After this, Annie offered no further remonstrance, though in her heart she hoped Jimmie’s residence in Rockland would not be very long. Of Tom she had no dread. She rather wished to see him than otherwise, for he had been kind to George, and in fancy she had enshrined him as a middle-aged, greyish haired man, stooping a little, perhaps, and withal very fatherly and venerable in his appearance! This was Tom,—but Jimmie, handsome, saucy-eyed, mischievous Jimmie, putting angle worms in Rose’s bosom, and frightening the little Pequot with a mud-turtle, found on New London beach, was a very different thing, and though trusting much to the lapse of years and change of name, Annie shrank nervously from the dreaded to-morrow, which was to bring the Rebel home.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER’S WELCOME TO ROCKLAND.
Rose had fretted herself into a headache, and as Mrs. Carleton could not think of meeting her returning prodigal in the presence of strangers, there was no one to go up to meet him unless Annie should consent to do so! But greatly to Rose’s disappointment Annie obstinately refused, while Mrs. Carleton, too, said it would not be proper for Mrs. Graham to go alone and meet a stranger whom she had never seen.
“Couldn’t she tell him she was Annie, my adopted sister?” Rose said, half poutingly. “What will he think when he finds nobody there but Jake, who, I verily believe, looks upon him as half a savage for having joined the Southern army? I heard him, myself, tell Bridget that Ben Arnold was coming to-day, meaning that horrid traitor that gave up Yorktown, or something,” and having thus betrayed her ignorance of Revolutionary history, Rose bathed her aching head in eau-de-cologne, and lay back upon her pillows, wondering what Jimmie would say, and how he would manage to brave the gaping people who were sure to stare at him as if he were some monster. She hoped there would not be many there, and of course there wouldn’t, for who knew or cared for Jimmie’s coming?
More cared for Jimmie’s coming than Rose suspected, and the streets were full of men and boys of a certain class, hastening to the depot to see the Rebel, as they persisted in calling him, in spite of Billy Baker’s repeated suggestions that they soften it down somewhat by prefixing the word “reformed.” Bill was very busy, very important, very consequential that day, and quite inclined to be very patronizing, and do the agreeable to the man he had captured at Manassas. “Folks or’to overlook him,” he said, “and treat him half way decent, for the best was apt to stumble, and there should neither be hootin’ nor hissin’, if he could help it.”
Indeed, so impressed was Bill with the idea that the responsibility of Jimmie’s reception was pending upon himself, that he deliberately knocked down two of the ringleaders, who announced their intention to hoot and to hiss as much as they pleased. Bill’s warlike propensities were pretty generally understood in Rockland, and this energetic demonstration had the effect of quelling, to a certain extent, the Babel which would otherwise have reigned, when at last the train stopped before the depot, and the expected lion appeared upon the platform, his identity proven by Bill, who whispered, “That’s him, with the rowdy hat,—that’s the chap;” then, with a proud air of self-assurance, he stepped forward and offered his hand to the embarrassed stranger, who was looking this way and that, in quest of a familiar face.
“Halloo, Corporal!” he called out with the utmost sang froid, “you re-cog-nize me, I s’pose. I’m the critter that took you in the Virginny woods. I’ve gin all them contrabands to your sister, Miss Marthers. She and I has got to be considerable intimate. I think a sight on her,” he continued, as Jimmie showed no signs of reciprocating the coarse familiarity other than by rather haughtily offering his hand.
But Bill was not to be put down, for “wasn’t he as good as Corporal Carleton? hadn’t they sustained to each other the relation of captor and captive, and if there were any preference, wasn’t it in his favor?” He thought so, and nothing abashed by Jimmie’s evident disgust, he was about announcing to him that a carriage was in waiting, when Jake made his way through the crowd to the spot where Jimmie stood. The sight of him suggested a new idea to Bill, and bowing first to one and then to the other, he said, “Ah, Mr. Jacob Sullivan, allow me to introduce you to my friend, Corporal Carleton, late of the Confederate army, supposed to be fitin’ for just such goods and chattels as you.”
The African’s teeth were plainly visible at this novel introduction, while the good-humored smile which broke over the hitherto cold, haughty features of the stranger, changed into a general laugh the muttered groans and imprecations which the words “Confederate Army,” had provoked. It was strange what a difference that smile made in the looks of Jimmie’s handsome face, removing its haughty, sarcastic expression, and softening to a great extent the feelings of the crowd, many of whom instinctively dropped the brick-bats, stones, and bits of frozen mud, with which they were prepared to pelt the Rebel’s carriage so soon as they should be in the rear. Still they must have some fun, even if it were at Bill’s expense, and just as the latter was button-holing the persecuted Jimmie, and escorting him to the carriage, one, more daring than the others, proposed “three groans and a tiger for the deserter.”