Tales of the Home Folks in Peace and War/An Ambuscade
AN AMBUSCADE
It befell that in the first scuffle that occurred between the Federals and Confederates somewhere in the neighborhood of Jonesboro, when Sherman was preparing to swing loose from his base at Atlanta, Jack Kilpatrick, commanding a squad of sharpshooters, was seriously wounded. It was all his own fault, too. He was acting outside his regular duties. Some excited colonel called for a courier to send an unnecessary message to an imaginary regiment. Kilpatrick, seeing no courier at hand, rode forward and offered his services.
Mounted on his black mare, he made it a point to expose himself. He could n't help it for the life of him. It was in his blood. So, instead of going to the rear, he galloped out between the lines. A big Irishman on the Federal side, whose name was O'Halloran, leveled his rifle at the horseman. Then he lifted his eyes from the sights and took another look at the venturesome rider.
"'T is the young Johnny, or Oi 'm a naygur!" he exclaimed. Then he drew a long breath. "Oi was in wan of tetchin' the traygur."
But there were other marksmen farther up the line who were not nice in such matters. There was a rattling fire of musketry. Plato, Kilpatrick's body servant, saw his young master reel in the saddle as the reins fell loose from the hand that held them—saw him reel again as the mare turned of her own accord and brought her rider whirling back to the point of departure—where he fell fainting in the arms of his own men.
Kilpatrick had taken many chances before and escaped unscathed; but this time a bullet went tearing through his shoulder, entering obliquely, and going out at the collar-bone under his chin. He was promptly carried to the rear by his men, followed by Plato, leading the black mare. A surgeon dressed the wound hastily, remarking that it was a pity the young man could n't be carried where he might get the benefit of careful nursing.
"I kin kyar 'im home, suh," said Plato. "'T ain't so mighty fur ter whar my young marster live at."
"How far?" asked the surgeon.
"In de neighborhoods er forty mile, suh," replied Plato.
The surgeon shook his head. "He can't ride horseback. But he 'll die if he 's left here."
"I wuz layin' off fer ter borry a buggy some'rs," remarked Plato.
The surgeon considered the matter. "Well, get it," he said presently, "and be quick about it. I 'll pad him up for traveling the best I can. It's one chance in ten thousand. But he's young and strong, and the one chance is his."
Plato sprang on the black mare, and in less than half an hour had returned with a two-seated buggy.
"That 's the very thing," said the surgeon.
The rear seat was taken out, the cushions of both seats were placed on the bottom, and over these a hospital mattress and some blankets were spread. On these the wounded man was placed, and then the surgeon deftly packed a dozen layers of cotton batting under the shattered shoulder. Altogether Jack was made as comfortable as a badly wounded man could be under the circumstances.
"It is now ten o'clock," said the surgeon, looking at his watch. "You ought to have him in his own bed by six this afternoon. Kill the horse on level ground, but bring it to life in the rough places. You know what I mean."
"If he hurts that mare," young Kilpatrick declared, with as much energy as he could command, "I 'll see him about it when I get well."
"I wish ter de Lord you could git up an' see me 'bout it now," remarked Plato with unction. "Kaze dish yer filly is sho got ter pick up 'er foots an' put 'em down agin dis day ef she ain't never done it befo'."
Whereupon he climbed back into the buggy, looked around at his young master to see that everything was all right, and then gave the mare the word. Though the spirited animal had been broken to harness by Plato himself, she had been under the saddle so long that this new position fretted her. She was peevish as a woman, Plato said. The harness chafed her, the shafts worried her, and the rattle of the buggy disturbed her. She wobbled from one side of the road to the other, and went about this unusual business as awkwardly as a colt. Finally Plato stopped her in the road and cut the blinders from the bridle. This was a great relief to the high-strung creature. She could now see what was going on in front, behind, and on both sides. She gave a snort of satisfaction and settled down to work with a will that pleased the negro immensely.
Plato knew every foot of the road, having often traveled it at night, and so the only stops that were made were when the wounded man wanted water, which was to be had from the roadside springs. The journey was made without incident, and Plato, while driving rapidly, had driven so carefully that when he reached home his young master was fast asleep. And the mare, while tired, was in fine condition, only her rations of food and supply of water had to be cut short until after she had thoroughly cooled off.
Plato had hardly got out of sight of the smoke of the firing before the Confederates fell back before the great odds before them and moved aside from Sherman's path. They were not in a panic, but the pressure was too heavy, and when they retired they were compelled to leave some of their wounded in a field hospital in charge of the surgeon who had sent Jack Kilpatrick home. The enemy's skirmishers promptly moved up to the position vacated by the Confederates. Among the foremost was a big soldier who went directly to the rude shelters that had been rigged up to accommodate the wounded. He went through each and examined the faces of the wounded.
"What the devil are you after?" asked the surgeon in a tone in which curiosity and irritability were strangely mixed.
"'T is nothin' but a slip of a lad Oi 'm lookan for, sor," replied the big soldier with extraordinary politeness, considering the time and occasion.
"There are no wounded Yanks here," the surgeon explained, smiling pleasantly as he glanced at the puzzled, good-natured face of the Irishman.
"'T is a Johnny lad Oi 'm lookan for,—a b'y not bigger 'n me two fists. Oi seen um gallopin' on a black horse, an' I seen um stagger whin a dirty blacksmith in the line give it to um in the shoulder,—the blackguard that he was!"
"Oh!" exclaimed the surgeon; "that was Jack Kilpatrick."
"The same, sor."
"How did you come to know Kilpatrick?"
"Sharpshootin', sor. We had the divvle's own time thryin' to ploog aych ither bechune the two eyes. But we wuz chums, sor, betwixt the lines. Oi sez to meself, sez Oi, 'Oi 'll be lookan afther the lad, whin we brush the Johnnies away, an' maybe fetch 'im a docther.' Is he clane done for, sor?"
"He 'll need a doctor before he gets one, I 'm thinking," remarked the surgeon, and then he told how Jack Kilpatrick had been sent home.
The big Irishman seemed better satisfied, and pushed forward with the advancing lines.
