CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEACON IS SHOCKED HE IS CAUGHT WITH THE GOODS ON HIMAND IS RESCUED JUST IN TIME.
WITH the Deacon's assistance, the chimney was soon rebuilt, better thanever, and several homelike improvements were added. The lost utensilswere also replaced, one by one. The Deacon was sometimes troubled in hismind as to where the pan, the camp-kettle, etc., came from. Si or Shortywould simply bring in one of them, with a sigh of satisfaction, and addit to the house hold stock. The Deacon was afraid to ask any questions.
One day, however, Shorty came in in a glow of excitement, with a new axin his hand.
"There; isn't she a daisy," he said, holding it up and testing the edgewith his thumb. "None o' your old sledges with no more edge than a maul,that you have to nigger the wood off with. Brand new, and got an edgelike a razor. You kin chop wood with that, I tell you."
"It's a tolerable good ax. Wuth about 10 bits," said the Deacon,examining the ax critically. "Last ax I bought from Ol Taylor cost 12bits. It was a better one. How much'd you give for this? I'll pay itmyself."
'HOW MUCH'D YOU GIVE FOR THIS?' 216]
"Do you know Jed Baskins thinks himself the{216} best eucher player inthe 200th Ind.," said Shorty, forgetting himself in the exultation ofhis victory. "Jed Baskins the Rev. Jared Baskins's son a eucher player,"gasped the Deacon. "Why, his father'd no more tech a card than he woulda coal o' fire. Not so much, for I've often heard him say that a coal o'fire kin only burn the hands, while cards scorch the soul."
"Well, Jed," continued Shorty, "bantered me to play three games out o'five for this here ax agin my galvanized brass watch. We wuz boss andhoss on the first two games; on the saw-off we had four pints apiece.I dealt and turned up the seven o' spades. Jed ordered me up, and thentried to ring in on me a right bower from another deck, but I knowed hehadn't it, because I'd tried to ketch it in the deal, but missed it an'slung it under the table. I made Jed play fair, and euchered him,with only two trumps in my hand. Jed's a mighty slick hand with thepasteboards, but he meets his boss in your Uncle Ephraim. I didn't learnto play eucher in the hay lofts o' Bean Blossom Crick for nothin', I kintell you."
An expression of horror came into Deacon Klegg's face, and he looked atShorty with severe disapproval, which was entirely lost on that worthy,who continued to prattle on:
"Jed Baskins kin slip in more cold decks on green horns than any boy Iever see. You'd think he'd spent his life on a Mississippi steamboat orfollerin' a circus. You remember how he cleaned out them Maumee Muskratsat chuck-a-luck last pay-day? Why, there wuzn't money enough left in onecompany to buy postage stamps for their letters home. You know howhe done it? Why, that galoot of a citizen gambler that we tossed in ablanket down there by Nashville, and then rid out o' camp on a rail,learned him how to finger the dice. I was sure some o' them Maumee smartAlecks'd git on to Jed, but they didn't. I declare they wouldn't see asix-mule team if it druv right across the board afore 'em. But I'm ontohim every minit. I told him when he tried to ring in that jack on methat he{218} didn't know enough about cards to play with our Sundayschool class on Bean Blossom Crick."
"Josiah Klegg," said the Deacon sternly, "do you play cards?"
"I learned to play jest a little," said Si deprecatingly, and gettingvery red in the face. "I jest know the names o' the cards, and a few o'the rules o' the game."
"I'm surprised at you," said the Deacon, "after the careful way you wuzbrung up. Cards are the devil's own picture-books. They drag a man downto hell jest as sure as strong drink. Do you own a deck o' cards?"
"No, sir," replied Si. "I did have one, but I throwed it away when wewuz goin' into the battle o' Stone River."
"Thank heaven you did," said the Deacon devoutly. "Think o' your goin'into battle with them infernal things on you. They'd draw death to youjest like iron draws lightnin'."
"That's what I was afeared of," Si confessed.
"Now, don't you ever touch another card," said the Deacon. "Don't youever own another deck. Don't you insult the Lord by doin' things whenyou think you're safe that you wouldn't do when you're in danger andwant His protection."
