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[Illustration: REPLACING THE NOTICE.]
A
REBELLION IN DIXIE
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON
AUTHOR OF “THE GUNBOAT SERIES,” “THE HUNTER SERIES,”
“WAR SERIES,” ETC.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. IN REGARD TO THE REBELLION, 5
II. THE CONVENTION, 25
III. “A WORD IN YOUR EAR,” 45
IV. CARL BRINGS NEWS, 65
V. CAPTURING A WAGON-TRAIN, 88
VI. THE MARCH HOMEWARD, 109
VII. BREAKING THE MULE, 129
VIII. REBELS IN THE REAR, 152
IX. A NIGHT EXPEDITION, 176
X. CALE WANTS A MULE, 196
XI. MR. DAWSON’S STRATEGY, 220
XII. THE REBELS TAKE REVENGE, 247
XIII. CALE IN TROUBLE, 271
XIV. LEON A PRISONER, 294
XV. A FRIEND IN NEED, 315
XVI. A FIGHT AND ITS RESULTS, 338
XVII. THE EVENTS OF A WEEK, 363
XVIII. COLEMAN PROVES HIS HONESTY, 384
XIX. CONCLUSION, 407
A REBELLION IN DIXIE.
CHAPTER I.
IN REGARD TO THE REBELLION.
“Now, Leon, you will take in everybody. Don’t leave a single man out,
for we want them all there at this convention.”
“Secessionists, as well as Union men?”
“Yes, of course. I had a talk with Nathan Knight, last night, and he
says everybody must be informed of the fact. We are going to secede from
the State of Mississippi and get up a government of our own, and he
declares that everybody must be told of it.”
“I tell you, dad, we’ve got a mighty poor show. I suppose there are at
least two thousand fighting men here—”
“Say fifteen hundred; and they are all good shots, too.”
“And Jeff Davis has called out a hundred thousand men. Where would we be
if he would send that number of men after us?”
“He ain’t a-going to send no hundred thousand men after us. He has other
work for them to do, and when the few he does send come here in search
of us, he won’t find hide nor hair of a living man in the county.”
It was Mr. Sprague who spoke last, and his words were addressed to his
son Leon. They, both of them, stood leaning on their horses, and were
equipped for long rides in opposite directions. Just inside the gate was
a woman leaning upon it; but, although she was a Southerner, she did not
shed tears when she saw Leon and his father about to start on their
perilous ride. For she knew that every step of the way would be harassed
by danger, and if she saw either one of them after she bade them
good-bye it would all be owing to fortunate manœuvres on their part
rather than to any mismanagement on the part of the rebels. They were
both known as strong Union men, and no doubt there were some of their
neighbors who were determined that they should not fulfil their errand.
It would be an easy matter to shoot them down and throw their bodies
into the swamp, and no one would be the wiser for it.
Leon Sprague was sixteen years old, and had been a raftsman all his
life. He had but little education but much common sense, for schools
were something that did not hold a high place in Jones county. In fact
there had been but one school in the county since he could remember, and
some of the boys took charge of that, and conducted themselves in a
manner that drove the teacher away. Leon was a fine specimen of a boy,
as he stood there listening to his father’s instructions—tall beyond his
years, and straight as one of the numerous pines that he had so often
felled and rafted to Pascagoula bay. His countenance was frank and
open—no one ever thought of doubting Leon’s word—but just now there was
a scowl upon it as he listened to what his father had to say to him.
These people, the Spragues, were a little better off than most of those
who followed their occupation, owning a nice little farm, four negroes,
and a patch of timber-land from which they cut their logs and rafted
them down to tide-water to furnish the masts for ocean-going vessels.
His father and mother were simple-minded folks who thought they had
everything that was worth living for, and they did not want to see the
Government broken up on any pretext. The negro men worked the farm and
their wives were busy in the house, which they kept as neat as a new
pin. Just now the men had been butchering hogs in the woods, and were at
work making hams and bacon of them. These negroes did not have an
overseer—they did not know what it was. They went about their work
bright and early, and when Saturday afternoon came they posted off to
the nearest village to enjoy their half-holiday. They loved their master
and mistress, and if anybody had offered them their freedom they would
not have taken it.
In order that you may understand this story, boy reader, it is necessary
that you should know something of the character of the inhabitants, and
be able to bear in mind the nature of the country in which this
Rebellion in Dixie took place, for it was as much of a rebellion as that
in Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina and Missouri, where men were shot
and hanged for not believing as their neighbors did, and their houses
were set on fire. They made up their minds at the start—as early as
1862—that they would not furnish any men for the Southern army; and,
furthermore, they took good care to see that there was no drafting done
in their county.
