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The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Yankee Girl at
Shiloh
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Title: A Yankee Girl at Shiloh
Author: Alice Turner Curtis
Illustrator: Isabel W. Caley
Release date: May 16, 2018 [eBook #57173]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by MFR, Robert Tonsing and the Online Distributed
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A YANKEE GIRL
AT SHILOH ***
“NOW LET’S PLAY IT’S A REAL PARTY.”
A YANKEE GIRL
AT
SHILOH
By
Alice Turner Curtis
Author of
The Little Maid’s Historical Series, “A Yankee Girl at Fort
Sumter,” “A Yankee Girl at Bull Run,” etc.
Illustrated by ISABEL W. CALEY
THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
1922
COPYRIGHT
1922 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
A Yankee Girl at Shiloh
Made in the U. S. A.
Introduction
Mrs. Curtis in the two other books of this set, “A Yankee Girl at
Fort Sumter” and “A Yankee Girl at Bull Run,” has told delightful
stories of little Northern heroines at these great battles.
In this present story Berenice Arnold with her mother and father
came from Vermont to the mountains of Tennessee in order that Mr.
Arnold might regain his health. During the second winter of their
stay the Armies of the North and the South began to draw closer to
Shiloh, which was not far from the Arnold cabin. Berry had many
exciting adventures. She found a young runaway slave-girl, who was
sheltered by her parents and proved a devoted friend. She was
mistaken for a boy by a Southern spy because of the fact that she
wore blue corduroy knickerbockers. He tried to force her to bear
secret messages to his Commander, but Berry, braving his anger and
the misunderstandings in the Northern camp, managed to give
military information to the Northern Army, which enabled it to gain a
complete victory. Her deed was so splendid that General Grant
himself visited the Arnold cabin to dine with Berry and thank her
personally.
Contents
I. “Berry” 9
II. Mollie Bragg 21
III. School 38
IV. A Cabin Party 50
V. Lily 58
VI. Secrets 67
VII. A Surprise 77
VIII. Lily’s Story 86
IX. The Witch’s Tree 96
X. Berry in Danger 106
XI. The Midnight Adventure 118
XII. Orson’s Mistake 127
XIII. Berry Receives a Message 135
XIV. On Guard 149
XV. Soldiers on Shiloh Ridge 169
XVI. Berry is Taken Prisoner 177
XVII. The Evening Before Shiloh 185
XVIII. After the Battle 194
XIX. General Grant 204
Illustrations
PAGE
“Now Let’s Play It’s a Real Party” Frontispiece
Without a Word Berry Pointed to the Heavy Rock 119
“Here Is the Little Messenger of Whom I Told You” 209
A Yankee Girl at Shiloh
CHAPTER I
“BERRY”
There had been a light fall of snow during the night, and the tall
oak trees that grew near the Arnolds’ log cabin, which stood on the
slope of a wooded ridge overlooking the Tennessee River, were still
sprinkled with clinging white flakes when the heavy door of the
cabin was pushed open and a slender little figure appeared on the
rough porch.
If a stranger had been passing along the trail that led near this
secluded cabin he would perhaps have decided that it was a boy
who darted out and jumped up and down exclaiming, “Snow! Snow!
Just like Vermont snow!” for the curling brown hair was cut short,
and the blue flannel blouse, the baggy knickerbockers of blue
corduroy, as well as the stout leather shoes, were all in keeping as a
suitable costume for a ten-year-old lad whose home was a log cabin
in the rough region on the westerly bank of the Tennessee River,
over two hundred miles from its mouth. And when some casual
stranger, failing to see the blue corduroys, so mistook Berenice
Arnold, and called her “my lad,” she was very well pleased.
On this January morning, in 1862, Berenice had been awakened at
an unusually early hour by a call from her father, telling her to dress
quickly and hasten down in time to see the snow, that lay like a
white veil over the wooded slopes, before the sun came out from
behind the distant mountains and swept it away.
