SI AND SHORTY GO FORAGING AND ARE CAPTURED AND ROBBED
SI AND SHORTY got the common feeling of men of some months' service,
that they had fully mastered the art of war, and that there was little,
if anything, left for them to learn. It did not take some men even so
long as months to acquire this pleasant idea of themselves. Some entered
the army feeling quite capable of giving advice to the oldest General in
it, and they were not slow about offering their opinions.
Si and Shorty had had successes enough since their enlistment to
develop a self-confidence which might be pardoned if it expanded into
self-sufficiency and vanity.
The 200th Ind. had been sent out on a reconnoissance toward Shelbyville.
No sign of rebels in force developed in any direction, and Si and Shorty
got permission to go off on a little scout of their own.
"No use o' huntin' rebels with a brass band," said Si, who, since his
association with Mr. Rosenbaum, had gotten some idea that stealth and
cunning were efficient war powers. "We kin jest slip around out
here somewhere, and if there is any rebels, find 'em, and git more
information than the whole regiment kin."
"I'm not so thirsty for information and rebels{95} as I am for some
fresh buttermilk," said Shorty. "Somehow, I've been hankering for
buttermilk and cornpone for days. I hain't had any for a coon's age, and
it'd go mighty good as a change from camp rations. Buttermilk and rebels
sometimes grow near together. You look for one, I'll look for the other.
Mebbe we kin git both."
"I wouldn't mind havin' some buttermilk an' cornpone myself," said Si.
"But I'd like much better to drop on some rebels somewhere, and bring
'em into camp, and show that we kin git more information than the whole
regiment kin."
"All right," assented Shorty; "ask the Captain to let us go. I'll be
bound we'll find something worth goin' for, if it's no more'n a chicken
for the Captain's supper. I'd like to take in one for him. He's been
mighty good to me and you in several ways, and I'd like to show him that
we appreciate it."
As the regiment had gone as far as ordered without discovering anything
that in the least threatened the peace in that portion of Tennessee, it
would start on its return, after the men had rested and had dinner.
Si and Shorty, consequently, had no difficulty in securing the desired
permission.
They cut off through a side-road, which gave promise of leading into a
better-settled part of the country than that they had been traversing. A
mile or so of walking brought them in sight of the substantial chimneys
of a farmhouse showing above the trees. A glimpse of a well-fenced field
roused warm hopes in Shorty's heart.
"Now, I think we're comin' to a better thing than we've ever struck
before," said he, as they stopped{96} and surveyed the prospect. "We've
got out o' the barren plateaus and into the rich farming country. That's
likely a farm jest like they have up in Injianny, and it's way off where
they hain't knowed nothin' o' the war. No soljer's ever anigh 'em, and
they've jest got lots and plenty o' everything. They've got a great
big barnyard full o' chickens and turkeys, pigs and geese and guineas.
There, you kin hear the guineas hollerin' now. There's cows layin' in
the shade chawin' the cud, while their calves are cavortin' around in
the sun, hogs rootin' in the woods-pasture, horses and sheep in the
medder, and everything like it is at home. And down a little ways from
the house there's a cool springhouse, with clear, cold water wellin' up
and ripplin' out over the clean, white sand, with crocks o' fresh milk
setting in it with cream half an inch thick, and big jars o' buttermilk
from the last churnin', and piggins o' fresh butter, and mebbe a big
crock full o' smearkase. Si, do you like smearkase?"
"'Deed I do," answered Si, his mouth watering at the thought. "My
goodness, you jest orter eat some o' mother's smearkase. She jest lays
over all the women in the country for smearkase. Many's the time I've
come in hot and sweatin from the field, and got a thick slice o' bread
clear acrost the loaf from one o' the girls, and went down to our
spring-house and spread it with fresh butter, and then put a thick layer
o' smearkase on top o' that, and then got about a quart o' cool milk,
that was half cream, from ono o' the crocks, and then--"
"Shot up, Si," shouted Shorty, desperately. "Do you want me to bang you
over the head with my{97} musket? Do you s'pose I kin stand everything?
But I believe there's jest sich a spring-house down there, and we'll
find it plumb-full o' all them sort o' things. Le's mosey on."
"Do you think there's any rebels around here?" said Si, the caution
which experience had taught him making a temporary reassertion of
itself.
