THE DEACON'S CULINARY OPERATIONS BRING HIM LOTS OF TROUBLE.
THE Deacon reached the corn-crib again be fore daylight, and found
Si and Shorty fast asleep. This relieved him much, for he had been
disturbed with apprehensions of what might happen them while he was
gone. Though he was more tired, it seemed to him, than he had ever been
before in all his life, yet he nerved himself up to clean and cook one
of the chickens, so as to give Si a delightful surprise when he awoke.
The Deacon had grown so wise in the army ways that his first problem was
how to hide the remaining four fowls until he should need them.
"I'd simply be mobbed," he communed with him self, "if daylight should
come, and show me with four chickens in my possession. The whole Army
o' the Cumberland 'd jump me as one man, and I'd be lucky if I got away
with my life. Mebbe even the General himself 'd send a regiment down to
take the things away from me. But what kin I do with 'em? If I hang 'em
up inside the corn-crib they'll spile. The weather is cold enough to
keep 'em outside, but I'd need a burglar-proof safe to hold on to 'em.
It's just awful that morals are so bad in the army, and that men will
take things that don't belong to 'em."
He stopped short, for there arose the disturbing thought as to just how
he himself had come into possession of the birds, and he murmured:
"'Tain't in me to blame 'em. What is 't the Bible says about 'Let him
who is without sin cast the first stone?' Certainly I'm not the man to
be heavin' dornicks just now."
Mindful of past experiences, he took the fowls in one hand, when he went
down to the branch with a camp-kettle to get water. He washed his face
and hands in the cold water, which revived him, and returning, built a
fire and hung the kettle over it, while he carefully picked and cleaned
one of the chickens for cooking. Then he plucked and cleaned the others,
and burned the feathers and entrails in the fire.
"Chicken feathers 's mighty tell-tale things," he said to himself. "I
once knowed a man that was finally landed in the penitentiary because he
didn't look out for chicken feathers. He'd bin stealin' hosses, and was
hidin' with them in the big swamp, where nobody would 've suspicioned he
was, if he hadn't stole chickens from the neighborhood to live on, and
left their feathers layin' around careless like, and some boys, who
thought the foxes was killin' the chickens, followed up the trail and
run onto him."
Then a bright idea occurred to him. He had a piece of board, which he
laid on the stones that formed the foundation of one end of the crib,
immediately under the flooring, and on this shelf he laid the other
chickens.
"I remember that Wash Jenkins that we arrested for counterfeitin' had
hid his pile o' pewter dollars in the underpinnin' of his cabin,
and we'd never found any stuff to convict him, except by the merest
accident. We hunted all through his cabin, below and in the loft, pulled
the clapboards off, and dug up every likely place in the yard, and just
about as we wuz givin' the whole thing up, somebody pulled a board
out o' the underpinnin' to lay in the bed o' his wagon, and the bogus
dollars run out. Wash made shoes for the State down at Jeffersonville
for some years on account of that man wantin' a piece o' board for his
wagon-bed."
But the astute Deacon had overlooked one thing in his calculations. The
crisp morning air was filled with the pungent smell of burning feathers
and flesh, and the fragrance of stewing chicken. It reached hungry men
in every direction, made their mouths water and their minds wonder where
it could come from.
First came a famished dog, sniffing and nosing around. His appearance
filled the Deacon with alarm. Here was danger to his hidden stock that
he had not thought of. He took his resolution at once. Decoying the cur
near him he fastened a sinewy hand upon his neck, cut his throat with
his jack-knife, and dragged the carcass some distance away from the
corn-crib.
"I'll git a mattock and shovel and bury it after awhile," he murmured
to himself, as he returned and washed his hands. "He's settled for good,
any way. He won't be snoopin' around steal in' my chickens. I hope there
hain't no more measly hounds around. Should've thought they wuz all
starved out long ago. My! but that chicken does smell so nice. How Si
and Shorty will enjoy it. It'll build 'em right up. I'd like awfully to
take some of it myself, but they'll need every drop, poor fellows."
He got a spoon, and tested some of the broth appreciatively.
"Mother'd done much better, at home in her own kitchen, or anywhere you
could've put her, than me with my clumsy ways," he continued, "but she
never cooked anything that'll taste better to them boys."
