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UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
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 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The Prince Chap 
 The Mallet's Masterpiece 
 Semiramis 
 The Spitfire 
 A Broken Rosary 
 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/littlestrebelOOpepl 
 
IN THE CABIN'S DOORWAY STOOD VIRGIE AND 
 HER FATHER HAND IN HAND. 
 
; ui 
 
 
I 
 
 , 
 
 Copyright, 1910, 1911, by 
 EDWARD PEPLE 
 
 All Bights Reserved 
 
 Published August, 1911 
 
 k 
 
Bebuateb 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 
 GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 IN THE CABIN'S DOORWAY STOOD 
 
 VIRGIE AND HER FATHER Frontispiece 
 
 ¥ 
 
 'OH, DADDY, WHERE IS IT?" . . 
 
 20 
 
 "MIGHT I INQUIRE WHAT YOU ARE 
 
 CALLED?" 34 
 
 THE NORTHERNER STOOD UNMOVED 56 
 
^^J 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
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 ^m 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 I 
 
 It was in the " war-time," the darkest, 
 bitterest period of it all ; when the weak- 
 ened South was slowly breaking with the 
 weight of her brother-foes; when the ar- 
 mies battled on Virginia soil — battled 
 and passed to their final muster-roll. 
 
 Twenty miles south of Richmond, on 
 the river banks, lay an old plantation, its 
 fences down, its fields neglected and over- 
 grown with briers and choking weeds. In 
 its center, on a hill, sat the blackened 
 ruins of a once stately Colonial mansion, 
 the chimney still standing, like some 
 lonely sentinel who mourned for the 
 peace and plenty of the past 
 
 [1] 
 
 <&€k 
 
 ,1 
 
 
1 
 
 I 
 
 ■• 
 
 L 
 
 **#* 
 
 THE LITTLEST KEBEL 
 
 i, ; 
 
 in the negro quarters had long since dis- 
 appeared, their timbers consumed by the 
 campfires of a passing Union host; yet, 
 away to the left, at the bend of a weed- 
 grown carriage road, one building was 
 left unburned. 
 
 In the old days it had been the cabin 
 of an overseer. It had but two rooms, 
 and a shallow attic, which was gained by 
 means of an iron ladder reaching to a 
 closely fitting scuttle in the ceiling. The 
 larger room was furnished meagerly with 
 a rough deal table, several common 
 chairs, and a double-doored cupboard 
 against the wall. In the deep, wide fire- 
 place glowed a heap of raked-up embers, 
 on which, suspended from an iron crane, 
 a kettle simmered, sadly, as if in grief 
 for her long-lost brother pots and pans. 
 iThe plaster on the walls had broken 
 jaway in patches, especially above the 
 door, where the sunlight streamed 
 [2] 
 
through the gaping wound from a can- 
 non shot. The door and window shutters 
 were of heavy oak, swinging inward and 
 fastening with bars; yet now they were 
 open, and through them could be seen a 
 dreary stretch of river bottom, withering 
 beneath the rays of a July sun. 
 
 Beyond a distant fringe of trees the 
 muddy James went murmuring down its 
 muddy banks, where the blue cranes 
 waited solemnly for the ebbing tide; 
 where the crows cawed hoarsely in their 
 busy, reeling flight, and the buzzards 
 swung high above the marshes. Yet even 
 in this waste of listless desolation came 
 the echoed boom of heavy guns far 
 down the river, where the " Rebs " and 
 " Yanks " were pounding one another 
 lazily. 
 
 From the woods which skirted the* 
 carriage road a man appeared — a thin, 
 worn man, in a uniform of stained and 
 [3] 
 
 J 
 
J 
 
 ) 
 
 i 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 tattered gray — a man who peered from 
 right to left, as a hunted rabbit might, 
 then darted across the road and plunged 
 into the briery underbrush. Noiselessly 
 he made his way to the now deserted 
 cabin, creeping, crawling till he reached 
 a point below an open window, then 
 slowly raised himself and looked within. 
 
 " Virgie ! " he whispered cautiously. 
 "Virgie!" 
 
 No answer came. For a moment the 
 man leaned dizzily against the window- 
 sill, his eyes fast closed with a nameless 
 dread, till he caught his grip again and 
 entered the open door. 
 
 " Virgie ! " he called, in a louder tone, 
 moving swiftly but unsteadily toward the 
 adjoining room. He flung its door open 
 iv sharply, almost angrily; yet the name 
 
 on his lips was tender, trembling, as he 
 called: "Virgie! Virgie!" 
 
 In the loneliness of dread, he once more 
 
 m 
 
 *:''': 
 
 . 
 
 1 
 
 
1 
 
 leaned for support against the wall, won- 
 dering, listening to the pounding of his 
 heart, to the murmur of the muddy 
 James, and the fall of a flake of plaster 
 loosened by the dull reverberation of a 
 distant gun; then suddenly his eye was 
 caught by the kettle simmering on the 
 fire, and he sighed in swift relief. 
 
 He wiped his brow with a ragged sleeve 
 and went to where a water-bucket stood 
 behind the door, knelt beside it, drinking 
 deeply, gratefully, yet listening the while 
 for unwonted sounds and watching the 
 bend of the carriage road. His thirst ap- 
 peased, he hunted vainly through the ta- 
 ble drawer for balls and powder for the 
 empty pistol at his hip; then, instinct- 
 ively alert to some rustling sound out- 
 side, he crouched toward the adjoining 
 oom, slipped in, and softly closed the* 
 
 Wat. ^= 
 
 door. 
 From 
 
 3k 
 
 WW 1 ' 
 
 sunlit world 
 [5] 
 
I 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 cabin walls rose the murmur of a child- 
 ish song, and Virgie came pattering in. 
 She was a tiny thing, a tot of seven, in 
 a calico bonnet, and a gingham dress 
 which scarcely reached to her little bare, 
 brown knees. Her face was delicate, re- 
 fined, but pale and thin, causing her big 
 dark eyes to seem bigger still beneath 
 her tumbled hair. In one hand she car- 
 ried a small tin bucket filled with ber- 
 ries ; in the other she clutched a doll and 
 held it lovingly against her breast. 
 
 This doll was more than an ordinary 
 doll; she was a personage — though 
 strangely, wonderfully made. To the in- 
 timate view of the unimaginative, the 
 babe was formed from the limb of a ce- 
 dar tree, the forking branches being legs 
 and arms by courtesy, her costume con 
 sisting of a piece of rag, tied at the wais 
 with a bit of string, and bearing some 
 faint resemblance to an infant's swad- 
 
 [6] 
 
 
 2% 
 
J 
 
 dling clothes; yet, to the little mother, 
 her cedar-tree child was a living, suffer- 
 ing sharer of her own pathetic fate. 
 
 On a chair at the table Virgie set her 
 doll, then laughed at the hopelessness of 
 its breakfasting with any degree of com- 
 fort, or of ease. 
 
 " Why, Lord amercy, child, your chin 
 don't come up to the table." 
 
 On the chair she placed a wooden box, 
 perching the doll on top and taking a 
 seat herself just opposite. She emptied 
 the blackberries into a mutilated plate, 
 brought from the cupboard a handful of 
 toasted acorns, on which she poured boil- 
 ing water, then set the concoction aside 
 to steep. 
 
 " Now, Miss Susan Jemima," said Vir- 
 gie, addressing her vis-a-vis with the hos- 
 pitable courtesy due to so great a lady,; 
 " we are goin' to have some breakfas'."; 
 She paused, in a shade of doubt, then 
 
 £7] 
 
i 
 
 i 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 smiled a faint apology : " It isn't very 
 much of a breakfas', darlin', but we'll 
 make believe it's waffles an' chicken an' — 
 an' hot rolls an' batter-bread an' — an' 
 everything." She rose to her little bare 
 feet, holding her wisp of a skirt aside, and 
 made a sweeping bow. " Allow me, Miss 
 Jemima, to make you a mos' delicious 
 cup of coffee." 
 
 And, while the little hostess prepared 
 the meal, a man looked out from the 
 partly open door behind her, with big 
 dark eyes, which were like her own, yet 
 blurred by a mist of pity and of love. 
 
 " Susan," said the hostess presently, 
 " it's ready now, and we'll say grace ; so 
 don't you talk an' annoy your mother." 
 
 The tiny brown head was bowed. The 
 tiny brown hands, with their berry- 
 stained fingers, were placed on the ta-< 
 ble's edge; but Miss Susan Jemima sat 
 bolt upright, though listening, it seemed, 
 
 [8] 
 
 
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 il 
 
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 *^i 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 to the words of reverence falling from a 
 mother-baby's lips: 
 
 " Lord, make us thankful for the 
 blackberries an' the aco'n coffee an' — an' 
 all our blessin's; but please, sir, sen' us 
 somethin' that tastes jus' a little better — 
 if you don't mind. Amen ! " 
 
 And the man, who leaned against the 
 door and watched, had also bowed his 
 head. A pain was in his throat — and 
 in his heart — a pain that gripped him, 
 till two great tears rolled down his 
 war-worn cheek and were lost in his 
 straggling beard. 
 
 "Virgie!" he whispered hoarsely. 
 "Virgie!" 
 
 She started at the sound and looked 
 about her, wondering; then, as the name 
 was called again, she slid from her chair 
 and ran forward with a joyous cry : 
 
 "Why, Daddy! Is it you? Is- 
 
 She stopped, for the man had placed a 
 
 [9] 
 
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 <u 
 
I 
 
 *%4 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 finger on his lip and was pointing to the 
 door. 
 
