Books: Miss Lou

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

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"Truly, Miss Baron," said the clergyman, rising and approaching,
"you cannot hesitate in circumstances like these."

Miss Lou felt her tongue clinging to the roof of her mouth, and
could only say in a hoarse whisper, "But I do not love my cousin--I
do not wish to marry."

"That may be your feeling at this moment. Indeed, circumstances are
not conducive to gentle amatory feelings, and all may seem sudden
and hasty to you, but you must consider that your relatives in this
emergency--indeed that all your neighbors--are doing many things and
taking many precautions that would not be thought of in a time of
security. I have already sent my own family further South, and now
in your case and Mrs. Whately's I feel that time is pressing. Will
you please rise and take your cousin by the hand?"

She shook her head and remained motionless. Whately advanced
decisively, took her hand, and sought gently to draw her into
position before the clergyman. His touch broke the spell, the
paralysis of dread, and she burst out, "No, no, you cannot marry me
when my whole soul protests. I will not be married!"

"Louise, I command you," began Mr. Baron excitedly.

"It makes no difference. I will not! I will not!" was the passionate
and almost despairing response.

"Oh, come, cousin, you are just excited, frightened, and off your
balance," said Whately soothingly.

"My dear Miss Baron," added the clergyman, "let me reassure you. It
is evident that you are a little nervous and hysterical. Pray be
calm and trust your relatives to do what is best for you. I do not
wonder that your nerves have given way and that--"

"My nerves have not given way. Unfriended child that I am, I must
not lose self-control. God grant that my WILL does not give way."

"Unfriended!" exclaimed Mrs. Whately reproachfully. "Few girls in
these times have so many to care and think for them. We are all bent
on securing your welfare at every cost."

"Yes, at every cost to me."

"Dr. Williams sees the wisdom and reasonableness of our course. My
son is even straining his sense of military duty to escort us to a
place of safety, where you will still be among relatives."

"Then let him escort me as his cousin, not his wife," cried the
girl.

"But, Miss Baron, in the turmoil and confusion which may ensue you
will be far safer as his wife," Dr. Williams urged. "I would have
been glad if I could have given my daughter like protection. Truly,
it is not wise to be swayed by mere nervous excitement at such a
time."

"Oh, even you, from whom I hoped so much, are against me!"

"No, my dear child," replied the minister, earnestly and sincerely,
"I am for you always, but I cannot help seeing, with your relatives,
that at present you are not in the quiet state of mind which would
enable you to act wisely for yourself. What earthly motive could I
have except your safety, welfare and happiness?"

"Well, then," said the girl, with a swift glance around and as if
turning into stone, "do your worst. I will never give my consent,
NEVER!"

They looked at each other perplexedly and inquiringly, as if to ask
what should be done, when Perkins burst in at the back door of the
hallway shouting, "The Yanks!"

The girl sank into a chair and covered her burning face for an
instant. Deep in her soul she divined who her rescuer was, yet in
the midst of her hope she felt a certain consciousness of guilt and
fear. Mr. Baron, Dr. Williams, and the ladies, half-paralyzed, yet
drawn by a dreadful fascination, approached the open windows. Mad
Whately now played a better part. He was in full uniform and his
horse stood saddled without. He went to it, mounted with almost the
swiftness of light, and was just in time to see the Federals sweep
around the drive which led to the stables. Scoville had brought his
little force by the familiar way of Aun' Jinkey's cabin. Furious at
being forestalled, and in obedience to a headlong courage which none
disputed, Whately's sabre flashed instantly in the rays of the
sinking sun, and his command, "Charge!" rang clear, without a
second's hesitancy.

The order echoed in the girl's heart and she felt that she had too
much at stake not to witness the conflict. Her own high spirit also
prompted the act, and in a moment she was out on the veranda. She
saw her cousin spur directly toward the leader of the Federals, in
whom she recognized the Union scout. His men came galloping after
him, but seemed more inclined to envelop and surround the
Confederates than to engage in hand-to-hand conflicts. The latter
were experienced veterans and quickly recognized that they were
being overpowered and that there was no use in throwing away their
lives. Hasty shots were fired, a few sabres clashed, but the demand,
"Surrender!" heard on all sides, was so well enforced by the aspect
of the situation that compliance soon began. Scoville and Whately,
with those immediately about them, maintained the conflict. The two
young officers were evenly matched as swordsmen, although the
Federal was the larger, stronger, and cooler man. As a result, their
duel was quickly terminated by the loss of Whately's sabre, wrenched
from his hand. Then the point of his foe's weapon threatened his
throat, and the word "Surrender!" was thundered in his ears.

