The Drummer Boy

J >> John Trowbridge >> The Drummer Boy

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It was not so much a sermon as a friendly, affectionate, earnest talk
with the men, whom he sought to counsel and encourage. There was a
melting love in his tones which went to their inmost souls. And when he
exhorted them to do the work of men who feared God, but not any mortal
foe, who dreaded dishonor, but not death, he made every heart ring with
the stirring appeal.

Then suddenly his voice sank to a tone of solemn sweetness, as he said,--

"Peace! O, my brothers! struggle and violence are not the all of life.
But God's love, the love of man to man, holiness, blessedness,--it is for
these realities we are created, and placed here on this beautiful earth,
under this blue sky, with human faces and throbbing human hearts around
us. And the end of all is PEACE. But only through fiery trial and valiant
doing can any peace worth the name come to us; and to make the future
truly blessed, we must make the present truly brave."

Before and after the discourse the men sang some of the good old tunes
which all had been familiar with at home, and which descended like warm
rain upon the ground where the scattered seed of the sermon fell.

The services ended, Mr. Egglestone went freely among the soldiers, and
conversed with any who wanted to have speech of him; especially with
Atwater; whose wife he had seen a few days before leaving Boston, where
she came to see him, having learned who he was, and that he was about
departing for the army in which her husband served.

After long waiting, Frank's turn came at last. They sat down on a bench
apart; and the clergyman told him he had lately seen his mother, and that
she had charged him with many messages. And one was a message of sorrow.

"She had heard unwelcome news of you," he said, holding the boy's hand.
"And she wished me to say to you what I could to save you from what she
dreads most--what any wise, loving mother dreads most for her child. But
is there need of my saying any thing? By what your captain tells me, and
still more by what your face tells me, I am convinced that I may spare my
words. You have had in your own experience a better lesson than any body
can teach you. You have erred, you have suffered. And"--he took a letter
from his pocket--"I have something here to make you remember what you
have learned--I think, for always."

Frank had listened, humbly, tremblingly, full of tears which he did not
shed for the eyes that were about them. But now he started, and took the
letter eagerly. "What's it? any bad news?" for he felt an alarming
presentiment.

"I do not think it is bad. If you had seen what I saw, you would not
think so either." Mr. Egglestone's manner was exceedingly tender, and his
voice was liquid and low. "All is well with your folks at home; both with
those who are there as you left them, and with the one whose true home is
not there any longer, but in a brighter land, we trust."

"O!"--it was almost a cry of pain that broke from Frank. "Hattie?"

"Yes, Frank; it is of Hattie I am speaking. She has passed away. I was
present, and saw her depart. And she was very calm and happy, and her
last look was a smile, and her last words were words of hope and love.
The letter will tell you all about it. I recall one thing, however, which
I will repeat, since it so nearly concerns you. They were speaking of
you. And she said, 'Maybe I shall see him before any of you will! Yes!'
she added, her face shining already like a spirit's with the joyful
thought, 'tell him how I love him; and say that I shall be with him when
he does not know!' And I am sure that, if it is possible for souls that
have escaped from these environments of flesh to be near us still, she
will often be near you, loving you, influencing you. Perhaps she is
present now, and hears all we say, and sees how badly you feel, and
thinks you would not feel quite so badly if you knew that she is happy."

Frank would have spoken, to ask some earnest question which arose in his
heart; but his feelings were too much agitated, and he could not trust
his voice.

"We will believe such things are true of our lost ones," Mr. Egglestone
said, with a parting pressure of the boy's hand. "For, with that faith,
we shall surely try so to live that, when they approach us, they will not
be repelled; and thus we will be guarded from evil, if not by any direct
influence of theirs, then by our own reverence and love for them."

With this he took his leave. And Frank crept into his bunk, and turned
away his face, before he dared to open and read his mother's letter.

In that letter there were no reproofs for his misconduct. But in place of
such his mother had written the simple story of Hattie's death, with many
affecting little details, showing her thoughtful tenderness for all, her
cheerful sweetness, and her love for Frank. Then followed affectionate
messages from them at home, who were very lonely now, and longed to have
him with them--all which had a power beyond any reproaches to win the boy
back to that purity of heart and life which belonged to his
home-affections, and was safe when they were strong, and was imperilled
when they were forgotten.

"O, to think," he said to himself, "only this morning I was imagining how
it looked at home to-day--and it is all so different! I am gone, and now
Hattie is gone too!"

XXI.

UP THE SOUND.

