Si Klegg, Book 4

by John McElroy

  CHAPTER XVII. IN THE HOSPITAL

  REMOVED FROM THE BATTLEFIELD TO THE HOSPITAL AT CHATTANOOGA.

  FOR a short time a silence that seemed oppressive followed the fierceturmoil of the last charge of the rebels upon Snodgrass Hill and itsrepulse. Both sides had exhausted themselves in the awful grapple, andhad to regain breath and thought. Then the night was pierced by theagonizing groans of the innumerable wounded, the stern commands ofofficers to their men to re-form, the calls of scattered men seekingtheir regiments and companies.

  The sadly-shrunken remnant of the unconquer able 200th Ind. gatheredaround its regimental colors, on the front of the crest of SnodgrassHill, and grimly, silently prepared for the next event, whatever itmight be. The wounds of those still able to fight were bound up, andthey resumed their places in line. The worst hurt were helped or carriedback to the busy Surgeon under the shelter of the hill. The newly-deadwere brought up and added to the row of those who had already foughttheir last battle. Cartridge-boxes of both dead and wounded werecarefully searched for remaining cartridges. Si and Shorty were laid atthe end of the long row.

  The chill air of the evening began to revive Si and Shorty. Si's brainresponded long before any of his muscles. At first it seemed the vaguestand most shadowy of dreams. There was a dim consciousness of lyingsomewhere. Where it was, how he came there, what was going on aroundhe had not the slightest idea nor desire to know. There was just thefeeling of being there, without any sensation of comfort or discomfort,wish or longing.

  One by one, and very slowly, other nerves awoke. He became consciousthat there was a sharp stone or knot under his head, which hurt, and hetried to move it, but queerly his head would not move, and then he foundthat neither would his hands. This was faintly puzzling, as things arein dreams. Then his throat became on fire with thirst, and somehowthere came a dream of the deliciously cool well on the farm at home,the bucket covered with green moss swinging over it, the splash of coolwater when it was lowered, the trough by the side, where they used topour water for the fowls to drink, the muddy spot around, where waterplants grew on the splashings and drippings. Then were visions ofthe eternal, parching thirst of the damned, which he had often heardpreachers describe, and he was conscious of a faint curiosity as towhether he had died and waked up in the home of the lost.

  Still not a muscle waked up to obey his will, and he seemed indifferentwhether it did or not. Then he forgot everything again, until presentlyhis burning throat recalled his consciousness.

  He felt the cold, bracing air in his nostrils, and slowly, very slowlyat first, he began to hear and understand the sounds around him. Theshriek of a wounded comrade carried past, whose leg had been shattered,first sounded like the hum of bees, and finally translated itself intosomething like its true meaning, but he had no comprehension or sympathyfor its misery.

  He tried to make some sound himself, but his tongue was as hypnotizedas his other muscles, and refused to obey his will. Yet at the momenthe did not seem to care much. His wishes were as numb as his tendons andsinews. He became shadowly conscious of his comrades gathering aroundhim, picking him up, carrying him back up the hill, and laying him downagain. This relieved the sharp pain from the stone under his head; butwhen they laid him down again his head fell too low. He heard themurmur of their voices, and felt their hands searching his pockets forcartridges.

  Consciousness began returning more swiftly, though the muscles were yetparalyzed. He could feel to the tips of his fingers, yet he couldnot move them. He began to understand the words spoken about him, andcomprehend their meaning. The first sentence that filtered its way tohis brain was Lieut. Bowersox's order to the regiment:

  "The orders are to fall back quietly. We'll follow the 1st Oshkosh, onour right. As soon as it is well down the hill we'll move by the rightflank, and fall in behind it. Our wagon is right at the bottom of thehill. Those that are not able to march will start now, and get in it.It will move right after the regiment. Don't anybody say a word of thisabove his breath. The rebels are listening sharply for our movements. Wedare not even cheer, for fear they'll find out how few are left of us.All of you keep a lookout, and follow right after me when I start, for Iwon't give any order."

  Then all his consciousness seemed to wake up at once into an agony offear of being left behind to fall into the hands of the rebels. He madea desperate effort to call out, but his tongue seemed dry and uselessas a cornhusk in his parched mouth, and his throat too burning hot toperform its office. Nor could he lift a finger nor move a toe.

  He found room for anger at Shorty that he did not look him up, andsatisfy himself as to his condition, and Lieut. Bowersox and the restseemed selfishly thoughtful of their own safety and neglectful of his.

  He listened in agony to the regiment on the right marching off, tothe cautions and admonitions given those who were carrying off thebadly-wounded, and then to Lieut. Bowersox starting off with the rightof the 200th Ind.

  Then he heard little Abel Waite say:

  "I know that Si Klegg has some things on him that his folks' d liketo have. I know where they live. I'm goin' to git 'em, and send 'em to'em."

