THE REBEL AND THE YANKEE.
Bill Baker was awake at last, and from his hiding-place had seen Capt.
Carleton and Isaac disappear beneath the trees in the distance.
“They are goners,” he muttered to himself, “Won’t that snap dragon of a
widow be mad, though, when she hears how they’ve got Ike. Poor Ike, I’d
help him if I could, but ’taint no use interferin’ now,” and with this
reflection, Bill turned his attention toward the stranger, watching him
for several minutes, first to decide his politics, and second, to
calculate his probable strength. The soldier was at least a head taller
than Bill, who nevertheless far exceeded him in strength of muscle and
power of endurance.
“I can manage him,” was Bill’s contemptuous comment, and feeling in his
pocket for the strong cord _Rose Mather_ had bound round his paper
parcel of turnovers and cheese, he prepared to spring upon his foe in
the rear and take him by surprise.
The cracking twigs betrayed him, and changing his tactics he walked
directly in front of the astonished young man, who, with heightened
color, haughtily demanded “what he was doing there,—and whether he were
a friend or foe.”
“What am I doin’ here?” Bill repeated, sticking his cap a little more to
one side, and half shutting one of his wicked grey eyes, “Kinder peekin’
round to see what I can find. Be I friend or foe? You must be green to
ask that. Don’t you re-cog-nize my _regimentals_, made after the cut of
Uncle Sam, _siled_ some, to be sure, but then I’ve been at a dirty
job,—been lickin’ jest such scamps as you. Now, then, corporal, seein’ I
answered you civil, what are _you_ doin’ here? You won’t answer me,
hey?” he continued, as the stranger deigned him no other reply than a
look of ineffable disdain. “Wall, then, if you’re so ’fraid of your
tongue, s’posin’ we try a rastle, rough and tumble, you know; and the
one that gits beat is t’other’s prisoner. That’s fair, as these dead
folks will witness;” and Bill’s glance for the first time fell upon the
bodies lying near them,—upon Charlie’s childish face, with the golden
curls clustering around it.
The sight touched a tender chord in Bill, and forgetting for a moment
his new acquaintance, he bent over the drummer boy, murmuring,
“Poor child, your folks or’to have been ashamed to let you come to war.”
Now was the Rebel’s time. He felt intuitively that he was no match for
the thick-set, brawny Bill. Safety lay alone in flight, and with a
sudden bound he fled like a deer.
“Nuff said,” dropped from Bill’s lips, and the next instant he, too, was
flying through the woods in pursuit of the foe.
It proved an unequal race, and Bill’s strong arms ere long closed like a
vice around the struggling soldier, who resisted manfully, until
resistance was vain, and then sullenly stood still, while Bill fastened
his hands behind him, with the cords unwittingly furnished by Rose
Mather!
“Don’t squirm so, corporal,” Bill said, as he bound the knots securely,
with his knee upon the back of the stranger, whom he had thrown upon his
face. “Don’t squirm so like an eel and I’ll be done the quicker. I
calkerlate to tie you so you can’t git away, and you may as well hold
on. Got kinder delicate hands, haint you? Never done nothin’, I guess,
but lick niggers and shute your betters. There, you may stan’ up now if
you want tew.”
The young man struggled to his feet, saying, proudly:
“What do you intend doing next, sir?”
“What do I intend doin’?” Bill replied, with imperturbable gravity. “I
intend leadin’ you by this string inter camp, and showin’ you up for
to’pence a sight. What d’ye s’pose I intended doin’?”
The young man made one more desperate struggle to free himself, but the
twine only cut into his flesh, making the matter worse, so he finally
submitted to his fate, and suffered Bill to take him where he listed.
Bill was in no hurry to get to camp. He rather enjoyed being alone with
his prisoner, and leading him to a little thicket he made him sit down,
and placing one of his feet upon him he began to ask him innumerable
questions,—what was his name, where did he come from, what company was
he in, and so on, to none of which did the stranger vouchsafe a reply.
