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[Illustration: “NOW LET’S PLAY IT’S A REAL PARTY.”]
A YANKEE GIRL
AT
SHILOH
By
ALICE TURNER CURTIS
Author of
The Little Maid’s Historical Series, “A Yankee Girl at Fort
Sumter,” “A Yankee Girl at Bull Run,” etc.
[Illustration]
_Illustrated by_ ISABEL W. CALEY
THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
1922
COPYRIGHT
1922 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
[Illustration]
A Yankee Girl at Shiloh
Made in the U. S. A.
Introduction
Mrs. Curtis in the two other books of this set, “A Yankee Girl at Fort
Sumter” and “A Yankee Girl at Bull Run,” has told delightful stories
of little Northern heroines at these great battles.
In this present story Berenice Arnold with her mother and father came
from Vermont to the mountains of Tennessee in order that Mr. Arnold
might regain his health. During the second winter of their stay the
Armies of the North and the South began to draw closer to Shiloh,
which was not far from the Arnold cabin. Berry had many exciting
adventures. She found a young runaway slave-girl, who was sheltered
by her parents and proved a devoted friend. She was mistaken for a
boy by a Southern spy because of the fact that she wore blue corduroy
knickerbockers. He tried to force her to bear secret messages to his
Commander, but Berry, braving his anger and the misunderstandings
in the Northern camp, managed to give military information to the
Northern Army, which enabled it to gain a complete victory. Her deed
was so splendid that General Grant himself visited the Arnold cabin to
dine with Berry and thank her personally.
Contents
I. “BERRY” 9
II. MOLLIE BRAGG 21
III. SCHOOL 38
IV. A CABIN PARTY 50
V. LILY 58
VI. SECRETS 67
VII. A SURPRISE 77
VIII. LILY’S STORY 86
IX. THE WITCH’S TREE 96
X. BERRY IN DANGER 106
XI. THE MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE 118
XII. ORSON’S MISTAKE 127
XIII. BERRY RECEIVES A MESSAGE 135
XIV. ON GUARD 149
XV. SOLDIERS ON SHILOH RIDGE 169
XVI. BERRY IS TAKEN PRISONER 177
XVII. THE EVENING BEFORE SHILOH 185
XVIII. AFTER THE BATTLE 194
XIX. GENERAL GRANT 204
Illustrations
PAGE
“Now Let’s Play It’s a Real Party” _Frontispiece_
Without a Word Berry Pointed to the Heavy Rock 119
“Here Is the Little Messenger of Whom I Told You” 209
A Yankee Girl at Shiloh
CHAPTER I
“BERRY”
There had been a light fall of snow during the night, and the tall
oak trees that grew near the Arnolds’ log cabin, which stood on the
slope of a wooded ridge overlooking the Tennessee River, were still
sprinkled with clinging white flakes when the heavy door of the cabin
was pushed open and a slender little figure appeared on the rough
porch.
If a stranger had been passing along the trail that led near this
secluded cabin he would perhaps have decided that it was a boy who
darted out and jumped up and down exclaiming, “Snow! Snow! Just like
Vermont snow!” for the curling brown hair was cut short, and the blue
flannel blouse, the baggy knickerbockers of blue corduroy, as well as
the stout leather shoes, were all in keeping as a suitable costume for
a ten-year-old lad whose home was a log cabin in the rough region
on the westerly bank of the Tennessee River, over two hundred miles
from its mouth. And when some casual stranger, failing to see the blue
corduroys, so mistook Berenice Arnold, and called her “my lad,” she
was very well pleased.
On this January morning, in 1862, Berenice had been awakened at an
unusually early hour by a call from her father, telling her to dress
quickly and hasten down in time to see the snow, that lay like a white
veil over the wooded slopes, before the sun came out from behind the
distant mountains and swept it away.
“Snow! Berry! Not enough for a sleigh ride, but enough to make you
think of Vermont,” he had called, as if announcing an unexpected
delight. For the Arnolds had only lived in Tennessee for two years.
Berry was nine years old when, with her father and mother and her
older brother Francis, she had left the big white house in the
pleasant Vermont village near Montpelier and come to this hillside
cabin where Mr. Arnold hoped to regain something of his former health
and strength. This was the second winter, and this fall of snow in
early January was the first real snowfall since their arrival. There
had been many “flurries,” but, until this January morning, not enough
had fallen to whiten wood and trail; and the Arnolds ran to door
and windows exclaiming over the new beauty of the slopes and forest
beneath their white coverlets.
