A Fool's Errand & Bricks without Straw

by Albion Winegar Tourgée

  Then all was still, except the roar of the burning church and the solemn soughing of the pines, as the rising west wind rustled their branches.

  Nimbus and his wife stood listening in the shade of a low oak, between the scene of conflict and the highway. No sound of the flying enemy could be heard.

  "Nimbus! Oh, Nimbus!" the words came in a strained, low whisper from the unclad figure at his side.

  "Wal, 'Gena?"

  "Is you hurt, honey?"

  "Nary bit. How should I be? They run away ez quick ez I come. Did they 'buse you, 'Gena?"

  "None of enny 'count," she answered, cautiously, for fear of raising his anger to a point beyond control — "only jest a tryin' ter make me tell whar you was — you an' 'Liab."

  "Whar's yer clo'es, honey?"

  "In de house, dar, only what I tore, getting away from 'em." "An' de chillen?"

  "Dey's run out an' hid somewheres. Dey scattered like young pa'tridges."

  "Dey's been hunted like 'em too, eh?"

  He lays his hand in caution upon the bare shoulder next him, and they both crouch closer in the shadow and listen. All is quiet, except groans and stertorous breathing near the cabin.

  "It's one of them damned villains. Let me settle him!" said Nimbus.

  "Don't, don't!" cried Lugena, as she threw her arms about his neck.

  "Please don't, honey!"

  "P'raps it's Bre'er 'Liab! Let me go!" he said, hastily.

  Cautiously they started back through the strip of yellow light which lay between them and the cabin of Eliab. They could not believe that their persecutors were indeed gone. Nimbus's hand still clutched the saber, and Lugena had picked up the axe which she had dropped.

  The groaning came indeed from Eliab. He had partially recovered from the unconsciousness which had come over him while undergoing torture, and with returning animation had come the sense of acute suffering from the injuries he had received.

  "Bre'er 'Liab!" whispered Nimbus, bending over him.

  "Is that you, Nimbus?" asked the stricken man in surprise. "How do you come to be here?"

  "Jes tuk it inter my head ter come home atter de funeril, an' done got here jest in time ter take a han' in what was gwine on."

  "Is the church all burned down, Nimbus?"

  "De ruf hez all fell in. De sides 'll burn a long while yet. Dey'se logs, yer know."

  "Did 'Gena get away, Nimbus?"

  "Here I is, Bre'er 'Liab."

  "Is anybody hurt?"

  "Not ez we knows on, 'cept two dat's lyin' on de groun' right h'yer by ye," said Nimbus.

  "Dead?" asked 'Liab, with a shudder. He tried to raise himself up but sank back with a groan.

  "Oh, Bre'er 'Liab! Bre'er 'Liab!" cried Nimbus, his distress overcoming his fear, "is you hurt bad? My God!" he continued, as he raised his friend's head and saw that he had lapsed again into insensibility, "my God! 'Gena, he's dead!"

  He withdrew the hand he had placed under the shoulders of the prostrate man. It was covered with blood.

  "Sh — sh! You hear dat, Nimbus?" asked Lugena, in a choked whisper, as she started up and peered toward the road. "Oh, Nimbus, run! run! Do, honey, do! Dar dey comes! Dey'll kill you, shore!"

  She caught her husband by the arm, and endeavored to drag him into the shadow of the cabin.

  "I can't leave Bre'er 'Liab," said Nimbus, doggedly.

  "Yer can't help him. Yer'll jes stay an' be killed ye'self! Dar now, listen at dat!" cried the trembling woman.

  The sound to which she referred was that of hurried footfalls in the road beyond their house. Nimbus heard it, and stooping over his insensible friend, raised him in his arms and dashed around the cabin into the rank-growing corn beyond. His wife followed for a few steps, still carrying the axe. Then she turned and peered through the corn-rows, determined to cover her husband's retreat should danger threaten him from that direction. After waiting awhile and hearing nothing more, she concluded to go to the house, get some clothing, and endeavor to rally her scattered brood.

