People's Pilot, Volume 3, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 November 1893 — IN DIXIE'S LAND BEFORE THE WAR. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

IN DIXIE'S LAND BEFORE THE WAR.

By THE LATE James Franklin Fitts

[Copyright, 1593, by A- N. Kellogg Newspaper Co.} CHAPTER IV.— Continued. The restraint and discipline to which I was subjected brought on an explosion that winter. It was soon after my twenty-first birthday. I had been waiting a little for my austere guardian to inform me that I was no longer under his direction, when I was resolved by hook or crook to make my way to Mississippi. In the meantine I resolved upon a little unwonted personal liberty. A young people’s sleighride to a tavern up in a gap of the mountains, with a supper and a dance, had been projected. I well knew it would be fruitless to ask permission; so I resolved to attend by means of that expedient which the sailors call “taking French.” In other words, I climbed out of my chamber window at nine o’clock, when the family were asleep. Disaster attended our homeward way in the early hours of the morning. The harness broke; delay attended its repair; it was long after daylight when we reached the village. I know that my clandestine absence must have been discovered, and I resolved to put a bold face on the matter. The deacon’s family were at breakfast when I walked in. The tyrant at the head of the table glared wrathfully upon me. “Where have you been, sir?" “Up at Snediker’s, with the sleighing party.” “Wretched youth! Your depravity is astounding. I will see you in the woodshed after breakfast.” I made no reply, but ate with considerable composure, while the commiserating glances of the deacon’s big boys sought my face. Sad experience told them what was coming. The meal over, the deacon indulged in a long addendum of thanks for what we had received, mingled with pious denunciations of thd depraved conduct of one of the family. He rose from the table and, with a motion to me, marched out into the woodshed. I followed promptly. He reached down a great hickory limb from the shelf and, bending and trying it in his hand, he addressed me with a sternness that was seasoned with a savage kind of glee as he anticipated the diversion he was about to provide for himself. “Dorr Jewett, take off your coat. I have too long neglected my duty. The devil is clamoring for your immortal soul. I will chastise the adversary out 'of you. Take off your coat.” I snatched up.a heavy oak stool that stood by and put myself on the defensive. “If you lay a hand on me I’ll knock your brains out!” I cried. He fell back aghast. I suppose the idea of resistance to his authority never entered his head. “What do you mean, you young imp?” he stammered. “I mean what I say. I’ve done nothing to be punished for; if I had, your authority over me was at an end some weeks ago. You old canting hypocrite, I defy you to touch me!” My blood was up, and I said more than I had at first intended to. He saw that I would surely break his head if he should advance on me, and

he did not attempt it. But never was man in a greater rage! His leathery face almost turned green. “Out of my house, you young reprobate —you spawn of Belial!” he ■squeaked, in a voice shaking with fury. “I will go with pleasure. Will you send my trunk over co the tavern?” “Yes. Clear out!” “I want those books you took away from me.” “Take all your traps and leave!” I turned on my heel and went Into tho dining-room- Bidding the family good-by, I put on my cap and went over to the tavern. 1 had not a vent Us my pocket

CHAPTER V. THE TAMING or A LAND BHAKKI had no definite plan as to how I was to accomplish my darling wish of going to Mr. Bostock. The landlord was a clever sort of man who thoroughly disliked the deacon, and, as he had been quite friendly with my father, it occurred'to me that I could claim his hospitality for a little while, till I could get the means to pay him. I found him alone, and briefly described what had happened. I thought he would go into convulsions. His fat sides shook with laughter. “Well, now, that’s glorious! The best thing I've heard for a year. Tried to lick you, did he? Would you really have knocked him down with the stool?” “Indeed I should, if he'd come within reach of it.” “But did you really and truly call him a canting old hypocrite?" “Yes.” “Well, I'm poor enough; but I’d have given five dollars to hear it The man heard the truth about himself for once. You’re welcome to stay here till you can do better. Did the deacon say anything about settling with you?” “Settling? I don’t understand.” ‘‘Don’t you suppose he owes you money?” “What for?” “Why—-he’s your guardian; or was. Hasn’t he ever said anything to you about the state of your account, or given you any money?” “Never. What do you mean?” “The old shark! He’s trying to swindle you, as he has some other orphans.” As soon as the landlord’s indignation had cooled, he gave me an explanation that surprised me. He said that the mortgage on which my father’s farm was sold was small in amount, and that the farm sold well. There was a surplus, which had been paid into the hands of Deacon Halleck, as my guardian. “Tom Brough, the lawyer's clerk, was here last night, talking about it. He says that, with a liberal allowance for your board and for guardian’s fees, the deacon ought to have five hundred dollars for you.”

