"And he had a gun—a long squirrel-gun," added Willy, "and he said he belonged to Colonel Marshall's regiment."
"Why, that's Tim Mills. He's a deserter himself," exclaimed the captain.
"No, he ain't—heain't any deserter," protested both at once. "He is a mighty brave soldier, and he's been home on a furlough to get well of a wound on his leg where he was shot."
"Yes, and it ain't well yet, but he's going back to his command to-night or to-morrow morning; and he's got another wound in his side where a Yankee ran him through with his sword. We knowheain't any deserter."
"How do you know all this?" asked the officer.
"He told us so himself, just now—a little while ago, that is," said the boys.
The man laughed.
"Why, he's fooled you to death. That's Tim himself, that's been doing all the devilment about here. He is the worst deserter in the whole gang."
"We saw the wound on his shoulder," declared the boys, still doubting.
"I know it; he's got one there,—that's what I know him by. Which way did he go,—and how long has it been?"
"He went that way, down in the woods; and it's been some time. He's got away now."
The lads by this time were almost convinced of their mistake; but they could not prevent their sympathy from being on the side of their late agreeable companion.
"We'll catch the rascal," declared the leader, very fiercely. "Come on, men,—he can't have gone far;" and he wheeled his horse about and dashed back up the road at a great pace, followed by his men. The boys were half inclined to follow and aid in the capture; but Frank, after a moment's thought, said solemnly:
"No, Willy; an Arab never betrays a man who has eaten his salt. This man has broken bread with us; we cannot give him up. I don't think we ought to have told about him as much as we did."
This was an argument not to be despised.
A little later, as the boys trudged home, they heard the horns blowing again a regular "toot-toot" for "Millindy."It struck them that supper followed dinner very quickly in Holetown.
When the troop passed by in the evening the men were in very bad humor. They had had a fruitless addition to their ride, and some of them were inclined to say that the boys had never seen any man at all, which the boys thought was pretty silly, as the man had eaten at least two-thirds of their lunch.
Somehow the story got out, and Hugh was very scornful because the boys had given their lunch to a deserter.
As time went by the condition of things at Oakland changed—as it did everywhere else. The boys' mother, like all the other ladies of the country, was so devoted to the cause that she gave to the soldiers until there was nothing left. After that there was a failure of the crops, and the immediate necessities of the family and the hands on the place were great.
There was no sugar nor coffee nor tea. These luxuries had been given up long before. An attempt was made to manufacture sugar out of the sorghum, or sugar-cane, which was now being cultivated as an experiment; but it proved unsuccessful, and molasses made from the cane was the only sweetening. The boys, however, never liked anything sweetened with molasses, so they gave up everything that had molasses in it. Sassafras tea was tried as a substitute for tea, and a drink made out of parched corn and wheat, of burnt sweet potato and other things, in the place of coffee; but none of them were fit to drink—at least so the boys thought. The wheat crop proved a failure; but the corn turned out very fine, and the boys learned to live on corn bread, as there was no wheat bread.
The soldiers still came by, and the house was often full of young officers who came to see the boys' cousins. The boys used to ride the horses to and from the stables, and, being perfectly fearless, became very fine riders.
Several times, among the visitors, came the young colonel who had commanded the regiment that had camped at the bridge the first year of the war. It did not seem to the boys that Cousin Belle liked him, for she took much longer to dress when he came; and if there were other officers present she would take very little notice of the colonel.
Both boys were in love with her, and after considerable hesitation had written her a joint letter to tell her so, at which she laughed heartily and kissed them both and called them her sweethearts. But, though they were jealous of several young officers who came from time to time, they felt sorry for the colonel,—their cousin was so mean to him. They were on the best terms with him, and had announced their intention of going into his regiment if only the war should last long enough. When he came there was always a scramble to get his horse; though of all who came to Oakland he rode the wildest horses, as both boys knew by practical experience.
At length the soldiers moved off too far to permit them to come on visits, and things were very dull. So it was for a long while.
But one evening in May, about sunset, as the boys were playing in the yard, a man came riding through the place on the way to Richmond. His horse showed that he had been riding hard. He asked the nearest way to "Ground-Squirrel Bridge." The Yankees, he said, were coming. It was a raid. He had ridden ahead of them, and had left them about Greenbay depot, which they had set on fire. He was in too great a hurry to stop and get something to eat, and he rode off, leaving much excitement behind him; for Greenbay was only eight miles away, and Oakland lay right between two roads to Richmond, down one or the other of which the party of raiders must certainly pass.
It was the first time the boys ever saw their mother exhibit so much emotion as she then did. She came to the door and called:
"Balla, come here." Her voice sounded to the boys a little strained and troubled, and they ran up the steps and stood by her. Balla came to the portico, and looked up with an air of inquiry. He, too, showed excitement.
"Balla, I want you to know that if you wish to go, you can do so."
"Hi, Mistis——" began Balla, with an air of reproach; but she cut him short and kept on.
"I want you all to know it." She was speaking now so as to be heard by the cook and the maids who werestanding about the yard listening to her. "I want you all to know it—every one on the place! You can go if you wish; but, if you go, you can never come back!"
"Hi, Mistis," broke in Uncle Balla, "whar is I got to go? I wuz born on dis place an' I 'spec' to die here, an' be buried rightyonder;" and he turned and pointed up to the dark clumps of trees that marked the graveyard on the hill, a half mile away, where the colored people were buried. "Dat I does," he affirmed positively. "Y' all sticks by us, and we'll stick by you."
"I know I ain't gwine nowhar wid no Yankees or nothin'," said Lucy Ann, in an undertone.
"Dee tell me dee got hoofs and horns," laughed one of the women in the yard.
The boys' mother started to say something further to Balla, but though she opened her lips, she did not speak; she turned suddenly and walked into the house and into her chamber, where she shut the door behind her. The boys thought she was angry, but when they softly followed her a few minutes afterward, she got up hastily from where she had been kneeling beside the bed, and they saw that she had been crying. A murmur under the window called them back to the portico. It had begun to grow dark; but a bright spot was glowing on the horizon, and on this every one's gaze was fixed.
"Where is it, Balla? What is it?" asked the boys'mother, her voice no longer strained and harsh, but even softer than usual.
