Tales of the Home Folks in Peace and War/A Baby in the Siege
A BABY IN THE SIEGE
The war correspondents have had their say about the siege of Atlanta, and some of their remarks figure forth as history. They have presented the matter with technical diagrams, and in language flying beyond the reach of idiom into the regions of rhetoric; and the artists have followed close behind with illuminated crayons, turning the Chattahoochee Hills crosswise the horizon, and giving the muddy river a tendency to wash itself in the Pacific Ocean. These are but the tassels and embroideries that history decorates herself with in order to attract attention, and they are inevitable; for experience must serve a long and an arduous apprenticeship to life before it discovers that a fact is more imposing in its simplicity than in any other dress.
The imposing fact about the siege of Atlanta is that the besieged came to regard it as a very tame affair. It is natural, too, that this should have been so, for the lines of defense were two or three miles from the centre of the city, and the lines of the besiegers were almost as far again. The bombardment was not such an affair as a lively imagination might conjure up, being casual and desultory. The streets were thronged day after day with soldiers and civilians, and even women and children were not lacking to lend liveliness to the scene. Business seemed to thrive, and the ordinary forms of gayety went forward with the zest, if not the frequency, characteristic of the piping times of peace.
It seemed that the confusion—the feeling of present or impending danger—had lifted from the population that sense of responsibility that lends an air of sobriety and sedateness to communities that are blessed with peace. Man's crust of civilization is not by any means as thick as he pretends to believe, and war has the knack of thrusting its long sword through in unexpected places, stripping off the disguise, and exposing the whole shallow scheme.
While Atlanta was enjoying itself in a reckless way, in spite of its portentous surroundings, the outer lines of defense were kept busy. The big guns and the little guns were engaged in a rattling controversy, an incessant dispute, which died away in one quarter only to be renewed in another. This was all very satisfactory, but while it was going on, what must have been the feelings of the inner lines of defense? The outer lines had their morning, noon, and evening frays, and Atlanta had its frolics, but the inner lines lay still and stupid. Here were the reserves—the fiery and dapper little State cadets, fretting and fuming because they were not ordered to the front with the veterans. Here were Joe Brown's "melish," to be hereafter the victims of the wild mistake at Griswoldsville; and here were the conscripts that had been seasoning themselves at the camp of instruction at Adairsville, until Johnston's army—performing its celebrated feat of retiring and sweeping the ground clean as it went—fell upon and absorbed them, giving them an unexpected taste of active service.
Naturally, the inner lines were discontented. The shells that went Atlantaward flew harmlessly over their heads, and the main business of war going forward in the outer ditches came to them like the echo of the toy artillery that the children prank with on holidays. The monotony was all but unbearable, and the pert and fearless little cadets began to break it by "running the blockade." They had an occasional mishap, but their example was contagious among those who had a spirit of enterprise and were fond of an adventure that had a spice of danger in it. The new and jaunty uniform of the cadets seemed to carry good luck with it, for those who wore it went unchallenged about the town at all hours of the day and night; whereas the ragtag and bobtail, who had no such neat and conspicuous toggery, were frequently put to it to escape arrest and detention.
Captain Mosely, who commanded the conscript contingent, was not surprised, therefore, when, on the occasion of a visit to the city, he saw his drill sergeant, Private Chadwick, sauntering along the street arrayed in the uniform of the cadets. The suit was a misfit. The jacket was too short in the waist, and the trousers were too short in the legs, but Chadwick slouched along in happy unconsciousness of the figure he was cutting. The truth is, no one noticed him except his captain. The people who passed him on the street, and whom he passed, were much too busy to be critical. There was hardly a spectacle so singular as to have the charm of novelty to them.
In point of fact, there was at that moment, not a hundred feet in front of Private Chadwick, a curious creature in the similitude of a man, capering about in the middle of the street, waving its arms and jabbering away with a volubility and an incoherence that struck painfully on the ear. And yet hundreds of people passed the spectacle by without so much as turning their heads. But a few paused to watch the antics of the monstrosity, and among them was Private Chadwick. Captain Mosely also paused a little distance away, and gazed curiously at the cringing and writhing figure in the street. A closer inspection showed that what appeared to be a monstrosity was merely antic exaggeration, the contortions of a remarkably agile hunchback.
