his elder brother, who entered the United States navy when but thirteen years of age. When Maury made known his determination to accept the position of midshipman, which the Hon. Sam Houston obtained for him, his father did not command him to decline; but he did not approve it, and would not give him any financial aid, or even his blessing. This was a great grief to Maury, but he had put his hand on the helm, and there was no turning back. So, borrowing a horse, and with only thirty dollars in his pocket, and the limited experience of nineteen years, he set out to seek his fortune. There was no naval academy, and the young middy began his duties and his studies on board a man-of-war. What powers of concentration he possessed, with what unflagging zeal he pursued his studies, proving by his subsequent career that genius is the capacity for labor. William Irving, brother of Washington Irving, loaned him many books.

During his first year of service his frigate, the Brandywine, conveyed Lafayette back to France. The great Frenchman was much attracted by the young midshipman, and had many a kind talk with him. In 1831 he passed his examination, was appointed master of the sloop-of-war Falmouth, and ordered to the Pacific on a four years’ cruise. It was on this voyage that Maury conceived the idea of the famous “Winds and Currents Charts,” which have done so much for the commerce of the world.

He returned to the United States in 1834 and married his cousin, Miss Herndon, to whom he had been engaged several years. Shortly after this marriage he went to Philadelphia to arrange for the publication of his works on navigation. His book, like himself, had the true ring or true metal, and won distinction In England and became the text-book of the United States navy.

At this period Maury obtained leave of absence, and on his way to his old home in Tennessee he was thrown from the top of a stage coach, which resulted in an accident that lamed him for life and interrupted his active service afloat. His leg was improperly set, had to be broken again and reset, and this in a day when anaesthetics were unknown. This period of enforced inactivity was most distressing to the ambitious lieutenant, but proved a blessing in disguise, for it was then that his active mind turned to and grasped the scientific part of his profession. In 1839 he began a series of articles on naval reform. He advised that a navy yard and forts can be established on the Gulf coast. “They cannot be too strongly fortified with outfits for shipping and implements of war.” He advocated also a naval school for young midshipmen. This article led to the building of forts at Key West and the Tortugas, and the establishment of the naval academy at Annapolis.

In 1843 he wrote a notable treatise, entitled “The Gulf Stream and its Causes.” These and other contributions to science were written under the pen name of “Harry Bluff.” They attracted so much attention and were so generally approved by the navy that the officers had great numbers of the papers printed and circulated. When it became known that the young Lieutenant Maury was the author of these papers, his ability and grasp of mind were universally recognized, and his position as authority on naval questions was established. Soon after he was placed in charge of the Depot of Charts and Instruments, which office he developed into “The National Observatory and Hydrographical Department of the United States.”

In a speech before the Senate John Bell said: “No man could have been found in the country better fitted than Maury for this difficult duty, and he worked with the zeal and energy expected of him.”

At this time he gave to the world the famous “Winds and Currents Charts and Sailing Directions.” Seamen were at first distrustful of the new charts, fearing that a route which could save from ten to twenty days on an outward voyage, was fraught with danger. At last a Baltimore vessel determined to follow the new chart. The voyage was a complete success, for he made both trips in the time consumed under the old system in the outward passage alone. There was now no hesitation about the use of the charts. Active interest was excited and the world rang with the fame of Maury’s “Winds and Currents Charts.” Copies were sent to every government and distributed to men-of-war and merchantmen. It has been estimated that “if the money he saved to the world were collected, a monument of precious stones could be erected to his memory.” It was frequently urged that Maury, who was drawing a pay small in comparison to his service, might secure a copyright and thus reap material reward from his labors, but his aim through life had been to make himself of use to his fellow men, and he did not put in a claim for prize money.

While at the observatory he wrote his “Physical Geography of the Sea and Its Meteorology.” This work met with great enthusiasm in England and America, and was translated into many languages for use in the schools. The interest now excited in meteorology and deep sea study enabled Maury to assemble at Brussels, under the auspices of King Leopold, a congress to which England, Russia, France, United States, Belgium and other countries interested in commerce, sent delegates. At the close of the congress Maury returned to America laden with honors and rich in fame. Many of the learned societies of Europe elected him an honorary member. Orders of knighthood were offered him and medals given him by nearly every crowned head of Europe.

It is said that Humboldt received the Cosmos Medal as being the greatest scientist in the world, but he presented it to Maury as being greater than he, saying that he was the “founder of a new science.”

Maury now began to carry out his plan for meteorological co-operation on land. To effect this he was obliged to travel much and deliver many addresses. Out of these efforts grew the vast “Weather Bureau” of to-day. As early as 1848 Maury had believed that a broad level plateau lay under seas between Newfoundland and Ireland, and Congress dispatched three vessels to perfect his discoveries, and to decide if it would be practicable to lay the cable between Europe and the United States. He was consulted by Cyrus W. Fields and others as to the kind of cable to be used, the way and the time to lay it. At a dinner given in New York to celebrate the first message across the Atlantic, Mr. Field rose and said: “I am a man of few words. Maury furnished the brains, England the money and I did the work.”

