In March, 186--, Middleburgh “fell.” That is, it fell into the hands of
the Union army, and remained in their hands afterwards. It was terrible
at first, and Nancy Pansy stuffed Harry into a box, and hid her away.
It was awfully lonesome, however, and to think of the way Harry was
doubled up and cramped down in that box under the floor was dreadful.
So at last, finding that whatever else they did, the soldiers did
not trouble her, she took Harry out. But she never could go about
with her as before, for of course things were different, and although
she got over her fright at the soldiers, as did her sister Ellen and
the rest of Middleburgh, they never were friendly. Indeed, sometimes
they were just the reverse, and at last they got to such a pitch that
the regiment which was there was taken away, and a new regiment, or,
rather, two new companies, were sent there. These were Companies A and
C of the --th Regiment of ---- Veterans. They had been originally known
as Volunteers, but now they were known as “Veterans,” because they had
been in so many battles.
The --th were perhaps the youngest men in that department, being
mainly young college fellows who had enlisted all together. Some of
the regiments composed of older men were at first inclined to laugh
at the smooth-faced youngsters who could hardly raise a mustache to
a mess; but when these same rosy-cheeked fellows flung off their
knapsacks in battle after battle, and went rushing ahead under a hail
of bullets and shell, they changed their tune and dubbed them “The
Baby Veterans.” Thus, in 186--, the Baby Veterans went to Middleburgh
for a double purpose:--first, that they might recruit and rest; and,
secondly, because for the past six months Middleburgh had been causing
much worry, and was regarded as a nest of treason and trouble. The
regiment which had been there before was a new regiment, not long since
recruited, and had been in a continual quarrel with Middleburgh, and as
Middleburgh consisted mainly of women and children, and a few old men,
there was not much honor to be got out of rows with them. Middleburgh
complained that the soldiers were tyrannical and caused the trouble;
the soldiers insisted that Middleburgh was constantly breaking the
regulations, and conducted itself in a high-handed and rebellious way,
and treated them with open scorn. As an evidence, it was cited that
the women in Middleburgh would not speak to the Union soldiers. And
it was rumored that the girls there were uncommonly pretty. When the
Baby Veterans heard this, they simply laughed, pulled their budding
mustaches, and announced that they would “keep things straight in
Middleburgh.”
Tom Adams was first lieutenant of Company C. He had enlisted as a
private, and had been rapidly promoted to corporal, sergeant, and
then lieutenant; and he was in a fair way to be captain soon, as the
captain of his company was at home badly wounded, and if he should be
permanently disabled, Tom was certain of the captaincy. If any man
could bring Middleburgh to terms, Tom Adams was the man, so his friends
declared, and they would like to see any woman who would refuse to
speak to Tom Adams--they really would.
The Baby Veterans reached Middleburgh in the night, and took up their
quarters on the Court-house Square, vacated by the regiment which had
just left. When morning came they took a look at Middleburgh, and
determined to intimidate it on the spot. They drilled, marched and
counter-marched up and down the dusty streets, and around the old
whitewashed court-house, to show that they meant business, and did not
propose to stand any foolishness--not they.
Nancy Pansy and her sister Ellen had been with Harry to see old Mrs.
Hippin, who was sick, to carry her some bread and butter, and were
returning home about mid-day. They had not seen the new soldiers, and
were hurrying along, hoping they might not see them, when they suddenly
heard the drums and fifes playing, and turning the corner, they saw
the soldiers between them and their gate, marching up the road toward
them. A tall young officer was at their head; his coat was buttoned
up very tight, and he carried his drawn sword with the handle in his
right hand and the tip in his left, and carried his head very high. It
was Tom Adams. Nancy Pansy caught tight hold of her sister’s hand, and
clasped Harry closely to her bosom. For a second they stopped; then,
as there was no help for it, they started forward across the road,
just in front of the soldiers. They were so close that Nancy Pansy was
afraid they would march over them, and she would have liked to run. She
clutched sister’s hand hard; but her sister did not quicken her pace at
all, and the young officer had to give the order, “Mark time--march!”
