Si Klegg The Deacon's Adventures At Chattanooga In Caring For The Boys Part 6

"Good-by, boys," piped out Si. "I'll be back soon. Don't bring on the big battle till I do. I want to help. Just skirmish around and push the rebels back into the woods while I'm gone, and hive 'em up for a good lickin' by the time I git back."

As the wagon moved off the 200th Ind. gave three cheers, and the regimental soloist struck up the "Battle Cry of Freedom," in which they all joined with so much energy as to attract the attention of the rebel artillerist on Lookout Mountain, who favored them with a sh.e.l.l intended for their express benefit. It was no better directed than any of its many predecessors had been, and was greeted with yells of derision, in which all the camp joined.

Having done all possible for the boys' comfort, the Deacon had lighted his pipe and taken his seat on a board laid over the front, where he could oversee the road and the teamster, and take a parting look at the animated scenery. The wagon pulled into the line of those moving out toward Bridgeport, and jogged along slowly for some hours until it was nearing the top of one of the hills that jutted out close to the Tennessee River, at the base of Lookout Mountain. The Deacon saw, with a little nervousness, that they were approaching the open s.p.a.ce in which he had had his experience with the horse and buckboard, and he anxiously scanned the Craven House slope for signs of a rebel cannon. He saw that his apprehensions were shared by the drivers of the three or four teams just ahead. They were whipping up, and yelling at their teams to get past the danger point as quick as possible.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DEACON RECONNOITERED THE SITUATION 62]

They had need of anxiety. A scattering volley of shots came from the bushes and the rocks on the opposite side of the Tennessee River and one of 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 in getting away. The shots were answered from a line of our own men on this side of the river, who fired at the smoke they saw rising.

The Deacon's own teamster sprang from his saddle, and prudently got in the shelter of the wagon until the affair would be over. The teamster next ahead ran forward, and began cutting the fallen mule loose, but while he was doing so another shot laid the other mule low. The teamster fell fiat on the ground, and lay there for a minute. Then he cautiously arose, and began cutting that mule loose, when a shot struck the near-swing mule in the head, and he dropped. The Deacon kept that solid old head of his throughout the commotion, and surveyed the scene with cool observance.

"There's one feller somewhere over there doin' all that devilment," he said to Shorty, who was pushing his head eagerly out of the front of the wagon 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 load his gun. Them other fellers over there are jest putterin' away, makin'

a noise. You kin see their shots strikin' down the hill there, and everywhere, where they ain't doin' nothin'. But that feller's out for business. I've bin tryin' to locate him. He's somewhere closter than any o' the others. Their bullets don't quite reach, while his goes home every time. See there."

The off-swing mule dropped this time. "Land's sakes," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Deacon, "he's costin' Uncle Sam $150 every time his gun cracks. It's jest sinful to be destroyin' property that way. Shorty, kin you reach me that gun o' Si's out o' the wagon? I believe I'll slip down toward the bank and see if I can't find that feller. I've bin watchin' the willers along 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 'll find him soon, and settle him. Don't expose yourself. Stay behind the wagon."

"Yes, stay back under cover, Deacon," joined in Shorty. "Let the boys down there 'tend to him. They're gittin' $16 a month for it, and don't want n.o.body else to interfere in their job." Just then the near wheel mule dropped. "Gi' me that gun at onct," said the Deacon sternly. Shorty handed him the Springfield and its cartridge-box without another word.

The Deacon looked over the rifle, "hefted" it, and tried it at his shoulder to get its poise, critically examined its sights by aiming at various objects, and then wiped out its barrel, as he would that of his trusty hunting-rifle at home. All of his old deer-hunting instincts revived. 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, struck the b.u.t.t of the gun on the ground to make sure of its priming, and put on the cap.

"Hold her about a foot under. Pap, at 400 yards," said Si, who had rolled over to the side of the wagon, and was watching him from under the cover, which was raised up a little. "Put your sights up to the 400 mark, and then draw the top o' the bead down fine into that notch, and she'll put it right where you hold her."

By this time the sharpshooter had finished up the mules on the team ahead, and begun on that of the Deacon. The firing was furious all along both sides of the river, and the teamsters in the rear were showing signs of stampeding. The Wagonmaster was storming up and down to hold them in place, and the officers in command of the line along the river bank were raging at their men for not suppressing the fire from over the stream.

"Old man, you'd better not go down there," said a Captain as the Deacon came walking down, looking very grim and determined. "It's getting hotter down there every minute. The rebels seem determined to stick to their work, and I've had three men wounded already."

"Look out for your own men, my son," answered the Deacon, in whom the fire of battle was burning. "I'll look out for myself. If I'm hit the Gover'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 man was in there, though the smoke hung around so confusingly that he could not always make out where a fresh shot came from. He got down to where an occasional bullet struck in his neighborhood, but that did not disturb him. He began to feel that thrill of man-hunting which when it seizes a man is an overpowering pa.s.sion.