In 1858 Maury was advanced to the rank of Commodore, by special act of Congress. Maury also originated the idea of water-marks and river gauging along the Mississippi and its branches. In 1860 he had reached the high tide of his worldly prosperity. He began to realize material benefits from the fruits of his pen when the Civil War broke out. Mr. Lincoln called for 75,000 troops. Virginia’s answer was secession and a call upon her sons for support. Maury resigned his office and went to Richmond. Nothing had been offered him by the Confederacy. He had everything to lose, nothing to gain. He was a peace-loving man, a student and philosopher; besides, he was greatly opposed to the war. But when Virginia called he left his congenial pursuits, his achievements and his discoveries for what he held to be his duty to his mother State. When it became known abroad that he had severed his connection with the United States, he was invited by France, Russia and Mexico to become their guest, but he declined both. He entered the Confederate States navy, with the rank of commodore and chief of the seacoast, harbor and river defences of the South. He assisted in fitting out the Merrimac and invented a formidable torpedo. In 1862 he established the Confederate submarine battery service, at Richmond. In the same year he was ordered to England to purchase torpedo material. After the war he was not allowed to come home for several years.

In 1868 he, together with Tennyson and Max Muller, received the degree of LL.D. from the University of Cambridge. In 1869 he accepted the chair of physics in the V. M. I., at Lexington, Va. Here, surrounded by his family and friends, he passed the remaining years of his life in peace and rest. He died February 1, 1873.

I will conclude with two short extracts, the first from the Richmond Dispatch, as follows:

“The joint resolutions introduced into the Legislature, memorializing the President and Congress to erect, in the shape of a lighthouse on the Ripraps, a monument to Commodore Matthew Fontaine Maury, opens the way for the nation to efface from its escutcheon a blot that has long rested there. Soon after the death of Maury a movement was inaugurated abroad to build at a point off the coast of Brazil, an international lighthouse as a memorial to the ‘Pathfinder of the Seas.’ It was intended that each nation should contribute individually to the fund for this purpose, and that the structure should be as enduring as money and human skill could make it. The movement found great favor with foreign nations, and would have materialized but for the attitude of the United States. When this government was sounded on the subject it was found that the partisan hatred and sectional prejudice was so strong at that time that, for diplomatic reasons, the matter was dropped.

“It is designed that the proposed monument shall be dedicated in the presence of the combined nations of the world. And should the United States make the occasion practicable, the grandest naval demonstration that has ever been witnessed anywhere, and in any age, may be expected.

“The great foreign nations in whose scientific societies and aboard whose ships Maury’s name is a synonym of reverence, would delight in an opportunity to pay such a tribute to his genius and to his services. By affording such an opportunity the United States government would put honor not only upon Maury, but upon itself, and reach a higher plane in the eyes of the governments abroad than it has ever occupied since the war. The memorial not only would be a monument to the ‘Wizard of the Winds and Currents,’ but a perpetual reminder of the nation’s confidence in republican institutions and in the fact that we are a reunited people.”

The second extract is from a tribute paid him by the Hon. A. J. Caldwell before the “Agricultural Society.” He said:

“A farmer lad, he was trained by his country for the sea. She made him a sailor; God made him a genius. A genius like Ariel’s, which made wind and tide and meteor’s glare his servants, and laid its wand upon the main of the ocean and made it the servant of the servants of men. The maritime world to-day would be lost if his great works were blotted out from human memory.

“He first spoke of the submarine telegraphic plateau between Ireland and Newfoundland, on which the ocean cable is laid. He first told the ocean steamers of the ‘sea lanes,’ where, outside of the area of icebergs they run safe from shore to shore. And such was the plenitude of his power, such the comprehensive grasp of his reason, and the fullness of the blessing which his genius bestowed upon the world, that, as experience and time go by, his scientific methods are adapting themselves to the needs of every tiller of the soil in every State of the Union and nation of the earth. The Signal Service, with its daily weather reports, its prognostications, control the actions of every intelligent agriculturist in the land to-day.

“With Promethean hand he snatched the meteoric fires from heaven and lit up the altars of industry. He is dead and gone; but what Columbus was to discovery, Newton to astronomy, LaPlace to physics, Humboldt to national history, Maury was to navigation, meteorology and agriculture. The winds and currents of the ocean bear his name around the watery world. The lowing herd, the bleating flock housed by him from the storm, the flowering meads and golden fields which filled with the shouts and laughter of happy toil are memorials on the lands. His memory will brighten as the years go by, and the blessings of his genius will reach every household and the gratitude of mankind will follow him where sweet fields beyond the swelling flood stand dressed in living green.”

Read before the D. A. R., June 30, by

MRS. H. P. COCHRANE.

