Miss Fairleigh. They talked a long time together, but what they said no
one ever knew. They conversed in low tones; and once or twice the
hospitable major, sitting on the veranda, detected himself trying to
hear what they said. He could see them from where he sat, and he
observed that both appeared to be profoundly dejected. Not once did they
laugh, or, so far as the major could see, even smile. Occasionally
Little Compton arose and walked the length of the parlor, but Miss
Fairleigh sat with bowed head. It may have been a trick of the lamp, but
it seemed to the major that they were both very pale.
Finally Little Compton rose to go. The major observed with a chuckle
that he held Miss Fairleigh's hand a little longer than was strictly
necessary under the circumstances. He held it so long, indeed, that Miss
Fairleigh half averted her face, but the major noted that she was still
pale. "We shall have a wedding in this house before the war opens," he
thought to himself; and his mind was dwelling on such a contingency when
Little Compton came out on the veranda.
"Don't tear yourself away in the heat of the day," said Major Bass
jocularly.
"I must go," replied Compton. "Good-by!" He seized the major's hand and
wrung it.
"Good night," said the major, "and God bless you!"
The next day was Sunday. But on Monday it was observed that Compton's
store was closed. Nothing was said and little thought of it. People's
minds were busy with other matters. The drums were beating, the flags
flying, and the citizen soldiery parading. It was a noisy and an
exciting time, and a larger store than Little Compton's might have
remained closed for several days without attracting attention. But one
day, when the young men from the camp were in the village, it occurred
to them to inquire what effect the anonymous note had had on Little
Compton; whereupon they went in a body to his store; but the door was
closed, and they found it had been closed a week or more. They also
discovered that Compton had disappeared.
This had a very peculiar effect upon Captain Jack Walthall. He took off
his uniform, put on his citizen's clothes, and proceeded to investigate
Compton's disappearance. He sought in vain for a clue. He interested
others to such an extent that a great many people in Hillsborough forgot
all about the military situation. But there was no trace of Little
Compton. His store was entered from a rear window, and everything found
to be intact. Nothing had been removed. The jars of striped candy that
had proved so attractive to the youngsters of Hillsborough stood in long
rows on the shelves, flanked by the thousand and one notions that make
up the stock of a country grocery store. Little Compton's disappearance
was a mysterious one, and under ordinary circumstances would have
created intense excitement in the community; but at that particular time
the most sensational event would have seemed tame and commonplace
alongside the preparations for war.
Owing probably to a lack of the faculty of organization at Richmond--a
lack which, if we are to believe the various historians who have tried
to describe and account for some of the results of that period, was the
cause of many bitter controversies, and of many disastrous failures in
the field--a month or more passed away before the Hillsborough company
received orders to go to the front. Fort Sumter had been fired on,
troops from all parts of the South had gathered in Virginia, and the war
was beginning in earnest. Captain Jack Walthall of the Hillsborough
Guards chafed at the delay that kept his men resting on their arms, so
to speak; but he had ample opportunity, meanwhile, to wonder what had
become of Little Compton. In his leisure moments he often found himself
sitting on the dry-goods boxes in the neighborhood of Little Compton's
store. Sitting thus one day, he was approached by his body-servant. Jake
had his hat in his hand, and showed by his manner that he had something
to say. He shuffled around, looked first one way and then another, and
scratched his head.
"Marse Jack," he began.
"Well, what is it?" said the other, somewhat sharply.
"Marse Jack, I hope ter de Lord you ain't gwine ter git mad wid me; yit
I mos' knows you is, kaze I oughter done tole you a long time ago."
"You ought to have told me what?"
"'Bout my drivin' yo' hoss en buggy over ter Rockville dat time--dat
time what I ain't never tole you 'bout. But I 'uz mos' 'blige' ter do
it. I 'low ter myse'f, I did, dat I oughter come tell you right den, but
I 'uz skeer'd you mought git mad, en den you wuz out dar at de camps,
'long wid dem milliumterry folks."
"What have you got to tell?"
"Well, Marse Jack, des 'bout takin' yo' hoss en buggy. Marse Compton
'lowed you wouldn't keer, en w'en he say dat, I des went en hich up de
hoss en kyar'd 'im over ter Rockville."
"What under heaven did you want to go to Rockville for?"
