dismounted, and studied the enemy's position with great dignity and
earnestness, that it might have full effect upon the brigade behind
them.
Monty Scruggs saw his opportunity. He bound some tin cans together to
represent field glasses, mounted a stump, and began intently studying
Buzzard Roost.
This attracted the attention of the others.
"What do you see, Monty?" they shouted.
"See?" answered he. "Just lots and gobs. I see old Joe Johnston over
there, with Pat Cleburne, and Hood and Bragg, and Joe Wheeler. They're
all together, and pulling off their coats, and rolling up their sleeves,
and shaking their fists at the 200th Ind., and daring it to come on."
Capture of Rebel Stronghold. 185
"Tell 'em not to sweat. Just hold their horses. We'll be over
presently," shouted the others, with yells of laughter. "What else do
you see?"
The young Aids turned around and glanced angrily at Monty and the
laughing crowd.
"I see old Jeff Davis there, with his Cabinet of traitors. He's writing
a fresh proclamation to his people, with his blind eye, and has got his
good one fixed on the 200th Ind., which he's telling Joe Johnston is
bound to give him more trouble than all the rest o' the army."
"Good! Good!" yelled the rest. "So we will. Old Jeff's right for once.
What else do you see?"
"Stop that, my man," said one of the Aids savagely. "You're disturbing
us."
"Go ahead, and don't mind 'em," shouted the others. "They're only Second
Lieutenants any way. Tell us what you see."
"I see way by Richmond, old Unconditional Surrender Grant's got Bob Lee
by the throat, and's just wipin' up the State of Virginny with him.
Lee's eyes is bulging out like gooseberries on a limb, and his tongue's
hanging down like a dog's on a hot day—"
"Get down off that stump at once, and go back to your place," said the
Aid authoritatively.
"Don't mind him. He's only a staff officer. He can't order you. Go
ahead," shouted the rest.
"I see a couple o' young Second Lieutenants," started Monty, but the Aid
sprang at him, and in an instant there was a rush of the other boys to
defend him. Capt. McGillicuddy, who was usually conveniently deaf and
blind to the boys' skylarking, looked up from the paper he was reading,
hurried to the scene, quieted the disturbance, ordered Monty to get down
and go back, and spoke sharply to the Aid about paying any attention to
the men's harmless capers.
The bugle blew "Attention," and everybody sprang to his place, and
waited eagerly for the next command.
"Men," said the Colonel, in his gentle, sweet voice, which, however, was
distinctly audible to the farthest flank of the regiment, "we are
ordered to help our comrades by attacking the mountain over there. You
see what is before you, and that it will be terrible work, but I know
that you will do all that you can do for the honor of dear old Indiana."
An enthusiastic cheer answered him.
"Battalion—Take—Arms!" commanded the Colonel. "Right face—Forward—File
left—March!"
The regiment filed down through the woods on the hillside, and as it
came into the opening at the bottom was greeted by a volley from a
battery on Rocky Face Ridge. The shells screamed viciously over the
heads of the men, and cut through the tops of the trees with a deafening
crash.
"Wastin' good cast-iron on the landscape, as usual," laughed Shorty, to
encourage the boys. "I always wonder how the rebels pick out the fellers
they make cannoneers of. When they git hold of a feller who can't shoot
so's to hit anything less'n a Township set up edgewise, they put him in
the artillery."
"Mebbe they'll come closter next time," said little Pete with a shiver,
as he trotted a little nearer Shorty.
"Naah, they'll never come no closter," said Shorty, contemptuously.
"They couldn't hit even the side o' the mountain if it wasn't in their
way and no place else for the ball to go."
Just then a shell screamed so close above Shorty that he involuntarily
ducked his head.
"What makes you juke, if they can't hit nothing?" inquired little Pete,
and the rest of them had regained composure enough to laugh.
"O," said Shorty composedly, "that feller wasn't shootin' at me. He was
shootin' at the 1st Oshkosh, which is a quarter of a mile behind. If
he'd hit me it'd 'a bin an accident, and I don't want no accidents to
happen just now."
Approaching the cleared space in the center of the valley, the regiment
went into line in the brush and pushed through to the edge of the woods.
The moment that it appeared in the fringe of brushwood a sharp volley
came from the line of rebels in the brush along the opposite side of the
clearing. Evidently they were not expecting an advance at that moment,
for their firing was wild, and wounded but a few men.
"Hold your fire till we are across," shouted the Colonel. "Forward—Guide
center—Double-quick—March!"
With a yell the regiment swept across the clearing into the brush
beyond. A furious, noisy scrambling ensued in the thickets. Neither side
could see 10 yards ahead, and the firing, though fierce and rapid, was
not very effective. Men shot at sounds, or motions of the bushes, and
the bullets, glancing on the limbs, whistled in all directions. But the
200th Ind. pressed furiously forward, and though the rebels resisted
stubbornly they were gradually pressed back up the hill. Occasionally
one was killed, many were wounded, and squads were caught in clumps of
brush and compelled to surrender. Si and Shorty kept their boys in hand,
on the left of Co. Q, restrained them from firing until they saw
something to shoot at, and saw that they did not advance until their
guns were loaded. They heard a crashing volley delivered on their right
front, and springing swiftly in that direction, came to a little break,
across which they saw a squad of 15 or 16 rebels under the command of a
Captain, with their guns still smoking, and peering into the woods to
see the result of their fire. Si rushed at the Captain, with leveled
gun, and ordered him to surrender.
"Are you an officer?" said the startled Captain as soon as he could gain
words. "I'm a Captain. I'll not surrender to any one under my rank."
"I'm Captain enough for you," answered Si, thrusting the muzzle of his
gun close to his face. "Surrender this minute, or off goes your head."
The Captain dropped his sword, and his men yielded.
The prisoners were conducted to the rear, and when Si returned with his
squad to the regiment he found it had forced its way to the foot of the
high wall of rock that rose straight up from the slope.
The rebels on the crest, 100 feet above, had been trying to assist their
comrades below, by firing with their muskets, and occasionally sending a
shell, where they could get their howitzers sufficiently depressed. Now
they had bethought themselves to roll rocks and heavy stones off the
crest, which fell with a crash on the treetops below.
The 200th Ind. was raging along the foot of the wall, trying to find a
cleft in it by which they could climb to the top and get at their foes.
Standing a few yards in the rear, under a gigantic white-oak, whose
thick branches promised protection from the crashing bowlders, the
Colonel was sending parties to explore every place that seemed hopeful,
and report to him. When Si came up with his squad he was directed to go
to the extreme left, and see what he could find.
He did so, and came to a little open space made by the washings which
poured over the crest of the rock when the rain descended in torrents.
There was a cleft there, but it was 40 feet above them, and surrounded
by rebels, who yelled at the sight of his squad, and sent down a volley
of bowlders. Si and his squad promptly dodged these by getting behind
trunks of trees. They fired at the rebels on the crest, who as promptly
lay down and sheltered themselves.
The firing and stone-throwing lasted an hour or more, and then seemed to
die down from sheer exhaustion.
As the stones begun to come down more fitfully, and at longer intervals.
Shorty shouted to those on top:
"Say, you fellers up there, ain't you gittin' tired o' that work? You
ain't hurtin' nobody with them dornicks. We kin dodge 'em easy, and
you're just strainin' yourselves for nothin'. Let up for awhile, till we
both rest and git a fresh hold. We'll amuse you if you will."
"What'll you do?" asked one of the rebels, peering over the crest.
"Lots o' things. I'll turn one o' my famous doubleback-action flip-
flaps, which people have come miles to see, when I was traveling with
Dan Rice. Or we'll sing you a song. We've here the World Renowned
Ballad-Singer of Bean Blossom Crick. Or we'll make you a speech. We have
here the Justly-Famous Boy Orator of Pogue's Run."
Everything had become quite still all around during this dialog.
"Give us a song," said the rebel, and his comrades' heads began showing
over the edge of the rock.
"Now, no rock-throwing and no shootin' while he's singing'," said
Shorty. "Give the boy a chance to git back to his tree after he's done."
"All right. We'll play fair. But no politics," came back from the rock.
"Go out there, Alf, on the gravel, and sing to 'em," said Shorty.
Alf Russell hesitated a moment, and then climbed up on the pile of
washings and after clearing his throat, sang "When This Cruel War is
Over" in his best style, and was applauded from the top of the rock and
below.
"Now, give us your speech. But no politics," the rebels shouted.
Monty Scruggs stepped up on the mound and recited "Bingen on the Rhine"
in his best school-exhibition style. The delight of the rebels was
boundless.
"Hip-hip—Hooray! Good! Good!" they shouted. "Give us another."
Monty scratched his head to think of something appropriate, and then
occurred to him Webster's great speech in defense of the Union, which
was then a favorite in the schools.
"When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in
heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments
of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent;
on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, with fraternal
blood. Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable."
The rebels listened with growing impatience to the words, and as Monty
concluded with his best flourish they yelled angrily:
"Heah, we told you no politics. Git back thar, now, quick, or we'll bust
your haid with this heah rock."
Shorty and Si raised their guns to shoot the man with the bowlder, and
Monty skipped back to the shelter of his tree, saying with a grin:
"I was bound to give 'em a little straight goods before I quit, and they
got it. Old Dan Webster's very words."
"The orders is to stay right here for the night," said the Orderly-
Sergeant, coming up through the brush to Si, "and be ready for anything
that comes. I don't know what old Sherman means—whether he is going to
send over some balloons to lift us to the top of the rocks, or set us to
tunneling through. I suppose it ain't my business to know. I've got
enough to do running this company. But something's got to bust inside
the next 24 hours, and when it does there'll be the dumbedest smash this
country ever saw. Stay where you are till further orders, and make
yourselves as comfortable as possible."
The rebels on the rocks having quieted down, the boys stowed themselves
around the roots of the trees, made little fires under the shelter of
the rocks, cooked their suppers, smoked their pipes, and finally rolled
themselves in their blankets and went to sleep.
Little Pete "snugged" in with Shorty, but when that gentleman was
awakened by Si a little after daylight, Pete was gone.
Shorty fumed around at this while he was cooking his breakfast, for he
wanted Pete to be there and eat heartily, in preparation for the arduous
struggles of the momentous day which was breaking for them.
But little Pete continued to be absent. No one had seen him, no one had
heard his voice, no one know anything about him. Shorty became greatly
worried, and the others shared his feelings, and began beating up the
woods around in search of some place that he might have fallen into.
With the daybreak the firing away to the left, where a lodgment had been
made on Rocky Face Ridge, beyond the gap, broke out afresh, and rolled
down toward the gap. The squad listened intently to it as it came
nearer, for they felt that it meant the beginning of the day's bloody
business. The crests above them remained silent.
Suddenly they heard little Pete's voice calling:
"Sergeant Klegg! Corporal Elliott!"
They looked in every direction, but could see no Pete.
"Sergeant Klegg! Corporal Elliott! Look up here. I'm up here on the
rocks."
They turned their eyes to the crest, and there saw Pete waving his hat
to them.
"Come up here," he called. "There ain't no rebels up here. They've all
gone off down into the valley."
From their tense hearts the boys sent up a cheer, which drew all
attention to them. The news quickly spread along the line, and was
received with cheers.
"Go down that way about 100 yards," Pete called down, "and you'll find a
tall pine blowed down agin the cliff. You kin climb that, and git up to
where its top lays right agin a bunch of bushes. Shorty rolled on my leg
this morning, and waked me up before daylight. I then thought I'd git up
and take a look, and see how things appeared before they got to
shooting. I found the pine tree, and dumb it mighty quiet, intending to
sneak up close to the rebels. But I couldn't find none. They was all
gone."
CHAPTER XVI. THE 200TH IND. ASSAULTS THE REBEL WORKS AT DAYBREAK
THERE were the same perplexing sounds of battle in many places and
directions when the 200th Ind. went into line as there had been around
Buzzard Roost.
Joe Johnston was fiercely contesting every hilltop and narrow gorge to
gain time to adjust his army to the unexpected movement through Snake
Creek Gap, and save the stores he had accumulated behind the heavy
fortifications around Dalton.
Though they had felt themselves completely worn out by the work with the
train, the prospect of a fight put new life into the 200th Ind., and
they leaned on their guns and listened to the crackling of musketry and
booming of artillery far away to their left, to their right, and
apparently in their rear. Sometimes the sounds would come so near that
the wave of battle would seem to be surely rolling down on them. Then
they would clutch their guns more firmly, and their hands instinctively
seek their cartridge-boxes. Then the firing would as inexplicably die
down and stop, when they would again sink on the ground with fatigue.
So the late afternoon wore on. It grew very quiet all around. Even the
dull booming of the cannon far up the valley where Howard and Schofield
were advancing on the heavy works immediately in front of Dalton, died
down into sullen fitfulness.
The silence of the woods and the mountains as night drew on became more
oppressive than the crashing sounds, the feverish movements, and the
strained expectancy of the day had been.
The whip-poor-wills began to fill the evening air with their mournful
calls, which accentuated and intensified the weird loneliness of the
scene, where but a little while before there had been no thought but of
deadly hatred and bitter strife.
