A VISITOR
It was now late September, and the fertile country along the Antietam
was in full autumn beauty. Harvests had been gathered, and fields of
yellow stubble were golden under the September sun, and the distant
mountains each day showed new shades of jewel-like blues when young
Lieutenant Carver kept his promise to visit the Miller farm, and sitting
on the porch beside Captain Delfield he pointed out the thicket of
laurel near the highway where he had concealed himself, and where Roxy
had brought him food; and he listened to the story of Roxy’s adventure
on the ledge when the Confederate scout had discovered her signalling,
and had tried to make the little girl tell the reason for her being
stationed on the top of the ledge day after day.
“And I really think that Roxy may have saved me a good bit of trouble,”
said Captain Delfield.
“If those Confederate scouts had discovered a Union soldier here they
might have carried me off to Richmond; but Roxy’s resolve not to let
them know her secret kept me out of danger,” and he smiled down at his
little daughter who was sitting on the porch steps, and had been
listening eagerly, and now felt that her long lonely days on the distant
ledge, her fears when carried away by the Confederate scout, had been
indeed worth while if they had saved her father from the danger of being
taken a prisoner. She remembered Etta-Belle’s rough cabin in the lonely
field, and that the negro woman had been friendless and alone until
Roxy’s coming had brought her to the Miller farm where she had found a
home and could remain in safety. And while Lieutenant Carver and Captain
Delfield talked of President Lincoln’s recent Proclamation of
Emancipation, that declared the freedom of all negroes held in slavery
in the United States, Roxy’s thoughts dwelt happily on all the events of
the past summer, and she resolved that she would that very day begin a
letter to Amy Fletcher, in far-off Newbury port, and tell her of all the
adventures that had befallen a little Yankee girl during her visit to
Antietam.
When Dulcie came to say that dinner was ready the young lieutenant held
out his hand to Roxy and they walked into the dining-room together.
It was the best dinner that Dulcie could prepare. There were fried
chicken, and creamed potatoes, late peas, and stewed corn. There were
three kinds of jelly, hot batter-bread and fresh butter; there was new
cider right from the press, and steamed apple dumplings with cream
sauce. It was no wonder that the young soldier, who had lived on camp
fare and who had known the hunger of a man in prison, declared it the
finest dinner he had ever tasted. “But,” he added laughingly, with a nod
toward Roxy, “nothing can ever again taste as good to me as that cold
chicken that this little Yankee girl brought me as I lay hidden behind
the laurels with my pursuers almost within reach of me.”
In the afternoon Grandma Miller and Roxy walked to the ledge with
Lieutenant Carver, and from the top Roxy once more signalled to Polly,
who by good fortune happened to see the signal and waved in response,
and the soldier declared that he did not wonder the Confederate scouts
had been misled by Roxy’s signalling, and had believed her to have been
stationed there by Yankee soldiers.
“Lee” and “Jackson,” the gray squirrels, were not to be seen, much to
Roxy’s disappointment; but Grandma Miller admired Dinah’s house, and
suggested that it would be a good plan for Roxy to build one like it,
only perhaps larger, under the butternut tree, and Roxy decided that she
would begin it on the following day.
On their return to the house it was time for Lieutenant Carver to start
back for camp, and he bade them all a grateful good-bye, and again
declared that but for Roxy’s kindness and courage he could not have
evaded his pursuers and made his escape.
They all stood on the porch and watched him ride away; and after Grandma
Miller and Roxy’s father and mother had entered the house the little
girl wandered down the slope and stood by the wall from which place she
could see the road stretching out like a gray ribbon toward the distant
hills.
Roxy smiled to herself as she stood here, for she had only pleasant
things to think of as she remembered the delight of the wounded soldiers
in her “circus,” the words of praise the great general of the Union
Army, George B. McClellan, had given her, and, best of all, she thought
happily, was the fact that Philip Carver had said that but for her help
he would not have escaped.
As she stood there Polly’s familiar call sounded from the highway
“Who-whoo-who!” and Roxy quickly responded and a moment later Polly came
running up the slope.
“Here I am, Roxy-Doxy,” she called smilingly. “I came over to hear all
about the Yankee soldier.” And hand in hand the girl whose home was in
the Maryland hills, and the little Yankee girl walked toward the swing
under the big butternut tree.
The Stories in this Series are:
A YANKEE GIRL AT FORT SUMTER
A YANKEE GIRL AT BULL RUN
A YANKEE GIRL AT SHILOH
A YANKEE GIRL AT ANTIETAM
A YANKEE GIRL AT GETTYSBURG (in press)
End of Project Gutenberg's A Yankee Girl at Antietam, by Alice Turner Curtis