Tales of the Home Folks in Peace and War/The Comedy of War
THE COMEDY OF WAR
I
ON THE UNION SIDE
Private O'Halloran, detailed for special duty in advance of the picket line, sat reclining against a huge red oak. Within reach lay a rifle of beautiful workmanship. In one hand he held a blackened brier-root pipe, gazing on it with an air of mock regret. It had been his companion on many a weary march and on many a lonely day, when, as now, he was doing duty as a sharpshooter. But it was not much of a companion now. It held the flavor, but not the fragrance, of other days. It was empty, and so was O'Halloran's tobacco-pouch. It was nothing to grumble about, but the big, laughing Irishman liked his pipe, especially when it was full of tobacco. The words of an old song came to him, and he hummed them to himself:—
There was an ould man, an' he had a wooden leg,
An' he had no terbacky, nor terbacky could he beg;
There was another ould man, as keen as a fox,
An' he always had terbacky in his ould terbacky box.
"Sez one ould man, 'Will yez give me a chew?'
Sez the other ould man, 'I 'll be dommed ef I do.
Kape away from them gin-mills, an' save up yure rocks,
An' ye 'll always have terbacky in yer ould terbacky box.'"
What with the singing and the far-away thoughts that accompanied the song, Private O'Halloran failed to hear footsteps approaching until they sounded quite near.
"Halt!" he cried, seizing his rifle and springing to his feet. The newcomer wore the insignia of a Federal captain, seeing which, O'Halloran lowered his weapon and saluted. "Sure, sor, you 're not to mind me capers. I thought the inimy had me complately surrounded—I did, upon me sowl."
"And I," said the captain, laughing, "thought the Johnnies had caught me. It is a pleasant surprise. You are O'Halloran of the Sharpshooters; I have heard of you—a gay singer and a great fighter."
"Sure it 's not for me to say that same. I sings a little bechwane times for to kape up me sperits, and takes me chances, right and lift. You 're takin' a good many yourself, sor, so far away from the picket line. If I make no mistake, sor, it is Captain Fambrough I 'm talkin' to."
"That is my name," the captain said.
"I was touchin' elbows wit' you at Gettysburgh, sor."
The captain looked at O'Halloran again. "Why, certainly!" he exclaimed. "You are the big fellow that lifted one of the Johnnies over the stone wall."
"By the slack of the trousers. I am that same, sor. He was nothin' but a bit of a lad, sor, but he fought right up to the end of me nose. The men was jabbin' at 'im wit' their bay'nets, so I sez to him, says I, 'Come in out of the inclemency of the weather,' says I, and thin I lifted him over. He made at me, sor, when I put 'im down, an' it took two men for to lead 'im kindly to the rear. It was a warm hour, sor."
As O'Halloran talked, he kept his eyes far afield.
"Sure, sor," he went on, "you stand too much in the open. They had one muddlehead on that post yesterday; they 'll not put another there to-day, sor." As he said this, the big Irishman seized the captain by the arm and gave him a sudden jerk. It was an unceremonious proceeding, but a very timely one, for the next moment the sapling against which the captain had been lightly leaning was shattered by a ball from the Confederate side.
"'T is an old friend of mine, sor," said O'Halloran; "I know 'im by his handwritin'. They had a muddlehead there yesterday, sor. I set in full sight of 'im, an' he blazed at me twice; the last time I had me fist above me head, an' he grazed me knuckles. 'Bedad,' says I, ' you 're no good in your place;' an' when he showed his mug, I plugged 'im where the nose says howdy to the eyebrows. 'T was no hurt to 'im, sor; if he seen the flash, 't was as much."
To the left, in a little clearing, was a comfortable farmhouse. Stacks of fodder and straw and pens of corn in the shuck were ranged around. There was every appearance of prosperity, but no sign of life, save two bluebirds, the pioneers of spring, that were fighting around the martin gourds, preparing to take possession.
"There 's where I was born." The captain pointed to the farmhouse. "It is five years since I have seen the place."
"You don't tell me, sor! I see in the 'Hur'ld' that they call it the Civil War, but it 's nothin' but oncivil, sor, for to fight agin' your ould home."
"You are right," assented the captain. "There 's nothing civil about war. I suppose the old house has long been deserted."
