CHAPTER VIII. SI IS PROMOTED
ANNABEL APPRISED OF IT--SHORTY MEETS JERUSHA.
ANNABEL came in just as the reading of the letter was finished andher arrival caused a commotion in the family, as it always did, whichmomentarily distracted attention from the missive and Shorty's absence.She and the mother and daughters had to exchange kisses and news aboutthe health of both families. Then she had to give a filial kiss to theDeacon, who had already begun to assume paternal airs toward her, andfinally she got around to Si. Neither of them had yet got to the pointof "kissing before folks," and had to be content with furtivesqueezing of hands. Si's heart was aching to have Annabel read Capt.McGillicuddy's letter, yet such was his shame-faced modesty that not forthe world would he have alluded to it before the family. If he had beenalone with her, he might have slipped the letter unopened into her hand,with a shy request for her to read it, but so sternly was the Deacon andhis family set against anything like "vainglory" and "self-praise"that he could not bring himself to mention that such a letter had beenreceived. At last, when full particulars had been given about the spreadof measles and whooping-cough, who was to preach and who to be baptizedat the coming quarterly meeting, Maria's active mind turned to thingsnearer Si's heart, and she said:
"O, Si's got sich a nice letter from his officer-boss, his Corporal, orColonel, or General, or whatever they call him--Mister--"
"My Captain--Capt. McGillicuddy, Maria," said Si, reddening at Maria'sindifference to and ignorance of military titles.
"Yes, Mr. McMillifuddy. Did you ever hear of such a ridiculous name?"
"McGillicuddy--Capt. McGillicuddy, Maria. Why can't you get his nameright?"
"Well, if I had sich a name as that I wouldn't expect people to git itright. There's no sense in havin' a Dutch name that makes your tonguecrack like a whip. Well, this Mr. McFillemgoody is Si's boss, and hewrites a nice letter, and says Si done so well at Chickamaugy that someother boss--a Colonel or Corporal--"
"The Colonel, Maria. The Colonel commands the whole regiment. Won't younever know the difference? A Colonel's much higher than a Corporal. Yougirls never will learn nothin'."
"Well, I never kin tell t'other from which," replied Maria, petulantly."And I don't have to. I don't care a hill o' beans whether a Corporalbosses or a Colonel, or t'other way. Anyhow, Si's no longer a Corporal.He's a Sargint."
"O, Si," said Annabel, her big blue eyes filling with grief; "I'm sosorry."
"Why, Annabel," said Si, considerably abashed; "what's the matter? Don'tyou understand. I'm promoted. Sergeant's higher than a Corporal."
"Is it really?" said Annabel, whose tears were beginning to come. "Itdon't sound like it. Sargint don't sound near so big as Corporal. Ialways thought that Corporal was the very purtiest title in the wholearmy. None o' the rest o' them big names sounded half so nice. WheneverI saw Corporal in the papers I always thought of you."
"Well, you must learn to like Sergeant just as well," said Si, fondlysqueezing her hand. "Maria, let her read the letter."
"Well, Mr. Gillmacfuddy does seem like a real nice, sociable sort of aman, in spite of his name," she commented, as she finished. "And I likehim, because he seems to be such a good friend o' yours. I s'pose himand you board together, and eat at the same table when you are in thearmy, don't you?"
"O, no, we don't," said Si patiently, for her ignorance seemedbeautifully feminine, where Maria's was provoking. "You see, dear, he'smy Captain--commands about a hundred sich as me, and wears a swordand shoulder-straps and other fine clothes, and orders me and the restaround, and has his own tent, all by himself, and his servant to cookfor him, and we have to salute him, and do jest what he says, and nottalk back--at least, so he kin hear it, and jest lots o' things."
"Then I don't like him a bit," pouted Annabel. "He's a horrid, stuck-upthing, and puts on airs. And he hain't got no business to put on airsover you. Nobody's got any right to put on airs over you, for you're asgood as anybody alive."
Si saw that this task of making Annabel under stand the reason formilitary rank was going to take some time, and could be better done whenthey were by themselves, and he took her out by the kitchen-fire to makethe explanation.