II
Plato was a very wise negro, considering his opportunities, and as he sat on the edge of the veranda next day, near the window of his young master's room, he shook his head and wondered whether he had acted for the best in coming home,—whether it would n't have been better if his young master had been left to take his chances with the rest in the rude field hospitals.
For it was perfectly clear to Plato that the home people were thoroughly demoralized. "Ole miss,"—this was Jack's mother, a woman of as clear a head and as steady a hand as anybody in the world, a woman of unfailing resources, as it seemed to her friends and dependents,—was now as nervous and as fidgety and as helpless as any other woman. "Young mistiss,"—this was Jack's sister Flora, a girl with as much fire and courage as are given to women,—was in a state of collapse. Now, if it had been somebody else's son, somebody else's brother, who had been brought to their house wounded, these ladies would have been entirely equal to the occasion. But it was Jack, of all persons in the world; it was the son, the brother. Courage fled like a shadow, and all resources were dissipated as if they had been so much vapor.
The wounded man had slept fairly well during the night, but in the early hours of morning his fever began to rise, as was to be expected, and then he became delirious. He talked and laughed and rattled away with his jokes,—he was noted for his dry humor,—and occasionally he paused to take breath and groan. And all that the resourceful Mrs. Kilpatrick and the courageous Flora could do was to sit and gaze at each other and wipe their overflowing eyes with trembling hands.
Plato was sent to the village, nine miles away, for the family doctor, but he returned with a note from that fat and amiable old gentleman, saying that he had just been informed that the entire Federal army was marching to surround the village, and, as for him, he proposed to stay and defend his family. This news went to Aunt Candace, the plantation nurse, in short order. Plato was her son, and he felt called on to tell her about it.
Aunt Candace made no comment whatever. She knocked the ashes out of her pipe, leaned it in a corner of the fireplace, tightened up her head handkerchief, and waddled off to the big house. Plato knew by the way his mammy looked that there would be a fuss, and he hung back, pretending that he had some business at the horse lot.
"Whar you gwine?" asked Aunt Candace, seeing he was not coming.
"I 'm des gwine"—
"Youer des gwine 'long wid me, dat 's whar you des gwine. An' you better come on. Ef I lay my han' on you, you 'll feel it, mon."
"Yassum, I 'm comin'," replied Plato. He was very polite when he knew his mammy had her dander up.
Aunt Candace marched into the big house with an air of proprietorship.
"Wharbouts is dat chile?" she asked in a tone that a stranger would have described as vicious.
"He 's in here, Candace," replied Mrs. Kilpatrick gently.
Candace went into the room and stood by the bedside. The weather was chilly, and she placed her cold hand on Jack's burning brow. Instantly he stopped talking and seemed to sleep.
"God knows, honey," she said; "dey 'd set here an' let de green flies blow you befo' dey 'd git up out 'n der cheers an' he'p you."
Mrs. Kilpatrick and Flora forgot their grief for a moment and stared at Aunt Candace with speechless indignation. This was just what the old negro wanted them to do.
"Plato!" she cried, "take de ax an' run down ter de branch an' git me yo' double han'ful er dogwood bark,—not de outside; I want de skin on de inside. An' I want some red-oak bark,—a hatfull. An' don't you be gone long, needer. Keze ef I hafter holler at you, I 'll jump on you an' gi' you a frailin'. Now, ef you don't believe it, you des try me."
But Plato did believe it, and he went hurrying off as rapidly as he used to go when he was a boy.
"Whar dat house gal?" asked Aunt Candace abruptly.
"I 'll call her," said Flora; but the girl that moment appeared at the door.
"Whar you been, you lazy wench!" cried Aunt Candace. "Go git me a pan er col' water an' a clean towel; I don't keer ef it 's a rag, ef it 's a clean rag." Then she turned her attention to Jack. "God knows, honey, ef you can't git nobody else ter do nothin' fer you, ol' Candace 'll do it. She 's nussed you befo' an' she 'll do it again."
Aunt Candace's words and manner were calculated and intended to exasperate her old mistress and her young mistress.
"If you think I intend to submit to your impudence"—Mrs. Kilpatrick began with as much dignity as she could command under the circumstances. But Aunt Candace was equal to the emergency. Before her mistress could say what she intended, the old negress rose from the bedside, her eyes blazing with wrath.
"Whose imperdence? Whose imperdence? Ef I felt dat away, I 'd 'a' sot down yander an' nussed my own sickness an' let dis chile die. He 's yo' chile; he ain't none er mine; an' yit youer settin' dar hol'in yo' han's an' wipin' yo' eyes, whiles de fever fair bu'nin' 'im up.
"He ain't none er my chile, yit ef he ain't got none er my blood in 'im, it 's kaze nig ger milk don't turn to blood. I don't keer what you say; I don't keer what you do; you can't skeer me, an' you can't drive me. I 'll see you bofe in torment, an' go dar myself befo' I 'll set down an' see Jack Kilpatrick lay dar an die! You hear dat, don't you? Now, go on an' do what you gwine ter do!"
Here was defiance, revolt, insurrection, and riot, and yet somehow Mrs. Kilpatrick and Flora felt relieved when the explosion came. Aunt Candace was very much in earnest, but it needed something of the kind to rouse mother and daughter from the stupor of helpless grief. They began to move about and set things to rights, and in a little while all their faculties came back to them. The house girl returned with cold water and a towel, and Aunt Candace, entirely recovered from her outburst of anger, said to Flora:—
"Ef you want ter do sump'n, honey, set on de side er de bed here an' fol' dis towel up an' dip it in de water an' wring it out an' lay it on yo' brer's forrerd. Hol' yo' han' on it, an' soon ez you feel it gittin' warm, dip it in de water an' wring it out an' put it back agin. An' make dat gal change de water off an' on."
With that Aunt Candace waddled out into the kitchen, where she busied herself making preparations for the decoctions she intended to brew from the red oak and dogwood bark which Plato had been sent after.
To those in the house Plato seemed to be making a good long stay at the branch, but Plato was doing the best he could. He had so much confidence in his mammy's skill and experience, and was so anxious in behalf of his young master, that he took pains in selecting the trees from which he was to chop the bark. And then he was very particular as to the quality of the bark; and, in order that there might be no mistake about it, he chipped off a larger supply than was necessary. This took time, and when he was ready to start back to the big house he heard his mammy calling him, and there was a certain vital emphasis in her remarks that caused him to return in a run.
