The Drummer Boy

J >> John Trowbridge >> The Drummer Boy

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

THE

DRUMMER BOY

by

J. T. TROWBRIDGE

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

J. T. TROWBRIDGE SERIES
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
By J. T. TROWBRIDGE

Coupon Bonds.
Cudjo's Cave.
Drummer Boy, The.
Martin Merryvale, His X Mark.
Lucy Arlyn.
Father Bright Hopes.
Neighbor Jackwood.
Three Scouts, The.

_Price, postpaid, 50c. each, or any three books for $1.25_

HURST & COMPANY
Publishers, New York

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Frank at Home 5

II. Off to the War 12

III. Under Canvas 21

IV. The old Drummer and the new Drum 32

V. Fun in Camp 41

VI. Breaking Camp 51

VII. Through Boston 59

VIII. Annapolis 71

IX. Thanksgiving in Camp 81

X. Frank's Progress 89

XI. A Christmas Frolic 93

XII. The Secessionist's Turkeys 105

XIII. The Expedition Moves 118

XIV. The Voyage and the Storm 125

XV. Hatterns Inlet 134

XVI. How Frank lost his Watch 143

XVII. In which Frank sees strange Things 151

XVIII. Bitter Things 161

XIX. Seth gets "Riled" 170

XX. Sunday before the Battle 178

XXI. Up the Sound 187

XXII. The Attack of the Gunboats 194

XXIII. The Troops disembark.--The Island 201

XXIV. The Bivouac 206

XXV. Atwater 212

XXVI. Old Sinjin 219

XXVII. The Skirmish 225

XXVII. Jack Winch's Catastrophe 231

XXIX. How Frank got News of his Brother 238

XXX. The Boys meet an old Acquaintance 248

XXXI. "Victory or Death!" 255

XXXII. After the Battle 261

XXXIII. A Friend in need 268

XXXIV. The Hospital 273

XXXV. Conclusion 279

FRANK MANLY, THE DRUMMER BOY.

I.

FRANK AT HOME.

One evening, in the month of October, 1861, the Manly family were
gathered together in their little sitting-room, discussing a question of
the most serious importance to all of them, and to Frank in particular.
Mrs. Manly sat by the table, pretending to sew; but now and then the
tears rushed into her eyes, and dropped upon her work, in spite of all
she could do to keep them back. Frank watched her with a swelling breast,
sorry to see his mother so grieved, and yet glad in one little corner of
his heart; for, although she had declared that she could not think of
granting his request, he knew well, by those tears of hers, that she was
already thinking of granting it.

"A pretty soldier you'll make, Frank!" said Helen, his elder sister,
laughing at his ambition. "You never fired a gun in your life; and if you
should see a rebel, you wouldn't know which end of the gun to point at
him, you'd be so frightened."

"Yes, I know it," retorted Frank, stoutly, determined not to be dissuaded
from his purpose either by entreaties or ridicule; "and for that reason I
am going to enlist as a drummer boy."

"Well," exclaimed Helen, "your hands will tremble so, no doubt you can
roll the drumsticks admirably."

"Yes, to be sure," replied Frank, with a meaning smile; for he thought
within himself, "If she really thinks I am such a coward, never mind;
she'll learn better some day."

"O, don't go to war, dear Frank," pleaded, in a low, sweet voice, his
younger sister, little Hattie, the invalid, who lay upon the lounge,
listening with painful interest to the conversation; "do, brother, stay
at home with me."

That affectionate appeal touched the boy's heart more deeply than his
mother's tears, his elder sister's ridicule, and his father's opposition,
all combined. He knelt down by little Hattie's side, put his arms about
her neck, and kissed her.

"But somebody must go and fight, little sister," he said, as soon as he
could choke back his tears. "The rebels are trying to overthrow the
government; and you wouldn't keep me at home--would you?--when it needs
the services of every true patriot?"

"Which of the newspapers did you get that speech out of?" asked Helen.
"If Jeff Davis could hear you, I think he'd give up the Confederacy at
once. He would say, 'It's no use, since Young America has spoken.'"

