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V OL.XXII
THE COMEDY OF WHR.
5y Joel Chandler Harris, Author of Uncle
Remus’s Plantation Fables,
tip}'lighted by The Constttut'on.
I.—OX THE UNION SIDE.
Private O'Dalloran, detailed for special
Uty in advance of the picket line, sat re
fining against a huge red oak. 'Within
tach lay a rifle of beautiful workmanship.
Jt one hand he held a blackened briar-root
lipe, gazing on it with an air of mock re-
K _ nvt. It bad been his companion for many
a weary march and on many a lonely day,
when, as now, he was doing duty as a sharp
shooter. But it was not much of a compan
ion now. It hold the liavor, but not tho
fragrance of other days. It was empty,
and so was O'Halloran's tobacco pouch.
It was nothing to grumble about, but the
big. laughing Irishman Lkcd his pipe, es
pecial!;.' when it was full of tobacco. The
words of an old song came to him, and he
bummed them to himseif;
“There was gn ould man, an' he had a wooden
leg-
An' he had no terbacky, nor terbacky could
he beg;
, Then was another ould man, as keen as a
lox.
An' he always had terbacky in his ould ter
backy bOX.
“Sez one ould man, ‘Will yez give me a
chew?’
Sez tae other ould man. ‘l'll be doomed es
1 do.
Kan a'.w'iy from them gin-mills, an’ save up
yure rocks,
Au' y -'li always have terbacky in yez ould
terbacky box.’ ”
What with the singing and the far-away
thoughts that accompanied the song, Pri
vate O'ilalloran faded to hear footsteps ap
proaching until tin-y sounded quite near.
“Halt!” he cried, seizing his idle and
springing to his feet. The new comer wore
the insignia of a federal captain, seeing
which O'Halloran lowered his weapon and
saluted. “Sure, sor, you’re not to mind me
capers. 1 thought the inimy had me com
pletely surrounded —I did, upon me «owl.”
"And I,” said the captain, laughing,
“thought the Johnnies bad caught me. It
is a pleasant surprise. You are O’Hallor
an. of the sharpshooters. I have heard of
5 fu 1 l, ~ a S , ‘J.\ singer and a great fighter.”
“Sure, it’s not for me to say that same.
I sings a little bechwane times for to Rape
up me sperits, and takes me chances,
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“I WAS TOrcniN’ ELBOWS wit you at
GETTYSBURG, SOIL”
right and left. Your taking a good many
yourself, sor. so far away from the
picket line. If 1 make no mi ai.e, sor,
it is Captain Somerville I’m talkin’ to.”
“That is my name.” the captain said.
“I was touchin’ elbows wit’ you at Get
tysburg. sor.”
The captain looked at O’Halloran again.
“Why. certainly!” lie exclaimed. “You are
th big fellow that lifted one of the Johnnies
0.-t tile stone wall.”
"By the slack of the trousers, I am that
same. sor. He was nothin’ but a bit of a
lad, sor, but he fought right, up to the mid
of me nose. Tim men was jabbin’ at ’im
wit’ their bayonets. so I zto him, says I,
‘Ct.ie in out of the inclemency of the
■w-atfl,. r.’ says I. and thin 1 lifted, him over.
H<- marie at me, sor, win:: I put ’im down,
and it took two men for to lead ’im kindly
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T'itN'T GET TOO I’ERMISCrS AROUND
HERE,” SAID HAITY JACK.
> the rear. It was a warm hour, sor.”
" \s O’Hal'oran talked, he kept his eyes
afield.
'.Sure, sor.” he went on. "you stand too
h in the open. They hail one nruidle
d on t;.at post yesterday—iiw.v'H t: >t
another there today, sor.” As he said
■. the big Irishman seized, tf.e captain by
arm and gave him a sudden jerk. 11
s an unceremonious proreeding, but a
v timely ore. for the next moment the
ling against which the ji; ;iiu had be ',
ti-• I'l’.ning was shattered by a ball
i ’ the confederate Aue.,
j'is an o’<) friend of mine, sor, s.u,i
. Horan: “I know 'im by the hand
in’. They had a muddiehead there
■rdav, sor. 1 set in full sight of ’im,
an’ he blazed a? me twice; the last time I
had mo list above me head, an’ he grazed
me knuckles. ‘Bedad,’ says 1. ‘you’re no
good in your place.’ an’ when he showed his
mug 1 plugged ’im where the note says
howdy to the eyebrows. ’Twas no hurt
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“THERE’S THE SHOOTING AGAIN I”
to ’im, sor; if he seen the Hash, ’twas as
much.”