The Daughters of the American Revolution plant this tree in honor of Commodore Matthew Fontaine Maury, that they may show in this simple way, here in his old home, how they reverence his name. Also by this act that they may help to remove the stain, the disgrace to the American people that no monument has been raised to his memory. This small beginning, they earnestly hope, will lead to greater endeavor. To this end this Chapter has recently endorsed a petition asking the co-operation of the Convention of National Daughters, composed of 7,000 ladies, to memorialize Congress to erect a light-house to his memory, to efface from the nation a blot which has long rested there. This, indeed, has been the third attempt. Soon after the death of Maury a movement was inaugurated abroad to build on the coast of Brazil an international lighthouse as a memorial to the “Pathfinder of the Seas.” It was intended that each nation should contribute individually to the fund for this purpose, and that the structure should be as enduring as money and human skill could make it. It would have materialized, but for the attitude of the United States. When this government was sounded on this subject it was found that partisan hatred and sectional prejudice were so strong at the time that, for diplomatic reasons, it was dropped. Afterwards the Virginia Legislature petitioned the President and Congress to erect a light-house on the Ripraps, off the coast of Virginia, in the Chesapeake bay. It was designed that the proposed monument should be dedicated in the presence of the combined nations of the world, and to be the greatest naval demonstration that had been witnessed anywhere and in any age. How fitting if this could be done at the proposed exposition at Jamestown, in 1907. It is but meet that he should receive the highest acknowledgment of his greatness, not only in reparation, but in gratitude, for it has been said if the money Maury has saved to the world by his charts on the winds and currents and navigation generally, were collected, it would be enough to build a monument of precious stones to his memory, not to speak of the saving of human life. But Humboldt paid him the highest compliment when he presented him with the Cosmos Medal, which he received as being the greatest scientist of the world. He said Maury was greater than he.

It seems particularly appropriate that this tree should be planted in the shadow of this school building, as Maury’s text-book is used here to instruct the children.

And now, Ladies of the American Revolution, I feel that we honor ourselves in paying this tribute to one who, by his goodness, as well as his greatness, has his “name written in the Hall of Eternal Fame.”

The following paper was also received by Trotwood’s, written by Mrs. Mary Lewis Preston, Seven Mile Ford, Va.:

In the little mountain village of Lexington, Va., on February 1, 1873, there passed from earth one of her most choice souls, great in mind, earnest in work, simple in faith, courted by every civilized nation!

His end was so beautifully simple and childlike that even the newspapers far and near rang with it. This great man, when called by the God who made him, simply lifted his hands in the attitude of a little child expecting to be taken up into the arms of a loving father, and died in that attitude.

This was significant of his character. He was too learned to be doubting, too great for shams, too gentle and trusting for affectation.

This man was Matthew Fontaine Maury, “The Pathfinder of the Sea,” born in Spottsylvania County, Va., January, 10, 1806, and was taken by his father to Tennessee in his fourth year.

In 1825 he was appointed midshipman in the United States navy, making his first cruise in the Brandywine, on the coast of Europe and in the Mediterranean. In 1826 he made a cruise around the world in the Vincennes. In 1831 he was master of the sloop-of-war Falmouth, but was soon acting first lieutenant on the Dolphin, then transferred to the frigate Potomac, in which he returned to the United States.

At the age of 28 he published his first work, “Maury’s Navigation,” which was at once adopted as a text-book in the navy!

He was at this time selected as astronomer and offered the place of hydrographer to the exploring expedition to the South Seas, but declined.

In 1837 he was made lieutenant, and not long after met with the accident which lamed him for life.

While unable for active duty, he cultivated his mind, and by his views published in the “Southern Literary Messenger,” worked great reforms in the navy and secured a naval academy.

He first directed the observations of the flow of the Mississippi. He proposed a system which would enable the observers to give information by telegraph, as to the state of the river and its tributaries. He suggested to Congress efficacious plans for the disposition of the drowned lands on the Mississippi. He brought forward and successfully advocated a warehousing system. In 1842 he was appointed superintendent of the depot of charts and instruments at Washington. He added to his labors of astronomer the task of unraveling the winds and currents of the ocean. He instituted the system of deep sea sounding, leading directly to the establishment of telegraphic communication between the continents by cable.

The “Physical Geography of the Sea,” translated into various languages, is an enduring monument to the genius and usefulness of its author. The powers of Europe recognized the value of his services to mankind. France, Austria, Russia, Prussia, Denmark, Belgium, Portugal, Sweden, Sardinia, Holland, Bremen and the Papal States bestowed orders of knighthood and other honors.

The academies of science of Paris, Berlin, Brussels, St. Petersburg and Mexico conferred the honors of membership.

He left the Federal navy to aid his own State, when Virginia seceded, declining from a sense of duty highly honorable positions from Russia and France.

There have been few greater scientists in the world. Humboldt pronounced him “the greatest the world had ever known.”

The University of Cambridge conferred on him the degree of L.L. D., and Emperor of France invited him to the superintendency of the Imperial Observatory, at Paris. He patriotically preferred to accept the chair of physics at the Virginia Military Institute.

While here he prepared his latest work, “The Physical Survey of Virginia.”

