"_There are some deeds so grand
That their mighty doers stand
Ennobled, in a moment, more than kings._"
BOKER
It was towards the evening of a blazing July day on Morris Island. The
mail had just come in and been distributed. Jim, with some papers and a
precious missive from Sallie in one hand, his supper in the other,
betook himself to a cool spot by the river,--if, indeed, any spot could
be called cool in that fiery sand,--and proceeded to devour the letter
with wonderful avidity while the "grub," properly enough, stood
unnoticed and uncared for. Presently he stopped, rubbed his eyes, and
re-read a paragraph in the epistle before him, then re-rubbed, and read
it again; and then, laying it down, gave utterance to a long whistle,
expressive of unbounded astonishment, if not incredulity.
The whistle was answered by its counterpart, and Jim, looking up,
beheld his captain,--Coolidge by name,--a fast, bright New York boy,
standing at a little distance, and staring with amazed eyes at a paper
he held in his hands. Glancing from this to Jim, encountering his look,
he burst out laughing and came towards him.
"Helloa, Given!" he called: Jim was a favorite with him, as indeed with
pretty much every one with whom he came in contact, officers and
men,--"you, too, seem put out. I wonder if you've read anything as queer
as that," handing him the paper and striking his finger down on an item;
"read it." Jim read:--
"MISCEGENATION. DISGRACEFUL FREAK IN HIGH LIFE. FRUIT OF AN ABOLITION
WAR.--We are credibly informed that a young man belonging to one of the
first families in the city, Mr. W.A.S.,--we spare his name for the sake
of his relatives,--who has been engaged since its outset in this
fratricidal war, has just given evidence of its legitimate effect by
taking to his bosom a nigger wench as _his wife_. Of course he is
disowned by his family, and spurned by his friends, even radical
fanaticism not being yet ready for such a dose as this. However--" Jim
did not finish the homily of which this was the presage, but, throwing
the paper on the ground, indignantly drove his heel through it, tearing
and soiling it, and then viciously kicked it into the river.
Said the Captain when this operation was completed, having watched it
with curious eyes, "Well, my man, are you aware of the fact that that is
_my_ paper?"
"Don't care if it is. What in thunder did you bring the damned
Copperhead sheet to me for, if you didn't want it smashed? Ain't you
ashamed of yourself having such a thing round? How'd you feel if you
were picked up dead by a reb, with that stuff in your pocket? Say now!"
Coolidge laughed,--he was always ready to laugh: that was probably why
the men liked him so well, and stood in awe of him not a bit. "Feel?
horridly, of course. Bad enough, being dead, to yet speak, and tell 'em
that paper didn't represent my politics: 'd that do?"
Jim shook his head dubiously.
"What are you making such a devil of a row for, I'd like to know? it's
too hot to get excited. 'Tain't likely you know anything about Willie
Surrey."
"O ho! it is Mr. Will, then, is it? Know him,--don't I, though? Like a
book. Known him ever since he was knee-height of a grasshopper. I'd like
to have that fellow"--shaking his fist toward the floating
paper--"within arm's reach. Wouldn't I pummel him some? O no, of course
not,--not at all. Only, if he wants a sound skin, I'd advise him, as a
friend, to be scarce when I'm round, because it'd very likely be
damaged."
"You think it's all a Copperhead lie, then! I should have thought so, at
first, only I know Surrey's capable of doing any Quixotic thing if he
once gets his mind fixed on it."
"I know what I know," Jim answered, slowly folding and unfolding
Sallie's letter, which he still held in his hand. "I know all about that
young lady he's been marrying. She's young, and she's
handsome--handsome as a picture--and rich, and as good as an angel;
that's about what she is, if Sallie Howard and I know B from a bull's
foot."
"Who is Sallie Howard?" queried the Captain.
"She? O,"--very red in the face,--"she's a friend of mine, and she's
Miss Ercildoune's seamstress."
"Ercildoune? good name! Is she the _lady_ upon whom Surrey has been
bestowing his--?"