"Yes; like the coon in the tree, when he saw Colonel Crockett taking aim
at him," added Frank: "says the coon, 'Don't shoot! If it's you, colonel,
I'll come down!' And I tell ye," cried the boy, enthusiastically,
"there's something besides a joke in it. Jeff'll be glad to come down out
of his tree, before we hang him on it."

"But if you go to war, Frank," exclaimed the little invalid, from her
pillow, "you will be shot."

"I expect to be shot at a few times," he replied; "but every man that's
shot at isn't shot, sissy; and every man that's shot isn't killed; and
every man that's killed isn't dead--if what the Bible says is true."

"O my son," said Mrs. Manly, regarding him with affectionate earnestness,
"do you know what you say? have you considered it well?"

"Yes," said Frank, "I've thought it all over. It hasn't been out of my
thoughts, day or night, this ever so long; though I was determined not to
open my lips about it to any one, till my mind was made up. I know five
or six that have enlisted, and I'm just as well able to serve my country
as any of them. I believe I can go through all the hardships any of them
can. And though Helen laughs at me now for a coward, before I've been in
a fight, she won't laugh at me afterwards." But here the lad's voice
broke, and he dashed a tear from his eye.

"No, no, Frank," said Helen, remorsefully, thinking suddenly of those
whose brothers have gone forth bravely to battle, and never come home
again. And she saw in imagination her own dear, brave, loving brother
carried bleeding from the field, his bright, handsome face deathly pale,
the eyes that now beamed so hopefully and tenderly, closing--perhaps
forever. "Forgive my jokes, Frank; but you are too young to go to war. We
have lost one brother by secession, and we can't afford to lose another."

She alluded to George, the oldest of the children, who had been several
years in the Carolinas; who had married a wife there, and become a
slave-owner; and who, when the war broke out, forgot his native north,
and the free institutions under which he had been bred, to side with the
south and slavery. This had proved a source of deep grief to his parents;
not because the pecuniary support they had derived from him, up to the
fall of Fort Sumter, was now cut off, greatly to their distress,--for
they were poor,--but because, when he saw the Union flag fall at
Charleston, he had written home that it was a glorious sight; and they
knew that the love of his wife, and the love of his property, had made
him a traitor to his country.

"If I've a brother enlisted on the wrong side," said Frank, "so much the
more reason that I should enlist on the right side. And I am not so young
but that I can be doing something for my country, and something for you
here at home, at the same time. If I volunteer, you will be allowed state
aid, and I mean to send home all my pay, to the last dollar. I wish you
would tell me, father, that I can have your consent."

Mr. Manly sat in his easy-chair, with his legs crossed, his hands pressed
together, and his head sunk upon his breast. For a long time he had not
spoken. He was a feeble man, who had not succeeded well in the business
of life; his great fault being that he always relied too much upon
others, and not enough upon himself. The result was, that his wife had
become more the head of the family than he was, and every important
question of this kind, as Frank well knew, was referred to her for
decision.

"O, I don't know, I don't know, my son," Mr. Manly groaned; and,
uncrossing his legs, he crossed them again in another posture. "I have
said all I can; now you must talk with your mother."

"There, mother," said Frank, who had got the answer he expected, and now
proceeded to make good use of it; "father is willing, you see. All I want
now is for you to say yes. I must go and enlist to-morrow, if I mean to
get into the same company with the other boys; and I'm sure you'd rather
I'd go with the fellows I know, than with strangers. We are going to
befriend each other, and stand by each other to the last."

"Some of them, I am afraid, are not such persons as I would wish to have
you on very intimate terms with, any where, my child," answered Mrs.
Manly; "for there is one danger I should dread for you worse than the
chances of the battle-field."

"What's that?"

"That you might be led away by bad company. To have you become corrupted
by their evil influences--to know that my boy was no longer the pure,
truthful child he was; that he would blush to have his sisters know his
habits and companions; to see him come home, if he ever does, reckless
and dissipated--O, I could endure any thing, even his death, better than
that."

"Well," exclaimed Frank, filled with pain, almost with indignation, at
the thought of any one, especially his mother, suspecting him of such
baseness, "there's one thing--you shall hear of my death, before you hear
of my drinking, or gambling, or swearing, or any thing of that kind. I
promise you that."