So passed that Sunday, memorable to the expedition; for it ushered in the
battle-week.

Besides the transports and store-ships belonging to the coast division, a
squadron of United States gunboats, under command of Commodore
Goldsborough, had rendezvoused at the inlet. These were to take care of
the rebel fleet, attend to the shore batteries, and prepare the way for
the operation of the land forces.

All the vessels destined to take part in the advance were now over the
bulkhead, in Pamlico Sound. On Monday, the sailing vessels were hauled
into position, each astern of its steam-consort, by which it was to be
towed. Sixty-five vessels of various classes were to participate in the
movement; while upwards of fifty were to remain behind at the inlet,
holding in reserve sixty days' supply of stores for the entire
expedition.

The stay at the inlet had occasionally been enlivened by the arrival of
refugees, white and black, from the coast of North Carolina. Some of
these were citizens escaped from the persecutions meted out by the rebels
to all who still remained loyal to the old flag. Some were deserters from
the confederate army, in which they had been compelled to serve. Others
were slaves fleeing from bondage to freedom.

Again, on Monday, a sail-boat hove in sight, and, being overhauled by one
of the gunboats, proved to be loaded with these fugitives. They were
mostly negroes; two of whom were bright, intelligent boys, who gave such
evidence of joy at their escape, of loyalty to the Union, and of a
thorough knowledge of the country, that Flag-officer Goldsborough
retained them for the information they might be able to give, while the
rest were sent ashore.

And now, general orders were read to the troops, announcing to them that
they were soon to land on the coast of North Carolina, and reminding them
that they were there, not to pillage or destroy private property, but to
subdue the rebellion, and to maintain the Constitution and the laws.

Monday and Tuesday were occupied with preparations. But early Wednesday
morning--more than three weeks after the arrival of the expedition at the
inlet--the signals to weigh anchor and set sail were given.

Commodore Goldsborough's gunboat took the lead. Other vessels of the
naval squadron followed. Then came the transports--a goodly spectacle.

"''Twere wuth ten years of peaceful life, one glance at our array,'"
observed the poetical Tucket.

Each brigade formed three columns of steamers and sailing vessels in tow;
and brigade followed brigade. The shallow water of the sound was scarcely
ruffled by a breeze. It lay like a field of silver before the furrows of
the fleet. The tall, taper masts of the schooners pointed like needles to
the sky under which they moved. The aisles between the three columns of
ships were unbroken through the whole length of the fleet, which extended
for two miles over the surface of the sound, and advanced with such slow
and uniform motion, each vessel keeping its position, that now all seemed
moving as one, and again all seemed at rest, with the waters of the sound
flowing past their steady keels.

As yet, the destination of the fleet was unknown. As it proceeded at
first southward and westward, the rumor grew that Newbern was to be
attacked. But it was only the course of the channel which thus far shaped
its course; and after a few zigzag turns, the cause of which was
inexplicable to the green ones, ignorant of the shoals, it began to steer
due north. Then all doubts with regard to its destination vanished.

"Roanoke Island, boys! Roanoke Island!" was echoed from mouth to mouth on
board the schooner.

The day was beautiful--only a light breeze blowing, and a few light
clouds floating in the blue ether. And now the vessels at the inlet began
to sink below the horizon; first, the hulls, then the decks disappeared;
and lastly, spars and rigging went down behind the curve of the sphere,
and were visible no more to the clearest glass.

At the same time emerged in the west the main land of North Carolina. At
first, tall cypresses rose to view, growing as it were "out of a mirror."
Then appeared the long swampy shores, lying dim and low, with here and
there a miserable fish-house, the sole trace of human habitation.

At sundown the fleet was within ten miles of Roanoke Island. The signal
from the flag-ship was given, at which the vessels of each brigade drew
together, the clank of running-out chains sounded along the lines, the
anchors plashed, and the fleet was moored for the night.

As yet there were no signs of rebels. What the morrow, what the night,
might bring forth was all uncertainty. The night set in dark enough. But
soon the sky cleared, the moon came out resplendent, and the stars looked
down from their far eternal calm upon the evanescent shows of mortal
conflict--the batteries of the rebellion yonder, and here the fleet, no
more than the tiniest shells to those distant, serene, awful eyes of
Deity. And Frank looked up at the stars; and the spirit within him said,
"They will shine the same to-morrow night, and the next night, and
forever; and whether there is war or peace, whether victory comes or
defeat, and whether thou, child, art living or art dead, they know not,
they change not, neither do they rejoice or mourn." And the thought sank
deep into the heart of the boy as he retired to his bed, and closed his
eyes to sleep.

