UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER
“They's going to be a big nigger 'scursion to Memphis at 'leven
o'clock,” said Jimmy as he met the other little boy at the dividing
fence; “Sam Lamb's going and 'most all the niggers they is. Sarah Jane
'lowed she's going, but she ain't got nobody to 'tend to Bennie Dick.
Wouldn't you like to go, Billy?”
“You can't go 'thout you's a nigger,” was the reply; “Sam Lamb say
they ain't no white folks 'lowed on this train 'cepin' the engineer an'
conductor.”
“Sam Lamb'd take care of us if we could go,” continued Jimmy. “Let's
slip off and go down to the depot and see the niggers get on. There'll
be 'bout a million.”
Billy's eyes sparkled with appreciation.
“I sho' wish I could,” he said; “but Aunt Minerva'd make me stay in bed
a whole week if I want near the railroad.”
“My mama 'd gimme 'bout a million licks, too, if I projeckted with a
nigger 'scursion she 'bout the spankingest woman they is. My papa put
some burnt cork on his face in the Knights er Pythi's minstrels and I
know where we can get some to make us black; you go get Miss Minerva's
ink bottle too, that'll help some, and get some matches, and I'll go get
the cork and we can go to Sarah Jane's house and make usselfs black.”
“I ain't never promise not to black up and go down to the depot,” said
Billy waveringly. “I promise not to never be no mo' Injun--I--”
“Well, run then,” Jimmy interrupted impatiently. “We'll just slip down
to the railroad and take a look at the niggers. You don't hafto get on
the train just 'cause you down to the depot.”
So Miss Minerva's nephew, after tiptoeing into the house for her ink
bottle and filling his pockets with contraband matches, met his chum
at the cabin. There, under the critical survey of Bennie Dick from his
customary place on the floor, they darkened their faces, heads,
hands, feet, and legs; then, pulling their caps over their eyes, these
energetic little boys stole out of the back gate and fairly flew down an
alley to the station. No one noticed them in that hot, perspiring, black
crowd. A lively band was playing and the mob of good-humored, happy
negroes, dressed in their Sunday best, laughing and joking, pushing and
elbowing, made their way to the excursion train standing on the track.
The two excited children got directly behind a broad, pompous negro and
slipped on the car just after him. Fortunately they found a seat in the
rear of the coach and there they sat unobserved, still and quiet, except
for an occasional delighted giggle, till the bell clanged and the train
started off. “We'll see Sam Lamb toreckly,” whispered Jimmy, “and he'll
take care of us.”
The train was made up of seven coaches, which had been taking on negroes
at every station up the road as far as Paducah, and it happened that the
two little boys did not know a soul in their car.
But when they were nearing Woodstock, a little station not far from
Memphis, Sam Lamb, making a tour of the cars, came into their coach and
was promptly hailed by the children. When he recognized them, he burst
into such a roar of laughter that it caused all the other passengers to
turn around and look in their direction.
“What y' all gwine to do nex' I jes' wonder,” he exclaimed. “Yo' ekals
ain't made dis side o' 'ternity. Lordee, Lordee,” he gazed at
them admiringly, “you sho' is genoowine corn-fed, sterlin' silver,
all-woolan'-a-yard-wide, pure-leaf, Green-River Lollapaloosas. Does yo'
folks know 'bout yer? Lordee! What I axin' sech a fool question fer?
'Course dey don't. Come on, I gwine to take y' all off 'n dese cars
right here at dis Woodstock, an' we kin ketch de 'commodation back
home.”
“But Sam,” protested Billy, “We don't want to go back home. We wants to
go to Memphis.”
“Hit don't matter what y' all wants,” was the negro's reply, “y' all
gotta git right off. Dis-here 'scursion train don't leave Memphis twell
twelve o'clock tonight an' yuh see how slow she am runnin', and ev'y
no 'count nigger on her'll be full o' red eye. An' yo' folks is plumb
'stracted 'bout yer dis minute, I 'low. Come on. She am gittin' ready to
stop.”
He grabbed the blackened hand of each, pushing Jimmy and pulling Billy,
and towed the reluctant little boys through the coach.
“Yuh sho' is sp'iled my fun,” he growled as he hustled them across the
platform to the waitingroom. “Dis-here's de fus' 'scursion I been on
widout Sukey a-taggin' long in five year an' I aimed fo' to roll 'em
high; an' now, 'case o' ketchin' up wid y' all, I gotta go right back
home. Now y' all set jes' as straight as yer kin set on dis here bench,”
he admonished, “whilst I send a telegraph to Marse Jeems Garner. An'
don' yuh try to 'lope out on de flatform neider. Set whar I kin keep my
eye skinned on yuh, yuh little slipp'ry-ellum eels. Den I gwine to come
back an' wash yer, so y' all look like 'spectable white folks.”
Miss Minerva came out of her front door looking for Billy at the same
time that Mrs. Garner appeared on her porch in search of Jimmy.
“William! You William!” called one woman.
“Jimmee-ee! O Jimmee-ee-ee!” called the other.
“Have you seen my nephew?” asked the one.
“No. Have you seen anything of Jimmy?” was the reply of the other.