Captain Mosely watched the capers of the hunchback with an interest that seemed to breed familiarity. The long and limber legs, the long and muscular arms, where had he seen them before? The hunchback moved from side to side, gesticulating and jabbering like one possessed. Some of the spectators tossed money to him, and some tobacco. These gifts he seized and stowed away with the quickness of a monkey. Suddenly, as he was whirling around in idiotic frenzy, his eyes met those of Captain Mosely. As quick as a flash the hunchback's demeanor changed. His arms dropped to his side, his head, with its mass of wild and tangled hair, fell forward on his breast, and he sidled off down the street, the crowd readily making way for him.
Private Chadwick, who had been watching these manœuvres with almost breathless interest, observed the change that came over the hunchback, and looked around to find the cause of it. His eye fell on Captain Mosely, and he brought his right hand down on the palm of his left with a resounding whack.
"I know'd it!" he exclaimed breathlessly, as he reached the captain's side.
"You knew what?"
"Why, I know'd that imp of Satan the minnit I laid eyes on him. I know'd him as quick as he did you."
"Who is he?"
"Why, good Lord, Cap! don't you know the chap that tuck you in on Sugar Mountain when we went after Spurlock? The man that shot Lovejoy? Don't you know Danny Lemmons?"
For answer Captain Mosely gave a long, low whistle of astonishment.
"An' now he 's here playin' crazy. I 'd like to know what he 's up to, ding his hide!"
"He 's a spy," said Captain Mosely. "He was a Union man on Sugar Mountain. He commanded the bushwhackers. He has slipped through the lines. We must n't let him slip back again. He 's a dangerous character. I want you to follow him. He must be arrested. Report to the provost marshal; you know where his headquarters are. I 'll leave instructions there for you."
Chadwick had been trying to keep an eye on the hunchback while talking with his captain, but it was by the merest chance that he saw him turn out of Alabama Street into Whitehall. He was going, as Chadwick expressed it, "in a half-canter," waving his arms and jabbering, and the people were giving him as much room on the sidewalk as he wanted. Private Chadwick walked as rapidly as he could without attracting attention. His instinct told him that if he ran or even appeared to be in too great a hurry he would presently be arrested; so he went forward easily but swiftly; his slouching gait being well calculated to deceive the eyes of those who might be moved to regard him attentively.
But at the corner of Whitehall Street he was delayed by a file of soldiers conveying a squad of forlorn prisoners, captured in some sally or skirmish on the outer lines. Disentangling himself from the small rabble that surrounded and accompanied the soldiers and their prisoners, Chadwick pressed forward again. Looking far down Whitehall he saw the hunchback whisk into Mitchell Street. He hastened forward, but thereafter he was compelled to rely wholly on his own judgment, for when he reached the corner of Mitchell, the hunchback had disappeared. At the outset, therefore, Chadwick had a problem before him. Did the hunchback turn back down Forsyth Street? Did he go out Mitchell, or did he turn down Peters Street? Chadwick asked a few of the people whom he met if they had seen the hunchback, but he received unsatisfactory replies.
He therefore turned into Peters Street, which at that time led into the most disreputable part of the town. It led through "Snake Nation," where crime had its headquarters, and then outward and onward through green fields and forests until it lost itself in the red trenches that war had dug. Private Chadwick followed the street somewhat aimlessly, knowing that only an accident would enable him to find the hunchback. As he crossed the railroad, a shrill voice railed out at him; it may have carried a curse, it may have borne an invitation; he did not wait to see. On the hill-top beyond, he paused. Here Peters Street became once more the public road, and here Private Chadwick commanded a fine view of the town and the country beyond. As he stood hesitating, he heard the voice of a woman calling him. He would have shrunk from it as from the voice of Snake Nation, but this voice pronounced his name.
He turned and saw a woman standing at the gate of a neat-looking cottage, a hundred feet back from the street. With her hair half-falling down, and her sleeves rolled up, this woman did not present a pretty picture at first sight; but, within hearing of Snake Nation, a face that wore the stamp of innocence was a thing of beauty. Private Chadwick saw it and felt it, and though the gesture with which he tipped his hat was awkward, it was quick and sincere.
"I 'mos' know you 've done fergot me," she said, as Chadwick went toward her. "But I 'd a know'd you if I 'd a seed you in Texas."
There was something pathetic in her eagerness to be recognized, yet her attitude was not one of expectation. Chadwick looked at her and shook his head slowly.
"No 'm. I disremember if I 've ever seed you. But, Lord! I 've been so tore up an' twisted aroun' sence this fuss begun, that I would n't know my own sister if she wuz to meet me in a strange place. You may be her, for all I know."
The woman smiled at the deftly put compliment.
