New York (State) -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
“The day has come! The year of Jubilee is here!” he cried, brushing
her hand aside, and staring with a fixed, ecstatic, open-mouthed smile
straight ahead of him. “The words of the Prophet are fulfilled!”
“But Tom!—_Tom!_” pleaded the girl, piteously. “The list has come? You
know he is safe?”
“Tom! _Tom!_” old “Jee” repeated after her, but with an emphasis
contemptuous, not solicitous. “Perish a hundred Toms—yea—ten thousand!
for one such day as this! ‘For the Scarlet Woman of Babylon is
overthrown, and bound with chains and cast into the lake of fire.
Therefore, in one day shall her plagues come, death, and mourning, and
famine; and she shall be utterly burned with fire: for strong is the
Lord God which judged her!’”
He declaimed these words in a shrill, high-pitched voice, his face
upturned, and his eyes half-closed. Esther plucked despairingly at his
sleeve once more.
“But have you seen?—is _his_ name?—you must have seen!” she moaned,
incoherently.
“Jee” descended for the moment from his plane of exaltation. “I
_didn't_ see!” he said, almost peevishly. “Lincoln has signed a
proclamation freeing all the slaves! What do you suppose I care for
your Toms and Dicks and Harrys, on such a day as this? ‘Woe! woe! the
great city Babylon, the strong city! For in one hour is thy judgment
come!’”
The girl tottered back to her corner, and threw herself limply down
upon the buffalo-robe again, hiding her face in her hands.
I pushed my way past the cooper, and trudged cross-lots home in the
dark, tired, disturbed, and very hungry, but thinking most of all that
if I had been worth my salt, I would have hit “Jee” Hagadorn with the
adze that stood up against the door-still.
CHAPTER VI
NI'S TALK WITH ABNER
It must have been a fortnight before we learned that Jeff Beech and
Byron Truax had been reported missing. I say “we,” but I do not know
when Abner Beech came to hear about it. One of the hired girls had seen
the farmer get up from his chair, with the newly arrived weekly _World_
in his hand, walk over to where his wife sat, and direct her attention
to a line of the print with his finger. Then, still in silence, he
had gone over to the bookcase, opened the drawer where he kept his
account-books, and locked the journal up therein.
We took it for granted that thus the elderly couple had learned the
news about their son. They said so little nowadays, either to each
other or to us, that we were driven to speculate upon their dumb-show,
and find meanings for ourselves in their glances and actions. No one of
us could imagine himself or herself venturing to mention Jeff's name
in their hearing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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