THE CONVENTION.
“What made you start for the house when you saw me coming up?” said
Leon, as the man sank his axe deep into the log on which he was chopping
and paused to moisten his hands.
“Because I thought you was a rebel. I reckoned there was more coming
behind you, and I wanted to be pretty close to my rifle. I didn’t know
that I had got into a community of Union folks down here.”
Leon was astonished to hear the man converse. He talked like an
intelligent person, and the boy was glad to have him express an opinion,
for it was so much better than his own that he resolved to profit by it.
“I don’t know that you got in among Union people,” said Leon, “for I
have seen more rebels to-day than I thought there was in the county; but
all the same there are some Union folks here. You might have gone
further and fared worse.”
“So I believe. When you came up you said you were out to tell everybody
something. What were you going to say?”
It didn’t take Leon more than two minutes to explain himself. The man
listened with genuine amazement, and when the boy got through he seated
himself on the log and rested his elbows on his knees.
“How are you going to take this county out?” said he. “You haven’t got
men enough to do any fighting.”
“No, sir; but we are going to do the best we can with what we have got.”
“That’s plucky at any rate. I suppose that if the rebels come in here to
capture you, you will take to the swamp.”
“Yes, sir. That’s just what we intend to do.”
“Well, sir, you can put my name down for that convention,” said the man,
getting upon his feet and going to work upon his wood-pile. “I’ve got so
down on the rebels that I am willing to do anything I can to bother
them. I’ve got two brothers in jail up there now.”
“You said something about bridge burning,” said Leon, and he didn’t know
whether he made a mistake or not. “Perhaps you had a hand in it.”
“Perhaps I did,” answered the man with a laugh. “And I tell you I had to
dig out as soon as I got home. So you see I dare not go back there.”
“What’s the punishment?”
“Death,” answered the man. “And they don’t give you any time to say
good-bye to your friends. They don’t even court-martial you, but string
you up at once.”
The man said this in much the same tone that he would have asked for a
drink of water. Leon was surprised that one who had passed through so
many dangers as that man had could speak of it so indifferently. But
then he looked like a man who would have been picked out of a crowd to
engage in business of that kind. He was large and bony, the ease with
which he handled his axe was surprising, but his face was one to attract
anybody’s attention. It was a determined face—a face that wouldn’t back
down for any obstacles. If the Union men in Tennessee were all like him,
it was a wonder how the rebels got the start of them.
“I can’t give you as good a place here as I could at home,” said the
man, as his wife came to the door and told him that supper was ready.
“At home I have a commodious house, and you could have a room in it all
to yourself. Here I have nothing but this little tumble-down shanty to
go into. It leaks, but I will soon get the better of that. Molly, this
young man is Union all over, and he has come down here to tell of a
convention that is to be held at Ellisville to take this county out of
the State. Whoever heard of such a thing? I am going to that meeting,
sure pop.”
His wife was greatly surprised to listen to this, but she accepted the
introduction to Leon, and forthwith proceeded to make him feel at home.
There were two children, but they had been taught to behave, and did not
try to shove themselves forward at all. Taken altogether, it was a
comfortable meal, and before it was over Leon learned some things
regarding this man that he wouldn’t have believed possible. He had come
all the way through the rebel State of Mississippi by telling the people
he met on the way that he was going to see some friends, and had, by
chance, struck Jones county, the very place of all others he wanted to
be.
“I must confess it was pretty pokerish, sometimes,” said the man. “The
rebels had sent on a description of me as the man who helped burn their
bridges, and now and then I had to get under the bundles of clothing and
cover myself up there, leaving my wife to guide the horses. But I had my
rifle all right, and it would have gone hard with the men who discovered
me.”
The evening was passed in this way listening to the man’s stories, and
when Leon went to bed in a dark corner of the room he told himself that
he had got into a desperate scrape, and that he had got something to do
in order to get out of it. He had never dreamed that men could be down
on their neighbors in that way, and here this man had all he could do to
keep from being shot.
“By George! I tell you we are in for it,” said Leon, pulling the
blankets up over him, “and I don’t know how we are going to come out.