"Who? me, Marse Jack? 'Twa'n't me wanter go. Hit 'uz Marse Compton."
"Little Compton?" exclaimed Walthall.
"Yes, sir, dat ve'y same man."
"What did you carry Little Compton to Rockville for?"
"Fo' de Lord, Marse Jack, I dunno w'at Marse Compton wanter go fer. I
des know'd I 'uz doin' wrong, but he tuck'n 'low dat hit'd be all right
wid you, kaze you bin knowin' him so monst'us well. En den he up'n ax me
not to tell you twell he done plum out'n yearin'."
"Didn't he say anything? Didn't he tell you where he was going? Didn't
he send any word back?"
This seemed to remind Jake of something. He clapped his hand to his
head, and exclaimed:
"Well, de Lord he'p my soul! Ef I ain't de beatenest nigger on de top
side er de yeth! Marse Compton gun me a letter, en I tuck'n shove it
un' de buggy seat, en it's right dar yit ef somebody ain't tored it up."
By certain well-known signs Jake knew that his Marse Jack was very mad,
and he was hurrying out. But Walthall called him.
"Come here, sir!" The tone made Jake tremble. "Do you stand up there,
sir, and tell me all this, and think I am going to put up with it?"
"I'm gwine after dat note, Marse Jack, des ez hard ez ever I kin."
Jake managed to find the note after some little search, and carried it
to Jack Walthall. It was crumpled and soiled. It had evidently seen
rough service under the buggy seat. Walthall took it from the negro,
turned it over and looked at it. It was sealed, and addressed to Miss
Lizzie Fairleigh.
Jack Walthall arrayed himself in his best, and made his way to Major
Jimmy Bass's, where he inquired for Miss Fairleigh. That young lady
promptly made her appearance. She was pale and seemed to be troubled.
Walthall explained his errand, and handed her the note. He thought her
hand trembled, but he may have been mistaken, as he afterward
confessed. She read it, and handed it to Captain Walthall with a vague
little smile that would have told him volumes if he had been able to
read the feminine mind.
Major Jimmy Bass was a wiser man than Walthall, and he remarked long
afterward that he knew by the way the poor girl looked that she was in
trouble, and it is not to be denied, at least, it is not to be denied in
Hillsborough, where he was known and respected, that Major Bass's
impressions were as important as the average man's convictions. This is
what Captain Jack Walthall read:
"DEAR MISS FAIRLEIGH--When you see this I shall be
on my way home. My eyes have recently been opened
to the fact that there is to be a war for and
against the Union. I have strong friendships here,
but I feel that I owe a duty to the old flag. When
I bade you good-by last night, it was good-by
forever. I had hoped--I had desired--to say more
than I did; but perhaps it is better so. Perhaps
it is better that I should carry with me a fond
dream of what might have been than to have been
told by you that such a dream could never come
true. I had intended to give you the highest
evidence of my respect and esteem that man can
give to woman, but I have been overruled by fate
or circumstance. I shall love you as long as I
live. One thing more: should you ever find
yourself in need of the services of a friend--a
friend in whom you may place the most implicit
confidence--send for Mr. Jack Walthall. Say to him
that Little Compton commended you to his care and
attention, and give him my love."
Walthall drew a long breath and threw his head back as he finished
reading this. Whatever emotion he may have felt, he managed to conceal,
but there was a little color in his usually pale face, and his dark eyes
shone with a new light.
"This is a very unfortunate mistake," he exclaimed. "What is to be
done?"
Miss Fairleigh smiled.
"There is no mistake, Mr. Walthall," she replied. "Mr. Compton is a
Northern man, and he has gone to join the Northern army. I think he is
right."
"Well," said Walthall, "he will do what he thinks is right, but I wish
he was here to-night."
"Oh, so do I!" exclaimed Miss Fairleigh, and then she blushed; seeing
which, Mr. Jack Walthall drew his own conclusions.
"If I could get through the lines," she went on, "I would go home."
Whereupon Walthall offered her all the assistance in his power, and
offered to escort her to the Potomac. But before arrangements for the
journey could be made, there came the news of the first battle of
Manassas, and the conflict was begun in earnest; so earnest, indeed,
that it changed the course of a great many lives, and gave even a new
direction to American history.