"Naw," said Shorty, contemtpuously, "there ain't no rebel this side o'
the Duck River, unless some straggler, who'd run if he saw us. If we
ketch sight o' one we'll take him into camp, jest to gratify you. But I
ain't lookin' for none. Buttermilk and cornpone's what I want."
The scene was certainly peaceful enough to justify Shorty's confidence.
A calmer, quieter landscape could not have been found in the whole
country. A negro was plowing in a distant field, with occasional
sonorous yells to his team. He did not seem to notice the soldiers, nor
did a gray-haired white man who was sitting on the fence superintending
him. A couple of negresses were washing the family linen by a fire under
a large kettle on the creek bank, at some distance from the house, and
spreading the cleansed garments out on the grass to dry and bleach.
Cattle and horses were feeding on the fresh Spring grass and sheep
browsing on the bushes on the hillside. Hens cackled and roosters
crowed; the guineas, ever on the lookout, announced their approach with
shrill, crackling notes. Two or three dogs waked up and barked lazily
at them as they walked up the path to where an elderly, spectacled
woman sat on the porch knitting. She raised{98} her eyes and threw her
spectacles on top of her head, and looked curiously at them.
Whatever faint misgivings Si might have had vanished at the utter
peacefulness of the scene. It was so like the old home that he had left
that he could not imagine that war existed anywhere near. It seemed as
if the camp at Murfreesboro' and the bloody field of Stone River must
be a thousand miles away. The beds of roses and pinks which bordered the
walk were the same as decorated the front yard at home. There were the
same clumps of snowballs and lilacs at the corners of the house.
"Howdy, gentlemen?" said the woman, as they came up.
It seemed almost a wrong and insult to be carrying deadly arms in the
presence of such a woman, and Si and Shorty let their guns slip down, as
if they were rather ashamed of them.
"Good day, ma'am," said Shorty, taking off his hat politely and wiping
his face. "We're lookin' around to git some cornpone and buttermilk, and
didn't know but what you might let us have some. We're willin' to pay
for it."
"If you want suthin' to eat," said the woman promptly, "I kin gin it
to ye. I never turn no hungry man away from my door. Wait a minnit and
I'll bring ye some."
She disappeared inside the house, and Si remarked to Shorty:
"Your head's level this time, as it generally is. We'll git something
that's worth while comin' after."
The woman reappeared with a couple of good-size corn-dodgers in her
hand.{99}
"This appears to be all the bread that's left over from dinner," she
said. "And the meat's all gone. But the wenches 'll be through their
washin' purty soon, and then I'll have them cook ye some more, if ye'll
wait."
"Thankee, ma'am," said Shorty; "we can't wait. This'll be a plenty, if
we kin only git some buttermilk to go with it. We don't want no meat. We
git plenty o' that in camp."
"You can have all the buttermilk you want to drink," she answered, "if
you'll go down to the spring-house thar and git it. It's fresh, and
you'll find a gourd right beside o' the jar. I'd go with you, but it
allers gives me rheumatiz to go nigh the spring-house."
"Don't bother, ma'am, to go with us," said Shorty politely. "We are very
much obliged to you, indeed, and we kin make out by ourselves. How much
do we owe you?" And he pulled a greenback dollar from his pocket.
"Nothin', nothin' at all," said the woman hastily. "I don't sell
vittels. Never thought o' sich a thing. Ye're welcome to all ye kin eat
any time."
"Well, take the money, and let us ketch a couple of them chickens
there," said Shorty, laying down the bill on the banister rail.
After a little demur the woman finally agreed to this, and picked up the
money. The boys selected two fat chickens, ran them down, wrung their
necks, and, after repeating their thanks, took their bread and started
for the spring-house. They found it the coolest and most inviting place
in the world on a hot, tiresome day--just such a spot as Shorty had{100}
described. It was built of rough stones, and covered with a moss-grown
roof. A copious spring poured out a flood of clear, cool water, which
flowed over white pebbles and clean-looking sand until it formed a
cress-bordered rivulet just beyond the house. In the water sat crocks of
fresh milk, a large jar of buttermilk, and buckets of butter. The looks,
the cool, pure freshness of the place, were delightful{101} contrasts
from the tiresome smells and appearances of the camp kitchens. The boys
reveled in the change. They forgot all about war's alarms, stood their
rifles up against the side of the spring-house, washed their dust-grimed
faces and hands in the pure water, dried them with their handkerchiefs,
and prepared to enjoy their meal. How good the buttermilk tasted along
with the cornpone. The fresh milk was also sampled, and some of the
butter spread upon their bread.
