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

  CHAPTER XIX.

  IRENE'S DILEMMA--THE BROTHERS MEET.

  To Irene the varied and startling changes that had lately taken place,brought perplexity and grief. The political question, that she had hearddiscussed since her early childhood, until it had become to her asfamiliar as a household pet, and been deemed as harmless, had broken upthe family, and now bade fair to destroy the Nation. Often in herchildish innocence had she laughed to hear little Abner declare himself"Papa's Whig," little dreaming of the awful meaning lurking in thesewords, a meaning powerful for the destruction of homes and country.

  A monster had been taken into the Tompkins' family and laughed over andcaressed, and now it had arisen in its wrath to prove their destroyer.That monster was difference of political opinion. Irene, with her cleargood senses saw the great mistake in the life of her foster parents.Their difference of opinion, kept alive by frequent discussion, andveiled by light and gentle jests, had at last thrown off all disguises,and stood forth a frightful reality, widening with alarming rapidity thechasm opened between them. It may be doubted, if it is safe for husbandand wife to differ even in jest.

  Irene had puzzled her brain in her endeavor to devise some plan, whichmight restore to the family the happy harmony of old, but, like manygood men whose minds were engrossed with the same endeavor for thecountry's good, she failed.

  The regiment of which Abner Tompkins was a member had returned to theJunction, and the regiment which Colonel Scrabble commanded was again inthe neighborhood of Snagtown. Both Abner and Oleah had sent word totheir parents that they would probably be able to visit home, whiletheir companies were encamped in the neighborhood.

  Colonel Scrabble, finding his position in the vicinity of Snagtownrather uncomfortably near the Junction, where Colonel Holdfast and twoother regiments were quartered, fell back about twenty miles south,beyond the Twin Mountains. The good people about Snagtown felt greatlyrelieved at the departure of the colonel's forces, for they had beenkept in a constant state of alarm, expecting battle every day.

  It was the third day after the retirement of the Confederates that asingle horseman, a cavalry officer, galloped down the long hill on theroad leading from Snagtown to Mr. Tompkins' residence. He was a fearlesslooking young fellow, with blue eyes and dark brown hair, and he rodealone, though he wore the blue uniform of a Union captain.

  Arriving at the front gate, he swung from the saddle, handing his reinsto a negro boy, and walked quickly up the front walk, meeting his fatheron the lawn.

  "Quite safe and sound, you see," he said in reply to Mr. Tompkins'eager, anxious eyes.

  Father and son went together to the house, and, at the sound of thewell-known voice, Mrs. Tompkins, with a cry of joy, rushed from her roomto clasp her son in her arms. What though he wore the hated uniform of aUnion soldier? He was still her son.

  Irene's cheeks glowed with pleasure at sight of Abner, whom she had solong believed to be her brother. She gave him a sister's welcome, as itwas.

  During the evening, when alone with his father, Abner related themysterious appearance and disappearance of Yellow Steve, and his strangewords. Mr. Tompkins also had something singular to relate on thatsubject, and for half an hour they discussed this strange individual andhis possible connection with Irene's history.

  "He says he holds the key, which will unlock the mystery of herparentage," said Mr. Tompkins, "but how are we to get him to turn it?"

  Abner said he would make it one of the duties of his life to search outthis mysterious stranger.

  "It will have to be managed carefully," said the father, "for should hebe so inclined, this man, perhaps, might destroy the last trace of herparentage. My impression is that it was he who placed her, when a baby,at our door."

  "What could have been his motive?" asked Abner.

  "Motive? Any one of a thousand things might have been his motive. Hemight have done it with the hope of securing a reward for the recoveryof the child, or he may thus have taken revenge for some real or fanciedwrong, or he may have been hired by the parents."

  "Come, Irene," said the young officer when tea was over. "I want to lookaround the old place once more."

  They paused in the garden, where the air was sweet with the fragrance ofSummer flowers, and pulsating with the evening songs of birds.

  "I never come out here now," said Irene. "It is so lonesome with you andOleah so far away," and sat down upon a rustic seat.

  As Abner gazed into the depths of those soft, gray eyes he thought somuch beauty had never before been concentrated in one being. Irene'sgoodness of heart he had learned to know long ago. He was he thought,almost on the eve of discovering her parentage, but he determined to winher, be it high or low.

