THE PLATEAU RECEIVES A NAME
It was now October, and time to being harvesting the crop on the little
plantation, which something very like an inspiration had prompted
Philip to plant. While Lieutenant Coleman continued work on the house,
stopping the chinks between the logs with clay, and repairing the roof
of the hut with spare shingles, Bromley and Philip "topped" the corn,
cutting off the stalks above the ripened ears. Then the potatoes were
thrown out of the mellow soil with a wooden shovel, and left to dry in
the sun, while a level place was prepared in the center of the plot,
and thickly spread with a carpet of dry stalks. Upon this surface,
after removing a few bushels to the hut, the crop was gathered into a
conical heap and thatched over with stalks, and then the whole was
thickly covered with earth and trenched about to turn off the water.
It was estimated that this cache contained thirty bushels, which,
according to the table in the Blue Book (Revised Army Regulations),
would exceed the potato ration of three men for a period of five years.
From the day of their arrival on the mountain, Lieutenant Coleman had
never failed to make a daily entry in the station journal; and now that
they had set up a country for themselves, he foresaw that the
continuance of this practice would be necessary if they were not to
lose the record of weeks and months. His entry was always brief.
Often it was no more than the date, and even the more important events
were set down with the utmost brevity and precision.
Once a week he noted the recurrence of the Sabbath, and on that day
they suspended ordinary labor, and, if the weather was pleasant,
inspected their increasing domestic comforts on the mountain-top and
laid their plans for the future. After their military habit, the
morning of Sunday was devoted to personal cleanliness and to tidying up
about their quarters.
As the commissary supply of yellow bars diminished, it was evident that
the time would soon come when they should be obliged to make their own
soap. Back of the chestnut-tree in which they had taken refuge from
the bear was a peculiar hollowed rock, and above it a flat shelf of
stone, on which Philip erected a hollow log for leaching ashes. A
little patient chipping of the upper stone with the ax-head made a
shallow furrow along which the lye would trickle from the leach, and
fall into the natural basin in the rock below, which was large enough
to hold a half-barrel. This was a happy device, as the strong liquid
would have eaten its way through any vessel other than an iron pot or
an earthen jar, of which unfortunately they possessed neither.
They had but a limited supply of hard corn, from which they selected
the best ears for the next year's planting. These they braided
together by the husks, and hung up in yellow festoons from the rafters
of the hut, which they continued to use as a storehouse. Much of what
remained of their small crop would be needed by the fowls in the
winter, and up to this time they had made no use of it for their own
food.
Meal was out of the question, and to break the flinty kernels between
stones was a tedious process to which they had not yet been forced to
resort.
The presence of the lye, however, suggested to Bromley the hulled corn
of his New England grandmother, which he had seen her prepare by
soaking and boiling the kernels in a thin solution of lye. By this
means the hulls or skins were removed, and after cleansing from potash,
and boiling all day, the unbroken kernels became as white and tender as
rice.
This satisfied the three soldiers for a time, and made an agreeable
addition to their diet of bear steak and potatoes. In the mountains of
Tennessee Lieutenant Coleman had once seen a rude hydraulic contrivance
called a Slow-John, which was a sort of lazy man's mill. To construct
this affair it was necessary to have a bucket, which Bromley set about
making by the slow process of burning out a section of chestnut log
with the red-hot ramrod of a carbine.
At a short distance above the house, the branch which flowed from the
spring, after making its refreshing way between grassy banks, tumbled
over a succession of ledges which ended in a small cascade, and twelve
feet below this waterfall there was a broad, flat rock which laved its
mossy sides in the branch, and showed a clean, flat surface above the
level of the water. Below this rock they built a dam of stones, by
means of which they could flood its surface.
Four feet up-stream from the rock a log was fixed from bank to bank for
a fulcrum, and upon this rested a movable lever, the short arm of which
terminated above the submerged rock, while the long arm just touched
the water of the cascade. A wooden pin set in the under log passed
through a slot in the lever, so as to hold it in position and at the
same time give it free play. Another flat stone of about thirty
pounds' weight, which was the pestle of the mortar, was lashed with
grape-vine thongs to the short arm of the lever directly over the
submerged stone. To the long arm was attached Bromley's bucket, bailed
with a strong wire, and so hung as to catch the water of the cascade.
