TOBE'S MONUMENT.
BY ELIZABETH KILHAM.
It was "after taps," a sultry, Southern-summer night. On the extreme edge of the encampment, on the side nearest the enemy, a sentinel paused in his walk, and peered cautiously out into the darkness. "Pshaw!" he said; "it's nothing but a dog." He was resuming his walk, when the supposed quadruped rose suddenly, and walked along on two feet in a manner so unmistakably human, that the sentinel lowered his musket once more, and shouted, "Halt! Advance, and give the counter-sign!" A faint, childish voice said, "Ain't got none, massa."
"Well, there now!" said the sentinel, "if it ain't just a little darkey, and I guess I've frightened him half to death. Come here, snowball."
The child crept up, and said, tremblingly: "'Deed, massa, I ain't got nuffin ter gib yer."
"Well, who asked you to give me anything?"
"Yer don ax me fer gib yer suffin jes' now; and I ain't got nuffin 'cep' my close what I got on."
"Well, you needn't fret; I don't want 'em. Corporal of the guard! Post two."
The corporal hastened to "post two," and found the sentinel with his hand on the shoulder of a little black boy, who, between fear, fatigue, and hunger, was unable to give any account of himself. "I'll take him to Captain Leigh," the corporal said; "he's officer of the day. Maybe he'll be able to get something out of him."
The captain stood in front of his tent, looking out into the night, when the corporal and his charge approached.
"Captain," said he, "here's a boy just come into the lines."
"Very well; you can leave him here."
At the first sound of the captain's voice the boy drew nearer to him, as knowing instinctively that he had found a friend.
"You can go into that tent and sleep till morning," said the captain.
"What is your name!" was Captain Leigh's first question the next morning.
"Is that all?"
"Dat's all, Mass Cap'n."
"How old are you?"
"Dunno, Massa Cap'n. Nobody nebber done tole me dat ar."
"Where have you come from?"
"Come fum de back o' Richmon', Mass Cap'n."
"What did you come here for?"
"All de res' ob 'em runned away; an' ole mass he wor so mad, I wor jes' feared o' my life. 'Sides, I t'ought I mought fin' my mammy ef I got 'mong der Unions."
"Where is your mother?"
"Dunno, Mass Cap'n. Ole mass done sol' her down in Georgy las' corn-shuckin', an' I ain't nebber heerd ob her sence. But I t'ought mebby she mought ha' runned 'way too, an' I'd fin' her wid der Unions."
"Well, now, what are you going to do?"
"Dunno, Mass Cap'n. I'd like ter stay 'long wid you."
"What can you do?"
"Kin wait on yer, Mass Cap'n; kin shine up boots, an'"—brightening up as his eyes, wandering round caught sight of the horses—"kin clean de hosses right smart." * * *
"If I keep you with me you must be a good boy, and do as I tell you."
"'Deed I will, Mass Cap'n. I'se do ebery work yer say, sho's yer born."
So when the troops left Harrison's Landing, Tobe went too, in charge of the captain's horse and baggage; and, when the steamer was fairly under way, he brightened into a new creature as every revolution of the wheel placed a greater distance between himself and "old massa." * * *
It proved that Tobe had told the truth about his skill in taking care of horses. Captain Leigh's horse had never looked so well as now, and the captain was delighted. Tobe turned out, moreover, to be a very good boy. But the army is not a very good place for boys. So one day Captain Leigh said:—
"Tobe, how would you like to go North?"
"Whar's it at, Mass Cap'n?"
"I mean my home at the North."
"When is yer gwine, Mass Cap'n?"
"I am not going at all now."
"Does yer mean ter sen' me away from yer, Mass Cap'n?"
Captain Leigh was touched, and answered him very gently,—
"Yes, I want to send you away from me now, because it will be better for you. But, when the war is over, I shall go home, and then you can stay with me always if you are a good boy."
"I allus does jes' de t'ings yer tell me, Mass Cap'n."
"I know you do. And, just because you do what I tell you so well I want to send you to my home, to run errands for my wife, and do what work she will give you in the house. And I have three little children—two little girls and a baby boy. I want you to go with them when they go out to play and take care of them. My home is in a very pleasant place in the country. Don't you think you would like to go there?"
"Ef yer goes too, Mass Cap'n."
"But, my boy, I can't possibly go now."
"I'se do jes de t'ing yer say, Mass Cap'n. Ef yer tells me to go, I'se go. An' I'se jest do ebery word the missus say, an' I look af'r de chillens de bes' I knows, ontel yer comes dar. On'y please come right soon, Mass Cap'n."