With a haughty look upon his handsome face, he maintained a rigid
silence, while Bill continued:
“Needn’t talk unless you want to. Speech is free with us, you know; but
seein’ you won’t tell who you be, maybe you wouldn’t mind hearing my
geneology. It’ll make you feel better, mabby, to know my reputation and
standin’ in society. Corporal, did you ever hear of a _Yankee_, a real
live mudsill Yankee, such as Southern gentlemen feel above fightin’
with? Wall, I’m that critter. What do you think of me, take me as a
hull?”
The stranger groaned in disgust, and Bill continued:
“Them cords hurt you, I guess. Like enough I’ll ease ’em up a trifle, if
you say so. I ain’t hard-hearted, if I be rough as a nutmeg-grater.
Shall I loosen ’em so’s not to hurt them soft, baby hands of yourn?”
“Thank you, sir. I don’t mind it in the least,” was the soldier’s
answer, though all the while the coarse twine was cutting cruelly into
the tender flesh.
This Bill suspected, and muttering to himself:
“Good grit, if he is a Rebel,” he went on: “Considerable top-lofty,
ain’t you, corporal? And as chaps of your cloth like to meet with their
equals, I’ll go on with my history. I was born in Massachusetts, not
over a day’s ride from Boston. Ever been to Boston?”
No answer from the stranger, save a heightened color, and Bill
proceeded:
“Tall old town. Got a smashin’ monument out to Charlestown. Heard on’t I
s’pose, as I take it some of you Southern dogs can read. Wall, father
died in State’s Prison down there to Charlestown, and then we moved to
Rockland, the old woman, Hal and me. Hal’s lyin’ up there where the
hottest of the fight took place, and I’m here tormentin’ you by tellin’
you my character. I’ve been to the workhouse twice,—I have, I swan,—once
for gettin’ drunk, and once for somethin’ else a good deal wus. How do
you feel now?” and Bill leered wickedly at the young man, who seemed
bent on keeping silence.
Only the expression of his face told the extreme contempt he felt for
his companion, and how it did wound to the quick one of his nature to be
held a prisoner by such as William Baker. But there was no help for it;
he must submit to be taken to Washington by the despised Bill, and
then,—oh, how his heart sank within him as he thought, what then? Was
there no method of escape? Couldn’t he get away, or better yet, couldn’t
he hire Bill to let him go? Strange he had not thought of this before.
Yankees were proverbially avaricious, and almost every man had his
price. He could try, at all events, and unbending his dignity, he
inquired what Bill would ask to let him go?
“What’ll I ask?” repeated Bill, placing both feet instead of one upon
his prisoner. “I dun know. Le’ss dicker a spell and see. What’ll you
give, and where do you keep your traps?”
“In my pockets,” the unsuspecting soldier answered; “there’s my watch
and chain, worth over three hundred dollars.”
“Whew-ew!” whistled Bill, his face lighting up instantly, while hope
crept into the stranger’s heart. “A gold watch worth over three hundred!
Let’s see the critter.”
“You forget that my hands are tied,” the stranger suggested.
“So they be, but mine ain’t,” and the next moment Bill was holding to
his ear an elegant Parisian watch, and asking if the stranger were
positive sure it cost more’n three hundred dollars. “I had an old pewter
thing that I gin to mother,” he said, “and this concern jest comes in
play. It’s mine, you say, if I’ll let you cut stick and run?”
“Yes, sir; I give you that in exchange for my liberty.”
“Wall, now, kind a generous, ain’t you? But I want you should fling in
something to clinch the bargain. A chap of your cloth is of more valley
than three hundred. What else have you got, corporal?” and laying the
watch carefully upon the grass, Bill’s hand a second time sought the
stranger’s pocket, bringing out an expensive and exquisitely wrought
quizzing-glass.
“Wall, now, if these ain’t the curisest spetacles!” he exclaimed. “I’ll
jest see how a Reb looks through ’em,” and adjusting them to his eyes,
Bill walked demurely around his prisoner, and then standing at a little
distance inspected him minutely, as if he had been some curious monster.
