A WELL-AIMED SLIPPER
It would be hard to imagine a morning more lovely, a more perfect type
of peace and good-will, than the one which dawned over The Oaks
plantation the following day. With the light came fragrant zephyrs of
delicious coolness; the stillness of the night gave place to a slight
stir and rustle of foliage; chanticleers crowed lustily, with no
forebodings of their doom; the horses began to whinny for their
breakfasts, and the negroes to emerge from their quarters to greet the
light of this first fair day of freedom. Uncle Lusthah declared "De
millenyum yere sho!" Smoke rose from Aun' Jinkey's chimney, and after
the pone was baking on the hearth she came out on the doorstep with her
pipe to do a little "projeckin'." Even she was impressed with the
beauty and peacefulness of the morning. "En ter tink," she ejaculated,
"my honey's sleepin' lak a lil chile 'stead ob cryin' en wringin' her
han's nobody know whar! Wen dey gits ter mar'in' my honey en she a
bleatin' en a tremlin' like a lamb 'long a wolf dat lickin' he chops
ober her, den I say hit's time fer a smash up. Marse Scoville look lak
he 'tect her gin de hull worl'."
So thought Miss Lou herself. In her weariness and sense of security she
had slept soundly till the light grew distinct, when the birds wakened
her. With consciousness memory quickly reproduced what had occurred.
She sprang to the window and peeped through the blinds in time to see
Scoville rise from his bivouac and throw aside his blanket. With a
soldier's promptness he aroused his men and began giving orders, the
tenor of one being that a scouting party should prepare to go out
immediately.
"Oh!" she sighed, "if I had such a brother what a happy girl I might
be! I don't believe I'd ever care to marry."
She was far from being a soft-natured, susceptible girl, and while
Scoville kindled her imagination and had won her trust, she did not
think of him as a lover. Indeed, the very word had become hateful to
her, associating it as she did with her cousin and the idea of selfish
appropriation. More strongly than any slave on the plantation, she
longed for freedom, and the belief that the Union officer understood
her, respecting her rights and feelings, won him all the favor she was
then capable of bestowing upon any one. If he had employed his brief
opportunity in gallantry and love-making she would have been disgusted.
"I never met any one like him," she soliloquized as she hastily
dressed. "It's so strange to find one willing I should be a little bit
happy in my own way, who is not 'seeking my best welfare,' as uncle
says. Welfare, indeed! As if I couldn't see some wish or scheme of
their own back of all they say or do! His dark eyes declare, 'I wish
you well whether you are useful to me or not.' Well, I am glad I've
known him, whether I ever see him again or not. He has made my course
much clearer."
The inmates of the mansion as well as those without were soon busy in
their preparations for a day which all felt must be eventful. That the
"millenyum" had not come was soon proved by the commencement of
hostilities on the part of Mrs. Baron and Scoville. The latter was
approaching the kitchen to interview Aun' Suke when "ole miss" appeared.
"Madam," he said, lifting his hat, "will you kindly direct your cook to
prepare a breakfast immediately for the wounded? It should be light as
well as nutritious, for some are feverish."
She paid no more attention to him than if he had not spoken, and
entered Aun' Suke's domain. There was a mirthful flash in his dark eyes
as he followed her. When she saw him standing in the doorway, her cold
stare, more clearly than words, designated him "intruder." He steadily
returned her gaze, and Aun' Suke, who had been shouting over freedom
the night before, now had the temerity to quiver in all her vast
proportions with amusement.
"Madam," resumed Scoville, removing his hat, "will you give my orders,
or shall I?"
"Your orders, sir! and in my kitchen!"
"Certainly, madam, and my orders in this instance are simply the
dictates of humanity."
"I will see that our men are well cared for. I am not responsible for
the others."
"But I am, and all must fare alike. Cook, prepare a nice light
breakfast for all the wounded men before you do anything else."
"Yes, mars'r, I 'bey you, I sut'ny will."
Scoville strode away to attend to other duties. Mrs. Baron glared after
him and then at Aun' Suke, who at once began her work.
"Do you mean to say that you'll take no more orders from me?" the old
lady asked, in tones of suppressed anger.