"It's the depot, madam. They's burnin' it. That man told me they was burnin' ev'ywhar they went."
"Will they be here to-night?" asked his mistress.
"No, marm; I don' hardly think they will. That man said they couldn't travel more than thirty miles a day; but they'll be plenty of 'em here to-morrow—to breakfast." He gave a nervous sort of laugh.
"Here,—you all come here," said their mistress to the servants. She went to the smoke-house and unlocked it. "Go in there and get down the bacon—take a piece, each of you." A great deal was still left. "Balla, step here." She called him aside and spoke earnestly in an undertone.
"Yes'm, that's so; that's jes' what I wuz gwine do," the boys heard him say.
Their mother sent the boys out. She went and locked herself in her room, but they heard her footsteps as she turned about within, and now and then they heard her opening and shutting drawers and moving chairs.
In a little while she came out.
"Frank, you and Willy go and tell Balla to come to the chamber door. He may be out in the stable."
They dashed out, proud to bear so important a message. They could not find him, but an hour later theyheard him, coming from the stable. He at once went into the house. They rushed into the chamber, where they found the door of the closet open.
"Balla, come in here," called their mother from within. "Have you got them safe?" she asked.
"Yes'm; jes' as safe as they kin be. I want to be 'bout here when they come, or I'd go down an' stay whar they is."
"What is it?" asked the boys.
"Where is the best place to put that?" she said, pointing to a large, strong box in which, they knew, the finest silver was kept; indeed, all excepting what was used every day on the table.
"Well, I declar', Mistis, that's hard to tell," said the old driver, "without it's in the stable."
"They may burn that down."
"That's so; you might bury it under the floor of the smoke-house?"
"I have heard that they always look for silver there," said the boys' mother. "How would it do to bury it in the garden?"
"That's the very place I was gwine name," said Balla, with flattering approval. "They can't burnthatdown, and if they gwine dig for it then they'll have to dig a long time before they git over that big garden." He stooped and lifted up one end of the box to test its weight.
"I thought of the other end of the flower-bed, between the big rose-bush and the lilac."
"That's the very place I had in my mind," declared the old man. "They won' never fine it dyah!"
"We know a good place," said the boys both together; "it's a heap better than that. It's where we bury our treasures when we play 'Black-beard the Pirate.'"
"Very well," said their mother; "I don't care to know where it is until after to-morrow, anyhow. I know I can trust you," she added, addressing Balla.
"Yes'm, you know dat," said he, simply. "I'll jes' go an' git my hoe."
"The garden hasn't got a roof to it, has it, Unc' Balla?" asked Willy, quietly.
"Go 'way from here, boy," said the old man, making a sweep at him with his hand. "That boy ain' never done talkin' 'bout that thing yit," he added, with a pleased laugh, to his mistress.
"And you ain't ever given me all those chickens either," responded Willy, forgetting his grammar.
"Oh, well, I'mgwi'do it; ain't you hear me say I'm gwine do it?" he laughed as he went out.
The boys were too excited to get sleepy before the silver was hidden. Their mother told them they might go down into the garden and help Balla, on condition that they would not talk.
"That's the way we always do when we bury the treasure. Ain't it, Willy?" asked Frank.
"If a man speaks, it's death!" declared Willy, slapping his hand on his side as if to draw a sword, striking a theatrical attitude and speaking in a deep voice.
"Give the 'galleon' to us," said Frank.
"No; be off with you," said their mother.
"That ain't the way," said Frank. "A pirate never digs the hole until he has his treasure at hand. To do so would prove him but a novice; wouldn't it, Willy?"
"Well, I leave it all to you, my little Buccaneers," said their mother, laughing. "I'll take care of the spoons and forks we use every day. I'll just hide them away in a hole somewhere."
The boys started off after Balla with a shout, but remembered their errand and suddenly hushed down to a little squeal of delight at being actually engaged in burying treasure—real silver. It seemed too good to be true, and withal there was a real excitement about it, for how could they know but that some one might watch them from some hiding-place, or might even fire into them as they worked?
They met the old fellow as he was coming from the carriage-house with a hoe and a spade in his hands. He was on his way to the garden in a very straightforward manner, but the boys made him understand that to burytreasure it was necessary to be particularly secret, and after some little grumbling, Balla humored them.
The difficulty of getting the box of silver out of the house secretly, whilst all the family were up, and the servants were moving about, was so great that this part of the affair had to be carried on in a manner different from the usual programme of pirates of the first water. Even the boys had to admit this; and they yielded to old Balla's advice on this point, but made up for it by additional formality, ceremony, and secrecy in pointing out the spot where the box was to be hid.
Old Balla was quite accustomed to their games and fun—their "pranks," as he called them. He accordingly yielded willingly when they marched him to a point at the lower end of the yard, on the opposite side from the garden, and left him. But he was inclined to give trouble when they both reappeared with a gun, and in a whisper announced that they must march first up the ditch which ran by the spring around the foot of the garden.
"Look here, boys; I ain' got time to fool with you chillern," said the old man. "Ain't you hear your ma tell me she 'pend on me to bury that silver what yo' gran'ma and gran'pa used to eat off o'—an' don' wan' nobody to know nothin' 'bout it? An' y' all comin' here with guns, like you huntin' squ'rr'ls, an' now talkin' 'bout wadin' in the ditch!"
"But, Unc' Balla, that's the way all buccaneers do," protested Frank.
"Yes, buccaneers always go by water," said Willy.
"And we can stoop in the ditch and come in at the far end of the garden, so nobody can see us," added Frank.
"Bookanear or bookafar,—I's gwine in dat garden and dig a hole wid my hoe, an' I is too ole to be wadin' in a ditch like chillern. I got the misery in my knee now, so bad I'se sca'cely able to stand. I don't know huccome y' all ain't satisfied with the place you' ma an' I done pick, anyways."
This was too serious a mutiny for the boys. So it was finally greed that one gun should be returned to the office, and that they should enter by the gate, after which Balla was to go with the boys by the way they should show him, and see the spot they thought of.
They took him down through the weeds around the garden, crouching under the rose-bushes, and at last stopped at a spot under the slope, completely surrounded by shrubbery.