  "Irene," he said, "I am glad to be once more in this dear old home, tobe once more with the parents I love; but the greatest happiness of allis to have you again by my side."

  "O Abner," she answered, lifting her earnest, tearful eyes, "do not sayto me again what you said to me that last night! It breaks my heart togive you pain, but I know that you are wrong, that you have mistakenyour own feelings. I have loved you so long as a sister! Oh, howterribly all things have changed! Do not you change, Abner! Be mybrother still!"

  "Let what is broken so remain, The gods are hard to reconcile,"

  said Abner, looking sorrowfully into the pale, pleading face. "Whenchange has come, nothing can bring back the old order of things. But Iwill wait, I will promise you not to speak again of my love, until youcan answer me without tears in your eyes. Now, let me see you smile,Irene, once more before I go."

  Irene could not sleep that night; her bed chamber was in the south wingof the house, and her window looked out upon a portion of the groundsdirectly shaded with trees and shrubbery. It was late when voices on thelawn below attracted her attention. The family, she knew, had beenburied in sleep for hours, and it was something unusual for the slavesto select that portion of the grounds for midnight consultation. At lastshe arose and cautiously approached the window.

  The night was beautiful, the moon shone brightly, even penetrating thedark shade of the trees, beneath one of which two figures weredistinctly visible. The night was very still, and, though the men wereat some distance from the house, she could hear distinctly every wordthey spoke.

  The voice of one sounded familiar to Irene, and it took only a secondglance to show her that it was Crazy Joe, engaged in conversation withsome stranger.

  Crazy Joe had always made a strange impression on Irene. From herearliest recollection he had been either a resident or frequenter of theTompkins' plantation. The poor lunatic had always shown the warmestattachment for her, and his strange wild talk, the mingling of earlyScriptural and classical lessons, with ideas dwarfed by some suddenshock, had always had a strange fascination for her.

  All her fear instantly vanished as she recognized Crazy Joe, for sheknew that no harm could ever come to any one of them through him, buther curiosity to know who was his companion and what their topic ofconversation, became almost painful in its intensity.

  Crazy Joe had of late divided his time between the plantation and thecabin at the foot of Twin Mountains. Uncle Dan, when he entered thearmy, tried to induce Joe to desert the place altogether, but this herefused to do, always declaring he must have the house of his Uncle Esauready at his coming.

  Irene could discover that Joe's companion was a negro, a man past themiddle age of life, of strong frame and strongly marked features. It waswith a thrill of astonishment that she heard these words.

  "When do you remember seeing your father last?"

  "'Twas when my father dwelt in a distant land. I was much beloved of myfather, for I was the sun of his old age."

  "Oh, don't talk such nonsense! What was your father's name?"

  "Jacob, my father was Jacob, the son of Isaac."

  "No, he wasn't," replied the man. "Try and think if your father didn'thave another name than Jacob."

  The poor fellow for a moment puzzled his br
ain and then said slowly:

  "No, it could not be otherwise. Joseph was the son of Jacob, and Jacobthe son of Isaac, and Isaac the son of Abraham; so you see my fathermust have been Jacob. Joseph was sold into bondage and carried intoEgypt, and I am Joseph, so my father must have been Jacob."

  "Can't you recollect that your father had another name?"

  "No, he never had any other name but Jacob, the son of Isaac."

  "Your father's name was Henry," said the man. "Now don't you rememberthat his Christian name was Henry?"

  The moonlight fell full on Joe's troubled face, and Irene thought shecould discover a strange expression cross it, as though a stream ofmemory's sunshine had suddenly been let in on his long clouded mind, buta moment after it was passed, and he said:

  "No, it must have been Jacob, and if Jacob is not my father, my fathermust be dead. The famine has been very sore in the land of Canaan."

  "There has been no famine in the land where your father dwells," saidthe man, earnestly. "Your father never knew a famine, never knew want orcare. He was a reckless, passionate man, but at times he was gentle andkind."

  "My father, Jacob, was always good and kind," said Joe, thoughtfully.