His remains rest beneath a modest monument of native James River granite, in Hollywood, Virginia’s beautiful city of the dead.

When he died the Commander of Virginia Military Institute thought it but just and proper that every power in the world should be informed, and telegrams were sent. All were responded to in the most appropriate manner, except one—that of the United States. Not one word from our then President U. S. Grant!

As his body lay in state at Lexington it was literally covered from throat to waist with decorations, some of them the richest and most valuable jewels, the gifts of the crowned heads of the earth.

Then to the man who first gave a complete description of the Gulf stream, who first marked out the specific routes to be followed in crossing the Atlantic, who first instituted the system of deep sea sounding, who first suggested the establishment of a telegraphic communication between the continents by cable, on the bed of the ocean, and who indicated the line along which the existing cable was laid, who caused the erection of our naval academy—to this great man the D. A. R. of America are striving to induce Congress to build a suitable monument. And what place could be more appropriate than Hampton Roads, and what time better than to have it ready before the greatest naval display the world has ever seen, which is arranged to come off during the Jamestown exhibition in 1907.

Isn’t it a great mistake that America does not see fit to honor her great ones, and if she does not, why cannot Virginia and Tennessee join hands and do honor to whom honor is due?

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_The voice which lives is the one which moulds the souls of men._

Tom’s Last “Furage”

BY JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE

Manager’s Note—There has not been a week since we commenced to
publish Trotwood’s Monthly that we have not received one or
more letters asking us to reproduce “Tom’s Last Furage,” it
never having been published in any of Mr. Moore’s books; hence
is not in permanent form. In compliance with these requests, we
reproduce the story together with a note by the author as it
appeared in the Olympian Magazine, in October, 1903. Since that
publication, the old Judge after serving a quarter of a century
as Judge of the Black Belt Circuit, died in harness, while
holding court in Greensboro, Alabama, April 27, 1904. It is
said that no judge ever lived in Alabama, who held so generally
the love and affection of all the people, white and black, as
did Judge Moore. It seems almost incredible to relate that the
last time he was re-elected to office, in a general election,
in which all parties were represented and all classes of men
voted, out of 9,500 votes cast, Judge Moore received all of
them but one.

Speaking of his death the Birmingham News said: “In his death,
the last link of the old leaders of just after the war, passed
away, honored, loved, lamented sorely; not only by his home and
district, but by the South. As his pastor said at the funeral,
‘let us pray God’s guidance to fill his place; not only as a
jurist, but in the hearts of his people.’”

A few years ago William Jennings Bryan related the story of
“Tom’s Last Furage,” in an after dinner speech, and said it
expressed more clearly the relationship existing between the
old Southern gentleman and his slaves than any story ever
written.

Peace to the ashes of so noble a man. The old Judge has passed
into the beyond. May he meet and know all whom he loved here,
even old Tom.

E. E. SWEETLAND,
Business Manager.

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Author’s Note.—This story was first published in the Horse
Review of Chicago, December, 1897, but in December, 1899, it
was plagiarized by some writer whose name, I am glad to say,
I have forgotten, and published in Munsey’s Magazine under
the title of “Jim’s Defense.” Mrs. Frances Herrick Fowler,
the gifted California writer, called Mr. Frank A. Munsey’s
attention to the plagiarism and he very promptly wrote me a
letter of apology. Since then, so many public readers and even
negro minstrel companies have used the story, giving credit
to the plagiarized form, that, at the earnest request of the
editor of The Olympian, I am permitting it to appear again in
its true form.

A coincident so amusing in the plagiarism occurred that I shall
mention it. Much of the story is an incident in the life of my
father, Judge John Moore, still Judge of the Black Belt circuit
of Alabama, and Tom’s home coming, bringing my father’s saddle,
clothes, and sidearms, is the first distinct memory of my life.
In plagiarizing it the author in Munsey did little less than
to change the names, and in doing so he changed “Miss Mary” to
“Miss Emily,” and thus unintentionally gave all the characters
their true names.

J. T. M.

Columbia, Tenn., October, 1903.

Tom was a sly, rollicking rascal of a darkey, with a catfish smile and a jaybird eye. He was ever ready for a laugh, a joke, a drunk, or a profession of religion. He would spend his nights as quickly in a bar-room as at a prayer-meeting, and by day he was equally as ready to battle for politics as for religion. But his strong card was his wonderful experience “endurin’ de wah,” whither he went as a body servant to “Marse John,” and his “hairbreadth ’scapes in the imminent deadly breach” would have put a flush of envy in the dusky cheek of Othello himself. But Tom’s fighting was now mostly under his tongue, and, like many who are yet wearing the blue and gray a full generation after all hostilities have ceased and all animosities should long ago have ceased with them, Tom’s war spirit increased as the square of the distance from the crack of the last cannon. From his own statements there could be no doubt that, besides actually participating in every battle of the civil war, the Confederate forces were maintained in the field as long as they were, entirely on account of his own skill and genius as a “furager.”

