The gentleman from Maryland

Dedication

To every gentleman of Maryland, who has placed the in¬ terests of his State above selfishness; who has desired to see his State in the foremost rank for righteousness and patriotism; and who has planned for the safety, prosperity, and progress of future generations of Americans, I re¬ spectfully dedicate this book.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I The Land of the Evergreens ... 7

II The Dreams of Youth.24

Chapter I

In the days of reconstruction which followed the Civil War, great excitement prevailed in many parts of the South, caused by the enormous demand for cotton. New factories, both large and small, sprang up in many different neighbor¬ hoods; even the very important and lazy farmer, imbued with the new spirit that seemed to be sweeping the country, aban¬ doned his long-occupied seat on the sugar barrel at the corner grocery, and industriously followed his oxen and plow, while he dreamed of easily made gold that would flow into his empty pockets, if all reports were true; and young men everywhere eagerly sought opportunity of bettering their po¬ sitions financially. One of these youths sat alone on a pile of lumber in the yard of Gambrill and Company, at Snow Hill, situated on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, which forms the greater part of that peninsula which stretches between the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean, from Wilmington to Kiptopeke. This long arm of land is known by its residents as “The Land of the Ever¬ greens/’ and that portion which is connected directly with this story is called the “Garden of Maryland.” It was during the dinner hour, and, as he sat there, he ate his cold lunch. Several dogs looked at him expectantly, for they knew from experience that James Purnell never ate his lunch alone, even if he was the only human being in sight. Several morsels of that lunch, and of many former ones, helped to satiate the gnawing hunger of a half-starved cur, or even a well-kept pet, that belonged to some resident of the town. A boy who will share his food with a hungry cur, instead of meeting his pleading look with a cast missile, or a kick, has within him that which will make of him the man who will be trusted with the destinies of his people, and he will be true to that trust.

After finishing his lunch he sat there while he wrote sev¬ eral notes upon a memorandum. The dogs trotted off, one by one, until all disappeared. “How much like human friends,” he thought. “A man is very popular until he can no longer satisfy their desires, then they disappear, one by one, until not one is left.”

For some time it had been his habit to write such con¬ clusions upon his memorandum; then to study them as he watched “folks” in order to see which proved true and which false. He therefore wrote the thought that had just occu¬ pied his mind.

“Not one left? ” spoke a pleasant voice over his shoulder.

James looked up in surprise, although he knew instantly to whom that voice belonged. It belonged to one of his friends, who had attended school with him. She was taking a “short cut” through the lumber yard as she went to the store, and had stolen upon him so quietly that she was able to read the last three words as she stood looking over his shoulder. As he did not answer her immediately, but sat looking at her in deep thought, she continued: “You know that you can always count upon myself, if I am able to aid you.”

“You are not able to aid me this time, I am afraid; I very much wish that you were,” he answered.

“You might tell your old friend and classmate what your need is anyhow. You belong to do that, I think.”

“Certainly I will. I don’t mind your knowing, although you can’t help. Nearly every man in this town is investing some money in the new cotton-factory. It is a great opportunity for them. I want to buy some stock, and having little money of my own, I asked Mr. Gambrill to advance me one year’s wages. Of course he wished to know what I made such a strange request for, and I told him. He asked me why I did not invest my money ih his business. When I told him that I believed the factory would prove to be the better proposition he became very angry, and refused to make the advance.”

“There must be some way,” she replied. “Walter Whaley has bought several bonds.”

“Who told you that? ” demanded James.

“He did, and he has become a member of the company.”

“Yes, his father is rich,” said James, dejectedly. “Several bonds means a lot of money. No wonder he is a member of the company. I hoped to buy only one.”

As James finished this remark two things happened. The whistle blew, thus ending his lunch hour, and a tall, welldressed gentleman entered the yard, and came toward him as he resumed his work about the pile of lumber, on which he had been sitting during the lunch hour. The stranger did not seem to notice him at first, but passed the pile of boards, and stepped upon the landing by the river, where he stood for some time while he watched a group of men as they unloaded a boat that was hawsered there. The boards, which James was piling, had been brought up the Pocomoke River by the boat, and were being unloaded by the men who had brought it up the river.

The stranger then stepped over to the heap of boards which James was arranging. “Why must the boards be laid with such care ? ” he asked.

“So that they will not mildew,” was the reply of James. “In this flat country the air is very damp. There are so many marshes and swamps that the air is full of dampness, and lumber that is not piled so that the air can circulate between each board of the pile, soon becomes covered with molds, and rots quickly.”

During this explanation James continued to work. This fact was noticed by the stranger, who remarked with a smile: “You are one of the few who can talk and work at the same time.”

