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(COPTBIGHTED. ALL BIGHTS BEBEBVED.)
BY JOSEPH M. BROWN.
CHAPTER VII.
And now while, so far as regarded the tremen
dous engines of war:
“Silence settled deep and still
O’er the lone wood and mighty hill,”
the tender emotio s of chivalrous manhood found
their homes in the hearts of Captain Ward and
those immediately around him.
Leaving his guns, he had gone behind the shel
tering bowlder, where Miss Mary Harper had been
left with little Jack and John Minon to restore her
to consciousness from the fainting fit into which
she had gone in the midst of the terrifically thrill
ing episode, in which Jack had figured as the hero.
The sun had scarcely disappeared when he step
ped quietly around with the question, “Well, how
are the queen of Kennesaw and the champion of
the flag of Dixie?”
“Oh! Captain Ward,” shouted Jack jumping
up, and running to bis side, “we’ve whipped the
Yankees, haven’t we? We’ve still got the moun
tain and our cannon; and our flag is still waving,
isn’t it? Haven’t we whipped ’em, Captain?”
“Yes, Jack,” laughed the captain, taking the
enthusiastic youngster up into his arms, “we’ve
kept off the Yankees, and we’ve got all of our can
non and the mountain; and our flag is still waving
just where you had it. Ah! Miss Harper,” he
added, turning to her and watching her as she was
wrapping a new bandage around the arm of Minon,
“was the poet referring to you when he wrote:
‘A ministering angel thou!’ ”
“No, indeed! Captain,” she quickly replied with
a merry laugh; “that was written some fifty or
s’xty years ago; and surely you don’t mean to
insinuate that you think I look that old.”
“Perish the thought! never, never, no, never
would I be guilty of an insinuation so utterly
devoid of foundation as that” he exclaimed, and
then added:
“But you know the language of prophecy some
times reads like it refers to the day in which it is
given forth; and thus Sir Walter builded wiser
than he knew when he wrote the words which fit
her to whom I now speak. Minon, you are a
lucky chap. But for the anxiety it would give my
dear wife and little ones at home, I almost wish
I had been wounded, so that I too could have had
the attention of so fair a nurse, —one who seems to
have been wafted from the clouds into our midst to
cheer and to save.”
“You say you almost wish; now, Captain, I go
farther than that, and say that I am not sorry
I was wounded; because the privilege of having
such a nurse counterbalances the pain of the
wound.”
“But it does not counterbalance to our country
the loss of the power of your arm in this day of her
trial and need,” said Miss Harper in a tone almost
of reproach, “therefore you should be very sorry
that you are disabled, while your brothers around
you are still strong and ready to battle for her
cause.”
“Nobly spoken, Miss Harper!” exclaimed Cap
tain Ward, clapping his hands, “I am glad to see
somebody besides myself turned down in your neat
THE KENNESAW GAZETTE.
manner; and then that is the correct doctrine for
this time and occasion.”
“I surrender! ” ejaculated Minon, “I am not only
defeated, but discomfited. There’s no answer to
that except one.”
“And,” said Miss Harper, “that is”—
“To get well at the very earliest possible minute,
and scamper back to my place at the front.”
“Well, no one will be more delighted to see you
get well than I,” was the gentle answer; “and I am
willing to depend upon you to carry out the latter
part of your promise, when your strength and
health are restored.”
“Te-ump, te-ump, te-ump, te-tump!” hummed
Captain Ward, in a tone of assumed indifference,
and with a comical twinkle in his eye; and added,
“Jack, it’s getting rather close behind this rock;
hadn’t we two better walk forward into the open
air? There’s more room for us out there, I think.”
“No, no iddeed, Captain”! exclaimed the young
lady with a blush, “those were only such words
as every woman should speak to every Southern
gentleman.”
“Yes, Captain Ward,” said Jack springing to his
feet, “Let’s go forward among the cannon, and see
what the old Yankees are doing. Our men whip
ped ’em, didn’t we?”
“Oh! we whipped them badly, Jack,” replied the
captain.
“Hold on, Jack!” exclaimed his sister with a
start, “you shan’t go forward into the jaws of
danger again. Come, we must return to Marietta
before any more trouble comes upon us. Mother
will be almost crazy about us, and we must go at
once.”
“Oh! no, Sis,” answered [Jack impetuously, as
tears gushed from his eyes, “there’s no danger now,
and I do want to go and see over the mountain at
the Yankees. Captain Ward told me to come on;
and he’ll take good care of me.”
“Yes, let us go for a minute, Miss Harper,” said
the captain, “there is no danger just now. Come
with us, too, and survey the pomp of war, since
you have already seen and heard its’terrors.”
“Well, I will go for a few minutes, and then
Jack and I must be getting away from here. This
is no place for women and children.”
