Si Klegg, Book 6

by John McElroy

  CHAPTER VII. SHORTY'S HEART TURNS TOWARD MARIA

  AND HE FINALLY GETS A LETTER FROM HER.

  AFTER the flush of excitement of returning to his old regiment andmeeting his comrades--after the process of readjusting himself to thechanged relations made by death, wounds, discharges, resignations andpromotions--after the days had brought a settling back into theold routine of camp-life, there developed in Shorty's heart growinghomesickness for Maria Klegg.

  At least that was what it seemed to him. He did not exactly know whathomesickness was from personal experience, as he had never really hada home. But he had seen thousands of boys more or less affected by thatobscure but stubborn and dangerous malady, and had noted their symptoms,which strongly resembled his own.

  Somehow, the sun only shone with real brightness and warmth over thepleasant homes and fertile fields of Posey County, Ind. Somehow, womenhad a fairness and sweetness there denied to their sex elsewhere, andsomehow the flower of them all was a buxom maiden of 20 dwelling underthe roof of Deacon Klegg.

  Shorty appreciated very properly the dignity and responsibilities of histwo stripes. He was going to be the model Corporal of the regiment, andgive all the rest a copy which they could follow to advantage. Of allthe Corporals he had ever known, Si Klegg had come nearest his ideas asto what a Corporal should be, but even Si had his limitations. He wouldshow him some improvements. So shorty bent his mind upon the performanceof everything pertaining to the Corporalcy with promptness and zeal.He even set to studying the Regulations and Tactics--at least thoseparagraphs relating to Corporals and their duties--where heretoforehe had despised "book-soldiering," and relied on quick observation and"horse sense" to teach him all that was worth knowing. But his stay inthe Deacon's home showed him that they esteemed "book-knowledge" even incommon things as of much value, and he began to have a new respect forthat source of instruction.

  Even through the pressure of official duties and responsibilities therewould steal, like the wafting of a sweet song to the ears of the reapersin a hot field, thoughts of the coolness, the beauty and the peace ofthat quiet home on the Wabash, with one flower-faced girl, with white,soft arms, going about her daily tasks, singing with such blithecheeriness that even the birds stopped to listen to a sweeter note thantheirs. Some subtle fragrance from her seemed to be with him whereverhe was, and whatever he might be doing. When, as the tallest Corporal inCo. Q, he stood on the right of the company, on drill and dress parade,and made the others "dress" on him, he wished that Maria Klegg couldonly see how straight the line was, and how soldierly the boys looked.When the Colonel personally selected him to command the squad whichwas to escort the Paymaster through a dangerous part of the country, hewould have given much had Maria known of the trust reposed in him. Andwhen, as Corporal of the Guard, he suppressed in his usual summary way anoisy row among the teamsters and cooks, he was very glad that Maria didnot hear the remarks that a Corporal always thinks necessary to make onsuch occasions. Shorty did not swear with the fluent ease of beforehis visit to the Klegg homestead, but a little excitement gave the oldlooseness to his tongue. And when he sat around the guard-fire, he wouldrefuse to be drawn into any "little games," but turn his back upon thechattering crowd, and furtively draw from his breast-pocket the remnantof Maria's dress, and feel it, and muse over it, until aroused by thecall:

  "Corporal of the Guard, Post No. 14. I want a drink o' water."

  Shorty began to watch for Si's mail a good deal more anxiously than thatworthy did. He managed to go by the Chaplain's tent whenever duty tookhim in that part of the camp, and sometimes when it did not, and inquireif there was any mail there for Si. One day he was rewarded by theChaplain handing him two letters. His heart beat a little quicker byseeing that they were both postmarked Bean Blossom Creek. The smaller--awhite envelope, superscribed in Annabel's cramped little hand--he thrustindifferently into his pocket, and the larger--a fat, yellow envelope,covered with the good Deacon's massive crow-tracks, and securelyfastened by a dab of sealing wax, pressed down with a cent--he studiedwith tender interest. It had come directly from her home--from herfather. It probably told something about her.