“My time belongs to my employer,” replied James. “I al¬ ways feel that Mr. Gambrill is entitled to my honest labors while I am employed by him.”

“That’s right, young man. The times seem to be changing somewhat though. Most workers feel that they must stop their labor while they talk. Why, there’s hardly a thing that happens within a half mile of them, that they do not see. And they can repeat every word that is spoken within that radius, and they consume more time rolling and lighting cigarettes than they spend at their work. Stick to your opinion and you will make a place that cannot be filled by idle hands; you will become famous.”

He then recrossed the yard and entered the office of Gambrill and Company, dealers in all kinds of building material.

“Hey, Jim! Who’s your friend? ” shouted one of the men from the boat. He had stopped work long enough to hear what the stranger said, and he was not very well pleased.

“I don’t know, Elmer,” replied James.

“Seems to think you’re I-T, according to his opinion of you as a worker,” added another.

“I don’t know him from Adam,” answered James. “He certainly seems to be a gentleman, though.”

“Gentleman, eh; that’s Colonel Riddle of Philadelphia,” exclaimed the third man from the boat. “He’s the guy that wants to build the factory down the road.”

James Purnell stopped his work so suddenly that one of the men remarked dryly: “Better keep diggin, Jim. He might be lookin’ through the winder.”

“I'm not afraid of being watched,” said James indig¬ nantly.

The captain of the boat, a large, robust man, with rough face, but a good nature, heard this last remark as he came through the yard. “Don’t mind Roy, Jim,” he said. “He don’t know much about work; it don’t agree with his liver.”

No matter how small the boat is along this coast, the one in authority is always called Captain. Many men who have made just a few short trips, or who have owned and operated an oyster boat, are ever afterwards known and spoken of as “Capt’n.” Captain Howard had owned the Peggy for some¬ time and carried freight, especially lumber between the im¬ portant towns of the Eastern Shore. He had never been across the “Bay,” however, for he hesitated to enter Balti¬ more Harbor where there were many large vessels with sails, and skippers, and crews who could not speak a “decent tongue,” as he said.

At this moment the door of the office opened, and Mr. Riddle emerged again. He came directly to the boat, and addressed Captain Howard.

“Captain,” said he, “how soon will you have your cargo ashore ? ”

“In about two hours, suh,” said the captain.

“I have some machinery at Baltimore that I would like you to transport for me.”

“Never been to that burg in my life,” interrupted Howard.

“Never too late, Captain; I will pay you well on safe arrival. If you can oblige me, I will be very grateful.”

After consulting for a few minutes with his crew, the Cap¬ tain turned to Mr. Riddle and said: “I believe I will try it, suh; when do you want me to start ? ”

“Immediately, if possible; at least as soon as you are ready to start.”

The men murmured somewhat at this, but the captain said, “We will be ready by four o’clock.”

“Good,” replied his new employer. “Here is an order for the machines,” and he handed Howard a sealed packet addressed to a Baltimore firm.

As Colonel Riddle again returned across the yard to the office he glanced toward James, who was still busily placing the boards on the pile. When the office door had shut upon him he remarked to Mr. Gambrill, half in earnest, half in jest, “How much for your yard man? ”

“He’s not for sale,” was the quick answer. “He has al¬ ready expressed his desire to join your company as a stock¬ holder, at least. I have employed many men, but never one like James Purnell. He seldom hurries at his work, but neither does he lag or stop. I think he tries to practice the old proverb 'more haste, less speed,’ and endeavors to ac¬ complish such great results by his steady patience.”

“Give me twenty-five men like him, and my factory will be a great success,” remarked the Colonel.

“You can’t have him, success or no success,” replied the merchant. After a few moments of deep thought he added, “You are still determined to place your factory out there in the pines ? ”

“Determination is not the question. I would like to have it here near the river, but I cannot get the land. You see those who have the vacant land for sale really think that I will pay any price rather than locate so far away. But they are mistaken. When do you expect to deliver the material ? ”

“Whenever you are ready, sir; yet I certainly would like to see your factory in the town.”

“That is naturally my preference, Mr. Gambrill; but I will not submit to robbery without protest. You may begin to supply the material immediately. Captain Howard intends to go to Baltimore this evening for the machinery.”

“Howard to Baltimore? Why, we never expected to hear of his getting out of sight of the Eastern Shore.”

“He demurred at first, but consented reluctantly.”