"I'm goin' to stop him killin' mules," he said to himself. "I rayly hope I won't kill him, but that's a secondary matter. Providence'll settle that. It's my duty to stop him. That's clear. If his time's come Providence'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. The responsibility for the rest is with Providence, who doeth all things well."

He reached the firing-line, strung along the ragged bluffs, and hiding behind trees, stumps and stones.

"Lay down, there, old man; grab a root; keep under cover, or you'll git hit," some of them called out to him, noticing him as they turned to load. "The air is so full o' bullets you kin ketch your hat full if you only 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 he reconnoitered the situation, and got his bearings on the clump of willows. He felt surer than ever of his man, for he actually saw a puff of smoke come from it, and saw that right behind the puff stood a willow that had grown to the proportions of a small tree, and had its bark rubbed off by the chafing of driftwood against it.

"He's right behind that peeled wilier," the Deacon said, "and takes a rest agin it. Three inches to the left o' that, and three foot from the ground'll take him square in the breast, as he is probably kneeling down."

Before him he noticed a deep gully cut in the bank, by which he could get down to the water's edge where there was a clump of paw-paws projecting out toward the willows. If he went down there it would make his shot surer, but there was much danger that he would be noticed and fired 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 while I'm goin'. Same time, Providence expects me to show gumption, by not exposin' myself any more'n possible."

Therefore he cut a young, thick-branched cedar and held it in front of him 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 to congratulate himself that his cedar screen and the turmoil on the bank above had enabled him to escape attention, when a bullet struck a stone to his left, and threw it against him with such force as to almost knock all the breath out of his body. He fell to the ground, but retained coolness enough to understand that this was to his advantage, and he crawled slowly forward until he was safely behind the bushes.

"That come from that hound in the willers," said he to himself. "He's a 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'll take 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 peer through the bushes, being exceedingly wary not to repeat his opponent's mistake, and set their tops in motion. A rock protruding through the ground in front of him made an opening through which he could see, and also afforded a rest for his musket. He looked sharply, and at length was rewarded by seeing the gun-barrel come out by the side of the barked willow, rested on a bare limb, and apparently aimed at the hill beyond.

He took a long breath to steady his nerves, stretched out his legs to make himself more at ease, pushed his musket forward until he got exactly the right poise, aimed about nine inches below the level of his opponent's gun-barrel, and a little to the left, drew his bead down to a hair's nicety in the hind sight, and pulled the trigger just as the rebel sharpshooter did the same. Both muskets seemed to flash at the same moment. The rebel sprang up through the willows and fell forward on his face.

The Deacon picked up his gun and walked back up the bank. The Union skirmishers had seen the man fall and raised a yell, which they changed to 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 getting on to that fellow when you went down. I watched you through my gla.s.s, and saw you fetch him. You are ent.i.tled to all our thanks."

"No thanks to me, sir. I only done the dooty Providence marked out for me. I hope the man ain't killed. If he is, it's because Providence had fixed 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 in peace."

"Well, I wish you'd stay here and help us with some more of those fellows over there. I'm sure their time has come, but my men don't seem to be quite as good in carrying out the decrees of Providence as you are."

"Thankee, sir," said the Deacon. "But I must go back and 'tend to my boys. 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 scarcely be bothered any more for awhile at least."

CHAPTER V. TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED

THE BOYS MEET AN OLD FRIEND AND ARE TAKEN HOME IN A HURRY.

IT WAS not until late the next afternoon that the wagon-train finally reached Bridgeport, and the weak, wornout mules had at last a respite from straining through the mud, under the incessant nagging of the teamsters' whips and their volleyed blasphemy.

The Deacon's merciful heart had been moved by the sufferings of the poor beasts. He had done all that he could on the journey to lighten the labor of those attached to his own wagon. He had restrained as much as possible the St. Vitus Dance of the teamster's keen whip, uselessly remonstrated with him against his profanity, carried a rail to help pry the wheels out of the mudholes, and got behind and pushed going up the steep hills. At the journey's end when the exhausted brutes stood motionless, with their ears drooping and their eyes looking unutterable disgust at everything connected with the army and war, the Deacon helped the teamster take their harness off, and carry them as much corn and hay as the Forage-Master could be pursuaded to dole out to them.

The Deacon's next solicitude was to get the boys aboard a train that would start out soon. This was a sore perplexity. All was rush and bustle about the railroad yard. Trains were coming, being switched hither and yon, unloaded, and reloaded, and going, in a way that was simply bewildering to the plain farmer. Men in uniform and men in plain clothes were giving orders, and these were obeyed, and everybody seemed too busy to answer questions or give information.

"Naw; git out. Don't bother me with no questions, I tell you,"

impatiently said a man in citizen's clothes, who with arms outspread was signalling the switching engines. "'Tain't my business to give information to people. Got all I kin do to furnish brains for them bull-headed engineers. Go to that Quartermaster you see over there in uniform. The Government pays him for knowin' things. It don't me."

"I don't know anything about the different cars, my friend," said the Quartermaster haughtily. "That's the business of the railroad people. I simply order them to make up the trains for me, and they do the rest.

There's a Yard-Master over there. Go ask him."