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diff --git a/75553-0.txt b/75553-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e9e1b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/75553-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3869 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75553 *** + + + + + +AMONG THE CAMPS + + + + +BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. + + ELSKET AND OTHER STORIES. 12mo, $1.00 + NEWFOUND RIVER. 12mo, 1.00 + IN OLE VIRGINIA. 12mo, 1.25 + THE SAME. Cameo Edition. With an etching + by W. L. Sheppard. 16mo, 1.25 + + AMONG THE CAMPS. Young People’s + Stories of the War. Illustrated. Sq. 8vo, 1.50 + TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES. Illustrated. + Square 8vo, 1.50 + + “BEFO’ DE WAR.” Echoes of Negro Dialect. + By. A. C. Gordon and Thomas + Nelson Page. 12mo, 1.00 + + + + +[Illustration: “HALT!” BANG, BANG, WENT THE GUNS IN HIS VERY FACE.] + + + + + AMONG THE CAMPS + + OR + + _YOUNG PEOPLE’S STORIES OF THE WAR_ + + BY + THOMAS NELSON PAGE + + ILLUSTRATED + + NEW YORK + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + 1891 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + + Press of J. J. Little & Co. + Astor Place, New York + + + + +To Her: + + + + +_NOTE._ + + +_My acknowledgments are due to Messrs. Harper & Brothers and to Mr. A. +B. Starey, the Publishers and the Editor of HARPERS’ YOUNG PEOPLE, in +which Magazine I had the pleasure of having these stories, with the +accompanying illustrations, first appear._ + + _T. N. P._ + + + + +_CONTENTS._ + + + _A Captured Santa Claus_ _Page 1_ + + _Kittykin, and the Part She Played in the War_ “ _41_ + + “_Nancy Pansy_” “ _65_ + + “_Jack and Jake_” “ _115_ + + + + +_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS._ + + + _“Halt!” Bang, bang, went the Guns in His very Face_ _Frontispiece_ + + _Colonel Stafford opens the Bundle_ _Page 11_ + + _“What You Children gwine do wid dat little Cat?” asked + Mammy, severely_ “ _40_ + + _“I Want My Kittykin,” said Evelyn_ “ _54_ + + _Nancy Pansy clasped Harry closely to Her Bosom_ “ _77_ + + _She ran up to Him, putting up Her Face to be Kissed_ “ _91_ + + _He drew Them Plans of the Roads and Hills and big Woods_ “ _123_ + + _Jack made a running Noose in the Rope and tried to throw + it over the Horse’s Head_ “ _139_ + + + + +A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. + + +I. + +Holly Hill was the place for Christmas! From Bob down to brown-eyed +Evelyn, with her golden hair floating all around her, every one hung up +a stocking, and the visit of Santa Claus was the event of the year. + +They went to sleep on the night before Christmas--or rather they went +to bed, for sleep was long far from their eyes,--with little squeakings +and gurglings, like so many little white mice, and if Santa Claus +had not always been so very punctual in disappearing up the chimney +before daybreak, he must certainly have been caught; for by the time +the chickens were crowing in the morning there would be an answering +twitter through the house, and with a patter of little feet and subdued +laughter small white-clad figures would steal through the dim light +of dusky rooms and passages, opening doors with sudden bursts, and +shouting “Christmas gift!” into darkened chambers, at still sleeping +elders, then scurrying away in the gray light to rake open the hickory +embers and revel in the exploration of their crowded stockings. + +Such was Christmas morning at Holly Hill in the old times before the +war. Thus it was, that at Christmas 1863, when there were no new toys +to be had for love or money, there were much disappointment and some +murmurs at Holly Hill. The children had never really felt the war until +then, though their father, Major Stafford, had been off, first with +his company and then with his regiment, since April, 1861. Now from +Mrs. Stafford down to little tot Evelyn, there was an absence of the +merriment which Christmas always brought with it. Their mother had done +all she could to collect such presents as were within her reach, but +the youngsters were much too sharp not to know that the presents were +“just fixed up”; and when they were all gathered around the fire in +their mother’s chamber, Christmas morning, looking over their presents, +their little faces wore an expression of pathetic disappointment. + +“I don’t think much of _this_ Christmas,” announced Ran, with +characteristic gravity, looking down on his presents with an air of +contempt. “A hatchet, a ball of string, and a hare-trap isn’t much.” + +Mrs. Stafford smiled, but the smile soon died away into an expression +of sadness. + +“I too have to do without my Christmas gift,” she said. “Your father +wrote me that he hoped to spend Christmas with us, and he has not come.” + +“Never mind; he may come yet,” said Bob encouragingly. (Bob always was +encouraging. That was why he was “Old Bob.”) “An axe was just the +thing I wanted, mamma,” said he, shouldering his new possession proudly. + +Mrs. Stafford’s face lit up again. + +“And a hatchet was what I wanted,” admitted Ran; “now I can make my own +hare-traps.” + +“An’ I like a broked knife,” asserted Charlie stoutly, falling +valiantly into the general movement, whilst Evelyn pushed her long hair +out of her eyes, and hugged her baby, declaring: + +“I love my dolly, and I love Santa Tlaus, an’ I love my papa,” at which +her mother took the little midget to her bosom, doll and all, and hid +her face in her tangled curls. + + +II. + +The holiday was scarcely over when one evening Major Stafford galloped +up to the gate, his black horse Ajax splashed with mud to his ear-tips. + +The Major soon heard all about the little ones’ disappointment at not +receiving any new presents. + +“Santa Tlaus didn’ tum this Trismas, but he’s tummin’ next Trismas,” +said Evelyn, looking wisely up at him, that evening, from the rug where +she was vainly trying to make her doll’s head stick on her broken +shoulders. + +“And why did he not come this Christmas, Miss Wisdom?” laughed her +father, touching her with the toe of his boot. + +“Tause the Yankees wouldn’ let him,” said she gravely, holding her doll +up and looking at it pensively, her head on one side. + +“And why, then, should he come next year?” + +“Tause God’s goin’ to make him.” She turned the mutilated baby around +and examined it gravely, with her shining head set on the other side. + +“There’s faith for you,” said Mrs. Stafford, as her husband asked, “How +do you know this?” + +“Tause God told me,” answered Evelyn, still busy with her inspection. + +“He did? What is Santa Claus going to bring you?” + +The little mite sprang to her feet. “He’s goin’ to bring +me--a--great--big--dolly--with real sure ’nough hair, and blue eyes +that will go to sleep.” Her face was aglow, and she stretched her hands +wide apart to give the size. + +“She has dreamt it,” said the Major, in an undertone, to her mother. +“There is not such a doll as that in the Southern Confederacy,” he +continued. + +The child caught his meaning. “Yes, he is,” she insisted, “’cause I +asked him an’ he said he would; and Charlie----” + +Just then that youngster himself burst into the room, a small whirlwind +in petticoats. As soon as his cyclonic tendencies could be curbed, his +father asked him: + +“Well, what did you ask Santa Claus for, young man?” + +“For a pair of breeches and a sword,” answered the boy, promptly, +striking an attitude. + +“Well, upon my word!” laughed his father, eying the erect little figure +and the steady, clear eyes which looked proudly up at him. “I had no +idea what a young Achilles we had here. You shall have them.” + +The boy nodded gravely. “All right. When I get to be a man I won’t let +anybody make my mamma cry.” He advanced a step, with head up, the very +picture of spirit. + +“Ah! you won’t?” said his father, with a gesture to prevent his wife +interrupting. + +“Nor my little sister,” said the young warrior, patronizingly, swelling +with infantile importance. + +“No; he won’t let anybody make _me_ ky,” chimed in Evelyn, promptly +accepting the proffered protection. + +“On my word, Ellen, the fellow has some of the old blood in him,” said +Major Stafford, much pleased. “Come here, my young knight.” He drew the +boy up to him. “I had rather have heard you say that than have won a +brigadier’s wreath. You shall have your breeches and your sword next +Christmas. Were I the king I should give you your spurs. Remember, +never let any one make your mother or sister cry.” + +Charlie nodded in token of his acceptance of the condition. + +“All right,” he said. + + +III. + +When Major Stafford galloped away, on his return to his command, the +little group at the lawn gate shouted many messages after him. The +last thing he heard was Charlie’s treble, as he seated himself on the +gate-post, calling to him not to forget to make Santa Claus bring him a +pair of breeches and a sword, and Evelyn’s little voice reminding him +of her “dolly that can go to sleep.” + +Many times during the ensuing year, amid the hardships of the campaign, +the privations of the march, and the dangers of battle, the Major heard +those little voices calling to him. In the autumn he won the three +stars of a colonel for gallantry in leading a desperate charge on a +town, in a perilous raid into the heart of the enemy’s country, and +holding the place; but none knew, when he dashed into the town at the +head of his regiment under a hail of bullets, that his mind was full of +toyshops and clothing stores, and that when he was so stoutly holding +his position he was guarding a little boy’s suit, a small sword with a +gilded scabbard, and a large doll with flowing ringlets and eyes that +could “go to sleep.” Some of his friends during that year had charged +the Major with growing miserly, and rallied him upon hoarding up his +pay and carrying large rolls of Confederate money about his person; and +when, just before the raid, he invested his entire year’s pay in four +or five ten-dollar gold pieces, they vowed he was mad. + +The Major, however, always met these charges with a smile. And as soon +as his position was assured in the captured town he proved his sanity. + +The owner of a handsome store on the principal street, over which was a +large sign, “Men’s and Boys’ Clothes,” peeping out, saw a Confederate +major ride up to the door, which had been hastily fastened when the +fight began, and rap on it with the handle of his sword. There was +something in the rap that was imperative, and fearing violence if he +failed to respond, he hastily opened the door. The officer entered, and +quickly selected a little uniform suit of blue cloth with brass buttons. + +“What is the price of this?” + +“Ten dollars,” stammered the shopkeeper. + +To his astonishment the Confederate officer put his hand in his pocket +and laid a ten-dollar gold piece on the counter. + +“Now show me where there is a toyshop.” + +There was one only a few doors off, and there the Major selected a +child’s sword handsomely ornamented, and the most beautiful doll, over +whose eyes stole the whitest of rose-leaf eyelids, and which could talk +and do other wonderful things. He astonished this shopkeeper also by +laying down another gold piece. This left him but two or three more of +the proceeds of his year’s pay, and these he soon handed over a counter +to a jeweller, who gave him a small package in exchange. + +All during the remainder of the campaign Colonel Stafford carried a +package carefully sealed, and strapped on behind his saddle. His care +of it and his secrecy about it were the subjects of many jests among +his friends in the brigade, and when in an engagement his horse was +shot, and the Colonel, under a hot fire, stopped and calmly unbuckled +his bundle, and during the rest of the fight carried it in his hand, +there was a clamor that he should disclose the contents. Even an offer +to sing them a song would not appease them. + +The brigade officers were gathered around a camp-fire that night on +the edge of the bloody field. A Federal officer, Colonel Denby, who +had been slightly wounded and captured in the fight, and who now sat +somewhat grim and moody before the fire, was their guest. + +“Now, Stafford, open the bundle and let us into the secret,” they all +said. The Colonel, without a word, rose and brought the parcel up to +the fire. Kneeling down, he took out his knife and carefully ripped +open the outer cover. Many a jest was levelled at him across the +blazing logs as he did so. + +One said the Colonel had turned peddler, and was trying to eke out +a living by running the blockade on Lilliputian principles; another +wagered that he had it full of Confederate bills; a third, that it was +a talisman against bullets, and so on. Within the outer covering were +several others; but at length the last was reached. As the Colonel +ripped carefully, the group gathered around and bent breathlessly over +him, the light from the blazing camp-fire shining ruddily on their +eager, weather-tanned faces. When the Colonel put in his hand and drew +out a toy sword, there was a general exclamation, followed by a dead +silence; but when he took the doll from her soft wrapping, and then +unrolled and held up a pair of little trousers not much longer than a +man’s hand, and just the size for a five-year-old boy, the men turned +away their faces from the fire, and more than one who had boys of his +own at home, put his hand up to his eyes. + +One of them, a bronzed and weather-beaten officer, who had charged +the Colonel with being a miser, stretched himself out on the ground, +flat on his face, and sobbed aloud as Colonel Stafford gently told his +story of Charlie and Evelyn. Even the grim face of Colonel Denby looked +somewhat changed in the light of the fire, and he reached over for the +doll and gazed at it steadily for some time. + +[Illustration: COLONEL STAFFORD OPENS THE BUNDLE.] + + +IV. + +During the whole year the children had been looking forward to the +coming of Christmas. Charlie’s outbursts of petulance and not rare +fits of anger were invariably checked if any mention was made of his +father’s injunction, and at length he became accustomed to curb himself +by the recollection of the charge he had received. If he fell and hurt +himself in his constant attempt to climb up impossible places, he would +simply rub himself and say, proudly, “I don’t cry now, I am a knight, +and next Christmas I am going to be a man, ’cause my papa’s goin’ to +tell Santa Claus to bring me a pair of breeches and a sword.” Evelyn +could not help crying when she was hurt, for she was only a little +girl; but she added to her prayer of “God bless and keep my papa, and +bring him safe home,” the petition, “Please, God, bless and keep Santa +Tlaus, and let him come here Trismas.” + +Old Bob and Ran too, as well as the younger ones, looked forward +eagerly to Christmas. + +But some time before Christmas the steady advance of the Union armies +brought Holly Hill and the Holly Hill children far within the Federal +lines, and shut out all chance of their being reached by any message +or thing from their father. The only Confederates the children ever +saw now were the prisoners who were being passed back on their way to +prison. The only news they ever received were the rumors which reached +them from Federal sources. Mrs. Stafford’s heart was heavy within her, +and when, a day or two before Christmas, she heard Charlie and Evelyn, +as they sat before the fire, gravely talking to each other of the +long-expected presents which their father had promised that Santa Claus +should bring them, she could stand it no longer. She took Bob and Ran +into her room, and there told them that now it was impossible for their +father to come, and that they must help her entertain “the children” +and console them for their disappointment. The two boys responded +heartily, as true boys always will when thrown on their manliness. + +For the next two days Mrs. Stafford and both the boys were busy. Mrs. +Stafford, when Charlie was not present, gave her time to cutting out +and making a little gray uniform suit from an old coat which her +husband had worn when he first entered the army; whilst the boys +employed themselves, Bob in making a pretty little sword and scabbard +out of an old piece of gutter, and Ran, who had a wonderful turn, in +carving a doll from a piece of hard seasoned wood. + +The day before Christmas they lost a little time in following and +pitying a small lot of prisoners who passed along the road by the gate. +The boys were always pitying the prisoners and planning means to rescue +them, for they had an idea that they suffered a terrible fate. Only +one certain case had come to their knowledge. A young man had one day +been carried by the Holly Hill gate on his way to the headquarters of +the officer in command of that portion of the lines, General Denby. He +was in citizen’s clothes and was charged with being a spy. The next +morning Ran, who had risen early to visit his hare-traps, rushed into +his mother’s room white-faced and wide-eyed. + +“Oh, mamma!” he gasped, “they have hung him, just because he had on +those clothes!” + +Mrs. Stafford, though she was much moved herself, endeavored to explain +to the boy that this was one of the laws of war; but Ran’s mind was not +able to comprehend the principles which imposed so cruel a sentence for +what he deemed so harmless a fault. + +This act and some other measures of severity gave General Denby a +reputation of much harshness among the few old residents who yet +remained at their homes in the lines, and the children used to gaze +at him furtively as he would ride by, grim and stern, followed by his +staff. Yet there were those who said that General Denby’s rigor was +simply the result of a high standard of duty, and that at bottom he had +a soft heart. + + +V. + +The approach of Christmas was recognized even in the Federal camps, +and many a song and ringing laugh were heard around the camp-fires, +and in the tents and little cabins used as winter quarters, over the +boxes which were pouring in from home. The troops in the camps near +General Denby’s headquarters on Christmas eve had been larking and +frolicking all day like so many children, preparing for the festivities +of the evening, when they proposed to have a Christmas tree and other +entertainments; and the General, as he sat in the front room in the +house used as his headquarters, writing official papers, had more +than once during the afternoon frowned at the noise outside which had +disturbed him. At length, however, late in the afternoon, he finished +his work, and having dismissed his adjutant, he locked the door, and +pushing aside all his business papers, took from his pocket a little +letter and began to read. + +As he read, the stern lines of the grim soldier’s face relaxed, and +more than once a smile stole into his eyes and stirred the corners of +his grizzled moustache. + +The letter was scrawled in a large childish hand. It ran: + + “MY DEAREST GRANDPAPA: I want to see you very much. I send you a + Christmas gift. I made it myself. I hope to get a whole lot of dolls + and other presents. I love you. I send you all these kisses.... You + must kiss them. + “Your loving little granddaughter, + “LILY.” + +When he had finished reading the letter the old veteran gravely lifted +it to his lips and pressed a kiss on each of the little spaces so +carefully drawn by the childish hand. + +When he had done he took out his handkerchief and blew his nose +violently as he walked up and down the room. He even muttered something +about the fire smoking. Then he sat down once more at his table, and +placing the little letter before him, began to write. As he wrote, the +fire smoked more than ever, and the sounds of revelry outside reached +him in a perfect uproar; but he no longer frowned, and when the strains +of “Dixie” came in at the window, sung in a clear, rich, mellow solo, +he sat back in his chair and listened: + + “I wish I were in Dixie, away, away; + In Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand, + To live and die for Dixie land, + Away, away, away down South in Dixie!” + +sang the beautiful voice, full and sonorous. + +When the song ended, there was an outburst of applause, and shouts +apparently demanding some other song, which was refused, for the noise +grew to a tumult. The General rose and walked to the window. Suddenly +the uproar hushed, for the voice began again, but this time it was a +hymn: + + “While shepherds watched their flocks by night, + All seated on the ground, + The angel of the Lord came down, + And glory shone around.” + +Verse after verse was sung, the men pouring out of their tents and huts +to listen to the music. + + “All glory be to God on high, + And to the earth be peace; + Good will henceforth from Heaven to men + Begin and never cease!” + +sang the singer to the end. When the strain died away there was dead +silence. + +The General finished his letter and sealed it. Carefully folding up +the little one which lay before him, he replaced it in his pocket, and +going to the door, summoned the orderly who was just without. + +“Mail that at once,” he said. