"I hope not, ma'm. Did
you ever hear him say anythin' about Jeff Waters? Mebby not, fur he
never ricollecks sich things. But he toted me off the field at Shiloh
when the bullets was like a swarm of bees. That's how I come to have
this," he said, and raising his left leg, hit it a resounding whack with
the hickory staff of his whip. "Timber, ma'm."
That night they were given shelter at a farmer's house, and were on
their journey again by the rising of the sun, but shortly afterward the
cart ran into a rut and one of the wheels was broken. Margaret
petulantly wondered if the Lord were trying to keep her from reaching
Nashville, and Jeff Waters replied:
"Well, if He tries right hard, He'll hold you back all right."
In the woods he cut a pole, braced his axletree, and dragged the cart
four miles to a blacksmith's shop, and two hours afterward, having lost
much time precious to the woman, they were again jogging along the road.
They put up at a tavern at night, Jeff sleeping in his cart under a
shed, explaining that he was now close enough to town to warrant such
precaution against thievery.
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