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Neither Bond Nor Free. 
 
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 (A PLEA.) 
 
 " What's freedom widout sumphrC wid it ?" 
 
 — Jack Dempsey. 
 
 BY 
 
 G. LANGHORNE PRYOR. 
 
 Howe'er it be it seems to me, 
 
 'Tis only noble to be good. 
 Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
 
 And simple faith than Norman blood." 
 
 Copyright, 1902, by J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Company. 
 
 New York : 
 
 J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 
 57 Rose Street. 
 
A FEW OPINIONS OF 
 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE." 
 
 Rev. Geo. H. Hepworth, D.D., of New York "Herald" : "I 
 hope the project may prove successful, as it deserves to be." 
 
 Rev. H. B. Frissell, Principal, Hampton Institute: "The 
 book contains some excellent points." 
 
 Funk & Wagnalls, Publishers " Literary Digest," New York : 
 " It is indeed an eloquent plea — very persuasive, and writ- 
 ten in a calm and dispassionate manner. The author has 
 evidently thought much on the race problem." 
 
 Rev. R. H. W. Leak, D.D., Manager, A. M. E. Book Concern, 
 Philadelphia : " It's a good book. I like it very much." 
 
 CoL. J. R. Waddy, Postmaster, Norfolk, Va. : -'Like Booker 
 Washington, the author's work will do much to allay the 
 irritation between the races and promote the growth of a 
 better sentiment in our Soutjiland." 
 
 cr 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE 
 
 A Chance Meeting 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 A Church Scene 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Town of H 21 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Toussaint Visits Mema 25 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Merna and Her Uncle 33 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 A Lawn Party 38 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Van Courtney and Clarissa 46 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Toussaint would Follow where Merna Leads 55 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A Picnic. Followed by a Storm 65 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 At the Parsonage 76 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 An Outing Experience , , 83 
 
Vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. PAGE 
 
 The Southern Industrial Institute— Vacation 92 
 
 CHAi'TER XIII. 
 Sowing the Wind 103 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Wages of Sin Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 The Queen of Society 127 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Literary Life at the Capital 134 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Politics in the South 147 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 A Message from Africa 162 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The Black Republic 167 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Jack Dempsey — Thereby Hangs a Tale 174 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Race Problems 186 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 " What's Freedom without Sumpin' wid It?" 202 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 Four Years Later 212 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Order Out of Confusion 216 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE 
 
 A CHANCE MEETING. 
 
 "Seba ! Here, Seba ! Here, Seba !" rang out on 
 the still air. It was unmistakably the voice of a 
 girl, whose age you might have guessed as anywhere 
 between the years of fifteen and twenty — its ring 
 was so soft, so clear, so musical. 
 
 At that moment the dog was bounding along up 
 the woody path, and a little in advance of Seba was 
 poor bunny, whose strained eyes and stiffened ears 
 betokened alarm. Onward the animal sped, until 
 presently the two turned from the leaf-strewn path 
 and were lost to sight in the deep wood. 
 
 The cause of this sudden flight was apparent, for 
 the rapid approach of firm steps, just ahead, caused 
 it to scamper in a new direction. 
 
 Toussaint Ripley espied the dog, paused a mo- 
 ment and then passed on at a brisk pace. He had 
 not gone a great way before he heard repeated calls 
 for Seba. 
 
8 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 An instant gazing about for the object of that 
 name, the next he was profoundly surprised to have 
 his eyes meet those of a charming girl of tender 
 years. Toussaint raising his hat, bowed gra- 
 ciously, in anticipation of a speech which the young 
 girl's lips were then framing. To her question as 
 to whether he had seen a dog — a greyhound, in the 
 last few minutes, Toussaint replied that he had 
 noticed a dog in pursuit of a squirrel. 
 
 He had, however, scarcely made answer, when 
 Seba came rushing through the wood, and in an in- 
 stant more was crouched at his mistress' feet, pant- 
 ing breathlessly. The girl caressed the animal, who, 
 in turn, frisked about under her gentle treatment. 
 Toussaint, meanwhile, toyed somewhat abstractedly 
 with his watch-guard, and then the fair stranger 
 in turning smilingly said "Good-day, sir/' and 
 hastened away, leaving him to his thoughts. 
 
 "A creature divinely fair," he mused. "Who is 
 she, and what brings her to this place?" Toussaint 
 was altogether too busied with these questions to 
 hurry homeward. He trudged slowly along, now 
 and then observing the lengthening shadows as they 
 lay athwart his path. The golden orb of day was 
 passing from sight in the western horizon. There 
 were already visible tiny, fleecy cloudlets, making 
 their way over and around it, which promised to 
 divest the closing hour of this lovely June day of 
 its charming afterglow and mellow twilight. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 9 
 
 Within half an hour, walking at a brisk pace, 
 Merna had gained the principal thoroughfare of the 
 town of H , and some minutes later, Mrs. Mar- 
 garet Lockley, who had been waiting and watching 
 eagerly at the door of her home, was affectionately 
 recounting to her niece the anxiety she had felt, 
 occasioned by her tardy return. 
 
 "Merna, explain at once," she gently chided, "for 
 I had expected your return much earlier." 
 
 It was now Merna's turn to explain. She began : 
 "Oh, I have had a delightful stroll — only a trifle 
 more than a mile beyond the confines of the town. 
 Presently I came to a woody path leading through a 
 lovely copse, and beyond this I could see the deep 
 wood. I was charmed with the scenery of this 
 sunny land — the trees — the flowers — the birds — all. 
 And Seba, too, was delighted, until after a time 
 something attracted the dog and he ran away furi- 
 ously. I called him repeatedly, and for the first 
 time he gave no heed to my voice. He had been a 
 most obedient dog." 
 
 Noting the intense, not to say painful, earnestness 
 of Merna, Mrs. Lockley observed: "What w^as he 
 after?" 
 
 "xA. gentleman whom I chanced to meet told me he 
 had gone in chase of a squirrel. It was very kind of 
 the stranger to have offered his services to search 
 for Seba." 
 
 Mrs. Lockley then asked Merna to describe the 
 
10 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 Stranger. The girl made no answer, but betraying 
 some mental preoccupation, added, *T did not think 
 that my Seba could torture any living creature. The 
 poor squirrel. I wonder if it was harmed. Seba 
 seems to have parted with his gentle habits." 
 
 ''There is nothing unusual in a dog's chasing a 
 squirrel, or, as to that matter, eating one," stoically 
 replied her aunt. 
 
 "But Seba has ahvays been such a good, kind and 
 playful dog — as gentle as you please," continued 
 Merna. 
 
 "Dogs are much like some people ; they are apt to 
 follow their natures regardless of their training and 
 previous habits. But you have not yet told me of 
 the stranger, Merna." 
 
 "I really did not observe him sufficiently to be 
 able to describe him in the least. What I remember 
 is that his address was most deferential," said 
 Merna. 
 
 The aunt was not to be dismissed in the premises 
 in this manner. She felt a little curious to know, 
 that was all, how such a trite experience as a dog 
 pursuing a squirrel could absorb any mind to the 
 exclusion of a human being, and especially since 
 there w^as the novelty, if you are pleased so to re- 
 gard it, of seeing a man of genteel appearance and 
 charming manners ; yet, so far as she knew, possess- 
 ing only a name, and having no local habitation. 
 
 "It must have been Mr. Ripley that you saw — 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 11 
 
 Toussaint Ripley. He is a teacher in the country, . 
 but boards in the town. And a very nice young I 
 man is he," observed Aunt Margaret. 
 
 At that moment there entered the sitting-room 
 Mr. John Lockley, the husband of Mrs. Lockley. 
 His greeting of Merna interrupted the narrative of 
 Aunt Margaret. After a brief rehearsal of the in- 
 cidents of the day for the benefit of Mr. Lockley and 
 to the delight of Mrs. Lockley, Merna retired in 
 peace and earlier than usual, to reflect on the safe 
 return of Seba, and the peril of the squirrel. Soon 
 thereafter Mr. and Mrs. Lockley betook themselves 
 to slumber, and all was hushed within their home. 
 
 These two were good souls, fair specimens of the 
 survival of the fittest. They had met and wooed 
 each other under that ''peculiar institution," now 
 happily passed away. They had sustained a varied 
 experience which had at least taught them the golden . 
 lesson of contentment with their present lot. To ' 
 them every morning was an invocation, every even- 
 ing a benediction, and their lives one sweet refrain. 
 They found themselves, at the termination of the 
 war, under new conditions, and having no capital, 
 save that which energy could arouse in physical 
 natures much impaired. But they put their heads 
 together, and builded for themselves a snug but 
 plain home, having the comforts compatible with 
 their necessities. The husband, hard by the family 
 residence, conducted a notion store which was a 
 
12 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 most formidable rival for any similar establishment 
 of that town. Of a family of five children — three 
 of whom were daughters, all were grown, married 
 and prospering. , 
 
 The truth is that "Uncle John" and "Aunt Mar- 
 garet," by which appellations they were most fa- 
 miliarly known to the older inhabitants, had an 
 abiding faith in one another, and they religiously 
 believed that in the world about them all things 
 worked together for good. 
 
2f EITHER BOND NOR FREE). IB 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A CHURCH SCENE. 
 
 During the summer of which I write, rehgious 
 fervor ran high among certain inhabitants through- 
 out the tofwn of H , and its environs. Not that 
 
 there was anything remarkably noteworthy in the 
 zeal of these people — earnestly professing to be fol- 
 lowers of the meek and lowly One. 
 
 They were already enthusiasts by nature, and 
 religious zealots by tradition, and their zeal, it 
 seemed, was kindled anew by contact with the 
 water. The large majority of them were of the 
 water-loving type, and it seemed to soothe and sus- 
 tain their faith. There was water, too, in abun- 
 dance — the tdwn being well nigh surrounded by it. 
 And while I should hesitate to say that the water 
 was an incentive to the propagation of a certain re- 
 ligious tenet, it was nevertheless highly conducive 
 to the growth of the Baptist Church — and these 
 churches were many. The Methodists were next 
 in number, and if the Baptist propagandist inter- 
 
14 2f EITHER BOND NOR FREE, 
 
 fered with the spread of this faith, he was power- 
 less to dampen the fervor of this band of devout 
 followers. 
 
 Creeds and forms and rites and ceremonials are 
 seldom comprehended by these church attendants. 
 And it would seem unkind to expect the average 
 minister to differentiate the dogmas and tenets ap- 
 pertaining to his own church from those appertain- 
 ing to others. The average minister, cringing and 
 fawning for popular favor, has in the meantime al- 
 lowed fanaticism to run riot with the church. To 
 the enduring credit of a progressive race, it must 
 be said that the impulsive and impassionate form 
 of worship is slowly retiring before the advent of a 
 more enlightened ministry. Yet, I say, that there 
 is everywhere to be found in the churches I have 
 named, the turbulent brother and the irrepressible 
 sister, who, upon the slightest pretext, will be 
 wrought up to white heat, under the powerful voice 
 or swaying figure of that preacher, or deacon, or 
 anybody who may chance to fill the pulpit. 
 
 On this blessed, peaceful Sabbath morn, which 
 I chronicle, there were many pedestrians pouring 
 out through the highways and by-ways which empty 
 their traffic into that thoroughfare in which is lo- 
 cated the spacious Baptist edifice of the town. There 
 were many vehicles astir, coming in from the sub- 
 urbs, for it will be remembered that the county in 
 which this town is situated is small, and the larger 
 
y EITHER BOyD NOR FREE. 15 
 
 part of the church membership lay outside of the 
 town limit. There were many horses and mules 
 attached to two-wheeled vehicles, usually kno«\vn 
 as carts, and used for heavy traffic, and there was 
 a fair sprinkling of those horny headed animals, 
 hooked up to some rude attraction less dignified 
 in construction than the cart. The more pretentious 
 came in buggies, to which were harnessed mules 
 and horses — among the latter were some spirited 
 animals, others lean and discouraged, to whom life 
 seemed indeed a burden. 
 
 It was the fourth Sunday in June, and this day, 
 every month, was observed as Sacrament Day — 
 always attracting large congregations. This occa- 
 sion, so soul inspiring and so solemn in its sugges- 
 tiveness, had varied aspects for the communicants. 
 To some it was significant in its appeal to their sense 
 of the grave responsibility; to others, the emotions 
 easily triumphed over their supersensitive natures, 
 still others there were, responsive in no sense to its 
 proper observance. These last were, indeed, callous 
 creatures. 
 
 The hour for services had arrived and the minis- 
 ter, the Rev. Asa P. Burleigh, a swarthy and capon 
 fed individual of generous proportions, ascended the 
 rostrum. While the preliminary exercises were in 
 progress, a woman in an audible voice, was heard to 
 remark to a sister at her elbow: "Say, Swepsy, 
 you ain't goin' to take sacr'ment?" 
 
16 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "Why not?" retorted Swepsy, in an undertone. 
 
 "You remember the talk about the goose you had 
 for dinner the Sunday Brother Burleigh was at your 
 home?" whispered the stranger. 
 
 "Yes," replied Swepsy, "but I ain't goin' to let 
 one old goose I took stand between me and my 
 blessed Lord and Marster," — and then, with em- 
 phasis — 'Tse goin' to get my winef 
 
 At this moment the muttering had drawn the 
 attention of a dapper young man, (with bluish eyes 
 and a city air, who sat in the opposite pew. He 
 was jostling a companion, who occupied a seat next 
 him, with the evident purpose of distracting his at- 
 tention from the sermon on which he seemed intent, 
 and centering it on the old woman, who, in her con- 
 spicuous garb, affected a queenly sway in this 
 house. The insolent manner in which Charles Van 
 Courtney gazed at the old woman, was well cal- 
 culated to offend a far more composed and less 
 sensitive person than Swepsy. It amused Van 
 Courtney, to see the old W'Oman, arrayed in such 
 fantastic and inharmonious colors, lose her com- 
 plaisance, and wince under his jeers. 
 
 He exultingly invited attention to her costume, 
 consisting of a pink silk skirt, with streamers of 
 deep red, extending from the girdle at the waist, 
 a bodice of some nile green material, set off with a 
 profusion of loops and bows of faded yellow ribbon ; 
 and a bandanna turban in flaming red and blue 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 17 
 
 with yellow figures. In the right hand she firmly 
 held her gloves, made of some cotton fabric. 
 
 It was a sultry day, there was little air astir with- 
 out, and it was oppressive ^vithin, for ventilation 
 here was at a discount. 
 
 Van Courtney caused a dozen or more pairs of 
 eyes to turn involuntarily in the direction of his 
 searching gaze, and it was then that Swepsy, filled 
 with just indignation for the jester, defied him. 
 
 She seemed to lose all sense of shame, all con- 
 sciousness of the hallowed place — all sense of the 
 presence of Rev. Burleigh, who, with measured 
 voice, had just announced his text as "I. Corin- 
 thians, III. Chapter, first verse." There was a 
 something indefinable — yet unmistakably sav- 
 age in the look which the old woman gave Van 
 Courtney. The ebony hue of this creature was set 
 out in all its duskiness. The lips were livid, and 
 the eyes glo\ved wath intensity and redness strange 
 and unusual. 
 
 Her teeth clenched, and this signalized the hatred 
 she felt for the stranger. 
 
 "Look at that yaller dog," she muttered, half 
 to herself and half to her companion. "God forgive 
 me, never min,' I'll get even with him." 
 
 Van Courtney did not hear, but he saw all, yet "^, 
 he was not in the least disturbed. In truth, little 
 disturbed this man, sleeping or waking. His 
 whole life had been one day dream — one flowery ^ 
 
18 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 dream. He felt supreme contempt for all of con- 
 science. With him human frailty was a folly not 
 to be condoned, and the forum of conscience was a 
 tribunal for fools. 
 
 And yet, at times, he cowed before his con- 
 science with a certain feeling of dread; it was his 
 Nemesis, and since he could not reconcile his con- 
 duct to it he longed for its annihilation. He thought 
 it strange, too, that he could not escape the dis- 
 tinct memory of these words — a soliloquy — irresis- 
 tible and impelling: 
 
 ''My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 
 And every tongue brings in a several tale, 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain/^ 
 
 Van Courtney was also vain of his person, and 
 brooked no rival for social honors. In others he 
 saw much to envy — little to emulate. He was, in 
 a word, a law unto himself. 
 
 There he sat engrossed in self love. In another 
 part of the house was Merna Attaway, in the com- 
 pany of Mr. and Mrs. John Lockley. They were 
 deeply interested in all that the minister uttered, and 
 in nothing more than these words : ''We are laborers 
 wnth God. The greatest honor God ever puts upon 
 a man in this life is to give him a part of the work 
 He is doing. It is a great honor to be taken into 
 co-partnership with Him in the evangelization of 
 
^EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 19 
 
 the world. In some part of the work, He worked 
 alone — in the great work of the creation — ^before 
 cause was necessary to effect. In this God worked 
 alone. He spoke and it was done. He commanded 
 and it stood fast — all this at the fiat of God. No 
 man came to save man, but God came down to the 
 world to save man. He died for him. In this 
 great work of redemption, he had no fellow. He 
 trod the wine press alone. 
 
 "What is it to be a co-laborer with God? We 
 must do His work — ^work in the same way. We 
 must do nothing that will interfere with the spread 
 of the gospel. Some men devote much time to the 
 getting of money in this world. This is not His 
 work in the world. To do God's work is not to do 
 the work most conducive to a good name — to for- 
 tune — to fame. He who would not forsake father 
 and mother and lands and everything is not worthy 
 to follow Me." 
 
 The sermon was singularly impressive through- 
 out, and the pathetic reference to the Last Supper 
 was followed by the administration of that sacred 
 ordinance. 
 
 After the services were concluded Merna and her 
 company lingered for greetings with the minister 
 and other friends. Toussaint pressed forward, os- 
 tensibly to fraternize with the pastor, but he had 
 glimpsed Merna before she left her seat. It pleased 
 
20 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 Mrs. Lockley to present Toussaint to her, and in 
 turn he introduced his friend Van Courtney to the 
 Lockleys, and to Merna. The gentlemen, of course, 
 were cordially invited to visit Miss Attaway, and 
 Toussaint especially, seemed highly grateful for 
 the favor. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE TOWN OF H 
 
 In all the Southland there is nowhere to be found 
 a spot so rich in historic reminiscence, so ravishing 
 in its natural and romantic beauty, and containing 
 such distinctive and picturesque groups of buildings 
 those creations of man erected for eleemosynary 
 
 and other purposes as the town of H , and its 
 
 vicinity. 
 
 Here the soil is well nigh everywhere indented 
 with inlet, or rivulet. From the mainland you 
 may gaze far out on the bosom of this mighty 
 expanse, and behold a peaceful habitation for 
 the navies of the world. Here you see a tiny 
 fishing smack, too frail, it seems, for its cargo 
 — a solitary soul. A little way off numerous 
 large crafts, with sail pinioned to mast and 
 stay, ride at anchor in the billowy foam, while others 
 with great canvas wings glistening in the sun, glide 
 hither and thither, seeking the ocean's changing 
 wonders. In the midst of these — stationed like sen- 
 tinels, are the white monarchs of the vasty deep — 
 
22 tJ EITHER BOND A OR FREE. 
 
 the great ships of the American navy. And these, 
 forsooth, are but playthings on the crest of the 
 waves. 
 
 But once upon a time — and the memory of man 
 runneth to the same — this watery main was the 
 scene of a conflict involving not only the supremacy 
 of the sea, but as well the rights of men. This ret- 
 rospect, however, cannot fascinate the memory, for 
 it contains some startling hints of the cannonade. 
 The delightful prospect is far more refreshing, and 
 to the hearts of the good and the brave there comes 
 a feeling akin to ecstacy when they contemplate, 
 that "Peace hath her victories no less renowned 
 than war." 
 
 Ah, I, too, am drifting far to sea. I must return. 
 In easy distance of the town limit, is a point of 
 land jutting into the sea. This is indeed a point 
 of comfort. Here you will find a grim old fortifica- 
 tion, which has long since survived its usefulness 
 as an impregnable defence in time of war. Within 
 its parapet, however, the visitor sees something of 
 the "pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war,"' 
 since the fort is now used as a military training 
 school for the West Point fledgling. 
 
 From the far North and South fair maidens and 
 gallant manhood linger near the shore for health- 
 giving ozone, or for recreation for which the 
 place is justly famed. And when on pleasure bent 
 contact with military life sans soiici imparts a pe- 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 23 
 
 culiar charm to the senses and this from reveille to 
 the hour of taps. 
 
 It were strange indeed if the little hamlet of 
 
 H was not aroused from its serene composure, 
 
 and especially at this season, when, close at hand, 
 hundreds of pleasure seekers daily file in and out, 
 despoiling the quiet of this haunt wath their hilarity 
 and good cheer. 
 
 It is now nearly two hundred years since the town 
 was incorporated. The red man, however, with 
 his squatter right of sovereignty, had wooed his 
 dusky mate, in the village of Kekouchtan, founded 
 on this same site, years before the coming of the 
 white man. It was near this place that the pioneer 
 came in quest of liberty, and near here came the 
 negro as a captive. But all this is changed now. 
 A great institution to-day flourishes on this spot.j 
 It rears its proud head, a mute but exquisite re-'" 
 minder of the amazing audacity of the one race, 
 and the thrilling experience of the other. And within 
 these walls the descendants of the captives sit at the 
 feet of the descendants of the pioneers and learn 
 the lessons of life. The growth of the town has of 
 necessity been hindered, for more than once have 
 internecine struggles devastated the place. In the 
 corporate limits there are now about five thousand 
 persons, the major part whites; and without the 
 town, in the county, there are three times that num- 
 ber, of whom a majority are colored. There 
 
24 '^EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 is no acrimony between the races engendered by the 
 memory of former conditions. The ''Mammy" of 
 the olden time continues to nurse the Httle ''Missis" 
 and little "Marsa" of ante bellum days, and the 
 young ex-slave attends the public school which is 
 in a large measure sustained by the taxes paid by 
 the ex-master. The one-room and windowless cabin 
 has long since disappeared — even from the rural dis- 
 tricts. The bug-a-boo of negro domination and 
 social equality has long since ceased to frighten 
 his white neighbor, and lure him on like an ignis 
 fatuus to deeds of violence. EverySvhere peace and 
 quiet seem to abide. 
 
 And yet this by no means suggests contentment. 
 It must be obvious to all that there is a certain grow- 
 ing restlessness among the darker mass born of 
 enlightened ideas. They are discovering, one after 
 another, that justice is not blind, but — cross-eyed; 
 that civil rights and social rights are wantonly and 
 mischievously perverted, and the truth that "a man's 
 a man for a' that" is more honored in the breach 
 than the observance. 
 
 The blacks are mainly toilers of the sea. The 
 waters ebb and flow with bivalves, Crustacea and the 
 finny tribe, and so long as these remain, let them be 
 an augury of the amity of the races. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 26 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TOUSSAINT VISITS MERNA. 
 
 All the public schools in this section of the State . 
 had closed, and with the closing of District School ^ 
 No. 7, the arduous duties of Toussaint Ripley were 
 at an end for the session. The school term in the 
 country was of short duration — five months. It 
 was not unusual for teachers to be employed two 
 terms in a single calendar year. Toussaint had been 
 thus engaged. 
 
 It was three days since the time Toussaint was 
 presented to Merna, when he courageously wended 
 his way to the home of the Lockleys. I say cour- 
 ageously advisedly, for in affairs of this sort his 
 ardent feelings were restrained by diffidence. 
 
 When he arrived at the home of the Lockleys, 
 contrary to expectation (for he had meditated a 
 different progrom), he saw Merna Attaway partly 
 concealed from view by a bower of jasmine and 
 honeysuckle which twined themselves securely about 
 
26 NEITHER BOND NOB FREE. 
 
 the angles of the broad veranda excluding the sun's 
 rays and making fragrant the air about them. 
 
 ''Walk in, Mr. Ripley," said Merna as Toussaint 
 advanced to the gate. 
 
 "1 am indeed grateful for the invitation," he re- 
 plied with some constraint. He saw that Merna 
 twas not alone, for by her side sat a bright little boy 
 who was intently gazing up in her lustrous eyes. 
 From the animated look of the child, he was de- 
 lighted with his reception. Seba lay at his mistress's 
 feet, dozing as best he could, for the flies one after 
 another would alight on his drooping lids much to 
 his worriment. 
 
 'This is Master Bernice, the son of Mr. Burleigh. 
 He is my constant companion," said Merna. 
 
 "It is pleasant to know that you are not lacking 
 for company," remarked Toussaint. 
 
 'T am never wholly without company, Seba is al- 
 ways with me. He has only played the truant once, 
 and that was on the eventful day when I first saw 
 you." 
 
 "I shall not soon forget that day. It was a revela- 
 tion to me," observed Toussaint. 
 
 He had discovered by her earnest utterance that 
 the brute was the central figure in her mental picture, 
 and he a mere incident. If he could not eliminate 
 this figure he would at least, he mused, make this the 
 incident, and himself the central figure. His speech 
 seemed direct enough, and yet it missed the mark. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 27 
 
 Merna gazed tenderly at the child by her side, 
 then somewhat inquiringly in the direction of the 
 speaker. 
 
 Bernice was restless — this was a sort of interlude 
 to him. He arose, put his arms about Merna's neck, 
 kissed her, and then ran homeward. 
 
 She evidently did not divine this last speech of 
 Toussaint's. 
 
 Surely it was direct, altogether too direct for her 
 artless nature. 
 
 She gave Toussaint credit for sincerity of utter- 
 ance, but not for impulsiveness. She was of a dif- 
 ferent mould and built on a splendid plane. She was 
 an altruistic model. Toussaint Ripley, on the con- 
 trary, although imbued with lofty ideals, lacked the 
 divine impulsion. He was of the self assertive 
 mould, and this quality often impelled him beyond 
 laudable ends. He was far too impulsive for con- 
 stant introspective study. He knew other men bet- 
 ter than himself, and it was there he found his realm. 
 He was unlike Merna, and yet he was not an ego- 
 tist, in the vulgar sense of the word. He was rather 
 a glorified egotist, for he Avas from time to time 
 making explorations in the half discovered realm 
 of self. And this not through complaint nor for 
 self applause, but with the true student's instinct of 
 research. 
 
 Toussaint's sensitive nature recoiled; he felt that 
 Merna had repulsed him. He had lost his cue and 
 
28 'SEITEER BOND KOR FREE. 
 
 realized that he must needs begin again. This time 
 he inquired solicitously as to the health of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Lockley, and he expressed the wish that Mer- 
 na's stay in this place would be highly agreeable. 
 
 "I am delighted with this visit to the South," 
 
 "Then you know something of the fair South?" 
 she said. "You may not know that I am a native of 
 this section. My father was born in this place, and 
 lived here during his 'whole life. When he died I 
 was but three years old, and was taken by my mother 
 to Boston, where we have since resided with my 
 uncle, Ralph Attaway." 
 
 "I know little about the South save the harrow- 
 ing recitals of my mother, together with what I have 
 read in books and papers. In all the past fifteen 
 years my mother could not be induced to make a 
 visit to this spot. And yet she has always re- 
 garded it as a religious duty to make a pilgrimage 
 here at some time, in order the better to perpet- 
 uate some green spot of old associations in her 
 memory. I suppose I am here as a hostage," said 
 Merna. 
 
 "Yes," observed Toussaint, "a hostage to for- 
 tune." 
 
 "You are a teacher, I believe; I hope you like 
 your work," inquired Merna. 
 
 "I am a teacher, but have ceased for the session 
 to teach the young idea how to shoot." 
 
 "Ah, it is your vacation, then," said the girl. 
 
VmTHER BOND NOR FREF!. ^9 
 
 "It must be a source of both constant anxiety and 
 encouragement to be engaged at such a noble post j 
 of duty." 
 
 *'Yet, it is wearisome work, withal," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "We should not, I take it, feel weary in well 
 doing. That man does much for his country, 
 much for his home, much for his God, who spends 
 his time guiding the footsteps of the young," said 
 Merna. 
 
 "But facilities for teaching are so poor in the k 
 South, and desired results are difficult of attain- ^ 
 ment. I could do very much more for my peo- 
 ple if I had a broader field in which to operate," 
 he went on. 
 
 "Of course, your task might be easier, and 
 your mind contented once in possession of every 
 facility and convenience for work. But suppose you 
 were to leave your present post, would you not 
 shirk a great responsibility? Remember that some- 
 body must perform the work What we need for 
 every duty is consecration. We must go forth as 
 empty and broken vessels fitted for the Master's 
 use. We must go forth, neither seeking nor avoid- 
 ing broad fields nor dungeons, actuated only by con- 
 scientious convictions of duty and a spirit of self- 
 abnegation, and then, Mr. Ripley, leave results to 
 take care of themselves." 
 
 "I do not wish to shirk any responsibility, and I 
 
30 ^EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 wish to be able to do the largest measure of good 
 for a struggling race. I was only thinking that 
 my qualifications fitted me for more advanced 
 w^ork." 
 
 ''Do you not think that conspicuous w^ould more 
 appropriately convey your meaning? There are 
 no degrees in righteous works, and there should 
 be no distinction made. You might command a 
 larger following elsewhere, but I am sure you 
 could not have a more advanced work of usefulness 
 than your present employment. You will doubtless 
 recall little Lillo, a character in one of George 
 Eliot's works. I think it is " 
 
 ''Romola," interrupted Toussaint. 
 
 "Yes, Romola," said Merna. "Well, Lillo with 
 some of the hereditary instinct I think, expressed 
 the wish to become a great man, and win great 
 plaudits and pleasures. There is no thought so 
 beautiful and ennobling in the book as the foster 
 mother's reply: That is not easy, my Lillo, my 
 father had the greatness that belongs to integrity, 
 to character, the greatness that belongs to a life 
 spent in struggling against powerful wrong and 
 trying to lift men up to the highest deeds of which 
 they are capable.' " 
 
 "I guess there was already aglow^ in little Lillo's 
 breast the spark of some illustrious political career 
 for which he w^as destined," thoughtfully uttered 
 Toussaint. 
 
VEITHER BOXD NOR FREE. $1 
 
 "There is much work for the reformer to do 
 along that Hne, but he must not avoid the work 
 of the dungeon for the broad field of politics. This 
 is not self-abnegation," repeated Merna. 
 
 Toussaint was clearly out of his element. And 
 yet his ideals were as pure as hers — the difference 
 was he had not lifted himself upon a plane with 
 them. If at times he had evil impulses, he did not, 
 however, mean to be a teacher of evil. He was too 
 charitable, and, according to his ideas of inno- 
 cence,, too innocent for that. One cannot but feel 
 compassion for a creature who had had little ex- 
 perience with good for the sake of good, who shrank 
 from imparting to another a teaching which might 
 lead to his ruin, who was fond of alleviating suffer- 
 ing, who was endowed with genius, and yet whose 
 religion and morahty were held in captivity by his 
 inordinate pride and ambition. 
 
 Toussaint had made a discovery, a very valuable 
 one he reckoned — to enlist the interest of Merna 
 for himself. He had discovered her charitableness 
 — her instinct for humanity. 
 
 He had a strong liking for politics, and gave evi- 
 dence of some adroitness in the same. It was a 
 clever ruse to play upon Merna's sympathies by 
 speaking of political conditions. She became a fas- 
 cinated listener while Toussaint in glowing terms 
 depicted the trials of his people — their insecurity 
 of civil protection — their educational disadvan- 
 
32 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 tages, all brought about by the deprivation of the 
 rights of the majority party; the Republicans in gen- 
 eral, and the negro in particular. He had made 
 several campaign speeches at various points in his 
 county, and was fast achieving distinction as a 
 
 leading "spell binder" in the county of E . 
 
 A persuasive voice with intense earnestness and 
 force of utterance carries everything before it. The 
 captivating eloquence of Toussaint's speech sub- 
 dued for a time her spirited temperament and en- 
 tranced the finer feelings of her nature. 
 
 Toussaint knew that he had not only played upon 
 her emotions, but had gratified her intelligence as 
 well. And he left with the pleasurable thought that 
 he could henceforth proclaim an open sesame to the 
 citadel of her love. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 33 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MERNA AND HER UNCLE. 
 
 Merna Attaway was not remarkable for beauty 
 of feature or form. She was not created a model 
 for the gods, nor was she so fairy-Hke that a ray 
 of sun would have spoiled her beauty. You would, 
 however, have remarked the simplicity of her ap- 
 pearance in the midst of a thousand. 
 
 Merna was fair of face and form, and possessed 
 vivacity tempered with exquisite refinement. Her 
 gracefully poised head was set off to advantage w^ith 
 a luxuriant growth of black hair which gave a pleas- 
 ing contrast to her dark Spanish complexion. Her 
 full black eyes highly suffused fwith their soul stir- 
 ring energy seemed singularly contradictory to 
 her apparent timidity and reserve. To these pos- 
 sessions must be added the captivating charm of a 
 clinging, loving nature, reinforced by such orna- 
 mentations as a winsome smile and a musical voice. 
 Little wonder that such a girl was the idol of her 
 uncle, and fondly remembered by all who knew 
 her. 
 
34 l^EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 The most that can be said of her parents is that 
 they were honest, poor and industrious. I have al- 
 ready remarked that Merna was taken to Boston 
 by her mother when she was but three years old. 
 It was a God-send to the child to have found as her 
 protector Ralph Attaway. She could claim nothing 
 by heredity. She was henceforth to be moulded for 
 good or evil by the unyielding forces which \ve call 
 environment. To the advantages of a New Eng- 
 land education was added the powerful stimulus 
 for effort which contact with superior or experi- 
 enced minds necessarily brings. She imbibed her 
 tastes and tendencies from her surroundings, and 
 forms and aspects took on such colorings as were 
 within her horizon. 
 
 Mr. Attaway was by no means a nonentity. His 
 was an interesting personality and allied thereto was 
 an interesting history. He had been a conspicuous 
 figure in that extensive organization known as the 
 "underground railroad;" this Kvas about the time 
 when the independence of the Republic of Liberia 
 had been acknowledged by America and the Eu- 
 ropean powers. Ralph Attaway had gone to Li- 
 beria as a sort of sub-agent in charge of a band of 
 emigrants. He had an active and fertile mind. He 
 had early learned to read and write, and kept at it 
 until he w^as a real self-made mxan — whatever this 
 may signify. He was quite active in the politics of 
 the Republic early in the fifties, and was an intimate 
 
'NEITHER BOSD XOR FREE. 35 
 
 friend of Joseph J. Roberts, governor and after- 
 -wards president of Liberia. But politics had only 
 an ephemeral fascination for him. His attention 
 had been attracted to the advantages of the coun- 
 try respecting the production and exportation of 
 coffee and palm oil. He (was persuaded that Afri- 
 can coffee could secure a large sale in the United 
 States, already a great consumer of this article. 
 This country was at the time the undisputed market 
 for the Brazilian product, a somewhat inferior ar- 
 ticle of trade. He reckoned that African coffee, of 
 which there was such a prolific yield in the western 
 part of the country, would prove a formidable rival 
 for the Brazilian staple, and especially among con- 
 noisseurs. 
 
 An unsuccessful effort v/as made by him and his 
 friends to enlist the co-operation of capitalists both 
 in this country and in England, but for some cause 
 the project never became a serious venture. Ralph 
 Attaway was not easily discouraged. If a big 
 scheme would not fructify, he believed there was 
 virtue in a little one. And thus he set himself to 
 work at Monrovia, cultivating the coffee berry, and 
 when three years thereafter he had secured a fair 
 yield, he felt encouraged, garnered the harvest and 
 sailed for America, leaving his little farm in good 
 hands. 
 