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“By the way,” as the soldier turned to leave, “who was that singing out +there just now? I mean that last one, who sang ‘Dixie,’ and the hymn.” + +“Only a peddler, sir, I believe.” + +The General’s eyes fixed themselves on the soldier. + +“Where did he come from?” + +“I don’t know, sir. Some of the boys had him singing.” + +“Tell Major Dayle to come here immediately,” said the General, frowning. + +In a moment the officer summoned entered. + +He appeared somewhat embarrassed. + +“Who was this peddler?” asked the commander, sternly. + +“I--I don’t know--” began the other. + +“You don’t know! Where did he come from?” + +“From Colonel Watchly’s camp directly,” said he, relieved to shift a +part of the responsibility. + +“How was he dressed?” + +“In citizen’s clothes.” + +“What did he have?” + +“A few toys and trinkets.” + +“What was his name?” + +“I did not hear it.” + +“And you let him go!” The General stamped his foot. + +“Yes, sir; I don’t think--” he began. + +“No, I know you don’t,” said the General. “He was a spy. Where has he +gone?” + +“I--I don’t know. He cannot have gone far.” + +“Report yourself under arrest,” said the commander, sternly. + +Walking to the door, he said to the sentinel: + +“Call the corporal, and tell him to request Captain Albert to come here +immediately.” + +In a few hours the party sent out reported that they had traced +the spy to a place just over the creek, where he was believed to be +harbored. + +“Take a detail and arrest him, or burn the house,” ordered the General, +angrily. “It is a perfect nest of treason,” he said to himself as he +walked up and down, as though in justification of his savage order. + +“Or wait,” he called to the captain, who was just withdrawing. “I will +go there myself, and take it for my headquarters. It is a better place +than this. I cannot stand this smoke any longer. That will break up +their treasonable work.” + + +VI. + +All that day the tongues of the little ones at Holly Hill had been +chattering unceasingly of the expected visit of Santa Claus that +night. Mrs. Stafford had tried to explain to Charlie and Evelyn that +it would be impossible for him to bring them their presents this year; +but she was met with the undeniable and unanswerable statement that +their father had promised them. Before going to bed they had hung their +stockings on the mantelpiece right in front of the chimney, so that +Santa Claus would be sure to see them. + +The mother had broken down over Evelyn’s prayer, “not to forget my +papa, and not to forget my dolly,” and her tears fell silently after +the little ones were asleep, as she put the finishing touches to +the tiny gray uniform for Charlie. She was thinking not only of the +children’s disappointment, but of the absence of him on whose promise +they had so securely relied. He had been away now for a year, and she +had had no word of him for many weeks. Where was he? Was he dead or +alive? Mrs. Stafford sank on her knees by the bedside. + +“O God, give me faith like this little child!” she prayed again and +again. She was startled by hearing a step on the front portico and a +knock at the door. Bob, who was working in front of the hall fire, +went to the door. His mother heard him answer doubtfully some question. +She opened the door and went out. A stranger with a large bundle or +pack stood on the threshold. His hat, which was still on his head, was +pulled down over his eyes, and he wore a beard. + +“An’, leddy, wad ye bay so koind as to shelter a poor sthranger for a +noight at this blissid toim of pace and goodwill?” he said, in a strong +Irish brogue. + +“Certainly,” said Mrs. Stafford with her eyes fixed on him. She moved +slowly up to him. Then, by an instinct, quickly lifting her hand, she +pushed his hat back from his eyes. Her husband clasped her in his arms. + +“My darling!” + +When the pack was opened, such a treasure-house of toys and things was +displayed as surely never greeted any other eyes. The smaller children, +including Ran, were not awaked, at their father’s request, though Mrs. +Stafford wished to wake them to see him; but Bob was let into the +secrets, except that he was not permitted to see a small package which +bore his name. Mrs. Stafford and the Colonel were like two children +themselves as they “tipped” about stuffing the long stockings with +candy and toys of all kinds. The beautiful doll with flaxen hair, all +arrayed in silk and lace, was seated, last of all, securely on top +of Evelyn’s stocking, with her wardrobe just below her, where she +would greet her young mistress when she should first open her eyes, +and Charlie’s little blue uniform was pinned beside the gray one his +mother had made, with his sword buckled around the waist. + +Bob was at last dismissed to his room, and the Colonel and Mrs. +Stafford settled themselves before the fire, hand in hand, to talk over +all the past. They had hardly started, when Bob rushed down the stairs +and dashed into their room. + +“Papa! papa! the yard’s full of Yankees!” + +Both the Colonel and Mrs. Stafford sprang to their feet. + +“Through the back door!” cried Mrs. Stafford, seizing her husband. + +“He cannot get out that way--they are everywhere; I saw them from my +window,” gasped Bob, just as the sound of trampling without became +audible. + +“Oh! what will you do? Those clothes! If they catch you in those +clothes!” began Mrs. Stafford, and then stopped, her face growing +ashy pale. Bob also turned even whiter than he had been before. He +remembered the young man who was found in citizen’s clothes in the +autumn, and knew his dreadful fate. He burst out crying. “Oh, papa! +will they hang you?” he sobbed. + +“I hope not, my son,” said the Colonel, gravely. “Certainly not, if I +can prevent it.” A gleam of amusement stole into his eyes. “It’s an +awkward fix, certainly,” he added. + +“You must conceal yourself,” cried Mrs. Stafford, as a number of +footsteps sounded on the porch, and a thundering knock shook the door. +“Come here.” She pulled him almost by main force into a closet or +entry, and locked the door, just as the knocking was renewed. As the +door was apparently about to be broken down, she went out into the +hall. Her face was deadly white, and her lips were moving in prayer. + +“Who’s there?” she called, tremblingly, trying to gain time. + +“Open the door immediately, or it will be broken down,” replied a stern +voice. + +She turned the great iron key in the heavy old brass lock, and a dozen +men rushed into the hall. They all waited for one, a tall elderly man +in a general’s fatigue uniform, and with a stern face and a grizzled +beard. He addressed her. + +“Madam, I have come to take possession of this house as my +headquarters.” + +Mrs. Stafford bowed, unable to speak. She was sensible of a feeling +of relief; there was a gleam of hope. If they did not know of her +husband’s presence--But the next word destroyed it. + +“We have not interfered with you up to the present time, but you have +been harboring a spy here, and he is here now.” + +“There is no spy here, and has never been,” said Mrs. Stafford, with +dignity; “but if there were, you should not know it from me.” She spoke +with much spirit. “It is not the custom of our people to deliver up +those who have sought their protection.” + +The officer removed his hat. His keen eye was fixed on her white face. +“We shall search the premises,” he said sternly, but more respectfully +than he had yet spoken. “Major, have the house thoroughly searched.” + +The men went striding off, opening doors and looking through the rooms. +The General took a turn up and down the hall. He walked up to a door. + +“That is my chamber,” said Mrs. Stafford, quickly. + +The officer fell back. “It must be searched,” he said. + +“My little children are asleep in there,” said Mrs. Stafford, her face +quite white. + +“It must be searched,” repeated the General. “Either they must do it, +or I. You can take your choice.” + +Mrs. Stafford made a gesture of assent. He opened the door and stepped +across the threshold. There he stopped. His eye took in the scene. +Charlie was lying in the little trundle-bed in the corner, calm and +peaceful, and by his side was Evelyn, her little face looking like a +flower lying in the tangle of golden hair which fell over her pillow. +The noise disturbed her slightly, for she smiled suddenly, and muttered +something about “Santa Tlaus” and a “dolly.” The officer’s gaze swept +the room, and fell on the overcrowded stockings hanging from the +mantel. He advanced to the fireplace and examined the doll and trousers +closely. With a curious expression on his face, he turned and walked +out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. + +“Major,” he said to the officer in charge of the searching party, who +descended the steps just then, “take the men back to camp, except the +sentinels. There is no spy here.” In a moment Mrs. Stafford came out of +her chamber. The old officer was walking up and down in deep thought. +Suddenly he turned to her: “Madam, be so kind as to go and tell Colonel +Stafford that General Denby desires him to surrender himself.” Mrs. +Stafford was struck dumb. She was unable to move or to articulate. “I +shall wait for him,” said the General, quietly, throwing himself into +an arm-chair, and looking steadily into the fire. + + +VII. + +As his father concealed himself, Bob had left the chamber. He was in a +perfect agony of mind. He knew that his father could not escape, and if +he were found dressed in citizen’s clothes he felt that he could have +but one fate. All sorts of schemes entered his boy’s head to save him. +Suddenly he thought of the small group of prisoners he had seen pass by +about dark. He would save him! Putting on his hat, he opened the front +door and walked out. A sentinel accosted him surlily to know where he +was going. Bob invited him in to get warm, and soon had him engaged in +conversation. + +“What do you do with your prisoners when you catch them?” inquired Bob. + +“Send some on to prison--and hang some.” + +“I mean when you first catch them.” + +“Oh, they stay in camp. We don’t treat ’em bad, without they be spies. +There’s a batch at camp now, got in this evening--sort o’ Christmas +gift.” The soldier laughed as he stamped his feet to keep warm. + +“Where’s your camp?” Bob asked. + +“About a mile from here, right on the road, or rather right on the hill +at the edge of the pines ’yond the crick.” + +The boy left his companion, and sauntered in and out among the other +men in the yard. Presently he moved on to the edge of the lawn beyond +them. No one took further notice of him. In a second he had slipped +through the gate, and was flying across the field. He knew every foot +of ground as well as a hare, for he had been hunting and setting traps +over it since he was as big as little Charlie. He had to make a detour +at the creek to avoid the picket, and the dense briers were very bad +and painful. However, he worked his way through, though his face was +severely scratched. Into the creek he plunged. “Outch!” He had stepped +into a hole, and the water was as cold as ice. However, he was through, +and at the top of the hill he could see the glow of the camp-fires +lighting up the sky. + +He crept cautiously up, and saw the dark forms of the sentinels pacing +backward and forward wrapped in their overcoats, now lit up by the +fire, then growing black against its blazing embers, then lit up again, +and passing away into the shadow. How could he ever get by them? His +heart began to beat and his teeth to chatter, but he walked boldly up. + +“Halt! who goes there?” cried the sentry, bringing his gun down and +advancing on him. + +Bob kept on, and the sentinel, finding that it was only a boy, looked +rather sheepish. + +“Don’t let him capture you, Jim,” called one of them; “Call the +Corporal of the Guard,” another; “Order up the reserves,” a third; and +so on. Bob had to undergo something of an examination. + +“I know the little Johnny,” said one of them. + +They made him draw up to the fire, and made quite a fuss over him. +Bob had his wits about him and soon learned that a batch of prisoners +were at a fire a hundred yards further back. He therefore worked his +way over there, although he was advised to stay where he was and get +dry, and had many offers of a bunk from his new friends, some of whom +followed him over to where the prisoners were. + +Most of them were quartered for the night in a hut before which a guard +was stationed. One or two, however, sat around the camp-fire, chatting +with their guards. Among them was a major in full uniform. Bob singled +him out; he was just about his father’s size. + +He was instantly the centre of attraction. Again he told them he was +from Holly Hill; again he was recognized by one of the men. + +“Run away to join the army?” asked one. + +“No,” said Bob, his eyes flashing at the suggestion. + +“Lost?” + +“No.” + +“Mother whipped you?” + +“No.” + +As soon as their curiosity had somewhat subsided, Bob, who had hardly +been able to contain himself, said to the Confederate major in a low +undertone: + +“My father, Colonel Stafford, is at home, concealed, and the Yankees +have taken possession of the house.” + +“Well?” said the major, looking down at him as if casually. + +“He cannot escape, and he has on citizen’s clothes, and--” Bob’s voice +choked suddenly as he gazed at the major’s uniform. + +“Well?” The prisoner for a second looked sharply down at the boy’s +earnest face. Then he put his hand under his chin, and lifting it, +looked into his eyes. Bob shivered and a sob escaped him. + +The major placed his hand firmly on his knee. “Why, you are wringing +wet,” he said, aloud. “I wonder you are not frozen to death.” He rose +and stripped off his coat. “Here, get into this;” and before the boy +knew it the major had bundled him into his coat, and rolled up the +sleeves so that Bob could use his hands. The action attracted the +attention of the rest of the group, and several of the Yankees offered +to take the boy and give him dry clothes. + +“No, sir,” laughed the major; “this boy is a rebel. Do you think he +will wear one of your Yankee suits? He’s a little major, and I’m going +to give him a major’s uniform.” + +In a minute he had stripped off his trousers, and was helping Bob into +them, standing himself in his underclothes in the icy air. The legs +were three times too long for the boy, and the waist came up to his +armpits. + +“Now go home to your mother,” said the major, laughing at his +appearance; “and some of you fellows get me some clothes or a blanket. +I’ll wear your Yankee uniform out of sheer necessity.” + +Bob trotted around, keeping as far away from the light of the +camp-fires as possible. He soon found himself unobserved, and reached +the shadow of a line of huts, and keeping well in it, he came to the +edge of the camp. He watched his opportunity, and when the sentry’s +back was turned slipped out into the darkness. In an instant he was +flying down the hill. The heavy clothes impeded him, and he stopped +only long enough to snatch them off and roll them into a bundle, and +sped on his way again. He struck the main road, and was running down +the hill as fast as his legs could carry him, when he suddenly found +himself almost on a group of dark objects who were standing in the +road just in front of him. One of them moved. It was the picket. Bob +suddenly stopped. His heart was in his throat. + +“Who goes there?” said a stern voice. Bob’s heart beat as if it would +spring out of his body. + +“Come in; we have you,” said the man, advancing. + +Bob sprang across the ditch beside the road, and putting his hand on +the top rail of the fence, flung himself over it, bundle and all, flat +on the other side, just as a blaze of light burst from the picket, and +the report of a carbine startled the silent night. The bullet grazed +the boy’s arm, and crashed through the rail. In a second Bob was on +his feet. The picket was almost on him. Seizing his bundle, he dived +into the thicket as a half-dozen shots were sent ringing after him, +the bullets hissing and whistling over his head. Several men dashed +into the woods after him in hot pursuit, and a couple more galloped up +the road to intercept him; but Bob’s feet were winged, and he slipped +through briers and brush like a scared hare. They scratched his face +and threw him down, but he was up again. Now and then a shot crashed +behind him, but he did not care for that; he thought only of being +caught. + +A few hundred yards up, he plunged into the stream, and wading across, +was soon safe from his pursuers. Breathless, he climbed the hill, made +his way through the woods, and emerged into the open fields. Across +these he sped like a deer. He had almost given out. What if they should +have caught his father, and he should be too late! A sob escaped him at +the bare thought, and he broke again into a run, wiping off with his +sleeve the tears that would come. The wind cut him like a knife, but he +did not mind that. + +As he neared the house he feared that he might be intercepted again and +the clothes taken from him, so he stopped for a moment, and slipped +them on once more, rolling up the sleeves and legs as well as he could. +He crossed the yard undisturbed. He went around to the same door by +which he had come out, for he thought this his best chance. The same +sentinel was there, walking up and down, blowing his cold hands. Had +his father been arrested? Bob’s teeth chattered, but it was with +suppressed excitement. + +“Pretty cold,” said the sentry. + +“Ye--es,” gasped Bob. + +“Your mother’s been out here, looking for you, I guess,” said the +soldier, with much friendliness. + +“I rec--reckon so,” panted Bob, moving toward the door. Did that mean +that his father was caught? He opened the door, and slipped quietly +into the corridor. + +General Denby still sat silent before the hall fire. Bob listened at +the chamber door. His mother was weeping; his father stood calm and +resolute before the fire. He had determined to give himself up. + +“If you only did not have on those clothes!” sobbed Mrs. Stafford. “If +I only had not cut up the old uniform for the children!” + +“Mother! mother! I have one!” gasped Bob, bursting into the room and +tearing off the unknown major’s uniform. + + +VIII. + +Ten minutes later Colonel Stafford, with a steady step and a proud +carriage, and with his hand resting on Bob’s shoulder, walked out into +the hall. He was dressed in the uniform of a Confederate major, which +fitted admirably his tall, erect figure. + +“General Denby, I believe,” he said, as the Union officer rose and +faced him. “We have met before under somewhat different circumstances,” +he said, with a bow, “for I now find myself your prisoner.” + +“I have the honor to request your parole,” said the General, with great +politeness, “and to express the hope that I may be able in some way +to return the courtesy which I formerly received at your hands.” He +extended his hand and Colonel Stafford took it. + +“You have my parole,” said he. + +“I was not aware,” said the General, with a bow toward Mrs. Stafford, +“until I entered the room where your children were sleeping, that I had +the honor of your husband’s acquaintance. I will now take my leave and +return to camp, that I may not by my presence interfere with the joy of +this season.” + +“I desire to introduce to you my son,” said Colonel Stafford, proudly +presenting Bob. “He is a hero.” + +The General bowed as he shook hands with him. Perhaps he had some +suspicion how true a hero he was, for he rested his hand kindly on the +boy’s head, but he said nothing. + +Both Colonel and Mrs. Stafford invited the old soldier to spend the +night there, but he declined. He, however, accepted an invitation to +dine with them next day. + +Before leaving, he requested permission to take one more look at the +sleeping children. Over Evelyn he bent silently. Suddenly stooping, he +kissed her little pink cheek, and with a scarcely audible “Good-night,” +passed out of the room and left the house. + +The next morning, by light, there was great rejoicing. Charlie and +Evelyn were up betimes, and were laughing and chattering over their +presents like two little magpies. + +“Here’s my sword and here’s my breeches,” cried Charlie, “two pair; but +I’m goin’ to put on my gray ones. I ain’t goin’ to wear a blue uniform.” + +“Here’s my dolly!” screamed Evelyn, in an ecstasy over her beautiful +present. And presently Bob and Ran burst in, their eyes fairly dancing. + +“Christmas gift! It’s a real one--real gold!” cried Bob, holding up a +small gold watch, whilst Ran was shouting over a silver one of the same +size. + +That evening, after dinner, General Denby was sitting by the fire +in the Holly Hill parlor, with Evelyn nestled in his lap, her dolly +clasped close to her bosom, and in the absence of Colonel Stafford, +told Mrs. Stafford the story of the opening of the package by the +camp-fire. The tears welled up into Mrs. Stafford’s eyes and ran down +her cheeks. + +Charlie suddenly entered, in all the majesty of his new breeches, +and sword buckled on hip. He saw his mother’s tears. His little face +flushed. In a second his sword was out, and he struck a hostile +attitude. + +“You sha’n’t make my mamma cry!” he shouted. + +“Charlie! Charlie!” cried Mrs. Stafford, hastening to stop him. + +“My papa said I was not to let any one make you cry,” insisted the boy, +stepping before his mother, and still keeping his angry eyes on the +General. + +“Oh, Charlie!” Mrs. Stafford took hold of him. “I am ashamed of +you!--to be so rude!” + +“Let him alone, madam,” said the General. “It is not rudeness; it is +spirit--the spirit of our race. He has the soldier’s blood, and some +day he will be a soldier himself, and a brave one. I shall count on him +for the Union,” he said, with a smile. + +Mrs. Stafford shook her head. + +A few days later, Colonel Stafford, in accordance with an +understanding, came over to General Denby’s camp, and reported to be +sent on to Washington as a prisoner of war. The General was absent on +the lines at the time, but was expected soon, and the Colonel waited +for him at his headquarters. There had been many tears shed when his +wife bade him good-by. + +About an hour after the Colonel arrived, the General and his staff were +riding back to camp along the road which ran by the Holly Hill gate. +Just before they reached it, two little figures came out of the gate +and started down the road. One was a boy of five, who carried a toy +sword, drawn, in one hand, whilst with the other he led his companion, +a little girl of three, who clasped a large yellow-haired doll to her +breast. + +The soldiers cantered forward and overtook them. + +“Where are you going, my little people?” inquired the General, gazing +down at them affectionately. + +“I’m goin’ to get my papa,” said the tiny swordsman firmly, turning a +sturdy and determined little face up to him. “My mamma’s cryin’, an’ +I’m goin’ to take my papa home. I ain’ goin’ to let the Yankees have +him.” + +The officers all broke into a murmur of mingled admiration and +amusement. + +“No, we ain’ goin’ let the Yankees have our papa,” chimed in Evelyn, +pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes, and keeping fast hold of +Charlie’s hand for fear of the horses around her. + +The General dismounted. + +“How are you going to help, my little Semiramis?” he asked, stooping +over her with smiling eyes. + +“I’m goin’ to give my dolly if they will give me my papa,” she said, +gravely, as if she understood the equality of the exchange. + +“Suppose you give a kiss instead?” There was a second of hesitation, +and then she put up her little face, and the old General dropped on one +knee in the road and lifted her in his arms, doll and all. + +“Gentlemen,” he said to his staff, “you behold the future defenders of +the Union.” + +The little ones were coaxed home, and that afternoon, as Colonel +Stafford was expecting to leave the camp for Washington with a lot of +prisoners, a despatch was brought in to General Denby, who read it. + +“Colonel,” he said, addressing him, “I think I shall have to continue +your parole a few days longer. I have just received information that, +by a special cartel which I have arranged, you are to be exchanged +for Colonel McDowell as soon as he can reach the lines at this point +from Richmond; and meantime, as we have but indifferent accommodations +here, I shall have to request you to consider Holly Hill as your +place of confinement. Will you be so kind as to convey my respects to +Mrs. Stafford, and to your young hero Bob, and make good my word to +those two little commissioners of exchange, to whom I feel somewhat +committed? I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.” + + + + +[Illustration: “WHAT YOU CHILDREN GWINE DO WID DAT LITTLE CAT?” ASKED +MAMMY, SEVERELY.] + + + + +KITTYKIN, AND THE PART SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR. + + +I. + +Kittykin played a part in the war which has never been recorded. Her +name does not appear in the list of any battle; nor is she mentioned +in any history as having saved a life, or as having done anything +remarkable one way or the other. Yet, in fact, she played a most +important part: she prevented a battle which was just going to begin, +and brought about a truce between the skirmish lines of the Union and +the Confederate troops near her home which lasted several weeks, and +probably saved many lives. + +There never was a kitten more highly prized than Kittykin, for Evelyn +had long wanted a kitten, and the way she found her was so delightfully +unexpected. + +It was during the war, when everything was very scarce down in the +South where Evelyn lived. “We don’t have any coffee, or any kittens, +or _any_thing,” Evelyn said one day to some soldiers who had come to +her home from their camp, which was a mile or so away. You would have +thought from the way she put them together that kittens, like coffee, +were something to have on the table; but she had heard her mamma +wishing for coffee at breakfast that morning, and she herself had long +been wanting a kitten. Indeed, she used to ask for one in her prayers. + +Evelyn had no fancy for anything that, in her own words, “was not +live.” A thing that had life was of more value in her eyes than all +the toys that were ever given her. A young bird which, too fat to +fly, had fallen from the nest, or a broken-legged chicken, which was +too lame to keep up with its mother, had her tenderest care; a little +mouse slipping along the wainscot or playing on the carpet excited her +liveliest interest; but a kitten, a “real live kittykin,” she had never +possessed, though for a long time she had set her heart on having one. +One day, however, she was out walking with her mammy in the “big road,” +when she met several small negro children coming along, and one of them +had a little bit of a white kitten squeezed up in his arm. It looked +very scared, and every now and then it cried “Mew, mew.” + +“Oh, mammy, look at that dear little kittykin!” cried Evelyn, running +up to the children and stroking the little mite tenderly. + +“What you children gwine do wid dat little cat?” asked mammy, severely. + +“We gwine _loss_ it,” said the boy who had it, promptly. + +“Oh, mammy, don’t let them do that! Don’t let them hurt it!” pleaded +Evelyn, turning to her mammy. “It would get so hungry.” + +A sudden thought struck her, and she sprang over toward the boy, and +took the kitten from him, which instantly curled up in her arms just as +close to her as it could get. There