As the bucket filled and sank, its weight raised the flat stone higher
and higher above the submerged rock until the bucket met a bar fixed to
tilt its contents into the stream, when the upper millstone came down
upon its fellow with a fine splash and thud. After a wall of clay had
been built about the surface where the two stones met, to keep the corn
in place, the Slow-John was ready for work.
It was slow, but it was sure, and after that, when one of the three
soldiers awoke in the night, it was cheerful to hear the regular splash
and crash of the Slow-John, like the ticking of a huge clock, lazy
enough to tick once a minute, and patient enough to keep on ticking for
two days and nights to pulverize as many quarts of corn.
And now, for three young men who had solemnly renounced their country
and cut themselves off voluntarily from all intercourse with their
kind, they were about as cheerful and contented as could be expected.
In spite of the great disaster which they believed had befallen the
National cause, their lungs expanded in the rare mountain air, and the
good red blood danced in their veins, and with youth and health of body
it was impossible to take an altogether gloomy view of life. They had
at first tried hard to be miserable, but nature was against them, and
the effort had been a failure. In their free life they could no more
resist the infection of happiness than the birds in the trees could
refrain from singing, and so it came to pass that in view of the
bountiful harvest they had gathered, and the comfortable house they had
built, and all the domestic conveniences they had contrived, Lieutenant
Coleman came out boldly in favor of setting apart Thursday, the
twenty-fourth day of November, as a Day of Thanksgiving, and quite
forgot to name it a day of humiliation as well. To this the others
joyfully agreed, and agreed, moreover, that from that day forward the
plateau should be called Lincoln Territory in memory of the patriotism
of the good President, notwithstanding they felt that his divided
counselors and incompetent generals had wiped the half of a great
nation from the map of the world.
When this first holiday dawned on the mountain, the three soldiers
arrayed themselves in full uniform for the ceremony of naming their
possessions. Bromley and Philip buckled on their cavalry swords and
slung their carbines at their backs, and Lieutenant Coleman, for the
last time, assumed his discarded rank to take command. The arms had
been polished the day before until they gleamed and flashed in the
morning light, and the little army of two was dressed and faced and
inspected, and then left at parade-rest while Lieutenant Coleman
brought out the flag. How their honest hearts swelled with pride to
think that here, alone in all the world, that flag would continue to
float with an undiminished field of stars! Little did they dream that
on that very morning hundreds like it were waving in the heart of
Georgia over Sherman's legions on their march to the sea. When at last
it blew out from the staff, they gathered under its folds, and sang
"The Star-spangled Banner" with tears in their eyes; and as the last
words of the good old song rang out over the mountain-top, Philip and
Bromley discharged their carbines, and all three cheered lustily for
the old flag and the new name.
[Illustration: CHRISTENING THE TERRITORY.]
This was to be their last military ceremony, and having no further use
for their swords, they arranged them with belts and scabbards into a
handsome decoration against the chimneypiece, and crossed above them
the three red-and-white flags of the station. The Revised Army
Regulations and Philip's prayer-book stood on the mantelpiece alongside
the spy-glass in its leathern case. The few articles of extra clothing
hung in a line on the wall just opposite to the three bunks, whose
under layer of pine boughs gave an aromatic perfume to the room.
After the ceremony of naming the plateau, and having fixed the trophies
to their satisfaction, the three exiles took down their sky-blue
overcoats from the line, for the November air was nipping cold, and set
out with the two carbines and an empty sack to keep Thanksgiving in the
good old country way. They were still rather sad after what had
happened in the morning; but by the time they were back all the gloom
had worn off, for they brought with them two rabbits and a bag of
chestnuts, and appetites sharpened by exercise in the keen air.
Philip made the stew, and Bromley fried two chickens of their own
raising, one after the other, on a half-canteen, and the potatoes, left
to themselves, burst their jackets in the ashes with impatience to be
eaten. Each man made his own coffee in his own blackened tin cup, and
drank it with a keener relish because it was near the last of their
commissary stock.
While they were eating and drinking within, the sky without had become
thick with clouds blown up on the east wind, so that when they looked
out at the door they saw Tumbler, the bear, who also had been stuffing
himself with acorns, and ants which he had pawed out of a rotten log,
rolling home for shelter.
