THE RELEASE OF IOLA LEROY.
"Well, boys," said Robert to his trusted friends, as they gathered
together at a meeting in Gundover's woods, almost under the shadow of
the Union army, "how many of you are ready to join the army and fight
for your freedom."
"All ob us."
"The soldiers," continued Robert, "are camped right at the edge of the
town. The General has his headquarters in the heart of the town, and one
of the officers told me yesterday that the President had set us all
free, and that as many as wanted to join the army could come along to
the camp. So I thought, boys, that I would come and tell you. Now, you
can take your bag and baggage, and get out of here as soon as you
choose."
"We'll be ready by daylight," said Tom. "It won't take me long to pack
up," looking down at his seedy clothes, with a laugh. "I specs ole
Marse'll be real lonesome when I'm gone. An' won't he be hoppin' mad
when he finds I'm a goner? I specs he'll hate it like pizen."
"O, well," said Robert, "the best of friends must part. Don't let it
grieve you."
"I'se gwine to take my wife an' chillen," said one of the company.
"I'se got nobody but myself," said Tom; "but dere's a mighty putty
young gal dere at Marse Tom's. I wish I could git her away. Dey tells me
dey's been sellin' her all ober de kentry; but dat she's a reg'lar
spitfire; dey can't lead nor dribe her."
"Do you think she would go with us?" said Robert.
"I think she's jis' dying to go. Dey say dey can't do nuffin wid her.
Marse Tom's got his match dis time, and I'se glad ob it. I jis' glories
in her spunk."
"How did she come there?"
"Oh, Marse bought her ob de trader to keep house for him. But ef you
seed dem putty white han's ob hern you'd never tink she kept her own
house, let 'lone anybody else's."
"Do you think you can get her away?"
"I don't know; 'cause Marse Tom keeps her mighty close. My! but she's
putty. Beautiful long hair comes way down her back; putty blue eyes, an'
jis' ez white ez anybody's in dis place. I'd jis' wish you could see her
yoresef. I heerd Marse Tom talkin' 'bout her las' night to his brudder;
tellin' him she war mighty airish, but he meant to break her in."
An angry curse rose to the lips of Robert, but he repressed it and
muttered to himself, "Graceless scamp, he ought to have his neck
stretched." Then turning to Tom, said:--
"Get her, if you possibly can, but you must be mighty mum about it."
"Trus' me for dat," said Tom.
Tom was very anxious to get word to the beautiful but intractable girl
who was held in durance vile by her reckless and selfish master, who had
tried in vain to drag her down to his own low level of sin and shame.
But all Tom's efforts were in vain. Finally he applied to the Commander
of the post, who immediately gave orders for her release. The next day
Tom had the satisfaction of knowing that Iola Leroy had been taken as a
trembling dove from the gory vulture's nest and given a place of
security. She was taken immediately to the General's headquarters. The
General was much impressed by her modest demeanor, and surprised to see
the refinement and beauty she possessed. Could it be possible that this
young and beautiful girl had been a chattel, with no power to protect
herself from the highest insults that lawless brutality could inflict
upon innocent and defenseless womanhood? Could he ever again glory in
his American citizenship, when any white man, no matter how coarse,
cruel, or brutal, could buy or sell her for the basest purposes? Was it
not true that the cause of a hapless people had become entangled with
the lightnings of heaven, and dragged down retribution upon the land?
The field hospital was needing gentle, womanly ministrations, and Iola
Leroy, released from the hands of her tormentors, was given a place as
nurse; a position to which she adapted herself with a deep sense of
relief. Tom was doubly gratified at the success of his endeavors, which
had resulted in the rescue of the beautiful young girl and the
discomfiture of his young master who, in the words of Tom, "was mad
enough to bite his head off" (a rather difficult physical feat).
Iola, freed from her master's clutches, applied herself readily to her
appointed tasks. The beautiful, girlish face was full of tender
earnestness. The fresh, young voice was strangely sympathetic, as if
some great sorrow had bound her heart in loving compassion to every
sufferer who needed her gentle ministrations.
Tom Anderson was a man of herculean strength and remarkable courage.
But, on account of physical defects, instead of enlisting as a soldier,
he was forced to remain a servant, although he felt as if every nerve in
his right arm was tingling to strike a blow for freedom. He was well
versed in the lay of the country, having often driven his master's
cotton to market when he was a field hand. After he became a coachman,
he had become acquainted with the different roads and localities of the
country. Besides, he had often accompanied his young masters on their
hunting and fishing expeditions. Although he could not fight in the
army, he proved an invaluable helper. When tents were to be pitched,
none were more ready to help than he. When burdens were to be borne,
none were more willing to bend beneath them than Thomas Anderson. When
the battle-field was to be searched for the wounded and dying, no hand
was more tender in its ministrations of kindness than his. As a general
factotum in the army, he was ever ready and willing to serve anywhere
and at any time, and to gather information from every possible source
which could be of any service to the Union army. As a Pagan might
worship a distant star and wish to call it his own, so he loved Iola.
And he never thought he could do too much for the soldiers who had
rescued her and were bringing deliverance to his race.
"What do you think of Miss Iola?" Robert asked him one day, as they were
talking together.
"I jis' think dat she's splendid. Las' week I had to take some of our
pore boys to de hospital, an' she war dere, lookin' sweet an' putty ez
an angel, a nussin' dem pore boys, an' ez good to one ez de oder. It
looks to me ez ef dey ralely lob'd her shadder. She sits by 'em so
patient, an' writes 'em sech nice letters to der frens, an' yit she
looks so heart-broke an' pitiful, it jis' gits to me, an' makes me mos'
ready to cry. I'm so glad dat Marse Tom had to gib her up. He war too
mean to eat good victuals."
"He ought," said Robert, "to be made to live on herrings' heads and cold
potatoes. It makes my blood boil just to think that he was going to have
that lovely looking young girl whipped for his devilment. He ought to be
ashamed to hold up his head among respectable people."
"I tell you, Bob, de debil will neber git his own till he gits him. When
I seed how he war treating her I neber rested till I got her away. He
buyed her, he said, for his housekeeper; as many gals as dere war on de
plantation, why didn't he git one ob dem to keep house, an' not dat nice
lookin' young lady? Her han's look ez ef she neber did a day's work in
her life. One day when he com'd down to breakfas,' he chucked her under
de chin, an' tried to put his arm roun' her waist. But she jis' frew it
off like a chunk ob fire. She looked like a snake had bit her. Her eyes
fairly spit fire. Her face got red ez blood, an' den she turned so pale
I thought she war gwine to faint, but she didn't, an' I yered her say,
'I'll die fust.' I war mad 'nough to stan' on my head. I could hab
tore'd him all to pieces wen he said he'd hab her whipped."
"Did he do it?"
"I don't know. But he's mean 'nough to do enythin'. Why, dey say she
war sole seben times in six weeks, 'cause she's so putty, but dat she
war game to de las'."
"Well, Tom," said Robert, "getting that girl away was one of the best
things you ever did in your life."
"I think so, too. Not dat I specs enytin' ob it. I don't spose she would
think ob an ugly chap like me; but it does me good to know dat Marse Tom
ain't got her."