In fact, Aunt Candace had infused new energy into everybody about the place. The little negroes that usually swarmed about the yard prudently went to play in the barn, but they were careful not to make a noise that would prevent them from hearing her voice if Aunt Candace should chance to want one of them to run on an errand. The plantation medicine chest was ransacked in search of something, Mrs. Kilpatrick and her daughter knew not what. At any rate the search was a relief. They no longer sat supinely in the midst of their grief. They made little journeys to the kitchen, where Aunt Candace was brewing her simples, and she watched them out of the corner of her eye.
"S'posen he 'd 'a' got kilt dead," she remarked; "what'd you 'a' done den? Better go 'long an' set down an' nuss yo'se'ves. I 'll nuss Jack Kilpatrick. An' 't won't be de fust time I 've nuss'd 'im all by myse'f needer."
Scolding and domineering, Aunt Candace went ahead with her brewing, and in a little while had a crock of dogwood-bark tea ready, as well as a red-oak bark poultice. Her remedies were simple, but she had the greatest faith in them. She applied the poultice to the wound on the shattered collar-bone, and compelled Jack to drink a tumblerful of the dogwood-bark tea. The dose was a heroic one, and bitter in proportion. To a certain extent both remedies were efficacious. The poultice was a cooling astringent, and the tea allayed the fever,—for somewhere in the dogwood-tree, between root and blossom, there lies the active principle of quinine. Jack fell into a deep sleep, from which he was only aroused by one of those remarkable events that could have occurred in no country but the American republic.
III
When Plato started back to the house from the spring branch, where he had been chopping the red-oak and dogwood bark, he was in such a hurry that he forgot his axe, and when he wanted it again, a few hours afterwards, he hunted all over the yard for it, until he suddenly remembered where he had left it. He started after it, but as he was going down the spring branch he heard a clatter in the road to the left, and, looking in that direction, saw two Federal cavalrymen galloping by.
"Ah-yi!" he exclaimed, as if by that means he could find vent for surprise, and slipped behind a tree. The day was raw and drizzly, and there was no movement on the plantation. The negroes were in their cabins, the horses were in their stable, the mules were standing quietly under the long shed in the lot, and even the sheep that were in the ginhouse pasture were huddled together under shelter, nibbling at a pile of waste cotton seed. The riders were couriers, and Plato, observing them, saw that they did not pursue the road to the village, but turned off squarely to the right. For Sherman had already begun his famous march to the sea. He had begun it, indeed, before the little skirmish in which Jack Kilpatrick had been wounded, and, though Plato had no knowledge of the fact, he traveled with his young master for fifteen miles between the parallel lines of the advancing army, Slocum's corps being one of the lines and Howard's corps another.
Ignorant of this fact, Plato was very much surprised to see the Federals riding by. "Dey er pursuin' right on atter us," he remarked aloud. "A little mo' en' dey 'd 'a' cotch us, sho. An' dey may ketch us yit. Kaze Marse Jack can't hide out, an' I know mighty well I ain't gwine nowhar whiles Marse Jack got ter stay." He turned back and went to the big house, but once there he remembered his axe and started after it again.
He found it where he had left it. He picked it up and flung it across his shoulder. As he raised his head he saw a big Federal soldier sitting on a horse fifty yards away, watching him intently. "Name er Gawd!" he exclaimed. He stared at the soldier, undecided whether to run or to stand where he was. Then he saw the soldier beckoning to him, and he made a great pretense of hurrying forward.
"'T is the name of the place Oi 'm afther," said the soldier.
"Suh?" exclaimed Plato.
"Who lives in the house ferninst us?"
"Ole Miss an' Miss Floe," replied Plato.
"Ah, to the divvle wit' ye!" exclaimed the soldier impatiently. "'T is the name Oi 'm axin' ye."
"Dis de Kilpatrick place, suh."
"Where 's the wounded Johnny?"
"Who? Marse Jack?" inquired Plato cautiously. "What make you ax dat? Marse Jack ain't never hurted you, is he?"
"Is he killt intirely?" the soldier persisted, misled by the serious aspect of the negro's countenance.
"How you know he been hurted?" Plato asked.
"Oi seen 'im whin the ball pasted 'im," replied the soldier, with a careless toss of his head. "Where 've ye tuck 'im?"
"What you gwine do wid 'im when you fin' 'im? You ain't gwine ter take 'im ter prison ner nothin' er dat kin', is you? "
"Listen at the gab av 'im!" exclaimed the soldier impatiently. "Is the Johnny dead?"
"Who? Marse Jack? No, suh. He hurted mighty bad, but he ain't daid yit. Ain't you one er dem ar gentermens what I seed tradin' wid Marse Jack an' de yuthers out dar twix de camps?"
"Upon me soul, ye 're a long time makin' that out. Oi 'm that same peddler."
Plato's honest face broadened into a grin. "Marse Jack up dar at de house," he said in a confidential tone. "Ef his min' done come back I speck he 'd be mo' dan glad ter see you. But I 'm skeer'd ter kyar' you up dar, kaze I dunner what ole Miss, an' Miss Floe, an' mammy 'll say."
"Trust me for that same," remarked the soldier. "Take me down this fince, will ye, an' tell 'em at the house that private O'Halloran, av the sharpshooters, has taken the liberty for to call on the lad."
The negro proceeded to make a gap in the worm fence, remarking as he did so: "I be bless' ef I don't b'lieve dat ar nag what you er settin' on is Marse 'Lisha Perryman's saddle-hoss."
"Like as not," said private O'Halloran calmly.
"Mon! won't he rip an' r'ar when he miss dat ar hoss? Ef 't wuz me, an' I had tooken dat ar hoss, I 'd be gallopin' out'n de county by dis time. Kaze Marse 'Lisha is de mos' servigrous white man in deze parts. He mighty nigh ez servigrous ez ol' marster use ter be in his primy days. I 'm tellin' you de naked trufe, mon!"
Private O'Halloran laughed by way of reply, as he rode through the gap Plato had made in the fence.