"Here is the spot," said Frank in a whisper, pointing under one of the bushes.
"It's in a line with the longest limb of the big oak-tree by the gate," added Willy, "and when this locust bush and that cedar grow to be big trees, it will be just half-way between them."
As this seemed to Balla a very good place, he set to work at once to dig, the two boys helping him as well as they could. It took a great deal longer to dig the hole in the dark than they had expected, and when they got back to the house everything was quiet.
The boys had their hats pulled over their eyes, and had turned their jackets inside out to disguise themselves.
"It's a first-rate place! Ain't it, Unc' Balla?" they said, as they entered the chamber where their mother and aunt were waiting for them.
"Do you think it will do, Balla?" their mother asked.
"Oh, yes, madam; it's far enough, an' they got mighty comical ways to get dyah, wadin' in ditch an' things—it will do. I ain' sho' I kin fin' it ag'in myself." He was not particularly enthusiastic. Now, however, he shouldered the box, with a grunt at its weight, and the party went slowly out through the back door into the dark. The glow of the burning depot was still visible in the west.
Then it was decided that Willy should go before—he said to "reconnoitre," Balla said "to open the gate and lead the way,"—and that Frank should bring up the rear.
They trudged slowly on through the darkness, Frank and Willy watching on every side, old Balla stooping under the weight of the big box.
After they were some distance in the garden they heard, or thought they heard, a sound back at the gate,but decided that it was nothing but the latch clicking; and they went on down to their hiding place.
In a little while the black box was well settled in the hole, and the dirt was thrown upon it. The replaced earth made something of a mound, which was unfortunate. They had not thought of this; but they covered it with leaves, and agreed that it was so well hidden, the Yankees would never dream of looking there.
"Unc' Balla, where are your horses?" asked one of the boys.
"That's for me to know, an' them to find out what kin," replied the old fellow with a chuckle of satisfaction.
The whole party crept back out of the garden, and the boys were soon dreaming of buccaneers and pirates.
The boys were not sure that they had even fallen asleep when they heard Lucy Ann call, outside. They turned over to take another nap. She was coming up to the door. No, for it was a man's step, it must be Uncle Balla's; they heard horses trampling and people talking. In a second the door was flung open, and a man strode into the room, followed by one, two, a half-dozen others, all white and all in uniform. They were Yankees. The boys were too frightened to speak. They thought they were arrested for hiding the silver.
"Get up, you lazy little rebels," cried one of the intruders, not unpleasantly. As the boys were not very quick in obeying, being really too frightened to do more than sit up in bed, the man caught the mattress by the end, and lifting it with a jerk emptied them and all the bedclothes out into the middle of the floor in a heap. At this all the other men laughed. A minute more and he had drawn his sword. The boys expected no less than to be immediately killed. They were almost paralyzed. But instead of plunging his sword into them, the man began to stick it into the mattresses and to rip them up; whileothers pulled open the drawers of the bureau and pitched the things on the floor.
The boys felt themselves to be in a very exposed and defenceless condition; and Willy, who had become tangled in the bedclothes, and had been a little hurt in falling, now that the strain was somewhat over, began to cry.
In a minute a shadow darkened the doorway and their mother stood in the room.
"Leave the room instantly!" she cried. "Aren't you ashamed to frighten children!"
"We haven't hurt the brats," said the man with the sword good-naturedly.
"Well, you terrify them to death. It's just as bad. Give me those clothes!" and she sprang forward and snatched the boys' clothes from the hands of a man who had taken them up. She flung the suits to the boys, who lost no time in slipping into them.
They had at once recovered their courage in the presence of their mother. She seemed to them, as she braved the intruders, the grandest person they had ever seen. Her face was white, but her eyes were like coals of fire. They were very glad she had never looked or talked so to them.
When they got outdoors the yard was full of soldiers. They were upon the porches, in the entry, and in the house. The smoke-house was open and so were the doorsof all the other outhouses, and now and then a man passed, carrying some article which the boys recognized.
In a little while the soldiers had taken everything they could carry conveniently, and even things which must have caused them some inconvenience. They had secured all the bacon that had been left in the smoke-house, as well as all other eatables they could find. It was a queer sight, to see the fellows sitting on their horses with a ham or a pair of fowls tied to one side of the saddle and an engraving or a package of books, or some ornament, to the other.
A new party of men had by this time come up from the direction of the stables.
"Old man, come here!" called some of them to Balla, who was standing near expostulating with the men who were about the fire.
"Who?—me?" asked Balla.
"B'ain't you the carriage driver?"
"Ain't I the keridge driver?"
"Yes,you; we know you are, so you need not be lying about it."
"Hi! yes; I the keridge driver. Who say I ain't?"
"Well, where have you hid those horses? Come, we want to know, quick," said the fellow roughly, taking out his pistol in a threatening way.
The old man's eyes grew wide. "Hi! befo' de Lord!Marster, how I know anything of the horses ef they ain't in the stable,—there's where we keep horses!"
"Here, you come with us. We won't have no foolin' 'bout this," said his questioner, seizing him by the shoulder and jerking him angrily around. "If you don't show us pretty quick where those horses are, we'll put a bullet or two into you. March off there!"
He was backed by a half-a-dozen more, but the pistol, which was at old Balla's head, was his most efficient ally.
"Hi! Marster, don't pint dat thing at me that way. I ain't ready to die yit—an' I ain' like dem things, no-ways," protested Balla.
There is no telling how much further his courage could have withstood their threats, for the boys' mother made her appearance. She was about to bid Balla show where the horses were, when a party rode into the yard leading them.
"Hi! there are Bill and John, now," exclaimed the boys, recognizing the black carriage-horses which were being led along.
"Well, ef dee ain't got 'em, sho' 'nough!" exclaimed the old driver, forgetting his fear of the cocked pistols.
"Gentlemen, marsters, don't teck my horses, ef youplease," he pleaded, pushing through the group that surrounded him, and approaching the man who led the horses.
They only laughed at him.
"GENTLEMEN, MARSTERS, DON'T TECK MY HORSES, EF YOU PLEASE," SAID UNCLE BALLA."GENTLEMEN, MARSTERS, DON'T TECK MY HORSES, EF YOU PLEASE," SAID UNCLE BALLA.