A sharp lookout was kept for the rebel gunboats all night, but they never
made their appearance. The next morning the weather was heavy--promising
rain. At eight o'clock, however, the signal to weigh anchor--the Union
Jack at the foremast, and the American flag at the stern--was telegraphed
from the flag-ship, and repeated by the flag-ship of each brigade. Again
the fleet got in motion, approaching the entrance to Croatan Sound. The
water was shoal, and progress was slow, and soon it came on to rain. It
was a dismal day; rain on the decks, rain on the water, rain on the
marshy shores of the main land, and over the forests beyond, where the
ghosts of blasted trees stretched their naked arms despairingly to the
dripping clouds. And now a low swampy point of Roanoke Island pushes out
into the dim water, under a veil of rain.

At about noon, most of the vessels came to anchor. But some of the
gunboats advanced to the entrance of Croatan Sound, and reconnoitred. The
rebel fleet was discovered, drawn up in line of battle on the west side
of the island, awaiting the conflict. A fog coming on, active operations
against the enemy were postponed, and the gunboats, withdrawing also,
came to anchor for the night.

During the day, several of the armed steamers, which had served as
transports, prepared to cooperate with the naval squadron in their true
character as gunboats; the troops on board of them being distributed
among other vessels of the coast division. Among the steamers thus
cleared was the schooner's consort; and thus it happened that Mr. Sinjin
returned to his old quarters, to the great joy of the drummer boy, whose
heart burned within him at the thought of meeting his old friend once
more, after their unhappy parting.

They met, indeed; but the schooner was now so crowded, and such was the
stir on board, that Frank scarce found an opportunity to offer the
veteran his hand, and get one look out of those serious gray eyes.

The drummers being assembled, the surgeon came to them, and gave each a
strip of red flannel to tie on his arm as a token, at the same time
informing them that, when the troops landed, they were to go with him and
help carry the wounded.

"This begins to look like serious business, my boy," said the old
drummer, kindly, as he stooped to assist Frank in tying on his badge.

His touch was very gentle. Frank's breast began to swell. But before he
could speak the old man had disappeared in the crowd.

"He don't know yet that I know he gave me the watch," thought the boy,
"and he wouldn't look and see that I have it again."

Then he regarded the red token on his arm, and remembered that they all
had other things to think of now.

Picket-boats were out in advance all night, at the entrance to Croatan
Sound, in the darkness and fog, keeping watch for the enemy. No enemy
appeared. Towards morning, however, the fog lifting, two rebel steamers
were seen hastily taking to their heels, having come down in the
obscurity to see what they could see.

It was Friday, the 7th of February. The morning was beautiful; the
sunrise came in clouds of glory; there was as yet no taint of battle in
the purity of the air. It was a lovely day for a sea fight. Frank climbed
into the rigging to observe.

At ten o'clock Goldsborough's gunboats could be seen making their way,
one by one, cautiously, through the narrow channel between marshy islands
into Croatan Sound. There were nineteen of them. The gunboats of the
coast division followed, six in number. The S. R. Spaulding, to which
Burnside had transferred his flag, next went in, making signals for the
transports to follow.

Far off a gun was heard. It was only a signal fired by a rebel steamer to
announce the approach of the squadron; but it thrilled the hearts of the
troops waiting to go into battle.

An hour later another cannon boomed, nearer and louder. It was a shot
tossed from the commodore's flag-ship at the rebels, who promptly
responded.

The flag-ship now hoisted the signal,--

"THIS DAY OUR COUNTRY EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY."

From ship to ship, from man to man, from heart to heart, thrilled the
electric message. It was greeted by cheers and the thunder of guns. This
was at half past eleven o'clock.

XXII.

THE ATTACK OF THE GUNBOATS.

The spars of the transports were beginning to be thronged. Corporal Gray
brought up a glass to Frank.

"O, good!" cried Frank. "Is it yours?"

"No; it belongs to Mr. Sinjin."

"Did he send it to me?"

"Not he! But he had been casting that sharp eye of his up at you, and I
knew what he meant when he said, 'Corporal, there's a good lookout from
the masthead, if you'd like to take a glass up there."

"Did he really mean it for me, after all my bad treatment of him?" said
Frank. "Bless his old heart!"

