SI WOKE up early the next morning with a savage exclamation.
"I declare, I'm all on fire," he said. "Some thing's just eating me up. I believe I've got a million graybacks on me."
I'm All on Fire 77
"Same here, Si," said Shorty. "Never knowed 'em to be so bad. Seem to 've just got in from a march, and are chawin' three days' rations out o' me every minute. I'd 'a' thought they'd all 've bin drowned from the duckin' they've bin havin' for the past five days, but it only seems to 've sharpened their teeth and whetted their appetites. They've all come to dinner, and invited their friends."
"Where in the world could they have all come from?" meditated Si. "We wuz certainly clean of 'em when we started out six days ago."
"O, the rebels skipped out in sich a hurry," ex plained Shorty, "that they even dropped their house hold pets, which we inherited as we follered 'em up. I wish this infernal rain'd let up long enough for us to do some skirmishin' and bile our clothes. Or if the sun'd only come out an hour or two, we could find an ant-hill, an' lay our clothes on it. I don't know any little thing that I enjoy more on a pleasant day when we've bin a long march and got mighty 'crumby, than to pull off my shirt and lay it on a lively ant-hill, and light my pipe and set there and watch the busy ants collar its inhabitants and carry 'em off to fill up their smoke-houses with Winter meat."
He put his hand meditatively into his bosom as he spoke. As he withdrew it he looked down and exclaimed:
"Jehosephat, it's fleas, too. Just look there. I'm alive with fleas."
"Same here," ejaculated Si, who had made a similar discovery. "Just look at 'em, hoppin' out every where. The rebels have not only set their grayback infantry on to us, but are jumping us with their flea cavalry."
"If you call the graybacks infantry and the fleas cavalry, what in the world do you call these, Si?" said Shorty, who had made still another discovery, and was pointing to his wrists and ankles, where rows of gorged ticks, looking like drops of fresh blood, encircled his limbs.
"Them's heavy artillery," answered Si; "and, Great Scott, I've got more of 'em on me than you have. And there's some just back of your ears, Shorty. Be careful, Shorty. Don't touch 'em. Le' me work 'em off. Be awful careful. If you break their heads off they'll stay in and make a sore that'll almost never get well."
They looked down the lines of men who, like themselves, had been rudely awakened from their slumber on wet beds by "the pestilence that walketh by night." There were howls, yells, oaths and imprecations from everybody. Officers forgot their carefully-maintained dignity, and were as vociferous and profane as the men.
Many were stripped, and trying to singe their wet clothes over the smoldering fires. Many were even trying to subdue the pests by thrashing their garments in the cold water of the creek.
"'Bout as much use as a General Order from Army Headquarters would be agin the varmints," said Shorty, as he watched their futile labors. "Say, you fellers," he called out to them; "why don't you repeat the Ten Commandments to 'em? Or sing the doxology? It'll do just as much good as sloshing your duds around in the water. The water only makes 'em savager'n ever. You ought to know that from experience."
By the happy thought of gently touching the gorged wood-ticks with the point of a pin Si and Shorty had gotten rid of those plagues, heads and all, so as to leave no apprehension as to future sores. They communicated this method to their afflicted comrades, and then turned their attention to the other parasites.
"I guess I'll just go down to the Surgeon's tent and git a pound of angwintum," said Shorty, "and rub myself from head to foot with it. That's the only thing I know of that'll do the least good."
"Mustn't do that," objected Si. "Put angwintum on you and get wet, and you'll be salivated. You ought to know that."
"I don't care," said Shorty desperately. "I'd rather be salivated till my teeth drop out and my hair falls off than be carried off in large chunks by fleas and graybacks. Come along."
"Mebbe the Surgeon has something else that'll pizen these little cusses," said Si, falling in with his comrade.
They found a clamorous group around the Surgeon's tent, asking for "angwintum (mercurial ointment) or anything else that would alleviate their torments. The worried Surgeon was scratching himself as he explained to the Colonel:
"It seems to me, 'Colonel, that the rising water has concentrated all these parasites on the higher ground over which we have come. This is the only way in which I can account for their severe visitation upon us. The parasites seem to have the same instinct to gather on elevated spots when the water is rising that other animals have, and we have consequently gathered up four or five times as many, to say the least, as we should otherwise have gotten. But you don't know the worst of it yet. You see those men? They have sore feet. But it isn't ordinary sore feet. They've got chiggers in their feet."
"Chiggers. What are they?" asked the Colonel.
"Chiggers, jiggers, chigoes pulex penetrans," answered the Surgeon. "They are a great pest in the tropics, where the people go barefooted and do not take any care of their feet. This is the first time that I have ever heard of them being so far north. But there is no doubt about their being chiggers. They burrow in under the skin, and cause a great deal of suffering. Some of the men's hands and fingers are also affected by them. They are terrible things to deal with when they once get the start. If this thing goes on, not a man in the regiment will be able to walk a step."
"What can be done?" gasped the Colonel, gripping for a flea in his bosom.
"Nothing," answered the Surgeon, smashing an insect on the back of his hand, "except to issue a stringent order that the men must take special care of their feet and hands."
"Humph," said the Colonel, scornfully, as he caught a bug on his wrist; "much sense in an order of that kind, when the men have to wade through mud and water 18 hours out of 24, and then sleep in it the other six. Is that the best you can suggest? Is that all your conscience has to offer? Remember that you are responsible for the efficiency of the men on this great campaign, upon which the safety of the country depends. It will be a severe reflection upon you if you allow them to be broken down by a few insects."
