A Deeper Sense of Loyalty Read online

TWO

  The Revelation

  James spurred Star out of the barn and down to the main road heading in the direction of the compound. The excitement was building inside him. If he met his father on the road he would have to turn back. If not, he would see the compound for himself.

  Star was an excellent example of horse flesh and she covered the miles in no time. James could see the buildings in the distance, and for an instant he nearly pulled the horse to a stop. But he had come this far and he would have felt weak in nature to change his mind.

  When he reached the lane leading from the main road, he slowed Star to a walk. No need to go busting in, he thought. Just ride back casually as if he went there every day. The lane weaved its way back through a heavily wooded area that ended about fifty yards from the fence surrounding the compound. When he reached the edge of the woods, he turned his horse into the trees and stopped.

  After dismounting and tying the reins to a sapling, he walked a few steps and stood just short of the clearing. He could easily survey the sprawling layout from his vantage point. In the foreground was a single-story building; well maintained with two windows in front, a porch closed in by a railing, and a chimney climbing up the right side. Going on comments he’d heard from his father, James figured it to be the field office. He could see his father’s horse tied at the hitching rail out front. About thirty feet to the left was a similar looking structure except that there were two large wooden chairs on the porch and it was surrounded by a white picket fence with a gate. It appeared to have a pen attached to the back of it and James could hear the sound of dogs coming from inside. That, he thought, would be where Farley Tabor lives. In the distance and to the right were the machinery and ginning sheds next to the mule barn.

  There were many wagons in sight, some empty, some loaded, and some partially loaded with bales of cotton. In the distance to the left, he could see four rows of small cabins, which, even from where he stood, appeared to be crude and hastily constructed. He could see several small black children playing near the cabins. Over by the sheds there were a few black men and at least one white man, but apparently most of the workers were out in the fields.

  The compound covered about five acres altogether. Outside the surrounding fence, the cotton fields stretched far beyond the horizon. James was glad that everything seemed on the quiet side around the field office. If he was to be reprimanded for his disobedience, he preferred not to have an audience.

  Still a bit nervous but nonetheless resolute, he was ready to ride in and surprise his father. Just as he turned toward his waiting horse, he heard a commotion coming from the office building. He turned back in time to see a black man seemingly catapulted through the doorway. His momentum carried him across the porch and ended with a hard landing on the ground. The man was naked from the waist up; his hands were tied behind his back. An instant later, two white men emerged from the office. They crossed the porch and went down the steps to stand on either side of the black man who was lying on his back in the dirt. One of the men was Farley Tabor. In a rough manner, Tabor reached down, grabbed the man by the head, and jerked him to his feet. With both hands he began pushing him towards two posts that stood about six feet high and maybe three or four feet apart. When Tabor had the man standing between the posts, he untied his hands. Then he re-tied one wrist to each post so that the man stood spread eagled with his hands above his head.

  When this was done, James’s father, who had followed along, handed something to Tabor that looked like a coil of rope. But when Tabor shook it out, James could see that it was a bullwhip. James watched in horror as his father stood with arms folded while Tabor began to use the whip on the defenseless man’s back. Lash after lash was applied until the victim’s knees buckled and he hung by his wrists from the posts. Thinking the two men were satisfied, James thanked God when the barbaric display ended. But it was not so. After a few minutes, Tabor began to kick the man in the side and in the back. Finally, the bloodied man struggled to his feet. And then, for James, the absolutely unthinkable happened. He saw Tabor hand the whip over to his father. In complete and utter disbelief, he watched as his father took his turn whipping the prisoner. James felt a warm, nauseating sensation come up from his stomach to his throat. For an instant he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs for his father to stop. Instead he turned, fell to his knees, and vomited until the dry heaves were all that was left. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he felt weak and unable to rise. All he wanted to do was to climb up on Star and get away from that awful place.

  As soon as he was able to stand, without looking back, he walked over to his horse, pulled himself astride and rode slowly back down the lane. As she had on the way out, Star wanted to run, but James made the effort to hold her back. He felt drained by his upset stomach and his head was spinning. So many thoughts were swirling in his mind that he couldn’t think straight. The reality of what he’d just witnessed jumped up and smacked him square in the face. There was no getting around the fact: his father had been lying to him, apparently for as long as he could remember. The blacks that worked for his father were slaves. They were bought and paid for, worked-to-death human beings just like everywhere else in the South. They were captives, held against their will—denied their freedom. Then another thought occurred to him and his blood ran cold. He thought about the nightmare that happened when he was seven years old. Was it real? It must have been. His father had stood by while a black man was hanged from the tree behind the barn. How convenient was the fever that had afflicted him?

  Then he thought about his mother. What did she know about it all? Had she gone all these years keeping ugly secrets or was she as innocent of it as James had been? What was he to do?

  His birthday party came to mind. How could he face everyone and act as if nothing was wrong? At that point, he didn’t give a damn about a party. All he really cared about was that slave; the unfortunate man who was being whipped by his father and that despicable Farley Tabor.

