by John McElroy
CHAPTER IV. THE DEACON'S PLAN
DEALING WITH AN OBSTRUCTION TO THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY.
THE Surgeon, who had conceived quite a good opinion of the Deacon'sability, readily certified that the boys could be safely taken home,since they would have the benefit of his care and attention, and thenecessary papers came down from Headquarters that day. The Deacon hadthe good luck to find his old friend, the Herd-Boss, who took a deepinterest in the matter. He offered to have as good a team as he had atthe crib the next morning, with the wagon-bed filled with cedar-boughs,to make as easy a couch as possible for the rough ride over themountains.
With his heart full of hope and joy, the Deacon bustled around to makeevery possible preparation for the journey.
"It's a long way back home, I know," he said to himself, "and the road'srough and difficult as that to the New Jerusalem; but Faith and Hope,and the blessin' o' God'll accomplish wonders. If I kin only hold thesouls in them boys' bodies till I kin git 'em back to Bean BlossomCrick, I'll trust Mother Klegg's nursin' to do the rest. If there everwas a woman who could stand off the Destroyin' Angel by good nursin'that woman's Mother Klegg, bless her soul."
The next morning he was up betimes, and cooked the boys as good abreakfast as he could out of the remainder of his store and what hecould get from the hospital, and then gave what was left to whoevercame. The comfortable crib, which had cost the Deacon so much labor, hadbeen pre-empted by the Surgeon for some of his weakest patients.
The news had reached the 200th Ind. that the boys were going home, andthey came over in a body to say "Good-by."
The sight of them pained the Deacon's good heart. Instead of thehundreds of well-fed, well-clothed, comfortable-looking young men he hadseen at Murfreesboro a few months before, he now saw a shrunken bandof gaunt, unkempt men, their clothing ragged and patched, many of themalmost shoeless, many of them with pieces of blankets bound around theirfeet instead of shoes, many of them with bandages about their stillunhealed wounds, but still keeping their places bravely with theircomrades, and stubbornly refusing to count themselves among the sick anddisabled, though it required all their will-power to do their shareof the duty. But all of them were brimming over with unconquerablecheerfulness and pluck. They made light of their wounds anddisabilities, jested at one another's ragged clothes, laughed at theirhunger, teased one another about stealing corn from mules, jeered atthe rebel shells from Lookout Mountain, yelled derisively at the rebelpickets across the creek, and promised them to soon come out and runBragg's army off the face of the earth.
All were eager to do something toward the comfort of their departingcomrades. They scanned the arrangement of the boughs in the wagon withcritical eyes, and picked them over and rearranged them, so as to avoidevery chance of uncomfortable knots and lumps. They contributed blanketsfrom their own scanty supply, to make sure that there would be plenty,and so many were eager to help carry Si out and put him in the wagon,that the Orderly-Sergeant of Co. Q had to take charge of the matter andmake a detail. The teamster was given strong admonitions as to carefuldriving, and fearful warning as to what would happen to him in case ofan accident.
"Hain't anything to send back home with you, boys, this time, but ourlove," said one of them. "That's the only thing that's safe now-a-daysfrom bein' stole, because no one kin eat or wear it. Tell the folks topay no attention to what the paper says. No danger o' bein' run out o'Chattanoogy. Tell 'em that we're all fat, ragged and sassy, and onlywaitin' the word from Gen. Rosecrans to fall on old Bragg like athousand o' brick and mash the lights outen him."
"Yes," joined another, "tell 'em we've got plenty to eat, sich as it is,and good enough, what there is of it. Don't worry about us. We're onlyblowin' up our muscle to git a good lick at old Bragg."
"Your muscle," said Shorty, satirically. "You've got about as muchmuscle now as a musketo. But you're good stuff all the same, and you'regoin' to everlastingly lick the rebels when the time comes. I only wishtI was here to help you do it. I don't think I'll go any further thanNashville. I'll be well enough to come back by that time. I'll seeSi and his father off safely, and then gether up a crowd of otherconvalescents, and come back and clean the rebels off your crackerline."
"Good-by, boys," piped out Si. "I'll be back soon. Don't bring on thebig battle till I do. I want to help. Just skirmish around and push therebels back into the woods while I'm gone, and hive 'em up for a goodlickin' by the time I git back."
As the wagon moved off the 200th Ind. gave three cheers, and theregimental soloist struck up the "Battle Cry of Freedom," in which theyall joined with so much energy as to attract the attention of the rebelartillerist on Lookout Mountain, who favored them with a shell intendedfor their express benefit. It was no better directed than any of itsmany predecessors had been, and was greeted with yells of derision, inwhich all the camp joined.