"Sure, look at the forage, thin. 'Tis piled up as nately as you plaze. Wait till the b'ys git at it! Look at the smoke of the chimbly. Barrin' the jay-birds, 'tis the peacefulest sight I 've seen."
"My people are gone," said the captain. "My father was a Union man. I would n't be surprised to hear of him somewhere at the North. The day that I was eighteen he gave me a larruping for disobedience, and I ran away."
"Don't spake of it, sor." O'Halloran held up his hands. "Many 's the time I 've had me feelin's hurted wit' a bar'l stave."
"That was in 1860," said the captain. "I was too proud to go back home, but when the war began I remembered what a strong Union man my father was, and I joined the Union army."
"'T is a great scheme for a play," said the big Irishman solemnly.
"My mother was dead," the captain went on, "my oldest sister was married, and my youngest sister was at school in Philadelphia, and my brother, two years older than myself, made life miserable for me in trying to boss me."
"Oh!" exclaimed O'Halloran, "don't I know that same? 'T is meself that's been along there."
Captain Fambrough looked at the old place, carefully noting the outward changes, which were comparatively few. He noted, too, with the eye of a soldier, that when the impending conflict took place between the forces then facing each other, there would be a sharp struggle for the knoll on which the house stood; and he thought it was a curious feat for his mind to perform, to regard the old home where he had been both happy and miserable as a strategic point of battle. Private O'Halloran had no such memories to please or to vex him. To the extent of his opportunities he was a man of business. He took a piece of white cloth from his pocket and hung it on the broken sapling.
"I 'll see, sor, if yon chap is in the grocery business."
As he turned away, there was a puff of smoke on the farther hill, a crackling report, and the hanging cloth jumped as though it were alive.
"Faith, it 's him, sor! " exclaimed O'Halloran, "an' he 's in a mighty hurry." Whereupon the big Irishman brushed a pile of leaves from an oil-cloth strapped together in the semblance of a knapsack.
"What have you there?" asked Captain Fambrough.
"Sure, 't is me grocery store, sor. Coffee, tay, an' sugar. Faith, I 'll make the divvle's mouth water like a baby cuttin' his stomach tathe. Would ye mind comin' along, sor, for to kape me from swindlin' the Johnny out of all his belongin's? "
II
ON THE CONFEDERATE SIDE
Three men sat in a gully that had once been a hillside ditch. Their uniforms were various, the result of accident and capture. One of them wore a very fine blue overcoat which was in queer contrast to his ragged pantaloons. This was Lieutenant Clopton, who had charge of the picket line. Another had on the uniform of an artilleryman, and his left arm was in a sling. He had come out of the hospital to do duty as a guide. This was Private John Fambrough. The third had on no uniform at all, but was dressed in plain citizen's clothes, much the worse for wear. This was Jack Kilpatrick, scout and sharpshooter,—Happy Jack, as he was called.
How long since the gully had been a ditch it would be impossible to say, but it must have been a good many years, for the pines had grown into stout trees, and here and there a black-jack loomed up vigorously.
"Don't git too permiscus around here," said Happy Jack, as the others were moving about. "This ain't no fancy spot." He eased himself upward on his elbow, and made a swift but careful survey of the woodland vista that led to the Federal lines. Then he shook down the breech of his rifle, and slipped a long cartridge into its place. "You see that big poplar over yonder? Well, under that tree there 's a man, leastways he ought to be there, because he 's always hangin' around in front of me."
"Why don't you nail him?" asked Fambrough.
"Bosh! Why don't he nail me? It's because he can't do it. Well, that 's the reason I don't nail him. You know what happened yesterday, don't you? You saw that elegant lookin' chap that came out to take my place, did n't you? Did you see him when he went back?"
Lieutenant Clopton replied with a little grimace, but Fambrough said never a word. He only looked at Kilpatrick with inquiring eyes.
"Why, he was the nicest lookin' man in the army—hair combed, clothes brushed, and rings on his fingers. He was all the way from New 'leans, with a silver-mounted rifle and a globe sight."
"A which?" asked Fambrough.
