 | CHAPTER III. Tiger-lilies |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
—“I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.”
Falstaff.
—“I would it had been of horse. Well, God be thanked for these
rebels.”
King Henry IV.
On one of the last days of April, '64, six soldiers in
gray, upon six horses in all colors, were riding down
the road that leads from Surrey Court House toward
the beautiful bay into which the James spreads itself before
it is called Hampton Roads.
It was yet early in the morning. The sun was rejoicing
with a majestic tenderness over his little firstling
— April.
Our six horsemen were in gay conversation; as who
would not be, with a light rifle on his shoulder, with a
good horse bounding along under him, with a fresh
breeze that had in it the vigor of the salt sea and the
caressing sweetness of the spring blowing upon him,
with five friends tried in the tempest of war as well as
by the sterner test of the calm association of inactive
camp-life, and with the world's width about him and
the enchanting vagueness of life yet to be lived — the
delicious change-prospect of futurity — before him?
As they rode on, the beauty of the woods grew, nearing
the river. The road wound about deep glens filled
with ancient beeches and oaks, and carpeted with early
flowers and heart-leaves upon which still dwelt large
that they slept late, loth to expand into vapor and
go back home in the clouds.
Lieutenant Flemington spurred his horse forward
and turned him round full-face to the party.
“Gentlemen, there 's some mistake about all this!”
said he, as the men stopped, laughing at a puzzled expression
which overspread his face: “for whereas, this
honorable company of six has been for three years or
more toilsomely marching on foot with an infantry regiment
— but now rides good horses: and whereas, this
honorable company of six has been for three years feeding
upon hard-tack and bacon which grew continually
harder and also less and wormier — but now devours
Virginia biscuit and spring-chickens and ham and
eggs and — and all the other things that came on, and
went off, the table at mine host's of the Court House
this morning:” —
“Not to speak of the mint-juleps that the big man-slave
brought in on a waiter before we got out o' bed,”
interposed Briggs.
“And whereas, we have hitherto had to fight through
a press of from two to five hundred men to fill our
canteens when we marched by a well — but now do
take our several gentlemanly ease and leisure in doing
that same, as just now when the pretty girl smiled at
us in the big white house yonder, where we
`Went to the well to get some water:'
that we could put on a dozen ways by as many
holes, have worn coats that afforded no protection to
the same, have had shirts that — shirts that — that
— at any rate we have had shirts — but now do fare
forth prankt in all manner of gorgeous array such as
gray jackets with fillimagree on the sleeves of 'em,
and hussar-breeches, and cavalry-boots, and O shade of
Jones of Georgia! with spurs to boot and clean white
collars to neck: and whereas, we have been accustomed
to think a mud-hole a luxury in the way of beds, and
have been wont to beg Heaven, as its greatest boon to
man, not to let the cavalry ride over us without waking
us up to see 'em do it — but now do sleep between
white sheets without fear of aught but losing our senses
from sleeping so intensely: and whereas, finally, all
these things are contrary to the ordinary course of
nature and are not known save as dim recollections
of a previous state of existence in itself extremely hypothetical,
therefore, be it resolved and it is hereby resolved”
—
“Unanimously,” from the five.
“That this — figure — at present on this horse and
clothed with these sumptuous paraphernalia of pompous
war, is not B. Chauncey Flemington, that is to say (to
borrow a term from the German metaphysics) is Not-Me,
that this horse is not my horse, this paraphernalia
not my paraphernalia, that para-ditto not your para-ditto,
that this road is no road, and the whole affair a dream
or phantasmagory sent of the Devil for no purpose but
to embitter the waking from it, and
“Resolved, further, that we now proceed to wake up,
and exorcise this devil. Cain Smallin, of the bony
fingers, will you do me the favor to seize hold of
Smallin!”
Cain seized and twisted: whereat went up a villainous
screech from the twistee.
“Mark you, men, how hard the Devil clings to him!”
quoth Briggs.
“Herr Von Hardenberg says, `when we dream
that we dream, we are near awaking,”' said Rübetsahl,
“but I am not awake and I surely dream that I do
dream!”
“I remember,” said Aubrey, “that Hans Dietrich
did dream, upon a time, that the elf-people showered
gold upon him, but woke in the morning and found his
breeches-pockets full of yellow leaves. À fortiori, this
in my canteen, which I dimly dream was poured in there
for home-made wine by an old lady who stopped me
and blessed me the other side the Court House this
morning — this, I say, in my canteen, should now
be no wine, or at least, if these present events be a
dream, should be sour wine. I will resolve me of this
doubt!”