A negro cook appeared, with a tin cup in his hand.
"Afo' de Lawd, Boss, is hit you dat's cookin' dat chicking? I done
smelled hit more'n a miled away, and hab been huntin' foh hit all ober
camp. Say, Boss, foh de Lawd's sake, jist gib me a little teenty, weenty
sup in dis heah tin cup for my boss. He's an ossifer, an' is layin'
in de ossifer's horsepitol ober dar. Hit'll do him a powerful sight ob
good."
"Awful Sorry, my friend," said the Deacon, hardening his heart, "but I
haven't a bit to spare. Hain't got as much as I need for my own son and
his partner. I couldn't spare a mouthful for the General o' the
army even. Let your Colonel or Major sendout men to git chickens for
himself."
"My boss'll be powehful disappunted," said the negro, with his big,
white eyes full of tears. "He's powehful weak, foh sartin. A leetle sup
ob broth'd do him an everlastin' world ob good. He ain't no Kunnel or
Majah. He's only a Cappen Cappen McGillicuddy, ob the 200th Injianny."
"Capt. McGillicuddy, o' the 200th Injianny," said the Deacon, much
moved. "You Bay you're Capt. McGillicuddy's man?"
"Yes, boss."
"And he's layin' very low over in a tent there?"
"Yes, boss. Got shot in de thigh in de battle, an' den had de feber.
He's de very best man in de world, and I'd do ennyt'ing to help him.
He's jest starvin' to def. I can't git nuffin' dat'll lay on his
stummick, and stick to his ribs. I've done ransacked de hull camp and
de country clean up to Jineral Bragg's Headquartehs. De tings dat I
couldn't git wuz eider chained down, or had a man wid a gun ober dem.
Foh Gawd's sake, boss, jist gib me a half a cupful for him."
"There's no man in the world I'd rather help than Capt. McGillicuddy,"
said the Deacon. "He's bin a mighty good friend to my son. I know that
Si and Shorty'd divide their last crumb with him. Look here, Sambo, if
I give you a cupful o' this broth and a piece o' the meat, will you git
down on your knees and swear you'll take every bit straight to him, and
not take even a smidjin of it for your self?"
"De Lawd be praised and magnified foreber, but I will," said the negro,
dropping on his knees and holding up his hand. "Swar me on a pile o'
Bibles big as a haystack. I'd radder go to hell on my knees backward dan
tech de fust drap ob dat. I's too anxious to hab Cappen McGillicuddy git
well, so I is. What'd become ob dis pore niggeh if he should die?
No, indeedy. Hope I'll drap dead in my tracks if I taste de least wee
morssel."
"I'm goin' to trust you," said the Deacon, stirring up the savory mess,
ladling out a generous cupful, adding a drumstick, and covering the cup
with a piece of paper. "Now, carry it carefully. Every drop's worth its
weight in gold."
The Deacon looked a little regretful at the shrinking of the contents of
the kettle, made by taking out the cupful, and said:
"Mebbe I oughtn't 've done it. The boys need every spoonful. But if it'd
bin themselves, I know they'd have given their Captain more'n I did. He
is twice blessed that giveth, and probably they'll git more somehow on
account o' what I've given away. But I mustn't give any more."
"Say, Mister," said a very feeble voice at his elbow, "can't you give me
a cupful o' that? It smells so good. It smells like home. I smelled it
away over there in the tent, and it seemed to me that if I could get
some of it I'd certainly get well, though they all say they think
there's no hope for me. I crawled out of the tent and come while the
nurse was asleep and wasn't watching. They won't let me get upon my feet
when they're watching me, but I fooled them this time."
As he spoke, he sank down from sheer exhaustion, but still held out his
cup imploringly, while an in tense longing filled his great, blue eyes.
The Deacon looked pityingly at him. His wan face was fair and delicate
as a girl's, and even be fore disease had wasted him he had been very
tall and slender. Now his uniform flapped around his shrunken body and
limbs.
The Deacon could not stand the appeal of those great, plaintive eyes and
that wasted form.
"The Lord blesses the giver," he said, taking the cup from the thin
hand, and proceeding to fill it from the kettle. "It may be that my own
son will have the more from what I give this poor sick boy. It may be
bread cast upon the waters. At any rate, I'm goin' to take the chances.
