Books: The Red Acorn
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John McElroy >> The Red Acorn
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She rode on to the top of the rim of hills which encircle that
most picturesque of Southern cities, and stopped for a moment for
a farewell to the stronghold of her friends, whose friendly cover
she was abandoning to venture, weak and weaponless, into the camp
of her enemies.
Above her the great black guns of a heavy fort pointed their sinister
muzzles down the Murfreesboro road, with fearful suggestiveness of
the dangers to be encountered there.
She remembered Lot's wife, but could not resist the temptation to
take a one backward look. She saw as grand a landscape picture as
the world affords.
Serenely throned upon the hill that dominated the whole of the lovely
valley of the Cumberland, stood the beautiful Capitol of Tennessee.
Ionic porticos and graceful Corinthian columns of dazzling white
limestone rose hundreds of feet above the fountains and magnolia-shaded
terraces that crowned the hill--still more hundreds of feet above
the densely packed roofs and spires of the city crowded upon
the hill's rocky sides. It was like some fine and pure old Greek
temple, standing on a romantic headland, far above the murk and
toil of sordid striving. But over the symmetrical pile floated a
banner that meant to the world all that was signified even by the
banners which Greece folded and laid away in eternal rest thousands
of years ago.
At the foot of the hill the Cumberland, clear as when it descended
from its mountains five hundred miles away, flowed between its
high, straight walls of limestone, spanned by cobweb-like bridges,
and bore on its untroubled breast a great fleet of high-chimneyed,
white-sided transports, and black, sullen gunboats. Miles away to
her left she saw the trains rushing into Nashville, unrolling as
they came along black and white ribbons against the sky.
"They're coming from the North," she said, with an involuntary
sigh; "they're coming from home."
She touched her mare's flank with the whip and sped on.
She soon reached the outer line of guards, by whom she was halted,
with a demand for her pass.
She produced the one furnished her, which was signed by Gen.
Rosencrans. While the Sergeant was inspecting it it occured to
her that now was the time to begin the role of a young woman with
rebellious proclivities.
"Is this the last guard-line I will have to pass?" she asked.
"Yes'm," answered the Sergeant.
"You're quite sure?"
"Yes'm."
"Then I won't have any further use for this--thing?" indicating
the pass, which she received back with fine loathing, as if it were
something infectious.
"No'm."
"Quite sure?"
"Yes'm, quite sure."
She rode over to the fire around which part of the guard were
sitting, held the pass over it by the extremest tips of her dainty
thumb and forefinger, and then dropped it upon the coals, as if it
were a rag from a small-pox hospital. Glancing at her finger-tips
an instant, as if they had been permanently contaminated by the
scrawl of the Yankee General, she touched her nag, and was off like
an arrow without so much as good day to the guards.
"She-cesh--clean to her blessed little toe-nails," said the Sergeant,
gazing after her meditatively, as he fished around in his pouch
for a handful of Kinnikinnick, to replenish his pipe, "and she's
purtier'n a picture, too."
"Them's the kind that's always the wust Rebels," said the oracle of
the squad, from his seat by the fire. "I'll bet she's just loaded
down with information or ouinine. Mebbe both."
She was now fairly in the enemy's country, and her heart beat faster
in momentary expectation of encountering some form of the perils
abounding there. But she became calm, almost joyous, as she passed
through mile after mile of tranquil landscape. The war might
as well have been on the other side of the Atlantic for any hint
she now saw of it in the peaceful, sun-lit fields and woods, and
streams of crystal spring-water. She saw women busily engaged in
their morning work about all the cabins and houses. With bare and
sinewy arms they beat up and down in tiresomely monotonous stroke
the long-handled dashers of cedar churns standing in the wide, open
"entries" of the "double-houses;" they arrayed their well-scalded
milk crocks and jars where the sun's rays would still further sweeten
them; they plied swift shuttles in the weaving sheds; they toiled
over great, hemispherical kettles of dye-stuffs or soap, swinging
from poles over open fires in the yard; they spread out long webs
of jeans and linen on the grass to dry or bleach, and all the while
they sang--sang the measured rhythm of familiar hymns in the high
soprano of white women--sang wild, plaintive lyrics in the liquid
contralto of negresses. Men were repairing fences, and doing other
Winter work in the fields, and from the woods came the ringing
staccato of choppers. She met on the road leisurely-traveling
negro women, who louted low to her, and then as she passed, turn
to gaze after her with feminine analysis and admiration for every
detail of her attire. Then came "Uncle Tom" looking men, driving
wagons loaded with newly-riven rails, breathing the virile pungency
of freshly-cut oak. Occasionally an old white man or woman rode
by, greeting her with a courteous "Howdy?"
