Brother Against Brother; or, The Tompkins Mystery. Read online

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  MR. TOMPKINS RECEIVES STRANGE NEWS.

  The war cloud grew darker day by day. The time had actually come whenfamilies were divided, and brother was arrayed against brother. Butlittle business was done in the border and middle States. Men seemed tohave suddenly gone mad. The once industrious farmer had deserted hisfarm, and the plow lay rusting in the weedy furrow. A majority of theable-bodied men were either in the Northern or Southern army. Thewildest and most exaggerated rumors were flying over the land.Skirmishes were reported as tremendous battles, hundreds were magnifiedinto thousands, and tens to hundreds. Men, who had always been peaceableand law abiding, seemed suddenly inspired with a mania for the murder,plunder and destruction of all who did not adhere to their opinions.Friends became enemies, neighbors looked upon each other with coldsuspicion or expressed open hostility. All baser attributes of man'snature, kept in check by the strong arm of law in time of peace, wereroused and brought to the surface.

  The plantation of Mr. Tompkins had not been visited by hostile forcessince the visit of Oleah's company. But that event was sufficient togive him full knowledge of the seriously dangerous condition of thecountry. Mr. Tompkins was greatly changed. A careworn expression hadsettled on his face--a face haggard and livid--years older than when wefirst looked upon it, and hair whitening fast. The bloom had faded fromMrs. Tompkins' delicate dark face, and the happy smile from her lips.

  The harmony of the household had been disturbed, never again to berestored. The peace which had lasted for years was broken, so were theties of love, which had defined the ravages of time, and the thousandpetty vexations of domestic life were sadly strained. Mr. Tompkins'political preference was cramped and choked by his family division.True, no open rupture had taken place between him and his wife, yet thevery fact that both were silent upon the exciting topic of the daybrought about that coolness which is sure to result when there is aforbidden topic between husband and wife. Mr. Tompkins spent the days inanxiety, and the nights brought no peace. He went to the village almostdaily for the mail, and found the newspapers full of accounts of bloodybattles, while from lip to lip passed horrible rumors.

  When the defeat at Bull Run was rumored he waited to gather authenticnews, with painfully complicated feelings--anxiety for the cause hecould not openly avow, and for his sons, in either army, one always tobe in the victorious army, and one in the ranks of the defeated. Andthis thought chased away the look of joy that for an instant lit up theface of Mrs. Tompkins when she learned the news.

  Days passed, and weeks, but no news came of either son. All Mr. Tompkinsknew was that armies were marching and counter-marching daily, andfilling the country with alarm.

  Communication north and south was cut off, and it was almost impossiblefor any letter to cross the line.

  It was evening, three or four weeks after the battle of Bull Run. Mr.Tompkins had, as usual, been to Snagtown, and returned; the Summer sunwas sinking, battling in golden glory, a thick, dark bank of cloudsgathering in the northwest. Mr. Tompkins sat in a rustic seat on thelawn, beneath the spreading branches of a maple, which had of latebecome his favorite resort. As he sat, his eyes wandered off to thenorthwest, rather in listlessness than interest.

  The sun went to rest behind the hill, and lightning flashed from thedark recesses of the clouds, and twilight, soft and gray, began togather about the landscape.

  A man entered the front yard and walked leisurely down the whitegravelled walk toward the portion of the lawn where Mr. Tompkins wassitting. He was a man apparently near Mr. Tompkins' own age, but hisform erect, and lithe, still seemed to retain his vitality and youthfulvigor. His woolly, sun burned hair was streaked with gray; his yellowface was wrinkled, but his eyes were fired with energy. The rapid changeof expression on his face was perhaps the most remarkable thing aboutthis man--at one moment gentle, almost appealing, the next inspired withthe fury of a demon. The mulatto carried himself with a boldness and afreedom not common with those of his color. Walking up to the planterand touching the brim of his weather-beaten hat, he said:

  "Good evening, sir. Mr. Tompkins, I believe?"

  "That's my name. What is your business with me?" returned the planter,sharply.

  "I want to see you," replied the mulatto, coolly, taking, unbidden, aseat on the bench beneath the tree.

  "To see me? Well, what for?"

  "To talk with you," was the reply.

  "What is it?" demanded the planter. "Have you a bad master, and do youwant me to buy you?"

  "No, sir, I am not for sale," replied the mulatto, his face glowing witha baleful light. "I am no slave, I am free, and free by my ownexertions."

  "Well, what is it you have to say to me?"

  "Something, I think, you will be glad to hear."

  The planter began to lose patience. "If you have any thing to say to me,say it at once."

  "Well, to begin with, you have two sons, one in the Confederate and onein the Union army."

  "What of them?"

  "They are well."

  "Thank you, thank you for the news," cried the planter, rising andgrasping the old man's hand. "When did you see them last?"

  "You are willing to talk to me now," said the mulatto, with a smile.

  "Where did you see my boys last?" repeated Mr. Tompkins, eagerly,unheeding the interruption.

  "Only a few days ago."

  "Where?"

  "In their camps. They both are moving back this way."

  "How came you to see them both? Is one of them a prisoner?"

  "No."

  "You can not have been in both armies?"

  "I have been."

  "How did that happen?"

  "How I go is a secret known only to myself, but I go wherever desire orduty call me, and armies, guards, and prisons, locked and bolted doors,are no impediment to me. I saw your sons, and they are well."

  It had grown almost dark, yet the planter could see the eyes of hisstrange visitor gleam weirdly.

  "Who are you?" he asked, the little superstition he had in his naturearoused.

  "They call me Yellow Steve."

  "Where do you live?"

  "On the earth, in the air, almost on the air."

  "By that you mean you live in no particular place?" said the planter.

  "Yes. There was a time when I was human, when I had human desires andhuman feeling, but all that is changed. My soul has been tortured untilwhat little reason I ever possessed has fled. There are times, sir, whenI am not a human being."

  "You are crazy," said the planter, with an incredulous smile.

  "Have you ever read of Wagner, the Wehr-wolf?"

  "Yes, in my boyhood I have read of that remarkable personage," repliedthe planter.

  "You remember that periodically, he became a wolf, a demon. Well, sir,I have passed through a similar experience. There are times when myhuman feelings, my human reason leave me." The mulatto's yellow faceseemed to grow livid in the twilight.

  The wind moaned wildly, and the clouds gathered in thick, rolling massesin the northwest.

  "Have you any further business with me?" asked the planter uneasily.

  "I am to tell you that I hold a key that will unlock one of the darkestsecrets that has clouded your life, a secret that has ever been a puzzleand a torment to you. This dark war cloud will not roll off our landwithout sweeping many from the face of the earth, and I feel that Ishall be among the number. I can not leave this earth without yieldingup to you the key of this mystery."

  "Where is the key, and what is the mystery?" asked Mr. Tompkins.

  "I will arrange so that you shall receive the key after my death. Thesecret relates to the parentage of your foster child."

  A loud clap of thunder shook, and, for one moment, a blaze of lightningenwrapped the earth. When Mr. Tompkins lifted his dazzled eyes, he wasalone. The strange man had disappeared as suddenly as if he had meltedinto air.