 This venture (was a doubtful experiment, but his 
 patience was amply rewarded. The colonization so- 
 
36 2f EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ciety had been the means of bringing Ralph in con- 
 tact with some influential and wealthy people. 
 This served him as the means tc an early and favor- 
 able introduction of the African coffee in the homes 
 of several wealthy Bostonians. There were many 
 adulterations of foreign coffee on the market, and 
 Brazil, in chief, was spoiling the enviable reputa- 
 tion of the Arabian berry with her arrogant pre- 
 tensions of growing the mocha seed. 
 
 It proved a genuine and well timed enterprise to 
 Ralph Attaway to establish a little ''coffee shop," as 
 he called it, in a prominent thoroughfare of Boston. 
 The place it is true was very small, but it was well 
 stocked with Liberian coffee and palm oil. 
 
 Orders came thick and fast to Ralph in his humble 
 quarters. His cofifee was gradually distributed be- 
 yond the confines of the city of Boston, and the re- 
 turns the meanwhile were so gratifying as to broad- 
 en the little merchant's smile. 
 
 Two years later there was a large consignment of 
 the product from the five years' growth of the coffee 
 tree, to Mr. Ralph Attaway at Boston. This in- 
 creased supply was met by an increased demand. 
 And thus his business progressed while his farm 
 yielded without labor the precious bean. 
 
 Ralph was a level-headed man; he essayed no 
 style and did not grow pompous, but carefully in- 
 vested his earnings in suburban realty and kept his 
 own counsel. His palm oil sale was small. Ralph 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 37 
 
 insisted that the oil held out inducements equal to 
 that of his coftee venture, yet his predictions favored 
 from the first the latter business. 
 
 Many years have passed since some sign painter, 
 not over dextrous in his art, had traced in plain, 
 bold, black letters, over the door of the coffee shop, 
 the name RALPH ATTAW AY— nothing more. 
 And these letters had from time to time been re- 
 touched as they became obscure by the encroach- 
 ments of years, until to-day the curious are enabled 
 to point out the room in which Ralph so successfully 
 operated until recently. The old house is now be- 
 ing used as a cheap lodging place for laboring peo- 
 ple. 
 
 Ralph continues to cherish the hope that in a 
 day not far distant, direct commercial intercourse 
 will be had with the Republic of Liberia and this 
 country, and thus a less circuitous route will cheap- 
 en the cost of shipment of coffee to America. It 
 is now his fondest wish to see an ocean greyhound 
 laden with the best products of Africa steering into 
 the ports of this country. 
 
38 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A LAWN PARTY. 
 
 It was a sultry day in July The town of H • 
 
 was literally swarming with strangers. For several 
 weeks the Rev. Mr. Burleigh had been indefatigable 
 in heralding the approach of his lawn party. A new 
 church edifice, and among the finest in the town, 
 must be freed from debt. A lawn party was one 
 among many methods employed to lift the 
 burden of fifty thousand dollars under which the 
 membership groaned. And thus, day and night, 
 and for weeks it was arranged that the young and 
 the old might gather under booths and canopies, or 
 in the open spacious grounds which surround the 
 church, and have a merry time. The opening oc- 
 casion was interesting. This occurred on an even- 
 ing in mid-July. Mr. Burleigh doubtless flattered 
 himself with the idea that he was rendering a signal 
 service in bringing together on social terms the 
 strangers here assembled, with all of whom he 
 seemed to be on easy terms of acquaintance. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 39 
 
 Edward Strother, a young man known to good 
 works, was present. He possessed the distinction 
 of being assistant superintendent of the Sunday 
 school of this church. He was much in love with 
 the work. He s'wung the big hammer on the anvil 
 in a blacksmith shop six days in every week, and 
 on the seventh he rested. He was not, however, 
 like Elihu Burritt — a learned blacksmith; but he 
 was, nevertheless, studious, frank and manly. 
 
 The minister engaged the attention of Strother, 
 concerning some of the minor details of the enter- 
 tainment, w^hen there approached him a pretty girl 
 with demure and dainty face and a pair of dewy 
 surprised eyes under a big bobbin hat brim. A 
 sweep of lashes gently shading the cheeks made her 
 cutaway coat of scarlet velvet, and trained skirt of 
 cardinal cloth a delight. This was a season of 
 gaudy colors and grotesque shapes in dress, and 
 happy was Ethel Gay. 
 
 Ethel had only been in the place a single week, 
 but she had made many acquaintances. Mr. Burleigh 
 presented Strother to Ethel. They chatted to- 
 gether for several minutes — at least, Ethel did, — 
 Strother proved himself by far the better listener of 
 the two. She told him that she was a Washington- 
 ian, and learning that he had never visited that city. 
 explained some of the beauties thereof. 
 
 Later on Mr. Burleigh inquired of her how she 
 was impressed with his young friend. 
 
40 "NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 The girl replied, ''He seems obsequious. He's 
 like an over-grown boy. I think he belongs with 
 his mother." 
 
 At this reflection, told with a ripple of merriment, 
 the kindly disposed minister smiled encouragingly. 
 
 As the evening advanced the party grew lively. 
 Charles Van Courtney had arrived. He made his 
 way to Ethel. 
 
 "Ah, there, Ethel !" 
 
 ''How are you, dear boy?" retorted the girl. 
 
 "I have just learned that you have gone into new 
 biz." 
 
 "What do you say, Charley?" 
 
 "I say that you have embarked in the black- 
 smithy enterprise," responded Van Courtney. 
 
 At this stricture Ethel laughed outright. 
 
 "And do you laugh at me, thereby adding insult 
 to injury. Your cruelty breaks my heart and my 
 eyes run over." 
 
 "Well, cork your eyebrows," said the girl. 
 
 At this attempt to be wntty, the girl who some- 
 times looked demure, giggled, and Van Courtney 
 arose and conducted her to a table near by laden 
 with good things which were spread for sale. As 
 they seated themeselves, he exclaimed : 
 
 "Ah, this is nice." 
 
 "What is nice?" she inquired. 
 
 "Why, you." 
 
 She blushed and said, "Yes, I know." 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 41 
 
 "What?" 
 
 *'That I am nice," she said. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "I — I have been told." 
 
 "Humph! By whom?" 
 
 ''You/' 
 
 Thus these two people indulged in this insipid 
 chit-chat until Rev. Burleigh joined them, insisting 
 that he should serve Ethel with some refreshments. 
 
 "Mr. Burleigh, what has become of the young 
 blacksmith?" inquired Ethel. 
 
 "I left him over the way a few minutes ago in 
 the company of Merna Attaway and Mr. Ripley. 
 They have requested that I find you and bring you 
 to them." 
 
 "Yes, we will go," said Ethel, nodding approv- 
 ingly in the direction of Van Courtney, who arose, 
 lighted a cigar and strode off, promising to join 
 them "later on." 
 
 "But tell me of the blacksmith," said Ethel. 
 
 "Mr. Strother is a quiet, unassuming and well- 
 meaning man. He is also a successful student and 
 blacksmith. And, more than this, he will some day, 
 if he pursues his present employment, work a revo- 
 lution in the manufacture of cannon. Have you 
 not read of his experiments with aluminum? A 
 few months ago he tempered some of the metal and 
 constructed of it a cannon about thirty inches long, 
 having a bore of five inches in diameter, and from 
 
4a NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 
 
 this he fired a charge consisting of one pound of 
 gun powder, without the cannon sustaining the 
 sHghtest injury, and remember the metal of the 
 barrel was only a quarter of an inch thick." 
 
 "Well, let us hasten to join the great inventor," 
 exclaimed Ethel. 
 
 When Ethel and Mr. Burleigh reached the party, 
 Merna was commenting on a newspaper article of 
 the drowning of several women in six feet depth 
 of w^ater, simply because they became needlessly 
 frightened and went into hysterics. Out of defer- 
 ence to the new arrivals, she attempted to change 
 the conversation. They all, ho%vever, urged that 
 she continue the recital. 
 
 'This is a melancholy illustration," she went on, 
 "of the emotional nature of our sex. We have 
 little self-control. We have an abnormal emo- 
 tional temperament. The insane asylums are 
 to-day crowded with our women who have 
 gone mad over love or religion. Disgust- 
 ing love songs, sentimental stories from the 
 story papers and sloppy novels feed the emotions, 
 and extraordinary crimes, self-inflicted or inflicted 
 on others, are the natural results. I believe that 
 woman has a higher moral and spiritual nature than 
 man — given to her for the uplifting and purifying 
 of the race, but with us it is being choked off by 
 this emotional temperament fed by the trash I have 
 named. Her mistakes are largely traceable to this 
 
T^EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 43 
 
 gushy, emotional temperament, constantly fed by 
 morbid excitement." 
 
 Ethel said nothing. She took relief in a yawn, 
 when Toussaint remarked that much Merna had 
 said appealed with equal force to the condition of 
 the man. 
 
 "In the course of my humble observations," she 
 replied, "it seems that his troubles arise chiefly 
 from over-indulgence in his appetites, and woman's 
 over-indulgence in her emotions is equally as bad." 
 
 "What remedy could you suggest to curb this 
 tendency of your sex?" he inquired. 
 
 "I believe that science, medicine, wholesome read- 
 ing and associations will accomplish the work. We 
 cannot hope for a strong race until we have strong 
 mothers. You know that all women are not fit to 
 be mothers any more than all men are fit to be 
 fathers," replied Merna. 
 
 "Yes, and I have been reading much of late con- 
 cerning our women in politics. Lady politicians 
 and female agitators," sneered Toussaint, "are 
 rapidly coming to the front. Political fever is get- 
 ting epidemic and the strain of woman's abnormal 
 enthusiasm is apt to produce mental derangement." 
 
 "It has often seemed to me that in the popular 
 political demonstrations, speakers and hearers 
 among the so-called stronger minded sex betray in- 
 stant signs of violent mania/' remarked Merna. 
 
 "Your observations," replied Toussaint, "are, of 
 
44 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 course, confined to the intelligent voter of the North. 
 This is, indeed, a mild picture by the side of the 
 untutored black and white voter of the South. 
 Here you see whole communities of individuals 
 seized with an epidemic, the outgrowth of political 
 strife, and when you consider the ignorance and 
 emotional natures of the Afro- Americans, it is a sad 
 plight. The chronic office seeker and professional 
 politician exclaim with one breath that they are try- 
 ing to lift the race. But I say God save the mark. 
 The right of suffrage is a good thing, but every- 
 thing depends upon its right use. The masses are 
 so ignorant." 
 
 "Yes, and no one knows this better than our false 
 leaders," interrupted Strother, who had all along 
 been an eager listener. 
 
 "But how are we to improve our condition," ob- 
 served Toussaint. 
 
 "Certainly not in rushing over the precipice like 
 a flock of sheep, lured on by these black leaders and 
 white bosses, — republicans for spoils only. Men 
 who love office better than country are not fit per- 
 sons to rule. Place good men to the front, regard- 
 less of race. It should not be a question of the 
 color of a man's skin, but rather the purity of his 
 soul," remarked Strother. 
 
 "But what avail is it to have good leaders in the 
 South when the negro cannot have his ballot counted 
 
VEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 45 
 
 and returned as cast ? His ballot is only a delusion 
 and a snare," said Toussaint. 
 
 "It is better just now to be qualified for voting 
 than to vote. There is, besides, a better day dawn- 
 ing jn the South. Things are now changing. The 
 power so long wrested from the majority by fraud 
 and violence will soon be rightfully restored for the 
 good of all," observed Strother. 
 
 'T quite agree with you," said Toussaint, "there 
 are already visible signs that the usurpation scheme 
 has turned to plague the inventor. White men are 
 now nullifying the votes of white men, and this 
 state of affairs signifies the beginning of the end." 
 
 While this colloquy was in progress, Ethel and 
 the Rev. Burleigh were actually conducting an- 
 other, and a different one. 
 
 "I feel as if I had always known you," he said 
 in a subdued tone. 
 
 "Well, and what of it?" 
 
 "Because I think the world of you." 
 
 "Are you really sure you do?" 
 
 And the minister making no reply, rested his eyes 
 for a moment on those coquettish and beseeching 
 ones surmounted by the broad brow, and then on 
 that short curling upper lip, and the next on Merna, 
 and then there was a lull and he was sure some- 
 body had heard his speech. 
 
46 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 VAN COURTNEY AND CLARISSA. 
 
 Van Courtney did not see Ethel and her com- 
 pany "later on," the evening of the lawn party when 
 he had left her so abruptly, but made his way di- 
 rectly to the home of Rev. Burleigh. There he 
 saw Clarissa, the daughter of the clergyman. This 
 course was not premeditated by Van Courtney, it 
 was hatched in an instant. He had unceremonious- 
 ly made the acquaintance of this girl, and had culti- 
 vated the same with assiduous care, in season and 
 out of season. 
 
 Lawn parties where staid church folk, and pro- 
 saic people in general w^ere wont to gather, were not 
 to his liking, but then Ethel and Merna would be 
 there. Merna's face w-as fascinating enough, but 
 there was to him something positively repelling in 
 her conversation. Once in speaking of her to Tous- 
 saint he had referred to her as having a "catchy 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 4^ 
 
 face; but she is not bright, sparkling and imagina- 
 tive in her talk like Ethel." 
 
 And thus it seemed he was pleased to be away 
 from such a scene. 
 
 In a quiet little street only a few minutes' walk 
 from the church, the minister and his family kept 
 house. Besides Clarissa, a young girl just budding 
 into womanhood, there were little Bernice, a de- 
 formed child of seven years, and his mother, Mrs. 
 Martha A. Burleigh. There were no discords in 
 this home. Here the utmost freedom prevailed. 
 Indeed freedom and license seemed interchangeable 
 words, and the limitation of the former was often the 
 opportunity for the latter. At least, this was the 
 governing principle — or rather the absence of it — 
 which characterized the conduct of the head of the 
 household — a man of generous impulses and sym- 
 pathetic nature. 
 
 Mrs. Burleigh was an unassuming, plain and 
 good woman. She regarded it as her religious dutv 
 to wear the world as a "loose garment," which being- 
 interpreted by her conduct, was that her only mis- 
 sion was to go from house to house doing good, 
 trying to cheer the disconsolate. It never occurred 
 to her that charity should begin at home. She was 
 a gentle creature of slender physique and complained 
 of many physical infirmities, but she was constantly 
 "on the go." 
 
 Qarissa kept house, — at least, this she was sup- 
 
48 :neiteer bond nor free:. 
 
 posed to do, but there was many an idle gossip and 
 carping critic who delighted to say that the parson's 
 house kept itself. 
 
 It will occasion no surprise to know that Van 
 Courtney felt perfectly at home here. There was 
 no restraint to his feelings, such as is imposed 
 by the courtesies and obligations which propriety 
 and refinement ever necessitate among well bred 
 people. Clarissa had been allowed to grow up sadly 
 neglected in the simple lessons of frugality, industry 
 and womanhood. 
 
 There was no lack of religion in this house, the 
 devotions were all observed with a punctilious re- 
 gard for the divine laws. But it was a professional 
 sort of religion, which warped the intellect and 
 blunted the conscience of all who participated in it. 
 There was little thought in it. It never addressed 
 itself to the wrongs and miseries of this world. 
 
 The Rev. Burleigh had a Sunday creed, and this 
 he taught to his followers. He boasted of his creed 
 and his church, but he never paused to think that 
 true religion is neither creed nor church, but right 
 life. 
 
 Van Courtney w^as ushered into the home of Rev. 
 Burleigh by little Bernice. He gave the child a coin 
 and seated himself to await the presence of Clarissa. 
 
 ''Did you see papa?" 
 
 "Yes, the old gentleman is having a good time 
 with the girls. He is smitten with Ethel." 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 49 
 
 "Oh, nonsense," sneered the girl. 
 
 "Yes he is, we all overheard him, actually making 
 love to her." 
 
 "Not so loud, Charle}^ — mama will certainly hear 
 you." 
 
 "It is none of my affair. Let the old fellow jog 
 along. Ethel's having lots of fun at his expense, 
 and we too are enjoying ourselves; for while the 
 rats are away the mice will play." 
 
 "You mustn't talk like that ; pa's no rat, and, be- 
 sides, Bernice is listening to you." 
 
 "I've just given the little fellow some money, 
 and he will keep all secrets. The poor child 
 ought to have been in bed hours ago," said Van 
 Courtney. 
 
 "Well, you always see him up with me, and this 
 is because papa is usually out evenings and mama 
 is tired after tramping all around to see the sick, 
 and attending society meetings, and retires very 
 early, and so Bernice keeps me company." 
 
 "Well, Fm your company now." 
 
 "Yes, I see you are my only companion for Ber- 
 nice is fast asleep." 
 
 And surely he seemed to be in a profound slum- 
 ber stowed away in the big old-fashioned arm-chair. 
 
 "Why did you not come earlier, Charley?" 
 
 "I expected to see you at the grounds, and so went 
 directly there." 
 
 "With Ethel, I presume." 
 
50 -NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "No, I don't tie to her any more." 
 
 "Since when?" she asked. 
 
 "Since you promised to be solely mine." 
 
 "Yes, this is all well enough for you to tell me, 
 but Ethel says that you and she are engaged, and 
 have been for years." 
 
 "Oh, don't mind that giddy girl. We have never 
 been more than friends. Did Ethel really tell you 
 that?" 
 
 "No, she told papa and he told me." 
 
 "Oh, I see, that was only for a bluff." 
 
 "Well, let me ask, did not you two go together 
 in Washington for some two or three years?" 
 
 "Yes, but that does not signify." 
 
 "Anyhow, she tells people around here that you 
 are her prospective " 
 
 "What?" interrupted Van Courtney. 
 
 "You well understand me. Why, her husband, 
 of course." 
 
 "Well, my dear, let us talk of something else," 
 said he, drawing his chair nearer to her. "You 
 know that I am pledged to you. I can only love 
 one being at a time. I love you and only you." 
 
 He raised her head, taking it in both hands, and 
 pressed a kiss to her lips. 
 
 ''Soon we will be one and inseparable. We'll live 
 in that beautiful city of magnificent distances, and 
 then Ethel will cease to link my name with hers." 
 
 "Let us not talk of her," she said petulantly. "I 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 51 
 
 believe all that you tell me, only Fm a little foolish 
 at times. Why should I doubt you and your words. 
 You are all, and in all to me." 
 
 ''Now, you show yourself to be a sensible little 
 body — a fit companion for a man of my ambition. 
 If you will only trust me, and cling to me you'll 
 never be bothered by silly things which people may 
 say to arouse your jealousy." 
 
 "You are so good and amiable that no one could 
 help loving you, Charley." 
 
 "No, you mistake me; I am not good." 
 
 "Yes, you are good to me, and that is all I care 
 about. And papa likes you, too. He thinks you 
 are so jolly." 
 
 "Yes, I think he should like me." 
 
 "Why?" asked Clarissa. 
 
 "Because he supposes Ethel is my girl, and he 
 wants to get a cinch on her." 
 
 "And you want to get his girl," retorted Clar- 
 issa. 
 
 "Yes, you are his daughter, and my girl, and 
 Ethel is the daughter of her mama and anybody's 
 girl." 
 
 "I don't understand your last reference." 
 
 "I mean simply that Ethel is a flirt and a daring 
 one. She never had a serious intention." 
 
 "Well, I suppose you know whereof you affirm," 
 
 "I know her all too well." 
 
5^ NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ''Well, we won't say anything more about Ethel. 
 Is it agreed?" 
 
 "I agree to anything you may propose, except 
 one thing." 
 
 "And what is that, pray?" 
 
 "You have said that you wouldn't join me in 
 Washington until next summer. I do not see how 
 I could live without you all that time. In less than 
 a fortnight from now, I must leave you and report 
 for duty. My leave of absence will then have ex- 
 pired." 
 
 "My papa has said that I am not to marry until 
 I am eighteen^ and that will not be until June after 
 next." 
 
 "Oh, hang the idea. It is all well enough to lis- 
 ten to the old folks in ordinary matters, but in af- 
 fairs of this sort it is not for them to decide. They 
 do not bring lovers together, and they have no 
 right to separate them." 
 
 "Do you think that a year would work a separa- 
 tion of our love, Charley ?" 
 
 "I only mean to say that delays are dangerous." 
 
 "How could a delay affect our love?" she asked 
 tremulously. 
 
 "Well, for instance, some other fellow might 
 step in and cut me out." 
 
 "This talk is not worthy our serious attention. 
 Love begets perfect confidence as well as love." 
 
 "If your love was strong and unyielding like that 
 
"NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 63 
 
 of mine, then you would be in a position to dictate 
 the situation. Let me present you the situation. 
 You do not see your way clear to be absolutely mine 
 — by the strong arm of the law, until more than a 
 year shall have passed. I, on the other hand, w^ould 
 surmount all barriers and claim you as my own this 
 very year." 
 
 Clarissa looked up in his face with earnest be- 
 seeching eyes. She resolved henceforth to yield 
 implicit obedience to the man who had taught her 
 her first duty of love, and she was sure she loved 
 Charley and Charley loved her. 
 
 And thus it was agreed between this man and 
 wayward girl that he should return to Washington, 
 make all necessary arrangements for his bride, and 
 then in December they would be married clandes- 
 tinely, and all would be well. 
 
 Little Bernice was a precocious, but reticent 
 child. He had been admonished by his parents not 
 to repeat anything he heard for Mr. Burleigh had 
 said he * always abhorred tattlers." 
 
 Bernice, therefore, said nothing to his parents 
 about the strange conversation of the evening in 
 question, although he had heard and remembered 
 most of it, more especially the unsavory portions. 
 
 Mr. Burleigh on reaching home found Van 
 Courtney there. The young man attempted to 
 apologize for not having kept his word to return 
 to the entertainment, but Mr. Burleigh helped him 
 
54 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 out by saying that it was not noticed that he had 
 promised to see them again that evening. 
 
 The preacher bade the suitor a cheerful good- 
 night, and little Bernice hastened to bed eager for 
 the morrow when he should startle the "sweet Miss 
 Merna" with the strange happenings of the night 
 before. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 55 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TOUSSAINT WOULD FOLLOW WHERE MERNA LEADS. 
 
 "I AM constantly telling you that I have a pas- 
 sion for flowers, especially those to be found outside 
 the hothouse." 
 
 The speaker was Merna Attaway. The person 
 addressed was Toussaint Ripley. She was attired, 
 as was her custom at this season, in a clinging gar- 
 ment of some soft white material. The only decora- 
 tion she wore was a bunch of buttercups in her 
 hair, which in the simplicity of its arrangement af- 
 forded a charming framework for that benign coun- 
 tenance. Psyche when at her best never appeared 
 among the flowers fwith more queenly grace than 
 Merna in the midst of those growing in aunt Mar- 
 garet's little garden. 
 
 In one hand she held a watering pot, the other, 
 extended to Toussaint, contained a rose which she 
 had plucked for him. 
 
56 'NEITHER BOXD NOR FREE. 
 
 "1 observe that you are generous to a fault," he 
 said on taking the flower. ''You have chosen to 
 give me this brilliant red rose, while you, with all 
 your passion for flowers, are content to wear a few 
 field buttercups." 
 
 "All honor to whom honor is due. This rose is 
 not only brilliant, but it is an ambitious flower." 
 
 "It seems fitting that you should wear it," said 
 Merna. 
 
 "It is rather more than I deserve, but for your 
 sake I shall not only wear this rose, but shall adopt 
 the flower as emblematic — according to your in- 
 terpretation of myself. And you have chosen the 
 poisonous buttercup to wear. Why not the lily of 
 the valley? I regard it as peculiarly appropriate 
 for your company. It is a thing of beauty and an 
 emblem of purity." 
 
 "It is true that I usually regale myself with the 
 buttercup; that is, since I have been in this place, 
 but it is not the flower of my adoption, nor, as you 
 well see, of my avoidance. I love all flowers, and 
 I suppose quite equally. It is the perfume of the 
 flow^er and its beauty which engage and delight the 
 senses. This gentle, modest buttercup, you assert, 
 W'Ould prove injurious if eaten. And the lily you 
 mention as the emblem of purity is said to be deadly 
 poisonous if eaten. I have sometimes thought that 
 we are often inclined to go out of our way looking 
 for imperfections in nature. Let us remember that 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 57 
 
 "" 'III every little flower and blade of grass, 
 Each opening hud, and care perfected seed, 
 Is as a page where we may read of God/ '' 
 
 "That is a beautiful sentiment, Merna. You al- 
 ways seem equal to the occasion." 
 
 "It is rather the occasion that teaches me," ob- 
 served Merna. 
 
 "And our meetings are occasions in which my 
 moral horizon seems enlarged. This, of course, 
 results from contact with one possessed of much 
 charity and tolerance. I should delight to sit al- 
 ways at your feet and feel myself being gradually 
 transformed into a sturdy champion of right," he 
 said. 
 
 "There is no transforming influence in me, and 
 therefore contact with me could confer no such dis- 
 tinction upon any one," she replied. 
 
 "Some natures, you have observed, are more sus- 
 ceptible than others, Merna. If we are to enlist our 
 joint sympathies and efforts along certain lines of 
 endeavor, it will encompass my desire. I will then 
 feel that I am thenceforth a champion for right, and 
 you, no doubt, will be constant and loyal to the 
 champion." 
 
 "Constant and loyal to the champion?" she re- 
 peated. "What has this to do with right en- 
 deavor? This, I think, implies constancy to a type 
 rather than to an individual, loyalty to a cause rather 
 
58 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 than to its champion, to an idea rather than to a 
 person." 
 
 ''If, back of the idea, or the cause, I may pose 
 as the little champion, I shall be satisfied," remarked 
 Toussaint. 
 
 "If your work in any department of life counts 
 for anything be assured you will wan the plaudits 
 of all right thinking people. Is this the goal you 
 desire?" asked Merna. 
 
 "No, I can't say that I have any hankering after 
 general plaudits." 
 
 "I rather like that expression. I advise that you 
 let the 'general plaudits' go," said Merna. 
 
 "This was at best a doubtful compliment," thought 
 Toussaint. "The approval of my work on your 
 part is sufficient." 
 
 "Well, let us begin the good work soon," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 "When? Where?" he asked. 
 
 "To-day we will begin. Aunt Margaret tells me 
 of a sad case of destitution close at hand. A poor 
 old woman is sick. She lives in a wretched hovel, 
 and has been confined to her bed for more than 
 two months without the plainest necessities of life." 
 
 "I suggest that we report the case to the poor- 
 house authorities. I will, also, invite help for her 
 by causing a statement to be published in the news- 
 paper here." 
 
 "I have a better and more remedial plan, I think. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 69 
 
 than that. It is this. We will together go there. 
 Aunt Margaret will prepare a basket of food for 
 the poor woman, and I will gather her a bunch of 
 flowers." 
 
 "Well, what am I to do?" 
 
 "You will take my Bible and read to her a chap- 
 ter from it." 
 
 Aunt Margaret, whose generosity was proverbial, 
 soon filled a basket with delicacies for the sick 
 woman, and Merna and Toussaint were off on their 
 errand of mercy. 
 
 This was a new role for Mr. Ripley, and yet one 
 in which he had been placed by circumstances of 
 his own making. He had been a frequent visitor 
 during the past few weeks at the Lockleys and he 
 was sure that he already loved Merna, and that she 
 would early reciprocate that feeling. And why? — 
 surely not from anything she had spoken, much 
 less acted. You may call this a mere suspicion of 
 his make-up. I denominate it effrontery, and charge 
 it to his inordinate pride. 
 
 "It was of no small moment," he reckoned, if 
 this girl was something less responsive to his capti- 
 vating voice and earnest pleadings than what he 
 desired ; she was, nevertheless, profoundly interested 
 in him. 
 
 He was sincere, perfectly sincere in his desire to 
 become a champion of right. And yet he had no 
 definite line of action, and worse than all, no time 
 
60 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 designated in which to begin operations. It would 
 have seemed more than insolence to have charged 
 him with permitting any selfish consideration to 
 lure him in the path of simple duty. And, yet, it 
 must be said, that because of Merna, and not in 
 spite of her, he was ready and willing to make any 
 sacrifice she might name. 
 
 He resolved that, with the word of command 
 from Merna he would gird on the armor and hence- 
 forth cease to be a vainglorious worlding. He be- 
 lieved he loved this girl, and he w^ould follow 
 wherever she led. 
 
 He sometimes, however, wavered in his resolves. 
 He thought Merna too self-willed. She seemed 
 dominated by a love for humanity, strangely dif- 
 ferent from that which he desired. 
 
 Her horizon was much too large for him. But, 
 then, love begets love, and it is neither the creature 
 of judgment nor of the will. It is a capricious 
 thing — a wild delight, an intoxicating pleasure. But 
 then, this is so sweet. Who in its pursuit would be 
 dismayed? 
 
 Surely such a tender sympathetic creature could 
 not exist, he argued, without the consoling thought 
 that she was loved by one, to the exclusion of every 
 other being. He could not clearly discern from his 
 point of view how any one could be loyal to a 
 cause, except there was subsidiary to it the serving 
 of self-interest. 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 61 
 
 Merna had told Toussaint something of the quiet 
 but effective missionary work she and "dear Mrs. 
 Burleigh" had done since they first met. She had 
 declared that she loved to befriend the poor, and 
 that it was a source of comfort and never failing 
 happiness to help them, if only by a cheering word 
 of love. And thus it was, Toussaint, who had no 
 predilection for any quiet unostentatious work, 
 would go with Merna and do her bidding. 
 
 The sick woman was indeed grateful to the be- 
 nevolent young people, who had bestowed such at- 
 tention on her. And Toussaint — selfish creature — 
 felt that he was growing to be both good and use- 
 ful. On their way homeward these two people grew 
 somewhat confiding, now that they were enlisting 
 their best endeavors in the same righteous cause. 
 
 "I have never felt happier than I now feel," he 
 remarked. 
 
 "Good deeds bring their own reward, here as 
 \vell as hereafter," quietly observed Merna. 
 
 "And to think," he said, "that I owe my happi- 
 ness all to you." 
 
 "Not to me, Mr. Ripley. All things pure and 
 good come from above." 
 
 "That is all true, but there are earthly agents — 
 angels, I may say, who are the instruments of 
 bringing good to others. Just think of it. Here 
 is your dog who, pursuing a squirrel on that event- 
 
62 NEITHER BOIUD NOR FREE. 
 
 ful afternoon was the unconscious instrument for 
 this and other happy meetings of ours." 
 
 "It will be my pleasure to increase your happi- 
 ness by having you accompany me on my pilgrim- 
 ages to the suffering, as often as you desire. Mrs. 
 Burleigh, who usually attends me on these visits, 
 will also be delighted to have you go with us." 
 
 *'We might overcrowd the little sick room, if we 
 ventured in by threes, and I, therefore, suggest that 
 as between Mrs. Burleigh and myself we take it 
 by turns with you, as you never seem to tire." 
 
 "No, I do not tire; it is a recreation to go out 
 these delightful mornings and afternoons to talk 
 and read to the unfortunate and neglected of our 
 race." 
 
 "I confess that I had never thought of this be- 
 fore, and yet I know dozens of cases of destitution, 
 cases which beggar description." 
 
 "These cases, I think, should be brought to the 
 attention of the churches," remarked Merna. 
 
 "Not to the churches of this community, nor 
 elsewhere, if I have been correctly advised. There 
 is far more selfishness within the pale of the church 
 than without. The church will sometimes provide 
 for a sick or distressed member of its flock, but re- 
 member that the majority of the destitute belong to 
 no church. There is so much fierce competition in 
 the church in the way of gay bonnets and costly 
 dresses that many devout souls feel that they are 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 63 
 
 not wanted there. Mrs. A's cook occupies a fine 
 pew in a costly edifice, and she does her best to 
 vie with her employer on Sunday, in the matter 
 of dress." 
 
 "There is certainly a great reform needed in 
 these matters," said Merna. 
 
 "Well, who is to lead the reform? The minister 
 acts as if he is doing his whole duty in teaching men 
 how to die; but until he learns to teach men 
 how to live, he is omitting a prime necessity. The 
 growth for the spiritual kingdom is to take root 
 here on earth," remarked Toussaint. 
 
 "The preacher has his work, and his responsi- 
 bility for its performance. We each have ours. 
 You have intimated your position concerning these 
 reforms. Have you set yourself to work along any 
 line?" she inquired. 
 
 "I have spoken of the minister and his duty." 
 
 "Yes, and you have spoken of humanity, and 
 that suggests to the rescue everybody ; not alone the 
 preacher, but as well the teacher." 
 
 "I shall always feel grateful for the many words 
 of counsel and good cheer you have spoken. I 
 cannot resist the thought that you have taken some 
 interest in me. All your speech to me has been 
 golden — nothing like it has ever come to me before, 
 from any one." 
 
 "I want you to feel that I am interested in you; 
 your welfare is measurably my welfare," she said. 
 
64 IVEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ''Measurably," he uttered, half to himself and 
 half to her. And then he hastened to say, ''And 
 you know, Merna, that I am much attached to you. 
 I have thought of you with a persistency which I 
 am half ashamed to confess." 
 
 "And since when?" 
 
 "Since the hour I first knew you." 
 
 "I hope you may never have cause to think of 
 me less persistently than you now do." 
 
 "Are you really in earnest?" 
 
 "I am in earnest, and I do not feel 'ashamed' 
 to confess it either." 
 
 Toussaint looked askance at the girl by his side, 
 and he imagined he discovered in that look an 
 amused expressed. "Perhaps that look signifies the 
 awakening of a special feeling of interest in my- 
 self," he thought. 
 
 When they reached the Lockleys' home, Merna 
 thanked Toussaint for having so graciously assisted 
 her in the little mission. 
 
 "And I sincerely thank you," replied Toussaint, 
 with much feeling. "I have no words to express 
 the joy and happiness which you have been the 
 means this day of affording me." 
 
t? EITHER BOXD NOR FREE, 65 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A PICNIC FOLLOWED BY A STORM. 
 
 There were few good roads in the county of 
 
 E , and this is but a specimen of the condition 
 
 of the highways as they exist to-day in many parts 
 of the fair Southland. This section of the country 
 was rapidly recovering from the devastation 
 wrought by the war between the States. The in- 
 habitants of the place were gradually rising from 
 the seat of "do nothing/' and extending a welcome 
 hand to the Northern capitalists settling for business 
 pursuits in their midst. 
 
 In a word, the Wand of progress touched every 
 crude material, every dormant enterprise, every 
 lethargic soul — everything hereabout save the 
 country road. Whenever a road became impassa- 
 ble or unfit for the use of man or beast, a new 
 way or byway was appropriated by and for the 
 travelling public. 
 
 Mildred Grove was distant about five miles from 
 the town of H . This spot, now famous in song 
 
66 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 and story, had been used for many years antedat- 
 ing the life of the oldest inhabitant as a resort for 
 those in quest of summer sports, such as tourna- 
 ments, picnics, horse races, barbecues and other 
 festivities. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that the Sunday schools 
 of the three Baptist churches of the town had ad- 
 vertised a union picnic which attracted both the 
 young and old in large numbers to Mildred Grove, 
 one bright summer day towards the latter part of 
 July. 
 
 There had been a continuous drought for several 
 weeks past, and in consequence vegetation suffered 
 and farmers complained. The sloughs of the old 
 road had long since dried up, and these plague 
 spots, too numerous to reckon, w^ere temporarily 
 converted into receptacles for the dust, w^here the 
 wind in a flurry could play hide and seek. 
 
