Them's Our Names and Addresses 59

Draw Your Stomachs In. 73

A Letter from Maria. 81

Close Up, Boys. 111

Don't Anybody Shoot. 119

Mr. Yank, Don't Conjure Me. 135

Little Pete's Awful Rebels. 149

Little Pete's Horse Bolts. 168

Capture of Rebel Stronghold. 185

The Charge Thru the Abatis. 211

Hooray for the Old Battery. 231

Awful Destruction. 241

Shorty Before the Court-martial. 256

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 GREATEST

ARMY EVER MUSTERED FOR WAR.

SI KLEGG

CHAPTER I. SHORTY BEGINS BEING A FATHER TO PETE SKIDMORE.

"Come, my boy," Si said kindly. "Don't cry. You're a soldier now, and

soldiers don't cry. Stop it."

"Dod durn it," blubbered Pete, "I ain't cryin' bekase Pm skeered. I'm

cryin' bekase I'm afeared you'll lose me. I know durned well you'll lose

me yit, with all this foolin' around."

"No, we won't," Si assured him. "You just keep with us and you'll be all

right."

"Here, you blim-blammed, moon-eyed suckers, git offen that 'ere

crossin'," yelled at them a fireman whose engine came tearing down

toward the middle of the squad. "Hain't you got no more sense than to

stand on a crossin'?"

He hurled a chunk of coal at the squad, which hastily followed Si to the

other side of the track.

"Hello, there; where are you goin', you chuckle-headed clodhoppers?"

yelled the men on another train rushing down from a different direction.

"This ain't no hayfield. Go back home and drive cows, and git out o' the

way o' men who're at work."

There was more scurrying, and when at last Si reached a clear space, he

had only a portion of his squad with him, while Shorty was vowing he

would not go a step farther until he had licked a railroad man. But the

engines continued to whirl back and forth in apparently purposeless

confusion, and the moment that he fixed upon any particular victim of

his wrath, he was sure to be compelled to jump out of the way of a

locomotive clanging up from an unexpected direction and interposing a

train of freight cars between him and the man he was after.

Si was too deeply exercised about getting his squad together to pay

attention to Shorty or the jeering, taunting railroaders. He became very

fearful that some of them had been caught and badly hurt, probably

killed, by the remorseless locomotives.

"This's wuss'n a battle," he remarked to the boys around him. "I'd

ruther take you out on the skirmish-line than through them trains agin."

However, he had come to get some comprehension of the lay of the ground

and the movements of the trains by this time, and by careful watching

succeeded in gathering in his boys, one after another, until he had them

all but little Pete Skidmore. The opinion grew among them that Pete had

unwisely tried to keep up with the bigger boys, who had jumped across

the track in front of a locomotive, and had been caught and crushed

beneath the wheels. He had been seen up to a certain time, and then

those who were last with him had been so busy getting out of the way

that they had forgotten to look for him. Si calmed Shorty down enough to

get him to forget the trainmen for awhile and take charge of the squad

while he went to look for Pete. He had become so bewildered that he

could not tell the direction whence they had come, or where the tragedy

was likely to have happened. The farther he went in attempting to

penetrate the maze of moving trains, the more hopeless the quest seemed.

Finally he went over to the engineer of a locomotive that was standing

still and inquired if he had heard of any accident to a boy soldier

during the day.

"Seems to me that I did hear some o' the boys talkin' about No. 47 or 63

havin' run over a boy, or something," answered the engineer carelessly,

without removing his pipe from his mouth. "I didn't pay no attention to

it. Them things happen every day. Sometimes it's my engine, sometimes

it's some other man's. But I hain't run over nobody for nigh a month

now."

"Confound it," said Si savagely; "you talk about runnin' over men as if

it was part o' your business."

"No," said the engineer languidly, as he reached up for his bell-rope.

"'Tain't, so to speak, part o' our regler business. But the yard's

awfully crowded, old Sherman's makin' it do five times the work it was

calculated for, trains has got to be run on the dot, and men must keep

off the track if they don't want to git hurt. Stand clear, there,

yourself, for I'm goin' to start."

Si returned dejectedly to the place where he had left his squad. The

expression of his face told the news before he had spoken a word. It was

now getting dark, and he and Shorty decided that it was the best thing

to go into bivouac where they were and wait till morning before

attempting to penetrate the maze beyond in search of their regiment.

They gathered up some wood, built fires, made coffee and ate the

remainder of their rations. They were all horribly depressed by little

Pete Skidmore's fate, and Si and Shorty, accustomed as they were to

violent deaths, could not free themselves from responsibility however

much they tried to reason it out as an unavoidable accident. They could

not talk to one another, but each wrapped himself up in his blanket and

sat moodily, a little distance from the fires, chewing the cud of bitter

fancies. Neither could bear the thought of reporting to their regiment

that they had been unable to take care of the smallest boy in their

squad. Si's mind went back to Peter Skidmore's home, and his mother,

whose heart would break over the news.

The clanging and whistling of the trains kept up unabated, and Si

thought they made the most hateful din that ever assailed his ears.

Presently one of the trains stopped opposite them and a voice called

from the locomotive:

"Do you men know of a squad of Injianny recruits commanded by Serg't

Klegg?"

"Yes, here they are," said Si, springing up. "I'm Serg't Klegg."

Little Pete Found 13

"That's him," piped out Pete Skidmore's voice from the engine, with a

very noticeable blubber of joy. "He's the same durned old-fool that I

kept tellin' all the time he'd lose me if he wasn't careful, and he went

and done it all the same."

"Well, here's your boy," continued the first voice. "Be mighty glad

you've got him back and see that you take care o' him after this. My

fireman run down on the cow-ketcher and snatched him up just in the nick

o' time. A second more and he'd bin mince-meat. Men what can't take

better care o' boys oughtn't to be allowed to have charge of 'em. But

the Government gits all sorts o' damn fools for $13 a month."

Si was so delighted at getting Pete back unhurt that he did not have the

heart to reply to the engineer's gibes.

CHAPTER II. SI AND SHORTY COME VERY NEAR LOSING THEIR BOYS.

ALL healthy boys have a strong tincture of the savage in them. The

savage alternately worships his gods with blind, unreasoning idolatry,

or treats them with measureless contumely.

Boys do the same with their heroes. It is either fervent admiration, or

profound distrust, merging into actual contempt. After the successful

little skirmish with the guerrillas the boys were wild in their

enthusiasm over Si and Shorty. They could not be made to believe that

Gens. Grant, Sherman or Thomas could conduct a battle better. But the

moment that Si and Shorty seemed dazed by the multitude into which they

were launched, a revulsion of feeling developed, which soon threatened

to be ruinous to the partners' ascendancy.

During the uncomfortable, wakeful night the prestige of the partners

still further diminished. In their absence the army had been turned

topsy-turvy and reorganized in a most bewildering way. The old familiar

guide-marks had disappeared. Two of the great corps had been

abolished—consolidated into one, with a new number and a strange

commander. Two corps of strange troops had come in from the Army of the

Potomac, and had been consolidated into one, taking an old corps'

number. Divisions, brigades and regiments had been totally changed in

commanders, formation and position. Then the Army of the Tennessee had

come in, to complicate the seeming muddle, and the more that Si and

Shorty cross-questioned such stragglers as came by the clearer it seemed

to the boys that they were hopelessly bewildered, and the more depressed

the youngsters became.

The morning brought no relief. Si and Shorty talked together, standing

apart from the squad, and casting anxious glances over the swirling mass

of army activity, which the boys did not fail to note and read with

dismal forebodings.

"I do believe they're lost," whimpered little Pete Skidmore. "What in

goodness will ever become of us, if we're lost in this awful

wilderness?"

The rest shuddered and grew pale at this horrible prospect.

"That looks like a brigade headquarters over there," said Si, pointing

to the left. "And I believe that's our old brigade flag. I'm goin' over

there to see."

"I don't believe that's any brigade headquarters at all," said Shorty.

"Up there, to the right, looks ever so much more like a brigade

headquarters. I'm goin' up there to see. You boys stay right there, and

don't move off the ground till I come back. I won't be gone long."

As he left, the boys began to feel more lonely and hopeless than ever,

and little Pete Skidmore had hard work to restrain his tears.

A large, heavy-jowled man, with a mass of black whiskers, and wearing a

showy but nondescript uniform, appeared.

"That must be one o' the big Generals," said Harry Joslyn. "Looks like

the pictures o' Grant. Git into line, boys, and salute."

"No, it ain't Grant, neither," said Gid Mackall. "Too big. Must be Gen.

Thomas."

The awed boys made an effort to form a line and receive him properly.

"Who are you, boys?" said the newcomer, after gravely returning the

salute.

"We're recruits for the 200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry," answered

Harry Joslyn. "Kin you tell us where the rijimint is? We're lost.

"Used to know sich a regiment. In fact, I used to be Lieutenant-Colonel

of it. But I hain't heared of it for a long time. Think it's petered

out."

"Petered out!" gasped the boys.

"Yes. It was mauled and mummixed to death. There's plenty o'

mismanagement all around the army, but the 200th Injianny had the worst

luck of all. It got into awful bad hands. I quit it just as soon's I see

how things was a-going. They begun to plant the men just as soon's they

crossed the Ohio, and their graves are strung all the way from

Louisville to Chickamauga. The others got tired o' being mauled around,

and starved, and tyrannized over, and o' fighting for the nigger, and

they skipped for home like sensible men."

The boys shuddered at the doleful picture.

"Who brung you here?" continued the newcomer.

"Sarjint Klegg and Corpril Elliott," answered Harry.

"Holy smoke," said the newcomer with a look of disgust. "They've made

non-commish out o' them sapsuckers. Why, I wouldn't let them do nothin'

but dig ditches when I was in command o' the regiment. But they probably

had to take them. All the decent material was gone. How much bounty'd

you get?"

"We got $27.50 apiece," answered Harry. "But we didn't care nothin' for

the bounty. We—"

"Only $27.50 apiece. Holy smoke! They're payin' 10 times that in some

places."

"I tell you, we didn't enlist for the bounty," reiterated Harry.

"All the same, you don't want to be robbed o' what's yours. You don't

want to be skinned out o' your money by a gang o' snoozers who're

gittin' rich off of green boys like you. Where's this Sarjint Klegg and

Corpril Elliott that brung you here?"

"They've gone to look for the rijimint."

"Gone to look for the regiment. Much they've gone to look for the

regiment. They've gone to look out for their scalawag selves. When you

see 'em agin, you'll know 'em, that's all."

Little Pete Skidmore began to whimper.

"Say, boys," continued the newcomer, "you'd better drop all idee of that

200th Injianny and come with me. If there is any sich a regiment any

more, and you get to it, you'd be sorry for it as long as you live. I

know a man over here who's got a nice regiment, and wants a few more

boys like you to fill it up. He'll treat you white and give you twice as

much bounty as you'll git anywhere's else, and he's goin' to keep his

regiment back in the fortifications, where there won't be no fightin',

and hard marches, and starvation—"

"But we enlisted to fight and march, and—" interjected Harry.

"Well, you want a good breakfast just now, more'n anything else, judgin'

from appearances. Come along with me and I'll git you something to eat."

"But we waz enlisted for the 200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry, and must

go to that rijimint," protested Monty Scruggs.

"Well, what's that got to do with your havin' a good breakfast?" said

the newcomer plausibly. "You need that right off. Then we kin talk about

your regiment. As a matter of fact, you're only enlisted in the Army of

the United States and have the right to go to any regiment you please.

Tyrannical as the officers may be, they can't take that privilege of an

American freeman away from you. Come along and git breakfast first."

The man's appearance was so impressive, his words and confident manner

so convincing, and the boys so hungry that their scruples vanished, and

all followed the late Lieut.-Col. Billings, as he gave the word, and

started off through the mazes of the camp with an air of confident

knowledge that completed his conquest of them.

Ex-Lieut.-Col. Billings strode blithely along, feeling the gladsome

exuberance of a man who had "struck a good thing," and turning over in

his mind as to where he had best market his batch of lively recruits,

how he could get around the facts of their previous enlistment, and how

much he ought to realize per head. He felt that he could afford to give

the boys a good breakfast, and that that would be fine policy.

Accordingly, he led the way to one of the numerous large eating houses,

established by enterprising sutlers, to their own great profit and the

shrinkage of the pay of the volunteers. He lined the boys up in front of

the long shelf which served for a table and ordered the keeper:

"Now, give each of these boys a good breakfast of ham and eggs and

trimmings and I'll settle for it."

"Good mornin', Kunnel. When 'd you git down here?" said a voice at his

elbow.

"Hello, Groundhog, is that you?" said Billings, turning around. "Just

the man I wanted to see. Finish your breakfast and come out here. I want

to talk to you."

"Well," answered Groundhog, wiping his mouth, "I'm through. The feller

that runs this shebang ain't made nothin' offen me, I kin tell you. It's

the first square meal I've had for a week, and I've et until there ain't

a crack left inside o' me that a skeeter could git his bill in. I laid

out to git the wuth o' my money, and I done it. What're you doin' down

here in this hole? Ain't Injianny good enough for you?"

