Books: Miss Lou
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E. P. Roe >> Miss Lou
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"Well, brother, supposing your words are true, as I do not think
they are in this instance, it is due to our dignity that we act like
sincere people who are above even suspecting unworthy motives. We do
not compromise ourselves in the matter. We only meet courtesy with
courtesy, like well-bred people."
"Well, so be it then. In fact, I would like to ask this man what he
and those he represents can hope to gain by invasion equalled only
by that of the Goths and Vandals."
CHAPTER XIV
A THREAT
The moment Chunk believed that Scoville could dispense with his
services for a time he made his way promptly to the back veranda and
gave a low, peculiar whistle which Zany recognized. He had ceased in
her estimation to be merely a subject for infinite jest. Though not
very advanced in the scale of civilization, she was influenced by
qualities which appealed to her mind, and possessed many traits
common to her sex. His shrewdness and courage were making good his
lack of inches. Above all, he was in favor with the "head Linkum
man," and Zany belonged to that class ever ready to greet the rising
sun. While all this was true, she could not be herself and abandon
her coquettish impulses and disposition to tease. She came slowly
from the dining-room and looked over Chunk's head as if she could
not see him. Bent on retaliation, he stepped behind her, lifted her
in his powerful arms and carried her on a full run to some screening
shrubbery, the irate captive cuffing his ear soundly all the way.
Setting her down, he remarked quietly, "Now I reckon you kin fin'
me."
"Yo' wool git gray 'fo' you fin' me agin," she replied, making a
feint of starting for the house.
"Berry well, Miss Zany. I see you doan want ter be a free gyurl.
I'se tell Marse Scoville you no 'count niggah."
"W'at you want anyhow, imperdence?"
"I wants sup'n ter eat. Does you 'spects I kin ride all night en all
day ter brung you freedom, en den not eben git a good word? You ain'
fit fer freedom. I'se tell some nachel-bawn fool ter gib you a
yaller rib'on en den dere be two ob you."
"La now, Chunk," she replied, coming back, "ef I wuz lookin' fer a
fool I des stay right yere. Ef you git a pa'r ob steps en look in my
face you'd see I'se bettah fren' ter you ner you ter me. You stay
yere en I brings you w'at you tink a heap on mor'n me," and now she
darted away with intentions satisfactory to her strategic admirer.
Chunk grinned and soliloquized, "Reck'n I kin fotch dat gyurl roun'
wid all her contrariations. I des likes her skittishness, but I ain'
tellin' her so, kaze I gwine ter hab my han's full as 'tis."
Zany soon returned with a plate well heaped, for at this time her
argus-eyed mistress was sitting in the parlor, awaiting whatever
fate the ruthless Yankees might impose. Chunk sat Turk-fashion on
the ground and fell to as if famished, meanwhile listening eagerly
to the girl's account of what had happened during his absence.
"Hi!" said Zany disdainfully, "you'd mek lub ter Aun' Suke ef she
fed you."
"I kin mek mo'n lub," Chunk answered, nodding at her portentously;
"I kin mek mischief."
"Reck'n you do dat anyhow."
"See yere, Zany, does you tink Marse Scoville a fool?"
"Ob co'se not."
"Well, he doan tink me a fool. Whose 'pinion's wuth de mos'? Who
took keer on 'im? Who got 'im off safe right un'er de nose ob one ob
Mad Whately's sogers? Who brung 'im back des in time ter stop dat ar
mar'age en gib we uns freedom? You mighty peart, but you got a heap
ter larn 'fo' you cut yo' eye-tooths."
"Some folks gits dere eye-tooths en doan git nuthin' wid 'em," Zany
remarked nonchalantly. "I'se 'mit dough dat you comin' on, Chunk.
W'en you gits growed up you'se be right smart."
"I doan min' de foolishness ob yo' talk, Zany," Chunk replied
coolly, between his huge mouthfuls. "Dat's in you, en you kyant he'p
hit any mo'n a crow cawin'. I'se allus mek 'lowance fer dat. I des
'proves dis 'casion ter 'zort you ter be keerful w'at you DOES.
