The "Twenty minutes to Sandbrook" had become involved in difficulty.
Interested in my chat with Kitty, I had failed to notice that we were
stopping even longer than usual at some mysterious locality where there
was even less of any apparent reason for stopping at all. All without
was darkness. I pushed open the window, poked out my head, and took a
survey. All was silence save the hissing of the engine way ahead, and
one or two voices in excited conversation somewhere near the baggage-car
and by the fence at the roadside. Two lights, lanterns apparently, were
flitting rapidly about. I wondered at the delay, but could assign no
cause in reply to the natural question Miss Kit asked as I drew in my
head.
Mars opened his window as I closed mine, looked out a moment, then got
up, gave himself a stretch, and stalked out; this time without slamming
the door; a bang would have been too demonstrative in that oppressive
silence. In one minute he came back with a quick, nervous step, picked
up a belt and holster he had left at his seat, and, without a glance at
us, turned sharply back to the door again. As he disappeared, I saw his
hand working at the butt of the revolver swung at his hip. Something was
wrong. I knew that the Ku-Klux had been up to mischief in that vicinity,
and the thought flashed upon me that they were again at work. Looking
around, I saw that three of our four fellow-passengers had disappeared.
They were ill-favored specimens, for I remembered noticing them just
before we stopped, and remarked that they were talking earnestly and in
low tones together at the rear end of the car. The other passenger was
an old lady, spectacled and rheumatic. Without communicating my
suspicions to my little charge, I excused myself; stepped quietly out;
swung off the car, and stumbled up the track toward the lights.
A group of six or eight men was gathered at the baggage-car. About the
same number were searching along the fence, all talking excitedly. I
hailed a brakeman and asked what was the matter.
"Ku-Klux, sir! Tried to rob the express! There was two of them in mask
jumped in with their pistols and belted the agent over the head and laid
him out; but afore they could get into the safe, the baggage-master, Jim
Dalton, came in, and he yelled and went for 'em. We was running slow up
grade, and they jumped off; Jim and the conductor after them; that's
why we stopped and backed down."
"Which way did they go?" I asked.
"Took right into the bush, I reckon. That lieutenant and another feller
has gone in through here, and Bill here says he seen three other fellers
light out from the back car,--the one you was in, sir. That's enough to
catch them if they're on the trail."
"Catch them!" I exclaimed. "Those three men in our car were of the same
gang, if anything, and that makes five to our four."
"Yes, by G--d!" said another of the party, a sturdy-looking planter;
"and what's more, I believe they've got a ranch in hereabouts and belong
to Hank Smith's gang. There ain't a meaner set of cut-throats in all
Dixie."
"Then, for heaven's sake, let's go in and hunt up our party!" said I,
really apprehensive as to their safety. Three or four volunteered at
once. Over the fence we went, and on into the pitchy darkness beyond.
Stumbling over logs and cracking sticks and leaves, squashing through
mud-holes and marshy ground, we plunged ahead, until a minute or two
brought us panting into a comparatively open space, and there we paused
to listen. Up to this time I had heard not a sound from the pursuit, and
hardly knew which way to turn. Each man held his breath and strained his
ears.
Another minute and it came,--well on to the front,--a yell, a shot,
another shot, and then,--"This way!" "This way!" "Here they are!" The
rest was drowned by our own rush, as we once more plunged into the
thicket and on towards the shouts. All of us were armed in one way or
another,--it is rare enough that any man goes otherwise in that section
of the country,--and to me there was a terrible excitement about the
whole affair, and my heart came bounding up to my throat with every
stride.
One or two more shots were heard, and on we kept until, just as every
man was almost breathless and used up, we were brought to a sudden stop
on the steep bank of a bayou that stretched far to either side of our
path, right and left, completely barring farther progress.
In blank amazement, and utterly at a loss what to do, we were gazing
stupidly in one another's faces, as one after another we gathered on the
brink, when there came a sudden exclamation from the midst of
us,--"Who's that?" I jumped, thanks to startled nerves, and looked
around.
A dark form came creeping slowly up the bank, and a weak voice said,--
"Don't shoot, fellows. I'm all right, but they nigh onto finished me,
and they've got Hank Smith away anyhow."
We crowded around him with questions; but he was faint and sick and the
blood was streaming from a cut on his forehead. A long pull at a flask
tendered by some sympathetic soul in the group revived him enough to
tell his experience.
"Me and the lieutenant took out through the open until we had to take to
the bush. Didn't see the conductor nor Jim anywhere, but we gained on
the Kluxers. Pretty soon we heard 'em busting through the bushes and
heard 'em holler. I got blowed, but the lieutenant, he went ahead like
as though he'd done nothing but jump since he was a pup. I never seen
such a kangaroo. He got clean out of sight, and all of a sudden I heard
him holler; and then came a couple o' shots; and pretty quick I came
upon him and another cuss just more than going for one another in the
bushes. The Yankee had him under, though, and had winged him on the run.