was no resisting her appeal, and +a minute later she was running home far ahead of her mammy, with the +kitten hugged tight in her arms. Her mamma was busy in the sitting-room +when Evelyn came rushing in. + +“Oh, mamma, see what I have! A dear little kittykin! Can’t I have it? +They were just going to throw it away, and lose it all by itself;” and +she began to jump up and down and rub the kitten against her little +pink cheek, till her mother had to take hold of her to quiet her +excitement. + +Kittykin (for that was the name she had received) must have +misunderstood the action, and have supposed she was going to take her +from her young mistress, for she suddenly bunched herself up into a +little white ball, and gave such a spit at Evelyn’s mamma that the lady +jumped back nearly a yard, after which Kittykin quietly curled herself +up again in Evelyn’s arm. The next thing was to give her some warm +milk, which she drank as if she had not had a mouthful all day; and +then she was put to sleep in a basket of wool, where Evelyn looked at +her a hundred times to see how she was coming on. + +Evelyn never doubted after that that if she prayed for a thing she +would get it; for she had been praying all the time for a “little +white kitten,” and not only was Kittykin as white as snow, but she was, +to use Evelyn’s words, “even littler” than she had expected. There +could not, to her mind, be stronger proof. + +As Kittykin grew a little she developed a temper entirely out of +proportion to her size; when she got mad, she got mad all over. If +anything offended her she would suddenly back up into a corner, her +tail would get about twice as large as usual, and she would spit like +a little fury. However, she never fought her little mistress, and even +in her worst moments she would allow Evelyn to take her and lay her on +her back in the little cradle she had, or carry her by the neck, or +the legs, or almost any way except by the tail. To pull her tail was a +liberty she never would allow even Evelyn to take. If she was held by +the tail her little pink claws flew out as quick as a wink and as sharp +as needles. Evelyn was very kind to Kittykin, however, and was careful +not to provoke her, for she had been told that getting angry and +kicking on the floor, as she herself sometimes did when mammy wanted to +comb her curly hair, would make an ugly little girl, and of course it +would have the same effect on a kitten. + +Fierce, however, as Kittykin was, it soon appeared that she was the +greatest little coward in the world. A worm in the walk or a little +beetle running across the floor would set her to jumping as if she had +a fit, and the first time she ever saw a mouse she was far more afraid +of it than it was of her. If it had been a rat, I am sure that she +would have died. + +One day Evelyn was sitting on the floor in her mother’s chamber sewing +a little blue bag, which she said was her work-bag, when a tiny mouse +ran, like a little gray shadow, across the hearth. Kittykin was at the +moment busily engaged in rolling about a ball of yarn almost as white +as herself, and the first thing Evelyn knew she gave a jump like a +trap-ball, and slid up the side of the bureau like a little shaft of +light, where she stood with all four feet close together, her small +back roached up in an arch, her tail all fuzzed up over it, and her +mouth wide open and spitting like a little demon. She looked so funny +that Evelyn dropped her sewing, and the mouse, frightened half out of +its little wits, took advantage of her consternation to make a rush +back to its hole under the wainscoting, into which it dived like a +little duck. After holding her lofty position for some time, Kittykin +let her hairs fall and lowered her back, but every now and then she +would raise them again at the bare thought of the awful animal which +had so terrified her. At length she decided that she might go down; but +how was she to do it? Smooth though the mahogany was, she had, under +excitement, gone up like a streak of lightning; but now when she was +cool she was afraid to jump down. It was so high that it made her head +swim; so, after walking timidly around and peeping over at the floor, +she began to cry for some one to take her down, just as Evelyn would +have done under the same circumstances. + +Evelyn tried to coax her down, but she would not come; so finally she +had to drag a chair up to the bureau and get up on it to reach her. + +Perhaps it was the fright she experienced when she found herself up +so high that caused Kittykin to revenge herself on the little mouse +shortly afterward, or perhaps it was only her cat instinct developing; +but it was only a short time after this that Kittykin did an act which +grieved her little mistress dreadfully. The little mouse had lived +under the wainscot since long before Kittykin had come, and it and +Evelyn were on very good terms. It would come out and dash along by the +wall to the wardrobe, under which it would disappear, and after staying +there some time it would hurry back. This Evelyn used to call “paying +visits;” and she often wondered what mice talked about when they got +together under the wardrobe. Or sometimes it would slip out and frisk +around on the floor--“just playing,” as Evelyn said. There was a +perfect understanding between them: Evelyn was not to hurt the mouse +nor let mammy set a trap for it, and the mouse was not to bite Evelyn’s +clothes--but if it had to cut at all, was to confine itself to her +mamma’s. After Kittykin came, however, the mouse appeared to be much +less sociable than formerly; and after the occasion when it alarmed +Kittykin so, it did not come out again for a long time. Evelyn used to +wonder if its mamma was keeping it in. + +One day, however, Evelyn was sewing, and Kittykin was lying by, when +she suddenly seemed to get tired of doing nothing, and began to walk +about. + +“Lie down, Kittykin,” said her mistress; but Kittykin did not appear +to hear. She just lowered her head, and peeped under the bureau, with +her eyes set in a curious way. Presently she stooped very low, and slid +along the floor without making the slightest noise, every now and then +stopping perfectly still. Evelyn watched her closely, for she had never +seen her act so before. Suddenly, however, Kittykin gave a spring, and +disappeared under the bureau. Evelyn heard a little squeak, and the +next minute Kittykin walked out with a little mouse in her mouth, over +which she was growling like a little tigress. Evelyn was jumping up to +take it away from her when Kittykin, who had gone out into the middle +of the room, turned it loose herself, and quietly walking away, lay +down as if she were going to sleep. Then Evelyn saw that she did not +mean to hurt it, so she sat and watched the mouse, which remained quite +still for some time. + +After a while it moved a little, to see if Kittykin was really asleep. +Kittykin did not stir. Her eyes were fast shut, and the mouse seemed +satisfied; so, after waiting a bit, it made a little dash toward the +bureau. In a single bound Kittykin was right over it, and had laid her +white paw on it. She did not, however, appear to intend it any injury, +but began to play with it just as Evelyn would have liked to do; and, +lying down, she rolled over and over, holding it up and tossing it +gently, quite as Evelyn sometimes did her, or patting it and admiring +it as if it had been the sweetest little mouse in the world. The mouse, +too, appeared not to mind it the least bit; and Evelyn was just +thinking how nice it was that Kittykin and it had become such friends, +and was planning nice games with them, when there was a faint little +squeak, and she saw Kittykin, who had just been petting the little +creature, suddenly drive her sharp white teeth into its neck. + +Evelyn rushed at her. + +“Oh, you wicked Kittykin! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she cried, +catching her up by the tail and shaking her well, as the best way to +punish her. + +Just then her mamma entered. “Oh, Evelyn, why are you treating kitty +so?” she asked. + +“Because she’s so mean,” said Evelyn, severely. “She’s a murderer.” + +Her mamma tried to explain that killing the mouse was Kittykin’s +nature; but Evelyn could not see that this made it any the less +painful, and she was quite cool to Kittykin for some time. + +The little mouse was buried that evening in a matchbox under a +rose-bush in the garden; and Kittykin, in a black rag which was tied +around her as a dress, was compelled, evidently much against her will, +to do penance by acting as chief mourner. + + +II. + +Kittykin was about five months old when there was a great marching of +soldiers backward and forward; the tents in the field beyond the woods +were taken down and carried away in wagons, and there was an immense +stir. The army was said to be “moving.” There were rumors that the +enemy was coming, and that there might be a battle near there. Evelyn +was so young that she did not understand any more of it than Kittykin +did; but her mother appeared so troubled that Evelyn knew it was very +bad, and became frightened, though she did not know why. Her mammy +soon gave her such a gloomy account, that Evelyn readily agreed with +her that it was “like torment.” As for Kittykin, if she had been born +in a battle, she could not have been more unconcerned. In a day or two +it was known that the main body of the army was some little way off on +a long ridge, and that the enemy had taken up its position on another +hill not far distant, and Evelyn’s home was between them; but there was +no battle. Each army began to intrench itself; and in a little while +there was a long red bank stretched across the far edge of the great +field behind the house, which Evelyn was told was “breastworks” for +the picket line, and she pointed them out to Kittykin, who blinked and +yawned as if she did not care the least bit if they were. + +Next morning a small squadron of cavalry came galloping by. A body of +the enemy had been seen, and they were going to learn what it meant. In +a little while they came back. + +“The enemy,” they said, “were advancing, and there would probably be a +skirmish right there immediately.” + +As they rode by, they urged Evelyn’s mamma either to leave the house +at once or to go down into the basement, where they might be safe from +the bullets. Then they galloped on across the field to get the rest of +their men, who were in the trenches beyond. Before they reached there a +lot of men appeared on the edge of the wood in front of the house. No +one could tell how many they were; but the sun gleamed on their arms, +and there was evidently a good force. At first they were on horseback; +but there was a “Bop! bop!” from the trenches in the field behind the +house, and they rode back, and did not come out any more. Next morning, +however, they too had dug a trench. These, Evelyn heard some one say, +were a picket line. About eleven o’clock they came out into the field, +and they seemed to have spread themselves out behind a little rise or +knoll in front of the house. Mammy’s teeth were just chattering, and +she went to moaning and saying her prayers as hard as she could, and +Evelyn’s mamma told her to take Evelyn down into the basement, and she +would bring the baby; so mammy, who had been following mamma about, +seized Evelyn, and rushed with her down-stairs, where, although they +were quite safe, as the windows were only half above the ground, she +fell on her face on the floor, praying as if her last hour had come. +“Bop! bop!” went some muskets up behind the house. “Bang! bop! bang!” +went some on the other side. + +Evelyn suddenly remembered Kittykin. “Where was she?” The last time she +had seen her was a half-hour before, when she had been lying curled up +on the back steps fast asleep in the sun. Suppose she should be there +now, she would certainly be killed, for the back steps ran right out +into the yard so as to be just the place for Kittykin to be shot. So +thought Evelyn. “Bang! bang!” went the guns again--somewhere. Evelyn +dragged a chair up to a window and looked. Her heart almost stopped; +for there, out in the yard, quite clear of the houses, was Kittykin, +standing some way up the trunk of a tall locust-tree, looking curiously +around. Her little white body shone like a small patch of snow against +the dark brown bark. Evelyn sprang down from the chair, and forgetting +everything, rushed through the entry and out of doors. + +“Kitty, kitty, kitty!” she called. “Kittykin, come here! You’ll be +killed! Come here, Kittykin!” + +Kittykin, however, was in for a game, and as her little mistress, with +her golden hair flying in the breeze, ran toward her, she rushed +scampering still higher up the tree. Evelyn could see that there were +some men scattered out in the fields on either side of her, some of +them stooping, and some lying down, and as she ran on toward the tree +she heard a “Bang! bang!” on each side, and she saw little puffs of +white smoke, and something went “Zoo-ee-ee” up in the air; but she did +not think about herself, she was so frightened for Kittykin. + +“Kitty, kitty! Come down, Kittykin!” she called, running up to the tree +and holding up her arms to her. Kittykin might, perhaps, have liked to +come down now, but she could no longer do so; she was too high up. She +looked down, first over one shoulder, and then over the other, but it +was too high to jump. She could not turn around, and her head began to +swim. She grew so dizzy, she was afraid she might fall, so she dug her +little sharp claws into the bark, and began to cry. + +[Illustration: “I WANT MY KITTYKIN,” SAID EVELYN.] + +Evelyn would have run back to tell her mamma (who, having sent the +baby down-stairs to mammy, was still busy up-stairs trying to hide +some things, and so did not know she was out in the yard); but she was +so afraid Kittykin might be killed that she could not let her get out +of her sight. Indeed, she was so absorbed in Kittykin that she forgot +all about everything else. She even forgot all about the soldiers. But +though she did not notice the soldiers, it seemed that some of them had +observed her. Just as the leader of the Confederate picket line was +about to give an order to make a dash for the houses in the yard, +to his horror he saw a little girl in a white dress and with flying +hair suddenly run out into the clear space right between him and the +soldiers on the other side, and stop under a tree just in the line +of their fire. His heart jumped into his mouth as he sprang to his +feet and waved his hands wildly to call attention to the child. Then +shouting to his men to stop firing, he walked out in front of the line, +and came at a rapid stride down the slope. The others all stood still +and almost held their breaths for fear some one would shoot; but no one +did. Evelyn was so busy trying to coax Kittykin down that she did not +notice anything until she heard some one call out: + +“For Heaven’s sake, run into the house, quick!” + +She looked around and saw the gentleman hurrying toward her. He +appeared to be very much excited. + +“What on earth are you doing out here?” he gasped, as he came running +up to her. + +He was a young man, with just a little light mustache, and with a +little gold braid on the sleeves of his gray jacket; and though he +seemed very much surprised, he looked very kind. + +“I want my Kittykin,” said Evelyn, answering him, and looking up the +tree, with a little wave of her hand, towards where Kittykin still +clung tightly. Somehow she felt at the moment that this gentleman could +help her better than any one else. + +Kittykin, however, apparently thought differently about it; for she +suddenly stopped mewing; and as if she felt it unsafe to be so near a +stranger, she climbed carefully up until she reached a limb, in the +crotch of which she ensconced herself, and peeped curiously over at +them with a look of great satisfaction in her face, as much as to say, +“Now I’m safe. I’d like to see you get me.” + +The gentleman was stroking Evelyn’s hair, and was looking at her very +intently, when a voice called to him from the other side: + +“Hello, Johnny! what’s the matter?” + +Evelyn looked around, and saw another gentleman coming toward them. He +was older than the first one, and had on a blue coat, while the first +had on a gray one. She knew one was a Confederate and the other was a +Yankee, and for a second she was afraid they might shoot each other, +but her first friend called out: + +“Her kitten is up the tree. Come ahead!” + +He came on, and looked for a second up at Kittykin, but he looked at +Evelyn really hard, and suddenly stooped down, and putting his arm +around her, drew her up to him. She got over her fear in a minute. + +“Kittykin’s up there, and I’m afraid she’ll be kilt.” She waved her +hand up over her head, where Kittykin was taking occasion to put a few +more limbs between herself and the enemy. + +“It’s rather a dangerous place when the boys are out hunting, eh, +Johnny?” He laughed as he stood up again. + +“Yes, for as big a fellow as you. You wouldn’t stand the ghost of a +show.” + +“I guess I’d feel small enough up there.” And both men laughed. + +By this time the men on both sides began to come up, with their guns +over their arms. + +“Hello! what’s up?” some of them called out. + +“Her kitten’s up,” said the first two; and, to make good their words, +Kittykin, not liking so many people below her, shifted her position +again, and went up to a fresh limb, from which she again peeped over at +them. The men all gathered around Evelyn, and began to talk to her, and +both she and Kittykin were surprised to hear them joking and laughing +together in the friendliest way. + +“What are you doing out here?” they asked; and to all she made the same +reply: + +“I want my Kittykin.” + +Suddenly her mamma came out. She had just gone down-stairs, and had +learned where Evelyn was. The two officers went up and spoke to her, +but the men still crowded around Evelyn. + +“She’ll come down,” said one. “All you have to do is to let her alone.” + +“No, she won’t. She can’t come down. It makes her head swim,” said +Evelyn. + +“That’s true,” thought Kittykin up in the tree, and to let them +understand it she gave a little “Mew.” + +“I don’t see how anything can swim when it’s as dry as it is around +here,” said a fellow in gray. + +A man in blue handed him his canteen, which he at once accepted, and +after surprising Evelyn by smelling it--which she knew was dreadfully +bad manners--turned it up to his lips. She heard the liquid gurgling. + +As he handed it back to its owner he said: “Yank, I’m mighty glad I +didn’t shoot you. I might have hit that canteen.” At which there was +a laugh, and the canteen went around until it was empty. Suddenly +Kittykin from her high perch gave a faint “Mew,” which said, as plainly +as words could say it, that she wanted to get down and could not. + +Evelyn’s big brown eyes filled with tears. “I want my Kittykin,” she +said, her little lip trembling. + +Instantly a dozen men unbuckled their belts, laid their guns on the +ground, and pulled off their coats, each one trying to be the first to +climb the tree. It was, however, too large for them to reach far enough +around to get a good hold on it, so climbing it was found to be far +more difficult than it looked to be. + +“Why don’t you cut it down?” asked some one. + +But Evelyn cried out that that would kill Kittykin, so the man who +suggested it was called a fool by the others. At last it was proposed +that one man should stand against the tree and another should climb up +on his shoulders, when he might get his arms far enough around it to +work his way up. A stout fellow with a gray jacket on planted himself +firmly against the trunk, and one who had taken off a blue jacket +climbed up on his shoulders, and might have got up very well if he +had not remarked that as the Johnnies had walked over him in the last +battle, it was but fair that he should now walk over a Johnny. This +joke tickled the man under him so that he slipped away and let him +down. At length, however, three or four men got good “holds,” and went +slowly up one after the other amid such encouraging shouts from their +friends on the ground below as: “Go it, Yank, the Johnny’s almost got +you!” “Look out, Johnny, the Yanks are right behind you!” etc., whilst +Kittykin gazed down in astonishment from above, and Evelyn looked up +breathless from below. With much pulling and kicking, four men finally +got up to the lowest limb, after which the climbing was comparatively +easy. A new difficulty, however, presented itself. Kittykin suddenly +took alarm, and retreated still higher up among the branches. + +The higher they climbed after that, the higher she climbed, until she +was away up on one of the topmost boughs, which was far too slender for +any one to follow her. There she turned and looked back with alternate +alarm and satisfaction expressed in her countenance. If the men +stirred, she stood ready to fly; if they kept still, she settled down +and mewed plaintively. Once or twice as they moved she took fright and +looked almost as if about to jump. + +Evelyn was breathless with excitement. “Don’t let her jump,” she +called, “she will get kilt!” + +The men, too, were anxious to prevent that. They called to her, held +out their hands, and coaxed her in every tone by which a kitten is +supposed to be influenced. But it was all in vain. No cajoleries, no +promises, no threats, were of the least avail. Kittykin was there safe, +out of their reach, and there she would remain, sixty feet above the +ground. Suddenly she saw that something was occurring below. She saw +the men all gather around her little mistress, and could hear her at +first refuse to let something be done, and then consent. She could not +make out what it was, though she strained her ears. She remembered to +have heard mammy tell her little mistress once that “curiosity had +killed a cat,” and she was afraid to think too much about it so high +up in the tree. Still when she heard an order given, “Go back and get +your blankets,” and saw a whole lot of the men go running off into the +field on either side, and presently come back with their arms full of +blankets, she could not help wondering what they were going to do. They +at once began to unroll the blankets and hold them open all around the +tree, until a large circle of the ground was quite hidden. + +“Ah!” said Kittykin, “it’s a wicked trap!” and she dug her little claws +deep into the bark, and made up her mind that nothing should induce her +to jump. Presently she heard the soldiers in the tree under her call to +those on the ground: + +“Are you ready?” + +And they said, “All right!” + +“Ah!” said Kittykin, “they cannot get down, either. Serves them right!” + +But suddenly they all waved their arms at her and cried, “Scat!” + +Goodness! The idea of crying “scat” at a kitten when she is up in +a tree!