"I never heard the whip-poor-wills whip so gloomily," remarked the
sentimental Alf Russell, after the regiment had stacked arms, and the
men were resting, exhausted and out of temper, on the ground. "Seems to
me it sounds altogether different from the way they do at home; got
something savage in it."
"Probably they're yelling their satisfaction over the number of men
they've seen killed and wounded today," ventured Monty Scruggs. "Does
'em good to see men shooting at one another instead of birds."
"Dumbed little brutes," grumbled Shorty, nursing his hurt foot, "if
they'd bin wrastlin' all day with a mule train they'd be too tired to go
yellin' around like that. I always did hate a whip-poor-will, anyway.
They hain't got sense enough to do anything but yell, jest like a pasel
o' rebel cavalry."
"Great Scott! I wisht I knowed whether we're goin' to stay here
tonight," said Si, handling his blanket roll with a look of
anticipation.
"No," said the Orderly, coming down from the right of the regiment.
"We're to move forward about a mile, and establish a line for the rest
of the brigade to form on. We're to go quietly, without noise or
commands, and then bivouac without fires. Get your guns and fall in
quietly."
As ill-tempered as tired, the boys roused up from the ground, and began
taking their guns from the stacks. Harry Joslin snatched his out first,
and the stack, falling over, the bayonet points struck Gid Mackall's
face. The angry Gid responded with a blow landed on the side of Harry's
head. In an instant the two clinched, and the others, who were in no
better humor, began striking at one another in blind temper. Si and
Shorty snatched the two principals apart with a good deal of violence
and much show of their own tempers.
"You long legged sand hill crane," said Si, shaking Gid. "Will you
always be kickin' up a rumpus? I'll break your neck if you don't act
better."
"You senseless little bantam," said Shorty, with his grip on Harry's
throat; "will you always be raising a ruction? Will I have to wring your
neck to learn you to behave?"
"Let him alone, Shorty," said Si irritably. "He ain't to blame. This
gangling fly-up the crick started it." And he gave Gid another shake.
"You let him alone. Si," said Shorty crossly. "I know better. This whelp
started it, as he always does. I'll throw him down and tramp on him."
"You won't do nothin' o' the kind. Shorty. Don't you contradict me. Let
him go, I tell you."
"You take your hands off that boy, or I'll make you, Si Klegg," said
Shorty hotly. "I won't see you imposin' on somebody's that's smaller'n
you."
The spectacle of the two partners quarreling startled them all. They
stopped and looked aghast.
"Here, what's all this disorder here," said the Orderly, coming up,
impetuously, and as cross as any one. "Why don't you get into line as
ordered? Sergeant Klegg, you're always making trouble for me."
"I ain't doin' nothing o' the kind. What's the sense o' your sayin' sich
a thing?" Si retorted. "You know it ain't true."
"Si Klegg, be careful how you call me a liar," answered the Orderly.
"I'll—"
"What in the world does all this mean?" said Capt. McGillicuddy angrily,
as he stepped back to them. "What are you wasting time squabbling before
the men for? Fall into your places at once, and don't let me hear
another word from any of you. Don't you see the regiment is moving?"
"We'll finish this later," the Orderly whispered to Si, as he went to
his place on the right.
"I'll settle with you, Shorty, when I have more time," Si remarked as he
took his place.
"The sooner the better," grunted Shorty. "You can't run over me, if you
are a Sergeant."
The wearied men went stumbling along the rough road for what seemed the
longest mile ever known. It had grown very dark. At last a form
separated itself from the bank of blackness on the left, and a voice
said in a penetrating whisper:
"Is this the 200th Ind?"
"Yes," answered the Colonel.
"I'm Lieut. Snowden, of the General's staff," said the whisper.
"Yes; I recognize your voice," answered the Colonel.
"I was sent here," continued the Whisper, "to post you when you came up.
You will make this your right, and form out there to the left. Do it
without the slightest noise. There is a strong force of rebels out there
in front. They have a line of works with abatis in front, and a fort on
the hill there to the right, as you can see by looking up against the
sky. You will not allow any fires to be made or lights to be shown. The
other regiments will come up and form on your right and left, and you
will be ready to attack and carry the line immediately in front of you
the moment that it is light enough to see to move. The signal will be
given by the headquarters bugle."
"Very good," replied the Colonel. "Tell the General that we'll be ready,
and he'll find us inside the rebel line five minutes after the bugle
sounds."
"In the meanwhile," continue the Aid, "you will keep a sharp lookout.
You may be attacked, and if you see signs of evacuation you are to
attack, and the other regiments will support you. The General will come
up later and give you further instructions. Good night."
The men nearest the Colonel heard plainly all that was said, and it was
soon known throughout the regiment. The men seemed to forget their
fatigue as they moved alertly but warily into line to the left, and
studied intently the sky-line of the rising ground in front.
The whip-poor-wills were still calling, but at the flanks and rear of
the regiment. None of them called in front.
"It's full o' rebels over there; that's the reason," said Si to himself,
as he noted this. "Yes, they're all at home, and goin' to shoot," he
added in a loud whisper. "Lay down, everybody."
He was none too soon. The tramping through the bushes, and the various
noises that bodies of men will make when in motion, had reached the ears
of the alert rebels. A dazzling series of flashes ran along the sky-
line, and a flight of bullets sang wickedly over the heads of the 200th
Ind., striking in the bushes and trees far behind them.
"Don't anybody yell! Don't anybody shoot!" called the Colonel in a loud
whisper, and it was repeated by the line oflficers. "It will reveal our
position. Lie down and keep perfectly quiet. They're overshooting us."
The rebel battery in the fort waked up, and, more to show its good will
than anything else, began shelling the surrounding landscape.
One of our batteries, a mile or so to the rear, which had not had an
opportunity to fire during the day, could not resist this challenge, and
began throwing shells at the fort with so fair an aim as to draw the
attention of the rebel battery to it.
The lurid flashes of the muskets, cannon, and shells revealed a belt of
jagged abatis several rods wide covering the entire front of the fort
and breastworks.
"Great Scott!" muttered Si to himself, for he was not on speaking terms
with Shorty, and would not alarm the boys; "there's a porcupine nest to
git through. How in the Nation are we ever goin' to do it?"
"Unroll your blankets and lie down on them," came down the line from the
Colonel. "Lay your guns beside you. Don't attempt to stack them. You may
attract the attention of the rebels. Everybody keep his place, and be
ready to form and move at once."
"Stop firing. What are you shooting at?" said a voice of authority in
the rebel works. "Who gave the order to fire?"
"The men began it themselves," said a second voice. "They heard Yankees
moving over there, and commenced shooting at them."
"How do you know there are any Yankees out there? I don't believe they
have advanced beyond the crest of the hill. I think they are all going
down toward Resaca. Haven't you any pickets out there?"
"No. We only moved in here this afternoon, and did not know how long we
were going to stay. I was ordered to stay here till further orders, to
protect the road beyond."
"Well, we haven't any ammunition to waste firing at uncertainties.
There's enough Yankees in sight all the time for all the bullets we
have, without wasting any on imaginary ones. It'll be time enough for
you to begin shooting when you see them coming to the edge of the abatis
there. Before they get through that you'll have time enough to shoot
away all the ammunition you have."
"I'm going to see whether there are any Yankees there," said the second
voice in the rebel works.
"Jim, you and Joe go down to the edge of the abatis and see what you can
see."
The wearied boys had nearly all fallen asleep on their blankets. Even
the noisy artillery duel had not kept Jim Humphreys awake, and Monty
Scruggs and Alf Russell followed his example soon after the firing
ceased. Then Harry Joslyn and Gid Mackall, spreading their blankets
apart for the first time since they had been in the service, sought rest
from their fatigue and forgetfulness of their mutual anger. Si and
Shorty kept sternly apart. Shorty occupied himself in fixing the
blankets comfortably for a nest for little Pete Skidmore, while Si,
brooding over the way that Shorty "had flared up about nothin' at all,"
and the Orderly-Sergeant's and Capt. McGillicuddy's unjust heat to him,
had kept his eyes fixed on the skyline beyond, and had listened to the
conversation of the rebel officers. It occurred to him that by watching
the two rebels come down he might get an idea of a passage through the
abatis, which would be useful in the morning. He strained his eyes to
catch sight of their movements.
He saw two projections against the sky-line, which he knew were the men
crossing the works. They separated, and he could make out two black
blotches above the level of darkness and moving down the slope. One came
almost directly toward him, the other going to the left. It occurred to
him to capture one of the men. He would have suggested to Shorty to get
the other, but he could not bring himself to speak to his partner.
Keeping his eyes fixed on the man directly in front, he slowly wriggled
forward without rising. The man was evidently coming cautiously, halting
every few steps, and looking and listening.
Perfect quiet reigned in the regiment. The men were mostly asleep. Those
who were awake were intently watching the hill for some sign of the
enemy, or as silently foreboding the happenings of the morrow.
Without making the least noise, Si reached the edge of the abatis. There
a young tulip tree had been left standing, and its plentiful branches
and large leaves made a thick mass of darkness. He rose upright behind,
but his foot came down on a dead stick, which broke with a sharp crack.
All the blood rushed to his heart. But at the same instant his head had
disturbed a whip-poor-will who had taken refuge there from the noise.
She flew away with a tumult of plaintive "whips." The rebel in front
halted for a long time. Then he apparently concluded that an owl was
after the whip-poor-will, and, reassured, came forward.
As he had crawled along. Si had felt with his hands that he was on a
tolerably beaten path, which ran by the sapling he was now standing
behind. He was sure that this led through the abatis, and the rebel was
coming down it. The rebel came on so near that Si could hear his
breathing, and Si feared he could hear his. The rebel was carrying his
gun at a trail in his right hand, and putting all his powers into his
eyes and ears to detect signs of the presence of Yankees. He hesitated
for a little while before the sapling, and then stepped past it.
As he did so Si shot out his right arm and caught him around the neck
with so quick and tight a hug that the rebel could not open his mouth to
yell. Si raised his arm so as to press the rebel's jaws together, and
with his left hand reached for his gun. The rebel swayed and struggled,
but the slender Southerner was no match for the broad-shouldered Indiana
boy, whose muscles had been knit by hard work.
The struggle was only momentary until Si secured the gun, and the
rebel's muscles relaxed from the stoppage of his breath.
"If you say a word, or try to, you're a dead man," Si whispered, as he
dropped the gun, and substituted his left hand at the man's throat for
his right arm. Taking silence for acquiescence, Si picked up his own gun
and started with his prisoner for the Colonel. He walked upright boldly
now, for the watchers on the rebel works could not see that there was
more than one man in the path.
The Colonel ordered Si to bring his prisoner back into a gully some
distance behind the line, where he could be interrogated without the
sound reaching the men in the works.
"Where do you belong?" asked the Colonel.
"To Kunnel Wheatstone's Jawjy rijimint."
"How many men have you got over there in the works."
"Well, a right smart passul."
"What do you mean by a right smart parcel?"
"Well, a good big heap."
"What, a thousand?"
"Yes, I reckon so."
"Ten thousand?"
"I 'spects so."
"Twenty thousand."
"Mouty likely."
"You don't seem to have a clear idea of numbers. How many regiments have
you got over there?"
"Well, thar's Kunnel Wheatstone's Jawjy rijimint—that's mine; then
thar's Kunnel Tarrant's South Carliny rijimint, and then thar's Kunnel
Bird's Tennessee rijimint, and I don't mind how many others. They've bin
comin' and goin' all day, and I hain't paid no attention to 'em. I only
know that thar's enough to give yo'uns a wallopin' if yo'uns only come
on."
"Sergeant," said the Colonel, "you did a splendid thing in capturing
this man and bringing him to me, but I fear I shall not get as much
information out of him as I'd like to. I don't presume anybody really
knows just how many men are over there. We've got to jump the works and
take the chances on what we find."
"We're ready the minute you give the word. Colonel," said Si, saluting.
"Colonel," said Shorty's voice out of the darkness, "I've brung you one
o' the rebel scouts that was piroutin' out there. I don't know as you
kin make much out o' him, though, for the welt I fetched him with my gun
bar'l seems to've throwed his thinkery out o' gear, and he can't talk
straight."
"And so you got the other one," Si started to say to his partner, but
then he remembered Shorty's "flarin' up," and held his tongue.
"I don't imagine that his 'thinkery,' as you call it, was of much
account when it was in order, if it was no better than this other
man's," said the Colonel, with a smile. "Perhaps, if he could think
better he wouldn't be in the rebel army. Sergeant (to the Provost-
Sergeant), take charge of these two men. Give them something to eat, and
send them to Division Headquarters."
Si and Shorty carefully avoided one another on their way back to the
company, and declined to discuss their exploits with either the Orderly-
Sergeant or Capt. McGillicuddy.
"Go out and git you a rebel for yourself, if you want to know about
'em," Shorty had snapped at the Orderly. "There's plenty more up there
on the hill. It's full of 'em."
As everything now seemed quiet in front, the two partners sat down with
their back against trees to catch a little sleep before the momentous
movement in the morning.
