Books: Miss Lou

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Whately had already satisfied himself that no pretence of zeal for
the service could conceal his real motive or save him from general
scorn should he speak of the mere conjectures of a man like Perkins.
He had never meant to speak of them publicly, simply to use his
knowledge as a means of influencing his cousin. He now doubted the
wisdom of this. Reacting from one mood to another, as usual, his
chief hope now was that some unexpected turn of fortune's wheel
would bring his opportunity. The one thing which all the past
unfitted him to accept was personal and final denial. His egotism
and impatience at being crossed began to manifest itself in another
direction, one suggested by Maynard's evident susceptibility to his
cousin's attractions. "Here is a chance," he thought, "of righting
myself in Lou's eyes. If this fellow, thrown into her society by the
fortune of war, not by courtesy, presumptuously goes beyond a
certain point in his attentions, Cousin Lou will find that no knight
of olden time would have fought for her quicker than I will. Mother
says she is one who must have her romance. She may have it with a
vengeance. It may open her eyes to the truth that a spirit like mine
brooks no opposition, and when she sees that I am ready to face
death for her she will admire, respect, and yield to a nature that
is haughty and like that of the old nobility."

Thus he blinded himself in these vain, silly vaporings, the result
of a false training and the reading of stilted romances. The thought
of studying the girl's character, of doing and being in some degree
what would be agreeable to her, never occurred to him. That kind of
good sense rarely does occur to the egotistical, who often fairly
exasperate those whom they would please by utter blindness to the
simple things which ARE pleasing. Miss Lou had read more old
romances than he, but she speedily outgrew the period in which she
was carried away by the fantastic heroes described. They became in
her fancy the other extreme of the matter-of-fact conditions in
which her uncle and aunt had lived, and as we have seen, she longed
to know the actual world, to meet with people who did not seem alien
to her young and natural sympathies. Each new character she met
became a kind of revelation to her. She was the opposite pole of the
society belle, whose eyes have wearied of humanity, who knows little
and cares less for anything except her mirrored image. With
something of the round-eyed curiosity and interest of a child, she
looked at every new face, asking herself, "What is he like?" not
whether he will like and admire me, although she had not a little
feminine pleasure in discovering that strangers were inclined to do
this. Her disapproval of Maynard arose chiefly from the feeling that
his gallantry at such a time, with the dead and dying all about
them, was "more shocking than a game of cards on Sunday." She
regarded his attentions, glances, tones, as mere well-bred
persiflage, indulged in for his own amusement, and she put him down
as a trifler for his pains. That he, as she would phrase it, "was
just smitten without any rhyme or reason" seemed preposterous. She
had done nothing for him as she had for Scoville. The friendly or
the frankly admiring looks of strangers, the hearty gratitude and
goodwill of the wounded, she could accept with as much pleasure as
any of her sex; but she had not yet recognized that type of man who
looks at a pretty woman and is disposed to make love to her at once.
"Why does Captain Maynard stare at me so?" she asked herself, "when
I don't care a thistle for him and never will. Why should I care?
Why should he care? Does he think I'm silly and shallow enough to be
amused by this kind of thing when that brave old colonel is dying
across the hall?"

It was a relief to her to escape from him and Whately and to visit
even poor Waldo, dying also, as she believed. "Dr. Ackley," she
said, "you may trust me to give him his food now every two hours. I
won't break down again."

"You did not break down, Miss Baron. All my nurses have their hours
off. Why shouldn't you? I reckon," he added, smiling, "you'll have
to obey my orders like the rest. I will go with you again on this
visit."

To her the youth seemed ghastlier than ever, but the expression of
gladness in his eyes was unchanged.

"Miss Baron feels very remorseful that she has not been to see you
before," said Dr. Ackley, "but her labors yesterday were so many and
varied that she had to rest. She will do better by you to-day."

Waldo could only reach his hand feebly toward her in welcome. She
took the brown, shapely hand in both of hers and it made her sad to
feel how cold and limp it was. "But a few hours ago," she thought,
"it was striking blows with a heavy sabre."--"I have brought you
some strong, hot soup," she said gently, "and shall bring it every
two hours. You'll be very good and take it from me, won't you?"

He laughed as he nodded assent.

"When can I begin to read to him, doctor, to help him pass the
time?"

"Perhaps to-morrow if he does well, but never more than a few
minutes together until I permit. Slow and sure, Waldo, slow and sure
are my orders, and you are too good a soldier to disobey."

He shook his head mischievously and whispered "Insubordinate."

