by John Fox
CHAPTER 21.
MELISSA
Shortly after dusk, that night, two or three wagons moved quietly outof Lexington, under a little guard with guns loaded and bayonets fixed.Back at the old Armory--the home of the "Rifles"--a dozen youngstersdrilled vigorously with faces in a broad grin, as they swept under themotto of the company--"Our laws the commands of our Captain." They werefollowing out those commands most literally. Never did Lieutenant Huntgive his orders more sonorously--he could be heard for blocks away.Never did young soldiers stamp out maneuvers more lustily--they mademore noise than a regiment. Not a man carried a gun, though ringingorders to "Carry arms" and "Present arms" made the windows rattle. Itwas John Morgan's first ruse. While that mock-drill was going on, andlistening Unionists outside were laughing to think how those Rifleswere going to be fooled next day, the guns of the company were movingin those wagons toward Dixie--toward mocking-bird-haunted BowlingGreen, where the underfed, unclothed, unarmed body of Albert SydneyJohnston's army lay, with one half-feathered wing stretching into theCumberland hills and the frayed edge of the other touching the Ohio.
Next morning, the Home Guards came gayly around to the Armory to seizethose guns, and the wily youngsters left temporarily behind (they, too,fled for Dixie, that night) gibed them unmercifully; so that, then andthere, a little interchange of powder-and-ball civilities followed; andthus, on the very first day, Daniel Dean smelled the one and heard theother whistle right harmlessly and merrily. Straightway, more guardswere called out; cannon were planted to sweep the principal streets,and from that hour the old town was under the rule of a Northern orSouthern sword for the four years' reign of the war.
Meanwhile, Chad Buford was giving a strange journey to Dixie. Wheneverhe dismounted, she would turn her head toward the Bluegrass, as thoughit surely were time they were starting for home. When they reached theend of the turnpike, she lifted her feet daintily along the muddy road,and leaped pools of water like a cat. Climbing the first foot-hills,she turned her beautiful head to right and left, and with pointed earssnorted now and then at the strange dark woods on either side and thetumbling water-falls. The red of her wide nostrils was showing when shereached the top of the first mountain, and from that high point ofvantage she turned her wondering eyes over the wide rolling stretchthat waved homeward, and whinnied with distinct uneasiness when Chadstarted her down into the wilderness beyond. Distinctly that road wasno path for a lady to tread, but Dixie was to know it better in thecoming war.
Within ten miles of the Turners', Chad met the first man that heknew--Hence Sturgill from Kingdom Come. He was driving a wagon.
"Howdye, Hence!" said Chad, reining in.
"Whoa!" said Hence, pulling in and staring at Chad's horse and at Chadfrom hat to spur.
"Don't you know me, Hence?"
"Well, God--I--may--die, if it ain't Chad! How air ye, Chad? Goin' upto ole Joel's?"
"Yes. How are things on Kingdom Come?"
Hence spat on the ground and raised one hand high over his head:
"God--I--may--die, if thar hain't hell to pay on Kingdom Come. Youbetter keep offo' Kingdom Come," and then he stopped with an expressionof quick alarm, looked around him into the bushes and dropped his voiceto a whisper:
"But I hain't sayin' a word--rickollect now--not a word!"
Chad laughed aloud. "What's the matter with you, Hence?"
Hence put one finger on one side of his nose--still speaking in a lowtone:
"Whut'd I say, Chad? D'I say one word?" He gathered up his reins. "Yourickollect Jake and Jerry Dillon?" Chad nodded. "You know Jerry wasal'ays a-runnin' over Jake 'cause Jake' didn't have good sense. Jakewas drapped when he was a baby. Well, Jerry struck Jake over the headwith a fence-rail 'bout two months ago, an when Jake come to, he hadjust as good sense as anybody, and now he hates Jerry like pizen, anJerry's half afeard of him. An' they do say a how them two brothers aira-goin'" Again Hence stopped abruptly and clucked to his team "But Iain't a-sayin' a word, now, mind ye--not a word!"
Chad rode on, amused, and thinking that Hence had gone daft, but he wasto learn better. A reign of forty years' terror was starting in thosehills.