For the very first time in his whole life Shorty had run away froma crisis. With his genuine love of fighting, he rather welcomed anyawkward situation in which men were concerned. It was a challenge tohim, and he would carry himself through with a mixture of brass, bravadoand downright hard fighting. But he would have much more willingly facedthe concentrated fire of all the batteries in Bragg's army than Maria'seyes as she raised them from that letter; and as for the comments of hersharp tongue--well, far rather give him Longstreet's demons chargingout of the woods onto Snodgrass Hill. He walked out into the barn, andleaned against the fanning-mill to think it all over. His ears burnedwith the imagination of what Maria was saying. He was very uncomfortableover what the rest of the family were thinking and saying, particularlythe view that dear old Mrs. Klegg might take. With the Deacon and Si itwas wholly different. He knew that, manlike, they averaged him up, oneday with another, and gave him the proper balance to his credit. ButMaria--there everything turned to gall, and he hated the very name ofBad Ax, the whole State of Wisconsin and everybody in it. He would neverdare go back into the house and face the family. What could he do?There was only one thing--get back to his own home, the army, as soon aspossible.
Little Sammy Woggles came out presently to get some wood. Shorty calledhim to him. There was something fascinatingly mysterious in his tonesand actions to that youth, who devoured dime novels on the sly.
"Sammy," said Shorty, "I'm goin' away, right off, and I don't want thepeople in the house to know nothin' of it. I want you to help me."
"You bet I will," responded the boy, with his eyes dancing. "Goin'to run away? I'm goin to run away myself some day. I'm awful tired o'havin' to git up in the mornin', wash my face and comb my hair, and dothe chores, and kneel down at family prayers, and go to Sunday, school,and stay through church, and then have to spell out a chapter in theBible in the afternoon. I'm goin' to run away, and be a soldier, or goout on the plains and kill Injuns. I'm layin' away things now for it.See here?"
And he conducted Shorty with much mystery to a place behind the haymow,where he had secreted an old single-barreled pistol and a falseface.
"You little brat," said Shorty, "git all them fool notions out o' yourhead. This 's the best home you'll ever see, and you stay here just aslong as the Lord'll let you. You're playin' in high luck to be here.Don't you ever leave, on no account."
"Then why're you goin' to run away," asked the boy wonderingly.
"That's my business. Something you can't understand, nohow. Now, I wantyou to slip around there and git my overcoat and things and bring 'emout to me, without nobody seein' you. Do it at once."
"SAMMY," SAID SHORTY, "I'M GOIN' AWAY RIGHT OFF, AND IDON'T WANT THE PEOPLE TO KNOW NOTHIN' OF IT." 113]
While Sammy was gone for the things Shorty laboriously wrote out a noteto Si upon a sheet of brown paper. It read:
"Deer Si; ive jest red in the papers that the army's goin' 2 move rite off. i no tha need me bad in the kumpany, for tha are short on Korprils, & tha can't do nothin' without Korprils. ive jest time 2 ketch the nekst traine, & ime goin' thare ez fast ez steme kin carry me. Good-by & luv 2 all the folks.
"Yours, Shorty."
"There, Sammy," he said, as he folded it up and gave it to the boy;"keep that quiet until about bed time, when they begin to inquire aboutme. By that time I'll 've ketched the train goin' east, and be skippin'out for the army. By the way, Sammy, can't you sneak into Miss Maria'sroom, and steal a piece o' ribbon, or something that belongs to her?"
"I've got a big piece o' that new red Sunday dress o' her's," saidSammy, going to his storehouse and producing it. "I cribbed it once, tomake me a flag or something, when I'd be out fightin' the Injuns. Willthat do you?"
"Bully," said Shorty, with the first joyous
emotion since the receptionof the letter. "It's jest the thing. Here's a half-dollar for you. Now,Sammy, kin you write?"
"They're makin' me learn, and that's one reason why I want to run away,"with a doleful remembrance of his own grievances. "What's the use ofit, I'd like to know? It cramps my fingers and makes my head ache. SimonKenton couldn't write his own name, but he killed more Injuns than aryother man in the country. I guess you'd want to run away, too, if theymade you learn to write."
"You little brat," said Shorty reprovingly; "you don't know what's goodfor you. You do as they say, and learn to write as quick as you kin."Then, in a softer tone: "Now, Sammy, I want you to promise to write me along letter--two sheets o' foolscap."
"Why, I never writ so much in all my life," protested the boy. "It'dtake me a year."