The canteen rose in air, its round mouth met Aubrey's
round mouth, and a gurgling noise was heard; what
time the five awaited in breathless suspense the result
of the experiment. The gurgling continued.
“I think Mister Aubrey must ha' fell into another
dream, like,” quoth Cain Smallin, “an 's done forgot
he 's drinkin', an' the rest of us is dry!”
“Ah-h-h-h!” observed Aubrey as the canteen at last
came down. “Gentlemen, this is as marvellous like to
good wine of the blackberry as is one blue-coat to another.
Albeit this be but a thin and harmful wine of
dream I am, wherefore I am fain exclaim with the poet
`Thus let me dream, forever, on!”'
“I think,” modestly interposed Philip Sterling, “that
I might perhaps throw a little light on the subject; at
any rate, the number of experiments will increase the
probability of our conclusions drawn therefrom. Now,
as I passed down the road, in this dream, I observed
a still where they make apple-brandy; and propounding
some questions as to the modus agendi to a benevolent-looking
lady who stood in the house hard by, she,
if I dream not, begged that I would accept this bottle,
which I now uncork, I think, and which, if all end well,
will enable me to say, in the words of the song,
`I see her still in my dreams.'
and frog-toe porridge, or other noxious jigote of
hags and witches — stand around to receive me as I
fall. I waive the politeness which requires I should
offer this bottle first to my fellow-dreamers here, Mr.
Briggs and Mr. Smallin, in consideration that the compound
might kill, and I were loth the country should
lose two such valuable lives. I request that I be decently
buried and news sent home, if it prove fatal, as
I fear. I drink! Friends, adieu, adieu!”
“Why, this,” quoth Briggs, “is surely much adieu
about nothing!”
The bottle went up to the mouth, like its friend the
canteen, and stayed, like its friend. While it hung in
mid-air —
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Aubrey, “the poison
from his mouth!”
“Gentlemen, all is over!” said Rübetsahl, and
groaned, and, seizing Philip, dragged him to the green
bank of the road, when the draggee fell back in true
stage-fashion, not forgetting to spread his handkerchief
upon the hillock where he laid his dying head: “I
would not die,” muttered he, “with my hair full of
cockle-burrs!”
“Danged ef this 'ere ham aint mighty nigh as good
as fresh ven'zun!” quoth sturdy Cain Smallin, who had
dismounted and seated himself on a stump, while his
lower jaw worked like a trip-hammer reversed, to the
great detriment of a huge slice of bread and ham which
he had produced from his capacious haversack. “'Pears
like as if I never was so horngry sence I was froze up
over on old Smoky Mount'n, one Christmas. I b'leeve
I haint done nuthin' but eat sence we was detailed f'om
the rigiment, to'ther side o' Richmond! You better
b'leeve now — Gentlemen!” he exclaimed suddenly,
“look at yan nigger down the road! He travels as
peert as ef he was a-carryin' orders to a rigiment to
come down into the fight double-quick. Hornet must
ha' stung his mule; or sumthin'!”
At this moment a negro dashed up on a mule whose
pace he was accelerating with lusty encouragement of
switch, foot, and voice.
“Halt there, caballero hot with haste and coal-black
with speed!” cried Flemington. “What 's the matter?”
“Good God, Marster, de Yankee niggahs is playin' de
devil wid old Mistis down de road yonder! Dey done
hung old Marster up to a tree-limb to make him tell
em; an' I seed 'em a-histe-in him up agin, an' I run
roun' to de stable an' tuk out ole Becky here an' cum astavin';
an' I 'lowed to myse'f I 'd save one mule for ole
Marster anyhow ef he lives, which I don't b'leeve he 's
agwine to do it nohow; an — ”
“Mount, men!” Flemington jumped into the saddle.
“How far is it to the house? What 's your name?” —
to the negro.
“Name Charles, sah: Charles, de ca'ige - driver.
Hit 's about a half ur three-quarter thar, f'om here.”
“Have they got out a picket; did you see any of them
riding this way while the others were in the house?”
“Yaas, sah; seed one cumin' dis ways as I cum de
back-way, out o' de lot!”
“'T wont do to ride any further, then. Get off your
mule, Charles. Boys, dismount and tie your horses in
the bushes here, off the road. We 'll go round this
back-way. Lead the way; and keep under cover of
the hedge and the fence, yonder, everybody, so they
can't see us.”
While the words were being spoken the command
had been executed, and the party struck into a rapid
walk down a path which led off from the road in the
direction of the river. Presently they crossed a fence;
and stopped to peep through the rails of another, running
perpendicularly to the path. A large house, part
brick, part wooden, embowered in trees, appeared at a
short distance.
