Gabriel read this eloquent declaration somewhat uneasily. There was something in it, and something in the exaggeration of the facts that he had given to the representative of the paper that jarred upon him. He had already in his own mind separated the Government and its real interests from the selfish aims and desires of those who were temporarily clothed with authority, and he had begun to suspect that there might also be something selfish behind the utterances of those who made such vigorous protests against tyranny. The matter is hardly worth referring to in these days when shams and humbugs appear before the public in all their nakedness; but it was worth a great deal to Gabriel to be able to suspect that the champions of constitutional liberty, and the defenders of popular rights, in the great majority of instances had their eyes on the flesh-pots. The suspicions he entertained put him on his guard at a time when he was in danger of falling a victim to the rhetoric of orators and editors, and they preserved him from many a mistaken belief.
During the period that intervened between his escape and the announcement of the restoration of civil government in Georgia, Gabriel settled down to a course of reading in the law office of Judge Vardeman, Colonel Tom's brother. He did this on the advice of those who were old enough to know that idleness does not agree with a healthy youngster, especially in a large city. His experience in Judge Vardeman's office decided his career. He was fascinated from the very beginning. He found the dullest law-book interesting; and he became so absorbed in his reading that the genial Judge was obliged to warn him that too much study was sometimes as bad as none.
Yet the lad's appetite grew by what it fed on. A new field had been opened up to him, and he entered it with delight. Here was what he had been longing for, and there were moments when he felt sure that he had heard delivered from the bench, or had dreamed, the grave and sober maxims and precepts that confronted him on the printed page. He pursued his studies in a state of exaltation that caused the days to fly by unnoted. He thought of home, and of his grandmother, and a vision of Nan sometimes disturbed his slumbers; but for the time being there was nothing real but the grim commentators and expounders of the common law.
When Mr. Sanders returned home, bearing the news of Gabriel's escape, Nan Dorrington laid siege to his patience, and insisted that he go over every detail of the event, not once but a dozen times. To her it was a remarkable adventure, which fitted in well with the romances which she had been weaving all her life. How did Gabriel look when he ran from the depot at Malvern? Was he frightened? And how in the world did he manage to get in the waggon, and crawl on the inside of the sham bale of cotton and hide so that nobody could see him? And what did he say and how did he look when Mr. Sanders found him asleep in the cotton-bale box, or the cotton-box bale, whichever you might call it?
"Why, honey, I've told you all I know an' a whole lot more," protested Mr. Sanders. "Ef ever'body was name Nan, I'd be the most populous man in the whole county."
"Well, tell me this," Nan insisted; "what did he talk about when he woke up? Did he ask about any of the home-folks?"
"Lemme see," said Mr. Sanders, pretending to reflect; "he turned over in his box, an' got his ha'r ketched in a rough plank, an' then he bust out cryin' jest like you use to do when you got hurt. I kinder muched him up, an' then he up an' tol' me a whole lot of stuff about a young lady: how he was gwine to win her ef he had to stop chawin' tobacco, an' cussin'. I'll name no names, bekaze I promised him I wouldn't."
"I think that is disgusting," Nan declared. "Do you mean to tell me he never asked about his grandmother?"
"Fiddlesticks, Nan! he looked at me like he was hungry, an' I told him all about his grandmother, an' he kep' on a-lookin' hungry, an' I told him all about her neighbours. What he said I couldn't tell you no more than the man in the moon. He done jest like any other healthy boy would 'a' done, an' that's all I know about it."
"That's what I thought," said Nan wearily; "boys are so tiresome!"
"Well, Gabriel didn't look much like a boy when I seed him last. He hadn't shaved in a month of Sundays, and his beard was purty nigh as long as my little finger. He couldn't go to a barber-shop in Malvern for fear some of the niggers might know him an' report him to the commander of the post there. I begged him not to shave the beard off. He looks mighty well wi' it."
"His beard!" cried Nan. "If he comes home with a beard I'll never speak to him again. Gabriel with a beard! It is too ridiculous!"