The doctor nodded portentously and said, "If you and Miss Baron
don't obey orders I'll put you both under arrest."

This seemed to amuse the young fellow immensely and he was about to
speak again, but the surgeon put his finger to his lips and
departed.

As she was feeding him with eyes full of gentle commiseration his
lips framed the words, "You can talk to me."

She scarcely knew how to do this. There were questions she was eager
to ask, for his strange, exuberant happiness under the circumstances
were hard to understand, even after Dr. Ackley's explanation. She
had never seen religion produce any such results. Uncle Lusthah
seemed to her very sincere and greatly sustained in his faith, but
he had always been to her a sorrowful, plaintive figure, mourning
for lost kindred whom slavery had scattered. Like the ancient
prophets also, his heart was ever burdened by the waywardness of the
people whom he exhorted and warned. In young Waldo appeared a
joyousness which nothing could quench. From the moment she obtained
a clew to his unexpected behavior, everything in his manner accorded
with the surgeon's explanation. In his boyish face and expression
there was not a trace of the fanatical or abnormal. He seemed to
think of Heaven as he did of his own home, and the thought of going
to the one inspired much the same feeling as returning to the other.

"Well," said Miss Lou, after a little hesitancy, "it is a pleasure
to wait on one who is so brave and cheerful. It makes me feel
ashamed of worrying over my troubles."

He motioned her to get something under his pillow and she drew out a
small Testament. With the ease of perfect familiarity he turned the
leaves and pointed to the words, "Come unto me, all ye that labor
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." He looked up at her,
smiled brightly, and shook his head when he saw tears in her eyes.
Again he turned the leaves and pointed to other words, "Beloved,
think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you,
as though some strange thing happened unto you: but rejoice,
inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that, when his
glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy."
His expression was wonderfully significant in its content, for it
was that of one who had explained and accounted for everything.

"Oh," she faltered, "I wish I felt as you do, believed as you do. I
hope you will get strong soon. I would like to tell you some things
which trouble me very much, and there is no one I can tell."

"By and by," he whispered. "Don't worry. All right."

"Oh, what does this mean?" she thought as she returned to the house.
"Awfully wounded, suffering, dying perhaps, yet 'glad with an
exceeding joy'! Uncle and aunt haven't any idea of such a religion,
and for some reason Dr. Williams never gave me any such idea of it
at church. Why didn't he? Was it my fault? What he said seemed just
words that made little or no impression. Since he tried to marry me
to Cousin Mad I feel as if I could scarcely bear the sight of him."

Yet he was the first one to greet her on the veranda. He spoke with
formal kindness, but she responded merely by a grave salutation, and
passed on, for she felt that he should have understood and protected
her in the most terrible emergency of her young life.

Having looked after the safety of his family, he had returned with
the best and sincerest intentions to minister to the wounded. If the
good he would do corresponded with these intentions he would have
been welcomed in most instances; but he possessed that unfortunate
temperament which is only one remove for the better from a cold
indifference to his sacred duties. He did not possess a particle of
that mysterious, yet in his calling priceless, gift termed magnetism
for the lack of a better definition. All respected him, few warmed
toward him or thought of opening to him their hearts. His mind was
literal, and within it the doctrines were like labelled and separate
packages, from which he took from time to time what he wanted as he
would supplies from a store-room. God was to him a Sovereign and a
Judge who would save a few of the human race in exact accordance
with the creed of the Church in which the good man had been trained.
What would happen to those without its pale was one of those solemn
mysteries with which he had naught to do. Conscientious in his idea
of duty to the last degree, he nevertheless might easily irritate
and repel many minds by a rigid presentation of the only formula of
faith which he deemed safe and adequate. It seemed his chief aim to
have every form and ceremony of his Church complied with, and then
his responsibility ceased. He and Mr. Baron had taken solid comfort
in each other, both agreeing on every point of doctrine and
politics. Both men honestly felt that if the world could be brought
to accept their view of life and duty little would be left to be
desired. When summoned to perform the marriage ceremony Dr. Williams
no more comprehended the desperate opposition of Miss Lou to the
will of her guardian, the shrinking, instinctive protest of her
woman's nature, than he did the hostility of so many in the world to
the tenets of his faith. His inability to understand the feelings,
the mental attitude of others who did not unquestioningly accept his
views and approve the action of the "powers that be" was perhaps the
chief obstacle to his usefulness. He was not in the least degree
intolerant or vindictive toward those who opposed him; his feeling
rather was, "This is your opportunity. I gladly afford it and there
my responsibility ceases"--a comfortable sort of belief to many, but
one that would not satisfy a warm, earnest nature like Paul's, who
said, "To the weak I became as weak, that I might gain the weak: I
am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some."
Paul would have found some way to reach the ear and heart of nearly
every wounded man in the extemporized hospital, but for the reasons
suggested the visits of poor Dr. Williams soon began to be very
generally dreaded. Old Uncle Lusthah had far better success with
those who would listen to him.