“What would Francis say to this?” exclaimed Berry, as her father came
out and stood beside her.
Francis was now a soldier, with the Northern forces in Virginia, and
Berry’s thoughts were often with her brother; wondering why he had
been so determined, a year ago, to return to Vermont and enlist in
a Northern regiment in the conflict to prevent the Southern States
from leaving the Union, and to bring an end to the slavery of the
negroes in America. Francis had been only eighteen when he had become
a soldier, and Berry knew that her father and mother had both been
willing that he should go. The little girl had often puzzled about
it, for she had heard her father say that when Abraham Lincoln became
President the United States would soon understand each other and all
the talk of war would come to an end. But even Mr. Lincoln had not
been able to avert the conflict; and the hillside cabin, ten miles
distant from the flourishing town of Corinth, was shadowed by the news
of far-off battles.
“You must write Francis about it,” responded Berry’s father; “tell
him the slope is as white as the main street at home in Vermont in
midwinter.” And Berry nodded smilingly.
“It will be gone before noon, so we can go out to the river road, and
see what the mail-rider left for us yesterday,” continued Mr. Arnold.
“And, if ’tis not too muddy, can we not walk as far as Lick Creek and
try for fish?” asked Berry, her brown eyes shining with eagerness
at the thought of a long tramp with her father through the winter
woods, and, best of all, the fun of catching a pickerel or bass from
the waters of Lick Creek. For, in the two years that Berry had lived
on this remote mountain slope, she had been her father’s constant
companion in his out-of-door life, and it was for that reason that her
mother had decided to dress the little girl in suitable clothing. If
Berry had been obliged to wear dainty clothes, if her hair had been
long and hung down her back in curls or braids, and her feet covered
only by thin kid shoes, she would never have known every nook and
crevice along the table-land, rolling and ridgy, a few miles above
Pittsburg Landing, a place that was to become an historic spot.
“No fishing to-day,” her father declared; and, as at that moment Mrs.
Arnold called them to breakfast, he did not add that he intended going
in the opposite direction that morning to visit the rude log chapel
known as Shiloh church, where Sunday services were occasionally held,
and where Mr. Arnold now and then busied himself in repairing windows,
painting the outer door, and doing such light work as his strength was
equal to, in improving the condition of the neglected building. Berry
was of great assistance to her father in this work; he had taught her
how to use a plane, and smooth off a piece of wood until it was fit
for use. She knew the names and use of all the tools he used about
his carpentering work; and as a trip to Shiloh church meant a picnic
dinner cooked in the open air, Berry was always well pleased when her
father set off in that direction; and on hearing that he intended to
start as soon as the sun was well up she quite forgot her plan to
visit Lick Creek.
Berry helped her mother clear the table and wash the dishes while her
father selected the few tools he would need, and also packed a small
basket with food for their midday meal; and when he called “All ready
for the trail,” Berry slipped on her brown corduroy jacket and her
knitted cap of scarlet wool and was ready to start.
“If there is a letter from Francis in the mail-box I will bring it
home as fast as I can, Mother,” she promised, as Mrs. Arnold stood on
the porch to watch them start.
“We will be home before sunset,” Mr. Arnold promised, and followed
Berry, who was running down the trail.
Mrs. Arnold stood looking after them for a moment, smiling at
Berry’s delight in starting off for a day in the woods, and thinking
gratefully of her husband’s improvement in health. Their cabin was
several miles from any neighbors, and Mrs. Arnold had in the first
months of their stay often been homesick for the friends and home
she had left so far away among the peaceful hills of Vermont. But
gradually the peace and quiet of their simple life in the hillside
cabin, Berry’s happiness in playing out-of-doors, and, best of all,
the improvement in Mr. Arnold’s health, reconciled her to the exile
from New England. Often she accompanied her husband and Berry on
their excursions, but this morning she intended writing a long letter
to her soldier son.
Before Berry and her father reached the mail-box, that was fastened
to a stout oak tree on the highway, the veil of snow had nearly
disappeared, and the piles of brown leaves along the trail glistened
in the morning sun. There was nothing in the box, and Mr. Arnold and
Berry turned back into a path that would lead them direct to Shiloh
church. A flock of bluejays started up from the underbrush and went
scolding and screaming into the branches of a tall chestnut tree,
their blue feathers and crested heads catching the sunlight and
brightening the shadowy path. Berry gazed after them wonderingly. “I
do think it’s a pity they squawk so,” she said thoughtfully, “when
they are so lovely to look at. And the mocking-birds are so plain and
gray.”