There was yet time before the storm broke, and away they went up the
hill as happy as lords, to load themselves with dead chestnut limbs and
a few resinous sticks of fat pine; and when night came, and with it the
rain, there was a warm fire in the new chimney, and a stick of
lightwood thrust behind the backlog lighted the interior of the house
with a good forty-adamantine-candle power. Tumbler lay rolled up in
his favorite corner, blinking his small eyes at the unusual light, and
from time to time he passed his furry paw over his sharp nose and gave
forth a low grunt of satisfaction. Philip sat against the chimney
opposite Tumbler, stirring chestnuts in the ashes with a ramrod, while
Bromley put away the last of the supper things, and Lieutenant Coleman
gazed out of the open window into the slanting rain, which beat a merry
tattoo on the shingles, and tossed at intervals a sturdy drop on the
hissing fire.
It was certainly not the cheerful interior, beaming with light and
heat, that turned Lieutenant Coleman's thoughts back to the dark cloud
of disasters which had overwhelmed the National arms; it might have
been the dismal outlook from the square window into the darkness and
the storm. At all events, he turned abruptly about as if a new idea
had struck him.
"George, this sudden success of the Johnnies has not been gained
without important outside aid. The French in Mexico may have decided
at last to cross the border, and if they did it was in concert with the
naval demonstrations of more than one European power against the
blockade."
"That is just what I have been thinking, Fred," said Bromley, "and
England is sure to be at the bottom of it. After the sinking of the
'Alabama' there was no time to be lost, and when Grant's army began to
fall back from Richmond, that hostile government had the excuse it had
long been waiting for, and recognized the Confederacy at once."
"I am of the opinion," replied Lieutenant Coleman, thoughtfully, "that
the recognition of the European powers came before the withdrawal from
Richmond, because Grant would never have yielded that position except
in obedience to orders from Washington. Now would he?"
"No, he wouldn't," said Bromley.
"Of course not," said Philip. "It all began with the death of Uncle
Billy."
"So it did," said Bromley; "and after Sherman's army was out of the way
Johnston probably joined his forces with Hood, defeated Thomas, and
retook Chattanooga. He could hardly have accomplished all that by
August 20, but his cavalry must have struck our line of stations on
that date."
"Exactly so, George," Lieutenant Coleman responded. "If they had
captured the tenth station alone, with Captain Swann, the line would
have been useless and no further messages could have reached us. If
Swann had found the line broken behind him, he would certainly have
flagged that news to me without delay."
"Well, what's the odds?" said Philip, drawing his chestnuts out upon
the hearthstone. "The jig was up, and Captain Swann knew it. If they
had taken any station this side of the tenth mountain, the effect to us
would have been the same."
"So it would," said Lieutenant Coleman, sadly, turning again to look
out into the storm--"so it would."
"It is a blessing that we are ignorant of some things that have
happened," said Bromley, who was disposed to look on the dark side.
"It would have been just like Lee's impudence, after Washington was
garrisoned, to cut loose with his army, and live on the country through
Maryland, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey until he reached his foreign
allies in the port of New York. If he has done that, for instance, I
should rather not know it. Well," continued Bromley, "there is one
comfort: if the Rebs conquer everything, they will defeat their own
purpose and reestablish the Union they sought to destroy."
"Yes," said Lieutenant Coleman, "but it would be a Union with slavery
everywhere. They can turn the Northern States back into Territories,
and carry slavery into Massachusetts."
"Bah!" exclaimed Philip. "To think of the Territory of Ohio! The
Territory of Pennsylvania! The Territory of New York!"
"Dear me!" said Lieutenant Coleman; "it is all too humiliating to think
of. After all, what a miserable figure Abraham Lincoln will cut in
history! Think of it! His Emancipation Proclamation is not worth the
paper it was written on!"
"Ten thousand furies!" cried Bromley, striding across the earthen floor
and kicking the logs until the fire danced in the chimney; "we made a
wise choice when we determined to stay on this mountain."
"But we did make a mistake when we named the plateau Lincoln
Territory," cried Philip.
"That's so," said Bromley and Lieutenant Coleman, with one voice.
"It's not too late yet," shouted Bromley. "Sherman! Sherman was the
only general worthy the name."
And they all cried "Sherman! Sherman!" and by common consent, after
all the ceremony of the morning, the name of the plateau was changed to
SHERMAN TERRITORY.