I don’t suppose I would have put it exactly that way, or even fully formulated the thought. I was willing to exchange the familiar for the unknown—up to a certain point. The thought of giving up the country in which I’d been born was repugnant. Call it loyalty, or a sense of having ties with the past, or just stubbornness. “Something like that,” I said.
“Well now, let’s see what weve got.” He stuck up a dirty and slightly tremulous hand, turning down a finger as he stated each point. “One, patriot; two, Populist; three, don’t like indenting; four, prosperity’s got to come from the poor upward, not the rich down.” He hesitated, holding his thumb. “You heard of the Grand Army?”
“Who hasnt? Not much difference between them and the regular gangs.”
“Now what makes you say that?”
“Why ... everybody knows it”
“Do, huh? Maybe they know it all wrong. Look here now—and remember about the Confederate Legion riding over the laws of the United States—what would you think ought to be done about foreigners from the strong countries who come here and walk all over us? Or the Whigs who do their dirty work for them?” “I don’t know,” I said. “Not murder, certainly.”
“Murder,” he repeated. “That’s a word, Hodge. Means what you want it to mean. Wasnt murder back during the War when Union soldiers was trying to keep the country from being split up. Taint murder today when somebody’s hung for rape or counterfeiting. Anyhow the Grand Army don’t go in for murder.”
I said nothing.
“Oh, accidents happen; wouldnt deny it. Maybe they get a little rougher than they intend with Whig traitors or Confederate agents, but you can’t make bacon out of a live hog. Point is the Grand Army’s the only thing in the country that even tries to restore it to what it once was. What was fought for in the War.”
I don’t know whether it was the thought of Grandfather Backmaker or the unassuaged guilt for the miserable figure I had cut only three days back that made me ask, “And do they want to give the Negroes equality?”