"Where is your Testament, my son?" asked his mother.

"Here it is."

"Have you a pencil?"

"He may take mine," said Hattie.

"Now write on this blank leaf what you have just promised."

Mrs. Manly spoke with a solemn and tender earnestness which made Frank
tremble, as he obeyed; for he felt now that her consent was certain, and
that the words he was writing were a sacred pledge.

"Now read what you have written, so that we can all hear what you
promise, and remember it when you are away."

After some bashful hesitation, Frank took courage, and read. A long
silence followed. Little Hattie on the lounge was crying.

"But you ought to keep this--for I make the promise to you," he said,
reflecting that he had used his own Testament to write in.

"No, you are to keep it," said his mother, "for I'm afraid we shall
remember your promise a great deal better than you will."

"No, you won't!" cried Frank, full of resolution. "I shall keep that
promise to the letter."

Mrs. Manly took the Testament, read over the pledge carefully, and wrote
under it a little prayer.

"Now," said she, "go to your room, and read there what I have written.
Then go to bed, and try to sleep. We all need rest--for to-morrow."

"O! and you give your consent?"

"My son," said Mrs. Manly, holding his hand, and looking into his face
with affectionate, misty eyes, "it is right that you should do something
for your family, for we need your help. Your little sister is sick, your
father is feeble, and I--my hand may fail any day. And it is right that
you should wish to do something for your country; and, but that you are
so young, so very young, I should not have opposed you at all. As it is,
I shall not oppose you any more. Think of it well, if you have not done
so already. Consider the hardships, the dangers--every thing. Then decide
for yourself. I intrust you, I give you into the hands of our heavenly
Father."

She folded him to her heart, kissing him and weeping. Frank then kissed
his sisters good-night, his resolution almost failing him, and his heart
almost bursting with the thought that this might be the last evening he
would ever be with them, or kiss them good-night.

II.

OFF TO THE WAR.

It was a calm, clear October night. The moonlight streamed through the
window of Frank's room, an he lay in bed, thinking of the evening that
was past, and of the morning that was to come. Little Willie, his younger
brother, was sleeping sweetly at his side. He had heard his sisters come
up stairs and go to bed in the room next to his; and they were conversing
now in low tones,--about him he was sure.

Would he ever sleep in that nice warm bed again? Would he ever again fold
dear little Willie in his arms, and feel his dewy cheek against his own,
as he did now? What was the future that awaited him? Who would fill his
mother's place when he was gone from her? He had read over the prayer she
wrote for him; it was still fresh in his thoughts, and he repeated it now
to himself in the silence of the moonlit chamber.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a white shape enter softly and approach
his bedside. There it stood in the moonlight, white and still. Was it a
ghost? Was it an angel? Frank was not afraid.

"Mother!"

"Are you awake, my darling?"

"O, yes, mother. I haven't slept at all."

"I didn't mean to awake you, if you were asleep," she said, kneeling down
beside him. "But I could not sleep; and I thought I would come and look
at you, and kiss you once more; for perhaps I shall never see you in your
bed again."

"O, mother, don't talk so. I hope I shall be spared to you a long, long
time yet."

"I hope you will; but we must think of the worst, and be prepared for it,
my son. If it is God's will, I can give you up. And you--you must make up
your mind to brave all dangers, even to die, if necessary. It is a great
and holy cause you are engaging in. It is no gay and pleasant adventure,
as perhaps you think. Are you sure you have thought of it well?"

"I have," responded Frank. "I am going; and I am going to do my duty,
whatever it is. For a few minutes after I came to bed, thinking of what
you had said, and of leaving you, and of"--here he choked--"I was almost
sorry I had said a word about going; it looked so dreary and sad to me.
But I said my prayers, and now I feel better about it. I don't think any
thing can shake my resolution again."

"If it is so," replied his mother, "I have nothing more to say." And she
kissed him, and gave him plentiful good advice, and finally prayed with
him, kneeling by his bedside.

"O, don't go, mother," said Frank; "it is such a comfort to have you
here! May-be it is the last time."

"May-be it is, my son. But I must bid you goodnight. You must sleep. See
how soundly Willie is sleeping all this time! He don't know that he is
losing a brother."

