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bugle call swelled up musically from below. Thefreed sun caught the white flags of two field hospitals in the woodsand glanced tranquilly on the broad, cypress-fringed, lazy-flowing,and cruel but beautiful Southern river, which had all unseen crept sosmilingly that morning through the very heart of the battle.

  CHAPTER I.

  The two o'clock express from Redlands to Forestville, Georgia, hadbeen proceeding with the languid placidity of the river whose banks itskirted for more than two hours. But, unlike the river, it had stoppedfrequently; sometimes at recognized stations and villages, sometimes atthe apparition of straw-hatted and linen-coated natives in the solitudeof pine woods, where, after a decent interval of cheery conversationwith the conductor and engineer, it either took the stranger on board,or relieved him of his parcel, letter, basket, or even the verbalmessage with which he was charged. Much of the way lay throughpine-barren and swampy woods which had never been cleared or cultivated;much through decayed settlements and ruined villages that had remainedunchanged since the War of the Rebellion, now three years past. Therewere vestiges of the severity of a former military occupation; theblackened timbers of railway bridges still unrepaired; and along theline of a certain memorable march, sections of iron rails taken fromthe torn-up track, roasted in bonfires and bent while red-hot around thetrunks of trees, were still to be seen. These mementos of defeat seemedto excite neither revenge nor the energy to remove them; the dull apathywhich had succeeded the days of hysterical passion and convulsion stilllingered; even the slow improvement that could be detected was markedby the languor of convalescence. The helplessness of a race, hithertodependent upon certain barbaric conditions or political place and power,unskilled in invention, and suddenly confronted with the necessity ofpersonal labor, was visible everywhere. Eyes that but three short yearsbefore had turned vindictively to the North, now gazed wistfully to thatquarter for help and direction. They scanned eagerly the faces of theirenergetic and prosperous neighbors--and quondam foes--upon the verandasof Southern hotels and the decks of Southern steamboats, and were evennow watching from a group in the woods the windows of the halted train,where the faces appeared of two men of manifestly different types, butstill alien to the country in dress, features, and accent.

  Two negroes were slowly loading the engine tender from a woodpile. Therich brown smoke of the turpentine knots was filling the train with itsstinging fragrance. The elder of the two Northern passengers, with sharpNew England angles in his face, impatiently glanced at his watch.

  "Of all created shiftlessness, this beats everything! Why couldn't wehave taken in enough wood to last the ten miles farther to the terminuswhen we last stopped? And why in thunder, with all this firing up, can'twe go faster?"

  The younger passenger, whose quiet, well-bred face seemed to indicatemore discipline of character, smiled.

  "If you really wish to know and as we've only ten miles farther togo--I'll show you WHY. Come with me."

  He led the way through the car to the platform and leaped down. Then hepointed significantly to the rails below them. His companion started.The metal was scaling off in thin strips from the rails, and in someplaces its thickness had been reduced a quarter of an inch, while inothers the projecting edges were torn off, or hanging in iron shreds,so that the wheels actually ran on the narrow central strip. It seemedmarvelous that the train could keep the track.

  "NOW you know why we don't go more than five miles an hour, and--arethankful that we don't," said the young traveler quietly.

  "But this is disgraceful!--criminal!" ejaculated the other nervously.

  "Not at their rate of speed," returned the younger man. "The crime wouldbe in going faster. And now you can understand why a good deal of theother progress in this State is obliged to go as slowly over theirequally decaying and rotten foundations. You can't rush things here aswe do in the North."