Dere's gwine ter be mighty ticklish times--sorter flash-bang times,
yer know. I'se a free man--des ez free as air, en I'se hired mysef
ter Marse Scoville ter wait on 'im. I'se growed up anuff ter know he
kin tek de shine off eny man I eber see, or you neider. He yo' boss
now well ez mine. I'se gib 'im a good report on you ef I kin. I'se
feard, howsomeber, dat he say you outgrowed yo' sense."
"Dar now, Chunk, you puttin' on mo' airs dan Marse Scoville hissef.
He des ez perlite ter marster en ole miss ez ef he come ter pay his
'spects ter dem en he look at Miss Lou ez a cat do at cream."
"Hi! dat so? No won'er he want ter git ahaid ob de parson en dat
weddin' business."
"Oh, yo' orful growed up en ain' fin' dat out?"
"I 'spicioned it. Well, de ting fer you'n me is ter he'p 'im."
"La, now," replied Zany, proposing to give a broad hint at the same
time, "I ain' gwine ter he'p no man in sech doin's. De cream neber
goes ter de cat."
"Yere, tek de plate, Zany, wid my tanks," said Chunk, rising. "Sech
cream ez you gits orful sour ef de cat doan fin' it sud'n. I'se took
my 'zert now," and he caught her up again and kissed her on the way
back to the veranda.
This time his performances were seen by Aun' Suke, who stood in the
kitchen door. She snatched up a pail of water, exclaiming, "I cool
you uns off, I sut'ny will. Sech goin's on!" But they were too quick
for her. Zany pretended to be as irate as she was secretly pleased,
while Chunk caused the old woman to boil over with rage by
declaring, "Aun' Suke, I sen' a soger yere ter hab you 'rested for
'zorderly conduct."
"Ef you eber comes ter dis kitchen agin I'se emty de pot ob bilin'
water on you," cried Aun' Suke, retreating to her domain.
"Ef you does, you get yosef ober haid en years in hot water," Chunk
answered with exasperating sang froid. "You niggahs gwine ter fin'
out who's who on dis plantashun 'fo' yo' nex' birthday."
Zany's only response was a grimace, and he next carried his
exaggerated sense of importance to his granny's cabin. He had seen
Aun' Jinkey and spoken a few reassuring words as he passed with
Scoville's attacking force. Since that time she had done a power of
"projeckin'" over her corncob pipe, but events were now hurrying
toward conclusions beyond her ken. It has already been observed that
Aun' Jinkey was a neutral power. As yet, the weight of her decision
had been cast neither for the North nor the South, while the
question of freedom remained to be smoked over indefinitely. There
was no indecision in her mind, however, in regard to her young
mistress, and greater even than her fears when she heard the sounds
of conflict was her solicitude over the possibility of a forced
marriage. Since she was under the impression that her cabin might
soon become again the refuge of one or the other of the contending
powers, possibly of Miss Lou herself, she left the door ajar and was
on the alert.
"Hi dar! granny," cried Chunk, the first to appear, "dat's right.
Now you kin smoke in peace, fer you own yosef. Nobody come bossin'
you yere any mo'."
"Doan you git so bumptious all ter oncet," said Aun' Jinkey. "Does
you 'spect de hull top's gwine ter be tu'ned right ober down'erds in
er day? But dar! you ain' no 'sper'ience. Yo' stomack emty en you'
haid light. Draw up now en tell me de news. Tell me sud'n 'bout Miss
Lou. Did dey git her mar'd?"
"Yah! yah! Marse Scoville's so'd ud cut de knot ef dey had."
"Dat's des ez much ez you knows. All de so'ds ober flash kyant cut
dat ar knot 'less dey kill Marse Whately."
"Dat 'min's me ob someting ter'ble quar. Marse Scoville had he so'd
pintin' right agin Mad Whately's neck en yit he ain' jab 'im. Dat
same Mad Whately gwine ter mek a heap ob trouble fer he got clean
off."