T>> the left in a little clearing was a com
fortable farm House. Slacks of fodder and
strai, and pens of corn m uie shuck were
ranv ft around I'iiere was <}very appear
an-'j of prosperity, but no sign ot life,
save two blue biros, the piom-ers of spring,
winch were iigutmg around the martin
g- m-. s, pr. pan., .A :o ra! e p "
"There's where I was born. me cap
tain pointed to the farm house, ''it is live
years since 1 have .seen the place.”
"You don't tell me so; 1 see in the
I’ur’ld that they call it the civil war, but,
it’s nothin but encivil, sor, tor to light agin
your < uld home-”
"You are right." r seri.d the captain.
"There is nothing civil about war. 1 sup
pose the old house has long iieea deserted.’
"Sure, look at the t’orag.', thim "£’< piled
up as nately as you please- Wait till the
b’ys git at it! Look at the smoke of the
cliim'oly. Barrin’ the jaybirds, ’tis the
pea<'< full. st sight I've seen.”
"My p rule are gone.” said the captain.
“My father was a union man. t shouldn't
be surprised to hear of 11m somewi'. -re at
the north. The d;:y that I was eighteen he
gave me a Hogging for diS'.med’.'.mee ami ±
ran away.”
"Don't spake of it, sor." O'Hallowran
held up his hands. “Many's the time I've
had me feelin’s hurted wis'a br'l stave."
"That was in Iboll." suit! the captain
“l was too proud to go back home, hut when
the war began I remembered what a strong
union mai'. my father was and I joined the
union army.”
"’Tis a. great scene for a play.” said the
big Irishman solemnly.
"Aly mother was dead.” the captain went
on, "my oldest sisti r was married and my
youngest sister was at. school i'hiladeiphia
ami my brother, two years older than my
self, matin life. miseAble for me in trying to
boss me.”
"Oh,” exclaimed O,IIallor:'.n, "don’t I
know tl;.:t same? "Tis meself that’s been
along there.”
Captain Somerville looked at the old place,
carefully noting tin* outward ehang; s. wtiieh
were comparatively few- Ge noted, too,
with the eye of a soldier, that when the
impending conllict took place between the
forces then facing each otner, there would bo
a sharp struggle for the km-il on which the
house stood and he thought it was a curious
feat for his mind to perform to regard the
old home where lie had been both happy and
miserable as a strategic point of battle.
Private O'Halloran had no such memories
to please or to vex him. To the extent of
his opportunities ho was a man <>f business,
lie took a piece of whit;’ cloth from iiis
pocket and hung it. on the broken sapling.
"I'll sec, sor, if you chap in the grocery
business.”
As he turned away, there wps a puff of
smoke on the farther hill, a crackling re
port. and the hanging cloth jumped as
though it wore alive.
"I'aith, it’s him, sor,” exclaimed O'Hallo
ran “an’ lie's in a mighty hurry.” Where
upon the big Irishman brushed a pile of
leaves from an oil-cloth stra.ptied together
in the semblance of a Imansm-k.
"What have you there?” asked Captain
Summerville.
"Sure, 'tis me grocery store, sor. Coffee,
tay. .-in’ sugar. Faith. I’ll make i'ae devil's
month water like a baby enttin' his stomach
tuthe. Would ye mind eoa"!.’ along, sor,
■for to k.ipe :.i • fr< m swindlin’ the Johnny
out of ail I is beloii-iu’s?”
11. -ON THE fi.NtUDERATE SIDE.
Three men sal in a gully that had once
been a. hiii.-auo diteii. Tmir uniforms were
various--Ilie iesmt <d accident amt cap
ture. Om- <f i.iem wore a very line bine
overcoat, which was in qu<" r contrast to
his ragged pantaloon.;. '1 hi.-; was Lieutenant
t'lopioii. who 1;.. 7 chargo of t.'.e picket line.
