Part 66 (1/2)

The Confederate soldier was ragged and his shoes were tied together with strings. His uniform consisted of an old hat or cap usually without a brim, a s.h.i.+rt of striped bed-ticking so brown it seemed woven of the gra.s.s. The b.u.t.tons were of discolored cow's horn. His coat was the color of Virginia dust and mud, and it was out at the elbow. His socks were home-made, knit by loving hands swift and tender in their endless work of love. The socks were the best things he had.

The one spotless thing about him was his musket and the bayonet he carried at his side. His spirits were high.

A barefooted soldier had managed to get home and secure a pair of boots.

He started back to his regiment hurrying to be on time for the fight.

The new boots hurt him so terribly he couldn't wear them. He pa.s.sed Ned's regiment with his precious footgear hanging on his arm.

”h.e.l.lo, Sonny, what command?” Ned cried.

”Company E, 12th Virginia, Mahone's brigade!” he proudly answered.

”Yes, d.a.m.n you,” a soldier drawled from the gra.s.s, ”and you've pulled your boots off, holdin' 'em in yer hand, ready to run now!”

The laugh ran along the line and the boy hurried on to escape the chaff.

A well-known chaplain rode along a narrow path on the hillside. He was mounted on an old horse whose hip bones protruded like two deadly fangs.

A footsore Confederate was hobbling as fast as he could in front of him, glancing back over his shoulder now and then uneasily.

”You needn't be afraid, my friend,” the parson called, ”I'm not going to run over you.”

”I know you ain't,” the soldier laughed, ”but ef I wuz ter let you pa.s.s me, and that thing wuz ter wobble I'll be doggoned ef I wouldn't be gored ter death!”

The preacher reined his steed in with dignity and spoke with wounded pride:

”My friend, this is a better horse than our Lord rode into Jerusalem on!”

The soldier stepped up quickly, opened the animal's mouth and grinned:

”Parson, that's the very same horse!”

A shout rose from the hill in which the preacher joined.

”Dod bam it, did ye ever hear the beat o' that!” shouted a pious fellow who was inventing cuss words that would pa.s.s the charge of profanity.

A distinguished citizen of Fredericksburg pa.s.sed along the lines wearing a tall new silk hat. He didn't get very far before he changed his line of march. A regular fusillade poured on him from the ranks.

”Say, man, is dat a hat er a bee gum?”

”Come down now!”

”Come down outen that hat an' help us with these Yanks!”

”Come down I say--I know you're up there for I can see your legs!”

When the silk hat vanished, a solemn country boy with slight knowledge of books began to discuss the great mysteries of eternity.

Ned had won his unbounded faith and admiration by spelling at the first trial the name of his native village in the Valley of Virginia--McGaheysville. Tom held this fact to be a marvellous intellectual achievement.

”What I want to know, Ned, is this,” he drawled, ”who started sin in this world, anyhow? What makes a good thing good and what makes a bad thing bad, and who said so first?”