The Drummer Boy

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"I saw you, I think, the day you came here," said the captain. "You had
some curls then. What has become of them?"

Frank's lip twitched, and he cast down his eyes, ashamed to betray any
lingering feeling on that subject.

"The boys cut them off in my sleep, sir."

"The rogues!" exclaimed the captain. "And what did you do?"

Frank lifted his eyes with a smile. "I partly finished them myself--they
had haggled them so; and the next day I found a man to cut my hair
nicely."

"Well, it is better so, perhaps: short hair for a soldier. But I liked
those curls. They reminded me of a little sister of mine--she is gone
now--," in a low, mellow tone. "Are you attached to any company?"

"I am enlisted in the Jackson Blues."

"What is your name?"

"Frank Manly, sir."

"Are you any relation to Mrs. Manly, of----?"

"She is my mother, sir," said Frank, with proud affection.

"Is it possible! Mrs. Manly's son! Indeed, you look like her."

"Do you know my mother, sir?"

"My lad," said the captain, "I used to go to school to her. But, though I
have heard of her often, I haven't seen her for years."

"I shall write to her, and tell her about you," said Frank, delighted.
"She will be glad to hear that I have found so good a friend."

"Ask her," said the captain, "If she remembers Henry Edney, who used to
go to school to her in ----. She will recollect me, I am sure. And give
my very kind regards to her, and to your father; and tell them I regret I
didn't see you before you enlisted, for I want just such a drummer boy in
my company. But never mind," he added quickly, as if conscious of having
spoken indiscreetly, "you will do your duty where you are, and I will try
to do mine, for we must have only one thought now--to serve our country."

They separated, with more kind words on the captain's part, and with
expressions of gratitude on the part of Frank, who felt that, to
compensate him for John Winch's treachery, he was already securing the
friendship of a few of the best of men.

You may be sure the boy wrote to his mother all about the interview, and
told her how sorry he was that he had not enlisted in Captain Edney's
company; not only because he liked his new friend's kindness and affable
manners so well, but also because there existed in the ranks of the
Jackson Blues a strong prejudice against their own officers. Captain ----
was almost a stranger to his men, and seemed determined to continue so.
He seldom appeared amongst them, or showed any interest in their welfare.
He had never once drilled them, but left that duty entirely to the
sergeant. They consequently accused him boldly of laziness, ignorance,
and conceit--three qualities which men always dislike in their superiors.
How different was Captain Edney!

V.

FUN IN CAMP.

Frank now practised his lessons on his drum, and was very happy. He had
passed the surgical examination a few days after his arrival in camp, and
been duly sworn into the service. This latter ceremony made a strong
impression on his mind. He stood in the open air, together with a number
of new recruits, and heard the Articles of War read; after which they all
took off their caps, and held up their right hands, while the oath was
administered.

One day, on returning to camp after his lesson in the woods, he was
astonished to see Jack Winch, with his cap off, his fighting-cut
displayed to all beholders, and his fist shaking, marched off by armed
soldiers.

"What are they doing with Jack?" he hastened to inquire of Abram Atwater,
who stood among his comrades with his arms composedly crossed under his
cape.

"He is put under guard," said the tall, taciturn soldier.

"You see," cried Joe Harris, coming up, "Jack had tipped the bottle once
too often, and got noisy. The sergeant told him to keep still. 'Dry up
yourself,' said Jack. 'Start,' says the sergeant; and he took hold of him
to push him towards the tent; but the next he knew, he got a blow square
in the face,--Jack was so mad!"

"Come, boys," said Ned Ellis, "Le's go over and see how he likes the
fun."

The proposal was accepted; and presently a strong deputation of the Blues
went to pay a visit to their disgraced comrade. Arrived at the guard
tent, a couple of sentinels crossed their bayonets before them. But
although they could not enter, they could look in; and there, seated on
the ground, they saw Jack, in a position which would have appeared
excessively ludicrous to Frank, but that it seemed to him too pitiful to
behold any comrade so degraded. In consequence of his continued fury and
violence, Jack had been secured in this fashion. Imagine a grotesque
letter _N_, to which feet, arms, and a head have been added, and you have
some idea of his posture, as seen in profile. His knees were elevated;
forming the upper angle of the letter. The lower angle was represented by
that portion of the body which forms the seat of the human animal. The
arms were passed over the upper angle, that is, the knees, and kept in
their place by handcuffs on the wrists, and by a musket thrust through,
over the arms and under the knees.