"Yes, sir," responded Si very meekly. The Deacon was so excited that hepulled out his red bandanna, mopped his face vigorously, and walked outof the door to get some fresh air. As his back was turned, Si reachedslily up to a shelf, pulled down a pack of cards, and flung them behindthe back-log.
"I didn't yarn to Pap when I told him I didn't{219} own a deck," he saidto Shorty. "Them wuzn't really our cards. I don't exactly know who theybelonged to."
The good Deacon was still beset with the idea of astonishing the boyswith a luxurious meal cooked by himself, without their aid, counselor assistance. His failure the first time only made him the moredetermined. While he conceded that Si and Shorty did unusually well withthe materials at their command, he had his full share of the conceitthat possesses every man born of woman that, without any previoustraining or experience, he can prepare food better than anybody else whoattempts to do it. It is usually conceded that there are three thingswhich every man alive believes he can do better than the one who isengaged at it. These are:
1. Telling a story;
2. Poking a fire;
3. Managing a woman.
Cooking a meal should be made the fourth of this category.
One day Si and Shorty went with the rest of Co. Q on fatigue duty on theenormous fortifications, the building of which took up so much of theArmy of the Cumberland's energies during its stay around Murfreesboro'from Jan. 3 to June 24, 1863. Rosecrans seemed suddenly seized withMcClellan's mania for spade work, and was piling up a large portion ofMiddle Tennessee into parapet, bastion and casemate, lunet, curtain,covered-way and gorge, according to the system of Vauban. The 200th Ind.had to do its unwilling share of this, and Si and Shorty worked off someof their superabundant{220} energy with pick and shovel. They would comeback at night tired, muddy and mad. They would be ready to quarrel withand abuse everybody and every thing from President Lincoln down tothe Commissary-Sergeant and the last issue of pickled beef and breadespecially the Commissary-Sergeant and the rations. The good Deaconsorrowed over these manifestations. He was intensely loyal. He wanted tosee the soldiers satisfied with their officers and the provisions madefor their comfort.
He would get up a good dinner for the boys, which would soothe theirruffled tempers and make them more satisfied with their lot.
He began a labored planning of the feast. He looked over the larder, andfound there pork, corned beef, potatoes, beans, coffee, brown sugar, andhard tack.
DEACON KLEGG LOOKS OVER THE LARDER. 220]
"Good, substantial vittles, that stick to the ribs," he muttered tohimself, "and I'll fix up a good mess o' them. But the boys ought tohave something of a treat once in a while, and I must think up some wayto give it to 'em."
He pondered over the problem as he carefully cleaned the beans, and setthem to boiling in a kettle over the fire. He washed some potatoes toput in the ashes and roast. But these were too common place viands. Hewanted something that would be luxurious.
"I recollect," he said to himself finally, "seein' a little store, whichsome feller 'd set up a little ways from here. It's a board shanty,and I expect he's got a lots o' things in it that the boys'd like, forthere's nearly always a big crowd around it. I'll{221} jest fasten upthe house, and walk over there while the beans is a-seethin', and see ifI can't pick up something real good to eat."
He made his way through the crowd, which seemed to him to smell ofwhisky, until he came to the shelf across the front, and took a lookat the{222} stock. It seemed almost wholly made up of canned goods, andboxes of half-Spanish cigars, and play ing-cards.
"Don't seem to ba much of a store, after all," soliloquized the Deacon,after he had surveyed the display. "Ain't a patchin' to Ol Taylor's.Don't see anything very invitin' here. O, yes, here's a cheese. Say,Mister, gi' me about four pounds o' that there cheese."
"Plank down your $2 fust, ole man." responded the storekeeper. "Thisis a ca
sh store cash in advance every time. Short credits make longfriends. Hand me over your money, and I'll hand you over the cheese."
"Land o' Goshen, four bits a pound for cheese," gasped the Deacon. "Why,I kin git the best full-cream cheese at home for a bit a pound."
THE DEACON IS SHOCKED. 221]
"Why don't you buy your cheese at home, then, old man?" replied thestorekeeper. "You'd make money, if you didn't have to pay freight toMurfreesboro'. Guess you don't know much about gettin' goods down to thefront. But I hain't no time to argy with you. If you don't want to buy,step back, and make room for someone that does. Business is lively thismornin'. Time is money. Small profits and quick returns, you know. Notime to fool with loafers who only look on and ask questions."