His other weakness was his habit of disputing upon questions theologic. In this he was peculiarly strong; for, if the discussion waxed hot, and he found he could not convince his hearer with words, he did not hesitate to smite the centurion’s ear, or bite off his nose; and as his war record among the darkies was already Achillean and his fistic abilities unquestionable, there were few who were willing to “’spute de p’int wid ’im.” His great argument was the efficacy of faith over work, and he was so scrupulously religious in his belief that he finally ceased to work altogether, while it required but the spirit of a July sun and a weedy garden to set him to arguing with renewed zeal.

Now, a man is what his beliefs make him; and so the effect of Tom’s belief developed one virtue truly apostolic; he took no thought for the morrow, what he should eat or drink; he carried no scrip in his purse, and, at the beginning of this story, he had not even a change of raiment.

But his staunch friend was “Marse John,” the old Judge, who had long been Judge of a Circuit Court in Alabama—so long “the memory of man runneth not to the contrary,” as the law books have it. The old Judge was a good man and a good Judge—so just that the poorest and the blackest negro, when jerked up before his bar, never failed, equally with the richest and the whitest man in the district, to get that justice to which he was entitled. Nay, more; for in the dignified old gentleman who looked down upon him, pitying him in his environments of ignorance and poverty, and scrutinizing the evidence brought out by the wily lawyers with an alertness that reminded one of an eagle on his eerie watching the sly maneuverings of a congregation of foxes below, the poor wretch often unexpectedly found a strong and stubborn friend. And if the evidence contained but the germ of a doubt in the prisoner’s favor, he promptly got the benefit of it, though often, to get it, the old Judge had to bring to bear in the case the guns of his own learned and analytical mind. As he grew older, he continued to fight for truth with a zeal that seemed to increase with the silver of his locks, and he would acquit innocence though the hangman’s rope was already around her neck.

The old Judge’s influence in the district was wonderful, as is always the influence of truth and strength. Though unpretentious and often silent, not all the preachers of the circuit could have spun the moral woof that was in the warp of his work.

Tom had belonged to the old Judge “befo’ de wah,” and had gone through that fiery ordeal with his master. There is a peculiarly strong bond existing, in the South, between the master and the servant who have thus faced death together. The world cannot show a similar instance where the tie of servitude was forged in the white heat of its destiny.

And so the old Judge now stood up for Tom through thick and thin, and while he openly lamented Tom’s worthlessness, secretly he never failed to come to his assistance when in trouble or supply him and his family with food when hungry. If Tom got in jail, he “saunt for Marse John,” who quickly bailed him out. If, in a religious scrimmage with another darkey, he adopted the warlike methods of Peter, and was fined for assault and battery, he “saunt for Marse John,” who, after listening to his tale, paid his fine before the Mayor; and turned him loose, to the terror and dismay of all the other darkies who differed from him religiously. If he even concluded that marriage was a failure (and the Chancery Court records will show that he did so conclude at least several times during the first thirty years after the war), he “saunt for Marse John,” who, after listening to his tale, must have concluded that the poor woman was entitled to a divorce, whether Tom was or not, as he never failed to go Tom’s security for the costs and the $15 lawyer’s fee—all that is required in the black belt of Alabama to enable two yoked-up darkies to separate, and then proceed to make themselves miserable again in another effort to solve the problem. This last act raised the old Judge among the gods in Tom’s estimation; there was nothing, he thought, Marse John couldn’t do. The man who could thus sunder bonds that God had joined together, possessed, in Tom’s opinion, a few Olympian attributes himself.

Therefore, Tom went on, in spite of the old Judge’s talks, admonitions, and even threats, until one day something happened. The grand jury returned a true bill against Tom for hog stealing. Now, the old Judge would do anything in the world for Tom outside of his own court, but when Tom got into that temple of justice, he found himself among the laws of the Medes and Persians—and he knew it. If that true bill, properly drawn up by the solicitor and signed by the foreman of the grand jury, had indicted the old Judge’s own son, he would have tried him as calmly as Brutus did his boys of old.

But if Tom was in great danger, he never troubled himself about it in the least. Throughout the trial he sat with the air of one who considered he was being highly honored to be tried by “Marse John,” and in the depths of his face was a secret exultation that foreshadowed a complete, a startling, and even a sensational exoneration.

He had stolen the shoat from “the major,” the old Judge’s neighbor, and the major made out a plain, dead-shot case against Tom. In fact, several colored witnesses, led by the centurion’s servant, as aforesaid, and others who differed from Tom religiously, had even waylaid and watched the defendant and seen him take the shoat and carry it to his own cabin.

In his own behalf, Tom said nothing, but sat with a broad and knowing grin on his face, and in his eyes the look of one who, besides having a straight flush in his hand, held a royal one up his sleeve. His lawyer made a feeble effort at defense, and, after submitting a charge or two to the old Judge, who promptly overruled them, the jury was duly charged, retired, and quickly brought in a verdict sentencing Tom to five years in the penitentiary. This made Tom chuckle outright; he almost split his sides in quiet laughter, to the disgust of the court and the astonishment of his own lawyer.

