Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 53, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 March 1915 — THE DARKEST HOUR [ARTICLE]

THE DARKEST HOUR

By GARRARD HARRIS.

(Copyright.) Ab the boy turned the decrepit mule at the furrow end he saw a man on horseback gallop over the crest of the hill and head down the road, coming toward him. News from the front was scarce at the Cove. “ ' The boy calculated that if he did not plow too deep old Betsey could make it to the roadside end of the furrow about the time the horseman arrived. The boy looked admiringly at the man. who reined in his horse and eyed. the sturdy youngster standing on next the bottom rail of the fence in order to see over the top. The stranger wore a weather-beaten Confederate uniform, and on his sleeve was the insignia of a captain. “Howdy, sonny?” he said, guiding his mount to the shade of a flowering locust tree in the fence corner. "Pretty fair, thank ee cap’n.” The boy was proud of his ability to dieHnguish the rank of the officer. "Where's your folks?” "Ma's up yander at the house. Rest of ’era’s in the army.” “How many?” “Pa an’ Tom —they went the first year of the war; then Will next year, an’ Joe last year. Joe warn’t but seventeen when he went” The youngster spoke proudly. “But we ain’t never hearn tell of a one of ’em since they left.” he added with a catch in hit voice. "It’s most killin’ ma—she worries so.” “Oh, I reckon they’re all right Folks don’t have time to do much letter writin’ in the army. How old are you, and what’s your name?" “I’m fifteen, goin’ on sixteen, an’ my name’s Henry Wilson." "Come on and go up to the house with me. I want to talk to your ma and get a drink of water.” Henry loosened the traces from the plow, and left old Bet to browse. He proudly led the way up the weedchoked lane to the log house nestling in the shade of a giant white oak. From within came the whine and buzz of a spinning wheel. -

Against the light of the open door in the rear was silhouetted the face of the boy’s mother, as she wound the yarn back and forth. She did not hear them enter until the captain and Henry stood before her. A glance at the uniform of the soldier caused her to drop the skein of yarn and clutch her throat in terror. It was a moment or two before she could break the silence. “Any—any word of pa an’ the boys?” she faltered, dreading the answer, whatever it might be. “No, mam —no news of ’em. Maybe the old sayin’ of 'no news is good news’ win do you?” “That’s the turrible thing about this here war. Folks goes to the front. The army just keeps on a-swallerin’ ’em up, an’ you don't know if they’re in Virginny, or a sufferin' torment in some hospital or in prison.” There was an awkward silence, and the soldier cleared his throat nervously. “What have you all been livin’ oh?*’ he asked.

“Well, durin* the winter we been mighty near in the fix the mule was in, but since spring has come there’s poke salad an* dandelion salad. Only we have to eat it cooked with salt an’ water; we ain’t had no meat for two months. Then the huckleberries an’ wild strawberries —an’ Henry found a bee tree, an* we had some honey. He traps a few rabbits an’ squirrels, an* a pattridge or two once in a while. We eked along on the dab of meal we had, but it’s about out** Again a brooding, nervous silence came over the group. The woman gazed far across the hills with unseeing eyes. The boy dug with his toe at a button which had lodged in one of the cracks in the floor. “As I was sayin’, ma’am, the Yankees has been givin’ us fits." The Woman looked inquiringly at him. “An*—an* President Jefferson Davis has issued a call for all boys over fifteen an* all men not over sixty-five.” An awful silence fell upon them, and horror opened her eyes until they stared mutely. A dry, choking sob, half groan, escaped her lips. "You —you ain’t a-goin* to take my boy—are you, mister?" she almost whispered- “Why—why, he ain’t nothin’ but a baby—my baby child.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed shiveringly. The soldier gazed out across the foothills, radiant in their April greenery. Here and

there gleamed an ivory speck where a dogwood tree blossomed, and the redbud hushes made faint blotches of purple color on the hillsides. _ —I ain’t got no discretion, mam. The time has come when we got to rob the cradle an’ the grave, too, as ■the sayin' is, if we expect to keep on lightin'.'’ . “Why should we 'keep on fightin* ’?” she cried raucously. “What air we fightin' for? Why don’t them rich folks what owns niggers do the fightin*? We ain’t got any niggers, an’ don’t want none. What air my husband an* my boys up there killin' folks, an’ maybe gittin’ killed fer? ‘States’ rights, ’ they say! Ain’t we womenfoljfcs. an’ .we pore folks got some right*? They don’t never think of "Well, mum that there States* rights psestlrm is politic* an’ I ain't so pow-

