USA > Georgia > Jackson County > The early history of Jackson county, Georgia. "The writings of the late G.J.N. Wilson, embracing some of the early history of Jackson county". The first settlers, 1784; formation and boundaries to the present time; records of the Talasee colony > Part 21
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When an hour and more had passed the impressive silence was suddenly broken by a shout beyond the swamp: "Wake up, Johnny Reb, will you sleep all night?"
The words came in such clear and distinct tones they seemed almost to walk through the still night air. Evidently the shout was "a feeler" to ascertain if the island was occupied by Con- federates. It was so regarded, and the solitary picket remained silent and was bothered-bothered because he had certainly heard that voice before, but when and where he could not think.
Hitherto he had stood as motionless as the great tree itself; but now he became restless and longed to take a stroll among the great trees around him, and in their solitude possibly call to mind by whom the clean cut words just heard were probably spoken.
But Jim Warren was too brave to leave his post for any selfish purpose, and noticing that the fog over the river began to emit enough light to enable him to dimly see the outline of objects near the bank, he assumed a less conspicious position by re- clining on the sand at his feet. While still trying to solve the
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mystery connected with the seemingly familiar voice he was sud- denly brought to a sitting posture by hearing a distinct ripple in the water below, the point from which he least expected any one to come. To his amazement the ghostly light had increased enough to enable him to see a large tree which had fallen into the water seven or eight feet below him. While merely glancing at this another ripple, more distinct than before, reached his wide-open ears. He cautiously crawled nearer the water and soon he discovered a small canoe coming towards him. It was hugging the bank closely, and contained, as well as he could see, one person. Cautiously it glided on until it touched the fallen tree lightly. Quick as thought almost its solitary occupant step- ped upon the prostrate tree and listened intently. Had a thunder- bolt come crashing from the cloudless sky Jim Warren could not have been more astonished. A woman was standing on the log! She was of small size, and her movements indicated prompt action and wonderful agility. Having stood motionless for a short time, she suddenly turned, and going towards the top of the tree, towed the boat beyond the picket's view.
Instead of going around the tree as he expected, she presently came running back along the log with perfect ease, and leaping on the clayroot turned up by the tree, at a single bound, she flitted by him like a shadow and disappeared in the great syca- more tree, which, for that night, at least, the disconcerted soldier had exclusively claimed as his own.
Though not superstitious above educated men in general, Jim more than half believed that he had seen a very ghost. The form as seen in the half-illuminating fog; the ease and speed with which the log was followed; the airy leap made to reach the top of the clay-root ; the ethereal form with seeming wings that passed by him, and the sudden disappearance into what he thought was a solid tree, staggered all belief in any flesh-and-blood theory that the mystified soldier could imagine.
To a brave man the thought that his post was in the possession of another being of some kind was extremely humiliating; and to this day Jim Warren has never been able to say what he would.
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have done if the trying scenes which soon followed had not taken place.
He was considering the propriety of calling for help by means of a pre-arranged signal; but before deciding the matter, another movement in the water below attracted his attention. It was not like the soft ripple first heard, but evidently the strong stroke of a rapidly dipping oar. Nearer and more audible it came until a boat-such as fishermen sometimes use on the western rivers- swiftly came in sight. Two men were in it, the one in the stern was rowing as if for life. Suddenly, and with what seemed to be increased power, the boat struck the prostrate tree with such force that both men were thrown from their seats.
"D-n the log," muttered a coarse voice as both men scrambled to their feet.
"What'll uses do now, boss?" asked the other in quite a differ- ent tone.
"I hardly know," said the first speaker, rubbing his bruised hands. "She," he continued after rubbing and grunting awhile, "has not come this far up the river." "I tole yer, boss, she done go down de riber." "No, Tom said she came up it, and he knows. But if she had come this far this log would have stopped her like it has us; and to go around it would have carried her too near our boys on the other side. Col. Cummins' regiment is about opposite this point and his Bay State boys would shoot at the devil him- self."
"So de game done played, am it, boss?" again asked the other. "No," was the snarling reply, "No, not by a long shot. Sure as I am Captain Phil Dimple, I'll yet have the Rebel Girl, as they love to call her, for my wife. In such times as these she'll soon learn to love me. But before we go further I want you to again swear that you'll be true to the trust I've already placed in your keeping."