"Yes, she is; and here's her photograph. Sallie begged it of her, and
sent it to me, once after she had done a kind thing by both of us. Looks
like a 'nigger wench,' don't she?"
The Captain seized the picture, and, having once fastened his eyes upon
it, seemed incapable of removing them. "This? this her?" he cried.
"Great Cæsar! I should think Surrey would have the fellow out at twenty
paces in no time. Heavens, what a beauty!"
Jim grinned sardonically: "She is rather pretty, now,--ain't she?"
"Pretty! ugh, what an expression! pretty, indeed! I never saw anything
so beautiful. But what a sad face it is!"
"Sad! well, 'tain't much wonder. I guess her life's been sad enough, in
spite of her youth, and her beauty, and her riches, and all the rest."
"Why, how should that be?"
"Suppose you take another squint at that face."
"Well."
"See anything peculiar about it?"
"Nothing except its beauty."
"Not about the eyes?"
"No,--only I believe it is they that make the face so sorrowful."
"Very like. You generally see just such big mournful-looking eyes in the
faces of people that are called--octoroons."
"What?" cried the Captain, dropping the picture in his surprise.
"Just so," Jim answered, picking it up and dusting it carefully before
restoring it to its place in his pocket-book.
"So, then, it is part true, after all."
"True!" exclaimed Jim, angrily,--"don't make an ass of yourself,
Captain."
"Why, Given, didn't you say yourself that she was an octoroon, or some
such thing?"
"Suppose I did,--what then?"
"I should say, then, that Surrey has disgraced himself forever. He has
not only outraged his family and his friends, and scandalized society,
but he has run against nature itself. It's very plain God Almighty never
intended the two races to come together."
"O, he didn't, hey? Had a special despatch from him, that you know all
about it? I've heard just such talk before from people who seemed to be
pretty well posted about his intentions,--in this particular
matter,--though I generally noticed they weren't chaps who were very
intimate with him in any other way."
The Captain laughed. "Thank you, Jim, for the compliment; but come, you
aren't going to say that nature hasn't placed a barrier between these
people and us? an instinct that repels an Anglo-Saxon from a negro
always and everywhere?"
"Ho, ho! that's good! why, Captain, if you keep on, you'll make me talk
myself into a regular abolitionist. Instinct, hey? I'd like to know,
then, where all the mulattoes, and the quadroons, and the octoroons come
from,--the yellow-skins and brown-skins and skins so nigh white you
can't tell 'em with your spectacles on! The darkies must have bleached
out amazingly here in America, for you'd have to hunt with a long pole
and a telescope to boot to find a straight-out black one anywhere
round,--leastwise that's my observation."
"That was slavery."
"Yes 'twas,--and then the damned rascals talk about the
amalgamationists, and all that, up North. 'Twan't the abolitionists;
'twas the slaveholders and their friends that made a race of half-breeds
all over the country; but, slavery or no slavery, they showed nature
hadn't put any barriers between them,--and it seems to me an enough
sight decenter and more respectable plan to marry fair and square than
to sell your own children and the mother that bore them. Come, now,
ain't it?"
"Well, yes, if you come to that, I suppose it is!"
"You _suppose_ it is! See here,--I've found out something since I've
been down here, and have had time to think; 'tain't the living together
that troubles squeamish stomachs; it's the marrying. That's what's the
matter!"
"Just about!" assented the Captain, with an amused look, "and here's a
case in point. Surrey ought to have been shot for marrying one of that
degraded race."
"Bah! he married one of his own race, if I know how to calculate."
"There, Jim, don't be a fool! If she's got any negro blood in her veins
she's a nigger, and all your talk won't make her anything else."
"I say, Captain, I've heard that some of your ancestors were Indians: is
that so?"
"Yes: my great-grandmother was an Indian chief's daughter,--so they say;
and you might as well claim royalty when you have the chance."
"Bless me! your great-grandmother, eh? Come, now, what do you call
yourself,--an Injun?"
"No, I don't. I call myself an Anglo-Saxon."
"What, not call yourself an Injun,--when your great-grandmother was one?
Here's a pretty go!"
