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

then directed his men to retire, for whether the retreat of the runaway rebel was covered or not, it was no longer safe to remain.

Fortunately the Confederates were more in doubt than the Unionists; and perhaps expecting to fall upon a larger body of the latter, they abandoned the pursuit, and returned to their posts. Nothing was seen of the deserter for some time, and Tom concluded that he had lost his way in the woods, or had missed the direction taken by the Federal scouts.

“He was a plucky fellow, any how,” said one of the men, “to attempt to run away in the very face of his companions.”

“Well, he timed it well, for he started just when their guns were all empty,” added another.

“I’m not sorry he missed us,” continued Hapgood. “I don’t like a desarter, no how. It goes right agin my grain.”

“But he was running from the wrong to the right side,” replied Tom.

“I don’t keer if he was. Them colors on t’other side were his’n. He chose ’em for himself, and it’s mean to run away from ’em. If a man’s go’n to be a rebel, let him be one, and stick to it.”

“You don’t know any thing about it, uncle. Thousands of men have been forced into the rebel army, and I don’t blame them for getting out of it the best way they can. I should do so.”

“That may be. Tom; that may be,” added the veteran, taking off his cap and rubbing his bald head, as though a new idea had penetrated it. “I didn’t think of that.”

“He’s a brave man, whoever he is, and whatever he is.”

“He must want to get away from ’em pretty bad, or he wouldn’t have run that risk. I shouldn’t wonder if they hit him.”

“Perhaps he is wounded, and gone into the woods there to die,” suggested Tom.

“Halloo!” shouted some one in the rear of them.

“There’s your man,” said Hapgood.

“Halloo!” cried the same voice.

“Halloo, yourself!” shouted Hapgood in reply to the hail.

The party halted, and after waiting a few moments, the rebel deserter came in sight. He was apparently a man of fifty; and no mendicant of St. Giles, who followed begging as a profession, could have given himself a more wretched and squalid appearance, if he had devoted a lifetime to the study of making himself look miserable. He wore a long black and gray beard, uncut and unkempt, and snarled, tangled, and knotted into the most fantastic forms. His gray uniform, plentifully bedaubed with Virginia mud, was torn in a hundred places, and hung in tatters upon his emaciated frame. On his head was an old felt hat, in a terribly dilapidated condition. He wore one boot and one shoe, which he had probably taken from the common sewer of Richmond, or some other southern city; they were ripped to such an extent that the “uppers” went flipperty-flap as he walked, and had the general appearance of the open mouth of the mythic dragon, with five bare toes in each to represent teeth.

As he approached, the unthinking soldiers of the party indulged in screams of laughter at the uncouth appearance of the whilom rebel; and certainly the character in tableau or farce need not have spoken, to convulse any audience that ever assembled in Christendom. Rip Van Winkle, with the devastations and dilapidations of five-and-twenty years hanging about him, did not present a more forlorn appearance than did this representative of the Confederate army.

“What are you laughing at?” demanded the deserter, not at all delighted with this reception.

“I say, old fellow, how long since you escaped from the rag-bag?” jeered one of the men.

“What’s the price of boots in Richmond now?” asked another.

“Who’s your barber?”

“Silence, men!” interposed Tom, sternly, for he could not permit his boys to make fun of the wretchedness of any human being.

“We’ll sell you out for paper stock,” said Ben Lethbridge, who had just returned from three months’ service in the Rip-Raps for desertion.

“Shut up, Ben!” added Tom.

“Dry up, all of you!” said Corporal Snyder.

“Who and what are you?” asked Tom, of the deserter.

“I’m a Union man!” replied the stranger with emphasis; “and I didn’t expect to be treated in this way after all I’ve suffered.”

“They thought you were a rebel. You wear the colors of the rebel army,” answered the sergeant, willing to explain the rudeness of his men.

“Well, I suppose I do look rather the worse for the wear,” added the grayback, glancing down at the tattered uniform he wore. “I joined the rebel army, after I had tried every way in the world to get out of this infernal country; but I never fired a gun at a Union man. Seems to me, sergeant, I’ve seen you before somewhere. What’s your name? Where did you come from?”

“Pinchbrook, Massachusetts; and most of us hail from the same place.”

“Creation!” exclaimed the deserter. “You don’t say so!”

“Your voice sounds familiar to me,” added Tom; and for some reason his chest was heaving violently beneath his suddenly accelerated respiration.

As he spoke, he walked towards the dilapidated rebel, who had not ventured to come within twenty feet of the party.

“Did you say Pinchbrook?” demanded the stranger, who began to display a great deal of emotion.

“Pinchbrook, sir,” added Tom; and so intensely was he excited, that the words were gasped from his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Thomas Somers,” replied the sergeant.

“Tom!” screamed the deserter, rushing forward.

“Father!” cried Tom, as he grasped the hand of the phantom Confederate.

The soldiers of the party were transfixed with astonishment at this unexpected scene, and they stood like statues gazing at the meeting of father and son, till the final development of their relationship, when the muscles of their faces relaxed, and the expression of wonder gave place to joyous sympathy.

“Captain Somers, of Pinchbrook!” shouted old Hapgood; and the men joined with him in a roar of intense satisfaction, that made the woods ring.

Chapter XXVIII. On the Peninsula.

