The old-fashioned loom9 and spinning-wheel were kept going, and the women made their own dyes. The girls made their hats of rye and wheat straw, and some very pretty bonnets10 were made of the fibrous substance that grows in the vegetable known as the bonnet11 squash.
It was agreed on all sides that times were very hard, and yet they seemed very pleasant and comfortable to Joe Maxwell. He had never seen money more plentiful12. Everybody seemed to have some, and yet nobody had enough. It was all in Confederate bills, and they were all new and fresh and crisp. Joe had some of it himself, and he thought he was growing rich. But the more plentiful the money became, the higher went the price of everything.
After a while Joe noticed that the older men became more serious. There were complaints in the newspapers of speculators and extortioners—of men who imposed on and mistreated the widows and wives of the soldiers. And then there was a law passed preventing the farmers from planting only so many acres of land in cotton, in order that more food might be raised for the army. After this came the impressment law, which gave the Confederate officials the right to seize private property, horses, mules13, and provisions. And then came the conscription law.
There was discontent among the men who were at home, but they were not left to make any serious complaints. One by one the conscript officers seized all except those who were exempt14 and hurried them off to the front. Those who thought it a disgrace to be conscripted either volunteered or hired themselves as substitutes.
This is the summing up of the first three years of the war, so far as it affected15 Joe Maxwell. The impression made upon him was of slow and gradual growth. He only knew that trouble and confusion were abroad in the land. He could see afterward16 what a lonely and desperate period it must have been to those who had kinsmen17 in the war; but, at that time, all these things were as remote from him as a dream that is half remembered. He set up the editor’s articles, criticising Governor Joe Brown for some attacks he had made on the Confederate Government, without understanding them fully20; and he left Mr. Wall, the hatter, who was a violent secessionist, to discuss the situation with Mr. Bonner, the overseer, who was a Whig, and something of a union man.
Late one afternoon, after listening to a heated dispute between Mr. Wall and Mr. Bonner, Joe concluded that he would take a run in the fields with the harriers. So he called and whistled for them, but they failed to come. Harbert thought they had followed some of the plantation hands, but, as this rarely happened, Joe was of the opinion that they had gone hunting on their own account. They were very busy and restless little dogs, and it was not uncommon21 for them to go rabbit-hunting for themselves. Going toward Mr. Snelson’s, Joe thought he could hear them running a rabbit on the farther side of the plantation. He went in that direction, but found, after a while, that they were running in the Jack22 Adams place, and as he went nearer they seemed to get farther away. Finally, when he did come up with the dogs, he found that they were not the harriers at all, but a lot of curs and “fices.” And then—how it happened he was never able to explain—Joe suddenly discovered that he was lost.
Perhaps if the idea had never occurred to him he would never have been lost, but the thought flashed in his mind and stayed there. He stood still in his tracks and looked all around, but the idea that he was really lost confused him. He was not frightened—he was not even uneasy. But he knew he was lost. Everything was strange and confusing. Even the sun, which was preparing to go to bed, was in the wrong place. Joe laughed at himself. Certainly he could return the way he came, so he faced about, as he thought, and started home.
Walking and running he went forward rapidly, and he had need to, for the sun had gone behind a cloud, and the cloud, black and threatening, was rising and filling the sky. How long he had been going Joe did not know, but suddenly he found himself near an old cabin. It was built of logs, and the chimney, which had been made of sticks and red clay, had nearly fallen down. The lad knew that this cabin was neither on the Turner plantation nor on the Jack Adams place. He had never heard any of the negroes allude24 to it, and he realized the fact that he had been running away from home.