"Strange way for a storekeeper to act," muttered the Deacon. "Must'vebin brung up in a Land Office. He couldn't keep store in Posey Countya week. They wouldn't stand his sass." Then aloud: "You may gi' me twopounds o' cheese."
"Well, why don't you plank down the rhino?" said{223} the storekeeperimpatiently. "Put up your money fust, and then you'll git the goods.This ain't no credit concern with a stay-law attachment. Cash in advancesaves bookkeeping."
"Well, I declare," muttered the Deacon, as he fished a greenback out ofa leather pocketbook fastened with a long strap. "This is the first timeI ever had to pay for things before I got 'em."
"Never went to a circus, then, old man, or run for office," repliedthe storekeeper, and his humor was rewarded with a roar of laughter."Anything else? Speak quick or step back."
"I'll take a can o' them preserved peaches and a quart jug o' thatgenuine Injianny maple molasses," said the Deacon desperately, namingtwo articles which seemed much in demand.
"All right; $2 for the peaches, and $2 more for the molasses."
"Sakes alive!" ejaculated the Deacon, producing the strapped pocketbookagain. "Five dollars gone, and precious little to show for it."
He took his jug and his can, and started back to the cabin. A coupleof hundred yards away he met a squad of armed men marching toward thestore, under the command of a Lieutenant. He stepped to one side to letthem pass, but the Lieutenant halted them, and asked authoritatively:
"What have you got there, sir?"
"Jest some things I've been buyin' for the boys' dinner," answered theDeacon.
"Indeed! Very likely," remarked the Lieutenant sarcastically. He struckthe jug so sharply with his sword that it was broken, and the air wasfilled{224} with a powerful odor of whisky. The liquor splashed over theDeacon's trousers and wet them through. The expression of anger on hisface gave way to one of horror. He had always been one of the most rigidof Temperance men, and fairly loathed whisky in all shapes and uses.
"Just as I supposed, you old vagabond," said the Lieutenant,contemptuously. "Down here sneaking whisky into camp. We'll stop thatmighty sudden."
He knocked the can of peaches out of the Deacon's arms and ran his swordinto it. A gush of whisky spurted out. The Sergeant took the package ofcheese away and broke it open, revealing a small flask of liquor.
"The idea of a man of your age being engaged in such business," said theLieutenant indignantly. "You ought to be helping to keep the men of thearmy sober, instead of corrupting them to their own great injury. Youare doing them more harm than the rebels."
The Deacon was too astonished and angry to reply. Words utterly failedhim in such a crisis.
"Take charge of him, Corporal," commanded the Lieutenant. "Put him inthe guard-house till tomorrow, when we'll drum him out of camp, with hispartner, who is running that store."
The Corporal caught the Deacon by the arm roughly and pulled him intothe rear of the squad, which hurried toward the store. The crowd infront had an inkling of what was coming. In a twinkling of an eye theymade a rush on the store, each man snatched a can or a jug, and beganbolting away as fast as his legs could carry him.
The storekeeper ran out the back way, and tried to make his escape, butthe Sergeant of the provost squad threw down his musket and took afterhim. The storekeeper ran fast, inspired by fear and the desire to savehis ill-gotten gains, but the Sergeant ran faster, and presently broughthim back, panting and trembling, to witness the demolition of hisproperty. The shanty was being torn down, each plank as it came offbeing snatched up by the soldiers to carry off and add to their ownhabitations. The "canned fruit" was being punched with bayonets, and thejugs smashed by gun-butts.
"You are a cheeky scoundrel," said the Lieutenant, addressing himselfto the storekeeper, "to come down here and try to run such a dead-fallright in the middle of camp. But we'll cure you of any such ideas asthat. You'll find it won't pay at all to try such games on us. You'll goto the guard house, and to-morrow we'll shave your head and drum you andyour partner there out of camp."
"I ain't no partner o' his," protested the Deacon earnestly. "My name'sJosiah Klegg, o' Posey County, Injianny. I'm down here on a visit tomy son in the 200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry. I'm a Deacon in theBaptist Church, and a Patriarch of the Sons o' Temperance. It'd be thelast thing in the world I'd do to sell whisky."