"Oi 'll go up an' put me two eyes on 'im," said O'Halloran, as he turned his horse's head towards the house, "an' see the look av 'im be the toime the Twintieth Army Corps comes trudgin' by."
"Yasser," replied Plato, taking another critical view of the steed the big Irishman was riding. Then he laughed.
"Fwhat 's the joke?" inquired O'Halloran.
"'T ain't no joke ef you 'll hear my horn," said Plato. "I wuz des thinkin' how Marse 'Lisha Perryman gwine ter cut up when he fin' out his saddle-hoss been rid off. I dunner whever he 'll kill a Yankee er a nigger, er whever he 'll go out an' shoot a steer. He the most servigrous man I ever see, an' he sho did like dat ar hoss. You er de onliest white man what been straddle un 'im ceppin' Marse 'Lisha. I ain't gwine to be nowhars 'roun' when he come huntin' dat hoss."
The horse evidently knew all about the Kilpatrick place, for he went directly to the hitching-post and there stopped. As O'Halloran dismounted, Plato took the halter strap, dexterously fastened it to the ring in the post, and promptly disappeared. He evidently had no idea of being made an interested party in the scene that he supposed would take place when the big Irishman loomed up before the astonished gaze of his mistress and her daughter.
But the scene he anticipated did not occur. It is the unexpected that happens, and it happened in this instance. O'Halloran went to the door that Plato had indicated, removed his waterproof coat, shook off the shining rain mist, and laid it on a convenient bench seat. Then he took off his hat, reached back his hair, and knocked confidently at the door. He was quite a presentable figure as he stood there, considering all the circumstances. His look of expectation had a genial smile for its basis, and there was a large spark of humor glistening in his fine black eyes.
It chanced that Aunt Candace came to the door in response to the summons. She opened it wide with a frown on her face, but when she saw the Federal soldier looming up she threw up her hands with a loud cry.
"My Gawd! Dey got us! Dey got us!" Then recovering herself somewhat, she planted herself in the doorway. "G'way fum here! G'way fum here, I tell you! Dey ain't nobody on de place but wimmen an' childern, nohow! Go on off, man! Don't you hear me?"
"Aisy, aisy! Will ye be aisy, now?" said O'Halloran, when he could get in a word edgewise. "Where 's the lady?"
"What you want wid her?" cried Aunt Candace. "G'way fum here!" She stood like a tiger at bay.
At that moment Mrs. Kilpatrick appeared in the hallway. The sight of the soldier in blue paralyzed all her faculties except memory of the fact that her son lay wounded not forty feet away. Making a supreme effort at self-control, she stood before the big Irishman with white face and clasped hands. Something in her attitude touched the soldier. He bent low before her.
"No harm to you, mum, beggin' your pardon. Oi says to a nagur in passing 'Whose iligant place is this?' 'The Kilpathrick place,' says he. 'Upon me sowl,' says Oi, ''t will be no harm for to call in an' see the b'y.' How is he, mum?"
"Do you know my son?" Her voice was so harsh and strained that she hardly recognized it. The big Irishman had no need to answer. The door through which the lady had entered the hall was thrown open, and a weak voice called out:—
"If that is O'Halloran, let him come in."
"'T is that same," replied the Federal soldier with a smile. But he waited for the lady to lead the way, and then followed her. On the bed lay Jack Kilpatrick, and near the fireplace stood his sister Flora, statuesque and scornful. O'Halloran bowed to her as politely as he knew how, but her lip curled disdainfully. An expression of perplexity crept into the honest, smiling face of the Irishman; but this quickly changed into one of genuine pleasure when he caught sight of young Kilpatrick's face.
"Why, ye 're as snug as a bug in a rug!" exclaimed O'Halloran cheerily. "Which paw shall Oi squeeze? The lift? Well, 'tis nearest the gizzard. Ah! but 't was a close shave ye had, me b'y. Oi seen ye comin' betwixt the lines, an' says Oi, 'Fwhat the divvle ails the lad?' 'T was the very word Oi said. Oi seen ye roll in the saddle, an' thin Oi put me rifle to me shoulder. Says Oi, 'If the nag runs wild an' the lad falls an' his fut hangs, Oi'll fetch the craycher down.' But divvle a run—beggin' pardin of the ladies. An' so ye 're here, me b'y, more worried than hurt!"
Jack Kilpatrick was really glad to see his friend, the enemy, and said so as heartily as he could. O'Halloran drew a chair by the bed, and, in the midst of his talk, which was as cheerful as he could make it, studied the young Confederate's condition. He made the wounded man fill his lungs with air several times, and placed his ear close to the expanding chest. Then he sat twirling his thumbs and looking at the bed-quilt, which was home-made and of a curious pattern. Finally he turned to Mrs. Kilpatrick with a more serious air than he had yet displayed.
"He wants a surgeon, mum. 'T is an aisy case wit' a surgeon standin' 'roun' an' puckerin' his forrerd; Oi 've seen 'em do 't many's the toime. Wan surgeon in the nick av toime is like to do more good than forty docthers at a funer'l."
"We can get no surgeon; that is out of the question," said the lady curtly and positively.
Once more O'Halloran fell to studying the pattern of the quilt. He even went so far as to count the pieces in one of the figures. Flora and her mother resented this as a piece of unnecessary impertinence, and moved restlessly about the room.
"That is what they call the broken stove lid," explained Jack, seeing the big Irishman's apparent interest in the quilt pattern.
"Now is that so?" said O'Halloran. "Upon me sowl it looks as if the whole chimley had tumbled down on top av it. Faith! Oi have it!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "Oi 'll rope in the chap that drinched me the same as if Oi was a sick horse. 'T will be somethin' traymenjous, upon me sowl! He 's a bloomin' pillmaker from wistern New York."
The big Irishman paused and hugged himself with his Samson-like arms as he bent over with laughter.
"Bedad, 't will be the joke of the day!" he exclaimed. "'T is all laid out as plain as the nose on me face. D' ye mind this now, me b'y: 'T is no Kilpatrick ye are, for ye 've thried to kill me many 's the odd time. Ye 're from Hornellsville,—mind that now; upon me sowl, 'tis the nub av the whole bloomin' business."
"Where 's Hornellsville?" asked Jack.
