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

In the afternoon, more fog. But at sunset it was clear. The wind was
light, blowing from the south. But now the ocean rolled in long, enormous
swells, showing that the vessels were approaching Cape Hatteras; for,
whatever may be the aspect of the sea elsewhere, here its billows are
never at rest.

So the sun went down, and the night came on, with its cold moon and
stars, and Hatteras lighthouse shot its arrowy ray far out across the
dark water.

The breeze freshened and increased to a gale; and the violence of the
waves increased with it, until the schooner creaked and groaned in every
part, and it seemed as if she must break in pieces. Sometimes the billows
burst upon the deck with a thunder-crash, and, sweeping over it, poured
in cataracts from her sides. Now a heavy cross-sea struck her beams with
the jarring force of an avalanche of rocks, flinging more than one
unlucky fellow clear from his berth. And now her bows went under, sunk by
a weight of rolling water, from which it seemed for an instant impossible
that she could ever emerge. But rise she did, each time, slowly,
laboring, quivering, and groaning, like a living thing in mortal agony.
Once, as she plunged, the great cable that united her fortunes with those
of the steamer, unable to bear the tremendous strain, snapped like a wet
string; and immediately she fell off helplessly before the gale.

The troops had a terrible night of it. Many were deathly sick. Two or
three broke their watches, besides getting badly bruised, by pitching
from their bunks. Frank would not have dared to go to sleep, even if he
could. Once, when the ship gave a lurch, and stopped suddenly, striking
the shoulder of a wave, he heard somebody tumble.

"Who's that?" he asked.

And the nasal sing-song of the poetical Tucket answered, "'Awaking with a
start, the waters heave around me, and on high the winds lift up their
voices; I depart, whither I know not; but the hour's gone by when
Boston's lessening shores can grieve or glad mine eye.'"

And Tucket crept back into his bunk.

"We're all going to the bottom, I'm sure," whined John Winch, from the
top berth, over Frank. "I believe we're sinking now."

"Well," said Frank, "the water will reach me first, and you'll be one of
the last to go under; you've that for a satisfaction."

"I believe that's what he chose the top berth for," said Harris.

"How can you be joking, such a time as this?" said John. "Here's Atwater,
fast asleep! Are you, Atwater?"

"No," said the soldier, who lay sick, with his thoughts far away.

"Ellis is; ain't you, Ellis?" And Jack reached to shake his comrade. "How
can you be asleep, Ned, when we're all going to the bottom?"

"Let me alone!" growled Ned.

"We are going to the bottom," said Jack,--the ship just then rolling in
the trough of the sea.

"I can't help it if we are," replied Ellis, sick and stupefied; "and I
don't care much. Let me go to the bottom in peace."

"O Lord! O Lord! O Lord!" moaned Jack, in despair, feeling more like
praying than ever before in his life.

Tucket had a line of poetry to suit his case:--

"'And then some prayed--the first time in some years;'" he said, quoting
Byron. And he proceeded with a description of a shipwreck, which was not
very edifying to the unhappy Winch: "'Then rose from sea to sky the wild
farewell,'" etc.

"I never would have enlisted if I was such a coward as Jack," said
Harris, contemptuously.

"I ain't a coward," retorted Jack. "I enlisted to fight, not to go to sea
and be drowned."

"Drownded--ded--ded--dead!" said Tucket.

"O, yes," said Harris, "you are mighty fierce for getting ashore and
fighting. But when you were on land you were just as glad to get to sea.
Now I hope you'll get enough of it. I wouldn't mind a shipwreck myself,
just to hear you scream."

Then Tucket: "'At first one universal shriek there rushed, louder than
the loud ocean,--like a crash of echoing thunder; and then all was
hushed, save the wild wind, and the remorseless dash of billows; but at
intervals there gushed, accompanied with a convulsive splash, a solitary
shriek--the babbling cry of private Winch, in his last agony!'"

After this, conversation ceased for a time, and there was no noise but of
the storm, and the groanings of the ship and of the sick.

Frank could not sleep, but, clinging to his berth, and listening to the
shock of billows, thought of the other vessels of that brave fleet,
scattered and tossed, and wondered at the awful power of the sea.

Then he remembered the story Corporal Gray had that day told them of the
great Spanish Armada, which sailed in the days of Queen Elizabeth to
invade England, and was blown to its destruction by the storms of the
Almighty; and he questioned within himself whether this proud expedition
was destined for a similar fate. Already he seemed to hear the
lamentations of those at home, and the frantic rejoicings of the rebels.

