Produced by David Widger
SI KLEGG
SI AND SHORTY MEET MR. ROSENBAUM, THE SPY, WHO RELATES HIS ADVENTURES
By John McElroy
BOOK No. 3
PUBLISHED BY THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE, WASHINGTON, D. C.
[Illustration: SI AND SHORTY AS MOUNTED INFANTRY]
(Chapter VIII.)
PUBLISHED BY
THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE CO.
WASHINGTON, D. C.
SECOND EDITION
COPYRIGHT 1910
Contents:
PREFACE
CHAPTER I. OUT ON PICKET
CHAPTER II. ROSENBAUM, THE SPY
CHAPTER III. THE DEACON GOES HOME
CHAPTER IV. A SPY'S EXPERIENCES
CHAPTER V. THE BOYS GO SPYING
CHAPTER VI. LETTER FROM HOME
CHAPTER VII. CORN PONE AND BUTTERMILK
CHAPTER VIII. A PERIOD OF SELF-DISGUST
CHAPTER IX. SHORTY GETS A LETTER
CHAPTER X. TRADING WITH THE REBS
CHAPTER XI. SHORTY'S CORRESPONDENT
CHAPTER XII. THE BAN ON WET GOODS
CHAPTER XIII. THE JEW SPY WRITES
CHAPTER XIV. SHORTY HAS AN ADVENTURE WITH SI
CHAPTER XV. SHORTY NEARLY GOT MARRIED
CHAPTER XVI. AN UNEXPECTED MARRIAGE
CHAPTER XVII. GATHERING INFORMATION
CHAPTER XVIII. THE JEW SPY AGAIN
PREFACE
"Si Klegg, of the 200th Ind., and Shorty, his Partner," were born years
ago in the brain of John McElroy, Editor of The National Tribune.
These sketches are the original ones published in The National Tribune,
revised and enlarged somewhat by the author. How true they are to nature
every veteran can abundantly testify from his own service. Really, only
the name of the regiment was invented. There is no doubt that there were
several men of the name of Josiah Klegg in the Union Army, and who did
valiant service for the Government. They had experiences akin to, if
not identical with, those narrated here, and substantially every man
who faithfully and bravely carried a musket in defense of the best
Government on earth had sometimes, if not often, experiences of which
those of Si Klegg are a strong reminder.
The Publishers.
THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
TO THE RANK AND FILE
OF THE GRANDEST ARMY EVER MUSTERED FOR WAR.
CHAPTER I. OUT ON PICKET
THE BOYS SHOW THE DEACON A NEW WRINKLE IN THE CULINARY ART.
SOME days later, Si had charge of a picket-post on the Readyville Pike,
near Cripple Deer Creek. The Deacon went with them, at their request,
which accorded with his own inclinations, The weather was getting warmer
every day, which made him fidgety to get back to his own fields, though
Si insisted that they were still under a foot of snow in Indiana. But
he had heard so much about picket duty that, next to battle, it was the
thing he most wanted to see. Abraham Lincoln was left behind to care for
the "house." He had been a disappointment so far, having developed no
strong qualities, except for eating and sleeping, of which he could do
unlimited quantities.
"No use o' takin' him out on picket," observed Shorty, "unless we kin
git a wagon to go along and haul rations for him. I understand now why
these rebels are so poor; the niggers eat up everything they kin raise.
I'm afraid, Deacon, he'll make the Wabash Valley look sick when you turn
him loose in it."
"I guess my farm kin stand him," said the Deacon proudly. "It stood Si
when he was a growin' boy, though he used, to strain it sometimes."
They found a comfortable fence-corner facing{16} south for their "tent,"
which they constructed by making a roof of cedar boughs resting on a
rail running from one angle to another. They laid more boughs down in
the corner, and on this placed their blankets, making a bed which the
Deacon pronounced very inviting and comfortable. They built a fire in
front, for warmth and for cooking, and so set up housekeeping in a very
neat and soldier-like way.
[Illustration: MR. KLEGG ENJOYS SOLID COMFORT. 16]
The afternoon passed without special incident. Shorty came in with a
couple of chickens, but the{17} Deacon had learned enough to repress
any questions as to where and how he got them. He soon became more
interested in his preparations for cooking them. He had built a big fire
in a hole in the ground, and piled a quantity of dry cedar on this. Then
he cut off the heads and legs of the chickens, and, getting some mud
from the side of the road, proceeded to cover each, feathers and all,
with a coating nearly an inch thick.
"What in the world do you mean by that, Shorty?" asked the Deacon in
surprise.
"He's all right. Pap," assured Si. "He'll show you a new wrinkle in
chicken-fixin' that you kin teach mother when you go home. She knows
more about cookin' than any other woman in the world, but I'll bet she's
not up to this dodge."
The fire had by this time burned down to a heap of glowing embers. The
boys scraped a hole in these, laid on it their two balls of mud, then
carefully covered them with live coals and piled on a little more wood.
"I'll say right now," said the Deacon, "that I don't think much o' that
way. Why didn't you take their feathers off and clean out their innards?
Seems to me that's a nasty way."
"Wait and see," said Shorty sententiously.
Si had mixed some meal into a dough in the half-canteens he and
Shorty carried in their haversacks. He spread this out on a piece of
sheet-iron, and propped it up before the fire. In a little while it was
nicely browned over, when Si removed it from the sheet-iron, turned
it over, and browned the other side. He repeated this until he had
a sufficiency of{18} "hoe cakes" for their supper. A kettle of good,
strong coffee had been boiling on the other side of the fire while this
was going on. Then they carefully raked the embers off, and rolled out
two balls of hard-baked clay. Waiting for these to cool a little, they
broke them. The skin and feathers came off with the pieces and revealed
deliciously savory, sweet meat, roasted just to a turn. The intestines
had shriveled up with the heat into little, hard balls, which were
thrown away.