to let them pass. He looked very grand as he drew himself up, but Nancy
Pansy’s sister held her hand firmly, and took not the slightest notice
of him. Lifting her head defiantly in the air, and keeping her dark
eyes straight before her, she passed with Nancy Pansy within two steps
of the young lieutenant and his drawn sword, neither quickening nor
slowing her pace a particle. They might have seemed not to know that
a Federal soldier was within a hundred miles of them but for the way
that Nancy Pansy squeezed Harry, and the scornful air which sat on her
sister’s stern little face and erect figure as she drew Nancy Pansy
closer to her, and gathered up her skirts daintily in her small hand,
as though they might be soiled by an accidental touch.
[Illustration: NANCY PANSY CLASPED HARRY CLOSELY TO HER BOSOM.]
Tom Adams had a mind to give the order “Forward!” and make them run
out of the way, but he did not do it, so he marched back to camp, and
told the story to his mess, walking around the table, holding the
table-cloth in his hand, to show how the little rebel had done. He
vowed he would get even with her.
As the days went on, the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh came no nearer
being acquainted than they were that morning. The Baby Veterans still
drilled, and paraded, and set pickets all around the town; Middleburgh
and Nancy Pansy still picked up their skirts and passed by with
uplifted heads and defiant eyes. The Baby Veterans shouted on the
Court-house Square, “Yankee Doodle” and the “Star-spangled Banner;”
Middleburgh sang on its verandas and in its parlors, “Dixie” and the
“Bonnie Blue Flag.” Perhaps, some evenings Middleburgh may have stopped
its own singing, and have stolen out on its balconies to listen to
the rich chorus which came up from the Court-house Grove, but if so,
the Baby Veterans never knew it; or perhaps, the Baby Veterans some
evenings may have strolled along the shadowed streets, or stretched
themselves out on the grass to listen to the sweet voices which
floated down from the embowered verandas in the Judge’s yard; if so,
Middleburgh never guessed it.
Nancy Pansy used to sing sweetly, and she would often sing whilst her
sister played for her.
The strict regulations established by the soldiers prevented any
letters from going or coming unopened, and Middleburgh never would
tolerate that. So the only mail which passed through the office was
that which the Baby Veterans received or sent. As stated, Nancy
Pansy’s mother, by the old doctor’s advice and for reasons good
to her and her friends, still kept the post-office under a sort of
surveillance, yet the intercourse with the soldiers was strictly
official; the letters were received or were delivered by the
postmistress in silence, or if the Baby Veterans asked a question it
was generally replied to by a haughty bow, or an ungracious “No.”
One mail day Mrs. Seddon was ill, so Nancy Pansy’s sister Ellen had to
go to open the mail, and Nancy Pansy went with her, taking Harry along,
“to take care of them.”
It happened that Tom Adams and a friend came in to ask for their
letters. Nancy Pansy’s sister was standing at the table arranging the
mail, and Nancy Pansy was sitting up on the table by her, holding the
battered but cherished Harry in her lap. The young officer stiffened up
as he saw who was before him.
“Are there any letters for Lieutenant Adams?” he asked, in a very
formal and stately manner.
There was no reply or motion to show that he had been heard, except
that Nancy Pansy’s sister began to go over the letters again from the
beginning of the A’s. Suddenly Nancy Pansy, who was watching her, saw
one, and exclaiming, “Oh! there’s one!” seized it, and slipped down
from the table to give it to its owner, proud to show that she could
read writing. Before she had reached the window, however, her sister
caught her quickly, and taking the letter from her, slowly advanced and
handed it to the young soldier; then turning quietly away, she took
out her handkerchief and wiped her hand very hard where it had touched
the letter, as if it had been soiled. The young officer strode out of
the door with a red face and an angry step, and that evening the story
of the way the little rebel wiped her hands after touching Tom Adams’s
letter was all over camp.