ON GUARD
Mollie Bragg wondered a good deal about Lily. Berry treated the
colored girl as if she had the same right to friendship and kindness
as if her skin were white. In fact, to Mollie it sometimes seemed that
Berry was more kind and thoughtful toward Lily than toward anyone
else, and this sadly puzzled Mollie; and, one day when the two little
friends were making a playhouse under the big oak tree behind the
Arnold cabin, Mollie said:
“Berry, Lily’s a nigger, ain’ she?”
Berry, who was carefully building a “make-believe” fireplace, stopped
and gazed at Mollie in astonishment.
“Why, Mollie! You know just as well as I do that Lily’s a negro girl.
My mother says Lily _couldn’t_ be any blacker!” she responded.
“Well, you treats her jes’ like you treats white folks; you says
‘please’ to her when you asks her to do things, an’ you says ‘thank
you’ after she’s done ’em. I’ve heard you, Berry,” and Mollie nodded
solemnly, as if expecting Berry would promptly deny it.
But Berry also nodded, and only looked more and more surprised.
“Of course I say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’” she said; “and of course
I treat her just as I would a white girl. I guess I ought to treat
her better than I do,” Berry continued thoughtfully, “because she has
never had anyone to be kind to her until she came to live with us.
Lily can’t help being black. Just suppose your skin was black, Mollie,
you’d be Mollie just the same inside of your skin, wouldn’t you?”
“Mebbe I would,” Mollie replied soberly.
“And just think how many things Lily knows that we don’t,” Berry
continued eagerly. “Don’t you remember that wood pewee’s nest she
showed us between the forked twigs of the young oak tree near our
gate? and the cat-bird’s nest in the cedar tree? and all the stories
she tells us, Mollie. About the thrush that pounds acorns on the
ground until the shells are broken and he can get the nut; and she
made that beautiful basket; and—and——” Berry hesitated for a moment
in her list of Lily’s achievements and then said, “And, anyway, she
is ‘Lily,’ and I like her just as well as if she were white.”
Mollie nodded. She could understand Berry’s final reason better than
any other: to like Lily “Just because she is Lily” satisfied her.
“I likes you, Berry, jes’ because you are Berry,” she said; and the
two little friends resumed their play. Neither of them imagined that
Lily had heard every word of the conversation from her perch on one
of the lower branches of the big oak tree. It was Lily’s secret
hiding-place. Perched there among the branches she could look far down
the ravine in one direction, and toward Shiloh church in the other,
and with little danger of being discovered. She had just settled
herself there at the time when Berry and Mollie arrived beneath the
tree, and so could not help hearing Mollie’s questions and Berry’s
reply. And as she eagerly listened to Berry’s declaration that she,
Lily, knew many things that the little white girls did not know,
that she was “just the same inside her skin” as if she were a white
girl, and Berry’s assertion of affection toward her, Lily nearly
tumbled from the tree. Tears came to her eyes, and a new sense of
happiness filled her heart. For the first time in her life the
homeless, uncared for negro girl knew that she was loved. “Jes’ like
I was white,” she whispered to herself. And her affection for Berry
deepened, and she again made solemn vows that no harm should ever come
near “Missie Berry.”
It was the next day when Berry confided to Lily the news that
Confederate troops might, at any day, appear on the Corinth road.
“That is, unless the Union soldiers march to Corinth first,” explained
Berry. “And, Lily, my brother Francis is a Union soldier; he’s
fighting to set you free!” she continued, her brown eyes resting
solemnly upon Lily.
“Yas, Missie Berry. I reckon yo’ brudder would do dat,” Lily
responded, “an’ yo’ don’ wan’ de Confedrits ter ketch de odder army?
Yo’ means ter watch out fer ’em?” questioned Lily.
“Yes, Lily, and you must help me. And it must be a secret. Not even
Mollie Bragg is to know,” cautioned Berry. “We must begin to-day,” she
added.
“Yas, Missie Berry,” Lily promptly agreed. Whatever Berry wanted done
Lily would do without question. But there was something on Lily’s
mind that troubled her. She knew that Berry made daily visits to the
red-buds, ready to fulfil the promise to the “witch”; and Lily now
resolved to tell her young mistress that the voice Berry had heard at
midnight as the wind swept down the ridge had been the voice of the
man of whom Berry seemed afraid. And now the colored girl began to
wonder if this man might not be one of those Confederates for whom
Berry meant to watch.