"Injianny's good enough on general principles, but just now there's too

much Abolition malaria there for me. The Lincoln satraps 've got the

swing on me, and I thought I'd take a change of air. I've come down here

to see if there weren't some chances to make a good turn, and I've done

very well so far. I've done a little in cattle and got some cotton

through the lines—enough at least to pay my board and railroad fare. But

I think the biggest thing is in recruits, and I've got a scheme which I

may let you into. You know there are a lot of agents down here from the

New England States trying to git niggers to fill up their quotas, and

they are paying big money for recruits. Can't you go out and gether up a

lot o' niggers that we kin sell 'em?"

"Sure," said Groundhog confidently. "Kin git all you want, if you'll pay

for 'em. But what's this gang you've got with you?"

"O, they're a batch for that blasted Abolition outfit, the 200th

Injianny. Them two ornery galoots, Si and Shorty, whose necks I ought've

broke when I was with the regiment, have brung 'em down. They're not

goin' to git to the 200th Injianny if I kin help it, though. First

place, it'll give old McBiddle, that Abolition varmint, enough to git

him mustered as Colonel. He helped oust me, and I have it in for him. He

was recommended for promotion for gittin' his arm shot off at

Chickamauga. Wisht it'd bin his cussed head."

"But what're you goin' to do with the gang?" Groundhog inquired.

"O, there are two or three men around here that I kin sell 'em to for

big money. I ought to make a clean thousand off 'em if I make a cent."

"How much'll I git out o' that?" inquired Groundhog anxiously.

"Well, you ain't entitled to nothin' by rights. I've hived this crowd

all by myself, and kin work 'em all right. But if you'll come along and

make any affidavits that we may need, I'll give you a sawbuck. But on

the nigger lay I'll stand in even with you, half and half. You run 'em

in and I'll place 'em and we'll whack up."

"'Tain't enough," answered Groundhog angrily. "Look here, Jeff Billings,

I know you of old. You've played off on me before, and I won't stand no

more of it. Jest bekase you've bin a Lieutenant-Colonel and me only a

teamster you've played the high and mighty with me. I'm jest as good as

you are any day. I wouldn't give a howl in the infernal regions for your

promises. You come down now with $100 in greenbacks and I'll go along

and help you all I kin. If you don't—"

"If I don't what'll you do, you lowlived whelp?" said Billings, in his

usual brow-beating manner. "I only let you into this as a favor, because

I've knowed you before. You hain't brains enough to make a picayune

yourself, and hain't no gratitude when someone else makes it for you.

Git out o' here; I'm ashamed to be seen speakin' to a mangy hound like

you. Git out o' here before I kick you out. Don't you dare speak to one

o' them boys, or ever to me agin. If you do I'll mash you. Git out."

Si and Shorty's dismay when they returned and found their squad entirely

disappeared was overwhelming. They stood and gazed at one another for a

minute in speechless alarm and wonderment.

"Great goodness," gasped Si at length, "they can't have gone far. They

must be somewhere around."

"Don't know about that," said Shorty despairingly. "We've bin gone some

little time and they're quick-footed little rascals."

"What fools we wuz to both go off and leave 'em," murmured Si in deep

contrition. "What fools we wuz."

"No use o' cryin' over spilt milk," answered Shorty. "The thing to do

now is to find 'em, which is very much like huntin' a needle in a

haystack. You stay here, on the chance o' them comin' back, and I'll

take a circle around there to the left and look for 'em. If I don't find

'em I'll come back and we'll go down to the Provo-Marshal's."

"Goodness, I'd rather be shot than go back to the rijimint without 'em,"

groaned Si. "How kin I ever face the Colonel and the rest o' the boys?"

Leaving Si gazing anxiously in every direction for some clew to his

missing youngsters, Shorty rushed off in the direction of the sutler's

shanties, where instinct told him he was most likely to find the

runaways.

He ran up against Groundhog.

"Where are you goin' in sich a devil of a hurry?" the teamster asked.

"Smell a distillery somewhere?"

"Hello, Groundhog, is that you? Ain't you dead yit? Say, have you seen a

squad o' recruits around here—all boys, with new uniforms, and no

letters or numbers on their caps?"

"Lots and gobs of 'em. Camp's full of 'em. More comin' in by every

train."

"But these wuz all Injianny boys, most of 'em little. Not an old man

among 'em."

"Shorty, I know where your boys are. What'll you give me to tell you?"

Shorty knew his man of old, and just the basis on which to open

negotiations.

"Groundhog, I've just had my canteen filled with first-class whisky—none

o' your commissary rotgut, but old rye, hand-made, fire-distilled. I got

it to take out to the boys o' the rijimint to celebrate my comin' back.

Le' me have just one drink out of it, and I'll give it to you if you'll

tell."

Groundhog wavered an instant. "I wuz offered $10 on the other side."

Shorty was desperate. "I'll give you the whisky and $10."

"Le' me see your money and taste your licker."

"Here's the money," said Shorty, showing a bill. "I ain't goin' to trust

you with the canteen, but I'll pour out this big spoon full, which'll be

enough for you to taste." Shorty drew a spoon from his haversack and

filled it level full.

"It's certainly boss licker," said Groundhog, after he had drunk it, and

prudently hefted the canteen to see if it was full. "I'll take your

offer. You're to have just one swig out o' it, and no more, and not a

hog-swaller neither. I know you. You'd drink that hull canteenful at one

gulp, if you had to. You'll let me put my thumb on your throat?"

"Yes, and I'll give you the canteen now and the money after we find the

boys."

"All right. Go ahead. Drink quick, for you must go on the jump, or

you'll lose your boys."

Shorty lifted the canteen to his lips and Groundhog clasped his throat

with his thumb on Adam's apple. When Shorty got his breath he sputtered:

"Great Jehosephat, you didn't let me git more'n a spoonful. But where

are the boys?"

"Old Jeff Billings's got 'em down at Zeke Wiggins's hash-foundry feedin'

'em, so's he kin toll 'em off into another rijimint."

"Old Billings agin," shouted Shorty in a rage. "Where's the place? Show

it to me. But wait a minute till I run back and git my pardner."

"Gi' me that licker fust," shouted Groundhog, but Shorty was already

running back for Si. When he returned with him he threw the canteen to

Groundhog with the order, "Go ahead and show us the place."

By the time they came in sight of the sutler's shanty the boys had

finished their breakfast and were moving off after Billings.

"There's your man and there's your boys," said Groundhog, pointing to

them. "Now gi' me that 'ere sawbuck. You'll have to excuse me havin'

anything to do with old Billings. He's licked me twice already."

Shorty shoved the bill into his hand, and rushed down in front of

Billings.

"Here, you black-whiskered old roustabout, where 're you takin' them

boys?" he demanded.

"Git out o' my way, you red-headed snipe," answered Billings, making a

motion as if to brush him away.

"If you don't go off and leave them boys alone I'll belt you over the

head with my gun," said Si, raising his musket.

"You drunken maverick," answered Billings, trying to brave it out. "I'll

have you shot for insultin' and threatenin' your sooperior officer. Skip

out o' here before the Provo comes up and ketches you. Let me go on

about my business. Forward, boys."

"Officer nothin'. You can't play that on us," said Si. "Halt, there,

boys, and stand fast."

A crowd of teamsters, sutlers' men and other camp followers gathered

around. A tall, sandybearded man with keen, gray eyes and a rugged,

stony face rode up. He wore a shabby slouch hat, his coat was old and

weather-stained, but he rode a spirited horse.

"Here, what's all this row about?" he asked in quick, sharp tones.

"Keep out o' this mix," said Shorty, without looking around. "'Tain't

none o' your business. This is our party." With that he made a snatch at

Billings's collar to jerk him out of the way.

"What, you rascal, would you assault an officer?" said the newcomer,

spurring his horse through the crowd to get at Shorty.

He Ain't No Officer 27

"He ain't no officer, General," said Si, catching sight of two dim stars

on the man's shoulders. "He's tryin' to steal our recruits from us."

"Yes, I am an officer," said Billings, avoiding Shorty's clutch. "These

men are assaultin' me while I'm on duty. I want them arrested and

punished."

"Fall back there, both of you," said the General severely, as Si and

Shorty came to a present arms. "Sergeant, who are you, and where do you

belong?"

"I'm Serg't Klegg, sir, of Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry."

"Who are you, Corporal?"

"I'm Corp'l Elliott, sir, of Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry."

"Now, officer, who are you?"

"I'm Lieut.-Col. Billings, sir."

"Where's your shoulder-straps?"

"I had 'em taken off this coat to git fixed. They were torn."

"Where's your sword?"

"I left it in my quarters."

"Fine officer, to go on duty that way. Where do you belong?"

Billings hesitated an instant, but he felt sure that the General did not

belong to the Army of the Cumberland, and he answered:

"I belong to the 200th Ind."

"That ain't true, General," Si protested. "He was fired out of the

regiment a year ago. He's a citizen."

"Silence, Sergeant. Billings? Billings? The name of the Lieutenant-

Colonel of the 200th Ind. happens to be McBiddle—one-armed man, good

soldier. Billings? Billings? T. J. Billings? Is that your name?"

"Yes, sir," answered Billings, beginning to look very uncomfortable.

"Didn't you have some trouble about a bunch of cattle you sold to the

Quartermaster-General?"

"Well, there was little difference of opinion, but—"

"That'll do, sir. That'll do for the present. I begin to get you placed.

I thought I knew the name Billings as soon as you spoke it, but I

couldn't remember any officer in my army of that name. Now, Sergeant,

tell me your story."

"General, me and my pardner here," began Si, "have bin home on wounded

furlough. Wounded at Chickamauga and promoted. We got orders to bring on

this squad o' recruits from Jeffersonville for our rijimint. We got in

last night and this mornin' me and my pardner started out to see if we

could find someone to direct us to the rijimint, leavin' the squad alone

for a few minutes. While we wuz gone this feller, who's bin fired out of

our rijimint and another one that he was in, come along and tolled our

boys off, intendin' to sneak 'em into another rijimint and git pay for

'em. By great good luck we ketched him in time, just before you come up.

You kin ask the boys themselves if I hain't told you the truth."

"Good idea," said the General, in his quick, peremptory way. "You three

(indicating Si, Shorty and Billings) march off there 25 paces, while I

talk to the boys."

Gen. Sherman, for it was the Commander of the Military Division of the

Mississippi, who, with his usual impetuous, thorough way, would

investigate even the most insignificant affair in his camps, when the

humor seized him, now sprang from his horse, and began a sharp, nervous

cross-questioning of the boys as to their names, residence, ages, how

they came there and whither they were bound.

"You came down with this Sergeant and Corporal, did you? You were

recruited for the 200th Ind., were you? You were put under the charge of

those men to be taken to your regiment?" he asked Pete Skidmore, at the

end of the line.

"Yes, sir," blubbered Pete. "And they are always losin' us, particularly

me, durn 'em. Spite of all I kin say to 'em they'll lose me, durn their

skins."

"No, my boy, you sha'n't be lost," said the General kindly, as he

remounted. "Stick to our command and you'll come through all right.

Billings, you thorough-paced rascal, I want you to get to the other side

of the Ohio River as quickly as the trains will carry you. I haven't

time to deal with you as you deserve, but if I have occasion to speak to

you again you'll rue it as long as you live. There's a train getting

ready to go out. If you are wise, you'll take it. Serg't Klegg and

Corp'l Elliott, you deserve to lose your stripes for both of you leaving

your squad at the same time. See that you don't do it again. You'll find

the 200th Ind. in camp on the east side of Mission Ridge, about a mile

south of Rossville Gap. Go out this road until you pass old John Ross's

house about a half a mile. You'll find several roads leading off to the

right, but don't take any of them till you come to one that turns off by

a sweet gum and a honey-locust standing together on the banks of a

creek. Understand? A sweet gum and a honey-locust standing together on

the banks of a creek. Turn off there, go across the mountain and you'll

find your camp. Move promptly now."

"I declare," said a big Wagonmaster, as the General galloped off, "if

that old Gump Sherman don't beat the world. He not only knows where

every regiment in his whole army is located, but I believe he knows

every man in it. He's a far-reacher, I tell you."

"Great Jehosephat," gasped Shorty, "was that Gen. Tecumseh Sherman?"

"As sure 's you're a foot high," replied the Wagonmaster.

"And I told him to mind his own business," stammered Shorty.

"Yes, and if it hadn't bin for him you'd 'a' lost us, durn it,"

ejaculated little Pete Skidmore.

CHAPTER III. THE PARTNERS GET BACK TO THEIR REGIMENT AT LAST WITH ALL

THEIR RECRUITS.

SI AND SHORTY were too glad to get their boys back, and too eager to

find their regiment, to waste any time in scolding the derelicts.

"Now that you boys have had a good breakfast," Si remarked with an

accent of cutting sarcasm, "at the expense of that kind-hearted

gentleman, Mr. Billings, I'm goin' to give you a pleasant little

exercise in the shape of a forced march. If you don't make the distance

between here and the other side o' Rossville Gap quicker'n ary squad has

ever made it I'm much mistaken. Shorty, put yourself on the left and

bring up the rear."

"You bet," answered Shorty, "and I'll take durned good care I don't lose

little Pete Skidmore."

"Now," commanded Si, getting a good lay of the ground toward the gap,

"Attention. All ready? Forward, march."