--“scat,” which fills a kitten’s breast with terror! It was +brutal, and then it was all so unexpected. It came very near making her +fall. As it was, it set her heart to thumping and bumping against her +ribs, like a marble in a box. “Ah!” she thought, “if those brutes below +were but mice, and I had them on the carpet!” So she dug her claws into +the bark, which was quite tender up there, and it was well she did, for +she heard some one call something below that sounded like “Shake!” and +before she knew it the man nearest her reached up, and, seizing the +limb on which she was, screwed up his face, and--Goodness! it nearly +shook the teeth out of her mouth and the eyes out of her head. + +Shake! shake! shake! it came again, each time nearly tearing her little +claws out of their sockets and scaring her to death. She saw the ground +swim far below her, and felt that she would be mashed to death. Shake! +shake! shake! shake! She could not hold out much longer, and she spat +down at them. How those brutes below laughed! She formed a desperate +resolve. She would get even with them. “Ah, if they were but--” Shake! +sha-- With a fierce spit, partly of rage, partly of fear, Kittykin let +go, whirled suddenly, and flung herself on the upturned face of the man +next beneath her, from him to the man below him, and finally, digging +her little claws deep in his flesh, sprang with a wild leap clear of +the boughs, and shot whizzing out into the air, whilst the two men, +thrown off their guard by the suddenness of the attack, loosed their +hold, and went crashing down into the forks upon those below. + +The first thing Evelyn and the men on the ground knew was the crash of +the falling men and the sight of Kittykin coming whizzing down, her +little claws clutching wildly at the air. Before they could see what +she was, she gave a bounce like a trap-ball as high as a man’s head, +and then, as she touched the ground again, shot like a wild sky-rocket +hissing across the yard, and, with her tail all crooked to one side and +as big as her body, vanished under the house. Oh, such a shout as there +was from the soldiers! Evelyn heard them yelling as she ran off after +Kittykin to see if she wasn’t dead. They fairly howled with delight +as the men in the tree, with scratched faces and torn clothes, came +crawling down. They looked very sheepish as they landed among their +comrades; but the question whether Kittykin had landed in a blanket or +had hit the solid ground fifty feet out somewhat relieved them. They +all agreed that she had bounced twenty feet. + +Why Kittykin was not killed outright was a marvel. One of her eyes was +a little bunged up, the claws on three of her feet were loosened, and +for a week she felt as if she had been run through a sausage mill; but +she never lost any of her speed. Ever afterward when she saw a soldier +she would run for life, and hide as far back under the house as she +could get, with her eyes shining like two little live coals. + +For some time, indeed, she lived in perpetual terror, for the soldiers +of both lines used to come up to the house, as the friendship they +formed that day never was changed, and though they remained on the +two opposite hills for quite a while, they never fired a shot at each +other. They used instead to meet and exchange tobacco and coffee, and +laugh over the way Kittykin routed their joint forces in the tree the +day of the skirmish. + +As for Kittykin, she never put on any airs about it. She did not care +for that sort of glory. She never afterward could tolerate a tree; the +earth was good enough for her; and the highest she ever climbed was up +in her little mistress’s lap. + + + + +“NANCY PANSY.” + + +I. + +“Nancy Pansy” was what Middleburgh called her, though the parish +register of baptism contained nothing nearer the name than that of +one Anne, daughter of Baylor Seddon, Esq., and Ellenor his wife. +Whatever the register may have thought about it, “Nancy Pansy” was what +Middleburgh called her, and she looked so much like a cherub, with her +great eyes laughing up at you and her tangles blowing all about her +dimpling pink face, that Dr. Spotswood Hunter, or “the Old Doctor,” as +he was known to Middleburgh, used to vow she had gotten out of Paradise +by mistake that Christmas Eve. + +Nancy Pansy was the idol of the old doctor, as the old doctor was the +idol of Middleburgh. He had given her a doll baby on the day she was +born, and he always brought her one on her birthday, though, of course, +the first three or four which he gave her were of rubber, because as +long as she was a little girl she used to chew her doll after a most +cannibal-like fashion, she and Harry’s puppies taking turn and turn +about at chewing in the most impartial and friendly way. Harry was +the old doctor’s son. As she grew a little older, however, the doctor +brought her better dolls; but the puppies got older faster than Nancy +Pansy, and kept on chewing up her dolls, so they did not last very +long, which, perhaps, was why she never had a “real live doll,” as she +called it. + +Some people said the reason the old doctor was so fond of Nancy Pansy +was because he had been a lover of her beautiful aunt, whose picture +as Charity giving Bread to the Poor Woman and her Children was in the +stained-glass window in the church, with the Advent angel in the panel +below, to show that she had died at Christmas-tide and was an angel +herself now; some said it was because he had had a little daughter +himself who had died when a wee bit of a girl, and Nancy Pansy reminded +him of her; some said it was because his youngest born, his boy Harry, +with the light hair, who now commanded a company in the Army of +Northern Virginia, was so fond of Nancy Pansy’s lovely sister Ellen; +some said it was because the old doctor was fond of all children; but +the old doctor said it was “because Nancy Pansy was Nancy Pansy,” and +looked like an angel, and had more sense than anybody in Middleburgh, +except his old sorrel horse Slouch, who, he always maintained, had +sense enough to have prevented the war if he had been consulted. + +Whatever was the cause, Nancy Pansy was the old doctor’s boon +companion; and wherever the old doctor was, whether in his old +rattling brown buggy, with Slouch jogging sleepily along the dusty +roads which Middleburgh called her “streets,” or sitting in the +shadiest corner of his porch, Nancy Pansy was in her waking hours +generally beside him, her great pansy-colored eyes and her sunny hair +making a bright contrast to the white locks and tanned cheeks of the +old man. His home was just across the fence from the big house in +which Nancy Pansy lived, and there was a hole where two palings were +pulled off, through which Nancy Pansy used to slip when she went +back and forth, and through which her little black companion, whose +name, according to Nancy Pansy’s dictionary, was “Marphy,” just could +squeeze. Sometimes, indeed, Nancy Pansy used to fall asleep over at the +old doctor’s on the warm summer afternoons, and wake up next morning, +curiously enough, to find herself in a strange room, in a great big +bed, with a railing around the top of the high bedposts, and curtains +hanging from it, and with Marphy asleep on a pallet near by. + +“That child is your shadow, doctor,” said Nancy Pansy’s mother one day +to him. + +“No, madam; she is my sunshine,” answered the old man, gravely. + +Nancy Pansy’s mother smiled, for when the old doctor said a thing he +meant it. All Middleburgh knew that, from old Slouch, who never would +open his eyes for any one else, and old Mrs. Hippin, who never would +admit she was better to any one else, up to Nancy Pansy herself. +Perhaps this was the reason why when the war broke out, and all the +other men went into the army, the old doctor, who was too old and +feeble to go himself, but had sent his only son Harry, was chosen by +tacit consent as Middleburgh’s general adviser and guardian. Thus it +was he who had to advise Mrs. Latimer, the druggist’s wife, how to keep +the little apothecary’s shop at the corner of the Court-house Square +after her husband went into the army; and it was he who advised Mrs. +Seddon to keep the post-office in the little building at the bottom of +her lawn, which had served as her husband’s law office before he went +off to the war at the head of the Middleburgh Artillery. He even gave +valuable assistance as well as advice to Mrs. Hippin about curing her +chickens of the gapes; and to Nancy Pansy’s great astonishment had +several times performed a most remarkable operation by inserting a hair +from old Slouch’s mane down the invalid’s little stretched throat. + +He used to go around the town nearly every afternoon, seeing the +healthy as well as the sick, and giving advice as well as physic, both +being taken with equal confidence. It was what he called “reviewing his +out-posts,” and he used to explain to Nancy Pansy that that was the way +her father and his Harry did in their camp. Nancy Pansy did not wholly +understand him, but she knew it was something that was just right; so +she nodded gravely, and said, “Umh-hmh!” + +It was not hard to get a doll the first year of the war, but before the +second year was half over there was not one left in Middleburgh. The +old doctor explained to Nancy Pansy that they had all gone away to the +war. She did not quite understand what dollies had to do with fighting, +but she knew that war made the dolls disappear. Still she kept on +talking about the new doll she would get on her birthday at Christmas, +and as the old doctor used to talk to her about it, and discuss the +sort of hair it should have, and the kind of dress it should wear, +she never doubted that she should get it in her stocking as usual on +Christmas morning. + + +II. + +The old doctor’s boots were very bad--those old boots which Middleburgh +knew as well as they knew Nancy Pansy’s eyes or the church steeple. +Mrs. Seddon had taken the trouble to scold him one day in the autumn +when she heard him coughing, and she had sent him a small roll of money +“on account,” she wrote him, “of a long bill,” to get a pair of new +boots. The old doctor never sent in a bill; he would as soon have sent +a small-pox patient into Nancy Pansy’s play-room. He calmly returned +the money, saying he never transacted business with women who had +husbands, and that he had always dressed to suit himself, at which Mrs. +Seddon laughed; for, like the rest of Middleburgh, she knew that those +old boots never stood back for any weather, however bad. She arranged, +however, to have a little money sent to him through the post-office +from another town without any name to the letter enclosing it. But the +old boots were still worn, and Nancy Pansy, at her mother’s suggestion, +learned to knit, that she might have a pair of yarn socks knit for +the old doctor at Christmas. She intended to have kept this a secret, +and she did keep it from every one but the doctor; she did not quite +_tell_ even him, but she could not help making him “guess” about it. +Christmas Eve she went over to the old doctor’s, and whilst she made +him shut his eyes, hung up his stocking herself, into which she poked +a new pair of very queer-shaped yarn socks, a little black in some +places from her little hands, for they were just done, and there had +not been time to wash them. She consulted the old doctor to know if he +really--really, “now, really”--thought Santa Claus would bring her a +doll “through the war;” but she could only get a “perhaps” out of him, +for he said he had not heard from Harry. + +It was about ten o’clock that night when the old doctor came home from +his round of visits, and opening his old secretary, took out a long +thin bundle wrapped in paper, and slipping it into his pocket, went out +again into the snow which was falling. Old Limpid, the doctor’s man, +had taken Slouch to the stable, so the old doctor walked, stumbling +around through the dark by the gate, thinking with a sigh of his boy +Harry, who would just have vaulted over the palings, and who was that +night sleeping in the snow somewhere. However, he smiled when he put +the bundle into Nancy Pansy’s long stocking, and he smiled again when +he put his old worn boots to the fire and warmed his feet. But when +Nancy Pansy slipped next morning through her “little doctor’s-gate,” as +she called her hole in the fence, and burst into his room before he was +out of bed, to show him with dancing eyes what Santa Claus had brought +her, and announced that she had “named her ‘Harry,’ all herself,” the +old doctor had to wipe his eyes before he could really see her. + +Harry was the first “real doll” Nancy Pansy had ever had--that was what +she said--and Harry soon became as well known in Middleburgh as Nancy +Pansy herself. She used to accompany Nancy Pansy and the old doctor on +their rounds, and instead of the latter two being called “the twins,” +they and Harry were now dubbed “the triplets.” It was astonishing what +an influence Harry came to have on Nancy Pansy’s life. She carried her +everywhere, and the doll would frequently be seen sitting up in the +old doctor’s buggy alone, whilst Slouch dozed in the sun outside of +some patient’s door. Of course, so much work as Harry had to do had the +effect of marring her freshness a good deal, and she met with one or +two severe accidents, such as breaking her leg, and cracking her neck; +but the old doctor attended her in the gravest way, and performed such +successful operations that really she was, except as to looks, almost +as good as new; besides, as Nancy Pansy explained, dolls had to have +measles and “theseases” just like other folks. + + +III. + +In March, 186--, Middleburgh “fell.” That is, it fell into the hands of +the Union army, and remained in their hands afterwards. It was terrible +at first, and Nancy Pansy stuffed Harry into a box, and hid her away. + +It was awfully lonesome, however, and to think of the way Harry was +doubled up and cramped down in that box under the floor was dreadful. +So at last, finding that whatever else they did, the soldiers did +not trouble her, she took Harry out. But she never could go about +with her as before, for of course things were different, and although +she got over her fright at the soldiers, as did her sister Ellen and +the rest of Middleburgh, they never were friendly. Indeed, sometimes +they were just the reverse, and at last they got to such a pitch that +the regiment which was there was taken away, and a new regiment, or, +rather, two new companies, were sent there. These were Companies A and +C of the --th Regiment of ---- Veterans. They had been originally known +as Volunteers, but now they were known as “Veterans,” because they had +been in so many battles. + +The --th were perhaps the youngest men in that department, being +mainly young college fellows who had enlisted all together. Some of +the regiments composed of older men were at first inclined to laugh +at the smooth-faced youngsters who could hardly raise a mustache to +a mess; but when these same rosy-cheeked fellows flung off their +knapsacks in battle after battle, and went rushing ahead under a hail +of bullets and shell, they changed their tune and dubbed them “The +Baby Veterans.” Thus, in 186--, the Baby Veterans went to Middleburgh +for a double purpose:--first, that they might recruit and rest; and, +secondly, because for the past six months Middleburgh had been causing +much worry, and was regarded as a nest of treason and trouble. The +regiment which had been there before was a new regiment, not long since +recruited, and had been in a continual quarrel with Middleburgh, and as +Middleburgh consisted mainly of women and children, and a few old men, +there was not much honor to be got out of rows with them. Middleburgh +complained that the soldiers were tyrannical and caused the trouble; +the soldiers insisted that Middleburgh was constantly breaking the +regulations, and conducted itself in a high-handed and rebellious way, +and treated them with open scorn. As an evidence, it was cited that +the women in Middleburgh would not speak to the Union soldiers. And +it was rumored that the girls there were uncommonly pretty. When the +Baby Veterans heard this, they simply laughed, pulled their budding +mustaches, and announced that they would “keep things straight in +Middleburgh.” + +Tom Adams was first lieutenant of Company C. He had enlisted as a +private, and had been rapidly promoted to corporal, sergeant, and +then lieutenant; and he was in a fair way to be captain soon, as the +captain of his company was at home badly wounded, and if he should be +permanently disabled, Tom was certain of the captaincy. If any man +could bring Middleburgh to terms, Tom Adams was the man, so his friends +declared, and they would like to see any woman who would refuse to +speak to Tom Adams--they really would. + +The Baby Veterans reached Middleburgh in the night, and took up their +quarters on the Court-house Square, vacated by the regiment which had +just left. When morning came they took a look at Middleburgh, and +determined to intimidate it on the spot. They drilled, marched and +counter-marched up and down the dusty streets, and around the old +whitewashed court-house, to show that they meant business, and did not +propose to stand any foolishness--not they. + +Nancy Pansy and her sister Ellen had been with Harry to see old Mrs. +Hippin, who was sick, to carry her some bread and butter, and were +returning home about mid-day. They had not seen the new soldiers, and +were hurrying along, hoping they might not see them, when they suddenly +heard the drums and fifes playing, and turning the corner, they saw +the soldiers between them and their gate, marching up the road toward +them. A tall young officer was at their head; his coat was buttoned +up very tight, and he carried his drawn sword with the handle in his +right hand and the tip in his left, and carried his head very high. It +was Tom Adams. Nancy Pansy caught tight hold of her sister’s hand, and +clasped Harry closely to her bosom. For a second they stopped; then, +as there was no help for it, they started forward across the road, +just in front of the soldiers. They were so close that Nancy Pansy was +afraid they would march over them, and she would have liked to run. She +clutched sister’s hand hard; but her sister did not quicken her pace at +all, and the young officer had to give the order, “Mark time--march!” +to let them pass. He looked very grand as he drew himself up, but Nancy +Pansy’s sister held her hand firmly, and took not the slightest notice +of him. Lifting her head defiantly in the air, and keeping her dark +eyes straight before her, she passed with Nancy Pansy within two steps +of the young lieutenant and his drawn sword, neither quickening nor +slowing her pace a particle. They might have seemed not to know that +a Federal soldier was within a hundred miles of them but for the way +that Nancy Pansy squeezed Harry, and the scornful air which sat on her +sister’s stern little face and erect figure as she drew Nancy Pansy +closer to her, and gathered up her skirts daintily in her small hand, +as though they might be soiled by an accidental touch. + +[Illustration: NANCY PANSY CLASPED HARRY CLOSELY TO HER BOSOM.] + +Tom Adams had a mind to give the order “Forward!” and make them run +out of the way, but he did not do it, so he marched back to camp, and +told the story to his mess, walking around the table, holding the +table-cloth in his hand, to show how the little rebel had done. He +vowed he would get even with her. + +As the days went on, the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh came no nearer +being acquainted than they were that morning. The Baby Veterans still +drilled, and paraded, and set pickets all around the town; Middleburgh +and Nancy Pansy still picked up their skirts and passed by with +uplifted heads and defiant eyes. The Baby Veterans shouted on the +Court-house Square, “Yankee Doodle” and the “Star-spangled Banner;” +Middleburgh sang on its verandas and in its parlors, “Dixie” and the +“Bonnie Blue Flag.” Perhaps, some evenings Middleburgh may have stopped +its own singing, and have stolen out on its balconies to listen to +the rich chorus which came up from the Court-house Grove, but if so, +the Baby Veterans never knew it; or perhaps, the Baby Veterans some +evenings may have strolled along the shadowed streets, or stretched +themselves out on the grass to listen to the sweet voices which +floated down from the embowered verandas in the Judge’s yard; if so, +Middleburgh never guessed it. + +Nancy Pansy used to sing sweetly, and she would often sing whilst her +sister played for her. + +The strict regulations established by the soldiers prevented any +letters from going or coming unopened, and Middleburgh never would +tolerate that. So the only mail which passed through the office was +that which the Baby Veterans received or sent. As stated, Nancy +Pansy’s mother, by the old doctor’s advice and for reasons good +to her and her friends, still kept the post-office under a sort of +surveillance, yet the intercourse with the soldiers was strictly +official; the letters were received or were delivered by the +postmistress in silence, or if the Baby Veterans asked a question it +was generally replied to by a haughty bow, or an ungracious “No.” + +One mail day Mrs. Seddon was ill, so Nancy Pansy’s sister Ellen had to +go to open the mail, and Nancy Pansy went with her, taking Harry along, +“to take care of them.” + +It happened that Tom Adams and a friend came in to ask for their +letters. Nancy Pansy’s sister was standing at the table arranging the +mail, and Nancy Pansy was sitting up on the table by her, holding the +battered but cherished Harry in her lap. The young officer stiffened up +as he saw who was before him. + +“Are there any letters for Lieutenant Adams?” he asked, in a very +formal and stately manner. + +There was no reply or motion to show that he had been heard, except +that Nancy Pansy’s sister began to go over the letters again from the +beginning of the A’s. Suddenly Nancy Pansy, who was watching her, saw +one, and exclaiming, “Oh! there’s one!” seized it, and slipped down +from the table to give it to its owner, proud to show that she could +read writing. Before she had reached the window, however, her sister +caught her quickly, and taking the letter from her, slowly advanced and +handed it to the young soldier; then turning quietly away, she took +out her handkerchief and wiped her hand very hard where it had touched +the letter, as if it had been soiled. The young officer strode out of +the door with a red face and an angry step, and that evening the story +of the way the little rebel wiped her hands after touching Tom Adams’s +letter was all over camp. + + +IV. + +After this it was pretty well understood that the Baby Veterans and +Middleburgh were at war. The regulations were more strictly enforced +than ever before, and for a while it looked as if it was going to be as +bad as it was when the other regiment was there. Old Limpid, the old +doctor’s man, was caught one night with some letters on his person, +several of them addressed to “Captain Harry Hunter, Army of Northern +Virginia,” etc., and was somewhat severely dealt with, though, perhaps +fortunately for him and his master, the letters, one of which was in +a feminine hand, whilst abusive of the soldiers, did not contain any +information which justified very severe measures, and after a warning +he was set free again. + +Nancy Pansy’s sister Ellen was enraged next day to receive again her +letter from a corporal’s guard, indorsed with an official stamp, +“Returned by order,” etc. She actually cried about it. + +Nancy Pansy had written a letter to Harry, too--not her own Harry, but +the old doctor’s--and hers came back also; but she did not cry about +it, for she had forgotten to tell Harry that she had a kitten. + +Still it was very bad; for after that even the old doctor was once more +subjected to the strict regulations which had existed before the Baby +Veterans came, and he could no longer drive in and out at will, as he +and Nancy Pansy had been doing since the regiment arrived. + +It was not, however, long after this that Nancy Pansy had quite an +adventure. She and Harry had been with the old doctor, and the old +doctor had to go and see some children with the measles, so, as Harry +had never had measles, he sent her and Nancy Pansy back; but Nancy +Pansy had found an old cigar-box, which was a treasure, and would have +made a splendid cradle for Harry, except that it was so short that +when Harry’s legs were put into it, her head and shoulders stuck up, +and when her body was in it, her legs hung out. Still, if it would not +do for a cradle, she had got a piece of string, and it would do for a +carriage. So she was coming home very cheerfully, thinking of the way +Harry would enjoy her ride down the walk. + +It was just at this time that Tom Adams, feeling thoroughly bored with +his surroundings, left camp and sauntered up the street alone, planning +how he could get his company ordered once more to the front. He could +not stand this life any longer. As he strolled along the walk the sound +of the cheerful voices of girls behind the magnolias and rose bowers +came to him, and a wave of homesickness swept over him as he thought of +his sisters and little nieces away up North. + +Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he saw a small figure walking slowly +along before him; the great straw hat on the back of her head almost +concealed the little body, but her sunny hair was peeping down below +the broad brim, and Adams knew the child. + +She carried under her arm an old cigar-box, out of one end of which +peeped the head and shoulders of an old doll, the feet