THE LOST CAUSE

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 851, 20 December 1929, Page 6 (Supplement)

THE LOST CAUSE

By

B. EYRE WAKEFIELD

OLONEL AMOS HOWARD and his only son, Robert, just home from college, sat on the verandah of their '!/ I old-world Virginia home, smoking an ’ after-breakfast cigar and sipping All round was a scene of summer peace. The sue shone down with great heat —it was the month of June —but a pleasant breeze tempered his efforts, and made lounging about a pleasure rather than a trial, as was often the case. On all sides the home was enclosed by a wide belt of fine trees —white and red oaks, hickory, walnut, chestnut, locust and magnolia—the two latter in all tbeir beauty of full bloom. The soft, air drummed with the movement of countless wings, as the wild bees competed with a pair of hummingbirds for the honeyed kiss of the white and yellow jasmine, and climbing roses that clothed the pillars of the verandah in masses of bloom. Beyond the well-kept gardens, lawns and belt of shady frees, the plantation sloped down toward the river, where the vivid green of the old twisted willows formed a cool line of colour, in contrast to the glare of the sunshine on the cotton and tobacco fields which intervened. On three sides the scene was much the same; on the fourth, that facing west, the scene was totally different. From the hill on which the house stood, one could see for miles over a rolling country, to the pale blue masses of the Blue Kldge Mountains shimmering in the sun's glare. Jn this view great stretches of timber held the rye and imagination—until the far-distant sweep of mountains compelled the mind to concentrate on the more remote view and the great beyond. “It is a scene, Robert, eloquent of peace anti prosperity ... of money well spent and handsome returns assured —if—” The speaker. Colonel Howard, paused, lit a fresh cigar, and continued: —lf the Northerners will only be reasonable over this question ot' Secession —If they will only allow us to secede and work out our own destiny, instead of attempting to force' ps to accept their views on vital subjects which concern us Southerners —and us alone!” “Look you, Robert,” he continued, turning his chair toward that of his son, “we old Colonists have made, the Southern States what they are! It Is some time now since George Washington declared for Independence—because we were oppressed by the Old Country, and forced over matters which concerned us, and us alone. Now

it looks as though the scene is to be enacted again. We wish to secede. The North says: ‘No you shall not’! What will happen, God alone knows! But this I know —and I voice the opinion of every true Southerner from Maryland o the Gulf, when I say—if they insist —then we will fight, though God grant it may never come to that!” Colonel Howard for a time remained deep in meditation. Then a line of moving slaves came into view, in the tobacco fields beyond the trees. From their hoes a small cloud of dust hung in their wake. The sight evidently broke the thread of his thoughts, for he touched a hand-bell on the table at his side. “Well,” he said, “I intended to ride around this morning to see how things are going in the negroes’ quarters. Will you ride too Robert? The day is getting hot, but we shall not be long.” “Right Father.” In answer to the bell, a negro “house-boy”—■ a. middle aged man —appeared.

“My horse, and Mr. Robert’s, Sim—sharp!” “Yes Sah —berry good sah.” The two men entered the house, and emerged shortly, ready to mount. Colonel Howard was one of those planters beloved by his slaves. There were many who were not —not perhaps because they, personally, were either cruel or unfeeling, but because, in a great number of instances, they left the handling of their negroes to t.he:ir overseers. Many of these, it must be admitted, maintained order, and obtained work, by systematic brutality. To the Colonel—brought up practically from birth by a worshipping “Mammy,” and surrounded by slaves —negroes represented so much well-bred livestock. Yet, combining the qualities of humanitarianism and business acumen, Howard treated his slaves as he would have treated bloodhorses. They were well housed, well fed and clothed, and if sickness came upon any, they -were medically attended. In return lie expected—and received —regular and good service. He abominated the common practice of selling the members of a negro family to different masters. He seldom sold a slave, unless for dishonesty or laziness, or occasionally a young newly married couple, on the one condition that they were not to be parted. That he was popular was quite apparent, as he and his son rode through the slave quarters that June morning. The majority of the adults of both sexes were at work in the fields, but some old pensioners, an expectant mother or two, and the scampering children ail received a smile and nod in answer to their broad grins and varying salaams, while ’in the case of one or two greyheaded slaves of old standing, a few kindly words were spoken. From the negroes’ quarters, father and son rode round a portion of the plantation, visiting corn, cotton and tobacco fields. Wherever there were any of his slaves, his welcome was the same—the fondness of a dog for his master. As they turned toward home Colonel Howard’s thoughts reverted to the topic of Secession. “If we don’t secede” he said “public opinion will force us to grant emancipation to our slaves, and that means not only the ruination of all planters throughout the South, but also the total loss of all that productive force which the negro, as a slave, stands for. Once they free the slaves, God help the country, and the slaves themselves! For —marjc my words Robert —the emancipated negro either cannot, or will not work for himself!