 Among the great gathering that disported them- 
 selves in the grove were Van Courtney and Ethel 
 Gay. They appeared to enter thoroughly into all 
 the diversions of the day. He was ever by her 
 side, so much that it was wdiispered on every hand 
 that this attractive couple would scon leave the bliss- 
 ful portals of betrothment to enter the enchanted 
 region of a nuptial ceremony. 
 
 Van Courtney and Ethel were so much absorbed 
 in one another, that when he proposed to her to take 
 a stroll, little or no heed was given to the slow 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. G? 
 
 but steady preparation of the people to leave the 
 grounds for their homes. The sun was then about 
 two and a half hours high. They strolled, hand in 
 hand, leisurely along the winding path thickly 
 flanked on either side by trees and shrubbery until 
 presently they reached a spot quite excluded from 
 the gaze of the curious, and answering somewhat 
 the description of a ravine. Here they halted, and 
 the girl took from Van Courtney's arm her zephyr 
 shawl and, spreading the same on the grass, seated 
 herself beside the fellow already stretched at full 
 length on the sward. For more than an hour they 
 remained in this sequestered place, oblivious of the 
 passing sunshine, heedless of the gathering storm, 
 conscious only of their own turpitude and yet sans 
 peur et sans reproche. 
 
 These two people might have lingered longer in 
 this spot, but their intercourse was interrupted by 
 Ethel, who exclaimed — ''Listen, do you hear that 
 thunder ?" 
 
 They arose simultaneously to their feet and to- 
 gether, gazing upwards, saw the heavy black clouds 
 mounting rapidly up the heavens with accompani- 
 ments of thunder peals and occasional flashes of 
 lightning. 
 
 "We must hurry and join the crowd or else we'll 
 be drenched," said Van Courtney. 
 
 "Yes, we must hurry," she replied, "for it is 
 late." 
 
68 l^EITEER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ''Not very late. It is this gathering cloud which 
 makes it appear late," he observed. 
 
 'True, it was not already dark. He could have 
 told the time by his watch, but he made no attempt 
 to consult it. His thoughts were turned in another 
 direction. He was much concerned about that swell 
 summer suit, which, with its showy belongings, 
 made him quite radiant and happy. He cared less 
 for the discomfiture of the fair companion with him 
 than for his own plight. ''Damn the rain," he mut- 
 tered. And then he grew sullen, and Ethel had to 
 content herself with monosyllabic replies to her 
 frivolous questions. 
 
 The clouds the meanwhile continued to gather. 
 The lightning came in more rapid succession. The 
 thunder reverberated and the distant rumble grew 
 lengthy. 
 
 When Ethel and Van Courtney had gained the 
 pavilion where the gay throng had hours before 
 held high carnival, there was no one to be found. 
 These pilgrims hurried away from the grounds as 
 fast as their feet could carry them. They passed 
 through the old farm gate which opened into the 
 main or principal county road, and on they trudged 
 for half a mile, plodding through rain and mud, 
 for the storm had begun in earnest. When they 
 reached the point where the new road made its way 
 into the old, it was now well nigh dark and they 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 69 
 
 failed to notice the new road, but continued to wend 
 their way over the old thoroughfare. 
 
 The rain poured in torrents, the 'way was all the 
 more uncertain because of the uncanny and fitful 
 light from the zig-zag lightning, mingled with the 
 gloom which surrounded the departing day. 
 
 "Where are the houses we saw on our way out 
 here this morning?" queried Ethel. 
 
 ''I have been thinking that we must have missed 
 our way," dubiously replied Van Courtney. 
 
 "Surely we have, for the road we came over 
 was thickly studded with cottages, large and small, 
 pretty and ugly," said the girl. 
 
 "What shall we " and then a terrific flash 
 
 followed by tremendous thunder peals caused the 
 speaker to shudder, and he forgot his lines. 
 
 The tempest Was now on in all its fury, and it 
 proved awe-inspiring even to such a hardened repro- 
 bate as Van Courtney. 
 
 "What was I saying a moment ago?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 The voice betrayed a certain restlessness, although 
 he had affected to speak with his usual bravado. 
 Ethel nestled closer to his side, and bade him 
 "h-u-s-h." 
 
 And these two pilgrims were again silent. It 
 seemed an awful silence, broken only by the guttural 
 sounds which came from the numerous frogs in the 
 ditches and ponds hard by. 
 
'iO NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "Ah, there is a light," uttered the girl, in a 
 voice which betrayed her sobs. 
 
 "Where?'' he inquired. 
 
 "Don't you see that little house on the left hand 
 side of the road yonder?" 
 
 It was difficult, not to say impossible, to dis- 
 cern a house the least distance off. But Ethel had 
 seen a light glowing from a little window on the 
 road side. 
 
 "Yes, I see the light distinctly, and we will tarry 
 there until the storm has spent its force." 
 
 As they drew near the house an old woman who 
 had stood at the window opened the door as eagerly 
 as if in response to the knock of a welcome visitor. 
 
 "Lors sake! You chilun is soaking wet. Come 
 to the fire and dry yourse'f." 
 
 Ethel and Van Courtney proceeded to obey 
 orders, and each taking a chair minus a back, gath- 
 ered around an old open fireplace, which had either 
 been in use for many years, or else its clumsy con- 
 struction had invited its rapid decay. A pair of 
 broken andirons supported by fragments of stone, 
 had heaped upon them brushwood which was strug- 
 gling to burn amidst the almost suffocating smoke 
 caused by a disordered chimney. Two cadaverous 
 looking cats, with a stony stare, lay purring in the 
 ashes, and on the edge of an old cupboard was 
 perched a dove whose mournful notes singularly 
 fitted the fearful storm now raging in all its fury 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 71 
 
 without. Jack, a well-grown dog, whose ribs could 
 be counted, was not content to remain in his 
 usual resting place under the house, for he had 
 throughout the storm been making impatient rounds 
 of the house prying his nose into all the cracks that 
 could be found. The howling of a dog sometimes 
 preys on strong nerves when otherwise above and 
 around us everything seems to go well. The ani- 
 mal had come to the door and given vent to his dire 
 distress in lamentations loud and strong. 
 
 This Nvas too much for Ethel. She half arose 
 from her seat and begged Swepsy to drive the dog 
 away. Swepsy yielded a prompt compliance, for she 
 was eager to have the strangers feel perfectly at 
 home under her roof. She had removed a steaming 
 pot of what proved to be sassafras tea from the fire, 
 and begged the young people to have a cup with 
 her. She did not delay preparation for an answer, 
 but busied herself placing a huge bowl and two 
 cups and saucers, much battered and otherwise dis- 
 figured from constant use, on an old pine table 
 partly concealed from view by an age-ridden cloth of 
 yellowish cast, which contained many a smear and 
 blotch. 
 
 The old 'woman in a naive manner, yet brusque, 
 signalled the young folks to her humble meal. 
 
 Nothing would have been a more unseemly ex- 
 hibition of bad manners than to refuse such a gen- 
 erous invitation. 
 
t2 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 The three sat down to tea, and while Van Court- 
 ney only sipped a little of the beverage, Ethel man- 
 aged to make away wath one cup of it. Meanwhile 
 the old woman had actually filled and refilled her 
 bowl. 
 
 Swepsy, who had at times generous impulses, 
 had felt genuine sympathy for the two bedrabbled 
 people now temporarily her guests. 
 
 She sat erect, holding in one hand the steaming 
 sassafras, her eyes riveted upon Van Courtney with 
 a most inquisitive gaze. Then, recovering herself, 
 she slowdy asked with a certain dogged determina- 
 tion, "Are you a stranger here?" 
 
 "Yes, I am somewhat a stranger in these parts, 
 and totally one here." 
 
 Swepsy w^as sure of her man, she well knew the 
 possessor of that sallow skin, those deep, sunken 
 bluish eyes, that sharp countenance, and that aqui- 
 line nose. The congregation on that June Sunday 
 w^as not too large, nor the ceremonies so inspiring 
 as to destroy her memory of the stranger, at once 
 so insolent and arrogant. She had told her neigh- 
 bors about the "yaller dog" w^ho had made merry 
 at her expense, and in all the weeks that had passed 
 she nursed that most stubborn and usual resentment. 
 
 Swepsy, looking intently in the empty bowl, 
 slowly said, "I see you are both strangers in these 
 parts." 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 73 
 
 "What? What?" eagerly inquired Van Courtney 
 and Ethel. 
 
 "This is my book, and in it I read what has been 
 and what is to be," said the old woman, tapping the 
 bowl with her spoon. 
 
 "Suppose you tell us our fortunes," said Ethel. 
 
 "If you want your fortunes told, lay a piece of 
 silver in the palm of my hand and make a wish — 
 not loud, but to yourse'f." 
 
 She placed a fifty cent coin in Swepsy's hand and 
 wished the several things she would have happen. 
 
 The girl was told to twirl the cup around three 
 times with the mouth downward. Ethel complied. 
 The seeress began. 
 
 "You come from away." 
 
 "From where?" asked Ethel. 
 
 "From across deep water." 
 
 "Yes, go on," said the girl. 
 
 "You have things to worry you. Crossed in 
 love — lots of beaux. You don't love but one man, 
 and he is not true to you." 
 
 "I only want to know one thing. Tell me if I 
 will ever be married?" asked Ethel. 
 
 ''No ; you are born to be an old maid. I see lots of 
 other things, but they concern a man — a friend of 
 yours." 
 
 "Oh, yes, Van Courtney. Then tell this gentle- 
 man his fortune." 
 
 He followed instructions by twirling the cup 
 
74 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 around three times and making the prescribed wish. 
 He, too, gave the weazen-faced woman a coin and 
 proceeded to be entertained. This was a perform- 
 ance richly laden with comical situations, thought 
 Van Courtney. 
 
 "You, sir," began Swepsy in a sprightly vain, 
 "don't b'lieve in fortunes." 
 
 "Do you see that in the cup?" laughed Van 
 Courtney. 
 
 "Yes, I see in the cup that you are careless and 
 onconcerned." 
 
 "Oh, yes," uttered Van Courtney, not in the least 
 disconcerted. 
 
 "You too has come from across deep water. You 
 work in house with lots of people. Handle papers 
 — don't you write for a livin'?" 
 
 Van Courtney did not condescend to reply. 
 
 "You," she went on, "are a fast young man; 
 you are fond of women, and drink — like cards — 
 a sort o' dude, you know — I guess I won't tell you 
 any more now." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I never tell the bad I see in the cup." 
 
 "Oh, yes; tell me everything. It is only pas- 
 time." 
 
 She seemed not to heed his instructions, but con- 
 tinued : "You are a sort of wolf. You are making 
 
 love to two girls in H at the same time. A 
 
 preached has a daughter you pretend to love. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 75 
 
 Now — " and then she gave a long sigh. "You — ; 
 well, look here for yours e'f; see that crowd of 
 people. Do you see them?" 
 
 "I see the dregs, if that is what you mean." 
 
 ''Zactly so. That's excitement. You'll make 
 trouble in some family. You'll be condemned and 
 hung. Now, I didn't want to tell you everything. 
 You would make me." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right. And here's another piece 
 of money for your kind treatment. The rain is 
 over and we will jog along." 
 
 "Bless your souls. Whenever you come this 
 way, be sho' to come to my house and I will be 
 glad to see you both. Good-bye." 
 
 Van Courtney and Ethel moved out and passed 
 along the highway. The rain had ceased. The 
 moon was rising and they could see their way over 
 the muddy road. 
 
 "I don't understand that woman, after all*" he 
 said. "She told some lies, to be sure; but some 
 things were certainly true. I don't believe in 
 these silly, ignorant people, but they make us feel 
 real shaky at times." 
 
 "She's an old humbug," said Ethel. 
 
 "Yes, you are right, but somehow her humbug- 
 gery sticks to the ribs. I shall never forget the 
 experience of this night. I feel a strange sense 
 of some impending disaster," remarked Van Court- 
 ney. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 In the sitting room of the parsonage a few even- 
 ings following the picnic already narrated, were 
 Charles Van Courtney, Merna Attaway ,Toussaint 
 Ripley, Ethel Gay, the Rev. Burleigh and fam- 
 ily. The occasion was a tea in honor of Mr. 
 Van Courtney, who was about to take leave of the 
 
 *'dear old town of H " with all its memorable 
 
 associations. This was the one room of that unpre- 
 tentious cottage which delighted the proud Mr. Bur- 
 leigh, who, indeed, was never so happy (if appear- 
 ances counted for anything) as when surrounded 
 by a bevy of attractive young women, one or more 
 of whom were members of the so-called ''smart set." 
 
 The room in question appeared quite stuffy with 
 its overcharge of furniture, good and bad. Here 
 and there an antiquated relic vied with some flimsy 
 piece of furniture, while the quaint, old-fashioned 
 mantel fairly groaned under the weight of its dust- 
 ridden bric-a-brac, which seemed in evidence to es- 
 tablish the ingenuity of the Yankee mind which 
 
VEITBER BOND NOR FREE. 'J"J' 
 
 could make a heap of trash for a Httle money. There 
 were many books, old and new — mostly old; some 
 jammed in the big odd-looking bookcase, and others 
 heaped on the spacious old square piano, partly hid 
 from view by its well worn covering. In all this 
 mock parade of book fondness, the one thing which 
 to the eyes of Mr. Burleigh gave an air of im- 
 portance to this charmed precinct, was a large 
 crayon portrait, life size, of the minister and head 
 of the household. This portrait seemed a veritable 
 giant spread out among the innumerable pigmies, 
 which in small frames lined the walls of the sanc- 
 tum. 
 
 This was a somewhat incongruous gathering. 
 There was a want of mutual sympathy. It lacked 
 the elements as well as the aims and purposes which 
 mark a notable gathering. Ethel, who could be 
 relied upon to display on all occasions her super- 
 ficial knowledge, signalled to Van Courtney to as- 
 sist her in removing the books from the piano. 
 Presently she was seated at the instrument strum- 
 ming it in earnest. The fact that the piano was 
 woefully out of tune, in nowise disconcerted her. 
 She hastened to call attention to this fact with the 
 remark that in consequence she was not surprised 
 to know that "Charley" did not recognize his fa- 
 vorite song — "Bright Eyes." 
 
 "Do you like 'Bright Eyes,' Charley?" eagerly in- 
 quired Ethel. 
 
'J'8 If EITHER BOm) NOR FREE. 
 
 *'Well — that depends," exolaimed Van Courtney. 
 
 ^'Depends — depends upon what?" asked the girl. 
 
 **Why, upon the owner of the bright eyes," he 
 hastily responded. 
 
 ''Oh, for a rest from that bubbling wit of yours," 
 observed Ethel. 
 
 ''Yes, and from those bright eyes. I think Mr. 
 Smith must have had you in mind when he com- 
 posed those verses." 
 
 "Who is your Mr. Smith, Charley?" 
 
 "He is a colored musical celebrity of Cleveland." 
 
 "Ah, we are coming," said Mr. Burleigh, who 
 had proven himself an eager listener all the while. 
 
 "Yes, and in spite of prejudice," intercepted Mr. 
 Ripley. "While I am free to confess that I do not 
 know what special advantage is to accrue to any- 
 body from frivolous musical productions, such as 
 you often hear, and yet these, however, may prove 
 a healthy stimulus along really useful lines of com- 
 position work. All race accomplishments. I think, 
 have a strong tendency to lessen prejudice." 
 
 "This, then, is one of your ideas of puncturing 
 the clouds of prejudice. You believe that music — 
 light music — will make a rift in the clouds," re- 
 marked Merna. 
 
 "Your allusion to my remark is pleasing and 
 graceful. I sincerely trust that music will eventu- 
 ally win over the white savages of prejudice," re- 
 plied Toussaint. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 79 
 
 "I believe devoutly in the inspiration and power 
 of music. I mean the best music, that which appeals 
 to the best sentiment in man. Give me the weird 
 plaintive airs as rendered by those who saw planta- 
 tion service before the war, and I w^ould not ex- 
 chang-e them for all that I have studied in the Bos- 
 ton Conservatory of Music," remarked Merna. 
 
 "Go get your harp and tune it. Let us not sit 
 down by the river as did the children of old, and 
 weep as we think of Zion. You sing and play. 
 Shortly I shall launch my craft on the political sea 
 and then my w^ork to beat down prejudice will have 
 begun in earnest," said Toussaint. 
 
 **I believe that we have discussed this matter once 
 before. I have not changed my views since then. 
 Nature is a fact — prejudice no less a fact. Will you 
 fly in the face of nature and prejudice? Nothing, 
 in my judgment, can be accomplished for our peo- 
 ple by politics. A blessed mission is his which 
 enables one to come in contact with the whites 
 christianizing and civilizing the people by precept 
 and example," said Merna. 
 
 "I do not think," said Mr. Burleigh, "that you 
 can overcome the race feeling by mere insistence 
 of one's rights, either through politics or otherwise. 
 We talk greatly of the prejudice which w^hite peo- 
 ple manifest towards us, and we never stop to 
 think that we, too, have much prejudice against the 
 whites. I love everybody. We are weaker than the 
 
80 NEITHER BOVD NOR FREE. 
 
 white folks. We haven't the moral strength, tlie 
 knowledge, the wealth nor the love of unity which 
 the white man possesses." 
 
 *'I concur in all that you have said, Mr. Bur- 
 leigh. Upon the shoulders of the young men and 
 young women of the race of to-day rests the re- 
 sponsibility of piloting the race over the tempestu- 
 ous seas of race prejudice, folly and vice. We ought 
 seriously to ponder this race question. We should 
 try and get a correct solution to the knotty ques- 
 tions as they present themselves, and then set about 
 to eradicate the existing evils. What is prejudice, 
 anyway? It seems to me that it grows out of the 
 love of power, and the love of self, and is founded 
 upon racial differences. The closer the races come 
 in contact, the more intense becomes the prejudice. 
 The white people are apparently more prejudiced 
 as the days go by. In our competition with them, 
 measuring arms, we are meeting the natural re- 
 sistance. We must take no backward step. Let 
 us reach out for new opportunities, eagerly grasp- 
 ing them as they arise. Don't ask white people 
 for alms; ask them for opportunities for usefulness. 
 We must equip ourselves with manhood, ability, 
 character, industry and success is surely ours," said 
 Merna. 
 
 "What we sadly need is equal industrial oppor- 
 tunities," said Toussaint. 
 
 "There must always be a man for an opportunity. 
 
I^EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 81 
 
 Greater industry, skill, the sticking quality, honesty 
 and reliability will open the way for new oppor- 
 tunities. Then Hamptons with their trade schools 
 will multiply. If we will only cultivate the saving 
 spirit, cut loose from extravagant habits, work the 
 year round, encourage and assist one another in 
 business, we will acquire and obtain wealth and this 
 will effectually dissipate race prejudice," observed 
 Merna. 
 
 "The future of the negroes of the United States 
 is, indeed, a matter of grave import to both races 
 in this country," uttered Mr. Burleigh, with great 
 deliberation. 
 
 "We are not negroes. We are Afro- Americans," 
 ejaculated Van Courtney. 
 
 "Charley, what have you to do with this negro 
 question, anyway? You are not a negro," said 
 Ethel. 
 
 "Exactly so. I am an Afro-American," reiter- 
 ated Van Courtney. 
 
 "Mr. Ripley, do you hear what my learned friend 
 has to say? If you intend to carry Africa into the 
 war, will you take this Afro-American (pointing 
 to Van Courtney) along with you?" queried Ethel. 
 
 "Bravo," cried Mr. Burleigh, who in his eager- 
 ness to compliment anything Ethel said, had 
 chuckled until his glasses slid off his nose. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Ethel, my friend Mr. Van Courtney 
 goes wherever the negro race goes. You know that 
 
8^ -NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 one drop of African blood is sufficient to classify 
 a colored man; or, if you please, a gentleman with 
 2n aquiline olfactor and bluish eyes. No matter 
 how intelligent, learned, cultured or wealthy you 
 may become, it is decreed by the white man that 
 you are a spurious counterfeit. Your straight hair 
 and white complexion will not exempt you from the 
 proscription of the mass," said Toussaint. 
 
 "I wish to have you amend your statement in a 
 single particular. I do not wish to go on record 
 as having an 'aquiline olfactor.' I simply have a 
 prominent nose," said Van Courtney. 
 
 "I stand corrected, my friend." 
 
 At this sally the laugh went round. Merna arose 
 to say good-day to host and friends; Toussaint 
 joined her. Van Courtney and Ethel lingered to 
 attempt the difficult role of a duet. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 83 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 AN OUTLNG EXPERIENCE. 
 
 And the days glided merrily by. Now the day 
 on which Charles Van Courtney was to say good- 
 bye to his companions and friends had come, and all 
 too soon for this vain worldling. 
 
 Van Courtney having learned that it was the in- 
 tention of Merna and Ethel shortly to take one of 
 the early morning steamers and visit the city of 
 
 and points of interest adjacent thereto, decided 
 
 himself to embark for the Capital City on a morn- 
 ing steamer which should leave the same point - 
 about the same hour as the one on which they would 
 take passage. And now they were grouped — Merna 
 and Ethel, Toussaint and Van Courtney — on the 
 big pier. A shrill whistle signalled the departure 
 of the craft. And then, amid the flutter of ker- 
 chiefs, the prow of the beautiful white steamer had 
 turned in the direction leading to the Capital of the 
 Nation. Au revoir, Van Courtney! 
 
 A few minutes later another boat came along- 
 
84 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 side the pier, and Toussai;it, Merna and Ethel were 
 soon on their course in the opposite direction to 
 that taken by Mr. Van Courtney. It was a bright 
 and glorious day. A hazy, cloud-like film curtained 
 the heavens arching low to the horizon, and the 
 gentle summer breeze swept the bosom of the deep, 
 chasing its tiny billows far out to sea. 
 
 ''As when the sun, new-risen. 
 
 Looks through the horizontal misty air shorn of its 
 beams/' 
 
 These three souls gazed on the sea and the sky. 
 Ethel had a sort of vacant stare — a far-away look 
 — as if in retrospect, Merna and Toussaint seemed 
 happy, but their happiness was not identical nor 
 mutual, but it was worked by a certain contrariety 
 of feeling. Their point of view was wholly dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 Merna was always charming in manner and cir- 
 cumspect, and yet I cannot say that she was a happy 
 creature. She had too great concern for the happi- 
 ness of others. It was hard for her to feel happy 
 in the presence of the wTongs and miseries of this 
 life. She appeared at times as keenly susceptible 
 of the struggles and discouragements of others as 
 if in her own sympathetic nature there was a mem- 
 ory of some similar experience which she had sus- 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 85 
 
 tained. If her eager sympathies were not awakened 
 responsive to the thought of the hardships to which 
 others had been subjected, then w^hat? Was it from 
 what is sometimes called the inexorable law of 
 heredity — traces of the impress of a memorable and 
 barbaric institution on the offspring? Or was it 
 from environment in Boston, that modern Athens, 
 set like some rare jewel in the heaven of New Eng- 
 land liberty? 
 
 But Toussaint's happiness seemed unalloyed. He 
 was chiefly concerned about Merna and his love for 
 her. He looked up and beUeved that unfathomable 
 bliss would be his if she would only say that she 
 loved him. 
 
 Merna was a child of nature. She gamboled in 
 her fancy wdth the stars and communed wath the 
 elements. She delighted to meditate on the works 
 of creation. And since man was the greatest work 
 of the Creator, she w^as resolved to look up and 
 lift up. 
 
 "I have such a headache," said Ethel. 
 
 "I am sorry. I had hoped that this delightful 
 trip would prove highly beneficial to you," replied 
 Merna. 
 
 "You are perhaps a little despondent. Cheer up. 
 Can I render you any service?" asked Toussaint. 
 
 "Yes. Get me, if you please, some water to 
 drink." 
 
 Toussaint instantly complied w^ith the girl's re- 
 
86 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 quest, and accompanied her to a more comfortable 
 seat. 
 
 And now, after an hour's run, the steamer ''Mys- 
 tic" put alongside of the dock of the brisk and 
 bustling Southern city. The numerous little 
 wharves, separated by only the narrowest frith of 
 water, were literally swarming with animated 
 crowds of longshoremen. Merna could not but re- 
 mark to her companions the exuberance of good 
 fellowship prevalent among them; their hilarity 
 and beaming countenances betraying thrift and con- 
 tentment. 
 
 Toussaint, Merna and Ethel moved slowly up the 
 main thoroughfare of the city. The sun had rapid- 
 ly climbed up the heavens and was scattering in all 
 directions his torrid rays. At the instance of 
 Merna, they halted in front of a large drug store, 
 where she and Ethel made numerous purchases 
 of toilet and other articles which were to be shipped 
 to the town of H . 
 
 When Merna and Toussaint started to leave, they 
 observed that Ethel hesitated to arise from the seat 
 which she occupied. She explained to Merna that 
 the headache was "now fierce," and the clerk was 
 importuned to administer some relief. 
 
 "No, no," said Ethel. "No drugs for me. I have 
 a horror of taking medicine of any sort. It will 
 wear off presently, I hope. Oh, I tell you, Mr. 
 Clerk, give me some soda; a glass of vichy will 
 
VEITEER BOND NOR FREE. 87 
 
 help," and turning to Merna and Toussaint, she 
 requested them to join her in a "social glass.'' 
 Merna assented, saying, "Vichy for me, too." 
 
 "Come, hurry up," said Ethel, in a saucy vein, 
 looking straight at the clerk, who was eyeing the 
 party askance. 
 
 With a studied effort to appear polite, the clerk 
 replied: "You are all evidently strangers in these 
 parts." 
 
 "Strangers or friends," impatiently retorted 
 Ethel, "what we want is the vichy." 
 
 "Really, we do not sell soda water to any but 
 our customers." 
 
 "Well, don't you consider this lady (pointing to 
 Merna) your customer?" asked Ethel. 
 
 "Come, Ethel, let us go," said Merna, not wait- 
 ing for the reply. 
 
 "No ; what I demand is some decent explanation 
 from this man," was Ethel's fiery response. 
 
 The clerk, who seemed not in the least abashed 
 or disconcerted, hastened to say : "I see that you all 
 appear to be decent and nice colored people; and 
 thus I thought you could take the hint. The truth 
 of the matter is we do not sell soda water to any 
 person of color." 
 
 "That is not true," retorted Ethel, "for I saw 
 you send a glass to a servant girl in the carriage at 
 your door just a few minutes ago." 
 
8S NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "The soda was ordered by a white lady for her 
 servant, and besides, it was not drunk in this store." 
 
 '*Oh, I see; any one can buy drugs, but if he buys 
 soda it is necessary to put on an apron, stand on 
 the outside and have some white person order the 
 water for you," contemptuously replied Ethel. 
 
 As the three left the store, Toussaint said : 'This 
 is the South, and it is an old Southern custom — a 
 relic of slavery." 
 
 "I regret much that I did not know this before we 
 entered that place," quietly observed Merna. 
 
 "Why, everywhere in this city and throughout 
 the South, this sort of foolish prejudice obtains. 
 You can buy a seidlitz powder and have the clerk 
 mix it in his store for you, but mineral water is con- 
 sidered a luxury and is vended alone for a favored 
 class," said Toussaint. 
 
 "Well, I had heard about that contemptible ferry 
 prejudice, but little did I expect such meanness in 
 a drug store," remarked Ethel. 
 
 "What about the ferry?" asked Merna. 
 
 "Mr. Ripley can explain. He is a product of this 
 hateful sod." 
 
 "Yes — I am indigenous to the South and am 
 forced to make the most of the situation. If you 
 will stand just where you are for a moment you 
 can feast your eyes on an amazing and impudent 
 example of folly and racial prejudice. You will 
 observe on your right, a maudlin band of poor 
 
-NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 89 
 
 whites, some of whom can harely stand erect from 
 sheer dissipation. Now, behind these are three re- 
 spected and highly respectable colored citizens. One 
 is Bishop Winton's brother; he is a conspicuous 
 member of the African Methodist Episcopal Con- 
 ference, and pastor of a prominent church in this 
 city ; another is a leading lawyer of this section, and 
 enjoys the confidence of all who know him ; the other 
 is a successful business man — a coal merchant. 
 
 "Notice the drunkards keep to the right. They 
 sit in the right hand cabin along with the fair 
 daughters and chivalrous (as they would have us 
 believe) men of the South, and yet, you and these 
 gentlemen I have pointed out, must go into another 
 cabin, set apart exclusively for people of color," 
 said Toussaint. 
 
 "But there is a colored girl holding by the hand 
 a flaxen haired little boy ; do they, too, separate as 
 the sheep and the goat," laughed Merna. 
 
 "There you have the farce," exclaimed Toussaint. 
 "That black maid goes into the cabin with the 
 whites. The little fellow is her Mascot you see." 
 
 "And you say this is an old institution?" asked 
 Merna. 
 
 "Yes," replied Toussaint, "it is thirty odd years 
 since slavery, but time has worked no change for the 
 better in this particular." 
 
 "Certainly not, for slavery still goes on," said 
 Ethel 
 
90 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "True enough, we are neither bond nor free," an- 
 swered Toussaint. 
 
 "Do you not think that we are growing altogether 
 too serious over a trifle. There is only time enough 
 in this life to contemplate our real needs. We can 
 get along very well without soda water; and, after 
 all, it matters little whether we sit in this or that 
 cabin of the ferry boat, provided the comforts com- 
 port with our necessities. What we really want is 
 happiness. The formula is simply faith — and faith 
 alone. Let us not waste our time and substance in 
 vain clamorings for airy nothings. This prejudice 
 is founded upon a mere pretense of superiority. All 
 men imbibe it to a greater or less extent. We, our- 
 selves, have it, whether conscious or unconscious of 
 its workings. There must be for us all a higher 
 plane of living. We must keep in the company of 
 the Christ, and thus we can let fall the benedictions 
 of holy Hves on weary and troubled souls. Looking 
 up and lifting up is my motto. For, if there are 
 no heights to attain, and no depths to fathom, no 
 God to reverence and no humanity to love, this life 
 were indeed but dross." 
 
 There was thrilling earnestness depicted on the 
 countenance of Merna Attaway as she delivered 
 herself of these burning words. She scarcely seemed 
 herself, so intense and sincere was her speech. 
 
 As for Toussaint, he seemed to be under some 
 trying ordeal. He had ardently hoped that some- 
 
-NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 91 
 
 where, somehow, this day would find him advanced 
 in love's pathway, but the path was beset with too 
 many roses of Sharon and lilies of the valley for 
 a heavy-shod pilgrim to tread. In truth, he thought 
 that Merna was getting away from him. She was 
 on the earth, but not of it. She was constantly en- 
 grossed with the spiritual, and holding communion 
 with invisible forms. He was eager just then to be 
 a better man and thus soar with her. 
 
92 HEITEER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 THE SOUTHERN INDUSTRIAL INSTITUTE VACATION. 
 
 A veritable Arcadia! Here peace and plenty 
 seem to abide on every hand. Rich foliage from 
 rare trees spread their generous branches in every 
 direction; quaint cottages in profusion vie ^^1ith 
 sombre buildings, whose walls are almost concealed 
 from view by the ivy and Virginia creeper; a de- 
 licious sky wooing the glistening river, whose broad 
 terrace is fringed with bush and tree, and above 
 and around this sheen of water, birds — true har- 
 bingers of peace — flit hither and thither, warbling 
 their sweetest lays. 
 
 This perfect summer day finds Merna and Tous- 
 saint, Ethel and Strother, Mr. Burleigh and Cla- 
 rissa, on the spacious grounds of the Southern 
 Collegiate and Industrial Institute. These are here 
 on invitation of some of the vacation students, to 
 engage in out of door sport. 
 
 "What game shall we play?" queried Mr. Bur- 
 leigh, as the party loitered under the big oak tree. 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 93 
 
 "What game do you prefer?" asked Ethel. 
 
 "I confess that I can only play one lawn game 
 and that is crouqet." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw! Croquet!" laughed Ethel, "that is 
 old timey — out of date, you see. Let us play ten- 
 nis — any old thing but croquet." 
 
 "I think tennis is quite violent exercise, especial- 
 ly at this season," quietly observed Merna. 
 
 "It is not so warm this afternoon. It is decid- 
 edly pleasant here near the water, so I repeat let us 
 try anything but croquet," insisted Ethel. 
 
 Several of the students remarked that there were 
 no appliances for tennis on the grounds, but if a 
 sufficient number of players could bp mustered, a 
 cricket match would be arranged. 
 
 "I have never heard of the game," rejoined 
 Rev. Burleigh. 
 
 Ignoring the comment of the preacher, Ethel be- 
 gan to canvass the party for players. There were 
 enough to make up the match, whereupon, turning 
 to Merna, Toussaint and Clarissa, she inquired as 
 to whether they knew the game. Clarissa, it seemed, 
 had a superficial knowledge of it, and Toussaint 
 while doubting himself was, however, willing to 
 lend a hand. 
 
 "I would have preferred to play some game in 
 which all the members of our party might engage," 
 said Merna, addressing Rev. Burleigh. 
 
 "Oh, that is all right, I am rather too corpulent 
 
94 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 
 
 for any amusement requiring much physical exer- 
 tion," he repHed. 
 
 "I did not know that one so modest and so sweet 
 could play such a game as cricket; in fact, I did 
 not know until recently that ladies knew or could 
 play the game," said Toussaint, addressing Merna., 
 
 "It has long been familiar to both sexes in Bos- 
 ton. I understand that the game is not generally 
 indulged by females in the South. I am not a hot- 
 house plant, Mr. Ripley. My taste for athletics Is 
 quite pronounced. I play tennis, croquet, badmin- 
 ton and golf," replied Merna. 
 
 "I am a mere novice in the game of cricket. I 
 learned what I know of it in Philadelphia, two sea- 
 sons ago. I have almost forgotten the names of 
 some of the technical terms," said Toussaint. 
 
 "Well, there are 'popping crease' and 'byes' and 
 'maiden overs' and 'long field on' and 'long field off.' 
 I will go over them with you. The popping crease, 
 where the batter stands, is four feet in front of the 
 wicket. Byes " 
 
 "Come, IMerna, Ethel is calling for you," said 
 Toussaint. 
 
 While dilating on the novel terms significant of 
 the varied movements of the game, these two had 
 strolled quite a distance from the gay group. 
 
 Ethel had suggested that Merna be chosen cap- 
 tain and that the men play on one side, the girls 
 on the other. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 96 
 
 Strother remarked that this would prove an un- 
 equal contest from the start as the men were supe- 
 rior players, taken as a whole. Some one said that 
 it would be a good idea to let the gentlemen play 
 left handed. This was agreed upon and the game 
 was started. The men went to the wicket first. 
 Ethel and Miss Atkins of the students opened the 
 attack. The fielding was quick and the bowling 
 good on the part of the girls and all the men were 
 out for seventy runs. The ladies then went to the 
 wickets with every chance of victory. The men 
 ranged themselves in the field and Ethel and Mern.i 
 faced the bowling. In perfect style they played tha 
 left hand attempts of the men bowlers and presently 
 that fair side was out for ninety-three. 
 
 Toussaint and Strother formed a partnership 
 which w^as the only stand of the afternoon, Ethel 
 being especially successful with the ball. 
 
 When the game was in full swing, it was highly 
 interesting. If some of the throw-ins of the ball 
 by a fair fielder were not as accurate as desired the 
 error was condoned by the white shirt waists, short 
 duck skirts and sailor hats of white straw. 
 
