Chapter: Old Mr. Delamere's servant, Sandy Campbell, was in deep trouble.

A party of Northern visitors had been staying for several days at the
St. James Hotel. The gentlemen of the party were concerned in a
projected cotton mill, while the ladies were much interested in the
study of social conditions, and especially in the negro problem. As soon
as their desire for information became known, they were taken
courteously under the wing of prominent citizens and their wives, who
gave them, at elaborate luncheons, the Southern white man's views of the
negro, sighing sentimentally over the disappearance of the good old
negro of before the war, and gravely deploring the degeneracy of his
descendants. They enlarged upon the amount of money the Southern whites
had spent for the education of the negro, and shook their heads over the
inadequate results accruing from this unexampled generosity. It was sad,
they said, to witness this spectacle of a dying race, unable to
withstand the competition of a superior type. The severe reprisals taken
by white people for certain crimes committed by negroes were of course
not the acts of the best people, who deplored them; but still a certain
charity should be extended towards those who in the intense and
righteous anger of the moment should take the law into their own hands
and deal out rough but still substantial justice; for no negro was ever
lynched without incontestable proof of his guilt. In order to be
perfectly fair, and give their visitors an opportunity to see both sides
of the question, they accompanied the Northern visitors to a colored
church where they might hear a colored preacher, who had won a jocular
popularity throughout the whole country by an oft-repeated sermon
intended to demonstrate that the earth was flat like a pancake. This
celebrated divine could always draw a white audience, except on the days
when his no less distinguished white rival in the field of
sensationalism preached his equally famous sermon to prove that hell was
exactly one half mile, linear measure, from the city limits of
Wellington. Whether accidentally or not, the Northern visitors had no
opportunity to meet or talk alone with any colored person in the city
except the servants at the hotel. When one of the party suggested a
visit to the colored mission school, a Southern friend kindly
volunteered to accompany them.

The visitors were naturally much impressed by what they learned from
their courteous hosts, and felt inclined to sympathize with the Southern
people, for the negro is not counted as a Southerner, except to fix the
basis of congressional representation. There might of course be things
to criticise here and there, certain customs for which they did not
exactly see the necessity, and which seemed in conflict with the highest
ideals of liberty but surely these courteous, soft-spoken ladies and
gentlemen, entirely familiar with local conditions, who descanted so
earnestly and at times pathetically upon the grave problems confronting
them, must know more about it than people in the distant North, without
their means of information. The negroes who waited on them at the hotel
seemed happy enough, and the teachers whom they had met at the mission
school had been well-dressed, well-mannered, and apparently content with
their position in life. Surely a people who made no complaints could not
be very much oppressed.

In order to give the visitors, ere they left Wellington, a pleasing
impression of Southern customs, and particularly of the joyous,
happy-go-lucky disposition of the Southern darky and his entire
contentment with existing conditions, it was decided by the hotel
management to treat them, on the last night of their visit, to a little
diversion, in the shape of a genuine negro cakewalk.

On the afternoon of this same day Tom Delamere strolled into the hotel,
and soon gravitated to the bar, where he was a frequent visitor. Young
men of leisure spent much of their time around the hotel, and no small
part of it in the bar. Delamere had been to the club, but had avoided
the card-room. Time hanging heavy on his hands, he had sought the hotel
in the hope that some form of distraction might present itself.

"Have you heard the latest, Mr. Delamere?" asked the bartender, as he
mixed a cocktail for his customer.

"No, Billy; what is it?"

"There's to be a big cakewalk upstairs to-night. The No'the'n gentlemen
an' ladies who are down here to see about the new cotton fact'ry want to
study the nigger some more, and the boss has got up a cakewalk for 'em,
'mongst the waiters and chambermaids, with a little outside talent."

"Is it to be public?" asked Delamere.

"Oh, no, not generally, but friends of the house won't be barred out.
The clerk 'll fix it for you. Ransom, the head waiter, will be floor
manager."