"A globe sight. Set down on yourself a little further, sonny," said Happy Jack; "your head 's too high. I says to him, says I, 'Friend, you are goin' where you 'll have to strip that doll's step-ladder off'n your gun, an' come down to business,' says I. I says, says I, 'You may have to face a red-headed flannel-mouthed Irishman, and you don't want to look at him through all that machinery,' says I."
"What did he say?" Fambrough asked.
"He said, 'I 'll git him.' Now, how did he git him? Why, he come down here, lammed aloose a time or two, and then hung his head over the edge of the gully there, with a ball right spang betwixt his eyes. I went behind the picket line to get a wink of sleep, but I had n't more 'n curled up in the broom-sage before I heard that chap a-bangin' away. Then come the reply like this"—Happy Jack snapped his fingers; "and then I went to sleep waitin' for the rej'inder."
Kilpatrick paused, and looked steadily in the direction of the poplar.
"Well, dog my cats! Yonder 's a chap standin' right out in front of me. It ain't the Mickey, neither. I 'll see what he 's up to." He raised his rifle with a light swinging movement, chirruped to it as though it were a horse or a little child, and in another moment the deadly business of war would have been resumed, but Fambrough laid his hand on the sharpshooter's arm.
"Wait," he said. "That may be my old man wandering around out there. Don't be too quick on trigger. I ain't got but one old man."
"Shucks!" exclaimed Kilpatrick pettishly; "you reckon I don't know your old man? He 's big in the body, an' wobbly in his legs. You 've spiled a mighty purty shot. I believe in my soul that chap was a colonel, an' he might 'a' been a general. Now that 's funny."
"What 's funny?" asked Fambrough.
"Why, that chap. He 'll never know you saved him, an' if he know'd it he would n't thank you. I 'd 'a' put a hole right through his gizzard. Now he 's behind the poplar."
"It 's luck," Lieutenant Clopton suggested.
"Maybe," said Kilpatrick. "Yonder he is ag'in. Luck won't save him this time." He raised his rifle, glanced down the barrel, and pulled the trigger. Simultaneously with the report an expression of disgust passed over his face, and with an oath he struck the ground with his fist.
"Don't tell me you missed him," said Clopton.
"Miss what?" exclaimed Kilpatrick scornfully. "If he ain't drunk, somebody pulled him out of the way."
"I told you it was luck," commented Clopton.
"Shucks! don't tell me. Luck 's like lightnin'. She never hits twice in the same place."
Kilpatrick sank back in the gully and gave himself up to ruminating. He leaned on his elbows and pulled up little tufts of grass and weeds growing here and there. Lieutenant Clopton, looking across towards the poplar, suddenly reached for the sharpshooter's rifle, but Kilpatrick placed his hand on it jealously.
"Give me the gun. Yonder 's a Yank in full view."
Kilpatrick, still holding his rifle, raised himself and looked.
"Why, he 's hanging out a flag of truce," said Clopton. "What does the fellow mean?"
"It 's a message," said Kilpatrick, "an' here 's the answer." With that he raised his rifle, dropped it gently in the palm of his left hand, and fired.
"You saw the hankcher jump, did n't you?" he exclaimed. "Well, that lets us out. That 's my Mickey. He wants tobacco, and I want coffee an' tea. Come, watch me swap him out of his eye teeth."
Then Kilpatrick went to a clump of broom-sedge and drew forth a wallet containing several pounds of prepared smoking tobacco and a bundle of plug tobacco, and in a few moments the trio were picking their way through the underwood towards the open.
III
ON NEUTRAL GROUND
Matters were getting critical for Squire Fambrough. He had vowed and declared that he would never be a refugee, but he had a responsibility on his hands that he had not counted on. That responsibility was his daughter Julia, twenty-two years old, and as obstinate as her father. The Squire had sent off his son's wife and her children, together with as many negroes as had refused to go into the Union lines. He had expected his daughter to go at the same time, but when the time arrived, the fair Julia showed that she had a mind of her own. She made no scene, she did not go into hysterics; but when everything was ready, she asked her father if he was going. He said he would follow along after a while. She called to a negro, and made him take her trunks and band-boxes from the wagon and carry them into the house, while Squire Fambrough stood scratching his head.
"Why don't you make her come?" his daughter-in-law asked, somewhat sharply.
"Well, Susannah," the Squire remarked, "I ain't been a jestice of the peace and a married man, off and on for forty year, without findin' out when to fool with the wimen sek an' when not to fool wi' 'em."