Instead of complying, he fell from his horse as if shot, lay still
an instant, and then in the confusion of the melee glided through an
adjacent basement door and disappeared. Seeing him fall, his mother
uttered a wild shriek and gave way to almost hysterical grief. A
backward glance revealed to Whately that the fight was lost, or
rather that it had been hopeless from the first, and his one thought
now was to escape and lead back a larger force for the purposes of
both rescue and vengeance. Gaining a rear door, a bound took him to
some shrubbery. A second later he was behind the kitchen. Aun' Suke
saw him, threw up her hands, and uttered an inarticulate cry. A
moment or two more and he was in the stable, leading out a horse.
All attention was now so concentrated in front of the mansion that
he was not observed. He took only time to slip on a bridle, then
springing on the animal's bare back, he struck into a field behind a
clump of trees. Putting the horse to a run, he was soon beyond
successful pursuit. Some of his own men had seen him fall before
they were driven back, and believed that he was either wounded or
dead; thronging Federals, unaware of the circumstances, occupied the
ground, and only Miss Lou, with an immense burden lifted from her
heart, saw his ruse and flight. She wished him well sincerely if he
would only leave her to herself. Hastening to Mrs. Whately she
speedily restored the lady with assurances of her son's escape, then
with her joined the group on the veranda. Mr. Baron, in the crisis
of his affairs and as the head of the family, maintained a dignity
and composure which of late had been lacking.

Scoville paid no heed to them until every vestige of resistance had
ceased and the Confederates were disarmed and collected as
prisoners. Then sitting on his horse in front of the piazza steps he
rapidly gave his orders. His first act was to send a vedette down
the avenue toward the main road; then he selected five men, saying,
"Take charge of the stables, barn, and out-buildings. Keep them as
they are and permit no one to approach without my written orders."

At this moment the field-hands, who had been surging nearer and
nearer, sent forward a sort of improvised deputation. They
approached bowing, with hats in hand and wistful looks in their
eyes. Were these in truth the messengers of freedom of whom they had
heard so much? Mr. Baron almost gnashed his teeth as he witnessed
this action on the part of his property.

"Mars'r," said the spokesman, "I reck'n you got good news for we
uns."

"Yes, good news. You are all free." His words rang out so that they
were heard by every one. Shouts and cries of exultation followed
like an echo, and ragged hats were tossed high in joy.

The young soldier raised his hand with a warning and repressive
gesture. In the silence that ensued he added, "My men here are both
free and white, yet they must obey orders. So must you. Go back to
your quarters and prove yourselves worthy of freedom by quiet
behavior and honesty. If I find any one, black or white, acting the
part of a thief while I am in charge it will go hard with him. The
general will be here to-morrow and he will advise you further."

His words found immediate acceptance, the negroes returning to the
quarters, laughing and chatting joyously, not a few wiping tears of
deep emotion from their eyes. The long-expected day had come. They
little knew what the future had in store for them, but this was the
beginning of a new era and the fulfilment of a great hope.

Scoville now dismounted and gave the reins to Chunk, who stood near
with a droll assumption of soldier-like stiffness and oblivion to
all the well-known faces. Mounting the steps, cap in hand, the young
officer approached Mr. Baron, who was becoming a little assured that
the orders thus far heard had not included a general application of
the torch.

"Mr. Baron, I presume?" said Scoville.

"Yes, sir," was the stiff reply.

"The ladies of your household, I suppose?"

"They are."

Scoville bowed ceremoniously to each, giving Miss Lou no other sign
of recognition than a humorous twinkle in his eye. "Ladies," he
began, "since it is the fortune of war that I must have command here
for a brief time, I hasten to assure you that we shall give as
little annoyance as possible. A few men on both sides were wounded,
and I fear that the officer commanding your men was killed. At least
I saw him fall. The night is warm and still and I can make a
hospital here on the piazza with a little aid from you. Please
dismiss all further fears. Unless we are attacked, the night shall
pass quietly. Each and every one will be treated with respect and
courtesy. I must request of you, however, sir," addressing Mr.
Baron, "food for myself and men and forage for our horses."

"I suppose you will take them anyway," growled the unwilling host.

"Certainly," replied Scoville, giving him a steady look. "Do you
expect us to go hungry? I shall do my duty as a soldier and an
officer, as well as deport myself as a gentleman."