Miss Fairleigh's friends in Hillsborough would not permit her to risk
the journey through the lines; and Captain Walthall's company was
ordered to the front, where the young men composing it entered headlong
into the hurly-burly that goes by the name of war.
There was one little episode growing out of Jack Walthall's visit to
Miss Fairleigh that ought to be told. When that young gentleman bade her
good evening, and passed out of the parlor, Miss Fairleigh placed her
hands to her face and fell to weeping, as women will.
Major Bass, sitting on the veranda, had been an interested spectator of
the conference in the parlor, but it was in the nature of a pantomime.
He could hear nothing that was said, but he could see that Miss
Fairleigh and Walthall were both laboring under some strong excitement.
When, therefore, he saw Walthall pass hurriedly out, leaving Miss
Fairleigh in tears in the parlor, it occurred to him that, as the head
of the household and the natural protector of the women under his roof,
he was bound to take some action. He called Jesse, the negro
house-servant, who was on duty in the dining-room.
"Jess! Jess! Oh, Jess!" There was an insinuating sweetness in his voice
as it echoed through the hall. Jesse, doubtless recognizing the velvety
quality of the tone, made his appearance promptly. "Jess," said the
major softly, "I wish you'd please fetch me my shotgun. Make 'aste,
Jess, and don't make no furse."
Jesse went after the shotgun, and the major waddled into the parlor. He
cleared his throat at the door, and Miss Fairleigh looked up.
"Miss Lizzie, did Jack Walthall insult you here in my house?"
"Insult me, sir! Why, he's the noblest gentleman alive."
The major drew a deep breath of relief, and smiled.
"Well, I'm mighty glad to hear you say so!" he exclaimed. "I couldn't
tell, to save my life, what put it into my mind. Why, I might 'a' know'd
that Jack Walthall ain't that kind of a chap. Lord! I reckon I must be
getting old and weak-minded. Don't cry no more, honey. Go right along
and go to bed." As he turned to go out of the parlor, he was confronted
by Jesse with the shotgun. "Oh, go put her up, Jess," he said
apologetically; "go put her up, boy. I wanted to blaze away at a dog out
there trying to scratch under the palings; but the dog's done gone. Go
put her up, Jess."
When Jess carried the gun back, he remarked casually to his mistress:
"Miss Sa'h, you better keep yo' eye on Marse Maje. He talkin' mighty
funny, en he doin' mighty quare."
Thereafter, for many a long day, the genial major sat in his cool
veranda, and thought of Jack Walthall and the boys in Virginia.
Sometimes between dozes he would make his way to Perdue's Corner, and
discuss the various campaigns. How many desperate campaigns were fought
on that Corner! All the older citizens, who found it convenient or
necessary to stay at home, had in them the instinct and emotions of
great commanders. They knew how victory could be wrung from defeat, and
how success could be made more overwhelming. At Perdue's Corner,
Washington City was taken not less than a dozen times a week, and
occasionally both New York and Boston were captured and sacked. Of all
the generals who fought their battles at the Corner, Major Jimmy Bass
was the most energetic, the most daring, and the most skilful. As a
strategist he had no superior. He had a way of illustrating the
feasibility of his plans by drawing them in the sand with his cane. Fat
as he was, the major had a way of "surroundering" the enemy so that no
avenue was left for his escape. At Perdue's Corner he captured Scott,
and McClellan, and Joe Hooker, and John Pope, and held their entire
forces as prisoners of war.
In spite of all this, however, the war went on. Sometimes word would
come that one of the Hillsborough boys had been shot to death. Now and
then one would come home with an arm or a leg missing; so that, before
many months had passed, even the generals conducting their campaigns at
Perdue's Corner managed to discover that war was a very serious
business.
It happened that one day in July, Captain Jack Walthall and his men,
together with quite an imposing array of comrades, were called upon to
breast the sultry thunder of Gettysburg. They bore themselves like men;
they went forward with a shout and a rush, facing the deadly slaughter
of the guns; they ran up the hill and to the rock wall. With others,
Captain Walthall leaped over the wall. They were met by a murderous
fire that mowed down the men like grass. The line in the rear wavered,
fell back, and went forward again. Captain Walthall heard his name
called in his front, and then some one cried, "Don't shoot!" and Little
Compton, his face blackened with powder, and his eyes glistening with
excitement, rushed into Walthall's arms. The order not to shoot--if it
was an order--came too late. There was another volley. As the
Confederates rushed forward, the Federal line retreated a little way,
and Walthall found himself surrounded by the small remnant of his men.