“Dat 's de place!” whispered Charles, the carriage-driver.
Flemington had already formed his plans.
“Men, they 're all inside the house, except the picket
out in the road yonder. I 'm going to creep up close
to the house just behind that brick garden-wall there,
and see how things look. The rest of you keep down
this side o' the fence, and get just behind the long
cattle-stable in rear of the house. Wait there till you
hear me shoot; then dash up to the house, — 't is n't
twenty yards — and every man for himself! Come with
a yell or two. Cain, you come with me. Here goes
over the fence: quick!”
The minutes and the men crept on, like silent worms.
Flemington and Smallin gained their wall, which ran
within a few feet of the house, unperceived.
“I 'll stop here, Cain. You creep on, close down,
old fellow, until you get to the front fence yonder, and
wait there till I shoot. Then come on like a big rock
tumbling down Old Smoky!”
Under cover of a thick vine which ran along the top
of the wall, Flemington cautiously raised his head and
peeped over.
An old man was lying on the grass-plat, with a rope-noose
still hanging round his neck. Over him bent a
young girl. She was dashing water in his face and
chafing his hands in the endeavor to restore the life
which, by his bloodless face and the blue streak under
his eyes, seemed to have taken its departure forever.
Near them sat a corpulent old lady, on the ground, passive
with grief, rocking herself to and fro, in that most
pathetic gesture of sorrowing age.
Inside the house was Bedlam. Oaths, yells of triumph,
taunts, and menaces mingled with the crash of
breaking crockery and the shuffling of heavy feet.
Just as Flemington raised his head above the wall,
four stout negroes staggered through a wide door which
gave upon a balcony of the second story, bearing a
huge old-fashioned wardrobe which they lifted over the
railing and let drop. A wild shout went up as the
wardrobe crashed to the ground and burst open, revealing
a miscellaneous mass of the garments that are
known to the other sex.
“Mo' good clo'es!” cried the four, and dived back
into the door for new plunder.
Through the parlor-window, just opposite Flemington,
appeared a burly black, with rolling eyes and grinning
mouth, seated at the piano. With both fists he
banged the keys, while he sang a ribald song at the top
of a voice rendered hideously husky by frequent potations
from a demijohn that stood on the centre-table.
Suddenly the performer jumped from his seat.
“Damn ef you 'll ever play on dat pianner agin, you
Becky Parven!” said he, and seized an axe and
chopped the instrument in pieces.
The raiders — unauthorized ones, as Flemington
knew — had evidently found the brandy. They were
already infuriated by it. It was with difficulty that
Flemington could refrain from firing long enough to
allow the rest of the party to gain their position.
Suddenly a huge negro, dressed in the tawdriest of
uniforms, which he had just been decorating with all
conceivable ornaments tied to whatever button offered
a support to dangle from, rushed out of the house towards
the group in front, exclaiming, —
“By de livin' God, I 'm de Cap'n and I 'm gwine to
do de kissin' fur de comp'ny! You need n't to shake,
— pointing to Rebecca Parven.
Flemington could withhold no longer. He fired;
the black captain fell, an answering yell came from the
stable-yard, he leaped the wall and rushed towards the
house, meeting Aubrey, who exclaimed hurriedly, —
“The rest ran into the back-door, Flem; I ran round
for fear they might be too many for you in front, as
they came out.”
Almost simultaneously three shots were fired inside
the house, and eight or ten negroes in blue uniform
rushed through the front door and down the steps. In
their ardor Flemington and Aubrey gave no ground.
The foremost negro on the steps fell, his companions
tumbled over him, the whole mass precipitated itself
upon Flemington and Aubrey, and bore them to the
earth.
At this moment the black commander, whom Flemington's
bullet had merely stunned for a moment,
scrambled to his feet, and seeing the other three of
Flemington's party running down the steps, called out,
“Jump up, boys; de aint but five of 'em, we can whip
de lights out'n 'em, yit!” Brandishing his sabre, he
ran towards Flemington, who was just rising from the
ground.
The surprised negroes took heart from the bold tone
and action of their commander, and commenced an active
scramble for whatever offensive weapons lay about.
In the undisciplined haste of plunderers they had
thrown down their arms in various places inside the
house, the necessity of caution being entirely overwhelmed
by the more pressing one of arm-room for the
To prevent them from grasping the axes and farming
implements about the yard, besides two or three guns
and sabres that had been abandoned by the most eager
of the plunderers before entering the house, now required
the most active exertions on the part of the
Confederates whose number was actually reduced to
four, since Flemington was entirely occupied in repelling
the savage onslaught of the colored leader.