Miss Lou soon found her way to the Federal wounded again. While
agreeably to her wishes there was no formality in her reception, it
was evident that the poor fellows had now learned to regard her with
deep affection.

"I have told them all," said Dr. Borden who received her, "that you
did as Yarry wished, that you took a good rest and were looking this
morning as you should, and it has pleased them greatly. Phillips
died last night, and has been removed. He hadn't any chance and did
not suffer much. Remembering your wishes, we kept Yarry here. He
lies there as if he were dozing after his pipe, as he wished you to
think."

The girl stepped to the side of the dead soldier and for a moment or
two looked silently into the still, peaceful face. Quietly and
reverently the surgeon and others took off their hats and waited
till she should speak. "Oh," she breathed softly at last, "how
thoughtful and considerate you have been! You have made this brave,
unselfish man look just as if he were quietly sleeping in his
uniform. There is nothing terrible or painful in his aspect as he
lies there on his side. Poor generous-hearted fellow! I believe he
is at rest, as now he seems to be. I want you all to know," she
added, looking round, "that he shall be buried where I can often
visit his grave and keep it from neglect, for I can never forget the
kindness that he--that you all have shown me. Dr. Borden, I will now
show Uncle Lusthah the place where I wish the grave to be, and when
all is ready I will come and follow poor Yarry to it. Do you think
there ought to be a minister? There is one here now--Dr. Williams,
who has a church near the Court House."

"Just as you wish, Miss Baron. For one, I think a prayer from Uncle
Lusthah, as you call him, would do just as well and be more in
accordance with Yarry's feelings if he could express them. The old
negro has been in and out nearly all night, waiting on the men, and
has won their goodwill. He certainly is a good old soul."

"I agree with the doctor," added Captain Hanfield. "Were it my case
I'd ask nothing better than a prayer from Uncle Lusthah over my
grave, for he has acted like a good, patient old saint among us."

A murmur of approval from the others followed these words, and so it
was arranged. Uncle Lusthah was soon found, and he followed the girl
to the shadow of a great pine by the run and adjacent to the grassy
plot with which the girl would ever associate Allan Scoville. It was
there that she had looked into his eyes and discovered what her own
heart was now teaching her to understand.

Aun' Jinkey followed them from her cabin and asked, "Wat you gwine
ter do yere, honey?"

"Bury here a Northern soldier who has done me a very great honor."

"Oh, Miss Lou, I des feared ter hab 'im so neah de cabin."

"Hush!" said the girl, almost sternly. "Uncle Lusthah, you ought to
teach mammy better than that."

"Ah, youn' mistis, hit's bred in de bone. I des mourns ober my
people, 'fusin' ter be comf'ted. Yere Aun' Jinkey, gittin' gray lak
me. She a 'fessor ob religion, ye de word 'spook' set her all a
tremble. Ef dey is spooks, Aun' Jinkey, w'at dat ter you? Dere's
tunder en lightnin' en yearthquakes en wurin' iliments en all kin'
ob miseries ob de body. Who gwine ter keep all dem fum yo' cabin?
Reck'n you betteah trus' de Lawd 'bout spooks too."

"You don't believe in any such foolishness, Uncle Lusthah?"

"Well, young mistis, I gettin 'po'ful ole en I al'ays yeared on
spooks sence I kin reckermember. I neber seed one fer sho, but I'se
had strange 'sper'ences o' nights, en dar's dem w'at sez dey has
seen de sperets ob de 'parted. I dunno. Dere's sump'n in folk's
buzzums dat takes on quar sometimes, ez ef we libin' mighty close
onter a worl' we kyant mos' al'ays see. Dat ar doan trouble me
nohow, en Aun' Jinkey orter know bettah. Ef de Lawd 'mits spooks,
dat He business. He 'mits lots ob tings we kyant see troo. Look at
dese yere old han's, young mistis. Dey's wuked nigh on eighty yeah,
yit dey neber wuked fer mysef, dey neber wuked fer wife en chil'n.
Dat mo' quar dan spooks."

