Books: Miss Lou

E >> E. P. Roe >> Miss Lou

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"Too old, aunt? Do you at last recognize the fact that I am growing
older?"

With a faint expression of surprise dawning in her impassive face
Mrs. Baron continued: "Yes, old enough to remember yourself and not
to be compelled to recognize the duties of approaching womanhood. I
truly begin to feel that I must forbid these visits to an old,
ignorant and foolish creature whose ideas are totally at variance
with all that is proper and right."

"Uncle thinks I have approached womanhood sufficiently near to know
something of my business affairs, and even went so far as to suggest
his project of marrying me to my cousin in order to unite in sacred--
I mean legal bonds the two plantations."

The two old people looked at each other, then stared at their niece,
who, with hot face, maintained the pretence of eating her supper.
"Truly, Louise," began Mr. Baron, solemnly, "you are indulging in
strange and unbecoming language. I have revealed to you your
pecuniary affairs, and I have more than once suggested an alliance
which is in accordance with our wishes and your interests, in order
to prove to you how scrupulous we are in promoting your welfare. We
look for grateful recognition and a wise, persistent effort on your
part to further our efforts in your behalf."

"It doesn't seem to me wise to talk to a mere child about property
and marriage," said the girl, breathing quickly in the consciousness
of her temerity and her rising spirit of rebellion.

"You are ceasing to be a mere child," resumed her uncle, severely.

"That cannot be," Miss Lou interrupted. "You and aunt speak to me as
you did years ago when I was a child. Can you expect me to have a
woman's form and not a woman's mind? Are women told exactly what
they must think and do, like little children? Aunt threatens to
forbid visits to my old mammy. If I were but five years old she
couldn't do more. You speak of marrying me to my cousin as if I had
merely the form and appearance of a woman, and no mind or wishes of
my own. I have never said I wanted to marry him or any one."

"Why, Louise, you are verging toward flat rebellion," gasped her
uncle, laying down his knife and fork.

"Oh, no, uncle! I'm merely growing up. You should have kept the
library locked; you should never have had me taught to read, if you
expected me to become the mere shell of a woman, having no ideas of
my own."

"We wish you to have ideas, and have tried to inculcate right
ideas."

"Which means only your ideas, uncle."

"Louise, are you losing your mind?"

"No, uncle, I am beginning to find it, and that I have a right to
use it. I am willing to pay all due respect and deference to you and
to aunt, but I protest against being treated as a child on one hand
and as a wax figure which can be stood up and married to anybody on
the other. I have patiently borne this treatment as long as I can,
and I now reckon the time has come to end it."

Mr. Baron was thunderstruck and his wife was feeling for her
smelling-bottle. Catching a glimpse of Zany, where she stood open-
mouthed in her astonishment, her master said, sternly, "Leave the
room!" Then he added to his niece, "Think of your uttering such wild
talk before one of our people! Don't you know that my will must be
law on this plantation?"

"I'm not one of your people," responded the girl, haughtily. "I'm
your niece, and a Southern girl who will call no man master."

At this moment there was a knock at the door. Without waiting for it
to be opened, a tall, lank man entered and said, hastily, "Mr.
Baron, I reckon there's news which yer orter hear toreckly." He was
the overseer of the plantation.

CHAPTER III

MAD WHATELY

Mr. Baron was one of the few of the landed gentry in the region who
was not known by a military title, and he rather prided himself on
the fact. "I'm a man of peace," he was accustomed to say, and his
neighbors often remarked, "Yes, Baron is peaceable if he has his own
way in everything, but there's no young blood in the county more
ready for a fray than he for a lawsuit." "Law and order" was Mr.
Baron's motto, but by these terms he meant the perpetuity of the
conditions under which he and his ancestors had thus far lived. To
distrust these conditions was the crime of crimes. In his
estimation, therefore, a Northern soldier was a monster surpassed
only by the out-and-out abolitionist. While it had so happened that,
even as a young man, his tastes had been legal rather than military,
he regarded the war of secession as more sacred than any conflict of
the past, and was willing to make great sacrifices for its
maintenance. He had invested all his funds as well as those of his
niece in Confederate bonds, and he had annually contributed a large
portion of the product of his lands to the support of the army.
Living remote from the scenes of actual strife, he had been able to
maintain his illusions and hopes to a far greater extent than many
others of like mind with himself; but as the war drew toward its
close, even the few newspapers he read were compelled to justify
their name in some degree by giving very unpalatable information. As
none are so blind as those who will not see, the old man had testily
pooh-poohed at what he termed "temporary reverses," and his immunity
from disturbance had confirmed his belief that the old order of
things could not materially change. True, some of his slaves had
disappeared, but he had given one who had been caught such a lesson
that the rest had remained quiet if not contented.