 The sport was spirited and thoroughly enjoyed. 
 And while the game was in progres the large gong 
 sounded as a hint to prepare for tea. 
 
 The visitors were urged to remain to the meal and 
 all decided to do so. During the interval of thirty 
 minutes, Merna, Ethel and Clarissa remained with 
 
96 NEITHER BOND NOR FRE^. 
 
 Miss Atkins and the men strolled over to Douglass 
 Hall where the males had their apartments. 
 
 To the men's quarters, arm in arm, walked Tous- 
 saint and Strother. The latter, a genial, even tem- 
 pered and an earnest young man, was highly ex- 
 uberant after his frolic. Toussaint, on the contrary, 
 was silent. 
 
 "Brace up, old man," jocosely remarked Strother 
 to his companion. 
 
 "Don't you know I feel all undone," said Tous- 
 saint in a meditative way. 
 
 "Yes, you are evidently in love, and it affects yo\ir 
 health." 
 
 ''What do you mean by that, anyway, Ed. Stro- 
 ther?" 
 
 "Well, love is a singular comp(;und. Some it 
 lifts up — others it casts down. It is h'fe to one— it 
 is death to another," he went on in a humorous 
 vein. 
 
 Toussaint stared at the speaker in a vacant man- 
 ner, and then broke in abruptly: "Ed., I must out 
 with a secret. I know you'll bear me confidence. 
 I am madly in love with Merna Attaway. I have 
 little mind for anything else besides that girl. I 
 have tried a dozen times to speak my love to her, 
 but she has always played the skillful swordsman 
 and parried it off. Now, come what may, I 
 am resolved to tell her before we part this day, that 
 I expect some encouragement from her." 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 97 
 
 "Now, good fellow, don't get rash. There, you've 
 lots of time left for love-making. You don't know 
 the girl as yet, and she certainly has no knowledge 
 of what manner of man you are," sententiously 
 remarked Strother. 
 
 They had reached the dormitory and nothing fur- 
 ther was said by either of them concerning Merna. 
 
 After tea had been dispensed the girls and the 
 young men assembled themselves in the upper par- 
 lors, where mellifluous voices were heard — voices 
 attuned to sweet music — music with pathos rare — 
 rendering plaintive songs of mingled joy and sor- 
 row — for Merna and Ethel. Merna in exchange 
 presided at the piano and thrilled her hearers by a 
 brilliant rehearsal of selections of classical music 
 and familiar ballads. As she arose from the stool 
 and withdrew to the open window, the students 
 went wild with delight. They had never witnessed 
 such a performance by one of their own race. 
 
 Toussaint advanced to Ethel and in an under- 
 tone, inquired as to where she had studied music. 
 
 ''Merna," she replied, "will not talk about her- 
 self, but her aunt Margaret said that she had been 
 trained in the 'Preservatory' of Music at Boston." 
 Ethel laughed heartily. 
 
 "Be careful of your speech," whispered Toussaint, 
 "remember you are talking of Merna's aunt." 
 
 "And you are mad, Mr. Sauer Kraut, because I 
 
98 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 said Treservatory ?' Merna isn't the only preserve 
 in the jar; there are others." 
 
 Toussaint frowned sullenly and went off to join 
 Merna, where Strother seemed to be engaging her 
 in an earnest conversation, and very earnest, indeed, 
 it appeared to Toussaint. 
 
 The sun coming down the heavens was scatter- 
 ing its beams full and fair against the vine clad 
 eaves and windows where at least a dozen souls 
 were grouped. Here was indeed an interesting study 
 in colors brought about by the economy of nature. 
 A bouquet of human flowers; some exquisitely 
 formed and delightful to the eye, others appealing 
 in the main to the nobler sentiments in our nature. 
 There was the manly form of Edward Strother, a 
 man with earnest thoughts and high resolves. If 
 one was seeking real worth, it was in that dark 
 brown, but comely skin. A high forehead, broad 
 chest — a strong and steady eye and an open counte- 
 nance was his. And there was Ethel, an attractive 
 girl, though somewhat short of stature, with a lus- 
 trous, beaming face and Indian complexion. She 
 was much fairer than Toussaint and yet not so fair 
 as Merna. There stood Rev. Burleigh, holding by 
 the hand Ethel, who gazed up intently on his shin- 
 ing ebon face and the white expanse of bosom, as 
 if there were somewhere a fresh discovery for her. 
 
 In this galaxy of faces there wxre scarcely any 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. c^g 
 
 two shades of color not readily distinguishable from 
 one another. 
 
 "The Young Men's Christian Association of 
 H , has secured the services of Joshua A. Rid- 
 ley of Boston, to lecture in the town hall to-night. 
 I ask the pleasure of your company there," said 
 Toussaint, addressing Merna. 
 
 "1 am obliged to you, but I have just accepted 
 an invitation from Mr. Strother for that occasion. 
 Your Association is quite fortunate in having se- 
 cured such a talented and distinguished lecturer. I 
 enjoy the personal acquaintance of Mr. Ridley; he 
 is a good man. I shall be delighted to see and hear 
 him on Virginia soil." 
 
 ''You mistake the Association. It is for the white 
 and not the colored Y. M. C. A. that Mr. Ridley 
 comes," observed Toussaint. 
 
 "Well, it is a treat all the same. But what is the 
 subject of the lecture? I did not think to ask Mr. 
 Strother," said Merna. 
 
 "The Brotherhood of Man," replied Toussaint. 
 "An excellent subject and especially for this sec- 
 tion, I should say," remarked Merna. 
 
 "Now, Merna, we are once more alone. I want 
 to speak quite plainly to you. I have decided in 
 justice to us both, to declare my feelings for you. 
 I have been deeply interested in you since the time 
 of our first meeting. That interest must be manifest 
 to you. It has gone on and on until it has ripened 
 
100 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 into perfect love for you. Don't turn off from me 
 — you do not realize how necessary you are to my 
 happiness and peace of mind. I have intended to 
 tell you this truth for days and days, but I have 
 lacked the courage to speak out. Now, do tell me, 
 my dear one, that you will accept my avowal in good 
 faith." 
 
 "Indeed, Mr, Ripley, I hardly know how to begin. 
 I have felt very grateful to you for your many kind- 
 nesses to me during my sojourn in your midst. I 
 have admired your straightforward conduct, and, 
 most of all, your ambition to do some good for 
 others. I really like you." 
 
 "I really love you," repeated Toussaint, as he 
 pressed her hand in his own. 
 
 Toussaint felt a slight effort to withdraw her 
 hand, and in obedience to it promptly relaxed his 
 hold, and looking imploringly in her drooping eyes, 
 he asked, as their gaze met, what she really thought 
 of him. 
 
 "I have already told you, Mr. Ripley." 
 
 "Don't call me Mr. Ripley; please, say Toussaint 
 — say Ripley, anything but the formal mister." 
 
 "I shall then address you hereafter as Toussaint, 
 if you really wish me." 
 
 "And you will also love me?" 
 
 "I will try." 
 
 "Will it prove a hard task?" 
 
 "This I cannot say. I hope not. Oh, there is 
 
NEITHER B02iD NOR FREE. 101 
 
 Seba running across the campus. I left him on 
 the portico. And here is Httle Bernice, I guess he 
 wants me," said Merna. 
 
 "Let me go down and meet him/' said Toussaint, 
 as he hastened away. 
 
 As Bernice was about to enter the room, Merna 
 met him at the door, kissed him and asked him if he 
 wanted to see his papa or sister. 
 
 "No, I have a letter for you. Miss Merna," he 
 said, as he handed her the telegram. It ran as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 "Come home. Your mother is not wxll " 
 
 "Ralph Attaway." 
 
 Merna quietly folded the note and then confused- 
 ly opened the same and extended it to Toussaint 
 to read. A pallor settled over her features, as she 
 tremulously said to him : "I must leave this place 
 at once; mother is ill." 
 
 The entire company sympathetically pressed 
 around Merna to hear the news. Toussaint told 
 them all and then he and Rev. Burleigh accompa- 
 nied her to the home of her aunt Margaret. 
 
 Merna that night sailed for Boston, while Tous- 
 saint and Strother wended their way to the town 
 hall. 
 
 A semi-religious lecture could not be heard by 
 these shady sons of Ham, although they stood at the 
 
102 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 box window eager to purchase tickets at fifty 
 cents apiece. A gentleman of pleasant address and 
 most engaging manners, told Toussaint and Stro- 
 ther that they were not authorized to sell tickets 
 to any persons other than whites. 
 
 "What mockery — what duplicity — what double 
 dealing in the name of Christianity. God help 
 these mortals," said Toussaint, in mock solemnity. 
 
 "I'll tell you what to do. There is the open stage 
 door; ^ve will go in there behind the speaker and 
 hear the speech from the rear," suggested Strother. 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 103 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SOWING THE WIND. 
 
 It was ten by the clock, when a gang of ''hood- 
 kims," fresh from the slums of Washington, 
 strolled leisurely across Pennsylvania Avenue at the 
 point where that thoroughfare is intersected by 
 
 • street. They kept on until presently 
 
 street was reached, where shortly afterwards they 
 halted in front of a plain brick structure known to 
 the gang as ''Bachelor's Rest." 
 
 There were in that little band some miserable 
 wretches, and yet these would have brooked no in- 
 sinuation that they were not quite as good as many 
 who moved in the "cream" of Washington society, 
 for they had with them what was regarded as fair 
 specimens of that set. It must, however, be set 
 down to the credit of the wretches that they had no 
 concern about the doings of society. These were 
 sports of the whole cloth, who, owl-like, slept by 
 day and kept an open eye at night. They proclaimed 
 themselves "dead sport." True it was, that their 
 
104 "NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 earnings were neither large nor certain, but they 
 stuck to their games through thick and thin. 
 
 In that band of midnight marauders there is one 
 character with whom we have to deal. It is 
 Charles Van Courtney. It was a mystery to more 
 than one person how this man, who was employed 
 as a messenger in the Treasury Department at 
 $60.00 per month, could do constant business with 
 the swell tailors and haberdashers of F Street. 
 
 Few Congressmen and men of leisure appeared on 
 the public thoroughfares more fashionably attired 
 than Van Courtney. He was accustomed to say 
 to his associates, ''Fellows, you can't guess me." 
 But the secret of his strange success leaked out, 
 as secrets sooner or later will. It came about in this 
 way. Van Courtney, anxious to exploit himself 
 as an accomplished man, hit upon the idea of en- 
 tering his name at one of the leading professional 
 schools of the city. Columbian University was se- 
 lected as the school and law as the course he would 
 pursue. This occurred some years ago. He read- 
 ily gained admission, notwithstanding persons of 
 color were not permitted to matriculate there, for 
 his features and complexion were fairly Caucasian. 
 Van Courtney grew tired of this school experience 
 after remaining about three weeks. While attend- 
 ing the school, his mother, several shades darker 
 in color than her son, called at the law building 
 one evening as the students were hastening away 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 105 
 
 from their studies. She inquired of a student as 
 to whether her son had already left the hall. He 
 went in quest of Van Courtney and was chagrined 
 to discover that a colored man was a law student 
 at that celebrated institution. It was then recalled 
 that Charles Van Courtney was the same individual 
 who had been in the habit of frequenting some ex- 
 clusive cafes and "private snaps" of the city. And 
 this was not all. The furore that was raised by 
 the law students on account of the ''nigger" who 
 was attending Columbian Law School spread until 
 it reached the white "guys" and "plungers" who 
 had sat at the card table with Van Courtney. This 
 man, you must know, was regarded as a "dead 
 square sport," among the colored gamblers, and a 
 confidence man among the white sports. 
 
 Van Courtney played many games of chance, but 
 faro and poker were his favorite business calls. His 
 "pals" could give him no better testimonial than 
 this — he won on the "square" when he could, and 
 when this was difficult of accomplishment, or impos- 
 sible, he had recourse to various tricks and devices in 
 order to fleece his victims. He was as frequently 
 addressed by the sobriquet "Lucky Charley," as his 
 true name. His "ways that were dark and tricks 
 that were vain," easily won him this distinction; 
 and few men were more successful in avoiding de- 
 tection than Charles Van Courtney. 
 
 "Bachelor's Rest" was a misnomer, for the bache- 
 
106 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 lor had no cinch on this retreat. The truth of the 
 matter is, that quite as many Benedicts frequented 
 the place as the former. Of the ten rooms in this 
 house, seven were set apart for the use of the so- 
 called club, the remaining three were occupied for 
 the separate use of the President de jura, if not de 
 facto, of the elastic organization. Some of the 
 club's rooms, namely, the reception room, ''smoker/' 
 where liquors were freely dispensed, and the dining 
 room, had varying attractions in their tawdry deco- 
 rations of well worn tapestry and trappings. The 
 furniture vied with the decorations. On the sec- 
 ond floor were three rooms, two small, the other 
 very large. These were all scant of furniture and 
 with bare floors. 
 
 The night in question was a cold, crisp one 
 towards the latter part of December. Between 
 the hours of one and two o'clock, a solitary 
 policeman, impatiently pacing his beat in the 
 neighborhood of ''Bachelor's Rest," stopped sud- 
 denly as he heard a muffled cry of "Help! Help!" 
 He sounded a call for aid, and at the same time hast- 
 ened his steps in the direction whence the sound pro- 
 ceeded. As he drew near the club there was heard 
 a din of voices, with mingled sounds of execrations 
 and dire threats. Two other policemen had come 
 up, and the three in chorus demanded admission. 
 No response being given to the request to "open up," 
 the lock was forced, the door opened and two stal- 
 
"NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 107 
 
 wart conservators of the peace entered, while a 
 third stood guard at the window. "Ah, my gay 
 bird, you catch no weasel asleep," said the stern 
 bluecoat, as he violently seized Van Courtney by 
 the collar, as that spry young man came near him 
 in his unceremonious exit by means of the window. 
 
 "Come with me, let us survey the field," spoke 
 the captor to his captive, as "Lucky Charley" was 
 rudely jostled in the house. 
 
 What a sight met the gaze of the law's defenders ! 
 Callous hearted and accustomed as they were to 
 scenes of brutality and shame, nevertheless, they in- 
 stinctively drew^ back, stupefied and amazed. 
 
 By the general and inquiring public, those not in- 
 itiated in the mysteries of "Bachelor's Rest," this 
 place was looked upon as swelldom for the leaders 
 of colored society. An imitation, feeble, of course, 
 of the swell white clubs of the city. 
 
 But here was a strange picture which struck a dis- 
 cordant note on the pleasant sentiment which a 
 Washington constabulary had nursed for colored 
 aristocracy. They were appalled. Their sensibili- 
 ties had received a severe shock. Their idol was 
 shattered. 
 
 In one room were a number of men huddled about 
 a faro game; apart from these was a poor fellow 
 crouched in a corner of the room with an ugly gash 
 just over his right eye. It was bleeding profusely. 
 The man was frenzied, and too weak to stand. It 
 
108 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 was not easy to determine whether his weakness was 
 caused by the loss of blood or from excessive use of 
 intoxicants, for he had evidently been drinking very 
 freely. 
 
 Many conflicting explanations were given as to 
 the origin of the trouble, statements heightened and 
 colored to suit the whims or prejudices of the narra- 
 tor. The best and indisputable evidence was a 
 wounded man, a tall, cadaverous individual, having 
 in his sleeve a razor distended wide, and a gaming 
 device. 
 
 ''You were all gambling, then?" inquired an 
 officer, of the party. 
 
 The proprietor. President of the club, or what 
 shall we call him, spoke up: ''No, sir; I allow no 
 gambling in this house. These men were playing 
 for fun." 
 
 "A faro game for fun," chuckled the policeman. 
 "I declare you all under arrest." 
 
 Another officer peered in the other two rooms. 
 There was a little, old sideboard in one, with two 
 empty whiskey decanters exposed to view, and a 
 table containing a pack of playing cards. The other 
 room had only its table and four chairs. 
 
 While the inspection was in progress, the "Black 
 Maria" had been driven to the door, and a squad of 
 police alighted and took charge of twenty young 
 men. The wounded man was carried below to the 
 street and placed in the vehicle, where the others, in 
 
i^ETTHER BOND NOR FREE. 109 
 
 single file, awaited their turn. They all protested 
 their innocence, and all looked meek except Van 
 Courtney. 
 
 ''Why do you arrest me? I was not in the row, 
 neither in the room where the game was running," 
 with vehemence uttered Van Courtney. 
 
 "When we go for game, we bag all we find," 
 tauntingly the officer replied. 
 
 "It's a d d outrage to treat me like a dog. 
 
 I'm innocent." 
 
 "Tell that to the judge later this morning," said 
 the officer. 
 
 One policeman whispered to another as he as- 
 sisted Van Courtney in the patrol. Then, turning 
 to him, said : "We will let you go, as it does not 
 appear that you intended to violate the law." 
 
 At this the President of the club said, ''Lucky 
 Charley is not more guilty nor less guilty than I 
 am. I have violated no law. I have done every- 
 thing I could to keep a respectable club. Lucky 
 Charley was actually playing poker. I have just 
 been told that he was playing for money, and this 
 is positively opposed to our rules. He won the 
 stakes by cheating. A fellow drew his gun on Lucky 
 Charley and he squealed. But you can't let him out. 
 He was in the house when you pulled it; that's 
 enough," said the President. 
 
 "But I was not in the game — neither game," de- 
 clared Van Courtney. 
 
110 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ''Well, we'd better take you, too; get in," spoke 
 the policeman. 
 
 The patrol was driven to the Street station, 
 
 and the whole party were carefully searched and 
 locked up, to be called into court later. 
 
 On Van Courtney's person was found what is 
 known as a sleeve hold out^ an expensive gambling 
 contrivance for securing cards to the cuff in order 
 to cheat at the game of poker. To an officer he 
 stated that the device originally cost $300. 
 
 The newspapers that morning descanted on the 
 raid in a racy manner, under a bold caption which 
 read: 
 
 IN THE TOILS. 
 
 A Raid on the Swell Colored Club. 
 
 Most of the prisoners, including Van Courtney, 
 were discharged from custody on the payment of a 
 fine and cost of court ; a few, in default of this, were 
 sent to jail for periods ranging from sixty to ninety 
 days. 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. Hi 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE WAGES OF SIN. 
 
 When Van Courtney reached his boarding house 
 about mid-day, following his carousal, he found a 
 letter awaiting him. It was from Clarissa Bur- 
 leigh, the girl whom he had so shamefully betrayed 
 the summer before. He was already greatly de- 
 pressed in spirits, and the recognition of the familiar 
 scrawl on the envelope was by no means calculated 
 to assuage his wounded pride. 
 
 *'Curse it all," he muttered, as he nervously broke 
 the seal, and read as follows : "My darling Charley ! 
 You won't come to me, I am so unhappy. I feel 
 miserable. I have been here for nearly a month, and 
 you have not been near me. Oh, Charley, why did 
 you fool me away from home, promising to marry 
 me, and then set me adrift in this strange city? I 
 have neither friends nor money. Well, if I do not 
 see you this night, then you'll not see me again. 
 Meet me to-night at eight at the Rock Creek Bridge. 
 If you are not there by nine o'clock, you'll never see 
 me again. You won't come to the house because 
 
112 "NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 
 
 you are ashamed to ". Here Van Courtney 
 
 ceased reading the letter, crumpled it in his hand 
 and tossed it into the open grate, where the flames 
 soon devoured it. 
 
 Presently the bell sounded for lunch, but Van 
 Courtney had no appetite for the meal. He re- 
 mained in his room for a half hour or more, sitting 
 with his face buried in his hands, his body swaying 
 to and fro over the embers. He arose hurriedly, 
 lighted a cigar, mounted his wheel and rode off to 
 the Treasury Department, there to resume his work. 
 When near the department he narrowly averted a 
 collision with a coupe driven by a young colored 
 man. Van Courtney thoughtlessly attempted to 
 cross the street at the instant the carriage from the 
 opposite way was approaching the curbing. 
 
 *Turn out," shouted Van Courtney. 
 
 "Turn in," said the driver. Van Courtney looked 
 up at the speaker and exclaimed : "Hallo, is it you, 
 Ed. Strother?" 
 
 "Well, yes, it's Strother." 
 
 *'What are you doing in this place, and what does 
 this horsey business mean?" 
 
 "It means that I am a coachman." 
 
 "Coachman, eh ? Well, I am on my way to work, 
 but the sight of you unfits me for anything. How 
 long have you been here ?" 
 
 "Since October." 
 
 "Have you been in this city for months and not 
 
tJ EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 113 
 
 looked me up? You know that I would have been 
 only too glad to see and introduce you around as 
 soon as you struck town." 
 
 "I am busy both day and night, and, besides, have 
 no wish to burden you with my company." 
 
 *That is strange talk. I don't understand you." 
 
 "Would you not lose caste by taking me around ? 
 I understand that you move in the best society. I 
 understand further, that your color and position 
 have much to do with your social station. I have 
 neither a clear skin nor position to recommend me." 
 
 "That's nonsense — mere stuff. I'll take you 
 safely through the lines. I will lead — you follow. 
 See! my boy." 
 
 "Guess I will move on," said Strother. 
 
 ^Inahurry?" 
 
 "No, I have nothing to do until four o'clock, when 
 I am to call at my employer's office for him." 
 
 "Wait. I will leave my wheel just across the way, 
 and we will go to some lunch room. I'm as hungry 
 as a wolf." 
 
 Van Courtney took a seat by the side of Strother 
 and they went to the Dairy Luncfi. Strother's pres- 
 ence proved an insuperable barrier to the accommo- 
 dation of Van Courtney. The waiter pointedly re- 
 fused to serve them food to be eaten at that place, 
 but would wrap them up anything they wished to 
 purchase and take away. At this Van Courtney in- 
 dignantly led the way out of the room. Then to the 
 
114 NEITHER BOND NOR- FREE. 
 
 Women's Christian Temperance Cafe they went. 
 No better luck was in store for them at that place. 
 The cashier met them at the entrance, and with a 
 smile, said : *'We would like to serve you both ; I 
 have no feeling in the matter ; but then some of our 
 regular boarders would protest, and it might seri- 
 ously hamper our business. Now I do hope that 
 you will see things in their proper light." 
 
 Van Courtney with difficulty suppressed an oath. 
 When he reached the street, he addressed Strother : 
 "It's hard to win out with your shade." 
 
 "And yours as well, if you are honest. This prej- 
 udice does not, in the least, worry me, and yet it 
 seems strange to think that at the Capital of the na- 
 tion, almost under the big dome where Sumner 
 spoke and the Supreme Court decreed that the Civil 
 Rights law was of full force and effect on all terri- 
 tory of the Government, that this sort of prejudice 
 is permitted to manifest itself." 
 
 "There is law sufficient to jack those fellows up ; 
 but what's the use; they wriggle out of the net 
 every time. I'd give them a turn but for the fact 
 that I am just out of one law scrape." 
 
 "Yes, I read of it. 'Twas too bad." 
 
 "Yes, it was terrible that I should be made the 
 scapegoat for others' sins." 
 
 Now they were in front of the Twidell Dining 
 Room- — a colored saloon. 
 
 *'We will go in this place. It's awfully sloppy 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 115 
 
 and dirty, with its cheap food — its filthy newsboys 
 and bootblacks sitting around." 
 
 "Well," said Strother, "I'm not here to eat. I 
 have come to see you eat." 
 
 Van Courtney fretted and fumed through the 
 meal. Strother looked on in silence. When the 
 meal was over they left the dining room and drove 
 leisurely back over the route they had come. Vair 
 Courtney was the first to speak. 
 
 "Old fellow, you haven't yet told me how you 
 came here." 
 
 "The story is short and simple enough," said 
 Strother. 
 
 "Out with it, then. Let me have it." 
 
 "I wanted to improve my mental condition, and 
 thus I am here." 
 
 "School, eh? Where are you.'* 
 
 "I am at Howard Law School — Howard Univer- 
 sity." 
 
 "Studying then — law? Good enough. I, myself 
 was at Columbian for a while, but got marrying in 
 my head, so had to shut down there." 
 
 ''You mean that you are married ?" 
 
 "Oh, no. I only thought of the venture at the 
 time I was in school. It will be a long day when 
 they trap this bird," and he, by way of emphasis, 
 tapped his forehead with his hand. 
 
 "Have a care, have a care," slowly remarked 
 Strothen 
 
116 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 'Tor you I am caring, for you I am caring," Van 
 Courtney broke out in coarse song. 
 
 "You don't improve any, I notice," said Strother. 
 
 "No, my education is done for. But tell me, how 
 does it happen that you have decided to study law." 
 
 "It was my employer's advice that induced me to 
 take up law. My preference was some trade. I was 
 put at the blacksmith's trade by my father when a 
 small boy, and kept at it, working during school va- 
 cations and after school hours, until I left home. 
 That work, however, does not seem to pay nowa- 
 days. I should like to be a machinist. It's a gain- 
 ful occupation, and besides, there are comparatively 
 few of them in the South." 
 
 "You will never make a lawyer. It takes gab for 
 the law," remarked Van Courtney. 
 
 "Yes, that may be true in my case, but th^re are 
 many exceptions to the rule. Mr. Robbins, for 
 whom I work, is a lawyer, who has no gift of gab, 
 as you call it. He has, however, a big practice, it 
 seems. Mr. Robbins advised me to study law% prom- 
 ising to help me along in my studies." 
 
 "Then the boss will put up the stufif to get you 
 through the school. I was wondering how you 
 would manage to pull through on a coachman's 
 pay." 
 
 *'No, you don't quite understand me. Mr. Rob- 
 bins will help me, allowing me free access to his fine 
 law library. The money which I saved up while at 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. IVt 
 
 home to pay my way through some trade school, 
 will now help me through the Howard Law School." 
 
 "Here's hoping you'll skin through," said Van 
 Courtney, elevating his elbow, as if in the act of 
 toasting him. 
 
 Then he was silent. A deep frown settled on his 
 brow. His teeth were set over and against his lower 
 lip, until it was pressed as if in a vise. He gazed 
 around vacantly. There was a visible tremor in his 
 frame. .Who shall deny that at that moment he did 
 not have some mystic feeling, some strange fore- 
 boding — presaging ill — as his frail bark was swept 
 irresistible on over the bitter waters of Marah to its 
 awful destiny. 
 
 "Say, Strother, she's in the city." 
 
 "Whom do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, Clarissa; haven't you heard it?" 
 
 "No ; it has been more than a month since I have 
 heard from her. My friend, Toussaint, wTote me 
 last saying, among other things, that Rev. Burleigh's 
 home had been despoiled." 
 
 "Go on, what else was said?" he eagerly inquired. 
 
 "That was all on that line," answered Strother. 
 
 "I will tell you the w^hole story. Last summer 
 Clarissa became infatuated with me, or, if you please 
 it w^as a sort of love at first sight, you know^ and to 
 keep the thing going, I just deliberately made love 
 to her in return. We got engaged to marry. I was, 
 
118 1^ EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 you see, only in fun. Now the silly girl has come 
 here to jack me up to make good my promise." 
 
 "I must be frank," returned Strother. ''You have 
 made a terrible blunder. You must marry that girl 
 now." 
 
 "I'll de d-^-d if I do." 
 
 "Have you a sister?" 
 
 "Three of them." 
 
 "Single or married?" 
 
 "Two are married. At least they are so far as 
 I know." 
 
 "Suppose some man should trifle with their affec- 
 tions. How would you feel about it?" 
 
 "They are in Alabama ; I'm here. They ought to 
 have sense enough — and I know they have, to look 
 out for themselves." 
 
 "But what if they did not?" 
 
 "Why, you bet I'd protect them," and his eyes 
 flashed fire. 
 
 Van Courtney's countenance reflected the w^ork- 
 ings of his mind as it contemplated for an instant 
 the dire consequences of a misapplied love — involv- 
 ing heinous depravity — of which Strother knew 
 nothing. 
 
 "You are quite right, for these seeming trifles 
 often bring a train of evil." 
 
 "But hear me, I have not told you all. Clarissa 
 wants me to meet her to-night — this night, prepared 
 to marry her," 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 119 
 
 "Oh, I guess she'll give you a decent time in which 
 to get the license and the minister." 
 
 "The girl is a fool. She's wild to get married. 
 Think of it. She threatens to commit some rash act 
 if I do not show up before nine o'clock to-night." 
 
 "Is it as bad as that?" innocently asked Strother. 
 
 "Just that bad/' was the reply. 
 
 "Then, by all means, marry her. She has lost 
 confidence in you — become desperate." 
 
 "Yes, she's mad — perfectly beside herself." 
 
 "Do as I advise you. Don't make a wreck of the 
 poor girl. Think of it. She is alone in a great city, 
 aw^ay from father and mother, and every kindly in- 
 fluence. You may save her from destruction by 
 prompt action on your part. She's a good girl. I 
 have known her since early childhood. She is but 
 a child now, barely sixteen." 
 
 Van Courtney was agitated in mind over the 
 probability of Clarissa's self-destruction if he did 
 not promptly meet her with preparedness to marry 
 !her. 
 
 "Well," said he, speaking very slowly, "I will 
 marry her." 
 
 "I will then go with you to the Clerk's Office," 
 said Strother. 
 
 "Retgisters Office, you mean. It's agreed." 
 
 "One — two — three — three o'clock has just struck. 
 Can't go. I am sorry. Anyway, promise me that 
 
120 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 you will keep your word and marry Clarissa before 
 to-morrow's dawn." 
 
 "I promise, on the faith of a gentleman," re- 
 sponded Van Courtney. 
 
 "We will see one another often, I hope," said 
 Strother, as Van Courtney alighted from the car- 
 riage. 
 
 ''Come to-morrow and visit Mr. and Mrs. Charles 
 Van Courtney at — let me see. Never mind, I'll ring 
 you up." 
 
 They parted company. Strother driving direct to 
 the law office of Mr. Robbins, and Van Courtney, 
 soon astride his wheel, was gliding swiftly and 
 noiselessly over the asphalt streets to the office of the 
 Register of Marriages. From the office Van Court- 
 ney soon emerged, armed cap-a-pie for the serious 
 meeting of himself and Clarissa. 
 
 At twenty minutes past eight Clarissa was 
 standing near the bridge. Van Courtney walked 
 up to her and eagerly grasping her by the hands, 
 pressed kiss after kiss on her lips. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you, Charley," she said. 
 
 "And you are really glad to see me," he replied, 
 tauntingly. 
 
 "You know I am," she answered with yearning 
 tenderness. 
 
 ''Well, what have you got to say for yourself?" 
 he tartly inquired. 
 
 "Why, don't ask me that question," she cried. 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 121 
 
 throwing herself on him, and with despair, look- 
 ing pleadingly in his eyes. 
 
 "I am compelled to ask you the question in order 
 to find out why you have summoned me here." 
 
 "Summoned you here — " she drawled out; and 
 then sharply said, "You add insult to injury." 
 
 "Don't get cross, little pet." 
 
 "You know that you have treated me mean — vile. 
 You had me leave my home, now upwards of a 
 month ago, promising to marry me as soon as I 
 came here. You have never been near me since 
 
 last summer, at H . You have ruined me. I 
 
 am now an outcast — no home — no friends. My 
 mother is now ill abed from the misery you have 
 caused me, and my father had, before I got your 
 last letter, threatened to drive me from home, say- 
 ing I had disgraced the family." 
 
 The girl paused, and covering her face with her 
 hands, w^ept bitter tears of remorse. Her sobs dis- 
 turbed Van Courtney. He had not intended to ex- 
 hibit the license to Clarissa, still less to marry her. 
 This license was only a precautionary measure to 
 prevent a silly girl from the commission of a dread 
 deed. 
 
 "Now, cheer up, girl, you have not yet heard my 
 explanation. I have the best of reasons for not hav- 
 ing seen you at once, on your coming to town. You 
 know that nothing but some unavoidable circum- 
 stance would have prevented rne from meeting you 
 
123 1^ EITHER BOND NOB FREE. 
 
 on your arrival in the city. I, too, have had lots of 
 trouble — people putting up jobs on me through envy 
 and malice. I ought to have told you at first of the 
 surprise I have for you. I will not tease you an- 
 other minute." Here he drew from his pocket the 
 license which had ben furnished him to wed Cla- 
 rissa, and handing it to her, he leaned forward and 
 embraced her tenderly. 
 
 In an instant she had dried up her tears to read 
 the paper. 
 
 "After all, you are real good. I am foolish to 
 doubt you. I'll forgive you all." Then frantically 
 seizing his hands and swinging them to and fro in 
 ecstacy, said, ''Charley, dear, when are you going 
 to marry me?" 
 
 "Any time; to-night if you wish." 
 
 "To-night!" she exclaimed, wild with delight. 
 
 "Yes, to-night, my bird; but then" — assuming an 
 air of studious earnestness, "Another evening will 
 do; it is too late now." 
 
 Van Courtney, leaning against the handrail of the 
 bridge, was looking on the turbid and turgid stream 
 below as its waters flowed on over jagged rocks. 
 Clarissa was nestling close by his side. Neither one 
 observed the approaching steps of the stranger until 
 he was within a few feet of Van Courtney. He 
 made pretense of passing them, unaware of their 
 presence. Then, turning half around, he uttered — 
 as if addressing himself, the words, "ikfr. Van 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 123 
 
 Courtney.'* The trick worked like a charm. \^an 
 Courtney, with eagerness, looked up at the speaker. 
 The moon, in its descent, was shining fair, and it 
 revealed the agitated look of the man as he an- 
 swered, "Charles Van Courtney is my name, sir." 
 
 "Charles Van Courtney," repeated the stranger, 
 "if your companion will excuse you, I will confer 
 with you." 
 
 They went to the opposite side of the bridge, and 
 the detective read a warrant setting forth in many 
 vain repetitions, the charge of abduction of one, 
 Clarissa Burleigh, by Charles Van Courtney. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the effect of the read- 
 ing of the warrant on the accused. His frame quiv- 
 ered. He grew pale. His limbs betrayed a sud- 
 den weakness, and he was as listless as if dumb. 
 
 "Go to your companion at once and excuse your- 
 self. You must go with me. I do not want to 
 humiliate you. There is no need that she should 
 know what we are about." 
 
 Mute and sullen. Van Courtney went to Clarissa, 
 who inquired with painful earnestness the "business 
 of that white man." 
 
 "He doesn't want me to tell you, but I am under 
 arrest." 
 
 "For what?" indignantly inquired Clarissa, as she 
 pulled him by the arm over to the detective. 
 
 "What does this mean, mister?" 
 
124 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "I have a little business with Van Courtney, which 
 requires prompt attention." 
 
 "I know all," said the girl, "and you don't want 
 to arrest Charley. He's done nothing." 
 
 *'What is your name, Miss?" 
 
 *'Never mind about that. He is mine." 
 
 "You are the girl — (here the detective extracted 
 the warrant from his pocket to refresh his memory) 
 — Clarissa Burleigh." 
 
 "That's my name. Read me the paper if it's 
 about Charley, please," she asked in a plaintive 
 voice. 
 
 "You may read it for yourself," he said, as he 
 handed it to her. 
 
 After having read it, she turned to Van Court- 
 ney, saying, "Charley, what did you tell the gentle- 
 man?" 
 
 "I've told him nothing. But you know that I am 
 not guilty, and can prove it," stammered the fellow. 
 
 "They can't arrest you, Charley, if you are mar- 
 ried to me. Where's your license? Show him that. 
 We'll get married to-night." 
 