If you will take your atlas and turn to the map of Mississippi you will
find Jones county in the southeastern part of the State, and about
seventy-five miles north of Mobile, a port that was one of the last to
be captured by the United States army. It comprised nearly twenty
townships, the white population being 1482, a small chance, one would
think, for people to live as they did for almost two years. The land was
not fertile, “the entire region being made up of pine barrens and
swamps, traversed by winding creeks, bordered by almost impenetrable
thickets.” It was bounded on four sides by Jasper, Wayne, Perry and
Covington counties, which were all loyal to the Confederacy, and it
would seem that the people had undertaken an immense job to carry on a
rebellion here in the face of such surroundings. The inhabitants were,
almost to a man, opposed to the war. They were lumbermen, who earned a
precarious living by cutting the pine trees and rafting them to
tide-water, which at that time was found on Pascagoula bay. They had
everything that lumbermen could ask for, and they did not think that any
effort to cut themselves loose from the North would result in any glory
to them. They could not get any more for their timber than they were
getting now, and why should they consent to go into the army and fight
for principles that they knew nothing about?
Of course, this county was divided against itself, as every other county
was that laid claim to some Union and some Confederate inhabitants.
There were men among them who had their all invested there, and they did
not think these earnest people were pursuing the right course. These
were the secessionists, but they were very careful about what they said,
although they afterward found opportunities to put their ideas into
practice. When General Lowery was sent with a strong force to crush out
this rebellion he was met by a stubborn resistance, and some of these
Confederates, who were seen and recognized by their Union neighbors,
were afterward shot to pay them for the part they had carried out in
conducting the enemy to their place of retreat. Taken altogether, it was
such a thing as nobody had ever heard of before, but the way these
lumbermen went about it proclaimed what manner of men they were. It
seemed as if the Confederacy could run enough men in there to wipe out
the Jones County Republic before they could have time to organize their
army; but for all that the inhabitants were determined to go through
with it. They held many a long talk with one another when they met on
the road or in convention at Ellisville, and there wasn’t a man who was
in favor of joining the Confederacy, the secessionists wisely keeping
out of sight.
Things went on in this way for a year or more, during which the
lumbermen talked amazingly, but did nothing. Finally Fort Sumter was
fired upon, and afterward came the disastrous battle of Bull Run, and
then the Confederates began to gain a little courage. They knew the
South was going to whip, and these battles confirmed them in the belief;
but the raftsmen did not believe it. In 1862, when the Confederate
Congress passed the act of conscription, which compelled those liable to
do military duty to serve in the army, the lumbermen grew in earnest,
and a few of them got together in Ellisville and talked the matter over.
The market for their logs had long ago been broken up, and some of them
were beginning to feel the need of something to eat; and when one of
their number proposed, more as a joke than anything else, that they
should cast their fortunes with the Confederates, and so be able to go
down to tide-water and get some provisions, the motion was hooted down
in short order. There were not enough people there to hold a convention,
and so the matter was postponed, some of the wealthy ones who owned
horses being selected to ride about the county and inform every one that
the matter had gone far enough—that they were going to hold a meeting
and see what the lumbermen thought of taking the county out of the State
of Mississippi. Leon and his father were two of those chosen, and they
were just getting ready to start on their journey.
“I don’t know as I ought to send that boy out at all, Mary,” said Mr.
Sprague, when he arrived at home that night after the convention had
been decided upon. “I have never seen Leon in trouble and I don’t know
how he will act; but the boys down to Ellisville seemed determined to
let him go, and I never said a word about it.”
“I think you have seen Leon in trouble a half a dozen times,” said his
wife, who was prompt to side with her son. “The time that Tom Howe came
so near being smashed up with those logs down there in the bend—I guess
he was in trouble then, wasn’t he?”
“But that was with logs; it wasn’t with men,” said Mr. Sprague. “Yes,
Leon was pretty plucky that day, and when all the boys cheered him I
didn’t say a word, although I had an awkward feeling of pride around my
heart, I tell you.”