 " Take a look down the road," he or- 
 dered, in a guarded voice ; and, when she 
 had reached a point commanding the 
 danger zone, he asked, " See anybody? — 
 soldiers? " She shook her head. " Hear 
 anything? " 
 
 She stood for a moment listening, then 
 ran to him, and sprang into his waiting 
 arms. 
 
 "It's all right, Daddy! It's all right 
 now ! " 
 
 He raised her, strained her to his 
 breast, his cheek against her own. 
 
 " My little girl ! " he murmured be- 
 tween his kisses. " My little rebel ! " And 
 as she snuggled in his arms, her berry- 
 stained fingers clasped tightly about his 
 neck, he asked her wistfully, " Did you 
 miss me? —aw fal much? " 
 
 " Yes," she nodded, looking into his 
 [10] 
 
 1 
 
.; 
 
 
 eyes. " Yes — in the night time — when 
 the wind was talkin'; but, after while, 
 when Why, Daddy!" He had stag- 
 gered as he set her down, sinking into a 
 chair and closing his eyes as he leaned 
 on the table's edge. " You are hurt ! " 
 she cried. " I — I can see the blood ! " 
 
 The wounded Southerner braced him- 
 self. 
 
 " No, dear, no," he strove to reassure 
 her. " It isn't anything ; only a little 
 scratch — from a Yank — that tried to get 
 me. But he didn't, though," the soldier 
 added with a smile. " I'm just — tired." 
 
 The child regarded him in wondering 
 awe, speaking in a half-breathed whis- 
 per: 
 
 " Did he — did he shoot at you? " 
 
 Her father nodded, with his hand on 
 her tumbled hair. 
 
 " Yes, honey, I'm afraid he did ; but 
 I'm so used to it now I don't mind it any 
 [11] 
 
more. Get me a drink of water, will 
 you? " As Virgie obeyed in silence, re- 
 turning with the dripping gourd, the man 
 went on : "I tried to get here yesterday ; 
 but I couldn't. They chased me when 
 I came before — and now they're watch- 
 ing." He paused to sip at his draught 
 of water, glancing toward the carriage 
 road. " Big fight down the river. Lis- 
 ten! Can you hear the guns?" 
 
 " Yes, plain," she answered, tilting her 
 tiny head. " An' las' night, when I went 
 to bed, I could hear 'em — oh! ever so 
 loud: Boom! Boom! Boom-boom! So 
 I knelt up an' asked the Lord not to let 
 any of 'em hit you." 
 
 Two arms, in their tattered gray, 
 slipped round the child. He kissed her, 
 in that strange, fierce passion of a man 
 who has lost his mate, and his grief-torn 
 love is magnified in the mite who reflects 
 her image and her memory. 
 
 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " Did you, honey? " he asked, with a 
 trembling lip. "Well, I reckon that 
 saved your daddy, for not one shell 
 touched him — no, not one!" He kissed 
 her again, and laughed, " And I tell you, 
 Virgie, they were coming as thick as 
 bees." 
 
 Once more he sipped at the grateful, 
 cooling draught of water, when the child 
 asked suddenly: 
 
 "How is Gen'ral Lee?" 
 
 Down came the gourd upon the table. 
 The Southerner was on his feet, with a 
 stiffened back; and his dusty slouch hat 
 was in his hand. 
 
 "He's well; God bless him! Well!" 
 
 The tone was deep and tender, proud, 
 but as reverent as the baby's prayer for 
 her father's immunity from harm; yet 
 the man who spoke sank back into his 
 seat, closing his eyes and repeating 
 slowly, sadly: 
 
 [13] 
 
 fp^fe 
 
£ 
 
 " He's well ; God bless him ! But he's 
 tired, darling — mighty tired." 
 
 " Daddy," the soldier's daughter asked, 
 " will you tell him somethin' — from 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes, dear. What?" 
 
 "Tell him," said the child, with a 
 thoughtful glance at Miss Susan Jemima 
 across the table, " tell him, if he ever 
 marches along this way, I'll come over 
 to his tent and rub his head, like I do 
 yours — if he'll let me — till he goes to 
 sleep." She clasped her fingers and 
 looked into her father's eyes, hope- 
 fully, appealingly. " Do you think he 
 would, if — if I washed my hands — real 
 clean?" 
 
 The Southerner bit his lip and tried 
 to smile. 
 
 " Yes, honey, I know he would ! And 
 think! He sent a message — to you" 
 
 " Did he? " she asked, wide-eyed, 
 
 [14] 
 
 4 
 
! 
 
 v 
 
 ^^ 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 flushed with happiness, 
 say, Daddy? What?" 
 
 " He said," her father answered, tak- 
 ing her hands in his : " ' She's a brave lit- 
 tle soldier, to stay there all alone. Dixie 
 and I are proud of her ! ' " 
 
 "Oh, Daddy, did he? Did he?" 
 
 " Yes, dear, yes," the soldier nodded ; 
 " his very words. And look ! " From 
 his boot leg he took a folded paper and 
 spread it on his knee. " He wrote you 
 a pass — to Richmond. Can you read 
 it?" 
 
 Virgie leaned against her father's 
 shoulder, studying the paper long and 
 earnestly; then, presently looked up, 
 with a note of grave but courteous hesi- 
 tation in her tone: 
 
 "Well — he — well, the Gen'ral writes 
 a awful bad hand, Daddy." 
 
 Her father laughed in genuine delight, 
 vowing in his heart to tell his general 
 [15] 
 
 i 
 
and friend of this crushing criticism, if 
 ever the fates of war permitted them to 
 meet again. 
 
 " Dead right ! " he agreed, with hearty 
 promptness. " But come, I'll read it for 
 you. Now then. Listen: 
 
 « 
 
 " Headquarters of the Army of Northern Va. 
 
 " Pass Virginia Cary and escort through all Con- 
 federate lines and give safe-conduct wherever 
 possible. 
 
 "R. E. Lee, General. 1 ' 
 
 There was silence for a moment, then 
 Virgie looked up, with tears in her eyes 
 and voice. 
 
 " An' he did that— for little met Oh, 
 Daddy, I love him so much, it — it makes 
 me want to cry." 
 
 She hid her face on the coat of gray, 
 and sobbed ; while her father stroked her 
 lhair and answered soothingly, but in a 
 tone of mourning reverie: 
 [16] 
 
•J*r 
 
 >- 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " So do we all, darling ; big grown 
 men, who have suffered, and are losing 
 all they love. They are ragged — and 
 wounded — hungry — and, oh, so tired! 
 But, when they think of Mm, they draw 
 up their belts another hole, and say, 
 'For General Lee!' And then they can 
 fight and fight and fight — till their hearts 
 stop beating — and the god of battles 
 writes them a bloody pass ! " 
 
 Again he had risen to his feet. He 
 was speaking proudly, in the reckless 
 passion of the yet unconquered South- 
 erner, though half-unconscious of the tot 
 who watched him, wondering. But she 
 came to him now, taking his hand in both 
 her own, and striving to bring him com- 
 fort from the fountain of her little 
 mother-heart. 
 
 ' Don't you worry, Daddy-man. We' 
 
 t 
 
 •. 
 
,1 
 
 
 dropped into his seat. " We won't. It's 
 hard enough on men; but harder still on 
 children such as you." He turned to 
 her gravely, earnestly : u Virgie, I had 
 hoped to get you through to Richmond 
 — to-day. But I can't. The Yankees 
 have cut us off. They are up the river 
 and down the river — and all around us. 
 I've been nearly the whole night getting 
 here; creeping through the woods — like 
 an old Molly-cotton-tail — with the blue 
 boys everywhere, waiting to get me if I 
 showed my head." 
 
 " But they didn't, did they? " said Vir- 
 gie, laughing at his reference to the wise 
 old rabbit and feeling for the pockets of 
 his shabby coat. " Did you — did you 
 bring me anything? " 
 
 At her question the man cried out as 
 if in pain, then reached for her in a wave- 
 of yearning tenderness. 
 
 " Listen, dear ; I — I had a little bun- 
 
 [18] 
 
 Iff 
 
die for you — of — of things to eat." He 
 took her by the arms, and looked into 
 her quaint, wise face. " And I was so 
 glad I had it, darling, for you are thin- 
 ner than you were." He paused to 
 bite his lip, and continued haltingly, 
 " There was bread in that bundle — 
 and meat — real meat — and sugar — and 
 tea." 
 
 Virgie released herself and clapped 
 her hands. 
 
 "Oh, Daddy, where is it?" she asked 
 him happily, once more reaching for the 
 pocket. " 'Cause I'm so hungry for 
 somethin' good." 
 
 " Don't ! Don't ! " he cried, as he drew 
 his coat away, roughly, fiercely, in the 
 pain of unselfish suffering. " For God's 
 sake, don't ! " 
 
 " Why, what is it, Daddy," she asked,< 
 in her shrillness of a child's alarm, her 
 eyes on the widening stain of red above 
 [19] 
 
: 
 
 \ 
 
 
 :V; ; i 
 
 his waist. " Is — is it hurtin' you again? 
 What is it, Daddy-man? " 
 
 " Your bundle," he answered, in the 
 flat, dull tone of utter hopelessness. " I 
 lost it, Virgie. I lost it." 
 
 " Oh," she said, with a quaver of dis- 
 appointment, which she vainly strove to 
 hide. " How did you do it? " 
 
 For a moment the man leaned limply 
 against a chair-back, hiding his eyes with 
 one trembling hand; then he spoke in 
 shamed apology: 
 
 " I — I couldn't help it, darling ; be- 
 cause, you see, I hadn't any powder left ; 
 and I was coming through the woods — 
 just as I told you — when the Yanks got 
 sight of me." He smiled down at her 
 bravely, striving to add a dash of com- 
 edy to his tragic plight. " And I tell ^ 
 you, Virgie, your old dad had to run like 
 a turkey — wishing to the Lord he had 
 
 
 i\ 
 
OH, DADDY, WHERE IS IT? 'CAUSE I'M SO 
 HUNGRY FOR SOMETHIN' GOOD." 
 