“They were talking together at the fence about an hour ago,” said
Billy's aunt. “Possibly they are down at the livery stable with Sam
Lamb; I'll phone and find out.”
“And I'll ring up Mrs. Black and Mrs. Hamilton. They may have gone to
see Lina or Frances.”
In a short time both women appeared on their porches again:
“They have not been to the stable this morning,” said Miss Minerva
uneasily, “and Sam went to Memphis on the excursion train.”
“And they are not with Lina or Frances,”--Mrs. Garner's face wore an
anxious look, “I declare I never saw two such children. Still, I don't
think we need worry as it is nearly dinner time, and they never miss
their meals, you know.”
But the noon hour came and with it no hungry little boys. Then, indeed,
did the relatives of the children grow uneasy. The two telephones were
kept busy, and Mr. Garner, with several other men on horseback, scoured
the village. Not a soul had seen either child.
At three o'clock Miss Minerva, worn with anxiety and on the verge of a
collapse, dropped into a chair on her veranda, her faithful Major by her
side. He had come to offer help and sympathy as soon as he heard of her
distress, and, finding her in such a softened, dependent, and receptive
mood, the Major had remained to try to cheer her up.
Mr. and Mrs. Garner were also on the porch, discussing what further
steps they could take.
“It is all the fault of that William of yours,” snapped one little boy's
mother to the other little boy's aunt: “Jimmy is the best child in the
world when he is by himself, but he is easily led into mischief.”
Miss Minerva's face blazed with indignation.
“William's fault indeed!” she answered back. “There never was a sweeter
child than William;” for the lonely woman knew the truth at last. At
the thought that her little nephew might be hurt, a long forgotten
tenderness stirred her bosom and she realized for the first time how the
child had grown into her life.
The telegram came.
“They are all right,” shouted Mr. Garner joyously, as he quickly opened
and read the yellow missive, “they went on the excursion and Sam Lamb is
bringing them home on the accommodation.”
As the Major, short, plump, rubicund, jolly, and Miss Minerva, tall,
sallow, angular, solemn, were walking to the station to meet the train
that was bringing home the runaways, the elderly lover knew himself to
be at last master of the situation.
“The trouble with Billy--” he began, adjusting his steps to Miss
Minerva's mincing walk.
“William,” she corrected, faintly.
“The trouble with Billy,” repeated her suitor firmly, “is this: you have
tried to make a girl out of a healthy, high-spirited boy; you haven't
given him the toys and playthings a boy should have; you have not even
given the child common love and affection.” He was letting himself go,
for he knew that she needed the lecture, and, wonderful to tell, she was
listening meekly. “You have steeled your heart,” he went on, “against
Billy and against me. You have about as much idea how to manage a boy
as a--as a--” he hesitated for a suitable comparison: he wanted to say
“goat,” but gallantry forbade; “as any other old maid,” he blurted out,
realizing as he did so that a woman had rather be called a goat than an
old maid any time.
The color mounted to Miss Minerva's face.
“I don't have to be an old maid,” she snapped spunkily.
“No; and you are not going to be one any longer,” he answered with
decision. “I tell you what, Miss Minerva, we are going to make a fine,
manly boy out of that nephew of yours.”
“We?” she echoed faintly.
“Yes, we! I said we, didn't I?” replied the Major ostentatiously. “The
child shall have a pony to ride and every thing else that a boy ought to
have. He is full of natural animal spirits and has to find some outlet
for them; that is the reason he is always in mischief. Now, I think I
understand children.” He drew himself up proudly. “We shall be married
to-morrow,” he announced, “that I may assume at once my part of the
responsibility of Billy's rearing.”
Miss Minerva looked at him in fluttering consternation.
“Oh, no, not to-morrow,” she protested; “possibly next year some time.”
“To-morrow,” reiterated the Major, his white moustache bristling with
determination. Having at last asserted himself, he was enjoying the
situation immensely and was not going to give way one inch.
“We will be married to-morrow and--”
“Next month,” she suggested timidly.
“To-morrow, I tell you!”
“Next week,” she answered.
“To-morrow! To-morrow! To-morrow!” cried the Major, happy as a
schoolboy.
“Next Sunday night after church,” pleaded Miss Minerva.
“No, not next Sunday or Monday or Tuesday. We will be married
to-morrow,” declared the dictatorial Confederate veteran.
Billy's aunt succumbed.
“Oh, Joseph,” she said with almost a simper, “you are so masterful.”
“How would you like me for an uncle?” Miss Minerva's affianced asked
Billy a few minutes later.
“Fine an' dandy,” was the answer, as the child wriggled himself out of
his aunt's embrace. The enthusiastic reception accorded him, when he got
off the train, was almost too much for the little boy. He gazed at the
pair in embarrassment. He was for the moment disconcerted and overcome;
in place of the expected scoldings and punishment, he was received with
caresses and flattering consideration. He could not understand it at
all.
The Major put a hand on the little boy's shoulder and smiled a kindly
smile into his big, grey, astonished eyes as the happy lover delightedly
whispered, “Your aunt Minerva is going to marry me to-morrow, Billy.”
“Pants an' all?” asked William Green Hill.