He led off with the long march stride of the veteran, and began

threading his way through the maze of teams, batteries, herds, and

marching men and stragglers with the ease and certainty born of long

acquaintance with crowded camps. He dodged around a regiment here,

avoided a train there, and slipped through a marching battery at the

next place with a swift, unresting progress that quickly took away the

boys' wind and made them pant with the exertion of keeping up.

In the rear was the relentless Shorty.

"Close up, there! Close up!" he kept shouting to those in front. "Don't

allow no gaps between you. Keep marchin' distance—19 inches from back to

breast. Come along, Pete. I ain't a-goin' to lose you, no matter what

happens."

"Sarjint," gasped flarry Joslyn, after they had gone a couple of miles,

"don't you call this purty fast marchin'?"

"Naah," said Si contemptuously. "We're just crawlin' along. Wait till we

git where it's a little clear, and then we'll go. Here, cut acrost ahead

o' that battery that's comin' up a-trot."

There was a rush for another mile or two, when there was a momentary

halt to allow a regiment of cavalry to go by at a quick walk.

"Goodness," murmured Gid Mackall, as he set down the carpet-sack which

he would persist in carrying, "are they always in a hurry? I s'posed

that when soldiers wuzzent marchin' or fightin' they lay around camp and

played cards and stole chickens, and wrote letters home, but everybody

'round here seems on the dead rush."

"Don't seem to be nobody pic-nickin' as far's I kin see," responded Si,

"but we hain't no time to talk about it now. We must git to the

rijimint. Forward!"

Another swift push of two or three miles brought them toward the foot of

Mission Ridge, and near the little, unpainted frame house which had once

been the home of John Ross, the chief of the Cherokees.

"Boys, there's the shebang or palace of the big Injun who used to be

king of all these mountains and valleys," said Si, stopping the squad to

give them a much needed rest. "He run this whole country, and had Injuns

to burn, though he generally preferred to burn them that didn't belong

to his church."

"Roasted his neighbors instid o' his friends in a heathen sort of a

way," continued Shorty.

"What was his name?" inquired Monty Scruggs.

"John Ross."

"Humph, not much of a name," said Monty in a disappointed tone, for he

had been an assiduous reader of dime novels. "'Tain't anything like as

fine as Tecumseh, and Osceola, and Powhatan, and Jibbeninosay, and Man-

Afraid-of-Gettin'-His-Neck-Broke. Wasn't much of a big Injun."

"Deed he was," answered Si. "He and his fathers before him run' this

whole neck o' woods accordin' to the big Injun taste, and give the Army

o' the United States all they wanted to do. Used to knock all the other

Injuns around here about like ten-pins. The Rosses were bosses from the

word go."

"Don't sound right, though," said Monty regretfully. "And such a shack

as that don't look like the wigwam of a great chief. 'Tain't any

different from the hired men's houses on the farms in Injianny."

"Well, all the same, it's got to go for the scene of a cord o' dime

novels," said Shorty. "We've brung in civilization and modern

improvements and killed more men around here in a hour o' working time

than the ignorant, screechin' Injuns killed since the flood."

"Do them rijimints look like the 200th Injianny?" anxiously inquired

Harry Joslyn, pointing to some camps on the mountain-side, where the men

were drilling and engaged in other soldierly duties.

"Them," snorted Shorty contemptuously. "Them's only recruits that ain't

got licked into shape yet. When you see the 200th Injianny you'll see a

rijimint, I tell you. Best one in the army. You ought to be mighty proud

you got a chanst to git into sich a rijimint."

"We are; we are," the boys assured him. "But we're awful anxious to see

jest what it's like."

"Well, you'll see in a little while the boss lot o' boys. Every one of

'em fightin' cocks, thoroughbred—not a dunghill feather or strain in the

lot. Weeded 'em all out long ago. All straight-cut gentlemen. They'll

welcome you like brothers and skin you out of every cent o' your bounty,

if you play cards with 'em. They're a dandy crowd when it comes to

fingerin' the pasteboards. They'll be regler fathers to you, but you

don't want to play no cards with 'em."

"I thought you said they wuz all gentlemen and would be regler brothers

to us," said Harry Joslyn.

"So they will—so they will. But your brother's the feller that you've

got to watch clostest when he's settin' in front o' you with one little

pair. He's the feller that's most likely to know all you know about the

cards and what he knows besides. They've bin skinnin' one another so

long that they'll be as anxious to git at your fresh young blood as a

New Orleans skeeter is to sink into a man just from the North."

"Didn't think they'd allow gambling in so good a regiment as the 200th

Ind.," remarked Alf Russell, who was a devoted attendant on Sunday

school.

"Don't allow it. It's strictly prohibited."

"But I thought that in the army you carried out orders, if you had to

kill men."

"Well, there's orders and orders," said Shorty, philosophically. "Most

of 'em you obey to the last curl on the letter R, and do it with a jump.

Some of 'em you obey only when you have to, and take your chances at

improving the State o' Tennessee by buildin' roads and diggin' up stumps

in the parade ground if you're ketched not mindin'. Of them kind is the

orders agin gamblin'."

"Shorty, stop talkin' to the boys about gamblin'. I won't have it,"

commanded Si. "Boys, you mustn't play cards on no account, especially

with older men. It's strictly agin orders, besides which I'll break any

o' your necks that I ketch at it. You must take care o' your money and

send it home. Forward, march."

They went up the road from the John Ross house until they came to that

turning off to the right by a sweet gum and a sycamore, as indicated by

Gen. Sherman, and then began a labored climbing of the rough, stony way

across Mission Ridge. Si's and Shorty's eagerness to get to the regiment

increased so with their nearness to it that they went at a terrific pace

in spite of all obstacles.

"Please, Sarjint," begged Gid Mackall, as they halted for an instant

near a large rock, "need we go quite so fast? We're awfully anxious to

git to the regiment, too, but I feel like as if I'd stove two inches

offen my legs already against them blamed rocks."

"I can't keep up. I can't keep up at all," whimpered little Pete

Skidmore. "You are just dead certain to lose me."

"Pull out just a little more, boys," Si said pleasantly. "We must be

almost there. It can't be but a little ways now."

"Close up there in front!" commanded Shorty. "Keep marchin' distance—19

inches from back to breast. Come on, Pete. Gi' me your hand; I'll help

you along."

"I ain't no kid, to be led along by the hand," answered Pete sturdily,

refusing the offer. "I'll keep up somehow. But you can't expect my short

legs to cover as much ground as them telegraph poles o' your'n."

The summit of the ridge was crossed and a number of camps appeared along

the slope.

"Wonder which one o' them is the 200th Injianny's?" said Si to Shorty.

"I thought the 200th Injianny was so much finer rijimint than any other

that you'd know it at sight," said Harry Joslyn, with a shade of

disappointment in his voice.

"I would know it if I was sure I was lookin' at it," answered Shorty.

"But they seem to have picked out all the best rijimints in the army to

go into camp here this side o' Mission Ridge. Mebbe they want to make

the best show to the enemy."

"That looks like the camp o' the 200th Injianny over there," said Si,

pointing to the right, after scanning the mountain-side. "See all them

red shirts hangin' out to dry? That's Co. A; they run to red flannel

shirts like a nigger barber to striped pants."

"No," answered Shorty; "that's that Ohio rijimint, made up o' rollin'

mill men and molders. They all wear red flannel shirts. There's the

200th Injianny just down there to the left, with all them men on extra

duty on the parade ground. I know just the gang. Same old crowd; I kin

almost tell their faces. They've bin runnin' guard, as usual, and comin'

back full o' apple-jack and bad language and desire to give the camp a

heavy coat o' red paint. Old McBiddle has tried to convince 'em that he

was still runnin' the rijimint, and his idees wuz better 'n theirs, and

there they are. There's Jim Monaghan handlin' that pick as if he was in

the last stages o' consumption. There's Barney' Maguire, pickin' up

three twigs 'bout as big as lead pencils, and solemnly carryin' 'em off

the parade ground as if they wuz fence-rails. I'll just bet a month's

pay that's Denny Murphy marchin' up and down there with his knapsack

filled with Tennessee dornicks. Denny's done that feather-weight

knapsack trick so often that his shoulders have corns and windgalls on

'em, and they always keep a knapsack packed for him at the guard-house

ready for one of his Donnybrook fair songs and dances. Mighty good boy,

Denny, but he kin git up a red-hotter riot on his share of a canteen of

apple-jack than any three men in the rijimint. That feller tied to a

tree is Tony Wilson. He's refused to dig trenches agin. O, I tell you,

they're a daisy lot."

"Shorty," admonished Si. "You mustn't talk that way before the boys.

What'll they think o' the rijimint?"

"Think of it?" said Shorty, recovering himself. "They've got to think of

it as the very best rijimint that ever stood in line-of-battle. I'll

punch the head of any man that says anything to the contrary. Every man

in it is a high-toned, Christian gentleman. Mind that, now, every one of

you brats, and don't you allow nobody to say otherwise."

"No," said Si, after further study of the camps, "neither o' them 's the

200th Injianny. They've both got brass bands. Must be new rijimints."

"Say," said Shorty, "there's a royal lookin' rooster standin' up in

front of that little house there. Looks as if the house was headquarters

for some highroller, and him doin' Orderly duty. If he knows as much as

he's got style, he knows more'n old Sherman himself. Go up and ask him."

It was the first time in all their service that either of them had seen

a soldier in the full dress prescribed by the United States Army

regulations, and this man had clearly won the coveted detail of Orderly

by competition with his comrades as being the neatest, best-dressed man

in the squad. He was a tall, fine-looking young man, wearing white

gloves and a paper collar, with a spotless dress coat buttoned to the

chin, his shoes shining like mirrors, his buttons and belt-plates like

new gold, and his regulation hat caught up on the left side with a

feather and a gilt eagle. The front of his hat was a mass of gilt

letters and figures and a bugle, indicating his company, regiment and

State. On his breast was a large, red star.

"Jehosephat," sighed Shorty. "I wish I had as many dollars as he has

style. Must be one of old Abe's body guards, sent out here with Grant's

commission as Lieutenant-General. Expect that red star passes him on the

railroads and at the hotels. I'd like to play him two games out o'

three, cut-throat, for it. I could use it in my business."

"No," said the Orderly to Si, with a strong Yankee twang, "I don't know

a mite about the 200th Ind. Leastwise, I don't remember it. Everybody

down here's from Indiana, Ohio or Illinois. It's one eternal mix, like

Uncle Jed Stover's fish—couldn't tell shad, herring nor sprat from one

another. It seems to me more like a 'tarnal big town-meeting than an

army. All talk alike, and have got just as much to say; all act alike.

Can't tell where an Indiana regiment leaves off and Ohio one begins;

can't tell officer from private, everybody dresses as he pleases, and

half of them don't wear anything to tell where they belong. There wasn't

a corps badge in the whole army when we come here."

"Corps badges—what's them?" asked Si.

"Corps badges? Why this is one," said the man, tapping his red star.

"This shows I belong to the Twelfth Corps—best corps in the Army of the

Potomac, and the First Division—best division in the corps. We have to

wear them so's to show our General which are his men, and where they be.

Haven't you no corps badges?"

"Our General don't have to tag us," said Shorty, who had come up and

listened. "He knows all of us that's worth knowin', and that we'll go

wherever he orders us, and stay there till he pulls us off. Our corps

badge's a full haversack and Springfield rifle sighted up to 1,200

yards."

"Well, you do fight in a most amazing way," said the Orderly, cordially.

"We never believed it of such rag-tag and bobtail until we saw you go up

over Mission Ridge. You were all straggling then, but you were

straggling toward the enemy. Never saw such a mob, but it made the

rebels sick."

"Well, if you'd seen us bustin' your old friend Long-street at Snodgrass

Hill, you'd seen some hefightin'. We learned him that he wasn't

monkeyin' with the Army o' the Potomac, but with fellers that wuz down

there for business, and not to wear paper collars and shine their

buttons. He come at us seven times before we could git that little fact

through his head, and we piled up his dead like cordwood."

"Well, you didn't do any better than we did with Early's men at Gulp's

Hill, if we do wear paper collars," returned the other proudly. "After

we got through with Johnston's Division you couldn't see the ground in

front for the dead and wounded. And none of your men got up on Lookout

Mountain any quicker'n we did. Paper collars and red stars showed you

the way right along."

"My pardner's only envious because he hain't no paper collars nor fine

clothes," said Si, conciliatorily. "I've often told him that if he'd

leave chuck-a-luck alone and save his money he'd be able to dress

better'n Gen. Grant."

"Gen. Grant's no great shakes as a dresser," returned the other. "I was

never so surprised in my life as one day when I was Orderly at Division

Headquarters, and a short man with a red beard, and his clothes

spattered with mud, rode up, followed by one Orderly, and said,

'Orderly, tell the General that Gen. Grant would like to see him.' By

looking hard I managed to make out three stars on his shoulder. Why, if

Gen. McClellan had been coming you'd have seen him for a mile before he

got there."

"If Gen. Grant put on as much style in proportion to what he done as

McClellan, you could see him as far as the moon," ventured Shorty.