<b* 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 s» 
 
 /■ 
 
 Virgie did not smile in turn, and her 
 father dropped back into his former tone, 
 his pale lips setting in a straight, hard 
 line. 
 
 "And then — the blue boy I was tell- 
 ing you about — when he shot at me, I 
 must have stumbled, because, when I 
 scrambled up, I — I couldn't see just 
 right ; so I ran and ran, thinking of you, 
 darling, and wanting to get to you be- 
 fore — well, before it was breakfast time. 
 I had your bundle in my pocket; but 
 when I fell — why, Virgie, don't you see? 
 — I — I couldn't go back and find it." He 
 paused to choke, then spoke between his 
 teeth, in fury at a strength which had 
 failed to breast a barrier of fate : " But 
 I would have gone back, if I'd had any 
 powder left. I would! By God, I 
 would!" ' i, 
 
 A pitiful apology it was, from a man 
 to a little child; a story told only in its 
 [21] 
 
 41 
 
 i 
 
 ;• 
 
L 
 
 hundredth part, for why should he give 
 its untold horrors to a baby's ears? How 
 could she understand that man-hunt in 
 the early dawn? The fugitive — with an 
 empty pistol on his hip — wading swamps 
 and plunging through the tangled under- 
 brush; alert and listening, darting from 
 tree to tree where the woods were thin; 
 crouching behind some fallen log to catch 
 his laboring breath, then rising again to 
 creep along his way. He did not tell of 
 the racking pain in his weary legs, nor 
 the protest of his pounding heart — the 
 strain — the agony — the puffs of smoke 
 that floated above the pines, and the ping 
 of bullets whining through the trees. He 
 did not tell of the ball that slid along 
 his ribs, leaving a fiery, aching memory 
 behind, as the man crashed down a clay 
 bank, to lie for an instant in a crumpled 
 heap, to rise and stumble on — not to- 
 ward the haven of his own Confederate 
 [22] 
 
 I 
 
 
 Jft-, 
 
1 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 lines, but forward, to where a baby 
 waited — through a dancing mist of red. 
 
 And so the soldier made his poor 
 apology, turning his head away to avoid 
 a dreaded look in Virgie's big, reproach- 
 ful eyes; then he added one more lash- 
 welt to his shame: 
 
 " And now your poor old daddy is no 
 more use to you. I come to my little girl 
 with empty hands — with an empty gun 
 — and an empty heart ! " 
 
 He said it bitterly, in the self-accusing 
 sorrow of his soul; and his courage, 
 which had borne him through a hell of 
 suffering, now broke; but only when a 
 helper of the helpless failed. He laid his 
 outflung arms across the table. He bowed 
 his beaten head upon them and sobbed 
 aloud, with sobs that shook him to his 
 heels. |j| 
 
 It was then that Virgie came to himf 
 little daughter of the South, 
 
J 
 
 who, like a hundred thousand of her sis- 
 ters, brought comfort in the blackest 
 hours. The Daughters of the South! A 
 crutch — on which the staggering hopes 
 of Dixie leaned. 
 
 One tiny, weak arm was slipped about 
 his neck. One tiny brown hand, with its 
 berry-stained fingers, was run through 
 his tangled hair, softly, tenderly, even 
 as she longed to soothe the weary head 
 of General Lee. 
 
 " Don't cry, Daddy-man," she mur- 
 mured in his ear ; " it's all right. / can 
 eat the blackberries. They — they don't 
 taste so awful good when you have 'em 
 all the time; but / don't mind." She 
 paused to kiss him, then tried once more 
 to buoy his hope and hers. " We'll have 
 jus' heaps of things when we get to Rich- 
 mon' — jus' heaps — an' then- — 
 
 She stopped abruptly, lifting her head 
 and listening, in the manner of a sheep 
 
 - 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 M 
 
I 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 dog scenting danger from afar. Her fa- 
 ther looked up sharply and gripped her 
 hands. 
 
 "Virgie! You hear— what? " 
 
 " Horses ! Oh, a lot of 'em ! On the 
 big road ! " 
 
 It was true, for down the breeze came 
 the faintly echoed thud of many hoofs 
 and the clinking jingle of sabers against 
 the riders' thighs. Virgie turned back 
 from the open door. 
 
 "Why — why, they've turned into our 
 road ! " Her breath came fast, as she 
 sank her voice to a faint, awed whis- 
 per, " Daddy — do you reckon it's — 
 Yankees?" 
 
 " Yes," said her father, who had risen 
 to his feet. " Morrison's cavalry ! They 
 won't hurt you; but I'll have to get to 
 ;he woods again! Good-by, honey! 
 Good-by ! " 
 
 He kissed her hurriedly and started 
 [25] 
 
for the door, but shrank into the shadow 
 at sight of a blue-clothed watcher sharply 
 outlined on the crest of a distant rise. 
 Escape was cut off, and the hunted sol- 
 dier turned to Virgie in his need. 
 
 " Shut the door — quick ! " She obeyed 
 in silence. " Lock it ! " She turned the 
 rusty key, and waited. " Now the win- 
 dows! Hurry, but do it quietly." 
 
 She closed the clumsy shutters and set 
 the heavy bars into their slots; then the 
 man came forward, knelt down before 
 her, and took her hands. 
 
 " Listen, Virginia," he whispered ear- 
 nestly ; " don't you remember how your 
 dear, dear mother — and I, too, darling — 
 always told you never to tell a lie? " 
 
 " An' I haven't, Daddy-man," she pro- 
 tested, wondering. " 'Deed, an' 'deed, I 
 haven't. Why " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," he interrupted hur- 
 riedly, "but now — you must. 
 
 [26] 
 
 
child stepped backward and tried to 
 draw away, he clasped her hands more 
 tightly still. " But listen, dear ; it's to 
 save me! Don't you understand? — and 
 it's right! When those men come, they 
 mustn't find me. Say I was here, but 
 I've gone. If they ask which way, tell 
 them I went down past the spring — 
 through the blackberry patch. Do you 
 understand? — and can you remember?" 
 She nodded gravely, and the Southerner 
 folded her tightly in his arms. " Be a 
 brave little rebel, honey — for me!" 
 
 He released her and began to mount 
 the ladder leading to the scuttle in the 
 ceiling; but halfway up he paused, as 
 Virgie checked him with a solemn ques- 
 tion: 
 *F*)v. " Daddy — would Gen'ral Lee want me 
 ?:Uo tell that lie?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," he answered slowly, 
 thoughtfully ; " this once ! And, if ever 
 [27] 
 
 < 
 
 J) 
 
I 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 you see him, ask him, and he'll tell you 
 so himself. God help you, darling; it's 
 for General Lee — and you!" 
 
 The littlest rebel sighed, as though a 
 weight had been lifted from her mind, 
 and she cocked her head at the sound of 
 louder hoof-beats on the carriage road. 
 
 "All right, Daddy-man. I'll tell— a 
 whopper! " 
 
II 
 
 The man crawled up through the scut- 
 tle hole and disappeared; then drew the 
 ladder after him and closed the trap, 
 while Virgie tiptoed to the table and 
 slipped into a seat. 
 
 The cabin was now in semi-darkness, 
 except for a shaft of sunlight entering 
 through the jagged wound from the can- 
 non-shot above the d,oor; and it fell on 
 the quaint, brown head of little Miss 
 Virginia Cary, and the placid form of 
 Susan Jemima, perching opposite, in se- 
 rene contempt of the coming of a con- 
 quering host. 
 
 The jingling clank of sabers grew 
 louder to the listeners' ears, through the 
 [29] 
 
 I 
 
1 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 rumble of pounding hoofs; a bugle's note 
 came winnowing across the fields, and 
 Virgie leaned forward with a confidential 
 whisper to her doll: 
 
 " Susan Jemima, I wouldn't tell any- 
 body else — no, not for anything — but I 
 cert'n'y am awful scared ! " 
 
 There came a scurrying rush, a com- 
 mand to halt, and a rustling, scraping 
 noise of dismounting men; a pause, and 
 the sharp, loud rap of a saber hilt against 
 the door. Virgie breathed hard, but 
 made no answer. 
 
 " Open up ! " called a voice outside, 
 but the little rebel closed her lips and 
 sat staring at Susan Jemima across the 
 table. A silence followed, short, yet 
 filled with dread; then came a low-toned 
 order and the crash of carbine butts on 
 the stout oak door. For a time it resisted 
 hopefully, then slowly its top sagged in, 
 with a groaning, grating protest from 
 [30] 
 
 %&^ 
 
its rusty hinges; it swayed, collapsed in 
 a cloud of dust — and the enemy swept 
 over it. 
 
 They came with a rush ; in the lead an 
 officer, young and dashing, a naked sa- 
 ber in his fist, followed by a squad of 
 grim-faced troopers, each with his car- 
 bine cocked and ready for discharge. 
 Yet, as suddenly as they had come, they 
 halted now at the sight of a little lady, 
 seated at table, eating berries, as calmly 
 as though the dogs of war had never 
 even growled. 
 
 A wondering silence followed, till 
 broken by a piping voice, in grave but 
 courteous reproof: 
 
 " I — I don't think you are very po- 
 lite." 
 
 The officer in command was forced to 
 smile. 
 
