Battle Ground

Ellen Glasgow

Description

Dive into a richly detailed historical romance that provides a fascinating glimpse into nineteenth-century life in the American South, with a sweeping perspective that considers the challenges facing the working classes, the landed gentry, and everyone in between. An engrossing read for anyone who likes to learn from their romance fiction reads!

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775419860
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE BATTLE GROUND
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ELLEN GLASGOW
 
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The Battle Ground First published in 1902 ISBN 978-1-775419-86-0 © 2010 The Floating Press
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
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Contents
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BOOK FIRST - GOLDEN YEARS I - "De Hine Foot Er a He Frawg" II - At the Full of the Moon III - The Coming of the Boy IV - A House with an Open Door V - The School for Gentlemen VI - College Days BOOK SECOND - YOUNG BLOOD I - The Major's Christmas II - Betty Dreams by the Fire III - Dan and Betty IV - Love in a Maze V - The Major Loses His Temper VI - The Meeting in the Turnpike VII - If this Be Love VIII - Betty's Unbelief IX - The Montjoy Blood X - The Road at Midnight XI - At Merry Oaks Tavern XII - The Night of Fear XIII - Crabbed Age and Callow Youth XIV - The Hush Before the Storm BOOK THIRD - THE SCHOOL OF WAR I - How Merry Gentlemen Went to War II - The Day's March III - The Reign of the Brute IV - After the Battle V - The Woman's Part VI - On the Road to Romney VII - "I Wait My Time" VIII - The Altar of the War God IX - The Montjoy Blood Again BOOK FOURTH - THE RETURN OF THE VANQUISHED I - The Ragged Army II - A Straggler from the Ranks III - The Cabin in the Woods IV - In the Silence of the Guns V - "The Place Thereof" VI - The Peaceful Side of War VII - The Silent Battle VIII - The Last Stand IX - In the Hour of Defeat X - On the March Again XI - The Return
BOOK FIRST - GOLDEN YEARS
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I - "De Hine Foot Er a He Frawg"
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Toward the close of an early summer afternoon, a little girl came runningalong the turnpike to where a boy stood wriggling his feet in the dust.
"Old Aunt Ailsey's done come back," she panted, "an' she's conjured thetails off Sambo's sheep. I saw 'em hanging on her door!"
The boy received the news with an indifference from which it blanklyrebounded. He buried one bare foot in the soft white sand and withdrew itwith a jerk that powdered the blackberry vines beside the way.
"Where's Virginia?" he asked shortly.
The little girl sat down in the tall grass by the roadside and shook herred curls from her eyes. She gave a breathless gasp and began fanningherself with the flap of her white sunbonnet. A fine moisture shone on herbare neck and arms above her frock of sprigged chintz calico.
"She can't run a bit," she declared warmly, peering into the distance ofthe long white turnpike. "I'm a long ways ahead of her, and I gave her thestart. Zeke's with her."
With a grunt the boy promptly descended from his heavy dignity.
"You can't run," he retorted. "I'd like to see a girl run, anyway." Hestraightened his legs and thrust his hands into his breeches pockets. "Youcan't run," he repeated.
The little girl flashed a clear defiance; from a pair of beaming hazel eyesshe threw him a scornful challenge. "I bet I can beat you," she stoutlyrejoined. Then as the boy's glance fell upon her hair, her defiance waned.She put on her sunbonnet and drew it down over her brow. "I reckon I canrun some," she finished uneasily.
The boy followed her movements with a candid stare. "You can't hide it," hetaunted; "it shines right through everything. O Lord, ain't I glad myhead's not red!"
At this pharisaical thanksgiving the little girl flushed to the ruffledbrim of her bonnet. Her sensitive lips twitched, and she sat meekly gazingpast the boy at the wall of rough gray stones which skirted a field ofripening wheat. Over the wheat a light wind blew, fanning the even heads ofthe bearded grain and dropping suddenly against the sunny mountains in thedistance. In the nearer pasture, where the long grass was strewn with wildflowers, red and white cattle were grazing beside a little stream, and thetinkle of the cow bells drifted faintly across the slanting sunrays. It wasopen country, with a peculiar quiet cleanliness about its long white roadsand the genial blues and greens of its meadows.
"Ain't I glad, O Lord!" chanted the boy again.
The little girl stirred impatiently, her gaze fluttering from thelandscape.
"Old Aunt Ailsey's conjured all the tails off Sambo's sheep," she remarked,with feminine wile. "I saw 'em hanging on her door."
"Oh, shucks! she can't conjure!" scoffed the boy. "She's nothing but a freenigger, anyway—and besides, she's plum crazy—"
"I saw 'em hanging on her door," steadfastly repeated the little girl. "Thewind blew 'em right out, an' there they were."
