Kitabı oku: «Si Klegg, Book 4», sayfa 7
"I'll speak to the Adjutant about it," said Si, when Nate came back glowing with gladness.
The young Adjutant warmly approved the enlistment proposition, and was electrified by the idea of the marriage.
"I'll go and talk to the Colonel and the Chaplain about it. Why, it'll be no end of fun. We'll fix up a wedding-supper for them, have the band serenade them, and send an account of it home to the papers. You go and get them ready, and I'll attend to the rest. Say, I think we'd better have him enlisted, and then married afterward. That'll make it a regimental affair. You take him down to Capt. McGillicuddy, that he may take him before the Surgeon and have him examined. Then we'll regularly enlist him, and he'll be one of us, and in the bonds of the United States before he is in the bonds of matrimony. It'll be the first marriage in the regiment, but not the first one that is ardently desired, by a long shot."
The Adjutant gave a little sigh, which Si could not help echoing, and Shorty joined in.
"Well, our turns will come, too, boys," said the Adjutant with a laugh, "when this cruel war is over." And he whistled "The Girl I Left Behind Me" as he rode back to camp.
The Surgeon found Nathan Hartburn physically sound, the oath was duly administered to the young recruit, and he made his mark on the enlistment papers, and was pronounced a soldier of the United States, belonging to Co. Q, 200th Ind. He had been followed through all these steps by a crowd of his friends, curious to see just what was the method of "jinin' the Union army," and when Co. Q received its new member with cheers and friendly congratulations the others expressed their eagerness to follow his example.
Co. Q was in a ferment over the wedding, with everybody eager to do something to help make it a grand success, and to fill the hearts of the other companies with envy. The first and greatest problem was to provide the bridegroom with a uniform in which to be married. The Quartermaster's wagons were no one knew exactly where, but certainly a day or more back on the road, and no one had started out on the campaign with any extra clothing. Shorty, who considered himself directly responsible for the success of the affair, was for awhile in despair. He was only deterred from stealing a pair of the Colonel's trousers by the timely thought that it would, after all, be highly improper for a private to be wearing a pair of pantaloons with a gold cord. Then he resolved to make a sacrifice of himself. He was the nearest Nate's proportions of any man in the company, and he had drawn a new pair of trousers just before starting on the march. They had as yet gotten very slightly soiled. He went to the spring and laboriously washed them until they were as bright as new, and, after they were dried, insisted on Nate trading pantaloons with him. A new blouse was more readily found, and as readily contributed by its owner. Si freely gave up his sole extra shirt, and another donated a pair of reserve shoes. The Adjutant came in with a McClellan cap. When the company barber cut Nate's long hair, and shaved him, he was arrayed in his wedding uniform, and as Si had given him a little drill in holding him self erect, he was as presentable a soldier as could be found in the regiment, and quite as proud of himself as the boys of Co. Q were of him. Then an other despairing thought struck Shorty:
"'Tain't right," he communed with Si and the rest, "that the bridegroom should have all the good clothes. The bride should have the boss togs o' the two. If we was only back near Nashville she should have a layout that'd out-rag the Queen o' Sheby, if it took every cent there was in the company. But I don't suppose you could buy a yard o' kaliker or a stitch o' finery within 50 miles o' this clayknob."
"What we might do," said Si reflectively, "would be to give her her trowso futuriously, so to speak. We've just bin paid off, and hain't had no chance to spend our money, so that all the boys has some. Every one o' 'em 'll be glad to give a dollar, which you kin hand her in a little speech, tellin' her that we intended to present her with her trowso, but circumstances over which we had no control, mainly the distance to a milliner shop, prevented, but we would hereby present her with the means to git it whenever convenient, and she could satisfy herself much better by picking it out her ownself. You want to recollect that word trowso. It's the elegant thing for a woman's wedding finery, and if you use it you'll save yourself from mentioning things that you don't know nothin' about, and probably oughtn't to mention. My sisters learned it to me. A girl who'd bin at boarding-school learned them."