 The paper was passed to the detective, who, after 
 perusing it, remarked : "It is good enough as far as 
 it goes, but the trouble is it does not go far enough. 
 You may never marry; besides my duty is plain — 
 it has no reference to the conjugal state. My war- 
 rant is to take the body of the culprit before the 
 proper officer of the law," 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 125 
 
 "But, Mr. Officer, why should you want to take 
 him away to prison when he will marry me to-night? 
 Won't you marry me now, Charley," she tearfully 
 asked. 
 
 "I have told you that already — before the officer 
 came," he doggedly replied. 
 
 *'Well, I tell you what I'll do. You both are evi- 
 dently sincere. The license attests your honest in- 
 tention," said the detective, looking directly at Van 
 Courtney. "I do not wish to embarras you — either 
 of you. I cannot, however, relinquish the custody 
 of a prisoner. Miss, since you are to be married to- 
 night, I have no doubt that your father will be sat- 
 isfied, and the ends of justice be fully met. You 
 two go ahead. I will take the opposite side of the 
 street. I must, however, be present to witness the 
 ceremony, and to disarm the least suspicion. I will 
 pose as a friend of the contracting parties." 
 
 When the boarding house of Clarissa was reached 
 the girl conducted Van Courtney to the landlady. 
 He explained the object of his visit, inquired the 
 amount of Clarissa's indebtedness to her, settled the 
 same, and hurriedly left the house, ostensibly in 
 search of a minister who would unite himself and 
 Clarissa in the holy bond of wedlock. 
 
 The detective, as he boarded the street car with 
 Van Courtney, explained to him that he would not 
 go too near the residence of the minister, but await 
 his return on the outside. 
 
126 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 The car was crowded with passengers, and there 
 were frequent stops — discharging and receiving. 
 Van Courtney reckoned that this was his opportu- 
 nity to make good his escape. With a rush he could 
 make the depot in ample time to catch the through 
 south bound mail train. At all events, he would 
 take the risk of being overhauled in his flight, rather 
 than the constant annoyance of being pressed to 
 marry a girl not his choice. In the course of an ani- 
 mated discussion with the detective. Van Courtney, 
 holding between his fingers a cigar, politely re- 
 quested a match, saying that he would take a smoke 
 on the rear platform. When near a certain circle, 
 dense with trees and shrubbery, the car stopped, and, 
 unobserved by the detective, he, alighting along with 
 the other passengers, sped like a deer through the 
 circle and was gone. 
 
 At the moment that Clarissa was putting on the 
 finishing touches to grace her person to wed the 
 man of her choice, that man was ensconced in a pas- 
 senger coach of the fast mail bound for Alabama. 
 
NEITHER BOVD NOR FREE. 1^7 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF SOCIETY. 
 
 The Gay family was a numerous one, and at its 
 head was John Gay, father of Ethel Gay. Mr. Gay 
 was a prominent citizen of the Capital City — I 
 should say resident, for with the exit of the "feather 
 duster" legislature from the District of Columbia, of 
 which he had been a conspicuous member, citizen- 
 ship here took to itself wings and thenceforth 
 claimed its habitat in the states. The Rev. Hezekiah 
 Gay flourished when Washington was in the throes 
 of its physical evolution. This devout man served 
 well his day and generation, as a licentiate minister 
 in a Protestant Church Mission. He was anxious to 
 better his condition in this, as well as in the world to 
 come, and thus, while ministering to his flock, he, 
 betw^een times, labored for himself. He was an en- 
 thusiastic dissenter from the doctrine of his church 
 attendants — those who prated to the white folks, 
 "You may have all this world, just give me Jesus.'' 
 
 Little, if anything, was known of the early life 
 and struggles of "Father" Gay, as he w^as known to 
 
128 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 all. Gossip had it that his father, an African Prince, 
 had been captured in his native land for the Ameri- 
 can slave trade. However that may be, "Father" 
 Gay lived a useful and sober life, and died at a good 
 old age, leaving behind him much land for two sons, 
 the only surviving heirs, and, best of all, transmit- 
 ting to his posterity a name untarnished — precious 
 and priceless legacy! 
 
 John Gay was early in life a successful candidate 
 for the favor of the people. He drifted into specula- 
 tion and politics, and in both he was a winner. He 
 was a shrewd, resourceful man, fairly well educated, 
 industrious and modest. For many years until re- 
 cently, he had, as the leading representative of the 
 colored race at the Capital, been called to occupy not 
 a few places of considerable profit, trust and respon- 
 sibility. As the years went by his wealth increased, 
 so likewise his family. There were in all seven chil- 
 dren, six of them girls. A lad just emerging from 
 his teens, and an older daughter, were away, 
 schooling in the North — two were married, the re- 
 mainder at home with their parents. 
 
 There were social demands to be met, and yield- 
 ing to these, Mr. Gay built and furnished a palatial 
 residence in a very desirable section of the city, on 
 the site of the plain frame structure so long occu- 
 pied by sire and son. 
 
 John Gay was eminently qualified to maintain a 
 sumptuous home, for his real estate w^as assessed at 
 
T^EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 129 
 
 about $200,000, and he possessed various other hold- 
 ings, which, with a conservative estimate, would 
 double the amount named. 
 
 But riches do not bring unalloyed happiness. No 
 sooner had John Gay moved into his new home, than 
 he was besieged by committees hailing from many 
 conferences, great and small, by delegations repre- 
 senting various charitable institutions, impecunious 
 callers by the score, and vagrants generally. People 
 pleading all sorts of money making devices swarmed 
 down on Mr. Gay. He was not easily moved 
 by entreaty, and thus was not carried away on 
 every idle wind. But the envious and disappointed 
 have their innings. They set themselves to work 
 dissecting the Gay household, everybody and every- 
 thing connected therewith. Strange as it may seem, 
 from the intelligent people, in the main, the shafts 
 of malignity and evil speaking flew thickest and 
 fastest, and with reckless avidity. And all this 
 while Mr. Gay's friends were in evidence, volunteer- 
 ing counsel as to how he should dispose of his means. 
 One would suggest that he establish a foundling; 
 one that he equip and maintain an old folks' home 
 for the destitute of his race ; another that he erect a 
 reformatory, and another that he build a music hall. 
 To these, and many other projects too numerous to 
 relate, Mr. Gay must lend an ear. 
 
 The Gay household was, nevertheless, from its 
 head down, a cheery, light-hearted one, and Ethel 
 
130 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 was reigning queen. This is not meant to disparage 
 the claims of Madge and Henrietta, the stay-at-home 
 sisters, for they were both winsome and popular 
 young women, and only a few years the senior of 
 Ethel. 
 
 The Gays were generally regarded as leaders in 
 the ''social swim." Ethel the favorite reckoned 
 that there were, by actual count, just one hundred 
 and four persons in her circle. These were culled 
 from Washington's colored four hundred, and con- 
 stituted the exclusives — the cream of society. 
 
 Departmental clerks, messengers in the Govern- 
 ment employ, business men, together with the rep- 
 resentatives of the several professions made up the 
 colored social society of the Capital City. 
 
 This kaleidoscopic spectacle, this many hued hu- 
 man bouquet of society flowers, while of generous 
 proportions, was not large enough to take in every 
 candidate for social place; had it been otherwise, 
 perhaps there could have been avoided the bicker- 
 ings and jealousies, engendered by the hundreds 
 of prim girls and natty men who presented a dashing 
 front by reason of the exercise of valued tips 
 in dress and manners, gathered daily from 
 the hotels and private mansions of the whites, 
 where these candidates were employed. In 
 this second class are to be counted the little 
 army of dressmakers, coachmen, and genteel 
 barbers, etc. These had a community of interests 
 
SEITEER BOND ?fOR FREE. 131 
 
 in common, but it was of the butterfly variety, fleet- 
 ing and visionary. Class three was the best prod- 
 uct from the institution of slavery. In this 
 group it is a matter of pride to name as members, 
 Ralph Attaway, John and Margaret Lockley. And 
 yet another class, not numerous but ah! terribly 
 well defined. This is the riff-raff famed for its 
 shiftlessness and licentiousness. If class one had 
 a modicum of ease and contentment, it were well 
 earned. These are bearing and most bear the brunt 
 of all the ills of the race and also blaze the path 
 for its future greatness. This class was the ad- 
 vance guard — the flower, if you please, of the army 
 of degradation. With the mass, it was simply a 
 struggle for bread. Whenever one could gain his 
 bread without a struggle, why he left the mass and 
 joined the class. 
 
 Candor compels the remark that Ethel's one hun- 
 dred and four exquisite cullings from the big so- 
 ciety bunch were lacking in variety of color. Shall 
 I whisper, fond reader, the truth that black pansies 
 could not mmgle where octoroons, quadroons and 
 mulattoes congregate? The line was not so dis- 
 tinctly drawn, however, among the large circle of 
 the four hundred, although the blacks were eyed 
 suspiciously here. 
 
 The gay residence presented an animated scene 
 one night in January, early after the family had 
 taken possession. The occasion was a reception 
 
133 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 in honor of a lady friend from New York — Ethel's 
 chum. The select, or "upper crust," drawn from 
 Washington's four hundred were out in force. 
 
 They began to arrive a little past the hour of 
 eight and increased in numbers until nine o'clock 
 found a swarm of hansoms, carriages and cabs in 
 waiting about the house. The presence of so many 
 vehicles may be explained as due to the prevalence 
 of a snowstorm, which had been raging since noon- 
 time, and in consequence street car traffic was most 
 effectually blocked. Radiant and happy were the 
 women in their vari-colored gowns, many of ex- 
 quisite patterns. The men, for the greater part, were 
 fine appearing, all faultlessly and appropriately at- 
 tired, and among them some who had made their 
 mark. 
 
 There was nothing wanting in the interior dec- 
 orations of the rooms in which the guests were as- 
 sembled. Nothing was overdone — everything was 
 in order. The furnishings were sumptuous and the 
 color scheme of the walls and decorations artistic 
 in the best sense of the word. In the library and 
 drawing room, were gracefully arranged smilax and 
 the orchid, w^hile about a dais placed in the library 
 for the band, were rare exotics, so massed as to 
 completely hide from view the musicians. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when the orchestra struck up 
 the strains of the grand march which had been de- 
 ferred until this hour awaiting the arrival of a cer- 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 133 
 
 tain guest who never came. Col. Roberts was there 
 and participated in the march, leading the same as 
 partner to Miss Wilheim, the guest of honor. 
 
 Nearly every one present knew that Charles Van 
 Courtney was Ethel's lover, but so absorbed were 
 all in the soldierly bearing, the fine physique and 
 polished manners of the doughty colonel, that they 
 quite forgot the sad plight of Ethel. What more 
 could heart wish or tongue proclaim than to feast 
 one's eyes on frescoed walls and rich tapestry, on 
 speaking flowers and potted plants, on a Colonel, 
 too, one of their own — the cynosure of all eyes. No, 
 not of all eyes, for Ethel had a pair at that mo- 
 ment intently peering through the window in quest 
 of Van Courtney. She was really pouting — mak- 
 ing faces at the snowflakes, as they chased one an- 
 other in rapid succession in a mad frolic, or danced 
 in glee against the window before her eyes — danc- 
 ing to mystic, rapturous sounds, beside which those 
 within were but a hollow mockery. 
 
 It was weeks after the big snow and the memor- 
 able dance before Ethel had any tidings from or 
 concerning Charles Van Courtney. The enterpris- 
 ing news reporter never gave the detective a thrill- 
 ing "write up," for He was truly ashamed of his 
 bungling work. 
 
134 VEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LITERARY LIFE AT THE CAPITAL. 
 
 The preliminary exercises of the Blyden Histori- 
 cal and Literary Society being over, the President 
 arose and said: 
 
 "Ladies and Gentlemen : I will now introduce to 
 you Mr. James M. Hughes of this city, who has 
 been selected to present a paper for discussion, en- 
 titled The Status of the American Negro.' " Mr. 
 Hughes spoke for about twenty-five minutes, dis- 
 cussing in the main the treatment accorded the ne- 
 gro in different sections of the country. He went 
 back to conditions in the South during ''Reconstruc- 
 tion" times. "We are accustomed," he said, "to ask 
 ourselves what is the remedy for existing evils 
 meted out to us in this country? Well, before we 
 can find a remedy we must know the disease and its 
 cause. I take it that all of our ills are traceable, 
 directly or indirectly, to our unpreparedness for 
 citizenship. After the Reconstruction period the 
 ballot was given the black man. He realized his 
 "weakness and unfitness for government. Coming 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 135 
 
 out of darkness into the noonday light of a splendid 
 civilization — an active participant in political af- 
 fairs, he perforce circumstances recognized white 
 people as the proper governing power. The South, 
 too, saw instinctively that the interests of both races 
 required the intellectual and moral development of 
 the negro. The Republican party had imposed a 
 harsh condition on the Southern people at the ter- 
 mination of the war. Now we have a train of evil 
 following in the w^ake of this wrong. The carpet- 
 bag regime, with its manfpulation of an ignorant 
 and corrupt vote, is the fruit of the Fifteenth 
 Amendment to the Constitution. The intelligent 
 and thoughtful negro now sees that it is manifestly 
 essential to the prosperity of the South, and ulti- 
 mately to the welfare of himself, that some restric- 
 tion be put upon the ballot. In state and local elec- 
 tions the negro, for the greater part, has always 
 been the tool of the demagogue, while in national 
 elections he merely votes his sympathy, remember- 
 ing that he was made a free man and a voter by the 
 Republican party. I think that the greatest enemy 
 to the negro, and the greatest obstacle to his progress 
 is the politician, and, worst of all, the negro politi- 
 cian. The colored man is taught that he is asserting 
 his independence by voting against the very men to 
 whom he must go in time of trouble. If the negro 
 intends to improve himself and his condition, he 
 must find a w^ay to keep from being a solid force at 
 
136 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 the polls against the main body of the white people 
 at the South. I have spoken somewhat at length, 
 touching the educational, financial, moral and indus- 
 trial outlook of the race. I will conclude by saying 
 you must quit politics ; put behind you all dreams of 
 literary and scholastic attainments, acquire practical 
 industrial knowledge, court and deserve the friend- 
 ship of the best white people in your neighborhood. 
 Heed the advice of Oscar Richards, the leader of our 
 race : 'Leave the negro problem to the South.' " 
 
 As Hughes finished his paper a dozen persons 
 were on their feet to make reply to it. 
 
 The speaker who opened the discussion said that 
 he agreed "fully with the sentiments so ably pre- 
 sented in the paper of Mr. Hughes." He regretted, 
 however, that the speaker omitted all reference to 
 *'lynch law — the one great topic of the day." 
 
 Throughout the South the various legislatures 
 make liberal allowances for the support of the col- 
 ored public schools. According to the Commission 
 of Education of the United States, the Southern 
 whites have contributed to the cause of education 
 among our people at the South more than $75,000,- 
 000, and the Principal of the great Southern Insti- 
 tute for the Colored Race says that of the $4,000,000 
 contributed yearly for negro education, $3,000,000 
 comes from the South. 
 
 "I think that our teachers, ministers, leaders 
 generally and the press, should bestir themselves 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 13? 
 
 arousing such a public sentiment against the crimes 
 to women by negro fiends as will effectually put a 
 Ftop to the commission of such heinous offences by 
 our people." 
 
 This speaker was followed by another in an en- 
 tirely different strain. He began : "From what we 
 have heard to-night, one would easily be led to be- 
 lieve that the average negro is the constant com- 
 panion of evil and the sum of all villainies. But I 
 am here to say that he is not so black as he is painted. 
 He is more sinned against than sinning. 
 
 "Mr. Hughes has emphasized the negro's ^unpre- 
 paredness' for the ballot. Nobody will dispute that 
 statement. It would seem that the speaker would 
 have his hearers believe that if the negro is to retain 
 his suffrage in states where he has not already been 
 deprived of it, he must vote as his more powerful 
 white neighbor directs. 
 
 "Now, would this step help us to solve the negro 
 problem? The Southern Democrats do not ask the 
 negro to vote with them, and what is more to the 
 point, they have no need of his vote there. If the 
 negro is really to confess that the white man knows 
 best about public questions, why then go to the polls ? 
 Why not leave the whole matter with the white 
 man? Suffrage is of no individual benefit, and con- 
 fers no privilege in which a man may take pride 
 unless it is exercised without restraint. Again, the 
 speaker, I repeat, refers to the 'unpreparedness' of 
 
138 in EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 the negro voter. In the adjustment of economic 
 problems like the tariff and currency, the negro cast 
 his ballot for protection and sound money. The 
 Southern Democracy had their votes counted for 
 free trade, and we had as a result the Gorman-Wil- 
 son law. Had the negro vote been counted the 
 House would have given us a protective tariff meas- 
 vre. The Democracy of the South gave the country 
 Grover Cleveland, the negro intended his vote for 
 James G. Blaine. The former stood for free trade, 
 the latter was the apostle of protection. There will 
 soon be waged the battle of the standards — the 
 greatest political parties are now about to line up for 
 the fray — and I predict that the negro will help save 
 the credit of the nation by voting for gold, while 
 the Southern Democracy supports the silver idea. 
 
 ''Nowadays there are no purely humanitarian 
 questions in politics. In place of human rights, we 
 are called on to deal with economic problems, such 
 as tariff, taxation, trade, currency, the rights of 
 capital and labor. These are the all-engrossing 
 questions, sweeping aside the nobler sentiments and 
 loftier aspirations of mankind. But the speaker, 'i 
 would seem, has been studying the race question at 
 the feet of Oscar Richards, whom he denominates 
 our leader. Alas! we have no leader. Our leader 
 has gone before. When Frederick Douglass was 
 living we had a champion — a born leader of men. 
 But we shall never look upon his like again," 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 139 
 
 The speaker resumed his seat. Another member 
 of the society was recognized. 
 
 *'I have risen," he said, *'only to enter my protest 
 against Fred Douglass being called 'our leader.' He 
 was no leader for me. He was a hybrid of natal 
 dishonor. He was a miscegenationist. After he had, 
 by constantly harping on the negro, grown great in 
 honors and rich in worldly possessions, he went 
 forth in quest of a wife, and behold, he could find 
 no woman of his own race good and grand enough 
 for him to wed — and he must marry a white 
 woman." 
 
 The applause that greeted this tirade was deafen- 
 ing. Men stamped their feet and clapped their hands 
 until the building shook. And the women, in a par- 
 oxysm of glee, stood up one moment, the next to 
 bound in their seats. It is true, there were hisses of 
 disgust at the unusual proceedings, and cries of or- 
 der, but they were decidedly in the minority. 
 
 All this time there stood in the main aisle, grim 
 and sullen, a solitary figure. It was Toussaint Rip- 
 ley. There he stood, resolute, yet abashed. Highly 
 sensitive and impressionable at all times, he was 
 raturally wrought up when once his interests or at- 
 tachments were rudely disturbed. Toussaint's eyes 
 glowed with intense earnestness. He nervously 
 pressed one hand against the seat next him. Rais- 
 ing the other, he invoked silence. After quiet had 
 been in a measure restored, he, in a hesitating. 
 
140 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 
 
 shambling manner, and with husky voice betraying 
 the nervous excitement he felt, said : 
 
 ''Mr. President : My coming in your presence 
 to-night is by mere chance. I am a stranger both to 
 you and your city. I feel that I ought not to intrude 
 myself on this notable gathering, and I should not 
 do so, believe me, if my own thoughts were in ac- 
 cord with the prevailing sentiment first voiced here. 
 What concerns me most are not the views of the 
 leader of this discussion, but rather the reflections 
 of the speaker who was last heard, touching the 
 character and worth of a man whose memory I re- 
 vere. 
 
 "Let me here say that I honor the name and fame 
 of Oscar Richards. He is a grand and good man — a 
 splendid product of the new order of things. He is 
 doing a good work — leading a highly useful life. 
 We are now just beginning to estimate his worth. 
 Another generation will measure his work. But 
 what of Frederick Douglass? Was he not also a 
 great and noble man ? I need attempt no comparison 
 of Richards and Douglass. They differ in their pur- 
 poses as widely as their years and the times in 
 which they were called to action. Perhaps they were 
 only alike in one respect, their conscientious convic- 
 tion to duty — apart in all things else. Douglass 
 went forth with Phillips and Giddings and Garrison 
 to help clear the way for Richards. The old and the 
 young were then bond. Douglass pleaded with the 
 
2f EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 141 
 
 North to sunder the shackles and free the captive. 
 Three decades are past and here we are, neither bond 
 nor free. And thus Richards pleads with the South 
 to save us from a cruel oppression. Douglass came 
 forth from the pit of human slavery with no star to 
 guide. But with Richards the stars fight for him in 
 their course. And yet, Douglass and Richards are 
 but links in the chain of human destiny forged upon 
 the anvil of oppression. 'New occasions teach new 
 duties.' Mr. Douglass illustrated the possibilities of 
 the negro race as no man has ever done. He proved 
 the justice of the assertion that a man's worth should 
 not be measured by the color of his skin". He was 
 a great orator, and like that great commoner John 
 Bright, his voice had the simple charm and his man- 
 ner the magnetism. He possessed great breadth of 
 character. And it has been truly said of him that he 
 made friendships where a narrower mind than his 
 would have compelled lasting enmity. He was not 
 a race man, in its narrow sense. He was humanity's 
 man, for he was a lover of men. He taught the gos- 
 pel of humanity, recognizing only one race, and 
 that the human race. Now then, could he have been 
 a miscegenationist? Let us hear the sage himself 
 on this point. It was only a few days next succeed- 
 ing the marriage of Frederick Douglass to his sec- 
 ond wife, when I received a letter from him in reply 
 to one which I had sent. 
 
 "I have it with me. Allow me to read it : 1 am 
 
142 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 charged with having married a lady a few shades 
 lighter in complexion than myself. I am not 
 ashamed of that charge, and ask no man's pardon. 
 What business has any other man with the color of 
 my wife? and what business have I with the color of 
 any other man's wife? Let every man be contented 
 with the color of his own wife, and cease to trouble 
 himself about the color of other men's wives, and we 
 shall then have much less trouble in the world. 
 
 " 'Washington, January 28, 1884.' 
 
 "Now, this letter is the conclusion of the whole 
 matter." 
 
 Toussaint sat down, apparently careless of the 
 generous applause which came from the whole gath- 
 ering. The fervid style of his oratory, the dispas- 
 sionate treatment of the discussion and the presen- 
 tation and effective reading of the autograph letter 
 of the famous man, awakened enthusiasm in the 
 breasts of the apologists of Mr. Douglass, and ef- 
 fectually silenced the tongues of slander. 
 
 The presiding officer invited attention to the sub- 
 ject under discussion, adding that the speeches were 
 of a digressive nature, which could no longer be 
 tolerated. This remark silenced some persons who 
 were eager to gain the floor — mainly to questions of 
 privilege and personal explanation. One irrepres- 
 sible arose and delivered himself as follows : "I 
 wish to say just a word concerning the inter-mar- 
 riage question. I, too, am opposed to miscegena- 
 
If EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 143 
 
 tion, but my opposition differs from that of the blue- 
 vein aristocracy of the South. They are opposed 
 to miscegenation sanctioned by law, yet they favor 
 miscegenation by brute force. The dire work of 
 miscegenation is being carried on to-day in this 
 country. Who started this heinous crime that has 
 been going on for more than two hundred years, un- 
 til the race is not a negro race but a colored race? 
 Look over this audience and you will see every shade 
 of color found among the human race. The blacks 
 you will observe are a small minority of the whole. 
 We have them here who betray no semblance to the 
 so-called negro race — as fair as the fairest — and 
 yet only one of their parents is identified with the 
 colored race. Certainly the poor whites are not 
 to be blamed for this amalgamation, for they cor- 
 dially hate us. Before the war the negro women 
 were not responsible for this horrible state of af- 
 fairs, but to-day they and the Southern aristocracy 
 are particeps criminis — and together they must bear 
 the disgrace. The blue-vein aristocracy of the 
 South makes the open charge that we are an im- 
 moral people and at the same time It is they who 
 are playing havoc with our morals and mixing and 
 weakening the race most alarmingly." 
 
 Earnest attention accompanied the delivery of 
 the foregoing remarks. The next speaker said: 
 '*We have in this country a population of about 
 nine millions of citizens of African descent. Eight 
 
144 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 millions of them are in the South. The white pop- 
 ulation of the Southern States is about double that 
 cjf the colored race. The negro does not assimilate 
 with the white race, and thus he is considered as 
 an alien. As I understand it, the Southern white 
 man regards us as either the active or sympathetic 
 foe to law and order. We, at the same time, de- 
 clare that his reason is blinded by his prejudice 
 towards us as a race. We are, therefore, intensely 
 suspicious of the white man's every movement in 
 our direction. 
 
 'There is a race problem and we must all real- 
 ize its workings, and set ourselves to w^ork to ef- 
 fect a solution of it. Earnest and eager men of 
 both races are puzzling their wits as to the methods 
 to be adopted which will aid the solution of this 
 problem. There is no one way to solve it. There 
 are many ways for its solution. First of all the 
 white man must leave out the question of com- 
 plexion and learn to judge us not by color, but by 
 character. That is to be the only criterion. We 
 must at the same time bear in mind that neither the 
 occupation of the country nor its civilization are 
 ours. 
 
 'The whites must remember that we are not all 
 degraded. There is only a small per cent, of the 
 negro race vicious and depraved. There is also the 
 degraded class of poor whites, who never lose an 
 opportunity to villify us. They are hounding us 
 
iJEITHER BOND NOR FREE. l45 
 
 down and attempting to keep up a guerilla war of 
 extermination. No, I will not dignify this thing 
 and call it guerilla warfare. It is mobocracy, or, 
 better, the kingdom of hell set up here on earth. 
 Where lynch law prevails, there civilization has fled 
 to brutish beasts. Mob law of to-day is, after all, 
 but the last feeble expression of men — the under- 
 lings of their i ace— vainly seeking an excuse to in- 
 augurate a reign of terror, having for its sequel the 
 extermination of a race with which they cannot 
 much longer compete. Ku-kluxs, White Caps, 
 White Liners, Regulators and Lynchers are all in- 
 tended to accentuate race prejudice — which is the 
 moving spirit of dread race antipathy and distrust. 
 
 Every one knows that a large majority of our peo- 
 ple are peaceable, law-abiding citizens. We are no 
 more nor less responsible for the criminal class of 
 our people than are the white people. We are asked 
 to help capture the scoundrels of our own race who 
 commit the savagery that causes lynchings. We 
 will do our best to root out and discourage every 
 semblance of vice and evil ; but if the whites having 
 absolutely all the machinery of the law — all the 
 guns and all the powder — cannot overtake and cap- 
 ture the scoundrels, we are then powerless to do 
 so. 
 
 "Let the whites, however, not despair, for Judge 
 Lynch is making a fairly good record in his bloody 
 work — and this without our aid. Through the fiat 
 
146 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 of Judge Lynch 50,000 black men have been put to 
 death in this land. Some of these men were guilty 
 of various crimes, others were guiltless of all of- 
 fense. If the white men of the South would lend a 
 hand and help us to protect our wives and daughters 
 this act would prove a powerful incentive to en- 
 courage us to protect their females." 
 
 "I had purposed," remarked the President, "to 
 contribute a few words to this most interesting dis- 
 cussion, but the time limit for the debate has arrived. 
 We have all, I trust, profited by what we have 
 heard. From the trend of the discussion to-night I 
 gather that the negro is constantly brooding over his 
 present ills, instead of occupying his mind and time 
 with better things; that the white man North is 
 gradually letting go the negro, leaving him to toddle 
 alone or fall. This last is as it should be. We may 
 well pause and ask, 'Watchman, what of the night ?' 
 The answer of solemn warning is, 'that out of one 
 blood God made all the nations of the earth to dwell 
 together in peace.' If men will not heed the warn- 
 ing — if the discordant elements of both races will 
 continue to sow the seed of discord — we will re- 
 member that they who sow to the wind shall reap the 
 whirlwind. Thus spake my Lord." 
 
"NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. ^47 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 POLITICS IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 Toussaint's last term as a pedagogue was inter- 
 rupted by the presence in the neighborhood where 
 he taught, of a mild epidemic, prevalent among the 
 young people. This, however, was severe enough 
 to necessitate the closing of District School No. 7 
 for a short period. Toussaint availed himself of this 
 circumstance to gratify a long standing ambition 
 to visit the Congress of the United States, and hear 
 the debates then in progress. What he there saw 
 and heard fired his ardent and impetuous nature un- 
 til his ambition knew no bounds. Little wonder he 
 could not contain his pent-up oratory until he 
 reached home, but must tarry, as we have seen, at 
 the Blyden Literary, and there pour out an effusion, 
 quieting the troubled waters. 
 
 Toussaint had for years, so he said, waited eager- 
 ly for an opportunity to help his people. The op- 
 portunity that he had so long sought was now upon 
 him. This, of course, was the calculation of our 
 hero. The spring of 189— in the County of E , 
 
148 ^EITHER BOVD NOR FREE. 
 
 was memorable for three things: the large crop of 
 candidates which it yielded for county offices, the 
 acrimony engendered on account of the rivalry of 
 office seekers and the open bribery and corruption 
 everywhere visible among the venal voters. With 
 a race having few members in these parts who could 
 boast the art of public speaking on the hustings and 
 platform, Toussaint was easily in favor. He be- 
 came almost famous in a day. He scaled the dizzy 
 heights of distinction among the lowly at a single 
 bound. His fondness for politics was not alto- 
 gether a passion. He inherited a taste for the 
 whirligig of public life from his father, who had 
 before him been active in the memorable politics of 
 Reconstruction times. And years afterwards the 
 elder Ripley esteemed it a worthy privilege to take 
 the boy Toussaint by the hand and lead him to the 
 precinct meetings, and there set him down in the 
 midst of the new citizen, who, wrestling with the 
 alphabet of politics, was chafing and taxing his lung 
 power in calling ^'Mestor Cheerman," and con- 
 stantly rising to some "p'int o' order." 
 
 The better element of the colored citizens was 
 generally conspicuous by its absence. Toussaint 
 was the new Moses, whose peculiar mission it was 
 to purify and build up the Republican party in this 
 benighted section. He was an inveterate reader, 
 devouring indiscriminately history, literature, phi- 
 losophy, together with desultory reading on the race 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 149 
 
 question. He felt that he was now fully equipped 
 for the political arena — the fearless champion of a 
 down-trodden race. True, he had on only the 
 swaddling clothes of political economy and phi- 
 losophy, but then there were no literati among those 
 whose leader he had proclaimed himself. The best 
 were mere pygmies, and among them he stood a 
 full-grown giant. 
 
 Toussaint was fond of the Lockleys ever after 
 his discovery of Merna. He became a frequent 
 visitor at their home. On his return from the 
 Capital City he called to tell about the sights he 
 there witnessed, about Ethel, — and, of course, to talk 
 about Merna. He had not heard from her since 
 the time when she and her uncle left Boston for 
 Liberia — soon after the death of her mother. 
 
 In answer to a query concerning Merna, Uncle 
 John replied: 
 
 "Marg'ret had a letter from her lately, and in 
 it she talks about coming down to see us, as she's 
 got so many things to tell us of our own country 
 land — where she's been." 
 
 *^I hope she will come," said Toussaint. 
 
 They were both quiet for a moment. Toussaint 
 was the first to speak. "If she could only happen 
 here now and hear me *spell bind,' " he remarked, 
 with evident pride. 
 
 "I don't e'zactly understand you," wistfully spoke 
 Uncle John, 
 
150 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ''No, I guess you don't. 'Spell-bind' is the word 
 we speakers use for political speech making. By- 
 the-by, why is it, Uncle John, you don't attend our 
 public meetings and take some interest in politics?" 
 
 "What's the meeting's for?" 
 
 "Why, Uncle John, you ought to be ashamed to 
 ask such a question." 
 
 "How am I to know if I don't ask," he replied, 
 good naturedly. 
 
 "But every good citizen is supposed to know 
 about public questions. He must keep his eyes wide 
 open and help to elect good men to office." 
 
 "W^ell, my son, I am nigh unto 70 years old — so 
 they tell me; an' I haven't bothered myself 'bout 
 the 'lections; and things have been goin' along 
 prutty well, as far as I hear tell." 
 
 "You are wrong; things are not right," insisted 
 Toussaint. "Here we have a county containing at 
 least a thousand more colored than white voters, to 
 say nothing of the two hundred so-called white Re- 
 publicans, and yet we have not had a colored man 
 in any office for a long while, save as Justice of the 
 Peace." 
 
 "Ole Jestis Williams, seems to me he's been mak- 
 ing mighty heap o' trouble with the white folks." 
 
 "Well, Uncle John, you do remember something 
 about politics after all." 
 
 "Yes, I remember years ago when we had the 
 whippin' pos' — I didn't see it, but they tell me that 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 151 
 
 he tied a young white missis up and whipped her; 
 and the white folks all got down on him worse. 
 And then they said they was goin' to kill all the 
 niggers and shet up the darky schools." 
 
 'That sounds like a fairy tale. The Democrats 
 are always trying to fool the ignorant of our peo- 
 ple. It wasn't Justice Williams but Justice Haw- 
 kins who had the girl whipped." 
 
 "Yes, that's the name — Hawkins," said Uncle 
 John. 
 
 "Justice Hawkins followed the law. The poor 
 white girl had stolen something, and she was 
 flogged for it just the same as your daughter, if 
 you had one, or my sister would have been pun- 
 ished had they stolen. The law was made by white 
 men to disfranchise the negro voter, that is to pre- 
 vent him from voting, and to degrade him and his 
 race." 
 
 Uncle John looked up in the speaker's face, shook 
 his head ominously, then let it drop. He said 
 nothing. 
 
 "Am I not right?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Ripley, you are right, mebbe, but it 
 seems to me white folks ain't goin' to stan' that." 
 
 '^But they have got to stand that or worse. We 
 are American freemen, and one man is as good as 
 another." 
 
 "You is a man of learnin', and I reckon I hadn't 
 oughter dispute you. But it 'pears to me as we 
 
152 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 got to live here in the South, that the white folks 
 and we wants to get along as best we can with 
 them. They got all the money, the work and the 
 schools — everything." 
 
 "The white folks, you must remember, are just as 
 much dependent on us as we are on them. If they 
 don't give us work, we can go off to the North and 
 West and work." 
 
 ''But all them notions calls for money. When 
 our folks go off to look for work, if they don't get 
 it soon, they starve and die." 
 
 *'Well, there are many questions which you don't 
 understand, and I'm afraid I cannot make them 
 plain to you." 
 
 "E'zactly so, but my mother wit tells me what's 
 right." 
 
 "And my education and judgment teach me 
 what's right for us and those who are to follow us. 
 It takes lots of judgment to keep our people's feet 
 out of the crooked path." 
 
 "When you was teachin' I use to tell my ole 
 woman, — 'Marg'ret,' says I, 'Toussain' Ripley is the 
 right sort o' man. He's makin' men and women of 
 our young folks.' " 
 
 "This is a progressive age, and he w^ho does not 
 go forward goes backward." 
 
 ^'Somehow, Mr. Ripley, it seems to me like you 
 made a mistake to quit off learnin' children and go 
 'lectioneering, as you call it." 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 153 
 
 "No, it is not exactly electioneering. I am a race 
 man. I mean to see to it that my race cultivates 
 the true spirit of race pride, putting their own peo- 
 ple before every other race. Look at the white 
 man; he honors his race. Well, I want our people 
 to look up and be true and fearless men. In a few 
 weeks there will be an election for town and county 
 officers. We have put up an almost solid colored 
 Republican ticket, a dyed-in-the-wool ticket. Dyed- 
 in-the-wool reminds me of the way the great Fred. 
 Douglass spoke of his own Republicanism. Now I 
 want you, Uncle John, to be at the meeting to- 
 night. It takes place on the Court House green. 
 I am to make the principal speech. Come and let 
 me know what you think of my doctrine." 
 
