The Quest of the Silver Fleece 
 
Project Gutenberg's The Quest of the Silver Fleece, by W. E. B. Du 
Bois This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with 
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Title: The Quest of the Silver Fleece A Novel 
Author: W. E. B. Du Bois 
Release Date: March 5, 2005 [EBook #15265] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 
QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE *** 
 
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Martin Pettit and the PG Online 
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THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE 
A Novel W.E.B. DU BOIS 
1911
A.C. McClurg & Co. 
 
Contents THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE 
Note from the Author 3 
_One_: DREAMS 5 
_Two_: THE SCHOOL 12 
_Three_: MISS MARY TAYLOR 16 
_Four_: TOWN 23 
_Five_: ZORA 33 
_Six_: COTTON 42 
_Seven_: THE PLACE OF DREAMS 53 
_Eight_: MR. HARRY CRESSWELL 66 
_Nine_: THE PLANTING 74 
_Ten_: MR. TAYLOR CALLS 84 
_Eleven_: THE FLOWERING OF THE FLEECE 99 
_Twelve_: THE PROMISE 108 
_Thirteen_: MRS. GREY GIVES A DINNER 122 
_Fourteen_: LOVE 128 
_Fifteen_: REVELATION 134 
_Sixteen_: THE GREAT REFUSAL 146
_Seventeen_: THE RAPE OF THE FLEECE 154 
_Eighteen_: THE COTTON CORNER 162 
_Nineteen_: THE DYING OF ELSPETH 171 
_Twenty_: THE WEAVING OF THE SILVER FLEECE 182 
_Twenty-one_: THE MARRIAGE MORNING 191 
_Twenty-two_: MISS CAROLINE WYNN 199 
_Twenty-three_: THE TRAINING OF ZORA 210 
_Twenty-four_: THE EDUCATION OF ALWYN 218 
_Twenty-five_: THE CAMPAIGN 230 
_Twenty-six_: CONGRESSMAN CRESSWELL 244 
_Twenty-seven_: THE VISION OF ZORA 254 
_Twenty-eight_: THE ANNUNCIATION 263 
_Twenty-nine_: A MASTER OF FATE 271 
_Thirty_: THE RETURN OF ZORA 283 
_Thirty-one_: A PARTING OF WAYS 293 
_Thirty-two_: ZORA'S WAY 309 
_Thirty-three_: THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 316 
_Thirty-four_: THE RETURN OF ALWYN 328 
_Thirty-five_: THE COTTON MILL 339 
_Thirty-six_: THE LAND 350
_Thirty-seven_: THE MOB 364 
_Thirty-eight_: ATONEMENT 371 
 
THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE 
 
TO ONE 
whose name may not be written but to whose tireless faith the shaping 
of these cruder thoughts to forms more fitly perfect is doubtless due, 
this finished work is herewith dedicated 
 
Note He who would tell a tale must look toward three ideals: to tell it 
well, to tell it beautifully, and to tell the truth. 
The first is the Gift of God, the second is the Vision of Genius, but the 
third is the Reward of Honesty. 
In The Quest of the Silver Fleece there is little, I ween, divine or 
ingenious; but, at least, I have been honest. In no fact or picture have I 
consciously set down aught the counterpart of which I have not seen or 
known; and whatever the finished picture may lack of completeness, 
this lack is due now to the story-teller, now to the artist, but never to 
the herald of the Truth. 
NEW YORK CITY 
_August 15, 1911_ 
THE AUTHOR 
 
One DREAMS
Night fell. The red waters of the swamp grew sinister and sullen. The 
tall pines lost their slimness and stood in wide blurred blotches all 
across the way, and a great shadowy bird arose, wheeled and melted, 
murmuring, into the black-green sky. 
The boy wearily dropped his heavy bundle and stood still, listening as 
the voice of crickets split the shadows and made the silence audible. A 
tear wandered down his brown cheek. They were at supper now, he 
whispered--the father and old mother, away back yonder beyond the 
night. They were far away; they would never be as near as once they 
had been, for he had stepped into the world. And the cat and Old 
Billy--ah, but the world was a lonely thing, so wide and tall and empty! 
And so bare, so bitter bare! Somehow he had never dreamed of the 
world as lonely before; he had fared forth to beckoning hands and 
luring, and to the eager hum of human voices, as of some great, 
swelling music. 
Yet now he was alone; the empty night was closing all about him here 
in a strange land, and he was afraid. The bundle with his earthly 
treasure had hung heavy and heavier on his shoulder; his little horde of 
money was tightly wadded in his sock, and the school lay hidden 
somewhere far away in the shadows. He wondered how far it was; he 
looked and harkened, starting at his own heartbeats, and fearing more 
and more the long dark fingers of the night. 
Then of a sudden up from the darkness came music. It was human 
music, but of a wildness and a weirdness that startled the boy as it 
fluttered and danced across the dull red waters of    
    
		
	
	
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