It seemed to Si that he had hardly closed his eyes when the Orderly
shook him and whispered an order to help arouse the men and get them
into line.
"Don't make the least noise," whispered the Orderly. "I hear the rebels
moving around, but we want to jump 'em before they know we're up. The
further we can get through that abatis before they discover us, the
fewer we'll have killed. It's going to be mighty tough work at best, and
I wish that we were going over the works now."
It was the chill gray of the morning, when every man's spirits and
courage are at ebb-tide. For an instant, Si felt his heart sink at the
thought of the awful ordeal that confronted them. There came across his
mind a swift vision of the peaceful home back in Indiana, with the
pleasant fields lying about, over which he used to go on sweet Spring
mornings like this and note the flowers that had bloomed over night, and
the growth the wheat had made. How sickening to be now starting to open
up a hell of pain, wounds, and death. Then his natural courage and will
reasserted themselves, and he began rousing the boys, but with a
tenderness born of the thought that their hearts would be as low as his
in that bleak hour.
Jim Humphreys waked up stolidly, and without a word began preparing to
fall in. Alf Russell's and Monty Scruggs's faces turned ashy after they
had fairly awakened, and they picked up their guns with nerveless
fingers.
Harry Joslyn took the position of a soldier, with his gun at an order,
his lips tightly closed, and his eyes fixed on the rebel position, as
the spreading light developed it. Sandy Baker fidgeted about at one time
tinkering with his gun and equipments, and then stopping half-way in the
task he had started and falling into a fit of musing. Little Pete
Skidmore wandered about, looking into Si's and Shorty's grave faces, and
then into others equally solemn, and finding no comfort in any. It was
the first time that he heard no joke or quip flash along the forming
line to bring cheers or laughter.
"Come, boys," said Si, kindly, "eat your breakfasts. You can't make no
coffee nor fry no meat, but you'd better fill up on cold grub. You'll
need all you can eat."
The mention of something to eat seemed to remind Gid Mackall of his
usual appetite. He pulled a cracker out of his haversack and bit it, but
it seemed distasteful, and he spat the piece out.
"The orders are," said the Orderly-Sergeant in a low tone, as he passed
down in front of the company, "to strip off your bankets, canteens, and
haversacks, and pile them. They'll be in the road in the rush, and catch
in going through the abatis."
"Orderly," said Shorty in his most conciliatory way, "if you want to do
me a favor make Pete Skidmore one of the detail."
"I ain't asking suggestions from you," said the Orderly, still surly.
"But I shall detail Baker and Skidmore for the duty."
The boys flung their things off with something like desperation in their
looks.
It was now daylight, but a dense fog prevented seeing more than a few
feet.
"We can't wait any longer," said the Colonel. "Pass the word down the
line to move forward. Make no noise till the enemy opens fire. Then
everybody push forward as rapidly as possible for the works."
"The first fire will probably go over our heads and do little damage,"
said Capt. McGillicuddy, stepping down to the center, so that his
whisper could be heard by all. "It's always so when men fire downhill.
Then, you all want to be careful and fire low, so as to hit as many as
possible, and rattle them in their future firing. The more of them we
can hit the less of us will be hit afterward. Forward—Guide right!"
It seemed as if the crashing of their marching feet was so loud that the
rebels on the hill could not fail to hear it, and they held their
breaths in painful expectancy of the volley. But they had gotten a rod
or more into the entangling brush of the abatis, and were stumbling and
crashing amid the baffling branches, before they heard the voice of the
previous night command:
"Ready—Aim—aim low—Fire!"
The rebel muskets crashed together in a terrific volley, which generally
passed over the heads of the 200th Ind., though a few men fell into the
brush with wounds.
Si had gone up the path that he had found the night before, and
therefore had no struggle with the fallen trees to shake his nerves and
disturb his aim. He had calculated upon this. He brought his musket down
deliberately and took good aim at the point whence the voice of command
had come. As his gun cracked he heard voices cry:
"The Kunnel's shot. Look out for the Kunnel thar."
Another voice immediately spoke up in command: "Steady, men! Keep cool!
Fire low, and give it to the blue-bellied scoundrels!"
Then broke out a mad rage of death and destruction, in which both sides
seemed in the fiercest insanity of murder. The 200th Ind., encouraged by
the shouts of their officers, pressed forward through the baffling tree-
tops, stumbling, falling, rising again, firing as fast as they could
load their guns, and yelling like demons. They were frantic to get
through the obstructions and come to hand-to-hand struggle with the
fiends who were yelling and firing from the top of the breastworks.
The rebel battery in the fort began hurling a tornado of shells as near
as they could bring their guns to bear on the yelling. This aroused its
enemy battery of the night before, and it opened up viciously. The
regiments to the right and left of the 200th Ind. moved forward at the
sound of the firing, and added to the dinning turbulence.
Si had kept to the path, firing coolly and with deadly aim as he kept
pace with the line, which was fiercely forging through the brush. There
had gathered behind him Jim Humphreys, Harry Joslyn, and Gid Mackall.
The rest had gathered over toward Shorty, who was raging through the
abatis, tearing aside the branches which impeded the others, yelling,
swearing most horribly, and firing as a loaded gun would be handed him.
He happened to look around to see who was handing him guns, and saw that
it was Pete Skidmore and Sandy Baker.
"I thought you little brats was ordered to stay behind with the things,"
he gasped.
"I know we was," whimpered little Pete as he capped a gun and handed it
to Shorty; "but we couldn't stay when we heard the yelling and shooting.
We was so scared that we was afraid to stay there, so we hunted you up,
and—"
"Come on, boys," yelled Shorty to the others. "Go ahead. We're almost
through, and then we'll salivate them whelps of damnation."
A bullet came so nigh Si's face that it seemed to burn him, and then he
heard it strike. Jim Humphreys fell without a groan—a bullet through his
brain.
"Don't mind that. Forward, boys," shouted Si. "Here's the end of the
abatis."
Gid Mackall fell, and Harry Joslyn turned to help him.
"Don't mind him. Come on," Si called over his shoulder, as he rushed in
the clear place, just at the edge of the shallow ditch in front of the
works. "Everybody this way."
The Charge Thru the Abatis. 211
All that was left of the regiment was now through the abatis. The fog
suddenly lifted, and showed the combatants face to face, with only the
ditch and the bank of earth between them. The sight was so startling
that both sides paused for an instant.
"Forward, 200th Ind.! Rally on your colors!" rang out the clear, sweet,
penetrating voice of the Colonel, as he snatched the colors from the
hand of the third man who had borne them since the regiment moved
forward, and sprang up the side of the works.
Of the pandemonium that reigned inside the rebel works for the next few
minutes Si only recollected seeing the Orderly-Sergeant, bareheaded, and
with bayonet fixed, leap down from the bank and transfix a man who tried
to snatch the flag from the Colonel's hand. Si arrived just in time to
shoot the rebel officer who was striking at the Orderly with his sword,
while Shorty came up, knocking down a winrow of men with his gun swung
by the butt as a club, to rescue Si from three rebels who were trying to
bayonet him.
All at once the entire rebel line broke and ran down the hill in a wave
of dingy brown, while another wave of blue rolled over the works to the
right and left of the 200th Ind.
"I hope you ain't hurt, Orderly," said Si, dropping the butt of his
musket on the ground, and wiping his flushed face. "I thought that
officer was goin' to git you, sure."
"He would, if it hadn't been for you, Si. He got in one slash on me, but
it ain't much, I think. But Shorty helped you out of a tight box."
"Yes; Shorty generally does that," said Si, with a beaming look on his
partner. "He's the best soldier in the regiment, and kin always be
trusted to git in on time anywhere."
"Well, I'm afraid it 'll be a short roll I'll have to call this
evening," said the Orderly, with a sorrowful expression. "I suppose we'd
better go back through that brush and look up the boys that were
dropped."
CHAPTER XVII. GATHERING UP THE BOYS AFTER THE BATTLE.
"HOORAY for Injianny. Injianny gits there every time," roared Si,
joining the yelling, exultant throng crowding around the Colonel. "The
old 200th wuz the first to cross the works, and miles ahead o' any other
rejimint."
"Bully for the Wild Wanderers of the Wabash," Shorty joined in. "They're
the boss regiment in the army o' the Cumberland, and the Army o' the
Cumberland's the boss army on earth. Hooray for US Co. Le's have a
speech. Where's Monty Scruggs?"
"Yes, Where's Monty?" echoed Si, with a little chill at his heart, for
he had not remembered seeing the boy since they emerged from the abatis,
just before the final rush.
"Well, le's have a song, then," said Shorty, as Si was looking around.
"Where's Alf Russell?"
"Yes, Where's Alf Russell?" echoed Si, with a new pang clutching at his
heart, for he then recalled that he had not seen Alf since he had helped
him up the embankment, immediately after which Si's thoughts, had been
engrossed by the struggle for the flag. "Did any of you boys see either
Alf or Monty?" he asked nervously.
"And has anybody seen Pete Skidmore?" chimed in Shorty, his voice
suddenly changing from a tone of exultation to one of deepest concern.
"Why don't some o' you speak? Are you all dumb?"
Somehow everybody instinctively stopped cheering, and an awed hush
followed.
"All of Co. Q step this way," called out the Orderly-Sergeant. All of
the usual "rasp" had left the strong, rough voice. There was a mournful
tremor in it. "Fall in, Co. Q, over there by this pile of picks and
shovels."
Scarcely 20 of the 80 stalwart youths who had lined up at the foot of
the rugged palisades of Rocky Face two evenings before grouped
themselves together in response to the Orderly's call.
Capt. McGillicuddy, the Orderly, Si, and Shorty strained their eyes to
see more of the company disengaging themselves from the throng around
the Colonel.
The Orderlies of the other companies called to their men to fall in at
different places.
The Colonel looked at the muster with sad eyes.
"Didn't nobody see nothin' o' little Skidmore?" savagely repeated
Shorty, walking back to the works and scanning the country round. "Was
you all so blamed anxious lookin' out for yourselves that you didn't pay
no attention to that little boy? Nice gang, you are."
"Orderly, take the company back into the abatis, and look for the boys,"
ordered Capt. McGillicuddy.
"'Tention, company!" commanded the Orderly. "Stack arms! Right
face—Break ranks—March!"
"Hello, boys," said Monty Scruggs's voice, weak but unmistakably his, as
the company recrossed the works.
"Great heavens! he's bin shot through the bowels?" thought Si, turning
toward him with sickening apprehension of this most dreaded of wounds.
Then, aloud, with forced cheerfulness—"I hope you ain't hurt bad,
Monty."
"I was hurt bad enough, the Lord knows," answered the boy with a wan
smile. "I hain't been hurt so bad since I stubbed by sore toe last
Summer. But I'm getting over it pretty fast. Just as I started up the
bank a rebel threw a stone as big as my fist at me, and it took me
square where I live. I thought at first that whole battery over there in
the fort had shot at me all at once. Goodness, but it hurt! My, but that
fellow could throw a stone! Seemed to me that it went clear into me, and
bent my back-bone. I've been feeling to see if it wasn't bent. But we
got the works all right, didn't we?"
"You bet we did," Si answered exultantly. "Licked the stuffin' out of
'em. Awful glad you're no worse hurt, Monty. Make your way inside there,
and you'll find the Surgeon. He'll bring you around all right. We're
goin' to look for the other boys."
"Alf Russell caught a bullet," said Monty Scruggs. "I heard him yell,
and turned to look at him, when that rebel's bowlder gave me something
else to think about, so I don't know where he is."
"Gid Mackall's lying over there, somewhere," said Larry Joslyn, who was
all anxiety in regard to his old partner and antagonist. "Let me go and
find him."
"Go ahead," said Si, helping Monty to his feet. "I'll be right with
you."
While Si was going back the way he had come Shorty was tearing through
the tangled brush, turning over the tree-tops by main strength,
searching for Pete Skidmore. The rest of the company were seeking out
the fallen ones hither and thither, and calling to one another, as they
made discoveries, but Shorty only looked for Pete Skidmore. Si and Harry
presently came to Gid Mackall's body, lying motionless in a pool of
blood that dyed crimson the brown leaves thickly covering the ground.
His cap had fallen off, and his head had crushed down into a bunch of
slender oak twigs; his eyes were closed, and his callow face white as
paper.
"O, he's dead! He's stone dead," wailed Harry Joslyn. "And just think
how I quarreled and fought with him this morning."
"Mebbe not," said Si, to whom such sights were more familiar, "That
bullet hole in his blouse is too low down and too fur out to've hit
either his heart or his lungs, seems to me. Mebbe he's only fainted from
loss o' blood. Ketch hold o' his feet. I'll take his head, and we'll
carry him back to the Surgeon. Likely he kin bring him to."
The rough motion roused Gid, and as they clambered back over the works,
Harry was thrilled to see him open his eyes a little ways.