"Nonsense! 'tisn't likely that filtered Indian blood can take precedence
and mastery of all the Anglo-Saxon material it's run through since
then."
"Hurray! now you've said it. Lookee here, Captain. You say the
Anglo-Saxon's the master race of the world."
"Of course I do."
"Of course you do,--being a sensible fellow. So do I; and you say the
negro blood is mighty poor stuff, and the race a long way behind ours."
"Of course, again."
"Now, Captain, just take a sober squint at your own logic. You back
Anglo-Saxon against the field; very well! here's Miss Ercildoune, we'll
say, one eighth negro, seven eighths Anglo-Saxon. You make that one
eighth stronger than all the other seven eighths: you make that little
bit of negro master of all the lot of Anglo-Saxon. Now I have such a
good opinion of my own race that if it were t'other way about, I'd think
the one eighth Saxon strong enough to beat the seven eighths nigger.
That's sound, isn't it? consequently, I call anybody that's got any
mixture at all, and that knows anything, and keeps a clean face,--and
ain't a rebel, nor yet a Copperhead,--I call him, if it's a him, and
her, if it's a she, one of us. And I mean to say to any such from
henceforth, 'Here's your chance,--go in, and win, if you can,--and
anybody be damn'd that stops you!'"
"Blow away, Jim," laughed the Captain, "I like to hear you; and it's
good talk if you don't mean it."
"I'll be blamed if I don't."
"Come, you're talking now,--you're saying a lot more than you'll live up
to,--you know that as well as I. People always do when they're gassing."
"Well, blow or no blow, it's truth, whether I live up to it or not." And
he, evidently with not all the steam worked off, began to gather sticks
and build a fire to fry his bit of pork and warm the cold coffee.
Just then they heard the plash of oars keeping time to the cadence of a
plantation hymn, which came floating solemn and clear through the
night:--
"My brudder sittin' on de tree ob life,
An' he yearde when Jordan roll.
Roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll,
Roll Jordan, roll!"
They both paused to listen as the refrain was again and again repeated.
"There's nigger for you," broke out Jim, "what'n thunder'd they mean by
such gibberish as that?"
The Captain laughed. "Come, Given, don't quarrel with what's above your
comprehension. Doubtless there's a spiritual meaning hidden away
somewhere, which your unsanctified ears can't interpret."
"Spiritual fiddlestick!"
"Worse and worse! what a heathen you're demonstrating yourself! Violins
are no part of the heavenly chorus."
"Much you know about it! Hark,--they're at it again"; and again the
voices and break of oars came through the night:--
"O march, de angel march! O march, de angel march!
O my soul arise in heaven, Lord, for to yearde when Jordan roll!
Roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll."
"Well, I confess that's a little bit above my comprehension,--that is.
Spiritual or something else. Lazy vermin! they'll paddle round in them
boats, or lie about in the sun, and hoot all day and all night about
'de good Lord' and 'de day ob jubilee,'--and think God Almighty is going
to interfere in their special behalf, and do big things for them
generally."
"It's a fact; they do all seem to be waiting for something."
"Well, I reckon they needn't wait any longer. The day of miracles is
gone by, for such as them, anyway. They ain't worth the salt that feeds
them, so far as I can discover."
Through the wash of the waters they could hear from the voices, as they
sang, that their possessors were evidently drawing nearer.
"Sense or not," said the Captain, "I never listen to them without a
queer feeling. What they sing is generally ridiculous enough, but their
voices are the most pathetic things in the world."
Here the hymn stopped; a boat was pulled up, and presently they saw two
men coming from the sands and into the light of their fire,--ragged,
dirty; one shabby old garment--a pair of tow pantaloons--on each;
bareheaded, barefooted,--great, clumsy feet, stupid and heavy-looking
heads; slouching walk, stooping shoulders; something eager yet
deprecating in their black faces.
"Look at 'em, Captain; now you just take a fair look at 'em; and then
say that Mr. Surrey's wife belongs to the same family,--own kith and
kin,--you ca-a-n't do it."
"Faugh! for heaven's sake, shut up! of course, when it comes to this, I
can't say anything of the kind."