"Great Pharaoh and Moses," responded the Surgeon irritably, as he grabbed for "a bite" on his throat. "Here we are, confronted with a condition of things like the curses which God Almighty sent against the Egyptians, and you expect me to manage it with quinine and epsom salts. It can't be done, Colonel."
"Isn't there anything that you can suggest or recommend that will mitigate this trouble?" said the Colonel in a more conciliatory manner, for he had just succeeded in crushing a tormentor. "Certainly, there must be something in your pharmacopeia which will at least retard these infernal vermin from eating my men alive. Can't you at least check them a little until we can get through the campaign? Then the men can be trusted to take care of themselves." And the Colonel made a swoop for a particularly vicious flea which was banqueting on the lobe of his ear.
"I never set up as a sharp on parasites," said the Surgeon, running down a "small deer" inside his collar; "but I remember to have read that an application of tobacco-juice is about as effective a preventive of insect bites as can be found."
"That'll do; that'll do," said Shorty triumphantly, as he and Si started back to their places to act at once on the Surgeon's suggestion. "Just the thing. Tobacker'll kill 'em deader than small-beer. Why didn't I think about it before?"
Shorty had some strong black plug tobacco. He cut this up into small pieces, while Si found an old tin can, into which they were put, and then the can filled up with boiling water.
"Let's make her good and strong, Si," said Shorty, putting in some more tobacco; "for the fellers are sock-dolagers, and it will take a horse dose to kill 'em. They'll just enjoy a little taste o' terbacker. Make it strong enough to bear up an aig. Now, let's git our clothes off while it's coolin' down. You drench me, and I'll drench you, and we'll salivate these gallinippers in a way that'll surprise 'em."
The surprise seemed to be mostly on the other side. Shorty's skin was raw from head to foot from the depredations of the various tribes of "epizoa," as the physicians generalize them. He gave a yell that could be heard through the whole regiment as the acrid, biting tobacco-juice struck a thousand little punctures in his skin inside of a second. Everybody rushed up to see what was the matter, and stood around, laughing and commenting, while scratching and slapping at their own colonies of tormentors. Then Shorty began the most vehement stream of profanity, and showered maledictions on everything in the State of Tennessee, which was only a breeding place for fleas, woodticks, jiggers, graybacks, niggers, rebels, traitors, bushwhackers, guerrillas, thieves, robbers and murderers, and other spawn of Jeff Davisism. Presently he grew violently sick at the stomach, turned deathly white, and fainted. Frightened, Si rushed for the Surgeon.
"Only tobacco poisoning," said the latter, after he had looked Shorty over carefully. "You made that solution too strong, and the lot of little punctures took it directly into his circulation. You might have killed him if you had made it stronger, or got more of it on him. I never saw such rapscallions as you boys are. You are always trying to kill yourselves or one another, in spite of all that I can do or tell you. A man that's Surgeon of this regiment has to earn his money, I tell you. He will come out all right pretty soon, only he will be very weak. I'll send you down some whisky to give him."
"Real old rye, Doctor?" said Shorty, very faintly, and opening his eyes feebly. "None of your Commissary stuff. This is a powerful bad case, and I need the best."
"You shall have it," laughed the Surgeon. "I know you. You are all right when you are all right. But you won't be able to march with the column to-day. I'll give you an excuse from duty. And you (to Si) had better stay with him. I'll speak to your Captain."
The bugles were sounding the "assembly" every where, and the men, slapping and scratching as if they would tear their flesh and their clothes off, were hastily swallowing their last mouthfuls of hot coffee and bread and pork, snatching up their guns and blankets and falling in.
"Shelbyville is only six miles away," said the Orderly-Sergeant as he lined up Co. Q, and clawed around his clothes at his persecutors. "There'll be a circus to-day, and no postponement on account o' the weather. It'll either be the gol-darnedest fight that the 200th Injianny Volunteers ever got into or the cussedest foot-race that ever wuz run. Here, Biles, consarn you, leave that fire and your munching, and fall in. You're like a cow's tail always behind."
Shorty made a violent effort to rise up and join the company, but he was manifestly too weak. Si was in sore distress. He didn't want to leave him, but he was anxious to be with his company.
"Corporal Klegg," said the Captain, coming down the line, and giving a frequent furtive scratch at himself, "Shorty can't possibly go with us to-day. I'm awfully sorry, but there is no use talking about it. You must stay behind and take care of him, and take care of these sore-footed men who will be unable to keep up. The Colonel orders you to command the whole outfit. You keep them together, keep up as well as you can, and if you see any place that you can be useful, go in. I know and the Colonel knows that you can be trusted to do that."
This made Si more reconciled to being left behind, and he mentally resolved that, though he might not be with his beloved regiment, he would manage to do his full share in the impending battle for Shelbyville.
The "Second Lieutenant and Aid-de-Camp" came up. It was noticed in the distance that he was suffering from the same causes as the others, but as soon as he came into the immediate presence of the men his official dignity asserted itself, he refrained from nervous pursuit of his verminiferous assailants, and walking stiffly up to the Colonel, saluted, and said:
"Colonel, I came to report the conduct of a couple of your men who came under my command night before last, and who, while doing very well in some respects, were so grossly disrespectful to me that they should be given a sharp lesson. Unless this is done, it will tend to impair discipline and diminish the respect which men should show officers."