"I don't know but you are right," said the girl thoughtfully. "I
didn't know you felt so about being free. Aun' Jinkey never seemed
to trouble much about it."

"I'se 'feared Aun' Jinkey tink a heap on de leeks en inions ob
Egypt."

"Dar now, Uncle Lusthah, you po'ful good man, but you owns up you
doan know nufin' 'bout spooks, en I knows you doan know nufin' 'bout
freedom."

"Yes I does," replied Uncle Lusthah. "Ef de day come w'en I kin
stan' up en say fer sho, 'I own mysef, en God ony my Mars'r,' I kin
starbe ef dat He will. En dat' minds me, young mistis. IS we free?
Perkins growlin' roun' agin dis mawnin', en say we he'p 'bout de
horspital ter-day, but we all go ter wuk ter-morrer. I 'lowed he
orter talk ter us 'bout wages en he des larf en cuss me. Wat's gwine
ter be de end? Marse Scoville en de big Linkum gin'ral say we free,
en Perkins larf 'temptuous like. We des all a-lookin' ter you, young
mistis."

"Oh, uncle! what can I do?"

"Shame on you, Uncle Lusthah, fer pilin' up sech a heap ob 'plexity
on my honey," cried Aun' Jinkey, who was as practical as she was
superstitious. "I kin tell you w'at ter do. I doan projeck en smoke
in my chimbly-corner fer not'n. W'at kin you do but do ez you tole
twel Marse Scoville en de Linkum gin'ral come agin? S'pose you say
you woan wuk en woan 'bey, how you hole out agin Perkins en Mad
Whately? Dey'd tar you all ter pieces. Dey say dis wah fer freedom.
Whar yo' patience twel de wah'll end? De Yanks mus' do mo' dan say
we free; dey mus' keep us free. Dar Aun' Suke. She say she free one
minit en a slabe nex' minute twel her haid mos' whirl off her
shol'ers. Now she say, 'I doan know 'bout dis freedom business; I
does know how ter cook en I'se gwinter cook twel dey gets troo a
whirlin' back en forth.' You says I mus' trus' de Lawd 'bout spooks,
Uncle Lusthah. W'y kyant you trus' de Lawd 'bout freedom?"

The old man shook his head sorrowfully, for Aun' Suke and Aun'
Jinkey's philosophy didn't satisfy him. "I'se willin' ter do my
shar," he said musingly, "de Lawd knows I be. Ef I cud die lak po'
Marse Yarry en de oders fer freedom I'se willin' ter die."

"Now, Uncle Lusthah, your strong feeling and not your good sense
speaks," said Miss Lou, who had been thinking earnestly, meanwhile
recalling Scoville's prediction that the negroes might come to her
for help and counsel. "Aun' Jinkey is certainly right in this case,
and you must tell all our people from me that their only safe course
now is to obey all orders and bide their time. Perkins' authority
would be sustained by all the soldiers on the place and anything
like disobedience would be punished severely. If what Lieutenant
Scoville and the Northern general said is true you will soon be free
without useless risks on your part. If that time comes I want you
and mammy to stay with me. You shall be as free as I am and I'll
give you wages."

"Dar now, young mistis, ef I know I free I bress de Lawd fer de
charnce ter gib my wuk ter you. Dere's a po'ful dif'unce 'twix'
bein' took en kep en des gibin' yosef out ob yo' own heart. Slav'y
couldn't keep me fum gibin' mysef ter de Lawd en I been He free man
many a long yeah, en I be yo' free man, too, fer lub."

"Look yere, now, honey," added Aun' Jinkey, wiping her eyes with her
apron, "you kin bury sogers all 'bout de cabin ef you wanter. Uncle
Lusthah kyant do mo' fer you, honey, ner me, tookin resks ob spooks.
Des bury dem sogers, ef you wanter, right un'er my win'er."

CHAPTER XXVIII

TRUTH IF THE HEAVENS FALL

It was quite natural that the thoughts of Perkins and Mr. Baron
should turn toward the growing crops, neglected by reason of events
unprecedented in their experience. The announcement to the slaves,
first by Scoville and later confirmed by General Marston, of
freedom, had staggered both employer and overseer, but every hour
since the departure of the raiding Union column had been reassuring.

It is not within the province of this story to follow the fortunes
of that force, since it is our modest purpose merely to dwell on
those events closely related to the experiences of the Southern girl
who has won our attention. She had suddenly become secondary in her
uncle's thoughts. A phase of the war, like a sudden destructive
storm, had been witnessed; like a storm, he hoped that it and its
effects would pass away. The South was far from being subdued; the
issue of the conflict unknown. He was the last man in the
Confederacy to foresee and accept new conditions, especially when he
still believed the Southern cause would triumph.