"Kyant do mo' 'n one ting ter oncet. Ob co'se I git yo' breakfas' when
I kin. Reck'n dough we soon hab ter disergree on my wages. I'se a free
ooman."
"Oh, you are free and I am not. That's the new order of things your
Yankee friends would bring about."
"La now, misus," said matter-of-fact Aun' Suke, again shaking with
mirth at the idea, "you got mo' edication 'n me. Wat de use bein' blin'
des on puppose? Spose you en ole mars'r tell me dat ain' a egg"
(holding one up): "kyant I see? Hit's broad sun-up. Why not des look at
tings ez dey iz? Sabe a heap ob trouble. Yere, you lil niggahs, hep
right smart or you neber get yo' breakfas'."
Mrs. Baron went back to the house looking as if the end of the world
had come instead of the millennium.
In the hall she met her husband and Mrs. Whately, to whom she narrated
what had occurred. Mr. Baron had settled down into a sort of sullen
endurance, and made no answer, but Mrs. Whately began earnestly: "Our
very dignity requires that we have no more collisions with a power we
cannot resist. Even you, sister, must now see that you gain nothing and
change nothing. We can be merely passive in our hostility. The only
course possible for us is to endure this ordeal patiently and then win
Louise over to our wishes."
Miss Lou, who was dusting the parlor, stole to the further end of the
apartment and rattled some ornaments to warn them of her presence. She
smiled bitterly as she muttered, "Our wishes; mine will never be
consulted."
Mrs. Whately entered the parlor and kissed her niece affectionately.
She did not like the girl's expression and the difficulty of her task
grew clearer. Nevertheless, her heart was more set on the marriage than
ever before, since her motives had been strengthened by thought. That
her son was bent upon it was one of the chief considerations. "If I
obtain for him this prize," she had reasoned, "he must see that there
is no love like a mother's."
Miss Lou, also, had been unconsciously revealing her nature to the
sagacious matron, who felt the girl, if won, would not become a pretty
toy, soon wearying her son by insipidity of character. "I know better,"
the lady thought, "than to agree with brother and sister that Louise is
merely wilful and perverse." Feeling that she was incapable of
controlling her son, she would be glad to delegate this task to the one
who had the most influence over him and who best promised to maintain
it. She was not so blind in her indulgence as helpless in it from long
habit. She thought that as a wife the girl would not only hold her own,
but also do much toward restraining her son in his wild tendencies; but
she gave no weight to the consideration often in Miss Lou's mind, "I do
not see why everything and everybody should exist for Cousin Mad's
benefit."
Mrs. Whately secretly approved of Scoville's orders in regard to the
wounded, but did not so express herself, resolving not to come into
collision again with her relatives unless it was essential. She now
went out and assisted the surgical trooper in dressing the men's
injuries. Miss Lou had learned that breakfast would be delayed, and so
decided to satisfy her hunger partially at Aun' Jinkey's cabin. The
excitements of the preceding day had robbed her of all appetite, but
now she was ravenous. Her estrangement from her uncle and aunt was so
great that she avoided them, having a good deal of the child's feeling,
"I won't speak till they make up first."
The old negress heard her rapid steps and looked out from her door.
"Oh, mammy," cried the girl, "I'm that hungry I could almost eat you,
and I don't know when we'll have breakfast."
"You des in time, den, honey. Come right in."
But Miss Lou paused at the door in embarrassment, for Scoville had
risen from the table and was advancing to meet her. "Good-morning, Miss
Baron," he said. "Aunt Jinkey and Chunk have prepared me a capital
breakfast, and I should be only too delighted to share it. I must be in
the saddle soon and so availed myself of the first chance for a meal.
Please do not hesitate, for it will probably be my only opportunity of
saying good-by."
"Dar now, honey, sit right down. Ef Marse Scoville ain' quality den I
doan know um."
"Miss Baron," cried Scoville, laughing, "Aunt Jinkey has raised a point
now which you alone can settle--the question of my quality."
"About the same as my own, I reckon," said the girl, sitting down with
rosy cheeks. "Aun' Jinkey is evidently your ally, for she has put her
invitation in a form which I could not decline without hurting the
feelings of--"
"Your sincere and grateful friend," interrupted the officer.
