The Faithful Negro.
"Wal, now, I'll be dog-gone, but you are lively on your legs, for a
little one," exclaimed the rebel, with a laugh. "But you're a safe
Yank now."
"Not yet, I ain't," answered Frank. "I want you to understand that
it's my principle never to surrender without a fight;" and, suddenly
exerting all his strength, he tore himself away from his captor,
leaving part of his collar in his grasp.
The rebel was taken completely by surprise, for he had supposed that
Frank would surrender without a struggle; but the latter brought his
musket to a charge bayonet, in a way that showed he was in earnest.
The rebel was the better armed, carrying a neat sporting rifle, to
which was attached a long, sharp saber-bayonet. Frank noticed this
difference, but resolutely stood his ground, and, as he was very
expert in the bayonet exercise, and as his enemy appeared to be but
very little his superior in strength and agility, he had no fear as to
the result of the conflict.
At length the rebel, after eyeing his youthful antagonist for a
moment, commenced maneuvering slowly, intending, if possible, to draw
him out. But Frank stood entirely on the defensive; failing in this
mode of attack, the rebel began to grow excited, and became quicker
in his movements. But his efforts were useless, for Frank--although
a little pale, which showed that he knew the struggle must end in the
death of one or the other of them--did not retreat an inch, but coolly
parried every thrust made by his infuriated enemy, with the skill of a
veteran. The rebel was again obliged to change his plan of attack, and
commenced by rushing furiously upon Frank, endeavoring to beat down
his guard by mere strength. But this proved his ruin; for Frank met
him promptly at all points, and, watching the moment when the rebel
carelessly opened his guard, he sprang forward and buried his bayonet
to the hilt in his breast. The thrust was mortal, and the rebel threw
his arms above his head, and sank to the ground without a groan.
"I believe he's done for," said Frank to himself; and he stepped up to
take a nearer look at his enemy. There he lay, his pale face upturned,
and the blood running from an ugly wound in the region of his heart.
"I do believe he _is_ dead," repeated Frank, with a shudder, as
he gazed sorrowfully at he work he had done. "But there was no
alternative between his death and a long confinement in prison. It was
done in self-defense;" and he turned to walk away.
Just then the thought struck him that he would take the rebel's
gun; his own was worse than useless, for his cartridges had all been
expended. So, throwing down his heavy musket, he picked up the rifle
his enemy had carried, and, slinging the powder-horn and bullet-pouch
over his shoulder, he started off through the woods.
But where should he go? His escape, and the manner in which it was
accomplished, had doubtless aroused the entire country. The woods
around him were filled with rebels, and the question was, in which
direction should he turn to avoid them? After some hesitation, he
determined to go as directly through the woods, toward the river, as
possible, and, if discovered, trust to his woodcraft and swiftness of
foot to save him. With this determination, he shouldered his rifle and
walked rapidly on, taking care, however, to keep a good look-out on
all sides, and to make as little noise as possible. All sounds of the
pursuit had died away, and the woods were as silent as midnight. But
even this was a source of fear to Frank; for he knew not what tree or
thicket concealed an enemy, nor how soon the stillness would be broken
by the crack of a rifle and the whistle of a hostile bullet.
At length the sun went down, and it began to grow dark; but still
Frank walked on, wishing to get as far away from the scene of the
fight as possible. Presently he heard a sound that startled him: it
was the clatter of horses' hoofs, on a hard, well-beaten road. Nearer
and nearer came the sound, and, in a few moments, a company of cavalry
passed by, and Frank could distinctly hear them laughing and talking
with each other.
When they were out of hearing, he paused to deliberate. It was evident
that he could not travel through those deep woods at night; should he
wait until it became dark, and then boldly follow the road, or should
he remain where he was until morning? There was one great objection
to the first proposition, and that was his uniform, and the danger he
would run of being captured by the night patrol, which he knew were
stationed at intervals along the road. It did not seem possible for
him to remain where he was; for now, that he had partly got over
his excitement, he began to feel the cravings of hunger; in fact,
it almost rendered him desperate, and he began to wish that he had
surrendered without a struggle, or that he had not attempted to
escape at all, for, if he were a prisoner, he could probably obtain
sufficient food to keep him from starving. But he knew that his time
was too precious to be wasted with such foolish thoughts; besides,
when he thought of home and his mother, who had evidently heard of his
capture, all ideas of surrendering himself vanished, and he felt
that he could endure any thing, even starvation, if he only had the
assurance that he would see home once more. But he knew that wishing
would not bring him out of his present difficulty: he must work
for his liberty; do every thing in his power, and leave the rest to
Providence.
