"si," said the orderly-sergeant, "here's a chance to give them pin-feather roosters o' yours a little taste of active service, that'll be good seasoning for 'em, and help develop their hackles and spurs."
"good idee. what is it?" responded si with alacrity.
"an order's come down from headquarters to detail a sergeant and eight men from the company to go out about eight or 10 miles in the country, and take a turn guarding a little mill they're running out there, grinding meal. there's a gang of bushwhackers around there, that occasionally pester the men at work and they've tried once to burn the mill. i don't think you'll have much trouble, but you've got to keep your eye peeled, and not let any of your boys go to sleep on post."
"i'll look out for that."
"i know you will. you'll take shorty along, and your seven kids, which'll make up the number. you'll draw three days' rations, at the end of which time you'll be relieved."
"now, boys," said si, returning to his squad, "we won't drill today, but are going out on some real soldierin'. the kurnel has given us a very important detail."
the boys swelled up visibly at the news.
"i want you to all act like soldiers, now," continued si, "and be a credit to the company and the rijiment. we're goin' to be all by ourselves, and everybody's eyes 'll be on us."
"yes," echoed shorty, "we'll be the only part o' the rijiment at the front, and we want to git a good stiff brace on ourselves, because if we don't some o' these other rijiments may git the grand laugh on us."
shorty's tone was that this was a calamity to which death was preferable, and the boys were correspondingly impressed. they were rapidly learning the lesson that the regiment and its reputation were the most important things in the whole world.
"come along, and le's draw our rations," said si. "and you boys want to keep in mind that this's all you'll git for three days, and govern yourselves accordingly. the 'leventh commandment is to take all that you kin git, and take mighty good care of it after you git it—"
"for sich is the kingdom of heaven," interjected shorty, imitating the chaplain's tone.
"no," said si, who was irritated by his partner's irreverence: "but it's the way a good soldier does. his first dooty's to take care o' his grub, because that's takin' care o' himself, and keepin' himself in good shape to do the dooty the government expects o' him. 'tain't servin' the government right for him to be careless about himself. now here's 27 rations o' bread, meat, coffee, sugar, salt and beans—three apiece for each of us. harry joslyn, you and gid mack divide them up into nine equal piles."
si and shorty turned to give directions about packing up the shelter-tents and blankets for carrying.
"now, gid mackall," said harry, "play fair, if you ever did in your life. i won't have none o' your shenanniging."
"don't talk to me about shenanniging, you little imp," responded gid cordially. "you can't do a straight thing if you try, and you never try. you never fisted-up with me on a ball-bat that you didn't slip your hand so's to come out ahead."
"now, there's three loaves o' bread for the sargint," said harry, laying them down on a newspaper. "there's three for the corpril; there's three for me; there's three for you."
"here, what're you givin' me that broken loaf for?" demanded gid, stopping in his distribution of meat. "give that to pete skidmore. he's the littlest."
"ain't goin' to do nothin' o' the kind," responded harry. "you've got to take things as they come. that loaf fell to you, and you've got to keep it."
"if you don't take that nubbin loaf away and put a full one in its place, not a speck o' lean meat 'll you get—nothin' but fat six inches thick."
"you'll cut that meat straight across, and give me my right share o' lean, you puddin'-headed, sandhill crane," shouted harry.
"who're you a-calling names, you bow-legged little shrimp?" shouted gid, slapping harry across the face with a piece of fat pork.
an angry mix-up, school boy rules, followed, to the great detriment of the rations. si and shorty rushed up, separated the combatants, and administered shakes, cuffs, and sharp reprimands.
"now, you quarrelsome little whelps," said si, after quiet had been restored, "you've got to take them rations that you've spiled for yourselves. you shan't have no other. put that bread and that meat you've kicked around into your own haversacks. then go back there and roll up your blankets—same as the other boys. alf russell, you and jim humphreys come here and divide the rest o' these rations into seven parts, if you kin do it without fightin'."
the division of the rations proceeded, with some jars between russell and humphreys over the apportionment of fat and lean meat, and angry protests from little pete skidmore because they made his share smaller than anybody else's.
"yit," said he, "i've got to march just as far as any of you, carry just as big a gun, and do just as much shootin'."
"you're wrong," said the medical-minded alf russell. "you ought to have less than the others, because you're smaller. the littler and younger the person the smaller the dose, always."
"no," acceded the farmer jim humphreys. "tain't natural, nor right. you don't give a colt as much feed as you do a grown horse. anybody knows that."
