The Blue and the Gray; Or, The Civil War as Seen by a Boy. Annie Randall White

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      Original

      “I have given an account of myself to your superiors.”

      “Don't be so lofty. I don't mean to be inquisitive, but I thought you might like to know that I am awful sorry I brought you into this trouble.”

      The boys face softened.

      “I don't know as you could do anything else under the circumstances. I suppose, in fact, I know, I'd have done just as you did. Perhaps worse,” he muttered. “I might have shot you.”

      “Then you don't hold any grudge against me?”

      “Well, I can't pretend that I'm grateful to you for my detention in this hole, but I can't blame you, either.”

      “Were you really going to see the old slave you told the colonel about?”

      An indescribable expression flitted across the boy's features. “I said so once. My word is usually taken, where I am known. Why do you ask?”

      “Oh, from curiosity, I suppose. You look too young to be very dangerous.”

      “I'm as old as you are. You look too young to be carrying arms against your countrymen.”

      “Oh, I'm going to help put down this rebellion.”

      “A hard job you've selected. It is not a rebellion; it's an uprising against meddlesome Yankee interference.”

      Ralph's eyes flashed fire. “You don't mean to say that you justify the South, do you?”

      “I not only justify it, but am proud to belong to a people who can never be subdued. Your people are trying to force us to give up our rights, but we won't be driven. We have thousands of men in the field, who do not know how to fear. And when their places are vacant, more are waiting to fill them. We despise the North, and want to be a separate people.”

      “You despise a government that has always protected you in all your rights. You have no cause for wishing to be disunited. How dare you talk so to me?”

      “'Dare?' Am I not your equal? Why should I not speak when I am insulted?”

      “Don't talk treason to me again, then.”

      “I am a prisoner,” the boy said, sadly, “innocent of any crime, surrounded by foes and powerless. Were it not so you would not give me a defiance.”

      Ralph's conscience smote him. It did appear as if the odds were on his side, and with the quick generosity of youth he said—

      “I am sorry for you. We will not quarrel.”

      Not to be outdone in generosity, the other replied—“I believe you; but we had better not talk about it any more, for we can never agree, and we are both hot-headed. You see affairs in a different light from what I do, that is all.”

      The next day the youth was rigidly examined. He gave his name as Charles Arlington, stated that he was merely crossing the river to look after the old slave; that he had chosen the night-time as he heard the Union pickets were thrown out, and he did not think, with his knowledge of the stream, that he would be captured in the darkness. Meantime, the soldiers had been searching, and had found an old half imbecile negro in a little cabin half a mile back from the river, whom they brought into camp, shaking with fear.

      “Old man,” one of the soldiers said, “do you know this boy?”

      “Yas, honey. I knows him well. I'se old Marsa Thomas' boy. I bin on his old plantation since he was a baby. His mud-der was one of de——”

      “Say, we don't care who his mother was. What do you know about the boy standing there?”

      “Yas, yas, I knows lots. Why, he was de littlest pickaninny of de hull lot, and his father he say to me, 'Jim'—I was young and strong den—'Jim, dis yere boy's gwine to be your young mastah some day, if he ebber grows big enuff. And I tole him de sweetest posies were always small, like de vi'lets and lilies ob de valley, and—”

      “You black rascal, we don't want a dissertation on flowers. Tell us about the young man standing there.”

      “Yas, marsa, but you tole me to tell you all 'bout him, and doan't I hab to begin at the beginning?”

      “Well, go on,” the Colonel interposed.

      Original

      “Dat ar chile dere was de idle of Massa Thomas' heart. My old woman, Easter, who's dun been dead dese free years, nussed him. And when she died she cried mo' for leabing him alone in dis cold world dan she did fer me. You see de boy's mudder was put under de roses when he was only a few days in de world, and Easter she lubbed him mo' fer dat. Oh, de old times kaint come back no mo'. Marsa Thomas is in de war wid Gineral Johnston, and 'fore he went he say to me—'Jim, you'se been a faiful old servant, and I gibs you yo freedom.' 'I doan't want it, Marsa,' I say. 'Let me lib and die wid you,' 'Yo neber shall want,' he kep' on, 'go lib in de little cabin toder side ob de ribber. You know he owns bof sides ob dis yere big plantation. 'Go lib dar, and de chilluns will СКАЧАТЬ