The serenity everywhere intoxicated her with a half-belief that
the terrible Rebel army at Murfreesboro was only a nightmare of
fear-oppressed brains, and in her relief she was ready to burst
out in echo of a triumphant hymn ringing from a weaving-shed at
her right.
Her impulse was checked by seeing approach a figure harshly dissonant
to Arcadian surroundings.
It was a young man riding a powerful roan horse at an easy gallop,
and carrying in his hand, ready for instant use, a 16-shooting
Henry rifle. He was evidently a scout, but, as was usual with that
class, his uniform was so equally made up of blue and gray that
it was impossible to tell to which side he belonged. He reined
up as he saw Rachel, and looked at her for a moment in a way that
chilled her. They were now on a lonely bit of road, out of sight
and hearing of any person or house. All a woman's fears rose up in
her heart, but she shut her lips firmly, and rode directly toward
the scout. Another thought seemed to enter his mind, he touched
his horse up with his heel, and rode by her, saying courteously:
"Good morning, Miss," but eyeing her intently as they passed. She
returned the salutation with a firm voice, and rode onward, but at
a little distance could not resist the temptation to turn and look
backward. To her horror the scout had stopped, half-turned his
horse, and was watching her as if debating whether or not to come
back after her. She yielded to the impulse of fear, struck her
mare a stinging blow, and the animal flew away.
Her fright subsided as she heard no hoof-beats following her, and
when she raised her eyes, she saw that she was approaching the
village of Lavergne, half-way to Murfreesboro, and that a party
of Rebel cavalry were moving toward her. She felt less tremor at
this first sight of the armed enemy than she had expected, after
her panic over the scout, and rode toward the horsemen with perfect
outward, and no little inward composure.
The Lieutenant in command raised his hat with the greatest gallantry.
"Good morning, Miss. From the city, I suppose?" he inquired.
"Yes," she answered in tones as even as if speaking in a parlor;
"fortunately, I am at last from the city. I have been trying to
get away ever since it seemed hopeless that our people would not
redeem it soon."
The conversation thus opened was carried on by Rachel giving
copious and disparaging information concerning the "Yankees," and
the Lieutenant listening in admiration to the musical accents,
interrupting but rarely to interject a question or a favorable
comment. He was as little critical as ardent young men are apt
to be of the statements of captivating young women, and Rachel's
spirits rose as she saw that the worst she had to fear from this enemy
was an excess of devotioni. The story of her aunt at Murfreesboro
received unhesitating acceptance, and nothing but imperative scouting
orders prevented his escorting her to the town. He would, however,
send a non-commissioned officer with her, who would see that she
was not molested by any one. He requested permission to call upon
her at her aunt's, which Rachel was compelled to grant, for lack
of any ready excuse for such a contingency. With this, and many
smiles and bows, they parted.
All the afternoon she rode through camps of men in gray and
butternut, as she had ridden through those of men in blue in the
morning. In these, as in the others, she heard gay songs, dance
music and laughter, and saw thousands of merry boys rollicking in
the sunshine at games of ball and other sports, with the joyous
earnestness of a school-house playground. She tried, but in vain,
to realize that in a few days these thoughtless youths would be
the demons of the battle-field.
Just before dusk she came to the top of a low limestone ridge, and
saw, three miles away, the lights of Murfreesboro. At that moment
Fortner appeared, jogging leisurely toward her, mounted on a splendid
horse.
"O there's my Cousin Jim!" she exclaimed gleefully, "coming to meet
me. Sergeant, I am deeply obliged to you and to your Lieutenant,
for your company, and I will try to show my appreciation of it in
the future in some way more substantial than words. You need not
go any farther with me. I know that you and your horse are very
tired. Good by."
The Sergeant was only too gald of this release, which gave him an
opportunity to get back to camp, to enjoy some good cheer that he
knew was there, and bidding a hasty good-night, he left at a trot.
Fortner and Rachel rode on slowly up the pike, traversing the ground
that was soon to run red with the blood of thousands.