of which stuck +out of the other end. A string hung from the box, and trailed behind +her on the pathway. She appeared to be very busy about something, and +to be perfectly happy, for as she walked along she was singing out of +her content a wordless little song of her heart, “Tra-la-la, tra-la-la.” + +The young officer fell into the same gait with the child, and +instinctively trod softly to keep from disturbing her. Just then, +however, a burly fellow named Griff O’Meara, who had belonged to one +of the companies which preceded them, and had been transferred to +Adams’s company, came down a side street, and turned into the walkway +just behind the little maid. He seemed to be tipsy. The trailing string +caught his eye, and he tipped forward and tried to step on it. Adams +did not take in what the fellow was trying to do until he attempted it +the second time. Then he called to him, but it was too late; he had +stepped on the cord, and jerked the box, doll and all, from the child’s +arm. The doll fell, face down, on a stone and broke to pieces. The man +gave a great laugh, as the little girl turned, with a cry of anguish, +and stooping, began to pick up the fragments, weeping in a low, pitiful +way. In a second Adams sprang forward, and struck the fellow a blow +between the eyes which sent him staggering off the sidewalk, down in +the road, flat on his back. He rose with an oath, but Adams struck him +a second blow which laid him out again, and the fellow, finding him to +be an officer, was glad to slink off. Adams then turned to the child, +whose tears, which had dried for a moment in her alarm at the fight, +now began to flow again over her doll. + +“Her pretty head’s all broke! Oh--oh--oh!” she sobbed, trying vainly to +get the pieces to fit into something like a face. + +The young officer sat down on the ground by her. “Never mind, sissy,” +he said, soothingly, “let me see if I can help you.” + +She confidingly handed him the fragments, whilst she tried to stifle +her sobs, and wiped her eyes with her little pinafore. + +“Can you do it?” she asked, dolefully, behind her pinafore. + +“I hope so. What’s your name?” + +“Nancy Pansy, and my dolly’s named Harry.” + +“Harry!” Tom looked at the doll’s dress and the fragments of face, +which certainly were not masculine. + +“Yes, Harry Hunter. He’s my sweetheart,” she looked at him to see that +he understood her. + +“Ah!” + +“And sister’s,” she nodded, confidently. + +“Yes, I see. Where is he?” + +“He’s a captain now. He’s gone away--away.” She waved her hand in a +wide sweep to give an idea of the great distance it was. “He’s in the +army.” + +“Come along with me,” said Tom; “let’s see what we can do.” He gathered +up all the broken pieces in his handkerchief, and set out in the +direction from which he had come, Nancy Pansy at his side. She slipped +her little hand confidingly into his. + +“You knocked that bad man down for me, didn’t you?” she said, looking +up into his face. Tom had not felt until then what a hero he had been. + +“Yes,” he said, quite graciously. The little warm fingers worked +themselves yet further into his palm. + +At the corner they turned up the street toward the Court-house Square, +and in a few minutes were in camp. At the sight of the child with Adams +the whole camp turned out pell-mell, as if the “long-roll” had beat. + +At first Nancy Pansy was a little shy, there was so much excitement, +and she clung tightly to Tom Adams’s hand. She soon found, however, +that they were all friendly. + +Tom conducted her to his tent, where she was placed in a great chair, +with a horse-cover over it, as a sort of throne. The story of O’Meara’s +act excited so much indignation that Tom felt it necessary to explain +fully the punishment he had given him. + +Nancy Pansy, feeling that she had an interest in the matter, suddenly +took up the narrative. + +“Yes, he jus’ knocked him down,” she said, with the most charming +confidence, to her admiring audience, her pink cheeks glowing and her +great eyes lighting up at the recital, as she illustrated Tom’s act +with a most expressive gesture of her by no means clean little fist. + +The soldiers about her burst into a roar of delighted laughter, and +made her tell them again and again how it was done, each time renewing +their applause over the ’cute way in which she imitated Tom’s act. Then +they all insisted on being formally introduced, so Nancy Pansy was +stood upon the table, and the men came by in line, one by one, and were +presented to her. It was a regular levee. + +Presently she said she must go home, so she was taken down; but before +she was allowed to leave, she was invited to go through the camp, each +man insisting that she should visit his tent. She made, therefore, a +complete tour, and in every tent some souvenir was pressed upon her, +or she was begged to take her choice of its contents. Thus, before she +had gone far, she had her arms full of things, and a string of men were +following her bearing the articles she had honored them by accepting. +There were little looking-glasses, pin-cushions, pairs of scissors, +pictures, razors, bits of gold-lace, cigar-holders, scarf-pins, and +many other things. + +When she left camp she was quite piled up with things, whilst Tom +Adams, who acted as her escort, marched behind her with a large +basketful besides. She did not have room to take Harry, so she left +her behind, on the assurance of Tom that she should be mended, and on +the engagement of the entire company to take care of her. The soldiers +followed her to the edge of the camp, and exacted from her a promise +to come again next day, which she agreed to do if her mother would let +her. And when she was out of sight, the whole command held a council of +war over the fragments of Harry. + +When Adams reached the Judge’s gate he made a negro who was passing +take the basket in, thinking it better not to go himself up to the +house. He said good-by, and Nancy Pansy started up the walk, whilst he +waited at the gate. Suddenly she turned and came back. + +“Good-by!” she said, standing on tiptoe, and putting up her little face +to be kissed. + +The young officer stooped over the gate and kissed her. + +“Good-by! Come again to-morrow.” + +“Yes, if mamma will let me.” And she tripped away with her armful of +presents. + +Tom Adams remained leaning on the gate. He was thinking of his home far +away. Suddenly he was aroused by hearing the astonished exclamations in +the house as Nancy Pansy entered. He felt sure that they were insisting +that the things should be sent back, and fearing that he might be +seen, he left the spot and went slowly back to camp, where he found +the soldiers still in a state of pleasurable excitement over Nancy +Pansy’s visit. A collection was taken up for a purpose which appeared +to interest everybody, and a cap nearly full of money was delivered to +Tom Adams, with as many directions as to what he was to do with it as +though it were to get a memorial for the Commander-in-chief. Tom said +he had already determined to do the very same thing himself; still, if +the company wished to “go in” with him, they could do it; so he agreed +to take the money. + + +V. + +On the day following Nancy Pansy’s visit to the camp of the Baby +Veterans, Adams took to the post-office a bundle addressed to +“Nancy Pansy,” and a letter addressed to a friend of his who was in +Washington. The bundle contained “Harry,” as fully restored as her +shattered state would admit of; the letter contained a draft and a +commission, the importance of which latter Captain Adams had put in the +very strongest light. + +He held his head very high as he dropped his letter into the box, +for over the table bent the slender figure of the little dark-eyed +postmistress, who had wiped her dainty fingers so carefully after +handling his letter. Perched near her on the table, just as she had +been that day, with her tangled hair all over her face, was Nancy +Pansy. She was, as usual, very busy over something; but, hearing a +step, she glanced up. + +“Oh, there’s Tom Adams!” she exclaimed; and, turning over on her face, +she slipped down from the table and ran up to him, putting up her face +to be kissed, just as she always did to the old doctor. + +[Illustration: SHE RAN UP TO HIM, PUTTING UP HER FACE TO BE KISSED.] + +Adams stooped over and kissed her, though, as he did so, he heard +her sister turn around, and he felt as if she might be going to shoot +him in the back. He straightened up with defiance in his heart. She was +facing him; but what was his astonishment when she advanced, and with a +little smile on her lovely face, said: + +“Captain Adams, I am Miss Seddon. My mother has desired me to thank you +in her name, and in all our names, for your act of protection to my +little sister on yesterday.” + +“Yes,” said Nancy Pansy; “he jus’ knocked that bad man down,” and she +gave her little head a nod of satisfaction to one side. + +The young officer blushed to his eyes. He was prepared for an attack, +but not for such a flank movement. He stammered something about not +having done anything at all worthy of thanks, and fell back behind +Harry, whom he suddenly pulled out and placed in Nancy Pansy’s hands. +It all ended in an invitation from Mrs. Seddon, through Nancy Pansy and +her pretty sister, to come up to the house and be thanked, which he +accepted. + +After this the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh came to understand each +other a good deal better than before. Instead of remaining in their +camp or marching up and down the streets, with arrogance or defiance +stamped on every face and speaking from every figure, the Baby Veterans +took to loafing about town in off-duty hours, hanging over the gates, +or sauntering in the autumn twilight up and down the quiet walks. +They and Middleburgh still recognized that there was a broad ground, +on which neither could trespass. The Baby Veterans still sang “The +Star-spangled Banner” in the Court-house Grove, and Middleburgh still +sang “Dixie” and the “Bonnie Blue Flag” behind her rose trellises; +but there was no more gathering up of skirts, and disdainful wiping +of hands after handling letters; and the old doctor was allowed to go +jogging about on his rounds, with Nancy Pansy and the scarred Harry at +his side, as unmolested as if the Baby Veterans had never pitched their +tents on the Court-house Square. It is barely possible that even the +rigid investment of the town relaxed a little as the autumn changed +into winter, for once or twice old Limpid disappeared for several days, +as he used to do before his arrest, and Nancy Pansy’s pretty sister +used to get letters from Harry, who was now a major. Nancy Pansy heard +whispers of Harry’s coming before long, and even of the whole army’s +coming. Somehow a rumor of this must have reached the authorities, +though Nancy Pansy never breathed a word of it; for an officer was sent +down to investigate the matter and report immediately. + +Just as he arrived he received secret word from some one that a rebel +officer was actually in Middleburgh. + +That afternoon Nancy Pansy was playing in the bottom of the yard when a +lot of soldiers came along the street, and before them rode a strange, +cross-looking man with a beard. Tom Adams was marching with the +soldiers, and he did not look at all pleased. They stopped at the old +doctor’s gate, and the strange man trotted up to her place and asked +Nancy Pansy if she knew Captain Harry Hunter. + +“Yes, indeed,” said Nancy Pansy, going up to the fence and poking her +little rosy face over it; “Harry’s a major now.” + +“Ah! Harry’s a major now, is he?” said the strange man. + +Nancy Pansy went on to tell him how her Harry was named after the other +Harry, and how she was all broken now; but the officer was intent on +something else. + +“Where is Harry now?” he asked her. + +“In the house,” and she waved her hand toward the old doctor’s house +behind her. + +“So, so,” said the officer, and went back to Tom Adams, who looked +annoyed, and said: + +“I don’t believe it; there’s some mistake.” + +At this the strange man got angry and said: “Lieutenant Adams, if you +don’t want the rebel caught, you can go back to camp.” + +My! how angry Tom was! His face got perfectly white, and he said: +“Major Black, you are my superior, or you wouldn’t dare to speak so to +me. I have nothing to say now, but some day I’ll out-rank you.” + +Nancy Pansy did not know what they were talking about, but she did not +like the strange man at all; so when he asked her: “Won’t you show me +where Harry is?” at first she said “No,” and then “Yes, if you won’t +hurt him.” + +“No, indeed,” said the man. As Tom Adams was there she was not afraid; +so she went outside the gate and on into the old doctor’s yard, +followed by the soldiers and Tom Adams, who still looked angry, and +told her she’d better run home. Some of the soldiers went around behind +the house. + +“Where is he?” the strange gentleman asked. + +“Asleep up-stairs in the company-room,” said Nancy Pansy in a whisper. +“You mustn’t make any noise.” + +She opened the door and they entered the house, Nancy Pansy on tiptoe +and the others stepping softly. She was surprised to see the strange +man draw a pistol; but she was used to seeing pistols, so, though Tom +Adams told her again to run home, she stayed there. + +“Which is the company-room?” asked the strange man. + +She pointed to the door at the head of the steps. “That’s it.” + +He turned to the soldiers. + +“Come ahead, men,” he said, in a low voice, and ran lightly up the +stairs, looking very fierce. When he reached the door he seized the +knob and dashed into the room. + +Then Nancy Pansy heard him say some naughty words, and she ran up the +stairs to see what was the matter. + +They were all standing around the big bed on which she had laid +Harry an hour before, with her head on a pillow; but a jerk of the +counterpane had thrown Harry over on her face, and her broken neck and +ear looked very bad. + +“Oh, you’ve waked her up!” cried Nancy Pansy, rushing forward, and +turning the doll over. + +The strange man stamped out of the room, looking perfectly furious, and +the soldiers all laughed. Tom Adams looked pleased. + + +VI. + +When Tom Adams next called at the Judge’s, he found the atmosphere much +cooler within the house than it was outside. He had been waiting alone +in the drawing-room for some time when Nancy Pansy entered. She came in +very slowly, and instead of running immediately up to him and greeting +him as she usually did, she seated herself on the edge of a chair and +looked at him with manifest suspicion. He stretched out his hand to her. + +“Come over, Nancy Pansy, and sit on my knee.” + +Nancy Pansy shook her head. + +“My sister don’t like you,” she said slowly, eying him askance. + +“Ah!” He let his hand fall on the arm of the chair. + +“No; and I don’t, either,” said Nancy Pansy, more confidently. + +“Why doesn’t she like me?” asked Tom Adams. + +“Because you are so mean. She says you are just like all the rest of +’em;” and, pleased at her visitor’s interest, Nancy Pansy wriggled +herself higher up on her chair, prepared to give him further details. + +“We don’t like you at all,” said the child, half confidentially and +half defiantly. “We like our side; we like _Confederates_.” Tom Adams +smiled. “We like Harry; we don’t like you.” + +She looked as defiant as possible, and just then a step was heard in +the hall, approaching very slowly, and Nancy Pansy’s sister appeared in +the doorway. She was dressed in white, and she carried her head even +higher than usual. + +The visitor rose. He thought he had never seen her look so pretty. + +“Good-evening,” he said. + +She bowed “Good-evening,” very slowly, and took a seat on a +straight-backed chair in a corner of the room, ignoring the chair which +Adams offered her. + +“I have not seen you for some time,” he began. + +“No; I suppose you have been busy searching people’s houses,” she said. + +Tom Adams flushed a little. + +“I carry out my orders,” he said. “These I must enforce.” + +“Ah!” + +Nancy Pansy did not just understand it all, but she saw there was a +battle going on, and she at once aligned herself with her side, and +going over, stood by her sister’s chair, and looked defiance at the +enemy. + +“Well, we shall hardly agree about this, so we won’t discuss it,” said +Tom Adams. “I did not come to talk about this, but to see you, and to +get you to sing for me.” Refusal spoke so plainly in her face that he +added: “Or, if you won’t sing, to get Nancy Pansy to sing for me.” + +“_I_ won’t sing for you,” declared Nancy Pansy, promptly and decisively. + +“What incorrigible rebels all of you are!” said Tom Adams, smiling. +He was once more at his ease, and he pulled his chair up nearer Nancy +Pansy’s sister, and caught Nancy Pansy by the hand. She was just trying +to pull away, when there were steps on the walk outside--the regular +tramp, tramp of soldiers marching in some numbers. They came up to the +house, and some order was given in a low tone. Both Adams and Nancy +Pansy’s sister sprang to their feet. + +“What can it mean?” asked Nancy Pansy’s sister, more to herself than to +Adams. + +He went into the hall just as there was a loud rap at the front door. + +“What is it?” he asked the lieutenant who stood there. + +“Some one has slipped through the lines, and is in this house,” he said. + +Nancy Pansy’s sister stepped out into the hall. + +“There is no one here,” she said. She looked at Tom Adams. “I give my +word there is no one in the house except my mother, ourselves, and the +servants.” She met Tom Adams’s gaze frankly as he looked into her eyes. + +“There is no one here, Hector,” he said, turning to the officer. + +“This is a serious matter,” began the other, hesitatingly. “We have +good grounds to believe----” + +“I will be responsible,” said Tom Adams, firmly. “I have been here some +time, and there is no one here.” He took the officer aside and talked +to him a moment. + +“All right,” said he, as he went down the steps, “as you are so +positive.” + +“I am,” said Tom. + +The soldiers marched down the walk, out of the gate, and around the +corner. Just as the sound of their footsteps died away on the soft +road, Tom Adams turned and faced Nancy Pansy’s sister. She was leaning +against a pillar, looking down, and a little moonlight sifted through +the rose-bushes and fell on her neck. Nancy Pansy had gone into the +house. “I am sorry I said what I did in the parlor just now.” She +looked up at him. + +“Oh!” said Tom Adams, and moved his hand a little. “I--” he began; but +just then there was a sudden scamper in the hall, and Nancy Pansy, with +flying hair and dancing eyes, came rushing out on the portico. + +“Oh, sister!” she panted. “Harry’s come; he’s in mamma’s room!” + +Nancy Pansy’s sister turned deadly white. “Oh, Nancy Pansy!” she +gasped, placing her hand over her mouth. + +Nancy Pansy burst into tears, and buried her face in her sister’s +dress. She had not seen Tom Adams; she thought he had gone. + +“I did not know it,” said Nancy Pansy’s sister, turning and facing Tom +Adams’s stern gaze. + +“I believe you,” he said, slowly. He felt at his side; but he was in a +fatigue suit, and had no arms. Without finishing his sentence he sprang +over the railing, and with a long, swift stride went down the yard. She +dimly saw him as he sprang over the fence, and heard him call, “Oh, +Hector!” + +As he did so, she rushed into the house. “Fly! they are coming!” she +cried, bursting into her mother’s room. “Oh, Harry, they are coming!” +she cried, rushing up to a handsome young fellow, who sprang to his +feet as she entered, and went forward to meet her. + +The young man took her hand and drew her to him. “Well,” he said, +looking down into her eyes, and drawing a long breath. + +Nancy Pansy’s sister put her face on his shoulder and began to cry, and +Nancy Pansy rushed into her mother’s arms and cried too. + +Ten minutes later soldiers came in both at the front and back doors. +Mrs. Seddon met her visitors in the hall. Nancy Pansy’s sister was on +one side, and Nancy Pansy on the other. + +Tom Adams was in command. He removed his hat, but said, gravely: “I +must arrest the young rebel officer who is here.” + +Nancy Pansy made a movement; but her mother tightened her clasp of her +hand. + +“Yes,” she said, bowing. That was all. + +Guards were left at the doors, and soldiers went through the house. The +search was thorough, but the game had escaped. They were coming down +the steps when some one said: + +“We must search the shrubbery; he will be there.” + +“No; he is at his father’s--the old doctor’s,” said Adams. + +It was said in an undertone, but Mrs. Seddon’s face whitened; Nancy +Pansy caught it, too. She clutched her mother’s gown. + +“Oh, mamma! you hear what he says?” + +Her mother stooped and whispered to her. + +“Yes, yes,” nodded Nancy Pansy. She ran to the door, and poking her +little head out, looked up and down the portico, calling, “Kitty, +kitty!” + +The sentry who was standing there holding his gun moved a little, and, +leaning out, peered into the dusk. + +“’Tain’t out here,” he said, in a friendly tone. + +Nancy Pansy slipped past him, and went down the steps and around the +portico, still calling, “Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!” + +“Who goes there?” called a soldier, as he saw something move over +near the old doctor’s fence; but when he heard a childish voice call, +“Kitty! Kitty!” he dropped his gun again with a laugh. “’Tain’t nobody +but that little gal, Nancy Pansy; blest if I wa’n’t about to shoot +her!” + +The next instant Nancy Pansy had slipped through her little hole in the +fence, through which she had so often gone, and was in the old doctor’s +yard; and when, five minutes afterward, Tom Adams marched his men up +the walk and surrounded and entered the house, Nancy Pansy, her broken +doll in her arms, was sitting demurely on the edge of a large chair, +looking at him with great, wide-open, dancing eyes. A little princess +could not have been grander, and if she had hidden Harry Hunter behind +her chair, she could not have shown more plainly that she had given him +warning. + + +VII. + +All Middleburgh knew next day how Nancy Pansy had saved Harry Hunter, +and it was still talking about it, when it was one morning astonished +by the news that old Dr. Hunter had been arrested in the night by the +soldiers, who had come down from Washington, and had been carried off +somewhere. There had not been such excitement since the Middleburgh +Artillery had marched away to the war. The old doctor was sacred. Why, +to carry him off, and stop his old buggy rattling about the streets, +was, in Middleburgh’s eyes, like stopping the chariot of the sun, or +turning the stars out of their courses. Why did they not arrest Nancy +Pansy too? asked Middleburgh. Nancy Pansy cried all day, and many times +after, whenever she thought about it. She went to Tom Adams’s camp and +begged him to bring her old doctor back, and Tom Adams said as he had +not had him arrested he could not tell what he could do, but he would +do all he could. Then she wrote the old doctor a letter. However, all +Middleburgh would not accept Tom Adams’s statement as Nancy Pansy +did, and instead of holding him as a favorite, it used to speak of +him as “That Tom Adams.” Every old woman in Middleburgh declared she +was worse than she had been in ten years, and old Mrs. Hippin took to +her crutch, which she had not used in twelve months, and told Nancy +Pansy’s sister she would die in a week unless she could hear the old +doctor’s buggy rattle again. But when the fever broke out in the little +low houses down on the river, things began to look very serious. The +surgeon from the camp went to see the patients, but they died, and +more were taken ill. When a number of other cases occurred in the town +itself, all of the most malignant type, the surgeon admitted that it +was a form of fever with which he was not familiar. There had never +been such an epidemic in Middleburgh before, and Middleburgh said that +it was all due to the old doctor’s absence. + +One day Nancy Pansy went to the camp, to ask about the old doctor, +and saw a man sitting astride of a fence rail which was laid on two +posts high up from the ground. He had a stone tied to each foot, and +he was groaning. She looked up at him, and saw that it was the man who +had broken