The Soldier Boy; or, Tom Somers in the Army: A Story of the Great Rebellion, - [story reading .TXT] 📗

no fear of them now. We have got two revolvers apiece, and we can have it all our own way, if they show fight.”

But Hapgood had bound the rebels by this time, and with tender care he lifted his wounded companion down into the standing room, and made him as comfortable as the circumstances would permit.

“Now, where are we, Hapgood?” asked Tom, who had been vainly peering ahead to discover some familiar object by which to steer. I can’t see the first thing.”

“I don’t know where we are,” replied Hapgood. “I never was much of a sailor, and I leave the navigating all to you.”

“I can navigate well enough, if I knew where we were,” added Tom, who had thus far been utterly unable to ascertain the “ship’s position.”

During the brief struggle for the possession of the schooner, she had drifted some distance, which had caused the new commander to lose his bearings. The shore they had just left had disappeared, as though it had been swallowed up by an earthquake. No lights were allowed on shore, where they could be seen from the river, for they afforded so many targets to the artillerymen in the rebel batteries. The more Tom tried to discover a familiar object to steer by, the more it seemed as though the land and everything else had been cut adrift, and emigrated to foreign parts. Those who have been in a boat in a very dark night, or in a dense fog, will be able to appreciate the bewilderment of the skipper of the captured schooner.

“Look out, Tom, that you don’t run us into some of those rebel batteries,” said Hapgood, after he had watched the rapid progress of the boat for a few moments. “A shot from a thirty-two pounder would be a pill we couldn’t swallow.”

“No danger of that, Hapgood,” answered Tom, confidently.

“I don’t know about that, my boy,” answered the veteran, in a tone heavy with dire anxiety.

“I know it. The schooner was running with the wind on her starboard quarter when we boarded her. We are now close-hauled, and of course we can’t make the shore on the other side while we are on this tack.”

Well, I don’t know much about it, Tom, but if you say its all right, I’m satisfied; that’ all. I’d trust you just as far as I would General McClennon, and you know we all b’lieve in him.”

“What are you going to do with us?” asked one of the rebels, who began to exhibit some interest in the fate of the schooner.

“I suppose you will find good quarters in Fort McHenry,” replied Tom. “Where do you belong?”

“In Baltimore.”

“What are you doing here, then?”

“We go in for the South.”

“Go in, then!” added Tom, laughing.

“You’ll fetch up where all the rest of ’em do,” said Hapgood.

“How’s that fellow that was hit?” asked Tom, pointing to the rebel who lay in the middle of the standing room.

“I guess it’s all right with him,” replied Hapgood, bending over the silent form. “No; he isn’t dead.”

“I have it!” shouted Tom, suddenly crowding the helm hard-a-lee.

“What, Tom?”

“I see where we are. We are running up the river. I see the land on the weather bow.”

The schooner was put about, and after running with the wind amidships for ten or fifteen minutes, Tom discovered the outline of Mrs. Budd’s house, which was directly under the guns of the Union battery.

“Stand by the fore halliards, Hapgood,” said Tom, as the boat came about again. “Let go!”

The foresail came down, and Tom sprang upon the pier, as the schooner came up under its lee. In a moment the boat was made fast. By this time the pickets appeared.

“Who comes there?” demanded the soldier.

“Friends!” replied Tom.

“Advance, friend, and give the countersign.”

“Little Mac,” whispered the soldier boy in the ear of the sentinel.

“Who are you?”

“Co. K.” answered Tom.

“What’s the row? The long roll was beat just now, and the whole regiment is in line. What was that firing?”

“We have captured this boat, and five prisoners, one of them wounded, if not dead.”

“Bully for you,” replied the picket.

They were soon joined by a squad of men, and Fred Pemberton and the wounded rebel were conveyed to the hospital, while the four prisoners were conducted to a secure place. Hapgood and Tom then hastened to the parade, where the regiment was drawn up, and reported the events which had just transpired. It was unanimously voted by officers and privates that the picket guard had done “a big thing,” and they were warmly and generously commended for their skill and bravery.

Hapgood and Tom requested permission to go to the hospital and see their companion. They found that the surgeon had already dressed his wound.

“Will he die?” asked Tom, full of solicitude for his friend.

“Die! no; it’s a mere scratch. The ball ploughed into his cheek a little way,” replied the surgeon. “It isn’t a bad wound. He was more scared than hurt.”

“I am glad it is no worse,” said Captain Benson, who, with fatherly solicitude for his men, had come to the hospital as soon as the company was dismissed. “But what ails you, Tom? You look pale.”

“Nothing, captain.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t think I am badly hurt. I believe one of those pistol balls grazed my side; but I hardly felt it.”

“Let me see,” said the surgeon.

The doctor opened Tom’s coat, and his gray shirt was found to be saturated with blood.

“That’s a worse wound than Pemberton’s. Didn’t you know it, Tom?”

“Well, of course I knew it; but I didn’t think it was any thing,” replied Tom, apologetically. “I knew it wouldn’t do to drop down, or we should all be in Dixie in half an hour.”

“You are my man for the present,” said the doctor, as he proceeded to a further examination of the wound.

Tom was hit in the side by one of the pistol bullets. As I have not the surgeon’s report of the case, I cannot give a minute description of it; but he comforted Hapgood and the captain with the assurance that, though severe, it was not a dangerous wound.

“Tom Somers, there’s a sergeant’s warrant in Company K for one of you three men,” said Captain Benson, when the patient was comfortably settled upon his camp bed. “The colonel told me to give him the name of the most deserving man in my company.”