If on the other hand we do secede, it looks like war . . . war of the worst type . . . civil war!” Five years had passed by—the greater part of that time a period of civil war! Families had been divided, had'wiped each other out! Fathers had slain sous, and brothers killed brothers! Maimed and wounded were everywhere—shattered remnants of manhood. Vast stretches of country—a few years previously so prosperous and contented—now lay war-scarjed wildnernesses. Famine and destitution were oil all sides —so much so, in parts of Virginia, that the dead alone might smile. Colonel Amos Howard had been rigbt. It was indeed a case of “God help the country.” To the majority of Southerners of both sexes it had meant total loss, or very nearly so. Plantations had been mortgaged or sold to raise funds for prosecuting the war; while many estates left In chargp of squandering overseers and slaves, on the outbreak of war, had been robbed and neglected.

To these estates, then, returned such as had survived the horrors of war—broken in heart, mind and body—and among them General Amos Howard—a pathetic figure— mud-bespattered aud ragged, worn and thin, and lacking his left arm below the elbow.

From the moment trouble began in Charleston Harbour, he had been as good as his word and hab thrown himself in to the Confederate cause, hears and soul—not in the hope of gain, but through a strong conviction that his Cause was fair anti just. And now, after four years of incessant fighting and compaigning he had lost all! Hitonly son had gone first—gallantly leading a forlorn hope at Vicksburg. His left arm was taken off at Manassas when the Federal bullets literally mowed down young trees that stood in their path. His beloved wife had given her all in a ceaseless endeavour to alleviate the sufferings of the wounded at Richmond. And now the cause was lost —the loss which caused those others to pale into insignificance! He retained just three things—his life, his reason, and his sword. For the two former lie felt he had no further use or need —he would gladly have died in and with the struggle now so disastrously ended! So he meditated, as he rode his worn charger up the devastated valley toward his old home. On all sides there was ample evidence of the sufferings through which that once peaceful, prosperous country had passed. Homes of old friends and acquaintances were in ruins, or deserted and rapidly succumbing to the ravages of time. Emancipated slaves were everywhere, many bewildered and lost amid their new surroundings and an environment that knew no restraint. Some —particularly the elder ones —■

viewed this man, this dignified, scarred relic of bygone days, with a vacant expression of regret. Others, more particularly the young negroes, showed an insolent arrogance that more than once made the General clap liis hand to the hilt of his sword. But the action aud the hard look of this w r ar-scarred veteran were sufficient, and he rode on, unmolested, his mind, for the most part, dwelling on the great Lost Cause. Once or twice liis thoughts were brought back to realities around him by the sight of some landmark gone, or some well cultivated plantation of former times, overgrown with weeds, and a wreck. Concerning his own place he thought little. With the surrender of the Confederate Forces, General Amos Howard knew he was a ruined man, so far as this world was concerned. But partly from a sense of duty to the loved ones now dead, and also to his now emancipated slaves, he had determined to visit the old place once more. As he topped the last rise, his horse willingly came to a stand. The General removed his battered felt hat and gazed across the little valley toward the hill on which stood his old family home, or what was left of it. At the distance the indistinct outline of the house and buildings was barely discernible owing to the trees, but, the fields that lay between were a wild galaxy of weeds and dirt where once had'been orderly cropping. Howard replaced his hat. and slowly, with a heavy heart, descended the hill toward the river— that river which surrounded liis plantation on three sides. - The wooden bridge had’ been blown up, so he forded the stream and began the ascent of the hill beyond. As he rode, head bowed and a sense of utter desolation in his whole being, he became aware of a distant shout. Glancing up he discerned

a negro coming down tlie hill at a run —evidently in great excitement. On nearer approach he knew at once the form and features of his "houseboy,” Simeon Mims. In another instant they met —the ex-slave grasping his master's mudbespattered boot and shouting praises the while. "Oh. Glory be! Glory be! Massa's come back to de ole home!”

"Yes Sim. I’ve come back to—say—goodbye! Where are all the other si—negroes, Sim?” "Oh Lawd, Massa I shuah am glad dat you done come home! Great day in de mornin’! Dat is what dis chile live for to see! Praise de Lawd! Hallilujah!” •■y es> yes Sim! —but where are all the others?' “Shucks Massa! Dem black trash no' count atall! Dem get 'Mansipashun —burn up cabins—get out quick! Mo stay fo’ to see Massa dem no' count atall!” They’ve all gone—except you. Sim?" "Y’as Massa —all gone 'cep Simeon Mims an' his gal May Sue! —Praise de Lawd, Sim an' May Sue stay fo' to meet de ole Massa!” "Sim, your hand! This greeting is the one bright spot in my life —all—all else is over!" “Nevali Salt —nevah! —May Sue an’ Sim work fo’ yo’ yet! Dis heah chile work fo' de ole Massa. suah as yo’ born!” “We shall see Sim! Meanwhile, thank you you and May Sue —for this welcome." General Howard paused. His eyes were dim. The pathetic joy of this faithful servant touched his broken heart. “Is the home all right?” “Lawd Massa! it ain't nohow fit fo’ yo’ pooah eyes!” “How so?” asked the General, steadying himself and his voice with an effort. “Oh Lawd a’ Mussy, Massa!. Up dar is one heap big yellah trash! —Mulatto oberseer, once on time, at Massa Lorton’s plantashun! Him come say him white man! Lib in white Massa's house! Sim say: ‘Heah yo’ dam’ yellah trash, dis home fo’ de Massa when he come back fro’ de cruel w-ah!’ Oberseer knock . Sim down! T’rash him awu’ w-id him ole slave whip till—Glory be! —I see de-angels cornin’ fo’ to carry me home!” “Ah! he did—did he?” .