“Hanged if I can see in ’em, but mabby they’ll suit the old woman to
hum,” he said, placing the glass beside the watch, and adding: “Watch
and spetacles ain’t enough, corporal. What more have you got? Ain’t
there a ring on one of your hands?”
“Yes, a costly diamond,” was the faint response, and Bill ere long was
trying in vain to push it over his large joints.
“It don’t fit me, but I guess ’twill my gal, when I git one,” he said,
laying that, too, with the watch and eyeglass.
A silver tobacco-box and handsome cigar-case followed next, the stranger
groaning mentally, as a faint suspicion of Bill’s real intentions
crossed his mind. There remained now but one more article, the dearest
of all the young Rebel possessed, and the perspiration started from
every pore as he felt the rough hand again within his pockets, and knew
he could not prevent it.
“Oh, no, no, no, not that! Spare me that. Do not open it, please!” and
the haughty tone was changed to one of earnest supplication, as Bill
drew forth a small daguerrean case, and placed his dirty thumb upon the
spring.
Something in the stranger’s voice made him pause a moment, but anything
like delicacy of feeling was unknown to the rough Bill, and the next
instant he was feasting his rude gaze upon the features which the Rebel
youth had guarded almost religiously, even from his equals in camp. How
beautiful that girlish face was, with its bright laughing eyes, and soft
chestnut curls falling in such profusion around the childish brow, and
upon the smooth, white neck. Even Bill was awed into silence, while a
feeling of bewilderment crept over him as if he had seen that face
before, and mingled with this feeling came remembrances of that last day
at home, when fair hands, which, ere he was a soldier, would have
scorned to touch such as he, had waved him an adieu.
“Whew-ew!” he whistled, at last. “Ain’t she pretty, though? Your
sweetheart, I guess,” and he leered at the stranger, who made him no
reply; only the lips quivered, and in the dark eyes there was a
gathering moisture; but when Bill asked, “May I have this, too, if I’ll
let you go?” the stranger answered, promptly:
“Never! I’ll die a thousand deaths before I’ll part with that! Liberty
is not worth that price. Give me back the picture, and I’ll go with you
willingly wherever you please. Do give it back,” he added, in an agony
of fear, as Bill continued gazing at it, and making his remarks.
“Can’t a feller look at a gal on glass if he wants to? I wouldn’t hurt
the little critter if I could as well as not. So you won’t give her to
me, nor tell me who ’tis, neither?”
“Stranger,” said the Rebel, “have you any feelings of refinement?”
“Nary feelin’,” and Bill shook his head, but did not withdraw his eyes
from the picture.
“Well, then, have you a wife?”
“Nary wife. Nobody would have Bill Baker.”
“Nor sister?”
“Nary sister but a dead one that I never seen.”
“Nor mother? You surely have a mother,” and the soldier’s voice shook
with strong emotion.
“You’ve got me there,” and Bill’s eyes turned upon his prisoner. “I have
a mother, and you ought to hear the old gal take on when she comes home
from washin’ from Miss Martherses or some of the big bugs and finds Hal
dead drunk on the trundle-bed, and me not a great sight better. Handsome
old gal,—one of the kind that don’t wear hoops, but every time she steps
takes her gownd up on her heels, you know.”
The Rebel groaned aloud. There was no tender point upon which his captor
could be touched, and the tears rained over his handsome face as he
begged of Bill to give him at least the ambrotype.
“It’s the only thing which has prevented me from being a perfect
villain,” he said. “It has kept me from the wine cup, and from the
gambler’s den.”
“Pity it hadn’t kept you out of the Southern army,” was Bill’s dry
response, and the stranger answered, eagerly:
“I wish it had, I wish it had! Please give it back, and I’ll swear
allegiance to the veriest minion in Lincoln’s train.”
“I never thought no great of a turncoat,” Bill replied, closing the
case, and still holding it in his hand. “If you’re a Southern dog, stay
so, not go to barkin’ on both sides. We don’t want no traitors. Honest,
though, corporal, where _was_ you born? There’s a kind of nateral look
in your face, as if I’d seen it afore,” and Bill laid the ambrotype upon
the grass.