They talked of the fearful probabilities of the next few days, and
halted for some minutes on the bridge across Stone River, to study
the wonderfully picturesque scene spread out before them. The
dusk was just closing down. The scowling darkness seemed to catch
around woods and trees and houses, and grow into monsters of vast
and somber bulk, swelling and spreding like the "gin" which escaped
from the copper can, in the "Arabian Nights," until they touched
each other, coalesced and covered the whole land. Far away, at the
edge of the valley, the tops of the hills rose, distinctly lighted
by the last rays of the dying day, as if some strip of country
resisting to the last the invasion of the dark monsters.
A half-mile in front of the bridge was the town of Murfreesboro.
Bright lights streamed from thousands of windows and from bonfires
in the streets. Church bells rang out the glad acclaim of Christmas
from a score of steeples. The happy voices of childhood singing
Christmas carols; the laughter of youths and maidens strolling arm
in arm through the streets; the cheery songs of merry-making negroes;
silver-throated bands, with throbbing drums and gently-complaining
flutes, playing martial airs; long lines of gleaming camp-fires,
stretching over the undulating valley and rising hills like necklaces
of burning jewels on the breast of night,--this was what held them
silent and motionless.
Rachel at last spoke:
"It is like a scene of enchantment. It is more wonderful than
anything I ever read of."
"Yes'm, hit's mouty strikin' now, an' when ye think how hit'll
all be changed in a little while ter more misery then thar is this
side o' hell, hit becomes all the more strikin'. Hit seems ter me
somethin' like what I've heered 'em read 'bout in the Bible, whar
they went on feastin' an' singin', an' dancin' an' frolickin', an'
the like, an' at midnight the inimy broke through the walls of ther
city, an' put 'em all ter the sword, even while they wuz settin'
round thar tables, with ther drinkin' cups in ther hands."
"To think what a storm is about to break upon this scene of happiness
and mirth-making!" said Rachel, with a shudder.
"Yes, an' they seem ter want ter do the very things thet'll show
ther contempt o' righteousness, an' provoke the wrath o' the Lord.
Thar, where ye see thet house, all lit up from the basement ter the
look-out on the ruf, is whar one o' the most 'ristocratic families
in all Tennessee lives. There datter is bein' married to-night,
an' Major-Gineral Polk, the biggest gun in all these 'ere parts,
next ter ole Bragg, an' who is also 'Piscopalian Bishop o' Tennessee,
does the splicin'. They've got ther parlors, whar they'll dance,
carpeted with 'Merican flags, so thet the young bucks an' gals kin
show ther despisery of the banner thet wuz good enough for ther
fathers, by trampin' over hit all night. But we'll show hit ter
'em in a day or two whar they won't feel like cuttin' pigeon-wings
over hit. Ye jes stand still an' see the salvation o' the Lord."
"I hope we will," said Rachel, her horror of the storm that was
about to break giving away to indignation at the treatment of her
country's flag. "Shan't we go on? My long ride has made me very
tired and very hungry, and I know my horse is the same."
Shortly after crossing the river they passed a large tent, with
a number of others clustered around it. All were festooned with
Rebel flags, and brilliantly lighted. A band came up in front of
the principal one and played the "Bonnie Blue Flag."
"Thet's ole Gineral Bragg's headquarters," explained Fortner. "He's
the king bee of all the Rebels in these heah parts, an' they think
he kin 'bout make the sun stand still ef he wants ter."
They cantered on into the town, and going more slowly through the
great public square and the more crowded streets, came at last to
a modest house, standing on a corner, and nearly hidden by vines
and shrubbery.
A peculiar knock caused the door to open quickly, and before Rachel
was hardly aware of it, she was standing inside a comfortable room,
so well lighted that her eyes took some little time to get used to
such a change.
When they did so she saw that she was in the presence of a slender,
elderly woman, whose face charmed her.
"This is yer Aunt Debby Brill," said Fortner, dryly, "who ye came
so fur ter see, an' who's bin 'spectin' ye quite anxiously."
"Ye're very welcome, my dear," said Aunt Debby, after a moment's
inspection which seemed to be entirely satisfactory. "Jest lay
off yer things thar on the bed, an' come out ter supper. I know
ye're sharp-set. A ride from Nashville sech a day ez this is mouty
good for the appetite, an' we've hed supper waitin' ye."
Hastily throwing off her hat and gloves, she sat down with the rest,
to a homely but excellent supper, which they all ate in silence.
During the meal a muscular, well knit man of thirty entered.
"All clar, outside, Bill?" asked Fortenr.
"All clar," replied the man. "Everybody's off on a high o' some
kind."
Bill sat down and ate with the rest, until he satisfied his
hunger, and then rising he felt along the hewed logs which formed
the walls, until he found a splinter to serve as a tooth-pick.