The next morning the wind lulled; but the sea still ran high. The sun
rose upon a scene of awful grandeur. The schooner was sailing under the
few rags of canvas which had withstood the gale. The steamer was nowhere
in sight; but other vessels of the shattered fleet could be seen, some
near, and some half below the horizon, far out at sea. The waves,
white-capped, green-streaked, ceaselessly shifting, with dark blue
hollows and high-curved crests all bursting into foam, came chasing each
other, and passed on like sliding liquid hills, spurning the schooner
from their slippery backs.

"'Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean! roll! ten thousand fleets sweep
over thee in vain!'" observed Tucket, coming on deck with Frank, and
gazing around at the few tossed remnants of the storm-scattered
expedition.

Wild and terribly beautiful the scene was; and Frank, who had often
wished to behold the ocean in its fury, was now sufficiently recovered
from his sickness to enjoy the opportunity. Nor was the wondering delight
with which he saw the sun rise out of the deep, and shine across the
tumbling yeasty waves, at all diminished by the drolleries of his friend
Seth, who kept at his side, saying the queerest things, and ever and anon
shouting poetry to the running seas.

"'Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed, and the rent canvas
fluttering strew the gale, still must I on; for I am as a weed flung from
the rocks on Ocean's foam to sail, where'er secession breeds, or
treason's works prevail,'"--added Seth, altering the verse to suit the
occasion.

The fleet had indeed been rudely handled in that rough night off the
cape. But now sail after sail hove in sight, all making their way as best
they could towards the inlet. This some reached, and got safely in before
night. Others, attempting to enter, got aground, and were with difficulty
got off again. Some anchored outside, and some lay off and on, waiting
for morning, to be piloted past the shoals, and through the narrow
channel, to a safe anchorage inside.

XV.

HATTERAS INLET.

But what a morning dawned! Another storm, more terrible than the first,
had been raging all night, and its violence was still increasing. And now
it came on to rain; and rain and wind and sea appeared to vie with each
other in wreaking their fury on the ill-starred expedition.

Tuesday night the storm abated, and Wednesday brought fair weather. The
fleet in the mean time had suffered perils and hardships which can never
be told. Many of the transports were still missing. Many were at anchor
outside the inlet, waiting for pilots to bring them in. Some had been
lost. The "City of New York," a large steam propeller, freighted with
stores and munitions of war, had struck on the bar, and foundered in the
breakers. The crew, after clinging for twenty-four hours in the rigging
to avoid being washed off by the sea, which made a clean breach over her,
had been saved, but vessel and cargo were a total loss. Frank had watched
the wreck, which seemed at one moment to emerge from the waves, and the
next was half hidden by the incoming billows, and enveloped in a white
shroud of foam.

The schooner had escaped the dangers of the sea, and was safe at last
inside the inlet; as safe, at least, as any of the fleet, in so
precarious an anchorage.

There was still another formidable bar to pass before the open waters of
Pamlico Sound could be entered. The transports that had got in were lying
in a basin, full of shoals, with but little room to swing with the tide,
and they were continually running into each other, or getting aground.
Nor was it encouraging to see bales of hay from one of the wrecks lodge
at low water upon the very sand-bar which the fleet had still to cross.

Frank and his comrades took advantage of the fair weather to make
observation of the two forts, Hatteras and Clark, which command the
situation. These were constructed by the rebels, but had been captured
from them by General Butler and Commodore Stringham, in August, 1861, and
were now garrisoned by national troops. They stand on the south-western
limb of one of the low, barren islands which separate this part of
Pamlico Sound from the Atlantic. Between two narrow sand-spits the tides
rush in and out with great force and rapidity; and this is the inlet--a
mere passage cut through into the sound by the action of the sea.

As the schooner was being towed farther in, some men in a boat, who had
been ashore at Fort Hatteras, and were returning to their ship, came
alongside. The party consisted of some officers belonging to a New Jersey
regiment, together with a boat's crew of six men.

"Throw us a line," they said; "and tow us along."

