They make A brief visit to “God’s country.”

The shot fired by Nate Hartburn was the only one that interrupted the progress of the 200th Ind. to the banks of the Tennessee River.  Its cautious advance at last brought it out on the crest of a hill, at the foot of which, 200 feet below, flowed the clear current of the mountain-fed stream.  The rebels were all on the other side.  Their pickets could be plainly seen, and they held the further pier of the burned railroad bridge.  To our right rose three strong forts, built the year previous.

As soon as it was determined that all the enemy were beyond the river, the 200th Ind. went into camp for the afternoon and night upon a cleared spot which had been used for that purpose before our troops had been flanked out of that country by Bragg’s raid into Kentucky just a year before.

A dress parade was ordered at 6 o’clock, and when the Adjutant came to “publish the orders,” the regiment was astonished and Si electrified to hear: 

“In pursuance of orders from Division Headquarters to detail squads from each of the different regiments to proceed to their respective States to bring back recruits and drafted men for the regiments, First Lieut.  Bowersox, of Co.  A, and Corp’l Josiah Klegg, of Co.  Q, with six enlisted men of that company, to be selected by Capt.  McGillicuddy, are here by detailed for that duty, and will prepare to leave to-morrow morning.”

Si clutched his partner in his excitement and said, “Shorty, did you hear that?  I’m to be sent back to Injianny.  Ain’t that what he said?”

“If my ears didn’t mistake their eyesight, them was about his words,” returned Shorty.  “You’re in luck.”

“And you’re goin’ with me, Shorty.”

“The Adjutant didn’t include that in his observations.  I ain’t so crazy, anyway, to git back to Injianny.  Now, if it wuz Wisconsin it’d be different.  If you’ve got any recruits to bring on from Wisconsin, I’m your man.  I’d go up there at my own expense, though I don’t s’pose that Rosecrans could spare me just now.  What’d become o’ the army if he’d git sick, and me away?”

“But, Shorty, you are goin’.  You must go.  I won’t go if you don’t.”

“Don’t say won’t too loud.  You’re detailed, and men that’s detailed don’t have much choice in the matter.

“You’ll probably act sensibly and do whatever you’re ordered to do.  Of course, I’d like to go, if we kin git back in time for this sociable with Mister Bragg.  Don’t want to miss that.  That’ll be the he-fight o’ the war, and probably the last battle.”

“Nor do I,” answered Si; “but the thing won’t come off till we git back.  They wouldn’t be sending back for the drafted men and recruits except that they want ’em to help out.”

“They’ll be a durned sight more in the way than help,” answered Shorty.  “We don’t need ’em.  We’ve handled Bragg so far very neatly, all by ourselves, and we don’t need anybody to mix into our little job.  The fewer we have the more credit there’ll be in lickin’ old Bragg and capturin’ Chattanoogy.”

The Orderly-Sergeant interrupted the discussion by announcing: 

“Here, Shorty, you’re one to go with Si.  The detail is made by the Colonel’s orders as a compliment to the good work you boys have been doing, and which the Colonel knows about.”

“I always said that the Colonel had the finest judgment as to soldiers of any man in the army,” said Shorty, after taking a minute’s pause to recover from the compliment.

The boys were immediately surrounded by their comrades, congratulating them, and requesting that they would take back letters and money for them.  The Paymaster had recently visited the regiment, and everybody had money which he wished to send home.  There were also commissions to purchase in numerable things, ranging from meerschaum pipes to fine flannel shirts.

“Look here, boys,” said Shorty, good-humoredly, “we want to be obligin’, but we’re neither a Adams Express Company nor in the gent’s furnishin’ line.  We’ve neither an iron safe to carry money nor a pedler’s wagon to deliver goods.  John Morgan’s guerrillas may jump us on the way home, and comin’ back we’ll have to have packs to carry the truck in, and half of it ’ll be stole before we git to the regiment.”

But the comrades would not be dissuaded, and be fore Si and Shorty went to sleep they had between $5,000 and $6,000 of their comrades’ money stowed in various safe places about their personages.