“Missie Berry, yo’ knows w’ot I tells yo’ ’bout de witch-tree? An’
yo’ ’members de night yo’ wen’ down dar, wid de win’ a-howlin’ an’
a-screechin’, an’ de dark jes’ lak’ a black wall? I wus clus beside
yo’, Missie Berry! An’ dat wan’ no witch w’ot call yo’ ‘boy,’ an’
makes yo’ promis’ ter kerry a letter. No, Missie! ’Twas dat man we saw
a-cookin’ a burd ober der fire by de ledge!”
It was now Berry’s turn to be surprised. But she instantly realized
that Lily was right; and when Lily added, “I follered arter dat man
an’ I knows,” Berry looked at her companion admiringly. “Lily!” she
exclaimed, “my father thought that man was a spy; and probably the
letter he means to hide at the witch-tree will be for some Confederate
general.”
“Do yo’ reckons ’twill be fer sum Confedrit gen’ril?” questioned Lily.
“Yes; because he has been about Shiloh all winter, I’m sure he has;
keeping watch of the Tennessee River, so that he could send word of
Union troops being landed. And the time I met him at the brook I
bragged of how fast I could run,” Berry continued eagerly, “and that’s
what made him want me for a messenger. He must have been hiding near
the brook, Lily, the day you told me about witches.”
“Dat’s so, Missie Berry! An’ I reckon he got de cake an’ de honey,”
Lily responded regretfully.
“He’s exactly like the cupboard mouse that Mrs. Bragg told me about,”
Berry declared, remembering how difficult it had been for her to
secure the cake, and how much trouble she had taken to please some
possible witch, only to have the woodsman laugh at her folly.
“I ain’ nebber heard no story ’bout de cupboard mouse,” said Lily; and
Berry repeated it, greatly to the negro girl’s satisfaction.
“Dat am a fine story, Missie, an’ maybe we’s gwine ter set de cat
af’er dis mouse dat kep’ all de cake ter hisse’f,” she chuckled.
Berry was sure that any message this wandering spy might leave at
the red-bud tree, trusting to her promise to run her swiftest to
deliver it to whomever it might be addressed, would be a message of
great importance to both the contending armies. It might be to inform
General Johnston of the progress of Grant’s army, or it might even
tell when it would be best for Johnston’s troops to march toward
Pittsburg Landing, thought Berry; and her brown cheeks flushed with
excitement at the possibility that she, Berenice Arnold, a little
Yankee girl from far-off Vermont, of whom General Grant had never
heard, might do this great soldier a real service by delivering this
message, whatever it might prove to be, into his hands.
“For the army that knows first what the other army plans to do will
surely have the best chance,” she gravely decided, and resolved that
it should be through no fault of hers if the message did not promptly
reach the commander of the Union forces.
Berry could now think of but little else than her plans to outwit the
spy. She realized that henceforth a constant watch must be kept, that
either Lily or herself must be steadily on the alert, so that the
moment a message was deposited at the witch’s tree she could start
instantly for the race that she firmly believed might result in the
triumph of the Union forces.
As all these thoughts went swiftly through her mind, Berry stood
flushed and silent, while the negro girl watched her, wondering what
her young missie was thinking about, and when at last Berry exclaimed:
“Lily! Instead of standing here we ought to be on the outlook for that
man,” Lily nodded her head soberly and promptly agreed; and when her
young mistress said that Lily must start at once for Shiloh church,
carefully keeping out of sight of any possible traveler along the
trails, Lily was quite ready to obey.
“And if you see any signs of him, or get a glimpse of him, hurry back
as fast as you can and tell me,” said Berry as Lily started off.
