The Deacon stowed himself in the wagons with{239} the rest the next morning, and rode out with them through the bright sunshine, that gave promise of the soon oncoming of Spring. For miles they jolted over the execrable roads and through the shiftless, run-down country before they found anything worth while putting in the wagons.
"Great country, Pap," said Si suggestively.
"Yes; it"d be a great country," said his father disdainfully, "if you could put a wagonload o" manure on every foot and import some Injianny men to take care of it. The water and the sunshine down here seem all right, but the land and the people and the pigs and stock seem to be cullin"s throwed out when they made Injianny."
At length the train halted by a double log house of much more pretentious character than any they had so far seen. There were a couple of well-filled corn-cribs, a large stack of fodder, and other evidences of plenty. The Deacon"s practiced eye noticed that there was no stock in the fields, but Si explained this by saying that everything on hoofs had been driven off to supply the rebel army. "They"re now trying to git a corn-crib and a fodder-stack with four legs, but hain"t succeeded so far."
The Captain ordered the fence thrown down and the wagons driven in to be filled. The surrounding horizon was scanned for signs of rebels, but none appeared anywhere. The landscape was as tranquil, as peace-breathing as a Spring morning on the Wabash, and the Deacon"s mind reverted to the condition of things on his farm. It was too wet to plow, but he would like to take a walk over the fields and see how his wheat had come out, and look over the{240} peach-buds and ascertain how they had stood the Winter. He noticed how some service-trees had already unfolded their white petals, like flags of truce breaking the long array of green cedars and rusty-brown oaks.
The company stacked arms in the road, the Captain went to direct the filling of the wagons, and Si and Shorty started on a private reconnoissance for something for their larder.
The Deacon strolled around the yard for awhile inspecting the buildings and farm implements with an eye of professional curiosity, and arrived at very unfavorable opinions. He then walked up on the porch of the house, where a woman of about his own age sat in a split-bottom rocking-chair knitting and viewing the proceedings with frowning eyes.
"Good day, ma"am," said he. "Warm day, ma"am."
""Tain"t as warm as it orter to be for sich fellers as yo"uns," she snapped. "You"d better be in the brimstone pit if you had your just deserts."
The Deacon always tried to be good-humored with an angry woman, and he thought he would try the effect of a little pleasantry. "I"m a Baptist, ma"am, and they say us Baptists are tryin" to put out that fire with cold water."
"You a Babtist?" she answered scornfully. "The hot place is full o" jest sich Babtists as yo"uns air, and they"re making room for more. We"uns air Babtists ourselves, but, thank the Lord, not o" your kind. Babtists air honest people. Babtists don"t go about the country robbin"
and murderin" and stealin" folks" corn. Don"t tell me you air a Babtist,{241} for I know you air a-lyin", and that"s the next thing to killin" and stealin"."
"But I am a Baptist," persisted the Deacon, "and have bin for 30 year regular, free-will, close-communion, total-immersion Baptist. We have some Campbellites, a few Six Principle Baptists, and some Hard Sh.e.l.ls, but the heft of us air jest plain, straight-out Baptists. But, speakin"
o" cold water, kin you give me a drink? I"m powerful dry."
"Thar"s water down in the crick, thar," she said, with a motion of her knitting in that direction. "It"s as fur for me as it is for you. Go down thar and drink all you like. Lucky you can"t carry the crick away with yo"uns. Yo"uns "d steal it if yo"uns could."
"You don"t seem to be in a good humor, ma"am," said the Deacon, maintaining his pleasant demeanor and tone.
"Well, if you think that a pa.s.sel o" nasty Yankees is kalkerlated to put a lady in a good humor you"re even a bigger fool than you look. But I hain"t no time to waste jawin" you. If you want a drink thar"s the crick. Go and drink your fill of it. I only wish it was a"s"nic, to pizen you and your whole army."
She suddenly stopped knitting, and bent her eyes eagerly on an opening in the woods on a hill-top whence the road wound down to the house. The Deacon"s eyes followed hers, and he saw unmistakable signs of men in b.u.t.ternut clothes. The woman saw that he noticed them, and her manner changed.
"Come inside the house," she said pleasantly, "and I"ll git you a gourdful of water fresh from the spring."{242}
"Thankee, ma"am; I don"t feel a bit dry," answered the Deacon, with his eyes fastened on the hill top. "Si, Shorty, Capt. McGillicuddy," he yelled.
"Shet your head, and come into the house this minit, you nasty Yankee, or I"ll slash your fool head off," ordered the woman, picking up a corn-cutter the advantage of his position and ran up to him.
The Deacon was inside the railing around the porch, and he had not jumped a fence for 20 years. But he cleared the railing as neatly as Si could have done it, and ran bareheaded down the road, yelling at the top of his voice.
He was not a minute too soon not soon enough. A full company of rebel cavalry came dashing out of the woods, yelling like demons.
Without waiting to form, the men of Co. Q ran to their guns and began firing from fence-corners and behind trees. Capt. McGillicuddy took the first squad that he came to, and, running forward a little way, made a hasty line and opened fire. Others saw the advantage of his position and ran up to him.
The Deacon s.n.a.t.c.hed up a gun and joined the Captain.
