BREAKING UP A BAD REBEL NEST IS NO PICNIC.
WHEN physical exhaustion called a halt in the fracas, Mrs. Bolster was
seated on Jeff Hackberry's breast with her sinewy hands clutching his
long hair, and her thumb, with a cruel, long nail, pressing the ball of
his one good eye. Shorty was holding down one of the guerrillas who had
tried to climb on his back when he was grappling with Hackberry. Si had
knocked one guerrilla senseless with his gun-barrel, and now came to a
breathless standstill in a struggle with another for the possession
of his gun. The children and dogs had broken up into several smaller
stormcenters, in each of which a vicious fight was going on. In some
it was dog and dog; in some child and child, and in others dogs and
children mixed.
Then they all halted to observe the outcome of the discussion between
Mrs. Bolster and Jeff Hackberry.
"Holler 'nuff, Jeff, or out goes yer last light," commanded Mrs.
Bolster, emphasizing her words by rising a little, and then settling
down on Jeff's breast with a force that drove near every spoonful of
breath out of him.
"'Frony, le' me up," he begged in gasps.{206}
"Mrs. Bolster," she reminded him, with another jounce upon his chest.
"Mrs. Bolster, le' me up. I'd 'a' got away with that 'ere Yank ef ye'
hedn't tripped me with them long legs o' your'n."
"I'm right smart on the trip, aint I," she grinned. "I never seed a man
yit that I couldn't throw in any sort of a rastle."
"Le' me up, Mrs. Bolster, an le's begin over agin, an' yo' keep out,"
begged Hackberry.
"Not much I won't. I ain't that kind of a chicken," she asserted with
another jounce. "When I down a man I down him fer good, an' he never
gits up agin 'till he caves entirely. If I let yo' up, will yo' swar to
quite down peaceable as a lamb, an' make the rest do the same?"
"Never," asserted Hackberry. "I'm ergwine to have it out with that
Yank."
"No you haint," she replied with a still more emphatic jounce that made
Hackberry use all the breath left him to groan.
"I'll quit," he said, with his next instalment of atmosphere.
"Will yo' agree t' let me marry this Yank, an' t' give me away as my
oldest friend, nearest o' kin, an' best man?" she inquired, rising
sufficiently to let him take in a full breath and give a free, unforced
answer.
"Nary a time," he shrieked. "I'll die fust, afore I'll 'low yo' t' marry
ary other man but me."
"Then you'll lose yor blinker, yo' pigheaded, likker-guzzling', ornery,
no-account sand-hill crane," she said, viciously coming down on his
chest with{207} her full weight and sticking the point of hei nail
against his eye. "I wouldn't marry yo' if ye wuz the last nubbin' in
the Lord A'mighty's crib, and thar'd never be another crap o' men. Ye'll
never git no chance to make me yer slave, and beat me and starve me t'
death as yo' did Nance Brill. I ain't gwine t' fool with yer pervarsity
nary a minnit longer. Say this instant whether yo'll do as I say with a
freewill and good heart, or out goes yer peeper." "I promise," groaned
Jeff.{208 }
"Yo' sw'ar hit?" she demanded.
"Yes, I sw'ar hit," answered Jeff.
Mrs. Bolster rose, and confirmed the contract by giving him a kick in
the side with her heavy brogan.
"That's jest a lovetap," she remarked, "'t let yo' know t' le' me alone
hereafter. Now, le's straighten things around here fer a pleasant time."
She initiated her proposed era of good feeling by a sounding kick in the
ribs of the most obstreperous of the dogs, and a slap on the face of a
12-year-old girl, who was the noisest and most pugnacious of the lot.
Each of these set up a howl, but there was a general acquiescence in her
assertion of authority.
[Illustration: JEFF SAT UP AND RUBBED HIMSELF 208]
Jeff Hackberry sat up, scratched and rubbed himself, seemed to be
trying to once more get a full supply of air in his lungs, and turned
a one-eyed glare on his surroundings. The guerrilla whom Si had knocked
down began to show signs of returning consciousness, but no one paid any
attention to him. One of the other two pulled out a piece of tobacco,
split it in two, put the bigger half in his mouth and handed the
remainder to his partner. Both began chewing meditatively and looking
with vacant eyes for the next act in the drama. Shorty regained his gun,
and he and Si looked inquiringly at one another and the mistress of the
ranch.
"Come on up t' the house," she said, starting in that direction. The
rest followed, with Si and Shorty in the lead.