♦rful clear on it myself. But one thing we do know, them Yankee armies is cornin’ down here an* burn our houses, an* take what little we got left, an’ mistreat our womenfolk, if we don’t stop ’em. An’ we got to have men to shoot guns to stop ’em with.” The captain spoke earnestly. “Let ’em come! We ain’t got nothin* for ’em to take. The Confedrit government has beat ’em to our corncribs an’ stock pens. Let ’em come!" “Ma, I’m goin’!” the voice cut in, clear and decisive. The woman dropped her head in her hands, and tears crept between her fingers and plashed silently on the floor. The captain shuffled his feet awkwardly. The boy gazed out of the door, but he was seeing the clash and reel of battalions on the fields of Virginia. Ha seemed taller, and a new dignity sat upon his brow. Presently the officer spoke. “I reckon we’d better be goin*, mam, if we expect to make it to the settlement by dark.” The woman wiped the tears from her eyes. Resignation had placed its seal upon her. “Go get old Betsy, son, and put the saddle on her. I’ll go as far as the settlemint, an’ maybe find someone to stay with there. I can’t stay here.” Swiftly the woman packed a bundle of homespun clothes for the boy, and another for herselfc She placed them out on the porch, and pulled the door to, and fastened it In silence they mounted, the captain taking Henry up behind him. They filed down the weed-grown lane into the big red road, and climbed to the crest of the hill, where the woman paused for a last look at the little cabin. At the foot of the hill, on the other side, the captain met an unkempt tatterdemalion. with long hair and tangled beard, half-bare feet, and wearing flapping remnants of a Confederate uniform. “Where you been, comrade?” inquired the captain, reining up. He might be a deserter. The western sun shone directly In the man’s eyes, which were weak and sore, and he winced with pain as he pulled the brim of the greasy wool hat low to shade them.

“I been in a Yankee prison ship. That’s whar I been. They turned us loose five days ago, an’ loaded a freight train ’lth we-uns, an’ shipped us fer as Knoxville. I been walkin’ two days.” The old mule could not travel as fast as the captain’s horse, and the boy’s mother had not caught up with the captain and his recruit. “Where you goin’?” Inquired the captain authoritatively. “Why didn’t you report back to the front for duty? You c’n tote a gun yet.”--“Didn’t report, because I don’t have ter, that’s why.” “Well, I’ll just conscript you. You oughter be ashamed of yerself. You oughter be back there flghtin’.” “Aw, you go to thunder!” advised the animated scarecrow with spirit. “I done fit all I’m agwineter fight, an’ you ner no other durn man is goin’ ter conscript me!” “I’d like to know why I Won’t!” snarled the captain, deftly drawing his revolver and cocking it, all with the same motion. The boy slid to the ground and picked up a stone with which to assist in enforcing the captain’s orders. “You won’t, because Ginerul Robert Lee surrendered six days ago, an’ the war’s over, an’ I’m goin’ home. That’s why!” The mule limped up in time for the woman to hear the hews. • - “Oh, my dear God, I thank thee that my boy is spared to me a little while!” she cried in exaltation, her arms lifted to high heaven. The man in the road lifted the flapping - hatbrim, and peered at her through watery, burning eyes. “Sallie! Don’t you know me, gal? I’ve come back, Sallie. I’ve come back to you!" With a leap from the mule, the woman had him folded to her withered bosom, and crooned her happiness with the joy that greets one as risen from the dead. J*