On the banks of Elk river.

“This is the glorious Fourth of July,” remarked Si, as Co.  Q broke ranks from reveille roll-call on the banks of Elk River, and he and Shorty turned anxious attention to the problem of getting a satisfactory breakfast out of the scanty materials at their command.  “Up home they’re gittin’ ready for a great time.  Yesterday mother and the girls cooked enough goodies to feed the whole company.  Mother had Abe Lincoln split up a lot o’ fine, dry hickory.  Then she het up the big brick oven out by the Summer-kitchen, and she baked there a lot o’ loaves o’ her splendiferous salt-raisin’ bread, the best in the whole country, if I do say it myself.”

“Resemble this, Si?” asked Shorty, who was pawing around in his shrunken haversack, as he produced two dingy crackers and a handful of pieces, discolored by contact with the coffee and meat during the days of marching in the rain.

“And, then,” continued Si, unmindful of the interruption, “after she took the bread out, smelling like a bouquet, she put in some biscuits, and then some dressed chicken, a young pig.”

“Just like this,” echoed Shorty, pulling out a rusty remnant of very fat commissary pork.

“Shet up, Shorty,” said Si, angered at this reminder of their meager store, which was all that was left them for the day, since they had far out marched their wagons.  “I won’t have you makin’ fun o’ my mother’s cookin’.”

“Well, you shut up torturing me about home goodies,” answered Shorty, “when we hain’t got enough grub here to fill one undivided quarter-section o’ one o’ our gizzards, and there hain’t no more this side o’ the wagons, which are stalled somewhere in the Duck River hills, and won’t be up till the katydids sing.  I ain’t making fun o’ your mother’s cookin’.  But I won’t have you tormenting me with gas about the goodies back home.”

“I know it ain’t right, Shorty,” said Si.  “It only makes us feel worse.  But I can’t help thinkin’-”

“Jest go on thinkin’,” sneered Shorty, “if you kin fill yourself up that way.  I can’t.  You’d better set to studyin’ how to make less’n quarter rations for one fill up two men for all day.  There ain’t no use goin’ a-foragin’.  They call this country the Cumberland Barrens.  There never was grub enough in it to half support the clay-eaters that live around here, and what there was the rebels have carried off.  The only thing I kin think of is to cut up some basswood chips and fry with this pork.  Mebbe we could make ’em soft enough to fill up on.”  And Shorty gloomily shook out the last crumb from the haversacks into a tin of water to soak, while he fried the grease out of the fragment of pork in his half-canteen.

“And Pap,” continued Si, as if determined to banish famine thoughts by more agreeable ones, “has had the trottin’ team nicely curried, and their manes and tails brushed out, and hitched ’em to that new Studebaker-spring wagon he wrote about.  They’ll put all the good things in, and then mother and the girls’ll climb in.  They’ll go down the road in great style, and pick up Annabel, and drive over to the Grove, where they’ll meet all the neighbors, and talk about their boys in the army, and the Posey Brass Band’ll play patriotic tunes, and old Beach Jamieson’ll fire off the anvil, and then Parson Ricketts’ll put on his glasses and read the Declaration o’ Independence, and then some politician young lawyer from Mt.  Vernon or Poseyville ’ll make a sky-soaring, spread-eagle speech, and-”

“O, do come off, Si,” said Shorty irritably.  “You’re only making yourself hungrier exercising your tongue so.  Come here and git your share o’ the breakfast and mind you eat fair.”

Shorty had fried out the pork in the dingy, black half-canteen, poured the soaked crackers into the sputtering hot grease, and given the mess a little further warming and stirring.  Then he pulled the half-canteen from the split stick which served for a handle, set it on the ground, and drew a line through it with his spoon to divide the food fairly into equal portions..

Meanwhile Si had strolled over a little ways to where an old worm fence had stood when the regiment went into camp.  Now only the chunks at the corners remained.  He looked a minute, and then gave a yell of delight.