"Well, we're not gettin' to the rijimint," said the impatient Si. "Le's

rack on. So long, Orderly. Come and see us in the 200th Injianny and

we'll treat you white. Forward, march!"

"There's a couple of boys comin' up the road. Probably they kin tell us

where the rijimint is," suggested Shorty.

The two boys were evidently recruits of some months' standing, but not

yet considered seasoned soldiers.

"No," they said, "there is no 200th Ind. here now. It was here

yesterday, and was camped right over there, where you see that old camp,

but before noon came an order to march with three days' rations and 40

rounds. It went out the Lafayette Road, and the boys seemed to think

they wuz goin' out to Pigeon Mountain to begin the general advance o'

the army, and wuz mightily tickled over it."

"Gone away," said Si, scanning the abandoned camp sadly; "everybody

couldn't have gone. They must've left somebody behind that wasn't able

to travel, and somebody to take care o' 'em. They must've left some

rijimintal stuff behind and a guard over it."

"No," the boys assured him. "They broke up camp completely. All that

wasn't able to march was sent to the hospital in Chattynoogy. Every mite

of stuff was loaded into wagons and hauled off with 'em. They never

expected to come back."

"That camp ground don't look as it'd bin occupied for two weeks," said

Shorty. "See the ruts made by the rain in the parade ground and the

general look o' things. I don't believe the rijimint only left there

yisterday. It don't look as if the 200th Injianny ever had sich a camp.

It's more like one o' the camps o' them slack-twisted Kaintucky and

Tennessee rijimints."

"If Oi didn't belave that Si Klegg and Sharty was did intoirely, and up

home in Injianny, Oi'd be sure that was their v'ices," said a voice from

the thicket by the side of the road. The next instant a redheaded man,

with a very distinct map of Ireland in his face, leaped out, shouting:

041 (105K)

"Si and Sharty, ye thieves of the worruld, whin did ye get back, and how

are yez? Howly saints, but Oi'm glad to see yez."

"Jim Monaghan, you old Erin-go-bragh," said Shorty, putting his arm

around the man's neck, "may I never see the back o' my neck, but I'm

glad to see you. I was just talkin' about you. I thought I recognized

you over there in one of the camps, at your favorite occupation of extry

dooty, cleanin' up the parade ground."

"No; Oi've not bin on extry doty for narely two wakes now, but it's

about due. But here comes Barney Maguire and Con Taylor, Tony Wilson and

the rest iv the gang. Lord love yez, but they'll be surely glad to see

yez."

The others came up with a tumultuous welcome to both.

"Where's the camp?" asked Si.

"Jist bey ant—jist bey ant them cedars there—not a musket-shot away,"

answered Jim, pointing to the place.

"What'd you mean, you infernal liars, by tellin' us that the rijimint

was gone?" said Shorty, wrathfully to the men whom he had met, and who

were still standing near, looking puzzled at the demonstrations.

"Aisy, now, aisy," said Jim. "We're to blame for that, so we are. Ye

say, we wint over by Rossville last night and had a bit av a shindy and

cleaned out a sutler's shop. We brought away some av the most illegant

whisky that iver wet a man's lips, and hid it down there in the gulch,

where we had jist come back for it. We sane you comin' and thought yez

was the provo-guard after us. Ye say ye stopped there and talked to that

peacock at the Provo-Marshal's quarters, and we thought yez was gittin'

instructions. We sint these rookies out, who we thought nobody'd know,

to give you a little fairy story about the rijimint being gone, to throw

you off the scint, until we could finish the liquor."

"Yes, I know," laughed Shorty, "after you'd got the budge down you

didn't care what happened. You're the same old brick-topped Connaught

Ranger."

"You and Si come down into the gulch and jine us."

"Can't think of it for a minute," said Shorty with great self-denial.

"Don't speak so loud before these boys. They're recruits for the

rijimint. We must take 'em into camp. We'll see you later."

CHAPTER IV. THE RECRUITS ARE ASSIGNED TO COMPANIES.

THE strangest feeling possessed Si and Shorty when once in the camp of

their old regiment, and after the first hearty welcome of their comrades

was over.

There was a strangeness about everything that they could not comprehend.

It was their regiment—the 200th Ind.; it was made up of the same

companies, with the great majority of the men the same, but it was very

far from being the 200th Ind. which crossed the Ohio River in September,

1862.

Marvelous changes had been wrought by 18 months' tuition in the iron

school of war, in the 10 separate herds of undisciplined farmer boys

which originally constituted the regiment. Yellow, downy beards appeared

on faces which had been of boyish smoothness when the river was crossed,

but this was only one of the minor changes. There was an alertness, a

sureness, a self-confidence shining from eyes which was even more

marked. Every one carried himself as if he knew precisely what he was

there for, and intended doing it. There was enough merriment around

camp, but it was very different from the noisy rollicking of the earlier

days. The men who had something to do were doing it with systematic

earnestness; the men who had nothing to do were getting as much solid

comfort and fun as the situation afforded. The frothy element among

officers and men had been rigorously weeded out or repressed. All that

remained were soldiers in the truest sense of the word. The change had

been very great even since the regiment had lined up for the fearful

ordeal of Chickamauga.

"Did you ever see a gang o' half-baked kids get to be men as quick as

these boys?" Si asked Shorty. "Think o' the awkward squads that used to

be continually fallin' over their own feet, and stabbing theirselves

with their own bayonets."

"Seems so," answered Shorty, "but I don't know that they've growed any

faster'n we have. Walt Slusser, who's bin Orderly at Headquarters, says

that he heard Capt. McGillicuddy tell Col. McBiddle that he'd never seen

men come out as me and you had, and he thought we'd make very effective

noncommish."

"Probably we've all growed," Si assented thoughtfully. "Just think o'

McBiddle as Lieutenant-Colonel, in place o' old Billings. Remember the

first time we saw McBiddle to know him? That time he was Sergeant o' the

Guard before Perryville, and was so gentle and soft-spoken that lots o'

the boys fooled themselves with the idee that he lacked sand. Same

fellers thought that old bellerin' bull Billings was a great fightin'

man. What chumps we all wuz that we stood Billings a week."

"Wonder if I'm ever goin' to have a chanst for a little private sociable

with Billings? Just as I think I'm goin' to have it, something

interferes. That feller's bin so long ripe for a lickin' that I'm afraid

he'll be completely spiled before my chanst comes."

"But I can't git over missin' so many familiar voices in command, and

hearin' others in their places," said Si. "That battalion drill they wuz

havin' as we come in didn't sound like our rijimint at all. I could

always tell which was our rijimint drillin' half a mile away by the

sound of the voices. What a ringin' voice Capt. Scudder had. It beat the

bugle. You could hear him sing out, 'Co. C, on right, into line!

Forward, guide right—March!' farther'n you could the bugle. The last

time I heard him wuz as we wuz' going up Snodgrass Hill. A rebel bullet

went through his head just as he said, 'March!' Now, Lieut. Scripps is

in command o' Co. C, and he's got a penny-whistle voice that I can't git

used to."

"Lieut. Scripps's a mighty good man. He'll take Co. C as far as Capt.

Scudder would."

"I know that Scripps's all right. No discount on him. But it don't seem

natural, that's all. Every one o' the companies except ours has a new

man in command, and in ours Capt. McGillicuddy's voice has got a

different ring to it than before Chickamaugy."

"Practicin' to command the battalion," suggested Shorty. "You know he'll

be Major if McBiddle's made a full Kurnel."

"That reminds me," said Shorty, "that our squad o' recruits'll probably

fill up the rijimint so's to give McBiddle his eagle. They'll be 'round

presently to divide up the squad and assign 'em to companies. As all the

companies is about equally strong, they'll divide 'em equally—that'll

make six and one-half boys to each company. Capt. McGillicuddy bein' the

senior Captain, is to have first choice. We want to pick out the best

six and one-half for our company and put 'em in one squad at the right

or left, and give the Captain the wink to choose 'em."

"If we do it's got to be done mighty slick," said Si. "They're all

mighty good boys, and spunky. They'll all want to go with us, and if

they find out we've made any choice they'll never forgive us. I'd a'most

as soon have one six boys as another, yit if I had to pick out six I

believe I'd take Harry Joslyn, Gid Mackall, Alf Russell, Monty Scruggs,

Jim Humphreys and Sandy Baker."

"And Pete Skidmore," added Shorty. "We've got to take special care o'

that little rat. Besides, I want to. Somehow I've took quite a fancy to

the brat."

"Yes, we must take little Pete," assented Si. "The proportion's six and

one-half to a company. He 'll pass for the half man. But it won't do to

let him know it. He thinks he's as big as any man in the rijimint. But

how're we goin' to fix it not to let the other boys know that we've

picked 'em out?"

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Shorty, the man of many wiles. "When

the boys are drawed up in line and Capt. McGillicuddy goes down it to

pick 'em out, you stand at attention, two paces in front, facin' 'em and

lookin' as severe and impartial as a judge on the bench. I'll stand

behind you with my leg against your'n, this way, and apparently fixing

my gun-lock. When Cap comes in front o' one that we want, yo give me a

little hunch with your leg, and I'll make the lock click."

"Splendid idee," said Si. "I'll go and post the Cap while you git the

boys into line."

When Shorty returned to the squad he found them in feverish excitement

about the distribution to the different companies. As he and Si had

apprehended, all were exceedingly anxious to go with them into Co. Q,

which Si and Shorty had unwittingly impressed upon them was the crack

company of the regiment, and contained the very cream of the men. To be

assigned to any other company seemed to them, if not an actual

misfortune, a lack of good luck.

"Nonsense," Shorty replied to their eager entreaties; "all the companies

in the 200th Injianny is good, prime, first-class—better'n the companies

in ary other rijimint. You're playin' in great luck to git into any one

o' 'em, I tell you. You might've got into one o' 'em rijimints that're

back there at Nashville guardin' fortifications, or one o' 'em that lost

their colors at Chickamaugy. I'd ruther be the tail end o' the 200th

Injianny, than the Drum Major o' any other."

"That's all right," they shouted. "We're glad we're in the 200th

Injianny, but we want to be in Co. Q."

"Well, you can't all be in Co. Q. Only six and one-half of you. The

rest's got to go to other companies."

"Say, Corpril," spoke up Harry Joslyn, "you'll see that I git in, won't

you? You know I shot that rebel at the burnt bridge."

"And didn't I shoot one, too?" put in Gid Mackall. "Just as much as you

did. They want tall men in the company, don't they, Corpril? Not little

runts."

"And didn't I watch the crossing down there at the burnt bridge?"

pleaded Jim Humphreys.

"And git scared to death by a nigger huntin' coons," laughed the others.

"Who kept the rebel from gittin' back to the train and settin' it on

fire, but me and Sandy Baker?" piped up little Pete Skidmore. "Who got

lost, and nearly killed by a locomotive. Don't that count for nothin'?"

You've Lost Little Pete 51

"Boys," said Shorty, leaning on his musket, and speaking with the utmost

gravity, "this's a great military dooty and must be performed without

fear, favor nor affection. I'd like to have you all in Co. Q, but this's

a thing 'bout which I hain't got no say. There's a great many things in

the army 'bout which a Corpril hain't as much inflooence as he orter

have, as you'll find out later on. Here comes the Captain o' Co. Q, who,

because o' his rank, has the first pick o' the recruits. He's never seen

you before, and don't know one o' you from Adam's off-ox. He has his own

ideas as to who he wants in the company, and what he says goes. It may

be that the color o' your hair'll decide him, mebbe the look in your

eyes, mebbe the shape o' your noses. 'Tention! Right dress! Front!

Saloot!"

Capt. McGillicuddy came down at the head of the company officers of the

regiment, and took a comprehensive survey of the squad.

"Fine-looking lot of youngsters," he remarked. "They'll make good

soldiers."

"Every one o' them true-blue, all wool and a yard wide. Captain," said

Si.

"You'll play fair, now, Captain, won't you, and choose for yourself?"

said Capt. Scripps. "I've no doubt they're all good boys, but there's a

choice in good boys, and that Sergeant of yours has learned where the

choice is. You let him stay back, while you go down the line yourself."

"Certainly," replied Capt. McGillicuddy. "Serg't Klegg, stay where you

are."

Si saluted and took his position, facing the line, with a look of calm

impartiality upon his face. Shorty turned around and backed up to him so

that the calves of their legs touched, and began intently studying his

gunlock.

Capt. McGillicuddy stepped over to the right of the line stopped in

front of Harry Joslyn and Gid Mackall. Shorty full-cocked his gun with

two sharp clicks.

"You two step forward one pace," said Capt. McGillicuddy to the two

radiant boys, who obeyed with a jump. The Captain walked on down the

line, carefully scrutinizing each one, but did not stop until Shorty's

gun clicked twice, when he was in front of Alf Russell and Monty

Scruggs.

"Step forward one pace," he commanded.

He proceeded on down the line until he came in front of Jim Humphreys

and Sandy Baker, when Shorty's gun clicked again.

"You two step forward one pace," he commanded. "Gentleman, I've got my

six. The rest are yours."

"But you hain't got me. You've lost me," screamed Pete Skidmore,

dismayed at being separated from Sandy Baker. Shorty's gun clicked

again.

