I.
When the able-bodied citizens of the village formed a company andmarched away to the war, Major Tom Boldin assumed in a manner the burdenof the village cares. Everybody ran to him when they felt obliged todiscuss their affairs. The sorrows of the town were dragged before him.His little bench at the sunny side of Migglesville tavern became a sortof an open court where people came to speak resentfully of theirgrievances. He accepted his position and struggled manfully under theload. It behooved him, as a man who had seen the sky red over thequaint, low cities of Mexico, and the compact Northern bayonets gleamingon the narrow roads.
One warm summer day the major sat asleep on his little bench. There wasa lull in the tempest of discussion which usually enveloped him. Hiscane, by use of which he could make the most tremendous and impressivegestures, reposed beside him. His hat lay upon the bench, and his oldbald head had swung far forward until his nose actually touched thefirst button of his waistcoat.
The sparrows wrangled desperately in the road, defying perspiration.Once a team went jangling and creaking past, raising a yellow blur ofdust before the soft tones of the field and sky. In the long grass ofthe meadow across the road the insects chirped and clacked eternally.
Suddenly a frouzy-headed boy appeared in the roadway, his bare feetpattering rapidly. He was extremely excited. He gave a shrill whoop ashe discovered the sleeping major and rushed toward him. He created aterrific panic among some chickens who had been scratching intently nearthe major's feet. They clamoured in an insanity of fear, and rushedhither and thither seeking a way of escape, whereas in reality all wayslay plainly open to them.
This tumult caused the major to arouse with a sudden little jump ofamazement and apprehension. He rubbed his eyes and gazed about him.Meanwhile, some clever chicken had discovered a passage to safety andled the flock into the garden, where they squawked in sustained alarm.
Panting from his run and choked with terror, the little boy stood beforethe major, struggling with a tale that was ever upon the tip of histongue.
"Major--now--major----"
The old man, roused from a delicious slumber, glared impatiently at thelittle boy. "Come, come! What's th' matter with yeh?" he demanded."What's th' matter? Don't stand there shaking! Speak up!"
"Lots is th' matter!" the little boy shouted valiantly, with a courageborn of the importance of his tale. "My ma's chickens 'uz all stole,an'--now--he's over in th' woods!"
"Who is? Who is over in the woods? Go ahead!"
"Now--th' rebel is!"
"What?" roared the major.
"Th' rebel!" cried the little boy, with the last of his breath.
The major pounced from his bench in tempestuous excitement. He seizedthe little boy by the collar and gave him a great jerk. "Where? Are yehsure? Who saw 'im? How long ago? Where is he now? Did you see 'im?"
The little boy, frightened at the major's fury, began to sob. After amoment he managed to stammer: "He--now--he's in the woods. I saw 'im. Helooks uglier'n anythin'."
The major released his hold upon the boy, and, pausing for a time,indulged in a glorious dream. Then he said: "By thunder! we'll ketch th'cuss. You wait here," he told the boy, "an' don't say a word t' anybody.Do yeh hear?"
The boy, still weeping, nodded, and the major hurriedly entered the inn.He took down from its pegs an awkward, smoothbore rifle and carefullyexamined the enormous percussion cap that was fitted over the nipple.Mistrusting the cap, he removed it and replaced it with a new one. Hescrutinized the gun keenly, as if he could judge in this manner of thecondition of the load. All his movements were deliberate and deadly.
When he arrived upon the porch of the tavern he beheld the yard filledwith people. Peter Witheby, sooty-faced and grinning, was in the van. Helooked at the major. "Well?" he said.
"Well?" returned the major, bridling.
"Well, what's 'che got?" said old Peter.
"'Got?' Got a rebel over in th' woods!" roared the major.
At this sentence the women and boys, who had gathered eagerly about him,gave vent to startled cries. The women had come from adjacent houses,but the little boys represented the entire village. They hadmiraculously heard the first whisper of rumour, and they performedwonders in getting to the spot. They clustered around the importantfigure of the major and gazed in silent awe. The women, however, burstforth. At the word "rebel," which represented to them all terriblethings, they deluged the major with questions which were obviouslyunanswerable.
