DEALING WITH AN OBSTRUCTION TO THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY.
THE Surgeon, who had conceived quite a good opinion of the Deacon's
ability, readily certified that the boys could be safely taken home,
since they would have the benefit of his care and attention, and the
necessary papers came down from Headquarters that day. The Deacon had
the good luck to find his old friend, the Herd-Boss, who took a deep
interest in the matter. He offered to have as good a team as he had at
the crib the next morning, with the wagon-bed filled with cedar-boughs,
to make as easy a couch as possible for the rough ride over the
mountains.
With his heart full of hope and joy, the Deacon bustled around to make
every possible preparation for the journey.
"It's a long way back home, I know," he said to himself, "and the road's
rough and difficult as that to the New Jerusalem; but Faith and Hope,
and the blessin' o' God'll accomplish wonders. If I kin only hold the
souls in them boys' bodies till I kin git 'em back to Bean Blossom
Crick, I'll trust Mother Klegg's nursin' to do the rest. If there ever
was a woman who could stand off the Destroyin' Angel by good nursin'
that woman's Mother Klegg, bless her soul."
The next morning he was up betimes, and cooked the boys as good a
breakfast as he could out of the remainder of his store and what he
could get from the hospital, and then gave what was left to whoever
came. The comfortable crib, which had cost the Deacon so much labor, had
been pre-empted by the Surgeon for some of his weakest patients.
The news had reached the 200th Ind. that the boys were going home, and
they came over in a body to say "Good-by."
The sight of them pained the Deacon's good heart. Instead of the
hundreds of well-fed, well-clothed, comfortable-looking young men he had
seen at Murfreesboro a few months before, he now saw a shrunken band
of gaunt, unkempt men, their clothing ragged and patched, many of them
almost shoeless, many of them with pieces of blankets bound around their
feet instead of shoes, many of them with bandages about their still
unhealed wounds, but still keeping their places bravely with their
comrades, and stubbornly refusing to count themselves among the sick and
disabled, though it required all their will-power to do their share
of the duty. But all of them were brimming over with unconquerable
cheerfulness and pluck. They made light of their wounds and
disabilities, jested at one another's ragged clothes, laughed at their
hunger, teased one another about stealing corn from mules, jeered at
the rebel shells from Lookout Mountain, yelled derisively at the rebel
pickets across the creek, and promised them to soon come out and run
Bragg's army off the face of the earth.
All were eager to do something toward the comfort of their departing
comrades. They scanned the arrangement of the boughs in the wagon with
critical eyes, and picked them over and rearranged them, so as to avoid
every chance of uncomfortable knots and lumps. They contributed blankets
from their own scanty supply, to make sure that there would be plenty,
and so many were eager to help carry Si out and put him in the wagon,
that the Orderly-Sergeant of Co. Q had to take charge of the matter and
make a detail. The teamster was given strong admonitions as to careful
driving, and fearful warning as to what would happen to him in case of
an accident.
"Hain't anything to send back home with you, boys, this time, but our
love," said one of them. "That's the only thing that's safe now-a-days
from bein' stole, because no one kin eat or wear it. Tell the folks to
pay no attention to what the paper says. No danger o' bein' run out o'
Chattanoogy. Tell 'em that we're all fat, ragged and sassy, and only
waitin' the word from Gen. Rosecrans to fall on old Bragg like a
thousand o' brick and mash the lights outen him."
"Yes," joined another, "tell 'em we've got plenty to eat, sich as it is,
and good enough, what there is of it. Don't worry about us. We're only
blowin' up our muscle to git a good lick at old Bragg."
"Your muscle," said Shorty, satirically. "You've got about as much
muscle now as a musketo. But you're good stuff all the same, and you're
goin' to everlastingly lick the rebels when the time comes. I only wisht
I was here to help you do it. I don't think I'll go any further than
Nashville. I'll be well enough to come back by that time. I'll see
Si and his father off safely, and then gether up a crowd of other
convalescents, and come back and clean the rebels off your cracker
line."
"Good-by, boys," piped out Si. "I'll be back soon. Don't bring on the
big battle till I do. I want to help. Just skirmish around and push the
rebels back into the woods while I'm gone, and hive 'em up for a good
lickin' by the time I git back."
As the wagon moved off the 200th Ind. gave three cheers, and the
regimental soloist struck up the "Battle Cry of Freedom," in which they
all joined with so much energy as to attract the attention of the rebel
artillerist on Lookout Mountain, who favored them with a shell intended
for their express benefit. It was no better directed than any of its
many predecessors had been, and was greeted with yells of derision, in
which all the camp joined.