Near the deserted25 house were the remnants of an orchard26. A pear-tree, jagged and unshapely, grew not far from the door, while an apple-tree, with a part of its trunk rotted away, stood near a corner of the cabin. A growth of pines and scrub-oak showed that the place had been deserted for many a long year. A quarter of a mile away, through the gathering27 darkness, Joe could see a white fringe gleaming against the horizon. He knew that this was a fog, and that it rose from the river. Following the line of the fog, he could see that the cabin was in a bend of the river—the Horseshoe, as he had heard it called—and he knew that he was at least four miles from home. By this time the cloud had covered all the heavens. Away off in the woods he could hear the storm coming, sounding like a long-drawn sigh at first, and then falling with a sweeping28 rush and roar. Joe had no choice but to seek shelter in the old house. He was a stout29-hearted youngster, and yet he could not resist the feeling of uneasiness and dread30 that came over him at the thought of spending the night in that lonely place. But there was no help for it. He could never find his way home in the darkness, and so he made the best of what seemed to him a very bad matter. The cabin was almost a wreck31, but it served to keep off the rain.
Joe went in and explored the inside as carefully as he could in the darkness. A wood-rat or flying-squirrel rattled32 along the rafters as he entered, and the loose puncheons of which the floor was made bumped up and down as he walked across them. In one corner, as he went groping about, he found a pile of shucks—corn-husks—and straw, and he judged that the old cabin had sometimes been used as a temporary barn. After satisfying himself that no other person or creature had taken shelter there, Joe tried to close the door. He found this to be a difficult matter. The sill of the house had settled so that the door was on the floor. He pushed it as far as it would go, and then groped his way back to the shucks and quickly made a bed of them. He was fagged out, and the shucks and straw made a comfortable pallet—so comfortable, indeed, that by the time he had made up his mind that it was a pleasant thing to lie there and listen to the rain rushing down on the weather-beaten roof, he was fast asleep.
How long he slept he did not know, but suddenly he awoke to discover that he was not the only person who had sought shelter in the cabin. The rain was still falling on the roof, but he could hear some one talking in a low tone. He lay quite still and listened with all his ears. He soon discovered that the new-comers were negroes, whether two or three he could not tell. Presently he could distinguish what they said. The storm had ceased so that it no longer drowned their voices.
“Bless you!” responded the first voice, “I kin run when I git de invertation, else ole Bill Locke an’ his nigger dogs would a done cotch me long ago.”
“Dey ain’t been atter me,” said the second voice, “but I’m a spectin’ un um eve’y day, an’ when dey does—gentermen! I’m a-gwine ter scratch gravel35! You hear what I tell you!”
“I come so fas’,” remarked the first voice, “dat all dem ar buckeyes what I had done bounce outer my pocket.”
“What you gwine fer do wid so many buckeyes?” asked the second voice.
“Who? Me! Oh, I wuz des savin’ um up fer dat ar white boy what stay ’long wid de printin’ machine,” said the first voice. “He holp me ’long one time. Harbert, he say dat white boy is des ez good ter niggers ez ef dey all b’long ter im, an’ he say he got a head on ’im. Dat what Harbert say.”
“I bin23 see ’im,” said the second voice. “I don’t like white folks myse’f, but I speck36 dat boy got good in ’im. He come fum town.”
Joe Maxwell knew at once that one of the voices belonged to Mink, the runaway37, and he judged that the other belonged to Injun Bill, whose reputation was very bad. He knew also that the two negroes were talking about him, and he was not only gratified at the compliments paid him, but felt safer than if he had been alone in the cabin. In a spirit of mischief38 he called out in a sepulchral39 tone of voice:
“Where’s Mink? I want Mink!”
He tried to imitate the tone that he had heard mothers sometimes employ when they are trying to frighten crying children into silence with the bogie man. There was no reply from Mink, but Joe could hear the two negroes breathing hard. Then, imitating the voice of a woman, he cried out:
“Where’s Injun Bill? I want Injun Bill!”