Aiimln r h:a; on the uniform of an artillery
man. and Ins jell arm was in a sling, lie
bad ccine out ot tan hospital to -do duty us
guide. 'inis was Private John i'am
br /agli. 'I he tliird had on no uniform at
all. b 3 was ere -ed in plain citizen's
clothes, muca the worse for wear. This
was Jack 1.-Ipatrick, scout and sharp
shooter. "Ilappr .tack." as he was called.
How long ;.m e tin. golly had been a
(ii'.;-! 1 . it would be impossible to say, but it
mvu-.t Imve been a good many years, for
tiif pi ®s had grown hit > stout trees, and
here mid there a. blackjack loomed up vig
orous!.'. .
"Don't get so perricious around her,”
said t Lippy Jack as tic others were mov
ing about. "This ain't no fancy spot."
He cased liinisc-if upward on his elbow, and
made a sw.fr but careful survey of the
woodland vi -ta that led to the federal lin<
Then shook down the breach of his rille
and slipjied a long cartridge into its place.
"You see that big poplar over yonder? Well,
under that tree there's a man, leastwa;. s
ATLANTA, GA., TUESDAY. FEBRUARY 7, 1893.
he ought to be there, because lie’s
always haugiu’ around in front
of me.”
“Why don’t you nail him?”
asked Famb.ough.
. “Bosh! Why don’t l.e nail ma?
It’s because he can’t do it.
Well, that’s the reason I don't
nail him. You know- what. hap
pened yesterday, don't you? You saw that
('logant looking chap that came out to take
my place, didn’t you? Did you see him
when ho went back?”
Lieutenant Clopte.n replied with a little
grimace, but Eambrotigh said never a word.
He only looked at Kilpatrick with inquir
ing eyes.
"Why, he was the nicest lookin’ man
in the army—hair combed, clothes bruslmd
and rings on his fingers. He was nil the
way from New Orleans with a silver mount
ed rifle and a. globe sight.”
“A which.?" asked Fantbrough.
“A globe sight.—Set down on yourself
a little further, sonny,” said Happy Jack;
"your head’s to high.—l says to him, says
I, ‘Friend, you are goin’ whore you'll have
to strip that doll's stepladder off’ii your gun.
and come down to business,’ says I. tie
laughed and said he reconcd not. 1 says,
says I. ‘you may liave to face a rod-headed,
flannel-mouthed Irishman, and you don't
want to look at him through all that, ma
chinery.’ says I.”
“What did ho say?” asked Fambrough.
“He says 'l'll git him.’ Now how did he
git him? Why ho come down here, lammed
Moose a. time or two. and then hung his
bend over the edge of the gulley there, with
a. ball right spang betwixt his eyes. I
wont behind the picket lino to got a. wink
of sleep, but I hadn't inore’n curled up in
the broomsage before I heard that chap a
bangin’ away. Then come the reply, like
this—” Hanpy Jack snapped bis fingers;
“and then I went to sleep waitin’ for the
roj'h'.der.”
Kilpatrick paused, ami looked steadily
in the direction of tho poplar.
“Well, dog my cats' Yonder’s a chap
stam’lin' right out in front of me. It
ain’t the .Micky, neither. I’l] see what
he’s up to.” He raised bis rifle with a.
light swinging movement, chirruped to
it as though it wore a horse or n little
child, ami in another moment the deadly
business of var would have been resumed,
but Fambrough laid his hand on the sbarp
shooi r's arm.
"Wait.” he said. “That may bo my old
man, wandering around over there. Don't
be too quick on trigger. I ain’t got but on?
old man.”
"S’ltichs!” exclaimed Kilpatrick, pettishly,
“yen reckon I don't know your old man?
lie’s big in the body, an’ wobly on his
legs. You've spiled a mighty purty shot.
I beliew- in my soul that « hap \ as a colo
nel, an' he might ‘a’ been gener 1. Now
that's ftuiny.”
"What's tunny?" asked Fambrough.
"Why. that chap He’ll never know
you saved him, and if he knowed it, he
wouldn't thank you. I’d a. tmj a hob
ri ht iliroug'i his gizzard. Now he's behind
the ponlar.”
"It's Dick," Lieutenant Clopton sug
gest -ft.
