Si Klegg, Book 6

by John McElroy

  CHAPTER XIV. THE EVENING AFTER THE BATTLE.

  "GREAT Jehosephat, how hungry I am," suddenly ejaculated Shorty, stoppinghis cheering, as the thunder of the guns died away into an occasionalshot after the rebels galloping back to the distant woods on the ridgefrom which they had emerged.

  "I must make some coffee. Wonder where I put my matches?"

  "Here, Pete," continued Shorty, as he broke off some splinters from therails and started a little fire, "take my canteen and Si's and yours,and run down there and find a spring, and fill 'em, before the othersmake a rush. Be spry about it, for there'll be a rush there in a minute,and you won't have no chance."

  The excited boy had to be spoken to a second time before he would comeback to earth, much less comprehend the want of water and food. Like therest of his companions, the terrific drama which had just been enactedhad wrought him to a delirium, in which he could think of nothing but aworld full of bellowing cannon, and a nightmare of careering, plunginghorses, with savagely-yelling riders.

  They could not realize that the battlecloud had rolled away justas suddenly as it had burst upon them, and they stood there tightlygrasping their reloaded guns, and staring fixedly into the distance forthe next horrid development.

  "I think you'll find a spring right over there where you see that buncho' young willers, Pete," said Si, handing him his canteen. "Break forit, before anybody else gets there and muddies the water."

  But Pete still stood rigid and unhearing, clutching his gun with adesperate grip, and glaring with bulging, unmoving eyes across theplain.

  "Come, wake up, Pete," said Shorty, giving him a sharp shake. "Do as Itell you, and on the jump. The fight's over."

  "The fight's over?" stammered the boy. "Ain't they coming back again?"

  "Not on their butternut-dyed lives they ain't," said Shorty scornfully."They've got their dirty hides as full o' lickin' as they kin hold forone day. They'll set around for a while, and rub their hurts, and try tothink out jest how it all happened."

  "Skip out, Pete," Si reminded the boy. "The rest o' you boys stack yourguns and foller Pete."

  "Hadn't we batter take our guns along?" suggested Monty, holding on tohis with grim fearfulness.

  "No. Stack 'em; stack 'em, I tell you," said Si impatiently. "And bequick about it. They'll all git ahead o' you. Don't you see the reststackin' arms?"

  The boys obeyed as if dazed, and started to follow little Pete's leadtoward the clump of willows.

  The boy, full of the old nick, found an Orderly's horse nipping thegrass close by the path to the spring and, boy like, jumped on its back.The clatter of the canteens frightened the horse, and he broke into adead run.

  LITTLE PETE'S HORSE BOLTS. 168]

  "Do ye s'pose the fight's really over?" whispered Pete to Alf Russell,who was just behind him. "Don't you think the rebels just let go to geta fresh hold?"

  "Seems so to me," answered Alf. "Seems to me there was just millionsof 'em, and we only got away with a little passel, in spite of allthat shootin'. Why, when we come out on the ridge the valley down thereseemed fuller of 'em than it was at first."

  "We oughtn't to get too far away from our guns," said Monty Scruggs."Them woods right over there may be full o' rebels watching to jump uswhen we get far enough away."

  "I don't like the looks of that hill to the left," said Gid Mackall,nervously. "An awful lot o' them went behind it, and I didn't see anycome out."

  "There, them bushes over there are shaking--they're coming out again,"said Harry Joslyn, turning to run back for his gun.

  "No, not there," nervously interjected Humphrey's, turning with him;"ain't there something stirring down there by the crick?"

  "No, no," said Sandy Baker, desperately. "It's just that blame foolPete. Come on! Come on! We've got to. We were ordered to. Le's make arush for it, like the men in the Indian stories done when they was sentfor water."

  They acted on the suggestion with such vim that when Pete's horsetripped at the edge of the little run, and sent Pete over its head witha splash into the mud and water, the rest tumbled and piled on top ofhim.

  The men on the hill, who had noticed it, set up a yell of laughter,which scared the boys worse than ever, for they thought it meant therebels were on them again.

  "Now, what new conniption's struck them dumbed little colts?" said Si,irritably, as he strode down to them, pulled them out, and set them ontheir feet, with a shaking and some strong words.

  "Is the rebels coming again?" gasped Pete, rubbing the mud and water outof his eyes.

  "No, you little fool," said Si. "The rebels ain't comin'. They're goin'as fast as their horses kin carry 'em. They've got through comin' fortoday.

  "There ain't one of 'em within cannon-shot, and won't be till we go outand hunt 'em up again. You've come near spilin' the spring with yourtormented foolishness. What on earth possessed you to climb that boss?You need half killin', you do. Go up higher there and fill your canteensfrom where the water's clear. Be slow and careful, and don't rilethe water. Say, I see some nice sassafras over there. I always drinksassafras tea this time o' year. It cleans the blood. I'm goin' over andsee if I can't git a good root while you're fillin' your canteens."

  Si walked out some distance in front of them, pulling as he walkedsome of the tender, fragrant, spicy young leaves of the sassafras, andchewing them with gusto. Arriving at the top of a rise he selected ayoung shrub, pulled it up, carefully loosed its root from the mulchysoil, and cut it off with his knife. His careless deliberation calmedthe overwrought nerves of the boys, and when he returned they had theircanteens filled, and walked back composedly to the fires, when theysuddenly remembered that they were as hungry as Si and Shorty, and fellto work cooking their suppers.