“Yes ,Massa! Him lib right dar wid young gal him took fro’ de ole quarters when him set dem afire!” “Enough Sim! Forward!”

Up the hill the two went, the General stern and silent —a smouldering fire of wrath in his sunken eyes; the faithful negro trotting at his stirrup, still full of joy at the homecoming of his old master.

Around the home all was in a state of wild disorder. The flower beds and walks w-ere rank with weeds. The house itself was blistered by the sun’s rays. Here and there a Venetian shutter swung by a solitary hinge. Chickens

crowded the verandah, and even walked the magnificent hall inside —the door being open. General Howard dismounted and gave the reins to Simeon, who obediently took them, but stood as one fascinated, muttering prayers and praises without end. Up the verandah steps and into his old home the General went, drawing his sword as he entered. He paused, a look of disgust spreading over his features, at the filth and destruction on every hand. “Ho,” he shouted, “Hello!” and paused.

Heavy footsteps advanced from the direction of the kitchens arid a moment later a tall, evil looking mulatto confronted him. For a second dead silence ensued, each man weighing the other up, then the General spoke: “What are you doing here 7 ” “What in hell hes it got fo' to do with yo’?” drawled the other.

“This jnuch!—you damned yellow swine!” roared the white man, “that I give you just two minutes to be out of here —and never let me see

your face again! My God! WUai tia» .v Country come to, that it allows beasts ,'** to turn a man's home into a brothel and argue when the rightful owner returns! t* 6 out!” he shouted, "before I do you harm , ! disgrace my sword!” 1

Again, for a second, the two men glowered each other. Then slowly the mulatto’s hi stole to his hip. General Howard, seeing movement, shouted: "Hands up. you dog’ quick march!" but he was too late. The mulati had whipped a long knife from its sheath nrt sprung at the white man. The General S pr» n~ back, and the next instant lunged with his swum H was over. The knife flew across the hil as the ex-overseer collapsed -run through rh" body. For a moment General Howard le»),J against the wall, breathing heavily “My Goa. has it come to this?” he sroancj “All —all is indeed over!” He looked around as he became conscious of the form of a well-made negress standing though petrified, in the hall entrance. "Is this your—your husband?” he cries pointing to the motionless form. "Oh Lawd! yes Massa! —no Massa!— I sll *h am skeert stiff—Doan go fo’ to kill me Massa' Oh Lawd ha’ nuissv!" "1 shall not kill you girl, so silence:" he roaiwl his nerves a-jangle. "Get out!- and 1 s j a!] spare you. This place is doomed. 1 say. Doomed as surely as the Confederacy is lost. Get out"' The girl obeyed. ‘’Say,” he called after her, "is there anyone else alive in this accursed spot?” "Lawd a' mussy, no Sah!” and she turned i nu ran For a time General Howard wandered through the old home —his head bowed and hands clenched behind his back. Every now- and then fie-cc muttered words were spoken to the silent wall; Unconsciously he ended his wanderings in his own former bedroom. Much of the furnltur' was gone or destroyed, but the bed still stood hi the same spot, and above it, a hand painting o: his dead wife. What a shock memory and thapicture gave him. His eyes rested on the of, bed. and a look of horror spread over his features as he realised it had been recently occupied. h\ whom? That bed on w-hich his only son lac first drawn breath had been occupied by a mulatto and his negro mistress! With a rtrse he rushed from the room and stumbled bUnj|v downstairs.

“Ho Sim! Ho Sim!” be shouted, “Come gb, me help to remove this carrion!” Sim hitched the weary charger fo a tree, ami entered at his master’s call: a very scared nig yv Together the ex-planter and the ex-sHve dragged the mulatto Into the garden. When (Jut w-as done, and not until then, did Genera! Howard speak. “Sim,” he said, “I’m going away ... for er>r.

Goodbye, and thank you and May Sue, from the bottom of my heart! ” “Lawd Massa! if yo’ go way sah, —May Sue an' dis chile go too!” “But I can't keep you. Sim! All is lost Everything I had is gone.” “Den Massa, it certainly is fo' May Sue an’ Sim to keep de pooah ole Massa!”

For many years there lived, away up in tie mountains at the back of Kingston, Jamaica gn old Confederate soldier. How- he lived, in his secluded little house canopied in flowers ara tropical vegetation, no one knew or asked. He was silent to a degree, yet full of kindly acis which, at the end of all time, will speak for tlein selves. For years he lived up there in the sunshine, tended and cared for by an old nos™ and his wife.

Whether any of that trio survive. I cannot say, but certain it is that when the “Massa” ;cef to the Land where there are no “Lost Causes, hil servants will assuredly join him.