"I 'd make her come," said the daughter-in-law.
"I give you lief, Susannah, freely an' fully. Lay your baby some'rs wher' it won't git run over, an' take off your surplus harness, an' go an' fetch her out of the house an' put her in the buggy."
But the daughter-in-law treated the courteous invitation with proper scorn, and the small caravan moved off, leaving the fair Julia and her father in possession of the premises. According to human understanding, the refugees got off just in the nick of time. A day or two afterwards, the Union army, figuratively speaking, marched up, looked over Squire Fambrough's front palings, and then fell back to reflect over the situation. Shortly afterwards the Confederate army marched up, looked over the Squire's back palings, and also fell back to reflect. Evidently the situation was one to justify reflection, for presently both armies fell back still farther. These movements were so courteous and discreet—were such a colossal display of etiquette—that war seemed to be out of the question. Of course there were the conservative pickets, the thoughtful vedettes, and the careful sharpshooters, ready to occasion a little bloodshed, accidentally or intentionally. But by far the most boisterously ferocious appendages of the two armies were the two brass bands. They were continually challenging each other, beginning early in the morning and ending late in the afternoon; one firing off "Dixie," and the other "Yankee Doodle." It was "Yankee Doodle, howdy do?" and "Doodle-doodle, Dixie, too," like two chanticleers challenging each other afar off.
This was the situation as it appeared to Squire Fambrough and his daughter. On this particular morning the sun was shining brightly, and the birds were fluttering joyously in the budding trees. Miss Julia had brought her book out into the grove of venerable oaks which was the chief beauty of the place, and had seated herself on a rustic bench that was built around one of the trees. Just as she had become interested, she heard a rifle-shot. She moved uneasily, but fell to reading again, and was apparently absorbed in the book, when she heard another shot. Then she threw the book down and rose to her feet, making a very pretty centrepiece in the woodland setting.
"Oh! what is the matter with everything?" she exclaimed. "There 's the shooting again! How can I read books and sit quietly here while the soldiers are preparing to fight? Oh, me! I don't know what to do! If there should be a battle here, I don't know what would become of us."
Julia, in her despair, was fair to look upon. Her gown of striped homespun stuff, simply made, set off to admiration her strong but supple figure. Excitement added a new lustre to her eye and gave a heightened color to the rose that bloomed on her cheeks. She stood a moment as if listening, and then a faint smile showed on her lips. She heard her father calling:—
"Jule! Jule! O Jule!"
"Here I am, father! " she cried. "What is it?"
"Well, the Lord he'p my soul! I 've been huntin' for you high an' low. Did you hear that shootin'? I 'lowed may be you 'd been took prisoner an' carried bodaciously off. Did n't I hear you talkin' to somebody?"
Squire Fambrough pulled off his hat and scratched his head. His face, set in a fringe of gray beard, was kindly and full of humor, but it contained not a few of the hard lines of experience.
"No, father," said Julia, in reply to the squire's question. "I was only talking to myself."
"Jest makin' a speech, eh? Well, I don't blame you, honey. I 'm a great mind to jump out here in the clearin' an' yell ou't my sentiments so that both sides can hear 'em."
"Why, what is the matter, father?"
"I 'm mad, honey! I 'm jest nachally stirred up,—dog my cats ef I ain't! Along at fust I did hope there would n't be no fightin' in this neighborhood, but now I jest want to see them two blamed armies light into one another, tooth and toe-nail."
"Why, father!" Julia made a pretty gesture of dismay. "How can you talk so?"
"Half of my niggers is gone," said Squire Fambrough; "one side has got my hosses, and t' other side has stole my cattle. The Yankees has grabbed my grist mill, an' the Confeds has laid holt of my corncrib. One army is squattin' in my tater patch, and t' other one is roostin' in my cow pastur'. Do you reckon I was born to set down here an' put up wi' that kind of business?"
"But, father, what can you do? How can you help yourself? For heaven's sake, let 's go away from here!"