The news brought by his overseer became therefore more disturbing
than the strange and preposterous conduct of his niece, and he had
demanded excitedly, "What on earth's the matter, Perkins?"

"Well, sir, fur's I kin mek out, this very plantation's been p'luted
by Yankee soldiers this very evenin'. Yes, sir."

"Great heavens! Perkins," and Mr. Baron sprang from his chair, then
sank back again with an expression suggesting that if the earth
opened next it could not be worse.

"Yes, sir," resumed Perkins, solemnly, "I drawed that much from
Jute. He seen 'em hisself. I noticed a s'pressed 'citement en talk
in the quarters this evenin', an' I follered hit right up an' I ast
roun' till I pinned Jute. He was over the fur side of the run
lookin' fur a stray crow, an' he seen 'em. But they was bein' chased
lively. Mad Whately--beg pardon--Mr. Madison was arter them with
whip and spur. Didn't yer hear a crack of a rifle? I did, and
reckoned it was one o' the Simcoe boys out gunnin', but Jute says
hit was one o' our men fired the shot, en that they chased the Yanks
to'erds the big woods. They was all mounted en goin' it lickity
switch. The thing that sticks in my crop isn't them few what Mr.
Madison chased, but the main body they belongs to. Looks as ef
there's goin' to be a raid down our way."

"If that is so," said Mr. Baron, majestically, "Lieutenant Whately
proves that our brave men are not far off, either, and the way he
chased some of them shows how all the vile invaders will eventually
be driven out of the country. Be vigilant, Perkins, and let it be
understood at the quarters that Lieutenant Whately is within call."

The overseer bowed awkwardly and limped away. His lameness had
secured him immunity from military duty.

"Ah, that's a man for you," said Mr. Baron, glaring at his niece.
"Your cousin is a true scion of Southern chivalry. That is the kind
of a man you do not know whether you wish to marry or not--a brave
defender of our hearths and liberties."

"If he wishes to marry me against my will, he's not a defender of my
liberty," retorted the girl.

"If you had the spirit which should be your birthright your eyes
would flash with joy at the prospect of seeing a hero who could thus
chase your enemies from our soil. If you could only have seen him in
his headlong--"

"I did see him."

"What!"

"I saw Cousin Madison leading a dozen or more men in pursuit of half
a dozen. That does not strike me as sublimely heroic."

"Why haven't you told me of this? How could you have seen him?" and
the old man, in his strong excitement, rose from his chair.

"My reception when I entered was not conducive to conversation. I
was merely sitting by the run and saw both parties gallop past."

"You should have come instantly to me."

"I'm sure I came in hastily," she replied, crimsoning in the
consciousness of her secret, "but I was met as if I had been guilty
of something awful."

"Well, if I had known," began her uncle, in some confusion,
mistaking her color for an expression of anger.

"I think," remarked her aunt, coldly, "that Louise should have
recognized that she had given you just cause for displeasure by her
tardiness, unless it were explained, and she should have explained
at once. I have no patience with the spirit she is displaying."

But Mr. Baron's mind had been diverted to more serious and alarming
considerations than what he characterized mentally as "a girl's
tantrum."

"It makes my blood boil," he said, "to think that this Northern scum
is actually in our neighborhood, and might be at our doors but for
my brave nephew. Thanks to him, they met a righteous reception on
this plantation; thanks to him, in all probability, we are not now
weltering in our blood, with the roof that shelters us blazing over
our heads. If those marauders had found us unprotected, young woman,
you would have rued the day. Their capacity for evil is only
equalled by their opportunities. If your cousin had not flamed after
them like an avenging sword you might have cried loudly enough for
the one of whom, in your fit of unseemly petulance, you can speak so
slightingly. I advise you to go to your room and thank Heaven for
your escape."

"Uncle, are the people of the North savages?"

"Its soldiers are worse than savages. Have you not heard me express
my opinion of them over and over again? Go to your room, and when
you appear again, I trust it will be with the meekness and
submission becoming in a young woman."

When the girl left Aun' Jinkey's cabin the young soldier looked
after her with an expression of deep interest. "Who is she?" he
asked.

"Dat's Miss Lou," said the old negress, forcing into his mouth
another spoonful of her fiery decoction.

"Oh, that's enough, aunty, unless you wish to burn me out like a
hollow log," and he struggled to his feet to ease his tendency to
strangle. "Miss Lou? How should I know who she is?"

"Ob co'se," said Aun' Jinkey, dryly, "I ain' namin' her pedigree."