  "Make haste, then, young feller," he heard Wat Burnham growl. "Don't letthe rebels ketch yer. We're movin' now."

  He heard Abel Waite's steps running toward him, and felt his handsthrust into his blouse pocket over his breast. Then the boy said with astart of surprise:

  "Why, he's alive yet. Come here, Wat."

  Wat and the Irishmen hastened to him. He felt

  Wat's hand laid on his breast, and then held over his mouth.

  "'E's certainly warm yet. Hand 'e breathes."

  Shorty made a violent effort, and summoned enough strength to reach overand touch the Englishman's foot.

  "The tall feller's alive, too," said Wat.

  "We must take 'em along with us," said Abel Waite excitedly.

  "Yes, but 'ow?" growled the Englishman. "Don't speak so loud, you youngbrat. Do you want to hopen hup that 'ell's kitchen hagin?"

  "The Liftinant's far down the hill wid the regiment," said BarneyMcGrath. "There's no toime to sind for him. Here, lit's pick thim up an'carry thim down to the wagon."

  He put his hand under Si's shoulder. The others did the same, Watlifting Shorty's feet.

  "Halt, there, you Yanks, and surrender," said a stern voice just behindWat.

  Wat looked back over his shoulder and saw a single adventurous rebelwho, divining what was going on, had slipped forward in the darkness,with his gun leveled on the squad bearing Si. Wat realized instantlythat the rebel must be suppressed with out alarm to others that might bebehind him. He dropped Shorty's foot, and with a backward sweep of hismighty right took the rebel in the stomach with such force as to doublehim up. The next instant Wat had his throat in his terrific grip, andtried to tear the windpipe from him. Then he flung the rebel forwarddown the hill, gathered up Shorty's feet again, and gave the command:

  "Hall right. Go a'ead, boys, quick has you can."

  With great difficulty they made their way over the wreckage of battledown the hill toward where they expected to find the regimental wagon.But it had received all that it could hold of its ghastly freight andmoved off.

  They were is despair for a few minutes, until Abel Waite discovered anabandoned wagon near by, with one mule still hitched to it. Next theyfound a wounded artillery horse which had been turned loose from hisbattery. He was hitched in, and Si and Shorty were laid on the layer ofammunition-boxes which still covered the bottom of the bed.

  "Who'll drive the bloody team?" growled Wat. "Hi never druv a 'oss hinmy life. 'Ere, Barney, you get hin the saddle."

  "Not Oi," answered Barney. "Oi niver could droive ayven a pig, on thebrightest day that shone. Oi'll not fool wid a couple av strange horses,a wagon-load av foire an' brimstone, an' a brace av dead men, in themidst av Aygytian darkness. Not Oi."

  "Here, I kin drive two horses, anyway," said Abel Waite, climbing intothe saddle. "I've done that much on the farm."
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  They pushed off into the road marked by the dark line of troops movingsilently toward McFarland's Gap, and after some contest with otherdrivers secured a place behind one of the regiments of their brigade.

  A couple of miles ahead Forrest's cavalry was making a noisy disputeof the army's retreat, the woods were on fire, and the fences on eitherside of the road were blazing.

  The long line was halted in anxious expectation for a little while, asthe storm of battle rose, and the men looked into each other's faceswith sickening apprehension, for it seemed much like defeat and capture.Then loud cheers, taken up clear down the line', rose as Turchin'sBrigade, by a swift bayonet charge, swept away all opposition, scatteredthe rebels to the shelter of the woods, and reopened the way. Butthe rebels still continued to fire long distance shots at the road asoutlined by the burn ing fences.

  THE DEAD BEING COLLECTED AFTER THE BATTLE. 220]

  Though one of his team was wounded, Abel Waite had little difficultyin keeping his place in column until the burning lane was reached. Theregiment ahead had gone through on the double-quick, and teams as fastas they could be lashed.

  "What'll we do now?" he called out to the others in his boyish treble."I can't git these plugs out of a walk. If we go ahead the fire'll bustthe ammunition, and send us all sky-huntin'. If we stop here them rebels'll git us, sure."

  "Go a'ead, Habe," growled Wat, after a moment's thought. "We can't 'elpyou, but we'll stay wi' you. Hif she busts, she busts, hand that's hallthere'll be hof hit hor hof us. We'll stick by the wagon, though, tillshe busts, hand then nobuddy but the crows 'll hever find hany hof hus.Go a'ead, you bloody brat."

  "Cut me one o' them young hickories for a gad," said Abel, pointing tothe brush by the side of the road, "and I'll git as good time out o'these poor brutes as they kin make, if I skin 'em alive."

  Abel lashed his animals with all the strength of his young arm,and succeeded in keeping them in something like a trot. The men ranalongside, and fought the fire as well as they were able. Several timesthe wagon-cover caught fire from the intense heat, but it was at oncebeaten out by hats and blouses, and blouses were laid over the holes toprotect them against the sparks.

