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

after the chastisement he had given Ben Lethbridge, not even those who were strong enough to whip him were disposed to trespass upon his rights and dignity. Perhaps Tom’s creed needed a little revising; but he lived under martial law, which does not take cognizance of insults and revilings. He was willing to be smitten on the one cheek, and on the other also, for the good of his country, or even his friends, but not to be wantonly insulted.

The influence of Tom’s principles was not confined to himself, for “a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.” This was particularly true of Hapgood, who, more through Tom’s preaching and practice than from any strength in his own character, had steadily maintained his purpose to abstain from intoxicating drinks, though occasional opportunities were presented for the indulgence of his darling vice. Tom and he read the Testament and other good books which were sent to the regiment, and both profited by them.

When the soldier boy was discharged from the hospital, the surgeon gave him a pair of woolen socks, from a case of them which had been sent by the friends of the soldier in Boston and its vicinity. He was very much in need of them, and from the depths of his heart he blessed the ladies who had done this good work. He unrolled the socks, and proceeded to pull one of them on. It was as good a fit as though his mother had knit it on purpose for him.

“God bless the lady that knit these socks!” exclaimed Tom, as he began to draw on the other.

“Amen!” replied Hapgood, who was watching the operation in full sympathy with his protege.

“Eh! what’s this?” added Tom, for his foot had met with an obstruction in its passage down the leg.

He pulled off the sock, and thrusting his hand into it, took therefrom a letter enclosed in an envelope.

“See that, uncle?” said he, exhibiting the prize.

“What is it, Tom? Open it quick,” replied Hapgood.

The soldier boy broke the envelope, and took from it a note enclosing a photograph. Tom looked at the picture with a feeling of pleasure, which would have caused the original of the miniature, the author of the note, and the author of the socks, to blush up to her eyes if she had beheld the expression of admiration which glowed upon the handsome, manly face of the young sergeant.

“By all that’s lovely, isn’t she a beauty!” exclaimed Tom, rapturously, as he glanced from the picture to Hapgood, who was looking over his shoulder.

“She’s hahnsome, and no mistake,” replied the veteran, with a grim smile.

“Well, she is!” added Tom, whose eyes were riveted to the photograph.

“Well, why don’t you read the letter, Tom?” demanded the old soldier, after the young man had gazed with blushing cheek upon the sweet face of the author of his socks for full five minutes.

“I guess I will,” said Tom; but he did not; for the picture seemed to be glory and beauty enough to satisfy him for the present.

“Read the letter, Tom!” shouted the veteran, after he had waited as long as the nature of the case seemed to require.

The soldier boy carefully placed the photograph in the envelope, and unfolded the letter. It was written in a beautiful hand, which looked as soft and delicate as the fair fingers which had penned the lines. He glanced at it as a whole, admired the penmanship, and the fairy-like symmetry that make up the tout-ensemble of the page, and was about to dissolve into another rhapsody, when Hapgood, who was not half so sentimental as the sergeant, became impatient to know the contents of the missive. Tom read it aloud to the stoical veteran; and though we cannot clothe its sweet words in the fairy chirography which transported our hero, and made the letter a dream of bliss to him, we shall venture to present it to our curious readers, stiffened and hardened into the dull, cold forms of the printer’s art.

No.——, RUTLAND STREET, BOSTON, Nov. 5, 1861.

MY DEAR SOLDIER:—

This is the first pair of socks I ever knit; and I send them to you with my blessing upon the brave defenders of my country. I hope they will keep your feet warm, and thus keep your heart warm towards God and our blessed land.

Grandma says I am a silly girl, and I suppose I am; but if you feel half as much interest in me as I do in the person who will wear the first pair of socks I ever knit, you will wish to know how I look; therefore I send you my photograph.

I very much desire to know whether my work has done any good; whether my socks are ever worn in a battle; and most of all, I desire to know how the noble fellow looks that wears them. Therefore I beg you to answer my letter, and also to send me your photograph, if you can conveniently.

Now, my dear soldier, be brave and true, and, above all, do not run away from the rebels with my socks on your feet. You may retreat when your officers order you to retire; but if you are a coward, and find yourself compelled to run away, please pull them off before you do so, for I should die with mortification if I thought I had knit a pair of socks for a Union soldier to run away in.

Truly yours, for our flag and our country.
LILIAN ASHFORD.

“Well, if that gal ain’t a trump, then there ain’t no snakes in Virginny!” exclaimed Hapgood. “She’s got the true grit, and no mistake.”

“That’s so,” replied the recipient of the gift, thoughtfully, as he bent down, and began to pull off the sock which encased his left foot.

“What are you doing?” demanded Hapgood, surprised at this new movement of his companion.

“I can’t wear these socks yet, uncle,” replied he.

“Why not?”

Don’t she say she wants them worn in a battle?”

“Tom, you are a little fool!” added the veteran, petulantly. “Are you going with cold feet just to please a silly gal, whose head is as full of moonshine as an egg is of meat. Put on the socks, and keep your feet warm. If you don’t, I’ll write to her, and tell what a fool you are.”