Using this for a minute industriously, he threw it into the fire
and asked:
"Well?"
"Well," answered Fortner. "I reckon hit's ez sartin ez anything
kin well be thet Wheeler's and Morgan's cavalry hez been sent off
inter Kentucky, and ez thet's what Ole rosy's been waitin' fur,
now's the time fur him ter put in his best licks. Ye'd better start
afore midnight fur Nashville. Ye'll hev this news, an' alos thet
thar's been no change in the location o' the Rebels, 'cept thet
Polk's an' Kirby Smith's corps are both heah at Murfreesboro, with
a strong brigade at Stewart's creek, an' another at Lavergne. Ye'd
better fallin with Boscall's rijiment, which'll go out ter Lavergne
to-night, ter relieve one o' the rijiments thar. Ye'd better not
try to git back heah ag'in tell arter the battle. Good by. God
bless ye. Miss, ye'd better git ter bed now, ez soon ez possible,
an' rest yerself fur what's comin'. We'll need every mite an'
grain of our strength."
Chapter XIX. The Battle of Stone River.
O, wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North,
With your hands and your feet, and your raiment all red?
And wherefore doth your rout, send forth a joyous shout?
And whence be the grapes of the wine-press that ye tread?
O, evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,
And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we tred;
For we trampled on the throng, of the haughty and the strong,
Who sat in the high places and slew the saints of God.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They are here--they rush on--we are broken--we are gone-- Our left
is borne before them like stubble in the blast. O, Lord, put forth
thy might! O, Lord, defend the right! Stand back to back, in
God's name! and fight it to the last.
--"Battle of Naseby."*/
The celebration of Christmas in the camps around Nashville was
abruptly terminated by the reception of orders to march in the
morning, with full haversacks and cartridge-boxes. The next day
all the roads leading southward became as rivers flowing armed men.
Endless streams of blue, thickly glinted everywhere with bright
and ominous steel, wound around the hills, poured over the plains,
and spread out into angry lakes wherever a Rebel outpost checked
the flow for a few minutes.
Four thousand troopers under the heroic Stanley--the foam-crest on
the war-billow--dashed on in advance. Twelve thousand steadily-moving
infantry under the luckless McCook, poured down the Franklin
turnpike, miles away to the right; twelve thousand more streamed
down the Murfreesboro pike on the left, with the banner of the
over-weighted Crittenden, while grand old Thomas, he whose trumpets
never sounded forth retreat, but always called to victory, moved
steadfast as a glacier in the center, with as many more, a sure
support and help to those on either hand.
The mighty war-wave rolling up the broad plateau of the Cumberland
was fifteen miles wide now. It would be less than a third of that
when it gathered itself together for its mortal dash upon the rocks
of rebellion at Murfreesboro.
It was Friday morning that the wave began rolling southward. All
day Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday, and Monday it rolled steadily
onward, sweeping before it the enemy's pickets and outposts as dry
sand by an incoming tide. Monday evening the leading divisions
stood upon the ridge where Rachel and Fortner had stood, and looked
as they did upon the lights of Murfreesboro, two miles away.
"Two days from to-morrow is New Year's," said Kent Edwards. "Dear
Festival of Egg-Nogg! how sweet are thy memories. I hope the
Tennessee hens are doing their duty this Winter, so that we'll have
no trouble finding eggs when we get into Murfreesboro to-morrow."
"We are likely to be so busy tendering the compliments of the
season to Mr. Bragg," said Harry, lightly, "that we will probably
have but little time to make calls upon the lady-hens who keep open
nests."
"We all may be where we'll need lots o' cold water more than anything
else," said Abe grimly.
"Well," said Kent blithely, "if I'm to be made a sweet little angel
I don't know any day that I would rather have for my promotion to
date from. It would have a very proper look to put in the full
year here on earth, and start in with the new one in a world of
superior attractions."
"Well, I declare, if here isn't Dr. Denslow," said Harry, delightedly,
as he recognized a horsemna, who rode up to them. "How did you
come here? We thought you were permanently stationed at the grand
hospital."
"So I was," replied the Doctor. "So I was, at least so far as
general orders could do it. But I felt that I could not be away
from my boys at this supreme moment, an I am here, though the
irregular way in which I detached myself from my post may require
explanation at a court-martial. Anyhow, it is a grateful relief
to be away from the smell of chloride of lime, and get a breath
of fresh air that is not mingled with the groans of a ward-full of
sick men. It looks," he continued, with a comprehensive glance at
the firmament of Rebel camp-fires that made Murfreesboro seem the
center of a ruddy Milky-way, "as if the climax is at last at hand.