And, as the captain left the tent, Tobe laid his head upon his arm and cried as if his heart would break.
Captain Leigh found a brother officer who was expecting to go home on a furlough, and who readily agreed to take charge of the boy in whom his friend was so deeply interested.
But that night came news that made everybody give up the idea of a "furlough," or "going home." The Richmond government, being determined to "make the North feel the war as she had not felt it," had organized the "grand raid."
An order came for Captain Leigh's regiment to march at daylight.
"Tobe," said the captain, "you can go in one of the baggage-wagons. Strap up my blanket and poncho, and take them along; and these boots, take particular care of them, for it's not often I can get a pair of cavalry boots to fit as they do."
"Yer needn't be feared, Mass Cap'n; I'se take care of 'em de bes' I knows."
The main body of the raiders were reported on the line of the South Mountains, making for Gettysburg. Scouting expeditions were sent out from the Northern army in all directions, and a body of troops, including Captain Leigh's regiment, was ordered to proceed by the shortest route to Gettysburg and head the rebels off. One of the baggage-wagons broke down. The driver of another wagon stopped to help his comrade. The troops passed on, and the two wagons were left alone on the mountain. In one of them was Tobe with the captain's boots, over which he kept constant watch. The men worked busily at the wagon and Tobe sat watching them. Suddenly a tramping of horses' feet was heard, and a party of cavalry came round a turn in the road.
"That's good," said one of the men; "there's some of the boys. If they'll wait a few minutes we can go along with 'em."
"'Tain't none of our boys," said the other, after a keen glance; "them's rebs."
At the word, Tobe slid down in the bottom of the wagon under some blankets, and lay silent and motionless with the boots clasped in his arms.
As the soldiers advanced the officer said, apparently in reply to a question, "No, let the men go; we can't do anything with prisoners here. But we'll look through the wagon, and, if the Yanks have anything we want, 'all's fair in war.'"
They reined their horses by the wagon, and, after a few short, sharp questions, proceeded to break open trunks and bags, and appropriate their contents.
The soldiers were about finishing their examination, when one of them said, "What's that under the seat of that wagon?"
"Oh! nothing but a torn blanket," said another. "'Tain't worth taking. We have got all we want."
"There may be something under it, though."
He pushed aside the blanket with his sabre, and there lay Tobe endeavoring, but unsuccessfully, to hide the boots under him.
"Ah!" said the officer, "this is worth while. Here's just what I wanted. Come, boy, hand over those boots, quick."
"'Deed, massa," said Tobe, "I can't gib 'em ter yer. Dey 'longs ter Mass Cap'n, an' he tole me take keer ob 'em mos' partic'lar."
"Can't help that. I've got to have them, so pass them along."
"Please, Massa," began Tobe; but the rebel cut him short.
"Will you give me those boots? If you don't do it, and in double-quick time, too, I'll put a ball through your black skin. I won't ask you again. Now, will you give them up?" and he pulled out his pistol.
"'Deed, massa, I can't, case Massa Cap'n"—
There was a sharp click, a flash, a long, sobbing moan, and Tobe lay motionless, the boots still clasped in his arms, and great drops of blood slowly gathering upon them.
"Enemy in sight," shouted a picket riding up.
The officer hastily gave an order, and the rebels dashed off at a furious speed a few moments before a party of Union cavalry, with Captain Leigh at their head, appeared, riding from the opposite direction.
A few words sufficed for explanation. Captain Leigh laid his hand on Tobe's shoulder, and spoke his name. At the sound of the voice he loved so well, his eyes opened, and he said faintly, "Mass Cap'n, I done de bes' I knowed. I keep de boots.'"
"O Tobe!" groaned the captain, "I wish you had given them up. I would have lost everything rather than have had this."
"Mass Cap'n."
"Yes, Tobe, what is it?"
"De little chillens, Mass Cap'n; I meaned ter wait on 'em right smart. Tell 'em"—His voice grew fainter, and his eyes closed.
"Yes, my boy: what shall I tell them?"
"Tell 'em I didn't lose de boots; I kep 'em de bes'—I knowed."
There was a faint sigh, a flutter of the eyelids, and the little life that had been so truly "de bes' he knowed" (ah! if we could all say that!) was ended.
Very reverently Captain Leigh lifted the boots, all wet and stained with blood. "I will never wear those boots again," he said; "but I will never part with them. They shall be Tobe's monument."
In the hall of Captain Leigh's house is a deep niche, and in it, on a marble slab covered with a glass case, stands a pair of cavalry boots with dark stains upon them, and on the edge of the slab, in golden letters, is the inscription:
"In memory of Tobe,
Faithful unto death."