"Good idee," said Shorty, slapping his leg. "I'll go right out and collect a dollar from each of the boys. Say that word over agin, till I git it sure."
Shorty came back in a little while with his hands full of greenbacks "Every boy ponied right up the moment I spoke to him," he said. "And the Captain and Adjutant each gave $5. She's got money enough to buy out the best milliner shop in this part o' Tennessee."
Next came thoughts of a wedding-supper for the bride's friends. The Colonel took the view that the large number of recruits which he expected to gain justified him in ordering the Commissary to issue a liberal quantity of rations. Two large iron wash-kettles were scoured out one used to make coffee in and the other to boil meat, while there was sugar and hardtack in abundance. The mountains were covered with royal blooms of rhododendron, and at the Adjutant's suggestion enough of these were cut to fill every nook and corner of the main room of the house, hiding the rough logs and dark corners with masses of splendid color, much to the astonish ment of the bride, who had never before thought of rhododendrons as a feature of house adornment.
Then, just before 6 o'clock roll-call, Co. Q, with every man in it cleaned up as for dress-parade, with Nathan Hartburn at the head, supported on either side by Si and Shorty, and flanked by the Adjutant and Chaplain, marched up the hill to the house, led by the fifers and drummers, playing the reveille, "When the Cruel War is Over," "Yankee Doodle," and everything else in their limited repertory which they could think as at all appropriate to the occasion. The rest of the regiment, with most of the officers, followed after.
The Chaplain took his place in front of the rhododendron-filled fireplace. The bride and groom stood before him, with Si and Shorty in support. All of Co. Q crowded into the room, and the rest looked through the windows and doors. The Chaplain spoke the words which made the young couple man and wife, and handed them a certificate to that effect. Shorty then advanced, with his hand full of greenbacks, and said:
"Missis Hartburn: Co. Q of the 200th Ind., of which you are now a brevet member, has appointed me to present their congratulations. We extend to you the right hand of fellership of as fine a crowd o' soldiers as ever busted caps on any field of battle. We're very glad to have your young husband with us. We'll take care of him, treat him right, and bring him back to you crowned with the laurels of victory. You just bet your life we will. That's our way o' doin' things. Madam, Co. Q very much wished to present you with a trou— trou— tro— what is that blamed word, Si?"
"Trowso," whispered Si—
"with a trowso," continued Shorty, "but circumstances and about 150 mile o' mud road over which we have no control prevented. To show, though, that we really meant business, and ain't givin' you no wind, we have collected the skads for a regular 24-carat trow— trous— trows— trou— tro— (blamed the dinged word, what is it, Si?)"
"Trowso," prompted Si
"for a regler 24-carat trowso which I have the pleasure o' putting in your lily-white hands, at the same time wishin' for the company, for you and your husband, all happiness and joy in your married 'life. No more, from yours truly."
Shorty's brow was beaded with perspiration as he concluded this intellectual effort and handed the bride the money, which she accepted, as she had done everything else on that eventful day, as some thing that she was expected to do. The company applauded as if it had been a speech by Daniel Webster, and then the supper-table was attacked.
Then came pipes, and presently the brigade band came over and serenaded. A fiddle was produced from somewhere, and a dance started. Suddenly came the notes of a drum in camp.
"Early for tattoo, ain't it?" said they, looking inquiringly at one another.
"That's no 'tattoo," said Shorty; "that's the long roll. Break for camp, everybody."
CHAPTER XI. THE MOUNTAIN FOLK
THE SHADOW OF AN EAST TENNESSEE VENDETTA
THE long roll turned out to be occasioned by the burning of a Union Tennesseean's house by a squad of revengeful guerrillas, but the regiment had to stay under arms until a party of cavalry went out and made an investigation. The men stacked their arms, and lay around on the ground to get what sleep was possible, and which was a good deal, for the night was pleasant, and there are worse beds than the mossy hillside on a July night.
"Too bad that your weddin' night had to be broken up so," said Si sympathetically, as he and Shorty and the bridegroom sat together on a knoll and watched the distant flames. "But you needn't 've come with us this time; nobody expected you to."