Not a soul was in sight when he reached the top of the hill from whichhe could see the Turner home below--about the house or the orchard orin the fields. No one answered his halloo at the Turner gate, thoughChad was sure that he saw a woman's figure flit past the door. It was afull minute before Mother Turner cautiously thrust her head outside thedoor and peered at him.
"Why, Aunt Betsey," called Chad, "don't you know me?"
At the sound of his voice Melissa sprang out the door with a welcomingcry, and ran to him, Mother Turner following with a broad smile on herkind old face. Chad felt the tears almost come--these were friendsindeed. How tall Melissa had grown, and how lovely she was, with hertangled hair and flashing eyes and delicately modelled face. She wentwith him to the stable to help him put up his horse, blushing when helooked at her and talking very little, while the old mother, from thefence, followed him with her dim eyes. At once Chad began to ply bothwith questions--where was Uncle Joel and the boys and theschool-master? And, straightway, Chad felt a reticence in both--acurious reticence even with him. On each side of the fireplace, on eachside of the door, and on each side of the window, he saw narrow blocksfixed to the logs. One was turned horizontal, and through the holeunder it Chad saw daylight--portholes they were. At the door were takenblocks as catches for a piece of upright wood nearby, which was plainlyused to bar the door. The cabin was a fortress. By degrees the storycame out. The neighborhood was in a turmoil of bloodshed and terror.Tom and Dolph had gone off to the war--Rebels. Old Joel had been calledto the door one night, a few weeks since, and had been shot downwithout warning. They had fought all night. Melissa herself had handleda rifle at one of the portholes. Rube was out in the woods now, withJack guarding and taking care of his wounded father. A Home Guard hadbeen organized, and Daws Dillon was captain. They were driving out ofthe mountains every man who owned a negro, for nearly every man whoowned a negro had taken, or was forced to take, the Rebel side. TheDillons were all Yankees, except Jerry, who had gone off with Tom; andthe giant brothers, Rebel Jerry and Yankee Jake--as both were alreadyknown--had sworn to kill each other on sight. Bushwhacking had alreadybegun. When Chad asked about the school-master, the old woman's facegrew stern, and Melissa's lip curled with scorn.
"Yankee!" The girl spat the word out with such vindictive bitternessthat Chad's face turned slowly scarlet, while the girl's keen eyespierced him like a knife, and narrowed as, with pale face and heavingbreast, she rose suddenly from her chair and faced him--amazed,bewildered, burning with sudden hatred. "And you're another!" Thegirl's voice was like a hiss.
"Why, 'Lissy!" cried the old mother, startled, horrified.
"Look at him!" said the girl. The old woman looked; her face grew hardand frightened, and she rose feebly, moving toward the girl as thoughfor protection against him. Chad's very heart seemed suddenly to turnto water. He had been dreading the moment to come when he must tell. Heknew it would be hard, but he was not looking for this.
"You better git away!" quavered the old woman, "afore Joel and Rubecome in."
"Hush!" said the girl, sharply, her hands clinched like claws, herwhole body stiff, like a tigress ready to attack, or awaiting attack.
"Mebbe he come hyeh to find out whar they air--don't tell him!"
"Lissy!" said Chad, brokenly.
"Then whut did you come fer?"
"To tell you good-by, I came to see all of you, Lissy."
The girl laughed scornfully, and Chad knew he was helpless. He couldnot explain, and they could not understand--nobody had understood.
"Aunt Betsey," he said, "you took Jack and me in, and you took care ofme just as though I had been your own child. You know I'd give my lifefor you or Uncle Joel, or any one of the boys"--his voice grew a littlestern--"and you know it, too, Lissy--"
"You're makin' things wuss," interrupted the girl, s
tridently, "an' nowyou're goin' to do all you can to kill us. I reckon you can see thatdoor. Why don't you go over to the Dillons?" she panted. "They'refriends o' your'n. An' don't let Uncle Joel or Rube ketch you anywharround hyeh!"
"I'm not afraid to see Uncle Joel or Rube, Lissy."
"You must git away, Chad," quavered the old woman. "They mought hurtye!"
"I'm sorry not to see Jack. He's the only friend I have now."