“Great Jehosephat, Si,” murmured Shorty, when they sat together in their tent, after the last comrade had departed, leaving his “wad of greenbacks,” with directions as to its disposition, “I never felt so queer and skeery in all my life.  I wouldn’t for the world lose a dollar of the money these boys have been earnin’ as they have this.  But how under heaven are we goin’ to make sure of it?”

“I’ve thought of a way o’ makin’ sure of to-night,” said Si.  “I spoke to the Officer of the Guard, and he’ll put a sentinel over us to-night, so’s we kin git a little sleep.  I wouldn’t shet my eyes, if it wasn’t for that.  We’ll have to let to-morrow take care of itself.”

Shorty lay down and tried to go to sleep, but the responsibility weighed too heavily on his mind.  Presently, Si, who, for the same reason, only slept lightly, was awakened by his partner getting up.

“What are you up to?” Si asked.

“I’ve bin thinkin about pickpockets,” answered Shorty.  “They’re an awful slick lot, and I’ve thought of a hiding place that’ll fool ’em.”

He picked up his faithful Springfield, and drawing an envelope with money out of his shirt-pocket, rolled it up to fit the muzzle of his gun, and then rammed it down.

“That’s Jim Meddler’s $10,” he said.  “I’ll know it, because his mother’s name’s on the envelope.  Here goes Pete Irvin’s $20.  I know it because it has his wife’s name on it.”

He continued until he had the barrel of the gun filled, and then stopped to admire his cunning.

“Now, nobody but me’d ever thought o’ hidin’ money in a gun.  That’s safe, as least.  All I’ve got to do is to stick to my gun until we git acrost the Ohio River.  But I hain’t got the tenth part in; where kin I put the rest?  O, there’s my cartridge-box and cap-box.  Nobody’ll think o’ lookin’ there for money.”

He filled both those receptacles, but still had fully half his money left on his person.

“That’ll just have to take its chances with the pickpockets,” said he, and returned to his bed, with his gun by his side, and his cap- and cartridge-boxes under his head.

The morning came, with their money all right, as they assured themselves by careful examination immediately after reveille.

As they fell in under Lieut.  Bowersox to start, their comrades crowded around to say good-by, give additional messages for the home-folks, and directions as to their money, and what they wanted bought.

But Shorty showed that he was overpowered with a nervous dread of pickpockets.  He saw a possible light-fingered thief in everyone that approached.  He would let nobody touch him, stood off a little distance from the rest of the squad, and when any body wanted to shake hands would hold him stiffly at arm’s length.

“Gittin’ mighty stuck-up just because the Colonel patted you on the back a little, and give you a soft detail,” sneered one of Co.  Q.

“Well, you’d be stuck-up, too,” answered Shorty, “if your clothes was padded and stuffed with other folks’ greenbacks, and you was in the midst o’ sich a talented lot o’ snatchers as the 200th Injianny.  Mind, I ain’t makin’ no allusions nor references, and I think the 200th Injianny is the honestest lot o’ boys in the Army o’ the Cumberland; but if I wanted to steal the devil’s pitchfork right out o’ his hand, I’d make a detail from the 200th Injianny to do the job, and I’d be sure o’ gittin’ the pitchfork.  I’ll trust you all when you’re 10 feet away from me.”

The others grinned and gave him a cheer.

When they went to get on board the train Shorty had to change his tactics.  He got Si on his right, the Lieutenant immediately in front of them, and two trusted boys of the squad directly behind, with strict injunctions to press up close, allow nobody between, and keep a hawk’s eye on everybody.  But both Si and Shorty were breathless with apprehension till they got through the crowd and were seated in the car, and a hasty feeling of various lumps about their persons assured them that their charges were safe.  They were in a passenger car, for luck.  The Lieutenant sat in front, Si and Shorty next, and the two trusty boys immediately behind.  They breathed a sigh of relief.  As they stood their guns over against the side of the car, Si suddenly asked: 

“Shorty, did you draw your charge before you rammed that money in?”

