THE OLD AND THE NEW.
There are few if any cities or towns of any consequence in the vast territory known to poesy as the Sunny South, that do not speak in every street corner, in almost every building, and even through the individuals themselves, of the wondrous changes wrought by the great civil war. Those who knew that Sunny South before the sanguinary struggle, and have since looked upon it, will most readily appreciate the force of this statement; while those who have not seen it, need only be told that where villages existed then, now thriving towns arise, or bustling municipalities; elegant mansions have supplanted log huts or other indifferent abodes of men; the railway has displaced the stage coach for all time; newspapers abound where before these were almost unknown, and—greatest boon of all—the auction block, whereon human merchandise was publicly vended, exists only as a memory which itself is rapidly vanishing before the pressure of modern progress and a better civilization. In one respect at least, however, there has been little, if any, change, and that is in regard to the best feature of all among the many that are commendable in the true Southerner—the stranger or wayfarer is received with the same unaffected hospitality as of yore, and is at liberty, within reasonable limits, to avail himself of all the conveniences and enjoyments of whatever home he may find himself the guest.
Notwithstanding their hospitality, the people of the South are usually disposed to be suspicious of strangers until well acquainted with them, and they are overly watchful, jealous and even irritable when once a real or fancied cause for vigilance arises. Inheriting traditions and propensities which are inseparable from the climate and the race, they brook no interference with their peculiar views, and anything savoring of intolerance or bigotry concerning a cherished Southernism is summarily suppressed if it can be; apart from this, it matters little what the visitor believes or practices in a general way. In politics they incline largely one way, possibly for the reason that to do otherwise would, as they look upon it, threaten them with the domination of the black race, and this of all things they will not have, no matter by what means it is prevented. In religion they are protestant with heavy leaning towards the Baptist doctrines, not always free from narrowness, yett fairly tolerant—many evincing a willingness to listen, and demanding a right to believe or disbelieve, as their judgment may dictate.
Those who are unacquainted with the situation would be inclined to say at this point. What a grand field for missionary work! And so it is; but the great mistake of supposing that the South is deficient in the matter of Christian endeavor or ecclesiastical institutions, must not be made. Far from that! On the contrary, perhaps religious feeling is more generally diffused, guarded, and defended as herein expressed, than in any other section of the civilized world; but it is not of the kind from which riots and persecutions grow for no other reason than that it is opposed.
There is much else south of the imaginary dividing line of North and South that might be spoken of to interest, but which will not be referred to except incidentally in the succeeding chapters. What we have said is for the purpose of giving only so much of a description of the country and people as is necessary to make our little narrative, the incidents of which are laid there, more easily understood. As this book deals principally with actual occurrences, and people in real life, such a foundation seems to be entirely proper.
CHAPTER II.
A NEW ARRIVAL IN THE TOWN.
A town pleasantly situated in the south-western part of Tennessee, the name of which for the present shall be Westminster, was at the time of which we write one of the most cosmopolitan places imaginable for its size—that is, for a southern town. It contained probably two thousand regular inhabitants, but these were constantly augmented, it being at times a rallying point for tourists from every clime, and the temporary abode of men who, in the aggregate, during a season, came well-nigh representing every shade of opinion, if not every phase of character.
A quiet little hotel, or perhaps it would be better to say a residence, with accommodations for a limited number of guests, was situated near the outskirts, and so pleasant in all respects were the location, surroundings and appointments, that its name, Harmony Place, did not seem at all inappropriate. In two important respects it was unlike any other hostelry in the town—there was no bar, and the guests all had an air of respectability in keeping with the house itself. It was kept by a planter, in ordinary financial circumstances, whose name was Marshall; he was assisted in his duties by a colored roustabout of uncertain ancestry, a circumscribed present, and a future wholly undefined. Mr. Marshall's wife, and daughter Claire, did their part by generously entertaining the visitors. There were at the time of which we write three guests—a lawyer named Brown, who had established himself at Westminster; a doctor calling himself Slocum, who was giving the town a trial with a view to locating in it if the patronage warranted; and a tourist whose name was given as Reverend Fitzallen, and whose object seemed to be the pursuit of health, pleasure and information, and incidentally, the dissemination of the gospel according to his faith. Naturally, with so limited a circle of patrons, each having been there for some length of time, the associations all around were more like those in a family than such as exist between landlord and guests. An evening in the parlor with everybody but the Ethiopian present, the daughter singing to her own accompaniment on the piano, while the doctor turned the music for her, was often enjoyed, and there was rarely if ever a discordant circumstance to mar the serenity of these occasions.
It was early in September, 189—, the most enjoyable part of the year in Westminster. A man, who was readily distinguishable from the town-folk, not only by his strange face but by his attire, and by that indescribable air which appears the more plainly the more a stranger tries to discard or conceal it, made his way leisurely to the gate fronting Harmony Place, and continued his way up the walk leading to the door. He was met by Mrs. Marshall and informed, in response to his inquiry, that he could obtain lodgings there. The colored man took the guest's valise and led the way to a room on the second floor. After washing himself and brushing off the dust from his clothes, the stranger reappeared in the sitting room, and taking up a paper waited the announcement that refreshments were ready, which was not long in coming.