"Great Moses, Jule! Have you gone an' lost what little bit of common sense you was born with? Do you reckon I 'm a-goin' to be a-refugeein' an' a-skeedaddlin' across the country like a skeer'd rabbit at my time of life? I hain't afeared of nary two armies they can find room for on these tills! Hain't I got one son on one side an' another son on t' other side? Much good they are doin', too. If they 'd'a' felt like me they 'd'a' fit both sides. Do you reckon I 'm a-gwine to be drove off'n the place where I was born, an' where your granpappy was born, an' where your mother lies buried? No, honey!"
"But, father, you know we can't stay here. Suppose there should be a battle?"
"Come, honey! come!" There was a touch of petulance in the old man's tone. "Don't get me flustrated. I told you to go when John's wife an' the children went. By this time you 'd 'a' been out of hearin' of the war."
"But, father, how could I go and leave you here all by yourself?" The girl laid her hand on the squire's shoulder caressingly.
"No," exclaimed the squire angrily; "stay you would, stay you did, an' here you are!"
"Yes, and now I want to go away, and I want you to go with me. All the horses are not taken, and the spring wagon and the barouche are here."
"Don't come a-pesterin' me, honey! I 'm pestered enough as it is. Lord, if I had the big men here what started the war, I 'd take 'em an' butt their cussed heads together tell you would n't know 'em from a lot of spiled squashes."
"Now, don't get angry and say bad words, father."
"I can't help it, Jule; I jest can't help it. When the fuss was a-brewin' I sot down an' wrote to Jeems Buchanan, and told him, jest as plain as the words could be put on paper, that war was boun' to come if he did n't look sharp; an' then when old Buck dropped out, I sot down an' wrote to Abe Lincoln an' told him that coercion would n't work worth a cent, but conciliation"—
"Wait, father!" Julia held up her pretty hand. "I hear some one calling. Listen!"
Not far away they heard the voice of a negro. "Marse Dave Henry! Marse Dave Henry!"
"Hello! Who the nation are you hollerin' at?" said Squire Fambrough as a youngish-looking negro man came in view. "An' where did you come from, an' where are you goin'?"
"Howdy, mistiss,—howdy, marster!" The negro took off his hat as he came up.
"What 's your name?" asked the squire.
"I 'm name Tuck, suh. None er you all ain't seed nothin' er Marse"—
"Who do you belong to?"
"I b'longs ter de Cloptons down dar in Georgy, suh. None er you-all ain't seed nothin'"—
"What are you doin' here?" demanded Squire Fambrough, somewhat angrily. "Don't you know you are liable to get killed any minute? Ain't you makin' your way to the Yankee army?"
"No, suh." The negro spoke with unction. "I 'm des a-huntin' my young marster, suh. He name Dave Henry Clopton. Dat what we call him,—Marse Dave Henry. None er you-all ain't seed 'im, is you?"
"Jule," said the squire, rubbing his nose thoughtfully, "ain't that the name of the chap that used to hang around here before the Yankees got too close?"
"Do you mean Lieutenant Clopton, father?" asked Julia, showing some confusion.
"Yessum." Tuck grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Marse Dave Henry is sholy a lieutender in de company, an' mistiss she say he 'd a done been a giner'l ef dey wa'n't so much enviousness in de army."
"I saw him this morning,—I mean"—Julia blushed and hesitated. "I mean, I heard him talking out here in the grove."
"Who was he talking to, Jule?" The squire put the question calmly and deliberately.
There was a little pause. Julia, still blushing, adjusted an imaginary hairpin. The negro looked sheepishly from one to the other. The squire repeated his question.
"Who was he talking to, Jule?"
"Nobody but me," said the young lady, growing redder. Her embarrassment was not lessened by an involuntary "eh—eh," from the negro. Squire Fambrough raised his eyes heavenwards and allowed both his heavy hands to drop helplessly by his side.
"What was he talkin' about?" The old man spoke with apparent humility.
"N-o-t-h-i-n-g," said Julia demurely, looking at her pink finger-nails. "He just asked me if I thought it would rain, and I told him I did n't know; and then he said the spring was coming on very rapidly, and I said, 'Yes, I thought it was.' And then he had found a bunch of violets and asked me if I would accept them, and I said, 'Thank you.'"
"Land of the livin' Moses!" exclaimed Squire Fambrough, lifting his hands above his head and allowing them to fall heavily again. "And they call this war!"