"Well, you've got to, now, and it mustn't take you two weeks. Here'sa dollar for you, and when I git the letter I'll send you home a realrebel gun. Now, you're to cross your heart and promise on your sacredword and honor that you'll keep this secret from everybody, not to tella word to nobody. You must tell me all about what they say about me, andpartickerlerly what Miss Maria says. Tell me everything you kin aboutMiss Maria, and who goes with her."
"What makes you like Maria better'n you do 'Mandy?" inquired the boy."I like 'Mandy lots the best. She's heap purtier, and lots more fun, anddon't boss me around like Maria does."
"That's all you know about it, you little skeezics. She don't boss youaround half as much as she ought to." Then gentler: "Now, Sammy, do jestas I say, and I'll send you home a real rebel gun jest as soon as I getyour letter."
"A real gun, that'll be all my own, and will shoot and kick, and crackloud?"
"Yes, a genuine rebel gun, that you kin shoot crows with and celebrateChristmas, and kill a dog."
"Well, I'll write you a letter if it twists my fingers off," said theboy joyously.
"And you hope to be struck dead if you tell a word to anybody?"
"Yes, indeedy," said the boy, crossing his heart earnestly. Shortyfolded up the piece of dress goods tenderly, placed it securely in thebreast-pocket of his blouse, and trudged over to the station, stoppingon the summit of the hill to take a last look at the house. It was along, hard walk for him, for he was yet far from strong, but he gottheir before train time.
It was the through train to St. Louis that he boarded, and the onlyvacant seat that he could find was one partially filled with thebelongings of a couple sitting facing it, and very close together. Theyhad hold of one another's hands, and quite clearly were dressed betterthan they were accustomed to. The man was approaching middle age, andwore a shiny silk hat, a suit of broadcloth, with a satin vest, anda heavy silver watch chain. His face was rather strong and hard, andshowed exposure to rough weather. The woman was not so much younger, wastall and angular, rather uncomfortably conscious of her good clothes,and had a firm, settled look about her mouth and eyes, which onlypartially disappeared in response to the man's persistent endearments.Still, she seemed more annoyed than he did at the seating of anotherparty in front of them, whose eyes would be upon them. The man liftedthe things to make room for Shorty, who commented to himself:
"Should think they was bride and groom, if they wasn't so old."
There was a vague hint that he had seen the face somewhere, but hedismissed it, then settled himself, and, busy with his own thoughts,pressed his face against the window, and tried to recognize through thedarkness the objects by which they were rushing. They were all deeplyinteresting to him, for they were part of Maria's home and surroundings.After awhile the man appeared temporarily tired of billing and cooing,and thought conversation with some one else would give variety to thetrip. He opened their lunch-basket, took out something for himself andhis companion to eat, nudged Shorty, and offered him a generoushandful. Shorty promptly accepted, for he had the perennial hunger ofconvalescence, and his supper had been interrupted.
"Going back to the army?" inquired the man, with his mouth full ofchicken, and by way of opening up the conversation.
"Um--huh," said Shorty, nodding assent.
"Where do you belong?"
"200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry."
If Shorty had been noticing the woman he would have seen her start, butwould have attributed it to the lurching of the cars. She lost interestin the chicken leg she was picking, and listened to the continuance ofthe conversation.
"I mean, what army do you belong to?"
"Army o' the Cumberland, down at Chattanoogy."
"Indeed; I might say that I belong to that army myself. I'm going downthat way, too. You see, my Congressman helped me get a contract forfurnishing the Army o' the Cumberland with bridge timber, and I'm goingdown to Looeyville, and mebbe further, to see about it. We've just comefrom St. Louis, where I've bin deliverin' some timber in rafts."
"Where are you from?'
"Bad Ax, Wisconsin, a little ways from La Crosse."
It was Shorty's turn to start, and it flashed upon him just where he hadseen that squarish face. It was in an ambrotype that he carried in hisbreastpocket. He almost choked on the merrythought of the chicken, butrecovered himself, and said quickly:
"I have heard o' the place. Lived there long?"
"Always, you might say. Father took me there as a child during the mineexcitement, growed up there, went into business, married, lost my wife,and married again. We're now on what you might call our bridal tower. Ihad to come down here on business, so I brung my wife along, and workedit off on her as our bridal tower. Purty cute, don't you think?"