"You a Linkum man, ain' you?" Chunk asked, quickly.

"Yes, and Lincoln is a good friend of yours."

"Hi! I knows dat. W'at fer you so hidin'-in-de-grass, granny? No use
bein' dat away wid a Linkum man."

"I ain' talkin' 'bout my young mistis to folks ez drap down fum de
clouds."

"You wouldn't like me better if I came up from below, aunty. There
now, I'm not a very bad fellow, and I belong to the army that's
going to make you all free."

"I hasn't des tink out dis question ob bein' free yit. I'se too ole
to wuk much an' old mars'r's took keer on me long time."

"Well, I'se tink it out," put in Chunk, decidedly; "en I'se able to
wuk fer you en me too."

"You mighty peart, Chunk, co'tin' a gal lie a bean-pole a'ready. I
reck'n she spen' all you eber mek. You bettah boos' de Linkum man
into dat ar lof sud'n, kase ef Marse Perkins cotch 'im yere we all
ain' feelin' berry good bimeby."

"Dat ar truer'n preachin'," admitted Chunk, with alacrity. "Des you
tek hol' ob dem ladder rouns, mars'r, an' put yo' foots on my
sho'lers. Dat's hit. Nobody tink ob fin'in' you yere. I'se study how
ter git yo' hoss out of sight 'gin mawnin'."

"You stand by me, Chunk," said the soldier, "and you won't be sorry.
There's a lot of us coming this way soon, and I can be a good friend
of yours and all your people if you help me out of this scrape."

"I'se gwine ter stan' by you, boss. I'se mek up my min' ter be free
dis time, sho! Hi! w'at dat?"

He was wonderfully agile, for his arms were nearly as long as his
legs. In an instant he descended, drawing a trap-door after him.
Then he sauntered to the door, which he opened wide. A troop of
horsemen were coming single file by a path which led near the cabin,
and the foremost asked in a voice which the negro recognized as that
of Lieutenant Whately, "Is that you, Chunk?"

"Dat's me, mars'r. My 'specs."

"Be off, you skeleton. Make time for the house and help get supper
for me and the men. If you don't run like a red deer, I'll ride you
down."

"Good Lawd! w'at gwine ter hap'n nex'?" groaned Chunk, as he
disappeared toward the mansion. He burst like a bombshell into the
kitchen, a small building in the rear of the house.

"Did you eber see de likes?" exclaimed Zany. "What yo' manners--"

"Hi, dar! talk 'bout manners! Marse Whately comin' wid a army, en
want supper fer um all in des one minute en er haf by de clock!"

Great, fat Aun' Suke threw up her hands in despair, and in the brief
silence the tramp of horses and the jingling of sabres were plainly
heard. They all knew Mad Whately, and it needed not that Mrs. Baron,
desperately flurried, should bustle in a few moments later with
orders that all hands should fly around. "What you doing here?" she
asked Chunk, sharply.

"I'se here ter hep, mistis. Dem's my orders from Marse Whately. He
come ridin' by granny's."

"Then go and kill chickens."

A few moments later the dolorous outcry of fowls was added to the
uproar made by the barking dogs.

With a chill of fear Miss Lou, in her chamber, recognized her
cousin's voice, and knew that he, with his band, had come to claim
hospitality at his uncle's hands. What complications did his
presence portend? Truly, the long months of monotony on the old
plantation were broken now. What the end would be she dared not
think, but for the moment her spirit exulted in the excitement which
would at least banish stagnation.

In his secret heart Mr. Baron had hoped that his nephew would go on
to his own home, a few miles further; for applauding him as a hero
was one thing, and having him turn everything upside down at that
hour another. Routine and order were scattered to the winds whenever
Mad Whately made his appearance, but the host's second thoughts led
him to remember that this visitation was infinitely to be preferred
to one from the terrible Yankees; so he threw wide open the door,
and, with his wife, greeted his nephew warmly. Then he shouted for
Perkins to come and look after the horses.

"Ah, mine uncle," cried Whately, "where on earth is to be found a
festive board like yours? Who so ready to fill the flowing bowl
until even the rim is lost to sight, when your defenders have a few
hours to spare in their hard campaigning? You won't entertain angels
unawares to-night. You'd have been like Daniel in the den with none
to stop the lions' mouths, or rather the jackals', had we not
appeared on the scene. The Yanks were bearing down for you like the
wolf on the fold. Where's my pretty cousin?"

Mr. Baron had opened his mouth to speak several times during this
characteristic greeting, and now he hastened to the foot of the
stairs and shouted, "Louise, come down and help your aunt entertain
our guests." Meanwhile Whately stepped to the sideboard and helped
himself liberally to the sherry.