There was nothing left but for Mr. Baron to give his directions to
Perkins, or for the ladies to make preparations for the improvised
hospital. Miss Lou gratefully recognized that Scoville did not
intend to compromise her in the least nor reveal his previous
acquaintance unless it should become known through no fault of his.
She lingered a moment as Dr. Williams stepped forward and asked,
"May I be permitted to return to my home?"

"I trust so, certainly, sir, but my duty requires brief explanation
on your part and pledges that you will take no hostile action. We
are not among friends, you know."

"I can very readily account for myself, sir," was the stiff
response. "I was summoned here to perform a wedding ceremony which
your most inopportune arrival prevented. I am a man of peace, not of
war, yet I cannot and will not give any pledges."

"It is scarcely fair then, sir, for you to take refuge in your
calling, but I will waive that point. I must warn you, however, that
we can give protection to those only who do not seek to harm us. You
are at liberty. Good-evening, sir."

He had extracted from the clergyman the fact that he had arrived in
time, and he again gave the girl in the doorway a mirthful glance,
then turned on his heel to attend to his military duties.

Miss Lou hastened to her room with hot cheeks.

CHAPTER XIII

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS

Scoville soon learned that his opponent, so far from being killed or
even wounded, had escaped. He was not much worried by this fact,
believing that before the Confederate officer could reach his
friends and bring back an attacking force, the Federal column would
be on the ground. Indeed, he was glad that the family upon which he
had quartered himself could not associate him with so terrible a
calamity. The young girl might not wish to marry her cousin, yet be
sorry if he were fatally or even seriously wounded, while the rest
of the household would be plunged in the deepest distress. Although
a resolute soldier, Scoville was a kind-hearted fellow, and disposed
to take the most genial views of life that circumstances permitted.
There was a humor about his present situation which he relished
exceedingly. He was buoyant over the interrupted wedding, and bent
upon disappointing Mr. Baron in all his grewsome expectations in
regard to the Yankees. There should be discipline, order, quiet, and
an utter absence of all high-tragedy. He cautioned his men against
the slightest tendency to excess, even forbidding the chaffing of
the negroes and noisiness. A steer, a pig, and some fowls were
killed for supper, and the wood for cooking it was taken from an
ample pile in the rear of the house. Happily, none were seriously
wounded, and being veterans were able to do much for one another,
while an elderly man in the troop who had some rude surgical
experience, supplemented their efforts. Miss Lou speedily joined her
aunts in rummaging for old linen for bandages, and the performance
of human duty by the elderly ladies dulled the edge of the terrible
truth that they were in the hands of the Yankees. True, they had to
admit to themselves that the young soldier did not appear like a
"ruthless monster" and that his conduct thus far had been almost
ceremoniously polite; yet all this might be but a blind on the part
of a cunning and unscrupulous foe.

When they came down to the veranda with the materials required, the
unscrupulous foe met them, cap in hand, thanked them courteously,
and gave his entire attention to the wounded, treating the men of
both sides alike. Mrs. Whately, in glad reaction from overwhelming
fear concerning her son's safety, offered her services in behalf of
the few wounded Confederates and they were readily accepted. Before
she was aware of it she found herself conferring with the young
officer and the surgical trooper in regard to the best treatment of
the injuries. Having long been mistress of a plantation and
accustomed to act promptly when any of her slaves were hurt, she now
proved a valuable auxiliary. When the soldiers with whom she
sympathized were attended to, her kindness of heart led her on to
the Federals, who thanked her as gratefully as if they were not
depraved Yankees.

Mr. and Mrs. Baron had retired to the parlor, where they sat in
state, awaiting in gloomy fortitude the darker developments of what
they deemed the supreme tragedy of their lives. Miss Lou was
flitting in and out, getting lint and other articles required by
Mrs. Whately. She found it no easy matter to maintain the solemnity
of aspect which her guardians thought appropriate to the occasion,
but was assisted in this effort by her genuine pity for the wounded.
In her joyous relief at escape from a hated union her heart was
light indeed. She had, moreover, no slight sense of humor, and was
just bubbling over with mirth at the fact that although the Yankee
monsters, from whom it was said she must be rescued at every cost,
were masters of the situation, they were engaged in nothing more
ruthless than feeding their horses, preparing supper, and caring for
the wounded. The most delicious thing of all was that one of the
chief prophets of evil, her Aunt Whately, was aiding in the last-
named task. Her exultation was increased when she brought the last
article required and Scoville said with his genial smile, so well
remembered, "I think I can assure you now, Miss Baron, that all will
do very well. We are deeply indebted to this lady (bowing to Mrs.
Whately) whose services have been as skilful as humane."