"Can't you untie them iron knots with your teeth, Jack?" said Joe,
meaning the handcuffs.

"How do you like the back to your chair?" said Ned.

"Let's see ye turn a somerset backwards, Jack."

And so forth. But Frank did not insult him in his disgrace.

Winch was by this time sufficiently sobered and humbled. He destroyed the
symmetry of the _N_ by doubling himself ingloriously over his knees and
hiding his face between them.

"Got the colic, Jack?" asked Harris--"you double up so."

Winch glared up at him a moment,--a ludicrous picture, with that writhing
face and that curious fighting-cut,--but cast down his eyes again,
sulkily, and said nothing.

"Come away, boys," whispered Frank. "Don't stay here, making fun of him.
Why do you?"

"Jack," said Ellis, "we're going to take a drink. Won't you come along
with us?"--tauntingly.

And the Blues dispersed, leaving poor Jack to his own bitter reflections.

He had learned one thing--who his friends were. On being released, he
shunned Harris and Ellis especially, for a day or two, and paid his court
to Frank.

"I am going to tell you something, Frank," said he, as they were once at
the pond-side, washing their plates after dinner. "I'm going to leave the
company."

"Leave the Blues?" said Frank.

"Yes, and quit the service. I've got sick of it."

"But I thought you liked it so well."

"Well, I did at first. It was a kind of novelty. Come, let's leave it. I
will."

"But how can you?"

"Easy enough. I am under age, and my father 'll get me off."

"I should think you would be ashamed to ask him to," Frank could not help
saying, with honest contempt.

Jack was not offended this time by his plainness, for he had learned that
those are not, by any means, our worst friends, who truly tell us our
faults.

"I don't care," he said, putting on an air of recklessness. "I ain't
going to lead this miserable dog's life in camp any longer, if I have to
desert"--lowering his voice to a whisper; "we can desert just as easy as
not, Frank, if we take a notion."

"I, for one," said Frank, indignantly, "shan't take a notion to do
anything so dishonorable. We enlisted of our own free will, and I think
it would be the meanest and most dishonest thing we could do to----"

"Hush!" whispered Jack. "There's Atwater; he'll hear us."

* * * *

At midnight the drummer boy was awakened by a commotion in the tent.

"Come, Frank," said some one, pulling him violently, "we are going to
have some great fun. Hurrah!"

Frank jumped up. The boys were leaving the tent. He had already suspected
that mischief was meditated, and, anxious to see what it was, he ran out
after them.

He found the company assembled in a dark, mysterious mass in the street
before the row of tents.

"Get a rope around his neck," said one.

"Burn the tent," said another.

"With him in it," said a third.

"What does it all mean?" Frank inquired of his friend Atwater, whom he
found quietly listening to the conspirators.

"A little fun with the Gosling, I believe," said Atwater, with a shrug.
"They'd better let him alone."

"The Gosling" was the nickname which the Blues had bestowed on their
captain.

After a hurried consultation among the ringleaders, the company marched
to the tent where the Gosling slept. Only Atwater, Frank, and a few
others lingered in the rear.

"I hope they won't hurt him," said Frank. "Ought we not to give the
alarm?"

"And get the lasting ill-will of the boys?" said Atwater. "We can't
afford that."

The captain's tent was surrounded. Knives were drawn. Then, at a
concerted signal, the ropes supporting the tent were cut. At the same
time the captain's bed, which made a convenient protuberance in the side
of the tent, was seized and tipped over, while tent-pole, canvas, and
all, came down upon him in a mass.

"Help! guard! help!" he shrieked, struggling under the heap.

At the instant a large pile of straw, belonging to the quartermaster's
department close by, burst forth in a sheet of flame which illumined the
camp with its glare.

The boys now ran to their tents, laughing at the plight of their captain,
as he issued, furious, from the ruins. Frank began to run too; but
thinking that this would be considered an indication of guilt, he
stopped. Atwater was at his side.

"We are caught," said Atwater, coolly. "There's the guard." And he folded
his arms under his cape and waited.

"What shall we do?" said Frank, in great distress, not that he feared the
advancing bayonets, but he remembered John Winch's arrest, and dreaded a
similar degradation.