Having done all possible for the boys' comfort, the Deacon had lightedhis pipe and taken his seat on a board laid over the front, where hecould oversee the road and the teamster, and take a parting look at theanimated scenery. The wagon pulled into the line of those moving outtoward Bridgeport, and jogged along slowly for some hours until itwas nearing the top of one of the hills that jutted out close to theTennessee River, at the base of Lookout Mountain. The Deacon saw, witha little nervousness, that they were approaching the open space in whichhe had had his experience with the horse and buckboard, and he anxiouslyscanned the Craven House slope for signs of a rebel cannon. He saw thathis apprehensions were shared by the drivers of the three or four teamsjust ahead. They were whipping up, and yelling at their teams to getpast the danger point as quick as possible.
THE DEACON RECONNOITERED THE SITUATION 62]
They had need of anxiety. A scattering volley of shots came from thebushes and the rocks on the opposite side of the Tennessee River and oneof the leaders in the team just ahead of him dropped dead in his tracks.The teams in front were whipped up still harder, and succeeded ingetting away. The shots were answered from a line of our own men on thisside of the river, who fired at the smoke they saw rising.
The Deacon's own teamster sprang from his saddle, and prudently got inthe shelter of the wagon until the affair would be over. The teamsternext ahead ran forward, and began cutting the fallen mule loose, butwhile he was doing so another shot laid the other mule low. The teamsterfell fiat on the ground, and lay there for a minute. Then he cautiouslyarose, and began cutting that mule loose, when a shot struck thenear-swing mule in the head, and he dropped. The Deacon kept that solidold head of his throughout the commotion, and surveyed the scene withcool observance.
"There's one feller somewhere over there doin' all that devilment," hesaid to Shorty, who was pushing his head eagerly out of the front of thewagon to find out what was going on. "He's a sharpshooter from way back.You kin see he's droppin' them mules jest about as fast as he kin loadhis gun. Them other fellers over there are jest putterin' away, makin'a noise. You kin see their shots strikin' down the hill there, andeverywhere, where they ain't doin' nothin'. But that feller's out forbusiness. I've bin tryin' to locate him. He's somewhere closter thanany o' the others. Their bullets don't quite reach, while his goes homeevery time. See there."
The off-swing mule dropped this time. "Land's sakes," ejaculated theDeacon, "he's costin' Uncle Sam $150 every time his gun cracks. It'sjest sinful to be destroyin' property that way. Shorty, kin you reach methat gun o' Si's out o' the wagon? I believe I'll slip down toward thebank and see if I can't find that feller. I've bin watchin' the willersalong the aidge o' the water, and I believe he's in there."
"Don't go, Pap," pleaded Si. "Some of the boys on the skirmish-line 'llfind him soon, and settle him. Don't expose yourself. Stay behind thewagon."
"Yes, stay back under cover, Deacon," joined in Shorty. "Let the boysdown there 'tend to him. They're gittin' $16 a month for it, and don'twant nobody else to interfere in their job." Just then the near wheelmule dropped. "Gi' me that gun at onct," said the Deacon sternly. Shortyhand
ed him the Springfield and its cartridge-box without another word.The Deacon looked over the rifle, "hefted" it, and tried it at hisshoulder to get its poise, critically examined its sights by aiming atvarious objects, and then wiped out its barrel, as he would that ofhis trusty hunting-rifle at home. All of his old deer-hunting instinctsrevived. He took out several cartridges, turned them over in his hand,and carefully selected one, tore open the paper, poured the powder in,removed the paper from the ball, and carefully rammed it home, struckthe butt of the gun on the ground to make sure of its priming, and puton the cap.
"Hold her about a foot under. Pap, at 400 yards," said Si, who hadrolled over to the side of the wagon, and was watching him from underthe cover, which was raised up a little. "Put your sights up to the 400mark, and then draw the top o' the bead down fine into that notch, andshe'll put it right where you hold her."
By this time the sharpshooter had finished up the mules on the teamahead, and begun on that of the Deacon. The firing was furious all alongboth sides of the river, and the teamsters in the rear were showingsigns of stampeding. The Wagonmaster was storming up and down to holdthem in place, and the officers in command of the line along the riverbank were raging at their men for not suppressing the fire from over thestream.
"Old man, you'd better not go down there," said a Captain as the Deaconcame walking down, looking very grim and determined. "It's gettinghotter down there every minute. The rebels seem determined to stick totheir work, and I've had three men wounded already."
"Look out for your own men, my son," answered the Deacon, in whom thefire of battle was burning. "I'll look out for myself. If I'm hit theGover'ment won't lose nothin'. I'm only a citizen."