"Yessum!" The negro's tone was triumphant. "Dat sholy wuz Marse Dave Henry. War er no war, dat wuz him. Dat des de way he goes 'mongst de ladies. He gi' 'um candy yit, let 'lone flowers. Shoo! You can't tell me nothin' 't all 'bout Marse Dave Henry."
"What are you wanderin' 'round here in the woods for?" asked the squire. His tone was somewhat severe. "Did anybody tell you he was here?"
"No, suh!" replied Tuck. "Dey tol' me back dar at de camps dat I 'd fin' 'im out on de picket line, an' when I got dar dey tol' me he wuz out dis a-way, whar dey wuz some sharpshootin' gwine on, but I ain't foun' 'im yit."
"Ain't you been with him all the time?" The squire was disposed to treat the negro as a witness for the defense.
"Lor, no, suh! I des now come right straight fum Georgy. Mistiss,—she Marse Dave Henry's ma,—she hear talk dat de solyers ain't got no cloze fer ter w'ar an' no vittles fer ter eat, skacely, an' she tuck 'n made me come an' fetch 'im a box full er duds an' er box full er vittles. She put cake in dar, yit, 'kaze I smelt it whiles I wuz handlin' de box. De boxes, dey er dar at de camp, an' here me, but wharbouts is Marse Dave Henry? Not ter be a-hidin' fum somebody, he de hardest white man ter fin' what I ever laid eyes on. I speck I better be knockin' 'long. Good-by, marster; good-by, young mistiss. Ef I don' fin' Marse Dave Henry nowheres, I 'll know whar ter come an' watch fer 'im."
The squire watched the negro disappear in the woods, and then turned to his daughter. To his surprise, her eyes were full of tears; but before he could make any comment, or ask any question, he heard the noise of tramping feet in the woods, and presently saw two Union soldiers approaching. Almost immediately Julia called his attention to three soldiers coming from the Confederate side.
"1 believe in my soul we 're surrounded by both armies," remarked the squire dryly. "But don't git skeer'd, honey. I 'm goin' to see what they 're trespassin' on my premises for."
IV
COMMERCE AND SENTIMENT
"Upon me sowl," said O'Halloran, as he and Captain Fambrough went forward, the big Irishman leading the way, "I 'm afeard I 'm tollin' you into a trap."
"How?" asked the captain.
"Why, there 's three of the Johnnies comin', sor, an' the ould man an' the gurrul make five."
"Halt!" said the captain, using the word by force of habit. The two paused, and the captain took in the situation at a glance. Then he turned to the big Irishman with a queer look on his face.
"What is it, sor?"
"I 'm in for it now. That is my father yonder, and the young lady is my sister."
"The Divvle an' Tom Walker!" exclaimed O'Halloran. "'T is quite a family rayunion, sor."
"I don't know whether to make myself known or not. What could have possessed them to stay here? I 'll see whether they know me." As they went forward, the captain plucked O'Halloran by the sleeve. "I 'll be shot if the Johnny with his arm in the sling is n't my brother."
"I was expectin' it, sor," said the big Irishman, giving matters a humorous turn. "Soon the cousins will be poppin' out from under the bushes."
By this time the two were near enough to the approaching Confederates to carry on a conversation by lifting their voices a little.
"Hello, Johnny," said O'Halloran.
"Hello, Yank," replied Kilpatrick.
"What 's the countersign, Johnny?"
"Tobacco. What is it on your side, Yank?"
"Tay an' coffee, Johnny."
"You are mighty right," Kilpatrick exclaimed. "Stack your arms agin a tree."
"The same to you," said O'Halloran.
The Irishman, using his foot as a broom, cleared the dead leaves and twigs from a little space of ground, where he deposited his bundle, and Kilpatrick did the same. John Fambrough, the wounded Confederate, went forward to greet his father and sister, and Lieutenant Clopton went with him. The squire was not in a good humor.
"I tell you what, John," he said to his son, "I don't like to be harborin' nary side. It 's agin' my principles. I don't like this colloguin' an' palaverin' betwixt folks that ought to be by good rights a-knockin' one another on the head. If they want to collogue an' palaver, why don't they go som'ers else?"
The squire's son tried to explain, but the old gentleman hooted at the explanation. "Come on, Jule, let 's go and see what they 're up to."