To increase their critical situation, nothing was heard
of Cain Smallin; and they could ill afford to lose the
great personal strength, not to speak of the yet unfired
rifle, of the mountaineer, in a contest where the odds
both in numbers and individual power were so much
against them.
Affairs grew serious. Flemington, for ten minutes,
had had arms, legs, and body in unceasing play, to
parry with his short unbayoneted carbine the furious
cuts of his antagonist. He was growing tired; while
his foe, infuriated by brandy and burning for revenge,
seemed to gather strength each moment and to redouble
his blows. The others were too busy to render
any assistance to their lieutenant. John Briggs had
just made a close race with three negroes for an axe that
lay down the avenue, and was now standing over it
endeavoring with desperate whirls of his carbine to defend
at once the front, flank, and rear of his position.
Flemington felt his knees giving way, a faint dizziness
came over him, and in another moment he would
have been cloven from skull to breast-bone, when suddenly
John Briggs called out cheerily, —
“Hurrah, boys! Here 's help!”
All the combatants stopped to glance towards the
gate that opened from the main road into the short
avenue leading to the house. True! On the other
side the hedge appeared a cloud of dust, from which
sounded the voices of a dozen men, —
“Give the nigs hell, thar, boys!” shouted a bass-voice.
“Here we come; hold 'em thar, Flem!” came in
treble, as if from a boy-soldier. “You four men on the
right, thar, ride round 'em, cut 'em off from the
back-yard!” commanded the stentorian voice of Cain
Smallin.
The tide of victory turned in an instant, and bore
off, on its ebb, the colored raiders. Their commander
hastily jumped over the garden-wall and made huge
strides towards the woods, his followers scattering in
flight towards the nearest cover.
Too weak to pursue his frightened opponent, Flemington
sat down to rest, gazing curiously towards the
reinforcing voices.
“Open the gate thar, you men in front!” came from
the advancing dust-cloud. The gate flew open; in
rushed a frightened herd of cows, sheep, horses, mules,
hogs, and oxen, in whose midst appeared the tall form
of Cain Smallin. Armed with a huge branch of a
thorn-tree in each hand, he was darting about amongst
the half-wild cattle, belaboring them on all sides, crowding
them together and then scattering the mass, what
time he poured forth a torrent of inspiriting war-cries
in all tones of voice, from basso-profundo to boy-soprano.
On comes he, like an avalanche with a whirlwind
in it, down the avenue, all unconscious of the
success of his stratagem, stretching out his long neck
front, and not ceasing to dart to and fro, to belabor,
and to utter his many-voiced battle-cries.
“'Gad, he don't see a thing!” exclaimed Briggs;
“his eyes are mud-holes of dust and perspiration!
He 'll run over the old gentleman there, boys: let 's get
him into the porch;” and the four had barely lifted
the still unconscious man up the steps when the cattle-cavalry
thundered by, splitting at the house like a
stream on a rock, and flowing tumultuously each side
of it towards the back-yard.
“Hold up, Cain! Hold up, man!” shouted Flemington;
“the enemy 's whipped and gone!”
Mr. Smallin came to a stop in his furious career, and,
covered with the dust and sweat of grimy war, advanced
at a more dignified pace to the steps where his
party were resting.
“You see, boys,” said he, wiping his face with his
coat-sleeve, “I was a right smart time a-comin', but
when I did come, I cum, by the Livin'! Phe-e-e-w!”
continued he, blowing off his excitement. “Reckin you
thought I was a whole brigade, did n't ye? An' I 'm
blasted ef I did n't make mighty nigh as much rumpus
as any common brigade, sure 's you 're born to die!
Ye see, I was creepin' along to'rds the road out yan,
an' I seed all them critters penned up in a little pen
just 'cross the road over aginst yan gate, an' I 'lowed to
myself 'at the niggers had jest marched along the road
an' druv along all the cattle in the country for to carry
'em back across the river. An' so I thought if I
could git them bulls thar — mighty fine bulls they is,
too! — git 'em right mad, an' let the whole kit an' bilin'
mought skeer somebody mighty bad ef I did n't do
nothin' else; an' so I jest lit in amongst 'em thar,
an' tickled 'em all right smart with yan thorn bushes
till they was tolubble mad, an' then fotch 'em through
the gate a-bilin'! I 've druv cattle afore, gentlemen!”
concluded Mr. Smallin, with a dignity which was also
a generosity, since, while it asserted his own skill, it at
the same time apologized for those who might have
attempted such a feat and failed from want of practice
in driving cattle.
| CHAPTER III. Tiger-lilies | |