“Snow! Berry! Not enough for a sleigh ride, but enough to make
you think of Vermont,” he had called, as if announcing an
unexpected delight. For the Arnolds had only lived in Tennessee for
two years. Berry was nine years old when, with her father and
mother and her older brother Francis, she had left the big white
house in the pleasant Vermont village near Montpelier and come to
this hillside cabin where Mr. Arnold hoped to regain something of his
former health and strength. This was the second winter, and this fall
of snow in early January was the first real snowfall since their arrival.
There had been many “flurries,” but, until this January morning, not
enough had fallen to whiten wood and trail; and the Arnolds ran to
door and windows exclaiming over the new beauty of the slopes and
forest beneath their white coverlets.
“What would Francis say to this?” exclaimed Berry, as her father
came out and stood beside her.
Francis was now a soldier, with the Northern forces in Virginia, and
Berry’s thoughts were often with her brother; wondering why he had
been so determined, a year ago, to return to Vermont and enlist in a
Northern regiment in the conflict to prevent the Southern States
from leaving the Union, and to bring an end to the slavery of the
negroes in America. Francis had been only eighteen when he had
become a soldier, and Berry knew that her father and mother had
both been willing that he should go. The little girl had often puzzled
about it, for she had heard her father say that when Abraham
Lincoln became President the United States would soon understand
each other and all the talk of war would come to an end. But even
Mr. Lincoln had not been able to avert the conflict; and the hillside
cabin, ten miles distant from the flourishing town of Corinth, was
shadowed by the news of far-off battles.
“You must write Francis about it,” responded Berry’s father; “tell
him the slope is as white as the main street at home in Vermont in
midwinter.” And Berry nodded smilingly.
“It will be gone before noon, so we can go out to the river road,
and see what the mail-rider left for us yesterday,” continued Mr.
Arnold.
“And, if ’tis not too muddy, can we not walk as far as Lick Creek
and try for fish?” asked Berry, her brown eyes shining with
eagerness at the thought of a long tramp with her father through
the winter woods, and, best of all, the fun of catching a pickerel or
bass from the waters of Lick Creek. For, in the two years that Berry
had lived on this remote mountain slope, she had been her father’s
constant companion in his out-of-door life, and it was for that reason
that her mother had decided to dress the little girl in suitable
clothing. If Berry had been obliged to wear dainty clothes, if her hair
had been long and hung down her back in curls or braids, and her
feet covered only by thin kid shoes, she would never have known
every nook and crevice along the table-land, rolling and ridgy, a few
miles above Pittsburg Landing, a place that was to become an
historic spot.
“No fishing to-day,” her father declared; and, as at that moment
Mrs. Arnold called them to breakfast, he did not add that he
intended going in the opposite direction that morning to visit the
rude log chapel known as Shiloh church, where Sunday services
were occasionally held, and where Mr. Arnold now and then busied
himself in repairing windows, painting the outer door, and doing
such light work as his strength was equal to, in improving the
condition of the neglected building. Berry was of great assistance to
her father in this work; he had taught her how to use a plane, and
smooth off a piece of wood until it was fit for use. She knew the
names and use of all the tools he used about his carpentering work;
and as a trip to Shiloh church meant a picnic dinner cooked in the
open air, Berry was always well pleased when her father set off in
that direction; and on hearing that he intended to start as soon as
the sun was well up she quite forgot her plan to visit Lick Creek.
Berry helped her mother clear the table and wash the dishes while
her father selected the few tools he would need, and also packed a
small basket with food for their midday meal; and when he called
“All ready for the trail,” Berry slipped on her brown corduroy jacket
and her knitted cap of scarlet wool and was ready to start.
“If there is a letter from Francis in the mail-box I will bring it home
as fast as I can, Mother,” she promised, as Mrs. Arnold stood on the
porch to watch them start.
“We will be home before sunset,” Mr. Arnold promised, and
followed Berry, who was running down the trail.