Si even went to the point of declaring that it was almost as good as
the things he used to eat at home, which was the highest praise he could
possibly give to any food. Si never found anywhere victuals or cooking
to equal that of his mother.
He was pointing out to Shorty, as they munched, the likenesses and
unlikenesses of this spring-house to that on the Wabash, when they were
startled by the stern command:
"Surrender, there, you infernal Yankees!"
[Illustration: UNDESIRABLE ACQUAINTANCES. 100]
They looked up with startled eyes to stare into a dozen muskets leveled
straight at their heads from the willow thickets. Corn-dodgers and
milk-gourds dropped into the water as they impulsively jumped to their
feet.
"If yo'uns move we'uns 'll blow the lights outen yo'uns," shouted the
leader of the rebels. "Hold up yer hands."
It was a moment of the most intense anguish that either of them had ever
known. Their thoughts were lightning-like in rapidity. The rebel muzzles
were not a rod away, their aim was true, and it{102} would be madness to
risk their fire, for it meant certain death.
The slightest move toward resistance was suicide.
Si gave a deep groan, and up went his hands at the same moment with
Shorty's.
The rebels rushed out of the clump of willows behind which they had
crept up on the boys, and surrounded them. Two snatched up their guns,
and the others began pulling off their haversacks and other personal
property as their own shares of the booty. In the midst of this, Si
looked around, and saw the woman standing near calmly knitting.
"You ain't so afeared o' rheumatism all at once," he said bitterly.
"My rheumatiz has spells, young man, same ez other people's," she
answered, pulling one of the needles out, and counting the stitches with
it. "Sometimes it is better, and sometimes it is wuss. Jest now it is a
great deal better, thankee. I only wisht I could toll the whole Yankee
army to destruction ez easy ez you wuz. My, but ye walked right in,
like the fly to the spider. I never had nothin' do my rheumatiz so much
good."
And she cackled with delight. "When you git through," she continued,
addressing the leader of the rebels, "come up to the house, and I'll
have some dinner cooked for ye. I know ye're powerful tired an'
hungry. I s'pose nothin' need be cooked for them," and she pointed
her knitting-needle contemptuously at Si and Shorty. "Ole Satan will be
purvidin' fur them. I'll take these along to cook fur ye."{103}
She gathered up the dead chickens and stalked back to the house.
"Ef we're gwine t' shoot they'uns le's take they'uns over thar on the
knoll, whar they'uns won't spile nothin'," said one evil-looking man,
who had just ransacked Si's pockets and appropriated everything in them.
"Hit'd be too bad t' kill they'uns here right in sight o' the house."
"Le'me see them letters, Bushrod;" said the leader, snatching a package
of letters and Annabel's picture out of the other's hand. "Mebbe thar's
some news in them that the Captain'd like to have."
Si gnashed his teeth as he saw the cherished missives rudely torn open
and scanned, and especially when the ambrotype case was opened and
Annabel's features made the subject of coarse comment. The imminent
prospect of being murdered had a much lighter pang.
While the letters and ambrotype were being looked over the process of
robbery was going on. One had snatched Si's cap, another had pulled off
his blouse, and there was a struggle as to who should have possession of
his new Government shoes, which were regarded as a great prize. Si had
resisted this spoliation, but was caught from behind and held, despite
his kicks and struggles, while the shoes were pulled off. Shorty was
treated in the same way.
[Illustration: THE SPOILS OF WAR 105]
In a few minutes both, exhausted by their vigorous resistance, were
seated on the ground, with nothing left on them but their pantaloons,
while their captors were quarreling over the division of their personal
effects, and as to what disposition was to be made of them. In the
course of the discussion{104} the boys learned that they had been
captured by a squad of young men from the immediate neighborhood, who
had been allowed to go home on furlough, had been gathered together when
the regiment appeared, and had been watching every movement from safe
coverts. They had seen Si and Shorty leave, and had carefully dogged
their steps until such moment as they could pounce on them.
"Smart as we thought we wuz," said Si bitterly, "we played right into
their hands. They tracked us down jest as if we'd bin a couple o'
rabbits, and ketched us jest when they wanted us."
He gave a groan which Shorty echoed.
Bushrod and two others were for killing the two boys then and there and
ending the matter.