0153
Imagining how horrified40 the negroes were, and how they looked as they sat on the floor quaking with terror, Joe could not restrain himself. He fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that caused him to scatter41 the shucks all over the floor. This proceeding42, wholly unaccountable, added to the terror of the negroes. Injun Bill, as it afterward appeared, made a wild leap for the door, but his foot caught in a crack in the floor and he fell headlong. On top of him fell Mink, and each thought he had been caught by the thing that had frightened him. They had a terrific scuffle on the floor, writhing43 over and under each other in their efforts to escape. Finally, Mink, who was the more powerful of the two, pinned Injun Bill to the floor.
“Who dis?” he cried, breathing hard with fear and excitement.
“Me! Dat who ’tis!” said Injun Bill, angrily. “What you doin’ ’pon top er me?”
This complication caused Joe Maxwell to laugh until he could scarcely catch his breath. But at last he managed to control his voice.
“What in the name of goodness are you two trying to do?”
“Name er de Lord!” exclaimed Mink, “who is you, anyhow?”
“Dat what I like ter know,” said Injun Bill, in a surly tone.
“Why, you’ve just been talking about me,” replied Joe. “I lay there on the shucks and heard you give me a great name.”
“Is dat you, little marster?” cried Mink. “Well, suh! Ef dat don’t beat my time! How come you sech a fur ways fum yo’ surroundin’s?”
“Well, well, well!” said Mink, by way of comment. “You sholy gimme a turn dat time. Little mo’ an’ I’d a thought de ole boy had me. Ef I’d a bin by myse’f when I hear dat callin’ I lay I’d’a to’ down de whole side er de house. Dish yer nigger ’long wid me, little marster, he name Injun Bill. He say—”
“’Sh—sh!” said Injun Bill, softly. Then in a whisper—“watch out!”
Joe was about to say something, but suddenly he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The negroes by a noiseless movement stepped close against the wall. Joe lay still. The new-comers entered the door without hesitation45. They had evidently been there before.
“I’ll take an’ put my gun in the corner here,” said one. “Now, don’t go blunderin’ aroun’ an’ knock it over; it might go off.”
“All right,” said the other. “Where is it? I’ll put mine by it.”
Then they seemed to be unfastening their belts.
“Hain’t you got a match?” said one. “I’m as wet as a drownded rat. I’ve got some kindlin’ somewheres about my cloze. My will, ef I had it fried,” he went on, “would be to be set down in front of a great big fireplace adryin’ myse’f, an’ a knowin’ all the time that a great big tray of hot biscuit an’ ’leven pounds of butter was a waitin’ for me in the kitchen.”
“Thunderation!” exclaimed the other, “don’t talk that way. You make me so nervous I can’t find the matches.”
“Oh, well,” said the first, “I was jist a think-in’ about eatin’. I wish Mink’ud come on ef he’s a-comin’.”
“I done come, Mars John,” said Mink.
“Confound your black hide!” exclaimed the man; “if I had my gun I’d shoot a hole spang throo you! Whadder you want to skeer me outn a year’s growth for? If you’re here, whyn’t you sesso befo’ you spoke46?”
“Kaze I got comp’ny,” said Mink.
“Injun Bill.”
“Who else?”
“A white boy.”
“Well, the great snakes! What sort of game is you up to? Who is the white boy?”
“He stay on the Turner plantation at de printin’-office,” explained Mink.
“You hear that, don’t you?” said the man to his companion. “And now it’ll all be in the paper.”
“Bosh!” exclaimed Joe. “I don’t know you from a side of sole-leather. I got lost while rabbit-hunting, and came in here out of the rain.”
“He’s a peart-talkin’ chap,” said the man who wanted to eat a trayful of hot biscuits and eleven pounds of butter.
“He came fum town,” said Mink, by way of explaining Joe’s “peartness.”
“How long since?” asked one of the men.
“Two years ago,” said Joe.