“Stand up, sir!” gruffly thundered the old Judge. Tom arose with his broadest grin and most waggish air.

“Have you anything to say why this sentence should not be passed upon you?” said the Judge, looking sternly at the prisoner.

And then came a rich scene.

“Look erheer, Marse John—he! he! he!—I sutn’y am s’prised at you—he! he! he!—to sot up dar on dat bench, an’ heah dis jury scan’lize my rippertashun lak dat, an’ den you turn roun’ dar, so sassy-lak, in dat cheer, an’ ax me whut I got ter say erbout it—he! he! he! Marse John, whut you mean by doin’ dis way? Jes’ tell me.”

The old Judge turned red with anger.

“Mr. Sheriff,” he thundered, “take this prisoner to jail!”

For a moment Tom was thunderstruck. Could it be possible Marse John really meant it? Was Marse John, the only white friend he had, about to desert him? Quick as a shot he changed his tactics. He had tried his straight flush and had failed. Now for his royal flush.

“Hol’ on, Marse John! hol’ on!” Tom cried, dropping his funny ways and assuming a look of intense earnestness and desperate seriousness. “You dun ax me now, an’ if nuffin’ else gwi’ do you, I hafter tell you whut I do kno’ erbout it. An you’ll ’skuze me, Marse John, ef I happens not to be mealy-mouf ’bout tellin’ it, nurther; fur you makin’ me do it, whuther-no. But I want you, gemmen ob de jury, an’ de shearf dar, an’ dese lawyers heah, an’ all ob you, to b’ar witness to de fac’, dat Marse John don’ fotch all dis row down on hisse’f, befo’ all dese heah folks heah, er-tryin’ to scan’lize my rippertashun. ’Stid ob sayin’ to you all at the berry fus’, befo’ dis row was urver started: ‘Gem’men, dese seedlings am squash, an’ dis ole nigger kin go!’ he sot up dar on dat bench an’ kerry dis thing on, an’ kerry it on, an’ aig you all on, an’ aig you on, er s’archin’ an’ er s’archin’ an’ er axin’ questions, an’ er nosin’ round in my privut bus’ness twell you all, gemmen, jes’ bleegter go out an’ fotch in dis heah vurdick—an’ I don’t blame you all ’tall, gem’men; I don’t think hard of you ’tall. But I sut’n’y was ’sprised at Marse John, when he turn roun’ so sassy-lak in dat cheer, much es ter say: ‘You ole rascal, I’ve got you now! Whut you gotter say erbout it?’

“Erhuh! Erhuh!” said Tom, chuckling and scratching his head in deep thought. “Wall, suh, heah’s whut I gotter say erbout it: In korse I tuck de majuh’s little bitter old po’ shoat! But I jes’ swap fur ’im, an’ de majuh kno’ as well es I do I was gwi’ gib ’im ernudder one back dis fawl, soon es my ole sower hed pigs—an’ er heap better shoat den I got fum ’im, too; fur, es you all kno’, my old sower is three-quarters Burksheer, an’ ’fo’ Gord, gem’men, es I stan’ heah on my oaf, ’kordin’ to de supervisement of Marse John, to tell you all whut I kno’ ’bout dis thing, dat wus de little bitteres’, no-countes’ pig I urver swap fur in all my life! Gem’men, he didn’t make me one good meal fur de old ’oman an’ de ten older chilluns, let ’lone de two twins—de majuh an’ de jedge. We had ter put dese ter bed befo’ supper, by tellin’ ’em we gwi’ have de pig fur bre’kfus’, an’ ter make ’aste an’ go ter sleep so ester wake up soon in de mohnin’ an’ git dey sheer. Arter dey went to sleep, we greased de majuh’s an’ de jedge’s mouf wid sum cracklin’ skin, an’ put er plate ob rib-bones an’ scraps by de baid, an’ de naixt mohnin’ when dey wake up, we tell ’em dey dun eat dair part whilst dey sleep, an’ dey b’leeve it to dis day! Now, ain’t dat er hog fur ter be kickin’ up sech er dust erbout? Ef it ain’t so, gem’men, an’ dat wa’nt de littles’ razzerback I eber swap fur, den I ain’t nurver stole horgs in Georgy!

“Erhuh! Erhuh!” said Tom, reminiscently again. “Nurver stole horgs in Georgy? Hi-yi-ee! An’ now I’m gettin’ dar, is I? But b’ar in min’, gem’men, Marse John dun fotch all dis down on hisse’f. I’d nurver tole on ’im—no! not eben at de jedgment mohn—don’t keer how hard old Gabri’l keep tootin’ his horn, an’ er lookin’ at me so s’archin’ lak wid his fiah eyes, an’ er sayin’: ‘Tom, whut you kno’ ’bout horg stealin’ in Georgy?’ An’ I jes’ say: ‘Nuffin,’ Marse Gabri’l, nuffin, ’tall, suh, Gord bless you, Marse Gabri’l: nurver was in Georgy in my life, suh, Gord bless you!’ But I can’t say dat now no more, gem’men, ’kase Marse John hisse’f dun ax me to tell whut I kno’ ’bout it!

