Though not more than three miles from the village in a direct line, a good five miles or more of circuitous and somewhat lonely road lay between Jesse’s home and the scene of the massacre; and he had ample time for reflection.
He had long maintained, among his neighbors, the only attitude an unprejudiced lover of justice could; but it had brought to him alike, confidence and distrust, reverence and envy, respect and aversion; and while his assistance and advice were sought by the moderate and by the extremists on both hands, he scarcely knew whether he had a friend on whom he could certainly rely, or an enemy who would betray him. Fortunately his road did not cross the river, for the city police yet stationed at the bridge still denied passage to persons of color, though allowing whites to pass freely.
As he entered the little town, he saw a number of men moving along the principal street, and evidently carrying some heavy burden. He did not approach them, but went directly to Elder Jackson’s house.
He found it deserted, and large charred spots upon the surface gave evidence that attempts had been made to fire it; and the garden was trodden down and utterly destroyed. He then turned toward Springer’s house. This stood back from the sidewalk, and not without misgivings he entered the trampled yard, and rapped at the closed door.
Springer answered the summons in person, and greeted his friend with genuine cordiality.
“Why, brother Jesse, I’m surprised and glad both, to see you this morning.”
“And I’m thanking the Laud, this minute to find you alive, and to get inside the shelter of your house. It ’pears like the streets is full of ghosts, or something a man’s glad to get away from. What is going on down street? I seen ’em carrying something into society hall.”
“Come in and set down Brother, Jesse. I suppose they’re collecting the dead. The Intendant was in here, and wanted me to go down and see them before they moved ’em—to go on the coroner’s jury, in fact; but I told him I couldn’t. I’m sick. This last night’s job is worse than a fever. You didn’t come up, Jesse?”
“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t think it would be right, nor any good, somehow, and so I staid away. But maybe now I ought to ha’ come?”
“No, you hadn’t; you’d only been another one. My mother-in-law is very bad this morning. The scare last night was enough to kill a well woman, and you know she was pretty sick and weak before. I guess we’d best go away to talk. Come right up stairs, and we’ll set and talk all we want to, and she won’t hear us;” and Mr. Springer took his guest to a tasteful chamber.