The Colonel looked straight at the young officer, and noticed an unusually large insect emerge from his collar and walk deliberately up his neck onto his cheek. It must have been intensely annoying, but dignity triumphed, and the Lieutenant stood stiffly as a ramrod.
"I'm very sorry to hear that any of my men should seem wanting in respect to their officers," said the Colonel quietly, as he "attended to" a wicked flea which was breakfasting off his wrist. "I can hardly believe it. I have the most obedient and respectful men in the whole army. I'm afraid you did something that provoked, if it did not justify, disrespectful conduct."
The Lieutenant would have been different from the rest of the army if he had not been very short of temper that morning. The pangs that he was compelled to endure without the relief of scratch ing made him still more irritable, and he forgot him self sufficiently to answer:
"I beg your pardon, sir, but you are in error when you represent your men to be respectful and subordinate. On the contrary, they are the most lacking in that of any men in the army. I am constantly yelled at by them as I pass, and they say very insulting things to me. I'm determined to put a stop to it, and I want you to begin with those two men. If you don't I shall make a strong report on the subject to the General, which may lead to your being placed under arrest."
"Young man," said the Colonel severely, as he calmly exterminated another one of his tormentors, "you are so infested with vermin that I can see them crawling out from your clothes. It is an insult to me to have you appear before me in such a condition. Get out of here at once, and never approach me again in such a condition, or I shall be compelled to deal with you as you deserve."
The Lieutenant marched away, holding himself more stiffly than ever, and the Colonel walked to ward the other flank of the regiment, looking so cross that no one dared give the laugh he was bursting with until he had mounted his horse and shout ed the command, "Forward!"
The rain actually ceased, and the sun came out for the first time in 10 long days; from miles to the right and left came sounds of infantry and artillery firing, gradually swelling in volume. Under these exciting influences, aided, perhaps, by a really fine article of whisky, which the Surgeon had left, Shorty rapidly recovered, picked up his gun, threw his blanket-roll over his shoulders, and announced his eagerness to move forward. The sore-footed men began to feel that their feet were not really as sore as they had thought, and they also hobbled forward. The road by which they had camped led straight to Shelbyville, and they felt that by following it they would have the best chance of getting into the fight. The road was filled with cavalry, and Si and his squad worked their way through the woods to the right to get up nearer the front and find an infantry line.
"What in the world are they doin' with all these cavalry here?" said Shorty fretfully. "They can't do nothin' agin the mud forts and big guns and miles o' breastworks and abatis and felled timber that the rebels 've bin puttin' out in front of Shelbyville for the last six months. Horses are only in the way for sich work. They must 'v'e put the cavalry back here to be safe, while the infantry does the work. We'll git in ahead o' the 'critter-companies' somewhere and find the dough-boys."
At last they came out on a hill which commanded a view of the country, and halted, with an exclamation of delight at the magnificant sight spread out before hem. The sun was now half-way up in the sky, and shining with a brightness which seemed divine after the long period of drenching showers. Its light was reflected in brilliance from thousands of sabers and accouterments and the waving of flags of the cavalry divisions which filled the country as far as the eye could reach. Ascending the slope at the farther side of the valley was a skirmish-line, two miles long, of dismounted cavalry men, from which rose wreathes of smoke as it pressed steadily forward up the hill against the rebels ensconced there. In the green fields on either side of the road, and in the road itself, were regiments and brigades of horsemen, massed up solidly, impatiently waiting for the progress of the skirmishers to bring about the moment when they could be hurled against the enemy in a mighty avalanche of war. Bugles were sounding, flags flying, and all was intense, high-wrought, exciting animation.
The boys gave a cheer of exultation at the sight. Suddenly two little regiments separated themselves from the rest, drew sabers, and, with bugles sounding the charge and the men yelling, rode straight at the infantry and the batteries defending the crest of the hill. The rebels broke before the cavalry could reach them, and began a wild flight, with infantry, cavalry and artillery mixed in wild confusion, and our horsemen swooping down on them, capturing horses, men and cannon.
On everybody swept until the crest was gained which commanded a view of Shelbyville and its famous intrenchments. From these cannon thundered out, and long lines of infantry could be seen hurrying into the works to repel the audacious horsemen. Si and Shorty held their breaths, for it seemed that nothing but destruction awaited the cavalry in those awfully-planned defenses. But the cavalry thundered on with a headlong speed. Artillery galloped up on our side, to answer that in the works, and the boys lost speech in amazement at seeing the horsemen tear through the wide abatis and jump the high breastworks, while the defenders streamed back in rout into Shelbyville, pursued every step with yell and blow by the furious cavalry. Then came the noise of terrible fighting in the streets of Shelbyville. Jo Wheeler was massing every cannon that could be brought up to him in a desperate effort to hold the town, at least, until Forrest could come to his help, or he could make an orderly retreat across Duck River. But, bitterly as he fought, the Union troopers fought still more savagely. They simply would not allow the thought of successful resistance, and wave after wave of fierce charges followed so rapidly that Wheeler's men broke and fled for safety into and across the river.
The boys yelled themselves hoarse as they saw the stream of rebel fugitives pour across the river and seek safety in the country beyond.
