The Bishop of Cottontown Part 79

"Did you notice how much brighter, an' sech, she's been for a day or two?" asked Jud.

"I notice that she has shunned me all day"--said Travis--"as if I were poison."

"She'll not shun you to-morrow," laughed Jud. "She is your's--for a woman desperate is a woman lost--" and he chuckled again as he went out.

CHAPTER XIII

HIMSELF AGAIN

Never had the two old servants been so happy as they were that night after their rescue. At first they looked on it as a miracle, in which the spirits of their young master and his body-servant, their only son, had come back to earth to rescue them, and for a while their prayers and exhortations took on the uncanny tone of superst.i.tion.

But after they had heard them talk in the old natural way and seen Captain Tom walking in the living flesh, they became satisfied that it was indeed their young master whom they had supposed to be dead.

Jack Bracken, with all the tenderness of one speaking to little children, explained it all to them--how he had himself carried Captain Tom off the battle-field of Franklin; how he had cared for him since--even to the present time; how Ephraim would not desert his young master, but had stayed with them, as cook and house boy. And how Captain Tom had now become well again.

Jack was careful not to go too much into details--especially Ephraim having lived for two years within a few miles of his parents and not making himself known! The truth was, as Jack knew, Ephraim had become infatuated with the free-booting life of Jack Bracken. He had gone with him on many a raid, and gold came too easy that way to dig it out of the soil, as in a cotton field.

The old people supposed all this happened far away, and in another country, and that they had all come home as soon as they could.

With this they were happy.

"And now," added Jack, "we are going to hide with you a week or so, until Captain Tom can lay his plans."

"Thank G.o.d--thank G.o.d!"--said Uncle Bisco, and he would feel of his young master and say: "Jes' lak he allus wus, only his hair is a leetle gray. An' in the same uniform he rid off in--the same gran'

clothes."

Captain Tom laughed: "No, not the same, but like them. You see, I reported at Was.h.i.+ngton and explained it to the Secretary of War, Jack. It seems that Mr. Lincoln had been kind enough to write a personal letter about me to my grandfather,--they were old friends.

It was a peculiar scene--my interview with the Secretary. My grandfather had filed this letter at the War Department before he died, and my return to life was a matter of interest and wonder to them. And so I am still Captain of Artillery," he smiled.

In the little cabin the old servants gave him the best room, cleanly and sweet with an old-fas.h.i.+oned feather-bed and counterpane. Jack Bracken had a cot by his bed, and on the wall was a picture of Miss Alice.

Long into the night they talked, the young man asking them many questions and chief of all, of Alice. They could see that he was thinking of her, and often he would stop before the picture and look at it and fall into a reverie.

"It seems to me but yesterday," he said, "since I left her and went off to the war. She is not to know that I am here--not yet. You must hide me if she runs in," he smiled. "I must see her first in my own way."

He noticed Jack Bracken's cot by his bedside and smiled.

"You see, I have been takin' keer of you so long," said Jack after the old servants had left them to themselves, "that I can't git out of the habit. I thought you wus never comin' home."

"It's good we came when we did, Jack."

"You ought to have let me shoot."

The young Captain shook his head: "O Jack--Jack, I've seen murder enough--it seems but yesterday since I was at Franklin."

"Do you know who's at the head of all this?" asked Jack. "It's Richard Travis."

"The Bishop told me all, Jack--and about my grandfather's will. But I shall divide it with him--it is not fair."

Jack watched the strong, tall man, as he walked to and fro in the room, and a proud smile spread over the outlaw's face.

"What a man you are--what a man you are, Cap'n Tom!"

"It's good to be one's self again, Jack. How can I ever repay you for what you have done for me?"

"You've paid it long ago--long ago. Where would Jack Bracken have been if you hadn't risked yo' life to cut me down, when the rope"--

Captain Tom put his hand on Jack's shoulder affectionately: "We'll forget all those horrible things--and that war, which was h.e.l.l, indeed. Jack--Jack--there is a new life ahead for us both," he said, smiling happily.

"For you--yes--but not for me"--and he shook his head.

"Do you remember little Jack, Cap'n Tom--him that died? I seem to think mo' of him now than ever--"

"It is strange, Jack--but I do distinctly; an' our home in the cave, an' the beautiful room we had, an' the rock portico overlaid with wild honeysuckle and Jackson vines overlooking the grand river."

"Jack, do you know we must go there this week and see it again? I have plans to carry out before making my ident.i.ty known."

An hour afterwards the old servants heard Captain Tom step out into the yard. It was then past midnight--the most memorable night of all their lives. Neither of the old servants could sleep, for hearing Ephraim talk, and that l.u.s.ty darkey had sadly mixed his imagination and his facts.

The old man went out: "Don't be uneasy," said Captain Tom. "I am going to saddle John Paul Jones and ride over the scenes of my youth.

They might see me by daylight, and the moonlight is so beautiful to-night. I long to see The Gaffs, and Westmoreland, my grandfather's grave," and then in a tenderer tone--"and my father's; he lies buried in the flag I love."

He smiled sadly and went out.

John Paul Jones had been comfortably housed in the little stable nearby. He nickered affectionately as his master came up and led him out.

The young officer stood a few moments looking at the splendid horse, and with the look came a flood of memories so painful that he bowed his head in the saddle.

When he looked up Jack Bracken stood by his side: "I don't much like this, Cap'n Tom. Not to-night, after all we've done to them. They've got out spies now--I know them; a lot of negroes calling themselves Union League, but secretly waylaying, burning and killing all who differ with them in politics. They've made the Klu-Klux a necessity.

Now, I don't want you to turn me into a Klu-Klux to-night."

"Ah, they would not harm me, Jack, not me, after all I have suffered.

It has all been so hazy," he went on, as if trying to recall it all, "so hazy until now. Now, how clear it all is! Here is the creek, yonder the mountain, and over beyond that the village. And yonder is Westmoreland. I remember it all--so distinctly. And after Franklin, my G.o.d, it was so hazy, with something pressing me down as if I were under a house which had fallen on me and pinned me to the ground. But now, O G.o.d, I thank Thee that I am a man again!"

Jack went back into the cabin.

Captain Tom stood drinking it all in--the moonlight, on the roof of Westmoreland, s.h.i.+ning through the trees. Then he thought of what the old Bishop had told him of Alice, the great pressure brought to bear on her to marry Richard Travis, and of her devotion to the memory of her first love.

"And for her love and her constancy, oh, G.o.d, I thank Thee most of all," he said, looking upward at the stars.

He mounted his horse and rode slowly out into the night, a commanding figure, for the horse and rider were one, and John Paul Jones tossed his head as if to show his joy, tossed his head proudly and was in for a gallop.

Captain Tom's pistols were buckled to his side, for he had had experience enough in the early part of the night to show him the unsettled state of affairs still existing in the country under negro domination.

There were no lights at Westmoreland, but he knew which was Alice's room, and in the shadow of a tree he stopped and looked long at the window. Oh, to tear down the barriers which separated him from her! To see her once more--she the beautiful and true--her hair--her eyes, and to place again the kiss of a new betrothal on her lips, the memory of which, in all his sorrows and afflictions, had never left him. And now they told him she was more beautiful than ever. Twelve years--twelve years out of his life--years of forgetfulness--and yet it seemed but a few months since he had bade Alice good-bye--here--here under the crepe-myrtle tree where he now stood. He knelt and kissed the holy sod.