Mrs. Arnold stood looking after them for a moment, smiling at
Berry’s delight in starting off for a day in the woods, and thinking
gratefully of her husband’s improvement in health. Their cabin was
several miles from any neighbors, and Mrs. Arnold had in the first
months of their stay often been homesick for the friends and home
she had left so far away among the peaceful hills of Vermont. But
gradually the peace and quiet of their simple life in the hillside cabin,
Berry’s happiness in playing out-of-doors, and, best of all, the
improvement in Mr. Arnold’s health, reconciled her to the exile from
New England. Often she accompanied her husband and Berry on
their excursions, but this morning she intended writing a long letter
to her soldier son.
Before Berry and her father reached the mail-box, that was
fastened to a stout oak tree on the highway, the veil of snow had
nearly disappeared, and the piles of brown leaves along the trail
glistened in the morning sun. There was nothing in the box, and Mr.
Arnold and Berry turned back into a path that would lead them
direct to Shiloh church. A flock of bluejays started up from the
underbrush and went scolding and screaming into the branches of a
tall chestnut tree, their blue feathers and crested heads catching the
sunlight and brightening the shadowy path. Berry gazed after them
wonderingly. “I do think it’s a pity they squawk so,” she said
thoughtfully, “when they are so lovely to look at. And the mocking-
birds are so plain and gray.”
Berry had become familiar with the birds who nested near the
woodland cabin, and had learned much about their ways. She knew
that the handsome jay was a thief who ate the eggs from the nests
of other birds and sometimes even destroyed the birds. She knew
where the fine cardinal in his scarlet coat, and Madam Cardinal in
her more modest colors, made their nest in the underbrush along
the banks of the ravine; and the tiny wrens who fluttered about the
trail were her friends. But, best of all, Berry loved the mocking-birds,
with their musical trills and clear song. Even in January they could
be heard near the cabin; not with their springtime song, but with
soft notes and hopeful calls. The little girl often put bits of bread and
cake on the porch rail, and it was not long before the birds had
discovered this unexpected bounty and came fluttering down to look
for it; and gradually the family had all made friends among their bird
neighbors, giving them names, and keeping a sharp outlook for the
young birds who were their springtime visitors.
“What are you going to do to-day, Father?” Berry questioned as
they came in sight of the log building that stood on the crest of the
ridge.
“I am going to fix the benches. Some of them are dropping to
pieces,” responded her father. “I have a good store of fine oak wood
dry and ready for use in the shed near the church, and we can soon
make the old seats as good as new.”
“And may I put the new rail on the pulpit? I have polished it until
it shines like glass,” said Berry, as they came out into the little
clearing in which the church stood.
“Of course,” her father agreed, smiling down at his little daughter’s
eager face. He was well pleased that Berry found pleasure in the
outdoor life, that she was learning to do many things that little girls
seldom have an opportunity to learn, and that she was as active and
healthy as it was possible for a girl to be.
Before beginning the work he had planned Mr. Arnold stood
looking at the wild country spread out before him. “Look, Berry,” he
said, pointing to a ravine on the left, along which ran the main road
to Corinth. “This spot is like a picture in a frame,” he continued, “the
little streams of Owl Creek and Lick Creek, the road to Corinth, and
the Tennessee River making the frame. It would make a safe camp
for an army,” he added thoughtfully, but without an idea that within
three months that very spot would be the scene of one of the most
important battles of the Civil War; or that his little daughter who
stood so quietly beside him would, by her courage and endurance,
have rendered a great service to the cause of the Northern forces.
They had walked a long distance, and seated themselves on the
broad step of the chapel for a rest.
“It is nearly noon; I’ll start our fire and get lunch under way,” said
Mr. Arnold. But Berry was eager to do this; for she knew exactly how
to lay a fire in the open; how to bake potatoes in hot ashes, and to
broil bacon over the coals; and to set the tin pail, in which they
made coffee, where it would boil slowly.
“All right,” agreed Mr. Arnold, “I’ll fetch the wood.”
Berry ran along the ridge to where a granite ledge made a good
shelter for a blaze, and in a short time a little curl of smoke crept
into the air, and the appetizing odor of broiling bacon and of fragrant
coffee made Mr. Arnold declare that he was “hungry as a bear,”
greatly to Berry’s delight.
“Wouldn’t it be splendid if Francis was here?” she said, as she and
her father began their luncheon.
