The Tree of AppomattoxAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Tree of Appomattox
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Juvenile fiction
"I think he was detailed for some scout duty off toward the Blue Ridge."
"I don't know who sent him, but I make bold to say, Mr. Mason, that he
could do a lot more good out there in the fog on the other side of
Cedar Creek, a-spyin' and a-spyin', a-lookin' and a-lookin',
a-listenin' and a-listenin'."
"And perhaps he would neither see nor hear anything"
"Maybe, sir, but if I may make bold again, I think you're wrong. Why,
I just fairly smell danger."
"It's the fog and your fear of it, sergeant."
"No, sir; it's not that. It's my five senses working all together and
telling me the truth."
"But the pickets have brought in no word."
"In this fog, pickets can't see more'n a few yards beyond their beats.
What time is it, Mr. Mason?"
"A little past one in the morning, sergeant."
"Enough of the night left yet for a lot of mischief. I'm glad, sir, if
I may make bold once more, that the Winchester men stay out of the
tents and keep awake."
Warner joined them, and reported that fresh messengers from the front
had given renewed assurances of quiet. Absolutely nothing was stirring
along Cedar Creek, but Sergeant Daniel Whitley was still dissatisfied.
"It's always where nothin' is stirrin' that most is doin', sir," he
said to Dick.
"You're epigrammatic, sergeant."
"I'm what, sir? I was never called that before."
"It doesn't depreciate you. It's a flattering adjective, but you've
set my own nerves to tingling and I don't feel like sleeping."
"It never hurts, sir, to watch in war, even when nothing happens. I
remember once when we were in a blizzard west of the Missouri, only a
hundred of us. It was in the country of the Northern Cheyennes, an' no
greater fighters ever lived than them red demons. We got into a kind
of dip, surrounded by trees, an' managed to build a fire. We was so
busy tryin' to keep from freezin' to death that we never gave a thought
to Indians, that is 'ceptin' one, the guide, Jim Palmer, who knowed
them Cheyennes, an' who kept dodgin' about in the blizzard, facin' the
icy blast an' the whirlin' snow, an' always lookin' an' listenin'. I
owe my life to him, an' so does every other one of the hundred. Shore
enough the Cheyennes come, ridin' right on the edge of the blizzard,
an' in all that terrible storm they tried to rush us. But we'd been
warned by Palmer an' we beat 'em off at last, though a lot of good men
bit the snow. I say again, sir, that you can't ever be too careful in
war. Do everything you can think of, and then think of some more. I
wish Mr. Shepard would come!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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