They started forward the parapet.
“Stop a minute,” said Miss Mary, “do listen to
that red-bird. I thought every one of his kind had
flown at least five miles away from the mountain
after the terrible tumult which had surrounded it
to-day. But the little fellow has lit upon that tree,
and is singing as fearlessly and merrily as though
a cannon had never been fired in Georgia.”
“Yes,” said Captain Ward, “he is a regular
Confederate. It takes something more than a
bombardment from Yankee batteries to demoralize
him.”
“Ah!” interjected a soldier standing right by
them, “that’s the right kind of talk; but I confess
that for awhile I felt like the fellow did up about
Chickamauga. He saw a dog skedaddling through
the woods as fast as his legs could carry him when
the battle was about at its worst. Stopping for an
instant, he looked at him, and then said in an
under tone, ‘Run, dog, run, if I wasn’t a man
I’d run too.’ ”
A hearty laugh ensued from the party, after
which Miss Harper remarked, “But our little red
bird is made of more heroic stuff than the dog in
your story.”
The bright little winged songster, as if almost
conscious of the fact that he was receiving such
flattering attention, continued warbling forth some
of his gayest and sweetest notes. Then, stopping
for an instant, he arose from his perch, darted over
toward the right, and alighting upon the very muzzle
of one of the cannon of Guibor’s battery, which was
now deserted,’ resumed his inspiring
little song. A hundred eyes beheld him, and there
was apparently a general desire to applaud the
little Confederate prototype; but all refrained until
after a couple of minutes’ flow of his merriest notes,
he arose and flew still further toward the right of
the line. Then there was a general clapping of
hands and an enthusiastic cheer with shouts of
“Hurrah for our game little Confederate!” and
Partridge shook his head and emphatically ex
claimed, “I’ll never shoot another red-bird! ”
As they walked up toward the northern side of
the ridge, the sound of a banjo and the patter of
feet were heard near by, and, passing a huge bowl
der, they suddenly came upon a group of soldiers
around a negro who was picking a banjo and sing
ing, while a couple of other negroes were patting
and dancing a jig.
The soldiers, seeing the lady, immediately arose,
throwing off their air of abandon and carelessness,
and saluted her and her escort with respectful
deference. The darkeys, however, being so busily
engaged in amusing the party, did not notice what
wasjthe cause of the uprising, and continued their
merriment.
As Captain Ward and the others passed along,
they caught one verse of the negro’s song:
“Rabbit take his pipe to smoke,
’Coon eat turkey hash;
’Possum try to crack a joke,
But wolf run off wid de cash.”
Jack was immensely amused at this part of the
proceedings, and lingered to hear some more of it;
but the others passed on their way.
Within a minute or so, however, he came run
ning forward and exclaimed in a pleading tone:
“O, Captain Ward, and Sis, please come back here
and listen to the singing; it’s mighty funny.”
Well, Jack,” answered the captain good-humored
ly, “I reckon we will have to hear a song or two
for your especial benefit, —a sort of mountain con
cert in the open air by uneducated artistes.”
They accordingly stepped back among the merry
makers who again rose to greet them.
Captain Ward then remarked, “Don’t let us
break up the fun, boys; we have come to enjoy it
with you. And you have the most select audience
you ever rehearsed before. Now, Woodson, give
us one of your best, and do your best.”
“All right, Marse John, we’ll do our level best;
but what song does you want? How’ll ‘Susanna’
do for yer?” said Woodson.
“That’ll do finely,” exclaimed the captain, “Now
do you play and sing, and we’ll all join in the
chorus.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jack, “we’ll all join in the
chorus.”
“All right, Jack,” added Miss Harper with a
laugh, “we’ll all join in the chorus for your benefit.”
The whole party formed a circle around Wood
son, who began picking his banjo, and then sang:
“Ise come from Alabama wid de banjo on my knee,
Ise gwine to Louisiana my true love for to see;
It rain’d all night de day I left, de wedder it was dry,
De sun so hot I froze to deaf, Susanna, don’t you cry.”
Then as Woodson threw back his head, walled
his eyes, patted his feet and slung his banjo around
in a serio-comic ecstacy, the entire line of officers,
privates, negroes and Jack and his sister stormed
out the chorus:
“O Susanna!
Don’t you cry for me;
I’ve come from Alabama
With the banjo on my knee.”
After picking his banjo nimbly for a minute,
Woodson wagged his head in what may best be
termed a zig-zag manner, and sang the second verse:
“I jump’d de Telegraph an’ travel’d down de river,
De ’lectric fluid magnified and killed four hundred nigger,
De bullgine bust, de hoss run off, I really thought to die;
I shot my eyes to hold my breff; Susanna, don’t you cry.”
Officers and men now joined “all hands ’round,”