"Yum--yum--yum," said Shorty, tearing one of the chickens in two, and
handing a piece to the Deacon, while Si gave him a sweet, crisp hoe cake
and a cup of strong coffee. "Now, this's what you might call livin'.
Never beat that cookin' in any house that had a roof. Only do that when
you've stars in the roof of your kitchen."
"It certainly is splendid," admitted the Deacon. "I don't think Maria
could've done better."
It was yet light when they finished their supper, filled their pipes,
and adjusted themselves for a comfortable smoke. One of the men came
back and said:
"Corporal, there's a rebel on horseback down the road a little ways who
seems to be spying on us. We've noticed him for some little time. He
don't come up in good range, and we haven't fired at him, hopin' he'd
come closer. Better come and take a look at him."
"Don't do anything to scare him off," said Si. "Keep quiet. Me and
Shorty'll sneak down through the field, out of sight, and git him."
They picked up their guns and slipped out under{19} the cover of the
undergrowth to where they could walk along the fence, screened by the
heavy thicket of sumach. Catching the excitement of the occasion, the
Deacon followed them at a little distance.
Without discovery Si and Shorty made their way to a covert within an
easy 50 yards of where the horseman sat rather uneasily on a fine,
mettled animal. They got a good look at him. He was a young, slender
man, below medium hight, with curly, coalblack hair, short whiskers, a
hooked nose, and large, full eyes. He wore a gray suit of rather
better make and material than was customary in the rebel army. He had
a revolver in his belt and a carbine slung to his saddle, but showed no
immediate intention of using either. His right hand rested on his thigh,
and his eyes were intently fixed on the distant picket-post.
"A rebel scout," whispered Si. "Shall we knock him over, and then order
him to surrender, or halt him first, and then shoot?"
"He can't git away," said Shorty. "I have him kivered. You kivver his
hoss's head. Then call him down."
Si drew his sights fine on the horse's head and yelled:
"Surrender, there, you dumbed rebel."
[Illustration: "SURRENDER, THERE, YOU DUMBED REBEL." 21]
The man gave a quick start, a swift glance at the blue uniforms, and
instantly both hands went up.
"That is all right, boys. Don't shoot. I'm a friend," he called in a
strong German accent.
"Climb down off o' that boss, and come here, and do it mighty sudden,"
called out Si, with his finger still on the trigger.{20}
The horse became restive at the sound of strange voices, but the man
succeeded in dismounting, and taking his reins in his hand, led the
horse up to the fence.
"Very glad to see you, boys," said he, surveying their blue garments
with undisguised satisfaction, and putting out his other hand to shake.
"Take off that revolver, and hand it here," ordered the wary Shorty,
following the man with the muzzle of his gun. The man slipped his arm
through the reins, unbuckled his revolver, and handed it to Shorty. Si
jumped over the fence and seized the carbine.
"Who are you, and where did you come from?" asked Si, starting the man
up the road toward the post.
"What rechiment do you belong to?" asked the stranger, warily.
"We belong to Co. Q, 200th Injianny, the best regiment in Gen.
Rosecrans's army," answered Si proudly, that the captive might
understand where the honor of his taking belonged.
"That is all right," said the stranger, with an air of satisfaction.
"The 200th Indianny is a very good regiment. I saw them whip John
Morgan's cavalry at Green River. Clumsy farmer boys, but shoot like born
devils."
"But who are you, and where did you come from?" repeated Si impatiently.
"I'm all right. I'm Levi Rosenbaum of Gen. Rosecrans's secret service. I
got some news for him."
"You have?" said Si suspiciously. "Why didn't you ride right in and
tell it to him? What've you{21} bin hangin' around here all afternoon,
watchin' our post for?"
"I wasn't sure you was there. I was told that the Yankee pickets was
going to be pushed out to Cripple Deer Creek to-day, but I didn't know
it for sure. I was afraid that the rebels was there yet. Jim Jones, of
the secret service, had agreed to come out this afternoon and wave a
flag if it was all{22} right. I was waiting for his sign. But he is
probably drunk. He always gets so when he reaches camp."
The Deacon joined them in the road, and gave a searching glance at the
prisoner.
"Ain't you a Jew?" he inquired presently. "Ain't your name Rosenbaum?
Didn't you go through Posey County, Ind., a year or two ago, with a
wagon, sellin' packs o' cloth to the farmers?"
"I'm an American citizen," said the man proudly, "the same as the rest
of you. My religion is Hebrew. I don't know and don't care what your
religion is. Every man has the religion that suits him. My name is
Rosenbaum. I did sell cloth in Posey County, unt all over Indianny. It
was good cloth, too, unt I sold it at a bargain."
"It certainly was good cloth, and cheap," admitted the Deacon. "What in
the world are you doin' down here in them clothes?"
"I'm doing just what these men are doing here in their cloze," answered
Rosenbaum. "I'm trying to serve the country. I'm doing it different from
them, because I'm built different from them. I hope I'm doing it well.
But I'm awfully hungry. Got anything to eat? Just a cup of coffee and a
cracker? Don't care for any pork."
"Yes, we'll give you something to eat," said Shorty. "I think there's
some of our chicken left. You'll find that good."
"How did you cook that?" said Rosenbaum, looking at the tempting morsel
suspiciously.
Shorty explained.{23}
"Thanks; I can't eat it," said Rosenbaum with a sigh. "It ain't kosher."
"What the devil's that?" asked Shorty.
"It's my religion. I can't explain. Send for the Officer of the Guard to
take me to Headquarters," answered Rosenbaum, sipping his coffee.