her doll. She was about to run away, but he groaned so she +thought he must be in great pain, and that always hurt her; so she went +closer, and asked him what was the matter. She did not understand just +what he said, but it was something about the weight on his feet; so +she first tried to untie the strings which held the stones, and then, +as there was a barrel standing by, she pushed at it until she got it +up close under him, and told him to rest his feet on that, whilst she +ran home and asked her mamma to lend her her scissors. In pushing the +barrel she broke Harry’s head in pieces; but she was so busy she did +not mind it then. Just as she got the barrel in place some one called +her, and turning around she saw a sentinel; he told her to go away, and +he kicked the barrel from under the man and let the stones drop down +and jerk his ankles again. Nancy Pansy began to cry, and ran off up to +Tom Adams’s tent and told him all about it, and how the poor man was +groaning. Tom Adams tried to explain that this man had got drunk, and +that he was a bad man, and was the same one who had broken her doll. +It had no effect. “Oh, but it hurts him so bad!” said Nancy Pansy, and +she cried until Tom Adams called a man and told him he might go and let +O’Meara down, and tell him that the little girl had begged him off this +time. Nancy Pansy, however, ran herself, and called to him that Tom +Adams said he might get down. When he was on the ground, he walked up +to her and said: + +“May the Holy Virgin kape you! Griff O’Meara’ll never forgit you.” + +A few days after that, Nancy Pansy complained of headache, and her +mother kept her in the house. That evening her face was flushed, and +she had a fever; so her mother put her to bed and sat by her. She went +to sleep, but waked in the night, talking very fast. She had a burning +fever, and was quite out of her head. Mrs. Seddon sent for the surgeon +next morning, and he came and stayed some time. When he returned to +camp he went to Tom Adams’s tent. He looked so grave as he came in that +Adams asked quickly: + +“Any fresh cases?” + +“Not in camp.” He sat down. + +“Where?” + +“That little girl--Nancy Pansy.” + +Tom Adams’s face turned whiter than it had ever turned in battle. + +“Is she ill?” + +“Desperately.” + +Tom Adams sprang to his feet. + +“How long--how long can she hold out?” he asked, in a broken voice. + +“Twenty-four hours, perhaps,” said the surgeon. + +Tom Adams put on his cap and left the tent. Five minutes later he was +in the hall at the Judge’s. Just as he entered, Nancy Pansy’s sister +came quickly out of a door. She had been crying. + +“How is she? I have just this instant heard of it,” said Tom, with real +grief in his voice. + +She put her handkerchief to her eyes. + +“So ill,” she sobbed. + +“Can I see her?” asked Tom, gently. + +“Yes; it won’t hurt her.” + +When Tom Adams entered the room he was so shocked that he stopped +still. Mrs. Seddon bent over the bed with her face pale and worn, and +in the bed lay Nancy Pansy, so changed that Tom Adams never would have +known her. She had fallen off so in that short time that he would not +have recognized her. Her face was perfectly white, except two bright +red spots on her cheeks. She was drawing short, quick breaths, and was +talking all the time very fast. No one could understand just what she +was saying, but a good deal of it was about Harry and the old doctor. +Tom bent over her, but she did not know him; she just went on talking +faster than ever. + +“Nancy Pansy, don’t you know Tom Adams?” her mother asked her, in a +soothing voice. She had never called the young man so before, and he +felt that it gave him a place with Nancy Pansy; but the child did not +know him; she said something about not having any Harry. + +“She is growing weaker,” said her mother. + +Tom Adams leaned over and kissed the child, and left the room. + +As he came down the steps he met Griff O’Meara, who asked how the +“little gurl” was, “bless her sowl!” When he told him, Griff turned +away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Tom Adams told him +to stay there and act as guard, which Griff vowed he’d do if the “howl +ribel army kem.” + +Ten minutes later Tom galloped out of camp with a paper in his pocket +signed by the surgeon. In an hour he had covered the twelve miles of +mud which lay between Middleburgh and the nearest telegraph station, +and was sending a message to General ----, his commander. At last an +answer came. Tom Adams read it. + +“Tell him it is a matter of life and death,” he said to the operator. +“Tell him there is no one else who understands it and can check it, and +tell him it must be done before the afternoon train leaves, or it will +be too late. Here, I’ll write it out.” And he did so, putting all his +eloquence into the despatch. + +Late that night two men galloped through the mud and slush in the +direction of Middleburgh. The younger one had a large box before him +on his horse; the other was quite an old man. Picket after picket was +passed with a word spoken by the younger man, and they galloped on. At +last they stopped at the Judge’s gate, and sprang from their splashed +and smoking horses. + +As they hurried up the walk, the guard at the steps challenged them in +a rich Irish brogue. + +“It’s I, O’Meara. You here still? How is she?” + +“’Most in the Holy Virgin’s arms,” said the Irishman. + +“Is she alive?” asked both men. + +“It’s a docther can tell that,” said the sentinel. “They thought her +gone an hour ago. There’s several in there,” he said to his captain. +“I didn’t let ’em in at firrst, but the young leddy said they wuz the +frien’s of the little gurl, an’ I let ’em by a bit.” + +A minute later the old man entered the sick-room, whilst Tom Adams +stopped at the door outside. There was a general cry as he entered of, +“Oh, doctor!” + +And Mrs. Seddon called him: “Quick, quick, doctor! she’s dying!” + +“She’s dead,” said one of the ladies who stood by. + +The old doctor bent over the little still white form, and his +countenance fell. She was not breathing. With one hand he picked up her +little white arm and felt for the pulse; with the other he took a small +case from his pocket. “Brandy,” he said. It was quickly handed him. He +poured some into a little syringe, and stuck it into Nancy Pansy’s arm, +by turns holding her wrist and feeling over her heart. + +Presently he said, quietly, “She’s living,” and both Mrs. Seddon and +Nancy Pansy’s sister said, “Thank God!” + +All night long the old doctor worked over Nancy Pansy. Just before dawn +he said to Mrs. Seddon: “What day is this?” + +“Christmas morning,” said Mrs. Seddon. + +“Well, madam, I hope God has answered your prayers, and given your +babe back to you; I hope the crisis is passed. Have you hung up her +stocking?” + +“No,” said Nancy Pansy’s mother. “She was so--” She could not say +anything more. Presently she added: “She was all the time talking about +you and Harry.” + +The old doctor rose and went out of the room. It was about dawn. He +left the house, and went over to his own home. There, after some +difficulty, he got in, and went to his office. His old secretary had +been opened and papers taken out, but the old man did not seem to +mind it. Pulling the secretary out from the wall, he touched a secret +spring. It did not work at first, but after a while it moved, and he +put his hand under it, and pulled out a secret drawer. In it were a +number of small parcels carefully tied up with pieces of ribbon, which +were now quite faded, and from one peeped a curl of soft brown hair, +like that of a little girl. The old doctor laid his fingers softly on +it, and his old face wore a gentle look. The largest bundle was wrapped +in oil-silk. This he took out and carefully unwrapped. Inside was yet +another wrapping of tissue paper. He put the bundle, with a sigh, into +his overcoat pocket, and went slowly back to the Judge’s. Nancy Pansy +was still sleeping quietly. + +The old doctor asked for a stocking, and it was brought him. He took +the bundle from his pocket, and, unwrapping it, held it up. It was a +beautiful doll, with yellow hair done up with little tucking combs such +as ladies used to wear, and with a lovely little old tiny-flowered silk +dress. + +“She is thirty years old, madam,” he said gently to Mrs. Seddon, as +he slipped the doll into the stocking, and hung it on the bed-post. +“I have kept her for thirty years, thinking I could never give it to +any one; but last night I knew I loved Nancy Pansy enough to give it +to her.” He leaned over and felt her pulse. “She is sleeping well,” he +said. + +Just then the door opened, and in tipped Tom Adams, followed by Griff +O’Meara in his stocking feet, bearing a large baby-house fitted up +like a perfect palace, with every room carpeted and furnished, and with +a splendid doll sitting on a balcony. + +“A Christmas gift to that blessed angel from the Baby Veterans, mem,” +he said, as he set it down; and then taking from his bulging pocket +a large red-cheeked doll in a green frock, he placed it in the door +of the house, saying, with great pride: “An’ this from Griff O’Meara. +Heaven bless her swate soul!” + +Just then Nancy Pansy stirred and opened her eyes. Her mother bent over +her, and she smiled faintly. Mrs. Seddon slipped down on her knees. + +“Where’s my old doctor and my dolly?” she said; and then, presently, +“Where’s Harry and Tom Adams?” + + + + +“JACK AND JAKE.” + + +I. + +“Jack and Jake.” This is what they used to be called. Their names +were always coupled together. Wherever you saw one, you were very apt +to see the other--Jack, slender, with yellow hair, big gray eyes, +and spirited look; and Jake, thick-set and brown, close to him, like +his shadow, with his shining skin and white teeth. They were always +in sight somewhere; it might be running about the yard or far down +on the plantation, or it might be climbing trees to look into birds’ +nests--which they were forbidden to trouble--or wading in the creek, +riding in the carts or wagons about the fields, or following the +furrow, waiting a chance to ride a plough-horse home. + +Jake belonged to Jack. He had been given to him by his old master, +Jack’s grandfather, when Jack was only a few years old, and from that +time the two boys were rarely separated, except at night. + +Jake was a little larger than Jack, as he was somewhat older, but Jack +was the more active. Jake was dull; some people on the plantation said +he did not have good sense; but they rarely ventured to say so twice to +Jack. Jack said he had more sense than any man on the place. At least, +he idolized Jack. + +At times the people commented on the white boy being so much with +the black; but Jack’s father said it was as natural for them to run +together as for two calves--a black one and a white one--when they were +turned out together; that he had played with Uncle Ralph, the butler, +when they were boys, and had taught the latter as much badness as he +had him. + +So the two boys grew up together as “Jack and Jake,” forming a +friendship which prevented either of them ever knowing that Jake was a +slave, and brought them up as friends rather than as master and servant. + +If there was any difference, the boys thought it was rather in favor +of Jake; for Jack had to go to school, and sit for some hours every +morning “saying lessons” to his aunt, and had to look out (sometimes) +for his clothes, while Jake just lounged around outside the school-room +door, and could do as he pleased, for he was sure to get Jack’s suit as +soon as it had become too much worn for Jack. + +The games they used to play were surprising. Jack always knew of some +interesting thing they could “make ’tence” (that is, pretence) that +they were doing. They could be fishers and trappers, of course; for +there was the creek winding down the meadow, in and out among the +heavy willows on its banks; and in the holes under the fences and by +the shelving rocks, where the water was blue and deep, there were +shining minnows, and even little perch; and they could be lost on +rafts, for there was the pond, and with their trousers rolled up to +their thighs they could get on planks and pole themselves about. + +But the best fun of all was “Injins.” Goodness! how much fun there was +in Injins! There were bows and arrows, and tomahawks, and wigwams, and +fires in the woods, and painted faces, and creeping-ups, and scalpings, +and stealing horses, and hot pursuits, and hidings, and captures, and +bringing the horses back, and the full revenge and triumph that are +dear to boys’ hearts. Injins was, of all plays, the best. There was a +dear old wonderful fellow named Leatherstocking, who was the greatest +“Injin”-hunter in the world. Jack knew all about him. He had a book +with him in it, and he read it and told Jake; and so they played Injins +whenever they wanted real fun. It was a beautiful place for Injins; the +hills rolled, the creeks wound in and out among the willows, and ran +through thickets into the little river, and the woods surrounded the +plantation on all sides, and stretched across the river to the Mont Air +place, so that the boys could cross over and play on the other side of +the thick woods. + +When the war came, Jack was almost a big boy. He thought he was quite +one. He was ten years old, and grew old two years at a time. His father +went off with the army, and left his mother at home to take care of +the plantation and the children. That included Ancy and wee Martha; +not Jack, of course. So far from leaving any one to take care of Jack, +he left Jack to take care of his mother. The morning he went away he +called Jack to him and had a talk with him. He told him he wanted him +to mind his mother, and look out for her, to help her and save her +trouble, to take care of her and comfort her, and defend her always +like a man. Jack was standing right in front of him, and when the talk +began he was fidgety, because he was in a great hurry to go to the +stable and ride his father’s horse Warrior to the house; but his father +had never talked to him so before, and as he proceeded, Jack became +grave, and when his father took his hand, and, looking him quietly in +the eyes, said, “Will you, my son?” he burst out crying, and flung his +arms around his father’s neck, and said, “Yes, father, I will.” + +He did not go out of the house any more then; he left the horse to be +brought down by Uncle Henry, the carriage-driver, and he sat quietly by +his father, and kept his eyes on him, getting him anything he wanted; +and he waited on his mother; and when his father went away, he kissed +him, and said all over again that he would do what he promised. And +when his mother locked herself in her room afterward, Jack sat on the +front porch alone, in his father’s chair, and waited. And when she came +out on the porch, with her eyes red from weeping and her face worn, he +did not say anything, but quietly went and got her a glass of water. +His father’s talk had aged him. + +For the first two years, the war did not make much difference to Jack +personally. It made a difference to the country, and to the people, and +to his mother, but not to Jack individually, though it made a marked +difference in him. It made him older. His father’s words never were +forgotten. They had sobered him and steadied him. He had seen a good +deal of the war. The troop trains passed up the railroad, the soldiers +cheering and shouting, filling the cars and crowding on top of them; +the army, or parts of it, marched through the country by the county +roads, camping in the woods and fields. Many soldiers stopped at Jack’s +home, where open house was kept, and everything was gladly given to +them. All the visitors now were soldiers. Jack rode the gentlemen’s +horses to water, with Jake behind him, if there was but one (in which +case the horse was apt to get several waterings), or galloping after +him, if there were more. They were hard riders, and got many falls, for +the young officers were usually well mounted, and their horses were +wild. But a fall was no disgrace. Jack remembered that his father once +said to him, when a colt had thrown him, “All bold riders get falls; +only those do not who ride tame horses.” + +All the visitors were in uniform; all the talk was of war; all thoughts +were of the Confederacy. Every one was enthusiastic. No sacrifices +were too great to be made. The corn-houses were emptied into the +great, covered, blue army wagons; the pick of the horses and mules was +given up. Provisions became scanty and the food plain; coffee and tea +disappeared; clothes that were worn out were replaced by homespun. +Jack dressed in the same sort of coarse, grayish stuff of which Jake’s +clothes used to be made; and his boots were made by Uncle Dick at +the quarters; but this did not trouble him. It was rather fun than +otherwise. Boys like to rough it. He had come to care little for these +things. He was getting manlier. His mother called him her protector; +his father, when he came home, as he did once or twice a year, called +him “a man,” and introduced him to his friends as “my son.” + +His mother began to consult him, to rely on him, to call on him. He +used to go about with her, or go for her wherever she had business, +however far off it might be. + +The war had been going on two years, when the enemy first reached +Jack’s home. It was a great shock to Jack, for he had never doubted +that the Confederates would keep them back. There had been a great +battle some time before, and his father had been wounded and taken +prisoner (at first he was reported killed). But for that, Jack said, +the “Yankees” would never have got there. The Union troops did not +trouble Jack personally; but they made a great deal of trouble about +the place. They took all the horses and mules that were good for +anything and put them in their wagons. This was a terrible blow to +Jack. All his life he had been brought up with the horses; each one +was his pet or his friend. + +After that the war seemed to be much more about Jack’s home than it +had been before. The place was in the possession first of one army and +then of the other, and at last, one winter, the two armies lay not +far apart, with Jack’s home just between them. “The Yankees” were the +nearer. Their pickets were actually on the plantation, at the ford, and +at the bridge over the little river into which the creek emptied, in +the big woods. There they lay with their camps over behind the hills, a +mile or two farther away. At night the glow of their camp-fires could +be seen. Jack had a pretty aunt who used to stay with his mother, and +many young officers used to come over from the Confederate side to see +her. In such cases, they usually came at night, leaving their horses, +for scouting parties used to come in on them occasionally and stir them +up. Once or twice skirmishes took place in the fields beyond the creek. + +One evening a party of young officers came in and took supper. They had +some great plan. They were quite mysterious, and consulted with Jack’s +mother, who was greatly interested in them. They appeared a little +shy of talking before Jack; but when his mother said he had so much +judgment that he could be trusted, they talked openly in his presence. +They had a plan to go into the Federal camp that night and seize the +commanding officer. They wanted to know all the paths. Jack could tell +them. He was so proud. There was not a cow-path he did not know for +two or three miles around, for he and Jake had hunted all over the +country. He could tell them everything, and he did so with a swelling +heart. They laid sheets of paper down on the dining-table, and he drew +them plans of the roads and hills and big woods; showed where the river +could be waded, and where the ravines were. He asked his mother to let +him go along with them, but she thought it best for him not to go. + +[Illustration: HE DREW THEM PLANS OF THE ROADS AND HILLS AND BIG WOODS.] + +They set out at bedtime on foot, a half-dozen gay young fellows, +laughing and boasting of what they would do, and Jack watched them +enviously as their forms faded away in the night. They did not succeed +in capturing the officer; but they captured a number of horses and a +picket at the bridge, and came off triumphant, with only one or two +of their number slightly wounded. Shortly afterwards they came over, +and had a great time telling their experiences. They had used the map +Jack made for them, and had got safely beyond the pickets and reached +the camp. There, finding the sentries on guard, they turned back, +and taking the road, marched down on the picket, as if they had come +to relieve them. Coming from the camp in this way, they had got upon +the picket, when, suddenly drawing their pistols and poking them up +against the Yankees, they forced them to surrender, and disarmed them. +Then taking two of them off separately, they compelled them to give +the countersign. Having got this, they left the prisoners under guard +of two of their number, and the rest went back to camp. With the +countersign they passed the sentry, and went into the camp. Then they +found that the commanding officer had gone off somewhere, and was not +in camp that night, and there were so many men stirring about that +they did not dare to wait. They determined, therefore, to capture some +horses and return. They were looking over the lines of horses to take +their pick when they were discovered. Each man had selected a horse, +and was trying to get him, when the alarm was given, and they were +fired on. They had only time to cut the halters when the camp began to +pour out. Flinging themselves on the horses’ backs, they dashed out +under a fusillade, firing right and left. They took to the road, but +it had been picketed, and they had to dash through the men who held it +under a fire poured into their faces. All had passed safely except one, +whose horse had become unmanageable, and had run away, flying the track +and taking to the fields. + +He was, they agreed, the finest horse in the lot, and his rider had had +great trouble getting him, and had lingered so long that he came near +being captured. He had finally cut the halter, and had cut it too short +to hold by. + +They had great fun laughing at their comrade, and the figure he cut as +his barebacked horse dashed off into the darkness, with him swinging +to the mane. He had shortly been dragged off of him in the woods, and +when he appeared in camp next day, he looked as if he had been run +through a mill. His eyes were nearly scratched out of his head, and +his uniform was torn into shreds. + +The young fellow, who still showed the marks of his bruising, took the +chaffing good-naturedly, and confessed that he had nearly lost his life +trying to hold on to his captive. He had been down into the woods the +next day to try and get his horse; though it was the other side of the +little river, and really within the Federal lines. But though he caught +sight of him, it was only a glimpse. The animal was much too wild to be +caught, and the only thing he received for his pains was a grazing shot +from a picket, who had caught sight of him prowling around, and had +sent a ball through his cap. + +The narration of the capture and escape made Jack wild with excitement. +All the next day he was in a state of tremor, and that evening he and +Jake spent a long time up in the barn together talking, or rather Jack +talking and Jake listening. Jake seemed to be doubtful; but Jack’s +enthusiasm carried all before him, and Jake yielded, as he nearly +always did. + +All that evening after they got back to the house Jack was very quiet. +It was the quiet of suppressed excitement. He was thinking. + +Next day, after dinner, he and Jake started out. They were very +mysterious. Jack carried a rope that they got from the stable, and the +old musket that he used in hunting. Jake carried an axe and some corn. +They struck out for the creek as if they were going hunting in the big +woods, which they entered; but at the creek they turned and made for +about opposite where Jack understood his friend had been thrown by the +wild horse that night. They had to avoid the pickets on the roads, so +they stuck to the woods. + +At the river the first difficulty presented itself; the bridge and ford +were picketed. How were they to get across? It was over their heads in +the middle. Jack could