"Ma-be.” said Kilpatrick. "Yonder he
is ag'in. Luck won' save him this time.”
He raised uis rifl“. glanced down the bar
rel ami pulled the trigger. Simultaneously
with the report an expression of disgust
pusseil over iiis Lie. ami with an oath L
struck the ground with, his fist.
"Don't tell me you missed him,” said
Clop ton.
•'■>'nt?” oxclaimefl Txilnotrick scorn
fully. "If lie am t drunk somebody pulled
him out. of the va;,.”
"I told you it was luck," commented
Clopton.
“Shucks! don’t tell mo. Luck’s like
lightinn’. Sir? never hits t.wice in the
sum? place."
Kilpatrick sank back in the gully and
gave himself tin to ruminating. .He
leaned on J is elbows and pulled up little
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?.GE.” HE EXCLAIMED, ~GOD A’MIGIITY KNOWS I'M GLAD TO SEE YOU.”
i tifts of grass and weeds growing here
i ami there'. J.ieuiiui.nt Cicpton looking
i across towards the poplar, _ smldenly
| reached the sharpshooter's rifle. Jmt
| Kilpatrick placed his hand on it jeal
i ously. _ .
“(live me the gun Yonder’s a yank in
I full view.” .
i Kilpatrick still holding the rifD, raised
! himself and looked
' "Vfhv, lie's hanging out a Hag of truce,
i said (’lepton. “'.'.'hat does the fellow
■ mean?” . . , „ •
| "It's a message." said Kilpatrick, an
1 here's lhe answer ” ith that he raised Ins
I rifle, (tropped it gently in the palm of his
' left baud and fired. . y ,
“Yo” saw th.'? hanliercher jump, diant
you?” ne exclaimed "\\ 'll. that lets us out.
’ That’s my Micl 'y. He wants obaee i ii'nd
: J want <-offon an' tea- Come watch me s.vap
I him out, of bis eye teeth.”
Then Kilpatrick wont to a clump of
I broom sedge and drew forth, a wallet con
i taining several pounds of prepared smoking
' tobacco and a bundle of plug tobacco and in
I a few moments the trio were picking their
I w:>- throm the underwood toward the
I open.
HL—ON NEUTRAL GROUND.
' Matters were getting critical for Squire
' Fambrough. He had vowed and declared
Ihis daughter Julia,twenty-two ' ears old, and
as obstinate as .er father. Tho squire had
sent off his son’s wife and her children to
. t'other with as many negroes as had refused
to go into the union lines. He had expected
I his daughter to go at the same time, but.
i when the time arrived the fair Julia showed
■ that she had a mind of her own. Shi' made
Ino scene. She did not go into hysterics,
i but when everything was ready she asked her
! father if he was going- He said he would
follow along after a while. She called to
a negro and made him take her trunks and
bandboxes from the wagon and carry thorn
into the house, while Squire Famorough
stood scratching his head.
“Why don't you make her come?" his
daughter-in-law asked, somewhat, sharply.
"Well, Susannah." the squire remarked,
“1 ain't been .< justice of the peace and a
married man, off an' on for forty year, with
out finding out when to fool with the wimen
sek an’ when not to fool wi’ ’em.”
"I'd make her come," said the daughter
in-law-
i "I give you lief, Susannah, freely an’
I fully. Lay your baby some'rs wher' it won t
1 git. run over, an’ take off your surplus har-
I ness, an' go an’ fetch her out of the house
r.n’ put her in the buggy.”
But the daughter-in-law treated the cotir
( teous invitation with proper .scorn, and the
■ small caravan moved off, leaving the fair
j Julia and her father in possession of the
j premises. According to human understand
ing. the refugees got off just in tho nick of
time. A day or two afterwards the union
army, figurativt ly speaking, marched up,
looked over Squire Fambrough’s front pal
ings and tho i fell back to reflect over the
situation- Shortly afterwards the confed
erate army marched up, looked over the
I squire’s back palings and also fell back to
I reflect. Evidently the situation was one
’ to justify reflection, for presently both armies
fell back still further. These movements
■ were so courteous and discreet—were such
I a colossal display of etiquett—that war
! seemed to be out of tho question. Os course
j there were the conservative pickets, the
' thoughtful videttes and the careful sharp
' shooters ready to occasion a little bloodshed
■ iieeidentally or intentionally. But by far
j the most boisterously ferocious appendages
1 of the two armies were tho two brass bands.