"Apparently," said the busy Surgeon, stopping for a minute, with knife
and bullet-forceps in his bloodstained hands, to give a brief glance and
two or three swift touches to Gid, "the ball has struck his side and
broke a rib or two. He's swooned from loss of blood. The blood's stopped
flowing now, and he'll come around all right. Lay him over there in the
shade of those trees. Put something under his head, and make him as
comfortable as possible. I'll attend to him as soon as I can get through
with these men who are much worse off than he is."
And the over-worked Surgeon hurried away to where loud groans were
imperatively calling for his helpful ministrations.
Si and Harry broke down a thick layer of cedar branches to make a
comfortable bed for Gid, placed a chunk under his head, and hurried away
again to search for Alf Russell. They went over carefully that part of
the works they had crossed, and the abatis in front, but could find no
trace of him. They feared that after he had been shot he had crawled
back under the shelter of some tree-tops, to protect him from the flying
bullets, and died there. They turned over and pulled apart the branches
for a wide space, but did not succeed in finding him, or any trace. But
they found Bob Willis, stark in death, lying prone in the top of a young
hickory, into which he had crashed, when the fatal bullet found him
pressing courageously forward. Him they carried pitifully forward, and
added to the lengthening row of the regiment's dead, which was being
gathered up.
Then they went reluctantly back—shuddering with the certainty of what
they should find, to bring in Jim Humphreys's body.
Harry Joslyn was so agitated by the sight of Humphreys's mangled head
and staring eyes that Si made him turn his back, place himself between
the feet, one of which he took in each hand, and go before in carrying
the body back. Si stripped the blouse up so as to cover the head, and
took the shoulders between his hands, and so another body was added to
the row of the regimental dead.
Si himself was so sick at heart that he had little inclination to
continue the search farther than to look over the wounded, as they were
brought in, in hopes of finding some of his squad there.
"There are three of us yet missing," he said. "Mebbe they've got mixed
up with the Kankakee boys on our left, and'll come in all right after
awhile. Mebbe they're out with Shorty somewhere. I'll wait till he comes
in. Harry, I expect me and you'd better dig poor Jim's grave. There's no
tellin' how long we'll stay here. Jim 'd rather we put him under than
strangers what don't know and care for him. It's all we kin do for the
poor feller; I'll git a pick and you take a shovel. We'll make the grave
right here, where the Colonel lit when he jumped over the works with the
flag. That'll tickle Jim, if he's lookin' down from the clouds. Too bad,
he couldn't have lived long enough to see us go over the embankment,
with the Colonel in the lead, wavin' the flag."
"The best thing," said Harry, forgetting his sorrow in the exciting
memories of the fight, "was to see the Orderly sock his bayonet up to
the shank in the rebel, and you blow off that officer's head—"
"Hush, Harry. Never speak o' that," Si admonished him.
"And see you," continued Harry, "stand off all three of them rebels, who
was tryin' to bayonet you, until Corp'l Elliott came raring down,
swinging his gun like a flail. Great Scott! didn't he lay 'em out,
though! I saw it all, as I was loading my gun in nine times to shoot one
of the rebels attacking you, I'd just got the cap on, when Corp'l
Elliott loped in."
"Orderly," said Si a little later, "we've got Jim Humphreys's grave dug.
Will you take the things out of his pockets to send to his folks? and
then we'll bury him."
"Better wait till the Captain comes back and gives the orders," said the
Orderly. "I don't want to touch his pockets without the Captain's
orders. Then, we ought to have his blanket to bury him in. You go ahead
and dig Bob Willis's grave, and I'll take a detail back and bring up the
blankets and things."
Shorty had pushed his unavailing search for little Pete far past the
point where he remembered to have seen the boy, in the midst of the
fighting. He had torn his hands and worn out his strength in tearing
aside the brush to expose every possible place that the dying boy or his
dead body might be concealed. He had reached the further side of the
obstruction, and sat down on a stump, in despair of heart and exhaustion
of body.
Those with him, more intent on getting something to eat, had pushed on
back to where their haversacks and canteens and blankets had been left.
Presently Shorty heard a call across the little valley:
"Cor—po—ral Ell—iott. Cor—po—ral Ell—iott!"
"Well, what is it?" Shorty called back, crustily.
"Lit—tle—Pete—and—Sandy—Ba—ker—is—o—ver—here," came back upon the bright
Spring air.
Shorty sprang up electrified, and tore across the intervening space at
the double-quick. He found Pete and Sandy Baker standing soberly on
guard over the line of the company's blankets and belongings.
"Great Jehosephat, you little brats, how did you git here?" he
exclaimed, snatching little Pete up and hugging him.
"Why shouldn't we be here?" asked Pete, as soon as he could get breath.
"Didn't the Captain order us to stay here? Me and Sandy follered you
fellers until you jumped inside the works, and the rebels was a runnin'.
We stood on top o' the bank and shot at the rebels as fast as we could
load our guns. We kept shootin' at 'em till they got clean down to the
road. Then we saw the Captain lookin' over our way, and we thought he
was comin' over there to skin us alive for leaving the things, and we
ducked down behind the bank and run back here as fast as we could fetch
it. You ain't goin' to tell the Captain on us, and have us tied up by
the thumbs, are you, Corporal? Everything's safe. Nothing's gone. You
won't tell, will you?"
"O, you worthless little scamp," said Shorty, with tears of joy in his
eyes. "You ain't worth the powder that'd blow you up. I could pound you
for the worry you've given me in the last hour. But you ain't hurt a
bit, are you?"
"Nope," answered Pete. "But we both got awfully scratched runnin'
through that brush. Say, wasn't the way the boys jumped the works and
waded into them sardines just grand?"
The Orderly-Sergeant and his detail came back for the things, and Shorty
and the boys, picking up those belonging to the squad, made their way to
the company.
By the time they got back everybody's emotions had subsided sufficiently
to allow him to remember that he was terribly hungry, and that the next
business in order should be the cooking of the first warm meal they had
had for more than a day. Fires were soon blazing in every direction, and
the air was fragrant with the smell of hot coffee and cooking meat. Even
Monty Scruggs felt that the kink had gone out of his backbone, and the
disturbance in his dietetic department had sufficiently subsided to
allow him to enjoy a cup of coffee and piece of toasted meat on a
hardtack. The Surgeon had reached Gid Mackall, and had put him in
comfortable shape.
The bodies of Bob Willis and Jim Humphreys were wrapped in their
blankets, and mournfully consigned to the earth. A cedar bush was stuck
in the head of each grave, and Si, finding a piece of smooth board and a
chunk of soft charcoal from a fire, sat down on the bank, and begun
laboriously composing the following inscription:
JAMES HUMFRI CO. Q.
200th injianny VolunTer Infantry KiLD may, 15th 1864 He dide For His
country The lord luvs a
Braiv man
"That's all right. Si," said Shorty coming up with his mouthful of
hardtack and meat, and inspecting Si's work with critical approval. "You
kin lay away over me and all the rest when it comes to writin' and
composin'. And you know how to spell, too. I wish I had your education.
But I never had a chance to go to school."
"Then you think it'll do, Shorty," said Si, much flattered by his
partner's approval.
"Yes, it's just bully. But I think you ought to say something about
Jim's good character. That's usual on tombstones. You might say of him
that he had in him the makin' of the finest poker player in the Army of
the Cumberland. I never see a sleepyheaded boy pick up the fine pints o'
the game like he did, and he had nerve, too, along with his science."
"No, it wouldn't do at all to put anything o' that kind on," answered
Si, going to the grave, and driving the board down with a pick. "Mustn't
let Jim's folks know for the world that he gambled. It'd be the last
straw on his poor old mother, who's a strict Baptist. She may stand
hearing that he's killed, but never could that he played cards. What in
the world's become of Alf Russell, do you s'pose?"
"Who in Jeff Davis's dominions is that comin' up?" said Shorty, scanning
an approaching figure. "Looks as if he'd had his head busted and then
tied up agin with strings."
The figure certainly looked like Alf Russell and wore Alf Russell's
clothes, but the head was unrecognizable. A broad white bandage
encircled the face, going from the top of the forehead around under the
chin, and there were several folds of it. Then it ran around the head
transversely, covering the nose and the cheeks, and only allowing the
mouth and the eyes to show.
"Hello, boys," said a weak voice, which was unmistakably Alf Russell's.
"Hello, Alf," said Si delightedly. "I'm so glad to see you. I've bin
huntin' everywhere for you. What's happened to you? Badly hurt?"
"Nothing, only the left side o' my head tore out," said Alf feebly.
"Something struck me, probably a bomb-shell, just as I was going up the
bank after you. I went down to our Surgeon, but he was too busy to
attend to me. I then found the brigade hospital, but the Surgeons there
were too busy, too. They gave me a roll of bandages, and told me to fix
it up myself. I did it with the help of one of the men who was waiting
to have his leg dressed. I fancy I did quite a neat piece of bandaging,
as well as the Surgeons themselves could've done it. Don't you think
so?"
"Great Scott!" gasped Si, "you couldn't be walkin' around with the side
of your head knocked out. I'm astonished at you."
"So'm I," returned Alf placidly. "I'm surprised that I'm doing as well
as I am. But I gave myself good attendance, and that's a great thing.
I'm awful hungry. Got anything to eat? Where's my haversack?"
"Here it is," said Si, readily. "And here's a cup o' hot coffee. I'll
brile you a piece o' meat. But really, I don't think you ought to eat
anything before the Surgeon sees you. Mebbe it won't be good for you."
"I'll chance it," said Alf desperately, reaching for the cup of coffee.
"I'm sure it'll be better for me to eat something."
"Le's go down and see the Surgeon," insisted Si.
"No," protested Alf, "it ain't hurting me much now, and he's awful busy
with other men, so we hadn't better interrupt him."
"The Surgeon ought to see you at once, Alf," interjected Shorty. "Here
comes one of 'em now. Doctor, will you please look at this boy."
"Certainly," said the Surgeon, stopping on his way. "I guess I can spare
a minute. Take off that bandage, my boy."
"Don't mind me. Doctor," said Alf. "'Taint hurting me now, at all,
scarcely. I did it up very carefully."
"Take off the bandage at once, I tell you," said the Surgeon
imperatively. "I haven't any time to waste. Let me see your wound."
Alf set down his cup of coffee, and began laboriously unwinding the long
bandage, while the rest stood around in anxious expectation. Yards of
folds came off from around his forehead and chin, and then he reached
that around his nose and the back of his head. Still the ghastly edges
of the terrible wound did not develop. Finally the blood-soaked last
layer came off, and revealed where a bullet had made a shallow but ugly-
looking furrow across the cheek and made a nick in the ear.
"Alf, that rebel come dumbed nigh missin' you," said the greatly
relieved Si.
"If you should happen to ketch cold in that it wouldn't git well for a
week," added Shorty.
"Give me that bandage," said the Surgeon just before he hurried away.
"Take this sticking-plaster and draw the lips of the wound together, and
if you keep the dirt out it may heal without a scar."
CHAPTER XVIII. AN ARTILLERY DUEL AND A "DEMONSTRATION" ON THE ENEMY'S
POSITION.
"RUSSELL, that ain't going to heal without a A scar," Alf Russell
consoled himself, as he studied his hurt with a little round pocket
looking-glass, a screen of bushes concealing him from his unappreciative
comrades. "It's more than Monty Scruggs nor Harry Joslyn nor Sandy
Baker'll have to show for the fight. It's even more than Gid Mackall
has, even though he is knocked out. I ought to be sent to the hospital,
too. It'll be something to write home to father and mother, and they'll
put it in the paper and the folks'll talk about it. Gracious, there's a
bugle blowing again. Wonder what that means?"
"That's the Headquarters bugle," said Si, pricking up his ears. "That's
'Attention.' Git your traps together, boys. 'Assembly' 'll come next."
"Good gracious!" gasped Alf Russell, coming out from behind the bushes,
"they don't expect us to do any more fighting today, do they?"
"Very likely," said Shorty, helping Pete Skidmore on with his blanket-
roll. "The job ain't done till it is done, and there's lots o' rebels
over there yit who need lickin'. Now's the best time to finish it. This
ain't nothin' to Stone River and Chickamaugy. Got your canteen full,
Pete? Better fill it before we start. Take mine, too. Don't go any
further'n that first spring there, for I don't want to take no chances
on losin' you again."
The cannonading in the distance grew fiercer, and regiments could be
seen rushing up at the doublequick. Long, shrill rebel yells came from
the hilltops, and were answered by volleys and deep-toned cheers.
Another bugle-call rang out from Brigade Headquarters.
"Fall in, Co. Q," sharply commanded the Orderly-Sergeant.
With a shiver of apprehension, with a nervous memory of the bitter hours
just past, with the sight before their eyes of the scarcely-cold dead,
the remainder of the company fell in with sadly-shrunken ranks.
"Orderly, we need some more cartridges," suggested Shorty.
"I've been thinking of that," replied the Orderly, "and wondering where
to go for them."
"I saw some boxes of Enfields up there toward the battery," said Si.
"The rebels left 'em. They'll fit our guns, and them English cartridges
is just as good as ours."
"Pike over and get them, quick, before the other fellows drop on to
'em," said the Orderly.