Snow Hill is a town of about one thousand inhabitants, where much that is old still lingers. It retains much of the spirit of the old South. New voices are heard for a time, but disappear again while this spirit reigns supreme. The people seem to resent new ideas or innovations. They seem piqued if anyone who does not “belong” in the town, becomes an active resident. They feel that the town and all its opportunities are eternally reserved for them and their chil¬ dren. Many a promising enterprise has failed for want of the support of the residents, for, having not sufficient talent or initiative of their own to start business ventures, they hate the man from the outside who has. The town lays in one of the richest portions of the state, and is the county seat for the many well-to-do farmers, who supply hundreds of bar¬ rels of the “white” or Irish potato. It is also the land of the sweet potato, the good old watermelon, and the cantaloupe. These last two fruits are shipped by the thousands to the northern markets, where many customers, whose lips are thin and whose complexions are white, await their arrival, and enjoy their delicious flavor quite as much as their more dusky brethren, who devour them while they sing:

“Oh, de ham bone am good,

An’ de ’possum am sweet;

An’ de chicken am berry, berry fine;

But gib me, oh gib me,

Oh how ah wish you would,

Dat watahmelon hangin’ on de vine.”

This old town, with its stately court-house and ancient jail, stands on the bank of the Pocomoke River, about the center of Worcester County. If it were famous for noth¬ ing else, its two old churches: the All Hallows Episcopal, and the Makemie Memorial Presbyterian, would contribute lasting fame to it, for they are numbered among the oldest of their respective denominations in America. Its inhabi¬ tants endeavor exceedingly hard to imitate the society of the larger cities; but progress is an unknown quantity. The few stores supply only the bare necessities of life; its banks are fair, but make no attempt to increase their deposits; its one paper, a weekly, is of a pessimistic tone rather than one of encouragement and constructive policies. The news that it prints is chiefly local gossip, with an occasional lapse from the ordinary edition about Christmas time. At that time of the year they may print a larger edition containing many letters written by children, and often grown children, to Santa Claus. For this fault the paper must not bear all the reproach, for the reading public expect and demand just such production.

When Colonel Riddle arrived at the town with his scheme, and asked the citizens for their friendship and co¬ operation, they merely shook their wiseacre heads saying, “It can’t be did.” However, after being left to think over the proposition for a short time they came to a different conclusion, for many of them joined him; but they were so far in the minority that he was compelled to seek a site several miles farther down the river, in the pines between that and Stevenson’s Ferry, later Pocomoke City. It seems very true, yet most unpleasant, that many people in small towns had rather see a man fail than succeed even though they themselves be robbed of comforts and advantages by the failure. Such a town was Snow Hill, in the land of the Pines and Holly.

The Northern business man had been in town about two weeks when Captain Howard arrived with his boat, there¬ fore he lost no time in making the engagement for the trip to Baltimore. The Colonel was a tall man, with gray hair and prominent blue eyes which glistened at all times. He carried himself always with the bearing and manners of the typical Northern gentleman and business man; he was entertained with that hospitality which only the old South knew how to mete out to its guests; yet as a Republican of the old school he was unable fully to realize the environment of or to un¬ derstand, these Southern Democrats, who seemed to see with eyes single only to Democratic victory and glory; but before he left, several years later, he not only completely understood their ways and policies, but unreservedly sym¬ pathized with them, accepting fully the same attitude that they showed concerning the Negro element among them, that is nearly three to one in proportion to the population of the Shore. At first, like all uninformed and inexperi¬ enced Northerners, he felt that the Negro did not have his proper share in the local government, neither was he slow in entering his protest against this seemingly unfair condition, for he had been influenced by those agitators of the North who have been so willing to advise as to how the problem should be solved, yet who have always kept a safe distance as if afraid that their skirts, or silken robes, might be soiled by the touch of the unfortunate black man. He soon felt that the problem is of the South and, can be solved only by the Southerner, in his own way; for he alone understands the intricate situation. Even the Negroes themselves would strongly oppose the Northerner who might try to solve the problem in other ways than those being used by the Southern white man.

At one time, while Colonel Riddle was riding on the train between Harrisburg and Philadelphia, he met one of his friends, who asked him about the conditions as he found them.

“Is it true that the Negro is not being educated ? ” she asked.

“Yes, it is true. ,,

“Why does the government permit such injustice to pre¬ vail?”

“The government can do nothing; it is the states that must act.”

“Then why does not the states do something? ”

“They are not able; they were left without funds after the war.”

“Yet the responsibility is theirs.”

“Part of it; the other part is ours. We freed the Negro; then turned him out to drift. He is now living upon the generosity of his former masters and mistresses. They are doing all that they can for him. They want him to become self-supporting. There are societies in the North who are endeavoring to do our part, but they are failing because we are not supporting them financially.”