"Why, Jack would snarl at ye," said the girl, bitterly. "He hates aYankee." She pointed again with her finger. "I reckon you can see thatdoor."
They followed him, Melissa going on the porch and the old womanstanding in the doorway. On one side of the walk Chad saw a rose-bushthat he had brought from the Bluegrass for Melissa. It was dying. Hetook one step toward it, his foot sinking in the soft earth where thegirl had evidently been working around it, and broke off the one greenleaf that was left.
"Here, Lissy! You'll be sorry you were so hard on me. I'd never getover it if I didn't think you would. Keep this, won't you, and let's befriends, not enemies."
He held it out, and the girl angrily struck the rose-leaf from his handto her feet.
Chad rode away at a walk. Two hundred yards below, where the hill rose,the road was hock-deep with sand, and Dixie's feet were as noiseless asa cat's. A few yards beyond a ravine on the right, a stone rolled fromthe bushes into the road. Instinctively Chad drew rein, and Dixie stoodmotionless. A moment later, a crouching figure, with a long squirrelrifle, slipped out of the bushes and started noiselessly across theravine. Chad's pistol flashed.
"Stop!"
The figure crouched more, and turned a terror-stricken face--DawsDillon's.
"Oh, it's you, is it--Well, drop that gun and come down here."
The Dillon boy rose, leaving his gun on the ground, and came down,trembling.
"What're you doin' sneaking around in the brush?"
"Nothin'!" The Dillon had to make two efforts before he could speak atall. "Nothin', jes' a-huntin'!"
"Huntin'!" repeated Chad. He lowered his pistol and looked at the sorryfigure silently.
"I know what you were huntin', you rattlesnake! I understand you arecaptain of the Home Guard. I reckon you don't know that nobody has togo into this war. That a man has the right to stay peaceably at home,and nobody has the right to bother him. If you don't know it, I tellyou now. I believe you had something to do with shooting Uncle Joel."
The Dillon shook his head, and fumbled with his hands.
"If I knew it, I'd kill you where you stand, now. But I've got one wordto say to you, you hell-pup. I hate to think it, but you and I are onthe same side--that is, if you have any side. But in spite of that, ifI hear of any harm happening to Aunt Betsey, or Melissa, or Uncle Joel,or Rube, while they are all peaceably at home, I'm goin' to hold youand Tad responsible, whether you are or not, and I'll kill you"--heraised one hand to make the Almighty a witness to his oath--"I'll killyou, if I have to follow you both to hell for doin' it. Now, you takekeer of 'em! Turn 'round!"
The Dillon hesitated.
"Turn!" Chad cried, savagely, raising his pistol. "Go back to that gun,an' if you turn your head I'll shoot you where you're sneakin' aroun'to shoot Rube or Uncle Joel--in the back, you cowardly feist. Pick upthat gun! Now, let her off! See if you can hit that beech-tree in frontof you. Just imagine that it's me."
The rifle cracked and Chad laughed.
"Well, you ain't much of a shot. I reckon you must have chills andfever. Now, come back here. Give me your powder-horn. You'll find it ontop of the hill on the right-hand side of the road. Now, youtrot--home!"
Then Dillon stared.
"Double-quick!" shouted Chad. "You ought to know what that means if youare a soldier--a soldier!" he repeated, contemptuously.
The Dillon disappeared on a run.
Chad rode all that night. At dawn he reached the foot-hills, and bynoon he drew up at the road which turned to Camp Dick Robinson. He satthere a long time thinking, and then pushed on toward Lexington. If hecould, he would keep from fighting on Kentucky soil.
Next morning he was going at an easy "running-walk" along the oldMaysville road toward the Ohio. Within three miles of Major Buford's,he leaped the fence and stuck across the fields that he might go aroundand avoid the risk of a painful chance meeting with his old friend orany of the Deans.