“Here, Shorty,” he called out; “here’s something that beats your fried breakfasts all holler.  Here’s ripe blackberries till you can’t rest, and the biggest, finest ones you ever saw.  Come over here, and you can pick all you can eat in five minutes.”

He began picking and eating with the greatest industry.  Shorty walked over and followed his example.

“They are certainly the finest blackberries I ever saw,” he agreed.  “Strange that we didn’t notice them before.  This country ain’t no good for nothin’ else, but it surely kin beat the world on blackberries.  Hi, there!  Git out, you infernal brute!”

This latt’er remark was addressed to a long-legged, mangy hound that had suddenly appeared from no where, and was nosing around their breakfast with appreciative sniffs.  Shorty made a dive for him, but he cleaned out the half-canteen at one comprehensive gulp, and had put a good-sized farm between him and the fire before Shorty reached it.  That gentleman fairly danced with rage, and swore worse than a teamster, but the breakfast was gone beyond recovery.  The other boys yelled at and gibed him, but they were careful to do it at a safe distance.

“’Twasn’t much of a breakfast, after all, Shorty,” said Si, consolingly.  “The crackers was moldly and the pork full o’ maggots, and the Surgeon has warned us time and again against eatin’ them greasy fried messes.  All the doctors say that blackberries is very healthy, and they certainly taste nice.”

Shorty’s paroxysm of rage expended itself, and he decided it wisest to accept Si’s advice.

“The berries is certainly fine, Si,” he said with returning good humor.  “If I could’ve only laid a foundation of crackers and meat I could’ve built a very good breakfast out of ’em.  I misdoubt, though, whether they’ve got enough substance and stick-to-the-ribs to make a meal out of all by themselves.  However, I’ll fill up on ’em, and hope they’ll last till a grub-cart gets through.  There ought to be one here before noon.”

“One consolation,” said Si; “we won’t have to march on this peck.  The Adjutant’s just passed the word that we’re to rest here a day or two.”

The rest of the regiment were similarly engaged in browsing off the blackberries that grew in wonderful profusion all around, and were really of extraordinary size.  After filling themselves as full as possible of the fruit, Si and Shorty secured a couple of camp kettles and gave their garments a boiling that partially revenged themselves upon the insect life of Tennessee for the torments they endured in the Tullahoma campaign.

“The better the day the better the deed,” remarked Shorty, as he and Si stood around the fire, clothed in nothing but their soldierly character, and satisfiedly poked their clothes down in the scalding water.  “Thousands must die that one may be free from graybacks, fleas, and ticks.  How could be better celebrated the Fourth of July than by the wholesale slaughter of the tyrants who drain the life-blood of freemen and patriots?  Now, that’s a sentiment that would be fine for your orator who is making a speech about this time to your folks in Injianny.”

By this time they were hungry again.  The black berries had no staying power in proportion to their filling qualities, and anxiously as they watched the western horizon, no feet of the mules bringing rations had been seen beautiful on the mountains.

They went out and filled up again on blackberries, but these seemed to have lost something of their delicious taste of those eaten earlier in the morning.

They went back, wrung out their clothes, and put them on again.

“They’ll fit better if they dry on us,” remarked Shorty.  “And I’m afraid we’ll warp, splinter and check if we are exposed to this sun any longer after all the soakin’ we’ve bin havin’ for the past 10 days.”

Comfortably full abdominally, with a delicious sense of relief from the fiendish insects, the sun shining once more brightly in the sky, and elated over the brilliant success of the campaign, they felt as happy as it often comes to men.

The scenery was inspiring.  Beyond Elk River the romantic Cumberland Mountains raised their picturesque peaks and frowning cliffs into a wondrous cloud-world, where the radiant sunshine and the pearly showers seemed in endless struggle for dominion, with the bright rainbows for war-banners.  When the sunshine prevailed, filmy white clouds flags of truce floated lazily from peak to peak, and draped themselves about the rugged rocks.  It was an ever-changing panorama of beauty and mystery, gazing on which the eye never wearied.