When I came up he says to me, says he, 'You look out for this man now.
He can't hurt you, but if he squirms, you put a hole in him. I'm going
on after the others.' So on he went, and I took a look round. I'd sat
down on the cuss to make sure I had him, and my pistol at his ear. He
was lyin' right here a-glarin' up at me, and the moment I got a good,
square look at his face, d--n my eyes if it wasn't Hank Smith! Then I
began to feel bully; and just then I heard some other fellows running
up, and thought it was our crowd, so I yelled out that I was here and
had Hank Smith all right; and he kinder grinned; and they hollered
'bully' too; and next thing I knew one of 'em ran up and fetched me a
wipe over the head and rolled me off down the bank, and there I've been
mud-hugging ever since.
"I was stunned, but knew enough to lie quiet, and they got into some
kind of a boat and went paddling off across the creek; but Hank was
groaning and cussing so that I couldn't hear nothing but him. He swore
by all that was holy that he'd have that Yank's heart's-blood before the
month was out, and I tell you the lieutenant had better keep his eye
peeled or he'll do it."
So we had lost him after all! It was too bad! and so said the conductor
and baggage-master when they rejoined us a few minutes after, bringing
with them the cavalryman, all three out of breath, covered with mud and
scratches, and the latter looking very white and saying but little. I
noticed that his handkerchief was bound tightly round his left hand, and
divined the cause at once. My respect for Mars was rising every minute.
He took a pull at the flask, looked revived, and as we all turned
moodily back to the train, I asked him about his hurt. "Nothing but a
clip on the hand," said he; "but I suppose it bled a good deal before I
noticed it, and made me a little faint after the row was over. I
suspected those fellows who were in our car; in fact, had been sent up
to Corinth to look after one or two just such specimens, and was on my
way back to my troop by this train. If that man was Hank Smith, as they
seem to think, I would almost rather have lost my commission than him."
Mars's teeth came together solidly as he gave vent to this sentiment,
and his strides unconsciously lengthened so that I had to strike an
amble to keep up.
By this time we had worked our way back into a comparatively open space
again, and could see the dim lights of the train several hundred yards
off. The rest of our little party kept crowding around us and offering
my young hero cordial expressions of sympathy for his hurt, and, in
homely phrase, many a compliment on his plucky fight. Mars took it all
in a laughing sort of way, but was evidently too disgusted at the escape
of his bird to care to talk much about anything. Nevertheless, before we
got back to the train I gave him my name, and, as an old friend of Judge
Summers's, whom I presumed he knew, trusted that I might meet him
frequently, and that we might become better acquainted.
"Thank you, Mr. Brandon," he answered; "I have heard the judge speak of
you, and am sorry I did not know sooner who you were. My name is
Amory."
"Have you been long in the South?" I asked.
"No, sir; only a month or two. In fact,"--and here something like a
blush stole up to the young fellow's cheek,--"I only graduated in this
last class--'71--from the Academy, and so have seen but little of any
kind of service."
"You're soldier all over, at any rate," thought I, as I looked at the
erect, graceful figure beside me; and wondered--my thoughts suddenly
reverting to Miss Kitty--how a young girl could find it in her heart to
snub such a handsome fellow as that, Yank or no Yank.
A few strides more brought us to the train, where Amory, whose gallantry
had already been noised abroad among the passengers, was immediately
surrounded by an excited group of non-combatants, while I jumped into
our car to see how my little _protegee_ had fared during our absence.
She looked vastly relieved at my reappearance, having of course learned
the true state of affairs soon after our sudden departure. I told her
briefly what had happened, taking rather a mischievous delight in
dilating upon Mars's achievement, and affecting not to notice the
expression of mingled contempt and incredulity that promptly appeared in
her pretty face. Mars himself did not reappear: he had gone into the
baggage-car to bathe his hand and accept the eager attentions of one or
two Africans, native and to the manner born, who were vying with one
another in brushing off the dirt from his snugly-fitting uniform. He was
still surrounded by a knot of passengers and train-hands when I went
forward to see how he was getting along, which I did when the train
started, but we exchanged a cordial grip of the hand; and parted with
the promise of meeting at "the judge's," or the cavalry camp, a few
miles beyond, within the next two or three days.
The whistle for Sandbrook was just beginning as I rejoined Miss Kitty,
and, after a vigorous life of at least two minutes, wound up in a dismal
whine as we rolled in among the lights at the station. Yes, there they
were, ready and waiting for us. The genial, gray-haired old judge and
Miss Pauline herself, his only and devoted daughter, in whose arms Miss
Kit was rapturously enfolded the instant she hopped from the platform.
