by John McElroy
CHAPTER XIII. "HOOSIER'S REST"
SI AND SHORTY CHRISTEN THEIR PLACE AND GIVE A HOUSE-WARMING.
WITH a tin roof, a real door, a glazed window and a plank floor, Si andShorty's house was by far the most aristocratic in the cantonment ofthe 200th Ind., if not the entire Winter quarters of the Army of theCumberland. A marble mansion, with all the modern improvements, couldnot more proudly overshadow all its neighbors than it did.
Even the Colonel's was no comparison to it. A tent-fly had been made todo duty for a roof at the Colonel's. It could not be stretched evenlyand tight. It would persistently sag down in spots, and each of thesespots became a reservoir from which would descend an icy stream. Ablanket had to serve as a door, and the best substitute for window glasswere Commissary blanks greased with fat from headquarters' frying-pan.The floor, instead of being of clean, new plank, as Si's and Shorty's,was made of the warped and weather-beaten boards of a stable, which hadbeen torn down by a fatigue detail.
Si and Shorty took as much pride and pleasure in their architecture asany nabob over his million-dollar villa. They were constantly on thealert for anything that would add to the comfort and luxury{151}of their home. In their wanderings they chanced to come across anold-fashioned bedstead in an out house. It was of the kind in which therails screw together, and the bed is held up by a strong cord crossingand recrossing from one rail to another. This looked like real luxury,and they at once appropriated it without any consultation with theowner, whoever he may have been.
"It'd be a waste o' time, anyhow," remarked Shorty. "He's a rebel, andprobably over there in Bragg's army."
They made a tick out of the piece of wagon-cover, filled it with beechleaves, and had a bed which surpassed their most extravagant ideas ofcomfort in the army.
"Shorty," said Si, as they snugged themselves in the first night, "thisseems almost too much. Do you ever remember settin' the whole night on arail, with nothin' over us but clouds leakin' ice-water?"
"Shut up," said Shorty, giving him a kick under the blankets. "Do youwant me to have a night mare?"
They got a number of flat stones, and laid down a little pavement infront of their door, and drove an old bayonet into the logs to serve asa scraper. They rigorously insisted on every visitor using this beforeentering.
"For common Wabash-bottom fly-up-the-cricks and private soljers, you'reputtin' on entirely too many frills," said Sol Murphy, the Wagonmaster,angrily, as it was firmly insisted upon that he stay outside until hecarefully cleaned his shoes on the bayonet. "A man that's afraid o'mud hain't no{152} business in the army. He orter stay at home an' wearCongress gaiters an' pantalets. You're puttin' on too many scollops, Itell you. You knowed all 'bout mud in the Wabash bottoms. You had 'nuffof it there, the Lord knows."
"Yes, we had," replied Shorty; "but we was too well raised to track itinto anybody's parlor."
"Parlor," echoed Sol, with a horse-laugh. "Lord, how fine we are, justbecaze one o' us happens to be a measly little Corporal. In some armiesthe Wagonmasters have Corporals to wait on 'em an' black their boots.Now, I'll tell yo' what I've come for. I've lost my scoop-shovel,an' I've bin told that you fellers stole it, an' are usin' it to bakehoe-cakes on. I've come up here to see if you've got it, an' I'm goin'right in there to see for myself, mud or no mud."
"We hain't got your blamed old scoop-shovel; you can't git it; youain't goin' in there until you clean your feet, an' not then onless weconclude to allow you," Shorty replied.
"I'm goin' in there, or break some Wabash loon's neck," said theWagonmaster wrathfully.
"I always did like to get a chance to lick a mule-whacker," said Si,pulling off his overcoat. "And the bigger and the more consequential heis, the better. I've never licked a Wagonmaster yit, an' I'm just achin'for a chance."
The Wagonmaster was the bully of the regiment, as Wagonmasters generallyare. When Si came into the regiment, a green cub, just getting hisgrowth, and afraid of everybody who assumed a little authority and hadmore knowledge of the world than he, the Wagonmaster had been very{153}overbearing, and at times abusive. That is the way of Wagonmasters andtheir ilk. The remembrance of this rankled in Si's mind.
On the other hand, the Wagonmaster failed to comprehend the change thata few months of such service as the 200th Ind.'s wrought in verdant,bashful boys like Si. He thought he could cow him as easily as he didwhen Si had timidly ventured to ask His Greatness a modest questionor two as they were crossing the Ohio River. Wagonmasters were alwaysmaking just that kind of mistakes.
The other boys ran up to see the fun. The Wagonmaster made a rush forSi with doubled fists, but Si quickly stepped to one side, and gave thehulking fellow a tap on the butt of his ear that laid him over inthe mud. The other boys yelled with delight. Next to a Sutler, or aconceited, fresh young Aid, the soldiers always delighted to see aWagonmaster get into trouble.
SI FLOORS THE WAGONMASTER. 154]
The Wagonmaster sprang up, ready for another round; but the boys raisedthe cry that the Officer of the Day was coming, and both Si and theWagonmaster remembered that they had business in other parts of thecamp.
The next day Shorty said: "It's all right, Si; we could've kept thatscoop-shovel as long as we wanted to, but I thought that for manyreasons it'd better be got out of the regiment, so I've traded it tothem Maumee Muskrats for a Dutch oven they'd borrowed from their Major."