"Fo, God, Joe swears, Cap'n," said he who from the first was thought to be a negro.
As Captain Dimple failed to notice that Joe did not swear to any particular thing, he seemed satisfied and continued :
"I'm of the opinion that we have passed by the little jade, and
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think that her intention is to strike across the country to White- sides where she has an uncle living. The route she is most likely to take lies a little above this island; and if she ran under some bank, as I think she did, to avoid being overtaken, she'll shoot up stream like an arrow and must of necessity come to this log. I'll conceal myself and be ready to keep her from falling into the water when she strikes it.
"Now, Joe," the miserable man continued, "I want you to go down the river to the bluff where we left Tom. I'll arrange my blanket to look like a man in the dark, so that when you pass her hiding place she'll think we are both returning. To allow her good time to reach here remain at the bluff about an hour and come back here within less than two hours, if possible. If you find Tom bring him with you. If necessary to use them don't forget that the pass word is 'Mitchell,' and the countersign 'Shell Moina.' Do you understand me this time?"
"Sartin sho, Cap'n," answered the negro with some in- difference.
The blanket was arranged to look something like a man in a stooping posture, and the boat, apparently carrying two men, soon disappeared in the midnight darkness.
And now came the supreme moment. Something like small pebbles were heard falling in the water. The Captain was evi- dently climbing the bank. Not wishing to make any noise the picket shifted his gun to the left and drew a long knife from his belt. Presently a figure as if coming out of the earth stood bolt upright near a small tree behind which Jim Warren was standing. "Hands up, sir," came the ominous command.
Perhaps the astonished man did not see the drawn knife, but the gun on the left only. At any rate he was very quick to draw a side weapon, and when almost ready to pull on his as- sailant, the long knife was driven to the hift in his breast.
A bitter oath, a spasmodic bound, a heavy fall and all was over with the self-styled Captain Phil Dimple.
To the solitary picket, surrounded by the thickening events of the night, and by nature devoted to all the endearments of peace and good will to men, the time was a trying one.
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CHAPTER II. THE GIRL IN THE HOLLOW TREE.
When satisfied that the tragedy just enacted had not given any alarm over the river, Jim Warren gave three hoots in imitation of the night-owl. This, "too-hoo-too-hoo-hoo," repeated three times, was the pre-arranged signal call for help from Post No. 2, which, being regarded as the danger point, was supplied with several men.
In response, Loyd King, a fearless, quick-witted little man quickly appeared upon the scene. While Jim was explaining the situation to him, a low, plaintive voice was heard, saying :
"This way, gentlemen; for I have some reason to think you are my friends."
"It's a ghost, Jim, in possession of your post," whispered Loyd King.
Nothing daunted, however, both went forward, and a woman, coming from the opposite side of the big tree, boldly met them. Jim at once recognized her as the same little creature that had come in the boat, and consequently as the intended victim of the monster who had followed her.
"I place myself," she said with much embarrassment, "under your protection, at least until I tell you something of my fearful condition. Then you can decide as to whether I am entitled to it or not. Some months ago we came as refugees from Western Tennessee to my father's plantation in this immediate vicinity. Hence my familiarity with this part of the country. As fate would have it, we, only a few days ago, found ourselves inside the Federal lines, and being unable to pass through them with all the family, went to Huntsville, Alabama, which is my present home. We felt more secure there, but were mistaken. To-day a little before 10 o'clock, when my parents were temporarily ab- sent, Phil and Tom Dimple, two renegade Tennesseans, and whom I have known since early childhood, kidnapped me and brought me to Bridgeport, a few miles below this place. The
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negro Joe, who has just gone down the river, and who has been my friend and faithful servant all my life, followed us, and in some way managed to become my guard while the Dimples were eating supper. He is very shrewd, and when, a little after dark, he motioned me to follow him, I did so without hesitation. At full speed he took me in his arms to the river and put me in a little boat which a friend of his had provided for the occasion. Advising me to hasten to my 'tree-home' as he calls this big sycamore, he said he'd be here in the morning to carry me to Whitesides, where Uncle John Gailey lives, and then disappeared.