What a land of peace and plenty it was--the woodlands, meadows, pasturelands! Fat cattle raised their noses from the thick grass and lookedwith mild inquiry at him. Sheep ran bleating toward him, as though hewere come to salt them. A rabbit leaped from a thorn-bush and whiskedhis white flag into safety in a hemp-field. Squirrels barked in the bigoaks, and a covey of young quail fluttered up from a fence corner andsailed bravely away. 'Possum signs were plentiful, and on the edge ofthe creek he saw a coon solemnly searching under a rock with one pawfor crawfish Every now and then Dixie would turn her head impatientlyto the left, for she knew where home was. The Deans' house was justover the hill he would have but the ride to the top to see it and,perhaps, Margaret. There was no need. As he sat, looking up the hill,Margaret herself rode slowly over it, and down, through the sunlightslanting athwart the dreaming woods, straight toward him. Chad satstill. Above him the road curved, and she could not see him until sheturned the little thicket just before him. Her pony was more startledthan was she. A little leap of color to her face alone showed hersurprise.
"Did you get my note?"
"I did. You got my mother's message?"
"I did." Chad paused. "That is why I am passing around you."
The girl said nothing.
"But I'm glad I came so near. I wanted to see you once more. I wish Icould make you understand. But nobody understands. I hardly understandmyself. But please try to believe that what I say is true. I'm justback from the mountains, and listen, Margaret--" He halted a moment tosteady his voice. "The Turners down there took me in when I was aragged outcast. They clothed me, fed me, educated me. The Major took mewhen I was little more; and he fed me, clothed me, educated me. TheTurners scorned me--Melissa told me to go herd with the Dillons. TheMajor all but turned me from his door. Your father was bitter towardme, thinking that I had helped turn Harry to the Union cause. But letme tell you! If the Turners died, believing me a traitor; if Lissy diedwith a curse on her lips for me; if the Major died without, as hebelieved, ever having polluted his lips again with my name; if Harrywere brought back here dead, and your father died, believing that hisblood was on my hands; and if I lost you and your love, and you died,believing the same thing--I must still go. Oh, Margaret, I can'tunderstand--I have ceased to reason. I only know I must go!"
The girl in the mountains had let her rage and scorn loose like astorm, but the gentlewoman only grew more calm. Every vestige of colorleft her, but her eyes never for a moment wavered from his face. Hervoice was quiet and even and passionless.
"Then, why don't you go?"
The lash of an overseer's whip across his face could not have made hissoul so bleed. Even then he did not lose himself.
"I am in your way," he said, quietly. And backing Dixie from the road,and without bending his head or lowering his eyes, he waited, hat inhand, for Margaret to pass.
All that day Chad rode, and, next morning, Dixie climbed the Union bankof the Ohio and trotted into the recruiting camp of the Fourth OhioCavalry. The first man Chad saw was Harry Dean--grave, sombre,taciturn, though he smiled and thrust out his hand eagerly. Chad's eyesdropped to the sergeant's stripes on Harry's sleeves, and again Harrysmiled.
"You'll have 'em yourself in a week. These fellows ride like a lot ofmeal-bags over here. Here's my captain," he added, in a lower voice.
A pompous officer rode slowly up. He pulled in his horse when he sawChad.
"You want to join the army?"
"Yes," said Chad.
"All right. That's a fine horse you've got."
Chad said nothing.
"What's his name?"
"HER name is Dixie."
&
nbsp; The captain stared. Some soldiers behind laughed in a smotheredfashion, sobering their' faces quickly when the captain turned uponthem, furious.
"Well, change her name!"
"I'll not change her name," said Chad, quietly.
"What!" shouted the officer. "How dare you--" Chad's eyes lookedominous.
"Don't you give any orders to me--not yet. You haven't the right; andwhen you have, you can save your breath by not giving that one. Thishorse comes from Kentucky, and so do I; her name will stay Dixie aslong as I straddle her, and I propose to straddle her until one of usdies, or,"--he smiled and nodded across the river--"somebody over theregets her who won't object to her name as much as you do."
The astonished captain's lips opened, but a quiet voice behindinterrupted him:
"Never mind, Captain." Chad turned and saw a short, thick-set man witha stubbly brown beard, whose eyes were twinkling, though his face wasgrave. "A boy who wants to fight for the Union, and insists on callinghis horse Dixie, must be all right. Come with me, my lad."
As Chad followed, he heard the man saluted as Colonel Grant, but hepaid no heed. Few people at that time did pay heed to the name ofUlysses Grant.