"I believe that there is a fraction of a half a man to be distributed

around," the Captain said, turning to the other officers. "We agreed to

draw cuts for that choice. But as that's the smallest boy in the lot

I'll take him for my fraction. I think that's fair. Step forward, there,

you boy on the left."

"All right Captain," laughed Capt. Scripps. "You've got the pick of the

men, and I'm glad of it.

"I know you have, for I've been watching that Corporal of yours. I know

him of old. I've played cards too often with Shorty not to keep my eye

on him whenever he is around. I saw through that gun-lock trick."

"The trouble with you fellows," responded Capt. McGillicuddy, "is that

you are constantly hunting around for some reason rather than the real

one for Co. Q being always ahead of you. It isn't my fault that Co. Q is

the best company in the regiment. It simply comes natural to the men

that make up the company. You gentlemen divide up the rest among you,

and then come down to the sutler's and we'll talk the matter over.

Serg't Klegg, take these men down to the company and have the Orderly

provide for them."

"Hello, awful glad to see you back—and you, too, Shorty," said the busy

Orderly-Sergeant, speaking in his usual short, snappy sentences, without

using any more words than absolutely necessary. "We need you. Short of

non-commish. Two Sergeants off on detached duty and two Corporals in

hospital. Being worked for all we're worth. Both of you look fine. Had a

nice, long rest. In great shape for work. Pitch in, now, and help me.

First, let's get the names of these kids on the roll. Humphreys—we've

got two other Humphreys, so you'll answer to Humphreys, 3d.

"But I don't want to be with the Humphreys, sir," broke in Jim. "Me and

Monty Scruggs—"

"Hold your tongue," said the Orderly sharply. "Don't interrupt me. If

you speak when you're spoken to you'll do all the talking expected of

you.

"Joslyn, you're after Jones, 3d. M—M—Mackall, you come after Lawrence."

"But you've put me after Joslyn," protested Gid. "He's never ahead of

me."

"Shut up," answered the Orderly. "I do the talking for this company.

Russell, Scruggs, Skidmore; there, I've got 'em all down. Si, go down

toward Co. A and find Bill Stiles and walk him up to the guard-tent and

leave him there to cool off. He's got his hide full of coffin varnish

somewhere, and of course wants to settle an old score with that Co. A

man, who'll likely knock his head off if he catches him. Shorty, go back

there to the cook tent and shake up those cooks. Give it to them, for

they're getting lazier every day. I want supper ready as soon's we come

off dress parade. Here, you boys, trot along after me to the

Quartermaster's tent, and draw your blankets, tents, haversacks and

canteens. Shorty, as soon's you're through with the cooks, go to the

left of the company and start to fixing up a place for these boys'

tents. Si, get back as soon's you can, for I want you to take the squad

down after rations. Then you'll have to relieve Jake Warder as Sergeant

of the Guard, for Jake's hardly able to be around."

The Orderly strode off toward the Quartermaster's tent at such a pace

that it gave the boys all they could do to keep up with him. Arriving

there he called out sharply to the Quartermaster-Sergeant:

"Wes, give me seven blankets."

That official responded by tossing the required number, one after

another, counting them as he did so. As the Orderly caught them he

tossed them to the boys, calling their names. Gid Mackall happened to be

looking at a battery of artillery when his name was called, and received

the blanket on the back of his neck, knocking him over.

"'Tend to your business, there; don't be gawking around," said the

Orderly sternly. "Now, Wes, seven halves of pup-tents."

These were tossed and counted the same way. Then followed canteens,

haversacks and tin plates and cups.

"Now, boys, there's your kits. Give you your guns tomorrow. Hurry back

to the company street and set up those tents on railroad time, for it's

going to rain. Jump, now."

When they reached Shorty he hustled them around to pitch their tents,

but he was not fast enough to please the Orderly, who presently

appeared, with the remark:

"Cesar's ghost. Shorty, how slow you are. Are you going to be all night

getting up two or three tents? Get a move on you, now, for there's a

rain coming up, and besides I want you for something else as soon's

you're through with this?"

"Who is that man, Corpril?" asked Monty Scruggs, as the Orderly left.

"That's the Orderly-Sergeant of Co. Q."

"Orderly-Sergeant?" repeated Monty dubiously. "Who's he? I've heard of

Captains, Majors, Colonels and Generals, but never of Orderly-Sergeants,

and yit he seems to be bigger'n all of 'em. He has more to say, and does

more orderin' around than all of 'em put together. He even orders you

and Sarjint Klegg. Is he the biggest man in the army?"

"Well, SO far's you're concerned and to all general purposes he is. You

needn't pay no partickler attention as a rule to nobody else, but when

the Orderly speaks, you jump, and the quicker you jump the better it'll

be for you. He don't draw as much salary, nor put on as many frills as

the bigger fellers, but you hain't nothin' to do with that. You kin find

fault with the Captain, criticize the Kurnel, and lampoon the General,

but you don't want to give the Orderly no slack. He's not to be fooled

with. Russell, run up there and snatch that spade to dig ditches around

these tents."

"When I enlisted," Monty confided to Alf Russell, "I thought I'd do my

best to become a Captain or a General. Now, I'm dead anxious to be an

Orderly-Sarjint."

CHAPTER V. THE YOUNG RECRUITS ARE GIVEN AN INITIATION INTO ARMY LIFE.

BY the time Shorty had gotten the boys fairly tented, he was ordered to

take a squad and guard some stores at the Division Quartermaster's. Si,

instead of going on camp-guard, had to go out to the grand guard. When

he came back the next morning the Orderly-Sergeant said to him:

"See here, Si, you've got to take that squad of kids you brung into your

particular charge, and lick 'em into shape. They need an awful sight of

it, and I hain't got any time to give 'em. I've something else to do

besides teaching an infant class. I never was good at bringing children

up by hand, anyway. I ain't built that way. I want you to go for them

young roosters at once, and get 'em into shape in short meter. Marching

orders may come any day, and then we want everybody up and dressed.

There'll be no time for foolishness. Those dratted little rats were all

over camp last night, and into more kinds of devilment than so many pet

crows. I've been hearing about nothing else this morning."

"Why," said Si, "I supposed that they was too tired to do anything but

lay down and go to sleep. What'd they do?"

"Better ask what they didn't do," replied the Orderly. "They done

everything that a passel o' impish school boys could think of, and what

they couldn't think of them smart Alecks down in the company put 'em up

to. I'm going to put some o' them smarties through a course o' sprouts.

I like to see boys in good spirits, and I can enjoy a joke with the next

man, but there's such a thing as being too funny. I think a few hours o'

extry fatigue duty will reduce their fever for fun."

"Why, what'd they do?" repeated Si.

"Well, in the first place, they got that Joslyn and Mackall to mark a

big number 79 on their tents, and then put the same, with their names,

on a sheet of paper, and take it up to the Captain's tent.

"The Captain was having a life-and-death rassle with Cap Summerville

over their eternal chess, when he's crosser'n two sticks, and liable to

snap your head off if you interrupt him. 'Hello, what do you want?

What's this?' says he, taking the paper."

Them's Our Names and Addresses 59

"'Them's our names and addresses,' says the brats, cool as cucumbers.

Thought we ought to give 'em to you, so's you'd know where to find us,

in case you wanted us in a hurry, say, at night.'

"The blazes it is,' says Cap, and Cap Summerville roared. 'You get back

to your quarters quick as you can run. Don't worry about my not finding

you when I want you. It's my business to find you, and I've got men to

help me do it. I'll find you sometime in a way that'll make your hair

stand up. Get out, now, and never come around my tent with any such

blamed nonsense as that.'

"And Cap Somerville took advantage of the break to snap up Cap's queen,

which made him hotter'n ever.

"When the boys got back they found them smart Alecks, Bob Walsh and Andy

Sweeney, waiting for 'em, and they consoled 'em, saying, That's just the

way with that old bull-head. Never'll take no good advice from nobody

about running' the company. Thinks he knows it all. You see how he runs

the company. He haint got the addresses o' half his men this minnit, and

don't know where they are. That's the reason so many o' our letters from

home, and the good things they send us, never reach us. He ought to keep

a regler directory, same as in the other companies.'"

"Then some o' them smarties found out that Scruggs was stuck on his

spouting. Seems that he was the star declaimer in his school. They laid

it in to him that I was soft on hearing poetry spouted, especially after

night, when the moon was up, and everything quiet in camp, and that I

was particularly tender on 'Bingen on the Rhine.' You know that if there

is anything I'm dead sore on it's that sniveling rot. There used to be a

pasty-faced boy in school that'd wail that out, and set all the girls to

bawling. Then they gave us an entertainment just before we left, and all

the girls were there, and Pasty-Face he must be the star attraction. He

wailed out his condemned old There-was-a-soldier-of-the Legion—laying-i-

n-Algiers, and all the girls looked at us as if we were already dead,

and they'd better look out for new beaux. My own particular geranium did

not lose any time, but married another feller before we got to Stone

River. That made me hate the blasted caterwaul worse'n ever. Then that

white-eyed, moon-struck Alfonso used to be yowling it at every chance,

until he went to the hospital, and he got all the rest so that they were

sputtering rags and tags of it. But I've been sorer than a bile on the

condemned sick calfishness ever since I brung my chum Jim Bridgewater

off the field at Chickamauga, and watched him die as the moon rose, back

there at McFarland Gap. Well, what do these smarties do but fill up

Scruggs with the idea that the best way to make himself forever solid

with me was to stroll down close to my tent and casually let off 'Bingen

on the Rhine' in his best style. I'd just got down to work on them pesky

pay-rolls, having kept Monaghan two days in the guard-house, so's to be

sure that he'd be sober enough to help me—and you know Monaghan's

lightning with the pen when he's sober—when that possessed sap-sucker

Scruggs began blatting out 'Bingen on the Rhine' till you could hear him

down to the Colonel's quarters. It made me so mad that I knocked over

the ink as I jumped up, and spoiled the triplicate rolls that we'd got

about half made out. I snatched up a club to simply mash the bawling

brat, but they got him away before I could reach 'im. They explained to

Scruggs afterward that I was subject to fits whenever the moon was in

her last quarter, and they'd forgotten to look at the almanac that

evening. O, but I'll soak 'em for that yet."

"Trouble is," said Si, laughing, "the boys've bin layin' around doin'

nothin' too long. They're fuller o' devilment than a dog is of fleas."

"But I haint told you half," continued the Orderly-Sergeant. "Them

smarties were quick to find out that Alf Russell and Jim Humphreys

leaned strongly toward religion, and they filled 'em with the idea that

Cap McGillicuddy was a very devout man, and held family devotions every

evening in his tent, in which his company joined."

"Great goodness," gasped Si. "They never heard Cap's remarks when we

balked on a right wheel in company column."

"Well," continued the Orderly, "Cap had been waxed by Cap Summerville

two games hand-running, and they were nip-and-tuck on the third, and

just as impatient and cross as they always are when they're neck-and-

neck in the last heat. The tent-flap raised, and in walked Russell and

Humphreys soft and quietlike, as if they were going into the sitting-

room for evening prayers. They had their caps in their hands, and didn't

say anything but brushed their hair back and took their seats in the

first place they could find, which happened to be Cap's cot. Cap didn't

notice 'em till after Cap Summerville had caught his queen and then

checkmated him in two moves. You know how redhot Cap gets when he loses

a game of chess, particularly to Cap Summerville, who rubs it in on him

without mercy.

"Cap looked at the boys in astonishment, and then snapped out: 'Well,

what do you boys want?' 'We've just come in for evening prayers,' says

they, mild as skimmed milk. 'Evening what?' roared the Cap. 'Evening

prayers,' says they. 'Don't you have family devotion every evening? Cap

Summerville couldn't hold in any longer, and just roared, and the

fellers outside, who'd had their ears against the canvas listening to

every word, they roared too. Cap was madder'n a July hornet, and cussed

till the ridgepole shook. Then he took the two boys by the ears and

marched 'em out and says: 'You two brats go back to your tents and stay

there. When I want you to come to my tent I'll send for you, and you'll

wish I hadn't. You'll do praying enough if you're on hand when the

church call's sounded. You'll be mightily different from the rest of my

company if you don't prefer going on guard to church. Get, now!'"

"Now the Captain oughtn't to say that about the company," protested Si.

"I for one go to church every chance I get."

"O, yes, you do," sneered the Orderly-Sergeant. "Who was it, I'd like to

know, that sent word back to the boys in the rear to steal the

Chaplain's horse, and keep him hid for a day or two so's he couldn't get

up and hold services, because you boys wanted to go fishing in the

Tennessee River?"

"Yes, I did," Si confessed; "but it was because the boys begged me to.

We'd just got there, and it looked as if the biting was good, and we

probably wouldn't stay there longer'n over Sunday."

"Well, I ain't done yet," continued the Orderly-Sergeant. "That little

snipe, Pete Skidmore—"

"Good gracious, he wasn't lost again, was he?" gasped Si.