"No, my goodness! I ain't your sister. I wisht I wuz right now, I 'd feel lots better. No! Don't you remember that Christmas on Sugar Mountain when Israel Spurlock an' Polly Powers wuz married?"
"Why, yes 'm!" exclaimed Chadwick, "I 've been a-thinkin' 'bout that all day long."
"Well, I wuz right thar!"
"Now, you don't say! You ain't Cassy—Cassy"—
"Cassy Tatum! Yes, siree! The very gal!" She laughed, as though well pleased that Chadwick should remember her first name.
"Well—well—well!" said Chadwick.
"Yes, I married right along after that, an' you can't guess who to?"
Chadwick scratched his head and pretended to be trying to guess. By this time, Cassy had led him into the house by the back entrance, and placed a chair for him in a little room that was apparently her own. A baby lay sleeping on the bed. Chadwick gazed at it suspiciously as he seated himself in the chair she placed for him. He felt out of place.
"Oh, you 'd never guess it while the sun, moon, an' stars shine," continued Cassy. "I married Danny Lemmons!"
"The great kingdom come!" exclaimed Chadwick, leaping from his chair. "The humpback man? Is he anywheres aroun' here? Ef he is, don't tell me—don't tell me! He 'd never forgive you while the worl' stan's."
"What 's he got agin you?" inquired Mrs. Lemmons.
"Not anything, ma'am, that I knows on," replied Chadwick, sitting down again.
"How I come to marry him I 'll never tell you," said Cassy, seating herself on the side of the bed. "But you know how gals is. They don't know their own mind ef they 've got one. Pap was in the war fightin' fer sesaysion, an' Maw wuz dead, an' thar I wuz a-livin' roun' from family to family, spinnin' an' weavin', an' waitin' on the sick. I tell you now, a gal that 's got to live from han' to mouth thataway, an' be a dependin' on Tom, Dick, an' Harry an' the'r wives—that gal hain't in no gyarden of Eden—now, you may say what you please! Well, jest about that time, here come this here creetur you call Danny Lemmons. He pestered me mighty nigh to death. I could n't take two steps away from the house but what he 'd jump out of the bushes an' ast me to have 'im. An' a whole passel of people up an' tol' me I 'd better marry 'im. They 'low'd a cripple man wuz better 'n no man. Well, they aggervated me tell I married 'im."
Cassy paused here, picking imaginary thrums and ravelings from her apron. Chadwick fumbled with his hat and looked gravely at a sun-spot as round as a dollar dancing on the floor.
"I married him," she went on, "an' I jumped out of the fryin'-pan right spang in the fire. I tell you, he 's the Devil—claws an' all. He led me a dog's life. Jealous! Fidgety! Mean! Low-minded! Nasty!—Shucks! I could n't begin to tell you about that creetur ef I wuz to set here an' talk a week. It got so that I couldn't no more live wi' him than I could live in a pot er bilin' water. So when the army come along, I tuck my baby an' come away. He vowed day in an' day out that ef I ever run off he 'd foller me up an' git the baby thar, an' take it off in the woods an' make 'way wi' it."
At this point the baby in question joined the conversation with some remarks in its own peculiar language, and Cassy lifted it from the bed, a squirming bundle of red fists and keen squalls, and, turning her chair away from Chadwick, proceeded to silence it with the old-fashioned argument that healthy mothers know so well how to use. It was a bundle of such doubtful shape that Chadwick had his suspicions aroused.
"The young un 's all right, ain't it?" he ventured. "It don't take atter the daddy, I reckon?"
For answer Cassy bent over the baby, laughing and cooing.
"Did 'e nassy ol' man sink mammy's itty bitty pudnum pie have a hump on 'e fweet itty bitty back? Nyassum did sink so! Mammy's itty bitty pudnum pie be mad in de weckly."
Chadwick, listening with something of a sheepish air, understood from this philological discourse that any person who suggested or intimated that the young Lemmons was shapen or misshapen on the pattern of the senior Lemmons was an unnatural and a perverse slanderer. Cassy looked over her shoulder at him and laughed. In a few moments she placed the baby on the bed.
"Well," said Chadwick, shuffling his feet about on the floor uneasily, "you may as well primp up an' look your best, bekaze it hain't been a half-hour sence I seed Danny Lemmons a-caperin' about in town yander."
The color fled from the woman's face, leaving it white as a sheet. The blue veins in her temples shone ghastly through the skin.
"I hope you ain't afeard of 'im?" inquired Chadwick, with a pitying glance.