 "Oh, I'm hearin' of you. Everybody's talkin' of 
 Toussain' Ripley. People say you're right smart. 
 But what is it I was sayin' about you jus' now? 
 Oh, I know, I was a-sayin' how — how you ought'n 
 stop learnin' children to go into 'lectioneerin' busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "Yes, I answered you." 
 
 "I kinder didn't jus' understan' you." 
 
 "Well, it's just this. I feel that I can be of more 
 service to my race in politics than as a country 
 teacher." 
 
 "Well, if you stick to teachin', who can't tell 
 what'll happen? You might some day be a bi^ 
 teacher like Oscar Richards." 
 
154 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "I would rather be true to my race than be a big 
 teacher." 
 
 "Isn't Richards true to his race ?" 
 
 "Not in the best sense of the word." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean just what I say. Oscar Richards is in- 
 juring his race, and that beyond repair. He is 
 teaching our young men and young women to re- 
 gard the white people as their superiors — telling 
 them that they must find a place amid the humble 
 pursuits of life as they are not fitted for the higher 
 stations to which all ambitious white people aspire. 
 Let me give you a sample of his teaching. A little 
 while ago there was a fire at the State University, 
 which destroyed some of the principal buildings 
 there. You know that this is a white school. The 
 Superintendent of Public Instruction for the State 
 urged the teachers in all the schools under him to 
 send in contributions to aid in rebuilding the houses 
 destroyed. What do you think? Why, among the 
 earliest contributions received was a fund from the 
 Primary Department of Oscar Richards' Institute. 
 One bright little fellow, in his eagerness to help to 
 rebuild a school which would for all time exclude 
 him, brought a basket containing a dozen eggs, 
 which he requested be sold, and the proceeds ap- 
 j.lied to the University Fund. Why, I ask, was not 
 this boy taught to save those pennies to help pay his 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 155 
 
 own, or a sister's, or some other colored boy's way 
 through school?" 
 
 "I think that was a good thing, Mr. Ripley. His 
 teacher was learnin' him to do good for evil." 
 
 ''Better an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, 
 with such heartless reprobates as are turned out 
 from that Institution." Then he added abruptly: 
 ''Well, I must leave you. Of course, you will come 
 to our meeting to hear me speak." 
 
 "Yes, I will try an' hobble out to hear you, but I 
 don't go roun' much o' nights." 
 
 Political mass meetings in the peaceable County 
 
 of E are usually well attended, and the negro 
 
 suffragist may here vote and cheer as lustily as the 
 rest, for there are none to molest or make him 
 afraid. 
 
 Toussaint reached the place of meeting unat- 
 tended, and clambered to the top of the tall rickety 
 platform, which stood like a scaffold against the 
 sombre walls of the old court house. There was a 
 dense mass of black faces, relieved here and there 
 of its monotony by the sprinkling of mulattoes, and 
 the fringe of white faces. Apart from the crowd 
 stood a dozen or more Democrats. Old man Lock- 
 ley, true to his word, had been on hand since dark, 
 in order to maintain a position near the stage. On 
 the platform was seated the white candidate for 
 Clerk of Court, who was also Chairman of the Re- 
 publican Committee; the other white officer (can- 
 
156 Hi EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 didate for treasurer) had but recently cast his for- 
 tunes with the ''nigger" party, and he forsooth was 
 conveniently absent from the meeting. There were, 
 perhaps, a dozen colored men who had voted them- 
 selves seats upon the stage. These persons, how^- 
 ever, were fit representatives — or, better, types of 
 those who stood below. 
 
 The candidate for clerk was no speaker. He was 
 nothing more nor less than an intense office seeker. 
 There was present a species of the "stony ground" 
 preacher, who opened the meeting with prayer, and 
 afterwards harangued the assemblage for more than 
 an hour, to the enthusiasm of the colored cohorts, 
 and the evident disgust of his white hearers, who 
 were sympathizers with the opposition party — and 
 were present out of mere idle curiosity. 
 
 Toussaint's political effort was in part as follows : 
 ^'Fellow Citizens : One week from to-night you 
 will know the result of the election. You will know 
 whether or not black men have been true to them- 
 selves. We have a strong Republican ticket in the 
 field, containing, out of a total of seventeen ofifices 
 to be filled, fifteen candidates of our own race. I 
 wish sincerely that they were all colored, for we 
 have ever been voting for white men for office, not- 
 withstanding we constitute well nigh the entire Re- 
 publican party in this county. Shame on the fair 
 name of my State ! How she has degenerated ! 
 How her mighty have fallen! The bug-a-boo of 
 
NEITHER BOND NOB FREE. 157 
 
 negro domination follows swiftly on the heels of 
 that other myth, social equality between the races. 
 The last is well nigh dissipated ; the first is the fruit- 
 ful source of all our ills in the body politic. We 
 have long ago learned to expect nothing good from 
 a poor white man where a negro is in question, and 
 your aristocracy have given themselves over to a 
 reprobate mind — to open bribery and corruption. 
 
 ''In our last municipal election, the Democracy 
 had as its candidate for mayor a citizen whose 
 name had hitherto been regarded as a tower of 
 strength and a synonym for honor and integrity. 
 But his managers went out into the market to buy 
 negro votes — no attempt being made at conceal- 
 ment. One paid off in checks, the other in cash. 
 The negroes would enter from the east side, and 
 being vouched for, emerge from the west exit with 
 $5 bills in their hands. In many instances, the pay- 
 master pinned the bills on the negro lapels, and 
 they circulated through the crowed, bringing recruits 
 to their candidate's forces. The negroes were 
 urged to vote promptly, as the price would soon 
 drop from $5 to $2.50. Thus you see that the 
 better class of our people must hold themselves aloof 
 from the debased men of all races, who continue 
 to barter away their God-given rights as Amer- 
 ican freemen. 
 
 "Think of it, every man of you, no matter how 
 black or how humble, no matter how ignorant or 
 
158 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 how poor, is an uncrowned king, and the ballot is 
 your insignia of power — it is your royal sceptre. 
 The king, however, should not defile himself. He 
 should not leave his high estate and accept bribes. 
 
 *'And, again, think of your wives and children 
 at home. These are your sacred trust. You are 
 their chosen representatives. No delegated power 
 conferred by man can equal yours. You speak with 
 divine authority. Your commission is from God. 
 See that you bear his seal upon your brow. The 
 ballot was given to protect not alone yourselves, 
 but as well those who cannot speak for themselves. 
 Do not, I entreat you, fetter anew the limbs of wife 
 and babe, born and unborn." A mighty shout went 
 up in approval of that last sentim.ent. Continuing 
 he said : 
 
 ''My friends, we have many dishonest and treach- 
 erous people among us. We have the shiftless as 
 well as the thrifty. And this leads me to say that 
 we can never lift the race as a whole. I believe in 
 the doctrine — the survival of the fittest. I believe in 
 individual development. Acquit yourselves like 
 men. Show to the white people that 'a man's a 
 man for a' that.' Give the white man a wide berth. 
 Don't push yourself on him. Let him see that you 
 regard yourself as his equal, and in moving among 
 them do so without fear, favor or affection. If you 
 are unable to do this, your inability becomes a con- 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. * 159 
 
 vincing argument to show your inferiority and de- 
 pendence. 
 
 ''Let us cease to dissemble. Let us get together 
 and elevate our best men to place and power and 
 influence. 
 
 ''We will not stop with this county's contest. 
 We will look the field over for suitable material for 
 Congress. This strikes me as the best way to de- 
 velop the best negro. I am aware that there is a 
 manifest tendency on the part of the white people to 
 consider us only as a class — to segregate us, making 
 for us a place in bulk. My plea is that the negro be 
 let alone, and he will work out his own salvation. 
 The wbite man, however, is not alone responsible 
 for this never-ending color question. 
 
 "It has been well said that the" organized negro 
 leads to the organized white man. It will be well 
 for both races when the white man forgets -the 
 negro's color; but he cannot forget it until the 
 negro himself forgets it, and this will not be possi- 
 ble until the enemy both from without and within 
 will cease to handle us like a herd of cattle, and we 
 cease to consent to such an odious arrangement. 
 The negro who insists upon recognition of his per- 
 sonal merits as a man will surely secure good will 
 and equal rights." 
 
 "Mr. Chairman: (a voice from a Democratic by- 
 stander), will you permit me to ask the speaker a 
 question?" 
 
160 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 The Chairman : 'T presume the speaker "vvill 
 yield." 
 
 The voice : "Are you in reahty opposed to raising 
 the color question?" 
 
 The speaker : ''Yes ; I am unalterably opposed to 
 it." 
 
 The voice : ^'So you seem to say, and yet you are 
 industriously advocating the election of negro of- 
 ficials solely on the ground of color. Your talk is 
 a strange mixture of inconsistencies." 
 
 Toussaint continued, ''We have a mixed ticket of 
 white and colored men, and I only mean to urge 
 their election on the ground of their merit and gen- 
 eral fitness. It is the old cry you have just heard. 
 Whenever a colored man is being run for office, we 
 are charged with drawing the color line, and yet we 
 are expected to vote for white men for office with- 
 out a murmur, whenever they bob up. Who draws 
 the color line then? 
 
 "The negro is only partially free. It is a good 
 adage that they who would be free themselves must 
 strike the blow. Many of you are unable to read 
 and consequently cannot understand questions of 
 public policy. Let me give you an unerring touch- 
 stone, which, when applied to every matter where 
 your vote is required will teach you which road lo 
 take for your safety. Find out your Democratic 
 neighbor's choice of men and measures, and then 
 go and vote directly against him. 
 
VEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 161 
 
 "Now, bear in mind that on Tuesday next is elec- 
 tion day. You have a supreme duty to perform. 
 If you hope for good government, let your vote con- 
 form to your wish. The coming fall will witness 
 a struggle for party supremacy in the councils of 
 the nation. If you will but do your whole duty 
 Tuesday — go to the polls and vote the entire Re- 
 publican ticket — you will thereby help smooth the 
 road for a great victory in the presidential struggle. 
 Democrats are getting disgusted with their party, 
 and are flocking to the Republican party — thrusting 
 aside the black voter. Stand your ground, for your 
 political salvation is in this party." 
 
162 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A MESSAGE FROM AFRICA. 
 
 Nearly a year had passed since Toussaint first 
 beheld the object of his love. And now he seemed 
 no nearer the goal than then. There had been but 
 little correspondence between them during the 
 period of their acquaintance. Only a short while 
 ago they had parted; she seemingly yielding to his 
 entreaties. But she looked down and at her feet there 
 lay a shadow^ which was deepening across the sea. 
 He, proud and self-reliant, heard her voice, and was 
 filled with expectancy. 
 
 Merna's return proved indeed a sad one, for there 
 she met her first great sorrow in the death of her 
 mother, which occurred a few days after she had 
 reached Boston. Now there was no one left upon 
 w^hom she could lean for sympathy and guidance, 
 save her uncle. She wanted to get out of the 
 city, away from the scenes of its sadness and tur- 
 moil, away from its loneliness and hopelessi:iess. 
 And she felt too that she could not longer re- 
 main unemployed. The desultory service of as- 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 163 
 
 suaging grief, comforting the distressed, minister- 
 ing in sympathy and substance to the poor and 
 needy, was henceforth to be reinforced by some 
 gainful occupation. 
 
 It was a season of great depression in business. 
 What employment could willing hands find in Bos- 
 ton? True, Merna was well educated and accom- 
 plished, having received the best instruction that 
 Boston could offer. She, however, lacked fitness 
 for any especial pursuit; and even though she 
 might gain a place for which her training and 
 tastes were adapted, would she not then be in the 
 way of some worthy applicant who needed this 
 work as a means of support for herself. This 
 thought wrought upon her tender sympathy. 'T 
 would not, if I could, take bread from others — 
 those who may need it. I should like to go South,'* 
 she thought. "There workers are needed, and T 
 can afford to work for a pittance." She at- 
 tempted to persuade "dear Uncle Ralph" to give up 
 
 business in Boston and settle in the town of H . 
 
 He shook his head gravely enough at this timid 
 suggestion. He finally told Merna that he and 
 her mother had many years ago resolved between 
 themselves never again to return to the South; 
 and the fact that her mother was no more, served 
 as a fresh reminder to keep his promise. 
 
 Ralph Attaway was not slow to see that there 
 must be a change of scene for Merna, and that at 
 
164 V EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 once, or else her brooding might take on a more 
 serious turn. And thus he proposed for them- 
 selves a trip to the ''Dark Continent." 
 
 "Let us go over to Africa and hunt up the little 
 Republic," he laughingly remarked. 
 
 Merna expressed great joy at the prospect of 
 visiting the land of her pride, and concerning which 
 she knew so little. 
 
 "Do you really mean it. Uncle Ralph?" 
 
 '^Yes, w^e will go just as soon as I can arrange 
 my affairs." 
 
 At first thought it puzzled Ralph to know whether 
 to suspend business at his old fashioned stand, or 
 to entrust its management and reputation to new 
 hands. He decided, however, not to hazard all, but 
 to close up his shop for a season. 
 
 It was ten days later w^hen Ralph Attaway and 
 niece set out for New York, going thence to Mon- 
 rovia via Liverpool. 
 
 >JC 3j% ?j* 5|* ?|C >fC ^C 3)C 
 
 Toussaint had received but a single letter from 
 Merna during her sojourn in Africa, and that one 
 was severely disappointing, in that there was not 
 the least reference made to show the drift of her 
 feeling for him. 
 
 He read the letter again and again, hoping each 
 time to find some peg whereon to hang his hope. 
 In one place she wrote : "You are young and aspir- 
 ing; if you were here with me we could, hand iu 
 
If EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 165 
 
 hand, look up a more enlarged field of usefulness 
 for your endeavors. I believe that is what you have 
 told me you wanted. Yes, here you will find a great 
 field teeming with precious souls. What man or 
 woman of color is there who would not count him- 
 self or herself blessed to be in such a 
 goodly land where they could labor for hu- 
 manity—I had almost said for their own 
 race. That, however, seems narrow and self- 
 ish." And again she says: ^'I suppose Aunt 
 Margaret has told you all about my sorrow. That 
 will explain my presence here. Oh, I wish I could 
 remain here always. In America we can hear such 
 a little of this country. Beautiful landscape— gor- 
 geous sunsets— richest soil! Among these gentle 
 folks I find peace, virtue and sobriety. The natives 
 are honest and true. I send you a ring made by a 
 native. Is it not beautiful and artistic? I should 
 like to live here and work among these people, but 
 Uncle Ralph doesn't like a warm climate. Besides, 
 he is all the time talking about his business. The 
 dear good soul is getting old, and I must remain 
 with him. 
 
 "Before I reached this land I could not reconcile 
 the words, 'All things work together for good to 
 them that love God.' It seemed a hard saying. I 
 wonder if I really comprehend it now? It is a 
 wondrous thing, and yet as I pen these lines the 
 tears will start — I cannot keep them back. There, 
 
166 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 Uncle Ralph is laughing at me — dear old soul — 
 that's his way. I'll go to him and kiss him. Yes, 
 God has a purpose in affliction. It is his way to 
 bring us heavenward. If I thought all that has 
 happened was merely chance, I could not bear it; 
 the load would crush me. I know, however, it is 
 a providence — His word teaches me so." 
 
 Over and over Toussaint repeated to himself, *'I 
 wish that you were here with me" — "hand in hand." 
 This was all that he saw in her epistle deserving 
 his notice. "She thinks well of me," he mused. "Her 
 piety, though, is almost pitiable. Merna is so emo- 
 tional. She was bad enough here, and I suppose 
 that in the presence of those African dolts she can- 
 not restrain herself." 
 
 Toussaint gazed fondly at the ring which Merna 
 had sent him, and then remarked in an audible 
 voice, "Well, she has been sweet enough to send 
 me a ring. Now, I have it. Now, I have it. My 
 way is clear. I will give her a ring, too. She will 
 not refuse it, I know. Merna is not one of your 
 sentimental creatures anyway. She's business-like 
 in everything. When she comes home my prompt 
 offer shall be a ring to signify our betrothment." 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE BLACK REPUBLIC. 
 
 Merna Attaway lived amid a quiet but charm- 
 ing settlement, just a little way out from the tur- 
 moil and excitement of Boston life. There was 
 nothing quaint nor picturesque in the architecture 
 of the home of Mr. Attaway. It was simply a 
 plain, goodly-sized two-story frame structure, 
 gabled roofed with broad veranda fronting the 
 street. Yet the immaculate whiteness of this 
 house, the stable and enclosure, and the pretty 
 cropped grass la^vn, with spreading trees shading 
 on every side a tennis court, together wath the 
 twittering of innumerable swallows as they swarmed 
 about the eaves of the cottage, afforded the curi- 
 ous a hint as to the manners of the worthy people 
 residing within. 
 
 It w^as a bright balmy spring morning when the 
 
 enterprising reporter of the "Boston " called 
 
 to interview Ralph Attaw^ay, who was again at home 
 after his African tour. Merna was on hand and 
 greeted the news gatherer in her naive sweetness. 
 
168 "NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 and without the slightest ceremony. Then she has- 
 tened away for Ralph, pausing to say that, ''Uncle 
 Ralph is never here so late, but since his voyage 
 he has been somewhat indisposed." 
 
 There were many interesting objects in view to 
 engage the attention of the argus-eyed reporter. 
 On every hand there were evidences of the rare 
 judgment and exquisite refinement of the young 
 housekeeper. The nooks and crannies were filled 
 with curios of this country and Africa; besides, 
 there were precious souvenirs distributed here and 
 there throughout the reception room. Presently 
 Merna returned with an apology from "Uncle 
 Ralph," w^ho felt too tired to see any one. 
 
 "I should be willing to tell you something of my 
 impressions, and what I saw in Liberia, that is if 
 you have a mind to hear it," said Merna with diffi- 
 dence. 
 
 This was the first intimation the reporter had 
 received of Merna's sojourn in Africa along wuth 
 her uncle, and he, of course, agreed with alacrity 
 to have her relate her experiences. In answer to 
 his question she replied : 
 
 "No, sir, I was not anxious to get back home. 
 When I was in Africa I felt that I wanted to re- 
 main forever ; but uncle was not willing to live there 
 and I could not think of leaving him alone in his 
 old age. Quite contrary to my expectation, I found 
 the climate temperate and healthy, especially at 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 169 
 
 Monrovia, where I made my stay. Many residents 
 of that city with whom I talked, told me that it was 
 decidedly healthy thirty or forty miles back from 
 the coast, and it is there that you will find the soil 
 fertile and deep. 
 
 "I know that you have heard much concerning 
 the African fever. You see that I have escaped it 
 (and she laughed). Why, African fever, so Dr. 
 Blyden says, is nothing more than malaria, such as 
 is found in the swamps of the Carolinas — the lagoon 
 region — where fevers are hatched. He further as- 
 sured me that African fevers are not easily taken. 
 
 '*Oh, yes, the little republic seems to be progress- 
 ing, especially when you take into consideration the 
 circumstances under which it was established. You 
 must remember that slaves in escaping from this 
 country went to Liberia with a twofold purpose — 
 in search of liberty, also to help Christianize their 
 distant relatives. This colonization work began, I 
 think, in 1 817. It was thirty-seven years later 
 when the colonists ventured (having previously ob- 
 tained the consent of the American Colonization So- 
 ciety) — to declare themselves an independent na- 
 tion, modeled after our own government. 
 
 "There are in Liberia at least twenty important 
 towns, among them Monrovia, its principal sea 
 port and seat of government. There are mayors, 
 aldermen, public libraries, churches, schools, col- 
 leges, professors and teachers, lawyers and physi- 
 
170 "NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 cians, merchants, warehouses, custom houses, light- 
 houses, soldiers, militia, police, and in general all 
 the essentials of a stable government. 
 
 "It seems a wonderfully productive country. 
 Everything that can be grown in a civilized land 
 will grow there. Garden truck grows in Liberia 
 with surprising rapidity, — corn, wheat and other 
 grain. Tobacco and cotton will grow as rapidly 
 there as in our Southern States where they are in- 
 digenous ; and coffee, indigo and the sugar cane are 
 the spontaneous products of the soil, and may be 
 cultivated at pleasure. There is no winter, as you 
 know, in Liberia. There the hills are covered with 
 perpetual verdure. Picture, if you can, a stretch 
 of beautiful flowers extending about forty miles. 
 
 "The natives, often without tools or skill, and 
 with little labor raise more grain and vegetables than 
 they can either consume or sell. Cattle, swine, 
 goats, sheep, fowls and ducks thrive without feed- 
 ing, requiring no other care than to keep them fromi 
 straying. 
 
 "Well, I can remember only a few of the Liber- 
 ian products which are exported. Cocoa, coffee, 
 cotton, indigo, ivory, gold, tortoise shells, hides, 
 iron, copper, rubber and palm oil are some of them. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I really think it would be a suitable 
 place — indeed, the proper place of residence for the 
 Afro-American. In the first place the standard of 
 morals is high there, for the piety of the first set- 
 
VEITEER BOND NOR FREE, 171 
 
 tiers has been transmitted to the descendants. Me- 
 chanics of well-nigh every trade are carrying on 
 gainful occupations, and every child receives appro- 
 priate schooling. 
 
 *'I am very happy to say that there is no race 
 problem in Liberia. There you- will find neither 
 mob rule nor lynch law. Liberia is progressive, 
 and its rulers are black. I believe, however, that 
 greater prosperity would come to the little Republic 
 if the Constitution should confer citizenship on 
 white people along with those of African descent. 
 Of course, in the early days of the Republic, it was 
 doubtless a wise provision to have restricted suf- 
 frage to persons of color, or else the blacks would 
 soon have been driven from place and power. I 
 think the danger line is now passed. Money is 
 needed, and the white people have it. Wi:h capital 
 the country could not only develop what she has, 
 but could reach out to the rich lands of the interior. 
 
 "Yes, sir, the country I speak of has great re- 
 sources, and the American colored man, I repeat, 
 can be utilized in the work of colonizing and in 
 Christianizing it. He ought to be a prime factor 
 in that work. I share the views of prominent men 
 in Liberia, who have experimented with my people 
 there. 
 
 "No, sir, I do not believe in a gigantic coloniza- 
 tion scheme. The time is not ripe for it. I believe, 
 however, that our government should lend its foster- 
 
172 V EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ing influence towards aiding in the development of 
 the territory, which embraces more than 50,000 
 square miles. 
 
 "Assuredly, I believe in Africa for Afro-Ameri- 
 cans and their descendants, until the latest genera- 
 tion. There are already in that country the Eng- 
 lish, the French and the German, but the climate is 
 too torrid for them. I am not ashamed of my peo- 
 ple. I am proud to be an humble member of a race 
 that claims such celebrities as Geoffrey I'lslet, corre- 
 spondent of the French Academy of Sciences; An- 
 thony William Amo, and Benjamin Banneker, as- 
 tronomers ; and Alexander Dumas, Napoleon's Gen- 
 eral of Division and called by him 'Horatius Codes 
 of the Tyre.' There is the son and grandson of the 
 famous general, novelist and dramatist, respectively, 
 and there is Dr. James McClure, who carried away 
 the first prize from 500 Alumni of the University of 
 Glasgow; and Prof. Edward W. Blyden, another 
 eminent scholar." 
 
 "You seem to believe in the ultimate triumph of 
 your people in the distant Republic, through the 
 agency of Anglo-Saxon greatness," remarked the 
 reporter as he arose to take his leave. 
 
 "I scarcely know how to answer your question. 
 I suppose I should say both yes and no to it. Cer- 
 tainly, I believe in the triumph of my race — this be- 
 cause I believe in the ultimate triumph of right over 
 wrong. I do not, however, believe that mere 
 
tlEITEER BOND NOR FREE. 173 
 
 Anglo-Saxon greatness can improve Liberia. But 
 I may not discern greatness after the manner of 
 some persons. We read that Csesar was great, and 
 his legions triumphed over every foe. Napoleon 
 was great, and his selfish, ambition filled Europe 
 with terror. Give me, rather, the greatness as ex- 
 emplified in the life of John the Baptist. Though 
 poor in this world's goods, yet he was great in 
 service. He labored not for himself, but for others. 
 He came not to be ministered unto, but to minister. 
 Time was when your Anglo-Saxon progenitor, low 
 in the scale of civilization, had a brutish ambition to 
 destroy the Christian religion. But the Norman 
 conqueror came, and with him the refinements of 
 high civilization, preserving Christianity and point- 
 ing the way to intellectual and industrial prosperity. 
 
IH NEITHER BOND NOB FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 JACK DEMPSEY — THEREBY HANGS A TALE. 
 
 Another summer had come, the second one for 
 Merna at H . She was now resolved to de- 
 vote more time to the service of others than ever 
 before. Surely this was no easy task since she had 
 ever appeared mindful of her obligations to society, 
 and this too at a time when she had superior strength 
 for its requirements. Somehow Merna felt that in 
 her weakness she was yet stronger for the bitter 
 experiences she had but lately sustained. When 
 alone, however, there were times when she would 
 give vent to the pent-up grief occasioned by the loss 
 of her mother. Nor was this strange, for after all 
 she was but human. She relied upon her father 
 for pity and strength to bear her sore affliction. 
 Merna religiously believed that her sorrow was the 
 soul's discipline, and she cherished the precious 
 thought that some day she would be reunited to her 
 parents, and hence her ambition to yield a fuller 
 
VEITEEtt BOND NOR FREE. 175 
 
 service for God — bringing her life into more per- 
 fect accord with his teachings. 
 
 It may not be easy to believe that a young and 
 attractive girl though possessing lofty ideals should 
 interest herself in the race problem to the extent of 
 spending her time during the heated spell in teach- 
 ing nearly forty children, who, for the greater part, 
 were in destitute circumstances. This was purely 
 a labor of love and charity, for it was given abso- 
 lutely without compensation. There was no diffi- 
 culty in the way of obtaining pupils, especially since 
 there was no charge for their instruction. The 
 parents of the little ones were only too glad to be 
 rid of them for a few hours, inasmuch as their 
 presence at home was a hindrance to those of 
 their superiors who would pursue outdoor work 
 or pleasure. There were difficulties to be met with 
 in the way of securing a place where Merna could 
 teach. There were suitable rooms in the basement of 
 the First Baptist Church, in which Sabbath-school 
 w^as held, but how was Merna to secure these, since 
 she was known to only a few persons in that com- 
 munity, and little interest was manifested on the 
 part of those wrio had children to school. There 
 is at all times an abundance of enthusiasm in church 
 work, but it usually stops short of the school house. 
 
 Edward Strother, who w^as at home on a visit 
 from Washington, endeared himself to Merna by his 
 indefatigable efforts in smoothing the way for her 
 
176 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 work. He it was who prevailed on the Rev. Bur- 
 leigh and the trustees of his church to allow Miss 
 Attaway to have her school at that place. There 
 was some hesitation about the matter, but after two 
 weeks of delay Strother reported to Merna that he 
 had gained the consent of the church officers for her 
 work there. 
 
 The announcement of the opening of Merna's 
 summer school was made from the pulpit of the 
 First Baptist Church alone, for there was in the 
 privilege conferred, a condition precedent that only 
 the children whose parents were communicants in 
 that church should be allowed to attend. 
 
 The first school day brought together about sixty 
 pupils — twice as many as could be accommodated in 
 the room set apart for the purpose. Again Stro- 
 ther's services were needed and. were successful in 
 securing an additional room, and he also volun- 
 teered to assist Merna in her self-imposed task. 
 
 Her school had been in operation just one w^eek, 
 and she was grappling with the practical realities 
 of her work. 
 
 It was recess hour, and Strother had come into 
 Merna's room to compare notes on their little ex- 
 periences, as they were both novices in this new 
 role. 
 
 ''My, my, how the tots do try one's patience," 
 said Strother. ''Some of them are queer. The ' 
 things you wish them not to do, they are eager to 
 
VEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 177 
 
 do ; and the things you don't want them to do, they 
 try ever so hard to do. Anyway, I guess I'm an 
 awkward hand at the business." 
 
 "As you know, I have but fairly begun my work, 
 and yet I am having my trials. Some people think 
 that in order to make children obey one must be 
 harsh and strict with them. The parents alone are 
 responsible for this lack of obedience. The poor 
 little creatures are often left to care for themselves. 
 I love the children, and I have them know it. I rule 
 by kindness, and I find that they are quick to recog- 
 nize and appreciate it. One little fellow the first 
 morning, looked up mischievously in my face and 
 asked my name. I told him ; then he said, "Smerna, 
 you ain't no sho' 'nuf teacher, is yo'?" The little 
 ones are used to being scolded and kicked at their 
 homes. Kind words are much better than harsh 
 ones. I feel that the little folks are growing to 
 love me." 
 
 While Merna was talking the bell began to ring, 
 and the children were returning to their seats. 
 
 One little girl marched in blowing a huge tin 
 horn. Merna advanced, and met her in the aisle, 
 and asked for the instrument; thereupon the little 
 waif said : 
 
 "I'll hit you." 
 
 "Hit me; here I am," she replied. 
 
 The girl slapped her twice. Merna put her arm 
 around the child and asked : "Do you feel any bet- 
 
178 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ter now? You hit me, and I am going to kiss 
 you," and she did so. 
 
 "I'll tell my mammy on yo' and she'll beat yo' 
 too, ef yo' tech me." 
 
 "Would she, little girl," the teacher replied, as 
 she placed her hand caressingly on the unkempt 
 hair of the pickaninny. 
 
 ^'You' tek yo' han' off er my hade," muttered 
 the child as she shrugged and twitched herself. 
 
 "Take your seat. I will talk with you after 
 school," said Merna. The child moved off sullenly 
 to her place, muttering and pouting all the way. 
 "Mammy sez yo' shan't keep me in arter skule, ef 
 yo' do she's comin' arter yo'." 
 
 As the tartar delivered herself of this speech there 
 was a loud knock at the big basement door. The 
 child exclaimed: "Dere! she's comin' — she's comin' 
 now." Before Merna could reach the door, a visitor 
 unceremoniously opened it. It proved not to be the 
 tot's mother, but there were in evidence two 
 strangers in the school room. 
 
 "Miss, I come here to see Brother Burleigh. His 
 wife told me she reckoned I would find him at the 
 church in his study. Don't he study here?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, the pastor's study is in the church just 
 above. You enter from the other end. I will send 
 a boy around with you. "Come, Bernice," she 
 called out, "take this lady up to your papa's study." 
 The woman, decked out in fantastic rannent, and 
 
TfElTHER BOND NOR FRE^. 179 
 
 lier companion, a miserably clad man, with be- 
 grimed face and hands and a countenance which 
 was a cross between a saint and a sinner, soon re- 
 turned to tell Merna that the parson was not in his 
 study. 
 
 "Tell Brother Burleigh," said the woman, with a 
 curtsey, "that me and my brother come to see him — 
 my brother what went away in war times." 
 
 "Will you give me your name, so that I may 
 tell him who it was that called?" 
 
 "I ha' dun clean forgot that, Missis. My name 
 is Swepsy. Brother Burleigh knows me — and this 
 here !s John Dempsey — they call him Jack for 
 short." 
 
 "And your name?" inquired Merna, hoping this 
 time to get the whole of it. 
 
 "Swepsy. Just tell him 'twas Swepsy as wants 
 to see him — that's all." 
 
 "Do you live in this place?" 
 
 "I'm in the country, out on the old road — they 
 call it — as you come in from Mil'red Grove. This 
 here's my brother what comes from down South." 
 
 "We are now in the South," remarked Merna. 
 
 "I know that, but where he comes from is a heap 
 far'nhere!" 
 
 "Well, do you expect to wait and see Mr. Bur- 
 leigh before returning to your home?" 
 
 "Yes, marm; I cert'n'y must see my preacher," 
 remarked she with decided earnestness. 
 
180 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ''If you are not in a great hurry, I will go along 
 with you and your brother, as I must pass the 
 minister's residence on my way home." 
 
 Swepsy said they would wait. "Come, then, take 
 seats and rest yourselves." 
 
 The hour for the dismissal of school had arrived, 
 and soon the children were homeward bound. The 
 little vixen was detained only a few moments to re- 
 ceive a gentle reproof. 
 
 Then Swepsy and Jack Dempsey accompanied by 
 Merna and Strother set out in the direction of the 
 minister's home. 
 
 Swepsy, a familiar figure in his church, was al- 
 ready known to Strother, who was made acquainted 
 with Jack through the sister. 
 
 ^'Mr. Ed, I am real glad to see you. You been 
 out to the North, ain't you?" 
 
 *'Yes, I've been to Washington." 
 
 "Sho' 'nuff, that's where Brother Burleigh's 
 young one is, I reckon; at least, I heard that she 
 was out there. That 's my bizness here now — to 
 tell him that Brother Jack saw that feller who used 
 to go with her." 
 
 "Where!" "Where!" came in chorus from Merna 
 and Strother. 
 
 "Jack," said Swepsy, "why don't you talk? Got 
 any tongue? Tell these folks where you saw that 
 man." 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 181 
 
 Jack eyed Merna and Strother as suspiciously as 
 though he beHeved they were calculating the con- 
 sequences of some evil deed. He then slowly 
 cleared his throat as if making ready for a trying 
 ordeal. 
 
 "I cum (ahem, ahem), from Pasertauk : dat's 
 down in Alabama-ma (ahem) I see a man dar at 
 de train jes uz I cum'd to tek de kars." 
 
 "How did you know that it was Charles Van 
 Courtney?" 
 
 ''He tole me so — now hole on, dat ain't de name 
 he gub me, but he 'lowed dat he wuz from dis 
 State. I dun forgit de name he gub me; but it 
 warn't any sich name ez yo' call. We nebber 
 would ha' knowed it was him, but sez he to me, 
 'what you doin' har.' Dis was at de train. I 
 sez I cum har to git erway from the ole plantation 
 where I stays. 'Well, whar you gwine, enyway?' 
 sez he. 'Where I gwine? I been in de country, all 
 dese y'ars,' sez I, — 'eber sence de wah — on Mars 
 John's plantation.' I tole him I had a sister in ole 
 
 state, and ef she wa'n't dead I'd like to see her. 
 
 He axed me whar'bouts in de State, an' I tole him 
 dat I didn' reck'n I know'd whar she wuz, but a 
 teachar corned out my way who wuz a preacher too, 
 and he axed me an' some mo' han's — at de church 
 one Sund'y — 'lowed ef we knowed Swepsy who use 
 to 'long to Mars John and was sole away befo' de 
 wah." 
 
182 "NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "This was one of the students," interrupted 
 Swepsy, "from our college here. When I used to 
 cook there I'd tell them that when they go out to 
 teach to inquire aroun' and see who know'd 
 Swepsy." 
 
 "Yas," continued Jack, who was evidently warm- 
 ing up to his subject, and gaining confidence in his 
 descriptive powers, "when I hea'd de name Swepsy 
 — sez I, 'I know'd har; dat's my sistar. Don't we 
 look erlike?' He sez 'yas, I b'lieve yo' does.' He 
 tells me whar she was staying an' I sed nuthin' mo', 
 but I keep it to mysef, an' so de nex' mornin' I 
 goes down to de kars where she come in, an' de 
 c'nductor tuk me 'board an' made me wuk my way, 
 and so he let me cum all de way in de caboos kar." 
 