“Bragg’s somewhere behind them mountains, Shorty,” said Si, as the two lay on the ground, smoked, and looked with charmed eyes on the sky line.  “The next job’s to go in there and find him and lick him.”

“I don’t care a durn, if it’s only dry weather,” answered Shorty.  “I kin stand anything but rain.  I’d like to soldier awhile in the Sahara Desert for a change.  Hello, what’s that?  A fight?”

A gun had boomed out loudly.  The boys pricked up their ears, took their pipes from their mouths and half raised in anticipation of the bugle-call.  An other shot followed after an interval, and then a third and fourth.

“They’re firing a National salute at Division Headquarters in honor of the Fourth of July,” explained the Orderly-Sergeant.

Everybody jumped to his feet and cheered

Cheered for the Fourth of July;

Cheered for the United States of America;

Cheered for President Abraham Lincoln;

Cheered for Maj.-Gen. Wm. S. Rosecrans.

Cheered for the Army of the Cumberland;

Cheered for the Corps Commander;

Cheered for the Division Commander;

Cheered for the Brigadier-General;

Cheered for the Colonel of the 200th Ind.;

Cheered for their Royal Selves.

“Whew, how hungry that makes me,” said Shorty as the cheering and the firing ended, and he studied the western horizon anxiously.  “And not a sign yit of any mule-team comin’ up from the rear.  They must have religious scruples agin travelin’ on the Fourth o’ July.  Well, I s’pose there’s nothin’ to do but hunt up some more blackberries.  But blackberries is like mush.  They don’t seem to stay with you much longer’n you’re eatin’ ’em.”

But they had to go much farther now to find blackberries.  The whole hungry regiment had been hunt ing blackberries all day, and for more than a mile around camp the briers were bare.  Si and Shorty succeeded at last in finding another plentiful patch, upon which they filled up, and returned to camp for another smoke and an impatient look for the Commissary teams.

“I like blackberries as well as any other man,” mused Shorty, “but it don’t seem to me that last lot was nearly so good as the first we had this morning.  Mebbe the birds kin eat ’em four times a day and seven days in the week without gittin’ tired, but I ain’t much of a bird, myself.  I’d like to change off just now to about six big crackers, a pound o’ fat pork and a quart o’ coffee.  Wonder if the rebel cavalry could’ve got around in our rear and jumped our trains?  No; ’Joe Wheeler’s critter company,’ as that rebel called ’em, hain’t quit runnin’ yit from the lickin’ Minty give ’em at Shelbyville.  Mebbe the mules have struck.  I’d ‘a’ struck years ago if I’d bin a mule.”

The sun began to sink toward the western hills, and still no welcome sign of coming wagons.

Si remarked despairingly: 

“Well, after all the berry-eatin’ I’ve done to-day I feel as holler as a bee-gum.  I don’t believe any wagons’ll git up to-night, and if we’re goin’ to have any supper at all we’d better go out and pick it before it gits too dark to see.”

They had to go a long distance out this time to find a good berry patch.  It was getting dark be fore they fairly began picking their supper.  Presently they heard voices approaching from the other side.  They crouched down a little behind the brier-clumps and listened.

“Be keerful.  The Yankee pickets must be nigh.  Thar’s their campfires.”

“Pshaw.  Them fires is two miles away.  Thar’s no pickets fur a mile yit.  Go ahead.”

“No sich thing.  Them fires ain’t a mile off.

“Their pickets are likely right along that ’ere ridge thar.”

“Bushwhackers,” whispered Si, rising a little to reconnoiter.  “One, two, three, four, five, six on ’em.  Sneakin’ up to pick off our pickets.  What’d we better do?”