Delamere was struck with a brilliant idea. The more he considered it,
the brighter it seemed. Another cocktail imparted additional brilliancy
to the conception. He had been trying, after a feeble fashion, to keep
his promise to Clara, and was really suffering from lack of excitement.

He left the bar-room, found the head waiter, held with him a short
conversation, and left in his intelligent and itching palm a piece of
money.

The cakewalk was a great success. The most brilliant performer was a
late arrival, who made his appearance just as the performance was about
to commence. The newcomer was dressed strikingly, the conspicuous
features of his attire being a long blue coat with brass buttons and a
pair of plaid trousers. He was older, too, than the other participants,
which made his agility the more remarkable. His partner was a new
chambermaid, who had just come to town, and whom the head waiter
introduced to the newcomer upon his arrival. The cake was awarded to
this couple by a unanimous vote. The man presented it to his partner
with a grandiloquent flourish, and returned thanks in a speech which
sent the Northern visitors into spasms of delight at the quaintness of
the darky dialect and the darky wit. To cap the climax, the winner
danced a buck dance with a skill and agility that brought a shower of
complimentary silver, which he gathered up and passed to the head
waiter.

Ellis was off duty for the evening. Not having ventured to put in an
appearance at Carteret's since his last rebuff, he found himself
burdened with a superfluity of leisure, from which he essayed to find
relief by dropping into the hotel office at about nine o'clock. He was
invited up to see the cakewalk, which he rather enjoyed, for there was
some graceful dancing and posturing. But the grotesque contortions of
one participant had struck him as somewhat overdone, even for the
comical type of negro. He recognized the fellow, after a few minutes'
scrutiny, as the body-servant of old Mr. Delamere. The man's present
occupation, or choice of diversion, seemed out of keeping with his
employment as attendant upon an invalid old gentleman, and strangely
inconsistent with the gravity and decorum which had been so noticeable
when this agile cakewalker had served as butler at Major Carteret's
table, upon the occasion of the christening dinner. There was a vague
suggestion of unreality about this performance, too, which Ellis did not
attempt to analyze, but which recurred vividly to his memory upon a
subsequent occasion.

Ellis had never pretended to that intimate knowledge of negro thought
and character by which some of his acquaintances claimed the ability to
fathom every motive of a negro's conduct, and predict in advance what
any one of the darker race would do under a given set of circumstances.
He would not have believed that a white man could possess two so widely
varying phases of character; but as to negroes, they were as yet a crude
and undeveloped race, and it was not safe to make predictions concerning
them. No one could tell at what moment the thin veneer of civilization
might peel off and reveal the underlying savage.

The champion cakewalker, much to the surprise of his sable companions,
who were about equally swayed by admiration and jealousy, disappeared
immediately after the close of the performance. Any one watching him on
his way home through the quiet streets to old Mr. Delamere's would have
seen him now and then shaking with laughter. It had been excellent fun.
Nevertheless, as he neared home, a certain aspect of the affair,
hitherto unconsidered, occurred to him, and it was in a rather serious
frame of mind that he cautiously entered the house and sought his own
room.

       *       *       *       *       *

The cakewalk had results which to Sandy were very serious. The following
week he was summoned before the disciplinary committee of his church and
charged with unchristian conduct, in the following particulars, to wit:
dancing, and participating in a sinful diversion called a cakewalk,
which was calculated to bring the church into disrepute and make it the
mockery of sinners.

Sandy protested his innocence vehemently, but in vain. The proof was
overwhelming. He was positively identified by Sister 'Manda Patterson,
the hotel cook, who had watched the whole performance from the hotel
corridor for the sole, single, solitary, and only purpose, she averred,
of seeing how far human wickedness could be carried by a professing
Christian. The whole thing had been shocking and offensive to her, and
only a stern sense of duty had sustained her in looking on, that she
might be qualified to bear witness against the offender. She had
recognized his face, his clothes, his voice, his walk--there could be no
shadow of doubt that it was Brother Sandy. This testimony was confirmed
by one of the deacons, whose son, a waiter at the hotel, had also seen
Sandy at the cakewalk.

