The smell was found.
A family had been boiling soap--a slave-ridden plantation was a
miniature world which must be practically self-supporting. There could
be no economy of labor by its scientific division. Around the soap pot
the negro woman had swept some woolen rags. They were smoldering there
and the faint odor had been wafted to the great house.
Socola couldn't sleep. All night long he could hear that wild
commotion--the old Colonel's voice roaring from the balcony and seventy
sleepy, good-for-nothing negroes with lighted candles looking for a fire
in the dark. When at last he was tired of laughing at the ridiculous
picture, his foolish fancy took another turn and fixed itself again on
old Bob and Aunt Rhinah in their rocking chairs, swathed in cochineal
flannel.
CHAPTER X
THE GAUGE OF BATTLE
Socola found the little town of Montgomery, Alabama, breathing under a
suppression of emotion that was little short of uncanny on the day
Jefferson Davis was inaugurated President.
The streets were crowded to suffocation and tents were necessary to
accommodate the people who could not be housed.
He was surprised at the strange quiet which the spirit of the new
President had communicated to the people.
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