"'Nuff said. You see, I believe in Mr. Surrey, and what's more, I
believe in Miss Ercildoune,--have reason to; and when I hear anybody
mixing her up with these onry, good-for-nothing niggers, it's more'n I
can stand, so don't let's have any more of it"; and turning with an air
which said that subject was ended, Jim took up his forgotten coffee,
pulled apart some brands and put the big tin cup on the coals, and then
bent over it absorbed, sniffing the savory steam which presently came up
from it. Meanwhile the two men were skulking about among the trees,
watching, yet not coming near,--"at their usual work of waiting," as the
Captain said.
"Proper enough, too, let 'em wait. Waiting's their business. Now,"
taking off his tin and looking towards them, "what d'ye s'pose those
anemiles want? Pity the boat hadn't tipped over before they got here.
Camp's overrun now with just such scoots. Here, you!" he called.
The men came near. "Where'd you come from?"
One of them pointed back to the boat, seen dimly on the sand.
"Was that you howling a while ago, 'Roll Jordan,' or something?"
"Yes, massa."
"And where did you come from?--no, you needn't look back there again,--I
mean, where did you and the boat too come from?"
"Come from Mass' George Wingate's place, massa."
"Far from here?"
"Big way, massa."
"What brought you here? what did you come for?"
"If you please, massa, 'cause the Linkum sojers was yere, an' de big
guns, an' we yearde dat all our people's free when dey gets yere."
"Free! what'll such fellows as you do with freedom, hey?"
The two looked at their interrogator, then at one another, opened their
mouths as to speak, and shut them hopelessly,--unable to put into words
that which was struggling in their darkened brains,--and then with a
laugh, a laugh that sounded woefully like a sob, answered, "Dunno,
massa."
"What fools!" cried Jim, angrily; but the Captain, who was watching them
keenly, thought of a line he had once read, "There is a laughter sadder
than tears." "True enough,--poor devils!" he added to himself.
"Are you hungry?" Jim proceeded.
"I hope massa don't think we's come yere for to git suthin' to eat,"
said the smaller of the two, a little, thin, haggard-looking
fellow,--"we's no beggars. Some ob de darkies is, but we's not dem
kind,--Jim an' me,--we's willin' to work, ain't we, Jim?"
"Jim!" soliloquized Given,--"my name, hey? we'll take a squint at this
fellow."
The squint showed two impoverished-looking wretches, with a starved look
in their eyes, which he did not comprehend, and a starved look in their
faces and forms, which he did.
"Come, now, are you hungry?" he queried once more.
"If ye please, massa," began the little one who was spokesman,--'little
folks always are gas-bags,' Jim was fond of saying from his six feet of
height,--"if ye please, massa, we's had nothin' to eat but berries an'
roots an' sich like truck for long while."
"Well, why by the devil haven't you had something else then? what've you
been doing with yourselves for 'long while'? what d'ye mean, coming here
starved to death, making a fellow sick to look at you? Hold your gab,
and eat up that pork," pushing over his tin plate, "'n' that bread,"
sending it after, "'n' that hard tack,--'tain't very good, but it's
better'n roots, I reckon, or berries either,--'n' gobble up that coffee,
double-quick, mind; and don't you open your heads to talk till the
grub's gone, slick and clean. Ugh!" he said to the Captain,--"sight o'
them fellows just took my appetite away; couldn't eat to save my soul;
lucky they came to devour the rations; pity to throw them away." The
Captain smiled,--he knew Jim. "Poor cusses!" he added presently, "eat
like cannibals, don't they? hope they enjoy it. Had enough?" seeing they
had devoured everything put before them.
"Thankee, massa. Yes, massa. Bery kind, massa. Had quite 'nuff."
"Well, now, you, sir!" looking at the little one,--"by the way, what's
your name?"
"'Bijah, if ye please, massa."
"'Bijah? Abijah, hey? well, I don't please; however, it's none of my
name. Well, 'Bijah, how came you two to be looking like a couple of
animated skeletons? that's the next question."
