ORSON’S MISTAKE
With bent head and covered eyes Berry stumbled toward the trees, and
at the sound of her approach Orson promptly extinguished his pipe; the
tiny light, that Berry had mistaken for a witch lantern, having been
the match he had used in lighting it.
The little girl had just reached the clump of trees when, close
at hand, a high-pitched voice called: “Halt! What seek ye at the
witch-tree?”
Orson was so close to Berry that he could have touched her, and
Berry gave a little gasp of terror at the sound of a voice coming,
apparently, from the tree itself. But her question was ready, and,
although her voice faltered a little, Orson could hear distinctly.
“If you please, kind witch, I want to know where Mollie Bragg is, and
when I will see her?” said Berry.
“Do you intend to obey, and promise what I require, if I answer?”
growled the voice, so near to Berry that she gave a little backward
start.
To obey a witch seemed rather a dreadful undertaking, but Berry did
not hesitate. “I do!” she faltered.
“’Tis well! You promise to come to this tree each day: to look under
a flat rock at its roots, and when you find a letter there to take it
and run your swiftest until you give it to the person whose name is
written upon it?” growled the voice.
“I promise,” said Berry.
It seemed to the little girl that the witch chuckled, and then there
was a moment’s silence. The wind died away, the thrashing branches of
the forest trees gradually lessened, stars shone out from among the
drifting clouds, and the darkness of the night grew less dense. Berry
heard the movement of some large body close beside her, and knew that
the witch would soon vanish.
“But tell me of Mollie?” she called anxiously.
“Boy! Mollie will soon return; watch for letters,” came the response
from some little distance. And now Berry uncovered her eyes and lifted
her bowed head.
“Boy!’” she repeated in amazement. “Witches don’t know everything
after all!” she decided, “and it was so dark how could it see I didn’t
wear a dress?” And Berry was conscious of a vague disappointment, as
she turned back toward the cabin. But the “witch” had said Mollie
would soon return; and Berry told herself that this news was worth all
her trouble. Then she recalled her promise, and wondered about the
letter. To carry a witch’s letter would, she thought, be something
that had never before happened to a little girl. She wished she could
tell her mother of this wonderful encounter with a witch; but Lily had
said that one must never tell of such things or the witches would be
angry. So Berry made her way back through the shadowy forest, climbed
into her chamber-window, and crept noiselessly into bed. But she lay
long awake thinking over her wonderful adventure at the witch’s tree.
Orson was well pleased at his success in securing “Berry Nees’s”
promise to watch for any message the “witch” might leave at the
Judas-tree. He lurked behind a stout oak until the little girl had
made her way up the trail, and then started back toward his camp. If
this “boy” could run as fast as Berry had boasted he knew it might
prove the means of defeating General Grant when that officer should
decide to attack the Confederates, and assured himself that he had
been very clever indeed in making Berry believe that she had really
encountered a witch.
Orson knew that Grant was determined to push on to the Memphis and
Charleston railroad, and that Beauregard hoped to surprise and capture
the Union Army of the Cumberland. To send the Confederate General news
of Grant’s approach would be a great triumph for this spy, and might,
as he well realized, bring him a reward in the approval of Jefferson
Davis, the head of the Southern Confederacy. It was therefore natural
that he should think himself very clever in securing Berry’s promise
to become his messenger. Ever since he had overheard Lily’s story of
the witch-tree he had lurked about the place, confident that “Berry
Nees” intended to ask a favor of the witches; and, on discovering the
honey and cake he had promptly established himself close to the tree,
thinking if Berry braved the darkness and the high wind it would be
a good proof of “the boy’s” courage; and Orson was well pleased to
find Berry so fearless. “Plucky little chap,” he thought approvingly,
and almost regretted that he had not openly told Berry the service he
meant to ask. But, on the whole, he decided he had chosen the better
way. He was glad that he could now start off toward the Tennessee
River, where he could keep a sharp outlook for any advance of the
Union army.
