“Jack and Jake.” This is what they used to be called. Their names
were always coupled together. Wherever you saw one, you were very apt
to see the other--Jack, slender, with yellow hair, big gray eyes,
and spirited look; and Jake, thick-set and brown, close to him, like
his shadow, with his shining skin and white teeth. They were always
in sight somewhere; it might be running about the yard or far down
on the plantation, or it might be climbing trees to look into birds’
nests--which they were forbidden to trouble--or wading in the creek,
riding in the carts or wagons about the fields, or following the
furrow, waiting a chance to ride a plough-horse home.
Jake belonged to Jack. He had been given to him by his old master,
Jack’s grandfather, when Jack was only a few years old, and from that
time the two boys were rarely separated, except at night.
Jake was a little larger than Jack, as he was somewhat older, but Jack
was the more active. Jake was dull; some people on the plantation said
he did not have good sense; but they rarely ventured to say so twice to
Jack. Jack said he had more sense than any man on the place. At least,
he idolized Jack.
At times the people commented on the white boy being so much with
the black; but Jack’s father said it was as natural for them to run
together as for two calves--a black one and a white one--when they were
turned out together; that he had played with Uncle Ralph, the butler,
when they were boys, and had taught the latter as much badness as he
had him.
So the two boys grew up together as “Jack and Jake,” forming a
friendship which prevented either of them ever knowing that Jake was a
slave, and brought them up as friends rather than as master and servant.
If there was any difference, the boys thought it was rather in favor
of Jake; for Jack had to go to school, and sit for some hours every
morning “saying lessons” to his aunt, and had to look out (sometimes)
for his clothes, while Jake just lounged around outside the school-room
door, and could do as he pleased, for he was sure to get Jack’s suit as
soon as it had become too much worn for Jack.
The games they used to play were surprising. Jack always knew of some
interesting thing they could “make ’tence” (that is, pretence) that
they were doing. They could be fishers and trappers, of course; for
there was the creek winding down the meadow, in and out among the
heavy willows on its banks; and in the holes under the fences and by
the shelving rocks, where the water was blue and deep, there were
shining minnows, and even little perch; and they could be lost on
rafts, for there was the pond, and with their trousers rolled up to
their thighs they could get on planks and pole themselves about.
But the best fun of all was “Injins.” Goodness! how much fun there was
in Injins! There were bows and arrows, and tomahawks, and wigwams, and
fires in the woods, and painted faces, and creeping-ups, and scalpings,
and stealing horses, and hot pursuits, and hidings, and captures, and
bringing the horses back, and the full revenge and triumph that are
dear to boys’ hearts. Injins was, of all plays, the best. There was a
dear old wonderful fellow named Leatherstocking, who was the greatest
“Injin”-hunter in the world. Jack knew all about him. He had a book
with him in it, and he read it and told Jake; and so they played Injins
whenever they wanted real fun. It was a beautiful place for Injins; the
hills rolled, the creeks wound in and out among the willows, and ran
through thickets into the little river, and the woods surrounded the
plantation on all sides, and stretched across the river to the Mont Air
place, so that the boys could cross over and play on the other side of
the thick woods.
When the war came, Jack was almost a big boy. He thought he was quite
one. He was ten years old, and grew old two years at a time. His father
went off with the army, and left his mother at home to take care of
the plantation and the children. That included Ancy and wee Martha;
not Jack, of course. So far from leaving any one to take care of Jack,
he left Jack to take care of his mother. The morning he went away he
called Jack to him and had a talk with him. He told him he wanted him
to mind his mother, and look out for her, to help her and save her
trouble, to take care of her and comfort her, and defend her always
like a man. Jack was standing right in front of him, and when the talk
began he was fidgety, because he was in a great hurry to go to the
stable and ride his father’s horse Warrior to the house; but his father
had never talked to him so before, and as he proceeded, Jack became
grave, and when his father took his hand, and, looking him quietly in
the eyes, said, “Will you, my son?” he burst out crying, and flung his
arms around his father’s neck, and said, “Yes, father, I will.”