Bragg, like the worm, will at last turn, and after a year of footraces
we'll have a fight which will settle who is the superfluous cat in
this alley. There is certainly one too many."
"The sooner it comes the better," said Harry firmly. "It has to be
sometime, and I'm getting very anxious for an end to this eternal
marching and countermarching."
"My winsome little feet," Kent Edwards put in plaintively, "are
knobby as a burglar-proof safe, with corns and bunions, all of them
more tender than a maiden's heart, and painful as a mistake in a
poker hand. They're the ripe fruit of the thousands of miles of
side hills I've had to tramp over because of Mr. Bragg's retiring
disposition. Now, if he's got the spirit of a man he'll come out
from under the bed and fight me."
"O, he'll come out--he'll come out--never you fear," said Abe,
sardonic as usual. "He's got a day or two's leisure now to attend
to this business. A hundred thousand of him will come out. They'll
swarm out o' them cedar thickets there like grass-hoppers out of
a timothy field."
"Boys," said Harry, returning after a few minutes' basence, "the
Colonel says we'll go into camp right here, just as we stand. Kent,
I'll take the canteens and hunt up water, if you and Abe will break
some cedar boughs for the bed, and get the wood to cook supper
with."
"All right," responded Kent, "I'll go after the boughs."
"That puts me in for the wood," grumbled Abe. "And, I don't
suppose there's a fence inside of a mile, and if there is there's
not a popular rail in it."
"And, Doctor," continued Harry, flinging the canteens over his
shoulder, "you'll stay and take a cup of coffee and sleep with us
to-night, won't you? The trains are all far behind, and the hospital
wagon must be miles away."
"Seems to me that I've heard something of the impropriety of visiting
your friends just about mealtime," said the Doctor quizzically,
"but a cup of coffee just now has more charms for me than rigid
etiquette, so I'll thankfully accept your kind invitation. Some
day I'll reciprocate with liberality in doses of quinine."
In less time than that taken by well-appointed kitchens to furnish
"Hot Meals to Order" the four were sitting on their blankets around
a comfortable fire of rails and cedar logs, eating hard bread
and broiled fat pork, and drinking strong black coffee, which the
magic of the open air had transmuted into delightfully delicate
and relishable viands.
"You are indebted to me," said Dr. Denslow, as he finished the last
crumb and drop of his portion of the food, "for the accession to
your company at this needful time, of a tower of strength in the
person of Lieutenant Jacob Alspaugh."
Abe groaned; the Doctor looked at him with well-feigned astonishment,
and continued:
"That gore-hungry patriot, as you know, has been home several months
on recruiting duty, by virtue of a certificate which he wheedled
out of old Moxon. At last, when he couldn't keep away any longer,
he started back, but he carefully restrained his natural impetuosity
in rushing to the tented field, and his journey from Sardis to
Nashville was a fine specimen of easy deliberation. There was not
a sign of ungentlemanly hurry in any part of it. He came into my
ward at Nashville with violent symptoms of a half-dozen speedily
fatal diseases. I was cruel enough to see a coincidence in this
attack and the general marching orders, and I prescribed for his
ailments a thorough course of open air exercise. To be sure that
my prescription would be taken I had the Provost-Marshal interest
himself in my patient's case, and the result was that Alspaugh
joined the regiment, and so far has found it difficult to get away
from it. It's the unexpected that happens, the French say, and
there is a bare possibility that he may do the country some service
by the accidental discharge of his duty."
"The possibility is too remote to waste time considering," said
Harry.
They lay down together upon a bed made by spreading their overcoats
and blankets upon the springy cedar boughts, and all but Harry
were soon fast asleep. Though fully as weary as they he could not
sleep for hours. He was dominated by a feeling that a crisis in
his fate was at hand, and as he lay and looked at the stars every
possible shape that that fate could take drifted across his mind,
even as the endlessly-varying cloud-shapes swept--now languidly,
now hurriedly--across the domed sky above him. And as the moon and
the stars shone through or around each of the clouds, making the
lighter ones masses of translucent glory, and gilding the edges of
even the blackest with silvery promise, so the thoughts of Rachel
Bond suffused with some brightness every possible happening to him.
If he achieved anything the achievement would have for its chief
value that it won her commendation; if he fell, the blackness of
death would be gilded by her knowledge that he died a brave man's
death for her sweet sake.
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