Sandy stoutly insisted that he was at home the whole evening; that he
had not been near the hotel for three months; that he had never in his
life taken part in a cakewalk, and that he did not know how to dance.
It was replied that wickedness, like everything else, must have a
beginning; that dancing was an art that could be acquired in secret, and
came natural to some people. In the face of positive proof, Sandy's
protestations were of no avail; he was found guilty, and suspended from
church fellowship until he should have repented and made full
confession.

Sturdily refusing to confess a fault of which he claimed to be innocent,
Sandy remained in contumacy, thereby falling somewhat into disrepute
among the members of his church, the largest in the city. The effect of
a bad reputation being subjective as well as objective, and poor human
nature arguing that one may as well have the game as the name, Sandy
insensibly glided into habits of which the church would not have
approved, though he took care that they should not interfere with his
duties to Mr. Delamere. The consolation thus afforded, however, followed
as it was by remorse of conscience, did not compensate him for the loss
of standing in the church, which to him was a social club as well as a
religious temple. At times, in conversation with young Delamere, he
would lament his hard fate.

Tom laughed until he cried at the comical idea which Sandy's plaint
always brought up, of half-a-dozen negro preachers sitting in solemn
judgment upon that cakewalk,--it had certainly been a good
cakewalk!--and sending poor Sandy to spiritual Coventry.

"Cheer up, Sandy, cheer up!" he would say when Sandy seemed most
depressed. "Go into my room and get yourself a good drink of liquor. The
devil's church has a bigger congregation than theirs, and we have the
consolation of knowing that when we die, we'll meet all our friends on
the other side. Brace up, Sandy, and be a man, or, if you can't be a
man, be as near a man as you can!"

Hoping to revive his drooping spirits, Sandy too often accepted the
proffered remedy.

 A group of Northern men and women come to Wellington and stay at the St. James Hotel. The men are there in order to look into investing in a cotton mill; the women came to study the social condition of the South, especially "the negro problem. They are escorted throughout the town by the gentlemen and ladies of Wellington, and the racial problem is explained in such a way that the Northerners cannot help but sympathize with the plight of the Southern whites in dealing with this "dying race, unable to withstand the competition of a superior type. The Northerners become assured that "no negro was ever lynched without incontestable proof of his guilt. Since the servants at the hotel seemed pleasant enough and the teachers at the mission school had been "well-dressed, well-mannered, and apparently content with their position in life," the visitors are assured that "surely a people who made no complaints could not be very much oppressed. In order to show them a true Southern negro custom, the people of Wellington organize a "cakewalk" for the Northern guests to observe. The cakewalk goes wonderfully, with a large group of black contestants all dancing and entertaining the guests. Ellis happens to be at the hotel and wanders up to the banquet hall where the cakewalk is being held. He is aghast and offended by one man's "grotesque contortions" which he thought were "overdone, even for the comical type of negro. Ellis recognizes the man as Sandy, old Mr. Delamere's servant. Ellis is shocked because he had witnessed Sandy as a gracious servant at the Carteret's christening party and he simply could not "predict in advance what any one of the darker race would do under a given set of circumstances. The week after the cakewalk, Sandy is summoned before the disciplinary committee of his church and charged with "unchristian conduct" in "dancing, and participating in a sinful diversion. calculated to bring the church into disrepute and make it the mockery of sinners. Sandy denies the charges, but several witnesses swear he was there. Sandy is banished from the church until he repents, which he simply cannot bring himself to do. In order to cheer Sandy up, Tom Delamere often tells him to go take a drink of liquor and take heart that "the devil's church has a bigger congregation than theirs, and we have the consolation of knowing that when we die, we'll meet all our friends on the other side