After a little, one of the men succeeded in finding a match, and making a light with the pine kindlings that one of the two had brought. In a corner Mink found some pieces of dry wood and the small company soon had a fire burning. The weather was not cold, but the fire must have been very agreeable to the white men, who, as one of them expressed it, was “wringin, wet.” These men took advantage of the first opportunity to examine Joe Maxwell very closely. They had evidently expected to find a much more formidable-looking person than he appeared to be, for one of them remarked to the other:
“Why, he hain’t bigger’n a pound er soap arter a hard day’s washin’.”
“Naw!” said the other. “I’ve saw ’im be-fo’. He’s that little rooster that useter be runnin’ roun’ town gittin’ in all sorts er devilment. I reckon he’s sorter out er his element here in the country.”
“I’ve seen you, too,” said Joe. “I’ve seen both of you. I used to see you drilling in the Hillsborough Rifles. I was at the depot48 when the company went off to the war.”
The two men looked at each other in a peculiar49 way, and busied themselves trying to dry their clothes by the fire, standing19 close to the flickering50 flames. They were not handsome men, and yet they were not ill looking. One was short and stout, with black hair. He had a scar under one of his eyes that did not improve his appearance. But the expression of his face was pleasant in spite of this defect. The other was thin, tall, and stoop-shouldered. His beard was scanty51 and red, and his upper teeth protruded52 to such an extent that when his face was in repose53 they were exposed to view. But there was a humorous twinkle in his eyes that found an echo in his talk. Both men were growing gray. The dark man was Jim Wimberly, the other John Pruitt, and both had evidently seen hard times. Soldier-fashion, they made seats for themselves by sticking the ends of loose boards through the cracks, and allowing the other ends to rest on the floor. Thus they could sit or lie at full length as they chose. Joe fixed54 a seat for himself in the same way, while Mink and Injun Bill sat on the floor on each side of the fireplace.
“What do you call those here fellers,” asked Mr. Pruitt, lighting55 his pipe with a splinter, and turning to Joe—“these here fellers what jines inter56 the army an’ then comes home arter awhile without lief or license57?”
“Deserters,” replied Joe, simply.
“So fur, so good.” said Mr. Pruitt. “Now, then, what do you call the fellers what jines inter the army arter they’er been told that their families’ll be took keer of an’ provided fer by the rich folks at home; an’ then, arter they’er been in a right smart whet33, they gits word that their wives an’ children is a lookin’ starvation in the face, an’ stedder gittin’ better it gets wuss, an’ bimeby they breaks loose an’ comes home? Now what sort er fellers do you call them? Hold on!” exclaimed Mr. Pruitt, as Joe was about to reply. “Wait! They hain’t got no money an’ no niggers; they hain’t got nothin’ but a little piece er lan’. They goes off expectin’ their wives’ll be took keer of, an’ they comes home an’ fines ’em in the last stages. What sorter fellers do you call them?”
“Well,” Joe replied, “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”
“Who are the men?” Joe asked.
“Yours, respectfully, John Pruitt an’ Jeems Wimberly, Ashbank deestrict, Hillsborough Post-Office, State of Georgia,” said Mr. Pruitt, solemnly.
Joe had heard it hinted and rumored59 that in some cases, especially where they lived remote from the relief committees, the families of the soldiers were not so well provided for as they had a right to expect. He had even set up some editorials in The Countryman which hinted that there was suffering among the soldiers’ wives and children; but he never dreamed that it was serious enough to create discontent among the soldiers. The story that Mr. Pruitt and his companion told amazed Joe Maxwell, but it need not be repeated here in detail. It amounted to this, that the two soldiers had deserted because their wives and children were suffering for food and clothing, and now they were fugitives60.
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1
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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3
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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4
beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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5
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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6
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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7
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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8
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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9
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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10
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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12
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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13
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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14
exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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15
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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23
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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24
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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27
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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30
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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whet
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| v.磨快，刺激 | |
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mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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40
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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41
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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42
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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43
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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46
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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47
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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48
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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49
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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50
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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51
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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52
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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54
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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55
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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56
inter
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| v.埋葬 | |
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57
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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58
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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59
rumored
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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