There are rebels all around us, and if they are as bad down here as they
are up in Tennessee there won’t one of us come through alive. But I am
armed, and I’ll see that some of them get as good as they send.”
It was daylight when Leon awoke, and after washing his hands and face in
a basin outside the door he stood in front of the fireplace, before
which the woman was engaged in cooking the breakfast, and looked up at
the man’s rifle, which hung on some wooden pegs over the mantel. It was
an ordinary muzzle-loading thing, and didn’t look as though it had been
the death of anybody.
“That rifle has been too much for half a dozen men,” said the woman.
“Why, how did that happen?” asked Leon.
“It happened when they came to burn us out,” answered the woman. “They
came one night and tried to call Josiah to the door, but he would not
go. He took his rifle down, but he wouldn’t shoot until they did, and as
he is a good shot, he hit every time. The next day we had to move, for
they came with a larger body of men.”
“There is one thing that makes me think you are in a bad place,” said
Leon. “You are right here close to the river which separates the two
counties, and if anybody makes a raid over here they will strike you,
sure. I think if that convention is held you had better come down to our
place. We have room enough there to stow you away.”
“Oh, thank you. Perhaps you had better speak to Josiah about it.”
Josiah was out attending to his horses and cow, and Leon went out to
him. He looked at him with more respect than he did the night before,
for, in addition to burning the bridges, he had “got the better” of half
a dozen men. He bade Leon a hearty good-morning, but the boy noticed
that all the while he kept talking to him he kept his eyes fastened on
the woods. Probably it was from the force of habit. He agreed with Leon
that they were in a bad place to meet raids, and promised that after the
convention came off he would see what he could do. He didn’t want to
trespass on anybody until he had to.
Breakfast over, Leon brought his horse to the door, put on his saddle
and bridle and bid good-bye to the family from Tennessee, and rode off.
He was two days more on his route, and on the third day he turned his
horse toward home. He reached it without any mishap, and his mother was
glad to see him, judging by the hug she gave him. His father had arrived
the night before, but the stories he had to tell didn’t compare with
Leon’s. Of course his mother was shocked when she learned that Josiah
(Leon did not know what else to call him) had shot so many men before he
left Tennessee, but she readily agreed to shelter his wife and children.
“I never thought to ask him his name,” said Leon, “but I will ask him
down to the convention. He was dead in favor of it, and said he would be
there. I tell you that man has passed through a heap. He couldn’t talk
to me without running his eyes over the woods to see if there was
anybody coming.”
On the next day but one was the time of the convention, and at an early
hour Mr. Sprague and Leon mounted their horses and set out for
Ellisville. On the way they picked up a good many more, both afoot and
on horseback, and by the time they reached their destination they
numbered fifty or more. They made their way at once to the church, and
found themselves surrounded by a formidable body of men, all of whom
were armed with rifles. There must have been a thousand men there, and
there was not a secessionist to be seen in the party. Shortly afterward
Nathan Knight arrived. He bid good-morning to the people right and left,
and went into the church, whither he was followed by all the building
would hold. Those who couldn’t get in raised the windows on the outside
and settled themselves down to hear what was going to happen.
Nathan Knight was a large man, with gray whiskers and an eye that seemed
to look right through you. But for all that his face was kindly, and if
you got broken up in business and wanted help, Nathan Knight was the man
to go to. He took his seat in the pulpit, just where he knew the folks
would send him, took off his hat and drew his handkerchief across his
forehead. His meeting was not conducted according to order, but those
who were there understood it.
“Gentlemen will please come to order,” said he. “Are there any of us who
are opposed to taking this county out of the State of Mississippi? If
there is, let him now speak or hereafter hold his peace.”
Each man gazed into the face of his neighbor; but each one knew that the
one he looked at was as much in favor of secession as he was himself.
Finally, some one in the back part of the church called out:
“Nathan, there ain’t nary a rebel here.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Mr. Knight. “But there are some around in
the county, and you want to be careful how you deal with them. I will
now appoint a committee of six to draw up a series of resolutions of
secession. They will go over to the hotel and come back when they get
done.”