He did not go out of the house any more then; he left the horse to be
brought down by Uncle Henry, the carriage-driver, and he sat quietly by
his father, and kept his eyes on him, getting him anything he wanted;
and he waited on his mother; and when his father went away, he kissed
him, and said all over again that he would do what he promised. And
when his mother locked herself in her room afterward, Jack sat on the
front porch alone, in his father’s chair, and waited. And when she came
out on the porch, with her eyes red from weeping and her face worn, he
did not say anything, but quietly went and got her a glass of water.
His father’s talk had aged him.
For the first two years, the war did not make much difference to Jack
personally. It made a difference to the country, and to the people, and
to his mother, but not to Jack individually, though it made a marked
difference in him. It made him older. His father’s words never were
forgotten. They had sobered him and steadied him. He had seen a good
deal of the war. The troop trains passed up the railroad, the soldiers
cheering and shouting, filling the cars and crowding on top of them;
the army, or parts of it, marched through the country by the county
roads, camping in the woods and fields. Many soldiers stopped at Jack’s
home, where open house was kept, and everything was gladly given to
them. All the visitors now were soldiers. Jack rode the gentlemen’s
horses to water, with Jake behind him, if there was but one (in which
case the horse was apt to get several waterings), or galloping after
him, if there were more. They were hard riders, and got many falls, for
the young officers were usually well mounted, and their horses were
wild. But a fall was no disgrace. Jack remembered that his father once
said to him, when a colt had thrown him, “All bold riders get falls;
only those do not who ride tame horses.”
All the visitors were in uniform; all the talk was of war; all thoughts
were of the Confederacy. Every one was enthusiastic. No sacrifices
were too great to be made. The corn-houses were emptied into the
great, covered, blue army wagons; the pick of the horses and mules was
given up. Provisions became scanty and the food plain; coffee and tea
disappeared; clothes that were worn out were replaced by homespun.
Jack dressed in the same sort of coarse, grayish stuff of which Jake’s
clothes used to be made; and his boots were made by Uncle Dick at
the quarters; but this did not trouble him. It was rather fun than
otherwise. Boys like to rough it. He had come to care little for these
things. He was getting manlier. His mother called him her protector;
his father, when he came home, as he did once or twice a year, called
him “a man,” and introduced him to his friends as “my son.”
His mother began to consult him, to rely on him, to call on him. He
used to go about with her, or go for her wherever she had business,
however far off it might be.
The war had been going on two years, when the enemy first reached
Jack’s home. It was a great shock to Jack, for he had never doubted
that the Confederates would keep them back. There had been a great
battle some time before, and his father had been wounded and taken
prisoner (at first he was reported killed). But for that, Jack said,
the “Yankees” would never have got there. The Union troops did not
trouble Jack personally; but they made a great deal of trouble about
the place. They took all the horses and mules that were good for
anything and put them in their wagons. This was a terrible blow to
Jack. All his life he had been brought up with the horses; each one
was his pet or his friend.
After that the war seemed to be much more about Jack’s home than it
had been before. The place was in the possession first of one army and
then of the other, and at last, one winter, the two armies lay not
far apart, with Jack’s home just between them. “The Yankees” were the
nearer. Their pickets were actually on the plantation, at the ford, and
at the bridge over the little river into which the creek emptied, in
the big woods. There they lay with their camps over behind the hills, a
mile or two farther away. At night the glow of their camp-fires could
be seen. Jack had a pretty aunt who used to stay with his mother, and
many young officers used to come over from the Confederate side to see
her. In such cases, they usually came at night, leaving their horses,
for scouting parties used to come in on them occasionally and stir them
up. Once or twice skirmishes took place in the fields beyond the creek.
One evening a party of young officers came in and took supper. They had
some great plan. They were quite mysterious, and consulted with Jack’s
mother, who was greatly interested in them. They appeared a little
shy of talking before Jack; but when his mother said he had so much
judgment that he could be trusted, they talked openly in his presence.
They had a plan to go into the Federal camp that night and seize the
commanding officer. They wanted to know all the paths. Jack could tell
them. He was so proud. There was not a cow-path he did not know for
two or three miles around, for he and Jake had hunted all over the
country. He could tell them everything, and he did so with a swelling
heart. They laid sheets of paper down on the dining-table, and he drew
them plans of the roads and hills and big woods; showed where the river
could be waded, and where the ravines were. He asked his mother to let
him go along with them, but she thought it best for him not to go.
[Illustration: HE DREW THEM PLANS OF THE ROADS AND HILLS AND BIG WOODS.]