"Gracious! going to shoot the rebels with their own bullets," remarked
Monty, who had nearly recovered, and came up pluckily to take his place
in the ranks. "Isn't that great medicine! How I should like to pop one
into that fellow that belted me with that bowlder."
"Hello, Monty," called Shorty jovially to drive out the sad thoughts.
"Got that kink out o' your backbone? Bully boy. You've got the right
kind of nerve. You'll be a man before your mother yet."
"Yes, and I'm here, too, and don't you forget it," said Alf Russell, not
to be outdone by Monty nor unnoticed. "By rights, I ought to be in the
hospital."
"By rights, I ought to be a Jigadier-Brindle," retorted Shorty, "but I
never could git Abe Lincoln to take that view of it. Here, fill up your
cartridgebox. You'll need lots of 'em, if you're only goin' to shoot to
crease your rebels, as that feller did you."
It was not brilliant pleasantry, but it served. It set them to thinking
of something else. They hastily filled their cartridge-boxes, adjusted
their blankets, and when the bugle sounded forward they started with
something of their original nerve.
The regiment moved off at the head of the brigade, and after a march of
a mile or so came out upon a hill from which they could see one of our
batteries having an unequal fight with several of the rebel batteries in
a fort far to its front. Our cannoneers were standing up bravely to
their work, but the rebel shells were bursting about them in a wild
storm of crashing, deafening explosions, and hurtling, shrieking masses
of iron. The sharp crack of their own rifles was at times drowned by the
ear-splitting din of the bursting shells.
"Goodness!" murmured Monty Scruggs, with colorless lips, as the regiment
came into line and moved forward to the battery's line of caissons at
the bottom of the hill. "I'm so glad I didn't enlist in the artillery. I
don't see how anybody up there can live a minute."
"Yes, it looks like as if those artillery boys are earnin' their $13 a
month about every second of their lives," remarked Shorty. "There ought
to be some other batteries loafin' around somewhere that could join in."
The boys leaned on their muskets and watched the awful spectacle with
dazed eyes. It seemed far more terrible even than the ordeal through
which they had just been.
The battery was one of the oldest and best in the army, and its "fire
discipline" was superb.
The Captain stood on a little elevation to the rear and somewhat apart,
intently studying the rebel line through his field-glasses. After a few
words of direction as to the pointing of the guns, and the command,
"Begin firing," he had given no orders, scarcely spoken. He could not
have been heard in that terrible turmoil. He had simply brought his
terrible engine of destruction—the engine upon which he and his men had
lavished years of laborious drilling and training—into position, and set
it going.
What the result would be fate alone would determine. That was a matter
that neither he nor his men regarded. If it destroyed or crippled its
opponents it was simply doing the work for which it had been created. If
its opponents destroyed it, that was a contingency to be accepted. It
was there to endure that fate if so ordered.
Behind the wings of the battery stood the Lieutenants, leaning on their
sabers, and gazing with fixed, unmoving eyes on the thunderous wrack and
ruin.
They said nothing. There was no reason for saying anything. Everything
was working systematically and correctly. Every man was doing his best,
and in the best way. Nobody needed reminder, reprimand, direction or
encouragement.
Similarly, the Sergeants stood behind their sections, except that one
after another they stepped forward to the guns to take the places of men
who had fallen and could not be replaced. At the guns the men were
working with the swiftness of light flashes, and the unerring certainty
of machines. To the watchers at the base of the slope they seemed to
weave back and forth like some gigantic, demoniac loom, as they sprang
at their guns, loaded them, "broke away" as they fired, leaped back
again, caught the gun in its recoil, hurled it forward, again reloaded,
"broke away" and fired, all quicker than thought. A shell took off a
sponger's head, but the sponge-staff was caught by another before it
fell, and the gun fired again without a pause. A shrapnel swept away
every man about one gun. The Lieutenant looked inquiringly at the
Sergeant, and in an instant another squad seemed to spring up from the
ground to continue the firing without missing a note in the battery's
rhythm.
The groups about each gun thinned out, as the shrieking fragments of
shell mowed down man after man, but the rapidity of the fire did not
slacken in the least. One of the Lieutenants turned and motioned with
his saber to the riders seated on their horses in the line of limbers
under the cover of the slope. One rider sprang from each team and ran up
to take the place of men who had fallen.
The next minute the Lieutenant turned and motioned again, and another
rider sprang from each team and ran up the hill. But one man was now
left to manage the six horses attached to each limber. He soon left,
too, in obedience to the Lieutenant's signal, and a faint, bleeding man
came back and climbed into his place.
A shrapnel shell burst almost under the left gun and lifted it up in the
air. When the smoke opened a little not a man could be seen about the
cannon. A yell of exultation floated over from the rebel line.
The Lieutenant unbuckled his saber, dropped it to the ground, and ran
forward to the cannon. Two or three men rose slowly from the ground,
upon which they had been prostrated, and joined the Lieutenant in
running the gun back to its place, and reloading it.
Hooray for the Old Battery. 231
"Hooray for the old battery! Bully boys! Made o' right stuff," shouted
Shorty enthusiastically. "Never ketch me saying nothin' agin' the
artillery agin. Men who act like that when they're standin' right in the
middle o' hell with the lid off are 18karat fine."
"Captain," suggested Si, who was fidgeting under the excitement of a
scene in which he was taking no part, "wouldn't it be well for some of
us to go up there and help the battery boys out? I could sponge and
ram."
"No," answered the Captain; "help has been sent for for them, and there
it comes."
He pointed back over the hill to where two batteries were coming from
different directions on a dead run. It was a magnificent sight. One
battery was following the road, and the other cutting across the open
space in a hot race to get ahead and be in action first.
The Captains were galloping ahead to point out the way. The Sergeants
were alongside, seconding the whips of the drivers with strokes of the
flats of their sabers on the animals' hanches. The six horses to each
gun were galloping like mad, snatching the heavy piece over gullies,
bumps, logs, and rocks as if it were a straw. The gunners had abandoned
their usual calm pose with folded arms on the limber chests, and were
maintaining their seats only by a desperate clutch on the side-irons.
The boys turned even from the storm in front to watch the thrilling
spectacle.
The two Captains were fairly abreast as they led their batteries up the
long slope, crushing the brush, sending sticks and stones flying from
the heavy, flying wheels. Both reached the crest at the same time, and
the teams, wheeling around at a gallop, flung the muzzles of the cannon
toward the enemy. Without waiting for them to stop the nimble cannoneers
sprang to ground, unlimbered the guns, rolled them into position, sent
loads down their black throats, and before it was fairly realized that
they had reached the crest hurled a storm of shells across the valley at
the rebel batteries.
"Hooray! Hooray! They're gittin' some o' their own medicine now," yelled
the excited regiment. "Sock it to 'em. How do you like that, you ill-
begotten imps of rebels?"
The rebel cannoneers seemed to lose heart at once under the storm of
fire that beat upon them. The volume of their fire diminished at once,
and then became fitful and irregular. Two of their limbers were blown up
in succession, with thunderous noise, and this further discouraged them.
Obeying a common impulse, the 200th Ind., regardless of the dropping
shells, had left its position, and pressed forward toward the crest,
where it could see what was going on.
The Colonel permitted this, for he anticipated that a charge on the
rebel works would follow the beating down of the artillery fire, and he
wanted his regiment to be where it would get a good start in the race to
capture a rebel battery. He simply cautioned the Captains to keep their
men in hand and ready. As Capt. McGillicuddy called Co. Q closer
together, it occurred to Shorty that in the interest he had taken in the
artillery duel he had not looked after Pete Skidmore for some time, and
he began casting his eyes around for that youth. He was nowhere to be
seen, and, of course, no one knew anything about him.
"Why don't you get a rope. Shorty, and tie the blamed kid to you, and
not be pestering yourself and everybody else about him all the time?"
asked the Orderly-Sergeant irritably, for he was deeply intent upon the
prospective charge, and did not want to be bothered. "He's more worry
than he's worth."
"Shut up!" roared Shorty. "If you wasn't Orderly-Sergeant I'd punch your
head. I won't have nobody sayin' that about little Pete. He's the best
boy that ever lived. If I could only git hold of him I'd shake the
plaguey life out o' him. Drat him!"
Shorty anxiously scanned the field in every direction, but without his
eyes being gladdened by the sight of the boy.
The wounded being carried back from the batteries impressed him sadly
with the thought that Pete might have been struck by a piece of shell.
"Him and Sandy Baker are both gone," said the Orderly, looking over the
company. "I'll buck-and-gag both of 'em when I catch 'em, to learn 'em
to stay in ranks."
"Indeed you won't," said Shorty, under his breath.
The rebel fire had completely died down, and our own ceased, to allow
the guns to cool for a few minutes, in preparation for an energetic
reopening when the anticipated charge should be ordered.
To be in readiness for this, the Colonel drew the regiment forward
through the batteries, to lie down on the slope in front, that he might
have a start on the other Colonels. As they passed through the batteries
a little imp, about the size of Pete Skidmore, but with face as black as
charcoal, pulled off the leather bag in which cartridges are carried
from the limber to the gun, and handed it to one of the cannoneers, who
said:
"Well, good-by, if you must be going. You done well. You ought to belong
to the artillery. You're too good for a dough-boy. I'm going to ask the
Captain to have you detailed to us."
A similar scene was taking place at the next gun, with a little
blackamoor about the size of Sandy Baker.
The boys picked up their guns and belts from the ground, and fell in
with Co. Q.
"Hello, Corporal," said Pete, with a capacious grin rifting the powder
grime on his face. "We've just bin having lots o' fun."
"Pete, you aggravatin' little brat," said Shorty, giving him a cuff that
started the boy's tears to making little white streaks through the
black, "where in the world have you bin, and what've you bin doin'?"
"Why," whimpered Pete, "me and Sandy crept forward to a rock where we
thought we could see better, and then we thought we could see better
from another, and we kept a-goin' until we got clear up to where the
limbers was, afore we knowed it. Just then a couple o' them powder-
monkeys, as you call 'em, come runnin' back for cartridges, but they was
both hit, and was all bloody, and both of 'em fell down and couldn't go
no further, when they got the cartridges, though they wanted to. Me and
Sandy thought it was too bad that the men up there at the guns shouldn't
have no cartridges, when they was fighting so hard, so we picked up the
boys' bags and run up to the cannon with 'em. The men there was so glad
to git 'em, and told us to lay down our guns and run back for some more.
They kept us goin' till the rebels was knocked out, and we thought we
was doin' right and helpin', and they told us we was, and now you slap
me. Boo-hoo-hoo!"
"Don't cry, Pete. I done wrong," said Shorty, melting instantly, and
putting his arm around the boy. "You done right, and you're a brave,
good little boy. Only you must not go away from the company without
lettin' me know."
"Good God," groaned the Colonel, as he halted the regiment down the
slope, and studied the opposite side with his glass. "There's another
abatis, and it looks worse than the one in which we have just left half
the regiment. But we'll go through if there's only one man left to carry
the flag over the works. I don't suppose that we are any better than
those who have already died, or got any better right to live."
"This is the dumbedest country for cuttin' down trees the wrong way," Si
sadly remarked, as he surveyed the abatis. "It's meaner'n midnight
murder. I'd like to git hold o' the pizen whelp what invented it."
"The devil invented abatis, just after he invented hell, and as an
improvement on it, and just before he invented secession," Shorty judged
hotly. "When we git through them abatis there I'm goin' to kill
everything I find, just to learn 'em to stop sich heathenish work. It's
sneakin' murder, not war."
"When we get through," murmured Alf Russell dolefully. "How many of us
will ever get through?"
"Who'll be the Jim Humphreys and Gid Mackals this time?" said Monty
Scruggs, looking at the tangled mass of tree-tops.
"Can you see any path through this abatis, Sergeant?" nervously asked
Harry Joslyn.
"No, Harry," said Si, kindly and encouragingly. "But we'll find some way
to git through. There's probably a path that we kin strike. Stay close
by me, and we'll try our best."
"Well, I for one am goin' through, and I'm goin' to take Pete and Sandy
with me," said Shorty, in a loud, confident tone, to brace up the
others. "I've always gone through every one o' them things I've struck
yit, and this ain't no worse'n the others. But we ought to jump 'em at
once, while they're shiverin' over the shelling' we give 'em. They must
be shakin' up there yit like a dog on a January mornin'. Why don't we
start, I wonder?"
The batteries behind them began throwing shells slowly and deliberately,
as if testing their range, before beginning a general cannonade. All
along the crest, to their right and to their left, could be seen
regiments moving up and going into line of battle.
"It's goin' to be a big smash this time, sure," said Si. "And the 200th
Injianny's got a front seat at the performance. We'll show them how to
do it, and we're just the ones that kin. Brace up, boys. The eyes of the
whole army's on us. They expect big things from us."
"Here she goes, I guess," he continued, as a bugle sounded at
headquarters. "Everybody git ready to jump at the word, and not stop
goin' till we're inside the works."
The lines stiffened, every one drew a long breath, gripped his gun, and
braced himself for the fiery ordeal. There was an anxious wait, and then
the Adjutant came walking quietly down the line, with his horse's bridle
over his arm.