  Stealing softly up to the back door — the fire had died out upon the hearth — she entered cautiously, and after glancing through the shaded porch began to dress. She had donned her clothing and taken up her shoes preparatory to going back to the shelter of the cornfield, when she thought she heard a stealthy footstep on the porch. Her heart stood still with terror. She listened breathlessly. It came again. There was no doubt of it now — a slow, stealthy step! A board creaked, and then all was still. Again! Thank God it was a bare foot! Her heart took hope. She stole to the open door and peeped out. There, in the half shadow of the flame-lit porch, she saw Berry Lawson stealing toward her. She almost screamed for joy. Stepping into the doorway she whispered,

  "Berry!"

  "Is dat you, 'Gena?" whispered that worthy, tiptoeing hastily forward and stepping into the shadow within the room. "How'd yer manage ter live t'rough dis yer night, 'Gena? An' whar's Nimbus an' de chillen?"

  These questions being hastily answered, Lugena began to inquire in regard to his presence there.

  "Whar I come from? Jes got back from Bre'er Rufe's house. Druv at night jes ter save de mornin' ter walk back in. Lef' Sally an' de chillen dar all right. When I come putty nigh ter Red Wing I sees de light o' de fire, an' presently I sez to myself, sez I, 'Berry, dat ain't no common fire, now. Ain't many houses in the kentry roun' make sech a fire ez dat. Dat mus' be de church, Berry.' Den I members 'bout de Ku Kluckers, an' I sez ter myself agin, sez I, 'Berry, dem rascals hez come ter Red Wing an' is raisin' de debble dar now, jes dere own way.' Den I runs de mule and de carryall inter de woods, 'bout a mile down de road, an' I takes out Bre'er 'Liab's gun, dat I'd borrered fer company, yer know, an' hed got some cattridges fer, ober at Lewyburg, an' I comes on ter take a han' in — ef dar wa'n't no danger, yer know, honey.

  "When I gits ober in de woods, dar, I heah de wust sort ob hullabaloo ober h'yer 'bout whar Bre'er 'Liab's house was — hollerin' an' screamin' an' cussin' an' fightin'. I couldn't make it all out, but I'llowed dat Nimbus wuz a-habbin' a hell ob a time, an' ef I wuz gwine ter do anyting, dat wuz about de right time fer me ter put in. So I rested dis yer ole gal," patting the carbine in his hand, "agin a tree an' jes slung a bullet squar ober dere heads. Ye see, I dassent shoot too low, fer fear ob hurtin' some of my fren's. 'D'ye heah dat shot, 'Gena? Lord! how de ole gal did holler. 'Pears like I nebber hear a cannon sound so big. De Ku Kluckers 'peared ter hear it too, fer dey comed squar outen h'yer inter de big road. Den I opened up an' let her bark at 'em ez long ez I could see a shadder ter pull trigger on. Wonder ef I hurt enny on 'em. D'yer know, 'Gena, wuz enny on 'em killed?"

  "Dar's two on 'em a layin' out dar by 'Liab's house," said the woman.

  "Yer don't say so!" said Berry with a start. "La, sakes! what's dat?" he continued, breathlessly, as a strange sound was heard in the direction indicated. They stole out upon the porch, and as they peered through the clustering wine-leaves a ghastly spectacle presented itself to their eyes.

  One of the prostrate forms had risen and was groping around on its hands and knees, uttering a strange moaning sound. Presently it staggered to its feet, and after some vain efforts seized the mask, the long flowing cape attached to which fell down upon the shoulders, and tore it away. The pale, distorted face with a bloody channel down the middle was turned inquiringly this way and that. The man put his hand to his forehead as if to collect his thoughts. Then he tried to utter a cry; the jaw moved, but only unintelligible sounds were heard.

  Lugena heard the click of the gun-lock, and turning, laid her hand on Berry, as she said,

  "Don't shoot! 'Tain't no use!"

  "Yer right, it ain't," said Berry with chattering teeth. "Who ebber seed a man walkin' 'roun' wid his head split wide open afo'?"

  The figure staggered on, looked a moment at the house, turned toward the burning church, and then, seeming to recall what had happened, at once assumed a stealthy demeanor, and, still staggering as it went, crept off toward the gate, out of
which it passed and went unsteadily off down the road.

