A FOOL'S ERRAND & Its Sequel, Bricks Without Straw. Albion Winegar Tourgée
while he was discussing the facts which surrounded him, he could not realize them; and he quite forgot, in giving his assent to this idea, the fact that he was living at the South, among a people who did not kindly brook differences of opinion among equals, and who would be sure to resent with an implacable hostility any society which not only recognized the political autonomy of the recently subject race, but also encouraged that race to look up to the government their masters had failed to destroy as their government, their guardian, their protector; which not only promoted ideas not in harmony with those of the former rulers of this section, but promoted the elevation of the freedman, prepared him for civil life, and gave him confidence in himself as a political integer. Had he thought of this, it is certain that he would not have consented so readily to go and see Andy's society; for what he most feared was a conflict or permanent antagonism between the freedmen and their former masters; and he thought that any sacrifice, not going to the substance of their liberties, ought to be made rather than that such a conflict should be risked.
However, stumbling over these apparent facts, he went on the next Tuesday night to the schoolhouse in the suburbs of Verdenton. It was just beyond the line of Warrington; and the little village which had grown up on his own estate was but a continuation of the suburb, which, as in all Southern cities, had been tacitly given up to the blacks since the close of the war. It was a long, low building, made for service, — one of that numerous array of buildings which was mainly furnished to the recently emancipated seeker after knowledge by the systematic bounty of that much abused institution, the Freedmen's Bureau. Acting in conjunction with various religious and benevolent societies of the North, it furnished a class of buildings better adapted to the needs of those for whom they were designed, and affording greater results, than was ever done in all history with like means. In every village of the South was erected one or more of these rough wooden buildings, consisting only of roof, rafter, walls and floor of undressed plank. The minimum of cost and the maximum of space were the objects kept constantly in view, and usually attained beyond all question. These houses became to the colored people what the court of the temple was to the Jews, — the place of assembly and worship, as well as of instruction. They were usually unsectarian; and it was no unusual spectacle to see two or tree denominations worshiping in the same house, while the school was under the management and control of still another.
To them thronged with wondrous eagerness the old and young alike of the recently emancipated race. The building to which Comfort Servosse went that night was an imposing structure in its dimensions. In it seven ladies who had come from far Northern homes, filled with the genuine spirit of the missionary, and no doubt thinking themselves endowed with the spirit of that Redeemer who taught publicans in the market or in the desert, despite the frowns of the Pharisees, held sway These seven fair, pure-hearted Northern girls taught within its walls each day, and oftentimes at night, six hundred and more of the race which had just now its first chance at the tree of knowledge since our common mother persisted in eating the mystic apple. They, no doubt, thought they were doing God's service, and wondered why the earnest Christians who dwelt about them should regard the inhabitants of the Mission House with such open aversion and apparent hate. It must have seemed strange to these fresh young believers to see the seats of the churches in the town, in front and rear of where they sat, upon the sabbath, vacated by the most devout of God's people in Verdenton. They wondered at it for a time, and then blamed the good people of Verdenton, and thought ill of their religion; when it was not the good people who were at fault, nor their religion, but only the civilization of which they were the outcome. There was never a kindlier, more hospitable, or more religious people on the footstool, than those of Verdenton; only they were kind according to their notion, as everybody else is; hospitable according to custom, like the rest of the world; and religious according to education and tradition, as are other people: and the disjointure of opinion between them and the Yankee schoolmarms was all because the latter wanted to measure them by Northern ideas of these virtues, instead of accepting those they found there. Sometimes they wrote indignant letters to their friends at home; but it was fortunate that the greater part of the evil things which were said of them by the neighboring Christians never came to their knowledge, and that their hearts were too pure to comprehend the foul innuendoes which floated by them. So they went on teaching, as they had been taught, those who had been all their lives thitherto untaught; and the, others went on hating and defaming them because such a course was counter to their traditions, and those who did it were their hereditary enemies. And both, no doubt, felt that they were doing God's service with their might.
Servosse found a cordon of watchers about the schoolhouse, by one of whom he was challenged, and, after learning who he was, taken to the house, where he was carefully examined to ascertain whether he were a member or not; after which he was admitted into the room where the meeting was held. It was a large classroom in the second story, capable of seating, perhaps, two hundred people. It was about half full when he arrived, as the meeting had not yet been called to order; and constant arrivals were fast increasing the number. The great bulk of those who were present were colored men; but in a little group at the right of the platform were perhaps a dozen white men.
The Fool found himself well known to all those present, though he had not yet acquired the power readily to distinguish and retain the countenances of colored people. As he advanced into the room, he was met with numerous and delighted greetings, to which he responded pleasantly, without, in most instances, recognizing those who gave them. Near the center of the room, however, he was met by Uncle Jerry, who, bowing ceremoniously, waved his hand toward the knot of white men, as he exclaimed, —
"Evenin', Mars Kunnel. Sarvant, sah! We's glad to see ye wid us, — powerful glad! Ye knows dese gentlemen, I s'pose. Mr. Durfee, Kunnel 'Vosse; Mr. Morgin, Kunnel 'Vosse. But you knows 'em all, Kunnel; I sees dat," said the old man, as Comfort clasped the hand of one after another, some of whom he was prepared to meet, and others of whom he was surprised to see there. Among the former was Durfee, a young man who belonged to a family of the strongest Union proclivities, who had faced far more danger in resisting and avoiding conscription than he would have been required to meet in the field.
"Ah!" said he warmly, as he clasped the hand of the Union colonel, "I'm glad to see you. I've a friend here to-night that I want to introduce to you. Mr. Walters, Colonel Servosse," he said, as he turned toward a slender, wiry-looking man, with sloping shoulders, a long neck, and arms which seemed to twine about, regardless of the usual articulations. His brown hair was cut short, and rose in a sort of bristling row above his narrow, reddish face. The mouth was pinched, the nose somewhat prominent, and the aspect of the countenance somewhat sharp. The eyes were keen, but rather sunken and close, and of a light gray. His age seemed to be about thirty-five.
"Mr. Walter's," said Durfee, "was one of our stanchest Union men. I knew him all through the war. Strangely enough, he did not hide out, nor hold an office, nor take a contract."
"How in the world did you keep out of the army?" asked Servosse.
"I hardly know," answered Walters pleasantly. "I think it was my health mainly."
"Ha, ha ha!" broke in Durfee. "Your health, did you say? I vow I b'leve you're right. — He had better health, and more of it, during the war, than any man I know of, Colonel."
"I don't understand how he kept out, then," said Servosse.
"There ain't anybody that I ever met that does understand it," said Durfee. "He was living in Rockford when the war began, in business, making money, and a member of the Methodist Church. He wanted to go away at the first; but his wife said she didn't want to leave her people: so John Walters staid right where he was, and went on trading, and minding his own business, the same as before. After a while, when things begun to get hot, there was some talk among the town loafers about his going to the army. Then he spoke out, and said that he was a Union man, and didn't never calculate to be any thing else. He shouldn't do any fighting against the government willingly, and they'd better not try to make him do it unwillingly. Things kep' gittin' hotter an' hotter; the conscript laws kep' growing closer an' closer: but John Walters was right there in Rockford, a-tradin' an' 'tendin' to his own business, the same as ever. A good deal was said about it; because he was just the same Union man as ever, never saying any thing about the matter unless tackled on it, and then giving as good as was sent. It got noised around somehow that he