MAD WHATELY
Mr. Baron was one of the few of the landed gentry in the region who was
not known by a military title, and he rather prided himself on the
fact. "I'm a man of peace," he was accustomed to say, and his neighbors
often remarked, "Yes, Baron is peaceable if he has his own way in
everything, but there's no young blood in the county more ready for a
fray than he for a lawsuit." "Law and order" was Mr. Baron's motto, but
by these terms he meant the perpetuity of the conditions under which he
and his ancestors had thus far lived. To distrust these conditions was
the crime of crimes. In his estimation, therefore, a Northern soldier
was a monster surpassed only by the out-and-out abolitionist. While it
had so happened that, even as a young man, his tastes had been legal
rather than military, he regarded the war of secession as more sacred
than any conflict of the past, and was willing to make great sacrifices
for its maintenance. He had invested all his funds as well as those of
his niece in Confederate bonds, and he had annually contributed a large
portion of the product of his lands to the support of the army. Living
remote from the scenes of actual strife, he had been able to maintain
his illusions and hopes to a far greater extent than many others of
like mind with himself; but as the war drew toward its close, even the
few newspapers he read were compelled to justify their name in some
degree by giving very unpalatable information. As none are so blind as
those who will not see, the old man had testily pooh-poohed at what he
termed "temporary reverses," and his immunity from disturbance had
confirmed his belief that the old order of things could not materially
change. True, some of his slaves had disappeared, but he had given one
who had been caught such a lesson that the rest had remained quiet if
not contented.
The news brought by his overseer became therefore more disturbing than
the strange and preposterous conduct of his niece, and he had demanded
excitedly, "What on earth's the matter, Perkins?"
"Well, sir, fur's I kin mek out, this very plantation's been p'luted by
Yankee soldiers this very evenin'. Yes, sir."
"Great heavens! Perkins," and Mr. Baron sprang from his chair, then
sank back again with an expression suggesting that if the earth opened
next it could not be worse.
"Yes, sir," resumed Perkins, solemnly, "I drawed that much from Jute.
He seen 'em hisself. I noticed a s'pressed 'citement en talk in the
quarters this evenin', an' I follered hit right up an' I ast roun' till
I pinned Jute. He was over the fur side of the run lookin' fur a stray
crow, an' he seen 'em. But they was bein' chased lively. Mad
Whately--beg pardon--Mr. Madison was arter them with whip and spur.
Didn't yer hear a crack of a rifle? I did, and reckoned it was one o'
the Simcoe boys out gunnin', but Jute says hit was one o' our men fired
the shot, en that they chased the Yanks to'erds the big woods. They was
all mounted en goin' it lickity switch. The thing that sticks in my
crop isn't them few what Mr. Madison chased, but the main body they
belongs to. Looks as ef there's goin' to be a raid down our way."
"If that is so," said Mr. Baron, majestically, "Lieutenant Whately
proves that our brave men are not far off, either, and the way he
chased some of them shows how all the vile invaders will eventually be
driven out of the country. Be vigilant, Perkins, and let it be
understood at the quarters that Lieutenant Whately is within call."
The overseer bowed awkwardly and limped away. His lameness had secured
him immunity from military duty.
"Ah, that's a man for you," said Mr. Baron, glaring at his niece. "Your
cousin is a true scion of Southern chivalry. That is the kind of a man
you do not know whether you wish to marry or not--a brave defender of
our hearths and liberties."
"If he wishes to marry me against my will, he's not a defender of my
liberty," retorted the girl.
"If you had the spirit which should be your birthright your eyes would
flash with joy at the prospect of seeing a hero who could thus chase
your enemies from our soil. If you could only have seen him in his
headlong--"
"I did see him."
"What!"
"I saw Cousin Madison leading a dozen or more men in pursuit of half a
dozen. That does not strike me as sublimely heroic."
"Why haven't you told me of this? How could you have seen him?" and the
old man, in his strong excitement, rose from his chair.
"My reception when I entered was not conducive to conversation. I was
merely sitting by the run and saw both parties gallop past."
"You should have come instantly to me."
"I'm sure I came in hastily," she replied, crimsoning in the
consciousness of her secret, "but I was met as if I had been guilty of
something awful."
"Well, if I had known," began her uncle, in some confusion, mistaking
her color for an expression of anger.
"I think," remarked her aunt, coldly, "that Louise should have
recognized that she had given you just cause for displeasure by her
tardiness, unless it were explained, and she should have explained at
once. I have no patience with the spirit she is displaying."
But Mr. Baron's mind had been diverted to more serious and alarming
considerations than what he characterized mentally as "a girl's
tantrum."