“Gem’men, when I fus’ went to de wah wid Marse John, fur ter wait on ’im, I was es hones’ es de noonday sun; but I didn’t bin in de wah six weeks befo’ I’d steal ennything frum er saddle blanket to de hoss dat wus under it; ennything frum er hen-aig to de guv’ment steer! An’ why? ’Kase Marse John dar had ter hab sumpin’ n’ur ter eat. You think I gwi’ see my young Marster starve ter def’ fightin’ day an’ night, wid no chance to git nuffin’ to eat, an’ libin’ on parch cohn an’ Georgy branch water, an’ hit smellin’ ob de week’s washin’ ob de po’ Georgy white trash up de creek, allers washin’ dey clothes in it? Ruther walk five miles to wash dey clothes in er branch den ter hab som-body wash ’em fur ’em in er silver-lined wash-tub. You think I gwi’ see ’im starve, I say, jes’ on ’count ob er littl ’lig’us skooples? Menny an’ menny a mohnin’, suh, Marse John ’ud git up from camp so hongry an’ weak he couldn’t hardly walk, an’ say: ‘Tom, you sly raskil! did you furage enny las’ night?’ (He call it furagin’ den, gem’men!) An’ I’d laf an’ say: ‘Marse John, you kno’ you ain’t nurver gin me no money fur to get ennything!’ An’ den he’d laf an’ say: ‘G’long, you sly raskil, an’ fotch in my bre’kfus’!—jes lak he wus orderin’ it from er resterrant. An’ den I’d laf an’ fotch ’im out de sof’-b’iled aigs, an’ de br’iled chicken, an’ de home-made Georgy kwored ham, an’ de biskits. An’, fo’ Gord, gem’men, in all dat campange I nurver knowed ’im to challenge de rigularity ob his empanelmen’ nur ter s’arch too close into de wharfore ob de fotchness. Nur did I eber kno’ ’im ter go out an’ hab er jury ob twelve men fotch roun’ to de tent to hol’ enny inques’ ober de remains ob dat fellerny, wid er leetle ole s’archin’ lawyer fur to ax quextunes, an’ keep hintin’ ’bout stealin’, an’ de pen’tenshury, an’ all dat! No, suh, gem’men; ’stid ob all dis hooraw an’ red-tape, he’d jes’ smile all ober an’ fall to an’ say: ‘Gord bless you, Tom; you am er jewel, an’ no mistake!’

“Now, whar’d dem aigs cum frum, Marse John, an’ dem chickens? Whar’d I laf an’ tell you dey cum from? Ax de Georgy hen-roosts frum Ringgold to Dalton. An’ whar’d dem home-kwored hams cum frum? Ax de smoke-houses ob de widders in de mountings frum Chat’nooger to Atlanter! Erhuh! ’Twas furagin’ den, wus it; an’ it won’ no harm fur to eat de po’ widders’ las’ ham or slorter de chickens ob de innercents, long es you didn’t pull ’em yo’se’f? Erhuh? An’ I ax you right now, gem’men, ef he didn’t read outen a book dis mohnin’ mos’ Solomonly, an’ ’splain to you all mos’ capisly, dat de ’sessery to de crime mus de same es de ’sessor? Erhuh! ’Scuse me, Marse John, fur recognizin’ dis thing so p’intedly, but you kno’ yo’se’f you tell me most p’intedly ter tell whut I kno’ er-bout it, an’ I’m bleegter do it!

“Ole Gabri’l hisse’f c’u’dn’t made me do whut you kin!

“An’ dar’s de majuh, er settin’ an’ er smilin’ an’ er aigin’ dis thing on. Mebbe he’d lakter kno’ whut I gotter say erbout it! Lemme ax you, majuh, ef you disremembers de week befo’ de battle ob Resaker, an’ dat mohnin’ you cum ober to me an’ Marse John’s tent an’ say: ‘Tom, you theevin’ son ob darkness, me an’ yo’ Marse John wanter hab little Jo, an’ General Cheatem, an’ Pat Claybu’n, ober in de tent fur supper ter-morrow, fur we’re all hongry an’ want sumpin’ fit ter eat. We can’t fight fureber on er empty stummic. Now, you jes’ git on my hoss, ter-day, an git er huff on you, you black scamp, an’ go up in dese hills an’ hollers, an’ steal ennything fit ter eat in hair, hide or feathers—jes’ make dese Georgy hen-roosts howl! Git us sumpin’ fit fur de men dat’s gwinter eat it, Tom, fur yo’ rippertashun es er furager is sho’ at stake!’