But with regard to his birthplace, the stranger was non-committal; and
Bill continued:
“If I let you go, you’ll give me the watch?”
“Willingly, willingly.”
“And the spetacles?”
“Yes, oh yes.”
“And the glass bead ring?”
“Yes, everything but the picture.”
“Don’t be so fast,” Bill rejoined. “I’ll get to that bimeby. Watch,
spetacles, glass bead ring, tobarker-box, and this other thingumbob, but
not the picter, if I’ll let you go? And you’ll go with me to Washington,
and be showed up like a caravan if I’ll give up the picter? Them’s the
terms as I understand.”
“Yes,” the stranger gasped, a shadow of hope stealing into his heart.
Alas, how soon it was erased by Bill’s continuing:
“Yankees ain’t generally very green. We can make you Southern bloods buy
wooden cowcumber-seeds any time of day, and do you s’pose I’m goin’ to
let you off at any price? _No_ SIR! If you go to war, you must take the
chances of war. I ain’t a-goin’ to hurt you, and I’ll ease up them
strings if you say so, but, corporal, you’re my prisoner; and these
traps,” laying his hand upon the various articles upon the grass, “these
traps, picter and all, I _con-fis-cate_ as _con-tra-band_! How do you
feel now?” and Bill coolly pocketed his contrabands, all save the watch,
which he adjusted about his neck.
There was a fierce storm of tears, and sobs, and wild entreaties, and
then the poor discouraged soldier was still, his white face wearing
again its look of cold, haughty reserve, and his whole manner indicative
of the aversion he felt for the vulgar Bill, upon whom the feeling was
entirely lost, for though Bill knew the proud Southerner felt above him,
he could not appreciate the feelings which made the young man shrink
from him as from a loathsome reptile. Bill had no intention of treating
him cruelly, and as by this time the night shadows were creeping into
the woods, he sought out a dryer and more sheltered spot, and bade his
prisoner sleep while he sat by and watched. It seemed preposterous that
the stranger should sleep under so great excitement, but human nature
could endure no longer without rest, and when at last the stars came
out, they shone down upon that tired soldier, sleeping upon the grass,
with Bill sitting near, and watching as he slept. There were visions of
home, and of the battle, too, it would seem, mingled in the young man’s
dreams, for he talked sometimes with his mother, asking her to forgive
her boy, and take him back again to her love; then he was pleading for
another, a captive it would seem, asking that nought but the best of
care should come to the wounded officer; and then the picture flitted
across his mind, for he held converse with the original, and Bill,
listening to him, muttered:
“’Twas his gal, or sister, sure; I’m sorry for him, I _vum_, but hanged
if I’ll give it up. It’s _contraband_ according to war. He needn’t of
jined the army.”
And so the weary night wore on, the deep stillness of the Virginia woods
broken occasionally by the shouts of riders as they passed by, in search
of whatever there was to find. Once, as the shouts came near, the
soldier started up, but ere the scream for help had passed his lips,
Bill’s hand was laid firmly upon them, and Bill himself whispered
fiercely.
“One yelp, and I gag you with the handkerchief the old woman took from
her pocket and gin me the mornin’ I come from home. She takes snuff,
too, the old woman does!”
There was a gesture of disgust, and then the stranger became quiet
again, while the shouts died away in the distance and were not heard
again that night. The morning broke at last, and just as it was growing
light, Bill, aroused by the falling rain from the slumber into which he
had inadvertently fallen, awoke his prisoner, and led him safely through
the pickets of the enemy without encountering a human being. They were a
strange looking couple, and when, on the following day, they reached
Washington, they attracted far more attention than the prisoner desired,
for he shrunk nervously from the curious gaze fixed upon him, refusing
to answer all questions as to his name or birthplace, and appearing glad
when at last he was relieved from Bill’s surveillance and led to his
prison home.