Berry had not the slightest idea as she sped along through the
darkness that close behind her came Lily; or that, when the voice had
called, “Halt!” Lily, trembling with terror, had nevertheless moved
a step nearer to her little mistress, ready, if need be, to risk any
danger to herself in defense of Berry. She had been so frightened at
Berry’s question that it was a wonder she had not screamed aloud; but
when Orson responded, calling Berry “Boy,” Lily regained her courage.
“Dat ain’ no witch!” she promptly decided; for the negroes of the
Southern plantations firmly believed in the existence of unseen
creatures, which they called witches, that knew far more than mortals;
and Lily was sure that a true witch could not be deceived, and
instantly she remembered the man Berry had met at the brook and whom
they had seen at his forest camp.
“I reckon dat man am a makin’ believe jes’ ter skeer my Missie, or
else he be up to somethin’,” decided Lily; and, as Berry turned toward
home, Lily moved quickly after the shadowy figure that was rapidly
making its way from tree to tree.
It did not take Lily long to discover that she was right in her
suspicion, and to recognize the tall, shadowy figure as that of the
woodsman whom she had seen roasting a partridge near the ledge where
she had discovered Berry.
“De misserbul critter,” Lily muttered angrily to herself; “an’ who
know w’ot place he wan’ my missie ter kerry a letter to? I jes’
kal’ate I’ll get dat air letter,” and Lily now hastened after Berry,
reaching the cabin just in time to see her young mistress clamber into
the open window.
With a sigh of relief Lily crept silently to her own room. Although
she had gone to sleep very early that evening she had awakened an
hour before Berry left the cabin, and, prompted by a vague fear in
regard to the safety of her young mistress, Lily had cautiously made
her way through the shadowy rooms to the door of Berry’s chamber
and curled herself up there. Her quick ear had instantly followed
Berry’s movement toward the window, and she had been close behind the
adventurous little girl as Berry scrambled down the trunk of the oak
tree.
Both the girls slept late the next morning, and Mrs. Arnold watched
Berry a little anxiously, for the little girl seemed unusually
serious. “I believe Berry misses Mollie Bragg more than we have
realized,” she said to Mr. Arnold, after Berry had gone out to work in
her garden, where the iris was already several inches high and where
the transplanted butterwort was in blossom.
“I should not be surprised if the Braggs return to their cabin,” Mr.
Arnold replied; “Bragg is such a coward that the sight of the marching
troops, of either the Confederate or Union army, will start him off;
and he will not be welcomed by any community where brave men are
willing to fight for what they believe to be right.”
It was very hard for Mr. Arnold to feel that he could not serve his
country. He realized now that from this remote cabin, perched on
the side of a ridge of the mountains of Tennessee, he might watch
the advance of General Grant’s army of the Cumberland moving toward
Corinth to attack the forces of General Johnston. Not for a moment
did Mr. Arnold imagine that the task of the Union army would be one
of defense, or that on the heights of Shiloh the Confederates would
surprise and very nearly overcome the Army of the Cumberland; nor
could it possibly occur to him that his small daughter was to render
a great service to the Union cause, and to be long remembered as “The
Yankee Girl of Shiloh.”
Berry, busy in her garden, thought over her adventure of the previous
night and wondered if the “witch” was right in saying that Mollie
would soon return. “Father thinks they will come back,” she reminded
herself; for Berry could not forget that the witch had failed
to discover that it was a little girl who had asked assistance.
Nevertheless, Berry was resolved that not a day should pass without
her visiting the clump of red-buds near the stream, that she might
keep her promise to the witch and deliver any letter she might find
there. And, quite unknown to her young mistress, Lily had resolved to
be the first to discover any letter hidden at the witch’s tree.
“An’ I’ll tek dat letter right ter Massa Arnold. Dat’s w’ot I’ll do.
Mebbe ’tis ‘bout me,” Lily decided firmly.