 " I'm sorry, my dear," he apologized ; 
 " but am afraid, this time, I can't quite 
 [31] 
 
 ,i 
 
 d 
 
S^J 
 
 help it." He glanced at the door of the 
 adjoining room and turned to his waiting 
 men, though speaking in an undertone: 
 " He's in there, I guess. Don't fire if 
 you can help it — on account of the baby. 
 Now then ! Steady, boys ! Advance ! " 
 
 He led the way, six troopers following, 
 while the rest remained behind to guard 
 the cabin's open door. Virgie slowly 
 turned her head, with eyes that watched 
 the officer's every move; then presently 
 she called: 
 
 " Hey, there ! That's my room — an' 
 don't you-all bother any of my things, 
 either!" 
 
 This one command, at least, was im- 
 plicitly obeyed, for in a moment the dis- 
 appointed squad returned. The carbine 
 butts were grounded; the troopers stood 
 ;|at orderly attention, while their officer 
 j stepped toward the table. 
 
 "What's your name, little monkey?" 
 [32] 
 
 r 
 
 i 
 
i 
 
 Virgie raised her eyes in swift 
 proach. 
 
 " I don't like to be called a monkey. 
 It — it isn't respectful." 
 
 The Union soldier laughed. 
 
 " Oho ! I see." He touched his hat 
 and made her a sweeping bow. " A thou- 
 sand pardons, Mademoiselle." He shot 
 his sword into its scabbard, and laughed 
 again. " Might I inquire as to what you 
 are called by your — er — justly respectful 
 relatives and friends? " 
 
 " Virgie," she answered simply. 
 
 " Ah," he approved, " and a very 
 pretty name ! Virgie what? " 
 
 " My whole name is Miss Virginia 
 Houston Cary." 
 
 The soldier started, glanced at his 
 troopers, then back to the child again : 
 
 " Is Herbert Cary your father? " 
 
 He waited for her answer, and got it, 
 straight from a baby's shoulder: 
 [33] 
 
 . 
 
 M^ 
 
i 
 
 , 
 
 u Mister Herbert Cary is— yes, sir 
 
 The enemy smiled and made her an- 
 other bow. 
 
 " I stand corrected. Where is your fa- 
 ther now?" 
 
 Virgie hesitated. 
 
 * I— I don't know." 
 
 The voice of her inquisitor took on a 
 sterner tone: 
 
 " Is he here? — hiding somewhere? Tell 
 me!" 
 
 Her little heart was pounding, horri- 
 bly, and the hot blood came into her 
 cheeks; but she looked him squarely in 
 the face, and lied — for General Lee: 
 
 "No, sir. Daddy was here — but he's 
 gone away." 
 
 The enemy was looking at her, intently, 
 and his handsome, piercing eyes grew 
 
 ost uncomfortable. She hung for an 
 instant between success and sobbing fail- 
 ure, till a bubble from Mother Eve rose 
 [34] 
 
"MIGHT I INQUIRE WHAT YOU ARE CALLED 
 BY YOUR RELATIVES AND FRIENDS?" 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 up in her youthful blood and burst into 
 a spray of perfect, feminine deceit. She 
 did not try to add to her simple state- 
 ment, but began to eat her berries, 
 calmly, as though the subject were com- 
 pletely closed. 
 
 " Which way did he go? " the officer 
 demanded, and she pointed with her 
 spoon. 
 
 " Down by the spring — through the 
 blackberry patch." 
 
 The soldier was half-convinced. He 
 stood for a moment^ looking at the floor, 
 then asked her sharply, suddenly: 
 
 " If your father had gone, then why 
 did you lock that door? " 
 
 She faltered, but only for an instant. 
 
 " ' Cause I thought you might be — nig- 
 gers." 
 
 The man before her clenched his hands, 
 as he thought of that new-born, hideous 
 danger menacing the South. 
 
 [35] 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
" I see," he answered gently ; " 
 see." He turned away, but, even as he 
 turned, his eye was caught by the double- 
 doored cupboard against the wall. 
 " What do you keep in there? " he asked; 
 and the child smiled faintly, a trifle 
 sadly, in reply: 
 
 " We used to keep things to eat — when 
 we had any." 
 
 He noted her mild evasion, and pushed 
 his point. 
 
 "What is in it now?" 
 
 " Tin pans." 
 
 "Anything else?" 
 
 " Er — yes, sir." 
 
 He caught his breath and stepped a 
 little nearer, bending till his face was 
 close to hers. 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " Colonel Mosby," declared the mite, 
 with a most emphatic nod; " an' you bet- 
 
 -. 
 
 ter look out, too ! " 
 
IMjflg 
 
 , 
 
 i 
 
 
 4\ 
 
 The officer laughed as he turned to his 
 grinning squad. 
 
 "Bright little youngster! Still, I 
 think we'll have a look." He dropped 
 his air of amusement, growing stern 
 again. " Now, men ! Ready ! " 
 
 They swung into line and faced the 
 cupboard, the muzzles of their carbines 
 trained upon it, while their leader ad- 
 vanced, swung open the doors, and 
 quickly stepped aside. 
 
 On the bottom shelf, as Virgie had de- 
 clared, were a few disconsolate tin pans ; 
 jet tacked to the door was a picture 
 print of Mosby — that dreaded guerrilla 
 whose very name was a bugaboo in the 
 Union lines. 
 
 The littlest rebel flung back her head 
 and laughed. 
 
 " My, but you looked funny ! " she said ; 
 to the somewhat disconcerted officer, : 
 pointing at him with her spoon. 
 [37] 
 
 A 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 mouse had jumped out, I reckon it would 
 have scared you mos' to death." 
 
 The young man's cheeks flushed red, 
 in spite of his every effort at control; 
 nor was he assisted by the knowledge 
 that his men were tittering behind his 
 back. He turned upon them sharply. 
 
 " That will do," he said, and gave a 
 brusque command : " Corporal, deploy 
 your men and make a thorough search 
 outside. Examine the ground around 
 the spring — and report ! " 
 
 " Yis, sor," returned the Corporal, sa- 
 luting and dropping his hand across his 
 mouth to hide a grin of involuntary in- 
 subordination ; then he snarled at his 
 men, though his little blue, Irish eyes 
 were twinkling: " 'Tention! Right face! 
 Forward I March I " 
 
 The squad trooped out across the 
 broken door, leaving their commandin 
 officer alone with his rebel prisoner. 
 [38] 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " Now, Virgie," he asked, in a kindly 
 tone, though holding her eyes with his, 
 " do you mean to tell me — cross your 
 heart — that you are here, just by your- 
 self? " 
 
 " Er — no, sir." As he opened his lips 
 to speak, she pointed to her doll. " Me 
 an' Susan Jemima." 
 
 "Well, that's a fact," he laughed. 
 " Hanged if I'm not losing all my social 
 polish." He gallantly removed his hat, 
 bowed gravely to the cedar stick, and 
 shook its hand. " Charmed to make your 
 acquaintance, Miss Susan, believe me. 
 My own name is Morrison — Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Morrison — at your service — and 
 your mother's." He turned to the little 
 mother with a smile that showed a row 
 of white and even teeth. "And now," 
 , he said, " since we are all informally in- 
 ; troduced, suppose we have a quiet, com- 
 fortable chat." He paused, but she made 
 [39] 
 
 q 
 
 ( 
 
 
 ^^Mll^fc^ 2 
 
h 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 no answer. "Well? Aren't you going 
 to ask me to have some breakfast? " 
 
 Virgie cast a troubled gaze into the 
 plate before her. 
 
 "Er — no, sir." 
 
 " What? Why not? " 
 
 She faltered, and answered slowly: 
 
 " 'Cause — 'cause you're one of the 
 damn Yankees." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh ! " exclaimed the soldier, 
 shocked to hear a baby's lips profaned. 
 " Little girls shouldn't use such words. 
 Why, Virgie!" 
 
 She raised her eyes, clear, fearless, 
 filled with vindicating innocence. 
 
 " Well, it's your name, isn't it? Every- 
 body calls you that." 
 
 " Um — yes," he admitted, striving to 
 ^v check the twitching of his lips ; " I sup- 
 "' : c ipose they do — south of Washington. But 
 ^ don't you know we are just like other 
 people?" She shook her head. "Oh, 
 
 [40] 
 
 
, 
 
 J) 
 
 i. 
 
 i 
 
 we 
 at 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 are. Why, / have a 
 home — not any bigger 
 
 little 
 than 
 
 yes, 
 girl 
 you. 
 
 " Have you? " asked Virgie, her bud- 
 ding racial prejudice at war with youth- 
 ful curiosity. " What's her name? " 
 
 " Gertrude," he answered softly, ten- 
 derly. " Gertrude Morrison. Would 
 you like to see her picture? " 
 
 "Yes," said the little rebel, and 
 stepped across the gulf which had lain 
 between her and her enemy. " You can 
 sit down if you want to. Jus' put Susan 
 Jemima on the table." 
 
 " Thank you," returned her visitor, 
 obeying instructions, seating himself and 
 loosening the upper buttons of his coat. 
 On his neck, suspended by a chain, was 
 a silver locket containing the miniature 
 of a plump and pretty child. It had lain 
 there since the war began, through many 
 a bivouac, many a weary march, and 
 [41] 
 
 »*S2Sj 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 even in the charge he could feel it tap- 
 ping against his breast; so now, as he 
 held it out to Virgie, the father's hand 
 was trembling. 
 
 " There she is. My Gertrude — my lit- 
 tle Gertrude/' 
 
 Virgie leaned forward eagerly. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, in unaffected admira- 
 tion. " She's mighty pretty. She's " 
 
 The child stopped suddenly, and raised 
 her eyes. " An' she's fat, too. I reckon 
 Gertrude gets lots to eat, doesn't 
 she? " 
 
 " Why, yes," agreed the father, think- 
 ing of his comfortable Northern home; 
 " of course. Don't you? " 
 
 Virgie weighed the question thought- 
 fully before she spoke. 
 