"Why, I s'posed this wuz part o' the regler thing," answered Nate in amazement. "I s'posed that wuz the way yo'uns allers married folkses in the army. Allers something happens at weddin's down hyah. Mos' ginerully hit's a free fout betwixt the young fellers o' the bride's an' bridegroom's famblies, from 'sputin' which fambly's made the best match. When Brother Wils married Becky Barnstable we Hartburn boys said that Wils mout-ve looked higher. The Barnstable boys done tuk hit up, an' said the Barnstables wuz ez good ez the Hartburns ary day in the week, an' at the weddin' Nels Barnstable had his eye gouged out, Ike Barnstable wuz knocked down with a flail, an' had what the doctor called discussion o' the brain, and ole Sandy Barnstable cut off Pete Hartburn's ear with a bowie. They-uns reopened the argyment at the infair, an' laid out two o' the Hartburns with ox-gads. I don't think they orter used ox-gads. Tain't gentlemanly. D'ye think so? Knives, an' pistols, an' guns, an' even flails an' axes, is all right, when you can't git nothin' better, but I think ox-gads is low an' onery."
Si and Shorty looked at the gentle, drawling, mild-eyed young Tennesseean with amazement. A young girl could not have seemed softer or more pliant, yet he quietly talked of savage fighting as one of the most casual things in life.
"Well," said Shorty, "if that's the way you celebrat weddin's and in-fairs down here in Tennessee, I don't wonder that you welcome a battle for a change. I think I'd prefer a debate with guns to one with axes and flails and anything that'd come handy. It's more reg'ler to have umpires and referees, and the thing conducted accordin' to the rules of the P. R. Then when you git through you know for sure who's licked."
"Jist 'cordin' t' how one's raised," remarked Nate philosophically. "I've allers done seed a big furse o' some kind at a weddin'. Don't all yo'uns have none at yo'uns's weddin's?"
"Nothin' worse'n gittin' the girl's dad to consent," answered Shorty, "and scratchin' 'round to git the money to git married on to buy a new suit o' clothes, fee the preacher, pay for the license, and start housekeepin'. That's enough for one lifetime."
"Well, mam an' the gals made Wils's weddin' cloze," said Nate reflectively. "He had his own sheep, which he sheared in the Spring. They'uns carded, spun, dyed, an' wove the wool themselves, an' made him the purtiest suit o' cloze ever seed on the mountings."
"Your mother and sisters goin' to make your weddin' suit, Si?" asked Shorty. "What'd he have to pay for the license?"
"License? What's that?" asked Nate.
"License? Why, a license," explained Si, "is something you git from the County Clerk. It's leave to git married, and published in the County paper."
"Don't have t' have no leave from nobody down here t' git married. Hit's nobody's business but the man's an' the gal's, an' they'uns's famblies. Some times other folkses tries t' stick their noses in, but they'uns git sot down upon."
"What'd he pay the preacher?" asked Shorty.
"Why, mam gin his wife a hank o' fine stockin' yarn, an' dad gin him a couple sides o' bacon."
"At present prices o' pork in Injianny," remarked Si, after a little mental figuring, "that wasn't such a bad fee."
"If you speak to the Captain," suggested Si, "he'll let you go back home to your wife. I don't believe there's goin' to be anything special to-night. The cavalry don't seem to be stirrin' up nothin out there."
"I don't keer t'," said Nate, in his sweet, girlish drawl. "Ruther stay with yo'all. Mout somethin' happen. Biff Perkins an' his gang o' gorillers is out thar somewhar, not fur off, huntin' a chance fur deviltry. I'd like mouty t' git a whack at they'uns. Nance'll keep. She's mine now, fast an' good, for ever, an'll wait fur me. Afore we wuz spliced I wuz afeered Zach Barnstable mout work some contrivance t' git her, but now she belongs t' me."
The boys took him to their hearts more than ever.
At the coming of the early dawn the regiment was aroused and marched back to camp, there to meet orders to move forward at once, as soon as breakfast was prepared and eaten. Away it marched for the Tennessee River, behind which Bragg was supposed to be gathering his forces for the defense of Chattanooga.