"Well, Shelbyville is ours at last, after all this waiting and marching and manuvering," said Si, in a tone of intense exultation. "And the cavalry took it. Wish it had been the 200th Injianny Volunteers. I've always looked down on the cavalry, but I won't do so any more. I wish the 200th Injianny was mounted. My gracious, wasn't it grand the way those fellers just galloped over everything in sight breastworks, forts, batteries, felled timber, and lines of infantry."
"Yes," assented Shorty. "I wouldn't 've missed the sight for the best farm in the Wabash bottoms. It was worth marching 10 days in the mud and rain to see."
"Here, Corporal," said a Cavalry Lieutenant, riding up, "I want you to take charge of these prisoners with your squad, so we can go back and get some more. The woods are full of them. I'll make out a receipt for you to sign. I think there's just 100 of them. Count them over for yourself."
"Sure," said Si, springing forward.
"DON'T yo'uns crow too much over gittin' Shelbyville," the prisoners said to Si. "Yo'uns couldn't never 've got hit in the world if Jinerul Bragg hadn't a'wanted yo'uns to."
"O, come off," said Shorty. "You tried your best to keep us from gittin' in. You put up a very pretty little fight, but our cavalry jest rode over you."
"Thar wuz nobody thar but Jo Wheeler and his critter company," persisted the prisoners, "and they'd fout for anything. They'd fout yo'uns for a chaw of terbacker, and then gin the chaw back. Ole Bragg wuz jist a-foolin' with yo'uns. He wuz drawin' yo'uns on. He made up his mind that Shelbyville wuzn't the best place for a fout, and he'd lay for yo'uns at Tullyhomy. He's got his whole army together down thar, and he'll wollop yo'uns till your hides won't hold shucks. Ole Bragg's smarter'n ary Yankee that ever lived, and he's fixed up a dead-fall for yo'uns at Tullyhomy that'll mash yo'uns flatter'n a pancack."
"Let him go ahead with his mashin' flat," answered Shorty; "we're some on the mash ourselves, as you fellers found out at Stone River."
"We'uns 'd 'a' welted the life outen yo'uns at Stone River, if we'uns 'd had jest a few more men; ez hit wuz we'uns run yo'uns all over them 'ere old cotton-fields fur two days, tuk all yo'uns's cannon, an' more'n a million prisoners. Fust night I done thought we'uns 'd tuk the whole Yankee army. We'uns done got tired pickin' up prisoners in them ceders an' sink-holes, an' concluded t' leave the rest thar fur seed. We'uns jest f'arly wore ourselves out lickin' yo'uns, an' then yo'uns got a whole passel 'o fresh men, an' we'uns jest pulled back t' Shelbyville t' rest, spit on we'uns' hands an' take a fresh holt."
"How about the last day," inquired Si, "over the river on the left, when we tore you all to flinders with artillery, and run you back over the hill and took your guns?"
"O, that wuz Breckinridge's Division," said the prisoners, negligently, as if dismissing a matter of little consequence. "They'uns desarved all they'uns got. They'uns wus sent for t' come over and help we'uns lick yo'uns the fust two days, but they'uns wouldn't come. I'm jest glad they'uns kotched hit good an' hard ez they'uns done got hit. But we'uns 's now got heaps more men than we'uns had at Stone River, an' they're all together over thar by Tullyhomy. Lordy, you jest orter seed 'em az I did. I wuz on the top of a mounting on gyard, whar I could see for a hundred miles in every direction, an' I seed men marchin' toward Tullyhomy till my eyes ached a-lookin' at 'em. Yo'uns 'll stir up a mouty sight wuss hornets' nest at Tullyhomy than yo'uns did at Murfreesboro.
"Well, we'll knock seven kinds o' brimstone out o' your hornets' nest, big as it may be," answered Shorty. "The more o' you there is the better, for we kin finish up the job then, and be done with it, instid o' havin' to run you down an' knock you on the head one at a time. We've more men, too, than we had at Stone River. There was enough of us before, but Old Abe just gethered up the men in three or four new States, and sent 'em down to us to help make a clean, quick job of it. All we want of you fellers is jest to stand up and give us a square fight. We're no grayhounds, to run you fellers down. We came down here to fight, not to trot races with you.
"Well, yo'uns'll git yer bellyful o' foutin' over by Tullyhomy," shouted back the prisoners as they were marched away under guard.
"It certainly does look like we're to have a bigger scrimmage than we had at Stone River," said Si, as he and Shorty were once more alone. "Our army is much larger, and it's all been gathered right around here. There's bin great rivers of men pouring through all these gaps for days, and we've talked with fellers from every division and brigade in the army. There's entirely too many men around here for the country to hold. Something's got to bust soon, and when it does bust there'll be an explosion like that you read about."
"Well, let her bust," answered Shorty. "The sooner the better. I want to see it right off. It's got to come before the war kin end, and for my part I don't want to march a step further to find it. They can't nohow git up a worse time than we had at Stone River, and we managed to live through that; so that I guess we kin pull through another. If we don't, this 's just as good a place to go to Heaven from as we kin find, and we'll save a whole lot o' worry by finishin' up now."
"Well," said Si, "let's git back to the regiment as soon's possible. THe battle may begin at any minute, and we musn't be away. We'd never forgive ourselves as long's we'd live if we wasn't with the boys when they line up under the colors for the great tussle."