 " Sometimes — when Daddy gets through 
 the lines and brings it to me." 
 
 The soldier started violently, wrenched 
 back from the selfish dream of happiness * 
 [42] 
 
 
 A 
 
 
 J 
 
 
that rose as he looked at the picture of 
 his child. 
 
 "What! Is that why your father 
 comes? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Good God!" 
 
 He rose to his feet and turned away, 
 his thoughts atuinble, a pang of parental 
 pity gnawing at his heart; then he 
 wheeled and faced her, asking, with a 
 break in his husky voice: 
 
 " And at other times — what do you 
 eat, then?" 
 
 She made a quaint, depreciating ges- 
 ture toward the appointments of her 
 breakfast table. 
 
 " Blackberries — an' — an' coffee made 
 out of aco'ns." 
 
 Again the troubled conqueror turned 
 Lway. 
 
 " Oh, it's a shame ! " he muttered be- 
 tween his teeth. " A hellish shame ! " 
 [43] 
 
 'J 
 
 
He stood for a moment, silently, till 
 Virgie spoke and jarred him with another 
 confidence. 
 
 " My cousin Norris told me that the 
 Yankees have bread every day; an' tea — 
 an' milk — an' everything. An' butter!" 
 
 This last-named article of common 
 diet was mentioned with an air of rever- 
 ential awe; and, somehow, it hurt the 
 well-fed Union officer far more than 
 had she made some direct accusation 
 against the invading armies of the 
 North. 
 
 " Don't, Virgie — please," he murmured 
 softly. " There are some things we just 
 can't bear to listen to — even in times of 
 war." He sighed and dropped into his 
 former seat, striving gently to change 
 the subject. "You have lived here — al- 
 .ways? " 
 
 " Oh, no," she assured him, with a lift 
 of her small, patrician brows. "This is 
 [44] 
 
 M 
 
 \j . 
 
 
1 
 
 1 
 
 the overseer's house. Our house used to 
 be up on the hill, in the grove." 
 
 " Used to be ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir. But — but the Yankees 
 burnt it up." 
 
 Morrison's fist came down on the table 
 with a crash. For a moment he sat in 
 silence, frowning at the floor, then spoke, 
 without looking up: 
 
 " Tell me about it. Won't you? " 
 
 She nodded, wriggled from her chair, 
 and stood beside the table. 
 
 " Oh, it was a long time ago — a month, 
 maybe — an' they came in the night time. 
 Mamma an' me were all by ourselves — 
 'ceptin' one colored girl, name' Sally Ann. 
 An' we were dreadful scared — an' we hid 
 in the woods, all night — an' — an' it 
 rained." 
 
 She paused. Her listener had leaned 
 ris elbow on the table, his hand across 
 his eyes. 
 
 [45] 
 
<^ 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " Yes, dear. Go on." 
 
 The child had been standing opposite, 
 with Susan Jemima and the acorn-coffee 
 pot between them; but gradually she be- 
 gan to edge a little nearer, till presently 
 she stood beside him, fingering a shiny 
 button on his coat. 
 
 " An' the blue boys ate up everything 
 we had — an' took our corn. An' when 
 they went away from our house, they — 
 a man set it on fire. But another man 
 got real mad with him, an' — an' shot 
 him. / know, 'cause mamma an' Sally 
 Ann put him in the ground." She 
 paused, then sank her voice to a whisper 
 of mysterious dread, " An' — an' I saw 
 him!" 
 
 " Don't think about it, Virgie," begged 
 Morrison, slipping his arm about the 
 mite, and trying not to put his own 
 cloved ones in the little rebel's 
 place. 
 
 [46] 
 
 i 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 Her story, even so simply told, was 
 horrible; yet old to the veteran's ears. 
 A detachment foraging for food, descend- 
 ing like locusts on some country-seat, to 
 sweep it bare; the hurried departure; 
 some drunken ruffian who applied the 
 torch, then paid the penalty with a 
 bullet crashing through his brain. It 
 was horrible— and worse! — for when the 
 morning came, the women crept back 
 from the dripping woods, to mourn amid 
 the ashes of their all; to bury the man 
 who had wrought their desolation and 
 despair. 
 
 "Well?" asked Morrison presently. 
 "What happened then?" 
 
 " We came to live here," said Virgie ; 
 
 " but mamma got sick. Oh, she got 
 
 .terrible sick — an' one night Daddy 
 
 came through, and put her in the 
 
 i ground, too. But he says she's jus' 
 
 asleep." 
 
 [47] 
 
 
 
 J 
 
 S&a 
 
The soldier drew the baby closer to 
 him, stroking her hair, as her sleeping 
 mother might have done, and waited for 
 the rest. 
 
 "An' las' Friday, Sally Ann went 
 away — I don't know where — an' — — " 
 
 " What? " asked Morrison. " She left 
 you here — all by yourself? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the child, with a care- 
 less laugh. " But / don't mind. Sally 
 Ann was a triflin' nigger, anyhow. You 
 see " 
 
 " But, good Lord, child ! " he inter- 
 rupted, " hadn't you any relatives or 
 friends to take you?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," she answered ; " ole Mr. 
 Spottswood was goin' to take me, but 
 he's lame, an' his horse fell down. The 
 men an' the boys are off fightin' — an' — 
 an' some ladies were goin' to come, but I 
 reckon they got cut off like we did. Dad- 
 dy's been tryin' to get me up to Rich- 
 [48] 
 
.1 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 mon', where my Aunt Margaret lives at, 
 but he can't — 'cause the Yankees are up 
 the river an' down the river, an' — an' 
 everywhere — an' he can't." She paused, 
 as Morrison turned to her from his rest- 
 less pacing up and down. " My, but 
 you've got fine clo'es! Daddy's clo'es 
 are all rags — with — with holes in 'em." 
 
 He could not answer. There was 
 nothing for him to say, and Virgie 
 scorched him with another question: 
 
 "What did you come after Daddy 
 for?" 
 
 " Oh, not because I wanted to, little 
 girl," he burst out harshly. " But you 
 wouldn't understand." He had turned 
 away, and was gazing through the open 
 door, listening to the muttered wrath of 
 the big black guns far down the river. 
 ?^"It's war! One of the hateful, pitiful 
 things of war! I came because I had my 
 orders." 
 
 ■ 
 

 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " From your Gen'ral? " 
 
 He lowered his chin, regarding her in 
 mild astonishment. 
 
 " Yes — my General." 
 
 "An' do you love him — like / love 
 Gen'ral Lee?" 
 
 "Yes, dear," he answered earnestly; 
 "of course." 
 
 He wondered again to see her turn 
 away in sober thought, tracing lines on 
 the dusty floor with one small brown toe ; 
 for the child was wrestling with a prob- 
 lem. If a soldier had orders from his 
 general, as she herself might put it, " he 
 was bound to come " ; but still it was 
 hard to reconcile such duty with the cap- 
 ture of her father. Therefore, she raised 
 her tiny chin and resorted to tactics of 
 a purely personal nature: 
 gk "An' didn't you know, if you hurt 
 my Daddy, I'd tell Uncle Fitz Lee on 
 
■ 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " No," the Yankee smiled. " Is he 
 your uncle? " 
 
 The littlest rebel regarded him with a 
 look of positive pity for his ignorance. 
 
 " He's everybody's uncle," she stated 
 warmly. " An' if I was to tell him, he'd 
 come right after you an' — an' lick the 
 stuffings out of you." 
 
 The soldier laughed. 
 
 " My dear," he confided, with a dancing 
 twinkle in his eye, " to tell you the hon- 
 est truth, your Uncle Fitz has done it 
 already — several times." 
 
 " Has he? " she cried, in rapturous de- 
 light. " Oh, has he? " 
 
 " He has," the enemy repeated, with 
 vigor and conviction. " But suppose we 
 shift our conversation to matters a shade 
 more pleasant. Take you, for instance 
 
 ;^You see " He stopped abruptly, 
 
 turning his head and listening with keen 
 intentness. " What's that?" he asked 
 [51] 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " I didn't hear anything," said Virgie, 
 breathing very fast; but she too had 
 heard it — a sound above them, a scrap- 
 ing sound, as of someone lying flat along 
 the rafters and shifting his position ; and, 
 while she spoke, a tell-tale bit of plaster 
 fell, and broke as it struck the floor. 
 
 Morrison looked up, starting as he saw 
 the outlines of the closely fitting scuttle, 
 for the loft was so low and shallow that 
 he had not suspected its presence from 
 an outside view; but now he was certain 
 of the fugitive's hiding-place. Virgie 
 watched him, trembling, growing hot in 
 the pit of her little stomach; yet, when 
 he faced her, she looked him squarely in 
 the eye, fighting one last battle for her 
 Daddy — as hopeless as the tottering 
 cause of the Stars and Bars. 
 