Shorty jumped to his feet in a shudder of alarm, and exclaimed: 

“Great Jehosephat, no.  I forgot all about it.”

“What’s that you’re saying about guns?” inquired the Lieutenant, turning around.  “You want to load them, and keep them handy.  We’re liable to strike some guerrillas along the way, and we must be ready for them.”

“You fellers’ll have to do the shootin’,” whispered Shorty to Si.  “It’ll be a cold day when I bang $150 in greenbacks at any rebel that ever jumped.  I’m goin’ to take the cap off en my gun.  The jostlin’ o’ the train’s likely to knock it off at any time, and send a small fortune through the roof o’ the car.  I’d take the money out, but I’m afraid o’ tearin’ it all to pieces, with the train plungin’ so.”

He carefully half-cocked his piece, took off the cap, rubbed the nipple to remove any stray fragments of fulminate, and then let the hammer down on a piece of wadding taken from his cap.

The long ride to Nashville over the ground on which they had been campaigning and fighting for nearly a year would have been of deepest interest to Si and Shorty, as it was to the rest, if they could have freed their minds of responsibilities long enough to watch the scenery.  But they would give only a cursory glance any say: 

“We’ll look at it as we come back.”

In the crowded depot at Nashville they had an other panic, but the Provost-Guard kept a gangway clear as soon as it was discovered that they were on duty.

“You can stack your arms there, boys,” said the Sergeant of the Guard, “and go right over there and get a warm supper, with plenty of coffee.”

All but Shorty obeyed with alacrity, and stacked their guns with the quickness of old and hungry vet erans.

Shorty kept hold of his gun and started with the rest to the supper-room.

“Here, Injianny,” called out the Sergeant, “stack your gun here with the rest.”

“Don’t want to ain’t goin’ to,” answered Shorty.

“What’s the reason you ain’t?” asked the Sergeant, catching hold of the gun.  “Nobody’s going to take it, and if they did, you can pick up another.  Plenty of ’em, jest as good as that, all around here.”

“Don’t care.  This is my own gun.  I think more of it than any gun ever made, and I ain’t goin’ to take any chance of losin’ it.”

“Well, then, you’ll take a chance of losing your supper,” answered the Sergeant, “or rather you’ll be certain of it, for the orders are strict against taking guns into the supper-room.  Too many accidents have happened.”

“Well, then,” said Shorty stoutly, “I’ll do without my supper, though I’m hungrier than a wolf at the end of a long Winter.”

“Well, if you’re so infernal pig-headed, you’ve got to,” answered the Sergeant, nettled at Shorty’s obstinacy.  “Go back beyond the gunstack, and stay there.  Don’t you come nearer the door than the other side of the stack.”

Shorty’s dander rose up at once.  At any other time he would have conclusions with the Sergeant then and there.  But the remembrance of his charge laid a repressive hand upon his quick choler, and reminded him that any kind of a row would probably mean a night in the guard-house, his gun in some other man’s hands, probably lost forever, and so on.  He decided to defer thrashing the Sergeant until his return, when he would give it to him with interest.  He shouldered his gun, paced up and down, watching with watering mouth the rest luxuriating in a hot supper with fragrant coffee and appetizing viands, to which his mouth had been a stranger for many long months.  It cost a severe struggle, but he triumphed.

Si, in his own hungry eagerness, had not missed him, until his own appetite began to be appeased by the vigorous onslaught he made on the eatables.  Then he looked around for his partner, and was horrified not to find him by his side.

“Where’s Shorty,” he anxiously inquired.

Each looked at the other in surprise, and asked: 

“Why, ain’t he here?”

“No, confound it; he ain’t here,” said Si, excitedly springing to his feet; “he has been knocked down and robbed.”

Si bolted out, followed by the rest.  They saw Shorty marching up and down as a sentinel sternly military, and holding his Springfield as rigidly correct as if in front of the Colonel’s quarters.

“What’s the matter with you, Shorty?  Why don’t you come in to supper?” called out Si.  “It’s a mighty good square meal.  Come on in.”