"They orter be killed, Ike, right here," said Bushrod to the leader.
"They deserve it, and we'uns hain't got no time to fool. We'uns can't
take they'uns back with we'uns, ef we wanted to, and I for one don't
want to. I'd ez soon have a rattlesnake around me."
But Ike, the leader, was farther-seeing. He represented to the others
the vengeance the Yankees would take on the people of the neighborhood
if they murdered the soldiers.
This developed another party, who favored taking the prisoners to some
distance and killing them there, so as to avoid the contingency that Ike
had set forth. Then there were propositions to deliver them over to the
guerrilla leaders, to be disposed of as they pleased.
Finally, it occurred to Ike that they were talking entirely too freely
before the prisoners, unless they{105} intended to kill them outright,
for they were giving information in regard to the position and
operations of rebel bands that might prove dangerous. He drew his squad
off a little distance to continue the discussion. At first they kept
their eyes on the prisoners and their guns ready to fire, but as they
talked they lost their watchful attitude in the eagerness of making
their points.
Si looked at Shorty, and caught an answering gleam. Like a flash both
were on their feet and started on a mad rush for the fence. Bushrod
saw{106} them start, and fired. His bullet cut off a lock of Si's auburn
hair. Others fired as fast as they could bring their guns up, and the
bullets sang viciously around, but none touched the fugitives. Their
bare feet were torn by the briars as they ran, but they thought not of
these. They plunged into the blackberry briars along the fence, climbed
it, and gained the road some distance ahead of their pursuers, who were
not impelled by the fear of immediate death to spur them on. Up the road
went Si and Shorty with all the speed that will-power could infuse into
their legs. Some of the rebels stopped to reload; the others ran after.
A score of noisy dogs suddenly waked up and joined in the pursuit. The
old white man mounted his horse and came galloping toward the house.
On the boys ran, gaining, if anything, upon the foremost of the rebels.
The dogs came nearer, but before they could do any harm the boys halted
for an instant and poured such a volley of stones into them that they
ran back lamed and yelping. The fleetest-footed of the rebels, who was
the sanguinary Bushrod, also came within a stone's throw, and received
a well-aimed bowlder from Si's muscular hand full in his face. This
cheered the boys so that they ran ahead with increased speed, and
finally gained the top of the hill from which they had first seen the
farmhouse.
They looked back and saw their enemies still after them. Ike had taken
the old man's horse and was coming on a gallop. They knew he had a
revolver, and shivered at the thought. But both stooped and selected the
best stones to throw, to attack him with{107} as soon as he came within
range. They halted a minute to get their breath and nerve for the good
effort. Ike had reached a steep, difficult part of the road, where his
horse had to come down to a walk and pick his way.
[Illustration: AN UNCOMFORTABLE SITUATION 107]
"Now, Si," said Shorty, "throw for your life, if you never did before.
I'm goin' to git him. You take his horse's head. Aim for that white
blaze in his forehead."
Si concentrated his energy into one supreme effort.{108}
He could always beat the rest of the boys in throwing stones, and now
his practice was to save him. He flung the smooth, round pebble with
terrific force, and it went true to its mark. The horse reared with his
rider just at the instant that a bowlder from Shorty's hand landed on
Ike's breast. The rebel fell to the ground, and the boys ran on.
At the top of the next hill they saw the regiment marching leisurely
along at the foot of the hill. It was so unexpected a deliverance that
it startled them. It seemed so long since they had left the regiment
that it might have been clear back to Nashville. They yelled with all
their remaining strength, and tore down the hill. Co. Q saw them
at once, and at the command of the Captain came forward at the
double-quick. The rebels had in the meanwhile gained the top of the
hill. A few shots were fired at them as they turned from the chase.
The Colonel rode back and questioned the boys. Then he turned to the
Captain of Co. Q and said:
"Captain, take your company over to that house. If you find anything
that you think we need in camp, bring it back with you. Put these boys
in the ambulance."
The exhausted Si and Shorty were helped into the ambulance, the Surgeon
gave them a reviving drink of whisky and quinine, and as they stretched
themselves out on the cushioned seats Si remarked:
"Shorty, we ain't ez purty ez we used to be, but we know a durned sight
more."
"I doubt it," said Shorty surlily. "I think me and you'll be fools as
long as we live. We won't be fools the same way agin, you kin bet your
life, but we'll find some other way."