"pete's plea is sound," contraverted the legal-minded monty scruggs. "all men are equal before the law, though they mayn't be a foot high. rations are a matter of law, and the law's no respecter of persons."
"rations is intended," persisted alf, "to give a man what he needs to eat—nothing more, nothing less. pete don't need as much as a man; why give it to him? there'd be just as much sense in giving him the clothes for a six-footer."
"all o' you are always imposin' on me 'cause i'm little," whimpered pete. "and that stuck-up alf russell's the worst of all. just because he's goin' to be a doctor, and leads in singin' at church, he thinks he knows more'n the man what writ the arithmetic, and he's down on me because i won't take all he says for law and gospel, in spite of his airs. jim humphreys is down on me, because i writ home that i'd shot a man back there at the burnt bridge, and jim got skeered at a coon-huntin' nigger."
"never mind, pete," said monty consolingly, "none o' them shall impose on you while i'm around. now, alf, you and jim give pete just as much as the rest, or i'll make you."
"who'll you make, you brindle steer?" said alf, laying down his bread and bristling up.
"stand back, alf; he meant me," said jim, disposing his meat, and approaching monty with doubled fists. "now, mister scruggs, le's see you do some makin', since you're so brash."
"here, stop that, you little scamps," shouted si, whose attention had been so far devoted to quieting harry and gid, and showing them how to prepare their traps for marching. "great scott, can't you git along without fightin'? i'm goin' to take you where you'll git real fightin' enough to satisfy you.
"go ahead, there, and divide them rations, as i ordered you, and be quick about it, for we must hurry off."
the mention of real fighting immediately sobered up the boys, and made them forget their squabbles. they hurried about their work with quickened zeal.
"now," said si, "pack your rations carefully in your haversacks, just as you see me and corpril elliott doin'. first, keep your sugar, coffee and salt separate. put 'em in little tin boxes, like these, and see that the lids are on tight. hurry up, now. shorty, you'd better look over the boxes, and go up and draw as many cartridges as you think we'll need."
the mention of need for cartridges was an electric impulse which set the boys keenly alive. they bundled their rations into their haversacks, and flung their blanket rolls over their shoulders, and were standing in a state of palpitating expectancy, when shorty came back with his hands full of cartridges, which he proceeded to distribute.
"take arms," commanded si. "forward!—march!"
si and shorty started off with their long, easy campaign stride, which, in some incomprehensible way that the veteran only learns by practice, brought their feet down every time in exactly the right place, avoiding all stumbling-blocks, and covering without apparent effort a long distance in the course of an hour. the boys pattered industriously after, doing their best to keep up, but stumbling over roots and stones, and slipping on steep places, and dropping to the rear in spite of themselves.
when si made the customary halt at the end of the first hour, his little command was strung back for a quarter of a mile, and little pete skidmore was out of sight.
"better go back and look for little pete, shorty," said si. "we seem to be losin' him."
pete was soon brought up, panting and tired.
"dod durn it, what're you all runnin' away from me for?" he gasped. "want to lose me? want to git into the fight all by yourselves, and leave me out? think because i'm little i can't help? i kin shoot as well as anybody in the crowd, dod durn you."
"there, you see the nonsense o' giving you as much rations as the others," suggested alf russell. "you can't pack 'em, and you wouldn't need 'em if you did pack 'em."
"what business is it of yours. mister russell, i'd like to know," asked monty scruggs, "what he does with his rations. his rations are his rights, and he's entitled to 'em. it's nobody's business what use a man makes of his rights."
"where are these rebels that we're goin' to fight?" asked harry joslyn, eagerly scanning the horizon. "i've been looking for 'em all along, but couldn't see none. was you in such a hurry for fear they'd get away, and have they got away?"
"i wasn't in no hurry," answered si. "that was only regler marchin' gait."
"holy smoke," murmured the rest, wiping their foreheads; "we thought you was trying to run the rebels down."
"don't be discouraged, boys," said si. "you'll soon git used to marchin' that way right along, and never thinking of it. it may seem a little hard now, but it won't last long. i guess you're rested enough. attention! forward!—march!"
si and shorty had mercifully intended to slow down a little, and not push the boys. but as they pulled out they forgot themselves, and fell again into their long, swinging stride, that soon strung the boys out worse than ever, especially as they were not now buoyed up by an expectation of meeting the enemy.
"we must march slower. si," said shorty, glancing ruefully back, "or we'll lose every blamed one o' them boys. they're too green yit."
"that's so," accorded si. "it's like tryin' to make a grass-bellied horse run a quarter-stretch."
"might i inquire," asked monty scruggs, as he came up, wiped his face and sat down on a rock, "whether this is what you'd call a forced march, or merely a free-will trial trot for a record."