 "You — you don't think he can fly, do 
 you? " 
 
 little Rebel," the soldier an- 
 
 [52] 
 
 m 
 
THE LITTLEST KEBEL 
 
 swered gently, sadly ; " but there are 
 other ways." He glanced at the table, 
 measuring its height with the pitch of 
 the ceiling, then turned to her again : " Is 
 your father in that loft? " She made no 
 answer, but began to back away. " Tell 
 me the truth. Look at me ! " Still no 
 answer, and he took a step toward her, 
 speaking sternly: "Do you hear me? 
 Look at me ! " 
 
 She tried; but her courage was oozing 
 fast. She had done her best, but now 
 it was more than the mite could stand; 
 so she bit her lip to stop its quivering, 
 and turned her head away. For a mo- 
 ment the man stood, silent, wondering if 
 it was possible that the child had been 
 coached in a string of lies to trade 
 upon his tenderness of heart ; then he , 
 spoke, in a voice of mingled pity andf( 
 reproach : 
 
 " And so you told me a story. And all 
 
 [53] 
 
 JA 
 

 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 -is 
 
 Oh, Virgie 
 
 the rest- 
 Virgie ! " 
 
 " I didn't ! " she cried, the big tears 
 breaking out at last. " I didn't tell you 
 stories ! Only jus' a little one — for Daddy 
 — an' Gen'ral Lee." 
 
 She was sobbing now, and the man 
 looked down upon her in genuine com- 
 passion, his own eyes swimming at her 
 childish grief, his soldier heart athrob 
 and aching at the duty he must perform. 
 
 " I'm sorry, dear," he sighed, removing 
 her doll and draggiDg the table across 
 the floor to a point directly beneath the 
 scuttle in the ceiling. 
 
 " What are you goin' to do? " she 
 asked in terror, following as he moved. 
 " Oh, what are you goin' to do? " 
 
 He did not reply. He could not; but 
 when he placed a chair upon the table and 
 prepared to mount, then Virgie under- 
 stood. 
 
 [54] 
 
 Hl 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 lV 
 
 : 
 
& 
 
 ^wJ 
 
 :, 
 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " You shan't ! You shan't ! " she cried 
 out shrilly. " He's my Daddy — and you 
 shan't ! " 
 
 She pulled at the table, and when he 
 would have put her aside, as gently as he 
 could, she attacked him fiercely, in a 
 childish storm of passion, sobbing, strik- 
 ing at him with her puny fists. The sol- 
 dier bowed his head and moved away. 
 
 "Oh, I can't! I can't!" he breathed, 
 in conscience-stricken pain. " There must 
 be some other way; and still " 
 
 He stood irresolute, gazing through 
 the open door, watching his men as they 
 hunted for a fellow man ; listening to the 
 sounds that floated across the stricken 
 fields — the calls of his troopers; the lo- 
 custs in the sun-parched woods chanting 
 their shrill, harsh litany of drought; but 
 more insistent still came the muffled 
 boom of the big black guns far down the 
 muddy James. They called to him, these 
 [55] 
 
 . 
 
 wQ 
 
 Mt 
 
 S 
 
 Rl 
 
 "1 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 guns, in the hoarse-tongued majesty of 
 war, bidding him forget himself, his love, 
 his pity — all else, but the grim command 
 to a marching host — a host that must 
 reach its goal, though it marched on a 
 road of human hearts. 
 
 The soldier set his teeth and turned 
 to the little rebel, deciding on his course 
 of action; best for her, best for the man 
 who lay in the loft above, though now 
 it must seem a brutal cruelty to both. 
 
 "Well, Virgie," he said, "since you 
 haven't told me what I want to know, I'll 
 have to take you — and give you to the. 
 Yankees." 
 
 He stepped toward her swiftly and 
 caught her by the wrist. She screamed 
 in terror, fighting to break his hold, while 
 the trap above them opened, and the head 
 and shoulders of the Southerner ap- 
 peared, his pistol held in his outstretched 
 hand. 
 
 [56] 
 
 > 
 
THE NORTHERNER STOOD UNMOVED AS HE 
 LOOKED INTO THE PISTOL'S MUZZLE. 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 Drop it, you hound!" he ordered 
 fiercely. " Drop it ! " 
 
 The Northerner released his captive, 
 but stood unmoved as he looked into the 
 pistol's muzzle and the blazing eyes of 
 the cornered scout. 
 
 " I'm sorry," he said, in quiet dignity. 
 " I'm very sorry; but I had to bring you 
 out." He paused, then spoke again: 
 " And you needn't bother about your gun. 
 If you'd had any ammunition, our fire 
 would have been returned, back yonder 
 in the woods. The game's up, Cary. 
 Come down ! " 
 
 [57] 
 
The head and shoulders disappeared. 
 A short pause followed, then the ladder 
 came slowly down, and the Southerner 
 descended, while Virgie crouched, a sob- 
 bing little heap, beside her doll. But 
 when he reached the bottom rung, she 
 rose to her feet and ran to meet him, 
 weeping bitterly. 
 
 "Oh, Daddy, Daddy, I didn't do it 
 right! I didn't do it right! " 
 
 She buried her head in his tattered 
 
 coat, while he slipped an arm about 
 
 < r Hh t her and tried to soothe a sorrow 
 
 {too great for such a tiny heart to ] 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " It was my fault. Mine ! My leg got 
 cramped, and I had to move." He 
 stooped and kissed her. " It was my 
 fault, honey; but you? — you did it splen- 
 didly! " He patted her tear-stained cheek, 
 then turned to his captor, with a grim, 
 hard smile of resignation to his fate. 
 " Well, Colonel, you've had a long chase 
 of it; but you've gotten my brush at 
 last." 
 
 The Union soldier faced him, speaking 
 earnestly : 
 
 " Mr. Cary, you're a brave man — and 
 one of the best scouts in the Confederate 
 army. I regret this happening — more 
 than I can say." The Southerner 
 shrugged his shoulders. His Northern 
 captor asked : " Are you carrying dis- 
 patches? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Any other papers? — of any kind?" 
 No answer came, and he added sternly: 
 [59] 
 
 . 
 
 'V 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 I 
 
 " It is quite useless to refuse. Give them 
 to me." 
 
 He held out his hand, but his captive 
 only looked him in the eyes; and the an- 
 swer, though spoken in an undertone, 
 held a world of quiet meaning : 
 
 " You can take it — afterwards." 
 
 The Federal officer bit his lip ; and yet 
 he could not, would not, be denied. 
 His request became demand, backed by 
 authority and the right of might, till Vir- 
 gie broke in, in a piping voice of indig- 
 nation : 
 
 " You can't have it ! It's mine ! My 
 pass to Kichmon' — from Gen'ral Lee." 
 
 Morrison turned slowly from the little 
 rebel to the man. 
 
 " Is this true? " he asked. 
 
 The Southerner flushed, and for reply 
 
 produced the rumpled paper from his 
 
 boot leg, and handed it over without a 
 
 word. The Northerner read it carefully. 
 
 [60] 
 
 J 
 
 >j r /- 
 
 •V 
 
 $s£T 
 
"Pass Virginia Gary and escort through all Con- 
 federate lines and give safe-conduct wherever 
 possible. 
 
 "R. E. Lee, General:' 
 
 PL 
 
 
 4 
 
 The reader crushed the paper in his 
 fist, while his hand sank slowly to his 
 side, then he raised his head and asked, 
 in a voice which was strangely out of 
 keeping with a Lieutenant-Colonel of the 
 Union Cavalry: 
 
 " And who was to be her escort? 
 You?" 
 
 The captive nodded, smiling his sad, 
 grim smile; and the captor swallowed 
 hard as he moved to the cabin door and 
 stood listening to the muttered rumble 
 of the river guns. 
 
 " I'm sorry, Cary," he whispered bro- 
 kenly ; " more sorry than you can under- , 
 stand." 
 
 For a long time no one spoke, then 
 the Southerner went to Virgie, dropping 
 [61] 
 
 f 
 
€L^ 
 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 his hand in tenderness on her tumbled 
 hair. 
 
 " Just go into your room, honey ; I 
 want to talk to Colonel Morrison." She 
 looked up at him doubtfully; but he 
 added, with a reassuring smile : " It's all 
 right, darling. I'll call you in just a 
 minute." 
 
 Still Virgie seemed to hesitate. She 
 shifted her doubting eyes toward the 
 Union officer, turned, and obeyed in si- 
 lence, closing the door of the adjoining 
 room behind her. Then the two men 
 faced each other, without the hampering 
 presence of the child, each conscious of 
 the coming tragedy that both, till now, 
 had striven manfully to hide. The one 
 moved forward toward a seat, staggering 
 as he walked, and catching himself on 
 the table's edge, while the other's 
 went out to lend him aid; but the South- 
 erner waved him off. 
 [62] 
 
 . 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
J 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 " Thank you," he said, as he sank into 
 a chair. " I don't want help — from you! " 
 
 " Why not? " asked Morrison. 
 
 " Because," said Cary, in sullen anger, 
 " I don't ask quarter, nor aid, from a 
 man who frightens children." 
 
 The Northerner's chin went up; and 
 when he replied his voice was trembling ; 
 not in passion, but with a deeper, finer 
 something which had gripped his admi- 
 ration for the courage of a child : 
 
 " And I wouldn't hurt a hair of her 
 splendid little head ! " He paused, then 
 spoke again, more calmly : " You thought 
 me a beast to frighten her ; but don't you 
 know it was the only thing to do? Other- 
 wise my men might have had to shoot 
 you — before her eyes." Cary made no 
 , answer, though now he understood; and 
 .Morrison went on : " It isn't easy for me < 
 to track a fellow creature down; to take 
 him when he's wounded, practically un- 
 [63] 
 
 i 
 
 *. , 
 
 -Yc.i 
 
 '.s^&l 
 
J 
 
 J 
 
 < 
 
 Ik 
 
 ^J 
 
 armed, and turn him over to a firing 
 squad. But it's war, my friend — one of 
 the merciless realities of war — and you 
 ought to know the meaning of its name." 
 