The boys gazed around them with strong curiosity. The interior was like
that of the other log cabins they had seen--a rough puncheon floor for
the single room, a fireplace as big as a barn door, built of rough{209}
stones, with a hearth of undressed flat stones, upon which sat a few
clumsy cooking utensils of heavy cast-iron, three-legged stools for
chairs, a table of rough whip-sawed boards held together by wooden pins.
In two of the corners were beds made of a layer of poles resting upon a
stick supported at one end upon a log in the wall and at the other end
a forked stick driven between the puncheons into the ground below.
Upon this was a pile of beech leaves doing duty as a mattress. The
bed-clothes were a mass of ragged fabrics, sheepskins, etc., used in the
daytime for saddle-blankets and at night upon the bed. There had been
added to them, however, looking particularly good and rich in contrast
with their squalor, several blankets with "U. S." marked upon them.
Around the room were canteens, shoes, and other soldier belongings.
"Have they killed and robbed the men to whom these belonged, or merely
traded whisky for them?" was the thought that instantly flashed through
Si's and Shorty's minds. The answer seemed to be favorable to murder and
robbery. "Set down an' make yourselves at home. I'll git yo' out suthin'
t' wet yer whistles," said Mrs. Bolster, wreathing as much graciousness
as she could into her weathered-wood countenance. She apparently kicked
at the same instant a stool toward them with her left foot, and a dog
out of the way with her right, a performance that excited Shorty's
admiration.
"When I see a woman kick in different directions with both feet at the
same time, I understood how dangerous her trip would be in a rastle," he
said afterward.{210}
Si and Shorty shoved two of the stools so that they could sit with their
backs to the wall, still holding their guns.
The guerrillas came filing in, with an expectant look on their faces.
Even Jeff Hackberry looked more thirstily longing than wrathful. The man
who had fallen under Si's gunbarrel had gotten able to walk, was
rubbing his head and moaning with the design of attracting attention and
sympathy.
Mrs. Bolster produced a key from her pocket. The others understood what
this meant. They lifted aside some sacks of meal and shelled corn, and
revealed a puncheon which had been cut in two, and the short piece was
garnished by rude iron hinges and hasp, all probably taken from some
burned barn. The hasp was locked into the staple by one of the heavy
padlocks customary on the plantations, and this Mr. Bolster proceeded
to open with her key. When the puncheon was turned up it revealed a pit
beneath, from which she lifted a large jug of whisky. She poured some
out in a tin cup and handed it to Shorty.
"Take a big swig," she said; "hit's mouty good stuff--ole Jeff
Thompson's brewin' from yaller corn raised on rich bottom land."
Si trembled as he saw his partner take the cup. Shorty smelled it
appreciatively. "That is good stuff," he said. "Roses ain't nowhere
alongside."
He put the cup to his lips and took a sip.
"Tastes as good as it smells," he said, heartily, while the mouths of
the guerrillas were watering. He put the cup again to his lips, as if
to take a deep draft. Then came a short cough and a tremendous{211}
sputter, followed by more painful coughing and strangling.
"Jest my infernal luck," gasped Shorty. "I would talk, an' I got some
down the wrong way.
"Lord, it's burnin' my lights out. Gi' me a drink o' water, somebody."
One of the children handed him a gourdful of water, while he continued
to cough and sputter and blame himself for talking when he was drinking.
The woman handed the cup to Si, who feared that the liquor might be
poisoned or drugged. He made a pretense of drinking, and then handed the
cup back, making motions that his throat was so sore that he could not
drink much. Mrs. Bolster looked at him suspiciously, but the clamor of
the guerillas distracted her attention, and she turned to supply them.
"No, Jeff Hackberry," she said firmly, "yo' can't have more'n two
fingers. I know yo' of old, an' jest how much yo' orter tote. Two
fingers'll make yo' comfortable an' sociable; three'll raise the devil
in yo,' an' four'll make yo' dancin' drunk, when yo'll have t' be held
down. Yo'll have jest two fingers, an' not a drap more."
"Jest another finger, 'Frony. Remember, yo've bin orful rough on me, an'
I need more. I'll promise t' be good," pleaded Hackberry.
"No, not a drap more'n two fingers now. If yo' behave yo'self I'll give
yo' another two fingers by-an'-by."
"Hackberry swallowed his portion at a thirsty gulp and sat down on the
door-sill to let it do its invigorating work. The other two guerrillas
were{212} given each two fingers, and the man whom Si knocked down
had his moanings rewarded by three fingers and a liberal application in
addition to the wound on his head, which he declared was much relieved
by it.
"Set your guns up agin the wall an' ack nacherul," commanded Mrs.