Berry had become familiar with the birds who nested near the woodland
cabin, and had learned much about their ways. She knew that the
handsome jay was a thief who ate the eggs from the nests of other
birds and sometimes even destroyed the birds. She knew where the
fine cardinal in his scarlet coat, and Madam Cardinal in her more
modest colors, made their nest in the underbrush along the banks of
the ravine; and the tiny wrens who fluttered about the trail were her
friends. But, best of all, Berry loved the mocking-birds, with their
musical trills and clear song. Even in January they could be heard
near the cabin; not with their springtime song, but with soft notes
and hopeful calls. The little girl often put bits of bread and cake on
the porch rail, and it was not long before the birds had discovered
this unexpected bounty and came fluttering down to look for it; and
gradually the family had all made friends among their bird neighbors,
giving them names, and keeping a sharp outlook for the young birds who
were their springtime visitors.
“What are you going to do to-day, Father?” Berry questioned as they
came in sight of the log building that stood on the crest of the ridge.
“I am going to fix the benches. Some of them are dropping to pieces,”
responded her father. “I have a good store of fine oak wood dry and
ready for use in the shed near the church, and we can soon make the
old seats as good as new.”
“And may I put the new rail on the pulpit? I have polished it until
it shines like glass,” said Berry, as they came out into the little
clearing in which the church stood.
“Of course,” her father agreed, smiling down at his little daughter’s
eager face. He was well pleased that Berry found pleasure in the
outdoor life, that she was learning to do many things that little
girls seldom have an opportunity to learn, and that she was as active
and healthy as it was possible for a girl to be.
Before beginning the work he had planned Mr. Arnold stood looking
at the wild country spread out before him. “Look, Berry,” he said,
pointing to a ravine on the left, along which ran the main road to
Corinth. “This spot is like a picture in a frame,” he continued, “the
little streams of Owl Creek and Lick Creek, the road to Corinth, and
the Tennessee River making the frame. It would make a safe camp for an
army,” he added thoughtfully, but without an idea that within three
months that very spot would be the scene of one of the most important
battles of the Civil War; or that his little daughter who stood so
quietly beside him would, by her courage and endurance, have rendered
a great service to the cause of the Northern forces.
They had walked a long distance, and seated themselves on the broad
step of the chapel for a rest.
“It is nearly noon; I’ll start our fire and get lunch under way,” said
Mr. Arnold. But Berry was eager to do this; for she knew exactly how
to lay a fire in the open; how to bake potatoes in hot ashes, and to
broil bacon over the coals; and to set the tin pail, in which they
made coffee, where it would boil slowly.
“All right,” agreed Mr. Arnold, “I’ll fetch the wood.”
Berry ran along the ridge to where a granite ledge made a good shelter
for a blaze, and in a short time a little curl of smoke crept into the
air, and the appetizing odor of broiling bacon and of fragrant coffee
made Mr. Arnold declare that he was “hungry as a bear,” greatly to
Berry’s delight.
“Wouldn’t it be splendid if Francis was here?” she said, as she and
her father began their luncheon.
“Not much hope of seeing Francis this winter,” replied Mr. Arnold.
“I hate war!” Berry declared, breaking open a well-baked potato, and
proceeding to sprinkle salt on it. “If it were not for war Francis
would be here this minute.”
“No; Francis would be in college,” her father rejoined.
“What’s college?” Berry demanded.
“Why, Berenice Isabel Arnold!” exclaimed her father in amazement. “I
will have to turn schoolmaster and keep you shut in the house with
books if you really do not know the meaning of ‘college’!”
Berry shook her head: her mouth was filled with hot potato, and she
could not speak.
“College is a school where young men like Francis learn more important
things than can be taught to younger boys,” explained her father. “And
I have made up my mind, Berry; to-morrow your regular lessons begin.”
“Oh, Father! Not like the school at home?” Berry pleaded. “Not
geography and maps, and arithmetic and sums, and grammar and
compositions?”
“Exactly! It will never do for a little Yankee girl, even if she does
live in Tennessee, to grow up without an education. School will begin
to-morrow!” replied Mr. Arnold.
“Then Mollie Bragg will have to go to school with me,” Berry declared.