With his naked eye for the general view, and the glass to bring out the
details, Frank enjoyed a rare spectacle that day. Roanoke Island and its
surroundings lay outspread before him like a map. On the west of it was
Croatan Sound, separating it from the marshes and forests of the main
land. On the east was Roanoke Sound, a much narrower sheet of water;
beyond which stretched that long, low, interminable strip of land which
forms the outer coast, or seaboard, of this double-coasted country. Still
east of that glimmered the blue rim of the Atlantic, a dozen miles away.
At about the same distance, on the north, beyond Roanoke Island and the
two sounds each side of it, opened the broad basin of Albemarle Sound,
like an inland sea. The island itself appeared to be some twelve miles in
its greatest length, and two or three in breadth, indented with numerous
creeks and coves, and forming a slight curve about Croatan Sound. It was
within this curve that the naval battle took place. It had now fairly
begun.

At noon the flag-officer's ship displayed the signal for closer action,
and the engagement soon became general.

The enemy's gunboats, seven in number, showed a disposition to fight at
long range, retreating up the sound as the fleet advanced--a movement
which soon brought the latter under the fire of a battery that opened
from the shore.

The air, which had previously been perfectly clear that morning, was now
loaded with clouds of smoke, which puffed from a hundred guns, and
surging up from the vessels of the squadron, from the rebel gunboats, and
from the shore battery, rolled away in broken, sun-illumined masses,
wafted by a light northeasterly breeze.

The soldiers in the rigging of the transports could see the flashes burst
from the cannons' mouths, the spouted smoke, the shots throwing up high
in air the water or sand as they struck, or coming skip-skip across the
sound, the shells exploding, and the terrible roar of the battle filled
the air.

For a time the fire of the attack was about equally divided between the
rebel steamers and the fortification on the island. It was soon
discovered, however, that boats had been sunk and a line of piles driven
across the channel abreast of the battery, to prevent the farther advance
of our gunboats in that direction. Behind those the retreating steamers
discreetly withdrew, where they were presently reenforced by several
other armed vessels. The gunboats made no attempt to follow, but took
positions to give their principal attention to the battery.

The fire from the shore gradually slackened, and thousands of hearts
swelled anew as the hour seemed at hand when the troops were to land and
carry the works at the point of the bayonet.

Burnside paced the deck of the Spaulding, keeping an eye on the fort,
watching the enemy's shots, and looking impatiently for the arrival of
the transports. At length they came crowding through the inlet, dropping
their anchors in the sound just out of range of the fort. Seen from the
gunboats, they were a sight not less astonishing than that which they
themselves were coming to witness. Troops, eagerly watching the conflict,
crowded the decks and hung upon the rigging like swarms of bees. Ropes,
masts, and yards were festooned with the heavy, clinging clusters, which
seemed ready to part and fall with their own weight. The effect of the
picture was enhanced by the mellow brilliancy of the afternoon sky,
against which the dark masses were clearly defined, and by the perfect
tranquility of the water, like a sea of glass mirroring the ships and
their loaded spars.

The gunboats sent to the ships the roar of their artillery, and the ships
sent back the chorus of thousands of cheering voices for every well-aimed
shot.

Frank was in the rigging of the schooner, watching the fight, making
drawings to send to his mother, and talking with his comrades, among whom
Sinjin's glass passed from hand to hand.

"I tell ye, boys!" remarks Seth Tucket, "this is a leetle ahead of any
game of bluff ever I took a hand in! The battery is about used up. S'pose
you look at your--my--our watch, Frank, and see how often the darned
rebels fire."

"Once in about ten minutes now," Frank informs him. "O! did you see that
shell burst? Right over one of our gunboats!"

"She's aground," says Gray, with the glass. "She can neither use her guns
nor get off! A little tug is going to help her."

"Bully for the tug!" says Jack Winch.

"Hurrah! hurrah!" ring the deafening plaudits from the ships.

"What is it?" is eagerly asked.

"The battery's flag-staff is shot away!" shouts Frank at the top of his
voice. "Hooray!"

"Some think the flag has been hauled down, to surrender the fort, but
it's a mistake," declares Gray. "See! up it goes again on a piece of the
pole! And the guns are at it again."

"Where's Burnside?" asks some one. And Tucket quotes,--

"'O, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle horn were worth a
thousand men!'"

"He is sending off a boat to the shore yonder, to look for a
landing-place. We'll be going in there soon, boys!"

The boat approaches a cove called Ashby's Harbor, taking soundings as it
nears the land. On board of her is one of the negro lads, who fearlessly
pilots her towards scenes familiar to his days of bondage.