"neither," answered si. "it's only a common, straight, every-day march out into the country. you kin count upon one a day like this for the rest o' your natural lives—i mean your service. it's part o' what you enlisted for. and this's only a beginnin'. some days you'll have to keep this up 15 or 18 hours at a stretch."
there was a general groan of dismay.
"gracious, i wish i'd wings, or that i'd enlisted in the cavalry," sighed harry.
"brace up! brace up!" said shorty. "you'll soon git used to it, and make your 40 miles a day like the rest of us, carrying your bed-clothes and family groceries with you. it's all in gittin' used to it, as the man said who'd bin skinnin' eels for 40 years, and that now they didn't mind it a bit."
"well, le's jog along," said si. "we ought to git there in another hour. there's a big rain comin' up, and we want to git under cover before it strikes us. forward!—march!"
but the rain was nearer that si thought. it came, as the spring rains come in the north georgia mountains—as if niagara had been shifted into the clouds overhead. the boys were literally washed off the road, and clung to saplings to avoid being carried away into the brush.
"i'll fall back and keep the boys together," said shorty, as soon as an intermission allowed them to speak.
"alright," said si. "look out for little pete." and si began to forge stolidly ahead.
"goodness, sarjint, you're not going to travel in such a storm as this," gasped gid mackall.
"certainly," si called back. "come on. we've got to reach that mill tonight, no matter what happens. you'd might as well be drowned marchin' as standin' still. 'tain't rainin' no worse further ahead than here. forward!"
close up, boys. 111
"close up, boys," said shorty, taking little pete's gun and the youngster's hand. "this's only a spring shower. 'tain't nothin' to what we had on the tullyhomy campaign. there the drops was as big as punkins, and come as thick as the grains on a ear o' corn. close up, there; dodge the big drops, and go ahead."
"hold on to me tight! hold on to me!" clamored little pete. "if you don't i'll be washed away and lost for sure."
"come along, peter, my son," shorty assured him.
"i hain't never lost no children yit, and i hain't goin' to begin with you."
the storm grew more violent every minute, limbs were torn from the trees, and fell with a crash, and torrents rushed down from the mountain side, across the road. si strode on resolutely, as if the disturbance were nothing more than a summer zephyr. he waded squarely through the raging streams, turning at times to help the next boy to him, strode over the fallen limbs, and took the dashing downpour with stolid indifference.
"close up, boys! close up!" shouted shorty from time to time, "don't mind a little sprinkle like this. it'll lay the dust, and make marchin' easier. come along, peter, my son. i'm not goin' to lose you."
night suddenly came, with pitchy darkness, but si steadily forged onward. then the rain ceased as suddenly as it began, but the road was encumbered with fallen timber and swirling races of muddy water. they seemed more uncomfortable even than when the rain was falling. they were now nearing the mill, and the sound of a fitful musketry fire came to their ears.
"they've sneaked up in the storm to attack the mill," si called out to shorty. "close up and prepare for action."
"goodness," gasped gid mackall, much of whose vim had been soaked out of him by the fearful downpour, and who was oppressed by fatigue, hunger, and the dense blackness of the night in the strange woods. "you don't have to fight when you're wetter'n a drowned rat, and so tired you're ready to drop, do you?"
"that's what you do," said shorty, wiping off his musket. "that's the way you'll have to do most o' your fightin'. the miserabler you feel the miserabler you want to make the other fellers feel. boys, turn your guns upside down and let the water run out. then half-cock 'em, and blow into 'em to clean the water out o' the tubes. then find a dry rag somewhere about you, and wipe off the nipples. we want every gun to go off when the order is given. don't anybody load till si gives the order."
the drenched but excited boys followed his directions with nervous haste. shorty took one gun after another and examined it, while si went forward a little ways to reconnoiter. the calm deliberation of the partners steadied the nervous boys.
"load," called back si, from the vantage ground of a little knoll, upon which he was standing, trying to see into the darkness beyond. a volley from out in front responded to the sound of his voice, and bullets knocked bark off the big chestnut behind which he had shrewdly taken refuge.
"jest as i expected, si," shorty called back to him. "the rebels have throwed back a squad to watch for us."
"yes," said si, coolly, as he stepped back to meet the boys. "there ain't but 10 o' them, though. i counted every flash and located 'em. they're all in a bunch right over there by a dead tree to the left. move up there quick, aim a little to the left. aim low, and fire just as we reach the rise. i'll fire first, and the rest of you foller. try to hit something, every one of you."