“Five hundred dollars!” I faltered. “How am I to get it?” “Ah —there is the trouble! I suppose Tom Brough has no business to blab the secrets of the office; but when he has a glass in, he’ll tell me anything. He says that Deacon Halleck has made a great deal of money out of estates, and defrauded many widows and orphans, by large bills, delays and all kinds of law-obstacles. He says that is just what will happen to you. No matter, Dorr; I’ll stand by you. I’ll get some lawyer or other to take your case, and you can stay with me till it’s decided.” I sat pondering on this revelation. “It’ll take time," I said. “Yes—of course.” “And perhaps the deacon might make it appear that he don’t owe me anything.” • “He’s capable of swearing to anything; and you’ll have to take your chances with him, of course. But I’d follow him up.” “He’s rich and has position and influence; I'm nobody:” I said, continuing to pile up the obstacles. “You have friends, I tell you! Just take my advice!” “Thank you, Mart, I believe I’ll try another way first.” “What way?” A sudden inspiration had seized me. “I can’t tell you; it’s between the deacon and me; I’m going right back to see him.” It was not more than an hour from the time that I left the home of my late guardian when I entered it .again. There was a little den off the diningroom where deacon kept a desk, the pigeon-holes of which were filled with his notes, leases and mortgages. I knew his habits, and relied upon finding him here at that hour. He looked up from some accounts that he was poring over, and scowled as he saw me. “What brings you back here?” he demanded. “I was in too great a hurry to leave, just now. I’ve come back to have a settlement with you." He turned sharply, and faced me. “What do you mean?” “I want you to account to me as my late guardian. It’s my belief that there’s as much as five hundred dollars coming to me.” A contemptuous smile curled his thin lips. “You’re getting along famously, indeed! What other gossip have you heard over at the tavern?”

“Will you settle with me?” “Look here —you impertinent jackanaues! There is nothing to settle. The very small amount of money that came to me for you after the sale of the farm has been more than consumed by my charges for board, washing and care. You owe me money yousrelf.” “I shall put my claim in the hands of a lawyer.” “Go ahead,” he said, defiantly. “Well, Deacon Halleck—that’s the end of that business, for the present. You’ll hear from my lawyer in due time. There’s something else I want to talk about.” He turned his back upon me, and busied himself again at his desk. “Your barn was burned last December.” He wheeled his chair sharply about. “What of that?” “I know who set it afire." “You do?” V “Yes." His defiant manner was gone; the wrinkles of his face quivered and he had hard work to return my steady look. “Well—” and then came a pause. “Who did it?” “ You did it.” < He jumped up, strode to and fro, shook his fist at me and poured out a torrent of words. “You rascally young liar! What do you mean, coming here and insulting me with such a ridiculous story? Do you suppose you can blackmail me— me —in this way?' I’ll have you arrested I -I’ll-”

His wrath, and his fears, too, as his face plainly showed, choked his words I quietly took a chair. “I’d advise you to take it cool, sir! You'll remember we’ve done talking about my claim; we are on another subject now. I merely say to you that I have the evidence that you burned your own property to realize a large insurance on it. I shall go from here to a magistrate and make complaint. If you know of any reason why I should not you had better state it.” He sat down and stared hard at me. He tried hard to conceal his thoughts; but I saw plainly that his mind was halting between fear and bluster. “Preposterous!” he muttered. I said nothing. “Who do you expect to believe this silly story?” “I refuse to discuss that. It will be time to talk about that when my proofs are presented.” “What are your proofs?” “You'll know in due time.” He hesitated, then said, with an effort: “You haven’t ajjy proof. I’ll talk with you no more about it.” I thought the game was lost, but I resolved to play it to the end. “Very well,” I said. “You defy me to make a criminal complaint against you. I will do it at once.” I turned and walked out of the house. A window was raised, and I heard the deacon’s voice calling me back. I had triumphed! When I was again alone with him he locked the door.. “This is all very absurd and foolish,” he said. “Of course I never set fire to my barn, and if you know anything about it you know that I did not. But I don’t court trouble. I haven’t been over my accounts with you; possibly I do owe you something. Suppose I pay you the five hundred dollars you claim, will you tell me .what evidence you have that I burned the barn?” “Yes.” “What will there be then to prevent you from making your foolish complaint?” “There will be nothing, Deacon Halleck. Understand me. I know what Compounding a felony is, and I’m doing