"Afeard! Yes, I 'm afeard to do murder. I 'm afeard to have his blood on me!" She spoke in a husky whisper. Her eyes glittered and her lips were drawn and dry. As she reached for her chair, her hands shook. After she sat down, her fingers opened and shut convulsively. "I 've done dreampt about it," she went on, trying to clear her throat, "an' it 's obleege to be. Sev'm times has it come to me in my sleep that I 've got his blood on my han's. Hit wuz as plain as the nose on your face. I seed it an' felt it. How it come thar, my dreams hain't tole me, but I know in reason hit 's bekaze I killt 'im. Well, ef it 's got to come, I wisht it 'ud make 'aste an' come, an' be done wi' it."
She went to a little cupboard in one corner of the room, turned the wooden button that kept the door shut, and drew forth a carpenter's hatchet. The blue steel of the blade shone brightly. It was brand new.
"That little thing," she said, holding it up, "cost sev'm dollars and a half. But, la! I reckon it 's wuth the money." She lifted her apron, showing a small wire bent in the shape of a hook, and suspended from her belt. On this wire she hung the hatchet, the hook fitting into the slit or notch on the inner side of the blade.
"Well," exclaimed Chadwick admiringly, "that 's the fust time I ever know'd what a notch in a hatchet wuz fer!"
"Let a woman 'lone fer that!" replied Cassy, making an effort to laugh.
"I don't reckon Danny Lemmons 'll likely fin' you here," said Chadwick after a while.
"Who—him! Why, he 's the imp of the Ole Boy. Ef he 's in town, he kin shet his eyes tight an' walk right straight here. The human bein' don't live that kin fool Danny Lemmons. I reckon maybe I could take the baby an' hide out in the woods; but them ole folks in the house thar, they tuck me in when I did n't have a mouffle to eat ner a place to lay my head, an' now they 're in trouble I hain't a-gwine to sneak off an' leave 'em—I hain't a-gwine to do it. They 're both ole an' trimbly. The ole man says he 's got a pile er money hid aroun' here some'rs, but he 's done gone an' fergot wharbouts he put it at, an' he jes vows he won't go off an' leave it."
She spoke slowly, and paused every now and then to pick at her apron, as though reflecting over matters that had no part in her conversation.
"I declare to gracious!" she continued, "it 's pitiful to see them two ole creeturs go moanin' an' mumblin' aroun', a-pokin' in cracks an' in the holes in the groun' a-huntin' fer the'r money. They 've ripped up the'r bed-ticks an' tore up the floor a time or two. They hain't got nothin' to live fer 'less'n it 's the money."
Chadwick took his leave as soon as he could do so without breaking the thread of Cassy's discourse. He left her talking volubly to the baby, which had jumped in its sleep and woke screaming with fright.
"I reckon it dreampt it seed its daddy," said Chadwick, as he bowed himself out.
II
Meanwhile Danny Lemmons was carrying out plans of his own. He was a spy without knowing what a serious venture he was engaged in. He had been roaming around in the Federal lines for a fortnight, playing his fiddle, and cutting up his queer antics. One night, after playing a selection of jigs and reels for a group of young officers attached to General Slocum's staff, he said he was going into Atlanta after his baby.
"You 'll never go," said one of the officers.
"I 'll go or bust," replied Danny Lemmons.
"If you go you 'll stay," remarked another officer. "I believe you 're a Johnny, anyhow."
"I 'll go, and I 'll come back right here, an' I 'll fetch my baby back."
"Bah! Bring us some papers. Ransack Joe Johnston's headquarters. Stuff a map under your jacket. Bring us something to show you 've been in Atlanta. Anybody can skirmish around here and steal a baby, but not one man in a thousand can go through the lines and ransack the headquarters of the Johnnies and bring back documents to show for it."
"I 'm the man! Jest hol' my fiddle till I git back!" exclaimed Danny Lemmons.
How the hunchback passed the Confederate lines it would be impossible to say. He was as alert as any flying creature, as cunning as any creeping thing, as crafty as patience and practice can make a man. He reached Atlanta and made himself as much at home in the streets as any of the little arabs that flitted from corner to corner. He saw Captain Mosely, knew him, and was anxious to avoid him, not because he appreciated the danger of his position, but because he could not successfully play the part of an imbecile under Mosely's eyes.