"Well, they wan't Sambo's sheep tails," retorted the boy, conclusively,"'cause Sambo's sheep ain't got any tails."
Brought to bay, the little girl looked doubtfully up and down the turnpike."Maybe she conjured 'em on first," she suggested at last.
"Oh, you're a regular baby, Betty," exclaimed the boy, in disgust. "You'llbe saying next that she can make rattlesnake's teeth sprout out of theground."
"She's got a mighty funny garden patch," admitted Betty, still credulous.Then she jumped up and ran along the road. "Here's Virginia!" she calledsharply, "an' I beat her! I beat her fair!"
A second little girl came panting through the dust, followed by a smallnegro boy with a shining black face. "There's a wagon comin' roun' thecurve," she cried excitedly, "an' it's filled with old Mr. Willis'sservants. He's dead, and they're sold—Dolly's sold, too."
She was a fragile little creature, coloured like a flower, and her smoothbrown hair hung in silken braids to her sash. The strings of her whitepique bonnet lined with pink were daintily tied under her oval chin; therewas no dust on her bare legs or short white socks.
As she spoke there came the sound of voices singing, and a moment later thewagon jogged heavily round a tuft of stunted cedars which jutted into thelong curve of the highway. The wheels crunched a loose stone in the road,and the driver drawled a patient "gee-up" to the horses, as he flicked ata horse-fly with the end of his long rawhide whip. There was about him analmost cosmic good nature; he regarded the landscape, the horses and therocks in the road with imperturbable ease.
Behind him, in the body of the wagon, the negro women stood chanting theslave's farewell; and as they neared the children, he looked back and spokepersuasively. "I'd set down if I was you all," he said. "You'd feel better.Thar, now, set down and jolt softly."
But without turning the women kept up their tremulous chant, bending theirturbaned heads to the imaginary faces upon the roadside. They had lefttheir audience behind them on the great plantation, but they still sang tothe empty road and courtesied to the cedars upon the way. Excitementgripped them like a frenzy—and a childish joy in a coming change blendedwith a mother's yearning over broken ties.
A bright mulatto led, standing at full height, and her rich notes rolledlike an organ beneath the shrill plaint of her companions. She was large,deep-bosomed, and comely after her kind, and in her careless gestures therewas something of the fine fervour of the artist. She sang boldly, her fullbody rocking from side to side, her bared arms outstretched, her longthroat swelling like a bird's above the gaudy handkerchief upon her breast.
The others followed her, half artlessly, half in imitation, mingling withtheir words grunts of self-approval. A grin ran from face to face as ifthrown by the grotesque flash of a lantern. Only a little black womancrouching in one corner bowed herself and wept.
The children had fallen back against the stone wall, where they hungstaring.
"Good-by, Dolly!" they called cheerfully, and the woman answered with along-drawn, hopeless whine:—
"Gawd A'moughty bless you twel we Meet agin."
Zeke broke from the group and ran a few steps beside the wagon, shaking theoutstretched hands.
The driver nodded peaceably to him, and cut with a single stroke of hiswhip an intricate figure in the sand of the road. "Git up an' come alongwith us, sonny," he said cordially; but Zeke only grinned in reply, and thechildren laughed and waved their handkerchiefs from the wall. "Good-by,Dolly, and Mirandy, and Sukey Sue!" they shouted, while the women, bowingover the rolling wheels, tossed back a fragment of the song:—
"We hope ter meet you in heaven, whar we'll Part no mo', Whar we'll part no mo'; Gawd A'moughty bless you twel we Me—et a—gin."
"Twel we meet agin," chirped the little girls, tripping into the chorus.
Then, with a last rumble, the wagon went by, and Zeke came trotting backand straddled the stone wall, where he sat looking down upon the loosepoppies that fringed the yellowed edge of the wheat.
"Dey's gwine way-way f'om hyer, Marse Champe," he said dreamily. "Dey'sgwine right spang over dar whar de sun done come f'om."
"Colonel Minor bought 'em," Champe explained, sliding from the wall, "andhe bought Dolly dirt cheap—I heard Uncle say so—" With a grin he lookedup at the small black figure perched upon the crumbling stones. "You'dbetter look out how you steal any more of my fishing lines, or I'll sellyou," he threatened.
"Gawd er live! I ain' stole one on 'em sence las' mont'," protested Zeke,as he turned a somersault into the road, "en dat warn' stealin' 'case hitwarn' wu'th it," he added, rising to his feet and staring wistfully afterthe wagon as it vanished in a sunny cloud of dust.
Over the broad meadows, filled with scattered wild flowers, the sound ofthe chant still floated, with a shrill and troubled sweetness, upon thewind. As he listened the little negro broke into a jubilant refrain,beating his naked feet in the dust:—
"Gawd A'moughty bless you twel we Me—et a—gin."
Then he look