THE DEACON HAS SOME EXPERIENCES WITH THE QUADRUPED.
IT DID not seem that so many dangers beset the possession of a cow as
of a horse, yet the Deacon prudently rose while it was yet dark to look
after the animal.
He was none too soon, for there were getting to be thousands of very
hungry men in Chattanooga who remembered the axiom about the early bird
catching the worm, and thought the best time for "snatching" something
was in the dark just before reveille. If they could find nothing better,
and too often they did not, they would rob the mules of their scanty
rations of corn, and soon a mule's feed-box had to be as carefully
guarded as the commissary tent of the Headquarters mess.
These morning prowlers were as cunning as rats in finding their prey,
and the only security that a man had of keeping his rations till morning
was to eat them up before he went to bed. Their sharp eyes had not
failed to notice the signs of unusual plenty about the Deacon's
corn-crib, and they gave it earnest attention.
The Deacon had slipped out very quietly, and taken a little turn around
the end of the crib, to see that his other provisions had not been
disturbed, before he approached the cow. As he did so he saw a figure
squatted beside her, and heard a low voice say:
"So, Bos! H'ist, Lady! H'ist up, you measly heifer!"
"Well, I declare to goodness," gasped the Deacon. "How could they've
found her out so soon?"
He walked quietly up to the milker, and remarked:
"Purty early in the mornin' to do your milkin'. Didn't used to git up so
early when you was at home, did you?"
"Sh--sh--sh!" whispered the other. "Don't speak so loud. You'll wake up
that old galoot inside. Keep quiet till I fill my cup, and then I'll let
you have a chance. There'll be plenty for you."
"Purty good milker, is she?" inquired the Deacon with interest.
"Naw!" whispered the other. "She's got her bag full, but she won't give
down worth a cent."
"Better let me try my hand," said the Deacon. "You've bin away from the
farm for so long you've probably lost the knack. I'm a famous milker."
"You'll play fair?" said the milker doubtfully.
"Yes; just hold her till I go inside and git my bucket, and I'll
milk your cup clean full," answered the Deacon, starting inside the
corn-crib.
"Well, you're a cool one," gasped the milker, realizing the situation.
"But I'll hold you to your bargain, and I'll play fair with you."
The Deacon came back with his bucket, and after filling the man's cup as
full as it would hold, handed it to him, and then began drawing the rest
into his own bucket.
Careful milker that he was, he did not stop until he had stripped the
last drop, and the cow, knowing at once that a master hand was at her
udder, willingly yielded all her store.
"There," said the Deacon, "if anybody gits any more out o' her till
evenin' he's welcome to it."
Two or three other men had come up in the meanwhile with their cups, and
they started, without so much as asking, to dip their cups in.
"Hold on!" commanded the first-comer sternly. "Stop that! This old man's
a friend o' mine, and I won't see him imposed on. Go somewhere else and
git your milk."
A wordy war ensued, but the first-comer was stalwart and determined. The
row waked up Shorty, who appeared with an ax.
"All right," said one of the men, looking at the ax; "keep your durned
old milk, if you're so stingy toward hungry soldiers. It'll give you
milk-sick, anyway. There's lots o' milk-sick 'round here. All the cows
have it. That cow has it bad. I kin tell by her looks. We had lots o'
milk-sick in our neighborhood, and I got real well-acquainted with it. I
kin tell a milk-sick cow as fur as I kin see her, and if that cow hasn't
it, no one ever had it."
He made a furtive attempt to kick the bucket over, which was frustrated
by the Deacon's watchfulness.
"Better do something with that cow right off," advised the first-comer,
as he walked off. "You can't keep her in camp all day. Somebody'll git
her away from you if they have to take her by main force."
"Are you willin' to risk the milk-sick?" asked the Deacon, handing
Shorty a cupful of the milk, together with a piece of cornpone.
"Yum--yum, I should say so," mumbled that longlegged gentleman. "I'll
make the milk sicker'in it kin me, you bet. Jest bring along all the
milk-sick you've got on hand, and I'll keep it from hurtin' anybody
else. That's the kind of a philanthropist I am."