"Getting to the regiment" was tedious and hard. Shorty was still very weak from his tobacco experiment, and Si had worked almost to exhaustion in helping his sore-footed squad along. These were as eager to get back to the regiment in time for the fight, and Si had not the heart to leave any one of them behind. The roads were filled with teams being pushed forward with ammunition and rations, and every road and path crowded with men hurrying to the "front." They were on the distant flank of their corps when they started out in the morning, and did not succeed in reaching the rear of their own division until nightfall. Though worn out by the day's painful tramping and winding around through the baffling paths between regiments, brigades and divisions, sometimes halting and some times moving off suddenly and unexpectedly, they nerved themselves for one more effort to reach the 200th Ind. before they lay down for the night. But the night was far harder than the day. The whole country was full of campfires, around which were men' cooking their supper, standing in groups, pipe in mouth, anxiously discussing the coming momentous battle, and the part their regiments would likely play in it, or sitting writing what they felt might be their last letters home. All were unutterably tired, and all earnestly thoughtful over the impending conflict. None felt ordinarily jovial, communicative and sympathetic with foot-sore stragglers trying to find their regiments. Even when they were, the movements and changes during the day had been so bewildering that their best-intentioned directions were more likely to be wrong than right.
"The 200th Ind.," they would say; "yes, we saw the 200th Ind. about the middle of the afternoon, right over there on that hillside, where you see that old tree blazing up. They were acting as if they were going into camp, and I expect that's their campfires you see there."
Si, Shorty and the rest would make their weary way to the point indicated, about a half-mile distant, only to find that their regiment had been sighted at another point a mile away in a different direction.
The morning of July 1, 1863, was almost ready to break when they at last came up with their regiment, and flung themselves down on the ground in absolute exhaustion. Worn out as they were, their soldierly ears could not be deaf to the stirring reveille which quickly followed the early daybreak of that Summer morning, and summoned the regiment for the final, decisive move upon the rebel stronghold of Tullahoma.
Though every bone and muscle seemed to cry out against it, Si, Shorty and their companions rose up promptly and joined the regiment.
Everybody seemed sobered by the nearness of the terrible battle. Nobody laughed, nobody swore, nobody joked, nobody played the usual light-hearted reveille tricks. The Orderly-Sergeant did not call the roll with his usual glibness and rasp. He seemed to linger a little over each name, as if thinking whether it would be answered to again, or he be there to call it. The officers gave the commands quietly, even gently. The men executed promptly, carefully, and silently, as one sees things done at a funeral or in church. A hasty breakfast was eaten in silence; the men fell into ranks again, and there was a low buzz as the cartridge-boxes were carefully inspected and each man supplied with his full quota of ammunition.
The Colonel mounted his horse, and gave the order, "Forward march," so quietly that only the leading company heard it. It moved promptly, and the others followed.
The same strange soberness ruled the other regiments they passed on their way to take the advance. There was for once no quip or jest from the men standing by the roadside, leaning thoughtfully on their muskets, and awaiting their turn to march. They merely watched them file by, with steady, grave eyes and an occasional calm nod or quiet greeting to an acquaintance.
The hurrah, the swagger, the noisy effervescence of a few months ago had disappeared from men who had learned to know what battle was.
The dripping clouds cleared away as the 200th Ind. drew out into the muddy road, and let the sun suddenly beam forth in full Midsummer power. In an instant everybody was reeking with perspiration, panting for breath, and scorching inwardly and outwardly.
It was too much for some who had bravely maintained their places thus far, and they had to sink by the roadside.
Every minute of the first hour it seemed to Si and Shorty that they could not go a rod farther, but at the end of every rod they made an effort to go an other, and succeeded. The sun momentarily grew more burning, but also it seemed that every step brought them nearer the enemy, and the thought nerved them up to further exertion. Occasional rippling shots from watching parties of the rebel cavalry helped stimulate them.
Noon passed. They were so near the works of Tullahoma that the collision might come at any minute could not be postponed many minutes. The regiments left the road and went into line-of-battle, stretching a long wave of blue through the deep green of the thick forests. How far it reached no one could tell. Occasional glimpses obtained through the openings in the woods showed miles of length.
Everything was deeply quiet, except occasional startling crashes from rebel outposts and the distant booming of cannon on the left.
The 200th Ind. was advancing through a heavy growth of jack-oaks.
Lines of rebel skirmishers had occasionally appeared in front of the regiment, fired a few shots, and then disappeared. The ease with which they were driven gave the impression that they were trying to lead the regiment into ambush, and it moved slowly and very watchfully.
At last, as the hot sun was beginning to sink in the far west, the regiment came to the edge of the young jack-oaks, and saw before it a sight which thrilled every heart.
There, a little distance away, lay the formidable works guarding Tullahoma. To the right and left, as far as the eye could reach, stretched a bristling line of abatis hundreds of yards wide and seemingly hopelessly impassable. It was made of the young jack-oaks felled outwards and their limbs sharp ened till they were like thorns.
Frowning behind this fearsome barrier were high-rising forts mounted with cannon, and connected with long, sinuous breastworks. A deep ditch filled with muddy water ran along the foot of the works.
Squads of rebels could be seen running back to the shelter of the fortifications. Every man in the regiment gave a quick, involuntary gasp as he saw his work before him.
The whole of the long line was halted and carefully dressed by the officers, still speaking as softly and kindly as if arranging a funeral procession, and the men stepping into places promptly, and with a tender solemnity of manner. There was none of the customary rude jostling and impatient sharpness. It was:
"You'll have to give away to the left a little, John; I haven't room."
"Come out there, boys, on the right. You're too far back."