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The scene between Captain Somers and his son was very affecting and very exciting; and if the soldiers had all been uncles and first cousins of the parties, they could not have manifested more interest on the joyous occasion. The father wept, and the son wept; for each, amid the terrible experience of these troublous times, had hardly expected to meet the other.

For several minutes they held each other by the hand, laughing and weeping alternately, and neither being able to express the intense emotions which agitated him. The men shouted and laughed in full sympathy with the reunited sire and son.

“I’m glad to see you, Tom,” said Captain Somers, as he wiped away the tears that were sliding down upon his grizzly beard. “I haven’t cried before for thirty years; I’m ashamed of it, Tom, but I can’t help it.”

“I didn’t expect to find you here, father, and clothed in the rebel uniform; but I’m glad to see you in any uniform,” replied the soldier boy.

“So you’re in the army, Tom,” continued the father, gazing with satisfaction at the neat appearance of the sergeant.

“Yes, sir; I enlisted within a fortnight after we heard that the traitors had bombarded Fort Sumter.”

“I see you’ve got three stripes on your arm.”

“Yes, Cap’n Somers,” said Hapgood; “Tom was made a sergeant for gallant conduct on the river in December; and he deserved his promotion too.”

“I’m glad to see you with that uniform on your back, Tom; and glad to hear that you have behaved well.”

“I was in the battle of Bull Run, father, and was taken prisoner, but I got away.”

“Well, Tom, we’ll hear about that bimeby,” said the old man, stopping and looking nervously into the face of his son. “I want to ask a great many questions, Tom, but I hardly dare to do it. You know I haven’t heard a word from home since I left, and it’s almost a year now.”

“You needn’t be afraid, father; the folks are all well. I have got a heap of letters at the camp, and you shall read them all as soon as we get there.”

“Is your mother well, Tom?”

“First rate.”

“And John?”

“Yes, sir; but he’s gone into the navy. He was bound to be in the fight any how.”

“John’s a chip of the old block. He wanted to snuff the salt water afore he was a week old. John’s a good sailor, and he ought to have a good lay wherever he goes,” added the father.

Captain Somers and Tom sat upon the ground for half an hour, until the fugitive from the rebel army was in some degree rested after the hard run he had had through the woods. The soldiers gathered around them, as much interested as though they had been members of the Somers family. Tom’s father had a multitude of questions to ask about Pinchbrook and its people, all of which were answered to his satisfaction.

The sergeant thought it was time for the party to move on, and his father declared that he was able to walk any distance which would bring him nearer to the home of his wife and children. The order was given, and the little band resumed its march.

“How have you been all this time, father?” asked Tom, as he walked along by the side of Captain Somers.

“I’ve been pretty fairly most of the time. I’m tough and hardy, or I should have been dead afore this time. We’ve been half starved and half frozen in the camp; but I managed to live through it, hoping and expecting to get away from those rascally rebels.”

“Where have you been all the time?” asked Tom. “Have you been in the rebel army long?”

“About four months; but I may as well begin at the beginning, and tell you the whole story,” added the captain. “I got to Norfolk all right, and was there when the news came up that the rebels had taken Sumter. Every body was mad, and I was as mad as the rest of them, though not exactly in the same way. I let on a little with my tongue, and came pretty near being tarred and feathered, and I think I should have been, if your uncle Wyman hadn’t interfered.”

“Did he settle with you, father?”

“After a while he did. He had some fifteen thousand dollars in New York, which had just been sent over from England, and as he was secesh, he was terribly afeard the Lincoln government would confiscate it; so he settled with me, and gave me a power of attorney to draw his money, pay myself, and take care of what was over. I’ve got the papers safe in my waistbands now.”

“Good! Glory, hallelujah!” shouted Tom. “We can pay off old Pemberton now, for it goes against my grain to owe a dollar to a traitor. But if uncle Wyman is a rebel, and I suppose he is, I hope the government will confiscate what’s over after you have paid yourself.”

“Well, I don’t know. We will see about that bimeby. He used me fair, and I don’t wish him any harm; but I hate his principles. Well, just then, Tom, when I had got my accounts squared, the rascals took my vessel, and sunk it in the channel to keep the Union fleet out. My pipe was out then, and I couldn’t do any thing more. I hung round the city of Norfolk till I saw there was no chance to get out in that direction; and then I left. I was up near Bull Run—the rebels call it Manassas—when the battle was fought; but our folks got licked so badly, that it was no use to try to get through there.

“I tried half a dozen times to crawl through, and had nearly starved to death in the woods; but some rebel cavalry pickets spied me out, called me a traitor, and sent me back. My money was all gone by this time, and I went over to Norfolk again. Your uncle Wyman told me I had better keep quiet where I was, for just as sure as his name was Somers, the North would all fall to pieces in less than six months. He expected the rebel army would be in New York afore long, and I should be a great deal better off where I was. He tried to get a pass to send me through the rebel lines, but he couldn’t do it.

“Things went on in this way till your uncle Wyman went to Charleston on business, and I haven’t seen him from that day to this. The rebels tried to make me go into their navy, but I wouldn’t do it, of course; but when I couldn’t do any other way, I went into the army, hoping I should be sent to the front, and find a chance to get away. I’ve been watching ever since, but I never happened to get within twenty miles of the Union pickets before. But here I am, and I’m perfectly satisfied with the past, though I’ve suffered a good deal