Part 6 (1/2)
”Boys, when we go, we'll just about lift that feller and take him along.
He belongs in Andersonville, that's where he belongs.”
Major Ba.s.s looked at the tall Mississippian and smiled.
”I reckon you must 'a' been mighty sick over yander,” said the major, indicating Rockville.
”Well, yes,” said the Mississippian; ”I've had a pretty tough time.”
”And you ain't strong yet,” the major went on.
”Well, I'm able to get about right lively,” said the other.
”Strong enough to go to war?”
”Oh, well, no--not just yet.”
”Well, then,” said the major in his bluntest tone, ”you better be mighty keerful of yourself in this town. If you ain't strong enough to go to war, you better let Little Compton alone.”
The tall Mississippian and his friends took the hint, and Little Compton continued to wear his blue uniform unmolested. About this time Atlanta fell; and there were vague rumors in the air, chiefly among the negroes, that Sherman's army would march down and capture Hillsborough, which, by the a.s.sembly of generals at Perdue's Corner, was regarded as a strategic point. These vague rumors proved to be correct; and by the time the first frosts fell, Perdue's Corner had reason to believe that General Sherman was marching down on Hillsborough. Dire rumors of fire, rapine, and pillage preceded the approach of the Federal army, and it may well be supposed that these rumors spread consternation in the air. Major Ba.s.s professed to believe that General Sherman would be ”surroundered”
and captured before his troops reached Middle Georgia; but the three columns, miles apart, continued their march unopposed.
It was observed that during this period of doubt, anxiety, and terror, Little Compton was on the alert. He appeared to be nervous and restless.
His conduct was so peculiar that some of the more suspicious citizens of the region predicted that he had been playing the part of a spy, and that he was merely waiting for the advent of Sherman's army in order to point out where his acquaintances had concealed their treasures.
One fine morning a company of Federal troopers rode into Hillsborough.
They were met by Little Compton, who had borrowed one of Jack Walthall's horses for just such an occasion. The cavalcade paused in the public square, and, after a somewhat prolonged consultation with Little Compton, rode on in the direction of Rockville. During the day small parties of foragers made their appearance. Little Compton had some trouble with these; but, by hurrying hither and thither, he managed to prevent any depredations. He even succeeded in convincing the majority of them that they owed some sort of respect to that small town. There was one obstinate fellow, however, who seemed determined to prosecute his search for valuables. He was a German who evidently did not understand English.
In the confusion Little Compton lost sight of the German, though he had determined to keep an eye on him. It was not long before he heard of him again; for one of the Walthall negroes came running across the public square, showing by voice and gesture that he was very much alarmed.
”Ma.r.s.e Compton! Ma.r.s.e Compton!” he cried, ”you better run up ter Ma.r.s.e Jack's, kaze one er dem mens is gwine in dar whar ole Miss is, en ef he do dat he gwine ter git hurted!”
Little Compton hurried to the Walthall place, and he was just in time to see Jack rus.h.i.+ng the German down the wide flight of steps that led to the veranda. What might have happened, no one can say; what did happen may be briefly told. The German, his face inflamed with pa.s.sion, had seized his gun, which had been left outside, and was aiming at Jack Walthall, who stood on the steps, cool and erect. An exclamation of mingled horror and indignation from Little Compton attracted the German's attention, and caused him to turn his head. This delay probably saved Jack Walthall's life; for the German, thinking that a comrade was coming to his aid, leveled his gun again and fired. But Little Compton had seized the weapon near the muzzle and wrested it around. The bullet, instead of reaching its target, tore its way through Compton's empty sleeve. In another instant the German was covered by Compton's revolver.
The hand that held it was steady, and the eyes that glanced along its s.h.i.+ning barrel fairly blazed. The German dropped his gun. All trace of pa.s.sion disappeared from his face; and presently seeing that the crisis had pa.s.sed, so far as he was concerned, he wheeled in his tracks, gravely saluted Little Compton, and made off at a double-quick.
”You mustn't think hard of the boys, Jack, on account of that chap. They understand the whole business, and they are going to take care of this town.”
And they did. The army came marching along presently, and the stragglers found Hillsborough patrolled by a detachment of cavalry.
Walthall and Little Compton stood on the wide steps, and reviewed this imposing array as it pa.s.sed before them. The tall Confederate, in his uniform of gray, rested his one hand affectionately on the shoulder of the stout little man in blue, and on the bosom of each was pinned an empty sleeve. Unconsciously, they made an impressive picture.
The Commander, grim, gray, and resolute, observed it with sparkling eyes. The spectacle was so unusual--so utterly opposed to the logic of events--that he stopped with his staff long enough to hear Little Compton tell his story. He was a grizzled, aggressive man, this Commander, but his face lighted up wonderfully at the recital.
”Well, you know this sort of thing doesn't end the war, boys,” he said, as he shook hands with Walthall and Little Compton; ”but I shall sleep better to-night.”
Perhaps he did. Perhaps he dreamed that what he had seen and heard was prophetic of the days to come, when peace and fraternity should seize upon the land, and bring unity, happiness, and prosperity to the people.