Black Canaan by Robert E. Howard (best summer books .txt) đ
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The agreed without question; the Buckners have always been tacitly considered leaders in Canaan, and it came natural for me to offer suggestions. Nobody gives orders to white men in Canaan.
âI reckoned youâd be showinâ up soars,â opined McBride, as we rode along the whitening road. âYou usually manage to keep up with whatâs happeninâ in Canaan.â
âWhat is happening?â I inquired. âI donât know anything. An old black woman dropped me the word in New Orleans that there was trouble. Naturally I came home as fast as I could. Three strange niggers waylaid me-â I was curiously disinclined to mention the woman. âAnd now you tell me somebody killed Ridge Jackson. Whatâs it all about?â
âThe swamp niggers killed Ridge to shut his mouth,â announced McBride. âThatâs the only way to figure it. They must have been close behind him when he knocked on Capân Sorleyâs door. Ridge worked for Capân Sorley most of his life; he thought a lot of the old man. Some kind of deviltryâs beinâ brewed up in the swamps, and Ridge wanted to warn the Capân. Thatâs the way I figure it.â
âWarn him about what?â
âWe donât know,â confessed McBride. âThatâs why weâre all on edge. It must be an uprisinâ.â
That word was enough to strike chill fear into the heart of any Canaan-dweller. The blacks had risen in 1845, and the red terror of that revolt was not forgotten, nor the three lesser rebellions before it, when the slaves rose and spread fire and slaughter from Tularoosa to the shores of Black River. The fear of a black uprising lurked for ever in the depths of that forgotten back-country; the very children absorbed it in their cradles.
âWhat makes you think it might be an uprising?â I asked.
âThe niggers have all quit the fields, for one thing. Theyâve all got business in Goshen. I ainât seen a nigger nigh Grimesville for a week. The town niggers have pulled out.â
In Canaan we still draw a distinction born in antebellum days. âTown niggers are descendants of the houseservants of the old days, and most of them live in or near Grimesville There are not many, compared to the mass of âswamp niggersâ who dwell on tiny farms along the creeks and the edge of the swamps, or in the black village of Goshen, on the Tularoosa. They are descendants of the field-hands of other days, and, untouched by the mellow civilization which refined the natures of the houseservants, they remain as primitive as their African ancestors.â
âWhere have the town niggers gone?â I asked.
âNobody knows. They lit out a week ago. Probably hidinâ down on Black River. If we win, theyâll come back. If we donât, theyâll take refuge in Sharpsville.â
I found his matter-of-factness a bit ghastly, as if the actuality of the uprising were an assured fact.
âWell, what have you done?â I demanded.
âAinât much we could do,â he confessed. âThe niggers ainât made no open move, outside of killinâ Ridge Jackson; and we couldnât prove who done that, or why they done it.
âThey ainât done nothinâ but clear out. But thatâs mighty suspicious. We canât keep from thinkinâ Saul Starkâs behind it.â
âWho is this fellow?â I asked.
âI told you all I know, already. He got permission to settle in that old deserted cabin on the Neck; a great big black devil that talks better English than I like to hear a nigger talk. But he was respectful enough. He had three or four big South Carolina bucks with him, and a brown wench which we donât know whether sheâs his daughter, sister, wife or What. He ainât been in to Grimesville but that one time, and a few weeks after he came to Canaan, the niggers begun actinâ curious. Some of the boys wanted to ride over to Goshen and have a show-down, but thatâs takinâ a desperate chance.â
I knew he was thinking of a ghastly tale told us by our grandfathers of how a punitive expedition from Grimesville was once ambushed and butchered among the dense thickets that masked Goshen, then a rendezvous for runaway slaves, while another red-handed band devastated Grimesville, left defenseless by that reckless invasion.
âMight take all the men to get Saul Stark,â said McBride. âAnd we donât dare leave the town unprotected. But weâll soon have to-hello, whatâs this?â
We had emerged from the trees and were just entering the village of Grimesville, the community center of the white population of Canaan. It was not pretentious. Log cabins, neat and whitewashed, were plentiful enough. Small cottages clustered about big, old-fashioned houses which sheltered the rude aristocracy of that backwoods democracy. All the âplanterâ families lived âin town.â âThe countryâ was occupied by their tenants, and by the small independent farmers, white and black.
A small log cabin stood near the point where the road wound out of the deep forest. Voices emanated from it, in accents of menace, and a tall lanky figure, rifle in hand, stood at the door.
âHowdy, Esau!â this man hailed us. âBy golly, if it ainât Kirby Buckner! Glad to see you, Kirby.â
ââWhatâs up, Dick?â asked McBride.
âGot a nigger in the shack, tryinâ to make him talk. Bill Reynolds seen him sneakinâ past the edge of town about daylight, and nabbed him.â
âWho is it?â I asked.
âTope Sorley. John Willoughbyâs gone after a blacksnake.â
With a smothered oath I swung off my horse and strode in, followed by McBride. Half a dozen men in boots and gunbelts clustered about a pathetic figure cowering on an old broken bunk. Tope Sorley (his forebears had adopted the name of the family that owned them, in slave days) was a pitiable sight just then. His skin was ashy, his teeth chattered spasmodically, and his eyes seemed to be trying to roll back into his head.