  They succeeded at last in getting through the fire-bordered road withoutan explosion, but they were all so exhausted that they could not moveanother step until they rested. The poor horse lay down and refused toget up.

  Wat and Abel looked in to see how Si and Shorty had fared. The joltingof the wagon and the cold night air had at first revived them so thatthey could speak. Then they swooned again from the effects of the heatand the stifling smoke, and were speech less and motionless when Wat andAbel looked in.

  "We've 'ad hall hour trouble for nothink," said Wat disconsolately, ashe felt them over. "The 'eat and smoke's killed 'em."

  "Not by a durned sight," slowly gasped Shorty. "Seen sicker dogs'n thisgit well. Nearly dead for a drink o' water, though. Then I'll be allright."

  Abel snatched a canteen, ran to a branch a little way off, filled it,and returning, put it to Shorty's lips.

  "Jehosephat, how good that tastes," said Shorty, speaking still faintly,but far more freely than at first, after he had drained the canteen."Sonny, run and git some more; and mind you fill the canteen full thistime. I feel as if I could drink up the Mississippi River. Say, boys,what's happened? Appearintly, I got a sock-dologer on my head from somefeller who thought I was too fresh. I'm afraid I'll have a spell o'headache. But we got the flag, didn't we?"

  "Yo're bloody right we did," said Wat; "hand we wolloped them bloomin'rebels till they 'unted their 'oles hin the woods."

  "That's good enough," said Shorty, sinking back.

  "The column's movin' agin," said Abel Waite, turn ing his attention tohis team.

  Shortly after daybreak the team limped painfully up the slope of MissionRidge, through Rossville Gap, on either side of which stood Thomas'sindomitable army in battle array, sternly defying the rebel hosts ofBragg and Longstreet, which swarmed over the hills and valleys in front,but without much apparent appetite for a renewal of the dreadful fray.

  "Where do you men belong? What have you got in that wagon? Where are yougoing?" demanded the Provost officer in the road.

  "We belong to the 200th Hinjianny. We've got two badly-wounded men andha lot o' hammynition in the wagon. We want to find our regiment," answered Wat Burnham.

  "Stop your wagon right there. We need all the ammunition we can get.Lift your wounded men into that ambulance, and then go up to that sideof the gap. Your division is up there somewhere."

  It was late in the afternoon before the overworked Surgeon in the fieldhospital at Chattanooga, in which Si and Shorty were finally deposited,found time to examine them.

  "You got a pretty stiff whack on your head, my man," he said to Shorty,as he finished looking him over; "but so far as I can tell now it hasnot fractured your skull. You Hoosiers have mighty hard heads."

  "Reglar clay-knob whiteoak," whispered Shorty; "couldn't split it witha maul and wedge. Don't mind that a mite, since we got that flag. Buthow's my pardner over there?"

  "I think you'll pull through all right," continued the Surgeon, "if youdon't have concussion of the brain. You'll have to be--"

  "No danger o' discussion of the brains," whispered Shorty. "Don't carry'em up there, where they're liable to get slubbed. Keep 'em in a saferplace, where there's more around 'em. But how's my pardner?"

  "You'll come through all right," said the Surgeon smiling. "You're theright kind to live. You've got grit. I'll look at your partner now."

  He went to Si and examined him. Shorty turned on his side and watchedhim with eager eyes. His heart sickened as he saw the Surgeon's facegrow graver as he proceeded. The Surgeon probed the bullet's track withhis fingers, and drew out a piece of folded letter paper stained withblood. Instinctively he unfolded it, and read through the ensanguinedsmears, written in a cramped school-girl hand:

  "Dear Si: Though I did not have the heart to say it, Ime yours till death, and Ime sure you feel the same way. Annabel."

  "I'm much afraid the end has come too soon to a brave as well as lovingheart," said the Surgeon sadly.

  "Doctor, he can't die. He mustn't die," said Shorty in agony. "Theregiment can't spare him. He's the best soldier in it, and he's mypardner."

  "He may live, but it's a very slender chance," said the Surgeon. "Menlive in this war against all science and experience, and it is possiblethat he may."

  "Major," said Lieut. Bowersox, coming in, "I understand that two of mymen were brought in here wounded. The report which was sent North thismorning gave them as killed. If you have them here I want to correct itand save their people sorrow."

  "One of them," answered the Surgeon, "has no thought of dying, and will,I'm sure, pull through. I am sorry I cannot say the same for the other.It he lives it will be a wonder."

  "Neither of us is a-going to die till we've put down this damnedrebellion, and got home and married our girls," gasped Shorty with grimeffort. "You can jist telegraph that home, and to ole Abe Lincoln, andto all whom it may concern."

  And he fell back exhausted on his blanket.