"There are two of them," said the half-dressed captain, pointing out
Frank and his friend to the officer of the guard.

In his excitement he would have had them hurried off at once to the
guard-tent. But fortunately the colonel of the regiment, who had been
writing late in his tent, heard the alarm, and was already on the spot.
He regarded the prisoners by the light of the burning straw. Frank,
recovering from the trepidation of finding himself for the first time
surrounded by a guard, and subject to a serious accusation returned his
look with a face beaming with courage and innocence. The colonel smiled.

"Have you been meddling with Captain ----'s bed and cutting his tent
down?" he asked.

"No, sir," said Frank, with a mien which bore witness to the truth.

"Do you know who set that fire?"

"No, sir."

"What are you out of your tent for?"

"I came to see the fun, sir. If it was wrong I am very sorry."

"What fun?"

"The boys were going to have some fun; I didn't know what, and I came to
see."

"What boys?"

"All the boys in our company."

"Which of them did the things your captain complains of?"

"I don't know, sir. They were all together; and who tipped the bed, or
cut the ropes, or set the fire, I can't tell."

"It seems they were all concerned, then."

"No, sir, not all. Some did the mischief, and the rest looked on."

"Did this person with you do any of the mischief?"

"No, sir; he was with me all the time, and we kept out of it."

"How happens it, then, that only you two are caught?"

"All the rest ran."

"And why didn't you run?"

"We had not been doing anything to run for," said Frank, with convincing
sincerity.

Atwater was then questioned, and gave similar answers.

"Captain ----," said the colonel, "I think it is evident these are not
the persons who are most deserving of punishment. This boy, certainly,
could not have been very deeply concerned in the assault, and I am
inclined to place entire confidence in his story."

The captain himself appeared not a little ashamed of having accused one
so young and ingenuous as the drummer boy. The prisoners were accordingly
released, and the investigation of the affair was postponed until the
morrow. Returning with Atwater to their tent, Frank could not repress the
joy he felt at their fortunate escape. But Atwater took the whole affair
with astonishing coolness, exhibiting no more emotion at their release
than he had betrayed at their entrapment.

"What a fellow you are!" said Frank, staying his enthusiastic step, while
his companion, with slow and stately pace, came up with him. "You don't
seem to care for any thing."

"Those that care the most don't always show it," said Atwater,
laconically, as they crept back into the tent.

All was hushed and dark within; but soon they heard whispers.

"Abe! Frank! that you?"

And they soon found that the tent was full of the fugitives, awaiting
their return.

"What made you let 'em catch you? How did you get off?" were the first
eager inquiries.

Dark as it was, Frank thought he could see Atwater shrug his shoulders
and look to him for the required explanation. For Abram was a fellow of
few words, and Frank was glib of speech.

So Frank, seated on his bed, related their adventure, to the great
delight of the boys, who bestowed the warmest praises upon them for their
spirit and fidelity. They had stood their ground when deserted by their
companions; and, although they had told the truth about the whole
company, they had not inculpated individuals. Thus Frank, as he
afterwards learned with pleasure, had by his courage and truthfulness won
both the confidence of his officers and the good will of his comrades.

The next day the company was called to an account for the offence. In
reply to the captain's charges, the sergeant, acting as spokesman for the
rest, stated the grievances of the men. The result was, that the captain
received directions to exercise his company in the colonel's presence;
and, complying reluctantly, demonstrated his own inefficiency in a manner
which elicited the merriment of spectators, and even provoked the colonel
to smile.

Soon after, in order to get rid of so incompetent an officer, and at the
same time punish the insubordination of the men, it was resolved to
disband the company. Thus was afforded to Frank the opportunity, which
seemed to him almost providential, of joining Captain Edney's company,
and to John Winch the desired chance to quit the service, of which he had
so soon grown weary.

At this time the boys' fathers came down together to visit them. John had
written home a pitiful letter, and Mr. Winch went to see about getting
him off.

But Jack was no sooner out of the service than he wished to be in again.
Frank, Atwater, and several others, had joined Captain Edney's company,
and he determined to follow their example.

"O John!" groaned Mr. Winch, in despair at this inconstancy, "when will
you learn to be a little more steady-minded? Here I have come expressly
to plead your cause, and get you off; but before I have a chance, you
change your mind again, and now nothing can persuade you to go home."