They were continually challenging each other
beginning early in tho morning and ending
i late in the afternoon, one !:ri :g off "Dixie”
; and tlie other "Yankee Doodle." It was
j "Yanl«'e-di nlle b.oddy do” and “Doodle
doodle Dixie too." like too chanticleers chal
'■ longing each other afar off.
■ This was the situation as it. appeared to
Squire Fambrough and his daughter- On
i this particular morning the sun was shin
! ing brightly and the birds were fluttering
; joyously in the budding trees. Miss Julia
had brought her bock out. into the grove
of venerable oaks which was the chief
beauty <>f the place and had seated herself
_ a rustic bench that was built around
■! iLe t;i-i->. dust as J- he had heemne
; interested she heard a rille shot. She
' moved uneasily, but fell to reading again,
and was apparently absorbed in the book,
when she heard another shot- Then she
threw' the book down and rose to her feet,
! making a very pretty center piece in the
| woodland setting.
j . "Oh. what is the matter with everything?”
I she iacl.limed. "There's the shooting again!
How can I road books and sit quietly hero
I while tho soldiers are preparing to fight?
Oh mo! I don’t know what to do! If there
should boa battle here I don’t know what
! would become of me.”
Julia, hi I er iie-'p.-iir, was fair to look up
! on. Her gown of striped homespun stuff,
' simply made. s< t off to admiration her strong
I but supple figure. Idxc.teineM added a new
i luster to the dark eyes, always lustrous,
! and gave a heightening color to the roses
■ that bloomed on her cheeks. She stood
a moment as if listening and then a faint
smile showed on her lips. She heard her
father calling
“.Title! .Tide! Oh, .Title!”
"Here I am father!” she cried, “w'hat is
it?"
"Well, the Lord hc'p my soul! I've been
I huntin' for you high an’ low. Did you
; hear that shooting? I lowed may be
I you’d been took prisoner an' carried un
| bodtteiously off. Didn't I hear you talkin’
1 to somebody?”
Squire Fambrough pulled off his hat and
! seraiched his head. liis face, set in a
' fringe of gray beard, was kindly and full
I of humor, but it contained not a few of
j the bard lines of experi. nee.
"No, father,” said Julia, in reply to the
| squire’s question. “I was only talking to
: myself.”
■ “Jest milkin’ a speech, ch? Vfell. I don’t
blame you, honey! I'm a great mind 1o
jump out here in the elearin’ an' yell out
i my sent.nients so that both sides can hear
i ’em.”
“Vi’hy. w'hai is the matter, father?”
“I'm m-:d honey! I'm jest nachnlly stir-
I red m> —dog my eat ; ; es 1 ain't. Along at
l fust 1 did hope there wiflildn’t lie no iig'nt
' in’ in this neighborhood, but now I jest,
want to see them two Iflanud armies light
: into one another tcolh and toenail.”
| “Why. father!” Julia made a pretty gest
! lire of dismay. “How can you talk so?”
“Half of my niggers is gone." said Squire
| Fambrough. "one side has got mv hors-'s
I and tother side has stole my cattle. The
i yankecs has grabbed my grist mill, and the
I confeds has laid hold of my corn crib. One
that he w< uld nev
er be a refugee, but
he had a re.ponsi
bility on his hands
that he had not
counted on. That
responsibility was
army is squattin’ in my tatcr patch and
tother one is roostin’ in my cow pastur’.
Do you recon I was born to set d'xwn here
an’ put up wi’ that kind of business?”
“But father, what can you do? How can
you help yourself? For heaven’s sake
let’s go away from here!”
"Great Moses, Jule! Have you gone an’
lost what little bit of common sense you was
born with? Do you reckon I’m a-goin’ to
be a-refugeein’ an' a-skeedaddlin’ across
the country like a skeer'd rabbit at my
time of life? I baint afeared of nary two
armies they can ibid room for on these
hills! Ila'in’t I got one son on one side
an’ another son on t’other side? Mitch good
they are doin', too. If they'd a-felt like
me they’d a fit both sides. Do you reckon
I’m a-gwine to be drove off’n the place
whore 1 was born, an’ where your grand-
P a V.py born, an’ where your mother
lies burid? No, honey!"