And he reached over and tried to squeeze his wife's hand, but sherepulsed it.
The bridegroom plied Shorty with questions as to the army for awhileafter they had finished eating, and then arose and remarked:
"I'm goin' into the smokin'-car for a smoke. Won't you come along withme, soldier, and have a cigar?"
"No, thankee," answered Shorty. "I'd like to, awfully, but the doctor'sshut down on my smokin' till I git well."
As soon as he was well on his way the woman leaned forward and askedShorty in an earnest tone:
"Did you say that you belonged to the 200th Ind.?"
"Yes'm," said Shorty very meekly. "To Co. Q."
"The very same company," gasped the woman.
"Did you happen to know a Mr. Daniel Elliott in that company?"
"Very well, mum. Knowed him almost as well as if he was my own brother."
"What sort of a man was he?"
"Awful nice feller. I thought a heap of him. Thought more of him thanany other man in the company. A nicer man you never knowed. Didn'tdrink, nor swear, nor play cards, nor chaw terbacker. Used to go tochurch every Sunday. Chaplain thought a heap of him. Used to call himhis right bower--I mean his strong suit--I mean his two pair--acehigh. No, neither o' them's just the word the Chaplain used, but it wassomething just as good, but more Bible-like."
"I'm so glad to hear it," murmured the woman.
"O, he was an ornament to the army," continued the unblushing Shorty,who hadn't had a good opportunity to lie in all the weeks that theDeacon had been with him, and wanted to exercise his old talent, tosee whether he had lost it. "And the handsomest man! There wasn't afiner-looking man in the whole army. The Colonel used to get awfullyjealous o' him, because everybody that'd come into camp 'd mistake himfor the Colonel. He'd 'a' bin Colonel, too, if he'd only lived. But thepoor fellow broke his heart. He fell in love with a girl somewhere upNorth--Pewter Hatchet, or some place like that. I never saw her, anddon't know nothin' about her, but I heard that the boys from herplace said that she was no match for him. She was only plain,ordinary-lookin'."
"That wasn't true," said the woman, under her breath.
"All the same, Elliott was dead-stuck on her. Bimeby he heard someway that some stay-at-home widower was settin' up to her, and she wasencouragin' him, and finally married him. When Elliott heard that hewas completely beside himself. He lost all appetite for everything butwhisky and the blood of widowers. Whenever h
e found a man who was awidower he wanted to kill him. At Chickamauga, he'd pick out the menthat looked old enough to be widowers, and shoot at them, and no others.In the last charge he got separated, and was by himself with a tallrebel with a gray beard. 'I surrender,' said the rebel. 'Are you awidower?' asked Elliott. 'I'm sorry to say that my wife's dead,' saidthe rebel. 'Then you can't surrender. I'm goin' to kill you,' saidElliott. But he'd bin throwed off his guard by too much talkin'. Therebel got the drop on him, and killed him."
"It ain't true that his girl went back on him before she heard he waskilled," said the woman angrily, forgetting herself. "She only marriedafter the report of his death in the papers."
"Jerusha," said Shorty, pulling out the letters and picture, rising tohis feet, and assuming as well as he could in the rocking car the poseand manner of the indignant lovers he had seen in melodramas, "I'mDan Elliott, and your own true love, whose heart you've broke. When Ilearned of your faithlessness I sought death, but death went back on me.I've come back from the grave to reproach you. You preferred the love ofa second-hand husband, with a silver watch-chain and a raft o' logs, tothat of an honest soldier who had no fortune but his patriotic heartand his Springfield rifle. But I'll not be cruel to you. There are theevidences of your faithlessness, that you was so anxious to git hold of.Your secret's safe in this true heart. Take 'em and be happy with yourbridge-timber contractor. Be a lovin' wife to your warmed-over husband.Be proud of his speculations on the needs o' his country. As for me,I'll go agin to seek a soldier's grave, for I cannot forgit you."
As he handed her the letters and picture he was dismayed to notice thatthe piece of Maria's dress was mixed in with them. He snatched it away,shoved it back in his pocket, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and,with a melodramatic air, rushed forward into the smoking-car, where heseated himself and at once fell asleep.
He was awakened in the morning at Jeffersonville, by the provost-guardshaking him and demanding his pass.