"I never wuz subject to the "buck fever,"" he muttered to himself, "and I won"t allow myself to be now. I remember jest how Gineral Jackson told his men to shoot down to New Orleans. I"m going to salt one o" them fellers as sure as my name"s Josiah Klegg."
He took a long breath, to steady himself, as he joined the Captain, picked out a man on a bay horse that seemed to be the rebels" Captain, and caught his breast fully through the hindsight before he{243} pulled the trigger. Through the smoke he saw his man tumble from his horse.
"Got him, anyway," he muttered; "now, how in the world kin I load this plaguey gun agin?"
At that instant a rebel bullet bit out a piece of his ear, but he paid no attention to it.
"Gi" me that cartridge," he said to the man next to him, who had just bitten off the end of one; "I can"t do it."
The man handed him the cartridge, which the Deacon rammed home, but before he could find a cap the fight was over, and the rebels were seek ing the shelter of the woods.
The Deacon managed to get a cap on his gun in time to take a long-distance, ineffective shot at the rebels as they disappeared in the woods.
They hastily buried one rebel who had been killed, and picked up those who had been wounded and carried them into the house, where they were made as comfortable as possible. Among them was the man whom the Deacon had aimed at. He was found to have a wound through the fleshy part of his hip, and proved to be the son of the woman of the house.
As soon as the fight was over, Si, full of solicitude, sought his father. He found him wiping the blood from his ear with his bandanna.
"It"s nothin", son; absolutely nothin"," said the old gentleman with as much pride as any recruit. "Don"t hurt as much as a scratch from a briar. Some feller what couldn"t write put his mark on me so"s he"d know me agin. But I fetched that feller on the bay hoss. I"m glad I didn"t kill him, but he"ll keep out o" devilment for sometime.
CHAPTER XX. THE DEACON b.u.t.tS IN
ENFORCES THE EMANc.i.p.aTION PROCLAMATION.
"PAP," said Si, as they were riding back, comfortably seated on a load of corn-fodder, "now that it"s all over, I"m awfully scared about you. I can"t forgive myself for runnin" you up agin such a sc.r.a.pe. I hadn"t no idee that there wuz a rebel in the whole County. If anything had happened you it"d just killed mother and the girls, and then I"d never rested till I got shot myself, for I wouldn"t wanted to live a minute."
"Pshaw, my son," responded his father rather testily; "you ain"t my guardeen, and I hope it"ll be a good many years yit before you are. I"m mighty glad that I went. There was something Providential in it. I"m a good deal of a Quaker. I believe in the movin"s of the spirit. The spirit moved me very strongly to go with you, and I now see the purpose in it. If I hadn"t, them fellers might"ve got the bulge on you. I seen them before any o" you did, and I fetched down their head devil, and I feel that I helped you a good deal."
"Indeed you did," said Shorty earnestly. "You ought to have a brevet for your "conspicuous gallantry in action." I think the Colonel will give you one. You put an ounce o" lead to particularly good{245} use in that feller"s karkiss. I only wish it"d bin a little higher up, where it"d a measured him for a wooden overcoat."
"I"m awful glad I hit him jest where I did," responded the Deacon. "I did have his heart covered with my sights, and then I pulled down a little. He was pizen, I know; but I wanted to give him a chance to repent."
"He"ll repent a heap," said Shorty incredulously. "He"ll lay around the house for the next six months, studyin" up new deviltry, and what he can"t think of that secesh mother o" his"ll put him up to. Co. Q, and particularly the Hoosier"s Rest, is the only place you"ll find a contrite heart and a Christian spirit cultivated."
"That reminds me," said Si; "we hain"t licked the Wagonmaster yit for throwin" cartridges down our chimbley."
"Blamed if that ain"t so," said Shorty. "I knowed I"d forgotten some little thing. It"s bin hauntin" my mind for days. I"ll jest tie a knot in my handker chief to remember that I must tend to that as soon"s we git back."
"I"m quite sure that I don"t want another sich a tussle," meditated the Deacon. "I never heerd any thing sound so murderin" wicked as them bullets. A painter"s screech on a dark night or a rattler"s rattle wuzzent to be compared to "em. It makes my blood run cold to think o"
"em. Then, if that feller that shot at me had wobbled his gun a little to the left, Josiah Klegg"s name would "ve bin sculped on a slab o"
white marble, and Maria would "ve bin the Widder Klegg. I wish the war wuz over, and Si and Shorty{246} safe at home. But their giddy young pates are so full o" dumbed nonsense that there hain"t no room for scare. But, now that I"m safe through it, I wouldn"t "ve missed it for the best cow on my place. After all, Providence sends men where they are needed, and He certainly sent me out there.
"Then, I"ll have a good story to tell the brethren and sisters some night after prayer meetin"s over. It"ll completely offset that story "bout my comin" so near gittin" my head shaved. How the unG.o.dly{247} rapscallions would"ve gloated over Deacon Klegg"s havin" his head shaved an" bein" drummed out o" camp. That thing makes me shiver worse"n the whistlin" o" them awful bullets. But they can"t say nothin" now. Deacon Klegg"s bin a credit to the church."
They were nearing camp. The Captain of Co. Q ordered:
"Corporal Klegg, take your wagon up that right-hand road to the Quartermaster"s corral of mules, and bring me a receipt for it."