Mr. Knight had evidently been thinking of this matter before for he
appointed the committee without hesitation, and among them was the name
of Mr. Sprague. They were all men who would not say a thing they did not
mean, and as they were about to go out the president beckoned Mr.
Sprague to his desk and placed a piece of paper in his hands.
“There’s some resolutions I drew up after thinking the matter over,”
said he. “Perhaps it will serve as a model to you. You can amend them or
leave them out entirely, as suits you best.”
When the committee had retired Mr. Knight got up, and for the next
half-hour proceeded to arraign the Confederate States and praise the
Union, his remarks calling forth loud and long-continued applause. He
took the ground that it was a “geographical impossibility” to conquer
Jones county, because, the inhabitants being lumbermen, it would be easy
for them to slip into the woods, and when there nobody but a raftsman
could find them. He kept his speech going until the committee were seen
coming back. Mr. Sprague made his way to the desk, and amid the most
impressive silence read the resolutions of secession as follows:
WHEREAS, The State of Mississippi has seen fit to withdraw from the
Federal Union for reasons which appear justifiable;
_And whereas_, We, the citizens of Jones county, claim the same right,
thinking our grievances are sufficient by reason of an unjust law passed
by Congress of the Confederate States of America, forcing us to go to
distant parts, etc., etc.;
_Therefore be it resolved_, That we sever the union heretofore existing
between Jones county and the State of Mississippi, and proclaim our
independence of said State and the Confederate States of America; and we
solemnly call upon Almighty God to witness and bless such act.
When Mr. Sprague ceased reading, the applause which shook the building
was long and loud. Not satisfied with that, some of the raftsmen fired
off their guns, and for the next five or ten minutes it was impossible
to do anything inside the church. By that time the excitement had
somewhat died out, and then the president asked if there was any debate
on the matter, but no one had anything to say. Knowing that those six
men had the good of the county at heart, there was not one who had
anything to say against them. Mr. Knight expressed himself pleased, and
was about to announce that the resolutions were passed, when somebody on
the outside of the building called out:
“Nathan, here’s a couple of rebels out here.”
“What are they doing out there?” asked the president, in surprise.
“I don’t know. They have just come up here. It looks to me like they
were going to recruit.”
“Well, fetch them in here. Now, boys, not a word out of you. I will do
the talking, and if you have any questions to ask, you can ask them; but
don’t all talk at once.”
Mr. Knight settled back in his chair and the most profound silence
ensued. Finally the crowd about the door gave way as the rebels and
their escort approached, and the Confederates, seeing so many men
standing there with their hats all off, courteously took off their own.
They kept on until they got up to the desk, and then Mr. Knight drew up
chairs for them to be seated.
“Now, gentlemen, what brought you up here?” asked the president.
“We came up here to recruit,” replied the ranking officer. “I am glad to
see so many of you here, for it will save us the trouble of hunting you
up.”
“Will you be kind enough to read that?” said Mr. Knight, unfolding the
paper on which the resolutions were written and passing it over to the
officer.
The official took the paper, and as he read his eyes opened with
surprise. When he had got through with it he passed it over to his
subordinate, and then turned and looked at the men near him. He was
satisfied that there was not a man there who did not believe every word
of those resolutions. The officer had nothing to fear now—he was the
first recruiting official that ever came there—but after he got away he
would not come back at any price.
“These are not all your men?” said he.
“No, sir. We have not more than three hundred men, but these extra
parties have come in with their families at odd times. And every man you
see is a Union man.”
“My friend, you are making a great mistake,” began the officer.
“We are ready to stand by it, sir.”
“Do you suppose the Confederates will stand by and allow you to take
this county out of the State, to be an odd sheep in the flock?”
continued the officer. “The first thing you know you will be overrun
with men, and you won’t have a house to go into.”
“What will we be doing all that time?”
“Oh, I suppose you will fight, but it won’t do you any good. The
Confederates can send twenty thousand men in here.”
“We don’t care if they send forty thousand,” replied the president.
“Whatever you send we’ll fight.”
