Io 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
LLG ETT 
Both Sides 
of 
The Shield 
By Major 
ARCHIBALD W. BUTT, 
One of the Heroes of the 
Titanic and President 
Taft’s Military Aid. 
Copyright, 1805, by J. B. Lippincott 
company. All rights reserved. 
SYNOPSIS 
Palmer, a Boston newspaper man, is 
sent to Georgia to report social and indus- 
trial conditions in a series of letters to his 
paper. Colgiel Turpin, a southerner, 
thinks Palmer is a, lawyer and has come 
to foreclose the Turpin plantation’s mort- 
gage. 
(CONTINUED. ] 
He did not even say good morning. 
Indeed, he seemed to have dismissed 
me from his mind. With an indiffer- 
ent bow I retired, wondering why 
managing editors think it a part of 
their official duties to be ill mannered. 
[ was sorry that I had not asked him 
exactly what he wanted, but on this 
point I felt reasonably certain, how- 
tver, for there was to be a presidential 
tlection the following year, and the 
more I thought of it the more certain 
[ became that my letters were to be 
psed to arouse sentiment in New Eng- 
land against the opposing party and 
thereby make certain the electoral vote 
of that section. My work would not 
gnly make certain the New England 
vote, but possibly save the vote of 
some of the middle western states. 
My father had been an abolitionist and 
his father before him. They had been 
talled doctrinaires by their neighbors, 
gut they had lived to see those princi- 
dles become the nation’s shibboleth. 
Uy father lived to modify many of his 
deas, but | refused persistently to 
nodify my views as they had been in 
tuleated into me by my rugged old 
rrandfather. 
As 1 read the order of my assign- 
ment over again it seemed to me to 
be a command to charge the enemy. 
The old abolition blood was in my 
veins and was running at high tide. 
With feverish baste I made ready for 
my departure. Packing up a few 
things and putting my writing mate- 
rials in my grip where { could the 
more easily get at them, I started for 
what I sti!l looked upon as the ene- 
my’s country. 
As I sped south the possibilities of a 
brilliant future arose before me. When 
PRET Te 
I reached Baltimore 1 looked down 
from the window of the car and re- 
ealled the scenes enacted there, when 
my father was one of those stoned 
while on their way to the defense of 
their country. The day grew rapidly 
on, and as the train pulled into Wash- 
ington the lofty dome of the capitol, 
bathed in the fresh light of an April 
morning, dispelled my __ resentful 
thoughts and led them back to the 
beautiful scenes which were always 
uppermost in my father’s memory 
whenever he talked of the south and 
of the friends he had made there after 
the bitter days of the campaign were 
over. After leaving Washington every 
station became of interest, and there 
was no detail from which I did not 
draw some moral. [ had determined to 
pierce the border states and seek for 
the information I desired from the 
land where the palmetto, the pine and 
‘the live oak live side by side. The 
windows of the car had been raised 
and through them came the bracing 
winds from the Blue Ridge, and I could 
eatch occasionally the strange minor 
notes of the negroes at work in the 
fields. I was alive to every impres- 
sion, and I took out my notebook to 
chain in my memory some of the pass- 
ing scenes. 
That evening I finished my first let- 
ter and mailed it from the train. 
When I reached Atlanta I made in- 
quiry as to the best means of reach- 
ing some of the outlying counties, 
where I could study the social and 
educational conditions of this people 
out of the beaten tracks and away 
from the thriving centers through 
which I had passed, and which, ac- 
cording to my preconceived opinions, 
were the result of northern capital or 
New England energy. I remained in 
the vicinity of this city for several 
days, making journeys into the coun- 
try and taking notes of the field hands 
and making inquiry as to the wages 
paid and the amount of labor perform- 
ed by the average hand. My zeal was 
unabated, and I was on the point of 
putting all my figures into a letter 
when my enthusiasm received a check 
that came near causing me to throw 
up my assignment, which I would have 
done without hesitation had I not fear- 
ed it would mean a summary dismis- 
sal from the paper as well. On com- 
Ing in from the factory district one aft- 
ernoon I found a letter from the man- 
aging editor. It said: 
We want facts. Your letter mailed on 
the train found useless and has been 
thrown in the wastebasket. If true, it 
was a very good editorial, but we do not 
want editorials from you. If you still 
have my order read it over and you will 
find in it nothing about the racial ques- 
tion or political problems. Study the 
white people, especially the families of 
the old regime, and bear in mind always 
that whatever you write will be copied 
there. Your letters, therefore, should be 
just and truthful, whatever else there 
may be. If you were an artist with the 
brush I should say paint a picture of some 
old colonial homesteads and antebellum 
plantations. Since you can’t paint, write 
df them as they are. Bring the scenes in 
Georgia vividly before the people of Bos- 
ton. They can draw their own conclu- 
sions. Let your pictures be of people and 
places only as you see them. 
That was all, but it was sufficient to 
Shatter my hopes and discourage all 
further attempts to make sure of the 
electoral vote of New nigi 0d. Dis- 
fonsolate and with a vague sense of 
my own ignorance, I boarded a train 
that night bound somewhere in a 
southerly direction—I did not know 
and I did not care where. 
When I awoke the next morning the 
odor which filled every crevice of the 
ear told me¢ that I had entered the pine 
belt of Georgia during my sleep. I 
threw up my window and inhaled great 
drafts of fresh air. I felt invigorat- 
ed and ready to carry out my assign- 
ment, no matter where it led me, the 
farther into the pine forests and out 
of the reach of managing editors, I 
thought, the better. Later in the day 
I left the main road and took the nar 
row gauge line which I was told fol- 
lowed the bed of the Savannah river 
and passed through several of the 
most historic counties of the state, ricn 
{n memories of the past and peopled 
mostly by remnants of the old colonial 
and antebellum families, who had in 
the past made them the most influen- 
tial centers of the state. 
The railroad wended its way through 
a beautiful rolling country studded 
with pines and cedars. The wild flow- 
ers grew up to the very tracks, and 
the earth seemed carpeted with soft, 
velvety moss. Through the pines I 
caught glimpses occasionally of state- 
ly old residences, with their gardens 
unkempt and the weeds growing in 
wild profusion. Where the fences had 
fallen they had been left to decay, but 
the fields were plowed and showed 
signs of cultivation at a cost of great 
labor. 
We stopped at several stations, and 
around each there was an air of happy 
indolence that lent a charm to the di- 
lapidated wooden sheds which stood 
for depots, and in front of these there 
was always to be seen some antiquat- 
ed wagon or carryall. These latter 
were invariably filled with half grown 
boys and girls laughing and chattering 
like a lot of magpies as the train pull- 
ed up. They were there presumably 
to get the mail, but as I thought more 
likely to exchange bits of gossip and 
to find out what was “going on” down 
the road. I gave myself up to listen- 
ing to their chatter, and I found my- 
self wondering as the train would start. 
again on its siow journey how many 
of these bright and innocent faces 
there would be at the next station to 
greet us. It would indeed take some 
time, I thought, to get a proper esti- 
mate of these people, whose clothes 
would indicate that they belonged to 
the farming and laboring classes, but 
whose conversation, accent and gram- 
matical phrasing would lead one to be- 
eR 
—— 
“—e 
SPE ays niin 
‘ 