They set out at bedtime on foot, a half-dozen gay young fellows,
laughing and boasting of what they would do, and Jack watched them
enviously as their forms faded away in the night. They did not succeed
in capturing the officer; but they captured a number of horses and a
picket at the bridge, and came off triumphant, with only one or two
of their number slightly wounded. Shortly afterwards they came over,
and had a great time telling their experiences. They had used the map
Jack made for them, and had got safely beyond the pickets and reached
the camp. There, finding the sentries on guard, they turned back,
and taking the road, marched down on the picket, as if they had come
to relieve them. Coming from the camp in this way, they had got upon
the picket, when, suddenly drawing their pistols and poking them up
against the Yankees, they forced them to surrender, and disarmed them.
Then taking two of them off separately, they compelled them to give
the countersign. Having got this, they left the prisoners under guard
of two of their number, and the rest went back to camp. With the
countersign they passed the sentry, and went into the camp. Then they
found that the commanding officer had gone off somewhere, and was not
in camp that night, and there were so many men stirring about that
they did not dare to wait. They determined, therefore, to capture some
horses and return. They were looking over the lines of horses to take
their pick when they were discovered. Each man had selected a horse,
and was trying to get him, when the alarm was given, and they were
fired on. They had only time to cut the halters when the camp began to
pour out. Flinging themselves on the horses’ backs, they dashed out
under a fusillade, firing right and left. They took to the road, but
it had been picketed, and they had to dash through the men who held it
under a fire poured into their faces. All had passed safely except one,
whose horse had become unmanageable, and had run away, flying the track
and taking to the fields.
He was, they agreed, the finest horse in the lot, and his rider had had
great trouble getting him, and had lingered so long that he came near
being captured. He had finally cut the halter, and had cut it too short
to hold by.
They had great fun laughing at their comrade, and the figure he cut as
his barebacked horse dashed off into the darkness, with him swinging
to the mane. He had shortly been dragged off of him in the woods, and
when he appeared in camp next day, he looked as if he had been run
through a mill. His eyes were nearly scratched out of his head, and
his uniform was torn into shreds.
The young fellow, who still showed the marks of his bruising, took the
chaffing good-naturedly, and confessed that he had nearly lost his life
trying to hold on to his captive. He had been down into the woods the
next day to try and get his horse; though it was the other side of the
little river, and really within the Federal lines. But though he caught
sight of him, it was only a glimpse. The animal was much too wild to be
caught, and the only thing he received for his pains was a grazing shot
from a picket, who had caught sight of him prowling around, and had
sent a ball through his cap.
The narration of the capture and escape made Jack wild with excitement.
All the next day he was in a state of tremor, and that evening he and
Jake spent a long time up in the barn together talking, or rather Jack
talking and Jake listening. Jake seemed to be doubtful; but Jack’s
enthusiasm carried all before him, and Jake yielded, as he nearly
always did.
All that evening after they got back to the house Jack was very quiet.
It was the quiet of suppressed excitement. He was thinking.
Next day, after dinner, he and Jake started out. They were very
mysterious. Jack carried a rope that they got from the stable, and the
old musket that he used in hunting. Jake carried an axe and some corn.
They struck out for the creek as if they were going hunting in the big
woods, which they entered; but at the creek they turned and made for
about opposite where Jack understood his friend had been thrown by the
wild horse that night. They had to avoid the pickets on the roads, so
they stuck to the woods.
At the river the first difficulty presented itself; the bridge and ford
were picketed. How were they to get across? It was over their heads in
the middle. Jack could swim a little, but Jake could not swim a stroke.
Besides, they did not wish to get their clothes wet, as that would
betray them at home. Jack thought of a raft, but that would take too
long to make; so finally they decided to go down the stream and try to
cross on an old tree that had fallen into the water two or three years
before.
The way down was quite painful, for the underbrush along the banks
was very dense, and was matted with brambles and briers, which stuck
through their clothes; added to which there was a danger of “snakes,”
as Jake constantly insisted. But after a slow march they reached the
tree. It lay diagonally across the stream, as it had fallen, its roots
on the bank on their side and the branches not quite reaching the other
bank. This was a disappointment. However, Jack determined to try, and
if it was not too deep beyond the branches, then Jake could come.