As Co. Q went by the cabin, Grandfather Onslow was seated in a rocking-chair on the porch, smoking a cob pipe, while Mrs. Nancy Onslow Hartburn, with her finger bashfully in her mouth, peeped around the corner. Co. Q gave her a cheer, at which she turned and fled out of sight, as if it was some raillery on her newly-married state, and Nate hung down his head, as if he, too, felt the boys were poking fun at him.
"Good-by, boys. Lick the life outen Ole Bragg," quavered Grandfather Onslow, waving his hand after them.
"That's what we're goin' to do," shouted the boys in reply.
"Well," said Si, "I bet if ever I'm married I'll kiss my wife before I go away."
"Me, too," echoed Shorty, very soulfully.
Shorty and Si considered Nate Hartburn their special protege, and were deeply anxious to transform him into a complete soldier in the shortest possible time. He was so young, alert, and seemingly pliable, that it appeared there would be no difficulty in quickly making him a model soldier. But they found that while he at once responded to any suggestion of a raid or a fight, drill, discipline and camp routine were bores that he could be induced to take only a languid interest in. Neither Si nor Shorty were any too punctilious in these matters, but they were careful to keep all the time within easy conversational distance of the regulations and tactics. Naturally, also, they wanted their pupil to do better than they did. But no lecturing would prevent young Hartburn from slouching around camp with his hands in his pockets and his head bent. He would not or could not keep step in the ranks, nor mark time. While Si was teaching him he would make a listless attempt to go through the manual of arms, but he would make no attempt to handle his gun the prescribed way after the lesson was ended. Si was duly mindful of the sore time he himself had in learning the drill, and tried to be very considerate with him, but his patience was sorely tried at times.
"For goodness' sake, Nate," Si would say irritably, "try to keep step. You're throwin' everybody out."
"'Tain't my fault, Si," Nate would reply with a soft drawl. "Hit's theirs. I'm walkin' all right, but they'uns hain't. Jaw them. What's the sense o' walkin' so' close together, anyway? Yo' don't git thar no sooner."
Then again:
"Great jumpin' Jehosephat, Nate, will you never learn the right way to hold your gun when you present arms? You must turn the trigger outside, not the hammer."
"O, Jeminy, what difference does hit make? I never kin recollect hit, an' what's the use o' tryin'? Can't see no sense in holdin' a gun straight up an' down that-a-way, anyway, an' if yo' do, hain't one side jest as good as t'other?"
He was so obdurate that the boys would some times be provoked to sharp words to him, but his gentle speech would quickly disarm them again, and make them feel penitent.
At last the 200th Ind. came out upon the crest of Waldron's Ridge, overlooking the Tennessee River, which wound and turned amid the towering mountains like a band of bright silver traversing the giant billows of green. Everyone caught his breath at the sight, for beyond the stream were rebel camps, and moving trains and long, lines of marching men. Was all of Bragg's army gathered over there to dispute the passage or was a part still this side of the river, ready to pounce on our heads of columns as they meandered down the mountain?
The brigade was closed up, information sent to the Division Commander, and the 200th Ind. pushed to the front to develop whatever might be there. Si with Shorty and some others were sent ahead to feel for the enemy.
"Take him along?" asked Si of Shorty in a low tone, with a nod toward Nate, as they were making up the squad.
"Don't know," answered Shorty. "If ever in the world, we want men with us to-day who don't git rattled, and make a holy show o' theirselves before the regiment, but'll keep cool, watch their chances, and obey orders. Guess we'd better leave him behind."
"Seems to me," said Si, trying vaguely to recall his Scriptual readings, "that the Bible says some thing agin takin' a newly-married man right into battle just after he's married."
He looked around again, saw Nate taking his place along with the other men selected, and called out:
"Here, Nate, fall back to the company. You can't go along."
"Please, Mister Si, le' me go along," begged Nate, in the soft tones of a girl asking for a flower. "I'll be good. I'll hold my gun straight, an' try t' keep step."
