"Miss Lou" Part 19

"Yet it does," said Scoville quietly. "Look down the avenue. Do you not see the glint of the moonbeams on a carbine? All around us are men, mounted and armed. If a shot were fired, we should all be ready for battle in three minutes. Those prisoners will be guarded with sleepless vigilance till I deliver them up. There is a sentinel at the back of the house, three guarding the out-buildings, and so it will be till I am relieved and another takes command."

"Who will he be?" she asked apprehensively.

"I do not know."

"Oh, I wish you could guard us till these troubles are over."

"I can honestly echo that wish," added Mrs. Whately.

"Thank you. It would be pleasanter duty than usually falls to the lot of a soldier. Yet in these times I scarcely know what my duty may be from hour to hour."

"You told us that we need not fear anything to-night," began Mrs.

Whately.

"Not unless I am attacked, I said. I am aware that at this moment your son is seeking a force to do this. I do not think that he will be able to find any, however, before morning. In any event you could have nothing to fear from us, except as your dreams were disturbed by a battle."

"Oh, I wish I were a soldier!" exclaimed the girl. "This whole scene seems as if taken right out of a story."

"You are looking at this moment on the bright side of our life. At any rate, I'm glad you're not a soldier. If you were, my duty might be made more difficult. It has other and very different sides. By the way, I would like to watch those negroes a little while, and listen to them.

Their performances always interest me deeply. Will not you ladies go with me? Soon I must get some rest while I can."

Miss Lou looked at her aunt, who hesitated a moment, then said, "I am very tired, Lieutenant. I will trust you as a chivalrous enemy to take my niece, and I will sit here until you return."

"I deeply appreciate your kindness, madam."

Miss Lou went with him gladly and found herself at the close of the long, miserable day becoming positively happy. When out of hearing she said, "Aunt's permission almost took away my breath. Yet it seems to me just the way a girl ought to be treated. Oh, how perfectly delicious is a little bit of freedom! How perfectly grand to have something going on that does not mean no end of trouble to one's self!"

Scoville laughed lightly as he replied, "I now wish you were a soldier and an officer in my regiment. You and I would make good comrades."

"You forget, sir," she answered in like vein, "that I am a bloodthirsty little rebel."

"On the contrary, I remember that yours was the kind, pitying face which made me half fancy I was in heaven when recovering from my swoon."

"Chunk and Aun' Jinkey brought you back to earth right sudden, didn't they?" and her laugh rang out merrily.

"Sister," cried Mr. Baron, running out on the veranda, "what on earth--I thought I heard Louise laugh way off toward the quarters."

"You did."

"What! has she broken all bounds, defied all authority, and gone utterly wild in her rebellion?"

Mrs. Whately made a gesture of half irritable protest. Meantime, Mrs.

Baron, hearing her husband's voice, came out and exclaimed, "Is that Louise and the Yankee yonder going off alone?"

"They are not 'going off.' You and brother may join them if you wish.

They simply intend to watch the people at the quarters a little while, and I will wait here for them."

"Sarah Whately!" gasped Mrs. Baron, "can you mean to say that you have permitted our ward to do such an indelicate thing? She has never been permitted to go out alone in the evening with any young man, and the idea that she should begin with a Yankee!"

"She is not alone. She is always within call and most of the time in sight. I will make one more effort to bring you both to reason," added Mrs. Whately, warmly, "and then, if we continue to differ so radically, I will return home in the morning, after giving Louise to understand that she can always find a refuge with me if it is necessary. Can you think I would let the girl whom my son hopes to marry do an indelicate thing? Pardon me, but I think I am competent to judge in such matters.

I will be answerable for her conduct and that of Lieutenant Scoville also, for he is a gentleman if he is our enemy. I tell you again that your course toward Louise will drive her to open, reckless defiance. It is a critical time with her. She is my niece as well as your ward, and it is the dearest wish of myself and son that she should be bound to us by the closest ties. I will not have her future and all our hopes endangered by a petty, useless tyranny. If you will treat her like a young lady of eighteen I believe she will act like one."