  "Dar ain't no sort of use o' his dodgin' 'round," said Berry, as the footsteps died away. "De berry debble'd gib him de road, enny time."

  As he spoke, a whistle sounded down the road. Berry and Lugena instantly sought shelter in the corn. Crouching low between the rows, they saw four men come cautiously into the yard, examine the prostrate man that remained, and bear him off between them, using for a stretcher the pieces of the coffin-shaped board which had been hung upon the gate two weeks before.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  "THE ROSE ABOVE THE MOULD"

  Table of Contents

  The convalescence of Mollie Ainslie was very rapid, and a few days after the crisis of her disease her attendants were able to return to their homes at Red Wing. Great was the rejoicing there over the recovery of their favorite teacher. The school had been greatly crippled by her absence and showed, even in that brief period, how much was due to her ability and skill. Everybody was clamorous for her immediate return — everybody except Eliab Hill, who after an almost sleepless night sent a letter begging her not to return for a considerable time.

  It was a strangely earnest letter for one of its apparent import. The writer dwelt at considerable length upon the insidious and treacherous character of the disease from which she was recovering. He grew eloquent as he detailed all that the people of Red Wing owed to her exertions in their behalf, and told how, year after year, without any vacation, she had labored for them. He showed that this must have been a strain upon her vital energies, and pointed out the danger of relapse should she resume her duties before she had fully recovered. He begged her, therefore, to remain at Mulberry Hill at least a month longer; and, to support his request, informed her that with the advice and consent of the Superintendent he had dismissed the school until that time. He took especial pains, too, to prevent the report of the threatened difficulty from coming to her ears. This was the more easily accomplished from the fact that those who had apprehended trouble were afraid of being deemed cowardly if they acknowledged their belief. So, while the greater number of the men in the little hamlet were accustomed to sleep in the neighboring thickets, in order to be out of harm's way should the Ku Klux come to make good their decree, very little was said, even among themselves, about the threatened attack.

  In utter unconsciousness, therefore, of the fate that brooded over those in whom she took so deep an interest, Mollie abandoned herself to the restful delights of convalescence. She soon found herself able to visit the room of the confirmed invalid below, and though she seemed to detect a sort of coolness in her manner she did not dream of associating the change with herself. She attributed it entirely to the sore affliction which had fallen upon the household since her arrival, and which, she charitably reasoned, her own recovery must revive in their minds in full force. So she pardoned the fair, frail invalid who, reclining languidly upon the couch, asked as to her health and congratulated her in cool, set phrases upon her recovery.

  Such was not the case, however, with her host. There were tears in his eyes when he met her on the landing for the first time after she left her sick-bed. She knew they were for the little Hildreth whom she had nursed and whom her presence recalled. And yet there was a gleam in his eyes which was not altogether of sorrow. She, too, mourned for the sweet child whom she had learned to love, and her eyes responded to the tender challenge with copious tears. Yet her own feelings were not entirely sad. She did not know why. She did not stop to analyze or reason. She only gave him her hand — how thin and white it was compared with the first time he had seen her and had noted its soft plumpness!

  Their lips quivered so that they could not speak. He held her hand and assisted the servant in leading her into the parlor. She was still so weak that they had to lay her on the sofa. Hesden Le Moyne bent over her for a little while, and then hurried away. He had not said a word, and both had wept; yet, as she closed her eyes after he had gone she was vaguely conscious that she had never been so happy before in her life. So the days wore on, quietly and swiftly, full of a tender sorrow tempered with an undefined joy. Day by day she grew stronger and brighter, needing less of assistance but receiving even more of attention from the stricken father of her late charge.

  "You have not asked about Satan," said Mr. Le Moyne suddenly one day.

  "Why should I?" she replied, with an arch look. "If that personage will be equally forgetful of me I am sure I shall be very glad."

  "Oh, I mean your horse — Midnight, as you call him," laughed Hesden.

  "So I supposed," she replied. "I have a dim notion that you applied that eipthet to him on the night of my arrival. Your mother, too, said something about 'Satan,' that night, which I remember puzzled me very greatly at the moment, but I was too much flustered to ask about it just then. Thinking of it afterward, I concluded that she intended to refer to my black-skinned pet. But why do you give him that name?"

