The Evening Telegram

EVENLY MATCHED
One of the Queer Things That Happened in War Times.

The right wing of Sherman's army was
only a few miles from Blue Rock, a mountain
village in North Georgia.
The simple villagers felt little alarm.
Blue Rock was a point of no strategic importance to either the Federals or the Confederates.
One fine morning in the early spring
John Dickson started out from the little
hamlet to visit his farm, only a mile or
two distant. Dickson was a young man,
but a chronic lameness had secured his exemption from military service, and as he
had a wife and two children entirely dependent upon him, he regarded his disability as a blessing.
Still, he was a strong Confederate, and
on this particular morning, while he was
limping slowly along the rough country
road, he paused more than once to listen
with a frowning face to the sullen boom
of Sherman's guns, several miles away.
"I am not able to do much fighting," he
muttered; "but if they come to Blue Rock
and cut up any of their deviltry I'll kill
some of them if I have to die for it?"
He meant what he said. This quiet
young farmer had plenty of grit when he
was put to the test.
The walk tired him, and he left the road
and stretched himself in a grassy place
under the shade of a sturdy old oak.
He threw himself on his back and
closed his eyes for a moment. Then he
looked up into the green foliage above
him.
A queer expression flitted over his face.
but his gaze remained fixed upon one
point.
In a careless way he raised his hand to
his face, and stroked his mustache. Then
the hand wandered down over his vest,
toying with each button. At last it slipped
downward to a hip pocket, and reappeared as quick as a flash of lightning,
this time with a pistol aimed upward.
"Now, you come down," said Dickson
gruffly.
"Ha! ha!" laughed some one up in the
tree. "You have found me, have you?"
The laugh surprised and irritated Dickson. His keen eyes had discovered a fellow in a blue uniform sitting on one of the
topmost limbs of the tree. It had flashed
into his head that it would be an easy
matter to capture him, and march him into Blue Rock. And now the rascal was
laughing at him!
"You'll grin on the wrong side of your
mouth pretty soon," said Dickson. "I mean
business. Don't you know that you are
my prisoner?"
"Well, no," was the cool reply. "I hadn't
thought of it in that light. In fact, I was
under the impression that you were my
prisoner, and I was wondering how to dispose of you."
"Confound you!" roared the young
farmer. "If you don't come down at once,
I'll shoot!"
"See here, my friend," answered the
soldier, "you don't understand the situation."
"O, I don't!" snorted Dickson.
"No, where are your eyes? Take a good
look, but don't move."
Thus appealed to, Dickson allowed his
eyes to run over the soldier's entire figure.
He gave a start of surprise. The Federal
held in his right hand a revolver aimed at
the man on the ground.
"I have had you covered ever since you
came here," said the man in the tree.
"And what do you think of doing?"
asked Dickson in a tantalizing way.
"I am going to shoot if you try to get
up, or if you cock your pistol," was the
response; "but I expect to persuade you to
drop your weapon and go off to the top of
that hill yonder."
"You are a fool!" shouted Dickson.
"Don't you know that somebody from
town will come along soon and help me
capture you?"
"And don't you know," replied the
other, "that some of our cavalry are coming this way, and may be here any moment?"
Dickson studied the face above him. It
was a dark, clear-cut, handsome face,
very youthful and pleasant in its expression.
"Why, you are a boy, ain't you?" was
his next question, as he took in the lithe,
willowy form.
"Never mind what I am: my Captain is
satisfied with me, and that is enough."
"You had better drop your pistol and
come down. I'll see that you are treated
well."
"Thanks. Hadn't you better lay down
your weapon and march over that hill,
and go home to your wife and children, if
you have any? I am not particularly
anxious to have our boys come along and
capture you."
The frank and fearless eyes looking into
Dickson's had a kind look, and the angry
farmer found that his wrath was gradually melting. After all, he thought, there
would be little glory in capturing this boy-
soldier. And then the fellow's story might
be true. If the Federals were coming in
that direction it was time for good Confederates to hide out.
"What are you doing here, anyhow?" he
asked.
"I slipped in Blue Rock last night," was
the answer, "and some of your people
chased me out. My horse was shot, and I
had to take to the woods. I climbed up
here to be safe until our cavalry comes
along."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," broke in Dickson; "I don't much want to take you prisoner, and I don't want to shoot you. On
the other hand, I'll admit that I have no
fancy for being shot myself. But I'm not
going to throw down my pistol. I will
get up and go to town, and when your
crowd comes, if it comes at all, you may
expect a hot reception if you are not too
many for us."
There was a pause of a moment, and
then the soldier in the tree spoke.
"All right. I'll trust you," he said. "Go
ahead, and I'll take no advantage of you.
But you may expect to see me in Blue Rock
before night."
"We'll take care of Blue Rock," defiantly
responded Dickson. "Well, I'm off. Good-
by!"
And he rose to his feet, and walked off
as briskly as he could. He scorned to look
back. If the Federal was mean enough
to break his word and fire, it was all right.
But his heart bumped against his ribs
until he had placed a hundred yards between him and the tree.
When the blue jackets swarmed into the
village that afternoon, the score or two of
male inhabitants saw that resistance was
useless against such a force.
"The Captain sent me to guard your
property," said a soldier, as he paused in
front of Dickson's door.
"I am obliged to him," replied Dickson,
"but I don't see why-
The man went on duty, and the little
family passed the night undisturbed, and
with the feeling that they were securely
protected.
"The Captain requests you to come to
his headquarters!"
This astonishing message made Dickson
a little nervous when it was delivered to
him the next morning. His wife could
not conceal her alarm.
"There is nothing wrong," the messenger assured her. "The Captain merely
desires to see your husband a moment."
There was nothing to do but go. Dickson quieted his wife and proceeded to the
dwelling indicated to him as the Captain's
headquarters.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Dickson," the
Captain remarked, with a peculiar smile.
"My wife wishes to thank you for your
courteous and sensible conduct yesterday."
"Your wife!" exclaimed the farmer.
And then he saw what had escaped his
notice, that there was a lady in there.
A very charming little lady, Dickson
thought. She looked fresh and bright in
her simple traveling dress, and her curly
hair, cut short, like a boy's, gave her a
roguish look. The lady's face was
strangely familiar, and when the astonished Confederate gazed into her eyes he
recognized her.
"You were the soldier in the tree!" he
cried.
"The same," admitted the Captain's
wife, with a laugh.
"You see," explained the Captain, "my
wife would come down to see me in camp,
and she would wear a soldier's uniform.
She is a head-strong little piece, and I had
to yield, but after her adventure of yesterday I have persuaded her to return home.
War is a bad thing, my friend, if the ladies
are to go soldiering."
By this time Dickson felt perfectly at
home. His hosts were in such a jolly, good
humor that it was contagious, and the
visitor spent a delightful half hour.
The Federals did not hold Blue Rock
long. They moved off with the main
body of the army, but before they left the
Captain's adventurous wife had been
shipped home by her husband.
"Queer things happen in war times," was
Dickson's comment on the affair when he
spoke of it afterward to his friends, "and
I tell you it is a wonder that the Captain's
wife didn't capture me and march me off.
She is a daisy, if there ever was one!"-
Wallace P. Reed in Atlanta Constitution.