"Marse Scoville know dat ef he kill a man right straight wid he own
han' he spook come and mek a heap mo' trouble."
"Hi! didn't tink o' dat."
"Bettah tink right smart, Chunk. You'se gittin' top-heaby ef you is
sho't. Now tell me all 'bout de mar'age."
"Dey ain' no mar'age. Zany tole me how Miss Lou say she ain' neber
'sent, en den 'fo' dey could say dere lingo ober her en mar'y her
des ez dey would a bale ob cotton, up rides Marse Scoville en put
his so'd troo ebryting. He tells us we all free en--"
"En eat yo' supper. I ain' done projeckin' 'bout dis freedom
business. How we uns gwine ter be free 'less Marse Scoville stay
yere en kep us free?"
"Zany guv me my supper en--"
"Dar now, I ain' no mo' 'count. Zany gobble you aready. I des stick
ter my chimbly corner."
"Howdy, Aunt Jinkey," cried Scoville, coming in briskly. "Well, you
see I'm back again as I promised."
"You welcome, a hun'erd times welcome, kaze you kep my young mistis
fum bein' mar'ed right slap 'gin her own feelin's ter her cousin."
"Pshaw! Aunt Jinkey. No one can marry a girl against her will in
this country."
"Dat des de question Miss Lou en me projeckin' 'bout dis berry
mawnin'. She gyardeens went straight along ez ef dey had de po'r,
dey sut'ny did. Dat's w'at so upset Miss Lou en me. De po'r ob
gyardeens is sump'n I kyant smoke out straight, en I des lak ter
know how much dey KIN do. Ole mars'r al'ays manage her prop'ty en we
wuz flustrated w'en we see 'im en Mad Whately en he moder en ole
miss en all gittin' ready fer de weddin' des ez ef hit was comin'
like sun-up sho."
"It was a shame," cried Scoville angrily. "They were seeking to
drive her into submission by strong, steady pressure, but if she
insisted on her right--"
"Dat des w'at she did, Marse Scoville. She say she neber 'sent,
NEBER," Chunk interrupted.
"Then the whole Southern Confederacy could not have married her and
she ought to know it."
"Well, you mus' be 'siderate, Marse Scoville. Miss Lou know a heap
'bout some tings en she des a chile 'bout oder tings. Ole mars'r en
misus al'ays try ter mek her tink dat only w'at dey say is right en
nuthin' else, en dey al'ays 'low ter her dat she gwine ter mar'y her
cousin some day, en she al'ays 'low ter me she doan wanter."
"Poor child! she does need a friend in very truth. What kind of a
man is this Mad Whately anyway, that he could think of taking part
in such a wrong?"
"He de same kin' ob man dat he wuz a boy," Chunk answered. "Den he
kick en howl till he git w'at he want. 'Scuse me, Marse Scoville,
but I kyant hep tinkin' you mek big 'stake dat you didn't jab 'im
w'en you hab de chance."
"Chunk," was the grave answer, "if you are going to wait on me you
must learn my ways. I'd no more kill a man when it was not essential
than I would kill you this minute. Soldiers are not butchers."
"Granny sez how you wuz feared on his spook"--
"Bah! you expect to be free, yet remain slaves to such fears? My
horse knows better. Come, Aunt Jinkey, I'd rather you would give me
some supper than your views on spooks."
"Leftenant," said Perkins, the overseer, from the door, "Mr. Baron
pr'sents his compliments en gives you a invite to supper."
Scoville thought a moment, then answered, "Present mine in return,
and say it will give me pleasure to accept."
"Bress de Lawd! you gwine ter de big house. Not dat I 'grudges
cookin' fer you w'eneber you come, but I des wants you ter took a
'tunerty ter advise dat po' chile 'bout she rights en de mar'age
question."