Leon and three or four other fellows of light build were frequently
called upon to start a jam of logs which had filled up the stream so
full that the timber could not move. A hasty glance at the jam would
show them the log that was to blame for it, and armed with an ax and
bare-footed the boys would leap upon the raft and go out to it. A few
hasty blows would start the jam, and the timber rushing by with the
speed of a lightning express train, the boys would make their way back
to the shore, jumping from one log to another. Sometimes they did not
get back without a ducking. On the occasion referred to Tom went out
alone, and after he had been there some minutes without starting the
jam, Leon was sent out to assist him. Two axes were better than one, and
in a few minutes the timber was started. It came with a rush, too, but
Tom was just a moment too late. The log upon which he had been chopping
shot up into the air fully twenty feet, and when it came down it struck
the log on which Tom was standing and soused him head over heels in the
water; but before he went he felt somebody’s around him. It was Leon
Sprague’s arm, for the latter struck the water almost as soon as he did.
Leon came up a moment afterward with Tom hanging limp and lifeless in
his arms, and heard the cheers of the “boys” ringing in his ears, but
had to go down again to escape the onward rush of the logs which were
coming toward him with almost railroad speed. By going down in this way
and swimming lustily whenever the logs were far enough away to admit of
it, Leon succeeded in landing about half a mile below, and hauling his
senseless burden out on the bank. Tom could swim—there were few boys on
the stream that could beat him at that—but when that log came down on
him it well nigh knocked it all out. Leon’s father never said a word. He
walked up and gave the boy’s hand a hearty shake, and that was the last
of it. Leon had the opportunity of knowing, as soon as Tom came to
himself, that he had made a life-long friend by his last half-hour’s
operations.
“Jeff Davis ain’t a going to send no hundred thousand men after us,”
repeated Mr. Sprague, preparing to mount his horse. “He’ll send a few in
here to break up this rebellion, and when they get here we’ll be in the
woods out of sight. Kiss your mother, Leon, and let’s go. We have got a
good ways to ride before night.”
“Now, Leon, be careful of yourself,” said his mother.
“You need have no fear of me,” said Leon, leaving his horse and going up
to the gate. “I’ve got my revolver in my pocket all handy.”
“But remember that when you are riding along the road somebody can
easily pick you off,” said Mrs. Sprague. “You know you are a Union boy.”
“Do you want me to make believe that I am--Confederate?”
“By no means. Stick to the Union. Good-bye.”
The farewells being said, father and son got upon their horses and rode
away in opposite directions. Leon rode a high-stepping horse—he was fond
of a good animal and he owned one of the very best in the county—but he
allowed him to wander at his own gait, knowing that the horse would be
tired enough when he returned home. As he rode along, thinking how
foolish the people were to consider seriously the proposal to withdraw
from the Union, he ran against a boy about his own age who, like
himself, was journeying on horseback. He was a boy he did not like to
see. He was awfully “stuck up,” and, furthermore, he was a rebel and did
not hesitate to have his opinions known.
“Hello, Leon,” exclaimed Carl Swayne, for that was the boy’s name.
“Where are you going this morning?”
“I am going around to see every man in this side of the county,” said
Leon. “We are going to get up a convention on the 13th, and we want
everybody there. The convention is going to be held at Ellisville.”
“By George! Has it come to that?” cried Carl, flourishing his
riding-whip in the air. “What do you think you are going to do after you
get to that convention?”
“We are going to dissolve the Union existing between this county and the
State of Mississippi.”
“Yes, I’ll bet you will. How long will it be before the Confederates
will send men in here to whip you out? You must think you can stand
against them.”
“I don’t think we can stand against anybody,” said Leon. “If the
Confederates come in here we shall go into the woods.”
“Well, it won’t take me long to show them where you are,” said Carl,
savagely. “I was talking with uncle about it last night, and he says you
haven’t got but a few fighting men here, and that it is utterly
preposterous for you to think of getting up a rebellion. I know one
thing about it: you will all be hanged.”
“And I know another thing about it,” said Leon. “When it comes we’ll be
in good company. Will you be down to our convention?”
“Not as anybody knows of,” replied Carl, with a laugh. “I’ll get
somebody up here to put a stop to it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be too hasty about it. You may get hanged yourself.”
“Yes? I’d like to see the man living that can put a rope around my
neck,” exclaimed Carl, hotly. “I’ve got more friends in this county than
one would suppose. I’ll bet you wouldn’t be one of the first to do it.”