"That story won't wash, old man," said the Lieutenant. "You were caughtin the act, with the goods in your possession, and trying to deceiveme."
He turned away to order the squad forward. As they marched along thestorekeeper said to the Deacon:{226}
"I'm afraid they've got me dead to rights, old man, but you kin gitout. Just keep up your sanctimonious appearance and stick to yourDeacon story, and you'll git off. I know you. I've lived in Posey Countymyself. I'm going to trust you. I've already made a clean big profit onthis venture, and I've got it right down in my pocket. In spite of allthey've spiled, I'd be nigh $500 ahead o' the game if I could git out o'camp with what I've got in my sock. But they'll probably search me andconfiscate my wad for the hospital. You see, I've been through thisthing before. I'm goin' to pass my pile over to you to take keer of tillI'm through this rumpus. You play fair with me, an' I'll whack up withyou fair and square, dollar for dollar. If you don't I'll follow you foryears."
"I wouldn't tech a dirty dollar of yours for the world," said the Deaconindignantly; but this was lost on the storekeeper, who was watching theLieutenant.
"Don't say a word," he whispered; "he's got his eye on us. There it isin your overcoat pocket."
In the meantime they had arrived at the guard house. The Sergeantstepped back, took the store keeper roughly by the shoulders, and shovedhim up in front of a tall, magisterial-looking man wearing a Captain'sstraps, who stood frowning before the door.
"Search him," said the Captain briefly.
The Sergeant went through the storekeeper's pockets with a deftness thatbespoke experience. He produced a small amount of money, some of it infractional currency and Confederate notes, a number{227} of papers,a plug of tobacco, and some other articles. He handed these to theCaptain, who hastily looked over them, handed back the tobacco and otherthings and the small change.
"Give these back to him," he said briefly. "Turn the rest of the moneyover to the hospital fund. Where's our barber? Shave his head, call upthe fifers and drummers, and drum him out of camp at once. I haven'ttime to waste on him."
Before he had done speaking the guards had the storekeeper seated on alog, and were shearing his hair.
"General," shouted the Deacon.
"That's a Cap'n, you fool," said one of the guards.
"Captain, then," yelled the Deacon.
"Who is that man?" said the Captain severely.
"He's his partner," said the Lieutenant.
"Serve him the same way," said the Captain shortly, turning to go.
The Deacon's knees smote together. He, a Deacon of the Baptist Church,and a man of stainless repute at home, to have his head shaved anddrummed out of camp. He would rather die at once. The guards had laidhands on him.
"Captain," he yelled again, "it's all a horrible mistake. I had nothin'to do with this man."
"Talk to the Lieutenant, there," said the Captain, moving
off. "He willattend to you."
The Lieutenant was attentively watching the barbering operation. "Cut itclose closer yet," he admonished the barber.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" pleaded the Deacon, awkwardly saluting.
"Stand back; I'll attend to you next," said the{228} Lieutenantimpatiently. "Now, tie his hands behind him."
The Lieutenant turned toward the Deacon, and the barber picked up hisshears and made a step in that direction. Just in the extremity of hisdanger the Deacon caught sight of the Captain of Co. Q walking towardHeadquarters.
"Capt. McGillicuddy! Capt. McGillicuddy! come here at once! Come quick!"he called in a voice which had been trained to long-distance work on theWabash bottoms.
Capt. McGillicuddy looked up, recognized the waving of the Deacon'sbandanna, and hastened thither. Fortunately he knew the Provostofficers; there were explanations all around, and profuse apologies,and just as the fifes and drums struck up the "Rogue's March" behind theluckless storekeeper, who had to step off in front of a line of leveledbayonets, the Deacon walked away arm-in-arm with the Captain.
"I'm not goin' to let go o' you till I'm safe back in our own place," hesaid. "My gracious! think of havin' my head shaved and marched off theway that feller's bein'."
He walked into the cabin and stirred up the beans.
"The water's biled off," said he to himself, "but they hain't been innigh as hot a place as I have. I guess the boys'll have to do with aplain dinner to day. I'm not goin' to stir out o' this place agin unlessthey're with me."
He put his hand into his pocket for his bandanna and felt the roll ofbills, which he had altogether forgotten in his excitement.
His face was a study.