There, too, was old Jake Biggs, whom the conductor had mentioned as
mademoiselle's escort in case no one else appeared,--Jake and his boon
companion, his faithful old horse, "Bob," so named in honor of General
Lee. Jake was an old colored servant of the Summers family, and had
followed his "young massa," Harrod Summers, all through the war; had
seen him rise from subaltern to colonel; had nursed him through wounds
and illness; and at last when the war was over, and Harrod, who had gone
forth with the enthusiasm and ardor of a boy, returned to his father's
home, old Jake contentedly followed him, and settled down in one of the
few log cabins that remained on the almost ruined estate of the
Summers'. Jake was a "free nigger" now, but the world to him was wrapped
up in old associations and "Mars' Harrod." No such soldier ever had
lived as his "cunnel," no such statesman as the judge; no such belle as
Missy Pauline. And Jake not only would not leave them, but in a vague
and chivalric manner he stumbled about the premises, lording it over the
young niggers and making mighty pretence at earning an independent
livelihood for himself by "doin' chores" around the neighborhood, and in
hauling loads from the depot to the different plantations within a few
miles' radius of Sandbrook. He had managed to scrape up a dilapidated
cart and harness somewhere or other, and poor old Bob furnished, greatly
to his disgust, the draft and motive power. Having been a fine and
spirited saddle-horse in his younger days, Bob had naturally rebelled at
the idea of coming down to the level of the plantation mules, and had
shown something of his former self in the vigorous and determined
remonstrance which resulted on the occasion of Jake's first experiments
with the harness; but beyond a temporary dislocation of buckles, straps,
and dash-board, and a volley of African anathemas and "Whoa da's" from
his master, poor old Bob's rebellion had accomplished nothing, and he
had finally settled down into a resigned and dreamy existence, and went
plodding about the vicinity with the asthmatic cart at his heels, a
victim to the vicissitudes of war.
Jake was a pet of mine, and had amused me very much on the occasion of
my first visit to the judge's, and that's why I tell so long a rigmarole
about him. He stood there, a little aloof from the "quality folks,"
grinning and bowing, and making huge semicircular sweeps with his
battered old hat, in his anxiety to do proper honor to the judge's
guests.
I had a chance to receive my especial welcome while Miss Kit was being
almost devoured by her relatives; and presently the baggage was all
pitched off; the train moved on with a parting whoop; Mars appeared at
the rear door and gave me a farewell wave of the hand; and then, leaving
to Jake and Bob the responsible duty of transporting the young lady's
trunks, we four--Miss Summers and Miss Kit, the judge and I--were duly
ensconced in the comfortable old carriage, and went jolting off
homeward.
Mr. Summers and I had much to talk about, and finding it impossible to
get a word in edgewise with the two young ladies, who were fondling,
fluttering, cooing, and chattering on the back seat in the most absorbed
manner imaginable, we gradually drifted off into our law business and
let them gossip away and exchange volleys of news and caresses.
The judge was deeply interested in my account of the adventure with the
Ku-Klux, and much concerned about Amory's hurt.
I learned from him of the desperate and lawless character of the men who
were generally believed to be the prominent members of the gang, and the
perpetrators of the dastardly outrages that had been so recently
inflicted both upon the negroes and the whites. The people were
terrified beyond expression; several had been driven from the country;
several had been shot down in cold blood. A defenceless girl who had
been sent down from the North as teacher of the freedmen's school, had
been dragged from her bed at midnight and brutally whipped by some
cowardly ruffians. The sheriff, who had arrested one of the suspected
parties, was threatened in an anonymous letter with death if he failed
to release his prisoner within twenty-four hours. He called upon the
citizens for assistance, but none was given, for the Union people were
too few. A dozen men in mask surrounded his house the next night; his
wife heard the strange noise, and went to the door; opened it, and was
shot dead in her tracks. The jail was forced, the prisoner released and
spirited off beyond the limits of the State.
All this was going on, when, to the great joy of peace-loving people,
and undisguised anger of the unreconstructed, a troop of United States
cavalry came suddenly to the scene. Several arrests of known murderers
and marauders were made; and, until that very evening, nothing more had
been heard of the dreaded Ku-Klux. Indeed, it was by some persons
believed that their organization was broken up, and nothing but the
positive testimony of one of their own neighbors, the man to whom Amory
had turned over his prisoner, would induce the citizens generally to
believe that Hank Smith himself was concerned in the attempted robbery
of the express car. The cavalry had been there just about a month when
this affair took place.