"Don't worry," Mr. Sanders remarked soothingly. "Ef I git word of his comin' I'll git me a pa'r of shears, an' meet him outside the corporation line, an' lop his whiskers off for him; but I tell you now, it won't make him look a bit purtier—not a bit."
"You needn't trouble yourself," said Nan, with considerable dignity. "I have no interest in the matter at all."
"Well, I thought maybe you'd be glad to git Gabriel's beard an' make it in a sofy pillow."
"Why, whoever heard of such a thing?" cried Nan. In common with many others, she was not always sure when Mr. Sanders was to be taken seriously.
"I knowed a man once," replied Mr. Sanders, by way of making a practical application of his suggestion, "that vowed he'd never shave his beard off till Henry Clay was elected President. Well, it growed an' growed, an' bimeby it got so long that he had to wrop it around his body a time or two for to keep it from draggin' the ground. It went on that away for a considerbul spell, till one day, whilst he was takin' a nap, his wife took her scissors an' whacked it off. The reason she give was that she wanted to make four or five sofy pillows; but I heard afterwards that she changed her mind, an' made a good big mattress."
Nan looked hard at the solemn countenance of Mr. Sanders, trying to discover whether he was in earnest, but older and wiser eyes than hers had often failed to penetrate behind the veil of child-like serenity that sometimes clothed his features.
One day while Gabriel was deep in a law-book, Colonel Tom Vardeman came in smiling. He had a telegram in his hand, which he tossed to Gabriel. It was from Major Tomlin Perdue, and contained an urgent request for Gabriel to take the next train for Halcyondale, where he would meet the prisoners who had been released pending their trial by the State courts, an event that never came off. Gabriel had seen in the morning paper that the prisoners were to be released in a day or two; but undoubtedly Major Perdue had the latest information, for he was in communication with Meriwether Clopton and other friends of the prisoners who were in Atlanta watching the progress of the case.
Gabriel lost no time in making his arrangements to leave, and he was in Halcyondale some hours before the Atlanta train was due. When all had arrived, they were for going home at once; but the citizens of Halcyondale, led by Major Perdue and Colonel Blasengame, would not hear of such a thing.
"No, sirs!" exclaimed Major Perdue. "You young ones have been away from home long enough to be weaned, and a day or two won't make any difference to anybody's feelings. We have long been wanting a red-letter day in this section, and now that we've got the excuse for making one, we're not going to let it go by. Everything is fixed, or will be by day after to-morrow. We're going to have a barbecue half-way between this town and Shady Dale. The time was ripe for it anyhow, and you fellows make it more binding. The people of the two counties haven't had a jollification since the war, and they couldn't have one while it was going on. They haven't had an excuse for it; and now that we have the excuse we're not going to turn it loose until the jollification is over."
And so it was arranged. Notice was given to the people in the old-fashioned way, and nearly everybody in the two counties not only contributed something to the barbecue, but came to enjoy it, and when they were assembled they made up the largest crowd that had been seen together in that section since the day when Alexander Stephens and Judge Cone had their famous debate—a debate which finally ended in a personal encounter between the two.
The details of the barbecue were in the hands of Mr. Sanders, who was famous in those days for his skill in such matters. The fires had been lighted the night before, and when the sun rose, long lines of carcasses were slowly roasting over the red coals, contributing to the breezes an aroma so persistent and penetrating that it could be recognised miles away, and so delicious that, as Mr. Sanders remarked, "it would make a sick man's mouth water."
A speaker's stand had been erected, and everything was arranged just as it would have been for a political meeting. There was a good deal of formality too. Major Perdue prided himself on doing such things in style. He was a great hand to preside at political meetings, in which there is considerable formality. As the Major managed the affair, the friends of the young men caught their first glimpse of them as they went upon the stand. By some accident, or it may have been arranged by Major Perdue, Gabriel was the first to make his appearance, but he was closely followed by the rest. A tremendous shout went up from the immense audience, which was assembled in front of the stand, and this was what the Major had arranged for. The shouts and cheers of a great assemblage were as music in his ears. He comported himself with as much pride as if all the applause were a tribute to him. He advanced to the front, and stood drinking it in greedily, not because he was a vain man, but because he was fond of the excitement with which the presence of a crowd inspired him. It made his blood tingle; it warmed him as a glass of spiced wine warms a sick person.