"Jim, you'd better fall in behind. I don't believe you're strong enough to keep up."
Even the brash young "Second Lieutenant and Aid-de-Camp" seemed impressed with the intense gravity of the moment. He came up to the Colonel, and seeing he was on foot, respectfully dismounted, saluted, and said, without a vestige of his usual pertness:
"Colonel, the General presents his compliments, and says that the battery is badly stuck in the mud a little ways back. As we shall need it very much, he directs that you send a company to bring it up at once."
"Very good, sir," said the Colonel, gravely returning his salute, and speaking as gently as at a tea-table. "It shall be done. Capt. McGillicuddy, take your company back and bring up the battery."
"Attention, Co. Q," suggested rather than commanded Capt. McGillicuddy. "Stack arms. Corporal Klegg, you and your squad remain where you are. You are too tired to do any good. Right face; file left; forward march."
The Colonel mounted his horse, rode down to the center of the regiment, and said, in a tone hardly raised above the conversational, but which made itself distinctly heard by every man:
"Fix bayonets."
There was an ominous crash of steel as the bright bayonets swept to their places.
"Men," continued the Colonel as quietly as if talk ing to a Sunday school, "we're going to take those works with the bayonet. Keep perfectly quiet; reserve your breath for quick, hard work, and pay close attention to orders. We'll move in quick time to the edge of that slashing of timber; every man make his way through it as best he can, keeping as near his Captain as possible. As soon as through it he will run with all his might for the works, fire his gun into the rebels as he jumps the works, and then rely on his bayonet. No man must fire a shot until we are crossing the works, and then I want every shot to fetch a rebel."
He waited a moment before giving the command to advance, for Co. Q, which had snaked the battery out of the mudhole in a hurry, was coming on a dead run in order to be on time for the charge. It snatched its guns from the stacks, and lined up like a long flash of blue light.
The artillerymen had lashed their jaded horses into a feverish run, swept out into an open space, flung their guns "into battery," and opened with a vicious bang on the rebel works.
So far not a head appeared above the breastworks; not a shot from the embrasures in the forts.
"They're just laying low," whispered Si to Shorty, as they instinctively brought their shoulders together and summoned their energies for the swift advance. "They'll blaze out like the fires o' hell just as we git tangled up in that infernal timber-slashin'."
"Well," muttered Shorty, "we'll know mighty soon now. In five minutes we'll either be in Heaven or bayoneting the rebels in that fort."
"Battalion, forward march!" commanded the Colonel.
The regiments to the right and left got the command at the same instant, and the long wave of blue rolled forward without a break or fault in its perfect alignment.
A hundred yards were quickly passed, and still the rebel works were as silent as a country churchyard. The suspense was fearful. Men bent their heads as if in momentary expectation of being struck by a fearful blast.
Another hundred yards. Still no bullet from the rifle-pits, no canister from the forts.
Another hundred yards, and they had struck the entangling abatis, and were feverishly working their clothes loose from the sharp-pointed limbs.
"Capt. McGillicuddy," excitedly shouted Si, "there's no men in them works. Didn't you see that flock o' blackbirds just settle down on that fort?"
"That's true," said the Captain, after a quick glance. "Colonel, they've evacuated."
A little to the left of the company Si saw a path through the abatis made by the rebels taking short cuts in and out of the camp. He and Shorty quickly broke their way to it, and ran in feverish haste to the works. They found a puncheon laid to cross the ditch, ran over it, and mounted the rifle-pit. There was not a man inside of the works. The last of the garrison could be seen on the other side of Elk River, setting fire to the bridge by which they had just crossed.
Si and Shorty Were the First to Mount The Parapet. 91
Utterly exhausted by fatigue and the severe mental strain, Si and Shorty could do nothing more than give a delighted yell, fire their guns at the distant rebels, when they sank down in complete collapse.
Almost at the same time the same discovery had been made at other points in the long line moving to the assault; the inside of the works were quickly filled with a mob of rushing men, who seemed to lift the clouds with their triumphant yells.
The campaign for Tullahoma was at an end. Bragg had declined battle, and put the whole of his army out of reach of pursuit behind the swollen waters of Elk River.
That night by its cheerful campfires the exultant Army of the Cumberland sang from one end of its long line to the other, with thousands of voices joining at once in the chorus, its song of praise to Gen. Rosecrans, which went to the air of "A Little More Cider."
Cheer up, cheer up, the night is past,The skies with light are glowing.Our ships move proudly on, my boys,And favoring gales are blowing.Her flag is at the peak, my boys,To meet the traitorous faction.We'll hasten to our several posts,And immediately prepare for action.Chorus.Old Rosey is our man.Old Rosey is our man.We'll show our deeds where'er he leads,Old Rosey is our man.
"THIS is the glorious Fourth of July," remarked Si, as Co. Q broke ranks from reveille roll-call on the banks of Elk River, and he and Shorty turned anxious attention to the problem of getting a satisfactory breakfast out of the scanty materials at their command. "Up home they're gittin' ready for a great time. Yesterday mother and the girls cooked enough goodies to feed the whole company. Mother had Abe Lincoln split up a lot o' fine, dry hickory. Then she het up the big brick oven out by the Summer-kitchen, and she baked there a lot o' loaves o' her splendiferous salt-raisin' bread, the best in the whole country, if I do say it myself."