After she was gone, Frank felt more lonesome than ever, the house was so
silent, the moonshine in his chamber was so cold. But he hugged his warm
little brother close to his heart, and cried very softly, if he cried at
all.

I do not know how much he slept that night. No doubt his excited thoughts
kept him awake until very late, for he was fast asleep the next morning
when Helen came to call him.

"Hurrah!" he exclaimed, starting up; "fight for the old flag!" for he was
dreaming of a battle. "Hallo!" he said, rubbing his eyes open. "That you,
Helen?"

"A wide-awake drummer boy you are," she replied, with her usual
good-natured irony. "You'll have to rouse up earlier than this, I tell
you, if you ever beat the reveille for the soldiers."

"So much the more reason why I should have a good nap in the morning,
when I can," said Frank.

"Well, lie and sleep, if you want to," she added, with a touch of
tenderness. "I thought I'd let you know breakfast was ready."

But Frank was wide awake enough now. He felt there was something great
and grand in the day before him, and he was anxious to meet it. He was up
and dressed in a minute. He threw open his window, and looked away
towards the city, which lay dim and strange in the beautiful mists of the
morning, with the crimson clouds of the sunrise lifting like curtains
behind it. And the far-off roar of the rumbling streets reached his ear,
inspiring him freshly with hope and action.

All the family were at breakfast, except Hattie, the sick one, when Frank
came down stairs. Even Willie had crept out of bed before him, wondering
what made his brother sleep so long that morning. And now he found the
little fellow dividing his attentions between his breakfast and his toy
gun, which had acquired a new interest in his eyes since Helen had told
him Frank was going to the war.

"I'm going with my bwother Fwank," he declared, shouldering arms over his
johnny-cake. "And if any body--any webel"--breathing earnestly--"hurt my
bwother Fwank, me shoot 'em me will!"

"Yes," remarked Helen, "you and Frank will put down the rebellion, I've
not the least doubt."

This was meant for a sly hit at Frank's youthful patriotism; but Willie
took it quite seriously.

"Yes," he lisped; "me and Fwank--we put down the webellion. Take
aim!"--pointing his toy at his father's nose. "Fire! bang! See, me kill a
webel."

"How little the child realizes what it is to fight the rebels," said his
mother, with a sigh.

"I'm afraid," said Helen, "Frank doesn't realize it much more than Willie
does. He has just about as correct a notion about putting down the
_webellion_."

"Very likely," said Frank, who had learned that the beat way to treat a
joke of this kind is always to humor it, instead of being offended. For a
joke is often like a little barking dog--perfectly harmless, if you pass
serenely by without noticing it, or if you just say, "Poor fellow! brave
dog!" and pat its neck; but which, if you get angry and raise your stick,
will worry you all the more for your trouble, and perhaps be provoked to
bite.

There was a silence of several minutes--Willie alone manifesting a desire
to keep up the conversation on war matters. He stuck his johnny-cake on
the end of his gun, and bombarded his mother's coffee-cup with it; and
was about to procure more johnny-cake, in order to shell the sugar-bowl,
which he called "Fort Sumter," when Helen put an end to his sport by
disarming him.

"I want father to go to town with me, to the recruiting office," said
Frank; "for I don't suppose I will be accepted, unless he does."

That sounded like proceeding at once to business, which Mr. Manly never
liked to do. He was one of those easily discouraged men, whose rule is
always to postpone until to-morrow what they are not absolutely obliged
to do to-day. He waited, however, as usual, to hear what his wife would
say to the proposition, before expressing himself decidedly against it.
Fortunately, Mrs. Manly had energy and self-reliance enough for both.

"If you are still firmly resolved to go, then your father will go with
you to the recruiting office," she said; and that settled it: for Frank
was resolved--his character resembling his mother's in respect to energy
and determination.

Accordingly, after breakfast, Mr. Manly, with frequent sighs of
foreboding and discouragement, made a lather, honed his razor, and shaved
himself, preparatory to a visit to town. Frank, in the mean while, made
ready for his departure. He put in order the personal effects which he
intended to leave at home, and packed into a bundle a few things he
purposed to take with him. An hour passed quickly away, with all its busy
preparations, consultations, and leave takings; and the last moment
arrived.