"That's just what he was, the little runt, and we had the devil's own

time finding him. What in Sam Hill did the Captain take him for, I'd

like to know? Co. Q aint no nursery. Well, the bugler up at Brigade

Headquarters blowed some sort of a call, and Skidmore wanted to know

what it meant. They told him that it was an order for the youngest man

in each company to come up there and get some milk for his coffee

tomorrow morning, and butter for his bread. There was only enough issued

for the youngest boys, and if he wanted his share he'd have to get a big

hustle on him, for the feller whose nose he'd put out o' joint 'd try

hard to get there ahead o' him, and get his share. So Skidmore went off

at a dead run toward the sound of the bugle, with the boys looking after

him and snickering. But he didn't come back at roll-call, nor at tattoo,

and the smart Alecks begun to get scared, and abuse each other for

setting up a job on a poor, innocent little boy. Osc Brewster and Ol

Perry, who had been foremost in the trick had a fight as to which had

been to blame. Taps come, and he didn't get back, and then we all became

scared. I'd sent Jim Hunter over to Brigade Headquarters to look for

him, but he came back, and said they hadn't seen anything of him there.

Then I turned out the whole company to look for him. Of course, them

too-awfully smart galoots of Co. A had to get very funny over our

trouble. They asked why we didn't get the right kind of nurses for our

company, that wouldn't let the members stray out of their sight? Why we

didn't call the children in when the chickens went to roost, undress

'em, and tuck 'em in their little beds, and sing to 'em after they'd

said 'Now I lay me down to sleep?' I stood it all until that big,

hulking Pete Nasmith came down with a camp-kettle, which he was making

ring like a bell, as he yelled out, 'Child lost! Child lost!' Behind him

was Tub Rawlings singing, 'Empty's the cradle, baby's gone.' Then I

pulled off my blouse and slung it into my tent, and told 'em there went

my chevrons, and I was simply Scott Ralston, and able to lick any man in

Co. A. One o' their Lieutenants came out and ordered them back to their

quarters, and I deployed the company in a skirmish-line, and started 'em

through the brush toward Brigade Headquarters. About three-quarters o'

the way Osc Brewster and Ol Perry, when going through a thicket, heard a

boy boo-hooing. They made their way to him, and there was little

Skidmore sitting on a stump, completely confused and fagged out. He'd

lost his way, and the more he tried to find it the worse he got turned

around. They called out to him, and he blubbered out: 'Yes, it's me;

little Pete Skidmore. Them doddurned fools in my company 've lost me,

just as I've bin tellin' 'em right along they would, durn 'em.' Osc and

Ol were so tickled at finding him that they gathered him up, and come

whooping back to camp, carrying him every step of the way."

"Well, I declare to gracious," ejaculated Si. "But there's one left yet.

Didn't anything happen to Sandy Baker?"

"O, yes," groaned the Orderly. "He had to be in it, too. He took

advantage of the tumult to fall into the company well. We didn't know

anything about it till we come back from hunting Skidmore. By that time

he was so chilled that he could hardly holler any more, and his teeth

chattered like a nigger minstrel's bones. I'd got a can of brandied

peaches down at the sutler's, and it took all the brandy to bring him

around, and I had nothing left but the peaches. Now, while I like a

little variety in camp-life as well as the next man, I don't want no

more ructions like last night's. I'll put you in charge of those kids,

and hold you responsible for 'em. I don't care what you do with 'em, so

long's you keep 'em quiet, and don't disturb the company. Kill 'em, if

you want to, but keep 'em quiet. I've got to finish up them pay-rolls

tonight."

"You bet me and Shorty'll stop these smart Alecks from imposin' on the

poor little greenies," asserted Si.

CHAPTER VI. SI KLEGG PUTS HIS AWKWARD SQUAD THROUGH ITS FIRST DRILL

"I GUESS," thought Si, as he left the Orderly-Sergeant, and walked down

the company street to the left, "that the best way to begin is to get

them little whelps into an awkward squad, and give 'em an hour or two o'

sharp drillin'. That'll introduce 'em to the realities o' soljerin'."

It was a warm, bright March day, with the North Georgia mountains

rapidly robing themselves in fresh green, to welcome the coming Spring.

The effervescent boys had entirely forgotten the worries of the previous

night, and were frolicking in the bright sunshine as if "out-at-recess"

from school.

Mackall, Joslyn, Humphreys and Baker had gotten hold of a ball, and were

having a game of "two-cornered cat," with noise enough for a whole

school play-ground. Russell and Scruggs were running a foot-race, for

the entertainment of a squad of cooks and teamsters, and little Pete

Skidmore was giving an exhibition before the same audience of his

ability to stand on his head, and turn somersaults.

"Little thought they have of the seriousness of war," thought Si, with a

shrug of his shoulders, as he yelled out:

"Come, boys, fall in here."

When the boys had first come under Si's command they regarded him as one

of the greatest men in the army. In their shadowy notions of military

matters they rather thought that he stood next to the great Generals

whose names filled all mouths. These ideas had been toppled into dust by

their arrival in camp, and seeing so many different men order him

around. They felt ashamed of themselves that they had ever mistaken him

for a great man, and put him up on a pedestal. That is the way with

boys. They resent nothing more sharply than the thought of their having

been deceived into honoring somebody or something unworthy of honor.

They can stand anything better than a reflection upon their shrewdness

and judgment.

"Hear Klegg a-calling?" said Joslyn, pausing for an instant, with the

ball in his hand.

"Let him call," said Mackall, indifferently, finishing his run to base.

"He ain't big boss no more. He's only the lowest Sergeant in the

company. Throw the ball, Harry. You must do better'n you've been doing.

We're getting away with you."

"Fall in here, boys, I tell you," said Si so sternly that Pete Skidmore

stopped in his handspring, but seeing the bigger boys making no move to

obey, decided that it would be improper for him to show any signs of

weakness, and he executed his flip-flap.

"Here, you're out, Gid. Gi' me the bat," shouted Harry Joslyn, as he

caught the ball which Mackall had vainly struck at.

Si strode over to the group, snatched the bat from Harry's hand, spanked

him with it, and started for the others of the group.

"Say, you musn't hit that boy," exclaimed Gid, jumping on Si's back. Gid

was as ready to fight for Harry as to fight with him. The others rushed

up, school boy like, to defend their companion against "the man," and

little Pete Skidmore picked up a stone and adjusted it for throwing.

"Why, you little scamps you," gasped Si in amazement. "What'd you mean?

Ain't you goin' to obey my orders?"

"You haint no right to give us orders no more," asserted Humphreys,

flourishing his bat defiantly. "You're only an enlisted man, same as the

rest o' us. They told us so, last night, and that we mustn't let you

impose on us, as you'd bin doin'. Only the Captain and the Colonel

command us. We've bin posted. And if you dare hit any o' us we'll all

jump on you and maul your head offen you."

The rest looked approval of Jim's brave words.

"We're goin' to strike for our altars and our fires. Strike for the

green graves of our sires. God and our native land," declaimed Monty

Scruggs.

The waspish little mutiny was so amusing that Si had to smile in spite

of himself. With a quick, unexpected movement he snatched the bat from

Jim Humphreys' hand, and said good-humoredly:

"Now, boys, you mustn't make fools of yourselves agin'. Stop this

nonsense at once, I tell you. I'm just as much your commandin' officer

as I ever was."

"How can you be a commanding officer, when everybody else bosses you

about?" persisted the argumentative Monty Scruggs. "Everybody that comes

near you orders you around, just the same as you used to us, and you

mind 'em. That ain't no way for a commanding officer. We don't want

anybody bossing us that everybody else bosses."

"Well, that's the way o' the army," Si explained patiently, "and you've

got to git used to it. 'Most everybody bosses somebody else. The

President tells Gen. Grant what he wants done. Gen. Grant orders Gen,

Thomas to do it. Gen. Thomas orders a Major-General. The Major-General

orders a Brigadier-General. The Brigadier-General orders our Colonel.

Our Colonel orders Cap McGillicuddy. Cap McGillicuddy orders the

Orderly-Sarjint, the Orderly-Sarjint orders me, and I command you."

"Why, it's worse'n 'The-House-That-Jack-Built,'" said Monty Scruggs.

"Well, you needn't learn all of it," said Si. "It's enough for you to

know that I command you. That's the A B C of the business, and all you

need know. A man in the army gits into trouble offen by knowin' too

much. You git it well into your craws that I command you, and that

you've got to do just as I say, and I'll do the rest o' the knowin' that

you need.—"

"But how're we to know that you're right every time," argued Monty

Scruggs.

"Well," explained the patient Si, "if you've any doubts, go to the

Orderly-Sarjint. If he don't satisfy you, go to the Captain. If you have

doubts about him, carry it to the Colonel. If you're still in doubt,

refer it to the Brigadier-General, then to the Major-General, to Gen.

Thomas, Gen. Grant, and lastly to the President of the United States."

"Great goodness!" they gasped.

"But the less you bother your heads with Captains and Curnels and

Generals the better you'll git along. The feller that's right over

you—in arm's length o' you all the time—is the feller that you've got to

look out for sharply. I'm him. Now I want you to form in two ranks

quicker'n scat, and 'tend to business. I'm goin' to drill you. Gid

Mackall, take your place there. Harry Joslyn, stand behind him."

The old squabbles as to precedence immediately broke out between Gid and

Harry, which Si impatiently ended by snatching Harry by the collar and

yanking him behind Gid, with the wrathful Harry protesting that he

intended carrying the matter up through the whole military hierarchy,

even to the President of the United States, if necessary. He did not

come into the army to be run over.

"You came into the army to do just as I tell you, and you'll do it.

Silence in the ranks," commanded Si. "Humphreys, stand next to Mackall.

Scruggs, stand behind Humphreys."

"Why do you put one man behind another?" queried Monty Scruggs. "I don't

think that's right.—Jim's big head'll be forever in my way, so's I can't

see anything. Why don't you put us out in one line, like a class in

school? Then everybody's got the same show."

"I didn't make the tactics. Git into your places," snapped Si.

"Well, I don't think much of a teacher that can't explain what he's

teaching," mumbled Monty, as he reluctantly obeyed.

"Now, Russell, stand next to Humphreys; Baker, stand behind Russell;

Skidmore, stand next to Russell."

"Goody, I'm in the front rank," giggled little Pete, and Harry Joslyn

looked as if here was another case of favoritism that he would have to

call the President's attention to.

"Now," commanded Si, "put your heels together, turn your toes out, stand

erect, draw your stomachs in—"

'draw Your Stomachs In. 73

"Look here, Jim Humphreys," grumbled Monty Scruggs, "when he told you to

draw your stomach in he didn't mean for you to stick your hips out till

you bumped me over into the next Township. I've got to have room to

stand here, as well as you."

"Silence in the ranks," commanded Si. "Draw your stomachs in, put your

little fingers down to the seams of your pantaloons—"

"You mean the middle finger, don't you?" queried Monty Scruggs. "That's

more natural way of standing."

"No, I mean the little finger," asserted Si.

"But the middle finger is more natural," persisted Monty. "You can't

stand straight with your little finger at the seam. See here."

"Scruggs, do as I say, without no words," said Si, and then Monty's face

took on an expression of determination to carry the matter to a higher

court.

"Now, keep your faces straight to the front, and at the command 'Right

dress!' turn your eyes, without moving your heads, until you kin see the

buttons on the breast of the second man to the right. 'Right dress!'"

"There's no man on my right for me to look toward. What 'm I to do?"

complained Gid Mackall.

"There, you see what come o' putting him in front," exulted Harry

Joslyn. "Now, if I'd bin—"

"Say, I can't see up to Jim Humphreys' big breast without twistin' my

neck nearly off," murmured little Pete Skidmore. "Can't you make him

scrooch a little? Jest see him swell up."

"What's the use o' linin' on a feller that can't stand still a second?"

complained the others.

"Great Scott, what a line," groaned Si, walking along, shoving the boys

back, and twisting them around, to get them straight. "Crooked as a

pumpkin vine in a cornfield. Here, I told you not to turn your heads,

but only your eyes. If you snipes wouldn't gab so much, but listen to

what I say, you'd git along better. Silence in ranks. Now, try it over

again. Faces straight to the front. Eyes cast to the right, until they

catch the buttons on the breast of the second man. Right dress!"

"Great grief," sighed he, looking at the result. "You wriggle about like

so many eels. Might as well try to line up so many kittens. Won't you

straighten Up and keep straight?" Then came a renewal of the noisy

discussion, with mutual blaming of one another.

Si picked up a stick and drew a line in the ground. "Now bring your toes

to that line, and keep 'em there."

"Shall we take that scratch along with us as we march, or will you draw

another one for us as we need it?" Monty Scruggs asked, at which the

other boys laughed, which did not improve Si's temper. It was long, hard

work before he got the restless, talkative young fellows so that they

would form a fairly straight line, and maintain it for a minute or two.

He looked at them, wiped his perspiring brow, and remarked internally:

"Well, I thought them was bright boys, that it'd be no trouble to drill.

I'd ruther break in the stoonidest lot o' hayseeds that ever breathed,

rather than boys that think they know more'n I do. Now I'm goin' to have

the time o' my life learnin' 'em the right face."

He began the explanation of that complicated manuver:

"Now, I want every one o' you to stop talkin', gether up them scatter-

fire brains o' your'n, and pay strict 'tention to every word I say—"

"Harry Joslyn," broke in Gid, "if you tramp on my heels just one more

time, I'll knock your head off. I've told you often enough."