After assuring himself that the overseer was out of earshot,
Scoville said almost sternly, "Aunt Jinkey, you and Chunk must not
say one word of my ever having been here before. It might make your
young mistress a great deal of trouble, and I should be sorry indeed
if I ever caused her any trouble whatever." Then as he made his way
to the mansion he smilingly soliloquized, "I don't know of any other
question concerning which I would rather give her advice, nor would
it be wholly disinterested, I fear, if I had a chance. At this time
to-morrow," he sighingly concluded, "I may be miles away or dead.
Poor unsophisticated child! I never was touched so close before as
now by her need of a friend who cares more for her than his own
schemes."
Chunk following at a respectful distance became aware that the
overseer was glowering at him. "Bettah 'lebe yo' min', Marse
Perkins," he remarked condescendingly.
"You infernal, horse-stealing nigger!" was the low response.
"Hi! Marse Perkins, you kin growl, but you muzzled all de same."
"The muzzle may be off before many mo' sunsets, en then you'll find
my teeth in your throat," said the man under his breath, and his
look was so dark and vindictive that even in his elation Chunk
became uneasy.
CHAPTER XV
MISS LOU EMANCIPATED
Nature had endowed Scoville with a quick, active mind, and
circumstances had developed its power and capacity to a degree
scarcely warranted by his age. Orphaned early in life, compelled to
hold his own among comparative strangers since childhood, he had
gained a worldly wisdom and self-reliance which he could not have
acquired in a sheltered home. He had learned to look at facts and
people squarely, to estimate values and character promptly, and then
to decide upon his own action unhesitatingly. Although never
regarded as the model good boy at the boarding-schools wherein he
had spent most of his life, he had been a general favorite with both
teachers and scholars. A certain frankness in mischief and buoyancy
of spirit had carried him through all difficulties, while his apt
mind and retentive memory always kept him near to the head of his
classes. The quality of alertness was one of his characteristics. In
schools and at the university he quickly mastered their small
politics and prevailing tendencies, and he often amused his fellow-
pupils with free-handed yet fairly truthful sketches of their
instructors. As the country passed into deeper and stronger
excitement over the prospect of secession and its consequences, he
was among the first to catch the military spirit and to take an
active part in the formation of a little company among the students.
It was not his disposition to be excited merely because others were.
Certain qualities of mind led him to look beneath the surface for
the causes of national commotion. He read carefully the utterances
of leaders, North and South, and to some extent traced back their
views and animating spirit to historical sources.
In the year of '63 he found to his joy that he had attained such
physical proportions as would secure his acceptance in a cavalry
regiment forming in his vicinity. His uncle, who was also guardian,
for reasons already known, made slight opposition, and he at once
donned the blue with its bluff trimmings. In camp and field he
quickly learned the routine of duty, and then his daring, active
temperament led him gradually into the scouting service. Now,
although so young, he was a veteran in experience, frank to friends,
but secretive and ready to deceive the very elect among his enemies.
Few could take more risks than he, yet he had not a particle of Mad
Whately's recklessness. Courage, but rarely impulse, controlled his
action. As we have seen, he could instantly stay his hand the second
a deadly enemy, seeking his life in personal encounter, was
disarmed.
The prospect of talking with such a host as Mr. Baron pleased him
immensely. He scarcely knew to whom he was indebted for the
courtesy, but rightly surmised that it was Mrs. Whately, since she,
with good reason, felt under obligations to him. Even more than an
adventurous scouting expedition he relished a situation full of
humor, and such, his presence at Mr. Baron's supper-table promised
to be. He knew his entertainment would be gall and wormwood to the
old Bourbon and his wife, and that the courtesy had been wrung from
them by his own forbearance. It might be his only opportunity to see
Miss Lou and suggest the liberty he had brought to her as well as to
the slaves.
Mrs. Whately met him on the veranda and said politely, "Lieutenant
Scoville, you have proved yourself to be a generous and forbearing
enemy. If you feel that you can meet frank enemies who wish to
return courtesy with courtesy, we shall be glad to have you take
supper with us."