Accordingly, he pulled off his clothes, and carefully tying them up
in a bundle, he equipped himself with a long pole and crawled out on
the log. When he got among the branches, he fastened his bundle and
let himself down. It was a little over his head, but he let go, and
with a few vigorous strokes he reached the other side. The next thing
to do was to get Jake over. Jake was still on the far side, and, with
his eyes wide open, was declaring, vehemently, “Nor, sir,” he “warn
gwine to git in that deep water, over his head.” He “didn’t like water
nohow.” Jack was in a dilemma. Jake had to be got over, and so had his
clothes. They had an axe. They could cut poles if he could get back.
There was nothing for it but to try. Accordingly he went up a little
way, took a plunge, and, after hard pulling and much splashing and
blowing, got back to the tree and climbed up. They were afraid the
Yankees might see them if they worked too long on the river, as it was
a little cleared up on the hill above, so they went back into the woods
and set to work. Jack selected a young pine not too large for them to
“tote,” and they cut it down, and cut off two poles, which they carried
down to the river, and finally, after much trouble, worked along the
tree in the water, and got them stretched across from the branch of the
fallen log to the other bank. Jake could hardly be persuaded to try it,
but Jack offered him all his biscuit (his customary coin with Jake),
and promised to help him, and finally Jake was got over, “cooning
it”--by which was meant crawling on his hands and knees.
The next thing was to find the horse, for Jack had determined to
capture him. This was a difficult thing to effect. In the first place,
he might not be there at all, as he might have escaped or have been
caught; and the woods had to be explored with due regard to the
existence of the Federal pickets, who were posted at the roads and
along the paths. If the pickets caught sight of them they might be
shot, or even captured. The latter seemed much the worse fate to Jack,
unless, indeed, the Yankees should send them to Johnson’s Island, where
his father was. In that case, however, what would his mother do? It
would not do to be captured. Jack laid out the plan of campaign. They
would “beat the woods,” going up the stream at a sufficient distance
apart, Jake, with the axe and corn, on the inside, and he, with the gun
and rope, outside. Thus, if either should be seen, it would be he, and
if he came on a soldier, he, having the gun, would capture him. He gave
orders that no word was to be spoken. If any track was found notice was
to be given by imitating a partridge; if danger appeared, it was to be
shown by the cat-bird’s call of “Naik, naik.” This was the way they
used to play “Injins.”
They worked their way along for an hour or two without seeing any
traces, and Jake, contrary to Jack’s command, called out to him:
“Oh, Jack, we ain’ gwine fine no horse down heah; dese woods is too
big; he done los’. There’s a clearin’ right ahead here; let’s go home.”
There was a little field just ahead, with one old cabin in it; a path
ran down from it to the bridge. Jack replied in the cat-bird’s warning
note of “Naik, naik,” but Jake was tired of working his way through
briers and bushes, and he began to come over toward Jack, still
calling to him. Suddenly there was a shout just ahead; they stopped; it
was repeated.
“Who dat calling?” asked Jake, in a frightened undertone.
“Hush! it’s a picket,” said Jack, stooping and motioning him back, just
as a volume of white smoke with blazes in it seemed to burst out of the
woods at the edge of the clearing, and the stillness was broken by the
report of half a dozen carbines. Leaves and pieces of bark fell around
them, but the bullets flew wide of their mark.
“Run, Jake!” shouted Jack, as he darted away; but Jake had not waited
for orders; he had dropped his axe and corn, and was “flying.”
Jack soon came up with him, and they dashed along together, thinking
that perhaps the picket knew where they had crossed the river, and
would try to cut them off.
In their excitement they took a way farther from the river than that by
which they had come. The woods were open, and there were small spaces
covered with coarse grass on the little streams. As they ran along down
a hill approaching one of these, they heard a sound of trampling coming
towards them which brought them to a sudden stand-still with their
hearts in their mouths. It must be the enemy. They were coming at full
gallop. What a crashing they made coming on! They did not have time to
run, and Jack immediately cocked his old musket and resolved at least
to fight. Just then there galloped up to him, and almost over him, a
magnificent bay horse without saddle or bridle. At sight of Jack he
swerved and gave a loud snort of alarm, and then, with his head high in
the air, and with his dilated red nostrils and eyes wide with fright,
went dashing off into the woods.