"Yes, massa."
"I say, how came you to be starved? Hai'n't they nothing but roots and
berries up your way? Mass' George Wingate must have a jolly time,
feasting, in that case. Come, what's your story? Out with the whole pack
of lies at once."
"I hope massa thinks we wouldn't tell nuffin but de truf," said Jim, who
had not before spoken save to say, "Thankee,"--"cause if he don't bleeve
us, ain't no use in talkin'."
"You shut up! I ain't conversing with you, rawbones! Speak when you're
spoken to! Come, 'Bijah, fire away."
"Bery good, massa. Ye see I'se Mass' George Wingate's boy. Mass' George
he lives in de back country, good long way from de coast,--over a
hundred miles, Jim calklates,--an' Jim's smart at calklating; well,
Mass' George he's not berry good to his people; never was, an' he's been
wuss'n ever since the Linkum sojers cum round his way, 'cause it's made
feed scurce ye see, an' a lot of de boys dey tuck to runnin' away,--so
what wid one ting an' anoder, his temper got spiled, an' he was mighty
hard on us all de time.
"At las' I got tired of bein' cuffed an' knocked round, an' den I yearde
dat if our people, any of dem, got to de Fedral lines dey was free, so I
said, 'Cum, 'Bijah,--freedom's wuth tryin' for'; an' one dark night I
did up some hoe-cake an' a piece of pork an' started. I trabbeled
hard's I could all night,--'bout fifteen mile, I reckon,--an' den as
'twas gittin' toward mornin' I hid away in a swamp. Ye see I felt
drefful bad, for I could year way off, but plain enuff, de bayin' of de
hounds, an' I knew dat de men an' de guns an' de dogs was all after me;
but de day passed an' dey didn't come. So de next night I started off
agen, an' run an' walked hard all night, an' towards mornin' I went up
to a little house standen off from de road, thinking it was a nigger
house, an' jest as I got up to it out walked a white woman scarin' me
awfully, an' de fust ting she axed me was what I wanted."
"Tight slave!" interrupted Jim,--"what d'ye do then?"
"Well, massa, ye see I saw mighty quick I was in for a lie anyhow, so I
said, 'Is massa at home?' 'Yes,' says she,--an' sure nuff, he cum right
out. 'Hello, nigger!' he said when he seed me, 'whar you cum from? so I
tells him from Pocotaligo, an' before he could ax any more queshuns, I
went on an' tole him we cotched fifty Yankees down dere yesterday, an'
massa he was so tickled dat he let me go to Barnwells to see my family,
an' den I said I'd got off de track an' was dead beat an' drefful
hungry, an' would he please to sell me suthin to eat. At dat de woman
streaked right into de house, an' got me some bread an' meat, an' tole
me to eat it up an' not talk about payin,'--'we don't charge good,
faithful niggers nothin',' she said,--so I thanked her an' eat it all
up, an' den, when de man had tole me how to go, I went right long till I
got out ob sight ob de little house, an' den I got into de woods, an'
turned right round de oder way an' made tracks fast as I could in dat
direcshun."
"Ho! ho! you're about what I call a 'cute nigger," laughed Jim. "Come,
go on,--this gets interesting."
"Well, directly I yearde de dogs. Dere was a pond little way off; so I
tuck to it, an' waded out till I could just touch my toes an' keep my
nose above water so's to breathe. Presently dey all cum down, an' I
yearde Mass' George say, 'I'll hunt dat nigger till I find him if takes
a month. I'se goin' to make a zample of him,'--so I shook some at dat,
for I know'd what Mass' George's zamples was. Arter while one ob de men
says, 'He ain't yere,--he'd shown hisself before dis, if he was,' an' I
spose I would, for I was pretty nearly choked, only I said to myself
when I went in, 'I'll go to de bottom before I'll come up to be tuck,'
so I jest held on by my toes an' waited.