"Yes," added Mr. Baron, "my sister has convinced me, somewhat
against my will, I must in honesty admit, that such hospitality as
we can offer under the circumstances is your due."
"I appreciate the circumstances, Mr. Baron," was the grave reply,
"and honor the Southern trait which is so strong that even I can
receive the benefit of it. Your courtesy, madam, will put me at
ease."
Miss Lou, thinking it possible that she might see the Northern
officer again, had taken her own way of convincing him that he was
still within the bounds of civilization, for she made a toilet more
careful than the one with which she had deigned to grace the
appointed day of her wedding. She could scarcely believe her eyes
when, entering the supper room a little late, she saw Scoville
already seated at the table. He instantly rose and made her a
ceremonious bow, thus again indicating that their past relations
should be completely ignored in the presence of others. She
therefore gravely returned his salutation and took her place without
a word, but her high color did not suggest indifference to the
situation. Mr. Baron went through the formal "grace" as usual and
then said, "Ahem! you will admit, sir, that it is a little
embarrassing to know just how to entertain one with whom we have
some slight difference of opinion."
"Perhaps such embarrassment will be removed if we all speak our
minds freely," replied Scoville, pleasantly. "Pardon the suggestion,
but the occasion appears to me favorable to a frank and interesting
exchange of views. If my way of thinking were wholly in accord with
yours my words could be little better than echoes. I should be glad
to feel that my presence was no restraint whatever."
"I'm inclined to think you are right, sir," added Mrs. Whately. "It
would be mere affectation on our part to disguise our thoughts and
feelings. With neighbors, and even with friends, we are often
compelled to do this, but I scarcely see why we should do so with an
open enemy."
"And such I trust you will find me, madam, an OPEN enemy in the
better sense of the adjective. As far as I can, I will answer
questions if you wish to ask any. I will tell you honestly all the
harm I meditate and outline clearly the extent of my hostility, if
you will do the same," and he smiled so genially that she half
smiled also as she answered:
"To hear you, sir, one would scarcely imagine you to be an enemy at
all. But then we know better."
"Yes, sir, pardon me, we do," said Mr. Baron, a little stiffly. "For
one, I would like your honest statement of just what harm you and
your command meditate. I am one who would rather face and prepare
for whatever I shall be compelled to meet."
"I think, sir, you have already met and faced the direst event of
the evening--my presence at your hospitable board. Even this
hardship is due to your courtesy, not to my compulsion."
Miss Lou bowed low over her plate at this speech.
"But how about the long hours of the night, sir? Have you such
control over your men--"
"Yes, sir!" interrupted Scoville with dignity. "The men I have with
me are soldiers, not camp-followers. They would no more harm you or
anything you possess, without orders, than I would."
"Without orders--a clause of large latitude. As far as words go you
have already robbed me of the greater part of my possessions. You
have told my slaves that they are free."
"Not upon my own responsibility, sir, although with hearty goodwill.
In my humble station I am far more often called upon to obey orders
than to give them. You are aware of President Lincoln's
proclamation?"
"Yes, sir, and of the Pope's bull against the comet."
Scoville laughed so genially as partially to disarm his reply of its
sting. "In this instance, sir, our armies are rather gaining on the
comet."
"But what can you and your armies hope to accomplish?" Mrs. Whately
asked. "If you should destroy every Southern man, the women would
remain unsubdued."
"Now, madam, you have me at disadvantage. I do not know what we
would or could do if confronted only by implacable Southern women."
"Do not imagine that I am jesting. I cannot tell you how strange it
seems that a man of your appearance and evident character should be
among our cruel enemies."
"And yet, Mrs. Whately, you cannot dispute the fact. Pardon me for
saying it, but I think that is just where the South is in such
serious error. It shuts its eyes to so many simple facts--a course
which experience proves is never wise. I may declare, and even
believe, that there is no solid wall before me, yet if I go headlong
against it, I am bruised all the same. Positive beliefs do not
create truths. I fancy that a few hours since you were absolutely
sure that this courtesy of which I am the grateful recipient could
not be, yet you were mistaken."