"Well, you just keep off en my toes with them rockgrinders o' your'n,"

Harry retorted.

"Silence in ranks," commanded Si. "Each rank will count twos."

"What are twos? Where are they, and how many of 'em do you want us to

count?" asked Monty Scruggs, at which the other boys snickered. They

were getting very tired of the drill, and in the humor to nag and balk

the drillmaster. Si lost a trifle of his temper, and said:

"You're too all-fired smart with your tongue, Scruggs. If you were only

half as smart learnin' your business—"

"Sergeant," said one of the Lieutenants who happened to be passing,

"keep your temper. You'll get along better. Don't squabble with your

men."

This made the boys much worse.

"What I mean by countin' twos," explained Si, "is that the man on the

right in each rank shall count one, the next one, two; the next one, one

and so on. Count twos!"

They made such an exasperating muddle of it, that Si almost had a fit.

The cooks, teamsters and other hangers-on saw the trouble and came

flocking around with all manner of jesting remarks and laughter, which

strained Si's temper to the utmost, and encouraged the boys in their

perversity. Si curbed himself down, and laboriously exemplified the

manner of counting until the boys had no excuse for not understanding

it.

"Now, said he, at the command 'Right face,' the No. 1 man in the front

rank faces to the right and stand fast—"

"What do the rest of us do?" they chorused.

"The rest o' you chase yourselves around him," said a humorist among the

cooks, while the others laughed uproariously.

"Shut up, you pot-wrastlers," said Si wrathfully. "If I hear another

word from you, I'll light into you with a club. Now you brats—"

"Sergeant," admonished the Lieutenant, "you mustn't use such language to

your men."

This made Si angrier, and the boys more cantankerous. Si controlled

himself to go on with his explanations in a calm tone:

"No 1 in the front rank will face to the right, and stand fast, and take

a side step to the right. Each No. 2 will face to the right, and take on

oblique side step to the right to place himself on the right hand of his

No. 1 man."

"Say that all again, Sergeant," asked Monty Scruggs.

Si patiently repeated the explanation.

"Now sing it to the tune of 'When this Cruel War is Over,' called out

the cook-humorist.

"Right face," commanded Si.

A roar went up from the camp-follower audience at the hopeless tangle

which ensued. No two of the boys seemed to have done the same thing.

Several had turned to the left, and all were sprinting around in various

ways in a more or less genuine pretense of executing the order.

Meanwhile the news that Si's squad of recruits were having fun with him

spread through the camp, and a crowd gathered to watch the performance

and give their jeering advice in that characteristic soldierly way when

they see a comrade wrestling with a perplexing job.

"Git a bushel basket, and gather 'em up in it."

"Tie straw around their left feet, and hay around their right ones, so's

they'll know 'em."

"Back 'em up agin' a rail fence and git 'em into line;" were among the

freely offered suggestions. Si was sweating all over, and so angry that

he had to stolidly bite his words off, one at a time, to keep from

showing his temper. To add to his troubles, he saw the Colonel, of whom

he stood in proper awe, become interested in the crowd and the shouting,

and stroll down from his tent to see what the excitement was.

"As you were," Si commanded, steadying his voice with a great effort.

"Every one of you git back as I placed you. Right dress!"

To his wonderment they formed as good a line as veterans could have

done. They heard a whisper that the Colonel was coming, and it sobered

them.

"Right face!" commanded Si.

They all faced to the right and stepped into their places without an

error.

"Front!" commanded Si, and they returned to two ranks.

"Ah, Sergeant," said the Colonel, kindly, as he made his way through the

respectfully opened, saluting crowd. "Giving your men their first drill,

are you? Well, you are getting along remarkably well for recruits. I saw

that last movement, and it was very well done, indeed. You've got some

very nice-looking boys there, and I think they'll be a credit to the

regiment."

"Saved by the skin o' my teeth," gasped Si to himself, as the Colonel

strolled on. "Now, you young roosters, I see that you kin do it whenever

you want to, and you've got to want to after this. A boy that don't want

to I'll take down to the branch there, and hold his head under water

till he does want to. I'm goin' to stay with you until you learn the

drill dead letter perfect. You can't git rid of me. You'll save trouble

by rememberin' that. Now we'll go back for supper. Right

face—forward—file left—March!"

CHAPTER VII. SHORTY'S HEART TURNS TOWARD MARIA AND HE FINALLY GETS A

LETTER FROM HER.

AFTER the flush of excitement of returning to his old regiment and

meeting his comrades—after the process of readjusting himself to the

changed relations made by death, wounds, discharges, resignations and

promotions—after the days had brought a settling back into the old

routine of camp-life, there developed in Shorty's heart growing

homesickness for Maria Klegg.

At least that was what it seemed to him. He did not exactly know what

homesickness was from personal experience, as he had never really had a

home. But he had seen thousands of boys more or less affected by that

obscure but stubborn and dangerous malady, and had noted their symptoms,

which strongly resembled his own.

Somehow, the sun only shone with real brightness and warmth over the

pleasant homes and fertile fields of Posey County, Ind. Somehow, women

had a fairness and sweetness there denied to their sex elsewhere, and

somehow the flower of them all was a buxom maiden of 20 dwelling under

the roof of Deacon Klegg.

Shorty appreciated very properly the dignity and responsibilities of his

two stripes. He was going to be the model Corporal of the regiment, and

give all the rest a copy which they could follow to advantage. Of all

the Corporals he had ever known, Si Klegg had come nearest his ideas as

to what a Corporal should be, but even Si had his limitations. He would

show him some improvements. So shorty bent his mind upon the performance

of everything pertaining to the Corporalcy with promptness and zeal. He

even set to studying the Regulations and Tactics—at least those

paragraphs relating to Corporals and their duties—where heretofore he

had despised "book-soldiering," and relied on quick observation and

"horse sense" to teach him all that was worth knowing. But his stay in

the Deacon's home showed him that they esteemed "book-knowledge" even in

common things as of much value, and he began to have a new respect for

that source of instruction.

Even through the pressure of official duties and responsibilities there

would steal, like the wafting of a sweet song to the ears of the reapers

in a hot field, thoughts of the coolness, the beauty and the peace of

that quiet home on the Wabash, with one flower-faced girl, with white,

soft arms, going about her daily tasks, singing with such blithe

cheeriness that even the birds stopped to listen to a sweeter note than

theirs. Some subtle fragrance from her seemed to be with him wherever he

was, and whatever he might be doing. When, as the tallest Corporal in

Co. Q, he stood on the right of the company, on drill and dress parade,

and made the others "dress" on him, he wished that Maria Klegg could

only see how straight the line was, and how soldierly the boys looked.

When the Colonel personally selected him to command the squad which was

to escort the Paymaster through a dangerous part of the country, he

would have given much had Maria known of the trust reposed in him. And

when, as Corporal of the Guard, he suppressed in his usual summary way a

noisy row among the teamsters and cooks, he was very glad that Maria did

not hear the remarks that a Corporal always thinks necessary to make on

such occasions. Shorty did not swear with the fluent ease of before his

visit to the Klegg homestead, but a little excitement gave the old

looseness to his tongue. And when he sat around the guard-fire, he would

refuse to be drawn into any "little games," but turn his back upon the

chattering crowd, and furtively draw from his breast-pocket the remnant

of Maria's dress, and feel it, and muse over it, until aroused by the

call:

"Corporal of the Guard, Post No. 14. I want a drink o' water."

Shorty began to watch for Si's mail a good deal more anxiously than that

worthy did. He managed to go by the Chaplain's tent whenever duty took

him in that part of the camp, and sometimes when it did not, and inquire

if there was any mail there for Si. One day he was rewarded by the

Chaplain handing him two letters. His heart beat a little quicker by

seeing that they were both postmarked Bean Blossom Creek. The smaller—a

white envelope, superscribed in Annabel's cramped little hand—he thrust

indifferently into his pocket, and the larger—a fat, yellow envelope,

covered with the good Deacon's massive crow-tracks, and securely

fastened by a dab of sealing wax, pressed down with a cent—he studied

with tender interest. It had come directly from her home—from her

father. It probably told something about her.

It seemed as if there was something of the perfume of her presence about

it. Possibly she had carried it to the station and mailed it. He turned

it over gently, studied every detail, and fixed his eyes upon it, as if

he would make them pierce the thick, strong paper and devour the

contents. Then it occurred to him that the better and quicker way to get

at the inside would be to deliver the letters to Si. So he hunted up his

partner, whom he found about to take his squad out for a turn at wagon

guarding.

Si looked pleased as he recognized his father's letter, but his face

flushed to the roots of his sandy hair at the sight of Annabel's. He put

the latter carefully in his pocket. It was too sweet and sacred a thing

to be opened and read under the gaze of any one else's eyes. He broke

open his father's and as his eyes traveled slowly down the large

foolscap pages, covered with the Deacon's full-grown characters, for the

Deacon made his letters as he liked his stock—big and full—he said:

"They're all well at home, but mother's had a tech of her old rheumatiz.

Pap's sold his wheat at a dollar and four bits. Peaches about half

killed. Had good luck with his lambs. Wheat's lookin' unusually well.

Beck Spangler's married Josh Wilson, whose wife died last Fall, leavin'

him two little children. Brindle cow's come in fresh, with a nice calf,

quarter Jersey. Copperhead's gittin' sassy agin. Holdin' night meetin's

and wearin' butternut badges, and talkin' about resistin' draft. Hogs

wintered well, and looks as if Pap'd have a nice drove to sell in the

Fall. Pap'll put in 'bout 90 acres o' corn, and'll have to hustle his

plowin' ez soon's the ground's fit. Little Sammy Woggles had a fight

with Beecham's boy, who's six months older, and licked him. Sammy likes

school better now than he did. Pap's bought Abraham Lincoln a new suit

o' store clothes and the girls have made him some white shirts. He goes

to church every Sunday now, and carries a cane. Pap sends his regards to

you, Shorty, and mother and the girls want to be kindly remembered.

There, take the letter, Shorty, and read it for yourself. I've got to

skip out with my squad."

Shorty took the letter with eagerness, and retired to a nook to read it

all over carefully, and see if he could not mayhap glean out of it

something more relating to Her. But the main satisfaction was in reading

again and again "Mother and the girls want to be kindly remembered to

Shorty."

"Not uncomfortably warm, and purty general, like the gal who promised to

be a sister to the hull rijimint," mused Shorty, as he refolded the

letter and replaced it in the envelope. "But, then, it is better to be

kindly remembered by sich people as them than to be slobbered over by

anybody else in the world. Wisht I knowed jest how much o' the kind

remembrance was Maria's, and if it differed in any way from her mother's

and sister's?"

The next evening the Orderly-Sergeant handed Shorty a badly-thumb-marked

and blotted yellow envelope, on which was scrawled in a very schoolish

hand:

"To Mister Corpril Elliott, "Co. Q, Two Hundred Injianny Volintears,

"Chattynoogy, 10-S-E."

Opening it he read:

Mister Shortee

U ar a Frawd!!! That's what U ar!!!

Whairz mi Gunn??????

U ar a long-shanked, brick-topt Frawd & a promisbraker!!!

Whairz mi Gunn???

U hav now bin away a hole month, & I haint seen no Gunn!

Awl the boiz is makin fun ov Me, bekaws I blowed around bout the Gunn I

waz going 2 git, & I didn't git none.

Whairz mi Gunn???

I likked Ans. Beechum till he hollered nuff, for teezin Me bout mi Gunn.

That's quiled the other boiz.

But I want mi Gunn!

I have just lots & Gobs 2 tell U, bout what Maria's bin sayin bout yore

saffron head, but I shant write a word till I git mi Gunn!

I wont tell U how the girls is pleggin her bout her Big Sunflower till I

git mi Gunn!

If U doant send mi Gunn rite off He tel Maria everything I no.

I tel U now. He spile yore fun

Onless at once U send mi Gunn.

Yores til deth,

SAMUEL WOGGLES.

The reception of this perturbed Shorty to his depths. He had not

forgotten his promise to Sammy—merely postponed its execution under the

pressure of other engrossments. He reproached himself for not

remembering how eagerly the boy had been looking forward to a possession

which would make him the envy of the other boys—really hated by them for

his towering and undeserved fortune.

"And Maria and the girls is talkin' about me," he communed with himself.

"I knowed that my left ear hadn't bin burnin' ever since we crossed the

Ohio River for nothin'. I thought it was because it'd got so tender

layin' on pillers that the blankets chafed it. Now I understand it. And

I can't hear nothin' of what they've bin sayin' till I git that gun to

Sammy. I'll start it to him this day, if it takes a leg. I'd intended to

go over to the camp o' the Maumee Muskrats today, on a missionary, tower

with them new tricks I brung back with me, but I'll put in the time

gittin' Sammy's gun and shippin' it to him. Wonder where I kin pick up a

rebel musket and trimmins'?" Shorty did not find this so easy as he had

anticipated. Generally, rebel guns had been a drug in the market. They

could be found lying around camp almost anywhere, and were used for any

purpose to which they could be applied—poles to hang kettles on over the

fire, tent-sticks, revetments to hold the dirt back, or any other use.