"It seems," he explained to Capt. McGillicuddy, loud enough for the
company to hear, "that we are not to make an assault, after all. There's
enough rebels over there in the works to eat us up without salt. We are
ordered to only make a demonstration, and hold them, while the rest work
down on their flanks toward Calhoun, which is six miles below, and get
in their rear. You can let your men rest in place till further orders."
"Take the company Orderly," said the Captain, walking off with the
Adjutant.
"'Tention! Stack arms; Place rest!" commanded the Orderly.
The revulsion of feeling among the keenly-wrought-up men was almost
painful.
"Demonstration be blamed," said Si, sinking upon a convenient rock. "I
always did hate foolin'. Gracious, how tired I am."
"Only a demonstration—only powow, noise, show and bluff," sneered
Shorty, flinging his gun against the stack. "Why didn't they tell us
this an hour ago, and save me all this wear and tear that's makin' me
old before my time? When I git ready for a fight I want it to come off,
without any postponement on account of weather. Come, Pete, go wash your
face and hands, and then we'll spread our blankets and lay down. I'm
tireder'n a mule after crossin' Rocky Face Ridge. I don't want to take
another step, nor even think, till I git a good sleep."
"We don't have to go over that brush, then?" said Alf Russell, with an
expression of deep relief. "I'm so glad. Great Jerusalem, how my wound
begins to ache again. You fellows oughtn't to laugh at my wound. You
don't know how it hurts to have all those delicate nerves torn up."
So it was with every one. The moment the excitement of the impending
fight passed away, every one was sinking with fatigue, and all his other
troubles came back. Monty Scruggs suddenly remembered how badly he had
been hurt, and started to drag himself off in search of the Surgeon,
while Harry Joslyn and Sandy Baker, chumming together for the first
time, snuggled together in their blankets, and sought that relief from
the excitement and fatigues of the day which kindly Nature never refuses
to healthy young bodies.
CHAPTER XIX. SI AND SHORTY ARE PUT UNDER ARREST.
THE next morning the rebels were found to be gone from the position in
front of the 200th Ind;, and after breakfast the regiment marched
leisurely by a road around the dreaded abatis, to the ground which had
been scarred and mangled by our terrible artillery fire.
It was an appalling scene that the eyes of the boys rested upon. Every
horrid form of mutilation and death which could be inflicted by the
jagged shards and fiendish shells, or the even more demon-like shrapnel-
balls, was visible.
Everything was torn, rent, and ragged, as if soma mighty giant, insane
to destroy, had spent his fury there. Nothing had escaped the iron flail
of devastation. Trees shattered or cut entirely down; limberchests and
cannon-wheels merely bunches of blackened splinters; frightfully mangled
horses, dead, or yet living in agony that filled their great plaintive
eyes; lying in ghastly pools of blood, which filmed and clotted under
the bright rays of the May morning sun.
"Looks like Judgment morn or the fall of Babylon," muttered the
religious-minded Alf Russell, the first to break their awed silence.
Awful Destruction. 242
"Or the destruction of Sennacherib," suggested Monty Scruggs—
"For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in
the face of the foe as he passed."
"I should say he had a mighty strong breath, Monty," Shorty interrupted.
He liked to break in on Monty's heroics. "Excuse me from havin' a
12pounder breathin' around me."
"And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts
but once heaved, and forever grew still," continued Monty.
"I'll bet there wasn't much sleepin' around here while that shell'n' was
goin' on," broke in Shorty again. "Except the sleep that has the sod for
a coverlet and Gabriel's trumpet for a breakfast bell."
Monty continued impressively:
"And there lay the steed, with his nostrils all wide, But through them
there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping
lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf."
"Poor horses," murmured Shorty. "I always feel mighty sorry for them.
They hadn't nothin' to do with gittin' up this rebellion. We must go
around and kill such as is alive, and put them out o' their misery."
Monty resumed:
"And there lay the rider, distorted and pale. With the dew on his brow
and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners
alone. The lances uplifted, the trumpets unblown."
"Serves 'em right, the yaller-bellied, clay-eatin' yowlers," said Shorty
savagely, looking over the mangled corpses. "Pays 'em up for their
murderin' abatis. We got it in this time worse on them than they did on
us, though it'd take as much of this as'd make up several Counties to
pay up for any one o' the good boys we lost yesterday. I hope they are
all where they kin look down and see how we got it on the secesh hell-
hounds. We'll do 'em up worse yit before we're through with 'em."
"Our batteries are improvin' wonderfully," commented the more practical
Si, studying the field. "They seem to've socked every shell in just
where it'd do the most good. No shootin' at the State o' Georgy
generally and trustin' to luck to hit a rebel. Every shell seems to've
landed just where it was needed, and then 'tended to its business and
busted. You don't see no signs of any strikin' a quarter of a mile away,
nor a whole one layin' around anywhere. That's good gunnin', and I'm
glad our old six-hoss thrashin'-machine done the biggest share of it.
Our brigade has the best battery in the whole army."
"The regiment will go on," reported Orderly-Sergeant, "but Co. Q will
stay behind to bury the dead, gather up the arms and things, and then
bring up the brigade ammunition train."
"Stay behind to bury the dead," grumbled Shorty. "Nice business that!
Sextons to the Southern Confederacy. Hain't they got any niggers around
here that they kin set at the work?"
Nor did Si like the job. "The artillery made the muss, and now the
infantry's got to stay and clean up after it. That don't seem right."
"Well, orders is orders, and got to be obeyed," said the Orderly-
Sergeant, cutting short the discussion with the usual formulary of his
class. An Orderly-Sergeant is robbed of one of the cherished privileges
of the other enlisted men. He can not criticise or grumble, but must
stop the others from doing so beyond a certain point, and his refuge
must be the prompt assumption that the orders are all right, and must be
executed cheerfully. And he has not the satisfaction of the officers
above him in knowing the why and wherefore of the orders, and perhaps
advising as to them. He is "betwixt and between," as they say out West.
"The quicker we get at it," continued the Orderly, "the sooner it'll be
over. Serg't Klegg, take eight or 10 men and hunt around for some picks
and shovels. I think that deep trench over there behind the works 'll do
for a grave. You can shovel the bank right down on them and save hard
work. Serg't Wilson, you take eight or 10 men and gather up these pieces
o' men and lay them in there. Corp'l Jones, you take another man or two
and go around and kill those horses. Be careful how you shoot now. Don't
hurt anybody with glancing bullets. Corp'l Elliott, you take the rest
and go round and gather the guns and other things, and pile them up
there by that tree to turn over to the ordnance officer. Hustle, now,
all of you."
"They didn't think they were digging their own graves," philosophized
Monty Scruggs, as he stood shovel in hand watching the remains being
gathered into the trench.
"He digged a ditch, he digged it deep; He digged it for his brother, But
for his great sin he fell in The ditch he'd digged for t'other."
"Good, good, Monty," said Si. "That's the best thing I've heard you
spout yit. Give us some more of it."
"There isn't any more of it. The only thing I can think of is:
"The rebel Solomon Grundy; Born in Georgia on Monday; Become a rebel on
Tuesday; Run off from Buzzard's Roost on Wednesday; Got licked at Dalton
on Thursday; Worse whipped at Resaca on Friday; Blown up by a shell on
Saturday; Died and buried on Sunday; And this was the end of Solomon
Grundy."
Alf Russell's interest in anatomy had led him to join Serg't Wilson's
party in gathering up the ghastly fragments of bodies, but the sights
were too much for his nerves, and as he perceived that he was growing
sick at the stomach he went over to Shorty's squad.
It was astonishing what things they found, besides guns and equipments.
Evidently, the rebels had left quite hurriedly, and many personal
belongings were either forgotten or could not be found in the darkness.
Samples of about everything that soldiers carry, and a good many that
they are not supposed to, were found lying around. There were cooking
utensils, some on the fire, with corn-pone and meat in them; some where
the imperative orders to march found their owners with their breakfasts
half-devoured; there were hats clumsily fashioned of wisps of long-
leaved pine sewed together; there were caps which had been jaunty red-
and-blue "Zouaves" when their owners had mustered around Nashville in
1861, but had been faded and tarnished and frayed by the mud and rain at
Donelson, Shiloh and Stone River, and by the dust and grime of
Perryville and Chickamauga, until they had as little semblance to their
former perkiness as the grim-visaged war had to the picnic of capturing
ungarrisoned forts and lolling in pleasant Summer camps on the banks of
the Cumberland. There were coats of many patterns and stages of
dilapidation, telling the same story of former finery, draggled through
the injurious grime of a thousand camps and marches. There were patched
and threadbare blankets, tramped-out boots and shoes, an occasional
book, many decks of cards, and so on.
Shorty came across a new cedar canteen with bright brass hoops. He slung
it over his shoulder, with the thought that it would be a nice thing to
send back to Maria, as a souvenir of the battle. She might hang it up in
her room, or make a pin-cushion or a work-basket out of it.
Presently he came to a box of shells, which he picked up and carried
back to the tree. It was quite heavy, and when he set it down again he
felt thirsty. The canteen occurred to him. It was full. He raised it to
his lips and took a long swig.
"Great Jehosephat," he gasped, his eyes starting out with astonishment.
"That ain't water. It's prime old applejack, smoother'n butter, and
smellin' sweeter'n a rose. Best I ever tasted."
Shorty had been strictly abstinent since his return from Indiana, The
rigid views of the Klegg family as to liquor-drinking had sunk into his
heart, and somehow whenever temptation came his way the clear, far-
seeing eyes of Maria would intervene with such a reproachful glance that
the thought of yielding became repugnant.
But the smooth, creamy applejack had slipped past his lips so
unexpectedly that it possessed him, before principle could raise an
objection. Shorty was the kind of a man to whom the first drink is the
greatest danger. After he had one almost anything was likely to happen.
Still, though his blood was already warming with the exhilarating
thrill, there were some twinges of conscience.
"Now, I mustn't take no more o' that," he said to himself. "That one
drink was good and all right enough, because I really thought I was
goin' to take a drink of water when I put the canteen to my lips. I
could swear that to Maria on a stack o' Bibles high as her dear head.
God bless her!"
He began bustling about with more activity, and giving his orders in a
louder voice. He saw Pete Skidmore pick up what had been once a militia
officer's gaudy coat, and examine it curiously. He shouted at him:
"Here, drop that, drop that, you little brat. What 'd I tell you? That
you mustn't fetch a rag of anything you see in here, except with the
point o' your bayonet and with your bayonet on your gun. Drop it, I tell
you."
"Why, what's the matter with that old coat?" asked Pete in an injured
tone, astonished at Shorty's vehemence.
"Everything's the matter with it, and every stitch o' cloth you find.
They're swarmin' with rebel bugs. I've trouble enough to keep the Yankee
graybacks off you. If you git the rebel kind on you angwintum won't save
you."
Pete dropped the coat in affright.
"And you, Sandy Baker," continued Shorty in a yell, "don't you walk
through them piles o' brush and leaves, where the rebels has bin
sleepin'. You'll git covered with rebel bugs, too, and we'll never git
'em out o' the company. How often 've I got to tell you that?"
Yelling so much made him dry, and the canteen hung so invitingly near
his hand.
"I don't think another pull at that old applejack 'll hurt me a mite. I
really didn't git a square drink the first time, because I was choked
off by astonishment at findin' it wasn't water. I'll just take enough of
a swig to finish up that drink."
"Jerusalem crickets," he exclaimed, wiping his mouth, "but that's good
stuff. Wonder if bein' in cedar makes it taste so bang-up? If I though
so I'd never drink out o' anything but cedar as long's I lived. Guess
I'll keep this canteen to carry water in. I kin send Maria—"
He stopped. He was not so far gone as to forget that any thought of
Maria was very inappropriate to his present condition. He started to
blustering at the boys who were carrying in guns:
"Here, how often have I got to caution you galoots about bein' careful
with them guns? Don't let the muzzles pint at yourselves, nor anybody
else. They're all likely to be loaded, and go off any minute, and blow
some o' your cussed heads offen you. Don't slam 'em down that way. Be
careful with 'em, I tell you. I'll come over there and larrup some o'
you, if you don't mind me."
"What's excitin' Shorty so, to make him yell that way? wondered Si,
stopping in his shoveling down the embankment upon the rebel dead, and
wiping his hot face.
"O, he's trying to keep them fresh young kids from blowin' themselves
into Kingdom Come with the rebel guns," answered one of the veterans
indifferently, and they resumed their shoveling.
Shorty started over to where some of the boys were trying to extricate a
rebel limber abandoned in a ravine. He spied a pair of fine field
glasses lying on the ground, and picked them up with an exclamation of
delight.
"Great Jehosephat," he said, turning them over for careful inspection.
"Ain't this a puddin'? Just the thing to give the Cap. He got his
smashed with a bullet comin' through the abatis, and's bin mournin'
about 'em ever since. These is better'n his was, and he'll be ticked to
death to git 'em."
He put them to his eyes and scanned the landscape.