The men who were crowded in the church and gathered about the windows
couldn’t stand it any longer. They broke out into loud applause, which
continued for some minutes. When they got through, the officer evidently
thought they were in earnest.
“We have a thousand men here, and when we get into the swamp we are
willing to meet five thousand,” continued Mr. Knight. “You can’t conquer
us.”
“What will you do for grub?”
“We’ll steal it,” shouted one of the men; and the answer was so droll
and corresponded so entirely with the thoughts of the men who were
standing around, that the whole assembly burst into laughter. Even the
enrolling officers joined in.
“I suppose you can do that, of course,” said he, “but supposing the
escort is too strong to be successfully attacked?”
“We don’t borrow any trouble on that score,” said Mr. Knight. “We
haven’t got all the men we are going to have. You see how they are
coming in now. But you are interrupting us, and we shall have to bid you
good-bye. You see very plainly that you can’t raise any men here for the
Confederate army. Another thing we’ll tell you, you are the first to
come in, and you will be the last to go out.”
“Do you mean to say that you will kill any enrolling officers who come
here?”
“That’s just what I mean to say. We don’t want them here.”
“Well,” said the official, rising to his feet, “we’ll go, but we won’t
be the last officers to come in here. I will tell you that very plainly.
You mustn’t think that the Confederates are going to allow you to have
your own way in this matter. It beats anything I ever heard of.”
“We are aware of that, and that’s what makes us think we are going to go
through with it. I will bid you good-bye, gentlemen.”
The men divided right and left to allow the rebels a chance to get out,
and when they had passed out beyond the door the president proceeded to
call the meeting to order.
“I am pleased with the way you obeyed my commands,” said Mr. Knight. “If
you will obey as promptly as that, we are going to be hard to whip. The
next thing is to elect a president.”
“I nominate Nathan Knight as president of the Jones County Confederacy,”
shouted a man near the door.
“We ought to have a ballot for that,” said Mr. Knight.
“We don’t need no ballot. It takes too much time. Can I get a second to
that?”
He could and he did. It seemed as if every man in the house seconded the
motion. Mr. Sprague put the vote before the house, and it was carried
unanimously. Mr. Knight did not stop to make a speech, but said the next
vote would be for vice-president, and Mr. Sprague was nominated.
“Hold on, there,” shouted a voice. “We don’t want Mr. Sprague for
vice-president. We want him for secretary of war. If there is any man
who can put us fellows where we can do the most good in a fight Mr.
Sprague is the chap.”
And so it was all through the convention. There wasn’t a ballot taken
for anything, and no man thought of declining an office. By four o’clock
the work was all done, and then Mr. Knight thought of something else.
“There is one thing more that I want the convention to decide on,” said
he. “It is a ticklish piece of business, but we have got to do it. Jeff
Davis has been making things very uncomfortable for our fellows out
there in the Confederacy by telling them that they have got to light out
or go into the army; now, what’s to hinder us from doing the same thing?
There are many rebels about here—”
“And I say let’s get rid of them,” said a voice. “I know one fellow who
is going around all the time talking secession, and if the meeting says
the word I’ll go to him and tell him he had better dig out. The county
will be a heap happier if he ain’t in it.”
“Let’s all go in a body,” said another voice.
“That’s what I say,” said a chorus of half a dozen men.
“I think myself that would be the better way,” said the president. “If a
lot of us get together and call upon a man, he will think we are in dead
earnest. Give them time to take what they want, and then escort them out
of the county. Don’t leave a rebel behind you. There being no further
business, the convention stands adjourned, to meet again upon call.”
And where was Leon Sprague all this time? He was sitting in the front
seat, where he could hear all that was going on. He felt proud when his
father was elected secretary of war. He supposed, of course, that it was
his business to post men in battle, but he learned better after a while.
He was particularly anxious about escorting the rebels out of the
county, and as soon as the convention adjourned he hurried out to find
Tom Howe. As he was hurrying through the door, whom should he run
against but Josiah—the “man who had seen a heap,” and who “got the best
of half a dozen men.” He stood with his rifle hugged up close to him as
if it were an old friend and he did not want to part from it.