"In York State, bedad. Ye 're Cap'n Jarvis, av Hornellsville. Ye know the Finches an' the Purvises, but ye 're too wake for to argy till he fixes ye foine an' doses ye."
Mrs. Kilpatrick uttered a protest that would have been indignant, but for her apprehensions in regard to Jack.
"He 's a darlin' of a surgeon, mum," explained O'Halloran. "'T is a business he knows loike a book. Nayther is he bad lookin'. The loikes av him is hard for to come up wit' in the Twintieth Army Corps—clane as a pache an' smilin' as a basket av chips. 'T will be no harm to him for to fix an' dose ye. Two days av fixin' will put ye right, an' then he kin ketch his rijmint."
"Scoop him up and fetch him in," said Jack, and to this the mother and daughter made no serious objection, bitter as their prejudices were.
Among his own belongings O'Halloran was carrying the haversack of his captain, in which he knew there was a coat. This he took out, carried into the house, and hung on the back of a chair near Jack's bed. Then he mounted his horse and rode to the big gate, where he knew the Twentieth Corps would shortly pass.
He was just in time, too, for a party of foragers was engaged in gathering up the horses, mules, and cattle that were on the place. These he dispersed in a twinkling, by explaining that the ladies of the house were engaged in caring for a Federal captain, who had been compelled by his wounds to seek refuge there. This explanation O'Halloran made to all the would-be foragers who came that way, with the result that the stock on the place remained unmolested. In a little while the Twentieth Army Corps began to march by, and many an acquaintance saluted the big Irishman as he sat serenely on his borrowed horse near the entrance to the wide avenue. The troops going by supposed as a matter of course that he had been stationed there.
IV
To Mrs. Kilpatrick and her daughter, watching this vast procession from behind the curtains of the windows, the spectacle was by no means an enchanting one. Their belief in the righteousness of the Southern cause amounted to a passion; it was almost a part of their religion, and they prayed for its success with a fervor impossible to describe. It was a cause for which they were prepared to make any sacrifice, and it is no wonder that they watched the army go by with pallid and grief-stricken faces. Their despair would have been of a blacker hue if they had not remembered that, away off in Virginia, Robert Lee was mustering his army against the hosts that were opposing him.
The spectacle of this army in blue marching by was so strange—so impossible, in fact—that their amazement would not have been materially increased if the whole vast array had been lifted in air by a gust of wind, to dissolve and disappear in the swaying and whirling mist.
Presently they saw O'Halloran spur his horse toward the moving files, and touch his cap by way of salute. Then another horseman, after some delay, detached himself from the ranks, joined the big Irishman, and the two came up the avenue together. Mrs. Kilpatrick, by an instinct rather than an impulse of hospitality, prepared to go to the door to receive them, pausing in Jack's room to see that everything was ship-shape. As the two came up the broad, high steps, and delayed a moment on the veranda to remove their waterproofs, Flora, peeping from behind the red curtains in the parlor, saw that the surgeon was both young and stalwart. His brown hair was cut short, and the fierce curl of his mustache was relieved by a pair of gold spectacles, that gave a benign and somewhat ministerial air to features that were otherwise firm and soldier-like. He was not as tall as the Irishman,—few men in all that army were,—but he bore himself more easily and gracefully.
When O'Halloran knocked at the door, Mrs. Kilpatrick opened it without a moment's delay.
"'T is the surgeon, mum, to see the captain."
"Good morning, madam. Dr. Pruden. The man here tells me that Captain Jarvis of a New York regiment lies wounded in this house." He held his cap in his hand, and his bearing was all that was affable and polite.
"Come in, sir," said the lady, inclining her head slightly.
He stepped into the hallway, O'Halloran following with a broad grin on his face that disappeared as by magic whenever the surgeon glanced in his direction. Mrs. Kilpatrick led the way to Jack's room, to which Flora had flitted when the knock came at the door. Dr. Pruden acknowledged her presence with a bow and then turned his attention to his patient.
"I 'm sorry to see you on your back, Captain Jarvis," he said sympathetically. "And yet, with such quarters and such nurses, I dare say you are better off than the rest of us."
"Yes—well off," replied Jack in a weak voice that was not borrowed for the occasion. In fact, the surgeon had not arrived any too soon. The wounded man had grown feebler, and his condition was not helped by an occasional fit of coughing that racked his whole body and threatened to tear his wounds open afresh.
Dr. Pruden wiped his hands on a towel that chanced to be hanging on a chair near by, and then proceeded to examine into the wounded man's condition.
"You may thank your stars, young man," he said after a while, "that these ladies were charitable enough to forget the color of your coat there and give you the shelter and the care and attention that were absolutely necessary."
The note of unaffected gratitude in the young surgeon's voice was so simple and genuine that Flora felt a momentary pang of regret that he should have been made the victim of the Irishman's crafty scheme. But the pang was only momentary; for what the Irishman did he had done for Jack's sake, and that was a sufficient excuse. And yet the knowledge that the surgeon had been deceived made both mother and daughter more considerate in their demeanor—more genial in their attitude—than they could otherwise have been.
O'Halloran stood watching the ladies and the surgeon with a quizzical expression, keeping his hand in the neighborhood of his mouth to screen his smiles. Finally he seemed to discover that he could not safely remain and maintain his dignity.
"Oi 'll be goin', captain," he said to Jack. "The ladies 'll look afther yure belongin's. Termorrer whin the rear guard comes by maybe ye 'll be well enough for to be lifted in the ambulance I brung ye in."
"What amuses you?" inquired the surgeon, seeing the Irishman trying to suppress a laugh.
"Upon me word, sor, Oi was thinkin' av the drinch ye give me whin Oi was ailin'. Says Oi: 'Ef 't is as bitter to the captain here as 't was to me, he 'll be on his feet in a jiffy."
Whereupon O'Halloran turned on his heel and went out, closing the door gently after him.
Dr. Pruden went to work with a will. He smiled at the big poultice that Aunt Candace had applied to the wound made by the bullet in its exit, but found that the inflammation had been controlled by it. Then with the aid of the fair Flora, who offered her assistance, he proceeded to deal with the wound on the shoulder, which he found to be in a much more serious condition.