"You know me must maintain discipline," resumed Whately, as his
uncle entered the dining-room. "The night is mild and still. Let a
long table be set on the piazza for my men. I can then pledge them
through the open window, for since I give them such hard service, I
must make amends when I can. Ah, Perkins, have your people rub the
horses till they are ready to prance, then feed them lightly, two
hours later a heavier feed, that's a good fellow! You were born
under a lucky star, uncle. You might now be tied up by your thumbs,
while the Yanks helped themselves."

"It surely was a kind Providence which brought you here, nephew."

"No doubt, no doubt; my good horse, also, and, I may add, the wish
to see my pretty cousin. Ah! here she comes with the blushes of the
morning on her cheeks," but his warmer than a cousinly embrace and
kiss left the crimson of anger in their places.

She drew herself up indignantly to her full height and said, "We
have been discussing the fact that I am quite grown up. I will thank
you to note the change, also."

"Why, so I do," he replied, regarding her with undisguised
admiration; "and old Father Time has touched you only to improve you
in every respect."

"Very well, then," she replied, coldly, "I cannot help the touch of
Father Time, but I wish it understood that I am no longer a child."

"Neither am I, sweet cousin, and I like you as a woman far better."

She left the room abruptly to assist her aunt.

"Jove! uncle, but she has grown to be a beauty. How these girls
blossom out when their time comes! Can it be that I have been absent
a year?"

"Yes, and your last visit was but a flying one."

"And so I fear this one must be. The Yanks are on the move, perhaps
in this direction, and so are we. It was one of their scouting
parties that we ran into. Their horses were fresher than ours and
they separated when once in the shadow of the woods. They won't be
slow, however, in leaving these parts, now they know we are here.
I'm going to take a little well-earned rest between my scoutings,
and make love to my cousin. Olympian humbugs! how handsome and
haughty she has become! I didn't think the little minx had so much
spirit."

"She has suddenly taken the notion that, since she is growing up,
she can snap her fingers at all the powers that be."

"Growing up! Why, uncle, she's grown, and ready to hear me say,
'With all my worldly goods I thee endow.'"

"But the trouble is, she doesn't act as if very ready."

"Oh, tush! she isn't ready to throw herself at the head of any one.
That isn't the way of Southern girls. They want a wooer like a
cyclone, who carries them by storm, marries them nolens volens, and
then they're happy. But to be serious, uncle, in these stormy times
Lou needs a protector. You've escaped for a long time, but no one
can tell now what a day will bring forth. As my wife, Cousin Lou
will command more respect. I can take her within our lines, if
necessary, or send her to a place of safety. Ah, here comes my
blooming aunt to prepare for supper."

"Welcome to The Oaks," she again repeated. "Never more welcome,
since you come as defender as well as guest."

"Yes, aunt; think of a red-whiskered Yank paying his respects
instead of me."

"Don't suggest such horrors, please."

The gentlemen now joined Miss Lou in the parlor, while under Mrs.
Baron's supervision Zany, and Chunk, as gardener and man-of-all-
work, with the aid of others soon set the two tables. Then began a
procession of negroes of all sizes bearing viands from the kitchen.

CHAPTER IV

AUN' JINKEY'S POLICY

Allan Scoville, for such was the Union soldier's name, fully
realized that he was in the enemy's country as he watched through a
cranny in the cabin the shadowy forms of the Confederates file past.
Every bone in his body ached as if it had been broken, and more than
once he moved his arms and legs to assure himself that they were
whole. "Breath was just knocked right out of me," he muttered. "I
hope that's the worst, for this place may soon become too hot for
me. My good horse is not only lost, but I may be lost also through
him. That queer-looking darky, Chunk, is my best hope now unless it
is Miss Lou. Droll, wasn't it, that I should take her for an angel?
What queer thoughts a fellow has when within half an inch of the
seamy side of life! Hanged if I deserve such an awakening as I
thought was blessing my eyes on the other side. From the way I ache,
the other side mayn't be far off yet. Like enough hours will pass
before Chunk comes back, and I must try to propitiate his grandam."

He crawled painfully to the trap-door and, finding a chink in the
boards, looked down into the apartment below. Aun' Jinkey was
smoking as composedly it might seem as if a terrible Yankee, never
seen before, was not over her head, and a band of Confederates who
would have made him a prisoner and punished her were only a few rods
away. A close observer, however, might have noticed that she was not
enjoying languid whiffs, as had been the case in the afternoon. The
old woman had put guile into her pipe as well as tobacco, and she
hoped its smoke would blind suspicious eyes if any were hunting for
a stray Yankee. Chunk's pone and bacon had been put near the fire to
keep warm, and Scoville looked at the viands longingly.

