Читать книгу A Yankee Girl at Antietam - Alice Turner Curtis - Страница 4

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There was not a sound in the quiet kitchen as Roxy entered. For a moment the little girl stood still, listening intently, but the house itself seemed to be taking a nap in the mid-afternoon quiet of the June day.

“Mother and Grandma will be in their rooms now,” thought Roxy; “they won’t expect me home before the last of the afternoon. I’ll have plenty of time,” and she tiptoed across the well-scrubbed floor toward the pantry. Before she tried the door she again looked about the room cautiously, remembering her promise to the half-starved man who had trusted her, and fearful that someone might enter the kitchen before she could secure food and escape. Roxy knew that if her mother heard her Mrs. Delfield would at once want to know why she had not gone to Sharpsburg with Polly Lawrence, and even in the excitement of seeing the Confederate soldiers, and of discovering the runaway, Roxy had resolved not to mention her disagreement with Polly. Already she felt a little ashamed, since the soldier had said her father would be proud to be called a Yankee, that she had been so ready to be angry at Polly.

But as she carefully opened the pantry door Roxy was thinking only of the poor fellow hidden behind the dogwood, and of what she could take him.

There on the lower shelf of the pantry, covered with a white cloth, stood a platter heaped with small round cakes that Dulcie had baked that morning. Roxy carefully lifted the cloth and gazed at them admiringly. “And there’s citron and currants in every one,” she whispered to herself, and carefully chose three of the cakes, and replaced the cloth.

“I’ll have to have something to carry things in,” she thought anxiously, and her glance fell on Dulcie’s egg basket, where only three or four eggs remained.

“I’ll take that, and the eggs too,” she decided, and in a moment the three cakes rested beside the eggs, and Roxy’s eyes searched the pantry shelves for something more.

The meat left from the midday meal would, she knew, be in the cool cellar closet, and Roxy feared she could not reach the shelf on which it was kept; but the bread jar was close at hand, and removing the cover Roxy drew out an entire loaf of freshly baked bread.

“Oh, dear! Just bread and cake and eggs isn’t enough,” she thought. “I must get him some meat,” and she left the closet and ran across the kitchen to the door that opened on the cellar stairway.

A cool air came up from the dark cellar as Roxy groped her way down the broad stone steps, and keeping close to the wall felt her way to the deep closet where many household supplies were kept.

It was hard work for the little girl to pull open the heavy door, but at last she succeeded, and stepped in. Dulcie always brought a lighted candle to the cellar, but Roxy had no light, and could only grope about.

“I’ll take whatever I find,” she resolved, clutching at something resting in a tin pan. “I’m sure this is the chicken Dulcie roasted this morning to have sliced up cold for supper,” she thought delightedly, thrusting it in with the bread and cakes. “That will be splendid; and maybe it will be enough. I guess I won’t wait to get milk,” and Roxie left the cellar cupboard, the door swinging to behind her with a sudden bang that made the little girl jump with the fear that it might bring someone hurrying down the cellar stairs.

But no other sound was heard in the house; and now Roxie could see a dim square of light at the far end of the cellar, and remembered that there was a cellar door leading into the yard.

“I’ll go out that way,” she decided, and made her careful way among barrels and boxes to where another flight of broad stone steps led directly up to the back yard, and in a moment she was again in the open air.

The negro farm-hands were all in the fields attending to their work; the young colored woman who helped Dulcie in the work of the house had, as Roxy knew, gone for an afternoon’s visit to a neighboring farm; Dulcie was taking her usual afternoon nap in her cabin, and Grandma Miller and Mrs. Delfield were resting in their own rooms. Roxy felt sure that no one would see her as she now ran across the yard and down the rough slope.

She slipped through the narrow opening, and now walked more slowly, and looked anxiously toward the road, fearful that some passer-by might see her; and as she drew near the thicket behind which she knew the hungry man lay hidden, she began to listen for some sound. Perhaps he would call out to her, she thought.

But there was now no movement among the blossoming branches of the dogwood; and with a little sigh of disappointment Roxy set the basket down where the man had told her to leave whatever she brought him. But she stood close beside it until a long brown arm reached through the underbrush and seized it.

“Bless you, little girl,” came a whispered voice.

And Roxy responded eagerly: “You are welcome.”

“Don’t stand there! Run home. Somebody may see you,” said the voice again. “And promise me again that you’ll be my friend and keep my secret, and never tell anyone that you have seen me.”

“I won’t tell; truly I won’t,” Roxy promised. “But what are you running away from?”

“From a southern prison. I’m a Yankee soldier. I was taken prisoner at Manassas; and I’m sure those rebs on horseback were after me. Where is this place, anyway?” and now the young man pushed his head and shoulders out from behind the bushes, quite forgetting his cautions to his new friend.

“It’s Antietam,” replied Roxy; “where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere where there are Yankees. I’ve been hiding in the woods and swamps for days, and I’ve lost my bearings,” he replied, as he pulled a leg from the chicken and began to eat ravenously.

