The Red Acorn Part 37

Harry looked inquiringly around upon the less than one hundred survivors, who gathered about him, and had heard the pa.s.sionate appeal.

Every face was set with mortal desperation. An Irish boy on the left was kissing a cross which he had drawn from his bosom.

The tears which strong men shed in wild fits of rage were rolling down the cheeks of Edwards, Bolton, and others.

"I don't want to live always!" shouted Kent with an oath; "let's take the ----- guns!"

"I don't want no better place to die than right here!" echoed Abe, still more savagely profane. "Le's have the guns, or sink into h.e.l.l getting 'em!"

The remnant of the Rebel regiment had broken cover and rushed for the guns.

"Attention!" shouted Harry. "Fix bayonets!"

The sharp steel clashed on the muzzles.

"FORWARD, CHARGE!"

For one wild minute shining steel at arm's length did its awful work.

Then three-score Rebels fled back to their leafy lair, and as many blue-coats with drew into the cedars, pulling the guns after them.

"Pick up the Lieutenant, there, some of you who can do a little lifting," said Kent, as they came to where the boy-artillerist lay dead.

"This prod in my shoulder's spoilt my lifting for some time. Lay him on the gun and we'll take him back with us. He deserves it, for he was game clear through. Harry, that fellow that gave you that beauty-mark on the temple with his saber got his discharge from the Rebel army just afterwards, on the point of Abe's bayonet."

"Is that so? Did Abe get struck at all?"

"Only a whack over the nose with the b.u.t.t of a gun, which will doubtless improve his looks. Any change would."

"Guess we can go back now with some peace and comfort," said Abe, coming up, and alluding to the cessation of the firing in their front. "That last round took all the fight out of them h.e.l.l-hounds across the field."

"Some of you had better go over to the camp there and get our axes.

We'll have to cut a road through the cedars if we take these guns off,"

said Harry, tieing a handkerchief around the gaping saber wound in his temple. "The rest of you get around to the right, and keep a sharp look out for the flank."

So they worked their way back, and a little after noon came to the open fields by the pike.

As the wagon rolled slowly down the pike toward Nashville Rachel, in spite of anxiety, fell asleep. Some hours later she was awakened by the driver shaking her rudely.

"Wake up!" he shouted, "ef ye value yer life!"

"Where are we?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"At Stewart's Creek," answered the driver, "an' all o' Wheeler's cavalry are out thar' in them woods."

She looked out. She could see some miles ahead of her, and as far as she could see the road was filled with wagons moving toward Nashville. A sharp spurt of firing on the left attracted her attention, and she saw a long wave of hors.e.m.e.n ride out of the woods, and charge the wagon-guards, who made a sharp resistance, but at length fled before overwhelming numbers. The teamsters, at the first sight of the formidable line, began cutting their wheel-mules loose, and escaping upon them. Rachel's teamster followed their example.

"The off-mule's unhitcht; jump on him, an' skip," he shouted to her as he vanished up the pike.

The Rebels were shooting down the mules and such teamsters as remained.

Some dismounted, and with the axes each wagon carried, chopped the spokes until the wagon fell, while others ran along and started fires in each. In a little while five hundred wagons loaded with rations, clothing, ammunition and stores were blazing furiously. Their work done, the cavalry rode off toward Nashville in search of other trains.

Rachel leaped from the wagon, before the Rebels approached, and took refuge behind a large tree, whence she saw her wagon share the fate of the rest. When the cavalry disappeared, she came out again into the road and walked slowly up it, debating what she could do. She was rejoiced to meet her teamster returning. He had viewed the occurence from a prudent distance, and being kindly-natured had decided to return to her help, as soon as it could be done without risk.

He told her that there was a wagon up the pike a little ways with a woman in it, to which he would conduct her, and they would go back to the army in front of Murfreesboro.

"It seems a case of 'twixt the devil and the deep sea," he said, despairingly. "At any rate we can't stay out here, and my experience is that it is always safest where there is the biggest crowd."

They found the wagon with the woman in it. Its driver had bolted irrevocably, so Rachel's friend a.s.sumed the reins. It was slow work making their way back through the confused ma.s.s, but Rachel was lucky enough to sleep through most of it. When she awoke the next morning the wagon was still on the pike, but in the center of the army, which filled all the open s.p.a.ce round-about.

Everywhere were evidences of the terrible work of the day before, and of preparations for renewing it. The soldiers, utterly exhausted by the previous days' frightful strain, lay around on the naked ground, sleeping, or in a half-waking torpor.

An officer rode up to the wagon. "There seems to be some flour on this wagon," said the voice of Dr. Denslow. "Well, that may stay the boys'

stomachs until we can get something better. Go on a little ways, driver."

"O, Doctor Denslow," called out Rachel, as the wagon stopped again, "what is the news?"

"You here again?" said the Doctor, recognizing the voice: "well that is good news. When I heard about Wheeler's raid on our trains I was terribly alarmed as to your fate. This relieves me much."

"But how about the army?"

"Well it seems to have been a case of hammer and anvil yesterday, in which both suffered pretty badly, but the hammer go much the worst of it. We are in good shape now to give them some more, if they want it, which so far they have not indicated very strongly. Here, Sergeant Glen, is a couple barrels of flour, which you can take to issue to your regiment."

Had not the name been called Rachel could never have recognized her former elegant lover in the stalwart man with tattered uniform, swollen face, and head wrapped in a b.l.o.o.d.y bandage, who came to the wagon with a squad to receive the flour.

A tumult of emotions swept over her, but superior to them all was the feminine feeling that she could not endure to have Harry see her in her present unprepossessing plight.

"Don't mention my name before those men," she said to Dr. Denslow, when he came near again.

"Very good," he answered. "Sit still in the wagon, and n.o.body will see you. I will have the wagon driver over to the hospital presently, with the remainder of the flour, and you can go along."

All the old love seemed to have been out at compound interest, from the increment that came back to her at the sound of Harry Glen's voice, now so much deeper, fuller and more masterful than in the fastidious days of yore. She lifted the smallest corner of the wagon-cover and looked out.

The barrel heads had been beaten in with stones, and a large cupful of flour issued to each of the hungry men. They had mixed it up into dough with water from the ditch, and were baking it before the fire on large flat stones, which abounded in the vicinity.

"I'll mix up enough for all three of us on this board," she heard Harry say to Abe and Kent. "With your game arm, Kent, and Abe's battered eyes, your cooking skill's about gone. You ought to both of you go to the hospital. You can't do any good, and why expose yourself for nothing?

I've a mind to use my authority and send you to the hospital under guard."

"You try it if you dare, after my saving your life yesterday," said Abe.

"I can see well enough yet to shoot toward the Rebels, and that's all that's necessary."

"I enlisted for the war," said Kent, "and I'm going to stay till peace is declared. I went into this fight to see it through, and I'm going to stay until we whip them if there's a piece of me left that can wiggle.

Bragg's got to acknowledge that I'm the best man before I'll ever let up on him."

Rachel longed to leap out of the wagon, and do the bread-making for these clumsy fellows, but pride would not consent.

The dough was browning slowly on the hot stones, but not yet nearly done, when the spiteful spirits of firing out in front suddenly burst into a roar, with a crash of artillery. A bugle sounded near.

"Fall in, boys," shouted Harry, springing to his feet, and tearing off the flakes of dough, which he hastily divided with his comrades. "Right dress. Right face, forward, file right--march!"