"It makes my blood boil," he said, "to think that this Northern scum is
actually in our neighborhood, and might be at our doors but for my
brave nephew. Thanks to him, they met a righteous reception on this
plantation; thanks to him, in all probability, we are not now weltering
in our blood, with the roof that shelters us blazing over our heads. If
those marauders had found us unprotected, young woman, you would have
rued the day. Their capacity for evil is only equalled by their
opportunities. If your cousin had not flamed after them like an
avenging sword you might have cried loudly enough for the one of whom,
in your fit of unseemly petulance, you can speak so slightingly. I
advise you to go to your room and thank Heaven for your escape."
"Uncle, are the people of the North savages?"
"Its soldiers are worse than savages. Have you not heard me express my
opinion of them over and over again? Go to your room, and when you
appear again, I trust it will be with the meekness and submission
becoming in a young woman."
When the girl left Aun' Jinkey's cabin the young soldier looked after
her with an expression of deep interest. "Who is she?" he asked.
"Dat's Miss Lou," said the old negress, forcing into his mouth another
spoonful of her fiery decoction.
"Oh, that's enough, aunty, unless you wish to burn me out like a hollow
log," and he struggled to his feet to ease his tendency to strangle.
"Miss Lou? How should I know who she is?"
"Ob co'se," said Aun' Jinkey, dryly, "I ain' namin' her pedigree."
"You a Linkum man, ain' you?" Chunk asked, quickly.
"Yes, and Lincoln is a good friend of yours."
"Hi! I knows dat. W'at fer you so hidin'-in-de-grass, granny? No use
bein' dat away wid a Linkum man."
"I ain' talkin' 'bout my young mistis to folks ez drap down fum de
clouds."
"You wouldn't like me better if I came up from below, aunty. There now,
I'm not a very bad fellow, and I belong to the army that's going to
make you all free."
"I hasn't des tink out dis question ob bein' free yit. I'se too ole to
wuk much an' old mars'r's took keer on me long time."
"Well, I'se tink it out," put in Chunk, decidedly; "en I'se able to wuk
fer you en me too."
"You mighty peart, Chunk, co'tin' a gal lie a bean-pole a'ready. I
reck'n she spen' all you eber mek. You bettah boos' de Linkum man into
dat ar lof sud'n, kase ef Marse Perkins cotch 'im yere we all ain'
feelin' berry good bimeby."
"Dat ar truer'n preachin'," admitted Chunk, with alacrity. "Des you tek
hol' ob dem ladder rouns, mars'r, an' put yo' foots on my sho'lers.
Dat's hit. Nobody tink ob fin'in' you yere. I'se study how ter git yo'
hoss out of sight 'gin mawnin'."
"You stand by me, Chunk," said the soldier, "and you won't be sorry.
There's a lot of us coming this way soon, and I can be a good friend of
yours and all your people if you help me out of this scrape."
"I'se gwine ter stan' by you, boss. I'se mek up my min' ter be free dis
time, sho! Hi! w'at dat?"
He was wonderfully agile, for his arms were nearly as long as his legs.
In an instant he descended, drawing a trap-door after him. Then he
sauntered to the door, which he opened wide. A troop of horsemen were
coming single file by a path which led near the cabin, and the foremost
asked in a voice which the negro recognized as that of Lieutenant
Whately, "Is that you, Chunk?"
"Dat's me, mars'r. My 'specs."
"Be off, you skeleton. Make time for the house and help get supper for
me and the men. If you don't run like a red deer, I'll ride you down."
"Good Lawd! w'at gwine ter hap'n nex'?" groaned Chunk, as he
disappeared toward the mansion. He burst like a bombshell into the
kitchen, a small building in the rear of the house.
"Did you eber see de likes?" exclaimed Zany. "What yo' manners--"
"Hi, dar! talk 'bout manners! Marse Whately comin' wid a army, en want
supper fer um all in des one minute en er haf by de clock!"
Great, fat Aun' Suke threw up her hands in despair, and in the brief
silence the tramp of horses and the jingling of sabres were plainly
heard. They all knew Mad Whately, and it needed not that Mrs. Baron,
desperately flurried, should bustle in a few moments later with orders
that all hands should fly around. "What you doing here?" she asked
Chunk, sharply.
"I'se here ter hep, mistis. Dem's my orders from Marse Whately. He come
ridin' by granny's."
"Then go and kill chickens."
A few moments later the dolorous outcry of fowls was added to the
uproar made by the barking dogs.
With a chill of fear Miss Lou, in her chamber, recognized her cousin's
voice, and knew that he, with his band, had come to claim hospitality
at his uncle's hands. What complications did his presence portend?
