LIFE IN THE ARMY.
SI ASKED questions of his father about the folks at home and the farm
until the old gentleman's head ached, and he finally fell asleep through
sheer exhaustion.
The next day the Deacon took a comprehensive survey of the house, and
was loud in his praises of Si and Shorty's architecture.
"Beats the cabin I had to take your mother to, Si, when I married her,"
he said with a retrospective look in his eye, "though I'd got up a sight
better one than many o' the boys on the Wabash. Lays a way over the one
that Abe Lincoln's father put up on Pigeon Crick, over in Spencer
County, and where he brung the Widder Johnston when he married her. I
remember it well. About the measliest shack there wuz in the country.
Tom Lincoln, Abe's father, wuz about as lazy as you make 'em. They say
nothin' will cure laziness in a man, but a second wife 'll shake it up
awfully. The Widder Johnston had lots o' git up in her, but she found
Tom Lincoln a dead load. Abe wuz made o' different stuff."
"Yes," continued the father, growing reminiscential. "There wuz no tin
roof, sawed boards, glass winder nor plank floor in that little shack on
the203 Wabash, but some o' the happiest days in my life wuz spent in it.
Me and your mother wuz both young, both very much in love, both chock
full o' hope and hard day's work. By the time you wuz born, Si, we'd got
the farm and the house in much better shape, but they wuz fur from being
what they are to-day."
"If we only had a deed for a quarter section o' land around our house
we'd be purty well started in life for young men," ventured Si.
"I'd want it a heap sight better land than this is 'round here," said
the Deacon, studying the land scape judicially. "Most of it that I've
seen so far is like self-righteousness the more a man has the worse he's
off. Mebbe it'll raise white beans, but I don't know o' nothin' else,
except niggers and poverty. The man that'd stay 'round here, scratchin'
these clay knobs, when there's no law agin him goin' to Injianny or
Illinoy, hain't gumption enough to be anything but a rebel. That's my
private opinion publicly expressed."
"Pap," said Si, after his father had been a day in camp, "I think we've
done fairly well in providin' you with a house and a bed, but I'm
afeared that our cookin's not quite up to your taste. You see, you've
bin badly pampered by mother. I might say that she's forever spiled you
for plain grub and common cookin'."
"Your mother's the best cook that ever lived or breathed," said the
Deacon earnestly. "She kin make plain cornbread taste better than
anybody else's pound cake. But you do well, Si, considerin' that your
mother could never git you to do so much204 as help peel a mess o'
'taters. Your coffee'd tan a side o' sole leather, and there's enough
grease about your meat to float a skiff; but I didn't expect to live at
a hotel when I come down here."
The Deacon strolled down near Regimental Headquarters. An Aid came up
and, saluting the Colonel, said:
"Colonel, the General presents his compliments, and instructs me to say
that he has received orders from Division Headquarters to send details
of a Corporal and five men from each regiment there to morrow morning at
7 o'clock for fatigue duty. You will furnish yours."
"Very good," answered the Colonel, returning the salute. "Adjutant,
order the detail."
"Sergeant-Major," said the Adjutant, after a momentary glance at his
roster, "send an order to Capt, McGillicuddy, of Co. Q, for a Corporal
and five men for fatigue duty, to report at Division Headquarters at 7
to-morrow morning."
The Deacon walked toward Co. Q's quarters, and presently saw the Orderly
hand the Captain the order from the Colonel.
"Orderly-Sergeant," said the Captain, "detail a Corporal and five men to
report for fatigue duty at Division Headquarters to-morrow at 7
o'clock."
The Orderly-Sergeant looked over his roster, and then walked down to
Si's residence.
"Klegg," said he, "you will report for fatigue duty at Division
Headquarters to-morrow at 7 o'clock with five men. You will take Shorty,
Simmons, Sullivan, Tomkins and Wheeler with you."
"Very good, sir," said Si, saluting.205
"Si," said his father, with a quizzical smile, "I've bin wonderin', ever
since I heard that you wuz an officer, how much o' the army you
commanded. Now I see that if it wuz turned upside down you'd be on the
very top."
"He leads the army when it goes backward," interjected Shorty.
"Gracious, Pap," said Si, good-humoredly, "I haven't rank enough to get
me behind a saplin' on the battlefield. The Colonel has the pick o' the
biggest tree, the Lieutenant-Colonel and Major take the next; the
Captains and Lieutenants take the second growth, and the Sergeants have
the saplins. I'm lucky if I git so much as a bush."
"Old Rosecrans must have a big saw-log," said his father.
"Not much saw-log for old Rosey," said Si, resenting even a joking
disparagement upon his beloved General. "During the battle he wuz
wherever it wuz hottest, and on horseback, too. Wherever the firm' wuz
the loudest he'd gallop right into it. His staff was shot down all
around him, but he never flinched. I tell you, he's the greatest General
in the world."