 Jack paused a moment as if to get a fresh hold 
 on his discourse. "I don't remember de name of 
 de sharp nose man, but he look like a white man — 
 with a sort o' bluish eyes." 
 
 ^'Perhaps he was a white man," said Strother. 
 
 "No, sah, white folks down dar don't talk to no 
 niggers, less'n dey's workin' for 'um.*** 
 
 "Dis whitish lookin' man yo' all talkin' 'bout, 
 tole me which way to cum on de kars, and sed he 
 reck'n'd he know'd my sister too, fur an ole woman 
 tole his fortchin wid a name like dat. Den I 
 know'd 'twas my Swepsy, for she alius could tell 
 things uz would happin' kase she was born wid a 
 call." 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 183 
 
 Merna with difficulty suppressed a laugh. 
 
 *'And I think you told me that the man said he'd 
 been to my house," remarked Swepsy. 
 
 ''He sed he wuz roun' one summer an' got tuk 
 in out de rain by my sistar, an' so when I cum har 
 and fine sistar, I tole her all erbout hu cum I fined 
 her. Den she tell me dat's de same willum what 
 run erway wid her preacher's chile. But I could 
 fotch him har." 
 
 "How would you manage to get him here?" 
 
 "Vd wuk on him ; I'd wuk on him wid roots, why 
 sho!" 
 
 "What does he mean?" inquired Merna of 
 Strother. 
 
 "I means jes' what I sez. Some 'High John' 
 would bring him quick'rn lightin'." 
 
 ^'High John!" exclaimed Merna, and she and 
 Strother laughed outright. 
 
 "Hab you never hea'd of dat befo'?" questioned 
 Jack. "Here's some o' dem," said he, untying an 
 old cloth which he took from his coat pocket. "Dis 
 piece is white man's conq'rer; dis har am High 
 John — High John King Conq'rer, and dis har is 
 Adam an' Eve. Now I'll splain um to yo'. De fus' 
 is fo' de white folks, an' de udder I gub to de young 
 folks — you knows — de courtin' folks an' sich like." 
 Jack grinned, and I suppose it was with the satis- 
 faction that comes to him who, for the first time, 
 imparts to an eager listener some great truth. 
 
184 V EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 Merna did not so much as smile this time. She 
 saddened at the exhibition of such idolatrous super- 
 stition. 
 
 Swepsy, like Jack, felt triumphant. 
 
 "So we are going," she said, addressing Merna, 
 "to find Brother Burleigh, and lay the matter be- 
 fore him." 
 
 "Is it not terrible to blight a home, destroy a 
 young life and wreck one's self as Van Courtney 
 has done?" observed Merna. 
 
 "Yes, and he deserves the full penalty of the law 
 if he should be caught," was Strother's reply. 
 
 The parting of the ways for Merna and the 
 strangers was reached, — Strother accompanying 
 Merna to her aunt's home, Swepsy and her brother 
 going directly to the house of Rev. Burleigh. 
 
 The pilgrims found the minister at home engaged 
 in writing a letter to Ethel, urging that wayward 
 
 young woman to return to H . Into the eager 
 
 ears of Mr. Burleigh, Jack Dempsey rehearsed the 
 tale of his discovery of Van Courtney and the in- 
 cidents connected therewith. 
 
 The news of the miscreant's whereabouts had for 
 Mr. Burleigh its terrible awakenings — it brought 
 fresh to his mind a stranded child, his own, a grief 
 stricken mother, also a keen sense of shame at his 
 own persistent and criminal folly. 
 
 In his self-abasement he cried out "I am a miser- 
 able wretch!" 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 185 
 
 "Wretch !" repeated Jack, rolling the word under 
 his tongue as a sweet morsel, "dat udder feller's de 
 wratch. Jes' hoi' on (and he began to spread out 
 the herbs before the minister), I can fotch dat man 
 back har. You tak dis High John, put it in water 
 and carry it 'roun' wid yo', and I 'lay he'll be har 
 moughty soon." 
 
 Mr. Burleigh took the proffered roots, for he be- 
 lieved it would gratify Swepsy as well as her 
 brother. 
 
 When the preacher's company had left, he hur- 
 ried to the telegraph office as fast as his feet could 
 carry him, where he dispatched the Washington 
 Detective Agency, giving information as to the 
 whereabouts of Charles Van Courtney, a fugitive 
 from justice. 
 
186 VEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL / 
 
 RACE PROBLEMS. 
 
 "Whom the gods would destroy they first make 
 mad/' 
 
 It was about the same time that Strother and 
 Merna were strolHng leisurely along in the direc- 
 tion of her aunt's home, that Toussaint was wend- 
 ing his way thither in quest of Merna. As he 
 drew near the house he saw the girl and her com- 
 panion coming, engaged apparently in earnest con- 
 versation. This sight was anything but inspiring 
 to Toussaint. It was not that he then, or had ever 
 before suspected any rival for the affection of 
 Merna, certainly not from his honorable friend 
 Strother. But he madly reckoned every disap- 
 pointment that came to him, where she was con- 
 cerned, a rebuff, and this soured his nature and 
 blinded his reason. He was completely crestfallen 
 — crushed. Thrice of late he had called to see 
 Merna, to welcome her return to the old town, and 
 especially to press his suit, and thrice he had found 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 187 
 
 her deeply engaged in things quite foreign to his 
 design. What was he to do or say in the presence 
 of grown-up folks who were asking alms, or re- 
 hearsing tales of distress or airy nothings ; or in the 
 presence of boys and girls trooping at her heels to 
 catch the melody of her voice, which was to them 
 like unto the music of the old Pied Piper of Hame- 
 lin town. 
 
 Toussaint hesitated when he got within sight of 
 Mema's home. "I will not go in now," he med- 
 itated, "I will call later when Strother is gone." 
 
 Poor fellow! he was at that moment an object of 
 pity. He had forgotten all his resolves. In his 
 mad impetuous chase, he saw but one ideal — Merna. 
 His spiritual horizon was indeed small, and his 
 vision was necessarily confined to its limitations. 
 
 Politics were bringing both money and distinc- 
 tion to Toussaint, and at the same time changing 
 what had been a sober life into a dissolute one. 
 
 Among the evils of our present day politics the 
 drink habit is most conspicuous. Among the 
 politicians it is usual to open and close conferences 
 of two or more persons with the convivial drink, a 
 dram being relied upon as the persuasive and con- 
 vincing eloquence to drive home an argument to a 
 recalcitrant voter. This is in nowise intended as a 
 reflection on the doubtful voter," for he is importu- 
 nate; whiskey will only make him violent; he is bent 
 on seeing the candidate, or his manager who has 
 
188 NEITHER BOND NOB FREE. 
 
 funds to disburse, all alone. There was no escape for 
 Toussaint; he too became addicted to the drink 
 habit. The ruling passion is strong, and thus on 
 the afternoon in question he repaired to a saloon 
 where he w^ould attempt a truce to his feelings and 
 assuage his w^ounded pride. 
 
 Almost two hours had passed when he retraced 
 his steps to the home of Merna. Toussaint felt that 
 his courage was now up to the sticking point. On 
 reaching the place he cautiously lifted the latch of 
 the wicket gate which opened on the little flower 
 garden, and when he had gained the door he paused 
 to ascertain wdiether there w^as any visitor in the 
 house. Just then he was sure he heard Strother 
 repeat his name. It w^as a dastardly act, but Tous- 
 saint's brain w^as fired by the accursed demon of 
 drink, and his desperate ambition. He pressed his 
 head against the door, and again the adage was 
 verified that "eavesdroppers never hear anything 
 good of themselves." Toussaint distinctly heard 
 Strother say: 'T am afraid that politics are any- 
 thing but helpful to Toussaint." We shall never 
 know^ what was said by Merna to call forth Stro- 
 ther's remark. He rang the bell violently, and 
 Merna responded to the call. 
 
 ''How are you, Merna?" inquired Toussaint, 
 pressing her hand in his own, and at the same time 
 arresting her movement as she attempted to lead the 
 way to the sitting rooni. 
 
VEITSER BOTsD VOR FREE. 189 
 
 "Come in." t, v. 
 
 "No, I prefer not to see you in there where he is, 
 
 let us take a walk," he said. ,t,:„v;no- 
 
 "You surprise me. What can you be thmkmg 
 
 about, Mr Ripley? Your friend, Mr. Strother, is 
 
 here, and why not come in and be sociable. 
 
 "Ed Strother is no friend of mine, neither am 1 
 
 to be regarded as his friend," he said with vehe- 
 
 "" Mema looked up in Toussaint's face, startled by 
 his speech and strange manner. 
 
 "Release my hand, please. I must have you ex- 
 cuse me if you cannot remain," she said. 
 
 He stared at Merna for one instant, as if to rebuke 
 her, then grasping both hands in his own said, 1 
 cannot excuse you to go to him. He has been with 
 you already for hours, while I have scarcely re- 
 ceived the passing tribute of a smile. 
 
 "I shall remain only with the understanding that 
 you will excuse yourself from Strother presently, 
 and go with me to the evening session of the con- 
 
 ference." , . 
 
 "I cannot grant your request for the reason that 
 
 Mr. Strother has already asked my company for 
 
 that occasion." 
 
 "Well, anyway, Merna, I love you and you know 
 it I love you passionately-desperately. You 
 trifle with my affection,-! can never see you alone, 
 -you are indifferent to me," he remarked excitedly. 
 
190 2i EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 ''You surprise me. Your manner fills me with 
 consternation. I must go," she said. 
 "Then good-night, Merna." 
 ''Good-night, Mr. Ripley.'' 
 
 ''On the dear old place the shadozvs fall, 
 A haze of summer twilight covers all, 
 The waves lap gently 'gainst the river brim, 
 The breezes murmur low their vesper hyimt, 
 
 '7 stand alone and view the well-known scene, 
 My thoughts are with the sad 'It might have been* 
 Again my heart is throbbing zvith the pain 
 Of parting, and the longing that is vain/' 
 
 Merna tried her utmost to conceal her agitation 
 from Strother, whose eyes seemed to follow her own 
 from the moment she returned to his presence, after 
 Toussaint had left her. 
 
 The Biennial Conferences of the Southern Indus- 
 trial Institute were year after year growing in popu- 
 lar favor. These w^ere gatherings of the students 
 and friends of the Institute, to further the moral, 
 material and industrial prosperity of the colored 
 people of the South. At these gatherings the farm- 
 ers, teachers and preachers met to discuss race 
 problems, making an earnest search after the truth 
 for the betterment of mankind. The conference, the 
 evening in question, had under consideration Mob 
 
'SIEITEER BOND NOR FREE, 191 
 
 Law and the Remedy. Besides Merna and Stro- 
 ther, there were present, Toussaint, sitting well in 
 the rear of the hall, also the Rev. Mr. Burleigh, who 
 wanted to talk over his trials with Merna, and not 
 having found her at home, had come to the Con- 
 ference, expecting there to see her. 
 
 The discussion of the race question was quite 
 animated, and Mr. Burleigh, not given to worrying 
 over much, soon forgot Jack Dempsey and his 
 story. At the conclusion of the reading of the 
 paper on Mob Law, Mr. Burleigh was on his feet. 
 
 "I wish to say that I find but little in the paper 
 you have just heard to commend it to my favor; 
 there is, however, very much in it to condemn. 
 Take, for instance, the assertion, this sweeping and 
 thoughtless assertion that, 'The remedy for lynch- 
 ing is simply to cease the outrages and the lynchings 
 will stop; continue the outrages and the lynchings 
 will always follow.' Surely this is a specious propo- 
 sition. As if in all sober earnestness there would 
 be no lynching if there was no wTongdoer. I wish 
 to ask my patient hearers what think they of the 
 recent lynching of a young colored man, a graduate 
 of this Institution — lynched by some Tennesseeans 
 for no other cause than that a co-operative store 
 conducted bv the victim and two other men of his 
 race was a successful enterprise? The other part- 
 ners fared better — one was whipped, the other 
 driven from the city where they had their business. 
 
19^ 'SEITEER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 It was only a few months ago that in a village in 
 Arkansas or Texas, I forget which, a colored man 
 charged with the assassination of a farmer was 
 lynched. The farmer, it appears, was not generally 
 liked by colored residents of his section, and one, 
 Tompkins, a negro, for saying that he ought to have 
 been killed, was whipped, then released, and sub- 
 sequently captured and lynched. Another negro 
 met the same fate. Other negroes, in order to avoid 
 the vengeance of the whites, fled to the swamps. 
 Three bodies were fished out of the Red River, and 
 a Texas justice of the peace rendered the astounding 
 verdict that the men came to their death from nat- 
 ural causes, or were frozen to death. It was a plain 
 violation of both the laws of God and man. Even 
 though the brute lynched is guilty, yet is not the 
 crime of the lyncher equally as great? Thursday 
 morning last in Georgia, an armed mob put to death 
 six negroes who were suspected, mark you! only 
 suspected — of arson. The prisoners at the time 
 were in the custody of the law. In a short while, 
 had their lives been spared, they w^ould have been 
 confronted by a white judge and jury, and if the 
 evidence should establish their guilt the victims 
 would have been doomed to swift and certain pun- 
 ishment. Was not the mob, bent on the destruc- 
 tion of the suspects, infinitely worse than the in- 
 cendiaries? for the former were cold blooded mur- 
 derers. You can see that it is not alone rape and 
 
VEITEER BOND NOR FREE. 193 
 
 attempted rape for which the negro is lynched. He 
 is sometimes lynched as mere fiendish pastime for 
 the insatiable prejudice of the white barbarians. 
 
 "In this same State of Georgia a negro band of 
 alleged robbers, five or six in number, were killed 
 by the mob. The leader of the gang was tortured 
 to death. He was taken to a tree and bound to it 
 with chains. Think of it, while the wretch was 
 alive parts of the muscles of his arms and legs were 
 chipped off. The flesh was cut from around his 
 ribs, and the points of the knives were run into the 
 loose folds of his flesh. The pieces of flesh were 
 then distributed among two or three hundred men 
 in the mob who wrapped the bits m paper while the 
 mutilated, bleeding and quivering form was set on 
 fire. 
 
 "Are these crimes against civilization to go on 
 forever ? No ! A thousand times, no ! The blood 
 of these victims of mob law cries out from the 
 ground." 
 
 Two other speakers briefly addressed the Con- 
 ference, when Strother, yielding to the persuasion 
 of Merna, consented to make a few remarks. 
 
 He began : "I shudder at the horrors of which 
 we read and hear so much — that come to my people. 
 There must be some way out of our present troubles, 
 — and to the remedy we must address ourselves. 
 The negro is in the South and of the South, and 
 under God here I believe he will remain forever. 
 
194 2JEITHER BOND XOR FREE. 
 
 Every fair-minded man can see that the colored man 
 is improving- in every way, and yet in some direc- 
 tions this progress is so painfully slow. The negro, 
 however, is a better churchgoer than a Christian. 
 He needs to be a living Christian rather than a talka- 
 tive churchgoer. We should like to become a great 
 people. Well, mere insistence on our political 
 rights, and heedless opposition to the white man will 
 not make us great nor enable us to gain the sym- 
 pathy and good will of the people among whom we 
 must work out our destiny. 
 
 "There is little organized social and business life 
 among us. You know that united we stand, divided 
 we must fall. It may be a hard truth, but it re- 
 mains to be said that every disgraceful act of a 
 negro tends to disgrace his race. You cannot off- 
 set the crime of aT)lack fiend by showing up a white 
 fiend. It will not cure matters to point the finger 
 of scorn at the five per cent, of white barbarians, 
 holding them up to public contempt. If we do 
 nothing more than this they will continue to slaugh- 
 ter the five per cent, of worthless negro brutes. We 
 must realize now, if never before, that the v.hite man 
 is not on trial before the bar of public opinion. The 
 white man has wrought out his civilization on the 
 anvil of intelligent industry and Christian manhood, 
 and a splendid civilization it is. Ours is to make a 
 civilization, or else we must perish in the fierce light 
 of the white man's civilization. Bear in mind, I 
 
^EITEER BOND NOR FREE, 195 
 
 say, that a white man's crime is after all only the 
 crime of the perpetrator ; a black man's crime is the 
 crime of his race. So the world decides it, and 
 from this decision there is no appeal. 
 
 *'But for politics and the Fifteenth Amendment 
 to the Federal Constitution, there would, perhaps, 
 have been no Ku Klux and White Caps. But for 
 the lack of moral training and industrial habits 
 there had been few lynchings of our people. Deny 
 it as we may, it is nevertheless patent to every sensi- 
 ble man that the negro is not yet fit to assume the 
 powers and responsibilities of government, and it 
 is idle talk to say as much. We are now fitting our- 
 selves to take our place in the scheme of modern 
 civilization. 
 
 "To be somebody we must be a producer, a money 
 maker and a decent citizen. To be nobody you 
 have only to be a consumer and a spendthrift and 
 ^stand in the jams of the fences and see the proces- 
 sion go by.' 
 
 "There are things requiring our attention that 
 are much more important than carping about civil 
 and social distinctions — about hotel and amusement 
 accommodations. Let us do as Oscar Richards 
 tells us — let us follow him — he will pilot us through 
 the reefs and over the breakers. 
 
 "To-day we need skilled farmers, laborers and 
 artisans, trained nurses and domestics. 
 
 "These times demand our serious thoughts and 
 
/ 
 
 196 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 
 
 earnest activities. When our political ardor shall 
 have cooled, when our zeal for place shall give way 
 to useful living, the outlook for negro prosperity 
 will be encouraging. 
 
 ''I do not, of course, advocate the repeal of the 
 Fifteenth Amendment. I do not believe in a sys- 
 tem of government which operates to disfranchise 
 a people on account of race, color or previous condi- 
 tion of servitude, — a system which is a manifest 
 evasion of the Federal Constitution. I do not be- 
 lieve in a property qualification as a pre-requisite 
 to voting. A man's value as a citizen should not 
 be made dependent upon the amount of property he 
 owns. If we can have an educational qualification, 
 so adjusted as to keep out the illiterate whites as 
 well as blacks, it will meet my approval. Massa- 
 chusetts measures up to the requirements of the 
 times. 
 
 "It is the negro's condition, and not his color, that 
 is keeping him down. The negro needs a peculiar 
 kind of education, not because of his color, but be- 
 cause of his condition. And the needs of the poor 
 colored man are the needs of the poor white man — 
 industrial training. Look with me over this town 
 and see our college and high school graduates loung- 
 ing about and waiting for dreams to ripen into 
 gold, or standing around with their hands in their 
 pockets, while the hoe is rusting in the field, and 
 the foreign laborer is filling the place we ought to 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 19T 
 
 occupy. We know how to talk, but alas, we do 
 not know how to work. If a poor man spends a 
 majority of the best years of his Hfe in the school 
 he has remaining less energy and less time to put 
 into practice \^ hat he has learned. 
 
 "This country of ours is striding along to new 
 activities and new glories. We must not be idlers 
 in the way. New industries are constantly being 
 developed here in the South. These industries 
 must furnish more work for the negro. Our popu- 
 lation is increasing, and to meet this requires in- 
 creased farm products. Every mill and factory 
 must have labor. So, if we are trained to work as 
 skilful operatives we will get work, and suppose 
 that we will then save our earnings, we will soon 
 have mills and factories of our own, employing our 
 own boys and girls, our men and women. If we 
 will not prepare to m.eet and overcome competition 
 by a thorough industrial education, if we will not 
 get hold of the land and retain it, our problems 
 will prove too heavy for us to bear, and by and by 
 they will crush us or our posterity out of existence." 
 When Strother had finished congratulations were 
 showered on him on all sides, but the greeting from 
 none was heartier than that accorded him by Merna. 
 Toussaint was eager for the fray, and he arose 
 immediately to make reply to Strother. He had 
 not followed Strother closely in his argument, for 
 he neither cared nor was he in condition for the 
 
198 "NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 discussion of the evening. To say that he was de- 
 pressed in spirit and wounded in pride would but 
 feebly express the plight of our hero. 
 
 Toussaint now^ regarded Strother as a rival with 
 all that the word would signify. Strother had come 
 between him and his dearest ambition. He would 
 speak — this proud, imperious man — and make the 
 assemblage forget the presence and words of Stro- 
 ther. Merna should hear him, and the people judg- 
 ing aright would award the palm to him. 
 
 "The negro race," said Toussaint, ''cannot pros- 
 per so long as cant and hypocrisy, parading under 
 the mask of reform, is given a patient hearing. The 
 astounding argument has been made in y.)ur hear- 
 ing that the negro in order to succeed with the white 
 people must surrender his manhood, trample his bal- 
 lot in the dust, practice self-effacement until he can 
 march blindfolded to the rear. Let me say that I 
 am not here to kindle anew fires long since gone 
 out, fires whose lurid glare swept destruction to 
 countless homes in this great South. I prefer to 
 indulge pleasing recollections and fervent gratitude. 
 And yet, I must remind you that 'our freedom' as 
 Frederick Douglass has said, came to us not from 
 any normal condition of things ! It came at the cost 
 of blood and treasure. The ballot is the fruit of a 
 great struggle, and accursed be the hand that would 
 nullify, restrict or take it away. We are living in 
 a great age, in the midst of the enlightenments of 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 199 
 
 a splendid civilization. This is a wonder age, and 
 the most wonderful thing in it is. how an Afro- 
 American, before and Afro-American audience, 
 could, without blushing for shame, give expression 
 to the ridiculous things which you have just heard. 
 I have no patience with any man or set of men who 
 want to place the negro in the rear of white people, 
 — as though we are not fit to assume the burdens 
 and responsibilities of government. The slavish 
 fear which has come to some of us from 250 years 
 of bondage is well nigh passed away. But it is 
 said in some quarters that we are too weak to en- 
 force our rights. Let us then begin to gather 
 strength. Somie day we will be organized and 
 strong. I only pray that when that day arrives we 
 may be treated fairly and accredited all our rights. 
 To-day we are not free, for no man is free who can- 
 not enjoy a free man's right. The negro of this 
 country is by the laws of God and man a citizen of 
 this country. He is taxed as a citizen and enrolled 
 as a soldier for the protection of state and nation, 
 and yet he is hunted down like a deer, while the 
 nation looks on powerless to help, and indifferent to 
 his fate. 
 
 "The mob holds full sway over the life and 
 liberty of the negro at the South. The Southern 
 whites say that the negro is a bad citizen. How 
 does it happen that he is so debased and despised 
 now? During the war, when the armies of the 
 
200 2i EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 Confederacy were in the field, ^Sambo' was left at 
 home to look after 'Missis' and her little ones. 
 There was then heard no complaint about the black 
 brutes. 
 
 "There is no use to mince words, life is made 
 miserable — intolerable — burdensome, by reason of 
 the bitter and relentless persecutions which meet us 
 at every turn of the road. Mr. Strother knows it. 
 I will not temporize; I will not palliate this foul 
 and craven sin — this hell-begotten prejudice. 
 
 "Why, it was only a little while ago when the 
 speaker who has just addressed you was refused 
 admission to a seat at a table in a little dairy lunch 
 room at the National Capital. I have the state- 
 ment from the lips of the man you have just heard. 
 The keeper of this place, it seems, was willing to 
 accommodate one Charles Van Courtney, who at 
 present is a fugitive from justice, and may shortly 
 occupy a felon's cell, but he was not willing to 
 accommodate his dark hued companion. 
 
 "Travel South, if you please, and there awaits 
 you the Jim Crow car. Go to the city by the sea and 
 there is the ferry boat with its black and tan cabins. 
 
 "We are pariahs and lepers, and everywhere we 
 meet the white man, whether in church or state, 
 whether delving in the mines of the great West, or 
 standing in the shade of his own tree, wringing the 
 sweat from his brow, We are told to move on — 
 wiiclean — unclean. 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 201 
 
 "I wish to enter a solemn protest to-night against 
 the white fiends incarnate in human form; against 
 the black, cringing, fawning sycophants; against a 
 Republic which is impotent to stay the hand of the 
 oppressor. If the nation's black defenders cannot 
 be protected at home as well as abroad, there is 
 then for us no hope from man. We must look alone 
 to Him who is the arbiter of our fate, and in whose 
 hands is the destiny of the nation." 
 
 'That was a vigorous speech, but, of course, I 
 do not agree with much that Toussaint has said," 
 remarked Strother to Merna. 
 
 "I think his reference to you should have been 
 framed in more courteous language," she replied, 
 avoiding Strother's complimentary remark. 
 
 "Yes," was the laconic response. 
 
 Mr. Burleigh at this moment approached Stro- 
 ther, and soon the three together left the hall. 
 
202 VEITEER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 '■'what's freedom without sumpin' wid it?" 
 
 Charles Van Courtney, the fugitive, had been 
 captured, duly arraigned, tried and convicted of an 
 infamous crime, and sentenced to be confined in the 
 penitentiary of his State for a term of five years. 
 There was the testimony of Clarissa, her father and 
 Strother, which was quite sufficient to establish the 
 guilt of the accused without the assistance of 
 Swepsy. And yet this woman was on hand and testi- 
 fied that Van Courtney and a girl who gave her 
 name as Clarissa were at her home the summer 
 before, having tarried there during a storm. 
 It was there that they had spoken of marry- 
 ing and making Washington their future home. 
 The trial was short, and when the verdict had 
 been announced, Swepsy hurried off to find 
 Rev. Burleigh and Merna, and break the 
 news to them. Merna became greatly de- 
 pressed in spirit when she learned that Van Courtney 
 had been adjudged guilty of abduction. She re- 
 marked to the preacher with much feeling that she 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 203 
 
 felt partly responsible for the ills that had come to 
 his household and to the prisoner. Merna felt that 
 she should have apprised Mr. and Mrs. Burleigh of 
 the wayward conduct of Van Courtney as from 
 time to time she had learned of it through little 
 Bernice. This she regarded as her sin of omission, 
 which, to her way of thinking, was quite as serious 
 as one of commission. 
 
 Quite restless and disturbed in mind was she 
 when Toussaint called to see her on the day follow- 
 ing the Van Courtney trial. He reckoned that her 
 disturbed feelings were due to her sympathies 
 aroused by the severe punishment meted out to Van 
 Courtney. And thus he set about to criticise the 
 course pursued by Strother, who, he asserted, knew 
 absolutely nothing about the merits of the case, but 
 yet the State had convicted the prisoner upon his 
 testimony. 
 
 "Mr. Ripley, this is not the first time that you 
 have spoken to me of Mr. Strother, in a cruel and 
 vindictive spirit. I can tolerate it no longer. He 
 is my friend, and if he were not, I should condemn 
 your course. I do not wish to think less of you than 
 I now do, but your visits of late are calculated to 
 lessen, rather than increase, my regard, and I must 
 therefore beg that you do not further impose your 
 presence on me." 
 
 Her speech was calm and dignified, but there 
 was a trace of sadness in it. 
 
204 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 Toussaint already knew IMerna sufficiently well 
 to take her at her word, for she was at all times 
 plain and unassuming both in speech and action. 
 
 Yet he hastened to say : "Yours are cruel words. 
 You surely cannot mean what you say. I have 
 never done you an injustice — except to love you 
 fondly, madly, be an injustice. I have tried in 
 every way possible to merit and w^in your love — and 
 this is my reward." 
 
 He paused, with head hung down, hoping there- 
 by to conceal the tears as they gathered in his eyes, 
 but there was no response from Merna. 
 
 "There had been no unpleasantness between us 
 until Strother commenced to assist you in your 
 school," he presently remarked. 
 
 "There had been no unpleasantness between us 
 until I had made the discovery that Mr. Ripley of 
 this summer was a different individual from Mr. 
 Ripley of the past summer. But enough of this — 
 I have nothing further to say — I wish to be left 
 alone just now." 
 
 "Then may I not come to see you again — an- 
 other day," he pleaded. 
 
 Instead of replying, the girl walked briskly to 
 the adjoining room, where she found her aunt. 
 
 "Aunt Margaret, I must ask you to go to Mr. 
 Ripley and say to him that he must excuse me, as 
 I have gone to my room with a severe headache." 
 
 It is unnecessary to add that when "Aunt Mar- 
 
-NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. ^05 
 
 garet" had delivered her message to Toussaint, he 
 decamped most unceremoniously. Merna, poor girl^ 
 sought refuge in the privacy of her room, where her 
 thoughts of the final meeting with Toussaint w-ere a 
 fresh discomfiture for a weary and oppressed soul. 
 
 And thus we see that he had not only in- 
 jured his cause by cherishing an enmity for Strother 
 — a man who had never done him the least harm — 
 but he had in the process debased himself. 
 
 A man ought always and under all circumstances 
 to be generous to friend and foe, free from evil 
 speaking and evil thinking, thus holding his lower 
 nature in subjection to the higher one. No man can 
 be either good or great until he learns to govern 
 himself. A rash impulsive creature like Toussaint 
 is a constant menace to the peace of society — one 
 who would in a frenzy slay both friend and foe. 
 There is after all but one great thing in the world, 
 and that is love. There are many despicable things 
 in the world, but the worst is hate. 
 
 Let us return to Jack Dempsey, who, through 
 the influence of Swepsy, had secured employment 
 with Rev. Burleigh as a man of all work about his 
 home. 
 
 Clarissa after the trial of Van Courtney (against 
 whom she was loth to testify) was again at home 
 with her parents. They endeavored to persuade the 
 girl to continue with them, but she was quite fasci- 
 nated with the glare and glitter of city life, — so 
 
206 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 much so that she was urging every one who would 
 listen to her to ''come to Washington." 
 
 Now it was Jack's turn to hear of the wonderful 
 city. 
 
 "Dey tell me," said Jack, "dat am de place whar 
 you gits de pervisions in de Cibil Rights Bill." 
 
 "I don't know that I understand you. Jack," said 
 Clarissa. 
 
 "Oh, yas, yo' does. Don't yo' recommenber dat 
 dere wuz a bill up for us culled folks — in Wash- 
 ington, which wuz to gib us pervisions? I he'ed 
 some o' de white folks down whar I cum from talkin' 
 dey 'low'd dat it wuz given' us too much — more'n 
 we oughter 'ave." 
 
 ''Oh, now I think I understand you. You are 
 talking about the law Congress passed called the 
 Civil Rights Bill," she replied. 
 
 "Umph, yas, dat's it." 
 
 "Well, that paper was meant to give us the right 
 to go to hotels, theatres and the like and to ride on 
 the boats and the trains." 
 
 "Well, I didn't know 'twuz a paper; I thought it 
 wuz sumpin wid eatens in it." 
 
 "Oh, no," she laughed. 
 
 "Well, yo' ken laf ef yo' choose to, 'bout .dat 
 paper, but I w^ants to tell yo' dat Mars Abe Linkum 
 dident sarve us right when he sign dat paper which 
 sot our race free." 
 
 "Why not?" inquired Clarissa. 
 
If EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 207 
 
 "Kase, what's freedom widout sumpin' wid it?" 
 
 "We are free. We can go and come when we 
 like." 
 
 '7es' so. We's too free. Sence I bin har, some- 
 times I ax mysef hucum I cum har, enyw^ay. Den 
 I think I'd ruther be back on Mars John's plantation 
 gettin' plenty to eat and drink, and somewhar to 
 sleep, dan goin' up an' down de worl' wid de white 
 folks driven us from pillar to pos'." 
 
 "Then why did you leave Mars John ?" 
 
 "Why, chile, yo' don't know. Down whar I cum 
 from 'tis a heap wus dan 'twuz in slav'ry times. I 
 wuked for Mars John 'fore I cum to dis place. I 
 wuked for him all de time sence de war, and I 
 never git nuffin but my victuals and clothes. You 
 might ez well say dat, for although we waiz tendin' 
 crop on shares, I could never git any share; but at 
 at the end of every year I cumed out in debt to him. 
 I tell yo' a heep sees but few knows." 
 
 "Well, that's because you didn't understand busi- 
 ness. Suppose you could have kept your own ac- 
 counts, or had a wife to do so, things would have 
 been different." 
 
 Jack gazed wistfully at Clarissa, and then said: 
 "I don't know how 'tis har, but whar I cum from a 
 nigger aint no better'n a mule — not so good as a 
 mule — for a mule don' want nothin' but a belly full 
 c' grub — and as he lib a long time he kin enjoy dat 
 food a long time and die happy." 
 
208 'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 "How long does a mule live, atiyway?" 
 
 "I've seen a heap o' mist'ry things, but I never 
 see a dead mule. I don' know for sho' wedder 
 dey lib one hundred yars or one hundred and fifty 
 yars, but ebry time I see him he's still har." 
 
 "But tell me, Jack, do you like these parts?" 
 
 "A heap better'n whar I cum from. But dis 
 ain't 'zactly whar I wants to git. I wants to go to 
 Washington, whar yo' come from." 
 
 "Then you struck it. Washington is a going 
 city. I know you'd like it there. I don't expect 
 to stay around here myself much longer; this town's 
 too slow for me." 
 
 "I wants to git erway from har, kase I wants to 
 make some money. Is dere much work out dere 
 for a critter like me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. You could get along without any 
 trouble working around." 
 
 "Dat's what I mean, knockin' 'bout wuk. Dat 
 would suit me, kase as de ole sayin' goes — 'None's 
 dere but dem dat gits dere.' " 
 
 "When I go back to Washington I will look 
 around, and if I see anything that you can do, I 
 will let you hear from me. I see papa's coming, 
 Jack, and you want to keep busv." 
 
 The home of Mr. Burleigh had been despoiled 
 of his daughter through the perfidious conduct of 
 Charles Van Courtney, and henceforth througli 
 shame and remorse Clarissa was glad to be away 
 
VEITHER BOND NOR FREE. ^Q^ 
 
 from the roof that had sheltered her from her in- 
 fancy to the day she had met that foul and craven 
 man. Probably the strongest defense which a 
 young man or woman can have is the influence of 
 a good home. This will help to save them from the 
 snare of the tempter, and the raging tempest with- 
 out. But it matters little how splendid the habita- 
 tion, if its memory savors of some poignant grief 
 or folly for which we are to blame, then it is not a 
 home, it is merely a house, scarcely better than a 
 prison. 
 
 Alas, the lot of Clarissa was far more pitiable 
 than that of Jack Dempsey, for he could feel no 
 pangs for the loss of that he had never possessed. 
 
 Clarissa, like many other poor young women of 
 her race, was contending for bread against tre- 
 mendous odds — and was gaining only a pittance — 
 but, perhaps, it was an equivalent for the service 
 she was rendering. And yet no person who saw 
 her in her costly apparel and finery could believe 
 that she was just a plain every-day servant girl. 
 
 Every penny Clarissa could earn was expended 
 either for dress or some senseless frivolity. No 
 calculation nor provision was made for the day of 
 adversity, the day of sickness, or old age. 
 
 Our young women of to-day serving as domestics 
 do not stand on the same footing as the servants of 
 ante-bellum days, for they are not, generally speak- 
 
210 NEITHER BOND NOB FREE. 
 
 ing, as capable, as trustworthy, nor as continuing 
 as the old family servant. 
 
 The present-day colored servant is too often 
 wasteful as a cook, sloven as a housemaid, and in- 
 attentive as a nurse, and there is withal much gross 
 ignorance and unreliability. This servant question 
 is a burning one both for employer and employe, 
 for the servant seeks employment without any 
 special fitness for the work, and her chief ambition, 
 it seems, is to realize enough from her employment 
 to obtain some article of dress, or to gratify some 
 whim or caprice. 
 