swim a little, but Jake could not swim a stroke. +Besides, they did not wish to get their clothes wet, as that would +betray them at home. Jack thought of a raft, but that would take too +long to make; so finally they decided to go down the stream and try to +cross on an old tree that had fallen into the water two or three years +before. + +The way down was quite painful, for the underbrush along the banks +was very dense, and was matted with brambles and briers, which stuck +through their clothes; added to which there was a danger of “snakes,” +as Jake constantly insisted. But after a slow march they reached the +tree. It lay diagonally across the stream, as it had fallen, its roots +on the bank on their side and the branches not quite reaching the other +bank. This was a disappointment. However, Jack determined to try, and +if it was not too deep beyond the branches, then Jake could come. +Accordingly, he pulled off his clothes, and carefully tying them up +in a bundle, he equipped himself with a long pole and crawled out on +the log. When he got among the branches, he fastened his bundle and +let himself down. It was a little over his head, but he let go, and +with a few vigorous strokes he reached the other side. The next thing +to do was to get Jake over. Jake was still on the far side, and, with +his eyes wide open, was declaring, vehemently, “Nor, sir,” he “warn +gwine to git in that deep water, over his head.” He “didn’t like water +nohow.” Jack was in a dilemma. Jake had to be got over, and so had his +clothes. They had an axe. They could cut poles if he could get back. +There was nothing for it but to try. Accordingly he went up a little +way, took a plunge, and, after hard pulling and much splashing and +blowing, got back to the tree and climbed up. They were afraid the +Yankees might see them if they worked too long on the river, as it was +a little cleared up on the hill above, so they went back into the woods +and set to work. Jack selected a young pine not too large for them to +“tote,” and they cut it down, and cut off two poles, which they carried +down to the river, and finally, after much trouble, worked along the +tree in the water, and got them stretched across from the branch of the +fallen log to the other bank. Jake could hardly be persuaded to try it, +but Jack offered him all his biscuit (his customary coin with Jake), +and promised to help him, and finally Jake was got over, “cooning +it”--by which was meant crawling on his hands and knees. + +The next thing was to find the horse, for Jack had determined to +capture him. This was a difficult thing to effect. In the first place, +he might not be there at all, as he might have escaped or have been +caught; and the woods had to be explored with due regard to the +existence of the Federal pickets, who were posted at the roads and +along the paths. If the pickets caught sight of them they might be +shot, or even captured. The latter seemed much the worse fate to Jack, +unless, indeed, the Yankees should send them to Johnson’s Island, where +his father was. In that case, however, what would his mother do? It +would not do to be captured. Jack laid out the plan of campaign. They +would “beat the woods,” going up the stream at a sufficient distance +apart, Jake, with the axe and corn, on the inside, and he, with the gun +and rope, outside. Thus, if either should be seen, it would be he, and +if he came on a soldier, he, having the gun, would capture him. He gave +orders that no word was to be spoken. If any track was found notice was +to be given by imitating a partridge; if danger appeared, it was to be +shown by the cat-bird’s call of “Naik, naik.” This was the way they +used to play “Injins.” + +They worked their way along for an hour or two without seeing any +traces, and Jake, contrary to Jack’s command, called out to him: + +“Oh, Jack, we ain’ gwine fine no horse down heah; dese woods is too +big; he done los’. There’s a clearin’ right ahead here; let’s go home.” + +There was a little field just ahead, with one old cabin in it; a path +ran down from it to the bridge. Jack replied in the cat-bird’s warning +note of “Naik, naik,” but Jake was tired of working his way through +briers and bushes, and he began to come over toward Jack, still +calling to him. Suddenly there was a shout just ahead; they stopped; it +was repeated. + +“Who dat calling?” asked Jake, in a frightened undertone. + +“Hush! it’s a picket,” said Jack, stooping and motioning him back, just +as a volume of white smoke with blazes in it seemed to burst out of the +woods at the edge of the clearing, and the stillness was broken by the +report of half a dozen carbines. Leaves and pieces of bark fell around +them, but the bullets flew wide of their mark. + +“Run, Jake!” shouted Jack, as he darted away; but Jake had not waited +for orders; he had dropped his axe and corn, and was “flying.” + +Jack soon came up with him, and they dashed along together, thinking +that perhaps the picket knew where they had crossed the river, and +would try to cut them off. + +In their excitement they took a way farther from the river than that by +which they had come. The woods were open, and there were small spaces +covered with coarse grass on the little streams. As they ran along down +a hill approaching one of these, they heard a sound of trampling coming +towards them which brought them to a sudden stand-still with their +hearts in their mouths. It must be the enemy. They were coming at full +gallop. What a crashing they made coming on! They did not have time to +run, and Jack immediately cocked his old musket and resolved at least +to fight. Just then there galloped up to him, and almost over him, a +magnificent bay horse without saddle or bridle. At sight of Jack he +swerved and gave a loud snort of alarm, and then, with his head high in +the air, and with his dilated red nostrils and eyes wide with fright, +went dashing off into the woods. + + +II. + +“The horse! the horse! Here he is! here he is!” shouted Jack, taking +out after him as hard as he could, and calling to Jake to come on. In a +minute or two the horse was far beyond them, and they stopped to listen +and get his direction; and while they were talking, even the sound of +his trampling died away. But they had found him. They knew he was still +there, a wild horse in the woods. + +In their excitement all their fear had vanished as quickly as it had +come. Jake suggested something about being cut off at the tree, but +Jack pooh-poohed it now. He was afire with excitement. How glad his +mother would be! What would not the soldiers say? “You didn’t see +him, Jake?” No, Jake admitted he did not, but he heard him. And Jack +described him--two white feet, one a fore foot and one a hind foot, +a star in his forehead, and a beautiful mane and tail. Jake suddenly +found that he had seen him. They went back to the little open place in +the ravine where the horse had been. It was a low, damp spot between +very high banks, that a little higher--at a point where the water in +rainy weather, running over a fallen log in the hill-side, had washed +out a deep hole--had become nothing but a gully, with the banks quite +perpendicular and coming together. + +The stream was dry now except for a little water in the hole at the +tree. Trees and bushes grew thick upon the banks to the very edge. +Below, where it widened, the banks became lower, and the little flat +piece between them was covered with coarse grass, now cropped quite +close. The horse evidently fed there. Jack sat down and thought. He +looked all over the ground. Then he got up, and walked along the banks +around the hole; then he came back, and walked up the gully. Suddenly a +light broke over his face. + +“I’ve got it, Jake; I’ve got it, Jake. We can trap him. If we get him +in here, we’ve got him.” + +Jake was practical. “How you gwine ketch hoss in trap?” he asked, his +idea of a trap being confined to hare gums. “’Twill take all de plank +in de worl’ to make a hoss-trap. Besides, how you gwine git it heah? I +ain’ gwine tote it.” + +“Who asked you to?” asked Jack. “I’m going to trap him like they do +tigers and lions.” + +“I don’ know nuttin’ ’bout dem beas’es,” said Jake, disdainfully. + +“No, you don’t,” said Jack, with fine scorn; “but I do.” + +He examined the banks carefully. His first idea was a pitfall trap--a +covering over the hole. But that would not do; it might kill the horse, +or at least break a leg. His eye fell on the tracks up to the water. +His face lit up. + +“I’ve got it! I’ve got it! We’ll bait him, and then catch him. Where +are the axe and corn you had?” + +He turned to Jake. His mind up to that time had been so busy with, +first, the flight, and then the horse, that he had not noticed that +Jake did not have them. + +Jake’s countenance fell. “I done los’ ’em,” he said, guiltily. + +Jack looked thunderstruck. “Now you just go and find ’em,” he said, +hotly. + +“I los’ ’em when dem Yankees shoot we all. I know I ain’ gwine back +deah,” declared Jake, positively. “I ain’ gwine have no Yankee shootin’ +me ’bout a old hoss.” + +“Yes, you are,” asserted Jack. “I’m going, and you’ve got to go, too.” +Jake remained impassive. “Never mind, if you don’t go I won’t play with +you any more, and I won’t give you half my biscuit any more.” + +These were usually potent threats, but they failed now. “I don’ keer ef +you don’ play wid me,” said Jake, scornfully. “I don’ want play so much +nohow; an’ I don’ want none you’ buscuit. Dee ain’ white like dee use’ +to be.” + +Jack changed his key. + +“Never mind, that was Aunt Winnie’s axe you lost. I’m going to tell her +you lost it, and she’ll cut you all to pieces. I’m mighty glad I didn’t +lose it.” + +This was a view of the case which Jake had not thought of. It was true. +The Yankees might not hit him, but if her axe were lost, his mammy +was certain to carry out her accustomed threat of cutting him almost +in two. Jake announced that he would go, but first stipulated for the +biggest half of the next biscuit, and that Jack should go before. They +set off back through the woods toward the opening where they had run on +the picket, Jack in the lead, and Jake a little behind. They had gone +about a half mile, when they heard the sound of some one coming toward +them at a rapid rate. + +“Run, Jack; heah dey come,” cried Jake, setting the example, and taking +to his heels, with Jack behind him. They ran, but were evidently being +overtaken, for whoever it was was galloping right after them as hard as +he could tear. + +“Hide in the bushes,” cried Jack, and flung himself flat on the ground +under a thick bush. Jake did the same. They were just in time, for the +pursuers were almost on them. Closer and closer they came, galloping as +hard as they could, crashing through the branches. They must have seen +them, for they came straight down on them. Jake began to cry, and Jack +was trembling, for he felt sure they would be killed; there must be a +hundred of them. But no, they actually passed by. Jack found courage to +take a peep. He gave a cry, and sprang to his feet. + +“The horse! it’s the horse.” Sure enough, it was the horse they had +seen; all this terrible trampling was nothing but him in the leaves, +galloping back toward the spot from which they had frightened him. They +listened until his long gallop died out in the distance through the +woods. Jake suggested their going back to look and see if he had gone +to the “little pasture,” as they called the place; but Jack was bent on +getting the axe, and the corn with which they proposed to bait him. His +reference to Aunt Winnie’s axe prevailed, and they kept on. + +They had some difficulty in finding the place where Jake had dropped +the things, for though they found the clearing, they had to be very +careful how they moved around through the woods. They could see the +picket lounging about, and could hear them talking distinctly. They +were discussing whether the men they had shot at were just scouts or +were pickets thrown out, and whether they had hit any of them. One said +that they were cavalry, for he had seen the horses; another said he +knew they were infantry, for he had seen the men. Jack lay down, and +crept along close up. + +Jack’s plan was to set a trap for the horse just at the head of the +ravine, where the banks became very steep and high. He had read how +Indians drove buffalo by frightening them till they all rushed to one +point. He had seen also in a book of Livingston’s travels a plan of +capturing animals in Africa. This plan he chose. He proposed to lay his +bait along up to the gully, and to make a sort of alleyway up which +the horse could go. At the end he would have an opening nearly but not +quite closed by saplings inclined toward each other, and which would +be movable, so that they might interlace. On either side of this he +would have a high barricade. He believed that the horse would be led by +the corn which he would strew along into the trap, and would squeeze +through the pliant saplings, when he would be caught between the high +banks of the gully, and then if he attempted to get back through +the opening, he would push the saplings together. He would fix two +strong poles so that any attempt to push through would bring them into +position. The horse would thus be in a trap formed of the high banks +and the barricade. They set to work and cut poles all the evening; but +it got late before they got enough for the barricade, and they had to +go home. Before leaving, however, Jack dragged some of the poles up, +and laid his corn along leading up to the gully to accustom the horse +to the sight of the poles and to going into the gully among them. They +fixed the two poles firmly at the river crossing from the branch of the +tree to the bank, so that they could get across easily, and then they +crossed on them and came home. + +Jack was filled with excitement, and had hard work to keep from telling +his mother and aunt about it, but he did not. + +Jake’s fear of his mammy’s finding out about the axe kept him silent. + +The next afternoon they went down again, taking more corn with them, +in case the other bait had been eaten. There were fresh tracks up to +the pool, so although they did not see the horse, they knew he had been +there, and they went to work joyfully and cut more poles. They put them +into position across the ravine, and when it got time to go home they +had up the barricade and had fixed the entrance; but this was the most +difficult part, so Jack laid down some more corn along the alley, and +they went home. + +The next day was Saturday, so they had a good day’s work before them, +and taking their dinner with them, they started out. Jack’s mother +asked what he was doing; he said, with a smile, “Setting traps.” When +they arrived the horse had been there, and they worked like beavers +all day, and by dinner-time had got the entrance fixed. It worked +beautifully. By pressing in between the two sides they gave way and +then sprang together again until they interlaced, and pushing against +them from within just pushed them tighter together. They laid their +bait down and went home. Monday they visited the trap, but there was no +horse in it; the grain was eaten without--he had been there--but inside +it was untouched. He had pushed some of the poles so that he could not +get in. This was a great disappointment. Jack’s motto, however, was, +“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again,” so they refixed it. +The failure had somewhat dampened their ardor. + +[Illustration: JACK MADE A RUNNING NOOSE IN THE ROPE AND TRIED TO THROW +IT OVER THE HORSE’S HEAD.] + +The next afternoon, however, when they went, there was the entrance +closed, and inside, turning about continually, with high head and +wide eyes, around the edges of which were angry white rims, was the +horse. He was even handsomer than they had thought him. He was a +dangerous-looking fellow, rearing and jumping about in his efforts to +get out. Jake was wild with excitement. The next thing was to take +him out and get him home. A lasso would be needed to catch him; for +he looked too dangerous for them to go inside the trap to bridle him. +Jack strengthened the entrance by placing a few more poles across it, +and then put his corn inside the trap, and hurried home to get a rope +and bridle. They were dreadfully afraid that some one might see them, +for Jack knew he could not keep the secret now if he met his mother, +and he had pictured himself, with Jake behind him, galloping up into +the yard, with his horse rearing and plunging, and bringing him up +right before his mother, with perhaps a half-dozen officers around her. +They were back in an hour or so with a good rope and bridle. + +Jack made a running noose in the rope, and tried to throw it over the +horse’s head. He had practised this on stumps and on Jake, playing +Injins, until he was right skilful at it; but getting it over the head +of a wild and frightened horse was another thing from putting it over a +stump, or even over Jake, and it was a long time before he succeeded. +He stood on the bank over the horse, and would throw and throw, and +fail; the horse got furious, and would rear and strike at them with his +fore-feet. At last, just as he was thinking that he could not do it, +the noose went over the horse’s head. Jack pulled it taut. + +In a second the other end was wrapped twice around a small tree on +the bank; for Jack knew how to “get a purchase.” The horse reared and +pulled frightfully, but his pulling only tightened the rope around +his neck, and at last he fell back choking, his eyes nearly starting +out of his head. This was Jack’s opportunity. He had often seen young +steers caught and yoked this way, and he had bridled young colts. In +a second he was in the pen, and had the bridle on the horse, and in +another minute he was out and the rope was loosed. The horse, relieved, +bounded to his feet and began to wheel again; but he was not so fierce +as before. The bridle on his head was recognized by him as a badge of +servitude, and he was quieter. It was now late, and he was too wild to +take out yet, so Jack determined to leave him there, and come again +next day and get him. The next afternoon Jack and Jake set out again +for the little meadow in the woods. Jack was bent on bringing his +captive home this time, whatever happened. + +He did not go until late, for he had to pass the pickets on the road +to the river, and he could do this better about dusk than he could in +broad daylight. He had an idea that they might think, as he would come +from toward the Yankee camp, that it would be all right; if not, he +would make a dash for it. He carried a feed of corn with him to give to +the horse for two reasons: the first was that he thought he would need +it, and, besides, it would quiet him. They crossed at the old tree, not +far from the meadow; they had crossed so often that they had made quite +a path now. All the way along Jack was telling Jake how he was going +to ride the horse, no matter what he did. Jake was to stand on the +ground and hold the rope, so that if the horse flung Jack he would not +get loose. They approached the trap with great excitement. They were +careful, however, for they did not want to scare him. As they drew near +they were pleased to find he had got quiet. They came nearer; he was so +quiet that they thought probably he was asleep. So they crept up quite +close, Jack in advance, and peeped over the bank into the trap. Jack’s +heart jumped up into his throat. It was empty! he was gone! Jack could +not help a few tears stealing down his cheeks. Yes, he was gone. At +first he thought he had escaped, and he could catch him again; but no, +an examination of the place showed him that he had been found in the +trap by some one, and had been stolen. The barricade was pulled down, +and the poles of the entrance were thrown back quite out of the way. +Besides, there were men’s tracks in the wet place on the edge of the +pool. Jack sat down and cried. It was some of those Yankees, he knew. +Jake poured out all his eloquence upon the subject. This relieved him. + +“If I had my gun I’d go right straight and shoot them,” declared Jack. + +This valorous resolve set him to thinking. He got up, and went down +to the gap. He could see the tracks where the horse was led out. He +must have “cut up” a good deal, for the grass outside was very much +trampled. Jack could see where he was led or ridden away. The tracks +went straight toward the clearing where the picket was. They were quite +fresh; he could not very long have been taken. Jack determined to +track him, and find out where he was if possible. They set out through +the woods. They could follow the track quite well in most places, but +in some spots it was almost lost. In such cases Jack followed the +method of woodsmen--he took a circle, and hunted until he found it +again. The trail led straight to the clearing. As they drew near, Jake +became very nervous, so Jack left him lying under a bush, and he crept +up. It was so late now that it was getting quite dusk in the woods, +so Jack could creep up close. He got down on his hands and knees. As +he came near he could see the men sitting about the little old cabin. +They were talking. Their guns were lying against the wall, at some +little distance, and their horses were picketed not far off, rather in +the shadow, Jack observed. Jack lay down at the edge of the wood and +counted them. There were five men and six horses. Yes, one of them must +be his horse. He listened to the men. They were talking about horses. +He crept a little closer. Yes, they were talking over the finding of +his horse. One man thought he knew him, that he was the Colonel’s horse +that had been stolen that night when so many horses were carried off +by the Johnnies; others thought it was a horse some of the negroes had +stolen from the plantation across the river from their master, and had +hidden. There was the pen and the bridle, and there was the path down +to the crossing at the river. Jack’s heart beat faster; so they knew +the crossing. They were very much divided, but on one thing they all +agreed, that anyhow he was a fine animal, worth at least three hundred +dollars, and they would have a nice sum from him when they sold him. It +was suggested that they should play cards for him, and whichever one +should win should have the whole of him. This was agreed to, and they +soon arranged themselves and began to play cards in the moonlight. + +Jack could now make out his horse standing tied near the cabin on the +outside of the others. He could see in the moonlight that he was tied +with a rope. He crept back to Jake, and together they went further down +into the woods to consult. Jack had a plan which he unfolded to Jake, +but Jake was obdurate. “Nor, sah, he warn’ gwine ’mong dem Yankees; +Yankees ketch him and shoot him. He was gwine home. Mammy’d whup him if +he didn’; she mought whup him anyway.” Jack pleaded and promised, but +it was useless. He explained to Jake that they could ride home quicker +than they could walk. It was of no avail. Jake recalled that there was +a Yankee picket near the bridge, and that was the only place a horse +could cross since the ford was stopped up. Finally Jack had to let Jake +go. + +He told him not to say anything at home as to where he was, which Jake +promised, and Jack helped him across the poles at the tree, and then +went back alone to the clearing. He crept up as before. The men were +still playing cards, and he could hear them swearing and laughing over +their ill or good luck. One of them looked at his watch. The relief +would be along in twenty minutes. Jack’s heart beat. He had no time +to lose. He cut himself a stout switch. He made a little detour, and +went around the other side of the clearing, so as to get the horse +between him and the men. This put him on the side toward the camp, as +the men were on the path which led to the bridge. Without stopping, +he crept up to the open space. Then he flung himself on his face, and +began to crawl up through the weeds toward the horses, stopping every +now and then to listen to the men. As he drew near, one or two of the +horses got alarmed and began to twist, and one of them gave a snort of +fear. Jack heard the men discussing it, and one of them say he would +go and see what was the matter. Jack lay flat in the weeds, and his +heart