“Can’t do it.  Don’t want no supper.  Ain’t hungry.  Got business out here,” answered Shorty, who had gotten one of his rare fits of considering himself a martyr.

“Nonsense,” said Si.  “Put your gun in the stack and come in.  It’s a bully supper.  Best we’ve had for a year.”

“Well, eat it, then,” answered Shorty crustily.  “I’ve got something more important to think of than good suppers.”

“O, rats!  It’s as safe in there as out here.  Set your gun down and come on in.”

“This gun shall not leave my side till we’re home,” said Shorty in a tone that would have become the Roman sentinel at Pompeii.

“O, I forgot,” said Si.  “Well, bring it in with you.”

“Can’t do it.  Strictly agin orders to take any guns inside.  But leave me alone.  Go back and finish your gorge.  I kin manage to hold out somehow,” answered Shorty in a tone of deep resignation that made Si want to box his ears.

“That’s too bad.  But I’ll tell you what we can do.  I’ve had a purty good feed already enough to last me to Looeyville.  Let me take your gun.  I’ll carry it while you go in and fill up.  We hain’t much time left.”

The fragrance of the coffee, the smell of the fried ham smote Shorty’s olfactories with almost irresistible force.  He wavered just a little .

“Si, I’d trust you as I would no other man in Co.  Q or the regiment.  I’ll-”

Then his Spartan virtue reasserted itself: 

“No, Si; you’re too young and skittish.  You mean well, but you have spells, when-”

“Fall in, men,” said Lieut.  Bowersox, bustling out from a good meal in the officers’ room.  “Fall in promptly.  We must hurry up to catch the Looeyville train.”

The car for Louisville was filled with characters as to whom there was entirely too much ground for fear-gamblers, “skin-game” men, thieves, and all the human vermin that hang around the rear of a great army.  Neither of the boys allowed themselves a wink of sleep, but sat bolt upright the entire night, watching everyone with steady, stern eyes.  They recognized all the rascals they had seen “running games” around the camps at Murfreesboro, and who had been time and again chased out of camp even the whisky seller with whom Si’s father had the adventure.  The Provost-Guard had been making one of its periodical cleaning-ups of Nashville, and driving out the obnoxious characters.  Several of these had tried to renew their acquaintance by offering drinks from well-filled bottles, but they were sternly repulsed, and Shorty quietly knocked one persistent fellow down with a quick whirl of his gun-barrel.  When Shorty was hungry it was dangerous to trifle with him.

They arrived at Louisville late in the morning, and were hurried across the river to Jeffersonville.  Fortunately they were able to find there an eating-room where guns were not barred, and Shorty made amends for the past by ravaging as far as his arms could reach, holding his precious gun firmly between his knees.

“Say, pardner,” said the man who ran the establishment, “I’d much rather board you for a day than a week.  Rebels must’ve cut off the supply-trains where you’ve bin.  You’re not comin’ this way agin soon, air you?  I’m afraid I won’t make ’nough this month to pay my rent.”

Lieut.  Bowersox came in with a telegram in his hand.

“We won’t go on to Indianapolis,” he said.  “I’m ordered to wait here for our squad, which will probably get here by to-morrow evening.”

A wild hope flashed up in Si’s mind.

“Lieutenant,” he said, “we live right over there in Posey County.  Can’t you let us go home?  We can make it, and be back here before to-morrow night.”

“I don’t know,” said the Lieutenant doubtfully, as he mentally calculated the distance to Posey County.  “I hadn’t ought to let you go.  Then, you can’t have more than an hour or two at home.”

“O,’ goodness; just think o’ havin’ one hour at home,” ejaculated Si.

“It seems too bad,” continued the Lieutenant, moved by Si’s earnestness, “to bring you this near, and not let you have a chance to see your folks.

“It’ll be a risk for me, and there are not many men in the regiment I’d take it for, but I’ll let you go.

“Remember, it’ll make a whole lot of trouble for me if you’re not here by to-morrow evening.”

“We’ll be here by to-morrow evening, if alive,” he pledged himself.

“Well, then, go,” said the Lieutenant.