The Confederates made one more effort to advance, but it was useless.
The line was borne back, and finally retreated; but when it went down
the slope, Walthall and Lieutenant Ransome had Little Compton between
them. He was a prisoner. Just how it all happened, no one of the three
could describe, but Little Compton was carried into the Confederate
lines. He was wounded in the shoulder and in the arm, and the ball that
shattered his arm shattered Walthall's arm.
They were carried to the field hospital, where Walthall insisted that
Little Compton's wounds should be looked after first. The result was
that Walthall lost his left arm and Compton his right; and then, when by
some special interposition of Providence they escaped gangrene and other
results of imperfect surgery and bad nursing, they went to Richmond,
where Walthall's money and influence secured them comfortable quarters.
Hillsborough had heard of all this in a vague way--indeed, a rumor of it
had been printed in the Rockville "Vade Mecum"--but the generals and
commanders in consultation at Perdue's Corner were astonished one day
when the stage-coach set down at the door of the tavern a tall,
one-armed gentleman in gray, and a short, one-armed gentleman in blue.
"By the livin' Lord!" exclaimed Major Jimmy Bass, "if that ain't Jack
Walthall! And you may put out my two eyes if that ain't Little Compton!
Why, shucks, boys!" he exclaimed, as he waddled across the street, "I'd
'a' know'd you anywheres. I'm a little short-sighted, and I'm mighty
nigh took off wi' the dropsy, but I'd 'a' know'd you anywheres."
There were handshakings and congratulations from everybody in the town.
The clerks and the merchants deserted their stores to greet the
newcomers, and there seemed to be a general jubilee. For weeks Captain
Jack Walthall was compelled to tell his Gettysburg story over and over
again, frequently to the same hearers; and, curiously enough, there was
never a murmur of dissent when he told how Little Compton had insisted
on wearing his Federal uniform.
"Great Jiminy Craminy!" Major Jimmy Bass would exclaim; "don't we all
know Little Compton like a book? And ain't he got a right to wear his
own duds?"
Rockville, like every other railroad town in the South at that period,
had become the site of a Confederate hospital; and sometimes the
hangers-on and convalescents paid brief visits of inspection to the
neighboring villages. On one occasion a little squad of them made their
appearance on the streets of Hillsborough, and made a good-natured
attempt to fraternize with the honest citizens who gathered daily at
Perdue's Corner. While they were thus engaged, Little Compton, arrayed
in his blue uniform, passed down the street. The visitors made some
inquiries, and Major Bass gave them a very sympathetic history of Little
Compton. Evidently they failed to appreciate the situation; for one of
them, a tall Mississippian, stretched himself and remarked to his
companions:
"Boys, when we go, we'll just about lift that feller and take him along.
He belongs in Andersonville, that's where he belongs."
Major Bass looked at the tall Mississippian and smiled.
"I reckon you must 'a' been mighty sick over yander," said the major,
indicating Rockville.
"Well, yes," said the Mississippian; "I've had a pretty tough time."
"And you ain't strong yet," the major went on.
"Well, I'm able to get about right lively," said the other.
"Strong enough to go to war?"
"Oh, well, no--not just yet."
"Well, then," said the major in his bluntest tone, "you better be
mighty keerful of yourself in this town. If you ain't strong enough to
go to war, you better let Little Compton alone."
The tall Mississippian and his friends took the hint, and Little Compton
continued to wear his blue uniform unmolested. About this time Atlanta
fell; and there were vague rumors in the air, chiefly among the negroes,
that Sherman's army would march down and capture Hillsborough, which, by
the assembly of generals at Perdue's Corner, was regarded as a strategic
point. These vague rumors proved to be correct; and by the time the
first frosts fell, Perdue's Corner had reason to believe that General
Sherman was marching down on Hillsborough. Dire rumors of fire, rapine,
and pillage preceded the approach of the Federal army, and it may well
be supposed that these rumors spread consternation in the air. Major
Bass professed to believe that General Sherman would be "surroundered"
and captured before his troops reached Middle Georgia; but the three
columns, miles apart, continued their march unopposed.