  "Your father's name was not Jacob," said the man, evidently annoyed andpuzzled. "Your father's name was Henry--" Irene listened with strainedattention to hear the last name, but the voice of the speaker waslowered, so that she failed to catch it. "Now," went on the stranger,"try and remember, while I tell you about your father and your home.Your father was a handsome man, with dark hair and eyes and heavy jetblack whiskers. Do you not remember the home of your childhood--a large,brown stone mansion, surrounded with palmetto trees, and orange groves,and cane brakes? Do you not remember the vast fields of cotton and riceand sugar-cane, with negroes working in them, and your father ridingabout in his carriage with you by his side? Can't you remember yourmother? Can't you remember the tiny boats she made for you to float onthe lake?"

  The mulatto paused, and looked eagerly at his companion, as though tocatch a gleam of intelligence. Again that curious, puzzled look cameover the face of Joe, and he seemed trying to pierce the gloom offorgetfulness with his blunted recollection. After a moment his facebrightened, and he said:

  "Yes, I remember the fields of cotton, and the carriage and my mother. Iremember the great palmetto tree by the lake, where I floated my boatsand made my flutter-mills."

  "Well, listen now," said the black, still more earnestly. "Can you notremember what your name was when you played by the lake under the bigpalmetto tree by the lake?"

  "I was not Joseph then."

  "Can you not remember what your name was?"

  "No."

  "Would you remember if I was to tell you?"

  "Yes."

  Irene was leaning against the window-sill, holding the half-closedshutter in her hand. In her eagerness she pressed forward, pushing theshutter so far open that it slipped from her hold and swung crashingback against the house. She sprang back into the room to preventdiscovery, and when next she glanced from her window, Crazy Joe wasalone. His strange companion had disappeared, and Joe sat nodding underthe tree more than half asleep.

  It was nothing uncommon for Joe to pass the night under a tree, andIrene only watched to see him stretch down under a tree and composehimself to sleep, when she crept to her own bed, filled with wonder andcuriosity. Crazy Joe's parentage, like her own, was shrouded in mystery,and perhaps it may have been their common misfortune that had awakenedher sympathy and drawn her so strongly towards the lunatic.

  It was late before Irene closed her eyes for sleep, and when she did,Joe's troubled eyes, Abner's eyes, sad and reproachful, and the gleamingeyes of the stranger haunted her dreams.

  Early next morning she went out to where Crazy Joe was sitting on thegrass, communing with himself. As she approached him she heard him say:

  "Yes, yes, I remember the cotton fields and the palmetto tree by thelake, the boats I sailed there, but then something heavy strikes mybrain."

  She tried to persuade him to tell her who it was he was talking with onthe night before, but the light of memory faded from his face, and hismind immediately averted to his father Jacob, who was soon to come downinto Egypt.

  It was about two weeks after Abner's visit that Oleah found himself atthe head of a small scouting party in the neighborhood of his home.

  Scouting parties were no novelty in and near the village of Snagtown,for this village lay about half way between the two hostile forces, andthe scouts of both armies frequently entered it. These parties, notalways made up of the most honorable men, kept the good citizens in thevicinity in a constant state of alarm. Hen roosts were robbed, appleorchards devastated, and melon patches stripped, vines and all.

  Oleah's party, however, attempted no exploits of this kind, for his menknew that he would regard it as base and dastardly an act to filch froman unoffending citizen as to fly from an enemy.

  Our friend Diggs was of the party, and when Oleah stationed his men in agrove, about a mile distant, and set out to visit his home, Mr. Diggsvolunteered to accompany him. Oleah was annoyed, but, having no goodexcuse for refusal, submitted with what grace he could to theinfliction. The short-legged soldier was now all smiles andsatisfaction, being, in his own estimation, the favored of his captain.

  "I tell you--hem, hem, hem!" said Diggs, as he kicked his heels into theflanks of his horse--not January, but a spiteful little mustang--to keepup with the fierce black charger on which the captain was mounted. "Itell you--hem, hem!--this reminds me more of the return of the knightsof old after a battle, or a crusade, than any thing in my experience."

  Diggs' conversation was not noted for brilliancy or point, but Oleahthought he never knew him to be so flat and pointless as on thisoccasion.

  "I can't for the life of me, Diggs," he said, "see that we bear anypossible likeness to knights or crusaders."