Both the boys ran to their mother, and flinging their arms about her, burst out crying.
In a few minutes the men started off, riding across the fields; and in a little while not a soldier was in sight.
"I wish Marse William could see you ridin' 'cross them fields," said Balla, looking after the retiring troop in futile indignation.
Investigation revealed the fact that every horse and mule on the plantation had been carried off, except only two or three old mules, which were evidently considered not worth taking.
After this, times were very hard on the plantation. But the boys' mother struggled to provide as best she could for the family and hands. She used to ride all over the county to secure the supplies which were necessary for their support; one of the boys usually being her escort and riding behind her on one of the old mules that the raiders had left. In this way the boys became acquainted with the roads of the county and even with all the bridle-paths in the neighborhood of their home. Many of these were dim enough too, running through stretches of pine forest, across old fields which were little better than jungle, along gullies, up ditches, and through woods mile after mile. They were generally useful only to a race, such as the negroes, which had an instinct for direction like that shown by some animals but the boys learned to follow them unerringly, and soon became as skilful in "keepin' de parf" as any night-walker on the plantation.
As the year passed the times grew harder and harder, and the expeditions made by the boys' mother became longer and longer, and more and more frequent.
The meat gave out, and, worst of all, they had no hogs left for next year. The plantation usually subsisted on bacon; but now there was not a pig left on the place—unless the old wild sow in the big woods (who had refused to be "driven up" the fall before) still survived, which was doubtful; for the most diligent search was made for her without success, and it was conceded that even she had fallen prey to the deserters. Nothing was heard of her for months.
One day, in the autumn, the boys were out hunting in the big woods, in the most distant and wildest part, where they sloped down toward a little marshy branch that ran into the river a mile or two away.
It was a very dry spell and squirrels were hard to find, owing, the boys agreed, to the noise made in tramping through the dry leaves. Finally, they decided to station themselves each at the foot of a hickory and wait for the squirrels. They found two large hickory trees not too far apart, and took their positions each on the ground, with his back to a tree.
It was very dull, waiting, and a half-whispered colloquy was passing between them as to the advisability of giving it up, when a faint "cranch, cranch, cranch," sounded in the dry leaves. At first the boys thought it was a squirrel, and both of them grasped their guns. Then the sound came again, but this time there appearedto be, not one, but a number of animals, rustling slowly along.
"What is it?" asked Frank of Willy, whose tree was a little nearer the direction from which the sound came.
"'Tain't anything but some cows or sheep, I believe," said Willy, in a disappointed tone. The look of interest died out of Frank's face, but he still kept his eyes in the direction of the sound, which was now very distinct. The underbrush, however, was too thick for them to see anything. At length Willy rose and pushed his way rapidly through the bushes toward the animals. There was a sudden "oof, oof," and Frank heard them rushing back down through the woods toward the marsh.
"Somebody's hogs," he muttered, in disgust.
"Frank! Frank!" called Willy, in a most excited tone.
"What?"
"It's the old spotted sow, and she's got a lot of pigs with her—great big shoats, nearly grown!"
Frank sprang up and ran through the bushes.
"At least six of 'em!"
"Let's follow 'em!"
"All right."
The boys, stooping their heads, struck out through the bushes in the direction from which the yet retreating animals could still be heard.
"Let's shoot 'em."
"All right."
On they kept as hard as they could. What great news it was! What royal game!
"It's like hunting wild boars, isn't it?" shouted Willy, joyfully.
They followed the track left by the animals in the leaves kicked up in their mad flight. It led down over the hill, through the thicket, and came to an end at the marsh which marked the beginning of the swamp. Beyond that it could not be traced; but it was evident that the wild hogs had taken refuge in the impenetrable recesses of the marsh which was their home.
After circling the edge of the swamp for some time the boys, as it was now growing late, turned toward home. They were full of their valuable discovery, and laid all sorts of plans for the capture of the hogs. They would not tell even their mother, as they wished to surprise her. They were, of course, familiar with all the modes of trapping game, as described in the story books, and they discussed them all. The easiest way to get the hogs was to shoot them, and this would be the most "fun"; but it would never do, for the meat would spoil. When they reached home they hunted up Uncle Balla and told him about their discovery. He was very much inclined to laugh at them. The hogs they had seen were nothing, he told them, but some of the neighbors' hogs which had wandered into the woods.
When the boys went to bed they talked it over once more, and determined that next day they would thoroughly explore the woods and the swamp also, as far as they could.
The following afternoon, therefore, they set out, and made immediately for that part of the woods where theyhad seen and heard the hogs the day before. One of them carried a gun and the other a long jumping-pole. After finding the trail they followed it straight down to the swamp.
Rolling their trousers up above their knees, they waded boldly in, selecting an opening between the bushes which looked like a hog-path. They proceeded slowly, for the briers were so thick in many places that they could hardly make any progress at all when they neared the branch. So they turned and worked their way painfully down the stream. At last, however, they reached a place where the brambles and bushes seemed to form a perfect wall before them. It was impossible to get through.
"Let's go home," said Willy. "'Tain't any use to try to get through there. My legs are scratched all to pieces now."
"Let's try and get out here," said Frank, and he turned from the wall of brambles. They crept along, springing from hummock to hummock. Presently they came to a spot where the oozy mud extended at least eight or ten feet before the next tuft of grass.
"How am I to get the gun across?" asked Willy, dolefully.
"That's a fact! It's too far to throw it, even with the caps off."
At length they concluded to go back for a piece of logthey had seen, and to throw this down so as to lessen the distance.
They pulled the log out of the sand, carried it to the muddy spot, and threw it into the mud where they wanted it.
Frank stuck his pole down and felt until he had what he thought a secure hold on it, fixed his eye on the tuft of grass beyond, and sprang into air.
As he jumped the pole slipped from its insecure support into the miry mud, and Frank, instead of landing on the hummock for which he had aimed, lost his direction, and soused flat on his side with a loud "spa-lash," in the water and mud three feet to the left.
He was a queer object as he staggered to his feet in the quagmire; but at the instant a loud "oof, oof," came from, the thicket, not a dozen yards away, and the whole herd of hogs, roused, by his fall, from slumber in their muddy lair, dashed away through the swamp with "oofs" of fear.