“Only thing I kin think of,” whispered Shorty back, feeling around for a stick that would represent a gun, “is the old trick of ordering ’em to surrender.  It’s an awful bluff, but we may work it this time.  If they’ve got any grit we needn’t worry no more about rations.  They’ll git us.”

Si snatched up a piece of rail, and they sprang up together, shouting: 

“Halt!  Surrender!  Don’t move a hand or we’ll blow your heads off.”

“All right, Yank.  We surrender.  Don’t shoot.  We’uns ‘ve bin a-huntin’ yo’uns to gin ourselves up.  We’uns is tired o’ the wah.”

“The thunder you do,” said Si in amazement.

“Yes,” said the leader, walking forward; “we’uns is plumb sick o’ the wah, and want t’ take the oath and go home.  ’Deed we’uns do.”

“Well, you liked to ’ve scared two fine young soldiers to death,” murmured Si under his breath.

“Halt, there,” called out the suspicious Shorty.

“Don’t come any nearer, or I’ll fire.  Stand still, and hold your guns over your heads, till I send a man out to git ’em.”

The rebels obediently held their guns in the air.

“Sergeant,” commanded Shorty, “go forward and relieve the men of their arms, while the rest of us keep ’em kivvered to prevent treachery and gittin’ the drop on us.”

Si went out and took the guns, one by one, from the hands of the men, and made as good an examination as he could, hastily, to see that they carried nothing else.

“Lordy, Yank, if you only knowed how powerful glad we’uns is to git to yo’uns, you wouldn’t ’spicion us.  We’uns ‘s nigh on to starved t’ death.  Hain’t had nothin’ to eat but blackberries for days.  And hit’s bin march, march, all the time, right away from we’uns’s homes.  Goramighty only knows whar olé Bragg’s a-gwine tuh.  Mebbe t’ Cuby.  We’uns wuz willin’ t’ fout fur olé Tennessee, but for nary other State.  When he started out o’ Tennessee we’uns jest concluded t’ strike out and leave him.  Lordy, Mister, hain’t you got something t’ eat?  We’uns is jest starvin’ t’ death.  ’Deed we’uns is.”

“Awful sorry,” replied Shorty, as he and Si gathered up the guns and placed themselves behind the group.  “But we hain’t nothin’ to eat ourselves but blackberries, and won’t have till our wagons git up, which ’ll be the Lord and Gen. Rosecrans only knows when.  You shall have it when we kin git it.  Hello, the boys are cheerin’.  That means a wagon’s got in.  Skip out, now, at a quarter-hoss gait.  They may gobble it all up before we git there.”

Inspired by this, they all started for camp in quick-time.  Shorty was right in interpreting the cheering to mean the arrival of a ration-wagon.

When they reached Co.  Q they found the Orderly-Sergeant standing over a half-box of crackers.

Around him was gathered the company in a petulant state of mind.

“Cuss and swear, boys, all you’ve a mind to,” he was saying, “if you think that’ll swell your grub.  You know it won’t.  Only one wagon’s come up, and it had only a half-load.  Our share in it is what you see here.  I figure that there’s just about one cracker apiece for you, and as I call your names you’ll step up and get it.  Don’t swear at me.  I’ve done the best I could.  Cuss the Tennessee mud and freshets in the cricks all you want to, if you think that’ll fill your crops, but let me alone, or I’ll bust somebody.”

“I’ve my opinion o’ the glorious Fourth o’ July,” said Shorty, as he nibbled moodily at his solitary cracker.  “I’ll change my politics and vote for Thanksgiving Day and Christmas after this.”

“Well, I think that we’ve had a pretty fine Fourth,” said the more cheerful Si.  “For once in my life I’ve had all the blackberries I could eat, and otherwise it’s a pleasant day.  Them deserters gave me a cold chill at first, but I’m glad we got ’em.  There’ll certainly be more wagons up to-night, and to-morrow we’ll have all we kin eat.”

And that night, for the first in 10 days, they slept under dry blankets.