âHereâs Kirby!â ejaculated one of the men as I pushed my way through the group. âIâll bet heâll make this coon talk!â
âHere comes John with the blacksnake!â shouted someone, and a tremor ran through Tope Sorleyâs shivering body.
I pushed aside the butt of the ugly whip thrust eagerly into my hand.
âTope,â I said, âyouâve worked one of my fatherâs farms for years. Has any Buckner ever treated you any way but square?â
âNossuh,â came faintly.
âThen what are you afraid of? Why donât you speak up? Somethingâs going on in the swamps. You know, and I want you to tell us why the town niggers have all run away, why Ridge Jackson was killed, why the swamp niggers are acting so mysteriously.â
âAnd what kind of devilment that cussed Saul Starkâs cookinâ up over on Tularoosa!â shouted one of the men.
Tope seemed to shrink into himself at the mention of Stark.
âI donât dast,â he shuddered. âHeâd put me in de swamp!â
âWho?â I demanded. âStark? Is Stark a conjer man?â
Tope sank his head in his hands and did not answer. I laid my hand on his shoulder.
âTope,â I said, âyou know if youâll talk, weâll protect you. If you donât talk, I donât think Stark can treat you much rougher than these men are likely to. Now spill itwhatâs it all about?â
He lifted desperate eyes.
âYou-all got to lemme stay here,â he shuddered. âAnd guard me, and gimme money to git away on when de troubleâs over.â
âWeâll do all that,â I agreed instantly. âYou can stay right here in this cabin, until youâre ready to leave for New Orleans or wherever you want to go.â
He capitulated, collapsed, and words tumbled from his livid lips.
âSaul Starkâs a conjer man. He come here because itâs way off in back-country. He aim to kill all de white folks in Canaan-â
A growl rose from the group, such a growl as rises unbidden from the throat of the wolf-pack that scents peril.
âHe aim to make hisself king of Canaan. He sent me to spy dis morninâ to see if Mistah Kirby got through. He sent men to waylay him on de road, cause he knowed Mistah Kirby was cominâ back to Canaan. Niggers makinâ voodoo on Tularoosa, for weeks now. Ridge Jackson was goinâ to tell Capân Sorley; so Starkâs niggers foller him and kill him. That make Stark mad. He ainât want to kill Ridge; he want to put him in de swamp with Tunk Bixby and de others.â
âWhat are you talking about?â I demanded.
Far out in the woods rose a strange, shrill cry, like the cry of a bird. But no such bird ever called before in Canaan. Tope cried out as if in answer, and shriveled into himself. He sank down on the bunk in a veritable palsy of fear.
âThat was a signal!â I snapped. âSome of you go out there.â
Half a dozen men hastened to follow my suggestion, and I returned to the task of making Tope renew his revelations. It was useless. Some hideous fear had sealed his lips. He lay shuddering like a stricken animal, and did not even seem to hear our questions. No one suggested the use of the blacksnake. Anyone could see the Negro was paralyzed with terror.
Presently the searchers returned empty-handed. They had seen no one, and the thick carpet of pine needles showed no foot-prints. The men looked at me expectantly. As Colonel Bucknerâs son, leadership was expected of me.
âWhat about it, Kirby?â asked McBride. âBreckinridge and the others have just rode in. They couldnât find that nigger you cut up.â
âThere was anotherâ nigger I hit with a pistol,â I said. âMaybe he came back and helped him. âStill I could not bring myself to mention the brown girl. âLeave Tope alone. Maybe heâll get over his scare after a while. Better keep a guard in the cabin all the time. The swamp niggers may try to get him as they got Ridge Jackson. Better scour the roads around the town, Esau; there may be some of them hiding in the woods.â
âI will. I reckon youâll want to be gettinâ up to the house, now, and seeinâ your folks.â
âYes. And I want to swap these toys for a couple of .44s. Then Iâm going to ride out and tell the country people to come into Grimesville. If itâs to be an uprising, we donât know when it will commence.â
âYouâre not goinâ alone!â protested McBride.
âIâll be all right,â I answered impatiently. âAll this may not amount to anything, but itâs best to be on the safe side. Thatâs why Iâm going after the country folks. No, I donât want anybody to go with me. Just in case the niggers do get crazy enough to attack the town, youâll need every man youâve got. But if I can get hold of some of the swamp niggers and talk to them, I donât think thereâll be any attack.â
âYou wonât get a glimpse of them,â McBride predicted.
3. Shadows over CanaanIt was not yet noon when I rode out of the village westward along the old road. Thick woods swallowed me quickly. Dense walls of pines marched with me on either hand, giving way occasionally to fields enclosed with straggling rail fences, with the log cabins of the tenants or owners close by, with the usual litters of tow-headed children and lank hound dogs.
Some of the cabins were empty. The occupants, if white, had already gone into Grimesville; if black they had gone into the swamps, or fled to the hidden refuge of the town niggers, according to their affiliations. In any event, the vacancy of their hovels was sinister in its suggestion.
A tense silence brooded over the pinelands, broken only by the occasional
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