When the applause had subsided, the Major made quite a little speech, in which he referred to the spirit of martyrdom betrayed by the young patriots, who had been seized and carried into captivity by the strong hand of a tyrannical Government, and he managed to stir the crowd to a great pitch of excitement. He brought his remarks to a close by introducing his young friend, Gabriel Tolliver.
There was tremendous cheering at this, and all of a sudden Gabriel woke up to the fact that his name had been called, and he looked around with a dazed expression on his face. He had been trying to see if he could find the face of Nan Dorrington in the crowd, but so far he had failed, and he woke out of a dream to hear a multitude of voices shouting his name. "Why, what do they mean?" he asked.
"Get up there and face 'em," said Major Perdue.
Now, Nan was not so very far from the stand, so close, indeed, that she had not been in Gabriel's field of vision while he was sitting down; but when he rose to his feet she was the first person he saw, and he observed that she was very pale. In fact, Nan had shrunk back when the Major announced that Gabriel would speak for his fellow-martyrs, and for a moment or two she fairly hated the man. She might not be very fond of Gabriel, but she didn't want to see him made a fool of before so many people.
Somehow or other, the young fellow divined her thought, and he smiled in spite of himself. He had no notion what to say, but he had the gift of saying something, very strongly developed in him; and he knew the moment he saw Nan's scared face that he must acquit himself with credit. So he looked at her and smiled, and she tried to smile in return, but it was a very pitiful little smile. Gabriel walked to the small table and leaned one hand on it, and his composure was so reassuring to everybody but Nan, that the cheering was renewed and kept up while the youngster was trying to put his poor thoughts together.
He began by thanking Major Perdue for his sympathetic remarks, and then proceeded to take sharp issue with the whole spirit of the Major's speech, using as the basis of his address an idea that had been put into his head by Judge Vardeman. The day before he left Malvern, the Judge had asked him this question: "Why should a parcel of politicians turn us against a Government under which we are compelled to live?"
This was the basis of Gabriel's remarks. He elaborated it, and was perhaps the first person in the country to ask if there was any Confederate soldier who had feelings of hatred against the soldiers of the union. He had not gone far before he had the audience completely under his control. Almost every statement he made was received with shouts of approval, and in some instances the applause was such that he had time to stand and gaze at Nan, whose colour had returned, and who occasionally waved the little patch of lace-bordered muslin that she called a handkerchief.
She was almost frightened at Gabriel's composure. The last time she had seen him, he was an awkward young man, whose hands and feet were always in his way. She felt that she was his superior then; but how would she feel in the presence of this grave young man, who was as composed while addressing an immense crowd as if he had been talking to Cephas, and who was dealing out advice to his seniors right and left? Nan was very sure in her own mind that she would never understand Gabriel again, and the thought robbed the occasion of a part of its enjoyment. She allowed her thoughts to wander to such an extent that she forgot the speech, and had her mind recalled to it only when the frantic screams of the audience split her ears, and she saw Gabriel, flushed and triumphant, returning to his seat. Then the real nature of his triumph dawned on her, as she saw Meriwether Clopton and all the others on the stand crowding around Gabriel and shaking his hand. She sat very quiet and subdued until she felt some one touch her shoulder. It was Cephas, and he wanted to know what she thought of it all. Wasn't it splendiferous?
Nan made no reply, but gave the little lad a message for Gabriel, which he delivered with promptness. He edged his way through the crowd, crawled upon the stand, and pulled at Gabriel's coat-tails. The great orator—that's what Cephas thought he was—seized the little fellow and hugged him before all the crowd; and though many years have passed, Cephas has never had a triumph of any kind that was quite equal to the pride he felt while Gabriel held him in his arms. The little fellow took this occasion to deliver his message, which was to the effect that Gabriel was to ride home in the Dorrington carriage with Nan.