A Rebellion in Dixie by Harry Castlemon (best books to read in life .TXT) 📕

one lie nailed, but he had become so accustomed to being caught that way that he hardly changed color. He thrust his hands into his pockets, looked up the road toward the lean-tos, and said:

“Well, you see one of our cows had strayed away and I was afraid she might not come up, so I went into the woods to find her.”

153“And you thought that cow was of more use to the county than stopping the train, did you?”

“It was of more use to us, ’cause, you see, we wouldn’t have had any milk to put in our coffee.”

“And you have milk in your coffee every day, do you? That’s more than I have, and I have eight or nine cows on my place.”

“Well, can I have the mule? That’s what I want to know.”

“No, I don’t think you can.”

“You have given one to Tom Howe and never asked him what he was going to do with it,” said Newman, hotly.

“But I knew what Tom was going to do with his mule before I gave it to him. Whenever we get ready to go out and capture a train Tom will be on hand, and that’s more than I can say in regard to you.”

“Then you won’t give me the mule?”

“No, I can’t. You will have to go to somebody else and get one. It is Government property that comes into my hands, and I am bound to take the best of care of it.”

154“I’ll get even with you for this some way or another,” said Newman, starting to walk off.

“Newman,” said Mr. Sprague, sternly, “come back here.”

“Well, now, when I come back you just blow a horn to let me know it, will you?” replied Newman, still continuing on his way.

“If I ask you once more I shall put you under arrest,” said Mr. Sprague. “I am not in the habit of giving orders twice.”

While he was speaking there were certain other parties, who had arrived with a wagon, who happened to overhear the conversation that passed between Mr. Sprague and Newman. They dropped whatever they were about and came up to see about it, for one of the disputants had got so angry that he raised his voice a good deal above its natural key. One of them was Bud McCoy, the man who had threatened to burn Mr. Swayne’s house before he got out of it. He did not like Newman any too well, for he believed that the young man was more in favor of secessionists than he was of the Union men.

155“Come back here, you scoundrel!” said Bud, shaking his fists in the other’s face.

“Oh, now, Bud, you haven’t anything to do with it,” said Newman, and he retraced his steps very slowly.

“Come faster than that,” said Bud, tucking up his shirt-sleeves. “I will show you that I have something to do with it.”

“I will tell my father what you are doing up here, and perhaps he will think we had better go back to Mobile,” said Newman.

“Well, go back to Mobile. You belong there among the rebels more’n you do among these Union men. Your father has not got anything to do with this business. We’ve been talking about playing soldier for a long time, and now that we have got a constitution we are going to act. You’ll see that there is a big difference between the two.”

“One moment, Bud,” said Mr. Sprague, when he saw that Newman had been frightened sufficiently to put a little sense into him. “You may not have been aware of the fact,” he added, addressing himself to Newman, “but you were treating me in a way that I 156don’t like when you refused to come back here. Perhaps I have more authority in this county than you think for. You talked about getting even with me. How are you going to do it?”

“I was only fooling,” said Newman. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“Well, hereafter, when you feel aggrieved by an officer, don’t say that you will get even with him in some way. That looks to me as though you had something on your mind.”

“I haven’t; I haven’t, honor bright,” said Newman, wondering if Mr. Sprague knew anything further. There had been talk between his father and some of the rebel officers who had their quarters in Mobile in regard to betraying all the chief men of the Jones-County Confederacy into their hands, and this was one reason that brought him back there. But Newman didn’t suppose that anybody but his own family knew anything about it.

“It looks mighty suspicious,” continued Mr. Sprague. “But I can’t give you that mule. It is not my business, anyway. It belongs to the quartermaster’s department, and he is the man you must see.”

157Mr. Sprague turned on his heel and went away to inspect one of the wagons, and Leon and Dawson continued their walk toward Roberts’ lean-to. To say that Leon was surprised to hear his father talk in this way would not express his feelings.

“I tell you your father can’t be too strict when it comes to the pinch,” said Dawson. “I didn’t know he had so much in him. Well, you see he is high in authority, and it won’t do to let ordinary men talk to him as that Newman did. Say, that fellow knew something he did not want to speak about.”

“That’s my idea exactly,” said Leon. “I’ll keep watch on him, and if I find anything out of the way with him I’ll arrest him and take him before father.”

“If you do that he’ll shoot him.”

“My gracious! Has it come to that?” exclaimed Leon, astonished beyond measure.

“Of course it has. I have seen three men shot to death because they tried to desert the army, and you have got to come down to that way of doing business here. You will have to be stricter, too, than they are in the army, 158for you have got less power to back you up. Oh, you’re not going to have a picnic, I’ll tell you that.”

Leon was thunderstruck, for he did not believe that such things could take place in Jones county. While he was thinking about it they came up with Roberts, who had borrowed a mule to take the place of the one that had dropped dead during his rapid flight, and was engaged in packing things into his wagon. He said he was going deeper into the swamp.