 " Yes, I know," returned the South- 
 erner, with all the pent-up bitterness of 
 a hopeless struggle and defeat ; " it has 
 taken three years to teach me — and I 
 know! Look at me!" he cried, as he 
 stood up in his rags and spread his arms. 
 " Look at my country, swept as bare as 
 a stubble field! You've whipped us, 
 maybe, with your millions of money and 
 your endless men, and now you are war- 
 ring with the women and the children ! " 
 He turned his back and spoke in the deep 
 intensity of scorn : " A fine thing, 
 Colonel ! And may you get your reward 
 —in hell!" 
 
 The Northerner set his lips in a thin, 
 
 rcold line; but curbed his wrath and an- 
 swered the accusation quietly: 
 [64] 
 
 *€fr 
 
 J& 
 
u 
 
 " There are two sides to the question, 
 Cary; but there must be one flag!" 
 
 " Then fly your flag in justice ! " the 
 Southerner retorted hotly, wheeling on 
 his enemy, with blazing eyes and with 
 hands that shook in the stress of pas- 
 sion. "A while ago you called me a 
 brave man and a good scout; and, be- 
 cause I'm both, your people have set a 
 price on me. Five hundred dollars — 
 alive or dead ! " He laughed ; a hoarse, 
 harsh travesty of mirth, and added, with 
 a lip that curled in withering contempt: 
 " Alive or dead ! A gentleman and a 
 scout! — for just half the price of one 
 good, sound nigger! By God, it makes 
 me proud ! " 
 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison looked 
 across the table at his prisoner, and an- 
 swered gravely, yet with a touch of^; 
 sternness in his military tone: 
 
 "You are more than a scout, Cary. 
 [65] 
 
You've carried dispatches, and inter- 
 cepted ours; for both of which, if taken, 
 you would have been a prisoner of war, 
 no more. But you've entered our lines — 
 not in a uniform of gray, but blue — and 
 you've cost us the loss of two important 
 battles." 
 
 "And had you done the same," re- 
 turned the Southerner, " for you it would 
 have meant promotion. I've served my 
 cause as best I could; in the saddle or 
 the rifle pit; in the woods, or creeping 
 through your lines. If I've cost you a 
 battle, my life is a puny price to pay, 
 and I'd pay it without a sigh." He 
 paused and sank into his seat. " For 
 myself, I don't care much. I'm worn 
 out, anyway; and I only wanted to get 
 my little girl to Richmond." At the 
 $3thought of Virgie his anger returned to, 
 j" him, and he once more staggered to his- 
 feet. " But you," he accused, " you've 
 
 [66] 
 
 
 
I 
 
 beaten a baby by the force of arms! 
 You've run me to earth — and you've 
 blocked her chance! It's Virgie you are 
 fighting now — not me — yes, just as if you 
 rode her down with a troop of horse ! A 
 fine thing, Colonel! For you, a brevet! 
 For me, a firing squad! Well, call in 
 your men and get it over ! " Again he 
 smiled; a grim, slow smile of bitterness 
 and scorn. " Bravo, Colonel Morri- 
 son! Bravo! You add one other glory 
 to your conquering sword — and, besides, 
 you'll receive five hundred dollars in 
 reward ! " 
 
 The Northerner turned upon him 
 fiercely, goaded at last to the breaking- 
 point in a struggle as black and awful as 
 the struggle of his brother-foe. 
 
 " Stop it, man ! " he cried. " For God's 
 
 sake, stop! It's duty! — not a miserabh 
 
 reward ! " His cheeks were flaming ; his 
 
 muscles quivered, and his fists were 
 
 [67] 
 
 : 
 
clenched. " Do you suppose/' he asked, 
 " that I'm proud of this? Do you think 
 I'm wringing blood out of your heart and 
 mine — for money? Damn you for think- 
 ing it I" 
 
 They faced each other, two crouching, 
 snarling animals, the raw, primeval pas- 
 sions of their hearts released, each seeing 
 through a mist of red; a mist that had 
 risen up to roll across a mighty land and 
 plunge its noblest sons into a bloody ruck 
 of war. 
 
 They faced each other, silently; then 
 slowly the features of the Southerner re- 
 laxed. His bitterness was laid aside. He 
 spoke, in the soft, slow accent of his peo- 
 ple — an accent so impossible to a trick 
 of print or pen. 
 
 " I'm glad you feel that way ; and 
 maybe, after all, you're doing what yc 
 think is right. Yes- — and I know it 
 hard." He stopped, then stepped a li 
 
 
Ji 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 tie nearer, timidly, as Virgie might have 
 done. " Colonel/' he said, scarce audibly, 
 "I ask you just one thing; not for my- 
 self, but for her — for Virgie. Get the 
 poor little tad through your lines, will 
 you? — and — and don't let her know — 
 about me." 
 
 His captor did not answer him in 
 words, because of the pain that took him 
 by the throat ; but his hand went out, till 
 it reached another hand that gripped it 
 gratefully. 
 
 " Thank you, Morrison," said the 
 prisoner simply. " If it wasn't war 
 times — - — " 
 
 He choked, and said no more; yet si- 
 lence proved more eloquent than human 
 speech. They were men — brave men — 
 and both were grateful; the one, because 
 an enemy would keep his unspoken word ; 
 the other, because a doomed man under- 
 stood. 
 
 [69] 
 
 I 
 
B>' 
 
 Cary opened the door of his daughter's 
 room and called to her. She came in 
 quickly, a question in her big brown eyes. 
 
 " Daddy," she said, " you talked a 
 mighty long time. It was a heap more 
 than jus' a minute." 
 
 "Was it?" he asked, and forced a 
 smile. " Well, you see, we had a lot to 
 say." He seated himself and, drawing 
 her between his knees, took both her 
 hands. " Now listen, honey ; I'm going 
 
 away with this gentleman, and " He 
 
 stopped as she looked up doubtfully; 
 then added a dash of gayety to his tender- 
 tone : " Oh, but he invited me. And 
 think ! He's coming back for you — to-day 
 [70] 
 
— to send you up to Kichmond. Now, 
 isn't that just fine? " 
 
 Virgie looked slowly from her father 
 to the Union soldier, who stood with 
 downcast eyes, his back to them. 
 
 " Daddy," she whispered, " he's a right 
 good Yankee — isn't he? " 
 
 " Yes, dear/' her father murmured 
 sadly, and in yearning love for the baby 
 he must leave behind ; " yes — he's mighty 
 good ! " 
 
 He knelt and folded her in his arms, 
 kissing her, over and over, while his hand 
 went fluttering about her soft brown 
 throat; then he wrenched himself away, 
 but stood for a lingering instant more, 
 his hands outstretched, atremble for a 
 last and lingering touch, his heart a 
 racing protest at the parting he must 
 speak. 
 
 "Cary!" 
 
 It was Morrison who spoke, in mercy 
 [ft] 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 for the man ; and once more Cary under- 
 stood. He turned to cross the broken 
 door; to face a firing squad in the hot, 
 brown woods; to cross the gulf which 
 stretched beyond the rumble of the guns 
 and the snarling lip of war. But even as 
 he turned, a baby's voice called out, in 
 cheerful parting, which he himself had 
 failed to speak : 
 
 " Good-by, Daddy-man. I'll see you 
 up in Richmon'." 
 
 The eyes of the two men met and held, 
 in the hardest moment of it all; for well 
 they knew this hopeful prophecy could 
 never be fulfilled. Morrison sighed and 
 moved toward the door; but, from its 
 threshold, he could see his troopers re- 
 turning at a trot across the fields. 
 
 "Wait," he said to Cary; "I'd rather 
 my men shouldn't know I've talked with 
 you." He pointed to the scuttle in the 
 ceiling. "Would you mind if I asked 
 
j 
 
 I, 
 
 i 
 
 you to go back again? Hurry! They are 
 coming 
 
 The captured scout saluted, crossed to 
 the ladder, and began to mount. At the 
 top he paused to smile and blow a kiss 
 to Virgie, then disappeared, drew up the 
 ladder after him, and closed the trap. 
 
 The captor stood in silence, waiting for 
 his men; yet, while he stood, the little 
 rebel pattered to his side, slipping her 
 hand in his confidingly. 
 
 " Mr. Yankee," she asked, and looked 
 up into his face, " are you goin' to let 
 Daddy come to Richmon', too?" 
 
 Morrison withdrew his hand from hers 
 — withdrew it sharply — flung himself 
 into a seat beside the table, and began 
 to scribble on the back of Virgie's rum- 
 pled pass; while the child stood watch- 
 [ing, trusting, with the simple trust of 
 her little mother-heart. 
 
 In a moment or two, the troopers came 
 
 A 
 
b> ' 
 
 I 
 
 hurrying in, with Corporal O'Connell in 
 the lead. He stood at attention, saluted 
 his superior, and made his report of fail- 
 ure in the search. 
 
 " Nothin', sor. No thracks around th' 
 spring, an' no thraces iv th' feller anny- 
 
 where; but " He stopped. His keen 
 
 eyes marked the changed position of the 
 table and followed upward. He saw the 
 outlines of the scuttle above his head, 
 and smiled. " But I'm glad to see, 
 sor, ye've had some betther luck 
 yerself." 
 
 " Yes, Corporal," said Morrison, with a 
 sharp return of his military tone, " I 
 think I've found the fox's hole at last." 
 He rose and gave his orders briskly. 
 " Push that table forward ! — there ! — be- 
 8ja low the trap ! Two of you get on it ! " 
 He turned to the Corporal, while he him-' 
 self climbed up and stood beside his men. 
 " Light that candle and pass it up to 
 [74] 
 
T » 
 
 i 
 
 A 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 The orders were obeyed. " Now, 
 boost me! — and we'll have him 
 
 me 
 
 boys, 
 
 out." 
 
