A FOOL'S ERRAND & Its Sequel, Bricks Without Straw. Albion Winegar Tourgée
AT THE SOUTH.
Carpet-bagger. — A man of Northern birth + an abolitionist (according to the Southern definition) + an incarnation of Northern hate, envy, spleen, greed, hypocrisy, and all uncleanness.
So the South cursed "carpet-baggers," because they were of the North; and the North cursed them because the South set the example.
In nothing has the South shown its vast moral superiority over the North more than in this. "I pray thee curse me this people," it said to the North, first of the "abolitionists," and then of the "carpet-baggers;" and the North cursed, not knowing whom it denounced, and not pausing to inquire whether they were worthy of stripes or not. Perhaps there is no other instance in history in which the conquering power has discredited its own agents, denounced those of its own blood and faith, espoused the prejudices of its conquered foes, and poured the vials of its wrath and contempt upon the only class in the conquered territory who defended its acts, supported its policy, promoted its aim, or desired its preservation and continuance.
CHAPTER XXVII
A NEW INSTITUTION
THERE had been rumors in the air, for some months, of a strangely mysterious organization, said to be spreading over the Southern States, which added to the usual intangibility of the secret society an element of grotesque superstition unattached in the history of any other.
It was at first regarded as farcical, and the newspapers of the North unwittingly accustomed their readers to regard it as a piece of the broadest and most ridiculous fun. Here and there throughout the South, by a sort of sporadic instinct, bands of ghostly horsemen, in quaint and horrible guise, appeared, and admonished the lazy and trifling of the African race, and threatened the vicious. They claimed to the affrighted negroes, it was said, to be the ghosts of departed Confederates who had come straight from the confines of hell to regulate affairs about their former homes.
All this was a matter of infinite jest and amusement to the good and wise people of the North. What could be funnier, or a more appropriate subject of mirth, than that the chivalric but humorous and jocose Southrons should organize a ghostly police to play upon the superstitious fears of the colored people, who were no doubt very trifling, and needed a good deal of regulation and restraint? So the Northern patriot sat back in his safe and quiet home, and laughed himself into tears and spasms at the grotesque delineations of ghostly K. K. K.'s and terrified darkies, for months before any idea of there being any impropriety therein dawned on his mind or on the minds of the wise men who controlled the affairs of the nation. That a few hundreds, a few thousands, or even millions, of the colored race, should be controlled and dominated by their superstitious fears, deprived of their volition, and compelled to follow the behests of others, was not regarded as at all dangerous in a republic, and as worthy of remark only from its irresistibly amusing character.
It was in the winter of 1868-69, therefore, when the wise men were jubilant over the success of the Great Experiment; when it was said that already Reconstruction had been an approved success, the traces of the war been blotted out, and the era of the millennium anticipated, — that a little company of colored men came to the Fool one day; and one of them, who acted as spokesman, said, —
"What's dis we hear, Mars Kunnel, bout de Klux?"
"The what?" he asked.
"De Klux — de Ku-Kluckers dey calls demselves."
"Oh! the Ku-Klux, Ku-Klux-Klan, K. K. K.'s, you mean."
"Yes: dem folks what rides about at night a-pesterin' pore colored people, an' a-pertendin' tu be jes from hell, or some of de battle-fields ob ole Virginny."
"Oh, that's all gammon! There is nothing in the world in it, — nothing at all. Probably a parcel of boys now and then take it into their heads to scare a few colored people; but that's all. It is mean and cowardly, but nothing more. You needn't have any trouble about it, boys."
"An' you tink dat's all, Kunnel?"
"All? Of course it is! What else should there be?"
"I dunno, Mars Kunnel," said one.
"You don't think dey's ghostses, nor nothin' ob dat sort?" asked another.
"Think! I know they are not."
"So do I," growled one of their number who had not spoken before, in a tone of such meaning that it drew the eyes of the Fool upon him at once.
"So your mind's made up on that point too, is it, Bob?" he asked laughingly.
"I know dey's not ghosts, Kunnel. I wish ter God dey was!" was the reply.
"Why, what do you mean, Bob?" asked the colonel in surprise.
"Will you jes help me take off my shirt, Jim?" said Bob meaningly, as he turned to one of those with him.
The speaker was taller than the average of his race, of a peculiarly jetty complexion, broad-shouldered, straight, of compact and powerful build. His countenance, despite its blackness, was sharply cut; his head well shaped; and his whole appearance and demeanor marked him as a superior specimen of his race. Servosse had seen him before, and knew him well as an industrious and thrifty blacksmith, living in a distant part of the county, who was noted as being one of the most independent and self-reliant of his people in all political as well as pecuniary matters, — Bob Martin by name.
When his clothing had been removed, he turned his back towards the Fool, and, glancing over his shoulder, said coolly, —
"What d'ye tink ob dat, Kunnel?"
"My God!" exclaimed the Fool, starting back in surprise and horror. "What does this mean, Bob?"
"Seen de Kluckers, sah," was the grimly-laconic answer.
The sight which presented itself to the Fool's eyes was truly terrible. The broad muscular back, from the nape down to and below the waist, was gashed and marked by repeated blows. Great furrows were plowed in the black integument, whose greenly livid lips were drawn back, while the coagulated, fibrine stretched across, and mercifully protected the lacerated flesh. The whole back was livid and swollen, bruised as if it had been brayed in a mortar. Apparently, after having cut the flesh with closely-laid welts and furrows, sloping downward from the left side towards the right, with that peculiar skill in castigation which could only be obtained through the abundant opportunity for severe and deliberate flagellation which prevailed under the benign auspices of slavery, the operator had changed his position, and scientifically cross-checked the whole. That he was an expert whose skill justified Bob's remark — "Nobody but an ole oberseer ebber dun dat, Kunnel" — was evident even on a casual inspection. The injury which the man had sustained, though extensive and severe, was not dangerous to one of his constitution and hardened physique. To the eye of the Northern man who gazed at it, however, unused as are all his compeers to witness the effects of severe whipping, it seemed horrible beyond the power of words to express. He did not reflect that the African could have had none of that sense of indignity and degradation with which the Caucasian instinctively regards the application of the emblem of servility, and that he was but fulfilling the end of his dusky being in submitting to such castigation. He was filled with anger, surprise, and horror.
"What? — Who? — How? My God! Tell me all about it. Can't I do something for You, my man?"
"Thank ye, Kunnel, nothing," said Bob seriously. "It's been washed in salt an' water. Dat's de bes' ting dere is to take out de soreness; an' it's doin as well as can be expected, I s'pose. I don't know much 'bout sech matters, Boss. I'se bin a slave goin' on forty-three years, but never hed a lash on my back since I was a waitin'-boy till last night."
His face was working with passion, and his eyes had a wicked fire in them, which clearly showed that he did not take this visitation in such a subdued and grateful spirit as his position properly demanded that