“Many of us do give through our churches.”

“But how much? The opportunities are many; yet how many care anything about the man so far away? Pardon me if I seem too personal, but I ask you because you seem interested. How much did you give through your church or any other agency, last year ? ”

“I think I gave fifty cents.”

“And you and I are wealthy. We have no right to say anything one way or the other; rather, we should ‘let our light so shine before men, that they may see our good works, and glorify our Father who is in Heaven/ Then we would be beyond reproach.”

The woman said no more, and the conversation turned into other channels.

On the evening of the second day after seeing Captain Howard, the Colonel again visited the lumber yard of Gambrill and Co. He found Mr. Gambrill radiating the sun¬ shine of his better nature, an attitude seldom indulged by that gentleman. In fact, the Colonel had concluded that Gambrill was the “sourest” man he had ever met. This morning, however, he was well pleased with the tide of his business affairs; for had he not dispatched several teams of oxen heavily laden with lumber to the scene of the new factory? He now made a fine report to the Colonel, who increased his good humor by making the first payment on the supplies or¬ dered from the merchant. After carefully counting the money Mr. Gambrill requested his clerk, Walter Whaley, to credit the Colonel with five hundred dollars on account.

As the Colonel left the office Mr. Gambrill called to him, extending to him a cordial invitation to dine with him at the Powell House, the town’s most famous hostelry. The Colonel had made this hotel his home since coming to the town, and gladly accepted the invitation. They left the office after Gambrill had carefully locked the money drawer. Then they proceeded up Washington Street, on which was situated both the office and the hotel, and immediately entered the latter, where they seated themselves opposite the large win¬ dow overlooking the street.

During the dinner, conversation did not lag, for Mr. Gambrill seemed to be in a very talkative mood. He had a story to tell about nearly every passer-by. Several times they were interrupted by substantial citizens, who, seeing the two dining together, came into the room to greet them with a handshake and a few cordial remarks. One of the most lovable and admirable characteristics of the true Southern gentleman is his desire to be agreeable to strangers. He seldom is too busy to stop for a friendly chat, and invariably leaves the impression upon the stranger that he is at home and among friends.

“There goes Colonel Selby, of Stockton,” said Mr. Gam¬ brill, as an elderly man, not very well dressed, passed the hotel. “I want to tell you a funny story about him. He is very seldom sober, yet generally knows what he is doing. Upon one occasion, when he almost lost control of himself, his wife became very sick. She is a great Methodist, and she has endeavored to get her husband to join the church, in order to reform him. He determines that he will reform first, then join the church. On this occasion she sent him for the doctor, but he seemed to get the man of pills mixed with the man of prayer; for, upon meeting his wife’s minis¬ ter somewhere along the road, he hailed him. He told the pastor that his wife was very sick, and that she desired to see him immediately. Of course the minister returned to the home, where he found all as the husband had reported. Before the minister took his leave they knelt in prayer. Now it happened that the husband knelt by a chair that had a hole through the seat, and by some peculiar circumstance, the husband got his head through the hole. When the prayer was ended the minister found him in that position. It was a pitiful sight to see, for the chair seemed to desire to act as a hangman; for it was with great effort that the minister at last extricated the Colonel. Although that has been several years ago he is still taunted by many of his friends. ‘Well, Colonel, when was the minister to see you last?’ they will say. Sometimes he laughs, but sometimes he breaks the Commandments when he answers.”

“That’s Nicholas Jones,” continued the entertainer, as a large man passed the window. “He went to the barn one night to bridle his horse in order to take his wife to church. After staying there for some time his wife became anxious, for he was in the habit of bringing out the horse without a light, and she feared that some accident had happened to him. She went to the barn and called. Her husband an¬ swered from the dark stable, ‘Honey, I can find the mane, but to save my life I can’t find the head! You see, the horse had gotten turned around in his stall, and Jones was in the right place, but the horse’s head was not.

“And here’s old Dr. Price; he cured a dog that had his leg smashed by a wagon once, and ever since, he carries that black case, claiming to be a veterinarian, although he knews nothing about diseases of animals.

“There goes Sam Cherrix. One day, while we were boys at school, the teacher asked Sam to spell dog. Sam said, ‘K—d—1, dog,’ but he never spelled dog that way again, for in those days the birch was used liberally, and Sam got it good and hard.

