Джон Джейкс: North and South

Orry drew a deep breath. The other young man jumped down from the trunk. His fine clothes were hardly ruffled.

"I thank you very much for your assistance sir." Orry's politeness helped hide his nervousness in the presence of Yankees — and patently prosperous ones, at that.

The stocky young man grinned. "We almost had 'em whipped."

Orry smiled too. The newcomer stood just about to his shoulder. Although there was no fat on him, he gave the impression of being very wide of body. His face was shaped like a wide U. He'd lost his hat, and his brown hair, lighter than Orry's, showed several blond streaks bleached by the sun. The young man's pale, ice-colored eyes were saved from severity by a good-humored sparkle. His smile helped, too, although anyone who disliked him no doubt would have called it cocky.

"So we did," Orry replied, perpetuating the lie.

"Nonsense," said a stout, pasty man three or four years older than Orry's benefactor. "Both of you could have been injured or killed."

The stocky lad spoke to Orry. "My brother never does anything more dangerous than trimming his nails."

The woman who had cried out, stout and fortyish, said, "George, don't be saucy to Stanley. He's right. You're far too reckless."

It was a family, then. Orry touched his hat brim. "Whether we won or lost, all of you helped me out of a tight spot. My thanks again."

"I'll give you a hand with that trunk," George said. "You are taking this boat, aren't you?"

"Yes, to the Military Academy."

"Just get your appointment this year?"

Orry nodded. "Two months ago."

"Fancy that," George said, grinning again. "So did I."

He let go of the broken rope handle. Orry's quick jump saved his feet from being crushed by the trunk.

The other young man held out his hand. "Name's George Hazard. I'm from Pennsylvania. A little town you've never heard of — Lehigh Station."

"Orry Main. From Saint George's Parish, South Carolina."

They looked at each other as their hands clasped. Orry had a feeling this pugnacious little Yankee was going to be a friend.

A few steps away George's father was berating the official who had stood by while a fight developed. The official loudly disavowed responsibility for the public pier. The elder Hazard exclaimed, "I've got your name. There'll be an investigation, I promise you that."

Scowling, he returned to his family. His wife soothed him with some murmured words and a pat or two. Then George cleared his throat and, with a mannerly air, made the proper introductions.

William Hazard was a stern, impressive man with a lined face. He looked ten years older than his wife, though in fact he was not. In addition to the parents and their two older sons, there was a sister, Virgilia — oldest of the children, Orry surmised — and a boy of six or seven. His mother called him William; George referred to him as Billy. The boy kept fiddling with his high collar, which brushed the lobes of his ears; all the men, including Orry, wore similar collars. Billy gazed at his brother George with unmistakable admiration.

"Since Stanley's the oldest male, he's going to take over the iron­works," George explained as he and Orry carried the trunk onto the steamer. "There's never been a question of his doing anything else."

"Iron, you said?"

"Yes. Our family's been making it for six generations. The company used to be called Hazard Furnace, but my father changed the name to Hazard Iron."

"My older brother would be fascinated. Anything scientific or mechanical interests him."

"Are you the second son also?" George's father asked, coming aboard with the rest of the family.

"Yes, sir. My brother Cooper refused an Academy appointment, so I took it instead." He said nothing more. There was no point in airing family quarrels; no point in telling strangers how Cooper, whom Orry admired, continually disappointed and angered their father with his independent ways.

"Then you're the fortunate one," Hazard Senior declared, leaning on his gold-knobbed stick. "Some say the Academy is a haven for aristocrats, but that's a canard. The true nature of the Academy is this: it's the source of the best scientific education available in America." He punctuated each sentence with a kind of verbal period; the man spoke in pronouncements, Orry thought.

The sister stepped forward. She was an unsmiling girl of about twenty. Her squarish face was marred by a few pox marks. Her figure was generous, almost too buxom for her puff-shouldered, narrow-waisted dress of embroidered cambric. Gloves and a flower-trimmed poke completed her costume. Miss Virgilia Hazard said, "Would you be kind enough to repeat your first name, Mr. Main?"

He could certainly understand why she wasn't married. "Orry," he said, and spelled it. He explained that his forebears were early settlers of South Carolina and that he was the third member of his family to be called Orry; it was a corruption of Horry, a common Huguenot name pronounced as if the H did not exist.

Virgilia's dark eyes challenged him. "Might I ask the nature of your family's business?"

Instantly he felt defensive; he knew what she was after.

"They own a rice plantation, ma'am. Rather large and considered prosperous." He realized his description was gratuitous and braggy; he was indeed on the defensive.

"Then I presume you also own slaves?"

No trace of a smile on his face now. "Yes, ma'am, more than a hundred and fifty. You can't grow rice without them."

"As long as the South perpetuates Negro slavery, Mr. Main, the region will remain backward."

The mother touched her daughter's arm. "Virgilia, this is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. Your remark was impolite and un-Christian. You hardly know this young man."

The sister blinked; it appeared to be the only apology Orry would get.

"Visitors ashore. Visitors ashore, please!" A bell rang stridently. George bustled around, hugging Billy, his mother, his father. He shook stuffy Stanley's hand and merely said good-bye to Virgilia.

Soon the steamer was backing from its berth. The family waved from the pier. They dropped out of sight as the boat headed upstream. The two travelers stared at each other, realizing they were on their own.

George Hazard, seventeen, felt obliged to apologize to the young man from the South. George didn't understand his older sister, though he suspected she was mad at the world because she hadn't been born a man, with a man's rights and opportunities. Her anger made her a misfit socially; she was too brusque to catch a beau.

The young Pennsylvanian didn't understand his sister's opinions, either. He had never thought much about slavery one way or another. It existed, although many said it should not. He was not about to damn this chap because of it.

The paddles churned the sunlit water. New York's piers and buildings disappeared astern. George glanced sidewise at Orry, who in one way reminded him of Stanley. Think carefully first, and don't act until you do . There was, however, a significant difference. Orry had a natural, genuine smile. Stanley's smile was priggish and obviously forced.

George cleared his throat. "My sister was rude to say what she did."

The moment he spoke he saw Orry's shoulders stiffen. But the tone of the statement put the Southerner at ease. Orry asked, "Is she an abolitionist?''

"I don't think so. Not an active one, anyway, although I guess she could be. Hope you don't take her remarks too personally. I expect Virgilia would sass anyone from your part of the country. You're probably the first Southron she's ever run into. We don't see many in Pennsylvania, and I can't say I've ever met one myself." "You'll meet plenty at the Academy."

"Good. I'm anxious to know what they're really like. I have this picture, you see —"