[Illustration: {A soldier in a tree taunts the enemy across the river.}]
In the spring of 1863, just before the Gettysburg campaign, the 4th
Michigan was doing guard duty on the Rappahannock river, at Kelly's
Ford, Virginia. The writer's company was detached for picket duty. We
were stationed at Mountain Run Ford, down the river from Kelly's Ford,
some three miles. The river at this place was shallow. We guarded
against cavalry, had to be constantly on the alert. We also patrolled
the river some three miles down. At the end of our patrol route, lived
an old Rebel cuss. He was bitter in his denunciation of the Yankees.
His name was Atkinson,--a cousin to the Atkinson of Bleeding Kansas
fame. At his house we met another patrol from lower down, and compared
notes. We had to watch the old reprobate closely; also had to keep an
eye on his domestics. The first patrol was conducted by the writer,
and was quite early in the morning. We followed the bank of the river
about a half mile from our reserve. Standing close on the bank of the
stream stood a large persimmon tree, well loaded with the luscious
fruit. The bank sloped sudden and abrupt from the river. The patrol
passed on, and I mounted the tree, crawled out on a big limb, settled
myself to scraping in the fruit; I did not even taste the berries, but
dumped them into my haversack. The patrol passed on out of my range.
Soon a gentle sound was wafted to my ears from across the river. There
was no mistaking the ominous sound and its purport. It said, "Yank!
come over." I gazed over the water. There, in plain view, was ten or a
dozen rebel cavalrymen, with their carbines pointed at me, and a
laughing. They repeated, "Yank, come over." I could see nothing to
laugh at, and told them so. They insisted that I should come to them.
I told them, "I could not swim, and the water was too deep to wade."
Well, "that did not make any difference. You must come anyhow." I
said, well, here goes for a try. I slid to the ground. As I struck the
earth, one of them fired. The ball went high over my head. I suspect
he shot high on purpose to remind me of my obligation.
I waited for no more invitations, but threw myself flat on the ground,
and with one tremendous wriggle, slid out of range. This brought a
volley from the Rebels. The firing brought my patrol back, double
quick. The Rebels skedaddled as fast as their horses could bear them
away. The boys were terribly in earnest, but when they knew the
situation, they had a big laugh at my expense. The racket also brought
our reserve, with a battle in their mind. After learning the cause,
the reserve returned, and we, the patrol, went our rounds. The old man
Atkinson was the bitterest old devil or Rebel it was my fortune to
meet in all my stay in Dixie; and he did not disguise his sentiments.
I will say those persimmons were not ripe; their looks were deceiving.
I advise all who hanker after persimmons, to wait until they are
thoroughly ripe; for unless they are matured, they will pucker up any
vacuum that they put their grip upon; but they are delicious when
ripe.