  "Why, you see, they left their homes, and so did we. We are alikethere."

  Oleah made no answer. He was probably convinced.

  Mr. Diggs went on triumphantly:

  "They went off to fight, so did we; they came back clothed with victoryand glory, so did we."

  "I doubt whether either of us have achieved any victory to be boastedof. As to the glory, I lay claim to none, and you must have little,unless you acquired it in creek bottoms or turkey roosts."

  It was Mr. Diggs' turn to be silent now. His face became almost lividwith momentary rage, and the ill-assorted companions road on withoutspeaking, until the Tompkins' mansion was reached.

  The second son, in Confederate gray, was as gladly welcomed by hisfather as Abner in his loyal blue, while in the mother's eyes shone notonly a mother's tender love, but the proud patriotism of a woman, whohad given her son to the cause she believed holy and just.

  "And here is friend Diggs, too," said the planter, taking the hand ofthe little Confederate with such cordiality that Mr. Diggs was inecstasies of delight. "Have you been well?"

  "Quite well, Mr. Tompkins--hem, hem!--have been quite well, except a fewgun-shot wounds, received at Carrick's Ford. Hem, hem, hem!"

  Mrs. Tompkins, too, welcomed him with gracious hospitality, and, whenIrene met him with friendly greeting, he felt more than rejoiced, thathe had not given up a soldier's life. He had fought his battles and wasnow winning his just reward, and "sweet the treasure, sweet thepleasure, sweet the pleasure after pain."

  "Hem, hem, hem!--my friends--hem, hem!--my dear friends, he, he, he!"chuckled the little fellow, looking as silly as it was possible for aman of his size, with glasses on, to look; "this gives me--hem,hem!--unbounded, I may say unlimited, satisfaction."

  At this moment another character entered on the scene. It was Crazy Joe;he paused a moment, and a look of recognition lit up his features. Hewalked forward, and, placing his hand on Diggs' shoulder, angrilydemanded:

  "Why are you here, sir? Why did you not remain where I left you? When Imake a man out of clay, and stand him up, I wan
t him to stay where Ileave him, until I can show people the greatness of my handiwork."

  It was impossible for those present to restrain their involuntarysmiles, and Diggs, seeing this, lost his temper.

  "Go away, fool," he cried; "take off your hands."

  "Oh, Mr. Diggs, that is very unkind," said Irene.

  "Yes," said Crazy Joe, sorrowfully, as he left the room, "it is veryunkind for him to address such language to the man who made him."

  In spite of themselves, those present could hardly restrain theirlaughter; but Mr. Diggs was easily pacified, and harmony was soonrestored, and he related his hair-breadth escapes and miraculousvictories.

  Oleah had interesting adventures to relate, and the humorous mishaps ofour friend Mr. Diggs, brought out the long unheard-of music of Irene'slaughter. During the evening he told his father of his meeting of YellowSteve at Mrs. Juniper's ball.

  "Strange," said the father, "that he should have escaped us all. Heknows something of Irene's history." Then he told Oleah what he himselfhad seen, and what Abner had told him of Yellow Steve's visit, theevening before the battle of Bull Run.

  "I will fathom this mystery," exclaimed Oleah, "though it takes alifetime to do it. He shall reveal all he knows, the next time we meet,if he does it at the point of my sword."

  "Be not too rash, my son," said the father. "Never frighten a bird youwish to catch."

  Then his mother and Irene came in, and with a loving imperiousness, ashis brother had done, he made Irene come out with him, walked throughthe same paths and sat down at last on the same seat, with the samewords trembling on his lips.

  The sun had gone down, the moon was rising round and full in the East,and the whip-poor-wills were making night melodious with their song.Oleah was talking very earnestly to his fair companion; not onlyearnestly, but passionately.

  "Irene, you comprehend what I told you before I left my home to meetdeath and danger in the field, that the love I felt for you was deeperand stronger than a brother's. I love you--I love you more than all elseon earth, more than life, and nothing shall keep you from me. You shallbe mine--my wife."

  "Oleah, believe me, let us keep the old love--I can give you no other. Ican not give you what you want." Her voice died away. He saw the small,white fingers clasping and unclasping, and knew that she was resolutelykeeping back her tears.