Truly, the long months of monotony on the old plantation were broken
now. What the end would be she dared not think, but for the moment her
spirit exulted in the excitement which would at least banish stagnation.
In his secret heart Mr. Baron had hoped that his nephew would go on to
his own home, a few miles further; for applauding him as a hero was one
thing, and having him turn everything upside down at that hour another.
Routine and order were scattered to the winds whenever Mad Whately made
his appearance, but the host's second thoughts led him to remember that
this visitation was infinitely to be preferred to one from the terrible
Yankees; so he threw wide open the door, and, with his wife, greeted
his nephew warmly. Then he shouted for Perkins to come and look after
the horses.
"Ah, mine uncle," cried Whately, "where on earth is to be found a
festive board like yours? Who so ready to fill the flowing bowl until
even the rim is lost to sight, when your defenders have a few hours to
spare in their hard campaigning? You won't entertain angels unawares
to-night. You'd have been like Daniel in the den with none to stop the
lions' mouths, or rather the jackals', had we not appeared on the
scene. The Yanks were bearing down for you like the wolf on the fold.
Where's my pretty cousin?"
Mr. Baron had opened his mouth to speak several times during this
characteristic greeting, and now he hastened to the foot of the stairs
and shouted, "Louise, come down and help your aunt entertain our
guests." Meanwhile Whately stepped to the sideboard and helped himself
liberally to the sherry.
"You know me must maintain discipline," resumed Whately, as his uncle
entered the dining-room. "The night is mild and still. Let a long table
be set on the piazza for my men. I can then pledge them through the
open window, for since I give them such hard service, I must make
amends when I can. Ah, Perkins, have your people rub the horses till
they are ready to prance, then feed them lightly, two hours later a
heavier feed, that's a good fellow! You were born under a lucky star,
uncle. You might now be tied up by your thumbs, while the Yanks helped
themselves."
"It surely was a kind Providence which brought you here, nephew."
"No doubt, no doubt; my good horse, also, and, I may add, the wish to
see my pretty cousin. Ah! here she comes with the blushes of the
morning on her cheeks," but his warmer than a cousinly embrace and kiss
left the crimson of anger in their places.
She drew herself up indignantly to her full height and said, "We have
been discussing the fact that I am quite grown up. I will thank you to
note the change, also."
"Why, so I do," he replied, regarding her with undisguised admiration;
"and old Father Time has touched you only to improve you in every
respect."
"Very well, then," she replied, coldly, "I cannot help the touch of
Father Time, but I wish it understood that I am no longer a child."
"Neither am I, sweet cousin, and I like you as a woman far better."
She left the room abruptly to assist her aunt.
"Jove! uncle, but she has grown to be a beauty. How these girls blossom
out when their time comes! Can it be that I have been absent a year?"
"Yes, and your last visit was but a flying one."
"And so I fear this one must be. The Yanks are on the move, perhaps in
this direction, and so are we. It was one of their scouting parties
that we ran into. Their horses were fresher than ours and they
separated when once in the shadow of the woods. They won't be slow,
however, in leaving these parts, now they know we are here. I'm going
to take a little well-earned rest between my scoutings, and make love
to my cousin. Olympian humbugs! how handsome and haughty she has
become! I didn't think the little minx had so much spirit."
"She has suddenly taken the notion that, since she is growing up, she
can snap her fingers at all the powers that be."
"Growing up! Why, uncle, she's grown, and ready to hear me say, 'With
all my worldly goods I thee endow.'"
"But the trouble is, she doesn't act as if very ready."
"Oh, tush! she isn't ready to throw herself at the head of any one.
That isn't the way of Southern girls. They want a wooer like a cyclone,
who carries them by storm, marries them nolens volens, and then they're
happy. But to be serious, uncle, in these stormy times Lou needs a
protector. You've escaped for a long time, but no one can tell now what
a day will bring forth. As my wife, Cousin Lou will command more
respect. I can take her within our lines, if necessary, or send her to
a place of safety. Ah, here comes my blooming aunt to prepare for
supper."
"Welcome to The Oaks," she again repeated. "Never more welcome, since
you come as defender as well as guest."
"Yes, aunt; think of a red-whiskered Yank paying his respects instead
of me."
"Don't suggest such horrors, please."
The gentlemen now joined Miss Lou in the parlor, while under Mrs.
Baron's supervision Zany, and Chunk, as gardener and man-of-all-work,
with the aid of others soon set the two tables. Then began a procession
of negroes of all sizes bearing viands from the kitchen.