"There they go, there they go!" shouted both boys, eagerly,—Willy, in his excitement, splashing across the perilous-looking quagmire, and finding it not so deep as it had looked.
"There's where they go in and out," exclaimed Frank, pointing to a low round opening, not more than eighteen inches high, a little further beyond them, which formedan arch in the almost solid wall of brambles surrounding the place.
As it was now late they returned home, resolving to wait until the next afternoon before taking any further steps. There was not a pound of bacon to be obtained anywhere in the country for love or money, and the flock of sheep was almost gone.
Their mother's anxiety as to means for keeping her dependents from starving was so great that the boys were on the point of telling her what they knew; and when they heard her wishing she had a few hogs to fatten, they could scarcely keep from letting her know their plans. At last they had to jump up, and run out of the room.
Next day the boys each hunted up a pair of old boots which they had used the winter before. The leather was so dry and worn that the boots hurt their growing feet cruelly, but they brought the boots along to put on when they reached the swamp. This time, each took a gun, and they also carried an axe, for now they had determined on a plan for capturing the hogs.
"I wish we had let Peter and Cole come," said Willy, dolefully, sitting on the butt end of a log they had cut, and wiping his face on his sleeve.
"Or had asked Uncle Balla to help us," added Frank.
"They'd be certain to tell all about it."
"Yes; so they would."
They settled down in silence, and panted.
"I tell you what we ought to do! Bait the hog-path, as you would for fish." This was the suggestion of the angler, Frank.
"With what?"
"Acorns."
The acorns were tolerably plentiful around the roots of the big oaks, so the boys set to work to pick them up. It was an easier job than cutting the log, and it was not long before each had his hat full.
As they started down to the swamp, Frank exclaimed, suddenly, "Look there, Willy!"
Willy looked, and not fifty yards away, with their ends resting on old stumps, were three or four "hacks," or piles of rails, which had been mauled the season before and left there, probably having been forgotten or overlooked.
Willy gave a hurrah, while bending under the weight of a large rail.
At the spot where the hog-path came out of the thicket they commenced to build their trap.
First they laid a floor of rails; then they built a pen, five or six rails high, which they strengthened with "outriders." When the pen was finished, they pried up the side nearest the thicket, from the bottom rail, about a foot; that is, high enough for the animals to enter. This they did by means of two rails, using one as a fulcrumand one as a lever, having shortened them enough to enable the work to be done from inside the pen.
The lever they pulled down at the farther end until it touched the bottom of the trap, and fastened it by another rail, a thin one, run at right-angles to the lever, and across the pen. This would slip easily when pushed away from the gap, and needed to be moved only about an inch to slip from the end of the lever and release it; the weight of the pen would then close the gap. Behind this rail the acorns were to be thrown; and the hogs, in trying to get the bait, would push the rail, free the lever or trigger, and the gap would be closed by the fall of the pen when the lever was released.
It was nearly night when the boys finished.
They scattered a portion of the acorns for bait along the path and up into the pen, to toll the hogs in. The rest they strewed inside the pen, beyond their sliding rail.
They could scarcely tear themselves away from the pen; but it was so late they had to hurry home.
Next day was Sunday. But Monday morning, by daylight, they were up and went out with their guns, apparently to hunt squirrels. They went, however, straight to their trap. As they approached they thought they heard the hogs grunting in the pen. Willy was sure of it; and they ran as hard as they could. But there were no hogs there. After going every morning and eveningfor two weeks, there never had been even an acorn missed, so they stopped their visits.
Peter and Cole found out about the pen, and then the servants learned of it, and the boys were joked and laughed at unmercifully.
"I believe them boys is distracted," said old Balla, in the kitchen; "settin' a pen in them woods for to ketch hogs,—with the gap open! Think hogs goin' stay in pen with gap open—ef any wuz dyah to went in!"
"Well, you come out and help us hunt for them," said the boys to the old driver.
"Go 'way, boy, I ain' got time foolin' wid you chillern, buildin' pen in swamp. There ain't no hogs in them woods, onless they got in dyah sence las' fall."
"You saw 'em, didn't you, Willy?" declared Frank.
"Yes, I did."
"Go 'way. Don't you know, ef that old sow had been in them woods, the boys would have got her up las' fall—an' ef they hadn't, she'd come up long befo' this?"
"Mister Hall ketch you boys puttin' his hogs up in pen, he'll teck you up," said Lucy Ann, in her usual teasing way.
This was too much for the boys to stand after all they had done. Uncle Balla must be right. They would have to admit it. The hogs must have belonged to some oneelse. And their mother was in such desperate straits about meat!
Lucy Ann's last shot, about catching Mr. Hall's hogs, took effect; and the boys agreed that they would go out some afternoon and pull the pen down.
The next afternoon they took their guns, and started out on a squirrel-hunt.
They did not have much luck, however.
"Let's go by there, and pull the old pen down," said Frank, as they started homeward from the far side of the woods.
"It's out of the way,—let the old thing rip."
"We'd better pull it down. If a hog were to be caught there, it wouldn't do."
"I wish he would!—but there ain't any hogs going to get caught," growled Willy.
"He might starve to death."
This suggestion persuaded Willy, who could not bear to have anything suffer.
So they sauntered down toward the swamp.
As they approached it, a squirrel ran up a tree, and both boys were after it in a second. They were standing, one on each side of the tree, gazing up, trying to get a sight of the little animal among the gray branches, when a sound came to the ears of both of them at the same moment.
"What's that?" both asked together.
"It's hogs, grunting."
"No, they are fighting. They are in the swamp. Let's run," said Willy.
"No; we'll scare them away. They may be near the trap," was Frank's prudent suggestion. "Let's creep up."
"I hear young pigs squealing. Do you think they are ours?"
The squirrel was left, flattened out and trembling on top of a large limb, and the boys stole down the hill toward the pen. The hogs were not in sight, though they could be heard grunting and scuffling. They crept closer. Willy crawled through a thick clump of bushes, and sprang to his feet with a shout. "We've got 'em! We've got 'em!" he cried, running toward the pen, followed by Frank.