A line was flung to them from the schooner; but they had some difficulty
in getting it, for the waves were running high in the channel. Pending
the effort, the tiller slipped from the hands of the officer who was
steering; a heavy sea struck the boat on the quarter, and she capsized.
Boats were lowered from the schooner, and sent to the rescue. It was a
scene of intense and anxious interest to Frank, who was on deck and saw
it all. The men in the water righted the boat several times, but she
filled and capsized as often. One officer was seen to get his feet
entangled, sink with his head downward, and drown in that position before
he could be extricated. He was the colonel of the regiment. The surgeon
of the regiment also perished. All the rest were saved.

The drowned bodies were brought upon deck, and every effort was made to
bring back life into them; but in vain. And there they lay; so full of
hope, and courage, and throbbing human life an hour ago--now two pale,
livid corpses. The incident made a strong impression on Frank, not yet
accustomed to the aspect of death, which was destined to become so
familiar to his eyes a few days later.

Still the dangers and delays that threatened to prove fatal to the
expedition were far from ended. It seemed that the rebels were the
enemies it had least to fear. Avarice, incapacity, and treachery at home
had conspired with the elements against it. Many of the larger vessels
drew too much water for the passage into the sound, and were wholly unfit
for the voyage.

"The contractors," said Burnside, "have ruined me; but God holds me in
his palm, and all will yet be well."

With nothing to distinguish him but his yellow belt, in blue shirt,
slouched hat, and high boots, he stood like a sea-god (says an
eye-witness) in the bows of his light boat, speaking every vessel, and
inquiring affectionately about the welfare of the men.

Storm succeeded storm, while the fleet was yet at the inlet; many days
elapsing before the principal vessels could be got over the "bulkhead,"
as the bar is called, which still intervened between them and the sound.
To add to the sufferings of the troops, the supply of fresh water gave
out. Much of that with which the transports had been provided by
dishonest or imbecile contractors, had been put up in old oil casks,
which imparted to it a taste and odor far from agreeable. But even of
such wretched stuff as this, there was at length none to be had.

"We had ham for dinner yesterday," wrote Frank; "but as we had nothing to
drink after it, we thought we should die of thirst. I never suffered so
in my life; and O, what would I have given for a good drink out of our
well at home! We were as glad as so many ducks, this morning, to see it
rain. O, it did pour beautifully! I never knew what a blessing rain was
before. I went on deck, and got wet through, catching water where it
dripped from the rigging. But I didn't care for the soaking--I had filled
my canteen; and I tell you, that nasty rain-water was a luxury."

The noble-hearted general was grieved to the soul by the sufferings of
his men. Neither day nor night did he seem to desist for a moment from
his efforts to atone, by his own vigilance and activity, for the culpable
inefficiency and negligence of others. He hastened to Fort Clark, where
there was a condenser for converting salt water into fresh, and attended
personally to putting it into operation. By this means a miserably meager
supply was obtained,--enough, however, together with the rain that was
caught, to keep the demon of thirst at bay until the water vessels could
arrive.

Ten days elapsed after the schooner entered the inlet before she was got
over the bulkhead into the open sound. And still ten days more were
destined to slip by before any general movement against the enemy was
attempted by the fleet. In the mean while the troops confined on
shipboard resorted to a thousand devices for passing away the time. There
was dancing, there was card-playing, there was singing; and many new
games were invented for the occasion. Frank learned the manual of arms.

Something else he learned, not so much to his credit. Before saying what
that was, I wish to remind the reader of the peculiar circumstances in
which he was placed--the tedious hours; the hardships, which he was glad
to forget at any cost; the example of companions, all older, and many so
much older than himself; and, not least by any means, his own ardent and
susceptible nature.

One day he joined his comrades in a game of bluff. Now, bluff is a game
there is no fun in unless some stake is played for. The boys had been
ashore, and gathered some pebbles and shells from the beach, and these
were used for the purpose. Frank had great success. He won more shells
than any body. In the excitement, he forgot his thirst, and all the
accompanying troubles. He forgot, too, that this was a kind of gambling.
And he was so elated, that when somebody proposed to play for pennies, he
did not think that it would be much worse to do that than to play for
shells and pebbles.

Unfortunately, he was still successful. He won twenty cents in about an
hour. He did not intend to keep them, for he did not think that would be
right. "I'll play," said he, "and let the boys win them back again." But,
at the next sitting, he won still more pennies; so that he thought he
could well afford to play a bolder game. His success was all the more
gratifying when he considered that he was the youngest of the party, and
that by skill and good fortune he was beating his elders.