"No, you can't go., This 's partickler business, and we want only experienced men with us. Better fall back to the company."
"Go ahead, there, Corporal," commanded the Adjutant. "Time's passing. We must move."
Si deployed his men and entered the dense woods which curtained the view and shrouded the enemy. It was one of those deeply anxious moments in war, when the enemy is in ambush, and the next instant, the next step may develop him in deadly activity.
Si was on the right of his line and Shorty on the left, and they were pushing forward slowly, cautiously, and with every sense strained to the extremity of alertness.
So dense was the foliage overhead that it was almost a twilight in the forest depths they were penetrating, and Si's eyes were strained to keep track of the men moving on his left, and at the same time watch the developments in front. He had noticed that he was approaching a little opening some distance ahead, and that beyond it was a dense thicket of tall laurels. Then he thought he heard a low whistle from Shorty, and looked far to the left, while continuing to walk forward.
Suddenly he was startled by a shot a little to his rear and left. Then a shot answered from the laurel thicket, he saw the bushes over there stir violently, and he heard Nate's voice say:
"He wuz layin' for yo', Si, an' come nigh a-gittin' yo', but I think I must've at least creased him, from the wild way he shot back. Le's go forrard an' see."
"I thought I told you to stay back," said Si, more intent on military discipline than his escape.
"I know yo' did done hit, but I couldn't mind, an' tagged 'long arter yo'."
"How'd you know he wuz there?"
"I done seed the bushes move over his head. I knowed jest how he wuz a-layin' for yo'. Le's go forrard an' git him."
Si and Nate ran across the open space to the laurels, and found a little ways in a bushwhacker staggering from pain and loss of blood from a wound in his hip, and making labored efforts to escape.
"I done hit him; I done fetched him; I done knowed jist whar he wuz," exclaimed Nate with boyish exultation.
At the sound of his voice the bushwhacker turned around upon him an ugly, brutal face, full of savage hatred.
"Why, hit's bad ole Wash Barnstable, what burnt daddy's stable with two horses, an' shot brother Wils through the arm. I'll jist job him in the heart with my bayonet," screamed the boy as he recognized the face. His own features became transfigured with rage, and he began fixing his bayonet. Si pushed forward and caught the bushwhacker by the shoulder and tore the gun from his hand. Nate came springing up, with his bayonet pointed directly at the man's heart. Si saw it in time to thrust it aside, saying in wrathful astonishment:
"Nate, you little scoundrel, what do you mean? Would you kill a wounded man?"
"Suttenly I'll done kill him," screamed the boy in a a frenzy of rage. "Why not? He desarves hit, the hell-hound. All of us Hartburns 've said we'd done kill him the minnit we laid eyes on him. Now that I've got him I'm gwine t' finish him."
He made another vicious lunge at the man with his bayonet.
"Indeed you're not," said Si, releasing his hold on the prisoner and catching Nate's gun. "You mustn't kill a wounded man, you young wildcat."
"Why not?" shouted the boy, beside himself with rage. "He's done killed lots o' men. He'll kill more if yo' let him go. He wuz layin' t' kill yo'. Air yo' gwine t' gin him another chance to down yo'?"
Si wrested the gun from him. Two or three other boys who had been attracted by the shot came up at this moment. Si gave the prisoner into the charge of one of them, with instructions to take him to the rear. Nate released his hold on his gun and made a jump for the one which the other boy had stood against a tree when he started to take hold of the prisoner. Again Si was too quick for him. He was by this time so angry that he was in the mood to give Nate a severe lesson, but the Adjutant, had ridden forward, called out:
"Go ahead, there, Corporal. We're just behind you."
"Pick up your gun, there, Nate, and come along with me, if you kin behave yourself. There's work much more important than killin' wounded bushwhackers. Come along, this minute."
Nate hesitated a moment, then picked up his gun with a vengeful look at the prisoner.
"I'll kill him yit. Mebbe I'll git a chance this evenin' yit," said he, and followed Si.