“I’m a Yankee, and so is my mother, and we are living up in that house,” said Roxy, pointing toward the farmhouse. “You needn’t hide,” she continued, “for I have heard my grandma say that Maryland is loyal to the Union. You come up to our house and Grandma will give you better things than cold chicken to eat; and—and”—Roxy hesitated a moment—“I guess she could give you some clothes.”

For a few moments the young man ate steadily; the greater part of the chicken disappeared, and he had seized on the cakes before he spoke again.

“A Yankee girl, are you? Tell me your name.”

“My name is Roxana Elizabeth Delfield, and I’m ’most ten,” Roxy replied, and added quickly: “My father is a Yankee soldier,” and now the young man fixed his glance upon her, and a little smile crept over his thin face.

“Seeing you is the first good luck I’ve had for months,” he said slowly, and Roxy smiled happily.

“Come up to Grandma’s,” she urged. “You can rest, and then you can get some shoes; and then my mother will help you go wherever you want to. I know she will.”

But the young man shook his head. “I don’t dare take a chance. Someone might be on the watch for me. You keep your promise, little Yankee girl. Don’t speak of me!” and again Roxy promised. “I can’t go on before to-morrow; I’m used up,” he added. “I’m only resting here. I’ll have to find a safer place to sleep.”

There was the sound of approaching wheels on the near-by road, and with a quick word of caution the young man disappeared and Roxy turned to see Polly driving the brown horse and light wagon coming rapidly down the highway. Roxy ran toward the road so that Polly would not notice any movement in the thicket; and as Polly saw her she drew rein, believing that Roxy had waited to make friends again.

“Oh, Roxy! Have you been waiting for me? Well, you are a dear! And have you forgiven your Polly-Wolly for being so horrid? I’ll never call you ‘Yankee’ again.” And the smiling Polly leaned down to touch Roxy’s rough straw hat.

“Oh, Polly, I like to be called ‘Yankee’ now! Two Confederate soldiers rode over the bridge and spoke to me, and one of them told me about Yankees, so I don’t care now,” and Roxy, with her flushed face and eager eyes, endeavored to return Polly’s good-natured smile.

“Those soldiers passed me. They are after a Yankee soldier whom they had held as a prisoner,” said Polly. “Poor chap! I hope they don’t find him.”

“They mustn’t! They mustn’t!” Roxy declared so seriously that Polly wondered to herself why the little girl should look so unhappy over the possible capture of a man she had never seen.

“I reckon it’s because they are both Yankees,” thought the good-natured girl, who was well pleased to be on friendly terms again with her small neighbor.

“Well, they said they were coming back. They might run into Northern troops if they went beyond Sharpsburg. Here they come now,” and Polly drew the brown horse well out of the road as the two mounted soldiers, riding at a good pace, clattered over the bridge and stopped their horses close beside Polly’s wagon.

The men touched their hats smilingly, and the man who had told Roxy that her father would be proud to be called a Yankee, said:

“The Yank has fooled us and got well away, unless he’s hiding somewhere near at hand. You haven’t seen any half-starved runaway soldier about here, have you?” and he turned his sharp glance on the two girls.

“Oh, no!” Polly answered. “We wouldn’t let any soldier starve in Maryland. But I haven’t seen anyone since I met you on the road.”

The man nodded and smiled, and was about to ride on when his companion said gruffly:

“What about that other girl? She’s a Yankee. Maybe she’s hiding the fellow, or else her folks may be.”

Roxy’s frightened glance convinced both the men that it might be possible the speaker was right, and when she turned and fled up the slope toward home they were sure of it, and in an instant both the men were off their horses and after her.

“If she reaches the house and warns him he’ll get away from us again,” panted the short man as he found himself obliged to climb the wall.

As Roxy neared home she began to call: “Mother! Mother!” at the top of her voice, so that when she dashed into the yard with the two men close behind her not only Mrs. Delfield but Grandma Miller, Dulcie and two negroes from a near-by field were all hurrying to meet her.

With her mother’s arms about her, and Grandma Miller facing her pursuers, Roxy began to feel less frightened. She heard the strangers tell their errand, and explain that Roxy had told them she was a Yankee girl.

“You are Southern soldiers and you will take the word of a Maryland woman,” said Mrs. Miller, “and I assure you that neither I or any member of my household have seen the runaway. Beside that, even if we sheltered him, you have no authority to demand him at our hands, nor would we permit such a thing. Gentlemen, Maryland is a loyal state,” and without waiting for any response Grandma Miller turned toward the house followed by Mrs. Delfield leading Roxy.

The little group of negroes stood watching the two soldiers.

“If you asks me I’d ’vise you to put off out ob dis paht of de lan’,” said Dulcie. “Dar’s sojers in blue coats up Hagerstown way dis minute.”

“Come on, Richard,” said the taller of the two men, “I reckon we’d better take Mammy’s advice and let the Yank go,” and they made their way down the slope, climbed the wall, and hurried to the highway. As they ran past the thicket they both shouted in amazement and anger, for the road was deserted. Not only had Polly and her brown horse disappeared but the fine saddle-horses were gone.

“That red-headed girl has made off with our horses, and for all we know may bring a party of Yanks after us,” declared Richard; “we’d better make for the Virginia line.”

His companion promptly agreed, and they hurried across the bridge, turned into a path that led by the river and disappeared.