One day, after he had won more than a dollar,--which seems a good deal of
money to a boy in his condition,--he began to lose. This was not so
amusing. He had made up his mind that when his winnings were gone, he
would stop playing; and the idea of stopping was not pleasant to
contemplate. How could he give up a sport which surpassed everything else
in the way of excitement? However, he determined to keep his resolution.
And it was soon brought to a test.

The luck had turned, and Frank found himself where he began. If he played
any more, he must risk his own money. He didn't mind losing a few
pennies,--that was nothing serious; but the boys were not playing for
simple pennies now.

"I believe I've played enough, boys," said he, passing his hand across
his heated brow, and casting his eyes around at objects which looked
strange to them after their long and intense application to the cards.

"O, of course!" sneered Jack Winch, who was watching the game, "Frank'll
stop as soon as he is beginning to lose a little."

Jack was not playing, for a very good reason. He had spent nearly all his
money, and lost the rest. He had lost some of it to Frank, and was
consequently very desirous of seeing the latter brought to the same
condition as himself.

The sneering remark stung Frank. He would gladly have pleaded Jack's
excuse for not playing any more; but he had still in his pocket over two
dollars of the money he had reserved for himself when the troops were
paid off. And it did seem rather mean in him, now he thought of it, to
throw up the game the moment others were serving him as he had been only
too willing to serve them.

"I'm not afraid of losing my money," said he, blushing; "but I've had
enough play for one day."

"You didn't get sick of it so easy when the luck was on your side," said
Harris, who had lost money to Frank, and now wanted his revenge.

"For instance, yesterday, when the Parrott was talking to the boy," said
Seth.

The Parrott he spoke of was one of the twelve-pound Parrott guns the
schooner carried; and the boy was the _buoy_, or target, in the water,
at which the gunners had practised firing round shot. Frank remembered
how all wanted to put aside the cards and watch the sport except
himself. At another time he would have taken great interest in it, and
have been on hand to cheer as enthusiastically as any body when the
well-aimed shots struck the water; but his mind was completely absorbed
in winning money. There was no such noble diversion on deck to-day; and
it was only too easy to set? his real reason for getting so soon tired
of bluff.

"That's right, Frank; stop! Now's a good time," said Atwater, who watched
the game a good deal, but never took a hand in it.

"Well, I shan't urge him, ef he's in 'arnest," said Seth; "though he has
kep' me at it a darned sight longer 'n I wanted to, sometimes, when 'twas
my tin 'stid of his'n that was goin' by the board. Stop where ye be, my
bold drummer boy; keep yer money, ef ye've got any left; that is the best
way, after all. 'I know the right, and I approve it, too; I know the
wrong, and yet the wrong pursue,'" added Tucket, dealing the cards.

No doubt he meant to give Frank good advice. But to the sensitive and
proud spirit of the boy, it sounded like withering sarcasm. He couldn't
stand that.

"I'll play fifteen minutes longer," said he, looking at his watch, "if
that'll please you."

"A quarter of an hour!" said Harris, contemptuously. "We'd better all
stop now, and come at it fresh again, by and by."

The proposition was acceded to; for what could Frank say against it? He
had not the courage to say, "Boys, I feel that I have been doing wrong,
and I mean to stop at once;" but he thought it more manly to play once
more, if only to show that he was not afraid of losing. "And perhaps," he
thought, remembering his former luck, "I shall win."

XVI.

HOW FRANK LOST HIS WATCH.

Play again he did accordingly; and, sure enough, he won. He brought
Tucket to his last dime. The poetical and philosophic spirit in which
that good-humored young man contemplated his losses, was worthy of a
better cause.

"'Fare thee well, and, if forever, still forever fare thee well,'" he
remarked, staking the said dime. And when it was lost,--for Frank "raked
the pile,"--he added, pathetically, going from Byron to Burns, "'Fare
thee weel, thou brightest, fairest; fare thee weel, thou last and
dearest! Had we never loved sae kindly, had we never loved sae blindly,
never met, or never parted, I had ne'er been broken-hearted.' Boys, I'm
dead broke, and must quit off, without some of you that are flush will
lend me a quarter."

"Ask Frank," said Ellis; "he's the flushest."

So Frank lent Seth a quarter, and with that quarter Seth won back all his
money, and, in the course of two more sittings, cleaned Frank out, as the
phrase is.