  "Because that was the first name he ever knew," answered Hesden, with an amused smile.

  "The first name he ever knew? I don't understand you," she replied. "My brother captured him at Appomattox, or near there, and named him Midnight, and Midnight he has been ever since."

  "Very true," said Hesden, "but he was Satan before that, and very well earned this name, in his young days." "In his young days?" she asked, turning towards him in surprise. "Did you know him then?"

  "Very well, indeed," he replied, smiling at her eagerness. "He was raised on this plantation and never knew any other master than me until that day at Rouse's Bridge."

  "Why, that is the very place my brother captured him. I remember the name now that you mention it!" she exclaimed.

  "Is it anything surprising," said he, "that the day I lost him should be the day he captured him?"

  "No — not exactly — but then" — she paused in confusion as she glanced at the empty sleeve which was pinned across his breast.

  "Yes," said he, noticing her look, "I lost that there," pointing to the empty sleeve as he spoke; "and though it was a sore loss to a young man who prided himself somewhat on his physical activity, I believe I mourned the horse more than I did the arm."

  "But my brother — " she began with a frightened look into his face.

  "Well, he must have been in my immediate vicinity, for Satan was the best-trained horse in the squadron. Even after I was dismounted, he would not have failed to keep his place in the ranks when the retreat was sounded, unless an unusually good horseman were on his back."

  "My brother said he had as hard a struggle with him then as he had with his rider before," she said, looking shyly up.

  "Indeed! I am obliged to him," he responded with a smile. "The commendation of an enemy is always pleasant to a soldier."

  "Oh, he said you were terribly bloodthirsty and rode at him as if nothing would satisfy you but his life," she said, with great eagerness.

  "Very likely," he answered, lightly. "I have some reputation for directness of purpose, and that was a moment of desperation. We did not know whether we should come back or not, and did not care. We knew that the end was very near, and few of us wished to outlive it. Not that we cared so much — many of us at least — for the cause we fought for; but we dreaded the humiliation of surrender and the stigma of defeat. We felt the disgrace to our people with a keenness that no one can appreciate who has not been in like circumstances. I was opposed to the war myself, but I would rather have died than have lived to see the surrender."

  "It must have been hard," she said, softly.

  "Hard!" he exclaimed. "I should think it was! But then," he added, his brow suddenly clearing, "next to the fact of surrender I dreaded the loss of my horse. I even contemplated shooting him to prevent his falling into the hands of the enemy."

  "My brother thought you were rather anxious to throw away your own life," she said, musingly.

  "No," he answered, "just indifferent. I wonder if I saw him at all."

  "Oh, you must, for you-" she b
egan eagerly, but stopped in confusion.

  "Well, what did I do? Nothing very bad, I hope?" he asked.

  "Well, you left an ugly scar on a very smooth forehead, if you call that bad, sir," she said, archly.

  "Indeed! Of course I do," was the reply, but his tone indicated that he was thinking less of the atrocity which she had laid to his charge than of the events of that last day of battle. "Let me see," said he, musingly. "I had a sharp turn with a fellow on a gray horse. He was a slender, fair-haired man" — looking down at the figure on the sofa behind which he stood as if to note if there were any resemblance. "He was tall, as tall as I am, I should say, and I thought — I was of the impression — that he was of higher rank than a captain. He was somewhat in advance of his line and right in my path. I remember thinking, as I crossed swords with him that if — if we were both killed, the odds would be in favor of our side. He must have been a colonel at least, or I was mistaken in his shoulder-straps."

  "My brother was a colonel of volunteers," she said, quietly. "He was only a captain, however, after his transfer to the regular army."

  "Indeed!" said he with new interest. "What was he like?"

  For answer Mollie put her hand to her throat, and opening a gold locket which she wore, held up the case so far as the chain would allow while Hesden bent over to look at it. His face was very near her own, and she noted the eagerness with which he scanned the picture.

  "Yes, that is the man!" he said at length, with something like a sigh. "I hope I did not injure him seriously."

  "Only his beauty," she replied, pleasantly.

  "Of which, judging from what I see," he said saucily, letting his eyes wander from the miniature to her face, "he could afford to lose a good deal and yet not suffer by comparison with others."