The next morning after breakfast, and as Si and Shorty were preparing to
go to Division Headquarters, Si said:
"Pap, you just stay at home and keep house to day. Keep your eyes on the
boys; I tell it to you in confidence, for I wouldn't for the world have
it breathed outside the company, that Co. Q's the most everlastin' set
o' thieves that ever wore uniform. Don't you ever say a word about it
when you get206 home, for it'd never do to have the boys' folks know
anything about it. I'd break their hearts. Me and Shorty, especially
Shorty, are the only honest ones in the company. The other fellers'd
steal the house from over your head if you didn't watch 'em."
"That's so," asseverated Shorty. "Me and Si especially me is the only
honest ones in the company. We're the only ones you kin really trust."
"I'd be sorry to think that Si had learned to steal," said the Deacon
gravely, at which Shorty could not resist the temptation to give Si a
furtive kick. "But I'll look out for thieves. We used to have lots o'
them in Posey County, but after we hung one or two, and rid some others
on rails, the revival meetin's seemed to take hold on the rest, and they
got converted."
"Something like that ought to be done in the army," murmured Shorty.
"When you want anything to eat you know where to git it," said Si, as
they moved off. "We'll probably be back in time to git supper."
The Deacon watched the squad march away, and then turned to think how he
would employ himself during the day. He busied himself for awhile
cleaning up the cabin and setting things to rights, and flattered
himself that his housekeeping was superior to his son's. Then he decided
to cut some wood. He found the ax, "condemned" it for some time as to
its dullness and bad condition, but finally attacked with it a tree
which had been hauled up back of the company line for fuel. It was hard
work, and presently he sat down to rest. Loud words of command came from
just beyond the hill, and he walked207 over there to see what was going
on. He saw a regiment drilling, and watched it for some minutes with
interest. Then he walked back to his work, but found to his amazement
that his ax was gone. He could see nobody around on whom his suspicions
could rest.
"Mebbe somebody's borrowed it," he said, "and will bring it back when
he's through usin' it. If he don't I kin buy a better ax for 10 or 12
bits. Somebody must have axes for sale 'round here somewhere."
He waited awhile for the borrower to return the tool, but as he did not,
he gathered up a load of wood and carried it up to the cabin.
"The boys'l be mighty hungry when they git back this evenin'," said he
to himself. "I'll jest git up a good supper for 'em. I'll show Si that
the old man knows some p'ints about cookin', even if he hain't bin in
the army, that'll open the youngster's eyes."
He found a tin pan, put in it a generous supply of beans, and began
carefully picking them over and blowing the dust out, the same as he had
often seen his wife do. Having finished this to his satisfaction, he set
down the pan and went back into the cabin to get the kettle to boil them
in. When he returned he found that pan and beans had vanished, and again
he saw no one upon whom he could fix his suspicions. The good Deacon
began to find the "old Adam rising within him," but as a faithful member
of the church he repressed his choler.
"I can't hardly believe all that Si and Shorty said about the dishonesty
of Co. Q," he communed with208 himself. "Many o' the boys in it I know
they're right from our neighborhood. Good boys as ever lived, and honest
as the day is long. Some o' them belonged to our Sunday school. I can't
believe that they've turned out bad so soon. Yet it looks awful
suspicious. The last one I see around here was Jed Baskins. His father's
a reggerly ordained preacher. Jed never could 've took them beans. But
who on airth done it?"
The Deacon carefully fastened the door of the cabin, and proceeded with
his camp-kettle to the spring to get some water. He found there quite a
crowd, with many in line waiting for their chance at the spring. He
stood around awhile awaiting his chance, but it did not seem to get any
nearer. He said something about the length of time it took, and a young
fellow near remarked:
"Here, Uncle, give me your kittle. I'll git it filled for you."
Without a thought the Deacon surrendered the kettle to him, and he took
his place in line. The Deacon watched him edging up toward the spring
for a minute or two, and then his attention was called to a brigade
manuvering in a field across the river. After awhile he thought again
about his kettle, and looked for the kindly young man who had
volunteered to fill it. There were several in the line who looked like
him, but none whom he could positively identify as him.
"Which o' you boys got my kittle?" he inquired, walking along the line.
"Got your kittle, you blamed teamster," they an swered crossly. "Go away
from here. We won't209 allow teamsters at this spring. It's only for
soldiers. Go to your own spring."
His kettle was gone, too. That was clear. As the Deacon walked back to
the cabin he was very hot in the region of his collar. He felt quite
shame faced, too, as to the way the boys would look on his management,
in the face of the injunctions they had given him at parting. His temper
was not improved by discovering that while he was gone someone had
carried off the bigger part of the wood he had laboriously chopped and
piled up in front of the cabin. He sat down in the doorway and meditated
angrily:
"I'll be dumbed (there, I'm glad that Mariar didn't hear me say that.