"It seems," she continued, "from what I heard in the rene- gade's boat, that Joe tried to keep them off my track by saying I went down the river. Failing in this he has somehow managed to continue in their service, and, in my opinion, he'll never leave them until he knows I am beyond their power. Thus
you see how much I am indebted to him; but," kneeling at Jim's feet, she kept on, "I owe you a debt of gratitude that all of life can never pay, but not greater than my heart can feel. If Tom Dimple, Phil's brother, does come here to-night I need not tell such men as you what course to pursue further than to ask that you protect Joe."
"The battle necessary to the protection of yourself and friends and the punishment of those who would harm you will be fought to the finish," said Jim, raising the little creature to her feet. "Now," he continued with some hesitation, "please tell us how you managed to get into this big tree?"
"Dear me," she answered as if a smile were playing over her features, "the tree is hollow. There is room enough inside for several persons. To the north there is a natural opening through which I have often passed before to-night. I have frequently been here with various parties and sometimes alone. We made this place a sort of headquarters, and the hollow tree served as a shelter when it rained. It served me a good purpose to-night. From there I heard Phil Dimple's plans to recapture me, and through a small opening which father made for ventilation, I saw you strike him. I did not know of your presence until that moment. Somehow I knew you to be a Confederate soldier.
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They call me the Rebel Girl, and hence my trust in you and your companion."
"Your trust is not misplaced," said Jim Warren.
"Amen and amen," chimed in Loyd King shifting his weight from one foot to the other. This was a sure sign that he was ready for action to the death.
"Now," whispered Jim to the girl, "please retire to your tree- home and we'll do the rest. We must now talk low."
"No," she softly replied, "I'll remain with you. If necessary I can materially aid you. See!" and from a wrapper that was over her shoulders she took a bow and a small bundle of arrows. "With these," she continued, "my friends say I am an expert. When here some days ago I left them in the tree with the ex- pectation of returning next morning. But that very day the enemy drew their lines and would not let me pass through them. Though at a fearful cost they are mine again, and I prefer to use them because they are silent."
"And so is mine," said Jim, showing his great knife yet stained with blood.
This seemed to have the desired effect on the resolute girl, and she reluctantly retired, leaving Jim Warren to speculate upon the difference between a lovely form in real life and the gliding of a ghost into what he at first thought was a solid tree.
In the meantime Loyd King returned to his post to give such information as would prevent the corporal of the guard from coming to Post No. 1 while the watch for the return boat was on. When he came back the two soldiers concealed themselves near the roots of the fallen tree and anxiously awaited the coming of "Tom." For a little while they watched the large tree play back and forth on the surface of the sullen water without seeing or hearing anything unusual.
Jim Warren was restless and uncomfortable-uncomfortable because he had arrayed himself in Captain Dimple's blue uni- form; and though the fit was fairly good, he felt like he was in- cased in sheet-iron. By this unpleasant transformation and a change of voice he thought he could, at that dark hour, pass for Capt. Dimple.
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More than the time allotted for the return of the boat had passed. Loyd was "spoiling" to say something and at last whispered :
"Say, Jim, don't let that little mortal, if she be mortal, see you wearing that blue suit. You bet she is -- "
"Hush !" softly said Jim. "I think I hear the boat coming," he continued after a pause. "Yes, I know the long sweeping strokes of the negro."
Leaving Loyd on the bank, he crawled upon the floating tree, and tried to pierce the gloom that brooded over the water. Near- er and nearer came the muffled strokes, until he could see the outlines of a boat with two men in it.
"Halt! Who comes there?" asked the sentinel.
"Mitchell," answered a strange voice.
"Advance, Mitchell, and give the countersign." "Hall Zenus," quickly responded the negro.
"Shell Moina," added the stranger before Jim could speak.
"Pass on, but who is that with you, Joe ?"
"Massa Tom."
"Glad you come Tom-mind Joe, here's the log."
With graduated strokes the boat touched the fallen tree, and as Tom awkardly scrambled upon it, he hurriedly asked :
"Did she come, Phil?"
"Certainly! Get out quick! There is trouble brewing along the rebel lines and we must leave here at once. Make no noise," said the supposed Phil Dimple, stepping back on the log so as to place the man in front.
"Where is she?" asked Tom, greatly excited.
"Yonder," said Jim pointing to a tall tree which stood a little distance from the true one.
Just as the three men were passing the place where Loyd King was concealed, Jim Warren cautiously said :
"Stop, Tom, let me go before."