But under the rigid system now prevailing in Sherman's camps everything

had to be accounted for, and every gun sufficiently serviceable to be

worth sending to Sammy had been gathered up and stored away in a large

shed. Shorty went down there and scrutinized the armory. There were

plenty of guns in there, any one of which would make Sammy's heart leap

for joy, and render him the object of the burning envy of all the boys

for miles around. But there were guards pacing around, and they looked

watchful. Still, if the night were dark he might slip in and steal one.

But somehow since he had known Maria there had risen in his mind a

repugnance to that way of procuring things. It was not in accordance

with Klegg ideas. He sat down and pondered on other methods. He went

over and talked to the Sergeant in charge, an old acquaintance, but the

Sergeant was obdurate.

"No, sir. Can't let one of 'em go on no account," said the Sergeant

firmly. "My Captain's in charge of 'em, and he's put me in charge. He

knows he can trust me, and I know that he can. He don't know how many

guns and bayonets and cartridge-boxes there are, but I do, for I counted

them first thing when I come on. I don't propose that he shall have to

have any shortage charged against him when he comes to settle his

accounts. I don't know whether they've got an account of the things at

Headquarters, but they're likely to have, and I'm not taking any risks.

I'm looking out for my Captain."

"But suppose I pay you the value of the blamed old blunderbuss," said

Shorty, as a desperate resort, for it was the first time that he had

ever thought of a rebel gun having a money value.

"I wouldn't take it," replied the Sergeant. "First place, I haint no

idea what they're worth. Next place, if I had, I wouldn't take it, for I

don't want any shortage in Cap's accounts. Thirdly, if I took the money

I'd like as not set into a game o' poker tonight and lose it, and then

where'd I be, and where'd Cap be? I've been having monstrous hard luck

at poker lately."

"That's because you ain't up to the latest kinks," said Shorty,

hopefully. "I've been back to the rear—just come from Jeffersonville—and

I've got on to a lot of new dodges. I'll show 'em all to you for one o'

them guns."

The waver in the Sergeant's face showed the temptation was a trying one,

but he answered firmly:

"No; I won't do it."

"I'll put up a $10 bill agin one o' the guns, play you two out o' three

for it, learn you the tricks, and give you back the money if I win,"

said Shorty desperately.

Again the Sergeant's face showed great irresolution, but again his

fidelity triumphed, and he answered firmly, "No I won't." Then he

softened his refusal by saying:

"Come, Shorty, walk over a little way with me. I know where we can get

something good."

After they had shared a tincupful of applejack that a teamster supplied

them the Sergeant's heart thawed out a little.

"I tell you. Shorty, there's a gun in there that'd just tickle your boy

to death. It's an Enfield, new one, and has a Yankee bullet sticking in

the butt. Must've knocked the Johnny a double somersault when it struck.

I've been thinkin' sending it home myself. But I'll let you have it, and

I'll tell you how you can get it. See that camp over there? Well, that's

a regiment being organized out o' Tennessee refugees. They and their

officers are the carelessest lot of galoots that ever lived. Their

Quartermaster stores and their Commissary stores, and everything they

have is allowed to lie around loose, just wherever they get the notion

to drop them. I've had my eye on 'em for several days, and've helped

several of my friends to straighten up their company accounts, and

replace things that they'd lost. You just waltz over there, careless

like, as if you belonged to the regiment, pick up a gun and traps, put

'em on, and sail back here, and I'll turn your things in, and give you

that gun with the bullet in the stock in exchange."

Shorty lost no time in acting on the advice. That afternoon the express

from Chattanooga carried a gun to Sammy Woggles, the contemplation of

which deprived that youth of sleep the night after he received it, and

won him the cordial hatred of every boy in his neighborhood for his

overweening pride.

But after the gun was gone, and after Shorty had written a laborious

letter, informing Sammy of the shipment of the gun and its history,

which letter inclosed a crisp greenback, and was almost as urgent in

injunctions to Sammy to write as Sammy had been about his piece of

ordnance, Shorty sat down in sadness of heart. He was famishing for

information from Maria, and at the lowest calculation he could not hope

for a letter from Sammy for two weeks.

"It'll take at least a week for that little rat to git over his fever

about that gun," he mused, "until he'll be able to set up and think

about anything else. Then it'll take him at least another week to build

a letter. Great Jehosephat, how'm I goin' to stand it till then?

Where'll I be two weeks from now? What kin I do? I a'most wish that

something'd happen to Si that'd give me an excuse for writin'."

He racked his fertile brain with expedients and devices for getting up

communication, but for once he had to reject them all. There was a halo

of unapproachableness about Maria Klegg that paralyzed him.

He awoke the next morning with the same anxiety gnawing at his heart,

and it haunted him so that he went through the morning's routine

mechanically. When he came back from taking a squad up to Headquarters

to report for fatigue duty, the Orderly-Sergeant called out:

"Here's a letter for you, Corporal Elliott." Shorty took the small white

envelope from the Orderly's hand, and looked at it curiously. Who could

it be from? It resembled somewhat the letters that once came from Bad

Ax, Wis., but then again it was very different. He studied the

handwriting, which was entirely strange to him. Then he was electrified

by seeing that the postmark seemed to be something the same as on Si's

letters, but was blurred. He gave a little gasp, and said:

"Orderly, I'd like to git off a little while today." "Why, Shorty,"

remonstrated the busy Sergeant, "you were off yesterday. But go. I'll

try to get along without you. Don't stay long."

A Letter from Maria. 81

Shorty would not trust himself to more than look at the outside, until

he had gained a safe screen behind a clump of bushes. Then he took out

his knife, carefully slit the envelope, and read:

Dear Mr. Elliot—

I take my pen in hand to inform you that we are all in good health and

hope you are enjoyin' the same blessing fur which we should all be

thankful to God. I am over on a visit to Prairie Hen and Mrs. Skidmore a

widow woman called to see me today In the course of conversation she

said her little boy Peter had run off and shed hurd hed joined the 200th

Indiana Volunteer Infantry. She heard that we had folks in that regiment

and so had come over to see me to see if I knowed anybody that would

give her any news about her boy so as she could ask them to look out for

him. I told her I knowed a gentleman in the 200th Indiana who would look

out for Peter and be a second father to him and as soon as she had went

I started this epistle. I thot id answer my letters because its all he

can do to write answer my letter because its all he can do to write to

mother and Annabel and dont write to mother haf often enuf besides id

like to hear from you myself. Sincerely Yore Friend

Maria Klegg.

"M-a-r-i-a-r K-l-e-g-g," gasped Shorty, spelling over the letters, one

at a time, to make sure that his eyes were not making a fool of him.

"And she'd like to hear from me."

And he took off his hat, and fanned his burning face.

CHAPTER VIII. SHORTY WRITES A LETTER TO MARIA KLEGG AND ENTERS UPON HIS

PARENTAL RELATIONS TO LITTLE PETE SKIDMORE.

THE self-sufficient, self-reliant Shorty had never before had anything

to so completely daze him. "Ackchelly a letter from Maria Klegg. Writ of

her own free will and accord. And she wants to hear from me," he

murmured, reading the letter over and over again, and scanning the

envelope as if by intensity of gaze he would wring more from the mute

white paper. The thought was overpowering that it had come directly from

her soft hand; that she had written his name upon it; that her lips had

touched the stamp upon it. He tenderly folded up the letter and replaced

it in the envelope. His thoughts were too tumultuous for him to sit

still. He would walk and calm himself. He wrapped the piece of Maria's

dress around the letter, rose and started off. He had gone but a few

steps when it seemed to him that he had not caught the full meaning of

some of the words in the letter. He sought a secluded place where he

could sit down, unseen by any eyes, and read the letter all over again

several times. Then came the disturbing thought of how he was to care

for and protect the precious missive? He could not bear to part with it

for a single minute, and yet he did not want to carry the sacred thing

around exposed to the dirt and moil of daily camp-life and the danger of

loss. He thought long and earnestly, and at last went down to a large

sutler's store, and purchased the finest morocco wallet from his stock.

Even this did not seem a sufficiently rich casket for such a gem, and he

bought a large red silk bandana, in which he carefully wrapped letter,

dress fragment and wallet, and put them in the pocket of his flannel

shirt, next his breast. Next came the momentous duty of writing an

answer to the letter. Yesterday he was burning with a desire to make an

opportunity to write. Now the opportunity was at hand, the object of his

desires had actually asked him to write her, and the completeness of the

opportunity unnerved him.

"The first thing I have got to do," said he, "is to git some paper and

envelopes and ink. I don't s'pose they've got anything here fit for a

gentleman to write to a lady with." He turned over the sutler's stock of

stationery disdainfully, and finally secured a full quire of heavy,

gilt-edged paper, and a package of envelopes, on which was depicted a

red-and-blue soldier, with a flag in one hand and a gun in the other,

charging bayonets through a storm of bursting shells.

"It's true I ain't one o' the color-guard yit," mused Shorty, studying

the picture, "but the Colonel sorter hinted that I might be, if Cap

McGillicuddy could spare me from Co. Q, which ain't at all likely. Now,

Mister, le'me see some pens."

"Here's some—Gillott's—best quality," said the sutler's clerk.

"Naw," said Shorty contemptuously. "Don't want no common steel pens.

Goin' to write to a lady. Git me your best gold ones."

Shorty made quite a pretense of trying, as he had seen penmen do, the

temper of the pens upon his thumb-nail, but chose the largest and

highest priced one, in an elaborate silver holder.

"I'm very partickler 'bout my pens," said he to the clerk. "I must have

'em to just suit my hand. Some folks's very keerless about what they

write with, but I wasn't brung up that way."

"If you'd ask my advice," said the clerk, "I'd recommend this thing as

the best for you to use. It'd suit fine Italian hand better'n any pen

ever made."

And he held up a marking-pot and brush.

"Young man," said Shorty, solemnly, as he paid for his purchases, "the

condition o' your health requires you not to try to be funny. It's one

o' the dangerousest things in the army. You're exposed to a great many

complaints down here, but nothin' 'll send you to the hospital as

suddenly as bein' funny."

The next thing was a studio where he could conduct his literary task

without interruption, and Shorty finally found a rock surrounded by

bushes, where he could sit and commune with his thoughts. He got the

cover of a cracker-box, to place on his knees and serve for a desk, laid

his stationery down beside him, re-read Maria's letter several times,

spoiled several sheets of paper in trying to get his fingers limber

enough for chirography, and then, begun the hardest, most anxious

afternoon's work he had ever done, in writing the following letter:

"Camp ov the 2 Hunderdth Injianny

"Voluntear Infantry,

"Mishun Rij, nere Chattynoogy, April the 10, 1864.

"Miss Maria Klegg,

"Respected Frend.

(This part of the letter had cost Shorty nearly an hour of anxious

thought. He had at first written "Dere Miss Maria," and then recoiled,

shuddered and blushed at the thought of the affectionate familiarity

implied. Then he had scrawled, one after another, the whole gamut of

beginnings, before he decided upon addressing her, as was her right, as

formally as he would the wife of the President.)

"Yore letter was welcomer to me than the visit ov the Pamaster, after

six months exclipse ov hiz cheerful mug."

("I think 'mug' is the word they use for face in good society," mused

Shorty, with the end of the penholder in his mouth. "At least I heard

the Kurnel use it one day. She can't expect no man to be much gladder of

anything than the comin' o' the Paymaster, and that orter please her.")

"Thankee for yore kind inkwiries az to mi helth? Ime glad to say that

Ime all rite, and sound in lung, body and runnin' gear, and—"

(Shorty was on the point of adding "Hope that you are enjoying the same

blessing," when a shiver passed through him that it might be improper to

allude to a young lady's locomotory apparatus. After deep meditation, he

took safety's side and added):

"So's Si. I sinserely hoap that you are injoyin' the blessin's ov helth,

and the konsolashuns ov religion."

("I'm not certain about that last," thought Shorty, "but I heard a

preacher say it once, and it ought to be all right to write to a young

lady.")

"We are still layin' in camp, but expectin' every day orders to move out

for a little soshable with Mister Joe Johnston, whose roostin over on

Pigeon Mountain. When we git at him, there won't be no pigeon about it,

but a game ov fox-and-geese with us for the foxes.

("There," mused Shorty, complacently; "that'll amuse her. Girls like a

little fun throwed into letters, when it's entirely respectful.)

"Little Pete Skidmore is in the company, all rite. He is wun ov the

nicest boys that ever lived, but he needs half-killin' nerely every day.

All real nice boys do. Woodent give much for them if they diddent. Tel

his mother He look out for him, and fetch him up in the way he shood go,

if I haf to break every bone in his body. She needent worry. I no awl

about boys. Thair like colts—need to be well-broke before thair enny

akount."

("Now," commented Shorty, as he read what he had written, "that'll make

Maria and his mother feel easy in their minds. They'll think they're in

great luck to git a man who'll be a second father to Pete, and not risk

spilin the child by sparin the rod.")

("Great Jehosephat, what work writing to a young lady is. I'd much

ruther build breastworks or make roads. Now, if it was some ordinary

woman, I wouldn't have to be careful about my spelin' and gramer, but

with sich a lady as Maria Klegg—great Cesar's ghost! a man must do the

very best that's in him, and then that ain't half enough. But I must

hurry and finish this letter this afternoon. I can't git another day off

to work at it.")