As they approached, the Irishman glanced at Captain Fambrough, and saw that he had turned away, cap in hand, to hide his emotion.
"You 're just in time," the Irishman said to Squire Fambrough in a bantering tone, "to watch the continding armies. This mite of a Johnny will swindle the Government, if I don't kape me eye on him."
"Is this what you call war?" the Squire inquired sarcastically. "Who axed you to come trespassin' on my land?"
"Oh, we 'll put the leaves back where we found them," said Kilpatrick, "if we have to git a furlough."
"Right you are!" said the Irishman.
"It is just a little trading frolic among the boys!" Captain Fambrough turned to the old man with a courteous bow. "They will do no harm. I 'll answer for that."
"Well, I 'll tell you how I feel about it!" Squire Fambrough exclaimed with some warmth. "I 'm in here betwixt the hostiles. They ain't nobody here but me an' my daughter. We don't pester nobody, an' we don't want nobody to pester us. One of my sons is in the Union army, I hear tell, an' the other is in the Confederate army when he ain't in the hospital. These boys, you see, found their old daddy a-straddle of the fence, an' one clomb down one leg on the Union side, an' t' other one clomb down t' other leg on the Confederate side."
"That is what I call an interesting situation," said the captain, drawing a long breath. "Perhaps I have seen your Union son."
"Maybe so, maybe so," assented the squire.
"Perhaps you have seen him yourself since the war began?"
Before the squire could make any reply, Julia rushed at the captain and threw her arms around his neck, crying, "O brother George, I know you!"
The squire seemed to be dazed by this discovery. He went towards the captain slowly. The tears streamed down his face and the hand he held out trembled.
"George," he exclaimed, "God A'mighty knows I 'm glad to see you!"
O'Halloran and Kilpatrick had paused in the midst of their traffic to watch this scene, but when they saw the gray-haired old man crying and hugging his son, and the young girl clinging to the two, they were confused. O'Halloran turned and kicked his bundles.
"Take all the tay and coffee, you bloody booger! Just give me a pipeful of the weed."
Kilpatrick shook his fist at the big Irishman.
"Take the darned tobacco, you redmouthed Mickey! What do I want with your tea and coffee?" Then both started to go a little way into the woods, Lieutenant Clopton following. The captain called them back, but they would n't accept the invitation.
"We are just turnin' our backs, sor, while you hold a family orgie," said O'Halloran. "Me an' this measly Johnny will just go an' complate the transaction of swappin'."
At this moment Tuck reappeared on the scene. Seeing his young master, he stopped still and looked at him, and then broke out into loud complaints.
"Marse Dave Henry, whar de nam er goodness you been? You better come read dish yer letter what yo' ma writ you. I 'm gwine tell mistiss she come mighty nigh losin' a likely nigger, an' she 'll rake you over de coals, mon."
"Why, howdy, Tuck," exclaimed Lieutenant Clopton. "Ain't you glad to see me?"
"Yasser, I speck I is." The negro spoke in a querulous and somewhat doubtful tone, as he produced a letter from the lining of his hat. "But I 'd 'a' been a heap gladder ef I had n't mighty nigh traipsed all de gladness out 'n me."
Young Clopton took the letter and read it with a smile on his lips and a dimness in his eyes. The negro, left to himself, had his attention attracted by the coffee and tobacco lying exposed on the ground. He looked at the display, scratching his head.
"Boss, is dat sho nuff coffee?"
"It is that same," said O'Halloran.
"De ginnywine ole-time coffee?" insisted the negro.
"'T is nothin' else, simlin-head."
"Marse Dave Henry," the negro yelled, "run here an' look at dish yer ginnywine coffee! Dey 's nuff coffee dar fer ter make mistiss happy de balance er her days. Some done spill out!" he exclaimed. "Boss, kin I have dem what 's on de groun'?"
"Take 'em," said O'Halloran, "an' much good may they do you."
"One, two, th'ee, fo', fi', sick, sev'm." The negro counted the grains as he picked them up. "O Marse Dave Henry, run here an' look! I got sev'm grains er ginnywine coffee. I 'm gwine take um ter mistiss."
The Irishman regarded the negro with curiosity. Then taking the dead branch of a tree he drew a line several yards in length between himself and Kilpatrick.