This was to divert the man's attention, and before he could think of anything else the muzzle of an English rifle was at his breast, and with the action came the stern command :
"Surrender or die."
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His hands went up slowly and Tom Dimple was a prisoner. "And you too, Joe, this is not Phil Dimple," said Jim Warren touching the negro.
"God-a-mity-who am it den?"
"The friend of your young mistress."
As Joe fell to his knees and clasped Jim in his arms a long dagger fell from his sleeve.
"What does this mean, Joe," asked the soldier picking up the knife.
"It means," was the reply, "death to de first man dat lay vi'lant hands on young Missus-whar am she?"
"She is safe and you may see her presently."
Joe arose to his feet and began dancing a jig that called for the exercise of every muscle in him. Loyd King characterized it as "a double and twisted green corn dance that was never seen in all the world before."
When Joe's mild dance was over the lonely too-hoo-too-hoo-hoo, twice repeated, broke on the still night air. It was the second call for help, and soon the corporal of the guard and two other soldiers came and took the prisoner, Tom Dimple, away.
Jim Warren and Loyd King remained near the hollow syca- more, waiting to learn if the recent commotion among them had attracted the attention of the enemy. By and by, they were re- lieved by hearing the shout first heard that night :
"Wake up Johnny Reb-'tis almost day."
Though the words varied a little, the voice was the same. Jim was now satisfied that he had certainly heard that voice be- fore, and, in the light of what he had heard Captain Dimple say in the boat, he was almost certain that he knew by whom the words were spoken.
As this conclusion produced both pleasant and unpleasant thoughts, he postponed a further consideration of the matter un- til a more favorable time, and suggested that he and Loyd retire a short distance for the purpose of formulating a plan looking to the restoration of the Rebel Girl to her people and that Joe take their places.
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This the negro was glad to do, and, after remaining at the opening in the tree for a few minutes, he began another of his wild, fantastic dances around and around the great sycamore until he made so much noise by striking his huge feet together that Jim had to stop him. Quietly seating himself near the open- ing he again placed the ugly knife up his sleeve and said :
"Any mo' want young Missus, tell 'em come on-Joe wasn't ready befo', but is ready now!"
Having agreed upon a plan which they thought would enable the suffering girl to reach her home in safety, the two soldiers indulged in a few thoughts in regard to her personal appearance. They had noticed that there was a charm in her movements and sweet music in her voice; but neither had distinctly seen her features.
"One thing is certain," Jim Warren said gravely, "she reminds me of sister Mary. She walks like, talks like, and now and then tosses her head to one side just like sister."
"And more than th-that," Loyd added, half choked, for his heart beat a wild tat-too every time Mary Warren's name was mentioned in his presence, "More than th-that, no one as br-brave and spry as th-that little elf can be any-anything less than bea-beautiful like Ma -; but hush Jim, you kn-know how it is!"
Jim thought it prudent to change the subject as suggested by his friend, and at once took Joe's place as sentinel.
Clearing his throat to indicate his presence, he whispered : "Now that you are beyond the reach of the Dimples, how can we best serve you?"
"In the first place," came the answer, "tell me to whom I am indebted for this great service."
"The soldier who so promptly came to our assistance is Loyd King, a Georgian, and is as gallant a knight as ever drew a lance. I am a Georgian also, and my name is James Warren."
"Warren! Warren! Warren!" slowly repeated the girl. "James Warren is my father's name, and mine is Nellie-they call me 'Nellie Warren, the Rebel Girl!' Can it, O can it be ! that we are of the same family ?"
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"I certainly think so. Many years ago an uncle of mine, Jos- eph Warren, a descendant of and named for Gen. Joseph War- ren of Bunker Hill fame, emigrated to western Tennessee from whence you came. Do you know anything of him?"
"Dear! dear me," exclaimed the the girl, "I am his grand- daughter."
"And I am his nephew," eagerly said Jim as he, for the first time, reached his head into the opening.
They clasped each other's hands and for awhile remained silent. At last Nellie said through her thickly falling tears: "I thank God for this knowledge, and can now afford to ask you if there is any way by which I can return home safely."
"Though the country from Bridgeport is in full possession of the enemy, I think we can manage to reach Huntsville.