“Erhuh! Erhuh! You ain’t furgot dat, is you, majuh, nur de supper I got up fur you all? Er hole b’iled ham—I stole dat frum er widder’s smokehouse whilst I wus pricin’ aigs wid her, an’ watchin’ de lay ob de hen-house, waitin’ fur de moon to go down. Er tucky gobbler which I mistuck an’ shot fur er wild one, meanderin’ round in er meader in front ob er orphin ’sylum. Biskits frum flour I got outer er mill dat seem ter kinder run itse’f, an’ two gallins ob mountain dew I stole outen er hard-shell preacher’s cellar. An’ when all de ginerels dun sot round de pine boards I fix up fur er table, an’ I fotch all dem things in, smokin’ hot an’ smellin’ lak er supper in heaben, didn’t all the ginerels’ eyes sparkle lak di’mon’s; an’ little Jo up an’ say: ‘Why, majuh, you ax us ter supper, an’ sot us down to er banquet! Whar in de wurl you git all dis?”

“An’ den you wink yo’ eye at Marse John, an’ say: ‘Gineral Johnson, ef you’d jes’ p’int dat nigger Tom, dar, Cheef ob de Commissary Departmen’ ob de Army ob Tennessee, we’d nurver go hongry enny mo’, an’ we’d whip Gineral Sherman in two weeks!’

“An’ den you all laf, an’ went to furagin’.

“Erhuh! Ain’t dat so? An’ lemme ax you, majah, whut’s de difference in furagin’ in wah an’ in peace? An’ s’pose sum thirty years arter de wah me an’ my fambly ’bout to starve, an’ I heah de chillun cryin’ fur sumpin’ ter eat, an’ I goes by yo’ lot sum dark night er kinder dreamin’ all de time an’ sorter libin’ lak er ole man will, in de past, an’ I ’gin ter think I’m in dat bloody wah erg’in, an’ out furagin’ fur you an’ Marse John, an’ I happen ter knock over one ob yo’ little ole razzer-back shoats, ter take back ter camp ergin—is dat ennything fur ter raise sech er hooraw erbout? Ain’t I gwi’ gi’ you er nudder one back dis fawl? Jes’ tell me!

“But dat ain’t all, Marse John; an’ you kno’ you ax me to tell it all! Who wus it nussed you, day an’ night, when you had de chills an’ fever in camp round Atlanter? Who wus it stood by yo’ side at de bridge, whar de giner’l tole you to hol’ wid yo’ kumpny tell dey capture you or kill you, an’ when de Yankees cum lak bees er swarmin’, an’ shot you outen de saddle, an’ dey captured you, bleedin’ to def—who pick you up an’ kerry you quick to de Yankee surgun’s tent an’ tied de art’ry dat sabed yo’ life? An’ who nussed you in de hospital, day an’ night, er stealin’ aigs fur you when hard-tack would er kilt you, an’ young chickens when bacon meant def? An’ when you got well ernuf ter be keeried to Johnson’s Islan’, who wus it, ’stid ob gwine on wid Sherman’s army to freedom, nurver to be er slave enny mo’, gether’d up yo’ things, took de letter you writ, an’ footed it all de way to Alabama to tell Miss Mary you wus safe an’ well? An’ when he got dar, an’ seed Miss Mary—Gord bless ’er—er cryin’ in de door, an’ de chillun cryin’ erroun’ er’, ’kase when dey seed me bringin’ back yo’ things dey dun gib you up fur dead, lak de papers sed, an’ when I got up close ernuf ter tell ’er you wus safe an’ well, an’ gib ’er de letter you saunt, an’ tell ’er how I cum jes’ ter bring yo’ letter an’ things an’ sword an’ pistol home, who wus it but de statelies’ an’ queenlies’ ’oman in de State—now, thang Gord, one ob de anguls in heaben—dat wept ober an’ clung to dis ole black han’ dat now you say am de han’ ob de hog-theef, an’ fit only fur de pen’tenshury; an’ es ’er tears ob gladness drapt on it, she smiled sweetly through it all, an’ say: ‘Oh, Tom! Tom! Gord will reward you sum day fur this, fur though you am po’ an’ black an’ a slave, you have acted the whites’ ob de white; you chose yo’ duty befo’ yo’ own freedom!’

“Dat’s whut she sed, Marse John; yo’ own blessed wife an’ my Mistis’ dat’s in heab’n an’ de grandes’ women dat now libs in dat lan’ ob light! An’ dar I staid, Marse John, an’ ’tended de place an’ wurked de crap, an’ tuck keer ob Miss Mary an’ de chilluns tell you cum home yo’se’f. Dat’s de truf, Marse John, es you kno’ it is yo’se’f; and now I’ve tole it all es you ax me.”

And Tom sat down.

From suppressed laughter in the beginning of Tom’s speech, the entire court had now dropped into subdued sympathy, and even tears. The old Judge himself blew his nose vigorously, and looked carefully over his charges again, while the major came up and whispered in his ear. Finally he said, quietly, yet subduedly:

“The court is of opinion it has been too hasty in this matter, for, on reading carefully the second charge submitted by the defendant’s counsel, the court is convinced it erred in not giving this charge to the jury. The verdict is, therefore, set aside, and a new trial will be given the defendant.”