“The fellow just passing the window is our mayor, John White. He was our star pupil when it came to examination in History. When asked the question, ‘What happened at Jamestown?’ he answered, ‘Jamestown took sick, and died.’ Then he was asked, ‘Where did Captain John Smith plant his immigrants?’ John’s answer was ‘He planted them in his garden! ’ ”

By these, and many other stories, Mr. Gambrill enter¬ tained his guest, who seemed to enjoy them, if laughter is an indication. Then he repeated to the Colonel a long list of nicknames of the citizens, for nearly every man had a pseud¬ onymous title by which he was known; many of which are without any significance. Some of them were: Pert, Chubby, Petie, Boo-Hoo, Azze, Ponty, Squeegee, Coof, Cudge, Mizz, Dock, Ponto, Broad Haid, Skill Pot, Lady Bug, Jie, Chaz, Bull, Puddin’, Pie, Gnat, Guinea, Tump, Chinch, Jaby, Bunk, Nut, Ungler, Beauty, Kildee, and Br’er Rabbit. As these names were used instead of first names it was impossible for a stranger to know who was meant, for only one name was given when a native was concerned. A few men bore the titles of Judge, Colonel, Captain, or Squire, but the great majority were satisfied with a short nickname. Several of these characters passed the window during the course of the meal and were pointed out by Mr. Gambrill. He certainly succeeded in making his guest feel that he was no longer a stranger.

The important cities of the Middle Atlantic States may be distinguished by the attitude shown the visitor upon his arrival at either of them. Blindfold an experienced traveler, place him in the midst of either of them, then remove the blind, and he can name the city by watching the citizens. The ordinary dweller of New York shows his suspicion by star¬ ing at you. He immediately classes one as an outlaw, or a likely victim. At any moment during the day or night a visi¬ tor feels that he has taken his life in his own hands by venturing to the metropolis. In the city of “Brotherly Love,” which exists only in American fairy tales, the visitor is caused to feel continually uncomfortable by that “Whoare-you” spirit manifested when seeing the eyes of all loit¬ erers fastened upon him as he approaches, and feeling them riveted upon his back until he is out of range. If you are not a criminal, a guilty feeling possesses you that you are far from home, and brothers, who are willing to show their love, are few and far between. The citizen who named that city was a great publicity man. In the city of Baltimore, that metropolis of Dixie, a man may walk the streets, ride on the cars or elevators, or even enter the public buildings, and feel that he is one of the citizens. Men allow ladies to pre¬ cede them through doors; they offer them their seats on crowded street cars; and even remove their hats while rid¬ ing in elevators with ladies. Many times the visitor is ac¬ corded the same deference, especially if he is an elderly man, so that he at least feels that he is in his native land, if he is an American.

Pessimists tell us that the spirit of chivalry is passing rapidly; that women, with their equal rights, must expect only the consideration shown to men in business. It is neces¬ sary that ladies merit their positions by their attainments; but may the men of the “Land of the Pilgrim’s Pride” never forget that it is woman whom God Himself delighteth to honor, when her life is exemplarily worthy of His honor. This spirit has been linked with the manners of the South¬ land from its beginning. May they never be divided.

As Mr. Gambrill and his guest sat by the table, after finish¬ ing their meal, they talked pleasantly of various subjects, one of which was the manners and customs of the South. They dwelt long upon this interesting subject, for the Colonel was inclined to believe that the times were changing, and that the South was rapidly forgetting its famous contribution from its cavalier ancestors. Now it invariably happens that business men, no matter how interesting and absorbing other subjects may be, cannot remain long together without speak¬ ing of their business affairs. Mr. Gambrill at last referred to their conversation at the office that afternoon.

“You were speaking of desiring young Purnell as one of your men,” he said. “Now if it were Walter Whaley, my clerk, that you wanted, I might-”

He suddenly stopped, for James and Walter had passed the window. These two young men were the best of friends, for it had been partly through Whaley’s influence that James Purnell had been employed by the lumber firm. Walter was the office assistant, while James was the yard manager. Both were regarded as promising youths; both were members of the same church and Sunday School class, but Walter was sometimes acknowledged by others as being the more un¬ steady of the two. Yet whatever faults others might per¬ ceive in Walter, to his chum’s mind he was faultless; for Purnell, being honest and trustful himself, did not sus¬ pect his friend of being otherwise. Where there is fear or suspicion there true love does not dwell. Yet the contrast between Purnell’s defenseless, prominent eyes, and the selfcomplacent, haughty expression, that skulked in the slanting eyes of Whaley, was easily observed by their older acquaint¬ ances.

As the two young men passed the hotel they separated at the door. James continued on his homeward way, but Wal¬ ter stepped into the dining room and handed Mr. Gambrill a key. As he did so he remarked, “I locked the cash drawer and the office; you left your key in the lock when you closed the drawer.” He then sauntered leisurely into the hotel office and dropped carelessly into a chair.