  Suddenly, from behind him he could hear hoof beats on the road. James was sure that it must be his father. His first instinct was to spur his horse and stay far enough ahead that he wouldn’t be seen. Then he thought about getting off the road and hiding in the bushes until his father rode past. Finally, he decided to do what he never would have guessed he’d do. He would just sit, wait, and confront his father.

  It took just a short time before the horse and rider slowed down, pulling to a stop beside him. James looked up and found himself eye to eye with the man he loved and respected most in the world; the man whose face was now covered in panic. He spoke his son’s name, then his chin dropped to his chest, and for several minutes, the two sat in silence. When he raised his head again James was sure his father could read the whole story written plainly on his face.

  “Were you down the road, James?” he asked. James nodded his head. “Did you see?” James nodded again. More time passed in silence. James did not know what to expect. He had always imagined that if something like this ever happened his father would lose his temper and the punishment would be more severe than he’d ever experienced. So it came as a complete surprise when James realized that his father’s demeanor was one of uncertainty.

  “We have to talk about this, son,” he said. “Climb down and I’ll try to explain.”

  James wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about anything, but when his father got off his horse and looked up at him, he simply couldn’t refuse. They secured their horses and walked over to a fallen tree lying just off the edge of the road and sat down. At first it seemed that his father did not know how to begin. Finally, he took a deep breath and started talking.

  “I want you to try to understand that I am a man who loves his family more than anything else in the world. I want you to understand that there is nothing that I would not do to guarantee their happiness and wellbeing. And I want you to understand that I was born into this way of life. Ever since I can remember, the Langdon family has owned slaves. If a man w
ants to be anything more than a broken back farmer then he has to accept the fact that slavery is essential to our southern way of life. I am not responsible for how things came to be James; I am just carrying on tradition. My father taught me at an early age that we live in a hard world, and if we are to survive we have to be hard as well. I wish now that I had taught you the same. I can see now that I have been a fool; a fool to think that I could make it possible for my family to live in a perfect world, sparing them from the harsh realities. I am full of regret for having lied to you, son, but I guess I always hoped that having provided well would absolve me of that sin.” Then he paused and James sensed that he was looking for a response, so he obliged.

  “I have always defended you, Father,” he said. “I believed that the blacks were here to make a living the same as George Lynch, Darcy Davis, and all the white folks who work for us. There were times when I was in school in New York, when almost to the point of violence I denied the accusations that we were slave owners like the rest of the South. I could accept the fact that others mistreat the blacks because I realize that we cannot control what other people do. I could accept it because I believed that it had no reflection on our family. But I don’t know that I could ever accept what I have seen today.”

  Then it was James’s turn to wait for a response. When his father started speaking again, James could clearly hear the frustration in his voice. Maybe it was because he thought he’d failed in his attempt to convince James to see the situation his way. Maybe it was because he didn’t really think he should have to. James had to admit, it was probably true for most people that being safe and well provided for was what counted the most; if heads should roll to make it possible, so be it. It was obvious that his father felt that way. But James simply did not.

  “Do you believe that a righteous man obeys the law, James? If it is the law of the land, established by responsible authority, does a virtuous man comply?”

  “Yes, Father,” James answered.

  “Then let me ask you, have you heard of the Dred Scott Decision?”

  James knew where this was going but he answered, “Yes, Father. I read about it in the northern newspapers. It was handed down on March 6, 1857.”

  “Yes, that is very good. According to Chief Justice Roger Taney, a slave is the property of his master. It is the law of the land. We are not outlaws down here, James. We are only living as did our fathers and their fathers before them.”

  James was not satisfied nor would he ever be. He was sorely tempted to tell his father that he was taught at Sunday worship that there were two kinds of laws: those of man and those of God. If a righteous man had a conscience he would be more prone to following the latter. He was tempted to ask him what the bible had to say on the subject, and how did the Constitution read? But James did not wish to call his father down in such a way, especially since he knew it would do no good. Instead he said, “Why, Father, does it have to necessitate such brutality?”

  This question seemed to raise his father’s spirits. It was as if he thought he might be getting his point across; his son might be beginning to accept it by way of trying to better understand. “Well, son,” he began. “I do not agree that brutality, as you say, is any intended part of the system that we have here. We simply depend on these workers to accomplish what has to be done, and in return their needs are satisfied. But the one essential part of this is authority and who controls it. We have five hundred working age males and females here, and not counting myself, there are four men to keep them in line. If not for the establishment of absolute authority we could never handle a workforce that large. It is regrettable, to be sure, but there are times when examples have got to be made. What you saw this afternoon was just that. The black man we punished is called Bo Sampson, and the truth is that he is nothing but trouble. Twice in the last six months he has run off. Last night he tried again. This time he took two others with him. When the blacks come in from the field this evening, they will all walk past Sampson. They will see once again that an attempt to run away has failed and that it is not wise to try. That is what it takes to keep order and I ask for nothing more. Most of the blacks understand that and they accept what life has given them. And that is why the ones like Bo Sampson must be subdued. It is really an effort to maintain a peaceful co-existence.”