 A sensible man has aptly said that there is as 
 much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem. 
 I wish to qualify this statement by saying that much 
 depends upon how the two tasks are performed. 
 There is decidedly more dignity in tilling a field, 
 provided it be done with more thoroughness than is 
 exemplified in the writing of a poem. 
 
 The difficulty with the servant question lies in the 
 Ignorance and shiftlessness of the average servant. 
 There is a growing demand — and there has always 
 been a demand — for well trained and intelligent 
 servants. Those who have had successful instruc- 
 tion in domestic science can easily secure profitable 
 employment South as well as North, and retain the 
 same if they are honest and industrious. 
 
 There should be housekeeping schools for colored 
 girls in every community throughout the South. In 
 
tJ EITHER BOND NOR FREE. ^U 
 
 Germany these schools are an established success. 
 To begin with, let the little girls be taught to mend, 
 wash, starch, iron the clothes they wear, learn to 
 sweep and keep in order the room they occupy, make 
 up the beds on which they sleep, cook and prepare 
 the food they eat, grow vegetables and fruits and 
 cultivate flowers. These things will not depress the 
 child, and they can go hand in hand with polite ac- 
 complishments. 
 
 There are some great negro problems, but the 
 greatest, I should say, is the home problem. It is 
 the home which is the fountain head of society. 
 The steam, you know, cannot rise higher than its 
 source. No government is better than the aggre- 
 gate home life of its people. If you would read 
 Vv'ith unerring eye the progress of a people, go into 
 their homes. If the children and their elders will 
 not remain at home but prefer to be away, the dan- 
 ger is that they have wandered to the haunts of 
 revelry or the dens of infamy. To keep them at 
 home, let woman, the queen of the home, reign as a 
 ministering angel, putting her religion in her bread 
 and broom, — 
 
 ^'A guardian angel over our lives presiding, 
 Doubling our pleasures and our cares dividing" 
 
212 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 FOUR YEARS LATER 
 
 Four years had passed since the trial of Van 
 Courtney, and now he was returning to the home 
 of his parents, a pardoned man, but only a wreck 
 of his former self, for he was suffering from an in- 
 curable and fatal malady. A few weeks or months 
 at most and the struggle would be over. 
 
 Strother had taken the pains to write to Van 
 Courtney, soon after he reached his home, sending 
 him some wholesome reading matter, and making 
 a generous offer in which Merna united to assist 
 him in any way they could to regain his health. 
 
 Van Courtney wrote in reply: "I am, of course, 
 grateful to you for your kind offer to assist me, but 
 there is little that you could do for me now. The 
 truth is, I am in need of nothing which this world 
 has to give. I want no sacrifice made for me, be- 
 cause I merit none. I never made a sacrifice for 
 anybody or to any purpose in all my life; but some- 
 how I trust my worthless life may serve others as 
 an example — a danger signal, to keep off the track. 
 
-NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 213 
 
 I hear that you are getting along nicely. I am glad 
 to know it. I have read in one of the papers which 
 you were good enough to send me that your alumi- 
 num cannon had been patented, and that you had 
 recently realized a handsome sum on your brain 
 investment. And this too reminds me how I 
 laughed when I heard of your contrivance, the sum- 
 mer we met at the lawn party. I am glad to hear 
 that you are now a successful farmer. But most 
 of all I am proud to know that you have wooed and 
 won such a sweet good woman as Merna Attaway. 
 You are indeed happily mated. Now I ought to 
 have started out with my congratulations instead of 
 my laments. But you will overlook everything, as 
 I am scarcely myself these days." 
 
 In his modest way Strother had told Mr. Robbins, 
 his Washington employer, of his invention, and 
 the latter advised and helped him to secure a pa- 
 tent and afterwards a market for the article. It was 
 not very long before the young inventor had dis- 
 posed of all his right, title and interest in his can- 
 non to some speculator for a large amount of 
 money ; — the purchaser believing that the invention 
 would be availed of by the government, in the war 
 already begun, between this country and the King- 
 dom of Spain. 
 
 And now all of Strother's premeditated plans 
 were changed, and thus he did not return to Wash- 
 ington and the study of the law, but remained at 
 
214 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 home and attended the Southern Industrial Insti- 
 tute, pursuing the higher branches, and learning the 
 science of farming. 
 
 During these years Ralph Attaway had passed 
 away, devising all his property, and without reser- 
 vation, to his favorite niece. 
 
 That little summer school of bygone years had 
 proven helpful in more than one way, for the com- 
 panionship of labor on the part of Merna and 
 Strother, had wrought a mutual sympathy and a 
 community of interests which budded and blos- 
 somed into a happy consummation, namely, a mar- 
 riage, which occurred in the merry month of June, 
 just a year ago. Strother had brought his bride 
 South, and they had settled down, hard by the good 
 old town of H . 
 
 Clarissa did not tarry at home long, and she was 
 soon followed by Jack Dempsey. A few months 
 thereafter, and they became man and wife. Clarissa 
 then set to work to fashion Jack after her own 
 sweet will, developing the field hand into a city 
 sport, in order that the pair — in the humble circles 
 in which they moved, could '^get by," as the street 
 gamin is wont to say. Fortunately for Jack he was 
 not difficult to fit, and his employer, who had a 
 warm spot for him, was disposed to keep his man 
 decked like a magnate in his cast-off garments. 
 
 But after a time Jack lost his job, and then he 
 
^^ EITHER BO'ND NOR FREE, 216 
 
 was confronted with the problem how to meet his 
 room rent. Alas! it was too much for him. The 
 game of crap in a little while became quite fasci- 
 nating to the once religious enthusiast. From bad 
 to worse, lower and lower he sunk himself in the 
 cesspool of vice and shame, until Clarissa for fear 
 of being jeered at as a grass widow, abandoned 
 Washington, and returned with Jack to her old 
 home. 
 
 This change of scene, however, was not accom- 
 plished without the interposition of Merna, who 
 induced Jack and his wife to come South, promis- 
 ing them work, if they needed it. 
 
216 li EITHER BOND NOB FREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ORDER OUT OF CONFUSION. 
 
 Day dawned clear and cool on the morning of the 
 
 first of January, . The sky was cloudless, the 
 
 angel of peace once more hovered over land and 
 sea, and there was everywhere general rejoicings, 
 for the last grim reminder of war with a foreign 
 power had been swept away with the sudden collapse 
 of a formidable insurrection in our new possessions 
 in the East. 
 
 In the town of H all was bustle and con- 
 fusion, for the colored inhabitants of the place were 
 early astir and had taken complete possession of the 
 thoroughfares. 
 
 The day had a deeper meaning for them than it 
 could possibly have for those who were only intent 
 on exchanging the formal greetings of the New 
 Year. It was Freedom's day — the anniversary of 
 the emancipated millions from thraldom. 
 
 All the country folk were in town, Swepsy among 
 the rest. The rub-a-dub of drum, the air piercing 
 fife, and occasional and distant sounds of bugle, 
 awakened in the breasts of these early risers memo- 
 
VEITEER BOND NOR FREE. 217 
 
 ries of bygone years. Swepsy had come to town 
 on more than one mission, for she had heard 
 through Ethel and Merna of the untimely taking off 
 of Charles Van Courtney and, notwithstanding the 
 joy and glory of the day, was saying to those who 
 would listen to her: 'That yaller dude is gone; I 
 told him so." 
 
 When Sweqsy saw the plump, dusky face of Rev. 
 Burleigh, standing on the opposite corner of the 
 street, she rushed up to him, shouting as she went, 
 "There's my preacher now." 
 
 ''How's my sister?" inquired the minister, as he 
 warmly grasped her extended hand. She had with 
 marked deference withdrawn the big red mitten 
 from her chubby black hand. 
 
 "What's all the news. Brother Burleigh ?" 
 
 "Nothing that would interest Sister Swepsy," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Well, I ain't seen you since that Courtney fellow 
 what run away with Clarissa, died. I reckon he 
 won't try and run away with any more women folks 
 now. The old devil's got him straight, I reckon.'* 
 
 "That's all over with him. But how did you hap- 
 pen to hear about it ? I have seen nothing concern- 
 ing the matter in the papers. What little I have 
 heard reached me through Miss Gay — Ethel Gay; 
 I suppose you remember her?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; she was here — that is, out to my house. 
 That man brought her home — that is, to town, pas' 
 
218 2i EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 my house, when they come from the picnic. But 
 she did not tell me. I heard about the Courtney 
 man from Mr. Strother. But I suppose that Wash- 
 ington girl was put out about not getting the fellow 
 that death cheated her out of?" 
 
 "No ; Miss Gay writes me that she now has a ne^v 
 catch. She is engaged to a fellow that I know 
 quite well ; he lives in these parts. I have my suspi- 
 cion that it is Toussaint Ripley." 
 
 "I don't know him," remarked Swepsy, *'but I 
 have heard tell of him." 
 
 "There he stands now. He is the orator of the 
 day." 
 
 "He's a nice looking man. Call him over here. 
 No, hold on; he has already started this way, T 
 beHeve." 
 
 As Toussaint approached within speaking dis- 
 tance. Rev. Burleigh said : "Mr. Ripley, if you do 
 not already know Sister Swepsy, let me make you 
 acquainted with her." 
 
 Toussaint bowed, and the two shook hands in 
 good old Southern style. 
 
 "I was talking about you just a moment ago," 
 said Mr. Burleigh, addressing Toussaint. 
 
 "I hope it w^as complimentary, and yet I have 
 little reason to expect anything good nowadays." 
 
 "Oh, yes, it was all good that was said," returned 
 the minister. 
 
 "It was only this," Swepsy hastened to say, 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE, 219 
 
 "Brother Burleigh said you was goin' to get mar- 
 ried." 
 
 "Not exactly that," interrupted Mr. Burleigh. 
 "Sister Swepsy and I were talking about Miss Ethel 
 Gay, and I remarked that I thought she and yourself 
 might be engaged — that was all." 
 
 "No, sir; I am not making any new alliances. 
 I feel more inclined to seek divorcement this New 
 Year." 
 
 "Then you must be married already," laughed 
 the preacher. 
 
 "No, I am neither married nor given in marriage. 
 There are other divorcements, you must know, save 
 those from the marriage bond." 
 
 "Well, let's have it — out with it." 
 
 "The truth is, I am almost, if not altogether, a 
 Democrat to-day." 
 
 "And you are a fool to-day." 
 
 "Yes, my God, you are right, Brother Burleigh. 
 I ain't got no use for a nigger Democrat. I hate 
 'um. If I had a husband who'd vote the Demo- 
 cratic ticket, Fd tar and feather him an' run him 
 away from home." 
 
 "But, my sister, you must not be so severe on our 
 friend." 
 
 "You want the truth, don't you? Well, there, 
 you got it." 
 
 "Friend Ripley, I hope you will not preach that 
 sort of doctrine in your speech to-day." 
 
220 y EITHER BOXD XOR FREE. 
 
 *'I have no idea of trying to fasten my views upon 
 others — for the present, at least. Our people — the 
 masses, I mean — are slow to grasp an idea — that is, 
 they do not think. I realize that it will take time 
 to have them see things in their true light — things 
 which will make for the best interests of themselves 
 and their posterity. But, speaking for myself, and 
 myself alone, I feel as if I should this New Year's 
 day resolve to cut loose from the Republican party 
 and be divorced from it forever." 
 
 "And why, may I ask?" 
 
 "Certainly you cannot ask me why, for you have 
 been accustomed to lament and bewail the status 
 of the negro in this country, which deplorable state, 
 you must confess, has been brought about by reason 
 of the fealty of the black man to the Republican 
 party, his vote being given solidly for that party 
 and against the Democratic party. The policy of 
 the Republican party is to-day being dictated by the 
 sons of the Abolitionists, who are an altogether 
 different set from the old-timers. For myself, I 
 should prefer a monarchy to a Republic governed 
 like ours. The negro would have nothing to lose 
 under a monarchy, but, on the other hand, he would 
 be on terms of perfect equality with all other sub- 
 jects. 
 
 "I say it is impossible to be an honest negro Dem- 
 ocrat in the South," gesticulated the minister. "You 
 would vote with the Democrats for the nominee of 
 
vmTntin botud i^or freb. 221 
 
 a Democratic primary, knowing at the time that 
 you have no voice in the primary which selected the 
 candidate? I am a race man, and believe that we 
 would be taking a backward step to go outside the 
 Republican party to seek a remedy for the political 
 ills from which we suffer." 
 
 ''You speak as if all the Democrats are in the 
 South and confined to this State. I will admit that 
 there are some bad Democrats, as I well know there 
 are many bad Republicans. As the saying goes: 
 '•It is a condition and not a theory that confronts us.' 
 I speak not of Democrats in this or that State, but 
 of Democrats as representatives of principles in the 
 nation. I would be a National Democrat, especially ^ 
 when I call to mind the treatment I received at the ' 
 hands of Government officials in high places, some 
 two years ago, when I held a small appointment 
 under your Republican administration. Discourte- 
 sies and discriminations, invidious distinctions and 
 flagrant violations of the law were meted out to me 
 by my superiors solely on account of my color. I 
 only asked recognition according to position and 
 merit. They chose, however, to make my official 
 life a burden and my lot a hard one. Protests to 
 those immediately in charge of my work availed me 
 nothing. Finally, I brought the matter of my un- 
 fair treatment to the attention of the authorities at 
 Washington. There my papers were pigeon-holed, 
 no action ever having been taken in the matter. As 
 
222 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 a rebuke for the protests I had filed against the in- 
 dignities heaped upon me, at the first opportunity 
 I was recommended for dismissal on a trumped-up 
 charge, and this ended my connection with the Gov- 
 ernment service." 
 
 "Your experiences were a hardship to you per- 
 sonally, but they were hardly serious enough for you 
 to expect your race to renounce its allegiance to the 
 Republican party." 
 
 *The soldiers and the band's comin' and I'm 
 gone," interposed Swepsy, excitedly. In her eager- 
 ness to catch up wnth the crowd and follow in the 
 wake of the procession, she had forgotten to say 
 good-bye to her beloved minister. 
 
 "As I was saying," remarked Rev, Burleigh, con- 
 fusedly, "no man should leave the Republican party 
 for a personal grievance." 
 
 "Well, how about the murder of the negro post- 
 master at Lake City, and the infant in his wife's 
 arms? If Baker had been a white man his assas- 
 sins would have been hunted down and hanged, even 
 if their capture and conviction had drained the Na- 
 tional Treasury and called into service the detective 
 and armed force of the country. But, no, the Re- 
 publican administration is impotent — powerless, it 
 is said — to protect an official of the Government in 
 the discharge of his sworn duty. Is this, too, to be 
 regarded as merely a personal offense?" 
 
 "No, that was a National disgrace, and righteous- 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 223 
 
 ly to be deplored. Mark you, I am with you in 
 sympathy, and am grieved to my heart when I think 
 of our afflictions as a people, but let us not leave the 
 old ship — the Republican party — but stay aboard it. 
 'Let us stand the storm; it won't be long, we'll an- 
 chor by and by.' This prejudice is God's plan. 
 We have, after all, much to be thankful for. Let us 
 be thankful that we are not living in Africa, and 
 that we are not in other parts of the world, as 
 Armenians and Jews. Don't try to get away from 
 your race. If you once join the Democratic party, 
 you will be alone, having no company at the South, 
 where you will most likely remain. Love your race, 
 for the white man will never, no, never, accept you 
 on terms of equality with himself." 
 
 "I don't want to get away from my race — I only 
 want to get away from the Republican party, with 
 its heartless sycophants North, and demagogues 
 South. The negro is a standing joke. He is the 
 plaything of every party and every section of the 
 country, merely because he does not exercise any 
 foresight with his ballot. McKinley could not have 
 been elected President in 1896 without the negro 
 vote. Maryland and Kentucky, West Virginia and 
 Ohio, California and Delaware, Rhode Island and 
 Connecticut were Republican by the grace of the 
 negro vote. So long as the negro will segregate and 
 remain together in a body, he will accomplish noth- 
 ing. Why should the negro in any respect be 
 
224 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 treated as a class? Leave him, I say, alone to pro- 
 ceed on his personal merits. Leave him to think 
 and act for himself on personal questions like his 
 white fellow-citizen, and he will thereby gain the 
 respect of all right thinking people and very ma- 
 terially assist the white man in forgetting his color. 
 But I must hurry to my home, as the orator of the 
 day should be found there when called to take his 
 place in the procession." 
 
 The parade that it was expected would start at 
 ten o'clock — it was so advertised — moved off about 
 the hour of two. The procession was composed of 
 a single company of the State Guard, several civic 
 organizations of a benevolent character, two hun- 
 dred members of the Oyster Shuckers' Union, a 
 fraternal society ; besides all the buggies and wagons 
 which were owned or could be hired by their occu- 
 pants. These, together with numerous country 
 folk, astride horses of their own, brought up the 
 rear end of the spectacle. 
 
 Taken as a w^hole, the affair was creditable, but 
 its good points were lost on the sorry and humili- 
 ating horde — the riff-raff of men, women and chil- 
 dren, slovenly clad, boisterous — trudging along, 
 wild with delight, to the music of the bands. 
 
 Toussaint addressed the tumultuous gathering, 
 or, at least, as many as were able to elbow their way 
 
VEITEER BOND NOR FREE. 225 
 
 through the surging mass of humanity that blocked 
 the entrance to the First Baptist Church. 
 
 Shortly after he had finished his speech, in which 
 he had been industriously sowing the seed of discord 
 between the races, Merna and Strother were at home 
 talking over plans whereby they hoped to improve 
 the material condition of their race by placing them 
 on a sure industrial footing. 
 
 What we call race prejudice had given Strother 
 little concern in a personal sense. The men who 
 looked down on him with scorn were to him objects 
 of genuine pity rather than contempt. He did noth- 
 ing to encourage enmity and create friction between 
 the races. His mind and energies were wadded to 
 a better service. He was no dreamer. He did not 
 indulge in vagaries. He had never been the slave 
 of despair, for on his forehead he bore the prophecy 
 of hope. Others might content themselves with 
 speculating and theorizing, but for himself there 
 was so much requiring instant performance. Labor 
 for others was his religion, and the greater the 
 problem the greater the blessing. Opportunities of 
 usefulness were serious matters with him, for he had 
 sense enough to know that his responsibility to his 
 God was in proportion to those opportunities. He 
 gathered all the forces he could about him, and 
 bound them captive to his chariot. While others 
 fretted and fumed about this and that "hard condi- 
 tion" he took the bit firmly between his teeth and 
 
226 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 cheerily moved along up grade to his destiny. He 
 was ever on the defensive, never on the offensive. 
 And he won many a conflict with a stubborn foe 
 with silence and smiles — effective weapons. Once 
 only can it be charged to him that he rebuked any 
 man for his arrogance, and this was done good 
 naturedly. • It happened in this way : An implaca- 
 ble ''Buckra-man" had referred in sarcastic terms 
 to some white woman who attended the law school 
 where he had been a student. 
 
 *'I reckon," said his questioner, "them Yankee 
 women would set right close to you colored boys?" 
 
 "I was quite busy with my books when at school," 
 replied Strother," so much so that I did not give 
 any thought to sexes or colors. The presence of 
 white women did not disturb me. The truth is I 
 have no prejudice whatever on account of color. 
 A white woman is quite as good as a colored one, 
 that is, if she behaves herself." 
 
 "Ah!" he stammered and then was silent, dazed 
 by the directness of the speech. 
 
 Strother at this time was thirty years of age, a 
 type of robust manhood, and having a mind richly 
 endowed. He was calm and self-contained, also 
 temperate in speech and action. He made no ene- 
 mies and he lost no friends. He was a paradox, 
 being reserved to the verge of coldness, and yet 
 none was more genial in his dealings with men. 
 He possessed the temperament of a genius, and the 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 227 
 
 courage of a hero. I do not mean a hero in the f 
 every-day acceptation of the word, but in its broader 
 and best sense, for he possessed in an eminent de- 
 gree the quahty of self-concentration. His whole 
 aim seemed to be to fit himself more fully for the 
 discharge of his arduous duties — opportunities. 
 And in all that he did he adhered to the motto, "No 
 excellence without labor." He did not court the 
 respect and confidence of men merely because it 
 might in some way be helpful to him. He was a 
 lover of men, and hence would grasp their hands 
 and help them when he could. His powers of use- 
 fulness, like those of the illustrious Lincoln, "Lay 
 most conspicuous in his moral purpose." Wherever 
 he was known, men, regardless of creed, color or 
 party, honored and respected him for his manly 
 bearing. 
 
 Strother had come in from the Emancipation ex- 
 ercises, and, finding Merna perusing a book, crept 
 up behind her, and, surprising her with a kiss, in- 
 quired what she was reading. 
 
 "Let me read you these lines and you will, doubt- 
 less, recall the author," she replied. 
 
 "The great problem is, after all, how shall one 
 grow in sympathy and tenderness and generosity 
 and consideration? How shall he feed on high 
 thoughts and noble aims? How shall he be swift 
 to discern and avail himself of those opportunities 
 for usefulness to others which are the best channels 
 
228 -NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 of his own growth? How c:hall he hold clear and 
 close relations with the divine energy? 'Be one of 
 the conquerors !' said Balzac. 'The universe belongs 
 to him who wills and loves and prays ; but he must 
 will, he must love, he must pray!' in a w^ord, 'he 
 must possess wisdom, force and faith' !" 
 
 "Ah, there is such a sweet communion in living 
 near the Master and sharing in his work," she said, 
 laying aside the book. 
 
 "And I have a new thought which will bring us 
 more work in this and the years to come." 
 
 "Well, what is your plan, Edward?" she asked 
 as she placed a chair for him near her side. 
 
 "Mine is an economic idea. You have done so 
 well with your school savings bank in the past year 
 that the idea is spreading like wildfire in this and 
 the nearby counties. I believe that I like the sys- 
 tem you employ better than the stamp plan of sav- 
 ings. It is really more educating and helpful in 
 encouraging self-denial and thrift as against the 
 frivolous waste of pennies for candy, pickles, and 
 chewing gum. I want to see your savings plan en- 
 larged upon, that is, I w^ant to get our Senators and 
 Congressmen from this State to introduce a bill in 
 Congress, having for its object the establishment of 
 postal savings banks. With this end in view, I 
 have decided to write first to the member from this 
 district, forwarding him a copy of the resolution 
 which was passed at a recent conference of the 
 
T^EfTffER BO^D ^OR FREE. 229 
 
 graduates and friends of the Southern Institute, 
 urging the passage of some such measure as I have 
 mentioned. The provisions of the bill will most 
 likely take in our town, for this place has made 
 wonderful strides in the last six years, having, on 
 account of the 'boom,' nearly doubled its popula- 
 tion." 
 
 "And the plan?" 
 
 "It is that postal savings banks be made a part of 
 the postal service and operated for the benefit of 
 the people. I believe this scheme, while benefitting 
 all the people, will be of inestimable advantage to 
 our race." 
 
 "Yes, I believe that at least thirty per cent, of our 
 colored women of the South would hoard their earn- 
 ings if they were enabled to open a savings account 
 with their nickels and dimes, fostered and protected 
 by the government." 
 
 And thus Strother and Merna continued to dis- 
 cuss this and other race questions until the day was 
 done and the night came on apace calling into serv- 
 ice the evening lamps. But at midnight there was 
 a hum and confusion of voices near the home of 
 Strother, which had aroused Seba in his kennel out 
 of a profound slumber. The dog's long drawn out 
 whines had changed into barkings loud and furious. 
 These awakened the man servant, who listened and 
 heard distinctly the sound of voices and the stamp- 
 ing of many feet in the immediate vicinity of the 
 
230 'SEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 house. He hastened to call Strother, who hurriedly 
 dressing himself, called out from his window: 
 "Halloo! Who comes?" 
 "Friends, Asa Burleigh and others." 
 Strother recognized the voice, and hastened be- 
 low, where he found more than a dozen people, 
 greatly agitated, awaiting his presence. Before he 
 could question them as to their mission. Rev. Bur- 
 leigh spoke up : 
 
 "Mr. Strother, there is great excitement down- 
 town. Jack Dempsey is about to be lynched ; — that 
 is, if he is caught.- Bands of lynchers are now out 
 ransacking every hole and corner for him. I have 
 been charged with harboring him, and for this my 
 life is threatened. We want you to come with us 
 and speak to the mob." 
 
 "Then you want me to be lynched?" 
 "No, you don't understand me. There is no time 
 to parley. Get your hat and come with us, and 
 don't lose a second, for while we talk they may have 
 caught and made away with him." 
 
 When Strother had started with his midnight 
 callers, the mayor of the town stepped up to him, 
 and said: 
 
 "I will tell you why I have come with these peo- 
 ple to see you. I feel that you can save the negro. 
 It is my duty to protect every citizen in his legal 
 rights — your people as well as mine. I don't know, 
 nor do I care, anything about Jack Dempsey the 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 231 
 
 man, but I do care for citizen Jack Dempsey. I care 
 for the maintenance of law and order." 
 
 "What has Jack Dempsey done?" asked Stro- 
 ther. 
 
 "I do not know what he has done, but it is said 
 that he, while crazed by drink, fired a pistol in a 
 group of white people who were viewing your pro- 
 cession from the sidewalk, instantly killing a young 
 lady. A brother of the murdered lady is deter- 
 mined to avenge her death. Under cover of the 
 darkness, the criminal has been enabled to make 
 good his escape. But bloodhounds will shortly be 
 put on his trail. He will surely be strung up when 
 caught, and a fire started under him by the brother. 
 The town is in an uproar. A howling frenzied mob 
 has taken control of the place, while the negroes are 
 sullen, swearing that no violence shall be done the 
 darky, and threatening to play havoc, using the 
 torch if he is not dealt with according to law. The 
 police are powerless to restrain or disperse the mob. 
 There is, you know, but a single company of militia 
 here. I cannot get them out — those that do not 
 claim to be sick are conveniently away — for their 
 sympathies are with the mob, while a race war is 
 imminent, led on by the hot-headed and impulsive 
 whites and blacks ; other negroes, fearing a general 
 uprising of the whites have, so I have been told, fled, 
 terror stricken — some to the woods and others to 
 
232 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 the river's brink — trying to get away in small 
 boats. 
 
 "Those who are looking for trouble are getting, 
 I am afraid, more than they have bargained for. I 
 have pleaded with the mob, but all in vain. The 
 chief of police has also harangued the crowd, but 
 they refuse to hear us, calling us 'nigger lovers.' 
 Your minister here wanted tf) say a word, but the 
 crowd threatened to wreak vengeance on him say- 
 ing that the political doctrines which he and Tous- 
 saint Ripley are disseminating were making negroes 
 saucy and indolent, and that he is partly responsible 
 for the crime of Jack Dempsey. Some Democratic 
 associates, also Republicans, have begged me to 
 bring you face to face with the crowd, for w^e all 
 believe that all classes and parties wall give you a 
 hearing." 
 
 "I am going with you, but I am sure that nothing 
 I can do will alter the purpose of a mob. They 
 don't want to hear me; they want only poor Jack 
 Dempsey." 
 
 Strother's visitors returning to the scene of the 
 great gathering gained may accessions on their 
 v/ay, for it was supposed that he himself was the 
 criminal. The crowd instinctively fell back, open- 
 ing a way to the spot selected for the lynching. 
 Rev. Burleigh dropped out of the ranks while the 
 mayor and his Democratic followers surrounding 
 and shielding Strother were hard pressed near a 
 
'NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 233 
 
 wagon, placed against an electric pole which shed 
 its fitful glare on many an upturned face where "rea- 
 son had fled to brutish beasts." Strother was lifted 
 bodily in the wagon where he without introduction 
 or ceremony said : 
 
 "Friends, I am here and against my will. I have 
 been pressed to come by our fellow citizens, includ- 
 ing the honorable mayor of our town." 
 
 "We don't want you, Strother," shouted a voice. 
 "We want that other nigger." 
 
 "Let him alone," shouted another, "he's decent, 
 and behaves himself." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say that you don't want 
 me," continued Strother. "I am sincere — I would 
 not have com.e, but you know that the first duty of 
 a citizen is to obey the law, and obey those whom 
 you entrust to execute it. I know that I ought not 
 to be here at this late hour, unless, perhaps, I can 
 do some good; and I do not think that you should 
 be here either unless you can do some good. But 
 where is Jack Dempsey?" 
 
 "We'll have him here before morning, and have 
 him strung up," came a voice in reply. 
 
 "I want to serve you now as I have always tried 
 to do. Let "US be calm, if we would reason to- 
 gether. The law must be vindicated, and that with- 
 out delay. Now possess your souls in patience 
 until morning, and then if the officers of the law 
 do not bring the guilty to justice — that is all we 
 
23^ NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 should ask — I will join any one, or all of you, and 
 together with your sergeant, under authority of law, 
 we will bring the fugitive to prison. I have every 
 assurance that his trial and punishment will be 
 swift and certain and ample to satisfy the ends of 
 justice." 
 
 "We will wait another hour," said the leader of 
 the mob. 
 
 "And I will wait with you," replied Strother. 
 
 In the meantime, Strother, the mayor and his 
 followers v/ent among the people doing effective 
 missionary work. 
 
 Nearly two hours had passed, but Jack Dempsey 
 had not been found, and the crowd began to dis- 
 perse. Strother, the police officers, and a few 
 others remained at their post, expecting any moment 
 the return of the searching party with their victim. 
 
 Morning came and Strother returned home, anx- 
 ious and perplexed as to the fate of Jack Dempsey. 
 
 It was near noon when Rev. Burleigh made the 
 discovery that the door leading to his study in the 
 church had been forced open. He immediately sus- 
 pected that Jack was secreted in the building. A 
 careful search found the poor fellow crouched in a 
 corner of the belfry tower. 
 
 This information the minister conveyed to Stro- 
 ther, who advised that Jack be turned over to the 
 sergeant, who would see to the prisoner's safe keep- 
 
■NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 235 
 
 ing there, or elsewhere, if necessary, until the ex- 
 citement had subsided. 
 
 Rev. Burleigh insisted that no risk be taken in a 
 hostile community, with a hostile bench and bar, but 
 that a purse should be made up, and Jack, disguised 
 and sent North at once. Strother was emphatic in 
 declaring that he had pledged himself to assist in 
 surrendering Jack if the mob would let the law take 
 its course, and this they had tacitly agreed to do. 
 
 Before Jack Dempsey had been delivered to the 
 sergeant the news had been heralded through the 
 afternoon papers that the woman supposed to have 
 been murdered was alive, but suffering somewhat 
 from a flesh wound in the right shoulder. 
 
 And it came to pass that Jack Dempsey's New 
 Year's day carousal cost him three years' confine- 
 ment in the penitentiary, but then it would have been 
 •worse — much worse, for him had Judge Lynch held 
 sway. 
 
 But for Strother there had been a fresh blot on 
 our much boasted civilization, and for the crime of 
 Jack Dempsey, murderer or no murderer — there 
 would have been nearly one thousand m.urderers, 
 for all are murderers who deprive any human being 
 of life without warrant of law. The reckless and 
 vicious must be punished — not by the mob, but by 
 the law. Every crime is a blow at civilization. 
 Every murderer or rapist is one fell stroke at civili- 
 zation. One thousand lynchers are but one thou- 
 
236 NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 sand savage thrusts at civilization. This question 
 concerns every man, white and black, for all are 
 part and parcel of this civilization. The act of the 
 lyncher as he torments his victim, making him 
 v^rithe over the flaming pyre with its dismal glare, 
 causes humanity to shudder far beyond the outposts 
 of civilization. 
 
 The crime of a negro should not be interpreted 
 as the crime of his race, for ninety-five per cent, of 
 them lend neither sympathy nor encouragement to 
 the criminal, but abhor and detest his villainy. And 
 would it not be a sad day for the Anglo-Saxon if the 
 crime of the white savage was construed to be the 
 crime of his race? The whites of the South have 
 the legislatures, the judges and the juries — all the 
 machinery of law and government — and it is theirs 
 to inaugurate, in a spirit of fairness such reforms as 
 will make for the betterment of both races; or else 
 the five per cent, of vicious w-hites and the five per 
 cent, of degraded blacks, sowing perpetually the seed 
 of discord, may invite a harvest of woe. 
 
 It is as true now as ever, that there is a class of 
 Southern w^hites justly famed for their high sense 
 of honor, their generous hospitality and devoted 
 friendships, but, alas, they no longer dictate the 
 policy of the State. The poor white man is supreme. 
 He it is who is responsible for the Jim Crow car, 
 which compels an intelligent and refined colored 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 237 
 
 man to pay first-class fare for third-class accommo- 
 dation. 
 
 With the mass of the negro race there is need of 
 a higher order of morality, and one naturally looks 
 to the white man as an example of higher and better 
 things. But we shall scarcely find our inspiration 
 in the work of the mob, and in that of the destroyer 
 of manhood suffrage. The Southern white man 
 owes it to his posterity to transmit a better legacy 
 than this. 
 
 No community is competent to dispassionately 
 hear and determine the guilt of an accused person. 
 And no sane man will make this contention. It is 
 not their province, and they cannot usurp it. They 
 cannot rightfully put to death any man, black or 
 white. 
 
 Punish us when guilty according to law, but pray 
 do not torture nor degrade us. 
 
 The negro is not inherently different from other 
 men. He has the same aspirations — he loves and 
 suffers and hopes and fears like other men. Con- 
 ditions in this country have, however, operated to 
 make him much "lower than the angels." The little 
 army of w^hite philanthropists with the Strothers 
 and Mernas wall do their best to reclaim the Jack 
 Dempseys, Clarissas and Van Courtneys, but this 
 reformation cannot be accomplished in a day, nor 
 a year, for there are agencies at work to retard and 
 hinder this grievous task. There is the white man 
 
238 2f EITHER BOND NOR FREE. 
 
 with his unnatural antipathy and resentment, and 
 there are Toussaint Ripleys and Asa Burleighs who 
 are doing far more mischief than good in the world. 
 
 And yet, after all, there is no serious friction be- 
 tween the whites and blacks of the South. And 
 the domineering spirit of the Anglo-Saxon is not 
 confined to the old slave master nor his son at the 
 South, but it obtains wherever they set foot. The 
 educated negro makes for peace, and his industrial 
 training is the sure foundation of future usefulness. 
 Let him then make friends with the people with 
 whom his destiny is involved. Let him divide in- 
 telligently in politics, but never rest content until 
 his ballot is counted as cast. The self-interest of 
 the whites — a ruling pasion with all men — will pro- 
 tect the ballot in the black hand when it becomes a 
 potent factor, determining, as the balance of power, 
 the authority of men in political affairs. 
 
 The negro boys and girls must be taught to en- 
 courage race enterprises, to emulate the worthy of 
 their race, to be charitable to the deserving around 
 them, and to hear and respond to the distant cry 
 of distress, whether it comes from flood, famine or 
 other pestilence. Let the children be taught to 
 work, to love and to think, — all these by good fath- 
 ers and mothers ; and the present restless feeling will 
 give place to useful living, not in the North, but 
 here in the South, where race problems will then 
 
NEITHER BOND NOR FREE. 239 
 
 be seen as race blessings, for these make opportu- 
 nities — God's choicest gifts. 
 
 ''Opportunities Hy in straight lines, 
 They touch us hut once and never return, 
 But the evil we do goes in circles. 
 And returns to the place from which it started/' 
 
 THE END, 
 
(imM 
 
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