"I see you've got a cow here," said a large man wearing a dingy blue
coat with a Captain's faded shoulder-straps. "I'm a Commissary, and it's
my duty to take her."
He walked over and in a businesslike way began unfastening the rope.
The Deacon shuddered, for he had too much respect for shoulder-straps
to think of resisting. Shorty looked up from his breakfast, scanned the
newcomer, and said:
"Look here. Bill Wiggins, you go back and take off that Captain's coat
as quick as you kin, or I'll have you arrested for playin' officer. None
o' you Maumee Muskrats kin play that little game on the 200th Injianny.
We know you too well. And let me advise you, Mr. Wiggins, the next time
you go out masqueradin' to make up clean through. That private's cap and
pantaloons burned around the back, and them Government cow-hides give
you dead away, if your mug didn't. If they wuz givin' commissions away
you wouldn't be a brevet Corporal. Skip out, now, for here comes
the Provost-Guard, and you'd better not let him catch you wearin'
an officer's coat unless you want to put in some extra time on the
breastworks."
Mr. Wiggins made off at once, but he had scarcely gotten out of sight
when a mounted officer, attracted by the strange sight of a cow in camp,
rode up and inquired whence she came and to whom she belonged.
The Deacon was inside the crib taking care of Si, and the burden of the
conversation fell upon Shorty.
"Me any my pardner sent out into the country and bought that cow," he
said, "with three $10 gold pieces we've bin savin' up ever since we've
bin in the service. We wouldn't give 'em for anything else in the world.
But we wuz jest starved for a drink o' fresh milk. Never felt so hungry
for anything else in our lives. Felt that if we could jest git a fillin'
o' fresh milk it'd make us well agin."
"Paid $30 in gold for her," said the officer, examining the cow
critically. "Pretty high price for that kind of a cow."
"Well, I don't know about that," answered Shorty argumentatively,
and scenting a possible purchaser. "Good fresh cows are mighty scarce
anywhere at this time o' year, and particularly in this region. Next
Spring they'll be much cheaper. But not this, one. That's no
ordinary cow. If you'll look carefully at her you'll see that she's a
thoroughbred. I'm a boss judge o' stock myself, and I know. Look at her
horns, her bag, and her lines. She's full three-quarters Jersey."
"What's the other quarter," asked the officer, much amused.
"Jest--jest--jest--cow," answered Shorty, momentarily stumped for once
in his volubility. And then he went on more garrulously than ever, to make
amends. "She's as gentle as a lamb, will live on two ears o' corn and a
kind word a day, and give two gallons o' milk, nearly all cream. Me and
my pardner wouldn't take $10.0 in gold for that cow. We're goin' to
send her up home as soon as the lines are open, to start our stock-farm
with."
"Where did you say you got her?" said the officer, getting off his horse
and going up closer to examine the animal.
"O, we bought her from a man named Wilson over in the Sequatchie Valley.
You must've heard of him. We've knowed him a long time--before he moved
down here from Injianny. Runs a fine stockfarm. Cried like a baby when
he parted with his cow. Wouldn't have done it, but he had to have the
money to buy provisions for his family."
"Let me see," said the officer, looking at him. "Seems to me I ought to
know you. Where do you belong?"
"Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteers."
"I thought so. I do know you. You are Shorty. I don't want to say
anything against your honesty or your veracity, but if Gen, Rosecrans
was to order me to get him the smartest forager and smoothest liar in
the Army of the Cumberland, I think I should order you to report at
Headquarters."
"You do me proud," said Shorty with a grin, but an inward feeling that
trouble was impending.
"Now, tell me the truth. Where did you get that cow?"
"I have bin tellin' you the truth," protested Shorty with an injured
air. "Why should I tell you a lie about a little thing like a cow?"
"You are not within a mile of the truth. I know it. Look here: I believe
that is Gen. Rosecrans's own cow. She's gone, and I got an order to look
around for her. I've never seen her, but from the description given me I
believe that's she. Who brought her here?"
[Illustration: PURTY GOOD MILKER, IS SHE? INQUIRED THE DEACON 51]
"Great Jehosephat, he's after the Deacon," thought Shorty with a
shudder. "I mustn't let him git him." Then he spoke out boldly:
"I brung her here."