Now one of the things on which Mrs. Whately most prided herself was
the generally accepted belief that she was as good as a country
physician in an emergency, and she could not refrain from a slight
and gracious acknowledgment of Scoville's words. As they drew near
to the door she said hesitatingly, "Perhaps, sir, I should make an
acknowledgment of deep indebtedness to you. I saw your sabre raised
and pointed at my son's throat. Could you not have killed him had
you so wished?"

"Ah! this is Mrs. Whately. Believe me, madam, we are not so
bloodthirsty as to wish to kill, or even to injure, except so far as
the necessities of war require. If you witnessed the brief conflict
you must have observed that my effort was to capture rather than to
destroy your son's force."

"We all could not help seeing that," cried Miss Lou eagerly.

"I could not help seeing also, Miss Baron, that you exposed yourself
to danger like a veteran, and I was anxious indeed lest a stray
bullet might harm you. It was well you were not armed or we might
have fared worse," and there was so much mirth in his dark eyes that
she turned away to hide her conscious blushes.

"Well, sir," resumed Mrs. Whately with emotion, "it is not easy to
bless our enemies in this cruel war of aggression, but I must
express my gratitude to one who stayed his hand when my son's life
was within his power."

"I trust, madam, he may live to care for you in your declining
years, and to become a good loyal citizen."

"He is loyal, sir," replied Mrs. Whately with gentle dignity, "to
the only authority he recognizes," and with a bow she retired.

Miss Lou lingered a moment and said earnestly, "I thank you. You are
very considerate."

His face so lighted up that it was almost boyish in its expression
of pleasure as he answered with the pride and confidence of one sure
of sympathy, "This is a jolly day for me. I was made an officer this
morning, and now, best of all, I am paying a little of my debt to
you."

She put her finger on her lips and shook her head, but the smile she
gave him over her shoulder was reassuring. He promptly started on a
round among his men again to see that the prisoners were properly
guarded, and that all was going as he wished.

"Louise," said Mrs. Baron, as the girl appeared in the parlor door,
"it would be far more decorous if you would remain here with your
uncle and myself."

Miss Lou took a seat in the darkest corner that she might be less
open to observation while she calmed the tumult of her feelings. So
much had happened that she must catch her breath and think what it
all meant. Mr. Baron began gloomily, "Well, the dreaded hour which I
hoped and prayed never to see has come. We are helpless and in the
hands of our enemies. Only God knows what an hour will bring forth--"

"He has brought deliverance," cried Mrs. Whately, entering. "I
questioned Aun' Suke, thinking that she might have seen Madison if
he left the house. She did see him safe and sound. She also saw him
get a horse and ride away."

"Ah, poor boy! how different was his departure from what he had
every reason to hope and expect!" replied Mr. Baron. "I should think
your heart would be remorseful, indeed, Louise, when you picture
your cousin flying from his kindred and home, alone and sad,
tortured meanwhile by thoughts of the fate which has overtaken us."

"I'm sure, uncle, we are all sitting quietly in the parlor. That
does not seem very dreadful."

"You little know, young woman, you little realize the cunning
depravity--"

"There now, brother," interposed Mrs. Whately, "we must not think
evil until we see more evidence of it, even in Yankees. I admit that
I am most wonderfully and agreeably disappointed. The young officer
in whose hands we are might have killed my son, but did not. I must
at least be just to such a man."

"And you know he has been polite to us all, and told us to dismiss
our fears," added Miss Lou demurely.

"It would almost seem, Louise, that you welcomed these invaders. I
am too old and well informed not to know that this suave manner he
affects is designed to lull us into a sense of false security."

At this moment a firm step was heard on the veranda, followed by a
rap from the brass knocker. They knew it was Scoville, and Mr. Baron
rose and advanced to the parlor entrance. He assumed the solemn
aspect of one who now must face the exactions and wrongs which he
had predicted, and his wife tremblingly followed, to perish at his
side if need be. But the invader barely stepped within the hall and
stood uncovered as he said politely, "Mr. Baron, I have now
practically made my dispositions for the night. There is no reason
why your domestic routine should not be resumed as usual. As I said
before, I pledge you my word you shall not be disturbed unless we
are attacked. Good-evening, sir. Good-evening, ladies," and he bowed
and withdrew, leaving the old gentleman speechless in the utter
reversal of all that he had declared would take place. No
plundering, no insults, no violence. On the contrary, even his
beloved routine might be resumed. He turned around to his wife and
sister almost gasping, "Is this some deep-laid plot?"