Bolster. "Nobody's a-gwine to hurt yo'. The 'Squire'll be here soon,
we'll git spliced, an' have a good time all around."
The noisy barking of the dogs announced the approach of someone.
"Lord, I hope that's 'Squire Corson," said Mrs. Bolster, running eagerly
to the door. "If hit's him, we kin go right ahead with the weddin'."
"If that's the 'Squire," said Shorty, in a low whisper, without turning
his head, "we'll grab our guns and fight to the death. We may clean out
this gang."
Si's attention had been in the meanwhile attracted to some boxes
concealed under the beds, and his curiosity was aroused as to what such
unusual things in a cabin might contain.
"No; hit's Capt. Sol. Simmons," said she in a tone of disappointment
mixed with active displeasure. "Now, he'll be cavortin' and tearin'
around, and wantin' t' kill somebody. I wish he wuz whar hit's a good
deal hotter."
She came over to where the boys were sitting, and said in a low tone:
"This man's allers makin' trouble, an' he's bad from his boots up.
Keep a stiff upper lip, both on yo', an' we'll try t' manage him. Don't
weaken. Hit'll do no good. He'll be wuss'n ever then."{213}
Si and Shorty instinctively felt for the revolvers in their pockets.
The newcomer tied his horse to a sapling and strode into the house. The
guerrillas seemed rather more fearful than otherwise to see him, but met
him with manners that were ranged from respectful by Jeff Hackberry to
absolute servility by the others. He was a burly, black-bearded man,
wearing a fairly-good uniform of a rebel Captain. His face showed that
he was a bully, and a cruel one.
He acknowledged in an overbearing way the greetings of the others, and
called out imperiously:
"'Frony, gi' me a stiff dram o' yer best at wunst. My throat's drier'n a
lime-kiln. Bin ridin' all mornin'."
"Folks wantin' likker don't say must t' me, but will yo', an' please,"
she answered sulkily.
"'Must,' 'please,' yo' hag," he said savagely. "Talk that a-way to me.
I'll 'please' yo'. I've killed two Yankees this mornin', an' I'm not in
the humor to fool around with an old pennyroyal huzzy like yo'. Gi' me
some whisky at wunst, or I'll baste yo'."
If ever Mrs. Bolster had been favorably disposed to him, she could not
endure to have him treat her this way before Shorty. She would assert
herself before him if ever.
She put her arms akimbo and retorted vigorously:
"Nary drap o' likker yo'll git from me, Sol. Simmons. Go and git yer
likker whar y're welcome. Y're not welcome here. I don't keer if yo'
have killed two Yankees or 20 Yankees. Y're allers talkin' about killin'
Yankees, but nobody never sees none that y've killed. I'm a better
Confederit than yo'{214} ever dared be. I'm doin' more for the Southern
Confedrisy. Y're allers a-blowin' while I'm allers adoin.' Everybody
knows that. Talk about the two Yankees y've killed, an' which nobody's
seed, here I've brung two Yankees right outen their camps, an' have 'em
to show. More'n that, they're gwine to jine we'uns."
She indicated the two boys with a wave of her hand. Simmons seemed to
see them for the first time.
"Yankees here, an' yo' haint killed 'em," he yelled. He put his hand to
his revolver and stepped forward. The two boys jumped up and snatched
their guns, but before another move could be made Mrs. Bolster's
unfailing trip brought Simmons heavily to the floor, with his revolver
half out the holster. In an instant she sat down heavily upon him, and
laid her brawny hand upon his pistol. The dogs and children gathered
around in joyous expectation of a renewal of general hostilities. But
the dogs broke away at the scent or sight of someone approaching.
"Mebbe that's 'Squire Corson,'" said Mrs. Bolster with a renewed flush
of pleasant anticipation.
Instead, a rather, good-looking young rebel officer wearing a Major's
silver stars dismounted from his horse and, followed by two men, entered
the cabin.
"Hello, Simmons," said the Major in a tone of strong rebuke as soon as
he entered. "What in the world are you doing here? Is this the way you
carry out the General's orders? You're at your old tricks again. You
were sent out here early this morning, to capture or drive away
that Yankee picket at Raccoon Ford, so as to let Capt. Gillen come
through{215} with his pack-mules. I expected to meet him here and go
on with him. Your men have been waiting at the crossroads for you since
daylight, while you've been loitering around the rear. I ought to
have you shot, and you would be if I reported this to the General. You
skulking whelp, you ought to be shot. But I'll give you one more chance.
It may not be too late yet. Break for your place as fast as you can, and
take these whelps with you. I'll wait here till sundown for you. If you
don't report back to me by that time you'd better make your will. Jump
now."