"Bully," answered Si. "I'd much rather have the Dutch oven, anyway."
Si produced a piece of board, which had been{154} painted white, andevidently done duty as part of the door of a house in Murfreesboro',looked at it critically, and then selected a piece of charcoal from thefire, and sat down with an air of studious purpose. "What are you up tonow, Si?" asked Shorty curiously.
"Why," explained Si, "I've noticed, whenever we've bin in any big place,that all the fine houses have signs or numbers, or something else onto'em, to name 'em. I've bin thinkin' o' something for{155} our house. Howdoes 'Hoosier's Rest' strike you for a name?"
"Splendid," said Shorty. "Couldn't be better."
"And," continued Si, "I've got this board to make a sign to nail up overthe door. Do you know how to spell Hoosier, Shorty?"
"Blest if I do," answered Shorty. "It wasn't in our book. At least, wenever got to it, if it was. You see our spellin'-school broke up justas we got to 'incompatible.' The teacher got too fond o' Nancy Billings,that I was castin' sheep's eyes at myself. He got to givin' her easywords, to keep her at the head o' the class, and pickin' hard ones forme, to send me to the foot, where I'd be fur away from her. I wouldn'tstand it always, so me an' him had it out one night before all thescholars; I got away with him, and he left the country, and busted upthe school."
"Hoosier," repeated Si to himself. "I never saw it spelled. But theremust be some way to spell it. Let me see: 'W-h-o spells who.'"
"That's so," assented Shorty.
"I-s spells 'is,'" continued Si. "Who-is that's right so far. H-e-r-espells 'here.' 'Who-is-here?' That seems almost right, don't it,Shorty?"
"It certainly does," replied Shorty, scratching his head to acceleratehis mental action. "Or it might be, Si, w-h-o, who; i-s, is; and y-e-r,yer. You know some ignorant folks say yer for you. And they say the namecame from the people who first settled in Injianny sayin' 'Who's yer?'to any new comer."
"I believe you're right, Shorty," said Si, bending{156} over the boardwith the charcoal to begin the work. "We'll make it that way, anyway."
The next day passers-by saw a white board nailed up over the door, whichcontained a charcoal sketch of a soldier seated on a chunk of wood,with a pipe in his mouth, taking as much ease as Si could throw into theoutlines of his face and body, and with it was this legend:
"WHO IS YER'S REST."
The next idea that came into the partners' minds was that therequirements of society demanded that they give a housewarming in theirsumptuous abode. They at once set about making it a memorable socialevent.
While out with a wagon after forage they foun
d an Indiana man who hadsettled in that country. He had a good orchard. They bought from him abarrel of pretty hard cider and several bushels of apples. His wife knewhow to make fried dough nuts of real Indiana digestibility. They wouldbe luxuries for the boys, and a half-bushel were contracted for. Thefarmer was to bring them all in his wagon, and Si and Shorty were tomeet him at the pickets and guard the treasures to their abode.
They bought a little bale of fragrant Kinnikinnick tobacco from thesutler, made a sufficiency of corncob pipes, swept off the ground infront of their house, which, as there had been no rain for several days,was in good condition, with brooms of brush, that it might serve for adancing-floor, gathered in a stock of pitch-pine knots for theirfire, spoke{157} to Bunty Jim to bring his fiddle along, and to UncleSassafras, the Colonel's cook, to come down with his banjo, and theirpreparations were completed.
It was a crisp, delightful Winter evening, with the moon at full, thefire burning brightly, and every body in the best of spirits. Theawful week of marching, enduring and suffering; of terrific fighting,limitless bloodshed; of wounds and death to one{158} out of every fourmen in the ranks; of nerve-racking anxieties to all might as well havebeen centuries ago for any sign that appeared on the bright, animatedfaces of the young men who gathered in front of the cabin. They smoked,danced old-fashioned country dances to the music of the fiddle and thebanjo, and sang songs which lamented the death of "Lily Dale," mournedthat "My Nelly was sleeping in the Hazel Dell," adjured the "SilverMoon" to "roll on," and so on through the whole repertoire of thesentimental ballads of that day.
Then they were invited into the house to inspect its complete, luxuriousappointments, and feast themselves to bursting on apples, hard cider,and doughnuts that would have tried any stomach but a young soldier's.
Billy Gurney, who had been back to Nashville as one of the guard to atrain-load of wounded, was induced to favor the company with the newestsong, which had just reached that city. He cleared his throat withanother tincupful of cider, and started off with:
"When this cruel war is over."
Rapturous applause followed the first verse, and Billy started in toteach them the chorus, so they could all join.
A loud explosion came from the fireplace, a campkettle full of ciderthat was being mulled by the fire was spattered over the company,scalding some of them severely; stones from the fireplace and bulletsflew about the room. They all rushed out.{159} Footsteps could be heardrunning in the distance. They looked in that direction, and recognizedSol Murphy's broad back and bushy head.
"That blamed Wagonmaster dropped a nosebag with a lot o' cartridges init down the chimbly," said Shorty, who had made an inspection of thefireplace. "Mad because he wasn't invited. You bet, I'll salivate himwell for that little trick."