There's still enough left for one meal for Si and Shorty, and I've four
chickens left. After that the Lord'll provide. I'll do this in His name,
and I'll trust Him. There, my boy, let the cup set on the ground till it
cools, and then drink it, and here's a piece o' bread to go with it."
The boy could scarcely wait for the cooling, and his swimming eyes
expressed a gratitude that no words could convey.
"Here, pardner, I'll take a cupful o' that 'ere, too," said a frazzled
and frowsy teamster, shambling up through the half-light of the dawn.
"I smelled it, and follered my nose till it brung me here. My, but it
smells good! Jest fill my cup, and I'll do as much for you some time
when you're hungry."
"Go away, Groundhog," said the Deacon, recognizing him. "I've only got a
little here for Si and Shorty. I hain't a spoonful left for myself, and
none to give away. Go and get your own chickens, and bile 'em yourself."
"Can't have any, eh?" said Groundhog, swagger ing up. "We'll see about
that, old man. I watched you givin' away to that nigger, and this little
dead-beat here, but you hain't none to give me, who is doin' hard work
for the army, and helpin' keep 'em from starvin'. If you've got enough
for that nigger and that whinin' boy you've got enough for me, and I'm
goin' to have it, for I need it."
"You're not goin' to have a dumbed spoonful, Groundhog. Go away. I
hain't enough for Si and Shorty, I tell you. Go away."
"And I tell you I need it more'n they do, for I'm workin' for the whole
army, while they're layin' around, makin' out they're sick. You give me
a cupful o' that and I'll go away and make no trouble.
"If you don't I'll kick the whole kettle over. An old fool citizen like
you 's got no business in camp, any way, and no right to be havin'
things that ought to go to the laborin' men."
And he raised his foot threateningly.
The Deacon laid down the spoon with which he had been stirring the
broth, and doubling up his mighty fist, placed himself between Groundhog
and the kettle, and said:
[Illustration: 'IF YOU DON'T SKIP OUT o' HERE THIS MINUTE I'LL BUST YOUR
HEAD AS I WOULD A PUNKIN." 264]
"Groundhog, I'm an old man, and always have bin a man o' peace. I
don't believe in no kind o' fightin', nor molestin' no one. I belong to
church, and 've always tried to lead a Christian life. But if you don't
skip out o' here this minute, I'll bust your head as I would a punkin."
Groundhog retreated a few steps, but still kept up a show of
determination.
"What are you foolin' with the ole hayseed for?" said another teamster,
coming up behind Groundhog. "Slap the old hawbuck over, snatch up the
kittle and run with it. I'll do it if you don't."
"Go for 'em, Deacon; I'm with you. We kin lick both of 'em," shouted
Shorty, who had been awakened by the noise of the dispute, and came
tottering out, trying to raise a stick of wood for a club.
At that moment a rebel cannon roared on Lookout Mountain, just over
them, and the wicked screech of a shell cleft the air. Both of the team
sters dropped on the ground in a paralysis of fear.
"The rebels 've got a new battery planted on the mountain," said Shorty,
turning to study the smoke that drifted away, in order to get its
location.
"The shell struck right over there, and hain't bursted yet," said the
sick boy, looking up from sipping his broth, and pointing to a spot a
short distance away. "I can hear the hissing of the fuse."
The teamsters sprang up like jacks-in-the-box, and ran with all the
power of their legs. By the time the explosion came they were hundreds
of yards away.
A column of dirt and stones was thrown up, of which a little sprinkle
reached the fire. Thousands of voices yelled derisively at the rebel
gunner.
"They're shootin' wuss and wuss every day," remarked Shorty, after
judicially considering the shot and making comparison with its
predecessors. "They'll git so after awhile that they can't hit the
Tennessee Valley."
"Shorty," said the Deacon, "take this revolver and watch that kittle
while I wash Si's face, and git him ready for his breakfast. If you
let anybody git away with it you lose your breakfast. If I ever go into
restaurantin' for a bizniss, I'm goin' to find a quieter neighborhood
than Chattanoogy. I ain't exactly grumblin', so to speak, but there's
enough excitement before breakfast every mornin' to last me a full
year."