Sure enough! There they were, fast in the pen, fighting and snorting to get out, and tearing around with the bristles high on their round backs, the old sow and seven large young hogs; while a litter of eight little pigs, as the boys ran up, squeezed through the rails, and, squealing, dashed away into the grass.
The hogs were almost frantic at the sight of the boys, and rushed madly at the sides of the pen; but the boys had made it too strong to be broken.
After gazing at their capture awhile, and piling a fewmore outriders on the corners of the pen to make it more secure, the two trappers rushed home. They dashed breathless and panting into their mother's room, shouting, "We've got 'em!—we've got 'em!" and, seizing her, began to dance up and down with her.
In a little while the whole plantation was aware of the capture, and old Balla was sent out with them to look at the hogs to make sure they did not belong to some one else,—as he insisted they did. The boys went with him. It was quite dark when he returned, but as he came in the proof of the boys' success was written on his face. He was in a broad grin. To his mistress's inquiry he replied, "Yes'm, they's got 'em, sho' 'nough. They's the beatenes' boys!"
For some time afterward he would every now and then break into a chuckle of amused content and exclaim, "Them's right smart chillern." And at Christmas, when the hogs were killed, this was the opinion of the whole plantation.
The gibes of Lucy Ann, and the occasional little thrusts of Hugh about the "deserter business," continued and kept the boys stirred up. At length they could stand it no longer. It was decided between them that they must retrieve their reputations by capturing a real deserter and turning him over to the conscript-officer whose office was at the depot.
Accordingly, one Saturday they started out on an expedition, the object of which was to capture a deserter though they should die in the attempt.
The conscript-guard had been unusually active lately, and it was said that several deserters had been caught.
The boys turned in at their old road, and made their way into Holetown. Their guns were loaded with large slugs, and they felt the ardor of battle thrill them as they marched along down the narrow roadway. They were trudging on when they were hailed by name from behind. Turning, they saw their friend Tim Mills, coming along at the same slouching gait in which he always walked. His old single-barrel gun was thrown across his arm, and he looked a little rustier than on the day he had shared theirlunch. The boys held a little whispered conversation, and decided on a treaty of friendship.
"Good-mornin'," he said, on coming up to them. "How's your ma?"
"Good-morning. She's right well."
"What y' all doin'? Huntin' d'serters agin?" he asked.
"Yes. Come on and help us catch them."
"No; I can't do that—exactly;—but I tell you what Icando. I can tell you whar one is!"
The boys' faces glowed. "All right!"
"Let me see," he began, reflectively, chewing a stick. "Does y' all know Billy Johnson?"
The boys did not know him.
"Yousureyou don't know him? He's a tall, long fellow, 'bout forty years old, and breshes his hair mighty slick; got a big nose, and a gap-tooth, and a mustache. He lives down in the lower neighborhood."
Even after this description the boys failed to recognize him.
"Well, he's the feller. I can tell you right whar he is, this minute. He did me a mean trick, an' I'm gwine to give him up. Come along."
"What did he do to you?" inquired the boys, as they followed him down the road.
"Why—he—; but 't's no use to be rakin' it up agin.You know he always passes hisself off as one o' the conscrip'-guards,—that's his dodge. Like as not, that's what he's gwine try and put off on y' all now; but don't you let him fool you."
"We're not going to," said the boys.
"He rigs hisself up in a uniform—jes' like as not he stole it, too,—an' goes roun' foolin' people, meckin' out he's such a soldier. If he fools with me, I'm gwine to finish him!" Here Tim gripped his gun fiercely.
The boys promised not to be fooled by the wily Johnson. All they asked was to have him pointed out to them.
"Don't you let him put up any game on you 'bout bein' a conscrip'-guard hisself," continued their friend.
"No, indeed we won't. We are obliged to you for telling us."
"He ain't so very fur from here. He's mighty tecken up with John Hall's gal, and is tryin' to meck out like he's Gen'l Lee hisself, an' she ain't got no mo' sense than to b'lieve him."
"Why, we heard, Mr. Mills, she was going to marryyou."
"Oh, no,Iain't a good enough soldier for her; she wants to marryGen'l Lee."
The boys laughed at his dry tone.
As they walked along they consulted how the capture should be made.
"I tell you how to take him," said their companion. "He is a monstrous coward, and all you got to do is jest to bring your guns down on him. I wouldn't shoot him—'nless he tried to run; but if he did that, when he got a little distance I'd pepper him about his legs. Make him give up his sword and pistol and don't let him ride; 'cause if you do, he'll git away. Make him walk—the rascal!"
The boys promised to carry out these kindly suggestions.
They soon came in sight of the little house where Mills said the deserter was. A soldier's horse was standing tied at the gate, with a sword hung from the saddle. The owner, in full uniform, was sitting on the porch.
"I can't go any furder," whispered their friend; "but that's him—that's 'Gen'l Lee'—the triflin' scoundrel!—loafin' 'roun' here 'sted o' goin' in the army! I b'lieve y' all is 'fraid to take him," eyeing the boys suspiciously.
"No, we ain't; you'll see," said both boys, fired at the doubt.
"All right; I'm goin' to wait right here and watch you. Go ahead."
The boys looked at the guns to see if they were all right, and marched up the road keeping their eyes on the enemy. It was agreed that Frank was to do the talking and give the orders.
They said not a word until they reached the gate.They could see a young woman moving about in the house, setting a table. At the gate they stopped, so as to prevent the man from getting to his horse.
The soldier eyed them curiously. "I wonder whose boys they is?" he said to himself. "They's certainly actin' comical! Playin' soldiers, I reckon."
"Cock your gun—easy," said Frank, in a low tone, suiting his own action to the word.
Willy obeyed.
"Come out here, if you please," Frank called to the man. He could not keep his voice from shaking a little, but the man rose and lounged out toward them. His prompt compliance reassured them.
They stood, gripping their guns and watching him as he advanced.
"Come outside the gate!" He did as Frank said.
"What do you want?" he asked impatiently.
"You are our prisoner," said Frank, sternly, dropping down his gun with the muzzle toward the captive, and giving a glance at Willy to see that he was supported.
"Yourwhat? What do you mean?"
"We arrest you as a deserter."
How proud Willy was of Frank!
"Go 'way from here; I ain't no deserter. I'm a-huntin' for deserters, myself," the man replied, laughing.