He had no need to probe the wound, but saw at once that, while it was a painful and dangerous hurt, no vital part had been touched. To Flora, who asked many questions in a tone of unaffected concern, he explained that the cough was caused by inflammation of the lung tissues, which would pass away as the wound healed. He said that it would be necessary for him to give the wound only one more dressing, which could be done the next morning, if the ladies could put up with his presence for that length of time; or, if they preferred, he could call an ambulance and have the wounded man carried along with the army, though that would be both awkward and dangerous. The condition of the lungs, he said, was such that the slightest exposure might result in pleurisy or pneumonia.
Both the ladies protested so earnestly against the removal of the wounded man that Dr. Pruden inwardly abused himself for having formed the idea that Southern women had violent prejudices against the Yankees. During the discussion Aunt Candace had come in. She knew nothing of the scheme that O'Halloran had employed to secure the services of a surgeon for her young master. When she heard the suggestion that Jack could be placed in an ambulance and carried along with the army she pricked up her ears.
"Which army you gwine take him 'long wid? De Yankee army?" she exclaimed. "Huh! ef you do you 'll haf ter kyar' me wid 'im."
"Are you wounded, too?" Dr. Pruden inquired humorously.
"No, I ain't; but I won't answer fer dem what try ter take dat boy fum und' dis roof." She turned and stared at her mistress and young mistress as if she had never seen them before. Then she raised her fat arms above her head and allowed them to drop helplessly by her side, muttering, "Gawd knows, you ain't no mo' de same folks dan ef you 'd 'a' been moulded outer new dirt."
And after that she watched Mrs. Kilpatrick and Flora closely, and listened intently to every word they said, and shook her head, and muttered to herself. To Plato she made haste to give out her version of the puzzle that the situation presented.
"You kin talk much ez you please 'bout de Kilpatrick blood, but hit done run'd out."
"How come?" Plato inquired.
"Ain't you got no eyes in yo' haid? Can't you see what gwine on right spang und' yo' nose? Ef mistiss an' Miss Floe ain't done gone ravin' 'stracted, den I done los' what little min' I had. You make me b'lieve dat ole miss 'd set up dar in de house an' let any Yankee dat 's ever been born'd talk 'bout takin 'yo' Marse Jack off wid de army, an' dat, too, when he layin' dar flat er his back wid a hole thoo 'im dat you kin mighty nigh run yo' han' in? Uh-uh! uh-uh! you nee' 'n' tell me! Ole miss would a riz up an' slew'd 'im—dat what she 'd 'a' done."
Plato scratched his head and ruminated over the puzzle.
"Did mistiss an' young mistiss bofe say dey want Marse Jack tuck off wid de army des like he is? "
"Dee ain't say it right out in black an' white, but dey sot dar an' let dat ar Yankee talk 'bout it widout so much ez battin' der eyes. An' Miss Floe,—she sot dar an' make out she want ter laugh. I could 'a' slapped her, an' little mo' an' I 'd 'a' done it, too." Aunt Candace's anger was almost venomous.
"Well, I tell you now," responded Plato, "I seed some mighty quare doin's up yander endurin' de war." He nodded his head towards Atlanta. "Dey wuz one time when a river run'd right 'twixt de lines, an' it got so dat mighty nigh eve'y day de Yankees an' our boys 'd go in washin' an' play in de water dar des like a passel er chillun. Marse Jack wuz in dar eve'y chance he got, an' him an' dat ar big Yankee what wuz in de house—he up yander watchin' de stock right now dey 'd git ter projickin' an' tryin' ter duck one an'er, an' I tuck notice dat de big Yankee allers let Marse Jack do de duckin'. 'Fo' dat, dey 'd meet twixt de lines when dey wa'n't no rumpus gwine on, an' dey 'd swap an' trade an' laugh an' talk an' take on like dey been raised wid one an'er."
"Huh! Much he look like bein' raised wid Marse Jack!" snorted Aunt Candace.
"Maybe he de one what want ter take Marse Jack off wid de army," suggested Plato, pursuing the subject. "Ef he is you nee' n' ter let dat worry you, kaze he 'll be safe wid dat big Yankee, sho."
"No, he won't needer!" exclaimed Aunt Candace.
"How come?" asked her son.
"Kaze he ain't gwine, dat 's how come!"
Plato shook his head significantly, as if his mammy's decision settled the whole matter. Still he was puzzled at the alleged willingness of his mistress and Miss Floe to allow Jack to be carried off by the Yankee army.
Dr. Pruden, the surgeon, was also worried with a problem he could not fathom, and puzzled by a great many things he could not understand. The problem was not very serious, as matters go in time of war, but it was very interesting. Why should these Southern ladies, who, his instinct told him, had very bitter prejudices against the Northern people, and especially against the Union soldiers, betray such interest in Captain Jarvis of New York? And not interest only, but genuine solicitude, that they sought in vain to conceal? The surgeon was a young man, not more than twenty-five or thirty years old, but he had knocked about a good deal, and, as he said to himself, he was no fool. In fact, he had a pretty good knowledge of human nature, and a reasonably quick eye for "symptoms."
He cared nothing whatever for such prejudices as the ladies surely had. They were natural and inevitable. They belonged to the order of things. They were to be expected. It was their absence in the case of Captain Jar vis that worried him. He could see that these prejudices were in full bloom, so far as he was concerned, and that his presence was tolerated only because he could be of some possible service to Jarvis.
While dressing Jack's wounded shoulder, which, under the circumstances, was a tedious operation, Dr. Pruden noticed what beautiful hands Flora had. She was helping him the best she could, and in that way her hands were very much in evidence. He observed, too, that these beautiful hands had a knack of stroking the wounded man's hair, and once he saw such an unmistakable caress expressed in the pressure of the fingers that he glanced quickly at her face. The surgeon's glance was so frankly inquisitive that Flora blushed in spite of herself; and it was the rosiest of blushes, too, for she instinctively knew that the man suspected her to be desperately in love with a Yankee captain after the acquaintance of only a few hours. Then she was angry because she blushed, and was so disturbed and distressed withal that Dr. Pruden, discovering these signs of mental perturbation, was vexed with himself for being the involuntary cause of it.