He went rapidly down Whitehall Street, keeping up the pretence of idiocy, but when he turned and went into Forsyth, he dropped the character altogether, and became once more the Danny Lemmons of Sugar Mountain,—queer but shrewd. He inquired the way to headquarters. The soldier whom he asked directed him to the provost-marshal's office, which was not far from where the Kimball House now stands. He made no haste to get there, loitering as he went along, and examining whatever was new or strange with the curiosity of a countryman.
The result was that when he reached the provost-marshal's office, that official was preparing to send out and arrest him. Captain Mosely had preceded him by half an hour. The moment he entered Danny Lemmons knew that something was wrong, and, quick as a flash, he assumed the character of a "loony." The transition was so quick that it was unobserved by two keen-eyed men who fixed their attention on him as soon as he entered the door. He paused and gazed at them with a deprecating grin.
"Is this place whar they conscript them what wants to jine the war?" he asked.
The provost-marshal, a man with a tremendous mustache and beetling eyebrows, stared at him savagely, but made no reply.
"Oh, yes, hit is!" exclaimed Danny Lemmons, "bekaze they tol' me down the road that you-all 'd let me jine the war."
"You are a spy!" said the officer fiercely.
"Lord, yes! Wuss 'n that, I reckon. I kin run an' jump, an' rastle. Whoopee, yes! You ain't never seed me rastle. Shucks! I kin tie one han' behin' me an' put your back in the dirt. Yes-sir-ree!" He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and stood blinking at the officer.
The two men who were standing near, one tall and muscular and the other short and fat, exchanged glances and tried their best to keep their faces straight.
"When did you leave the Yankee army?" the officer asked.
"Las' night!" responded Danny Lemmons. "Lord, yes! I follered 'em down from Sugar Mountain, tryin' to see what devilment they wuz up to. When I wanted to jine in the war, they 'low'd I wuz crazy in the head an' unbefittin' in the body."
It was a bold stroke, but it was effectual. The fierce look of the officer faded into one of astonishment.
"How did you get through the lines?" he asked.
"I walked," replied Danny Lemmons; "I jest had to walk. Them fellers tuck my creetur away from me."
"Go in that room there and wait till I call you," said the officer.
"Is that whar they jine inter the war?" asked the hunchback.
"Yes; I 'll attend to you directly." The officer stepped to the door and shut it, and turned to the two men who had been listening to the conversation. "What do you think of him, boys?"
The tall man, whose name was Blandford, was picking his teeth. The short, fat man, whose name was Deomateri, was busily engaged in polishing his finger-nails. They had served as scouts with Morgan, and later with Forrest. Mr. Blandford passed his hand through his long black hair and shook his head. Mr. Deomateri put his knife in his pocket, kicked his heels against the floor one after the other, and remarked:—
"If he is n't an idiot, he is the smartest man in this town."
"I started to say so," said Mr. Blandford, "but it takes a mighty spraddle-legged 'if' to reach that far."
"Well, I 'll tell you," exclaimed the officer, "he has n't got sense enough to know how to tell a lie. I 'll keep him here until Mosely or his man comes, and then I 'll give him a drink and turn him loose."
As this seemed to dispose of the matter, neither Blandford nor Deomateri made any response. The clerks in the office were busy writing out reports and filling out blanks of various kinds, and to these for a time the officer in charge devoted his attention.
The room in which Danny Lemmons had been placed was the provost-marshal's private office. On his desk was a rough map of the inner defenses of Atlanta. In the pigeon-holes were a number of papers of more or less importance. In the farther end of the room was a door. It was locked, and the key gone, but in one of the pigeon-holes was a large brass key. Danny Lemmons noted all these things with inward satisfaction. He took the key, unlocked the door, and saw that it led into an alley-way. Then he replaced the key in the pigeon-hole, leaving the door unlocked. He waited five or ten minutes, and then stuck his head into the outer office, exclaiming:—
"Don't you all run off an' leave me by myse'f, bekaze I hain't usen to it."
The clerks laughed, and even Mr. Blandford smiled sadly, but there was no other response. Danny Lemmons shut the door, seized the map, and as many papers as he could conveniently stuff under his jacket and in his pockets, opened the back-door noiselessly, locked it again, threw the key away, and turned swiftly into Pryor Street.
After a while Chadwick made his appearance. He went in and modestly inquired if Captain Mosely had been there. The provost-marshal, who was at that moment talking to Blandford and Deomateri about their experience with Morgan, recognized Chadwick as the person who had been sent in pursuit of the spy.
"Did you catch your man?" he inquired.
"Ketch nothing" responded Chadwick. "A creetur-company could n't ketch him."
"Well, we 've caught him!"