  It seemed as if there was something of the perfume of her presence aboutit. Possibly she had carried it to the station and mailed it. He turnedit over gently, studied every detail, and fixed his eyes upon it, asif he would make them pierce the thick, strong paper and devour thecontents. Then it occurred to him that the better and quicker way to getat the inside would be to deliver the letters to Si. So he hunted up hispartner, whom he found about to take his squad out for a turn at wagonguarding.

  Si looked pleased as he recognized his father's letter, but his faceflushed to the roots of his sandy hair at the sight of Annabel's. He putthe latter carefully in his pocket. It was too sweet and sacred a thingto be opened and read under the gaze of any one else's eyes. He brokeopen his father's and as his eyes traveled slowly down the largefoolscap pages, covered with the Deacon's full-grown characters, for theDeacon made his letters as he liked his stock--big and full--he said:

  "They're all well at home, but mother's had a tech of her old rheumatiz.Pap's sold his wheat at a dollar and four bits. Peaches about halfkilled. Had good luck with his lambs. Wheat's lookin' unusually well.Beck Spangler's married Josh Wilson, whose wife died last Fall, leavin'him two little children. Brindle cow's come in fresh, with a nice calf,quarter Jersey. Copperhead's gittin' sassy agin. Holdin' night meetin'sand wearin' butternut badges, and talkin' about resistin' draft. Hogswintered well, and looks as if Pap'd have a nice drove to sell in theFall. Pap'll put in 'bout 90 acres o' corn, and'll have to hustle hisplowin' ez soon's the ground's fit. Little Sammy Woggles had a fightwith Beecham's boy, who's six months older, and licked him. Sammy likesschool better now than he did. Pap's bought Abraham Lincoln a new suito' store clothes and the girls have made him some white shirts. He goesto church every Sunday now, and carries a cane. Pap sends his regardsto you, Shorty, and mother and the girls want to be kindly remembered.There, take the letter, Shorty, and read it for yourself. I've got toskip out with my squad."

  Shorty took the letter with eagerness, and retired to a nook to readit all over carefully, and see if he could not mayhap glean out of itsomething more relating to Her. But the main satisfaction was in readingagain and again "Mother and the girls want to be kindly remembered toShorty."

  "Not uncomfortably warm, and purty general, like the gal who promisedto be a sister to the hull rijimint," mused Shorty, as he refolded theletter and replaced it in the envelope. "But, then, it is better to bekindly remembered by sich people as them than to be slobbered over byanybody else in the world. Wisht I knowed jest how much o' the kindremembrance was Maria's, and if it differed in any way from her mother'sand sister's?"

  The next evening the Orderly-Sergeant handed Shorty a badly-thumb-markedand blotted yellow envelope, on which was scrawled in a very schoolishhand:

  "To Mister Corpril Elliott, "Co. Q, Two Hundred Injianny Volintears,

  "Chattynoogy, 10-S-E."

  Opening it he read:

  Mister Shortee

  U ar a Frawd!!! That's what U ar!!!

  Whairz mi Gunn??????

  U ar a long-shanked, brick-topt Frawd & a promisbraker!!!

  Whairz mi Gunn???

  U hav now bin away a hole month, & I haint seen no Gunn!

  Awl the boiz is makin fun ov Me, bekaws I blowed around bout the Gunn I waz going 2 git, & I didn't git none.

  Whairz mi Gunn???

  I likked Ans. Beechum till he hollered nuff, for teezin Me bout mi Gunn. That's quiled the other boiz.

  But I want mi Gunn!

  I have just lots & Gobs 2 tell U, bout what Maria's bin sayin bout yore saffron head, but I shant write a word till I git mi Gunn!

  I wont tell U how the girls is pleggin her bout her Big Sunflower till I git mi Gunn!

  If U doant send mi Gunn rite o
ff He tel Maria everything I no.

  I tel U now. He spile yore fun

  Onless at once U send mi Gunn.

  Yores til deth,

  SAMUEL WOGGLES.