"Shorty," said the officer with a smile, "I admire your talents for
prevarication more than I can express. As a good, off-hand, free-going,
single-gaited liar you have few equals and no superiors. Your lies
usually have so much probability in them that they seem better than the
truth--for your purposes. But this has no probability whatever in it.
I doubt if you are able to walk to Headquarters. If you were well and
strong, I should believe you quite capable not only of stealing the cow
from Army Headquarters, but President Lincoln's cow from his back-door
of the White House. But you are good now because you haven't strength
enough to be up to any devilment. Now, tell me, who brought that cow
here?"
"I brung her here myself, I tell you. I felt unusually peart last night.
Felt that I had to snatch something jest to keep my hand in, like.
Couldn't find nothin' else on four legs worth takin', and couldn't
take nothin' that couldn't walk. So I took her. You kin send me to the
guard-house if you want to. I expect I deserve it."
And Shorty tried to look contrite and penitent.
"Yes; you're in nice shape to send to the guardhouse. I'd sent you there
quick enough if you were well, for telling me such a preposterous
lie. You've usually paid more respect to my intelligence by telling me
stories that I could believe if I wanted to, as I usually wanted do; but
this is too much."
As the conversation began the Deacon had passed out with a bucket to
go to the creek for water for the cow. He now came back, set the bucket
down in front of the cow, and began, from force of long habit in caring
for his stock, to pick off some burs, and otherwise groom her.
"Say, my friend," said the officer, "who brought that cow in?"
Shorty had been frantically trying to catch the Deacon's eye, and was
making all manner of winks and warning gestures without avail, for the
Deacon answered frankly:
"I brung her in."
"You're just the man I'm looking for," returned the officer. Then
turning to a Sergeant who had just come up at the end of a squad, he
said:
"Here, Sergeant, take charge of this citizen and this cow, and bring
them both up to Army Headquarters. Don't let that citizen get away from
you. He's a slick one."
As they moved off. Shorty bolted into the crib and shouted:
"Great Jehosephat, Si, that dad of your'n 's a goner! He's got nerve
that looms up like Lookout Mountain! He's a genius! He's got git-up and
git to spare! What do you think he done last night? Walked up to Gen.
Rosecrans's Headquarters, and stole the General's cow right from under
the noses o' the Headquarters Guards, and brung her down here and milked
her. Did you ever hear o' sich snap? I only wisht that me and you was
half the man that he is, old as he is. The only trouble is that he isn't
as good a hider as he is on the take. They've dropped on to him, and
they're now takin' him up to Headquarters. But he'll find some way to
git off. There's no end to that man. And to think that we've bin playin'
him right along for a hayseed."
And Shorty groaned in derision of his own acumen.
"Pop stole Gen. Rosecrans's cow from Headquarters? They've arrested
him and are taking him up there?" ejaculated Si in amazement. "I don't
believe a word of it."
"Well, the cow was here. He brung her here last night, and owned up to
it. He milked her, and you drunk some of the milk. The Provost-Guard's
now walkin' the cow and him up to Headquarters. These are early mornin'
facts. You kin believe what you dumbed please."
"Pap arrested and taken to Army Headquarters," groaned Si, in deepest
anxiety. "What in the world will they do with him?"
"O, don't worry," said Shorty cheerfully.
"Your dad ain't as green as you are, if he has lived all his life on
the Wabash. He's as fly as you make 'em. He's fixin' up some story as he
goes along that'll git him out of the scrape slick as a whistle. Trust
him."
"Shorty," said Si severely, "my father don't fix up stories. Understand
that. He's got some explanation for this. Depend upon it."
"They call it explanation when it gits a feller out, and blamed lie when
it don't," muttered Shorty to himself, as he went out again, to follow
the squad as far as he could with his eyes. "Anyway, I'll bet on the
Deacon."
The squad arrived before Headquarters, and the officer dismounted and
went in. Early as it was he found the indefatigable Rosecrans at work
with his staff and clerks.