He had kept his eye on the clump of willows, and was sure that his manwas in there, though the smoke hung around so confusingly that he couldnot always make out where a fresh shot came from. He got down to wherean occasional bullet struck in his neighborhood, but that did notdisturb him. He began to feel that thrill of man-hunting which when itseizes a man is an overpowering passion.
"I'm goin' to stop him killin' mules," he said to himself. "I rayly hopeI won't kill him, but that's a secondary matter. Providence'll settlethat. It's my duty to stop him. That's clear. If his time's comeProvidence'll put the bullet where it'll kill him. If it ain't,it won't. That's all. Providence indicates my duty to me. Theresponsibility for the rest is with Providence, who doeth all thingswell."
He reached the firing-line, strung along the ragged bluffs, and hidingbehind trees, stumps and stones.
"Lay down, there, old man; grab a root; keep under cover, or you'll githit," some of them called out to him, noticing him as they turned toload. "The air is so full o' bullets you kin ketch your hat full if youonly hold it up."
"All right, boys, I'll lay low. I've come down here to help you,"answered the Deacon.
"Bully for you; we need it."
The Deacon took his position behind a big black walnut, while hereconnoitered the situation, and got his bearings on the clump ofwillows. He felt surer than ever of his man, for he actually saw a puffof smoke come from it, and saw that right behind the puff stood a willowthat had grown to the proportions of a small tree, and had its barkrubbed off by the chafing of driftwood against it.
"He's right behind that peeled wilier," the Deacon said, "and takes arest agin it. Three inches to the left o' that, and three foot fromthe ground'll take him square in the breast, as he is probably kneelingdown."
Before him he noticed a deep gully cut in the bank, by which he couldget down to the water's edge where there was a clump of paw-pawsprojecting out toward the willows. If he went down there it would makehis shot surer, but there was much danger that he would be noticed andfired at on his way.
"I'm goin' down there," he said, after a moment's deliberation."Providence has sent me on this job, and intends I shall do it right,which I kin by goin' down there. Providence'll take care o' me whileI'm goin'. Same time, Providence expects me to show gumption, by notexposin' myself any more'n possible."
Therefore he cut a young, thick-branched cedar and held it in front ofhim as he crouched and made his way to the gully and down it.
He had nearly reached the cover of the paw-paws, and was beginning tocongratulate himself that his cedar screen and the turmoil on the bankabove had enabled him to escape attention, when a bullet struck a stoneto his left, and threw it against him with such force as to almost knockall the breath out of his body. He fell to the ground, but retainedcoolness enough to understand that this was to his advantage, and hecrawled slowly forward until he was safely behind the bushes.
"That come from that hound in the willers," said he to himself. "He'sa sharp one. He got on to me somehow, and now it's me and him fur it.Anyhow, he didn't kill a mule worth $150 with that bullet. But it'lltake as much as six bits' worth o' porous plaster to take the swellin'out o' my side where that rock welted me."
He hitched forward cautiously a little farther, to where he could peerthrough the bushes, being exceedingly wary not to repeat his opponent'smistake, and set their tops in motion. A rock protruding through theground in front of him made an opening through which he could see, andalso afforded a rest for his musket. He looked sharply, and at lengthwas rewarded by seeing the gun-barrel come out by the side of the barkedwillow, rested on a bare limb, and apparently aimed at the hill beyond.He took a long breath to steady his nerves, stretched out his legsto make himself more at ease, pushed his musket forward until he gotexactly the right poise, aimed about nine inches below the level of hisopponent's gun-barrel, and a little to the left, drew his bead down toa hair's nicety in the hind sight, and pulled the trigger just as therebel sharpshooter did the same. Both muskets seemed to flash at thesame moment. The rebel sprang up through the willows and fell forward onhis face.
The Deacon picked up his gun and walked back up the bank. The Unionskirmishers had seen the man fall and raised a yell, which they changedto cheers as they saw the Deacon coming up the bank.
The Captain in command came up and said:
"Sir, I congratulate you. That was splendidly done. I was just gettingon to that fellow when you went down. I watched you through my glass,and saw you fetch him. You are entitled to all our thanks."
"No thanks to me, sir. I only done the dooty Providence marked out forme. I hope the man ain't killed. If he is, it's because Providence hadfixed the number of his days. I only wanted to stop his killin' mules,and destroyin' Gover'ment property, and let us go on our journey inpeace."
"Well, I wish you'd stay here and help us with some more of thosefellows over there. I'm sure their time has come, but my men don't seemto be quite as good in carrying out the decrees of Providence as youare."
"Thankee, sir," said the Deacon. "But I must go back and 'tend to myboys. We've got a long ways to go yet to-day."
He went back to the road and reported to the Wagonmaster:
"Now you kin clear away them dead mules and go ahead. You won't scarcelybe bothered any more for awhile at least."