An Indiana Campaign
IWhen 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 behoved him, as a man who had seen the sky red over the quaint,low cities of Mexico, and the compact Northern bayonets gleaming on thenarrow 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 stoodbefore the major, struggling with a tale that was ever upon the tip ofhis tongue."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, "and don't say a word t' anybody.Do you hear?"The boy, still weeping, nodded, and the major hurriedly entered theinn. He took down from its pegs an awkward smooth-bore rifle andcarefully examined the enormous percussion cap that was fitted over thenipple. Mistrusting the cap, he removed it and replaced it with a newone. He scrutinised the gun keenly, as if he could judge in this mannerof the condition of the load. All his movements were deliberate anddeadly.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 abouthim, gave vent to startled cries. The women had come from adjacenthouses, 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 a minnet."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 way apart. The trees sighed softly inthe 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 Peterson, her particularfriends, 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 withher down 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.Goodwin and Jerozel. Then at last one gave a laugh of triumph at herconquest of caution 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 dangers,had 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 corn,which 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 corn 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 allwished to 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!"II"Hol' on a minnet!" Peter Witheby was crying to the major, as thelatter, full of the importance and dignity of his position as protectorof Migglesville, paced forward swiftly. The veteran already felt uponhis brow a wreath formed of the flowers of gratitude, and as he strodehe was absorbed in planning a calm and self-contained manner of wearingit. "Hol' on a minnet!" piped old Peter in the rear.At last the major, aroused from his dream of triumph, turned aboutwrathfully. "Well, what?""Now, look a' here," said Peter. "What 'che goin' t' do?"The major, with a gesture of supreme exasperation, wheeled again andwent on. When he arrived at the cornfield he halted and waited forPeter. He had suddenly felt that indefinable menace in the landscape."Well?" demanded Peter, panting.The major's eyes wavered a trifle. "Well," he repeated--"well, I'mgoin' in there an' bring out that there rebel."They both paused and studied the gently swaying masses of corn, andbehind them the looming woods, sinister with possible secrets."Well," said old Peter.The major moved uneasily and put his hand to his brow. Peter waited inobvious expectation.The major crossed through the grass at the roadside and climbed thefence. He put both legs over the topmost rail and then sat perchedthere, facing the woods. Once he turned his head and asked, "What?""I hain't said anythin'," answered Peter.The major clambered down from the fence and went slowly into the corn,his gun held in readiness. Peter stood in the road.Presently the major returned and said, in a cautious whisper: "If yehhear anythin', you come a-runnin', will yeh?""Well, I hain't got no gun nor nuthin'," said Peter, in the same lowtone; "what good 'ud I do?""Well, yeh might come along with me an' watch," said the major. "Foureyes is better'n two.""If I had a gun--" began Peter."Oh, yeh don't need no gun," interrupted the major, waving his hand:"All I'm afraid of is that I won't find 'im. My eyes ain't so good asthey was.""Well--""Come along," whispered the major. "Yeh hain't afraid, are yeh?""No, but--""Well, come along, then. What's th' matter with yeh?"Peter climbed the fence. He paused on the top rail and took a prolongedstare at the inscrutable woods. When he joined the major in thecornfield he said, with a touch of anger:"Well, you got the gun. Remember that. If he comes for me, I hain't gota blame thing!""Shucks!" answered the major. "He ain't agoin' t' come for yeh."The two then began a wary journey through the corn. One by one the longaisles between the rows appeared. As they glanced along each of them itseemed as if some gruesome thing had just previously vacated it. OldPeter halted once and whispered: "Say, look a' here; supposin'--supposin'--""Supposin' what?" demanded the major."Supposin'--" said Peter. "Well, remember you got th' gun, an' I hain'tgot anythin'.""Thunder!" said the major.When they got to where the stalks were very short because of the shadecast by the trees of the wood, they halted again. The leaves were gentlyswishing in the breeze. Before them stretched the mystic green wall ofthe forest, and there seemed to be in it eyes which followed each oftheir movements.Peter at last said, "I don't believe there's anybody in there.""Yes, there is, too," said the major. "I'll bet anythin' he's in there.""How d' yeh know?" asked Peter. "I'll bet he ain't within a mile o'here."The major suddenly ejaculated, "Listen!"They bent forward, scarce breathing, their mouths agape, their eyesglinting. Finally, the major turned his head. "Did yeh hear that?" hesaid hoarsely."No," said Peter in a low voice. "What was it?"The major listened for a moment. Then he turned again. "I thought Iheerd somebody holler!" he explained cautiously.They both bent forward and listened once more. Peter, in the intentnessof his attitude, lost his balance, and was obliged to lift his foothastily and with