As the confusion of his mind, after the battle, passed he began to
look around and consider what should be done, what could be saved
out of what at first appeared a wreck. When Dr. Ackley assured him
that the house and plantation would be rapidly abandoned as a
hospital, hope and courage revived, while to these was added the
spur of necessity.

He knew that he must "make his crops," or his fortunes would be
desperate. Remembering the value of timely labor in the spring
season, he was eager on this second day after the battle to put his
slaves to work again at their interrupted avocations. Accordingly he
held a consultation with his nephew and Dr. Ackley.

"The hands are becoming demoralized," he said, "by unaccustomed
duties and partial idleness. Some are sullen and others distracted
by all kinds of absurd expectations. Uncle Lusthah, the leader and
preacher among them, even had the impudence to ask Perkins about
wages. The Yankee officers, when here, told them they were free, and
they wish to act as if they were. The sooner that notion is taken
out of their heads the better. This can be done now while my nephew
is here to enforce authority, better than when we are alone again.
It seems to me that a certain number could be detailed for regular
hospital duty and the rest put to work as usual."

"I agree with you, certainly," replied Surgeon Ackley. "Give me a
dozen men and half a dozen women to wash and cook, and I can get
along. Lieutenant Whately, you, at your uncle's suggestion, can make
the detail and enforce discipline among the rest."

"I was going to speak to you about this very matter, uncle," said
Whately. "My overseer has been over and I find the black imps on our
place are in much the same condition as yours, a few venturing to
talk about wages or shares in the crop and all that nonsense. I sent
him back with half a dozen men, armed to the teeth, and told him to
put the hands at work as usual. Mother is going to ride over and
spend part of the day. I don't wish her to be there alone just yet,
and I shall gallop over in time to be on hand when she arrives.
Things are getting settled, my arm is not so painful, and it is time
we pulled ourselves and everything together. You struck the right
note when you said, 'Now is the time to enforce authority.' It must
be done sharply too, and these people taught the difference between
the Yanks' incendiary talk and our rights and positive commands.
From what Perkins says, this old Uncle Lusthah is a fire-brand among
your people. Give your overseer his orders and I'll see that he
carries them out."

Perkins was summoned, acquainted with the policy--just to his mind--
resolved upon, told to pick out the detail for hospital duty and to
have the rest ready for work after an early dinner.

"Go right straight ahead, Perkins," added Whately, "and let me know
if one of these Yankee-made freemen so much as growls."

Dr. Borden was not the kind of man to take upon himself undue
responsibility. He had therefore mentioned to Surgeon Ackley Miss
Baron's wish to give Yarry a special burial by the run and that she
expected to be present.

Ackley good-naturedly acquiesced, saying, "I suppose there can be no
objection to burying the man in a place of Miss Baron's selection,
instead of the one designated by Mr. Baron. It's but a small
concession to her who is so kindly bent on making herself useful.
Let her have her own way in the whole affair."

The spirit of Yarry's turbulent career seemed destined to break out
afresh over his final disposition. Uncle Lusthah went to the
quarters in order to obtain the aid of two or three stout hands in
digging the grave. It so happened that his visit took place during
the adoption of Mr. Baron's policy in dealing with his property and
just before Perkins received his instructions. The negroes not
engaged in labor relating to the hospital gathered around Uncle
Lusthah in the hope of receiving some advice from Miss Lou.
Mournfully the old man told them what she and Aun' Jinkey had said,
adding, "I doan see no oder way fer us des at dis time ob our
triberlation. Ole Pharo sut'ny got he grip on us agin, he sut'ny hab
fer a spell. But brudren en sistas, hit ony lak a cloud comin'
'cross de risin' sun. Let us des wait pashently de times en seasons
ob de Lawd who alone kin brung de true 'liverance."

When he saw the deep, angry spirit of protest he threw up his hands,
crying, "Wat de use? I warn you; I 'treat you, be keerful. Wat could
us do wid our bar han's agin armed men? I tells you we mus' wait or
die lak Moses 'fo' we enter de promis lan'." Then he told them about
Yarry and asked for two or three to volunteer to dig the grave.

A score stepped forward and nearly all expressed their purpose to
attend the funeral. The old man persuaded all but three to remain
near the quarters at present, saying, "So many gwine wid me mout mek
trouble, fer Perkins look ugly dis mawnin'."

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