  The other passenger shrugged his shoulders as they remounted theplatform, and the train moved on. It was not the first time that the twofellow-travelers had differed, although their mission was a commonone. The elder, Mr. Cyrus Drummond, was the vice-president of a largeNorthern land and mill company, which had bought extensive tracts ofland in Georgia, and the younger, Colonel Courtland, was the consultingsurveyor and engineer for the company. Drummond's opinions were a gooddeal affected by sectional prejudice, and a self-satisfied and righteousignorance of the actual conditions and limitations of the people withwhom he was to deal; while the younger man, who had served through thewar with distinction, retained a soldier's respect and esteem for hislate antagonists, with a conscientious and thoughtful observation oftheir character. Although he had resigned from the army, the fact thathe had previously graduated at West Point with high honors had givenhim preferment in this technical appointment, and his knowledge of thecountry and its people made him a valuable counselor. And it was a factthat the country people had preferred this soldier with whom they hadonce personally grappled to the capitalist they had never known duringthe struggle.

  The train rolled slowly through the woods, so slowly that the fragrantpine smoke from the engine still hung round the windows of the cars.Gradually the "clearings" became larger; they saw the distant whitewooden colonnades of some planter's house, looking still opulent andpretentious, although the fence of its inclosure had broken gaps, andthe gate sagged on its single hinge.

  Mr. Drummond sniffed at this damning record of neglect and indifference."Even if they were ruined, they might still have spent a few cents fornails and slats to enable them to look decent before folks, and notparade their poverty before their neighbors," he said.

  "But that's just where you misunderstand them, Drummond," saidCourtland, smiling. "They have no reason to keep up an attitude towardstheir neighbors, who still know them as 'Squire' so-and-so, 'Colonel'this and that, and the 'Judge,'--owners of their vast but crippledestates. They are not ashamed of being poor, which is an accident."

  "But they are of working, which is DELIBERATION," interrupted Drummond."They are ashamed to mend their fences themselves, now that they have noslaves to do it for them."

  "I doubt very much if some of them know how to drive a nail, for thematter of that," said Courtland, still good-humoredly, "but that'sthe fault of a system older than themselves, which the founders of theRepublic retained. We cannot give them experience in their new conditionin one day, and in fact, Drummond, I am very much afraid that for ourpurposes--and I honestly believe for THEIR good--we must help to keepthem for the present as they are."

  "Perhaps," said Drummond sarcastically, "you would like to reinstateslavery?"

  "No. But I should like to reinstate the MASTER. And not for HIS sakealone, but for freedom's sake and OURS. To be plain: since I have takenup this matter for the company, I have satisfied myself from personalobservation that the negro--even more than his master--cannot handle hisnew condition. He is accustomed to his old traditional task-master, andI doubt if he will work fairly for any other--particularly for those whodon't understand him. Don't mistake me: I don't propose to go back tothe whip; to that brutal institution, the irresponsible overseer; tothe buying and selling, and separation of the family, nor any of theold wrongs; but I propose to make the old master OUR OVERSEER, andresponsible to US. He is not a fool, and has already learned that itis more profitable to pay wages to his old slaves and have the powerof dismissal, like any other employer, than be obliged, under the oldsystem of enforced labor and life servitude, to undergo the cost ofmaintaining incompetence and idleness. The old sentiment of slave-owninghas disappeared before natural common-sense and selfishness. I amsatisfied that by some such process as this utilizing of the old masterand the new freedom we will be better able to cultivate our lands thanby buying up their estates, and setting the old owners adrift, with alittle money in their pockets, as an idle, discontented class torevive old political dogmas, and foment new issues, or perhaps set up adangerous opposition to us.

  "You don't mean to say that those infernal niggers would give thepreference to their
old oppressors?"

  "Dollar for dollar in wages--yes! And why shouldn't they? Their oldmasters understand them better--and treat them generally better. Theyknow our interest in them is only an abstract sentiment, not a realliking. We show it at every turn. But we are nearing Redlands, and MajorReed will, I have no doubt, corroborate my impressions. He insists uponour staying at his house, although the poor old fellow, I imagine, canill afford to entertain company. But he will be offended if we refuse."

  "He is a friend of yours, then?" asked Drummond.

  "I fought against his division at Stony Creek," said Courtland grimly."He never tires of talking of it to me--so I suppose I am."

  A few moments later the train glided