Mrs. Bolster had let go of Simmons as this exordium proceeded, as she
felt that he was in good hands.
As they disappeared the Major turned to Mrs. Bolster and inquired:
"Did Capt. Gillen get through with that quinine and guncaps?"
"They're thar," she said, pointing to the boxes under the beds.
"Very good. I've brought some men to take them away. We need them very
badly. Who are these men?"
Mrs. Bolster told her story about how they were tired of the Abolition
war, and had yielded to her persuasions to join the Southern army.
The Major looked them over sharply, and began a close cross-questioning
as to where they were born, what regiment they belonged to, how long
they had been in the service, what battles they had been engaged in and
on what part of the field, where their regiment now was, its brigade,
division and corps, commanders, etc., etc.{216}
As Shorty did not see any present occasion for lying, he had no trouble
in telling a convincing straightforward story. Si successfully worked
the loss-of-voice racket, and left the burden of conversation to his
partner.
The Major seemed satisfied, and said at the conclusion:
"Very good. I'll take you back with me when I return, and place you in a
good regiment."
This was a new and startling prospect, which was almost too much
for Shorty's self-control. For a minute he had wild thoughts of
assassinating the Major then and there, and making a run for life. But
he decided to wait a little longer and see what would develop.
If Mrs. Bolster's hue had permitted she would have turned pale at this
threatened loss of a husband and upsetting of all her plans. She merely
gulped down a lump in her throat and seemed to be thinking.
She became very attentive to the Major, and brought for his edification
a private bottle of fine old whisky. She set about preparing something
for them to eat.
Again the dogs barked, and in walked a man dressed in the fatigue
uniform of a Union soldier with the chevrons of a Sergeant. The boys
gave a start of surprise, and a great one when they saw on his cap:
A
200 Ind. Vols.
Si would have sprung up to greet him, but Shorty laid a restraining
hand, and whispered:{217}
"He don't belong to our regiment."
A second glance satisfied Si of this. While it is hardly possibly for a
man to know every other man in his regiment, yet in a little while there
comes something which enables him to know whether any man he meets does
or does not belong to his regiment.
The Major and Mrs. Bolster instantly recognized the newcomer.
"Awful glad to see you, Tuggers," said the Major, rising and shaking his
hand. "Did you get through without any trouble?"
"Not a bit o' trouble, thanks to you and Mrs. Bolster here. She got me
this uniform and this cap," said Tuggers, taking off the latter article
and scanning the lettering. "Rather more brass than I'm in the habit of
carrying on top of my head, no matter how much I have in my face. I got
your not giving me the positions of the Yankee regiments, for which I
suppose we must also thank Mrs. Bolster. I found them all correct. As
the 200th Ind. was the farthest out, I had no difficulty getting through
the rest of them by saying that I was on my way to my regiment. Of
course, I didn't come through the camp of the 200th Ind., but modestly
sought a byroad which Mrs. Bolster had put me onto. I've got a lot
of important letters from the mail in Nashville, among which are some
letters for the General, which I am told are highly important. I'm
mighty glad to be able to place them in your hands, and relieve myself
of the responsibility. Here they are. Thanks, I don't care if I do,
since you press me so hard,"{218} said he, without change of voice, as
he handed over the letters and picked up the bottle and tin cup.
"Excuse me, Tuggers, for not asking you before," said the Major. "I was
so interested in you and your letters I forgot for the moment that you
might be thirsty. Help yourself."
"I didn't forget it," said Tuggers, pouring out a liberal dram. "Here's
to our deserving selves and our glorious Cause."
A shy girl of about eight had responded to Si's persistent
encouragement, and sidled up to him, examining his buttons and
accouterments. Si gave her some buttons he had in his pocket, and showed
her his knife and other trinkets in his pockets. The other children
began to gather around, much interested in the elaborate dumb show he
was making of his inability to speak.
Again the dogs barked. Mrs. Bolster ran to the door. "Hit's 'Squire
Corson," she exclaimed joyously, and hustled around to make extra
preparations for his entertainment.
The 'Squire entered, mopping his face with his bandana, and moving with
the deliberation and dignity consistent with his official position.
He looked at the boys with a severe, judicial eye, and gave the ominous
little cough with which he was wont to precede sentences. But he
recognized the Major and Tuggers, and immediately his attention was
centered in them. They were connected with Army Headquarters; they were
repositories of news which he could spread among his constituents.
He greeted them effusively, and was only too glad to accept their
invitation to sit down and drink. But{219} he suggested, with official
prudence, that they go out in front and sit under a tree where they
could converse wore at liberty.