"Where'bouts is he?" inquired Chadwick.
"In my room there."
"In there by hisself?"
"Yes."
"Well, sir," exclaimed Chadwick excitedly, "I 'll bet you a thrip agin a bushel of chestnuts that he ain't in there."
"What do you know about him?" inquired Mr. Blandford.
"Bless you, man! I seed his capers in Sugar Mountain."
"Go in there and see if he 's the man you are hunting for."
Chadwick went to the door, opened it, and glanced casually around the empty room.
"Oh, yes! He 's the man I 'm huntin' fer," he said as he turned away.
"How do you know?" asked Deomateri, observing an expression of humorous disgust on Chadwick's face.
"Bekaze he ain't in there, by jing!"
The provost-marshal rushed into the room, followed by Blandford, Deomateri, and the whole army of clerks. He saw that his desk had been rifled of important papers, and he sank in a chair, pale and trembling, and gasping for breath.
"Gentlemen," said Blandford to the clerks, "get back to your work. There is nothing to excite you." Then he closed the door and turned to the officer. "My friend, you will demoralize your office, and destroy all discipline. Brace up and give your backbone a chance to do its work."
"I am ruined," cried the officer. "Ruined! That miserable thief has stolen the papers that I ought to have sent to headquarters yesterday."
"Well, you nee' n't to worry about it," remarked Chadwick dryly, "bekaze Danny Lemmons has fooled lots smarter folks 'n you."
III
But for Blandford and Deomateri, a great uproar would have been made in the provost-marshal's office. That functionary sat in his chair and cried "Ruined!" until he had been fortified with two or three hearty slugs of whiskey, and then the blood began to flow in his veins and he took courage. In fact he became bloodthirsty. He walked the floor and waved his arms, and swore that he would crush Danny Lemmons when he caught him. He would hardly remain quiet long enough to agree to any rational plan for the recapture of the hunchback, but he finally consented to let Chadwick have his saddle-horse, Blandford and Deomateri having horses of their own.
The three were soon in the saddle, and now it was Chadwick who undertook to conduct the expedition. By his direction, Mr. Deomateri was to ride out Peters Street, Mr. Blandford out Whitehall, while he himself was to ride out Pryor and turn into Whitehall Street, some distance out. At the junction of Whitehall and Peters they were to meet and decide on their future course of action. This plan was faithfully carried out, but it came to nothing.
At the point where they met the two thoroughfares had ceased to be streets, and merged into a public road, with a growth of timber-oak and pine on each side.
"Why do we come here?" inquired Deomateri. Blandford merely shook his head. He had dismounted and was leaning against his horse, making a picturesque figure in the green wood.
"Well," responded Chadwick, "we might jest as well be here as to be anywhere, accordin' to my notions. This road is open plum to Jonesboro an' furder. We 've been keepin' it open. The Yanks are bent aroun' the town like a hoss-shoe, an' this road runs right betwixt the p'ints where their lines don't jine."
"That 's so," remarked Blandford, regarding Chadwick with some interest.
"Well, then, we ain't got nothin' to do wi' how Danny Lemmons got in. He 's slicker 'n sin, an' he mought 'a' run the picket lines at night; but shore as shootin', he can't run 'em in the daytime. Now, how 'll he git out?"
"Perhaps he has already passed here," Deomateri suggested.
"Well, sir," said Chadwick, "he 's come to town on business, an' he 'll try to attend to it." Then Chadwick told his companions about his adventure with Mrs. Lemmons and the baby.
"By George, Deo!" exclaimed Blandford, swinging himself into his saddle, "this begins to look like sport."
"For the baby?" inquired Deomateri.
"For all hands," said Blandford gayly.
"But ef Mizzes Lemmons lays her eyes on Mister Lemmons," remarked Chadwick, "the baby 'll lack a daddy, an' the lack 'll be no loss."
Thereupon, the three men turned their horses' heads into Peters Street and rode toward the hill where Chadwick had found Mrs. Lemmons. They rode leisurely, watching on all sides for the hunchback. When they reached the point where McDaniel Street now crosses Peters, they saw a woman coming toward them waving her arms wildly, and shouting something they could not hear.
"Ef I ain't mighty much mistaken," said Chadwick, "that 's the lady we 've been talkin' about. Yes, sir!" he exclaimed, as she came nearer, "that 's her, certain and shore! That hellian has gone an' got the baby!" He spurred his horse forward to meet the woman, who, as soon as she saw him, screamed out:—
"You told him, you sneakin' wretch! You told him wher' my baby wuz! You did—you did—you did!"