Having done all possible for the boys' comfort, the Deacon had lighted
his pipe and taken his seat on a board laid over the front, where he
could oversee the road and the teamster, and take a parting look at the
animated scenery. The wagon pulled into the line of those moving out
toward Bridgeport, and jogged along slowly for some hours until it
was nearing the top of one of the hills that jutted out close to the
Tennessee River, at the base of Lookout Mountain. The Deacon saw, with
a little nervousness, that they were approaching the open space in which
he had had his experience with the horse and buckboard, and he anxiously
scanned the Craven House slope for signs of a rebel cannon. He saw that
his apprehensions were shared by the drivers of the three or four teams
just ahead. They were whipping up, and yelling at their teams to get
past the danger point as quick as possible.
[Illustration: THE DEACON RECONNOITERED THE SITUATION 62]
They had need of anxiety. A scattering volley of shots came from the
bushes and the rocks on the opposite side of the Tennessee River and one
of the leaders in the team just ahead of him dropped dead in his tracks.
The teams in front were whipped up still harder, and succeeded in
getting away. The shots were answered from a line of our own men on this
side of the river, who fired at the smoke they saw rising.
The Deacon's own teamster sprang from his saddle, and prudently got in
the shelter of the wagon until the affair would be over. The teamster
next ahead ran forward, and began cutting the fallen mule loose, but
while he was doing so another shot laid the other mule low. The teamster
fell fiat on the ground, and lay there for a minute. Then he cautiously
arose, and began cutting that mule loose, when a shot struck the
near-swing mule in the head, and he dropped. The Deacon kept that solid
old head of his throughout the commotion, and surveyed the scene with
cool observance.
"There's one feller somewhere over there doin' all that devilment," he
said to Shorty, who was pushing his head eagerly out of the front of the
wagon to find out what was going on. "He's a sharpshooter from way back.
You kin see he's droppin' them mules jest about as fast as he kin load
his gun. Them other fellers over there are jest putterin' away, makin'
a noise. You kin see their shots strikin' down the hill there, and
everywhere, where they ain't doin' nothin'. But that feller's out for
business. I've bin tryin' to locate him. He's somewhere closter than
any o' the others. Their bullets don't quite reach, while his goes home
every time. See there."
The off-swing mule dropped this time. "Land's sakes," ejaculated the
Deacon, "he's costin' Uncle Sam $150 every time his gun cracks. It's
jest sinful to be destroyin' property that way. Shorty, kin you reach me
that gun o' Si's out o' the wagon? I believe I'll slip down toward the
bank and see if I can't find that feller. I've bin watchin' the willers
along the aidge o' the water, and I believe he's in there."
"Don't go, Pap," pleaded Si. "Some of the boys on the skirmish-line 'll
find him soon, and settle him. Don't expose yourself. Stay behind the
wagon."
"Yes, stay back under cover, Deacon," joined in Shorty. "Let the boys
down there 'tend to him. They're gittin' $16 a month for it, and don't
want nobody else to interfere in their job." Just then the near wheel
mule dropped. "Gi' me that gun at onct," said the Deacon sternly. Shorty
handed him the Springfield and its cartridge-box without another word.
The Deacon looked over the rifle, "hefted" it, and tried it at his
shoulder to get its poise, critically examined its sights by aiming at
various objects, and then wiped out its barrel, as he would that of
his trusty hunting-rifle at home. All of his old deer-hunting instincts
revived. He took out several cartridges, turned them over in his hand,
and carefully selected one, tore open the paper, poured the powder in,
removed the paper from the ball, and carefully rammed it home, struck
the butt of the gun on the ground to make sure of its priming, and put
on the cap.
"Hold her about a foot under. Pap, at 400 yards," said Si, who had
rolled over to the side of the wagon, and was watching him from under
the cover, which was raised up a little. "Put your sights up to the 400
mark, and then draw the top o' the bead down fine into that notch, and
she'll put it right where you hold her."
By this time the sharpshooter had finished up the mules on the team
ahead, and begun on that of the Deacon. The firing was furious all along
both sides of the river, and the teamsters in the rear were showing
signs of stampeding. The Wagonmaster was storming up and down to hold
them in place, and the officers in command of the line along the river
bank were raging at their men for not suppressing the fire from over the
stream.
"Old man, you'd better not go down there," said a Captain as the Deacon
came walking down, looking very grim and determined. "It's getting
hotter down there every minute. The rebels seem determined to stick to
their work, and I've had three men wounded already."
"Look out for your own men, my son," answered the Deacon, in whom the
fire of battle was burning. "I'll look out for myself. If I'm hit the
Gover'ment won't lose nothin'. I'm only a citizen."
He had kept his eye on the clump of willows, and was sure that his man
was in there, though the smoke hung around so confusingly that he could
not always make out where a fresh shot came from. He got down to where
an occasional bullet struck in his neighborhood, but that did not
disturb him. He began to feel that thrill of man-hunting which when it
seizes a man is an overpowering passion.