But he was none the less satisfied that he had surprised and discovered the young woman's secret; and he wondered that it should be so, weaving with his wonderment the prettiest little romance imaginable. It was such a queer little romance, too, that he could not repress a smile as he bent over Jack's broken shoulder and deftly applied the bandages. Flora saw the smile and with a woman's intuition read its meaning. Whereupon, with ready tact, she transferred her anger. She made the surgeon, instead of herself, the object of it, so that when Jack's wounds had been properly dressed, Dr. Pruden found that the young lady's haughtiness toward him was in significant contrast to the tender solicitude she felt for the supposed Captain Jarvis.
The surgeon paid small attention to this, as he told himself, and yet it was not a pleasant experience. The careful way in which Flora avoided his glances gave him an opportunity to study her face, and the more he studied it the more it impressed him. He thought to himself with a sigh that Jarvis would be a lucky fellow should his little romance turn out happily.
He would have been glad to talk with Jarvis, but that was out of the question now; to-morrow would do as well. So he sat in the library and smoked his pipe, finding some very good tobacco in an old cigar-box on the table, and heard the Twentieth Army Corps go tramping by, the noise the troops made harmonizing well with the dull roar of the November wind as its gusts went through the tree-tops outside. Strangely enough, it all seemed to emanate from the flames in the fireplace. After a while, he leaned his head against the cushion on the back of his chair and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again night was falling. On one side of the fireplace Plato sat prone on the floor. On the other side sat O'Halloran. Plato was nodding, his head falling from side to side. The big Irishman was leaning forward, gazing into the fire, his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands.
"What time is it?" the surgeon asked.
"'T is long past jure dinner hour, sor," replied O'Halloran, straightening himself.
Plato aroused himself, drew a pine knot from some place of concealment, and threw it on the glowing bank of coals.
"Mistiss say yo' vittles wuz ter be kep' warm in de dinin'-room, suh," said Plato. "Dey ringded de dinner bell all 'roun' you, an' mistiss come in ter ax you ter have some dinner, but she 'low you wuz sleepin' so soun' she di' n' want ter wake you up."
"Well," replied Dr. Pruden, "a bite of something would n't hurt, that 's a fact. I 'll go in and see how Jarvis is, while you have it fixed for me."
A candle in the hall showed the surgeon the way to his patient's room. There was no need for the surgeon to go there, for Jack was still asleep. The candle had been placed on the floor to keep the light from shining in the wounded man's face, and the room was darker on that account; but it was not too dark for the surgeon to see as he entered the room that Flora was sitting over against the bed. And, if he was not mistaken, she had been holding Jarvis's hand, for he saw her make a quick movement as he entered, and the patient stirred slightly. This seemed to confirm all his inferences, and increased his wonder that such a complication could arise here in the very heart of rebeldom, as it were. He seated himself by the bed and laid his hand on the patient's forehead.
"How long have you been awake, Jarvis?" he asked presently.
"Not long," replied Jack. "How did you know I was awake?"
"Why, I heard you swallow," replied Dr. Pruden.
Jack tried to laugh, but he found that his chest was very sore, and the laugh ended in a groan.
"Don't try to laugh, and don't talk," said the surgeon, in a professional tone. "You are out of danger now, and you ought to be forever grateful to your nurse."
"You mean old Aunt Candace?" suggested Jack, with dry humor.
Dr. Pruden stared at his patient with wide open eyes. "I 'm surprised at you, Jarvis," he said, in a tone of rebuke. "I mean Miss Kilpatrick, of course. Go to sleep now; your head is still in a flighty condition."
Whereupon Dr. Pruden went from the room into the library again. Soon he was summoned to the dining-room, where, contrary to his expectations, he found Mrs. Kilpatrick presiding at the table. Naturally they fell into a conversation about the war, but both restrained their prejudices, and the talk turned out to be so pleasant—though there were critical moments that had to be bridged over with silence—that Dr. Pruden thought he had never seen a more charming or a more gracious hostess.
V
At early dawn the next morning, O'Halloran, piloted by Plato, went into Jack's room, took his captain's coat from the back of the chair where he had placed it, folded it up neatly and tucked it under his waterproof. Jack stirred uneasily and then awoke. Plato and the Irishman looked like huge shadows. Aunt Candace, seated in a rocking-chair before the fireplace, snored as gently as she could under the circumstances.
"What is the matter?" asked Jack. He felt so much better that he wanted to sit up in bed, but found that his shoulder was too sore.
"'T is but a whim of mine for to come an' kiss me hand to ye, me b'y. The naygur here says that a squad av Johnnies wint past this half hour. So Oi says to a man Oi know, 'O'Halloran, we 'll while away the toime with a canter acrost the country.' The naygur knows the way, me b'y, an' 't will take 'im not more 'n a hour for to put me betwixt the trottin' Johnnies an' the stragglers."
"What about the other fellow,—this doctor?" asked Jack.
"Oi misdoubt but he 'll board along wid ye," remarked the big Irishman with a broad grin. "'T will be a nate way fer to pay 'im his fay, Oi dunno! Molly! but Oi hould the taste o' his phaysic in me goozle down to this blissed day an' hour!"
He patted Jack affectionately on the head, and with "God bless you, me b'y!" went from the room, followed by Plato.
Outside the house Plato turned to the big Irishman. "Boss, you gwine ter walk?"
"An' lade me horse? 'T is not in me bones to do that same."
"You—you—you sholy ain't gwine ter take Marse 'Lisha Perryman's saddle-hoss, is you, boss?"
"GOD BLESS YOU, ME B'Y!"
"Well, de Lawd knows I don't want ter be nowhars 'roun' in deze diggins when Marse 'Lisha fin' out dat dat horse done been took an' tooken."
Plato said nothing more, but he shook his head significantly many times, while he was helping the big Irishman saddle Mr. Perryman's favorite horse. In a short while they were on their way, and, by traveling along the plantation by-ways—paths known to the negroes and to the cattle—O'Halloran soon came up with the rear guard of the Twentieth Army Corps.