  The reception of this perturbed Shorty to his depths. He had notforgotten his promise to Sammy--merely postponed its execution underthe pressure of other engrossments. He reproached himself for notremembering how eagerly the boy had been looking forward to a possessionwhich would make him the envy of the other boys--really hated by themfor his towering and undeserved fortune.

  "And Maria and the girls is talkin' about me," he communed with himself."I knowed that my left ear hadn't bin burnin' ever since we crossedthe Ohio River for nothin'. I thought it was because it'd got so tenderlayin' on pillers that the blankets chafed it. Now I understand it. AndI can't hear nothin' of what they've bin sayin' till I git that gun toSammy. I'll start it to him this day, if it takes a leg. I'd intended togo over to the camp o' the Maumee Muskrats today, on a missionary, towerwith them new tricks I brung back with me, but I'll put in the timegittin' Sammy's gun and shippin' it to him. Wonder where I kin pick up arebel musket and trimmins'?" Shorty did not find this so easy as he hadanticipated. Generally, rebel guns had been a drug in the market. Theycould be found lying around camp almost anywhere, and were used for anypurpose to which they could be applied--poles to hang kettles on overthe fire, tent-sticks, revetments to hold the dirt back, or any otheruse. But under the rigid system now prevailing in Sherman's campseverything had to be accounted for, and every gun sufficientlyserviceable to be worth sending to Sammy had been gathered up and storedaway in a large shed. Shorty went down there and scrutinized the armory.There were plenty of guns in there, any one of which would make Sammy'sheart leap for joy, and render him the object of the burning envy of allthe boys for miles around. But there were guards pacing around, andthey looked watchful. Still, if the night were dark he might slip in andsteal one. But somehow since he had known Maria there had risen inhis mind a repugnance to that way of procuring things. It was not inaccordance with Klegg ideas. He sat down and pondered on other methods.He went over and talked to the Sergeant in charge, an old acquaintance,but the Sergeant was obdurate.

  "No, sir. Can't let one of 'em go on no account," said the Sergeantfirmly. "My Captain's in charge of 'em, and he's put me in charge. Heknows he can trust me, and I know that he can. He don't know how manyguns and bayonets and cartridge-boxes there are, but I do, for I countedthem first thing when I come on. I don't propose that he shall haveto have any shortage charged against him when he comes to settle hisaccounts. I don't know whether they've got an account of the things atHeadquarters, but they're likely to have, and I'm not taking any risks.I'm looking out for my Captain."

  "But suppose I pay you the value of the blamed old blunderbuss," saidShorty, as a desperate resort, for it was the first time that he hadever thought of a rebel gun having a money value.

  "I wouldn't take it," replied the Sergeant. "First place, I haint noidea what they're worth. Next place, if I had, I wouldn't take it, for Idon't want any shortage in Cap's accounts. Thirdly, if I took the moneyI'd like as not set into a game o' poker tonight and lose it, and thenwhere'd I be, and where'd Cap be? I've been having monstrous hard luckat poker lately."

  "That's because you ain't up to the latest kinks," saidShorty, hopefully. "I've been back to the rear--just come fromJeffersonville--and I've got on to a lot of new dodges. I'll show 'emall to you for one o' them guns."

  The waver in the Sergeant's face showed the temptation was a trying one,but he answered firmly:

  "No; I won't do it."

  "I'll put up a $10 bill agin one o' the guns, play you two out o' threefor it, learn you the tricks, and give you back the money if I win,"said Shorty desperately.

  Again the Sergeant's face showed great irresolution, but again hisfidelity triumphed, and he answered firmly, "No I won't." Then hesoftened his refusal by saying:

  "Come, Shorty, walk over a little way with me. I know where we can getsomething good."

  After they had shared a tincupful of applejack that a teamster suppliedthem the Sergeant's heart thawed out a little.