Frank smiled at Willy with a nod, as much as to say, "You see,—just what Tim told us!"
"Ain't your name Mr. Billy Johnson?"
"Yes; that's my name."
"You are the man we're looking for. March down that road. But don't run,—if you do, we'll shoot you!"
As the boys seemed perfectly serious and the muzzles of both guns were pointing directly at him, the man began to think that they were in earnest. But he could hardly credit his senses. A suspicion flashed into his mind.
"Look here, boys," he said, rather angrily, "I don't want any of your foolin' with me. I'm too old to play with children. If you all don't go 'long home and stop giving me impudence, I'll slap you over!" He started angrily toward Frank. As he did so, Frank brought the gun to his shoulder.
"Stand back!" he said, looking along the barrel, right into the man's eyes. "If you move a step, I'll blow your head off!"
The soldier's jaw fell. He stopped and threw up his arm before his eyes.
"Hold on!" he called, "don't shoot! Boys, ain't you got better sense 'n that?"
"March on down that road. Willy, you get the horse," said Frank, decidedly.
The soldier glanced over toward the house. The voiceof the young woman was heard singing a war song in a high key.
"Ef Millindy sees me, I'm a goner," he reflected. "Jes' come down the road a little piece, will you?" he asked, persuasively.
"No talking,—march!" ordered Frank.
He looked at each of the boys; the guns still kept their perilous direction. The boys' eyes looked fiery to his surprised senses.
"Who is y' all?" he asked.
"We are two little Confederates! That's who we are," said Willy.
"Is any of your parents ever—ever been in a asylum?" he asked, as calmly as he could.
"That's none of your business," said Captain Frank. "March on!"
The man cast a despairing glance toward the house, where "The years" were "creeping slowly by, Lorena," in a very high pitch,—and then moved on.
"I hope she ain't seen nothin'," he thought. "If I jest can git them guns away from 'em——"
Frank followed close behind him with his old gun held ready for need, and Willy untied the horse and led it. The bushes concealed them from the dwelling.
As soon as they were well out of sight of the house, Frank gave the order:
"Halt!" They all halted.
"Willy, tie the horse." It was done.
"I wonder if those boys is thinkin' 'bout shootin' me?" thought the soldier, turning and putting his hand on his pistol.
As he did so, Frank's gun came to his shoulder.
"Throw up your hands or you are a dead man." The hands went up.
"Willy, keep your gun on him, while I search him for any weapons." Willy cocked the old musket and brought it to bear on the prisoner.
"Little boy, don't handle that thing so reckless," the man expostulated. "Ef that musket was to go off, it might kill me!"
"No talking," demanded Frank, going up to him. "Hold up your hands. Willy, shoot him if he moves."
Frank drew a long pistol from its holster with an air of business. He searched carefully, but there was no more.
The fellow gritted his teeth. "If she ever hears ofthis, Tim's got her certain," he groaned; "but she won't never hear."
At a turn in the road his heart sank within him; for just around the curve they came upon Tim Mills sitting quietly on a stump. He looked at them with a quizzical eye, but said not a word.
The prisoner's face was a study when he recognized his rival and enemy. As Mills did not move, his courage returned.
"Good mornin', Tim," he said, with great politeness.
The man on the stump said nothing; he only looked on with complacent enjoyment.
"Tim, is these two boys crazy?" he asked slowly.
"They're crazy 'bout shootin' deserters," replied Tim.
"Tim, tell 'em I ain't no deserter." His voice was full of entreaty.
"Well, if you ain't a d'serter, what you doin' outn the army?"
"You know——" began the fellow fiercely; but Tim shifted his long single-barrel lazily into his hand and looked the man straight in the eyes, and the prisoner stopped.
"Yes, I know," said Tim with a sudden spark in his eyes. "An'youknow," he added after a pause, during which his face resumed its usual listless look. "An' my edvice to you is to go 'long with them boys, if you don't want to git three loads of slugs in you. Theymayput 'em in you anyway. They's sort of 'stracted 'bout d'serters, and I can swear to it." He touched his forehead expressively.
"March on!" said Frank.
FRANK AND WILLY CAPTURE A MEMBER OF THE CONSCRIPT-GUARD.FRANK AND WILLY CAPTURE A MEMBER OF THE CONSCRIPT-GUARD.
The prisoner, grinding his teeth, moved forward, followed by his guards.
As the enemies parted each man sent the same ugly look after the other.
"It's all over! He's got her," groaned Johnson. As they passed out of sight, Mills rose and sauntered somewhat briskly (for him) in the direction of John Hall's.
They soon reached a little stream, not far from the depot where the provost-guard was stationed. On its banks the man made his last stand; but his obstinacy brought a black muzzle close to his head with a stern little face behind it, and he was fain to march straight through the water, as he was ordered.
Just as he was emerging on the other bank, with his boots full of water and his trousers dripping, closely followed by Frank brandishing a pistol, a small body of soldiers rode up. They were the conscript-guard. Johnson's look was despairing.
"Why, Billy, what in thunder——? Thought you were sick in bed!"
Another minute and the soldiers took in the situation by instinct—and Johnson's rage was drowned in the universal explosion of laughter.
The boys had captured a member of the conscript-guard.
In the midst of all, Frank and Willy, overwhelmed bytheir ridiculous error, took to their heels as hard as they could, and the last sounds that reached them were the roars of the soldiers as the scampering boys disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Johnson went back, in a few days, to see John Hall's daughter; but the young lady declared she wouldn't marry any man who let two boys make him wade through a creek; and a month or two later she married Tim Mills.
To all the gibes he heard on the subject of his capture, and they were many, Johnson made but one reply:
"Them boys's had parents in a a—sylum,sure!"
It was now nearing the end of the third year of the war. Hugh was seventeen, and was eager to go into the army. His mother would have liked to keep him at home; but she felt that it was her duty not to withhold anything, and Colonel Marshall offered Hugh a place with him. So a horse was bought, and Hugh went to Richmond and came back with a uniform and a sabre. The boys truly thought that General Lee himself was not so imposing or so great a soldier as Hugh. They followed him about like two pet dogs, and when he sat down they stood and gazed at him adoringly.