Meanwhile, after breakfast, Surgeon Pruden dressed Jack's wound again and then began to make his preparations to rejoin the army. He called for the big Irishman, and was a little uneasy when he learned that O'Halloran had left before sunrise. Nevertheless, he went on with his preparations, and was ready to take his departure, waiting only for Mrs. Kilpatrick to come into the library where he stood with Flora to tell them farewell together, when he heard the clatter of hoofs on the graveled avenue. Looking from the window he saw a squad of Confederate cavalrymen galloping toward the house. At their head rode a man in citizen's clothes,—a man past middle age, but with a fierce military air. Flora saw them at the same moment, and the color left her cheek. She knew the man in citizen's clothes for Mr. Perryman, their neighbor, who had a great reputation for ferocity in that section. Mr. Perryman had missed his horse, and had been told by some of his negroes that the man who had taken him had stopped over night at the Kilpatrick place. He was a widower who had been casting fond eyes on Flora for some time, and now thought to render her an important service and give her cause for lively gratitude by ridding her of the presence of the Yankee soldier, if he were still in possession of the house, or, if he had escaped, to attract her admiration by leading the Confederates to her rescue.
Surgeon Pruden drummed a brief tattoo on the windowpane, and then threw back his head with a contemptuous laugh.
"I see!" he exclaimed. "My comrade and myself have been drawn into an ambuscade. I thank you, Miss Kilpatrick, for this revelation of Southern hospitality."
"Into an ambuscade!" cried Flora, her color returning.
"Why, certainly! into a trap! I have but one favor to ask of you, Miss Kilpatrick. Let them take me and leave my comrade. Surely he can do you no harm!"
"They will not take you," she said with a calmness he thought assumed.
"Will they not? It will be their fault then. If I could escape by raising my finger—so—I would scorn to do it. Not if I knew they would furnish you a spectacle by hanging me to the nearest tree."
She looked at him so hard, and such a singular light blazed in her eyes that he could not fathom her thoughts.
"What do you take me for?" she cried.
"For a Southern lady loyal to her friends," he replied, in a tone bitingly sarcastic. "Call them in! But stay—you shall be spared that trouble. I will go to them. I ask only that my comrade be not disturbed."
He started for the door, but she was before him. She reached it just as Mr. Perryman knocked, and opened it at once.
"Good morning, Mr. Perryman," said Flora.
Mr. Perryman took off his hat and was in the act of politely responding to the salute, as was his habit, when, glancing over Flora's shoulder, he saw Surgeon Pruden staring serenely at him through gold spectacles. Thus, instead of saying "Good morning, Miss Flora; I hope you are well this morning," as was his habit, Mr. Perryman cried out:—
"There 's that scoundrel now! Surround the house, men! Look to the windows! I 'll take care of the door! Watch the side window yonder!"
Mr. Perryman was so far carried away by excitement that he failed to hear Flora's voice, which called out to him sharply once or twice. He was somewhat cooled, however, when he saw the surgeon drawing on a pair of heavy worsted gloves instead of trying to escape. And at last Flora got his ear.
"Mr. Perryman, this gentleman is our guest. Dr. Pruden, this is our good neighbor, Mr. Perryman. Under the circumstances, his excitement is excusable."
The surgeon acknowledged his new acquaintance with a bow, but Mr. Perryman's surprise gave him no opportunity to respond.
"Why, my God! the man 's a Yankee! Your guest! I know you are mistaken. Why, he 's the fellow that stole my horse!"
"My horse is in the stable," remarked the surgeon coolly, yet reddening a little under the charge. "If he is yours, you can have him."
"I know how it is, Miss Flora," Mr. Perryman insisted. "You 're a woman, and you don't want to see this Yankee dealt with."
"I 'm a woman, Mr. Perryman; but I am beginning to believe you are not as much of a man as I once thought you were. This gentleman has saved my brother's life. He is more than our guest; he is our benefactor."
Mr. Perryman stood dumbfounded. As the phrase goes, his comb fell. His mustachios ceased to bristle. The surgeon on his side was as much surprised as Mr. Perryman. He turned to Flora with a puzzled expression on his face—and the look he gave her was sufficient to prevent Mr. Perryman from throwing away his suspicions.
"Do you mean Jack?"
"Certainly, Mr. Perryman. I have no brother but Jack."
"When and where did you save Jack Kilpatrick's life?" asked Mr. Perryman, turning to Dr. Pruden abruptly.
"I 'm sure I could n't tell you," replied the surgeon placidly. He was engaged in wiping his spectacles, but turned to Flora.
"Is the wounded man your brother, Miss Kilpatrick?"
"Certainly," she answered.
"I 'm glad of it," he said simply.
"You 'd better be glad!" exclaimed Mr. Perryman.
The surgeon threw his right hand upward. "Nonsense, man! I 'd be glad if I had to be shot or hanged in half an hour."
"Come in and see Jack, Mr. Perryman," said Flora, with such a change in her voice and attitude that both men looked at her.
Mr. Perryman stepped into the hallway, and Flora led the way to Jack's room.
After that no explanation was necessary. Mr. Perryman talked to Jack with tears in his eyes, for behind his savage temper he carried a warm heart. He and Jack had been companions in many a foxhunt and on many a frolic, and there was a real friendship between the two.
Finally Mr. Perryman turned to Dr. Pruden. "I 'm mighty glad to meet you, sir, and I hope you'll allow me to shake your hand. You 've been caught in a trap, but I hope you 'll find bigger and better bait in it than is often found in such places."
Just then there was a knock at the door. The captain of the cavalry squad wanted to know what was going on, and why the Yankee prisoner was n't brought out. The state of affairs was made known to him briefly.
"That satisfies me, I reckon, but I ain't certain that it 'll satisfy my men."
"What command do they belong to?" asked Mr. Perryman.
"Wheeler's cavalry."
"Aunt Candace! Aunt Candace!" cried Flora. "Give Wheeler's cavalry a drink of buttermilk and let them go!"
The hit was as palpable as it was daring, for the men of this command were known far and wide as the Buttermilk Rangers.
It need hardly be said that Surgeon Pruden had a very comfortable time in that neighborhood. Within the course of a few months the war was over, and he was free to go home; but in 1866 he came South and settled in Atlanta. Then, to make a long story short, he married Flora Kilpatrick. At the wedding, Mr. Perryman, irreconcilable as he was, nudged Dr. Pruden in the ribs and winked.
"What 'd I tell you about the bait in the trap?"