He soon swallowed his wrath and appealed to the
North--the enemy to whom he owed all his calamities, as he thought.
He sent flaming circulars to bleak New England health-exhibits to
the smitten of consumption, painting the advantages of climate,
soil, and society--did all in his power to induce immigrants to
come and buy, in order that he might beat off poverty and failure
and open disgrace. He made a brave fight, but it had never occurred
to him to sell an acre to a colored man when he was accosted by
Nimbus, who, still wearing some part of his uniform, came, over to
negotiate with him for the purchase of Red Wing.
All these untoward events had not made the master of Knapp-of-Reeds
peculiarly amiable, or kindly disposed toward any whom he deemed
in the remotest manner responsible for his loss. For two classes
he could not find words sufficient to express his loathing--namely,
Yankees and Secessionists. To the former directly and to the latter
indirectly he attributed all his ills. The colored man he hated as
a man, as bitterly as he had before highly prized him as a slave.
At the outset of the war he had been openly blamed for his coolness
toward the cause of the Confederacy. Then, for a time, he had
acquiesced in what was done--had "gone with his State," as it was
then expressed--and still later, when convinced of the hopelessness of
the struggle, he had advocated peace measures; to save his property
at all hazards, some said; because he was at heart a Unionist,
others declared So, he had come to regard himself as well disposed
toward the Union, and even had convinced himself that he had
suffered persecution for righteousness' sake, when, in truth, his
"Unionism" was only an investment made to avoid loss.
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