HUGH MCNEIL'S HEN.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume XXI, Issue 4751, 17 March 1899, Page 1

HUGH MCNEIL'S HEN.

(Seeing tins, ljin Jiooro vvaispered.: "Hen—that's Hugh Neil's son; he's a plum eejit." "Who. Hugh McNeil?" "No, Hen, that's him a-makin believe np thar that he's a hull string of tree toads. Oh, him and zne's ol© friends, and oftin slept together in these hills af oah the wah. No one wouldn't think a nat'ral could be so khowin as Hen. He'd corner a lawyer asm questions, and as fo' rnoekin any sound he,-evah heahs, he can't be beat. Why, hitfs moa'/Bpxprisin. There, that's the cronk of wild geese, and we uns, ef so be we uns didn't know 'twas Hen, would believe them birds wuz a-flyin right straight ovah^ head, and we could most see 'em formin a triangle, as they most allus does, 'way up in the sky. But I'll f otch him down, fo', bein a nat'ral, thar ain't no hahra into him." The guide placed two fingers in his mouth and emitted a long, low whistle, ending with the musical cry of the quail, "bob white." "Bob white! bob white! bob white!" was echoed quickly from the rocks. Then came the crash of a loosened stone that went hurling dangerously close, and a minute after an athletic figure, with something like a knapsack on its back* and a long rifle in its right hand, stood before us. But it was too dark to distinguish the dress or features. "Hello, Hen!" was Lin Moore's saju? tation, as he extended both hands, "what yo' bin and whar yo 1 gwlne?" "Bin hellenback; nawtbin teat. Who's you uns?" This is what Hugh McNeil's Hen rattled off in a far away ventriloquial voice, and as he asked the question he laid his hand on my shoulder. "This is a blue sojer, Hen, and my friend," said tin. Then in a whisper, "Any grays nigh har?" . "Oh, lots, lots, lots," replied Hugh McNeils Hen. "Whar is they, Hen?" "Ovah yon," and he pointed in the direction of Chattanooga. "Oh, f aae," said Lin, evidently much relieved, then adding, "Wa'al, Hen, ef you uns'll lie down and not open yer lips till daylight I'll gin yo' breakfast, eh?" For answer, Hugh McNeil's Hen laid his pack on the ground and his head on the pack, and began snoring so soon that I was sure he was either playing one of the tricks of which we had so recently had a sample, or that he was eager to get into our good graces by pretending to comply instantly with Lin's request. After this I lay down, and I must have slept i'or at least three hours, for when I awoke it was broad daylight and the men were rubbing down the horses' backs with bunches of dry grass, preparatory to saddling up. Whether Hugh McNeil's Hen went to sleep instantly after lying down I think very doubtful, but when I got up and went over to look at him there could be no mistaking the fact of his being as dead asleep as one of the fabled Seven of Ephesus. As wo were about to..Ear-take of the cooked rations we had brought.with tis, Lin Moore woke up the "nat'ral," who at once sprang to his feet, and to the great amazement of those who had not heard him the night before, he clapped both ( ann 3to his sides and began to crow sc much like a cock that it only required turning the back on him to be entirely deceived. One of the scouts described the deception perfectly when he said: "If I was to hear that crowing in the dark I'd never stop sarchin till I found a henroost, and my stomach would be sot for fried chicken next day." We shared with him our cooked rations, but did not give him all he wanted to eat. I doubt if we" should have had any left had we done so. He seemed to realize that I was the leader of the little party, for as soon as he saw that there was no more food that morning he opened his ragged knapsack—it was full of bits of cloth and bright pieces of quartz crystal—and from a recess he drew out a newspaper and handed it to me. It was a copy of the Chattanooga Rebel of the previous day, and this told me that Hugh McNeil's Hen had either been in the Confederate camp across the river the day before or had met some one I who had come from there. I could not conceal my delight at getl--ting this paper, for it not only gave in its local news a clew to the forces then in and about Chattanooga, but it also contained an account of the movement of Bragg's army, which was being transferred by rail to Mobile, from which point it was to be forwarded to Chattanooga. Commenting on this roundabout movement of the main army of the Confederates in the west, the editor said, "This means that Bragg will transfer the fighting from northern Mississippi, Alabama and Tennessee to the banks of the Ohio before the summer is over," And the editor was so entirely • correct that Bragg would have been quite justified in hanging him without further evidence. I folded the paper and was putting it carefully away in an inside pocket, when Hugh McNeil's Hen begfan making signs of disapproval. His face became livid, and he muttered and made a dive to recover the paper. As he did he threw back the matted hair from his forehead and I saw for an instant a purple, crescent shaped scar running from temple to temple about a half inch below the hair, and I concluded that this was the reason for the poor fellow's dementia. "Hold up, Hen!" cried Lin Moore, and he laid his hand restrainingly on the idiot's arm, "the cap'u'U pay you for that.?' Acting on the hint 1 offered Hen a dollar, but he refused it; then I. recalled that I had in my saddlebags a barlow knife, which I had used for cleaning out my horse's hoofs; this I gave him, and he received it with a whole covey of bob white calls. In a direct line we were not a mile from the enemy's camps across the Tennessee; indeed, while I was glancing over the paper, I could see rising above the trees to the southeast the smoke of the little steamer which the Confederates tised as a ferryboat. The position was