"Afore you go out, 'Squire," said Mrs. Bolster, with an attempt at
coyness, "I want yo' t' do a little job fer me."
Shorty's hair tried to stand on end.
"Jest wait a little, my good woman," said the 'Squire patronizingly. "I
want to talk to these gentlemen first; I kin 'tend to your matter any
time."
They lighted their pipes, and talked and talked, while Mrs. Bolster
fidgeted around in growing anxiety. Finally, as the sun was going down,
she could stand it no longer, and approached the group.
"'Squire," she said, "I'm orferly anxious to have a little job o' mine
done. 'Twon't take yo' five minits. Please 'tend to it right away."
"What is it she wants?" inquired the Major.
"I think she wants me to marry her to a Yankee deserter in there. She
whispered suthin' o' that kind to me awhile ago."
"That reminds me," said the Major; "I want you to swear those two men
into the service of the Southern Confederacy. You might as well do it
now, if you please, for I want to take them back with me and put them
into a regiment."
"That won't give much of a honeymoon to Mrs. Bolster," grinned the
'Squire.
"Well, we've all got to make sacrifices for the Cause," said the Major;
"her honeymoon'll be the sweeter for being postponed. I've had to
postpone mine."
"Well, bring the men out," said the 'Squire, pouring himself out another
drink.{220}
Si and Shorty had moved to the front door when Mrs. Bolster went out,
and could hear the whole conversation. They looked at one another. Their
faces were whiter than they had ever been on the field of battle.
"Take the oath of allegiance to the Southern Confederacy? Die right here
a hundred times," surged through both their hearts.
Si pulled the bunches of firecrackers from his pocket, undid them before
the children's wondering eyes. He went through a pantomime to tell them
to take a coal from the fire, run out back with them, and touch it to
the fuses.
"Take a coal, run back, and tech it to them strings," said Shorty,
forgetting himself in his excitement. "It'll be the greatest fun ye ever
saw."
"What's that y're sayin'?" said Mrs. Bolster.
"Jest talkin' to the children," said Shorty, seeing with relief the
children bolt out of the back door. He slipped his hand on his revolver,
determined to kill the 'Squire, the Major, and the other three men
before he would take a syllable of the oath.
"Come out here, men," said the Major authoritatively. Si slipped his
hand into his pocket, grasped his revolver, and walked forward very
slowly.
"Ahem," said the 'Squire, with an official cough. "Raise yer right
hands, and repeat these words after me, givin' your own names."
The other rebels took off their hats.
The dogs raised a clamor, which directed all eyes to the road. Sol
Simmons and the rest could be seen coming on a dead run.
"What does that mean?" said the Major anxiously.{221}
At the same instant there was a series of crashes behind the house;
the firecrackers were going off like a volley of rifle-shots. The Major
whirled around to see what that meant, and looked into the muzzle of
Shorty's revolver.
"Surrender, or I'll kill you," shouted Shorty desperately. "Don't stop a
minit. Throw up your hands, I tell you."
Si was making a similar demand on Tuggers, while the 'Squire was
standing, open-mouthed, with the first word of the oath apparently still
on his tongue.
The Major sprang at Shorty, whose bullet cut his hair. The next bullet
caught the officer in the shoulder, and he reeled and went down. Si was
not so fortunate with Tuggers, who succeeded in grappling him. Simmons
dashed by and struck Si, in passing, with his fist, which sent him to
the ground, with Tuggers on top.
The next minute the 'Squire, who was the only one who had any
opportunity to look, saw Yankees pop out of the brush and jump the
fences in a long, irregular line which immediately surrounded the
house. Capt. McGillicuddy cut down Simmons with his sword, and the rest
incontinently surrendered.
"We had got tired of waiting, and were on the point of dashing in,
anyhow, when we heard the firecrackers," said Capt. McGillicuddy, after
the prisoners had been secured and things quieted down. "That feller
that I cut down was out there with a squad and caught sight of us, and
started back this way, and I concluded to follow him up and jump the
house. Neither of you hurt, are you?"{222}
"Not hurt a mite," answered Shorty cheerfully, "but it's the closest
squeak I ever had. Wouldn't go through it agin for a pile o' greenbacks
big as a cornshock. Say, Cap., you've made a ten-strike today that ought
to make you a Major. That house's plum full o' contraband, and there's
a lot o' important letters there. But, say, Cap., I want you to either
kill that 'Squire or git him as fur away as possible. I ain't safe a
minnit as long as him and that woman's a-nigh me."