"T»ut, father, you know we can't stay here.
Suppose there should be a battle?”
"Come, honey! come!” There was a touch
“WHO WAS HE
of petulance in the old man's tone. "Don't
get me llusirated. 1 told you to go when
John’s wife and the children went. By
this time you'd a'been out of bearin' of the
war.”
"But, father, how could I go and leave
you here all by yourself.” The girl laid
her hand on Hie squire's shoulder caress
ingly.
“Not” exclaimed the squire, angrily,
“stay you would, slay you did, an’ here you
are.”
"Yes, and now I want to go away, and 1
want, you to go with me. .All the horses
are not. taken, and tho spring wagon and
the barouche are here.”
"Don't come a pesterin' me, honey! I'm
pestered enough as it is. Lord, if 1 had
the big men here what started the war I’d
take an’ butt their cussed heads together
till you wouldn't know 'em from a lot of
sailed squashes.”
"Now don't get angry and say bad words,
father.”
"1 can't help it. Jule; I jest can’t help
it. When the fuss was a' brewin’ I sot
down an' wrote to Jeems Buchamin, and
told him .iest as plain as the words could
be put on paper that war was boitn’d to
come if he -lidn’t look sharp; an' then
when old Buck dropped out, I sot down
an’ wrote to Abe Lincoln an’ told him that
coercion wouldn't work worth a cent, but
conciliation —"
"Wait, father;" Julia held up her pretty
hand. "I hear someone (-tilling. Listen.
Not far away they heard the voice of a
negro. "Marse Dave Henry. Oh, Marse
Dave Henry!”
"Hello! Who in th;? nation are you hol
lerin’ at?” said ’Squ're Fambrough as a
youngish looking regro man came in view.
"An’ where did you come from, an where
are you goin'?”
"Howdy, mistiss—howdy, marstcr! Ihe
negro too off his hat as he came up.
“What's vour mime?” asked the squire.
“I’m name Tuck, suh. None, er you—all
ain’t seed nothing, er Marse —”
“Who do you belong to?”
"I b’longs ter de Cloptons down dar in
Georgy, sub. None er you-all ain't seed
nothin’—”
“What are you doin’ here?" demanded
'Stj'iiire Fambrougi. somewhat angrily.
“Don't, you know you are liable to get
killed any minute? Ain't you makin’ your
way to the yankoe army?”
"No, suh.” Tho negro spoke with unc
tion. "I’m des tt-huulin’ my young mar
ste?, suh. H ‘ name Daye Henry Clopton.
Dat what we .ill call him--Marse Henry.
None er you ill ain’t seed him, is you? ’
“Jule,”" said the ’squire, rubbing his nose
thoughtfully, "ain't that the name of the
chap that used to hang around here before
yankees got too close?”
"Do you nean Lieutenant Clopton. fa
ther?" said Juiia, showing some confusion.
“Yassuui.” Tuc.k grinned and rubbed
his hands together. "Marse Dave, Henry
is shbly a lieutender in do comp'ny. an'
miss'iss, she say he'd done been a giner'l
es dey want so much enviousness in de
army.”
"I stv him this morning—l mean—"
Julia blushed and hesitated. "I mean 1
heard him talking out here in tin- grove.”
"Who was lie talking to Jule?" The
squire put the question calmly and deliber
ately.
There was a little pause. Julia still
blushing adjusted an imaginary hair-pin.
The negro looked sheepishly from one to
the other. Tho squire repeated his ques
tion.
"Who was he talkin’ to. Jule?”
"Nobody but me.” said the young lady,
giowing red lor. ILt embarrassment vas
rot lessoned by an involuntary "-?h—eh."
from the negro. Squire Famiirov.gn raised
his eyes heavenward, and allowed both his
heavy hands to drop helplessly by his side.,
"What was be talkin’ about?" the oLI
man spike with apparent humility.
“N-o-t-li-i-n-g,” said Julia. demurely,
looking at her pink fingernails. ‘‘He just,
asked me if I thought it would rain,, and I
told him I didn't know, and then ho said
tho siting was coming on very rapid!},
and I said ‘yes, 1 thought it was.' And
then ho had found a bunch of violets and
asked mo if I wUnld accept them, ami I
said ‘thank you.’
