The Forged Note Part 68

After many miles, in which the afternoon sun barely penetrated the deep forest, the train pa.s.sed through another pine district. The trees were slender and scattered, while thousands of stumps stood lowly and darkly about. As he looked closer, he saw that among the standing timber, at the base, were little buckets. He made inquiries and was told that this was where turpentine came from. He laughed then at his ignorance. He had forgotten entirely that it was the south which produced the greatest amount of this article.

"And when they have tapped the tree for such a purpose, I suppose it is of no further good but to be cut down?"

"They cut them down at once, and make most of them into cord wood,"

replied the person of whom he asked.

"Now these people," said Wyeth, pointing to the black people, "they attend to the most of it?"

"Yes; the women to the turpentine, and the men to the timber."

The train had now come into a land of swamp. As far as eyes could see, there was a profusion of vines and palm leaves. He wondered if that was where the palm leaf fans came from. If so, the harvest was abundant. For miles and miles the swamp was thick with them, and they appeared to be all of fan size. Water stood a foot deep, while the track rose, perhaps, upwards of four or five feet above it all. The trees were a strange variety to him, while nowhere for miles did it appear possible for anyone to live. The mosquitoes, he judged, must surely find this place a haven when the days were warm; while fever could fairly thrive.

Now the train had left the deeper forests, and was rolling across numerous trestles that stood high above the water. Great lagoons were crossed, where large birds, sea gulls and others not so large, flew about undisturbed. Miles away at last, rose church spires and s.h.i.+p hoists, and he then knew they were approaching a city that was a great seaport.

A half hour later, they stood in the station. He found his way out over the tracks and into the station, where he entered the colored waiting room and lunch counter. They were supposed to stop twenty minutes there; but, before the lunch he had ordered was served, he observed the train pulling out. He tore out and was about to pa.s.s through a gate that was open, but was halted by a young white man, who informed him that it was the gate white people pa.s.sed through.

"But I'm traveling on that train, and it is pulling out," he cried frantically.

"Don't make any difference," said the other coldly. "Enter through the n.i.g.g.e.rs' gate," and pointed to the rear. Wyeth tore down there, but it was closed and locked. He gave up. Aboard the train was his luggage, while he must stand and see it go on without him, simply for the sake of a rule, that Negroes and whites cannot walk through the same gate. He was disgusted over such an occurrence, and stood watching his train disappear. It had gone well toward the end of the yards, when it came to a stop, while the locomotive attached thereto, whistled two or three times. Another man came to the gate, and Wyeth said to him:

"I'm traveling on that train. Can I not pa.s.s through this gate and catch it?"

He was permitted to, and breathed a deep drawn sigh. As he pa.s.sed the fop who kept him back, he gave him a look, and wished they were both in the _Rosebud Country_ at that moment....

A waiter, who had seen him go into the station, had the vestibule of the diner open, and it was through this he entered, as he caught the moving train.

"I knew you would get balled up!" he exclaimed. "I saw your controversy at the gate.... And wasn't surprised, for you see, this is a _white man's country_." Thereupon he smiled a hard, dry smile. Wyeth pa.s.sed forward to the Jim Crow car, and forgot the incident, for it was best so.

They had now come into the greater city, and he got off.

"Where can good accommodations be had here?" he inquired of the porter.

"Want a place to stop?" His face lightened perceptibly. "If you will wait until I get through--say ten or fifteen minutes--I'll carry you to a good place," he said, and Sidney waited.

He sat in the waiting room listening to the noise without. About the four sides of the wall, sat many little girls--that is, girls. They smiled upon him, and made immodest advances. He wondered at it, but then he recalled that this was supposed to be the most profligate town in our states. He paid little attention to them. Others entered, and they smiled upon them also.

Presently the porter appeared, clothing changed, and dressed neatly.

Several of the girls gathered about him, and said many foolish things.

He smiled upon some of them, while he told others to go to the devil; and still others he told to go to----but we will stop here. And then they told him he could go there, too. They left then, and Wyeth and he walked up a street that was the widest, he felt certain, that he had ever seen.

"Where are you from?" inquired the porter.

Wyeth told him; whereupon the other whistled.

"That's a long way from here. How do you like these parts?"

Wyeth didn't answer the last; but to the first he said: "Yes, a long way," and fell silent.

"Ever been here before?" said the porter.

"Twelve years and more ago."

"See quite a difference now, eh?"

"I was not here long enough to see what there was in the beginning."

They walked up a street that was intersected at various and irregular intervals, by numerous other streets, that were as narrow, if not more so, than the one they were following was wide. In the center of the wide street were four car lines. This part of the street was raised above the other, and was protected by a curbing, that prevented anything with wheels from crossing, only at the intersections. Wyeth remembered this.

It was something he had never seen elsewhere, and he wondered who could have conceived the idea of making one street so wide, and then crossing it with others that were so narrow that only one single street car track was possible, and, when pa.s.sing down it, the wagons on either side had to hug the curbing closely, or be collided with.

"A beautiful place," he commented, pointing to the maze of electric lights that lined the narrow cross streets, and made their way as bright as day--brighter, he came afterwards to see, when it rained.

"This town was settled by French and Spaniards many years ago, and they were very artistic in planning for the future of the city," said the other.

"It is apparent on all sides; I can see that," Wyeth agreed.

"There are some of the most beautiful colored people here you ever saw,"

said the other.

"There is one now," said Wyeth, as a woman, different from the kind he had been accustomed to, pa.s.sed by.

"Creole," advised the other.

"And this is their native soil, so I understand," said Wyeth, turning his head to take another look at the woman with the beautiful face.

"There are some," said the porter, "who cannot speak English at all."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Wyeth.

"Yes," went on the other. "Plenty cannot speak a word of English, and they may be found in what is called the French district. It is there you find them with the most beautiful skin, and the finest and heaviest hair you ever saw."

"I hear they have frightful tempers," said Wyeth. "Is it true?"

"I would advise you to avoid any conflict with them, lest you find out,"

said the other, smiling amusedly.

"What is that?" said Wyeth, pointing to a bar before which stood many men drinking.

"Why, what?" said the other, then replied: "A saloon."

"And they are open on Sunday?" Yet he was not surprised when he had thought, for he had seen the same elsewhere. But the other replied:

"The saloons never close here."

"Never close! What do you mean?" said Wyeth.

"What I say," from the other.

"And still I do not understand you," said Wyeth. And then added: "What time do they open in the morning?"