"Resemble this, Si?" asked Shorty, who was pawing around in his shrunken haversack, as he produced two dingy crackers and a handful of pieces, discolored by contact with the coffee and meat during the days of marching in the rain.
"And, then," continued Si, unmindful of the interruption, "after she took the bread out, smelling like a bouquet, she put in some biscuits, and then some dressed chicken, a young pig."
"Just like this," echoed Shorty, pulling out a rusty remnant of very fat commissary pork.
"Shet up, Shorty," said Si, angered at this reminder of their meager store, which was all that was left them for the day, since they had far out marched their wagons. "I won't have you makin' fun o' my mother's cookin'."
"Well, you shut up torturing me about home goodies," answered Shorty, "when we hain't got enough grub here to fill one undivided quarter-section o' one o' our gizzards, and there hain't no more this side o' the wagons, which are stalled somewhere in the Duck River hills, and won't be up till the katydids sing. I ain't making fun o' your mother's cookin'. But I won't have you tormenting me with gas about the goodies back home."
"I know it ain't right, Shorty," said Si. "It only makes us feel worse. But I can't help thinkin'—"
"Jest go on thinkin'," sneered Shorty, "if you kin fill yourself up that way. I can't. You'd better set to studyin' how to make less'n quarter rations for one fill up two men for all day. There ain't no use goin' a-foragin'. They call this country the Cumberland Barrens. There never was grub enough in it to half support the clay-eaters that live around here, and what there was the rebels have carried off. The only thing I kin think of is to cut up some basswood chips and fry with this pork. Mebbe we could make 'em soft enough to fill up on." And Shorty gloomily shook out the last crumb from the haversacks into a tin of water to soak, while he fried the grease out of the fragment of pork in his half-canteen.
"And Pap," continued Si, as if determined to banish famine thoughts by more agreeable ones, "has had the trottin' team nicely curried, and their manes and tails brushed out, and hitched 'em to that new Studebaker-spring wagon he wrote about. They'll put all the good things in, and then mother and the girls'll climb in. They'll go down the road in great style, and pick up Annabel, and drive over to the Grove, where they'll meet all the neighbors, and talk about their boys in the army, and the Posey Brass Band'll play patriotic tunes, and old Beach Jamieson'll fire off the anvil, and then Parson Ricketts'll put on his glasses and read the Declaration o' Independence, and then some politician young lawyer from Mt. Vernon or Poseyville 'll make a sky-soaring, spread-eagle speech, and—"
"O, do come off, Si," said Shorty irritably. "You're only making yourself hungrier exercising your tongue so. Come here and git your share o' the breakfast and mind you eat fair."
Shorty had fried out the pork in the dingy, black half-canteen, poured the soaked crackers into the sputtering hot grease, and given the mess a little further warming and stirring. Then he pulled the half-canteen from the split stick which served for a handle, set it on the ground, and drew a line through it with his spoon to divide the food fairly into equal portions..
Meanwhile Si had strolled over a little ways to where an old worm fence had stood when the regiment went into camp. Now only the chunks at the corners remained. He looked a minute, and then gave a yell of delight.
"Here, Shorty," he called out; "here's something that beats your fried breakfasts all holler. Here's ripe blackberries till you can't rest, and the biggest, finest ones you ever saw. Come over here, and you can pick all you can eat in five minutes."
He began picking and eating with the greatest industry. Shorty walked over and followed his example.
"They are certainly the finest blackberries I ever saw," he agreed. "Strange that we didn't notice them before. This country ain't no good for nothin' else, but it surely kin beat the world on blackberries. Hi, there! Git out, you infernal brute!"
This latt'er remark was addressed to a long-legged, mangy hound that had suddenly appeared from no where, and was nosing around their breakfast with appreciative sniffs. Shorty made a dive for him, but he cleaned out the half-canteen at one comprehensive gulp, and had put a good-sized farm between him and the fire before Shorty reached it. That gentleman fairly danced with rage, and swore worse than a teamster, but the breakfast was gone beyond recovery. The other boys yelled at and gibed him, but they were careful to do it at a safe distance.
"'Twasn't much of a breakfast, after all, Shorty," said Si, consolingly. "The crackers was moldly and the pork full o' maggots, and the Surgeon has warned us time and again against eatin' them greasy fried messes. All the doctors say that blackberries is very healthy, and they certainly taste nice."
Shorty's paroxysm of rage expended itself, and he decided it wisest to accept Si's advice.
"The berries is certainly fine, Si," he said with returning good humor. "If I could've only laid a foundation of crackers and meat I could've built a very good breakfast out of 'em. I misdoubt, though, whether they've got enough substance and stick-to-the-ribs to make a meal out of all by themselves. However, I'll fill up on 'em, and hope they'll last till a grub-cart gets through. There ought to be one here before noon."
"One consolation," said Si; "we won't have to march on this peck. The Adjutant's just passed the word that we're to rest here a day or two."
The rest of the regiment were similarly engaged in browsing off the blackberries that grew in wonderful profusion all around, and were really of extraordinary size. After filling themselves as full as possible of the fruit, Si and Shorty secured a couple of camp kettles and gave their garments a boiling that partially revenged themselves upon the insect life of Tennessee for the torments they endured in the Tullahoma campaign.