"I didn't dare to cum out when dey rode away to try a new scent, an'
when I did I jest skulked round de edge ob de pond, ready to take to it
agen if I yearde dem, an' when night cum I started off an' run an'
walked agen hard's I could, an' den at day-dawn I tuck to anoder pond,
an' went on a log dat was stickin' in de water, and broke down some
rushes an' bushes enuf to lie down on an' cover me up, an' den I slept
all day, for I was drefful tired an' most starved too. Next evenin' when
it got dark, I went on agen, an' trabblin through de woods I seed a
little light, an' sartin dis time dat it was a darkey's cabin, I made
for it, an' it was. It was his'n,"--pointing to the big fellow who
stood beside him, and who nodded his head in assent.
"I had a palaver before he'd let me in, but when I was in I seed what de
matter was. He had a sojer dere, a Linkum sojer, bad wounded, what he'd
found in de woods,--he was a runaway hisself, ye see, like me,--an' he'd
tuck him to dis ole cabin an'd been nussin him on for good while. When I
seed dat I felt drefful bad, for I knowed dey was a huntin for me yet,
an' I tought if de dogs got on de trail dey'd get to dis cabin, sure:
an' den dey'd both be tuck. So I up an' tole dem, an' de sojer he says,
'Come, Jim, you've done quite enuff fur me, my boy. If you're in danger
now, be off with you fast as you can,--an' God reward you, for I never
can, for all you've done for me.'
"'No,' says Jim, 'Capen, ye needn't talk in dat way, for I'se not goin
to budge widout you. You got wounded fur me an' my people, an' now I'll
stick by you an' face any thing fur you if it's Death hisself!' That's
just what Jim said; an' de sojer he put his hand up to his face, an' I
seed it tremble bad,--he was weak, you see,--an' some big tears cum out
troo his fingers onto de back ob it.
"Den Jim says, 'Dis isn't a safe place for any on us, an' we'll have to
take to our heels agen, an' so de sooner we's off de better.' So he did
up some vittels,--all he had dere,--an' gave 'em to me to tote,--an' den
before de Capen could sneeze he had him up on his back, an' we was off.
"It was pretty hard work I kin tell you, strong as Jim was, an' we'd
have to stop an' rest putty ofen; an' den, Jim an' I, we'd tote him
atween us on some boughs; an' den we had to lie by, some days, all
day,--an' we trabbled putty slow, cause we'd lost our bearing an' was in
a secesh country, we knowed,--an' we had nudin but berries an' sich to
eat, an' got nigh starved.
"One night we cum onto half a dozen fellows skulkin' in de woods, an' at
fust dey made fight, but d'rectly dey know'd we was friends, fur dey was
some more Linkum sojers, an' dey'd lost dere way, or ruther, dey know'd
where dey was, but dey didn't know how to git way from dere. Dey was
'scaped pris'ners, dey told us; when I yearde where 'twas I know'd de
way to de coast, an' said I'd show 'em de way if dey'd cum long wid us,
so dey did; an' we got 'long all right till we got to de ribber up by
Mass' Rhett's place."
"Yes, I know where it is," said the Captain.
"Den what to do was de puzzle. De country was all full ob secesh
pickets, an' dere was de ribber, an' we had no boat,--so Jim, he says,
'I know what to do; fust I'll hide you yere,' an' he did all safe in de
woods; 'an' den I'll git ye suthin to eat from de niggers round,' an' he
did dat too, do he couldn't git much, for fear he'd be seen; an' den we,
he and I, made some ropes out ob de tall grass like dat we'd ofen made
fur mats, an' tied dem together wid some oder grass, an' stuck a board
in, an' den made fur de Yankee camp, an' yere we is."
"Yes," said the black man Jim, here,--breaking silence,--"we'll show you
de way back if you kin go up in a boat dey can rest in, fur dey's most
all clean done out, an' de capen's wound is awful bad yit."
"This captain,--what's his name?" inquired Coolidge.
"His name is here," said Jim, carefully drawing forth a paper from his
rags,--"he has on dis some figgers an' a map of de country he took
before he got wounded, an' some words he writ wid a bit of burnt stick
just before we cum away,--an' he giv it to me, an' tole me to bring it
to camp, fur fear something might happen to him while we was away."