nothing of the kind. I make no bargains. But you’ll probably agree that my evidence against you in a criminal case would not be worth much if it was shown that I had just been making an amicable settlement with you, and that I had received from you the full amount Claimed against you us guardian." “You’re a keen one," he said. “Do you mean to stay here?” “No. lam going south very soon. I may never return here.” He turned to his desk and wrote off a receipt for five hundred dollars, in full of all claims against him as guardian. I signed it. From a drawer of his desk he took a package of bills, and counted out the amount. He watched me till I had counted it and put it away. “What was your proof?” he demanded. “Your own guilty conscience, Mr. Halleck! I have heard it whispered twenty times, since that night, that you burned your property to get a high rate of insurance. I have suspected you, as well as others; but I knew no more than they, which was just nothing. But as soon as I charged you with it, conscious guilt looked out of your face. You were made to be a small rascal, deacon; you can’t conceal a crime. I predict that you’ll betray yourself after I have gone.” The anger with which he heard the beginning of my declaration changed to abject terror as I went on. He wept, wrungthis hands, almost grovelled at my feet. “0 Dorr,don’t betray me!” he whined. “Think of my family, think of my good name, think of my. position in society and the church!" I assured him that I would not mention the accusation, and left him in his terror and misery. The next morning the village was horrified to hear that Deacon Halleck had committed suicide. He was found hanging by the neck to the rafters in 1 the garret. Fear, I think, not conscience, had destroyed him. CHAPTER VL A DISAPPOINTMENT—AND A WELCOME. Of course, there had to be a coroner’s inquiry, and I was called as a witness. So long was this investigation that May had come before I was released. The first week of June found me steaming, down thp Mississippi in one of the great river palaces of that day. Everything was new and wonderful to me, and I thoroughly enjoyed the journey. The river craft, of all sizes, shapes and means of locomotion; tho width and majesty of the downward sweep of the vast Hood, draining half a continent; the verdure and luxuriance of the southern spring, passing into summer; the hrmy of passengers, the people, white and black, so different from those to w bom I had been accustomed; the sights and sounds of the river by day and by night, and, as we entered the cotton belt, the spectacle of immense tracts of rich black loam on the bottoms or the uplands, bursting into the “mimic snow of the cottonfield;" these were the things that kept

my mind in a kind of rapture all the way. To the speedy meeting with my benefactor I looked forward impatiently. Never, I believe, did man cast his former life behind him more entirely than I had done. I was ashore at Vicksburg before the steamer was fairly moored. It was not the picturesque little city of today, but a scattered town of barely four thousand inhabitants, straggling along the river bottom and trying to climb the heights. I arranged with one of the dozens of loafing negroes to carry my trunk, and, escaping from the crowd of passengers, cotton-buyers, and “roustabouts,” that the dozen steamers lying with their tall smokepipes along the river front had brought here, I climbed well np the bluffs and engaged quarters at a quiet place kept by a one-eyed Frenchman, who would talk without the slightest excuse or provocation. After supper, as we sat out in front and watched the twinkling lights on the river, and heard the hoarse shouts of the steamboat men to the negro roustabouts, as they unloaded cargo er “wooded up,” I asked my host if he knew anything of Mr. Pierce Bostock, a wealthy planter of the vicinity. “Bossytook, sair? I nevair hear ze name.” “I believe he does not live right here; it is a few miles below.” “I cannot tell; I know him not.” A small shadow fell upon my exuberant spirits. I had taken it for granted that everybody in Vicksburg knew of the great and rich Mr. Bostock. As we sat there, my host inquired of several loungers, one after another, if they knew the object of my search. Not one had ever heard of him. “I do not zay zere is not such man,” said the Frenchman. “But I have been here four year, and I have not hear ze name.” “Who was it?” a man asked, coming in for a drink. “A planter named Pierce Bostock.” He gulped down his brandy, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and began to meditate. “Bostock? I declare I have heard the name. I’m up and down the river all the time, and things gits away from my head in a week; but if I ain’t clear outen the channel a man with some such name was mixed up in a fight some time ago. Wasn't it so, Frenchy?” “I tell you I know not ze name.” Rather dejected, I was about to retire, resolved to start out in the morning and make a systematic search for information, when a communicative old negro approached me. He had heard my inquiries and told me that “’bout seben year ago, or mebbe longer,” he was “one of Marse Bostock’s boys.” Be remembered the place well; he could tell me just where to find it. I slipped a half dollar into his hand and encouraged him to go on. [TO BE CONTINUED.]

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU YOUNG IMP?”

“OH, DORR, DON’T BETRAY ME!”