"Well," said John, "I didn't like the company I was in. I'm satisfied
now, and I'm going to serve my country."

"Well, well," said Mr. Winch, "I shall let you do as you please. But
reflect; you enlist with my consent now, and you must dismiss all hope of
getting off next time you are sick of your bargain."

"O, I shan't be sick of it again," said John, as full of ambition as he
had lately been of discontent and disloyalty.

In the mean time Frank made the most of his father's visit. He showed him
his new tent, his knapsack and accoutrements, and his handsome drum. He
introduced him to the old drummer, and to Atwater, and to Captain Edney.
The latter invited them both into his tent, and was so kind to them that
Frank almost shed tears of gratitude, to think that his father could go
home and tell what a favorite he was with his captain. Then, when
dinner-time came, Frank drew a ration for his father, in order that he
might know just what sort of fare the soldiers had, and how they ate it.
And so the day passed. And Frank accompanied his father to the cars, and
saw him off, sending a thousand good wishes home, and promising that he
would certainly get a furlough the coming week, and visit them.

VI.

BREAKING CAMP.

Frank was disappointed in not being able to keep that promise. An order
came for the regiment to be ready to march in two days; in the mean time
no furloughs could be granted.

"I am sorry for you, Frank," said Captain Edney; "and I would make an
exception in your case, if possible."

"No, I don't ask that, sir," said Frank, stoutly. "I did want to see my
folks again, but----" He turned away his face.

"Well," said the captain, "I think it can be arranged so that you shall
see them again, if only for a short time. You can warn them in season of
our breaking camp, and they will meet you as we pass through Boston."

This was some consolation; although it was hard for Frank to give up the
long-anticipated pleasure of visiting his family, and the satisfaction of
relating his experience of a soldier's life to his sisters and mates. He
had thought a good deal, with innocent vanity, of the wonder and
admiration he would excite, in his uniform, fresh from camp, and bound
for the battlefields of his country; but he had thought a great deal more
of the happiness of breathing again the atmosphere of love and sympathy
which we find nowhere but at home.

The excitement which filled the camp helped him forget his
disappointment. The regiment was in fine spirits. It was impatient to be
on the march. Its destination was not known; some said it was to be moved
directly to Washington; others, that it was to rendezvous at Annapolis,
and form a part of some formidable expedition about to be launched
against the rebellion; but all agreed that what every soldier ardently
desired was now before them--active service, and an enemy to be
conquered.

The two days in which time the regiment was to prepare to move, became
three days--four days--a week; unavoidable obstacles still delayed its
departure, to the infinite vexation of Frank, who saw what a long
furlough he might have enjoyed, and who repeatedly sent to his friends
directions when and where to meet him, which he found himself obliged,
each time, to write in haste and countermand the next morning. Such are
some of the annoyances of a soldier's life.

But at length the long-delayed orders came. They were received with
tumultuous joy by the impatient troops. It was necessary to send the
ponderous baggage train forward a day in advance; and the tents were
struck at once. All was bustle, animation, and hilarity in the camp; and
a night of jubilee followed.

The drummer boy never forgot that night, amid all his subsequent
adventures. While his companions were singing, shouting, and kindling
fires, he could not help thinking, as he watched their animated figures
lighted up by the flames, that this was, probably, the last night many of
them would ever pass in their native states; that many would fall in
battle, and find their graves in a southern soil; and that, perhaps, he
himself was one of those who would never return.

"What are you thinking about, my bold soldier boy?" said a familiar
voice, while a gentle hand slapped him on the back.

He turned and saw the bushy mustache of his friend and master, the old
drummer, peering over his shoulder.

"O Mr. Sinjin!" said Frank. (The veteran wrote his name _St. John_, but
every body called him _Sinjin_.) "I was afraid I should not see you
again."

"Eh, and why not?"

"Because we are off in the morning, you know, and I couldn't find you
to-day; and----"

"And what, my lad?" said the old man, regarding him with a very tender
smile.

"I couldn't bear the thought of going without seeing you once more."

"And what should a young fellow like you want to see an ugly, battered,
miserable old hulk like me, for?"

"You have been very kind to me," said Frank, getting hold of the old
man's hard, rough hand; "and I shall be sorry to part with you, sir, very
sorry."

"Well, well." The veteran tried in vain to appear careless and cynical,
as he commonly did to other people. "You are young yet. You believe in
friendship, do you?"

