A moment before
the man may have gone down at his shot, he knew--and yet, as he looked, an
instinct stronger than the instinct to kill was alive within him, and he
rushed on, dragging his enemy with him from the terrible woods. "I hope you
are not much hurt," he said, as he placed him on the ground and ran back to
where the line was charging. "One life has been paid for," he thought, as
he rushed on to kill--and fell face downward on the wheel-ruts of the old
road.
"Rally round the flag, boys, rally once again,"
sang the three hoarse voices, straining against the wind.
Dan struggled to his feet, and the scene shifted.
He was back in his childhood, and the Major had just brought in a slave he
had purchased from Rainy-day Jones--"the plague spot in the county," as the
angry old gentleman declared.
Dan sat on the pile of kindling wood upon the kitchen hearth and stared at
the poor black creature shivering in the warmth, his face distorted with
the toothache, and a dirty rag about his jaw. He heard Aunt Rhody snorting
indignantly as she basted the turkeys, and he watched his grandmother
bustling back and forth with whiskey and hot plasters.
"Who made slavery, sir?" asked the boy suddenly, his hands in his breeches
pockets and his head bent sideways.
The Major started.
"God, sir," he promptly replied.
"Then I think it very strange of God," said the boy, "and when I grow up, I
shall set them all free, grandpa--I shall set them free even if I have to
fight to do it, sir.
Pages:
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440