"Uncle and aunt would think I was committing an unheard-of
indiscretion."
"But ARE you?"
"I'm too hungry to discuss the question now," she answered, laughing.
"Do let us hasten, for such OLD friends should not part with their
mouths full."
"Well, hit des does my ole heart good ter see you sittin' dar, Miss
Lou. I'se po'ful glad yo' mouf's full ob breakfas' en dat yo' eyes ain'
full ob tears. Wat we projeckin' 'bout yistidy?"
"Now, Aun' Jinkey, just keep still. I can't show becoming sentiment on
any subject except pones and such coffee as I have not tasted for a
long time."
"Hit Yankee coffee."
"I drink your health in my one contribution," cried Scoville. "Never
mind, aunty, we'll be jolly over it all the same. I agree with you.
It's worth a month's pay to see Miss Baron happy and hungry. I'd like
to know who has a better right. Aunt Jinkey's told me how you protected
her. That was fine. You'd make a soldier."
"Oh, please stop such talk, both of you. I'm ridiculously unlike the
heroines in uncle's library. Lieutenant, please don't say 'Ha! the hour
has come and we must part, perhaps forever.' I won't have any forever.
Uncle Lusthah has insured you gray hairs, and if you don't come and see
us before they're gray, Aun' Jinkey and I will believe all uncle says
about the Yankees."
"And so you ought," said Scoville. "Oh, I'll come back to breakfast
with you again, if I have to come on crutches. Well, I must go. There
is Chunk with the horses. Even now I'm keeping one ear open for a shot
from that hasty cousin of yours."
At this reference she looked grave and rose from the table.
"Lieutenant," she said, taking his proffered hand, "please do not think
me a giddy child nor an unfeeling girl. I DO thank you. I do wish you
well just as you wish me well--for your own sake. Oh, it seems such a
blessed thing for people to feel simple, honest goodwill toward one
another, without having some scheme back of it all."
"Well, Miss Baron, if I had a chance I'd soon prove that I too had a
scheme. The chief point in it would be to keep all trouble out of the
eyes that looked on me so kindly when I came to my senses in this
cabin. Heaven bless your good, kind heart! Promise me one thing."
"Well?"
"If your cousin comes soon there may be a sharp fight. Keep out of
danger. I could never be myself again if my coming here should result
in injury to you."
"As far as my curiosity will permit I will try to keep out of the way.
I've seen so little in my short life that I must make the most of this
brief opportunity. In a day or so you may all be gone, and then the old
humdrum life will begin again."
"Yes, we may all be gone before night. Your chief danger then will be
from the stragglers which follow the army like vultures. If possible, I
will induce the general to leave a guard to-night. I wish Mr. Baron had
a clearer eye to his interests and safety. The general is not
lamb-like. If a guard can be procured for to-night it will be due to
your action and my representations. My services as a scout have brought
me in rather close contact with the general, and possibly I may induce
him to give protection as long as the interest of the service permits.
All questions will be decided with reference to the main chance; so, if
I seem neglectful, remember I must obey my orders, whatever they are.
Ah! there's a shot."
Her hand ached long afterward from his quick, strong pressure, and then
he mounted and was away at a gallop. Miss Lou hastily returned to the
house, but Chunk coolly entered the cabin, saying, "I'se git a bite fer
mebbe I ain' yere ter dinner."
"Reck'n you better be skerce, Chunk, ef Mad Whately comes," said his
grandmother, trembling.
"I knows des w'at ter 'spect fum Mad Whately en fum dat ar oberseer
too, but dey fin' me a uggly ole hornet. I got my sting han'y," and he
tapped the butt of a revolver in the breast of his coat. Having
devoured the remnants of the breakfast he darted out and mounted his
horse also.
Mad Whately was coming sure enough, and like a whirlwind. He had fallen
in with the van of the Confederate advance during the night, and by his
representations had induced an early and forced march to The Oaks. The
vigilant Scoville, with his experiences as a scout fresh in his mind,
had foreseen this possibility. He had two plans in his mind and was
ready to act upon either of them.