"And don't you?" Frank earnestly inquired.

"I did once. A great while ago. But never mind about that. I believe in
_you_, my boy. You have not seen the world and grown corrupted; you are
still capable of a disinterested attachment; and may it be long before
the thoughtlessness of some, and the treachery of others, and the
selfishness of all, convince you that there is no such thing as a true
friend." And the old drummer gave his mustache a fierce jerk, as if he
had some grudge against it.

"O Mr. Sinjin," said Frank, "I shall never think so and I am sure you do
not. Haven't you any friends? Don't you really care for any body? Here
are all these boys; you know a good many of us, and every body that knows
you half as well as I do, likes you, and we are going off now in a few
hours, and some of us will never come back; and don't you care?"

"Few, I fancy, think of me as you do," said the old man, in a slightly
choking voice. "They call me _Old Sinjin_, without very much respect,"
grinning grimly under his mustache.

"But they don't mean any thing by that; they like you all the time, sir,"
Frank assured him.

"Well, like me or not," said the veteran, his smile softening as he
looked down at the boy's face upturned so earnestly to his in the
fire-light, "I have determined, if only for your sake, to share the
fortunes of the regiment."

"You have? O, good! And go with us?" cried Frank, ready to dance for joy.

"I've got tired, like the rest of you, of this dull camp life," said the
old drummer; "and seeing you pack your knapsack has stirred a little
youthful blood in my veins which I didn't suppose was there. I'm off for
the war with the rest of you, my boy;" and he poked a coal from the fire
to light his cigar, hiding his face from Frank at the same time.

Frank, who could not help thinking that it was partly for his sake that
the old man had come to this decision, was both rejoiced and sobered by
this evidence of friendship in one who pretended not to believe there was
such a thing as true friendship in the world.

"I am so glad you are going; but I am afraid you are too old; and if any
thing should happen to you----" Frank somehow felt that, in that case, he
would be to blame.

The old man said nothing, but kept poking at the coal with a trembling
hand.

"Here, Old Sinjin," said Jack Winch, "have a match. Don't be _singin'_
your mustaches over the fire for nothing;" with an irreverent pun on the
old man's name.

"Mr. Sinjin is going with us, Jack," said Frank.

"Is he? Bully for you, old chap!" said Jack, as the veteran, with a
somewhat contemptuous smile, accepted the proffered match, and smoked
away in silence. "We are going to have a gallus old time; nothing could
hire me to stay at home." For Jack, when inspired by the idea of change,
was always enthusiastic; he was then always going to have a gallus old
time, if any body knows what that is. "Here goes my shoes," pitching
those which he had worn from home into the fire.

"Why, Jack," said Frank, "what do you burn them for? Those were good
shoes yet."

"I know it. But I couldn't carry them. The other boys are burning up all
their old boots and shoes. Uncle Sam furnishes us shoes now."

"But you should have sent them home, Jack; I sent mine along with my
clothes. If you don't ever want them again yourself, somebody else may."

"What do I care for somebody else? I care more for seeing the old things
curl and fry in the fire as if they was mad. O, ain't that a splendid
blaze! It's light as day all over the camp. By jimmy, the fellows there
are going to have a dance."

John ran off. Old Sinjin had also taken his departure, evidently not
liking young Winch's company. Frank was left once more to his own
thoughts, watching the picturesque groups about the fires. It was now
midnight. The last of the old straw from the emptied ticks had been cast
into the flames, and the broken tent-floors were burning brilliantly.
Some of the wiser ones were bent on getting a little sleep. Frank saw
Atwater spreading his rubber blanket on the ground, and resolved to
follow his example. Others did the same; and with their woollen blankets
over them; their knapsacks under their heads, and their feet to the fire,
they bivouacked merrily under the lurid sky.

It was Frank's first experience of a night in the open air. The weather
was mild, although it was now November; the fires kept them warm; and but
for the noises made by the wilder sort of fellows they would have slept
well in that novel fashion. The drummer boy sank several times into a
light slumber, but as often started up, to hear the singing and laughter,
and to see Atwater sleeping all the while calmly at his side, the wakeful
ones making sport and keeping up the fires, and the flames glittering
dimly on the stacks of arms. The last time he awoke it was day; and the
short-lived camp-fires were paling their sad rays before the eternal
glory of the sunrise.

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