noise. "S-s-sh!" hissed the major.After a minute Peter spoke quite loudly: "Oh, shucks! I don't believeyeh heerd anythin'."The major made a frantic downward gesture with his hand. "Shet up, willyeh!" he said in an angry undertone.Peter became silent for a moment, but presently he said again: "Oh, yehdidn't hear anythin'."The major turned to glare at his companion in despair and wrath."What's th' matter with yeh? Can't yeh shet up?""Oh, this here ain't no use. If you're goin' in after 'im, why don'tyeh go in after 'im?""Well, gimme time, can't yeh?" said the major in a growl. And, as if toadd more to this reproach, he climbed the fence that compassed thewoods, looking resentfully back at his companion."Well," said Peter, when the major paused.The major stepped down upon the thick carpet of brown leaves thatstretched under the trees. He turned then to whisper: "You wait here,will yeh?" His face was red with determination."Well, hol' on a minnet!" said Peter. "You--I--we'd better--""No," said the major. "You wait here."He went stealthily into the thickets. Peter watched him until he grewto be a vague, slow-moving shadow. From time to time he could hear theleaves crackle and twigs snap under the major's awkward tread. Peter,intent, breathless, waited for the peal of sudden tragedy. Finally, thewoods grew silent in a solemn and impressive hush that caused Peter tofeel the thumping of his heart. He began to look about him to make surethat nothing should spring upon him from the sombre shadows. Hescrutinised this cool gloom before him, and at times he thought he couldperceive the moving of swift silent shapes. He concluded that he hadbetter go back and try to muster some assistance to the major.As Peter came through the corn, the women in the road caught sight ofthe glittering figure and screamed. Many of them began to run. Thelittle boys, with all their valour, scurried away in clouds. Mrs. JoePeterson, however, cast a glance over her shoulders as she, with herskirts gathered up, was running as best she could. She instantly stoppedand, in tones of deepest scorn, called out to the others, "Why, it'son'y Pete Witheby!" They came faltering back then, those who had beennaturally swiftest in the race avoiding the eyes of those whose limbshad enabled them to flee a short distance.Peter came rapidly, appreciating the glances of vivid interest in theeyes of the women. To their lightning-like questions, which hit allsides of the episode, he opposed a new tranquillity, gained from hissudden ascent in importance. He made no answer to their clamour. When hehad reached the top of the fence he called out commandingly: "Here you,Johnnie, you and George, run an' git my gun! It's hangin' on th' pegsover th' bench in th' shop."At this terrible sentence, a shuddering cry broke from the women. Theboys named sped down the road, accompanied by a retinue of enviouscompanions.Peter swung his legs over the rail and faced the woods again. Hetwisted his head once to say: "Keep still, can't yeh? Quit scufflin'aroun'!" They could see by his manner that this was a supreme moment.The group became motionless and still. Later, Peter turned to say,"S-s-sh!" to a restless boy, and the air with which he said it smotethem all with awe.The little boys who had gone after the gun came pattering alonghurriedly, the weapon borne in the midst of them. Each was anxious toshare in the honour. The one who had been delegated to bring it wasbullying and directing his comrades.Peter said, "S-s-sh!" He took the gun and poised it in readiness tosweep the cornfield. He scowled at the boys and whispered angrily: "Whydidn't yeh bring th' powder-horn an' th' thing with th' bullets in? Itold yeh t' bring 'em. I'll send somebody else next time.""Yeh didn't tell us!" cried the two boys shrilly."S-s-sh! Quit yeh noise," said Peter, with a violent gesture.However, this reproof enabled other boys to recover that peace of mindwhich they had lost when seeing their friends loaded with honours.The women had cautiously approached the fence, and, from time to time,whispered feverish questions; but Peter repulsed them savagely, with anair of being infinitely bothered by their interference in his intentwatch. They were forced to listen again in silence to the weird andprophetic chanting of the insects and the mystic silken rustling of thecorn.At last the thud of hurrying feet in the soft soil of the field came totheir ears. A dark form sped toward them. A wave of a mighty fear sweptover the group, and the screams of the women came hoarsely from theirchoked throats. Peter swung madly from his perch, and turned to use thefence as a rampart.But it was the major. His face was inflamed and his eyes were glaring.He clutched his rifle by the middle and swung it wildly. He was boundingat a great speed for his fat, short body."It's all right! it's all right!" he began to yell some distance away."It's all right! It's on'y ol' Milt' Jacoby!"When he arrived at the top of the fence he paused, and mopped his brow."What?" they thundered, in an agony of sudden, unreasoningdisappointment.Mrs. Joe Peterson, who was a distant connection of Milton Jacoby,thought to forestall any damage to her social position by saying at oncedisdainfully, "Drunk, I s'pose!""Yep," said the major, still on the fence, and mopping his brow. "Drunkas a fool. Thunder! I was surprised. I--I--thought it was a rebel, sure."The thoughts of all these women wavered for a time. They were at a lossfor precise expression of their emotion. At last, however, they hurledthis superior sentence at the major:"Well, yeh might have known."
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