Si’s head fairly swam, and he and Shorty ran so fast to make sure of the train that there was a suspicion in the minds of some of the citizens that they were escaping from their officers.

Si’s heart was in a tumult as the engine-bell rang its final warning and the engine moved out with increasing speed.  Every roll of the swift wheels was carrying him nearer the dearest ones on earth.  The landscape seemed to smile at him as he sped past.

“Isn’t this the grandest country on earth, Shorty?” he bubbled over.  “It’s God’s country for a fact.  So different from old run-down, rebel-ridden Tennessee.  Look at the houses and the farms; look at the people and the live-stock.  Look at the towns and the churches.  Look at everything.  Here’s the country where people live.  Down yonder’s only where they stay and raise Cain.”

“Yes,” admitted Shorty, who had not so much reason for being enthusiastic; “but the Wisconsin boys say that Wisconsin’s as much finer than Injianny as Injianny’s finer’n Tennessee.  I’ll take you up there some day and show you.”

“Don’t believe a dumbed word of it,” said Si, hot with State pride.  “God never made a finer country than Injianny.  Wisconsin’s nowhere.”

Then he bethought himself of the many reasons he had for gladness in his home-coming which his partner had not, and said thoughtfully: 

“I wish, Shorty, you wuz goin’ home, too, to your father and mother and sisters, and-and best girl.  But my father and mother’ll be as glad to see you as if you was their own son, and the girls’ll make just as much of you, and mebbe you’ll find another girl there that’s purtier and better, and-”

“Stop right there, Si Klegg,” said Shorty.  “All girls is purty and nice that is, them that is purty and nice, but some’s purtier and nicer than others.  Then, agin, one’s a hundred times purtier and nicer than any o’ them.  I’ve no doubt that the girls out your way are much purtier and nicer’n the general run o’ girls, but none o’ them kin hold a candle to that girl up in Wisconsin, and I won’t have you sayin’ so.”

“If we’re on time,” said Si, by way of changing the subject, “we’ll git to the station about sundown.  The farm’s about three miles from the station, and we’ll reach home after supper.  Pap’ll be settin’ out on the front porch, smokin’, and readin’ the Cincinnati Gazette, and mother’ll be settin’ beside him knittin’, and the girls’ll be clearin’ away the supper things.  My, won’t they be surprised to see us!  Won’t there be a time!  And won’t mother and the girls fly around to git us something to eat!  Won’t they shake up that old cook-stove, and grind coffee, and fry ham and eggs, and bake biscuits, and git us cool, sweet milk and delicious butter from the old spring-house, and talk all the time!  Shorty, you never heard my sisters talk, especially when they’re a little excited.  Gracious, they’ll just talk the ears off both of us.”

“Well, if they take after you, they are talkers from Talkville,” said Shorty.  “Mill-wheels ain’t in it with your tongue, when it gits fairly started.”

The train was on time, and just as the sun was setting behind the fringe of cottonwoods along Bean Blossom Creek they stopped at the little station, and started to walk out to the farm.  A neighbor who was drawing a load of tile from the station recognized Si, and begged them to get up and ride, but the team was too slow for the impatient boys, and they forged ahead.  A thousand well-remembered objects along the road would have arrested Si’s attention were it not for the supreme interest farther on.  At last they came to a little rise of ground which commanded a view of the house, and there, as Si predicted, sat his father and mother engaged in smoking, reading and knitting.  His first impulse was to yell with delight, but he restrained himself, and walked as steadily on as he could to the front gate.  Old Towser set up a bark and ran down the walk, and then changed his note to de lightful yelps of recognition.  Si was so nervous that he fumbled vainly for a minute at the gate-latch, and while he did so he heard his mother say:  “Father, there’s a couple o’ soldiers out there.”  “Wonder if they kin be from Si’s company,” said the father, lowering his paper, and looking over his spectacles.

“Why, it’s Si himself,” screamed the mother in joyful accents.  The next instant she had sped down the walk quicker than she had ever gone in her girlhood days, her arms about his neck, and she was crying on his shoulder.