In the extremity of her excitement she would have laid her hands on Chadwick, but his horse shied, and kept him out of her reach.
"What 's this? What 's this?" exclaimed Blandford.
"Oh, I 'm distracted!" cried Cassy, breaking down. "My baby 's gone!. That slink of Satan has took an' run on wi' my poor little baby!" she turned to Chadwick and then to the others. "Oh, ef you 've got any pity in you, run and overtake him. Jes' ketch 'm an' hol' 'im tell I can git my han's on 'im."
"Which way did he go?" asked Blandford.
"He went right up dat away!" exclaimed a negro woman excitedly. She pointed across the railroad. "He come lopin' 'long here, an' he went right up dat away. I seed 'im. I wuz right at 'im. Yasser. Right up dat away." She was both excited and indignant. "He look mo' like de Devil dan any white man I ever is see. An' de baby wuz cryin' like it heart done broke! "
"Oh, Lord 'a' mercy, what shall I do?" cried Cassy, wringing her hands.
"'T ain't been long, nuther," said the negro woman, "'kaze I been stan'in' right here waitin'. I des know'd sump'n n'er wuz gwine ter happen. I des know'd it. Why n't you all run on an' ketch 'im? I boun' ef I had a hoss an' could ride straddle I 'd ketch 'im."
"Oh, what shall I do?" cried Cassy.
What is now McDaniel Street was not then laid off. It was a short cut through a cow pasture, running through an open country, dotted here and there with clumps of pine and scrub oak. Through this the horsemen rode at a swinging gallop, followed at some distance, as they could observe, by Cassy, the negro woman, and a few stragglers, whose curiosity had been turned into sympathetic interest. Chadwick bore toward the left calkin of the line that he had described as a horseshoe, and in a little while his companions heard him shout and saw him wave his hand. They swerved to the right and rode toward him, their horses running easily. As soon as they caught sight of the fugitive, Blandford rode at full speed until he had passed the hunchback, and then turned and rode toward him, holding in his right hand a cavalry pistol that sparkled in the sun.
The hunchback saw that escape was impossible, and he made no farther attempt. He ceased to run and sat down at the foot of a huge pine, making a vain effort to soothe the frantic baby, which had screamed until its cries sounded like those of some wild animal in mortal agony. This and the sinister aspect of the hunchback so wrought upon Blandford that he leaped from his horse and would have brained the creature on the spot, but for the intervention of Deomateri, who was in time to seize his arm.
"Watch out, Blandford!" cried Deomateri in great good-humor; "don't scare the baby. If it lets out another link it will go into spasms. Come here, chicksy," he said to the baby. "Poor little thing! Hushaby, now!" He tried in vain to quiet the child, but it would not be quieted. He walked up and down with it, clucked to it, tried to give it his watch to play with, dandled it in his hands, but all to no purpose. It continued its hoarse and gasping cries.
Meanwhile, Chadwick and Blandford were giving attention to Danny Lemmons. They searched him from head to foot, and took from him every scrap of paper they could find on his person. Blandford did the searching, and he was not at all gentle in his methods. The hunchback was captured, but not conquered.
"Good God A'mighty, gentermen! can't a man come an' git his own baby atter his wife 's run off wi' some un else? How you know she did n't tell me to take an' take it home to Sugar Mountain? Dad blast you! Ef you 'll jest gi' me a fair showin' I kin whip arry one on you! I 'm a great min' to spit in your face!"
Thus he raved as Blandford searched him, and even after his hands had been securely tied with a tether that had hung at Deomateri's saddle. Meanwhile the baby refused to be comforted. It seemed to be nearly exhausted, and the hoarse and unnatural sounds it made were more pitiable than its natural cries would have been. At last Chadwick offered to take it. To his astonishment it held out its little hands to him, and immediately ceased its frantic efforts to cry as soon as it found itself in his arms, though it continued to moan and sob a little. But the child was no longer afraid, for it looked up in Chadwick's face and tried to smile as it nestled against his shoulder.
The problem of the baby temporarily solved, the three soldiers would have made toward the city with their prisoner, but here a fresh difficulty presented itself. The hunchback refused to budge. He had ceased his threats and curses, and was now ominously quiet. If he had been stone-blind and deaf he could not have more completely ignored the orders to get up and move on.
"Break off a hickory lim' an' frail h—ll out'n 'im," said Chadwick. "That 's the way I use to do when my ole steer lay down in the road."