"My God!" cried Coolidge when he had opened the paper, and with hasty
eyes scanned its contents, "it's Tom Russell; I know him well. This must
be sent up to head-quarters, and I'll get an order, and a boat, and some
men, to go for them at once." All of which was promptly done.
"See here! I speak to be one of the fellows what goes," Jim emphatically
announced.
"All right. I reckon we'll both go, Given, if the General will let
us,--and I think he will,"--which was a safe guess and a true one. The
boat was soon ready and manned. 'Bijah, too weak to pull an oar, was
left behind; and Jim, really not fit to do aught save guide them, still
insisted on taking his share of work. They found the place at last, and
the men; and taking them on board,--Russell having to be moved slowly
and carefully,--they began to pull for home.
The tide was going out, and the river low: that, with the heavy laden
boat, made their progress lingering; a fact which distressed them all,
as they knew the night to be almost spent, and that the shores were so
lined with batteries, open and masked, and the country about so scoured
by rebels, as to make it almost sure death to them if they were not
beyond the lines before the morning broke.
The water was steadily and perceptibly ebbing,--the rowing growing more
and more insecure,--the danger becoming imminent.
"Ease her off, there! ease her off!" cried the Captain,--as a harsh,
gravelly sound smote on his ear, and at the same moment a shot whizzed
past them, showing that they were discovered,--"ease her off, there! or
we're stuck!"
The warning came too late,--indeed, could not have been obeyed, had it
come earlier. The boat struck; her bottom grating hard on the wet sand.
"Great God! she's on a bar," cried Coolidge, "and the tide's running
out, fast."
"Yes, and them damned rebs are safe enough from _our_ fire," said one of
the men.
A few scattering shot fell about them.
"They're going to make their mark on us, anyway," put in another.
"And we can't send 'em anything in return, blast 'em!" growled a third.
"That's the worst of it," broke out a fourth, "to be shot at like a rat
in a hole."
All said in a breath, and the balls by this time falling thick and
fast,--a fiery, awful rain of death. The men were no cowards, and the
captain was brave enough; but what could they do? To stand up was but to
make figure-heads at which the concealed enemy could fire with ghastly
certainty; to fire in return was to waste their ammunition in the air.
The men flung themselves face foremost on the deck, silent and watchful.
Through it all Jim had been sitting crouched over his oar. He, unarmed,
could not have fought had the chance offered; breaking out, once and
again, into the solemn-sounding chant which he had been singing when he
came up in his boat the evening before:--
"O my soul arise in heaven, Lord, for to yearde when
Jordan roll,
Roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll Jordan, roll,"--
the words falling in with the sound of the water as it lapsed from them.
"Stop that infernal noise, will you?" cried one of the men, impatiently.
The noise stopped.
"Hush, Harry,--don't swear!" expostulated another, beside whom was lying
a man mortally wounded. "This is awful! 'tain't like going in fair and
square, on your chance."
"That's so,--it's enough to make a fellow pray," was the answer.
Here Russell, putting up his hand, took hold of Jim's brawny black one
with a gesture gentle as a woman's. It hurt him to hear his faithful
friend even spoken to harshly. All this, while the hideous shower of
death was dropping about them; the water was ebbing, ebbing,--falling
and running out fast to sea, leaving them higher and drier on the sands;
the gray dawn was steadily brightening into day.
At this fearful pass a sublime scene was enacted. "Sirs!" said a
voice,--it was Jim's voice, and in it sounded something so earnest and
strange, that the men involuntarily turned their heads to look at him.
Then this man stood up,--a black man,--a little while before a
slave,--the great muscles swollen and gnarled with unpaid toil, the
marks of the lash and the branding-iron yet plain upon his person, the
shadows of a lifetime of wrongs and sufferings looking out of his eyes.
"Sirs!" he said, simply, "somebody's got to die to get us out of dis,
and it may as well be me,"--plunged overboard, put his toil-hardened
shoulders to the boat; a struggle, a gasp, a mighty wrench,--pushed it
off clear; then fell, face foremost, pierced by a dozen bullets. Free at
last!