For a moment the negro girl hesitated; she knew that Mrs. Arnold would
expect her to return to the cabin with Berry, and she remembered that
there was work for her to attend to; beside this Lily was sure that,
as she could not explain her absence, Mrs. Arnold would think she had
purposely neglected her duties, and as Lily was always eager to win
Mrs. Arnold’s approval she now had to choose between being praised and
approved by Mrs. Arnold for returning promptly, and so disappointing
Berry, or obeying Berry’s wish and having Mrs. Arnold think her a
thoughtless and ungrateful girl. But her indecision lasted only a
moment. Berry would always hold the first place in Lily’s affections;
to please Berry seemed the most important thing. Lily would never
forget that it was Berry who had rescued her from the dangers and
hardships of her perilous flight from slavery, and brought her to the
safety and comfort of her own home; so Lily started off toward Shiloh
church, going almost noiselessly along the rough path.
As Lily made her way up the slope she thought of all the trouble this
woodsman spy was making.
“’Pears like ’tain’ only dat he am a-botherin’ ob Missie Berry, but he
am a-stirrin’ up trubble fer dat Gen’l Grant an’ fer Missie Berry’s
brudder, an’ dey’s a-fightin’ ter set me free; looks like I orter do
somet’ing to dat spy to stop his doin’s,” she whispered to herself,
and her thoughts flew to possible aid from “witches,” but she shook
her head remembering how they had failed her young mistress.
“Looks ’s if I’d got to conjure up some way by myse’f,” she decided,
and before Lily reached the woods that bordered on the little clearing
where stood the rough cabin-like structure known as Shiloh church,
she had thought of several plans by which she could prevent this
threatening stranger from being of further trouble either to Berry or
Berry’s brother, or to General Grant. But, notwithstanding the making
of plans, Lily’s eyes had been sharply on the alert for any noise that
might indicate someone near at hand, and she had frequently stopped
to listen for sounds of movements that would betray any traveler
along those mountain trails. But beyond the bubbling song of the
wood-thrush, the musical calls of the pewee and scarlet tanager, and
now and then the rush through the underbrush of some small woodland
creature, there was nothing to be heard, and a quick glance about the
clearing proved that there was no lurking stranger in sight.
Close by where Lily had halted grew a bunch of slender ash saplings,
and, after she had satisfied herself that there was no one within
sight or hearing, Lily drew out the pocket-knife that Mr. Arnold had
given her, and after carefully examining the size and condition of the
various saplings, she began to cut at a branch of one of the larger
trees. In a short time she was able to break the branch off without
splitting it.
“Dat gwine ter make a good ’nuff bow,” she decided, with a little
chuckle, “an’ I reckon I kin cut off de top of my moc’sin fer de cord,
an’ dar’s some fine arrow-wood in dat shed back of de church.” And
Lily, still careful to keep out of sight of any possible traveler,
slunk along the edge of the woods and came out behind the rough shed
where Mr. Arnold kept a store of seasoned wood for repairs on the
church.
It did not take long for her to find a number of slender pieces of
hard wood of the desired length for arrows, and seating herself on an
old stump behind the shed Lily began to whittle one of these into the
proper shape, notching one end and pointing the other end.
“I reckon I won’ mek but one arrow ter-day,” she decided, as she
pulled off one of her moccasins and with great care carefully cut
two slender strips from its top. With these she proceeded to string
the bough cut from the sapling, and although it lacked the force and
rebound of seasoned wood, it nevertheless proved equal to speeding the
arrow with considerable force.
“I jes’ fin’ a chanst ter mek dat spy t’ink he’s shot,” she thought,
as she turned toward home, realizing that hours had passed since
she had parted from Berry, and beginning to dread Mrs. Arnold’s
questionings as to her absence.
“I reckon I cyan’t say nothin’, jes’ kind of act sulky,” she decided
mournfully; but a moment later she forgot her own troubles. The soft,
even pad of approaching footfalls made her scurry into the underbrush
and conceal herself, and she was not a moment too soon, for she had
hardly crouched behind a thick growing mass of laurel, before the
hated figure of the spy came into sight.
Lily held her breath until he had passed her hiding-place, then she
stepped out noiselessly into the path behind him, drew her bow, took
careful aim, and the clumsy arrow sped through the air striking the
man sharply on his neck.