“Not much hope of seeing Francis this winter,” replied Mr. Arnold.
“I hate war!” Berry declared, breaking open a well-baked potato,
and proceeding to sprinkle salt on it. “If it were not for war Francis
would be here this minute.”
“No; Francis would be in college,” her father rejoined.
“What’s college?” Berry demanded.
“Why, Berenice Isabel Arnold!” exclaimed her father in
amazement. “I will have to turn schoolmaster and keep you shut in
the house with books if you really do not know the meaning of
‘college’!”
Berry shook her head: her mouth was filled with hot potato, and
she could not speak.
“College is a school where young men like Francis learn more
important things than can be taught to younger boys,” explained her
father. “And I have made up my mind, Berry; to-morrow your regular
lessons begin.”
“Oh, Father! Not like the school at home?” Berry pleaded. “Not
geography and maps, and arithmetic and sums, and grammar and
compositions?”
“Exactly! It will never do for a little Yankee girl, even if she does
live in Tennessee, to grow up without an education. School will begin
to-morrow!” replied Mr. Arnold.
“Then Mollie Bragg will have to go to school with me,” Berry
declared.
CHAPTER II
MOLLIE BRAGG
The nearest neighbors to the Arnolds were a family named Bragg,
who lived in a cabin some three miles distant, near the road leading
to Corinth. The Braggs’ cabin was not a comfortable, convenient
home such as the Arnolds had made their own mountain cabin. The
doors of the Braggs’ cabin sagged from clumsy leather hinges; the
floor of the rough porch was broken here and there, so that anyone
entering the house had to be careful where he stepped. Mr. Bragg
announced each day that he was “gwine ter try mighty hard to find
time to fix that po’ch, an’ mend up the roof.” But days, weeks, and
months went by and no repairs were made, although Mr. Bragg
spent long hours on the porch, tilted back against the house in an
old chair, smoking, and, as he would promptly explain to any visitor,
“tryin’ to rest up.”
Indoors Mrs. Bragg swept and scoured, mended the poor
garments of her family, and tried her best to make the rough place
pleasant for her children. Mollie Bragg, the youngest of the family,
was a little girl about the age of Berenice Arnold, but not as tall or
strongly built as Berry. Mollie’s eyes were a pale blue, her hair, which
hung straight about her thin little face, was a pale yellow, and her
arms and legs were so thin that Berry sometimes wondered that
they did not break as Mollie ran down the rough mountain paths, or
valiantly followed Berry in climbing a tall tree to peer into the nest of
a robin or yellowhammer. Mollie’s elder sister had left home, the year
the Arnolds came to Tennessee, to live with an aunt in Nashville, and
the only son, a lad of sixteen, had run away to join the army of the
Confederacy, so that in January, 1862, Mollie was the only child at
home.
Although the Arnold and Bragg cabins were three miles apart,
hardly a day passed that Mollie and Berry did not see each other.
Mollie would often set out early in the morning and appear at the
Arnolds’ door before they had finished breakfast, to be eagerly
welcomed by Berry, and urged to a seat at the round breakfast table
near the big window that overlooked the ravine by Mrs. Arnold, and
helped to the well-cooked porridge, followed by crisp bacon and
toast, and often a dish of stewed fruit, all of which the little visitor
evidently enjoyed.
To Mollie the Arnolds’ cabin seemed the finest place in the world.
Although it had only five rooms, and the family had their meals in
the kitchen, it was indeed a pleasant and attractive home, with its
muslin-curtained windows, its floors painted a shining yellow, with
rag rugs here and there, the open fire in the sitting-room that blazed
so cheerfully on winter days, the well-filled bookshelves in one
corner and the stout wooden chairs and settles with their big
feather-filled cushions. Mr. Arnold had spent a good part of his time
in improving the cabin from the rough state in which they had found
it, and had made most of the simple furniture. A vine-covered fence
enclosed the yard, where Berry had her own garden. Each spring
she began by planting lettuce and radishes, and then peas and
carrots and string beans; before these had time to sprout she had
bordered her vegetable beds with spring flowers. Mollie learned
many things from her new friends, and, in her turn, showed Berry
where the wild trillium and Jack-in-the-pulpit could be found, and
where to look for the nests of cardinal and mocking-bird, birds that
the little Yankee girl had never seen before coming to Tennessee.