"Has not the sad experience of many others inspired our fears?
Neither has the end come with us yet. You said that the main
Northern force would come this way tomorrow. We do not fear you and
those whom you control, but how about those who are to come?"
"I can speak only for the class to which I belong--the genuine
soldiers who are animated by as single and unfaltering a spirit as
the best in your armies. If a Confederate column were going through
the North you could not answer for the conduct of every lawless,
depraved man in such a force. Still, I admit with you that war is
essentially cruel, and that the aim ever must be to inflict as much
injury as possible on one's adversaries."
"But how can you take part in such a war?" Mrs. Whately asked. "All
we asked was to be let alone."
"Yes, sir," added Mr. Baron, "how can you justify these ruthless
invasions, this breaking up of our domestic institutions, this
despoiling of our property and rights by force?" and there was a
tremor of suppressed excitement in his voice.
Scoville glanced at Miss Lou to see how far she sympathized with her
kindred. He observed that her face was somewhat stern in its
expression, yet full of intelligent interest. It was not the index
of mere prejudice and hate. "Yes," he thought, "she is capable of
giving me a fair hearing; the others are not. Mr. Baron," he said,
"your views are natural, perhaps, if not just. I know it is asking
much of human nature when you are suffering and must suffer so much,
to form what will become the historical judgment on the questions at
issue. The law under which the North is fighting is the supreme one--
that of self-preservation. Even if we had let you alone--permitted
you to separate and become independent without a blow, war would
have come soon. You would not and could not have let us alone.
Consider but one point: your slaves would merely have to pass the
long boundary line stretching nearly across the continent, in order
to be on free soil. You could compel their return only by conquering
and almost annihilating the North. You will say that we should think
as you do on the subject, and I must answer that it is every man and
woman's right to think according to individual conscience, according
to the light within. Deny this right, and you put no bounds to human
slavery. Pardon me, but looking in your eyes and those of these
ladies, I can see that I should become a slave instantly if you had
your way. Unconsciously and inevitably you would make me one, for it
is your strongest impulse to make me agree with you, to see things
exactly as you do. The fact that you sincerely believe you are right
would make no difference if I just as sincerely believed you were
wrong. If I could not think and act for myself I should be a slave.
You might say, 'We KNOW we are right, that what we believe has the
Divine sanction.' That is what the tormentors of the Inquisition
said and believed; that is what my Puritan and persecuting
forefathers said and believed; what does history say now? The world
is growing wise enough to understand that God has no slaves. He
endows men and women with a conscience. The supreme obligation is to
be true to this. When any one who has passed the bounds of childhood
says to us, 'I don't think this is right,' we take an awful
responsibility, we probably are guilty of usurpation, if we
substitute our will for his. In our sincerity we may argue, reason
and entreat, but in the presence of another's conscience unconvinced
and utterly opposed to us, where is human slavery to end if one man,
or a vast number of men, have the power to say, 'You shall'?"
Scoville had kept his eyes fixed on Mr. Baron, and saw that he was
almost writhing under the expression of views so repugnant to him--
views which proved his whole scheme of life and action to be wrong.
Now the young man turned his glance suddenly on Miss Lou, and in her
high color, parted lips and kindled eyes, saw abundant proof that
she, as he had wished, was taking to herself the deep personal
application of his words. Her guardians and Mrs. Whately observed
this truth also, and now bitterly regretted that they had invited
the Union officer. It seemed to them a sort of malign fate that he
had been led, unconsciously as they supposed, to pronounce in the
presence of the girl such vigorous condemnation of their action. Had
they not that very day sought to override the will, the conscience,
the whole shrinking, protesting womanhood of the one who had
listened so eagerly as the wrong meditated against her was
explained? Scoville had not left them even the excuse that they
believed they were right, having shown the girl that so many who
believed this were wrong. Miss Lou's expression made at least one
thing clear--she was emancipated and had taken her destiny into her
own hands.
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