With a yell that echoed through the silent woods he gave a leap
forward, and fled as if pursued by an army of foes. As, indeed, he for
the moment believed himself to be. The impact of the sharp pointed
arrow had left its mark on his neck, a bruise that he believed to
be that of a glancing bullet, and he afterward wondered why he had
not heard the report of the rifle, and finally decided that he had
heard it. But he did not turn back or seek to discover his assailant,
but Lily’s clumsy arrow had made him resolve that there was no time
to be lost in sending a message to Corinth, and as he crawled into
a hiding-place that he believed secure he decided to take no more
chances by traveling on trails.
If Orson could have seen the delighted Lily as she gazed after his
fleeing figure, it is probable that she would have had to flee for her
life, for Lily fairly danced with delight, and as she sped toward the
cabin she would frequently come to a standstill and laugh and wave her
bow in triumphant satisfaction. While she had not really injured the
dreaded stranger Lily was sure that she had frightened him, and was
well satisfied with that.
Meanwhile Berry had met Mollie at the brook, as they had agreed
on, and the two friends turned toward the Arnolds’ cabin. Although
Berry’s thoughts were full of the spy and the mysterious message, she
realized that she must not speak of them to Mollie; and as she looked
at Mollie’s happy face, and noticed how much better the little girl
looked since the day when Berry had discovered the returned wanderers
in their own cabin, Berry for the time forgot her plans to help the
Union Army and thought only of what she could do for this friend who
depended so much on her.
“I am going to teach you after this, Mollie,” she said, reaching out
to clasp Mollie’s hand firmly in her own as they walked on side by
side. “You see, Father is too busy just now; and I am sure I can help
you learn to write.”
“Oh, yes! Why, you can teach me all you know!” Mollie agreed eagerly,
thinking how fortunate she was to have such a friend.
“Perhaps so,” responded Berry a little doubtfully. “Anyway I am sure
I can teach you to write, and then if you ever go away again you can
write me.”
“I don’t want to ever go away again,” Mollie declared soberly,
remembering the weeks of uncertain wanderings about the mountains
during the past winter; weeks when she had often known cold and hunger
and fear, and that made her rough cabin home seem a place of comfort
and safety, and which she hoped never again to leave.
Clasping Berry’s hand, and tightly holding her birthday doll, “Mis’
Ellen Arnold,” to which Mollie had clung during all her wanderings,
Mollie listened happily to Berry’s plan for teaching her to write,
and to learn wonderful things, such as who discovered America, the
places first settled, and of the great rebellion that had made America
an independent nation.
Mrs. Arnold was standing at the cabin door as the two little girls
came up the path, and smiled as she noticed how eagerly they were
talking and how much better Mollie seemed. But where was Lily, she
wondered, for there was no sign of Lily; and after greeting Mollie and
telling Berry that she and Mollie could help themselves to a freshly
baked ginger cake that was cooling on the kitchen table, she began to
ask about the missing Lily.
“Where is Lily?” she questioned; and much to her surprise was obliged
to repeat her question before Berry replied:
“Oh! Lily’s coming.”
So supposing the colored girl might appear at any moment, Mrs. Arnold
did not question Berry further. Berry brought her slate to the porch
steps, and began to show Mollie how to trace letters, and for a time
no more was said in regard to Lily’s absence. But as the hour of
noon drew near and there was no sign of her, and when Mrs. Arnold
had several times come to the cabin door and looked down the path in
search of the missing girl, Berry began to feel uneasy. Suppose after
all the stranger was in search of runaway slaves and had recognized
Lily, she thought fearfully, and had captured the negro girl and taken
her away! And Berry found it difficult to sit quietly beside Mollie on
the porch step instead of rushing off to search for Lily.
Dinner-time came and as they gathered at the table Lily was still
missing, and now Mrs. Arnold also began to feel anxious. She wondered
if it might not be possible that Lily had tired of living with them;
or, perhaps becoming frightened by the rumors of advancing armies, had
again started on her wanderings, and she questioned Berry very closely
as to probable reasons for Lily’s absence, and finally said:
“After this Lily must remain in the cabin, or near at hand, unless I
give her permission to go with you, Berry. Now that Mollie is once
more at home you can have her for a companion, and will not need Lily
with you so constantly.”
Berry listened, hardly believing it possible that all her well-laid
plans could be so overturned; for she knew that unless Lily could go
and come without interference that she might easily fail to secure
the spy’s message in time for it to be of any use to General Grant;
and as her mother turned back to the kitchen Berry ran after her.
