North and South Trilogy by John Jakes Page A

whirlwind overnight visit not only for the purpose of seeing Orry but to inspect the school that was turning out the nation’s smartest soldiers. He remarked that there was nothing in creation unworthy of study, unless perhaps it was family trees in his native state.
    During Cooper’s short stay at Roe’s Hotel, however, his attention seemed to wander repeatedly from the sights he had come to see. Once Orry caught him gazing at the big stone barracks—or perhaps something beyond them—with an almost melancholy look in his eyes.
    But just before Cooper left, he put aside his preoccupations and his air of mockery and flashed a big grin at George, saying: “You must pay us a visit, sir. Lots of mighty pretty girls down on the Ashley. Got a couple in our own family. They’ll be beauties when they grow up. Didn’t see many pretty girls in the Lehigh Valley. ’Course; I spent most of my time staring into fiery furnaces. Your family operates a mighty impressive factory, Mr. Hazard.”
    “I wish you’d call me George.”
    “No, call him Stump,” Orry put in. “All the cadets get nicknames eventually. We were christened last week.”
    “Stump, eh?” Cooper shot a glance at his brother. “What’s yours?”
    “Stick.”
    That made Cooper laugh. “Parts of the same tree, is that it? Well, Mr. Stump, I want to say I admire the size and scope of your family’s enterprise.” Again his eyes took on that distant, melancholy look. “I surely do.”
    Over the bellowings from a calf boat moving down the Hudson, they heard the whistle of the steamer at the North Dock. Cooper grabbed his valise and rushed down the steps of the hotel veranda.
    “Come see us, Mr. Stump. Mind that you eat right, Orry. We’ll expect you home next summer.”
    After the visitor hurried out of sight, George said, “Your brother seems like a fine fellow.”
    Orry frowned. “He is. But there was something wrong. He was making a valiant effort to joke and smile—neither is very easy for him anytime—but he was upset.”
    “Why?”
    “I wish I knew.”

4
    T HE RIVER SLOOP EUTAW carried Cooper home from the seacoast. Aboard the sloop were packets of mail and shipments of staples sent upriver to the various plantations by the Charleston factor who served them.
    It was a still, sunny morning. The Ashley was placid, glassy. Of all the rice rivers, it was one of the least valuable because the ocean could affect it so drastically. Although the river was fresh here, freak tides or hurricanes sometimes brought the salt of the Atlantic, which killed the rice. But in the opinion of Cooper’s father and the other local planters, that risk was offset by the ease of shipping the crop down to Charleston.
    The heat of late June baked Cooper’s neck and hands as he stood at the rail awaiting his first glimpse of the Main dock. He was often bitterly critical of his state, and of this region in particular. But love of both dwelled deep in his bones. He especially loved the familiar sights of the river, the panorama of pines, live oaks, and occasional palmettos rising on those stretches of shore that remained unclaimed. In the trees, jays and redbirds flashed their colors. At one place a river road skirted the bank. Cooper watched three young blades on fine horses thunder by; racing was a favorite sport in the low country.
    Insects nibbled and nagged at his skin. He could almost smell the sickly season coming. At the great house, preparations would be under way for the family’s removal to their place at Summerville. From there Cooper’s father would ride down to the plantation to inspect on a regular basis, but he would not stay at Mont Royal until the weather cooled again. They had a saying about South Carolina’s coastal region, where miasmic fevers killed scores of whites every year: “In the spring a heaven. In the summer a hell. In the fall a hospital.”
    On the port side the foliage gave way to man-made ramparts—the high main banks. Beyond them