"D 'ye see that line there?" he said to the negro.
"Dat ar mark? Oh, yasser, I sees de mark."
"Very well. On that side of the line you are in slavery—on this side the line you are free."
"Who? Me?"
"Who else but you?"
"I been hear talk er freedom, but I ain't seed 'er yit, an' I dunner how she feel." The negro scratched his head and grinned expectantly.
"'T is as I tell you," said the Irishman.
"I b'lieve I 'll step 'cross an' see how she feel." The negro stepped over the line, and walked up and down as if to test the matter physically. "'T ain't needer no hotter ner no colder on dis side dan what 'tis on dat," he remarked. Then he cried out to his young master: "Look at me, Marse Dave Henry; I 'm free now."
"All right." The young man waved his hand without taking his eyes from the letter he was reading.
"He take it mos' too easy fer ter suit me," said the negro. Then he called out to his young master again: "O Marse Dave Henry! Don't you tell mistiss dat I been free, kaze she 'll take a bresh-broom an' run me off'n de place when I go back home."
V
THE CURTAIN FALLS
Squire Fambrough insisted that his son should go to the house and look it over for the sake of old times, and young Clopton went along to keep Miss Julia company. O'Halloran, Kilpatrick, and the negro stayed where they were—the white men smoking their pipes, and the negro chewing the first "mannyfac" tobacco he had seen in many a day.
The others were not gone long. As they came back, a courier was seen riding through the woods at break-neck speed, going from the Union lines to those of the Confederates, and carrying a white flag. Kilpatrick hailed him, and he drew rein long enough to cry out, as he waved his flag:—
"Lee has surrendered!"
"I was looking out for it," said Kilpatrick, "but dang me if I had n't ruther somebody had a-shot me right spang in the gizzard."
Lieutenant Clopton took out his pocket-knife and began to whittle a stick. John Fambrough turned away, and his sister leaned her hands on his shoulder and began to weep. Squire Fambrough rubbed his chin thoughtfully and sighed.
"It had to be, father," the captain said. "It 's a piece of news that brings peace to the land."
"Oh, yes, but it leaves us flat. No money, and nothing to make a crop with."
"I have government bonds that will be worth a hundred thousand dollars. The interest will keep us comfortably."
"For my part," said Clopton, "I have nothing but this free nigger."
"You b'lieve de half er dat," spoke up the free nigger. "Mistiss been savin' her cotton craps, an' ef she got one bale she got two hundred."
The captain figured a moment. "They will bring more than a hundred thousand dollars."
"I have me two arrums," said O'Halloran.
"I 've got a mighty fine pack of fox-hounds," remarked Kilpatrick with real pride.
There was a pause in the conversation. In the distance could be heard the shouting of the Union soldiers and the band with its "Yankee Doodle, howd'y-do?" Suddenly Clopton turned to Captain Fambrough:—
"I want to ask you how many troops have you got over there—fighting men?"
The captain laughed. Then he put his hand to his mouth and said in a stage whisper:—
"Five companies."
"Well, dang my hide!" exclaimed Kilpatrick.
"What is your fighting force?" Captain Fambrough asked.
"Four companies," said Clopton.
"Think o' that, sir!" cried the Irishman; "an' me out there defendin' meself ag'in a whole army."
"More than that," said Clopton, "our colonel is a Connecticut man."
"Shake!" the captain exclaimed. "My colonel is a Virginian."
"Lord 'a' mercy! Lord 'a' mercy!" It was Squire Fambrough who spoke. "I 'm a-goin' off some'rs an' ontangle the tangle we 've got into."
Soon the small company separated. The squire went a short distance towards the Union army with his new-found son. Kilpatrick and the negro went trudging back to the Confederate camp, while Clopton lingered awhile, saying something of great importance to the fair Julia and himself.
What they said was commonplace, even trifling; what they meant carried their minds and their hearts high above all ordinary matters; lifted them, indeed, into the region of poetry and romance—lifted and held them there for one brief, blissful half hour. Their questions and their answers, heavy with doubt, or light with shy hope, were such as swarm in Love's convoy whether he precedes or follows comedy or tragedy. They flourish in the thunders of war as serenely as in the sunshine of peace.