“Oh, Mother! I’ll do Lily’s work. Please, _please_, do not say she
must stay in!” Berry pleaded so earnestly that Mrs. Arnold looked at
her wonderingly. But she shook her head.
“No, Berry, you have your own work to do. And nothing could do Lily
more harm than to let her run wild. After this I mean to have her
learn more about household work, so that when she leaves us she can
find a good home.”
Berry stared at her mother in amazement. “But Lily isn’t going to
leave us, ever! I promised she should always stay with me,” she
responded, nearly ready to cry at these new possibilities; if Lily
could not run about, if she was to be kept indoors, Berry knew that
she must give up her effort to defeat the spy.
If Mrs. Arnold wondered at her little daughter’s excitement over her
decision she did not speak of it. “We will always befriend Lily, my
dear, you know that,” she said. But Berry would not be satisfied with
this promise.
“Mother! Say that Lily shall always, always, _always_ stay with
us,” she urged. “I have told her over and over that she should; and,
Mother, it will be dreadful if Lily cannot go and come as she wants
to. Why, she will think that you are displeased with her.”
“I am displeased with her,” responded Mrs. Arnold. “She has neglected
her work and is wandering about for her own pleasure. Look! There she
comes!” And Berry turned to see Lily coming up the path, swinging
the clumsy ash bow in one hand and smiling radiantly as if very well
pleased with herself. Berry started to run to meet her, feeling sure
that Lily had important news; but Mrs. Arnold quickly prevented this.
“Stop, Berry! Go back to Mollie. I want to speak to Lily. You can
see that I was quite right; she has been making a bow and arrows and
playing about in the woods.”
“Please, Mother, don’t——” Berry began; but Mrs. Arnold only shook
her head, and Berry had only time to wave a welcoming hand toward her
faithful messenger before Lily reached the porch.
Lily at once realized that her fears in regard to Mrs. Arnold’s
disapproval were justified. She made no effort to explain her absence,
but stood with bowed head and downcast eyes while Mrs. Arnold told
her that all the work expected of her had been delayed, and added
that henceforth she was not to go out of sight of the cabin without
permission. Lily listened silently. When Mrs. Arnold had finished the
colored girl dropped the weapon she had so cleverly made and turned
diligently toward the work of the cabin. It was nightfall before she
found an opportunity to tell Berry of her successful shot at the spy,
and of his flight along the trail. But Berry was too anxious about the
fact that Lily was no longer to be free to go and come to praise her
for her clever shot; and poor Lily, who was quite willing to bear Mrs.
Arnold’s blame, hard as that might be, if Berry was only pleased, went
about her usual duties with so solemn an air that Mrs. Arnold became
sorry for the girl, and feared that she had been too severe with her.
It was toward sunset when Mollie started for home. It had been rather
an unhappy day for the little girl, for, after Mrs. Arnold’s decision
in regard to Lily, Berry’s interest in Mollie’s lesson vanished; she
became impatient with all Mollie’s attempts to write, and all Mollie’s
efforts to please her were of no avail; nor did Berry notice the
tears in Mollie’s eyes as the little girl bade her good-bye.
“I’ll write better to-morrow, Berry, I know I will,” Mollie faltered,
as clasping her shabby, beloved doll, she started to join Mrs. Arnold,
who had offered to walk as far as the brook with her.
“I don’t care how you write,” Berry had carelessly responded, her eyes
anxiously following Lily, and eager for Mollie to go that she might
hear whatever Lily could tell her.
Mollie gave a little sob as she turned and followed Mrs. Arnold down
the path. She decided that she must be so stupid that Berry no longer
cared to teach her. It was the first time Berry had ever spoken
unkindly to the little mountain girl. Mrs. Arnold was quick to notice
Mollie’s trouble and comforted the little girl by saying that Berry
was anxious about Lily; and when she added, “I have a skirt for your
mother in this package, Mollie,” the little girl’s eyes brightened
happily; for Mollie’s chief sorrow was that her mother had nothing for
herself. Whatever Mollie had she was eager to share with her mother.
Mrs. Arnold knew this, and it made her very tender toward the little
girl.