"Ain't they just daisies, though. Bring that teamster over there so
close that I kin hear him cussin' his mules. Cap'll have a better pair
o' glasses than the Colonel or the General has. He deserves 'em, too.
Capt. McGillicuddy's good all the way through, from skin to bone, and as
brave as they make 'em. He'll be tickleder than a boy with a new pair o'
red-topped boots. He'll invite me to take a drink with him, but he won't
have nothin' so good as this old apple-jack. I guess I'll give the rest
to him, too, for his friends at headquarters. They don't often smack
their lips over stuff like that. But I'll treat myself once more, just
as Capt. McGillicuddy'd do."
The last drink was a settler. He was then in a frame of mind for
anything—to tear down a mountain, or lift a hill, or to fight anybody,
with or without cause. He looked over at the boys struggling with the
limber, and yelled, as he laid his coat, hat, canteen, and cartridge-box
down on the stump upon which he had been sitting, and placed the field-
glass upon them:
"Hoopee! Yank her out o' there, boys. Yank h'er out, and don't be all
day about it, either. Let me git at her and I'll fetch her out. Stand
by, you kids, and see your uncle Eph snatch her."
He bolted in to the ravine, swung the limber-tongue about, and with aid
of the rest, stirred to united effort by much profane vociferation on
his part, disengaged the limber and trundled it up the bank.
The tall, very stiff young Aid, with whom Si and Shorty had had the
previous affair, came stalking on to the ground, viewing everything with
his usual cold, superior, critical gaze.
"You are doing well, my man," he remarked to Shorty, "but too much
noise. A non-commissioned officer must not swear at his men. It's
strictly against regulations."
"Go to blazes," said Shorty, scarcely under his breath. The Aid picked
up the field-glasses, looked at them a minute, scanned the field with
them, and then looked around for the case, as if to appropriate them
himself.
"Here, drop them," said Shorty roughly. "Them's mine."
"How did they come to be yours, sir?" said the Aid sternly. "Picked them
up, didn't you?"
"None o' your business how I got 'em. They're mine, I tell you. Give 'em
to me."
"You picked them up on the battlefield, sir. They are military
equipments which you must turn over to the proper officer. I'll take
charge of them myself."
"You'll do nothin' o' the kind," roared Shorty, striding up to him.
"Give me them glasses."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," said the Aid sternly. "Don't you dare
approach me in that w-ay. Go back to your duties at once. I shall punish
you for disrespect to me and threatening an officer. Fall back, sir, I
tell you."
Shorty made a grab for the glasses, which the Aid tried to evade, but
Shorty fixed his firm clutch upon them. The Aid held on tightly, but
Shorty wrenched them from his grasp.
"You bob-tailed brevet West Pointer," said Shorty savagely, raising his
fist, "I've a notion to break you in two for tryin' to beat me out o'
what's mine. Git out o' here, or I'll—"
"Shorty! Shorty! Stop that!" shouted Si, rushing over to his partner,
and catching his back-drawn fist. He had been suspicious as to the cause
of his partner's noisiness, and ran up as soon as the disturbance began.
"Stop it, I say. Are you crazy?"
Poor little Pete, badly excited as to what was happening to his best
friend, was nervously fumbling his gun and eyeing the Aid.
"Si Klegg, go off and mind your own business, and let me attend to
mine," yelled Shorty, struggling to free himself from his partner's iron
grasp. "Am I goin' to be run over by every pin-feather snipe from West
Point? I'll break him in two."
"Sergeant," commanded the Aid, reaching to take the field-glasses from
Shorty's hand; "buck and gag that man at once. Knock him down if he
resists. Knock him down, I say."
"You tend to your own business and I'll tend to mine. Go away from here,
and don't say anything to make him madder, you wasp-waisted errand boy,"
said Si savagely, as he thrust himself in between the Aid and Shorty.
"I've got enough to do to take care of him. Go off, if you don't want
him to mash you."
Little Pete had an idea. He wriggled in between, snatched the glasses,
and made off with them.
The Brigade Provost-Marshal rode up and sternly demanded what the
disturbance was about. Shorty began a hot harrangue against young staff
officers generally, and this particular offender, but Si got his arm
across his mouth and muffled his speech. The Provost listened to the
Aid's bitter indictment against both Si and Shorty.
"Put both those men under arrest," he said to the Orderly-Sergeant, "and
make a list of the witnesses. I'll court-martial them at the first
halting place."
CHAPTER XX. SHORTY IS ARRAIGNED BEFORE THE COURT-MARTIAL.
TO REST, refit after the sharp fighting and marching, and to wait for
the slightly wounded and other convalescents to come up, the brigade
went into camp on the banks of the Oostenaula River, near Calhoun, Ga.,
and about 20 miles south of Dalton, which had been the objective at the
opening of the campaign.
And while the men were washing and mending their clothes, it was decided
to put the discipline of the brigade, which had suffered similarly by
the rough campaign, through a somewhat like process of furnishing and
renovation.
A court-martial was ordered, "to try such cases as may be brought before
it."
The court convened with all the form and ceremony prescribed by the Army
Regulations for tribunals which pass judgment upon the pay, honor and
lives of officers and men.
The officers detailed for the court sent back to the baggage wagons, and
got their wrinkled dress-suits out of the valises, they buttoned these
to their throats, donned their swords, sashes and white gloves, and
gathered stiffly and solemnly about a long, rough table, which had been
put up under the spreading limbs of giant oaks. Guards pacing at a
little distance kept all the curious and inquisitive out of earshot. The
camp gossips, full of interest as to the fate of those who were to be
tried, could see an aggravating pantomime acted out, but hear no word.
A squad of offenders of various degrees of turpitude ranging from
absence without leave to sleeping on post, were huddled together under
the Provost Guard, while Si and Shorty, being non-commissioned officers,
were allowed to remain with their company, to be produced by Capt.
McGillicuddy when wanted. They kept themselves rigidly apart from the
rest of the company, repelling the freely-offered sympathy of their
comrades. Si was most deeply concerned about Shorty, who was so
desperate over his fall from grace, that he regretted that he had not
killed the young Aid, while he was at him, so as to have relieved his
comrades of him, and made his own condemnation and execution sure.
"Old Maj. Truax, of the 1st Oshkosh, is President of the court," said
the Orderly-Sergeant, as the company was anxiously canvassing the boys'
chances.
"Gosh, that settles it," groaned Jerry Wilkinson; "that old bull o' the
woods 'd rather shoot a man than not. He's always lookin' around for
some excuse for sculping a man, and the less he has the savager he is."
"I don't believe it," said the Orderly, "I've watched old Truax, when
he's been roaring around, and I always found that he was after somebody
that deserved it. Men of that kind are pretty certain to be very soft on
good soldiers, like Si and Shorty, and I think he's all right. The boys
of the 1st Oshkosh all swear by him, and you can trust a man's own
regiment to know him surer than anybody else. And then there's Capts.
Suter and Harris, of the Maumee Muskrats."
"Terrible strict," muttered Jerry despairingly.
"Lieuts. Newton and Bonesteel, of the Kankakees," continued the Orderly.
"Good men—promoted from the ranks, and remember that they once carried a
gun themselves."
"Lieut. McJimsey, of the staff."
"A wasp-waisted West Pointer, raw from school; thinks he's learned all
there's to know about war out of a book on triggernometry. Has no more
feelin' for a private soljer than I have for a mule. Calls 'em 'my men,'
roared Jerry.
"And as he's only a Second Lieutenant he'll have the first vote," sighed
the Orderly. "And Lieut. Bowersox is to be the Judge-Advocate. He'll
have to do the prosecuting. I know he hates the job. He thinks the world
and all of Si and Shorty, but he's the kind of a man to do his duty
without fear, favor or affection. And all of us 'll have to testify.
Dumb Shorty's fool soul! Why didn't he get up his ruction somewhere
where the boys couldn't see him, and know nothing about it! I've no
patience with him or Si."
Lieut. Steigermeyer, the complainant, stalked by in solemn dignity.
"Can't I shoot that dod-blasted Aid, and save Shorty, and take it all on
myself?" blubbered little Pete, who had been in tears ever since he had
seen the grave assemblage of officers in full dress.
Shorty Before the Court-martial. 257
"Shut up, you little fool," said the Orderly savagely. In the
selfishness of his sorrow it made him angry to see anybody else show
more grief than his.
The Orderly, in stating Lieut. Bowersox's position, forgot, or was not
aware of the fact, that while the Judge-Advocate represents the
Government at a trial as the Prosecuting Attorney, he is also the
counsel for the defense; a dual role which has important and frequently
unexpected results.
After the members were duly seated according to rank, with Maj. Truax at
the head of the table, Lieut. Bowersox read the order for holding the
court, and called the names of the members. He then said:
"Gentlemen, the first case I shall present to your notice is one of
exceeding gravity, affecting a member of my own regiment. As it is the
most important case that you shall have to consider, I thought it best
that it should be disposed of first. Sergeant, bring in Corp'l William
L. Elliott, Co. Q, 200th Ind. Volunteer Infantry."
Shorty entered the court with an air of extreme depression in face and
manner, instead of the usual confident self-assertion which seemed to
flow from every look and motion. He stood with eyes fixed upon the
ground.
"Prisoner," said Lieut. Bowersox, "this court has met to try you. Look
around upon the members, and see if there is any one to whom you have
objection. If so, state it."
Shorty glanced listlessly from the head of the table toward the foot.
There his eye rested on the Second Lieutenant for a minute, and then he
muttered to himself, "No, he's no worse than the rest ought to be on
me," and shook his head in answer to the Judge-Advocate's formal
question.
"You will each of you rise, hold up your right hand and be sworn," said
the Judge-Advocate, and they each pronounced after him the prolix and
ponderous oath prescribed by the regulations:
"You, Maj. Benjamin Truax, do swear that you will well and truly try and
determine, according to evidence, the matter now before you, between the
United States of America and the prisoner to be tried, and that you will
duly administer justice, according to the provisions of an act
establishing rules and articles for the government of the armies of the
United States, without partiality, favor or affection; and if any doubt
shall arise, not explained by said articles, according to your
understanding and the custom of war in such cases. And you do further
swear, that you will not divulge the sentence of the court, until it
shall be published by proper authority; neither will you disclose or
discover the vote or opinion of any particular member of the court-
martial, unless required to give evidence thereof, as a witness, by a
court of justice in due course of law. So help you God."
The President then took the book and administered the same oath to the
Judge-Advocate.
"I shall now read the charges and specifications," said the Judge-
Advocate, "which are as follows, and he read with sonorous
impressiveness:
CHARGE:—Insulting, Threatening, and Striking Superior Officer.
Specification I.—That Corp'l William L. Elliott, Co. Q, 200th Ind. Vol.
Inf., did strike and perform other physical violence upon Second Lieut.
Adolph Steigermeyer, of the Second Corps, U. S. Engr's, who was his
superior officer, and in the performance of his duty, in violation of
the 9th Article of War, and contrary to the discipline of the Armies of
the United States. This on the march of the army from Dalton, Ga., to
Calhoun, Ga., and on the 16th day of May, 1864.
Specification II.—That said Corp'l William I.. Elliott, Co. Q, 200th
Ind. Vol. Inf., did threaten physical violence to the said Second Lieut,
Adolph Steigermeyer, Second Corps, U. S. Engr's, his superior officer,
and who was in the performance of his duty, contrary to the 9th Article
of War, and the discipline of the Armies of the United States. This on
the march of the army from Dalton, Ga., to Calhoun, Ga., and on the 16th
day of May, 1864.
Specification III.—That said Corp'l William L. Elliott, Co. Q, 200th
Ind. Vol. Inf., did insult with many opprobrious words, the said Adolph
Steigermeyer, Second Corps, U. S. Engr's, his superior officer, in the
presence of many enlisted men, in violation of the 6th Article of War
and of the discipline of the Armies of the United States. This on the
march of the army from Dalton, Ga., to Calhoun, Ga., and on the 16th day
of May, 1864.
CHARGE:—Drunkenness on duty.
Specification I.—That said Corp'l William L. Elliott, Co. Q, 200th Ind.
Vol. Inf., being then on duty, and in command of a squad of men, was
openly and noisily intoxicated and drunk, and incapable of performing
said duty, in violation of the 45th Article of war, and the discipline
of the Armies of the United States. This on the march of the army from
Dalton, Ga., to Calhoun, Ga., and on the 16th day of May, 1864.
CHARGE 3.—Misappropriating Public Property.
Specification I.—That said Corp'l William L. Elliott, being charged with
the duty of gathering up and accounting for the property captured from
and abandoned by the enemy, did appropriate to himself, attempt to
conceal, and refuse to deliver to his superior officer a portion
thereof, to wit, one pair of field glasses, in violation of the 58th
Article of War, and contrary to the discipline of the Armies of the
United States. This on the march of the enemy from Dalton, Ga., to
Calhoun, Ga., and on the 16th day of May, 1864.
"O, goodness gracious!" murmured little Pete Skidmore, almost fainting
with terror, in the covert of oak leaves, just above the court's head,
whither he had noiselessly climbed, to overhear everything. "He's a-
goner, sure! They'll shoot him, sure as guns. Saltpeter won't save him.
