Jackson County, Georgia - Chapter 2 (4 of 4 so headed), 1914

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 :

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 absent, 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 negro Joe, who has just gone down the river, and who has been my friend and faithful servant all my life, follow^ed 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 renegade'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.

"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.

"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 expectation 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."

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 uniform ; and though the fit was fairly good, he felt like he was incased in sheet-iron. By this unpleasant transformation and a change of voice he thought he could, at that dark hour, pass for Capt. Dimple.

"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. Nearer and nearer came the muffled strokes, until he could see the outlines of a boat with two men in it.

"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.

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 :

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 sycamore, waiting to learn if the recent commotion among them had attracted the attention of the enemy. By and by, they were relieved by hearing the shout first heard that night :

Though the words varied a little, the voice was the same. Jim was now satisfied that he had certainly heard that voice before, 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 until 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.

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 opening he again placed the ugly knife up his sleeve and said :

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!"

"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, 0 can it be! that we are of the same family?"

"I certainly think so. Many years ago an uncle of mine, Joseph Warren, a descendant of and named for Gen. Joseph Warren of Bunker Hill fame, emigrated to western Tennessee from whence you came. Do you know anything of him?"

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."

"In the first place you may remember that the voice we heard to-night, calling on 'Johnny Keb 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 Massachusetts, and that Arthur Cummins, a heart-treasured friend of mine, and a native of that State, is its commander. At Cambridge, 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 received 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

''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?"

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.