almost stopped with fright as he heard the man coming around the +house. He could see him through the weeds, and he had his gun in his +hands. He seemed to be coming right to Jack, and he gave himself up as +lost. He could hear his heart thumping so, he was sure the man must +hear it too. He would have sprung up and cut for the woods if he had +had the slightest chance; and as it was, he came near giving himself +up, but though the man seemed to be looking right toward him, Jack was +fortunately so concealed by the weeds that he did not observe him. He +went up to Jack’s horse, and examined the rope. “Tain’t nothing but +this new horse,” he called out to his comrades. “He just wanted to +see his master. I’ll put my saddle on him now, boys. I’ve got him so +certain, and I mean to let him know he’s got a master.” He changed +the saddle and bridle from another horse to that, and then went back +to his comrades, who were all calling to him to come along, and were +accusing him of trying to take up the time until the relief came, +because he was ahead, and did not want to play more and give them a +chance to win the horse back. + +Jack lay still for a minute, and then took a peep at the men, who were +all busily playing. Then he crept up. As soon as he was out of sight, +he sprung to his feet and walked boldly up to the horse, caught him +by the bit, and with a stroke of his knife cut the rope almost in two +close up to his head. Then he climbed up on him, gathered up the reins, +fixed his feet in the stirrup leathers, bent over, and with a single +stroke cut the rope and turned him toward the bridge. The horse began +to rear and jump. Jack heard the men stop talking, and one of them say, +“That horse is loose;” another one said, “I’ll go and see;” another +said, “There’s the relief.” Jack looked over his shoulder. There came a +half-dozen men on horses. There was no time to lose. Lifting his switch +above his head, Jack struck the horse a lick with all his might, and +with a bound which nearly threw Jack out of his seat, he dashed out +into the moonlight straight for the road. “He’s loose! there’s a man +on him!” shouted the men, springing to their feet. Jack leaned forward +on his neck and gave him the switch just as a volley was fired at him. +Pop, pop, pop, pop went the pistols; and the bails flew whistling about +Jack’s head: but he was leaning far forward, and was untouched. Under +the lash the horse went flying down the path across the little field. + + +III. + +Jack had often run races on colts, but he had never ridden such a race +as that. The wind blew whistling by him; the leaves of the bushes over +the path cut him, hissing as he dashed along. If he could pass the +picket where the path struck the road near the bridge, he would be +safe. The path was on an incline near the road, and was on a straight +line with the bridge, so he had a straight dash for it. The picket was +just beyond the fork. Jack had often seen them. There were generally +two men on the bridge, and a pole was laid across the railing of the +bridge near the other side. But Jack did not think of that now; he +thought only of the men galloping behind him on his track. He could not +have stopped the horse if he would, but he had no idea of trying it. +He was near the bridge, and his only chance was to dash by the picket. +Down the path he went as straight as an arrow, his splendid horse +leaping under his light weight--down the path like a bullet through +the dusk of the woods. The sleepy picket had heard the firing at the +clearing up on the hill, and had got ready to stop whoever it might be. +They were standing in the road, with their guns ready. They could not +make it out. It was only a single horse coming tearing down toward them. + +“Halt, halt!” they called, before Jack was in sight; but it was idle. +Down the path the horse came flying--Jack with his feet in the stirrup +leathers, his hands wrapped in the bridle reins, his body bent forward +on his horse’s neck, and clucking his tongue out. In one bound the +horse was in the road. “Halt!” Bang! bang! went the guns in his very +face. But he was flying. A dozen leaps and he was thundering across the +bridge. Jack was conscious only that a dark form stood in the middle, +throwing up its arms. It was but a second; he saw it shot out into the +water as if struck by a steam-engine. His horse gave one splendid leap, +and the next minute he was tearing up the road toward home, through the +quiet woods, which gave no sound but that of his rushing stride. + +Jack had one moment of supreme delight. His mother had got somewhat +anxious about him, and they were all on the front porch when he +galloped up into the yard, his beautiful bay now brought down under +perfect control, but yet full of life and spirit. As they ran to meet +him. Jack sprang from the saddle and presented the horse to his mother. + +The next day Jack’s mother called him into her room. She took him by +the hand. “My son,” she said, “I want you to carry the horse back and +return him to the Yankee camp.” + +Jack was aghast. “Why, mamma, he’s my horse; that is, he is yours. I +found him and caught him and gave him to you.” + +His mother explained to him her reasons. She did not think it was +right for him to keep the horse obtained in such a way. Jack argued +that he had found the horse running wild in their own woods, and did +not know his owner. This made no difference; she told him the horse +had an owner. He argued that the soldiers took horses, had taken all +of theirs, and that their own soldiers--the gentlemen who had come to +tea--had been over and taken a lot from the camp. His mother explained +to him that that was different. They were all soldiers wearing +uniforms, engaged openly in war. What they took was capture; Jack was +not a soldier, and was not treated as one. Jack told her how he had +been shot at and chased. She was firm. She wished the horse returned, +and though Jack wept a little for the joint reason of having to give +up the horse and the mortification of restoring it to the Yankees, +he obeyed. He had some doubt whether he would not be captured; but +his mother said she would write a letter to the commanding officer +over there, explaining why she returned the horse, and this would be +safe-conduct. She had known the colonel before the war, and he had once +stopped at her house after a little battle beyond them. Colonel Wilson +had, in fact, once been a lover of hers. + +The idea of going with a safe-conduct was rather soothing to Jack’s +feelings; it sounded like a man. So he went and fed the horse. Then +he went and asked Jake to go with him. Jake was very doubtful. He +was afraid of the Yankees catching him. The glory of Jack’s capture +the night before had, however, given Jack great prestige, and when +Jack told him about the letter his mother was going to write as a +safe-conduct--like a “pass,” he explained--Jake agreed to go, but only +on condition that he might carry the pass. To this Jack consented. It +was late in the afternoon when they started, for the horse had to be +broken to carry double, and he was very lively. Both Jack and Jake went +off again and again. At last, however, they got him steady, and set +out, Jack in the saddle, and Jake behind him clinging on. Jake had the +letter safe in his pocket for their protection. They had a beautiful +ride through the woods, and Jack remembered the glorious race he had +had there the night before. As they approached the bridge, Jack thought +of tying his handkerchief on a stick as a flag of truce; but he was not +sure, as he was not a real soldier, he ought to do so. He therefore +rode slowly on. He pictured to himself the surprise they would have +when he rode up, and they recognized the horse, and learned that he had +captured it. + +This feeling almost did away with the mortification of having to return +it. He rode slowly as he neared the bridge, for he did not want them +to think he was a soldier and shoot at him. Jack was surprised when he +got to the bridge to find no men there. He rode across, and not caring +to keep up the main road, turned up the path toward the clearing. He +rode cautiously. His horse suddenly shied, and Jack was startled by +some one springing out of the bushes before him and calling “Halt!” as +he flung up his gun. Jake clutched him, and Jack halted. Several men +surrounded them, and ordered them to get down. They slipped off the +horse, and one of the men took it. They all had guns. + +“Why, this is the Colonel’s thoroughbred that was stolen two weeks +ago,” declared one of the men. “Where did you steal this horse?” asked +another of them, roughly. + +“We did not steal him,” asserted Jack, hotly. “We found him and caught +him in the woods.” + +“You hear that?” The man turned to his comrades. “Come, little Johnnie, +don’t tell lies. We’ve got you, and you were riding a stolen horse, and +there were several others stolen at the same time. You’d better tell +the truth, and make a clean breast of it, if you know what’s good for +you.” + +Jack indignantly denied that he had stolen the horse, and told how they +had caught him and were bringing him back. He had a letter from his +mother to Colonel Wilson, he asserted, to prove it. + +“Where is the letter?” they asked. + +Jack turned to Jake. “Jake’s got it in his pocket.” + +“Yes, I got de pass,” declared Jake, feeling in his pocket. He felt +first in one and then another. His countenance fell. “Hi! I done los’ +it,” he asserted. + +The soldiers laughed. That was a little too thin, they declared. +Come, they must go with them. They proposed to put a stop to this +horse-stealing. It had been going on long enough. A horse was stolen +only last night, and the man had run over one of the pickets on the +bridge, and had knocked him into the river and drowned him. They were +glad to find who it was, etc. + +Jack felt very badly. Jake came close up to him and began to whisper. +“Jack, what dey gwine do wid us?” he asked. + +“Hang you, you black little horse-stealing imp!” said one of the men, +with a terrific force. “Cut you up into little pieces.” + +The others laughed. Men are often not very considerate to children. +They do not realize how helpless children feel in their power. Both +Jack and Jake turned pale. + +Jake was ashy. “Jack, I told you not to come,” he cried. + +Jack acknowledged the truth of this. He had it on his tongue’s end to +say, “What did you lose the letter for?” but he did not. He felt that +as his father’s son he must be brave. He just walked close to Jake and +touched him. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “We will get away.” + +Just then one of the men caught Jake and twisted his arm a little. Jake +gave a little whine of fright. In an instant Jack snatched a gun from a +man near by him, and cocking it, levelled it at the soldier. “Let Jake +go, or I’ll blow your brains out,” he said. + +A hand seized him from behind, and the gun was jerked out of his hand. +It went off, but the bullet flew over their heads. There was no more +twisting of Jake’s arm, however. The soldiers, after this, made them +march along between them. They carried them to the clearing where the +old house was, and where some of their comrades were on guard awaiting +them. They marched the boys up to the fire. “We’ve got the little +horse-thieves,” they declared. “They were coming over after another +horse; but I guess we’ll break it up now.” + +“Why, they are mighty little fellows to be horse-thieves,” said one. + +“They are the worst kind,” declared the other. + +“Must be right bad, then, corporal, for you are pretty handy yourself,” +declared a comrade. + +“We are not any horse-thieves,” asserted Jack. “We found this horse.” + +“Shut up!” ordered one of his captors. They began to talk about +what they would do with them. Several methods of securing them were +proposed, and it was finally determined to lock them up in the loft of +the old cabin till morning, when they would carry them to camp, and the +Colonel would make proper disposition of them. + +“Can’t they get away in there?” asked one man. + +“No; there is a bolt on the outside of the door,” said another. +“Besides, we are all down here.” + +They were accordingly taken and carried into the house and up the +rickety old stairs to the loft, where they were left on the bare floor +with a single blanket. It was quite dark in there, and Jack felt very +low down as he heard the bolt pushed into the staple on the outside. +Jake was crying, and Jack could not help sobbing a little himself. He +had, however, to comfort Jake, so he soon stopped, and applied himself +to this work. The only comfort Jake took was in his assurance that he +would get him out. + +“How you gwine do it?” asked Jake. + +“Never mind, I’ll do it,” declared Jack, though he had no idea how he +was to make good his word. He had taken good notice of the outside of +the cabin, and now he began to examine the inside. As his eyes became +accustomed to the darkness, he could see better, and as they were +barefooted, they could walk about without any noise. The old roof was +full of holes, and they could see the sky grow white with the rising +moon. There was an old window in one end of the loft. There were holes +in the side, and looking out, Jack could see the men sitting about, +and hear their voices. Jack tried the window; it was nailed down. He +examined it carefully; as he did every other part of the room. He +decided that he could cut the window out in less time than he could cut +a hole through the roof. + +He would have tried the bolt, but some of the men were asleep in the +room below, and they could not pass them. If they could get out of the +window, they might climb down the chimney. He had nothing but his old +pocket-knife, and unfortunately a blade of that was broken; but the +other was good. He told Jake his plan, who did not think much of it. +Jack thought it was bedtime, so he knelt down and said his prayers. +When he prayed for his mother he felt very badly, and a few tears +stole out of his eyes. When he was done, Jack began to work. He worked +carefully and quietly at first, making a cut or two, and then listening +to see if any one stirred below. This was slow work, and after a while +he began to cut harder and faster. It showed so very little that he +presently got impatient, and dug his knife deeper into the plank. It +took a good hold, he gave a vigorous pull, and the blade snapped off in +the middle. It made so much noise that one of the men below asked: + +“What are those boys doin’ up-stairs there? They ain’t tryin’ to git +away, yo’ s’pose, are they? If so, we better fetch ’em down here.” + +Jack flung himself down beside Jake and held his breath. The soldiers +listened, and then one of them said: + +“Oh, no, ’tain’t nothin’ but rats. They’re fast asleep, I guess.” + +Jack almost gave himself up for lost, for he now had only his broken +blade; but after a while he went at it again, more carefully. He could +see that he was making headway now, and he kept on cutting. Jake went +fast asleep in the blanket, but Jack kept on. After a time he had +nearly cut out one of the planks; he could get a hold on it and feel it +give. At this point his impatience overcame him. He took hold and gave +a wrench. The plank broke with a noise which startled not only Jake +lying in his blanket, but the men below, one or two of whom sprang up. +They began to discuss the noise. + +“That war’n’t no rats,” said one. “Them boys is trying to git out. I +heard the window open. Go and see what they are doing,” he said to his +comrade. + +Jack held his breath. + +“You go yourself,” said he. “I say it’s rats.” + +“Rats! You’ve got rats,” said the other. “I’ll go, just to show you +’tain’t rats.” + +He got up, and taking a torch, came to the stair. Jack felt his heart +jump up in his mouth. He just had time to stuff his hat into the hole +he had made, to shut out the sky, and to fling himself down beside Jake +and roll up in the blanket, when the bolt was pulled back and the man +entered. He held the torch high above his head and looked around. Jack +felt his hair rise. He could hear his heart thumping, and was sure the +man heard it too. Jake stirred. Jack clutched him and held him. The man +looked at them. The flame flickered and died, the man went out, the +bolt grated in the staple, and the man went down the shaky stair. + +“Well, you are right for once,” Jack heard him say. “Must have been +rats; they are both fast asleep on the floor.” + +Jack waited till the talk died away, and then he went to work again. +He had learned a lesson by this time, and he worked carefully. At last +he had the hole big enough to creep through. It was right over the +shoulder of the rickety old log chimney, and by making a quick turn +he could catch hold of the “chinking” and climb down by it. He could +see the men outside, but the chimney would be partly between them, +and as they climbed down the shadow would, he believed, conceal them. +He did not know how long he had been working, so he thought it best +not to wait any longer. Therefore, after taking a peep through the +cracks down on the men below, and finding them all asleep, he began +to wake Jake. Having got him awake, he lay down by him and whispered +his plans to him. He would go first to test the chimney, and then Jake +would come. They were not to speak under any circumstances, and if +either slipped, they were to lie perfectly still. The blanket--except +one piece, which he cut off and hung over the hole to hide the sky, in +case the men should come up and look for them--was to be taken along +with them to fling over them if their flight should be discovered. The +soldiers might think it just one of their blankets. After they got to +the woods, they were to make for their tree. If they were pursued, they +were to lie down under bushes and not speak or move. Having arranged +everything, and fastened the piece of blanket so that it hung loosely +over the hole, allowing them to get through, Jack crawled out of the +window and let himself down by his hands. His bare feet touched the +shoulder of the chimney, and letting go, he climbed carefully down. +Jake was already coming out of the window. Jack thought he heard a +noise, and crept around the house through the weeds to see what it was. +It was only a horse, and he was turning back, when he heard a great +racket and scrambling, and with a tremendous thump Jake came tumbling +down from the chimney into the weeds. He had the breath all knocked out +of him, and lay quite still. Jack heard some one say, “What on earth +was that?” and he had only time to throw the blanket over Jake and drop +down into the weeds himself, when he heard the man come striding around +the house. He had his gun in his hand. He passed right by him, between +him and the dark blanket lying in the corner. He stopped and looked all +around. He was not ten feet from him, and was right over the blanket +under which Jake lay. He actually stooped over, as if he was going to +pull the blanket off of Jake, and Jack gave himself up for lost. But +the man passed on, and Jack heard him talking to his comrades about the +curious noise. They decided that it must have been a gun which burst +somewhere. Jack’s heart was in his mouth about Jake. He wondered if he +was killed. He was about to crawl up to him, when the blanket stirred +and Jake’s head peeped out, then went back. “Jake, oh, Jake, are you +dead?” asked Jack, in a whisper. + +“I dun know; b’lieve I is,” answered Jake. “Mos’ dead, anyway.” + +“No, you ain’t. Is your leg broke?” + +“Yes.” + +“No, ’tain’t,” encouraged Jack. “Waggle your toe; can you waggle your +toe?” + +“Yes; some, little bit,” whispered Jake, kicking under the blanket. + +“Waggle your other toe--waggle all your toes,” whispered Jack. + +The blanket acted as if some one was having a fit under it. + +“Your leg ain’t broke; you are all right,” said Jack. “Come on.” + +Jake insisted that his leg was broken, and that he could not walk. + +“Crawl,” said Jack, creeping up to him. “Come on, like Injins. It’s +getting day.” He started off through the weeds, and Jake crawled after +him. His ankle was sprained, however, and the briers were thick, and +he made slow progress, so Jack crawled along by him through the weeds, +helping him. + +They were about half way across the little clearing when they heard a +noise behind them; lights were moving about in the house, and, looking +back, Jack saw men moving around the house, and a man poked his head +out of the window. + +“Here’s where they escaped,” they called. Another man below the window +called out, “Here’s their track, where they went. They cannot have gone +far. We can catch them.” They started toward them. It was the supreme +moment. + +“Run, Jake; run for the woods,” cried Jack, springing to his feet and +pulling Jake up. They struck out. Jake was limping, however, and Jack +put his arm under him and supported him along. They heard a cry behind +them of, “There they go! catch them!” But they were almost at the +woods, and a second later they were dashing through the bushes, heading +straight for their crossing at the old tree. After a time they had to +slow up, for Jake’s ankle pained him. Jack carried him on his back; +but he was so heavy he had frequently to rest, and it was broad day +before they got near the river. They kept on, however, and after a time +reached the stream. There Jake declared he could not cross the poles. +Jack urged him, and told him he would help him across. He showed him +how. Jake was unstrung, and could not try it. He sat down and cried. +Jack said he would go home and bring him help. Jake thought this best. +Jack crawled over the pole, and was nearly across, when, looking back, +he saw a number of soldiers on the hill riding through the woods. + +“Come on, Jake; here they come,” he called. The soldiers saw him at the +same moment, and some of them started down the hill. A shot or two were +fired toward them; Jake began to cry. Jack was safe, but he turned and +crawled back over the pole toward him. “Come on, Jake; they are coming. +They won’t hit you--you can get over.” + +Jake started; Jack waited, and reached out his hand to him. Jake had +gotten over the worst part, when his foot slipped, and with a cry he +went down into the water. Jack caught his hand, but it slipped out of +his grasp. He came up with his arms beating wildly. “Help--help me!” +he cried, and went down again. In went Jack head foremost, and caught +him by the arm. Jake clutched him. They came up. Jack thought he had +him safe. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Don’t----” But before he could +finish the sentence, Jake flung his arm around his neck and choked him, +pulling him down under the water, and getting it into his throat and +nostrils. Jack struggled, and tried to get up, but he could not; Jake +had him fast. He knew he was drowning. He remembered being down on the +bottom of the river and thinking that if he could but get Jake to the +top again he would be safe. He thought that the Yankees might save him. +He tried, but Jake had him tight, choking him. He thought how he had +brought him there; he thought of his mother and father, and that he had +not seen his mother that morning, and had not said his prayers, and +then he did not know anything more. + +The next thing he knew, some one said, “He’s all right,” and he heard +confused voices, and was suffering some in his chest and throat, and he +heard his mother’s voice, and opening his eyes he was in a tent. She +was leaning over him, crying and kissing him, and there were several +gentlemen around the bed he was on. He was too weak to think much, but +he felt glad that his mother was there. “I went back after Jake,” he +said, faintly. + +“Yes, you did, like a man,” said a gentleman in an officer’s uniform, +bending over him. “We saw you.” + +Jack turned from him. “Mother,” he said, feebly, “we carried the horse +back, but----” + +“He is just outside the door,” said the same gentleman; “he belongs to +you. His owner has presented him to you.” + +“To me and Jake!” said Jack. “Where is Jake?” But they would not let +him talk. They made him go to sleep. + + +THE END. + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: + + + Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. + + Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. + + Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75553 *** |