"Say good-by twice to me," said Hattie, the little invalid, rising up on
her lounge to give him a farewell kiss.

"Why twice to you?" asked Frank.

"Because," she answered, with a sad, sweet smile, "If you do come home
from the war, perhaps you won't find me here;" for the child had a notion
that she was going to die.

"O sissy," exclaimed Frank, "don't say so; I shall come back, and I shall
find you well."

"Yes," replied Hattie, sorry that she had said any thing to make him feel
bad; "we will think so, dear brother." And she smiled again; just as
angels smile, Frank thought.

"Besides, this isn't my good-by for good, you know," said he. "I shall
get a furlough, and come home and see you all, before I leave for the
seat of war with my regiment." Frank couldn't help feeling a sort of
pride in speaking of _his regiment_. "And may-be you will all visit
me in camp before I go."

"Come," called his father, at the door; "if we are going to catch this
car, we must be off."

So Frank abbreviated his adieus, and ran.

"Wait, wait!" screamed Willie, pulling his cap on "Me go, me go!"

"Go where, you little witch?" cried Helen.

"Me go to war, along with my bwother Fwank. Put down webellion," pouted
the child, shouldering his gun, and trudging out of the door in eager
haste, fearing lest he should be left behind.

Mrs. Manly was parting from her son on the doorstep, putting back a stray
curl from his cheek, smoothing his collar, and whispering, with wet eyes
and quivering lips, "My child, remember!"

"I will--good-by!" were Frank's last words; and he hastened after his
father, just pausing on the next corner to look around at the faces in
the door of his home, and wave his hat at them. There was Hattie, leaning
on Helen's arm, and waving her handkerchief, which was scarcely whiter
than that thin white face of hers; and there was his mother gazing after
him with steadfast eyes of affection and blessing, while her hands were
fully occupied in restraining that small but fiery patriot, Willie, who,
with his cap over his eyes, was vehemently struggling to go with his
bwother Fwank.

This was the tableau, the final picture of home, which remained imprinted
on Frank's memory. For the corner was passed, and the doorway and windows
of the dear old house, and the dearer faces there, were lost to sight. He
would have delayed, in order to get one more look; but already the
tinkling bells gave warning of the near approach of the horse-car, and he
and his father had no more than time to reach the Main Street, when it
came up, and stopped to take them in.

In but little more than an hour's time, by far the most important step in
Frank's life had been taken. He had enlisted.

"Well," said his father, after Frank, with a firm and steady hand, had
written his name, "it is done now. You are a brave boy!"--with a tear of
pride, as he regarded his handsome, spirited young volunteer, and thought
that not many fathers had such promising sons.

While they were at the recruiting office, one of their neighbors came in.

"What!" he exclaimed, "you here? on business?"

"Patriotic business," replied Mr. Manly, showing his son with a fond
father's emotion. "He has volunteered, neighbor Winch."

"And you give your consent?"

"I do, most certainly, since he feels it his duty to go, and his mother
is willing."

Neighbor Winch stood speechless for a moment, the muscles of his mouth
working. "I have just heard," he said, in an agitated voice, "that my son
John has enlisted _without_ my consent; and I have come here to ascertain
the fact. Do you know any thing about it, Frank?"

"I suppose I do," replied Frank, with some reluctance. "He enlisted three
days ago. He wanted me to go with him then; but I----"

"You what?" said neighbor Winch.

"I couldn't, without first getting permission from my father and mother,"
explained Frank.

"O, if my John had only acted as noble a part!" said the neighbor. "It's
a bad beginning for a boy to run away. He has nearly broken his mother's
heart."

"Well, well, neighbor," observed Mr. Manly, consolingly, "reflect that
it's in a good cause. Jack might have done worse, you know."

"Yes, yes. He never was a steady boy, as you know. He has set out to
learn three different trades, and got sick of them all. I couldn't keep
him at school, neither. Of late nothing would do but he must be a
soldier. If I thought he'd stick to it, and do his duty, I wouldn't say a
word. But he'll get tired of carrying a gun, too, before he has seen hard
service. Where is he? Do you know, Frank?"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16