At last he ventured to whisper, "Aun' Jinkey, I am as hungry as a
wolf."

"Hesh!" said the old woman softly. Then she rose, knocked the ashes
from her pipe with great deliberation, and taking a bucket started
for the spring. In going and coming she looked very sharply in all
directions, thus satisfying herself that no one was watching the
cabin. Re-entering, she whispered, "Kin you lif de trap-do'?"

Scoville opened it, and was about to descend. "No, you kyant do
dat," interposed Aun' Jinkey, quickly. "Lie down up dar, en I han'
you Chunk's supper. He gits his'n at de big house. You's got ter
play possum right smart, mars'r, or you git cotched. Den we cotch
it, too. You 'speck I doan know de resk Chunk en me tookin?"

"Forgive me, Aunt Jinkey. But your troubles will soon be over and
you be as free as I am."

"I doesn't want no sech freedom ez you got, mars'r, hid'n en
scrugin' fum tarin' en rarin' red-hot gallopers ez Mad Whately en
his men. Dey'd des bun de ole cabin en me in't ef dey knowed you's
dar. Bettah stop yo' mouf wid yo' supper."

This Scoville was well contented to do for a time, while Aun' Jinkey
smoked and listened with all her ears. Faint sounds came from the
house and the negro quarters, but all was still about the cabin.
Suddenly she took her pipe from her mouth and muttered, "Dar goes a
squinch-owl tootin'. Dat doan mean no good."

"Aunt Jinkey," said Scoville, who was watching her, "that screech-
owl worries you, doesn't it?"

"Dere's mo' kin's ob squinch-owls dan you 'lows on, mars'r. Some
toots fer de sake ob tootin' en some toots in warnin'."

"That one tooted in warning. Don't be surprised if you hear another
very near." He crawled to the cranny under the eaves and Aun' Jinkey
fairly jumped out of her chair as she heard an owl apparently
hooting on the roof with a vigor and truth to nature that utterly
deceived her senses. Scoville repeated the signal, and then crept
back to the chink in the floor. The old woman was trembling and
looking round in dismayed uncertainty. "There," he said, with a low
laugh, "that squinch-owl was I, and the first you heard was one of
my men. Now, like a good soul, make pones and fry bacon for five
men, and you'll have friends who will take good care of you and
Chunk."

"De Lawd he'p me! w'at comin' nex'? Miss Lou wuz a wishin' sump'n ud
hap'n--w'at ain' gwinter hap'n?"

"Nothing will happen to harm you if you do as I say. Our men may
soon be marching this way, and we'll remember our friends when we
come."

"I des hope dere'll be sump'n lef ob me ter reckermember," said Aun'
Jinkey, but she rose to comply with the soldier's requirement,
feeling that her only course was to fall in with the wishes of
whoever happened to be uppermost in the troublous times now
foreseen. She was in a terribly divided state of mind. The questions
she had smoked and thought over so long now pressed with bewildering
rapidity and urgency. An old family slave, she had a strong feeling
of loyalty to her master and mistress. But they had been partially
alienating Miss Lou, for whom she would open her veins, while her
grandson was hot for freedom and looked upon Northern soldiers as
his deliverers. Aun' Jinkey was not sure she wished to be delivered.
That was one of the points she was not through "projeckin'" about.
Alas! events would not wait for her conclusions, although more time
had been given her than to many others forced to contemplate vast
changes. With a shrewd simplicity she decided that it would be wise
to keep on friendly terms with all the contending powers, and do
what in her judgment was best for each.

"Hit des took all de 'visions we got," she remarked, disconsolately.

"You'll soon have visions of more to eat and wear than ever blessed
your eyes," said Scoville, encouragingly.

"Hi! granny," said Chunk, peeping in at the door.

"How you start me!" ejaculated the old woman, sinking into her
chair.

"That you, Chunk?" asked Scoville. "Is the coast clear?"

"I reck'n. Keep shy yet a while, mars'r." A few words explained the
situation, and Chunk added: "You des feed dem Yankees big, granny.
I'se pervide mo'. I mus' go now sud'n. Made Aun' Suke b'lebe dat I
knowed ob chickens w'at roos' in trees, en dey tinks I'se lookin'
fer um. High ole times up ter de house," and he disappeared in the
darkness.

In nervous haste Aun' Jinkey prepared the ample supper. Scoville
hooted again, a shadowy form stole to the cabin for the food, and
disappeared again toward the run. Then Aun' Jinkey prepared to
compose her nerves by another smoke.

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