He started out again, and determined that his first step should be to
reconnoiter the road. No one was in sight; but, about a quarter of a
mile down the road, on the other side, was a large plantation-house,
with its neat negro quarters clustering around it, and looking
altogether like a little village. He knew that some of the cabins were
inhabited, for he saw the smoke wreathing out of the chimneys; could
he not go to one of them, and obtain food? He had often heard of
escaped prisoners being fed and sheltered by the negroes; why could
not he throw himself under their protection? He must have something to
satisfy his hunger; and if he could but gain the woods on the opposite
side of the road, it would require but a few moments to reach the
house. He determined to try it. Glancing hastily up and down the road,
he clutched his rifle desperately, and started. A few rapid steps
carried him across the road; he cleared the fence at a bound, and was
out of sight, in the bushes, in a moment. He immediately started for
the nearest cabin and, in a few moments, came to a stand-still in a
thicket of bushes just behind it. There was some one in the cabin, for
he could see a light shining through the cracks between the logs; and
he distinctly heard the music of a violin, and a voice singing:
"The sun shines bright in my ole Kentucky home"--
But still he hesitated to advance; his courage had failed him. What,
if the negro--for he was certain it was a negro in the cabin--should
betray him? What if--His reverie was suddenly interrupted by the
approach of a horseman on the road. Presently a rebel officer rode
leisurely by. When he arrived opposite the house, a man, who was
sitting on the portico, and whom Frank had not noticed, hailed the
horseman, who drew in his rein, and stopped.
"Have you caught them all yet?" inquired the man on the portico.
"No," answered the officer; "not yet. One of them gave us the slip; a
little fellow; belongs to the gun-boats. He's around here somewhere;
but we'll have him to-morrow, for he can't escape. If he comes around
here, and you think there is any chance to take him alive, just send
down to the Forks for us. If not, you had better shoot him. I wouldn't
advise you to meddle with him much, however, for he's a dead shot, and
fights like a cuss."
"Did he kill any of the boys?" asked the man on the portico.
"Yes; he killed Bill Richards, who was on guard at the time he
escaped, and stole his musket and cartridge-box. I suppose you heard
of that. And then, when we got after him, he ran through the woods
like a deer, loading his gun as he went, and every time he turned
around, somebody had to drop. Finally, old Squire Davis's son overtook
him, and they had a regular hand-to-hand fight; but the little one, as
usual, came out at the top of the heap."
"Did he kill young Davis?"
"Yes, as dead as a smelt; stuck a bayonet clean through his heart. But
I must be going. Keep an eye out for him!"
"All right," answered the man on the portico; and the horseman rode
off.
What Frank's feelings were, as he lay there in the bushes, and
listened to this conversation--every word of which he overheard--we
will not attempt to say. But it showed him that his enemies feared
him, and dreaded to meet him single-handed; and that, if he were
retaken, his life would not be worth a moment's purchase. He had all
along been perfectly aware that his case was desperate, and that he
had undertaken something at which many a person, with twice his years
and experience, would have hesitated. His condition seemed utterly
hopeless. He had never before realized his danger, or what would be
his fate if he were captured; but now all the difficulties before him
seemed to stand out in bold relief. Yet this knowledge did not act
upon him as with some persons; it only nerved him for yet greater
exertions, and with a determination to brave every danger before him.
When the horseman had disappeared, and the man on the portico had
returned to his seat, Frank again turned his attention to the cabin.
After putting a new cap on his rifle, he threw it into the hollow of
his arm, and crawled noiselessly out of his place of concealment.
When he reached the cabin, he raised to his feet, boldly ascended the
steps, and knocked at the door, intending, if his demand for food was
not instantly complied with, to take it by force.
"Who dar?" inquired a voice from the inside.
Frank made no reply, but was about to repeat the summons, when the
door was thrown open, and an old, gray-headed negro woman appeared
before him. Frank was about to make known his wants, when the woman,
who had thrown the door wide open, to allow the light to fall upon
him, exclaimed:
"Why, de Lor' A'mighty bress us! Come in, chile. What is you standin'
out dar for? Come in, I tol' you." And Frank was seized by the arm and
pulled into the cabin, and the door was closed carefully behind him.