Rushing through the hallway of the mansion from the rear entrance, Miss
Lou found her kindred on the veranda. They were too excited and eager
to ask where she had been, for the fierce rebel yell had already been
raised at the entrance of the avenue.
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Baron, "now we'll see this Yankee scum swept away."
Apparently he would have good reason for his exultation. Scoville was
the last man in the world to fight blindly, and Miss Lou kept her eyes
on him. As he sat on his horse, where he commanded the best view of the
advancing enemy, she thought he appeared wonderfully quiet. Not so his
men. They were galloping to the right of the mansion, where there was a
grove on rising ground which formed a long ridge stretching away to the
northwest. It can readily be guessed that it was Scoville's aim not to
be cut off from the main Union column by a superior force, and the
ridge would enable him to see his enemy before he fought, if he should
deem it wise to fight at all. He knew that his horses were fresh. If
those of the attacking party were somewhat blown he could easily keep
out of the way if it were too strong to cope with. He exchanged a few
words with the sergeant commanding the scouting party recently sent
out, and pointed to the grove with his sabre, then slowly followed with
his eye on the enemy.
Miss Lou was in a fever of apprehension in his behalf, for already
shots were fired at him from the Confederates. Suddenly she heard the
click of a musket lock just beneath her, and, looking down, saw Perkins
levelling a piece at Scoville. Quick as light she drew off her slipper
and dashed it into the man's face as he fired. By reason of his
disconcerted aim the bullet flew harmlessly by the Union officer, who
gave a quick, stern glance toward his assailant, recognized him, and
galloped after his men.
"You vile murderer!" cried Miss Lou, "would you shoot a man in his
back?"
"Oh, come, Perkins, that's hardly the thing, no matter what your
provocation," Mr. Baron added.
Perkins bestowed a malignant glance on Miss Lou, then limped away,
wearing a sullen look. The officer in command of the Confederates
sheered off across the lawn toward the grove, and the girl quickly saw
that his force greatly outnumbered that of Scoville. Mad Whately dashed
up to the piazza steps and asked breathlessly, "Are you all safe?"
"Yes," cried his mother. "Thank God! I see you are safe also."
He turned his eyes on his cousin, but in her cold, steady gaze found no
encouragement. With something like an oath, he turned and galloped
after the attacking force.
But Scoville did not wait to be attacked. He continued with his men
along the ridge, retreating rapidly when pressed, pausing when pursuit
slackened. The officer in command soon remarked to Whately, "We are
using up our horses to no purpose, and we shall need them for more
important work later in the day."
Therefore he sounded recall and retired on the mansion, Scoville
following, thus proving that he was governed by other motives than
fear. Indeed, he was in a very genial frame of mind. He had got all his
men off safely, except two or three laggards, and had already sent
swift riders to inform his general of the situation. Knowing that the
tables would soon be turned, he was quite content that he had not made
an obstinate and useless resistance. "What's more," he thought, "Miss
Lou would not have kept out of danger. It isn't in her nature to do so.
Miss Lou! I wish I might call her that some day and then drop the Miss.
One thing is clear. If I meet that cousin again, he'll show me no
quarter. So I must look out for him and that assassin of an overseer,
too. She called him by his right name, the brave little girl! No need
of asking me to come back, for I'd go to the ends of the earth to see
her again."
If he had know how her presence of mind and swift action had in all
probability saved his life, his feelings would have been far more
vivid, while his belief in the luck of throwing an old shoe would have
become one of the tenets of his faith. Miss Lou went after the
extemporized missile and put it on again, saying, "I have fired my
first and last shot in this war."
"It is indeed becoming doubtful on which side you are," answered her
uncle sternly.
"I'm not on the side of that wretch Perkins. Suppose he had succeeded,
and Lieutenant Scoville's general came here, what mercy could we
expect? If Perkins values his life he had better not be caught."
"I am glad indeed, Louise, that you prevented such a thing from
happening," said Mrs. Whately. "The result might have been very
disastrous, and in any event would have been horrible. It was a brave,
sensible thing to do, and you will find that Madison will think so,
too."
Mad Whately, however, was in anything but a judicial mood.