"The better the day the better the deed," remarked Shorty, as he and Si stood around the fire, clothed in nothing but their soldierly character, and satisfiedly poked their clothes down in the scalding water. "Thousands must die that one may be free from graybacks, fleas, and ticks. How could be better celebrated the Fourth of July than by the wholesale slaughter of the tyrants who drain the life-blood of freemen and patriots? Now, that's a sentiment that would be fine for your orator who is making a speech about this time to your folks in Injianny."
By this time they were hungry again. The black berries had no staying power in proportion to their filling qualities, and anxiously as they watched the western horizon, no feet of the mules bringing rations had been seen beautiful on the mountains.
They went out and filled up again on blackberries, but these seemed to have lost something of their delicious taste of those eaten earlier in the morning.
They went back, wrung out their clothes, and put them on again.
"They'll fit better if they dry on us," remarked Shorty. "And I'm afraid we'll warp, splinter and check if we are exposed to this sun any longer after all the soakin' we've bin havin' for the past 10 days."
Comfortably full abdominally, with a delicious sense of relief from the fiendish insects, the sun shining once more brightly in the sky, and elated over the brilliant success of the campaign, they felt as happy as it often comes to men.
The scenery was inspiring. Beyond Elk River the romantic Cumberland Mountains raised their picturesque peaks and frowning cliffs into a wondrous cloud-world, where the radiant sunshine and the pearly showers seemed in endless struggle for dominion, with the bright rainbows for war-banners. When the sunshine prevailed, filmy white clouds flags of truce floated lazily from peak to peak, and draped themselves about the rugged rocks. It was an ever-changing panorama of beauty and mystery, gazing on which the eye never wearied.
"Bragg's somewhere behind them mountains, Shorty," said Si, as the two lay on the ground, smoked, and looked with charmed eyes on the sky line. "The next job's to go in there and find him and lick him."
"I don't care a durn, if it's only dry weather," answered Shorty. "I kin stand anything but rain. I'd like to soldier awhile in the Sahara Desert for a change. Hello, what's that? A fight?"
A gun had boomed out loudly. The boys pricked up their ears, took their pipes from their mouths and half raised in anticipation of the bugle-call. An other shot followed after an interval, and then a third and fourth.
"They're firing a National salute at Division Headquarters in honor of the Fourth of July," explained the Orderly-Sergeant.
Everybody jumped to his feet and cheered
Cheered for the Fourth of July;
Cheered for the United States of America;
Cheered for President Abraham Lincoln;
Cheered for Maj.-Gen. Wm. S. Rosecrans.
Cheered for the Army of the Cumberland;
Cheered for the Corps Commander;
Cheered for the Division Commander;
Cheered for the Brigadier-General;
Cheered for the Colonel of the 200th Ind.;
Cheered for their Royal Selves.
"Whew, how hungry that makes me," said Shorty as the cheering and the firing ended, and he studied the western horizon anxiously. "And not a sign yit of any mule-team comin' up from the rear. They must have religious scruples agin travelin' on the Fourth o' July. Well, I s'pose there's nothin' to do but hunt up some more blackberries. But blackberries is like mush. They don't seem to stay with you much longer'n you're eatin' 'em."
But they had to go much farther now to find blackberries. The whole hungry regiment had been hunt ing blackberries all day, and for more than a mile around camp the briers were bare. Si and Shorty succeeded at last in finding another plentiful patch, upon which they filled up, and returned to camp for another smoke and an impatient look for the Commissary teams.
"I like blackberries as well as any other man," mused Shorty, "but it don't seem to me that last lot was nearly so good as the first we had this morning. Mebbe the birds kin eat 'em four times a day and seven days in the week without gittin' tired, but I ain't much of a bird, myself. I'd like to change off just now to about six big crackers, a pound o' fat pork and a quart o' coffee. Wonder if the rebel cavalry could've got around in our rear and jumped our trains? No; 'Joe Wheeler's critter company,' as that rebel called 'em, hain't quit runnin' yit from the lickin' Minty give 'em at Shelbyville. Mebbe the mules have struck. I'd 'a' struck years ago if I'd bin a mule."
The sun began to sink toward the western hills, and still no welcome sign of coming wagons.
Si remarked despairingly:
"Well, after all the berry-eatin' I've done to-day I feel as holler as a bee-gum. I don't believe any wagons'll git up to-night, and if we're goin' to have any supper at all we'd better go out and pick it before it gits too dark to see."
They had to go a long distance out this time to find a good berry patch. It was getting dark be fore they fairly began picking their supper. Presently they heard voices approaching from the other side. They crouched down a little behind the brier-clumps and listened.
"Be keerful. The Yankee pickets must be nigh. Thar's their campfires."
"Pshaw. Them fires is two miles away. Thar's no pickets fur a mile yit. Go ahead."
"No sich thing. Them fires ain't a mile off.
"Their pickets are likely right along that 'ere ridge thar."
"Bushwhackers," whispered Si, rising a little to reconnoiter. "One, two, three, four, five, six on 'em. Sneakin' up to pick off our pickets. What'd we better do?"
"Only thing I kin think of," whispered Shorty back, feeling around for a stick that would represent a gun, "is the old trick of ordering 'em to surrender. It's an awful bluff, but we may work it this time. If they've got any grit we needn't worry no more about rations. They'll git us."
Si snatched up a piece of rail, and they sprang up together, shouting:
"Halt! Surrender! Don't move a hand or we'll blow your heads off."
"All right, Yank. We surrender. Don't shoot. We'uns 've bin a-huntin' yo'uns to gin ourselves up. We'uns is tired o' the wah."