“Give it to Tom,” said Hapgood, promptly. “He led off in this matter, and ef’t hadn’t been for him, we should all have been on t’other side of the river, and p’raps on t’other side of Jordan, afore this time. And then, to think that the poor fellow stood by, and handled the boat like a commodore, when the life-blood was runnin’ out of him all the time! It belongs to Tom.”

“Give it to Tom,” added Fred, who lay near the patient.

“No, Captain Benson,” interposed Tom, faintly. “Hapgood is an old soldier, and deserves it more than I do. Give it to him, and I shall be better satisfied than if you give it to me.”

“Tom Somers!” exclaimed old Hapgood, a flood of tears sliding down his furrowed cheeks, “I won’t stand nothin’ of the sort! I’d jump into the river and drownd myself before I’d take it, after what you’ve done.”

“You are both worthy of it,” added Captain Benson.

“Please give it to Hapgood,” pleaded Tom. “He first proposed going out after the little schooner.”

“Give it to Tom, cap’n. It’ll help heal his wound,” said Hapgood.

“No; it would do me more good to have you receive it,” protested Tom.

“Well, here, I can’t have this battle fought in the hospital,” interposed the surgeon. “They are good friends, captain, and whichever one you give it to, the other will be suited. You had better settle the case at head-quarters.”

“If you please, Captain Benson, I would like to have Hapgood stay with me to-night, if he can be spared.”

The veteran was promptly detailed for hospital duty, and the captain returned to his quarters to decide the momentous question in regard to the sergeant’s warrant.

Chapter XXVI. Tom is Sentimental.

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The little schooner which the picket guard had captured was loaded with valuable supplies for the rebels, which of course were confiscated without ceremony. The mail bag which was on board contained a great many letters from traitors in Baltimore, some of whom were exposed by the capture of their treasonable correspondence.

Tom’s wound proved to be more serious than even the surgeon had anticipated; but the best care which it was possible to give in a military hospital was bestowed upon him. Old Hapgood, in recognition of his services on that eventful night, was permitted to be near the patient as much as the interests of the service would permit; and the old man was happy when seated by the rude couch of the soldier boy, ministering to his necessities, or cheering him with bright hopes of the future. A strong friendship had grown up between them, for Tom’s kind heart and brave conduct produced a deep impression upon the old man.

“Here, Tom,” said Captain Benson, as he approached the sufferer, a few days after he entered the hospital, and laid a paper upon the bed. “Here’s a prescription which the colonel says you must take.”

“What is it?” asked Tom, with a faint smile.

“A sergeant’s warrant.”

“Glory, glory, hallelujah, as we go marching on!” exclaimed old Hapgood, jumping up like a youth of sixteen, and swinging his cap above his head.

“Shut up, there!” shouted the hospital steward. “Don’t you know any better than to make such a racket in this place?”

“I beg pardon, Jameson. I forgot where I was,” apologized the veteran. “The news was so good I couldn’t help it. Our Tom is a sergeant now!”

“Not yet, Hapgood,” replied Tom, feebly. “I can’t accept it, Captain Benson; it belongs to Hapgood, sir, and I shall feel a great deal better if you put his name in place of mine.”

“Don’t do it, cap’n!” interposed the old man, vehemently. “Tom shall be a brigadier general if the war lasts one year more. I should feel like a whipped kitten if that warrant was altered.”

“The matter has been fully and fairly considered at head-quarters, and there is no such thing as altering the decision now; so, Tom, you can put the stripes on your arm just as soon as you please.”

Hapgood insisted, the surgeon insisted, and the captain insisted; and Tom was too sick to hold way with them in an argument, and his name was placed upon the roster of the company as a sergeant. He was proud of the distinction which had been conferred upon him, though he thought Hapgood, as an older and abler soldier, was better entitled to the honor than himself.

It was six weeks before Tom was able to enter upon the actual enjoyment of the well-merited promotion which he had won by his gallantry; but when he appeared before the company with the chevron of the sergeant upon his arm, he was lustily cheered by his comrades, and it was evident that the appointment was a very popular one. Not even the grumblers, of whom there is a full quota in every regiment, deemed it prudent to growl at the decision of the officers. If any one ventured to suggest that he was too young to be placed over older and stronger men, his friends replied, that men in the army were measured by bravery and skill, not by years.

If my young readers wish to know why Tom’s appointment was so well received by his companions in arms, I can only reply, that he had not only been brave and cheerful in the midst of peril and hardship, but he was kind and obliging to his comrades. He had always been willing to help those that needed help, to sympathize with those in trouble, and generally to do all he could to render those around him happy.

Above all these considerations, Tom was a young man of high principle. He had obeyed his mother’s parting injunction, often repeated in the letters which came to him from home, and had faithfully “read his Testament.” Without being a hypocrite or a canting saint, Tom carried about with him the true elements of Christian character.

Tom had fought a greater battle than that in which he had been engaged at Bull Run a hundred times, in resisting the temptations which beset him from within and without. True to God and true to himself, he had won the victory. Though his lot was cast in the midst of men who swore, gambled, and drank liquor, he had shunned these vices, and loved the sinner while he hated the sin. Such a person could not fail to win the respect of his companions. Though he had been jeered at and insulted for being sober, honest, and pious, he had fought down and lived down all these vilifiers, and won their esteem.

It must be acknowledged that Tom’s piety was of the robust type. He would not allow any man to insult him; and