"General, I've found your cow, and got the man who took her," said the
officer.
"Good," said the General joyfully. "Now we'll have some fresh milk
again. I can give up anything cheerfully, rather than fresh milk. Say
you've got the thief, too?" continued the General, relapsing into one of
his testy moods. "Put the rascal at the hardest labor you can find. I'll
give him a lesson that stealing from Headquarters don't pay. The rascals
in my army seem to think that I and everything I have belongs to them as
much as it does to me. But I'll draw the line at my cow and my horses.
They can steal everything else but them. Hold on a minute. I'll go out
and see if it's really my cow."
"Yes, that is she; glad to see you back, Missy," said the General,
patting the cow on the back. "Take her back and give her a good feed, if
you can find it, for probably she's pretty hungry."
Then turning to the Deacon:
"You old rascal, you'll steal the General's cow, will you? Fond of
thorobred stock, are you? And a citizen, too. Well, I'll see whether a
month of hard work on the fortifications won't cure you of your fancy
for blooded cattle."
"Look here, Gen. Rosecrans," said the Deacon firmly, "I didn't steal
your cow, and I won't allow you nor no other man to say so. I'm an
honest man, or at least I've always passed for one at home. I was out
over the river yesterday, tryin' to git a hoss back to his owner, and a
Captain of a cavalry company come along and took my hoss away, and give
me this cow in exchange. He said his men'd got the cow down the road
apiece, and that's all I know of her."
"A very likely story," sneered several of the staff.
"Let me see," said the General, who prided himself on remembering names
and faces. "Haven't I met you before? Aren't you from Indiana?"
"Yes, sir; from Posey County."
"And you've got a son in one of the regiments?"
"Yes, sir. Corporal Si Klegg, Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteers. Him and
his partner Shorty wuz badly wounded, and I come down here to take care
of 'em. I've bin moseyin' around out in the country tryin' to find
something for 'em to eat, and the other day I--borryed a hoss, which I
was tryin' to take back, when this cavalry Captain come along, and tuk
the hoss away from me and give me this cow instid. I hadn't no idee
where he got her, and he didn't give me time to ask, for he started on
the jump after some guerrillas."
"I shouldn't wonder if his story is true, General," said a member of
the staff. "You see, your cow has been gone really two days. Day before
yesterday we sent Blue Jim out into the country with her. She needed it
awfully. We laid the law down to Blue Jim about being very careful with
her and keep her near the road. It seems that he found a good piece of
meadow, and turned her loose in it, but then, nigger like, he forgot all
that we had told him about staying light alongside of her, and wandered
off to gather persimmons, and afterward fell asleep in a fence-corner.
When he woke up the cow was gone, and he was scared nearly to death. He
hunted around for her all day, and came in last night nearly starved to
death, and whimpering and blubbering. We told him that you would order
him shot as soon as you found out. He has been to see the Chaplain
twice, to prepare for death."
"So?" said the General, smiling. "Well, Mr.-- Mr.-- I did know your
name once--"
"Klegg, Josiah Klegg," answered the Deacon promptly.
"Yes; how stupid of me to forget it. Well, Mr. Klegg, I'm very much
obliged to you for finding my cow and bringing her home. You've got a
very fine son--splendid soldier. How is he getting along?"
"Tollably well, General, thank you. Look here, General, please let me
take those boys home. If you will, I'll send 'em back to you in a
few weeks good as new. All they need is mother's cookin' and mother's
nursin' to bring 'em right out. And I want to go home, too. The army is
demoralizin' me. I guess I'm gittin' old, and 'm not as strong to resist
sin and the suggestions of sin as I once was. I'm gittin' scared of
myself down here."
"It's pretty hard work getting back now," said the General. "Do you
think you can do it, if I give you leave?"
"O, yes. Jest give the order, and I'll get the boys and myself back
home, sure's you're livin'."
"Very well," said the General; "you shall have the chance." He turned to
one of his staff and said:
"Look into this matter. If the Surgeon thinks they can be moved, have
furloughs and transportation made out for them and the father. Good-by,
Mr. Klegg. Take good care of those boys, and send them back to me as
soon as they are well."