Therefore when Mr. Arnold declared that it was time for Berry to
have regular lessons, “to begin school,” as he termed it, it was quite
natural for Berry to say that Mollie Bragg would also have to study.
There was no schoolhouse within miles of these mountain cabins
where the little girls could “begin school,” and Berry understood that
her father would be her teacher. And on the day after their excursion
to Shiloh church Mr. Arnold told Berry that she could go to the
Braggs’ cabin and ask Mollie to be her schoolmate.
“Tell her school begins at ten o’clock each morning and closes at
twelve,” he said as Berry put on her cap and started toward the
door.
“And say to Mrs. Bragg that we shall expect Mollie to stay for
dinner,” added Mrs. Arnold, who realized that the Bragg family
seldom had the kind of food that would nourish a delicate child like
Mollie, and welcomed the opportunity to give her small neighbor one
good meal each day.
“All right,” Berry called back, as she ran down the path, turning to
wave her hand before the thick growing forest trees hid her from
sight.
Berry’s way led through the forest, across a wide brook that went
dancing down over its rocky bed toward the river, and then the path
turned into the highway near which was the rough clearing
surrounding the Braggs’ cabin. A tiny gray bird called “Chick-a-dee-
dee-dee,” as if to greet the red-capped little figure that ran so swiftly
along the rough path. Further on she heard the cheerful whistle of
the cardinal, and stopped for a moment to look up into the wide-
spreading branches of the big trees that towered above her, hoping
for a glimpse of the red-coated songster, but he was not to be seen.
The crossing of the wide brook meant stepping carefully from
stone to stone until the middle of the stream was reached, where a
broad flat rock gave a firm foothold, and from which Berry was
accustomed to jump to the opposite bank. She made the passage
skilfully, springing over the rushing water and landing on firm ground
with the lightness and sure footing of an active boy; before she had
taken a further step, however, a chuckling voice close at hand called:
“Well done, youngster! It takes a Tennessee lad to jump,” and Berry
found herself facing a tall man whose face was nearly covered by a
brown beard, and whose brown eyes twinkled with amusement at
her surprise. He wore a round, close-fitting cap of coonskin, a
leather jacket, with stout trousers of corduroy and high boots. A
hunter’s belt held a revolver and hunting-knife, and a knapsack was
strapped across his shoulders. It was seldom that Berry encountered
anyone in her forest tramps, but she had been taught to believe in
the friendliness of the mountain people, and smiled and nodded in
response to the man’s greeting.
“I can jump farther than that,” she boasted. “I can jump farther
than most boys of my age.”
The man nodded approvingly. “Well, you ain’t so stocky as some,”
he said thoughtfully. “Guess your ma kind of likes to dress you up,
don’t she, sonny?” he continued, with an amused glance at Berry’s
red silk tie and scarlet wool cap.
Berry nodded. If this stranger mistook her for a boy she did not
mean to undeceive him.
“Well,” continued the man, “you can’t help that, my lad. What’s
your name?”
“Berry,” responded the little girl.
“Berry what?” he continued.
“Berenice,” said Berry, thinking that now the stranger had
discovered her secret, and that he would at once tell her that the
place for little girls was at home, helping their mother, as Mr. Bragg
so often announced.
But the man evidently had not understood her. “‘Nees,’ eh! Berry
Nees. Well, you mountain folks have queer names. But I’m glad to
make your acquaintance. I reckon you can run considerable as well
as jump?”
“Yes,” Berry replied quickly, well pleased that she need not hear
that “Girls should not be running wild in boys’ clothes,” as had
sometimes been said to her. “I can run faster than Len Bragg, who is
sixteen years old.”
“Where does Len Bragg live?” questioned the man.
“Oh! He’s in the war! He’s with General Johnston’s army,” replied
Berry promptly.
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