  "I tell you. Shorty, there's a gun in there that'd just tickle your boyto death. It's an Enfield, new one, and has a Yankee bullet sticking inthe butt. Must've knocked the Johnny a double somersault when it struck.I've been thinkin' sending it home myself. But I'll let you have it, andI'll tell you how you can get it. See that camp over there? Well, that'sa regiment being organized out o' Tennessee refugees. They and theirofficers are the carelessest lot of galoots that ever lived. TheirQuartermaster stores and their Commissary stores, and everything theyhave is allowed to lie around loose, just wherever they get the notionto drop them. I've had my eye on 'em for several days, and've helpedseveral of my friends to straighten up their company accounts, andreplace things that they'd lost. You just waltz over there, carelesslike, as if you belonged to the regiment, pick up a gun and traps, put'em on, and sail back here, and I'll turn your things in, and give youthat gun with the bullet in the stock in exchange."

  Shorty lost no time in acting on the advice. That afternoon the expressfrom Chattanooga carried a gun to Sammy Woggles, the contemplation ofwhich deprived that youth of sleep the night after he received it, andwon him the cordial hatred of every boy in his neighborhood for hisoverweening pride.

  But after the gun was gone, and after Shorty had written a laboriousletter, informing Sammy of the shipment of the gun and its history,which letter inclosed a crisp greenback, and was almost as urgent ininjunctions to Sammy to write as Sammy had been about his piece ofordnance, Shorty sat down in sadness of heart. He was famishing forinformation from Maria, and at the lowest calculation he could not hopefor a letter from Sammy for two weeks.

  "It'll take at least a week for that little rat to git over his feverabout that gun," he mused, "until he'll be able to set up and thinkabout anything else. Then it'll take him at least another week tobuild a letter. Great Jehosephat, how'm I goin' to stand it till then?Where'll I be two weeks from now? What kin I do? I a'most wish thatsomething'd happen to Si that'd give me an excuse for writin'."

  He racked his fertile brain with expedients and devices for getting upcommunication, but for once he had to reject them all. There was a haloof unapproachableness about Maria Klegg that paralyzed him.

  He awoke the next morning with the same anxiety gnawing at his heart,and it haunted him so that he went through the morning's routinemechanically. When he came back from taking a squad up to Headquartersto report for fatigue duty, the Orderly-Sergeant called out:

  "Here's a letter for you, Corporal Elliott." Shorty took the small whiteenvelope from the Orderly's hand, and looked at it curiously. Who couldit be from? It resembled somewhat the letters that once came fromBad Ax, Wis., but then again it was very different. He studied thehandwriting, which was entirely strange to him. Then he was electrifiedby seeing that the postmark seemed to be something the same as on Si'sletters, but was blurred. He gave a little gasp, and said:

  "Orderly, I'd like to git off a little while today." "Why, Shorty,"remonstrated the busy Sergeant, "you were off yesterday. But go. I'lltry to get along without you. Don't stay long."

  A LETTER FROM MARIA. 81]

  Shorty would not trust himself to more than look at the outside, untilhe had gained a safe screen behind a clump of bushes. Then he took outhis knife, carefully slit the envelope, and read:

  Dear Mr. Elliot--

  I take my pen in hand to inform you that we are all in good health and hope you are enjoyin' the same blessing fur which we should all be thankful to God. I am over on a visit to Prairie Hen and Mrs. Skidmore a widow woman called to see me today In the course of conversation she said her little boy Peter had run off and shed hurd hed joined the 200th Indiana Volunteer Infantry. She heard that we had folks in that regiment and so had come over to see me to see if I knowed anybody that would give her any news ab
out her boy so as she could ask them to look out for him. I told her I knowed a gentleman in the 200th Indiana who would look out for Peter and be a second father to him and as soon as she had went I started this epistle. I thot id answer my letters because its all he can do to write answer my letter because its all he can do to write to mother and Annabel and dont write to mother haf often enuf besides id like to hear from you myself. Sincerely Yore Friend

  Maria Klegg.

  "M-a-r-i-a-r K-l-e-g-g," gasped Shorty, spelling over the letters, oneat a time, to make sure that his eyes were not making a fool of him."And she'd like to hear from me."

  And he took off his hat, and fanned his burning face.