Mrs. Baron was speechless in her anger, but her husband began, "Oh, well, if he were a Southern officer--"

Then the blood of her race became too hot for Mrs. Whately's control, and she sprang up, saying, "Well, then, go and tell him to his face that he's a vile Yankee, a Goth and Vandal, a ruthless invader, unworthy of a moment's trust, and incapable of behaving like a gentleman! Take no further protection at his hands. How can you be so blind as not to see I am doing the best thing possible to retain Louise within our control and lead her to fulfil our hopes? I ask you again, how are you going to MAKE Louise do what you wish? You cannot be arbitrary with even one of your own slaves any longer."

"Well," said Mrs. Baron, "I wash my hands of it all," and she retired to her room. Mr. Baron sat down in a chair and groaned aloud. It was desperately hard for him to accept the strange truth that he could not order every one on the place, his niece included, to do just what pleased him. Never had an autocratic potentate been more completely nonplussed; but his sister's words, combined with events, brought him face to face with his impotence so inexorably that for a time he had nothing to say.

CHAPTER XVII

THE JOY OF FREEDOM

In an open s.p.a.ce near the quarters the negroes had kindled a fire, although the night was mild. These children of the sun love warmth and all that is cheerful and bright, their emotions appearing to kindle more readily with the leaping flames. When Miss Lou and Scoville approached, the worshippers were just concluding the hymn heard on the piazza. From the humble cabins stools, benches, rickety chairs, and nondescript seats made from barrels, had been brought and placed in a circle close about the fire. These were occupied by the elderly and infirm. Uncle l.u.s.thah, whose name had been evolved from Methuselah, was the evident leader of the meeting, and Miss Lou whispered to her attendant, "He's the recognized preacher among them, and I believe he tries to live up to his ideas of right."

"Then I'll listen to him very respectfully," said Scoville.

Their advent created quite a commotion, and not a few were inclined to pay court to the "Link.u.m ossifer." All who had seats rose to offer them, but Scoville smiled, shook his head and waved them back. Uncle l.u.s.thah immediately regained attention by shouting, "Look at me": then, "Now look up. Who we uns befo'? De King. De gret Jehovah. Bow yo' haids humble; drap yo' eyes. Tek off de shoon fum yo' feet lak Moses w'en he gwine neah de bunin' bush. Young mars'r en young mistis standin' dar 'spectful. Dey knows dat ef de gret Link.u.m yere hissef, Link.u.m's Lawd en Mars'r yere befo' 'im. Let us all gib our 'tention ter 'Im who's brung 'liverance ter Israel at las'. We gwine troo de Red Sea ob wah now en des whar de promis' lan' is we got ter fin' out, but we hab tu'ned our backs on ole Egypt en we ain' gwine back no mo'. Brudren en sistas, you'se yeard a Gospil, a good news, dis eb'nin' sho. You'se yeard you free, bress de Lawd! I'se been waitin' fer dis news mo' yeahs den I kin reckermember, but dey's come 'fo' my ole haid's under de sod.

Hit's all right dat we is glad en sing aloud for joy, but we orter rejice wid trem'lin'. De 'sponsibil'ties ob freedom is des tremenjus.

Wat you gwine ter do wid freedom? Does you tink you kin git lazy en thievin' en drunken? Is dere any sech foolishness yere? Will eny man or ooman call deysefs free w'en dey's slabes ter some mean, nasty vice?

Sech folks al'ays be slabes, en dey orter be slabes ter a man wid a big whip. See how de young mars'r' haves dat brung de news ob freedom. He know he juty en he does. .h.i.t brave. He mek de w'ite sogers he 'mands des toe de mark. We got ter toe a long, wi'te mark. We ain' free ter do foolishness no mo' dan he en he men is. De gret Link.u.m got he eye on you; de Cap'n ob our salvation got He eye on you. Now I des gib you some 'structions," and happy it would have been for the freedmen--for their masters and deliverers also, it may be added--if all had followed Uncle l.u.s.thah's "'structions."