He shook them off with violent impatience. Meanwhile Peter Witheby wastrying to force exasperating interrogations through the tumult to themajor's ears. "What? No! Yes! How d' I know?" the maddened veteransnarled as he struggled with his friends. "No! Yes! What? How in thunderd' I know?" Upon the steps of the tavern the landlady sat, weepingforlornly.
At last the major burst through the crowd, and went to the roadway.There, as they all streamed after him, he turned and faced them. "Now,look a' here, I don't know any more about this than you do," he toldthem forcibly. "All that I know is that there's a rebel over in Smith'swoods, an' all I know is that I'm agoin' after 'im."
"But hol' on a minnet," said old Peter. "How do yeh know he's a rebel?"
"I know he is!" cried the major. "Don't yeh think I know what a rebelis?"
Then, with a gesture of disdain at the babbling crowd, he marcheddeterminedly away, his rifle held in the hollow of his arm. At thisheroic moment a new clamour arose, half admiration, half dismay. OldPeter hobbled after the major, continually repeating, "Hol' on aminnet."
The little boy who had given the alarm was the centre of a throng oflads who gazed with envy and awe, discovering in him a new quality. Heheld forth to them eloquently. The women stared after the figure of themajor and old Peter, his pursuer. Jerozel Bronson, a half-witted lad whocomprehended nothing save an occasional genial word, leaned against thefence and grinned like a skull. The major and the pursuer passed out ofview around the turn in the road where the great maples lazily shook thedust that lay on their leaves.
For a moment the little group of women listened intently as if theyexpected to hear a sudden shot and cries from the distance. They lookedat each other, their lips a little ways apart. The trees sighed softlyin the heat of the summer sun. The insects in the meadow continued theirmonotonous humming, and, somewhere, a hen had been stricken with fearand was cackling loudly.
Finally, Mrs. Goodwin said, "Well, I'm goin' up to th' turn a' th' road,anyhow." Mrs. Willets and Mrs. Joe Petersen, her particular friends,cried out at this temerity, but she said, "Well, I'm goin', anyhow."
She called Bronson. "Come on, Jerozel. You're a man, an' if he shouldchase us, why, you mus' pitch inteh 'im. Hey?"
Bronson always obeyed everybody. He grinned an assent, and went with herdown the road.
A little boy attempted to follow them, but a shrill scream from hismother made him halt.
The remaining women stood motionless, their eyes fixed upon Mrs. Goodwinand Jerozel. Then at last one gave a laugh of triumph at her conquest ofcaution and fear, and cried, "Well, I'm goin' too!"
Another instantly said, "So am I." There began a general movement. Someof the little boys had already ventured a hundred feet away from themain body, and at this unanimous advance they spread out ahead in littlegroups. Some recounted terrible stories of rebel ferocity. Their eyeswere large with excitement. The whole thing with its possible dangershad for them a delicious element. Johnnie Peterson, who could whip anyboy present, explained what he would do in case the enemy should happento pounce out at him.
The familiar scene suddenly assumed a new aspect. The field of cornwhich met the road upon the left was no longer a mere field of corn. Itwas a darkly mystic place whose recesses could contain all manner ofdangers. The long green leaves, waving in the breeze, rustled from thepassing of men. In the song of the insects there were now omens,threats.
There was a warning in the enamel blue of the sky, in the stretch ofyellow road, in the very atmosphere. Above the tops of the co
rn loomedthe distant foliage of Smith's woods, curtaining the silent action of atragedy whose horrors they imagined.
The women and the little boys came to a halt, overwhelmed by theimpressiveness of the landscape. They waited silently.
Mrs. Goodwin suddenly said, "I'm goin' back." The others, who all wishedto return, cried at once disdainfully:
"Well, go back, if yeh want to!"
A cricket at the roadside exploded suddenly in his shrill song, and awoman who had been standing near shrieked in startled terror. Anelectric movement went through the group of women. They jumped and gavevent to sudden screams. With the fears still upon their agitated faces,they turned to berate the one who had shrieked. "My! what a goose youare, Sallie! Why, it took my breath away. Goodness sakes, don't hollerlike that again!"