But Deomateri shook his head. For sundry reasons this mode of moving the hunchback was not to be thought of. While they were holding what Chadwick called a council of war, Danny Lemmons's wife came in sight, followed by the negro woman who had been the means of the capture of the hunchback.
"Well," remarked Chadwick,—anticipation in his tone,—"yander comes Miss Cassy herself. I reckon maybe she 'll up an' tell us how to make the creetur' move; an' ef I ain't mighty much mistaken she 'll whirl in an' he'p us."
At this the hunchback showed signs of uneasiness. He twisted himself around, as if to see where his wife was. Failing in this, he gathered his long legs under him and rose to his feet. He saw the woman and then glanced furtively around as if to find some avenue of escape.
"Gentermen!" he cried, "you-all 'll have to keep Cassy off'n me, bekaze she 's plum ravin' deestracted when she gits mad." His voice was a whine, and anxiety had taken the place of craftiness in his countenance.
The woman strode forward steadily, but not hurriedly. Her face was pale, and there was a drawn and pinched expression about her mouth that might have been mistaken for grief or fear. Chadwick pressed toward her with the baby, as though proud of the opportunity to deliver it into her arms. But she passed by him with an impatient gesture, in spite of the renewed whimpering of the child at sight of her; and the negro woman came forward and took it instead.
The hunchback would have made a barricade of Blandford, but that blunt soldier seized him by his arm and brought him face to face with his wife.
"You mean, sneakin', thievin' houn'!" she cried, gazing at him and breathing hard. Then she untied her bonnet, which had fallen on her shoulders, and threw it on the ground, her hair falling loose as she did so. Still catching her breath in little gasps, she began to roll up her sleeves, showing an arm as hard and as firm as that of a man.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Blandford, perceiving what she would be at. "None of that, ma'am. Don't scratch him. We want him to look as pretty as possible."
"Mister!" she cried, flinging her head back and turning to Blandford, "don't git me stirred up. You seed what he wuz try in' to do, but you don't nigh know what he kin do. Ontie him, an' he kin whip arry one of you, fair fist an' skull, rush an' scramble." Her tone was both argumentative and appealing. As she spoke a shell went spinning and singing overhead. The hunchback dodged involuntarily, but the woman remained unmoved. "I tell you, now," she went on, "you don't know him. You can't carry him to town ef it wuz to save the world. He 'd hamstring your creeturs an' git away. You think he 's cripple, an' he does look cripple, but the man don't live that kin out-do him. You think I want to take the inturn on him, but I don't. I ain't nothin' but a woman, but me an' him is got a score to settle. Ontie him, ef he ain't done ontied hisself, an' give him a knife or a pistol or anything. I don't want nothin' but my naked han's." Her bosom rose and fell convulsively and her hands refused to remain at rest.
"Don't do it, gentermen!" exclaimed the hunchback. She 'll kill me."
The tragic features of the situation escaped Blandford and Deomateri, but the simple mind of Chadwick recognized them,—recognized, in fact, nothing else.
"I think," said Blandford, winking at Deomateri, "that we 'd better untie this chap until he and his wife settle this family quarrel. What do you think about it?"
"Oh, by all means let the family quarrel be settled!" remarked Deomateri in a matter-of-fact way.
The result of this grim humor could hardly have been foreseen. In some way the hunchback had worked his hands loose from the thong that bound them, and he made a desperate dash for liberty. The woman was after him in a moment. As she ran, she drew forth from under her apron the hatchet that Chadwick had seen her conceal there. She was hardly a match for the hunchback in a foot-race, but passion, hatred, the venom that had supplanted anxiety for her child, lent swiftness to her feet, and the soldiers, who stood watching as if paralyzed, expected every moment to see her bury the hatchet in the man's deformity. She poised her glittering weapon to strike, but at that moment her foot slipped and she fell to the ground. Then there was a zooning sound in the air, a thud, and a deafening roar. A shell had burst, as it seemed, full upon pursuer and pursued.
The soldiers, watching, saw the shell strike and felt the concussion shake the ground at their very. feet. They saw a volume of dust and turf spout violently upward. When this had subsided they rode forward to view the scene. The woman, unhurt, sat on the ground, half-laughing and half-crying. Not far away lay Danny Lemmons, torn, shattered, and lifeless.
"You all thought," said Cassy simply, "that I wuz atter him by myself. But I know'd all the time the Almighty wuz wi' me." She rose, seized the baby, and hugged it tightly to her bosom, where it lay laughing and cooing.