He's broke every Article o' War in the whole book. My, what will I do?"
He slipped down and communicated his information to the anxiously-
expectant comrades of Co. Q.
"It mayn't be as bad as we expect," the Orderly-Sergeant tried to
console them. "The bite of most of them regulations and charges and
specifications ain't never near as bad as their bark. If they were, a
good many of us would have been shot long ago. My experience in the
army's been that the regulations are like the switches the teachers used
to have in school—a willow for the good scholars, and a stout hickory
for the bad ones. Still, I'm afraid that Shorty won't get off with less
than hard labor for life on the fortifications."
"Prisoner, you have heard the charges and specifications," said Lieut.
Bowersox, in a stern voice. "How do you plead to them?"
"O, I'm guilty—guilty o' the whole lot," said Shorty dejectedly.
"Inasmuch," said Lieut. Bowersox, with an entire change of tone, "as it
is my duty to represent the prisoner's interests as counsel, I shall
disregard his plea, and enter one of not guilty."
Shorty started to gasp. "But I done all that—"
"Silence," thundered Lieut. Bowersox, "you are only to speak, sir, when
I or some other member of the court ask you a question."
"But has the Judge-Advocate the right to disregard the plain plea?"
Lieut. McJimsey started to inquire, when the President interrupted with,
"Lieutenant, we can have no discussion of the court's practices in the
presence of the prisoner. If you want to enter upon that we shall have
to clear the court. Do you desire that?"
There was something in the bluff old Major's tone that made the
Lieutenant think this inadvisable, and he signified the negative.
"Call your first witness, then, Judge-Advocate," said Maj. Truax, with a
wave of his hand.
Lieut. Steigermeyer, in full-dress, even to epaulets, rigidly erect and
sternly important as to look, testified that he was a Second Lieutenant
in the Regular Army, but had the staff rank of Captain and Inspector-
General, and after going out of his way to allude to the laxness of
discipline he found prevailing in the Western armies, testified that on
the day mentioned, while in pursuance of his duty, he was going over the
battlefield, he came upon the prisoner, whose drunken yelling attracted
his attention; that he had admonished him, and received insults in
reply.
"My way is to knock a man down, when he gives me any back talk,"
remarked the Major, sotto voce, taking a fresh chew of tobacco. "That's
better than court-martialing to promote discipline."
"Further admonitions," continued the Lieutenant, "had the same result,
and I was about to call a guard to put him under arrest, when I happened
to notice a pair of field-glasses that the prisoner had picked up, and
was evidently intending to appropriate to his own use, and not account
for them. This was confirmed by his approaching me in a menacing manner,
insolently demanding their return, and threatening me in a loud voice if
I did not give them up, which I properly refused to do, and ordered a
Sergeant who had come up to seize and buck-and-gag him. The Sergeant,
against whom I shall appear later, did not obey my orders, but seemed to
abet his companion's gross insubordination. The scene finally
culminated, in the presence of a number of enlisted men, in the
prisoner's wrenching the field-glasses away from me by main force, and
would have struck me had not the Sergeant prevented this. It was such an
act as in any other army in the world would have subjected the offender
to instant execution. It was only possible in—"
"Pardon me, Lieutenant—I should perhaps say Captain"—interrupted Lieut.
Bowersox, with much sweetness of manner, "but the most of us are
familiar with your views as to the inferiority of the discipline of the
Western Armies to that of the Army of the Potomac and European armies,
so that we need not take up the' time of the court with its reiteration.
What farther happened?"
"Nothing. The Provost Guard came up at that moment, and I directed a
Sergeant to place the two principal offenders in custody, and secure the
names of the witnesses."
"Is that all, Captain?"
"Yes, except that in closing my testimony I feel that it is my duty to
impress upon the court that so flagrant a case as this should be made
the opportunity for an example in the interests of discipline in the
whole army. I have known this prisoner for some time, and watched him.
This is not the first time that he and the Sergeant have insulted me.
They are leaders in that class of uneducated fellows who have entirely
too little respect for officers and gentlemen. They should be taught a
lesson. This is necessary for the dignity and effectiveness of gentlemen
who bear commissions, and—"
"I will ask the witness if this lecture on military ethics is a part of
his testimony?" asked the Major:
"I think it is needed," answered the Lieutenant tartly.
"Let me see, Steigermeyer," said the Major, adjusting another chew of
tobacco to his mouth, and balancing the knife with which he had cut it
off, judicially in his fingers, a favorite position of his when, as a
lawyer, he was putting a witness through a cross-examination. "How long
have you been with this army? Came West with the Eleventh Corps, didn't
you?"
"No; I was left behind on duty. I didn't come for several weeks after."
"So I thought. You weren't with us at Stone River, or Chickamauga, or
Mission Ridge. You'd know more if you had been. Your mental horizon
would have been enlarged, so to speak. Aren't you from Milwaukee?"
"I was born and brought up there, until I went to West Point," answered
the Lieutenant, rather uneasily.
"So I thought. The only man of your name that I ever heard of kept a
saloon in Milwaukee—a great place for politicians to hang around. I used
to go there myself when I was in politics. He was a sort of a ward boss.
Was he your father?"
"Yes, sir," said the Lieutenant, with reddening face; "but I don't know
what this has to do with the case that I have presented to your
attention."
"It has a great deal to do with this lecture with which you have favored
us," answered the Major dryly. "But we'll not discuss that in open
court. Are you through with the witness, Judge-Advocate? If so, call the
next."
"I'll just ask the Captain a few questions for the defense," said Lieut.
Bowersox. "How did you know that the prisoner was drunk?"
"How did I know it? How does any man know that another is drunk? He was
boisterous, excited and yelling—that kind of a drunk."
"But that does not prove that he was drunk. That may be his way of doing
his work. Did you see him drink?"
"No."
"Did you ever see him before?"
"Yes."
"How was he acting then?"
"I shall have to say that he was boisterous and yelling then, but not so
wildly excited."
"Then it was only a difference in degree, not kind. Was he not
accomplishing what he was ordered to do?"
"Yes, he certainly did bring that limber out of the gulch."
"Then it is only a matter of opinion that he was drunk. You have nothing
to guide you except your judgment that the man was drunk, who was still
doing his duty pretty effectively."
"But there could be no mistake. I know that the man was raging drunk."
"As I said before, that is a matter of opinion and judgment which I will
discuss with the court later. Did the prisoner actually strike you?"
"I cannot say that he actually did, farther than snatch out of my hand
the field-glasses."
"He didn't do it! You're lyin'! I yanked the glasses out of your hand.
'Twas me," shouted little Pete, from the oak leaves.
The members all looked up in astonishment.
"Sergeant," said the Major to the Sergeant of the Provost Guard, "fetch
that little rascal down and buck-an-gag him, until I can decide what
further punishment he deserves for eavesdropping, and interrupting the
court."
"I don't care if you kill me," whimpered little Pete, as they tied his
hands together, "if you'll only let Corp'l Elliott off. He wasn't to
blame. It was me.
"You can go," said Lieut. Bowersox to the Lieutenant. "Sergeant, bring
in Orderly-Sergeant Jacob Whitelaw."
In response to the Judge-Advocate's direct questionings the Orderly-
Sergeant had to sorrowfully admit that he thought that Shorty was drunk,
very drunk, and exceedingly noisy. But when Lieut. Bowersox changed to
the defense, the Orderly-Sergeant testified with great alacrity that he
had not seen Shorty take a drink, that he did not know where he could
have got whisky; did not know where in all that part of Georgia there
was a drop of liquor outside of the Surgeon's stores and the officers'
canteens; that he wished he did know, for he'd like to have a drink
himself; and that Shorty, when he was putting forth his greatest
strength, was generally very vociferous and not at all careful of what
he said. This was one of the peculiarities of the man, that he was
overlooked on account of his great effectiveness on the men when in that
state.
The other members of the company testified in the same way, giving their
belief even more emphatically against any liquor being found anywhere in
that neighborhood, and the unlikelihood of Shorty's being able to obtain
any. The other members of the court had "caught on" very quickly to the
tactics of the President and Judge-Advocate. All except Lieut. McJimsey,
whose prepossessions were decidedly and manifestly in favor of the
attitude of his brother staff officer. He grew stiffer and more dogged
as the case proceeded, and frequently asked embarrassing questions. The
Judge-Advocate announced that "the case was closed, and the court would
be cleared for deliberation.
"Before you open, Judge-Advocate," said Maj. Truax significantly, "I
want to say something, not as a member of this court, but something
between gentlemen, and I want to say it before we begin our
deliberations, in order that it shall not be considered as part of them,
or influencing them. The lecture by that self-sufficient fellow on our
duties makes me tired. I remember his father—he sold the meanest whisky
to be found in Milwaukee. I want to say right here that no man who sells
lager beer can sell whisky fit for gentlemen to drink. Beer corrupts his
taste, mind and judgment. Old Steigermeyer had a good deal of political
influence of a certain kind, and he bulldozed the Representative from
his District into giving his son an appointment to West Point. Now this
young upstart comes around and absolutely lectures us who have always
been gentlemen, and our fathers before us, on gentlemanliness. It was
hard for me to keep from saying something right before him about the
quality of whisky his father used to sell. I can stand a good deal, but
the idea of a ginmill keeper's son lording it over others and over
enlisted men who came of much better stock than he does sticks in my
craw. Now, whenever I find one of these whose father got his appointment
as Steigermeyer's father did (and the old Major's eye wandered down to
where Lieut. McJimsey's air of sternness had given way to visible
unrest) I'm tempted to say unpleasant things. Now, Judge-Advocate,
proceed."
"The evidence in this case," said Lieut. Bowersox, with the severity
proper to a vindicator of justice, "shows that it was a very flagrant
breach of the essentials of discipline, and deserves stern treatment. A
man wearing the chevrons of a Corporal, has, in the presence of a number
of enlisted men, behaved in the most unseemly manner, showed gross
disobedience to his superior officer, reviled him with opprobrious
epithets, threatened to strike him, and actually did strike him. On the
other hand (and the Lieutenant's tone changed to that of counsel for the
defense), we all of us know that the prisoner is an excellent soldier of
long service, that his influence has always been for the best, and that
he was promoted to Corporal as an exceptional compliment for his part in
capturing a rebel flag at Chickamauga, where he was wounded and left for
dead on the field. It is for you, gentlemen, to take all these facts
into consideration, and determine how men of this stamp should be dealt
with for the best interests of the service. The evidence against him is
in many respects conflicting, and rests upon mere judgment, in which the
best of us are liable to err. I will not detain you farther, gentlemen."
"You say this prisoner was promoted for capturing a rebel flag at
Chickamauga?" asked Maj. Truax, who was perfectly aware of the fact, but
wanted to emphasize it upon the others.
"Yes," said Lieut. Bowersox, only too glad of the opportunity. "I saw it
all. Gallant a thing as was ever done. Simply magnificent. Thrills me to
think about it. I tell you that fellow's a soldier all the way through.
"That was before this Stiegermeyer fellow and a lot of other fellows
(and again his eyes wandered carelessly down toward Lieut. McJimsey) had
even joined us. I remember him also bringing up ammunition to his
regiment at Stone River. He is one of those fellows that you can send to
the rear, and always be sure that he'll come back as fast as his feet
can carry him. I don't want to influence any member of this court, but
the evidence that we have heard don't go an inch toward convincing me
that he was drunk, or struck at his superior officer. There was some
mistake, always liable to excited men. Lieut. McJimsey, you are the
junior officer present. It is your right to speak and vote first. Let us
hear from you."
The Lieutenant seemed to have recovered his sternness, and his
expression showed a determination to wreak exemplary punishment on the
man who had so grievously offended one of his class.
"It is clear to me," he began in a hard, set tone, "that an example
should be made. These low, brutal fellows—"
"When I lived in Chicago," broke in the Major, in a conversational tone,
apparently forgetful that he had called upon the Lieutenant to speak,
but fixing a very piercing blue eye upon him, "I used to mix up a good
deal with the boys who hung around a saloon kept by a ward politician,
an unscrupulous, noisy, driving fellow named—But excuse me. Lieutenant,
I forgot for the moment that I had called upon you to speak."
The Lieutenant's face had undergone a remarkable change, and as he sank
back in his seat, he said in a forced voice:
"In consideration solely of the previous excellent character of the
prisoner, I vote not guilty on all the charges and specifications, but
with a distinct warning to the man as to the future."
"So do I!" "So do I!" said the rest, one after another, so quickly that
it was almost a chorus.
"Judge-Advocate," said Maj. Truax, "when the General approves this
finding, and you communicate it to prisoner, whisper in his ear that if
he ever strains us this way again I'll take it upon myself to break his
fool neck. Let him look a little out."
"The next case I have is that of Serg't Josiah Klegg, implicated in the
same affair," said Lieut. Bowersox.
"Since we have acquitted the principal, it would be foolish to try the
accessory," said Maj. Truax. "Say the same thing to him. Now, let's get
down to business. Bring in that man that skulked when the boys were
going for that abatis. I want to make an example of him, for the good of
the service."