  "Is that the way with the rebel cavalry?" asked Monty Scruggs, withhis mouthful of crackers and meat. "Do they come like a hurricane, anddisappear again like an April shower?"

  "That's about it," answered Shorty disdainfully. "That's the way withall cavalry, dad-burn 'em. They're like a passel o' fice pups. They'reall yelp and bark, and howl and showin' o' teeth. They're jest goin' totear you to pieces. But when you pick up a stone or a club, or git readyto give 'em a good kick they're gone, the devil knows where. They'reonly an aggravation. You never kin do nothin' with 'em, and they kindo nothin' with you. I never kin understand why God Almighty wasted histime in makin' cavalry of any kind, Yank or rebel. All our own cavalry'sgood for is to steal whisky and chickens from honest soldiers of theinfantry. The infantry's the only thing. It's like the big dog thatcomes up without any special remarks, and sets his teeth in the otherdog. The thing only ends when one dog or the other is badly whipped andsomethin's bin accomplished."

  "Will we have to fight them cavalry again tomorrow jest the same way?"asked little Pete, still somewhat nervously.

  "Lord only knows," answered Shorty indifferently, feeling around forhis pipe. "A feller never knows when he's goin' to have to fight rebelcavalry any more'n he knows when he's goin' to have the toothache. Thething just happens, and that's all there is of it."

  Si and Shorty, having finished their suppers, lighted their pipes, andstrolled up through the regiment to talk over with the others the eventsof the day and the probabilities of the morrow.

  Left alone, the tongues of the excited boys became loosened, and ranlike the vibrations of a cicada's rattle.

  "Wasn't it just wonderful?" said Monty Scruggs. "It looked as if amillion circuses had suddenly let out over there.

  "'The Assyrians came down like a wolf on the fold, And their cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold.'

  "Only there didn't seem much purple and gold about them. Seemed mostlybrown rags and slouch hats and long swords. Gracious, did you ever seeanything as long and wicked as them swords! Seemed that every one waspointing directly at me, and they'd reach me the very next jump."

  "Of course, you thought they were all looking at you," said Alf Russell."That's your idea, always, wherever you are. You think you're spo
utingon the platform, and the center of attraction. But I knew that they wereall looking at me, as folks generally do."

  "More self-conceit," sneered Harry Joslyn. "Just because you're so goodlooking, Alf. I knew that they weren't bothering about any boyorator, who does most of his shooting with his mouth, nor any youngpill-peddler, who sings in the choir, and goes home with the prettiestgirl. They were making a dead set on the best shot in the crowd, theyoung feller who'd come into the war for business, and told his folksat home before he started that he was going to shoot Jeff Davis with hisown hand before he got back. That was me, I saw the Colonel of one o'the regiments point his sword straight at me as they came across therun, and tell his men to be sure and get me of all others."

  "Why didn't you shoot him, if you're such a deadshot?" asked GidMackall.

  "Why, I was just loading my gun, when I saw him, and as I went to put onthe cap you were shaking so that it jarred the cap out of my hand, andbefore I could get another, the smoke became so thick I couldn't seeanything."

  "I shaking?" said Gib, with deep anger. "Now, Harry Josyn--"

  "Come, boys; don't have a scrap, now," pleaded the serious-minded Alf."Just think how many dead men are lying around. It looks like raising adisturbance at a funeral."

  "That's so," said Jake Humphreys. "I don't think any of us is in shapeto throw up anything to another about shaking. I own up that I was neverso scared in all my life, and I feel now as if I ought to get down on myknees before everybody, and thank God Almighty that my life was spared.I ain't ashamed to say so."

  "Bully for you, Jake," said Monty Scruggs, heartily. "We all feel thatway, but hain't the nerve to say so. I wish the Chaplain would comearound and open a meeting of thanksgiving and prayer."

  "I tell you what's the next best thing," suggested Jake Humphreys. "LetAlf Russell sing one of those good old hymns they used to sing in themeetings back at home."

  "Home!" How many thousands of miles away--how many years of timeaway--seemed to those flushed, overwrought boys, bivouacking on thedeadstrewn battlefield, the pleasant cornfields, the blooming orchards,the drowsy hum of bees, the dear homes, sheltering fathers, mothers,and sisters; the plain white churches, with their faithful, grayhairedpastors, of the fertile plains of Indiana.

  Alf Russell lifted up his clear, far-reaching boyish tenor, that theyhad heard a thousand times at devout gatherings, at joyful weddings, atsorrowing funerals, in that grandest and sweetest of hymns:

  "All hail the power of Jesus' name; Let angels prostrate fall. Bring forth the royal-diadem. And crown Him Lord of All."

  As far as his voice could reach, the rough soldiers, officers and men,stopped to listen to him--listened to him with emotions far too deepfor the cheers that usually fly to the lips of soldiers at anything thatstirs them. The higher officers quit talking of the plans of themorrow; the minor ones stopped, pen in hand, over their reports andrequisitions; the busy Surgeons stayed their keen knives; the fussyOrderly-Sergeants quit bothering about rations and details; the menpaused, looked up from their cards and cooking until the hymn was sungthrough.

  The voice was so pure, so fresh, so redolent of all that had graced andsweetened their far-off past, that it brought to each swarming emotionsfor which there was no tongue.

  "Bully for you, Alf; you're a sweet singer in Israel," said Si, brushingaway a suspicion of a tear. "Spread out your blankets, boys, andlay down. Git all the sleep you kin, for there's lots o' work for ustomorrow. There goes tattoo!"