"I'm goin' to stop him killin' mules," he said to himself. "I rayly hope
I won't kill him, but that's a secondary matter. Providence'll settle
that. It's my duty to stop him. That's clear. If his time's come
Providence'll put the bullet where it'll kill him. If it ain't,
it won't. That's all. Providence indicates my duty to me. The
responsibility for the rest is with Providence, who doeth all things
well."
He reached the firing-line, strung along the ragged bluffs, and hiding
behind trees, stumps and stones.
"Lay down, there, old man; grab a root; keep under cover, or you'll git
hit," some of them called out to him, noticing him as they turned to
load. "The air is so full o' bullets you kin ketch your hat full if you
only hold it up."
"All right, boys, I'll lay low. I've come down here to help you,"
answered the Deacon.
"Bully for you; we need it."
The Deacon took his position behind a big black walnut, while he
reconnoitered the situation, and got his bearings on the clump of
willows. He felt surer than ever of his man, for he actually saw a puff
of smoke come from it, and saw that right behind the puff stood a willow
that had grown to the proportions of a small tree, and had its bark
rubbed off by the chafing of driftwood against it.
"He's right behind that peeled wilier," the Deacon said, "and takes a
rest agin it. Three inches to the left o' that, and three foot from
the ground'll take him square in the breast, as he is probably kneeling
down."
Before him he noticed a deep gully cut in the bank, by which he could
get down to the water's edge where there was a clump of paw-paws
projecting out toward the willows. If he went down there it would make
his shot surer, but there was much danger that he would be noticed and
fired at on his way.
"I'm goin' down there," he said, after a moment's deliberation.
"Providence has sent me on this job, and intends I shall do it right,
which I kin by goin' down there. Providence'll take care o' me while
I'm goin'. Same time, Providence expects me to show gumption, by not
exposin' myself any more'n possible."
Therefore he cut a young, thick-branched cedar and held it in front of
him as he crouched and made his way to the gully and down it.
He had nearly reached the cover of the paw-paws, and was beginning to
congratulate himself that his cedar screen and the turmoil on the bank
above had enabled him to escape attention, when a bullet struck a stone
to his left, and threw it against him with such force as to almost knock
all the breath out of his body. He fell to the ground, but retained
coolness enough to understand that this was to his advantage, and he
crawled slowly forward until he was safely behind the bushes.
"That come from that hound in the willers," said he to himself. "He's
a sharp one. He got on to me somehow, and now it's me and him fur it.
Anyhow, he didn't kill a mule worth $150 with that bullet. But it'll
take as much as six bits' worth o' porous plaster to take the swellin'
out o' my side where that rock welted me."
He hitched forward cautiously a little farther, to where he could peer
through the bushes, being exceedingly wary not to repeat his opponent's
mistake, and set their tops in motion. A rock protruding through the
ground in front of him made an opening through which he could see, and
also afforded a rest for his musket. He looked sharply, and at length
was rewarded by seeing the gun-barrel come out by the side of the barked
willow, rested on a bare limb, and apparently aimed at the hill beyond.
He took a long breath to steady his nerves, stretched out his legs
to make himself more at ease, pushed his musket forward until he got
exactly the right poise, aimed about nine inches below the level of his
opponent's gun-barrel, and a little to the left, drew his bead down to
a hair's nicety in the hind sight, and pulled the trigger just as the
rebel sharpshooter did the same. Both muskets seemed to flash at the
same moment. The rebel sprang up through the willows and fell forward on
his face.
The Deacon picked up his gun and walked back up the bank. The Union
skirmishers had seen the man fall and raised a yell, which they changed
to cheers as they saw the Deacon coming up the bank.
The Captain in command came up and said:
"Sir, I congratulate you. That was splendidly done. I was just getting
on to that fellow when you went down. I watched you through my glass,
and saw you fetch him. You are entitled to all our thanks."
"No thanks to me, sir. I only done the dooty Providence marked out for
me. I hope the man ain't killed. If he is, it's because Providence had
fixed the number of his days. I only wanted to stop his killin' mules,
and destroyin' Gover'ment property, and let us go on our journey in
peace."
"Well, I wish you'd stay here and help us with some more of those
fellows over there. I'm sure their time has come, but my men don't seem
to be quite as good in carrying out the decrees of Providence as you
are."
"Thankee, sir," said the Deacon. "But I must go back and 'tend to my
boys. We've got a long ways to go yet to-day."
He went back to the road and reported to the Wagonmaster:
"Now you kin clear away them dead mules and go ahead. You won't scarcely
be bothered any more for awhile at least."