  "This is something I can not understand," said Oleah, and his faceclouded, "unless my brother has been before me."

  Irene opened her white lips, but no words came.

  "I understand now," exclaimed Oleah; "you can not choose between us; youknow not which of us you prefer, or perhaps you prefer him." His eyesshone like burning coals, and his voice was hoarse with passion. "It istrue, he must oppose me in every thing? When our country, our South, hisbirthplace and mine, is assailed by foes, he joins them. Is not thatenough to turn all a brother's love to gall and bitterness? And now hewould win you from me--my love, my love!"

  "Oleah, do not so wrong your brother! I tell you truly that he does notknow, he has no thought that he is opposing you," cried Irene, with anappealing look at the dark, angry face. "O, Oleah, for your mother'ssake banish these evil thoughts. God made you brothers."

  "Yes, and the devil made us enemies. It is coming at last--it has come!I have fought against it for the sake of our happy childhood, ourparents, and the brothers' blood that flows in our veins, but it isuseless. The fates have determined that we should hate each other, andthe hatred of brothers is the hatred of devils. Irene," his voicesoftening, "I believe you love me though you will not speak," and Oleahseized her passionately in his embrace and rained kisses on her fair,pale face. "I must go now," he said, releasing her, "but you shall yetbe mine, I swear it. Neither brother, nor father, nor mother, no poweron earth shall prevent it."

  Oleah went toward the house, and Irene stood motionless, where he hadleft her, till the trees hid him from her sight--her eyes widelystrained, her face pale with terror, her lips white and bloodless. Thosewild words Oleah had spoken in his passion, those fearful words, "_Thehatred of brothers is the hatred of devils_," seemed burning into herbrain.

  And this was her work! This mischief she had done! She trembled like oneguilty, and the love she would not own, and she could not master, seemedto her shuddering soul a crime.

  So excited was her manner that it attracted the attention of others inthe room. At this moment a negro boy entered the room, where Mr. andMrs. Tompkins were sitting with Mr. Diggs, his face wearing a strangelypuzzled look. He paused and looked around. Whether he was morefrightened or puzzled it would have been difficult to tell.

  "Well, Job, what is it?" asked Mr. Tompkins, noticing the negro'sawkward manner.

  "If you please, marster," he said, shaking his head, "Marster Abner--"

  "What of him?" asked Mr. Tompkins, for the boy had paused.

  "Why, he--he is comin'?"

  Before any one could make reply, quick steps were heard on the graveledwalk. Mr. Tompkins, motioning the servant aside, went himself to thedoor, and, as he opened it, heard Oleah's voice, imperious and harsh:

  "You are my prisoner, sir!"

  "Oleah, my son, this is a matter too serious for jesting," said thefather.

  "I am not jesting. My first duty is to my country. He is an enemy to mycountry, and my country's enemies are mine. My men are within call," hecontinued, turning to Abner. "Do you surrender?"

  "Most assuredly I shall not," replied Abner.

  "Then, by heavens! you shall fare no better than any other Yankee spy.You are within our lines!"

  He snatched his sword from its scabbard, and before Mr. Tompkins couldinterpose, there was a clash.

  Again the door opened, and Mrs. Tompkins and Mr. Diggs appeared; butthe sight that met their eyes froze to terror the smile of welcome onthe mother's lips, and sent Diggs, his radiant complacency all gone,shrinking back into the house, muttering, "Oh, Lordy, I know I shall bekilled."

  Clash, clash! clank, clank! the swords went, circling in the air,thrusting, crossing, clashing. Irene came flying down the path, and Mr.Tompkins sprang between and threw them apart.

  "Hold!" he cried, "if you must have kindred blood, turn your swordsfirst on me, and on your mother and sister. Abner, if your enemies arenear, go. Let them not find you in your own father's house. Go at once!"

  Without a word, Abner returned his sword to its scabbard and started toleave his home. His mother and Irene followed him to the gate, and, amoment later, his horse's feet were heard clattering up the hill towardSnagtown.

  Oleah, soon after, left with Diggs, to join his men. Mr. Tompkins andhis wife sat in silence in the silent house, while Irene, who believedherself the guilty cause of this new sorrow, crept up to her room toweep and pray.