"Land of the living Moses'" exclaimed
Squire Fambrough, lifting his hand above
his head and allowing them to fall heavily
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again. “And they call this war!”
“Yesstim!” the negro’s tone was trium
phant. "Dat sholy wuz Alarse Dave Henry,
tol’ me he wuz out dis a-way, whar dey
War er no war, dat wuz him. Dat des
de way he goes ’mongst de ladies. He
gi’uru candy yit, let ’lone flowers. Shoo!
You can’t tell me nothin’ ’tall ’bout Marse
Dave Henry.”
"What are you wanderin' 'round here in
tho woods for?” asked the squire. His
tone was somewhat severe. "Did any
body idl you ho was here?"
“No, suh!” replied Tuck. “Dey told me
back dar at. de camps dat I'd fin’ un out
on de picket line, an’ when I got dar dey
wuz some sharp shootin’ gwine on, but I
ain't foun’ ’im yit.”
“Ain’t you been with him all the time?”
The squire was disposed to treat the negro
as a witness for his defense.
“Lor’ no, suh! I des now come right
straight sum Georgy. Mistiss—she Marse
Dave HrTirj*.s ma—she hear talk dat de
solyers ain’t got no cloze sorter w'ar an*
TALKIN’ TO, JULE?”
I no vittles fer ter eat skacely, an’ she tuck r
! make me come an’ fetch ’em a box full er
duds an’ er box full er vittles- She put
cake in dar, yir, ’kase I tuk’n -smelt it
whilze I wuz handlin’ the box. De boxes,
day er dar at de camp an’ here me, but whar
bouts is Alarse Dave Henry? Not ter be
a-hidin’ sum somebody, he de hardest white
man ter tin’ what 1 ever laid, eyes on. I
speck I better be knockin’ ’long. Good
saw two union soldiers approaching. Al
-1 don’ tin’ Marse Dave Henry nowheres,
I’ll know where ter come an watch fer
’im”
The squire watched the negro disappear
in the woods and then turned tn his daugh
ter. To his surprise her eyes were full of
tears, but before h“ could make any com
ment or ask any question ho heard the noise
‘ of tramping feet in the woods and presently
| saw the union soldiers approaching. Al
most immediately Julia called bis atten
tion to three soldiers coming from the con
federate side.
•‘I believe in mv very soul we’re surround d
by both armies.” remarked the squire dryly*
"but don’t git. skeered honey. I’m gain
to see what they’re trespassin' on my prem
ises for-’’
IV.-COMMERCE AND SENTIMENT.
' "Upon mo sowl,” said O'Halloran. as he
and Captain Summerville went forward,
; the big Irishman leading the way, "I’m
afeard I’m tollin’ you into a trap.”
"How?” asked the captain.
"Why, there’s three of the Johnnies coin
i in’, sor, an' the ould man and the gurrul
i make live-”
"Halt,” said the captain, using the word
Iby force of habit. The two paused and the
I captain took in the situation at a glance.
! Then he turned to the big Irishman with a
I queer look on his face.
i "What is it, sor?"
"I’m in for it now. That is my father
I yonder and the young lady is my sister-”
"The Divvil an’ Tom Walker," exclaimed
O'Halloran. “'Tis quite a family rayan
ion, sor.”
"I don't, know whether to make myself
known op not. What could have possessed
them to stay bine? I'll see whether they
know me.” As they went forward the
captain plucked O’Halloran by the sleeve.
"I will be shot if the Johnny with his arm
In the sling isn't my brother."
“1 was expectin’ it, sor." said the big
Irishman, giving matters a. humorous turn.
“Soon the cousins will bo poppin’ out from
under the bushes.”
By this time the two were near enough
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o the approaching confederates to earr;
on a conversation by lifting their voices a
little.
"Hello. Johnny," said O'Halloran.
"Hello, yank," replied Kilpatrick.
“What's the countersign, Johnny?”
“Tobacco. What is it on your eida,
yank?”
“Tay and coffee, Johnny.”
“You are mighty right,” Kilpatrick ex