"They'd better keep their eyes skinned!" says Tucket. "There's rebels in
the mash there, I bet ye a dollar!"

The officers of the boat land safely, and reconnoitre. As they are
reembarking, however, up spring from the tall grass a company of rebels,
and flash, flash, goes a volley of musketry.

"I wish somebody had took me up on my bet," says Tucket; "'twould have
been a dollar in my pocket."

"They're off; nobody left behind; nobody hurt, I hope," says Gray,
watching the boat.

"Look, boys! the rebels works are afire!" is now the cry.

Flames break through the smoke, and the firing slackens on both sides for
a short time.

"It's only the barracks, probably, fired by a shell," says Gray. "They've
no idea of surrendering. They hold out well!"

The battery is completely enveloped in black smoke, out of which leaps
the white puff of the cannon, showing that the gunners are still at work.

"See! the gunboat that was aground is getting off! that's a brave tug
that's handling her!" cries Frank "O!"--an exclamation of surprise and
wonder. For just then the gunboat, swinging around so that she can bring
her guns to bear, lets fly her broadside, dropping shot and shell right
into the smoking battery.

"It's about time," says Jack Winch, "for us boys to go ashore and clean
the rebels out. I'm a gitting tired of this slow work."

"You'll get ashore soon enough, and have enough to do when you get
there," says Atwater. "There are strong batteries towards the centre of
the islands, that'll have to be taken when we go in."

"Abe's afraid," mutters Jack to some comrades near him. "Did ye see him,
and Frank, and Seth Tucket, reading their Testaments?"

"It was the 'Lady of the Lake' Seth was reading," says Harris. "He
carries it in his pocket, and pitches into it odd spells."

"Winch don't know the Lady of the Lake from the Bible!" chimes in
Tucket's high nasal voice.

"Yes, I do, too! The Lady of the Lake, that's one of Bryon's poems!
S'pose I don't know?"

"O, perfectly!" sneers Ellis, amid the laughter Jack's blunder elicits.
"And no doubt you'll soon find out who the cowards are among us, if you
don't know already."

"What's that, afire, away up the sound, close into the main land?" asks
the phlegmatic Atwater.

"I swan, ef 'tan't one of the rebel steamers! She's got disabled, and
they've run her ashore. She's all a sheet of fire now!"

"What's that saucy little tug around here for?"

"Burnside's aboard of her. He's coming to see if we're all right. We
shall land soon," says Gray.

"See!" cries Frank; "our gunboats are shelling the shore, to make a
landing-place for us. I wouldn't like to be in the woods there!"

"I guess Frank wouldn't!" observes Jack. "But I would; I'd like no better
fun than to rush right in and skedaddle the rebels with the bayonet;
that's the way to do it!"

"The woods are afire! Our shells have set them afire!" cries Ellis.
"Look! there come the rebel steamers again, down the western shore. They
think they can get down at us, now our gunboats are busy off there."

"When the cat's away the mice will play," says Tucket. "But the kittens
are after 'em!"

"There goes Burnside's tug to see what the row is!"

"The battery scarcely fires at all now," says Frank, looking at his
watch. "It's twenty minutes since it has fired a shot."

"There goes one! And see! the gunboats are fighting each other now like
mad--again!" cries Gray. "They're all so wrapped in smoke you can hardly
see one of 'em."--Bang, bang, bang!--"Isn't it grand?"

"A shell burst right over Burnside's tug!" exclaims Frank. "It burst, and
sprinkled the water all around it!"

XXIII.

THE TROOPS DISEMBARK.--THE ISLAND.

At four o'clock the last of the transports had entered the inlet, and
rejoined the fleet. Soon after commenced preparations for the landing of
the troops. The boats were lowered and manned, and the soldiers,
descending from decks and spars, began to crowd into them. Knapsacks were
left behind; the men taking with them only their arms, overcoats,
canteens, haversacks, and cartridge-boxes, with three days' rations of
pork, beef, and hard bread, and forty rounds of ball cartridges. Down
both sides of the vessels they passed, in rapid regular files, pouring
into the boats. Their guns were taken as they stepped upon the stairs,
and passed down to them as soon as they were embarked. Some took places
at the oars; the rest filed in fore and aft. It must have been an amazing
spectacle to the enemy to witness these stirring and formidable
preparations for finishing the work the gunboats had begun. The troops
were jubilant, and eager for battle.

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