When through with his exhortation the old preacher knelt down on the box which served as his pulpit and offered a fervent pet.i.tion. From the loud "amens" and "'lujahs" he evidently voiced the honest feeling of the hour in his dusky audience. Scoville was visibly affected at the reference to him. "May de deah Lawd bress de young Link.u.m ossifer,"

rose Uncle l.u.s.thah's tones, loud, yet with melodious power and pathos, for he was gifted with a voice of unusual compa.s.s, developed by his calling. "He des took he life in he hand en come down in de lan' ob de shadder, de gret, dark shadder dat's been restin' on de hearts ob de slabes. We had no fader, no muder, no wife, no chile. Dey didn't 'long to we fer dey cud be sole right out'n our arms en we see dem no mo'. De gret shadder ob slav'y swallow dem up. Young mars'r face de bullit, face de so'ed, face de curse ter say we free. May de Lawd be he shiel'

en buckler, compa.s.s 'im roun' wid angel wings, stop de han' riz ter strike, tu'n away de bullit aim at he heart. May de Lawd brung 'im gray hars at las lak mine, so he see, en his chil'n see, en our chil'n see de 'liverance he hep wrought out.

"En dar's young mistis. She hab a heart ter feel fer de po' slabe. She al'ays look kin' at us, en she stood 'tween us en woun's en death; w'en all was agin us en she in de watehs ob triberlation hersef, she say 'fo' dem all, 'No harm come ter us.' She put her lil w'ite arm roun'

her ole mammy." ("Dat she did," cried Aun' Jinkey, who was swaying back and forth where the fire lit up her wrinkled visage, "en de gret red welt on her shol'er now.") "She took de blow," continued Uncle l.u.s.thah, amid groans and loud lamentations, "en de Lawd, wid whose stripes we healed, WILL bress her en hab aready bressed her en brung her 'liverance 'long o' us. May He keep her eyes fum teahs, en her heart fum de breakin' trouble; may He shine on a path dat lead ter all de bes' tings in dis yere worl' en den ter de sweet home ob heb'n!"

When the voice of Uncle l.u.s.thah ceased Scoville heard a low sob from Miss Lou at his side and he was conscious that tears stood in his own eyes. His heart went out in strong homage to the young girl to whom such tribute had been paid and her heart thrilled at the moment as she distinguished his deep "amen" in the strong, general indors.e.m.e.nt of the pet.i.tion in her behalf.

Then rose a hymn which gathered such volume and power that it came back in echoes from distant groves.

"Hark, hark, I year a soun'. Hit come fum far away; Wake, wake, en year de soun' dat come fum far away. De night am dark, de night been long, but dar de mawnin' gray; En wid de light is comin' sweet a soun' fum far away.

"Look how de light am shinin' now across de gret Red Sea. On Egypt sho'

we stay no mo' in slabing misery. Ole Pharaoh year de voice ob G.o.d, 'Des set my people free;' En now we march wid song en shout, right troo the gret Red Sea."

Every line ended with, the rising inflection of more than a hundred voices, followed by a pause in which the echoes repeated clearly the final sound. The effect was weird, strange in the last degree, and, weary as he was, Scoville felt all his nerves tingling.

The meeting now broke up, to be followed by dancing and singing among the younger negroes. Uncle l.u.s.thah, Aun' Jinkey, and many others crowded around Scoville and "the young mistis" to pay their respects.

Chunk and Zany, standing near, graciously accepted the honors showered upon them. The officer speedily gave Miss Lou his arm and led her away.

When so distant as to be un.o.bserved, he said in strong emphasis, "Miss Baron, I take off my hat to you. Not to a princess would I pay such homage as to the woman who could wake the feeling with which these poor people regard you."

She blushed with the deepest pleasure of her life, for she had been repressed and reprimanded so long that words of encouragement and praise were very sweet. But she only said with a laugh, "Oh, come; don't turn my poor bewildered head any more to-night. I'm desperately anxious to have uncle and aunt think I'm a very mature young woman, but I know better and so do you. Why, even Uncle l.u.s.thah made me cry like a child."