It was observed that during this period of doubt, anxiety, and terror,
Little Compton was on the alert. He appeared to be nervous and restless.
His conduct was so peculiar that some of the more suspicious citizens of
the region predicted that he had been playing the part of a spy, and
that he was merely waiting for the advent of Sherman's army in order to
point out where his acquaintances had concealed their treasures.
One fine morning a company of Federal troopers rode into Hillsborough.
They were met by Little Compton, who had borrowed one of Jack Walthall's
horses for just such an occasion. The cavalcade paused in the public
square, and, after a somewhat prolonged consultation with Little
Compton, rode on in the direction of Rockville. During the day small
parties of foragers made their appearance. Little Compton had some
trouble with these; but, by hurrying hither and thither, he managed to
prevent any depredations. He even succeeded in convincing the majority
of them that they owed some sort of respect to that small town. There
was one obstinate fellow, however, who seemed determined to prosecute
his search for valuables. He was a German who evidently did not
understand English.
In the confusion Little Compton lost sight of the German, though he had
determined to keep an eye on him. It was not long before he heard of him
again; for one of the Walthall negroes came running across the public
square, showing by voice and gesture that he was very much alarmed.
"Marse Compton! Marse Compton!" he cried, "you better run up ter Marse
Jack's, kaze one er dem mens is gwine in dar whar ole Miss is, en ef he
do dat he gwine ter git hurted!"
Little Compton hurried to the Walthall place, and he was just in time to
see Jack rushing the German down the wide flight of steps that led to
the veranda. What might have happened, no one can say; what did happen
may be briefly told. The German, his face inflamed with passion, had
seized his gun, which had been left outside, and was aiming at Jack
Walthall, who stood on the steps, cool and erect. An exclamation of
mingled horror and indignation from Little Compton attracted the
German's attention, and caused him to turn his head. This delay probably
saved Jack Walthall's life; for the German, thinking that a comrade was
coming to his aid, leveled his gun again and fired. But Little Compton
had seized the weapon near the muzzle and wrested it around. The bullet,
instead of reaching its target, tore its way through Compton's empty
sleeve. In another instant the German was covered by Compton's revolver.
The hand that held it was steady, and the eyes that glanced along its
shining barrel fairly blazed. The German dropped his gun. All trace of
passion disappeared from his face; and presently seeing that the crisis
had passed, so far as he was concerned, he wheeled in his tracks,
gravely saluted Little Compton, and made off at a double-quick.
"You mustn't think hard of the boys, Jack, on account of that chap. They
understand the whole business, and they are going to take care of this
town."
And they did. The army came marching along presently, and the stragglers
found Hillsborough patrolled by a detachment of cavalry.
Walthall and Little Compton stood on the wide steps, and reviewed this
imposing array as it passed before them. The tall Confederate, in his
uniform of gray, rested his one hand affectionately on the shoulder of
the stout little man in blue, and on the bosom of each was pinned an
empty sleeve. Unconsciously, they made an impressive picture.
The Commander, grim, gray, and resolute, observed it with sparkling
eyes. The spectacle was so unusual--so utterly opposed to the logic of
events--that he stopped with his staff long enough to hear Little
Compton tell his story. He was a grizzled, aggressive man, this
Commander, but his face lighted up wonderfully at the recital.
"Well, you know this sort of thing doesn't end the war, boys," he said,
as he shook hands with Walthall and Little Compton; "but I shall sleep
better to-night."
Perhaps he did. Perhaps he dreamed that what he had seen and heard was
prophetic of the days to come, when peace and fraternity should seize
upon the land, and bring unity, happiness, and prosperity to the
people.
AUNT FOUNTAIN'S PRISONER
IT is curious how the smallest incident, the most unimportant
circumstance, will recall old friends and old associations. An old
gentleman, who is noted far and near for his prodigious memory of dates
and events, once told me that his memory, so astonishing to his friends
and acquaintances, consisted not so much in remembering names and dates
and facts, as in associating each of these with some special group of
facts and events; so that he always had at command a series of
associations to which he could refer instantly and confidently. This is
an explanation of the system of employing facts, but not of the method
by which they are accumulated and stored away.