"In the first place you may remember that the voice we heard to-night, calling on 'Johnny Reb to wake up,' was uncommonly clear and musical. It may surprise you to know that I have heard the same voice repeat the words, 'wake up!' many times before to-night. Phil Dimple told Joe in the boat that Col. Cummins' regiment is about opposite this place, and referred to his men as the 'Bay State boys !'
"This means that the regiment over the river is from Mas- sachusetts, and that Arthur Cummins, a heart-treasured friend of mine, and a native of that State, is its commander. At Cam- bridge, three miles from Boston, Arthur Cummins and I lived together four years. We entered the grand old University of Harvard on the same day, graduated in the same class, and re- ceived the same degree. We occupied the same room and dined at the same table. From Cambridge I went home with him and remained nearly three months. It was during this latter period that I often heard him call to two younger brothers to 'wake up' when, as they frequently did, they slept too long to please him. There never has been a break in our love for one another, and I am not at all afraid to test it again.
"Then in the second place I propose to carry you home as a Federal officer. You may not know that I have Capt. Phil Dimple's uniform, and it fits me fairly well. I wore it last night
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at Tom and Joe's reception. It fooled them and I propose to keep on fooling somebody until you are safe in your mother's arms.
"It remains for me to get leave of absence from my command. Capt. Atwater will attend to this within the next few hours. This afternoon I will visit my dear friend over the river, and fear not the result."
"But," asked the wondering Nellie thoughtfully, "can any good thing come out of Massachusetts, so far as the Southern Confederacy is concerned ?"
"So far," replied Jim, "as friendship for me and sympathy for you are concerned, I unhesitatingly answer, yes."
The coming day had already hung its banners along the eastern horizon. A company of Confederates soon halted at one of the log cabins near by. It was the relief guard, and Jim Warren, leaving Loyd King at his post, went to meet them.
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CHAPTER III. A COUSIN IS DISCOVERED.
It was sunrise, that glad transition from the gloom of a dread- ful night to the golden light of a balmy summer morning. Some distance beyond the river, further than the shouts of the pre- ceeding night, the Federal bands struck up a lively air, and now and then the neighing of horses mingled with the morning re- vielle. These were the only sounds that greeted the ears of the weary pickets just off duty, except Jim Warren and Loyd King who asked and received permission to remain at Post No. 1 "until" as the latter expressed it, "the crack of doom if neces- sary."
Near by was a deep hole apparently made by high water. In this the body of Capt. Phil Dimple, wrapped in his make-believe blanket was placed, and, when covered with several feet of sand, was left to his fate. There, unless molested by the same agency that dug his rude grave, his dust still sleeps.
While the burial was going on Loyd King signaled Jim War- ren to come near.
"Jim," said Loyd, in a perplexed manner, "I just now took a peep into the hollow tree, and that little angel of some sort is sleeping like a kitten on a hearth rug. I'll swear by all the moons of Jupiter she'll pass for your sister Mary, anywhere. She's as pretty as a rosebud in a sugar loaf, and looks ten thousand pounds sweeter. You know I thought her beautiful from the start; but the great scott! I did not think such a scrap of mortality could look so ethereal and divine in open daylight, that is, if she be mortal."
"If she is not mortal what is she?" asked Jim.
"Well, now that I think of it, I understand the whole matter. This is a fairy island, and the queen of the whole troop is at this moment sleeping in her palace. Invisible to us millions of them are hovering around us now. It may be that Mary Warren is a fairy, too, gone to live with you, because you are a clever fel-
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low, Jim, and because your features, though not half so hand- some, are very much like hers. Go and see for yourself, old fellow."
Jim went to the tree and cautiously looked in. A bewildered expression passed over his features, he crossed his arms behind him, and gazing intently, he remained motionless for several minutes. Finally his arms fell limp at his side and he slowly walked away. Though strong among the strongest men, he wept like a child.
"Ah! my boy! I told you so! Do you believe me now?" asked Loyd tenderly.
"Yes, my friend, much that you said is true. Perhaps you think it unmanly of me to weep; but as I think of the stormy sea over which that little creature has just been tossed, and of her condition now, I am too manly not to weep. Sure enough she is as much like sister Mary as two peas in a hull. This, coming to our knowledge as it was, is very strange indeed; but when I tell you that her name is Warren-Nellie Warren-and that the blood which flows through her veins flows through mine also, the whole matter presents a chapter of romance in real life that overcomes me as I attempt to read it.
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