A DIVIDED DUTY
BY M. A. CASSIDY
The Magill residence was situated near the highways connecting Knoxville and Chattanooga. Encamping armies had burned every splinter of fencing, and so the cleared space was thrown into one great field, encircled by a gigantic hedge of oak and pine. Near the center of the cleared land, on a little eminence, was a farm-house. It was a long, one-story building, running back some distance, its several additions having been constructed as the family required more room. A little to the right, and extending the full length of the house, was a row of negro cabins—there being a passway between the two as wide as an ordinary road. The yard sloped gently to the roadway and railroad; near the latter, another rise began, which extended back to the woodland and commanded an extensive view of the surrounding country.
One afternoon, early in the autumn of 1864, Mrs. Magill and her son Harry, a comely lad of thirteen, sat on the front veranda, and talked of what a happy reunion there would be when their loved ones should return from the war. And on this glorious autumnal afternoon the hearts of the widow and her son were happy in anticipation.
Mrs. Magill had two sons in the war. One wore the Blue, the other the Gray. John, the eldest of three boys, had enlisted in Wheeler's Confederate cavalry, in the second year of the war; and, a year later, Thomas had joined the Federals under General Burnside at Knoxville. Both were known as brave and dashing soldiers, and both had been promoted, for gallantry, to captaincies. This family division was a source of great grief to Mrs. Magill. Dearer to her than Union or Confederacy were her children; and from their youth she had trained them in the ways of peace. And now, in their manhood, two of them, under different flags, were arrayed against each other in a deadly and unnatural strife. She often heard from both her soldier boys, and their inquiries after the welfare of each other were full of tenderness. Harry, as is usual with younger brothers, fairly worshiped both of them. He was no less troubled than his mother when they went away to fight on opposite sides. Their contrary action left him in doubt as to which side he should take. Every boy of his acquaintance was ardent in espousing one side or the other. But what could he do, since he had a brother in each army? Should he become a rebel, Thomas might be displeased; and he loved Tom too well to willfully incur his displeasure. Should he decide to remain loyal to the Union, John might resent it; and he could not think of offending one whom he held in such high esteem. "What shall I do?" he asked himself a great many times a day. The war spirit in him was becoming rampant, and must have scope. He at length took the perplexing question to his mother. She promptly advised him to remain neutral. But somehow Harry got it into his head that neutrality was something very different from manliness. So he made up his mind to be one thing or the other, or—happy thought!—why not be both? And, after puzzling over the question a long time, he settled on the novel idea of making himself half "Rebel" and half "Yankee." In pursuance of this plan, he persuaded his mother to make him a uniform, half of which should be blue, and the other half gray. She made it of a Federal and a Confederate overcoat; and Harry was a queer-looking little fellow as he went about the country, clad in his blue-gray uniform, the U. S. A. buttons on one side, and the C. S. A. on the other. The boys called him a "mongrel"; and neither the Federal nor Confederate commands of boy soldiery would allow him in their ranks. This was a source of great mortification to Harry; but he was seriously in earnest, and fully resolved to carry out his campaign of impartial affection. His being cut by the other boys, who could afford to take a decided stand because they did not have a brother on each side, reduced him to the necessity of playing "war" (about the only game indulged in by Southern boys at this time) alone. When he put up his lines of corn-stalk soldiers, to play battle, it was observed, by his mother, that both sides always won an equal number of victories. Harry was not sure that the war could ever end at this rate of even fighting; but arrayed as he was, in the colors of both armies, his inclination was to be true to both. There were generally tears in his mother's eyes, when she saw that two of the corn-stalk soldiers, the tallest and straightest of them all, representing John and Thomas, were always left standing, even after the most furious of contests, in which all the others had fallen.
Harry had left off playing quite early, on the afternoon of which I write, and had joined his mother on the veranda. They had not been long together when something unusual attracted their attention.
A short distance down the railroad a body of cavalrymen had dismounted, and soon they were as busy as ants, tearing up the track. One squad preceded the others and loosened the rails by drawing the spikes; then came another squad that placed the ties in great heaps; after this came a third that kindled fires beneath them. The ties were rotten and dry, and, in a very few moments, there were scores of bright, hot fires. Soon the rails were at a red heat near the center, the ends being comparatively cool. While in this state a number of men would take the rails and bend them around telegraph poles or any solid objects that were near. The soldiers twisted the rails into fantastic shapes; and when they were through with their work of destruction, they seemed perfectly satisfied that none of the old material could be used in reconstructing the road. Harry and his mother had observed the operations of these men with much interest for some time, when suddenly they saw one of them mount his horse, and ride toward the house.
"He is a rebel!" exclaimed Harry, who stood watching the approaching horseman.
"Surely you are mistaken, Harry. There can be no Confederates here," said Mrs. Magill, "the Federals are too near."
While yet the soldier was some distance from the house, the boy's face lighted up with joy, as he exclaimed: