A Yankee Girl at Shiloh

by Alice Turner Curtis

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.”