"Stop dat 'ar fiddlin', ole man," continued the woman, addressing
herself to an aged negro, who was seated in an easy chair in the
chimney corner; "stop dat 'ar fiddlin', an' git up an' give young
massa dat cheer."
"I don't wish to give you any trouble," said Frank. "I'm not the least
bit tired; but I would like something to eat."
"No trouble 't all, chile," said the old woman. "Now, don't you go
talkin' 'bout trouble, I knows who you is. Set down dar." And the old
woman pointed to the chair which the man had vacated. "I'll give you
somethin' to eat, right away. Pomp, ole man, git up an' cut some
o' dat ham;" and the woman bustled about in a state of considerable
excitement.
Frank hid his rifle behind a coat which hung in one corner of the
cabin, and was about to take possession of the chair, when hasty steps
were heard on the walk leading to the cabin.
"Gorry mighty!" exclaimed the old negro, in alarm, "dar come de
oberseer. Git under the bed--quick, young massa. You'll be safe
dar--quick."
Frank had hardly time to act upon this suggestion, when the door
suddenly opened, and a shaggy head appeared.
"Haven't you had your supper yet, Pomp, you black rascal?" inquired
the overseer, witnessing the preparations for cooking that were going
on.
"I's only been home a few minutes, massa," answered Pomp.
"Well, hurry up, then. I came here," continued the overseer, "to tell
you that there is a Yankee prowling around here somewhere; if he comes
here, I want you to send for me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, massa," answered Pomp.
"Don't you feed him, or do any thing else for him," continued the
overseer. "If you do, I'll whip you to death. Now, mind what I tell
you." And the overseer closed the door, and departed, to carry the
same information and warning to the other cabins.
As soon as the sound of his footsteps had died away, Pomp whispered:
"All right now, young massa. You can come out now--no danger. The
oberseer won't come to dis house g'in dis night."
Frank, accordingly, crawled out from under the bed, and seated himself
in the easy chair, while the old woman went on with her cooking. In
a few minutes, which seemed an age to Frank, however, the meal, which
consisted of coffee, made of parched corn, ham, honey, and corn-bread,
was ready. Frank thought he had never eaten so good a meal before. He
forgot the danger of his situation, and listened to the conversation
of the old negro and his wife, as though there was not a rebel within
a hundred miles of him.
"There," he exclaimed, after he had finished the last piece of
corn-bread, and pushed his chair back from the table, "I believe I've
eaten supper enough to satisfy any two men living."
"Has yer had enough, chile?" asked the old woman. "I's glad to see yer
eat. I wants to do all I can for you Yankee sogers."
"Oh, I've had a great plenty, aunty," answered Frank, as he rose from
the table. "Now, I must bid you good-by," he continued, as he pulled
his rifle out from its hiding-place. "I shall never be able to repay
you; but"--
"Lor' A'mighty, chile!" interrupted the old woman, "whar's you gwine?
You mustn't say one word 'bout gwine out o' dis house _dis_ night.
I's got a bed all fixed for you, an' Pomp will take you up early in de
mornin', an' show you de way fru de swamp."
"Put away dat gun, young massa," chimed in Pomp; "dere's no danger."
Frank could not resist this appeal, for the bed, which the old woman
had made for him in one corner of the cabin, rough as it was, was a
pleasant sight to his eyes. So, after hiding his rifle under one of
the quilts, where he could get his hand upon it at a moment's warning,
he threw himself upon the bed without removing his clothes, and was
fast asleep in a moment. It seemed to him that he had hardly closed
his eyes, when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and Pomp's voice
whispered in his ear:
"Wake up, young massa; 'most daylight."
"You sleep mighty sound, chile," said the old woman, as Frank rose
from the bed. "I's sorry to be 'bilged to 'sturb you, but you must
be gwine now. Here's a little bite for you to eat." As she spoke,
she handed Frank a haversack, such as he had often seen used by the
soldiers of the rebel army, filled with corn-bread and cold ham. Frank
slung it over his shoulder, and, after pulling his rifle out from
under the bed, said:
"Aunty, I thank you for your kindness to"--
"Lor' A'mighty, chile!" interrupted the woman, "don't say one word
'bout dat, I tol' you. I's sorry we can't do more for you; but you
must go away now. May de good Lor' bress you."
The tears rolled down the old woman's cheeks as she said this,
and Frank silently shook her hand, and followed Pomp out into the
darkness.