"It certainly must be," echoed his wife.

Miss Lou turned away quickly and stuffed her handkerchief in her
mouth to prevent laughing outright.

Her uncle caught her in the act and was instantly in a rage.

"Shame upon you!" he cried. "Enemies without and traitors within."

This charge touched the girl to the quick, and she replied with
almost equal anger, "I'm no traitor. Where has your loyalty to me
been to-day? Look at me, uncle, and fix the fact in your mind, once
for all, that I am neither a child nor an idiot. God has given me a
mind and a conscience as truly as to you, and I shall use them. This
Northern officer says we are safe. I believe it and you will know it
in the morning. Now I simply insist that you and aunt treat me with
the respect due to my years and station. I've endured too much to-
day to be patient under anything more. I meant no disrespect to you
in laughing, but I cannot help being glad that instead of all sorts
of horrible things happening we are treated with simple and even
delicate politeness."

"Yes, brother," added Mrs. Whately, "as far as this man is
concerned, you must revise your opinions. There is no deep-laid
plot--nothing but what is apparent. I must also urge upon you and
sister a change in your treatment of Louise. She will be far more
ready to fulfil our hopes when led by affection."

"Well, well, that I should live to see this day!" groaned Mr. Baron.
"My ward virtually says that she will do as she pleases. The slaves
have been told that they are free and so can do as they please.
Henceforth I suppose I am to speak to my niece with bated breath,
and be at the beck and call of every Sambo on the place."

"You are not 'weltering in your own blood,' uncle, and the 'roof is
not blazing over our heads,'" replied Miss Lou quietly. "You have
merely been told that you could have supper when it pleased you and
then sleep in peace and safety. Aunt, I will thank you for the key
of my trunk. I wish to put my things back in their places."

Mrs. Baron took it from her pocket without a word, and Miss Lou went
to her room.

True to her nature, Mrs. Whately began to pour oil on the lacerated
feelings of her brother and sister-in-law. "Louise is right," she
said. "Things are so much better than we expected--than they might
have been--that we should raise our hearts in thankfulness. Just
think! If this Northern officer is what you fear, why would he have
spared my son, whom he might have killed in fair battle? In his
conduct toward the wounded he showed a good, kindly spirit. I can't
deny it; and he has been as polite to us as one of our own officers
could have been. Think how different it all might have been--my
brave son desperately wounded or dead, and unscrupulous men sacking
the house! I need not refer to darker fears. I must say that I feel
like meeting courtesy with courtesy. Since this Yankee behaves like
a generous foe I would like to prove that Southern rebels and slave-
drivers, as we are called, can equal him in all the amenities of
life which the situation permits."

"Oh, sister!" cried Mrs. Baron, "even a cup of tea would choke me if
I drank it in his presence."

But Mr. Baron had lighted his pipe, and reason and Southern pride
were asserting themselves under its soothing influence. At last he
said, "Well, let us have supper anyway. It is already after the
hour."

"Supper has been ready this long time, as you know," replied his
wife, "only I never dreamed of such a guest as has been suggested."

"Of course, sister, I only said what I did as a suggestion," Mrs.
Whately answered with dignity. "You are in your own home. I merely
felt reluctant that this Yankee should have a chance to say that we
were so rude and uncivilized that we couldn't appreciate good
treatment when we received it. There's no harm in gaining his
goodwill, either, for he said that his general, with the main force,
would be here to-morrow."

"Mrs. Baron," said her husband in strong irritation, "don't you see
there is nothing left for us to do? No matter how things turn out,
the presence of these Yankees involves what is intensely
disagreeable. If sister is right in regard to this man--and I
suppose I must admit she is till I know him better--he has made it
necessary for our own self-respect to treat him with courtesy. Our
pride will not permit us to accept this from him and make no return.
It may be Yankee cunning which led him to foresee this, for I
suppose it is pleasing to many of the tribe to gain their ends by
finesse. Probably if this doesn't secure them, he will try harsher
methods. Anyway, as long as he plays at the game of courtesy, we, as
sister says, should teach him that we know what the word means. The
mischief is that you never can know just what a Yankee is scheming
for or aiming at."

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