I'm afeared I'm gittin' to swear just like these other fellers). I'll be
dumbed if I ever imagined there wuz sich a passel o' condemned thieves
on the face o' the airth. And they all seem sich nice, gentlemanly
fellers, too. What'll we do with them when they git back home?"
Presently he roused himself up to carry out his idea of getting a good
meal ready for the boys by the time they returned, tired and hungry. He
rummaged through the cabin, and came across an old tin bucket partially
filled with scraps of paper. There did not seem to be anything of value
in it, and he tossed the contents on the smoldering fire. Instantly
there was an explosion which took the barrel off the top of the chimney,
sent the stones rattling down, filled the room full of smoke, singed the
Deacon's hair and whiskers, and sped him out of the cabin in great
alarm. A crowd quickly gathered to see what was the matter. Just then Si
appeared at the head of his squad. He and Shorty hurried to the scene of
the disturbance.210
210 (71K)
"What is the matter, Pap?" Si asked anxiously. "Why," explained his
father, "I was lookin' round for something to git water in, and I found
an old tin bucket with scraps o' paper in. I throwed them in the fire,
and I'm feared I busted your fireplace all to pieces, But I'll help you
to fix it up agin," he added deprecatingly.
"But you ain't hurt any, are you, Pap?" asked Si,211 anxiously examining
his father, and ignoring all thought as to the damage to the dwelling.
"No," said his father cheerfully. "I guess I lost a little hair, but I
could spare that. It was about time to git it cut, anyway. I think we
kin fix up the fireplace, Si."
"Cuss the fireplace, so long's you're all right," answered Si. "A little
mud 'll straighten that out. You got hold o' the bucket where me and
Shorty 've bin savin' up our broken cartridges for a little private
Fourth o' July some night."
"But, Si," said the Deacon sorrowfully, determined to have it out at
once. "They're bigger thieves than you said there wuz. They stole your
ax but I'll buy you a better one for 10 or 12 bits; they took your pan
and beans, an' took your camp-kittle, and finally all the wood that I'd
cut."
He looked so doleful that the boys could not help laughing.
"Don't worry about them, Pap," said Si cheer fully. "We'll fix them all
right. Let's go inside and straighten things up, and then we'll have
some thing to eat."
"But you can't git nothin' to eat," persisted the Deacon, "because
there's nothin' to cook in."
"We'll have something, all the same," said Shorty, with a wink of
enjoyable anticipation at Si.
The two boys carefully stowed away their overcoats, which were rolled up
in bundles in a way that would be suspicious to a soldier. They got the
interior of the cabin in more presentable shape, and then Shorty went
out and produced a camp-kettle from somewhere, in which they made their
coffee.212
When this was ready, they shut the door and care fully unrolled their
overcoats. A small sugar-cured ham, a box of sardines, a can of peaches,
and a couple of loaves of fresh, soft bread developed.
"Yum-yum!" murmured Shorty, gloating over the viands.
"Where in the world did you git them, boys?" asked the Deacon in
wonderment.213
"Eat what is set before you, and ask no questions, for conscience's
sake, Pap," said Si, slicing off a piece of the ham and starting to
broil it for his father. "That's what you used to tell me."
"Si," said the father sternly, as an awful suspicion moved in his mind,
"I hope you didn't steal 'em."
"Of course, not, Pap. How kin you think so?"
"Josiah Klegg," thundered the father, "tell me how you came by them
things."
"Well, Pap," said Si, considerably abashed, "it was something like this:
Our squad was set to work to unload a car o' Christian Commission
things. Me and Shorty pulled off our overcoats and laid them in a
corner. When we got through our work and picked up our coats we found
these things in them. Some bad men had hid them there, thinkin' they wuz
their overcoats. We thought the best way wuz to punish the thieves by
takin' the things away with us. Now, here's a piece o' ham briled almost
as nice as mother could do. Take it, and cut you off a slice of that
soft bread."
"Si, the receiver's as bad as the thief. I won't touch it."
"Pap, the harm's been done. No matter who done it, the owner'll never
see his victuals agin. Jest as like he cribbed 'em from somebody else.
These Christian Commission things wuz sent down for us soljers, anyhow.
We'd better have 'em than the bummers around the rear. They'll spile and
be wasted if you don't eat 'em, and that'd be a sin."
Trying to Conquer the Deacon's Scruples. 212
The savory ham was very appetizing, the Deacon was very hungry, and the
argument was sophistical.
"I'll take it, Si," said he with a sigh. "I don't214 wonder that the
people down here are rebels and all that sort o' thing. It's in the air.
I've felt my principles steadily weakenin' from the time I crossed the
Ohio River."