Tom did put them on, but he could not help feeling that uncle Hapgood, as he was familiarly called in the camp, did not understand and appreciate his sentiments. The socks seemed to be too precious to be worn in the vulgar mud of Maryland. To him there was something ethereal about them, and it looked a little like profanation to put any thing emanating from the fairy fingers of the original of that photograph, and the author of that letter, upon his feet.

“Now you act like a sensible fellow, as you are, Tom,” said Hapgood, as the sergeant put on his army brogans.

“Well, uncle, one thing is certain: I never will run away from the rebels with these socks on,” added Tom, with a rich glow of enthusiasm.

“If Gen’l McClennon don’t stir his stumps pretty soon, you’ll wear ’em out afore you git a chance to run away.”

Tom, almost for the first time since he had been in the army, wanted to be alone. With those socks on, it seemed just as though he was walking the streets of the New Jerusalem, with heaven and stacks of silver-fringed and golden-tinged clouds beneath his feet, buried up to the eyes in floods of liquid moonshine.

If “grandma” really thought that Lilian Ashford was a silly girl, and if Lilian really supposed so herself, it must be added, in justification of her conduct, that she had given the soldier boy a new incentive to do his duty nobly, and kindled in his soul a holy aspiration to serve God and his country with renewed zeal and fidelity.

Chapter XXVII. The Confederate Deserter.

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While Tom was in the hospital, he received a letter from his sister, informing him that his brother John had actually entered the navy, and with his mother’s consent. The news from home was so favorable, that the soldier boy was pleased to hear that Jack had realized his darling wish, and that he was now in his element.

Intelligence from home, accompanied with letters, papers, books, comforts, and luxuries of various kinds, reached him every two or three weeks; and when the news went back that Tom had been made a sergeant for gallant conduct, there was a great sensation in Pinchbrook. The letters which reached him after the receipt of this gratifying announcement contained all the gossip of the place in regard to the important event. Of course, Tom was delighted by these letters, and was more than ever determined to be diligent and faithful in the discharge of his duties, and never to disgrace the name he bore. He was confident his friends would never have occasion to blush for his conduct—including the original of the photograph, the author of the letter and of the socks.

Tom recovered from the effects of his wound, as we have before intimated, and took his place in the regimental line as a sergeant. January and February passed away without any very stirring events; but in the month of March came indications of activity. The rebels began to draw in their lines, by abandoning various points, till the nation was startled by the evacuation of their strongly fortified position at Manassas, and the forts in front of Budd’s Ferry were suddenly left for the occupation of the Federal troops.

Hooker’s men crossed the Potomac, and Tom was once more on the sacred soil of Virginia. Skirmishers were sent out in various directions, and though a deserted camp, which had been hastily abandoned, was found, there were no rebels to be seen. The Union boys were not disposed to leave their investigations at this interesting point, and they pursued their way still farther into the country. Somehow or other, Tom and his party did not receive the order to return, and the enterprising young hero continued his march in search of further adventures. It was altogether too tame for him and the congenial spirits in his section to retire without seeing a live rebel or two; and I am not sure, if their desire had not been gratified, that they would not have penetrated to Fredericksburg, and captured that citadel of rebellion in advance to General Augur, who visited the place in April.

As it was, they stumbled upon the pickets of a rebel force, and as soon as their uniform was identified they had the honor of being fired upon, though none of them had the honor of being killed in the midst of their virtual disobedience of orders. But their appearance created a panic among the Confederates, who had no means of knowing that they were not the pioneers of a whole division of Union troops, for General McClellan had removed the spell which bound the loyal army to its camps, and corps, divisions, and brigades were pushing forward into the dominion of the traitors.

The alarm was given, and Tom saw that he was rushing into a bad scrape; and as prudence is as much a requisite of the good soldier as bravery, he ordered his men to fall back. Rebels are very much like ill-natured curs, ever ready to pursue a retreating foe, or run away from an advancing one. The Confederates chased them, and as the legs of the former seemed to be in remarkably good condition, the sergeant came to the conclusion that it would not be safe to run too fast.

“Halt!” shouted he; and the men promptly obeyed the order.

They discharged their muskets, and then made a demonstration towards the enemy, who, obeying their instinct, ran away as fast as their legs would carry them. Taking advantage of this movement on their part, Tom again ordered a retreat.

“They are after us again,” said Hapgood. “I hope there ain’t no cavalry within hearing. If there is, we may take a journey to Richmond.”

“They have stopped to load their guns,” replied Tom. “We will use our legs now.”

“See that, Tom!” said Hapgood, suddenly.

“What?”

“There’s one of them rushing towards us all alone.”

“He has thrown up his gun. The others are yelling to him to come back. What does that mean?”

“He is a deserter; he wants to get away from them. There he comes.”

“Yes, and there comes the rest of them—the whole rebel army—more than a million of them,” said Fred Pemberton. “It’s time for us to be going.”

“See! They are firing at him. Forward!” added Tom, leading the way.

The party rushed forward, for a short distance; but the dozen rebels had been reënforced, and it was madness to rush into the very teeth of danger. Tom ordered his men to halt and fire at will. The deserter, probably finding that he was between two fires, turned aside from the direct course he was pursuing, and sought shelter in the woods. The sergeant