When Hugh rode away to the army it was harder to part with him than they had expected; and though he had left them his gun and dog, to console them during his absence, it was difficult to keep from crying. Everyone on the plantation was moved. Uncle Balla, who up to the last moment had been very lively attending to the horse, as the young soldier galloped away sank down on the end of the steps of the office, and, dropping his hands on his knees, followed Hugh with his eyes until he disappearedover the hill. The old driver said nothing, but his face expressed a great deal.
The boys' mother cried a great deal, but it was generally when she was by herself.
"She's afraid Hugh'll be kilt," Willy said to Uncle Balla, in explanation of her tears,—the old servant having remarked that he "b'lieved she cried more when Hugh went away, than she did when Marse John and Marse William both went."
"Hi! warn't she 'fred they'll be kilt, too?" he asked in some scorn.
This was beyond Willy's logic, so he pondered over it.
"Yes, but she's afraid Hugh'll be kilt, aswellas them," he said finally, as the best solution of the problem.
It did not seem to wholly satisfy Uncle Balla's mind, for when he moved off he said, as though talking to himself:
"She sutn'ey is 'sot' on that boy. He'll be a gen'l hisself, the first thing she know."
There was a bond of sympathy between Uncle Balla and his mistress which did not exist so strongly between her and any of the other servants. It was due perhaps to the fact that he was the companion and friend of her boys.
That winter the place where the army went into winter quarters was some distance from Oakland; but theyoung officers used to ride over, from time to time, two or three together, and stay for a day or two.
Times were harder than they had been before, but the young people were as gay as ever.
The colonel, who had been dreadfully wounded in the summer, had been made a brigadier-general for gallantry. Hugh had received a slight wound in the same action. The General had written to the boy's mother about him; but he had not been home. The General had gone back to his command. He had never been to Oakland since he was wounded.
One evening, the boys had just teased their Cousin Belle into reading them their nightly portion of "The Talisman," as they sat before a bright lightwood fire, when two horsemen galloped up to the gate, their horses splashed with mud from fetlocks to ears. In a second, Lucy Ann dashed headlong into the room, with her teeth gleaming:
"Here Marse Hugh, out here!"
There was a scamper to the door—the boys first, shouting at the tops of their voices, Cousin Belle next, and Lucy Ann close at her heels.
"Who's with him, Lucy Ann?" asked Miss Belle, as they reached the passage-way, and heard several voices outside.
"The Cunel's with 'im."
The young lady turned and fled up the steps as fast as she could.
"You see I brought my welcome with me," said the General, addressing the boy's mother, and laying his hand on his young aide's shoulder, as they stood, a little later, "thawing out" by the roaring log-fire in the sitting-room.
"You always bring that; but you are doubly welcome for bringing this young soldier back to me," said she, putting her arm affectionately around her son.
Just then the boys came rushing in from taking the horses to the stable. They made a dive toward the fire to warm their little chapped hands.
"I told you Hugh warn't as tall as the General," said Frank, across the hearth to Willy.
"Who said he was?"
"You!"
"I didn't."
"You did."
They were a contradictory pair of youngsters, and their voices, pitched in a youthful treble, were apt in discussion to strike a somewhat higher key; but it did not follow that they were in an ill-humor merely because they contradicted each other.
"Whatdidyou say, if you didn't say that?" insisted Frank.
"I said helookedas if hethoughthimself as tall as theGeneral," declared Willy, defiantly, oblivious in his excitement of the eldest brother's presence. There was a general laugh at Hugh's confusion; but Hugh had carried an order across a field under a hot fire, and had brought a regiment up in the nick of time, riding by its colonel's side in a charge which had changed the issue of the fight, and had a sabre wound in the arm to show for it. He could therefore afford to pass over such an accusation with a little tweak of Willy's ear.
"Where's Cousin Belle?" asked Frank.
"I s'peck she's putting on her fine clothes for the General to see. Didn't she run when she heard he was here!"
"Willy!" said his mother, reprovingly.
"Well, she did, Ma."
His mother shook her head at him; but the General put his hand on the boy, and drew him closer.
"You say she ran?" he asked, with a pleasant light in his eyes.
"Yes, sirree; she didthat."
Just then the door opened, and their Cousin Belle entered the room. She looked perfectly beautiful. The greetings were very cordial—to Hugh especially. She threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
"You young hero!" she cried. "Oh, Hugh, I am so proud of you!"—kissing him again, and laughing at him, with her face glowing, and her big brown eyes full oflight. "Where were you wounded? Oh! I was so frightened when I heard about it!"
"Where was it? Show it to us, Hugh; please do," exclaimed both boys at once, jumping around him, and pulling at his arm.
"Oh, Hugh, is it still very painful?" asked his cousin, her pretty face filled with sudden sympathy.
"Oh! no, it was nothing—nothing but a scratch," said Hugh, shaking the boys off, his expression being divided between feigned indifference and sheepishness, at this praise in the presence of his chief.
"No such thing, Miss Belle," put in the General, glad of the chance to secure her commendation. "It might have been very serious, and it was a splendid ride he made."
"Were you not ashamed of yourself to send him into such danger?" she said, turning on him suddenly. "Why did you not go yourself?"
The young man laughed. Her beauty entranced him. He had scars enough to justify him in keeping silence under her pretended reproach.
"Well, you see, I couldn't leave the place where I was. I had to send some one, and I knew Hugh would do it. He led the regiment after the colonel and major fell—and he did it splendidly, too."
There was a chorus from the young lady and the boys together.
"Oh, Hugh, you hear what he says!" exclaimed the former, turning to her cousin. "Oh, I am so glad that he thinks so!" Then, recollecting that she was paying him the highest compliment, she suddenly began to blush, and turned once more to him. "Well, you talk as if you were surprised. Did you expect anything else?"
There was a fine scorn in her voice, if it had been real.
"Certainly not; you are all too clever at making an attack," he said coolly, looking her in the eyes. "But I have heard even ofyourrunning away," he added, with a twinkle in his eyes.
"When?" she asked quickly, with a little guilty color deepening in her face as she glanced at the boys. "I never did."
"Oh, she did!" exclaimed both boys in a breath, breaking in, now that the conversation was within their range. "You ought to have seen her. She justflew!" exclaimed Frank.