“You see these houses are right on the main road, and the rebels who come in will come from Perry county,” said he. “I don’t propose to have what things I own burned up, and so I am going to take them where it will cost the Confederates some trouble to get at them.”

“Well, say, Mr. Roberts, what do you suppose they would do to you if they should succeed in getting their hands on you?” asked Leon.

“I deserted to the enemy, didn’t I?” asked Roberts.

159“Yes, you did.”

“And I had my rebel clothes on when I left their camp?”

Leon nodded; and Roberts, after looking at him a moment, made a turn of a rope around his neck, drew it up with his left hand and allowed his head to fall over on one side.

“That’s what they would do with me,” said Roberts, with a laugh. “I don’t suppose they would shoot me, but they must catch me first. I’m not going to be taken prisoner. And Dawson, there, would come in for something of the kind.”

Dawson smiled and said he well knew what was coming if he allowed himself to be taken prisoner, and thrust out his hand, adding:

“Well, I don’t suppose I shall see you again until we get into our first fight. I am going after my mother to-night.”

“So-long, old boy, and remember and don’t let those Graybacks get a grip on you.”

“I’ll stay right there on the field until I drop,” said Dawson, earnestly. “You’ll never hear of my being hung.”

They turned off to find their horses, after 160which they drew a bee-line for Tom’s camp. Leon didn’t have much to say. When men like Dawson and Roberts could talk as they did about falling into the hands of their old comrades, it made him feel kind of anxious. And if they would serve the deserters that way, what would they do with him? He was a traitor to the cause of Southern independence, everybody on the Pascagoula river from the swamps down knew who he was, and if he should unfortunately fall into the hands of the Confederates a captive, they would without a doubt hang him without giving him any trial at all. He had never been able to look at it in this light before, and it made him feel rather desperate. But here was a fellow who would take ample revenge for his death if such a thing should happen. It was Tom Howe, who, when they found him, was sitting at the foot of a tree, and he had just been disposing of a substantial breakfast which somebody had provided for him.

“Halloo, Leon! And you, Dawson, halloo!” said Tom, getting upon his feet. “Well, if you are going home now I am going with 161you. I have been around that muel forty times, as that man told me to, petting her and fooling in various ways, and she never offered to kick me. But what’s the matter with you, Leon? You act as though your last friends had been gobbled up by the rebels.”

“Well, they haven’t been gobbled up yet, but I am just thinking of what would happen to them if they were gobbled,” said Leon. “Do you know what they would do with you if they caught you?”

“Hang me, I suppose. But you see, Leon, these swamps are mighty big.”

“But you are going right among them to-night.”

“Oh, no,” said Dawson, quickly. “We’ll not see a rebel from the time we leave here until we get back. I’m not going to get you in any fuss. If I thought there was a chance I wouldn’t go myself.”

“But we are liable to be mistaken, you know.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Dawson. “I’ll ride on ahead, and the first glimpse I see of anything suspicious I’ll warn you. 162You certainly will not be captured in that way.”

Tom struck up a whistle, as if to show how much he cared what the rebels might think it worth while to do, and went to work about the mule as though he had always owned her, strapped a piece of gunny-sack to serve in lieu of a saddle, felt his revolvers to make sure that they were safe, and then announced that he was ready. Their ride would have been gloomy enough, for they did not meet a single person on the way, had it not been for Dawson, who was fairly alive with stories. He was two or three years older than Leon, but, like all boys who had lived much out-of-doors, he was almost big enough to be considered a man. He was young enough in his boyish tastes and habits to be hail-fellow with Leon and Tom, and reckless enough to add a spice of danger to everything he engaged in. They did not think they had been on their way a great while before the plantation-house was in view. Leon did not see anybody about. The doors of the negro quarters were closed, and so were the rear doors of the house; and 163even the pickaninnies, who were usually the first to welcome him when he rode up to the bars, were nowhere in sight.

“I wonder what’s been going on here?” said Leon, involuntarily sinking his voice to a whisper. “There are more people than this in the house.”

“I should say there ought to be,” said Tom. “We haven’t seen any, yet.”

“If it was a little nearer the lower end of the county I should say that some rebels had been calling here,” said Dawson, in an anxious tone of voice. “I have seen many a house look that way.”

Filled with forebodings, Leon hurried on until he came opposite the front bars, and on the way he saw a man lying down behind a log with a rifle in his hand, and it was pointed toward the other bank of the stream, which here ran through Mr. Sprague’s property. The moment the topmost bars rattled the front door opened and his mother came out on the porch. Thank goodness she was safe.

“Why, mother, what’s up?” cried Leon, throwing himself off his horse and rushing 164up the steps with arms spread out. “When I saw the house closed I supposed something had happened.”

“Something has happened,” replied his mother; and although her face was very pale, her tightly-closed lips and the way in which her hands trembled showed that she was trying to keep down some rising