 They raised him, till he pushed the 
 trap aside and thrust his head and shoul- 
 ders through the opening. From below 
 they could see him as he waved the 
 lighted candle to and fro, and presently 
 they heard his voice, that sounded deep 
 and muffled in the shallow loft: 
 
 "All right, boys! You can let me 
 down." 
 
 He slid to the table and sprung lightly 
 to the floor, facing his troopers with 
 a smile, half-humorous, half in seem- 
 ing disappointment, as he glanced at 
 Virgie. 
 
 " I'm afraid the little rebel's right 
 again. He isn't there!" 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Virgie, then clapped her 
 ands across her mouth, while the troop- 
 ers slowly looked from her into the level 
 [75] 
 
 1 
 
THE LITTLEST KEBEL 
 
 eyes of their commanding officer. He 
 stood before them, straight and tall, a 
 soldier, every inch of him ; and they knew 
 that Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison was 
 lying like a gentleman. 
 
 But the Corporal knew more. He knew 
 that his chief was staking the name and 
 title of an honorable soldier against the 
 higher, grander title of " a man/' The 
 apple in his Irish throat grew strangely 
 large; but not quite large enough to pre- 
 vent him roaring at his men, in a voice 
 which shook the rafters: 
 
 " 'Tention! Right face! Forward! 
 March!" 
 
 A roistering, childless scalawag was 
 Corporal O'Connell, all muscle and bone 
 and heart; and now, as his sullen men 
 .pguwent tramping out, obedient to com- 
 mand, he added, in a growling, non-offi- 
 cial undertone: 
 
 " An' ye'll hold yer tongues, ye brawl- 
 [76] 
 
THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 I 
 
 in' ijjits, or I'll be after kickin' the 
 breeches off ye ! " 
 
 They mounted and rode a rod or two 
 away, awaiting orders ; while Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Morrison stood silently and 
 watched them go. He, too — like Virgie 
 — had wrestled with a problem, and it 
 stirred him to the depths. As a trooper 
 must obey, so also must an officer obey 
 a higher will ; yes, even as a slave in iron 
 manacles. The master of war had made 
 his laws; and a servant broke them, 
 knowingly. A captured scout was a pris- 
 oner, no more; a spy must hang, or fall 
 before the volley of a firing squad. No 
 matter for his bravery; no matter for the 
 faithful service to his cause, the man must 
 die! The glory was for another; for one 
 who waved a flag on the spine of a bloody 
 trench; a trench which his brothers^ 
 stormed — and gave the blood. No mat- (: 
 ter that a spy had made this triumph 
 [77] 
 
 q 
 
 l 
 
 i 
 
 J« 
 
 143 sftk 
 
possible. He had worn a uniform which 
 was not his own — and the dog must die! 
 
 So ruled the god of warfare ; still, did 
 war prescribe disgrace and death for all? 
 If Cary had crept through the Union 
 lines, to reach the side of a helpless lit- 
 tle one — yes, even in a coat of blue — 
 would the Great Tribunal count his deed 
 accursed? Should fearless human love 
 reap no reward beyond the crashing epi- 
 taph of a firing squad, and the powder 
 smoke that drifted with the passing of a 
 soul? 
 
 " No ! No ! " breathed Morrison. " In 
 God's name, give the man his chance !" 
 
 He straightened his back and smiled. 
 He took from the table a rumpled paper 
 and turned to the littlest factor in the 
 
 eat Eebellion. 
 
 "Here, Virgie! Here's your pass to 
 Eichmond — for you and your escort — 
 through the Federal lines." 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
J 
 I. 
 
 THE LITTLEST REBEL 
 
 She came to him slowly, wondering; 
 her tiny body quivering with suppressed 
 excitement, her voice a whispering 
 caress : 
 
 " Do you mean for — for Daddy, too? " 
 
 " Yes, you little rebel ! " he answered, 
 choking as he laughed ; " but I'm terri- 
 bly afraid you'll have to pay me — with 
 a kiss." 
 
 She sprang into his waiting arms, and 
 kissed him as he raised her up; but 
 when he would have set her down, her 
 little brown hands, with their berry- 
 stained fingers, clung tightly about his 
 neck. 
 
 "Wait! Wait!" she cried. "Here's 
 another one — for Gertrude ! Tell her it's 
 from Virgie ! An' tell her I sent it, 'cause 
 her Daddy is jus' the best damn Yankee 
 •that ever was ! " 
 
 The trap above had opened, and the 
 head and shoulders of the Southerner ap- 
 [79] 
 
 A 
 
J 
 
 I 
 
 peared; while Morrison looked up and 
 spoke in parting: 
 
 " It's all right, Cary. I only ask a 
 soldier's pledge that you take your little 
 girl to Richmond — nothing more. In 
 passing through our lines, whatever you 
 see or hear — forget!" 
 
 A sacred trust it was, of man to man, 
 one brother to another; and Morrison 
 knew that Herbert Cary would pass 
 through the very center of the Federal 
 lines, as a father, not a spy. 
 
 The Southerner tried to speak his 
 gratitude, but the words refused to come ; 
 so he stretched one trembling hand to- 
 ward his enemy of war, and eased his 
 heart in a sobbing, broken call: 
 
 "Morrison! Some day it will all — 
 ~be over!" 
 
 In the cabin's doorway stood Virgie 
 and her father, hand in hand. They 
 
 [80] 
 
 i 
 
 . 
 
 
watched a lonely swallow as it dipped 
 across the desolate, unfurrowed field. 
 They listened to the distant beat of many 
 hoofs on the river road, and the far, faint 
 clink of sabers on the riders' thighs; and 
 when the sounds were lost to the listen- 
 ers at last, the notes of a bugle came 
 whispering back to them, floating, dip- 
 ping, even as the swallow dipped across 
 the unfurrowed fields. 
 
 But still the two stood lingering in the 
 doorway, hand in hand. The muddy 
 James took up his murmuring song 
 again; the locusts chanted in the 
 hot brown woods, to the basso growl 
 of the big black guns far down the 
 river. 
 
 A sad, sad song it was; yet on its 
 echoes seemed to ride a haunting, hope- 
 ful memory of the rebel's broken call, 
 " Some day it will all be over ! " 
 
 And so the guns growled on, slow, sul 
 [81] 
 
 
i 
 
 len, thundering forth the battle-call of a 
 still unconquered enmity; but only that 
 peace might walk " some day " in the 
 path of the shrieking shells. 
 
I 
 
 fr 
 
 1 
 
 PEACE 
 
 Hushed is the rolling" drum. The bugle's note 
 
 Breathes but an echo of its martial blast; 
 The proud old flags, in mourning silence, float 
 
 Above the heroes of a buried past. 
 Frail ivy vines 'round rusting- cannon creep; 
 
 The tattered pennants droop against the wall; 
 The war-worn warriors are sunk in sleep, 
 
 Beyond a summons of the trumpet's call. 
 
 Do ye still dream, ye voiceless, slumbering- ones, 
 
 Of g-lories gained through struggles fierce and 
 long, 
 Lulled by the muffled boom of ghostly guns 
 
 That weave the music of a battle-song? 
 In fitful flight do misty visions reel, 
 
 While restless chargers toss their bridle-reins? 
 When down the lines gleam points of polished 
 steel, 
 
 And phantom columns flood the sun-lit plains? 
 
 i< 
 
 A breathless hush! A shout that mounts on high 
 Till every hoary hill from sleep awakes! 
 r Swift as the unleashed lightning cleaves the sky, 
 The tumbling, tempest-rush of battle breaks! 
 
 [83] 
 
 4 
 
,-. 
 
 The smoke-wreathed cannon launch their hell- 
 winged shells! 
 The rattling crash of musketry's sharp sound 
 Sinks in the deafening din of hoarse, wild yells 
 And squadrons charging o'er the trampled 
 ground! 
 
 Down, down they rush! The cursing riders reel 
 
 'Neath tearing shot and savage bayonet-thrust; 
 A plunging charger stamps with iron heel 
 
 His dying master in the battle's dust. 
 The shrill-tongued notes of victory awake! 
 
 The black guns thunder back the shout amain! 
 In crimson-crested waves the columns break, 
 
 Like shattered foam, across the shell-swept 
 plain. 
 
 A still form lies upon the death-crowned hill, 
 With sightless eyes, gray lips that may not 
 speak. 
 His dead hand holds his shot-torn banner still — 
 Its proud folds pressed against his bloodstained 
 cheek. 
 
 O, slumbering heroes, cease to dream of war! 
 
 Let hatreds die behind the tread of years. 
 Forget the past, like some long-vanished scar 
 
 Whose smart is healed in drops of falling tears. 
 
 [84] 
 
 I 
 
 
Keep, keep your glory; but forget the strife! 
 
 Roll up your battle-flags so stained and torn! 
 Teach, teach our hearts, that still dream on in 
 life, 
 
 To let the dead past sleep with those we mourn ! 
 
 From pitying Heaven a pitying angel came. 
 
 Smiling, she bade the tongues of conflict cease. 
 Her wide wings fanned away the smoke and flame, 
 
 Hushed the red battle's roar. God called her 
 Peace. 
 From land and sea she swept mad passion's glow; 
 
 Yet left a laurel for the hero's fame. 
 She whispered hope to hearts in grief bowed low, 
 
 And taught our lips, in love, to shape her name. 
 
 She sheathed the dripping sword; her soft hands 
 pres't 
 
 Grim foes apart, who scowled in anger deep. 
 She laid two grand old standards down to rest, 
 
 And on her breast rocked weary War to sleep. 
 Peace spreads her pinions wide from South to 
 North; 
 
 Dead enmity within the grave is laid. 
 The church towers ring their holy anthems forth, 
 
 To hush the thunders of the cannonade.