  James listened to the facts of life according to John Langdon, but he was not impressed. As his father’s words and twisted rationalizations fell upon his ears, his own opinions stood their ground. How, he wondered, could this man, whom he had loved and admired since he was a small boy, attempt to justify this way of life? Had he never put himself in the place of a slave? What would he do if his freedom was taken away, if he was forced to live as his master saw fit? What would he do if his wife or his children were taken from him and sold, never to be seen again? Wouldn’t he do the same as Bo Sampson? James knew that he would. And yet, his father saw Sampson as a trouble maker and had whipped him for trying to exercise the same right that God had given all men.

  Now that James was painfully aware of the truth, he wondered what his own life would become. Inside, he felt torn, split down the middle as though with an axe. His love for his father reached to his very core. But to be expected to carry on the so-called Langdon family tradition was something he knew he could never do. It seemed impossible that in the space of perhaps an hour his life had gone from wonderfully set to terribly unsettled. For now, it seemed that he only had one choice. He would pretend to try to understand the reasoning his father gave him until he had more time to think. But for the time being, there was only one other question that he had to ask. “Does Mother understand what is necessary?”

  “You never knew your Grandpa Barrett, but you know that he was a lawyer in Macon. He never owned slaves. He employed a few servants, but they were white. Truthfully, he did not object to slavery. He considered blacks to be an inferior race and he did not want them in his house or around his family. I guess you could say that he was indifferent to the practice. It is probably a good thing that he felt the way he did about having slaves. I’m sure it would have caused a problem between him and your mother, the same as it has between you and me. If there is anything to genetics, and I believe there is, surely you take after your mother in many ways. I never had to ask her how she felt about slavery. That was something I could figure out for myself just by getting to know her. After we were married, we lived with Grandma and Grandpa Barrett until our house was built. From that point on, things were as they still are to this day. That is why I don’t have slaves working at the house. I wanted to keep things the same as they have always been in her life. It may be true that I deceived your mother. But I did it for her because I love her.”

  “Hasn’t it been difficult, deceiving her I mean?”

  “No. She understands that business is something that men and women do not discuss. Women leave business and politics to the men; men leave social events and all things concerning the home to the women. Speaking of social events, we should be getting back to get ready for your party.”

  Ordinarily, his father’s last remark would have sparked great excitement in him, but not today. But he knew that the rest of his family, not to mention his uncles and their families, were looking forward to the get together. So he had no choice except to pull himself together for their sakes and feign enthusiasm. In his mind, the revelation of the day was far from being put to rest; he wondered if his father felt the same way.

  “You’re right, Father. We should be getting home.” They mounted their horses and rode the rest of the way in silence.

  It was almost noon when they reached the barn. George was cleaning stalls when they arrived; he took their horses, unsaddled them, and gave them a rubdown. James and his father went straight to the house to get ready for the party.

  By one o’clock, the guests had arrived and a very lively gathering it was. Even James’s mood had improved in spite of himself as he greeted relatives he had not seen in months. Naturally
, he was especially glad to see his cousins, enjoying the company of young men close to his age. Ashton and Kate had looked forward to seeing Jenny and Bret; the older folks were elated as well.

  After a meal that would have pleased royalty, Olivia, the family’s cook, brought in a beautiful birthday cake with eighteen candles and set it on the table in front of James. At that moment he had almost forgotten the unpleasant experience he had gone through earlier that day. But when his father said, “Make a wish, son,” it all came flooding back. He looked up, and for an uncomfortable instant their eyes locked, and the smile slowly disappeared from his father’s face. Grateful that birthday wishes were never spoken, James blew out the candles in one breath, hoping that it meant his wish would come true.

  When the gifts had all been opened, which included, among some other very nice things, a new saddle and a .45 caliber revolver, the gathering broke up into smaller groups for the purpose of deep conversation. The ladies and the girls settled themselves in the parlor. James and the rest of the young men gathered out on the veranda. John took his brothers, who were also plantation owners, out to the barn for a smoke and a look at a handsome stallion he’d just purchased from a farm in Kentucky.

  Although a smoke and the new horse were of legitimate interest, the three men had more important things that they were anxious to discuss.

  Once inside the barn, Stanley and Joseph found some empty nail kegs, put them side by side, and sat down. John did likewise, placing his makeshift seat in front of his brothers. Then he handed each of them a cigar and lit one for himself. John took the first turn to speak. “I feel that there is no need to say it, but the future is very uncertain for us all. If Abraham Lincoln is elected in November, I would bet all I own that secession will follow.”

  “And that will be followed by war,” said Stanley.

  “I don’t know,” replied Joseph. “I still think if it comes to secession the North might let us leave peacefully. Why, I’ve read in the papers that Lincoln is not exactly what you would call a nigger lover. He opposes the expansion of slavery but that might be just a political move to placate those damn abolitionists.”