Leon picked up his reins and went on without answering this question. He
saw that Carl was in a fair way to pick a quarrel with him, and he had
no desire to keep up his end of it. Carl was hot-headed, and when he got
mad, was apt to do and say some things that any boy of his age ought to
have been ashamed of. He kept on down the road for a mile further, and
finally turned into a broad carriage-way that led up to a neat little
cottage that was surrounded by shade trees on all sides. This was the
house of Mr. Smith—a crusty old bachelor who had always taken a deep
interest in Leon. He was Union to the backbone, and if he could have had
his way he would have made short work with all such fellows as Carl
Swayne. He was sitting out on the porch indulging in a smoke.
“Hallo, Leon,” he cried, as soon as he found out who the new-comer was.
“Alight and hitch.”
“I can’t do it, Mr. Smith,” replied Leon. “I am bound to see every man
in this part of the county, and that, you know, is a good long ride. We
are going to hold a convention on the 13th, and we want you to come down
to it.”
“Whew!” whistled Mr. Smith. “You bet I’ll be there. What are you going
to do at that convention?”
Leon explained briefly, adding:
“I just now saw a fellow whom I asked to come down, and he positively
declined. He says he will get somebody to put a stop to it.”
“That’s Carl Swayne,” said Mr. Smith, in a tone of disgust. “Say! I will
give half my fortune if we can hang that fellow and his uncle to the
nearest tree. They have been preaching up secessionists’ doctrines here
till you can’t rest.”
“I think we can get the better of them after a while,” said Leon. “When
did you get back?” he added, for Mr. Smith had been down to tide-water
to see what was going on there. “Did you see or hear anything in
Mobile?”
“I got back last night. There is nothing in Mobile except
fortifications. I tell you it will require a big army to take that
place. By the way, Leon, I want to see you some time all by yourself.
Don’t let any one know you are coming here, but just come.”
“I’ll remember it, Mr. Smith. You won’t forget the convention? Good-by.”
“What in the world does the old fellow want to see me for?” soliloquized
Leon. “And why couldn’t he have told me to-day as well as any other
time? Well, it can’t be much, any way.”
Leon kept on his ride, and before night he was many miles from home. He
took in every house he came to, Union as well as secessionist, and while
the former greeted him cordially, the rebels had something to say to him
that fairly took his breath away. If he hadn’t been the most
even-tempered fellow in the world he would have got fighting mad. They
all agreed as to one thing: They were going to see Leon hanged for
carrying around the notice of that convention. His neighbors wouldn’t do
it, but there would be plenty of Confederates in there after a while
that would string the Union people up as fast as they could get to them.
Leon had no idea that there were so many secessionists in the county as
he found there when he came to ride through it, and he made up his mind
to one thing, and that was, it was going to be pretty hard work to carry
that county out of the State.
“But just wait until we get together and decide upon a constitution,”
said Leon, as he rode along with his hands in his pockets and his eyes
fastened upon the horn of his saddle. “Jeff Davis has long ago ordered
all Union men out of the Confederacy, and what is there to hinder us
from ordering all these rebels out? That’s an idea, and I will speak to
father about it.”
Leon did not care to spend all night with such people as these, and so
he kept on until he found a family whose sentiments agreed with his own,
and there he laid by until morning. The head of this household had but
recently come into the county, and Leon did not know him. When the
latter rode up to the bars the man was chopping wood in front of a
dilapidated shanty, but when he saw Leon approaching he dropped his axe,
took long strides toward his door and turned around and faced him. The
boy certainly thought he was acting in a very strange way, and for a
moment didn’t know whether he was a Union man or a rebel.
“Good evening, sir,” said Leon, who thought he might as well settle the
matter once for all. “Can I stay all night with you?”
“Who are you and where did you come from?” asked the man in reply.
“My name is Leon Sprague and I live in the other part of the county,”
replied Leon. “I am a Union boy all over, and I came out to tell
everybody—”
“Course we can keep you all night if that is the kind of a boy you are,”
replied the man coming up to the bars. “Get off and turn your horse
loose. I haven’t seen a Union boy before in a long while. I came from
Tennessee.”
“What are you doing down here?” asked Leon, as he led his horse over the
bars.
“I came down here to get out of reach of the rebels, dog-gone ’em,” said
the man in a passionate tone of voice. “You had just ought to see them
up there. They have got their jails full, they are hanging men for
burning bridges, and when I left home there was two or three thousand
men going over the mountains into Kentucky. But I couldn’t go with them.
The rebels cut me off, and as I was bound to go somewhere, I came on
down here.”
Leon had by this time taken the saddle and bridle from his horse and
turned him loose to get his own supper. Then he backed up against the
fence and watched the man chopping his wood.