Then, one would say, Frank had a valid excuse to retire, if not before.
He had risked his money, and lost it. Certainly nothing more could be
expected of him. Seth grinned, and Jack Winch rubbed his hands with
delight.

But now _Frank_ was not content. His heart was gnawed by chagrin. He
had not really wished to stop playing at all; for the sense of vacancy
and craving which always, in such natures, succeeds the cessation of
unhealthy excitement, is misery enough in itself. But to have left off
with as much money in his pocket as he began with, would have been
felicity, compared with the bitter consciousness of folly, the stinging
vexation and regret, which came with his misfortunes.

"I'll lend ye, if ye like," said the good-natured Seth--perhaps in return
for the similar favor he had received; or rather because he pitied the
boy, and meant to let him win back his money; for, with all his mischief
and drollery, this Tucket was one of the most generous and kind-hearted
of Frank's friends.

The offer was gladly accepted; and Frank, praying Fortune to favor him,
made a promise in his heart, that, if she would aid him to recover his
losses, he would then bid farewell forever to the enticing game.

But the capricious goddess does not answer prayers. On the contrary, she
delights to side with those who need her least, spurning away the
supplicants at her feet.

Frank borrowed a quarter, and lost it immediately. He borrowed again,
determined to play more carefully. He waited until he had an excellent
hand, then staked his money.

Tucket and Ellis did not play; and the game was between Frank and Harris.
Both were confident, and they kept doubling their stakes, Frank borrowing
again and again of Seth for the purpose. He held four kings, the
strongest hand but one in the game. He knew Harris's style of playing too
well to be much daunted by his audacity, not believing that he held that
one stronger hand than his.

"I'll lend ye as long as ye call for more," said Seth; "only, seeing
you've borrowed already more'n I've won of ye, s'posin' ye give me some
security?"

"I've nothing to give," said Frank.

"There's your watch," suggested Winch, who had had a glimpse of Joe's
cards. And at the same time he winked significantly, giving Frank to
understand that his antagonist had not a hand of very great strength.

Thus encouraged, sure of victory, and too much beside himself to consider
the sacred nature of the object he was placing in pawn, Frank handed over
his watch to Seth, and received from him loan after loan, until he was
eight dollars in his debt. Seth did not like to advance any more than
that on the watch. So the critical moment arrived. Frank, with flushed
face and trembling hands, placed his all upon the board. Then Harris,
showing his cards, with a smile, swept the pile towards his cap.

"Let me see!" cried Frank, incredulous, staying his arm until he could be
sure of the cards.

His flushed face turned white; his hand fell upon the bench as if
suddenly palsied.

"Two pairs of aces! that's what I call luck, Joe," said Winch, scarce
able to restrain his joyous chuckling.

Frank looked up at him with wild distress and kindling fury in his face.

"It was you, Jack Winch! You made me----"

"Made you what?" said John, insolently.

What, indeed? He had by looks, which spoke as plainly as words, assured
Frank that Harris held but an indifferent hand; whereas he held the best
the pack afforded. By that falsehood,--for, with looks and actions at
your command, it is not necessary to open your mouth in order to tell the
most downright, absolute lie,--he had induced Frank to play on boldly to
his own ruin.

But was he alone to blame? Even if he had told the truth about Joe's
hand, ought Frank to have been influenced by it? He had no right to that
knowledge, and to take advantage of it was dishonest.

No doubt Frank himself thought so, now he reflected upon it. To accuse
Jack was to confess his own disingenuousness. He was by nature as fair
and open as the day; he despised a base deception; and it was only as an
inevitable consequence of such wrong doings as lead directly to
faithlessness and duplicity, that he could ever become guilty of these
immoralities.

Such is the vice of gambling--a process by which men hope to obtain their
neighbors' goods without yielding an equivalent for them; and which,
therefore, inflames covetousness, and accustoms the mind to the
contemplation of unjust gains, until it is ready to resort to any unjust
means of securing them. Do you say there are honest gamblers? The term is
a contradiction. You might, with equal consistency, talk of truthful
liars. To get your money, or any thing else, without rendering an
equitable return, is the core of all dishonesty, whether in the gamester,
the pickpocket, the man who cheats in trade, or the boy who robs
orchards. And a conscience once debauched by dishonest aims, will not, as
I said, long scruple at unfair means.

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