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

Thousands of loving and devoted mothers have given their sons to their country in the same holy enthusiasm that inspired her. She was not a solitary instance of this noble sacrifice, and if both her sons had been men, instead of boys, she would not have interposed a single objection to their departure upon a mission so glorious as that to which Thomas had now devoted himself.

“There’s my name, Thomas,” said his mother, as she took off her spectacles. “I’ve done it, and you have my free consent. You’ve always been a good boy, and I hope you will always be a good soldier.”

“I shall always try to do my duty, mother; and if ever I turn my back to a rebel, I hope you’ll disown me.”

“Good, Tom!” exclaimed John, who had been deeply interested in the event of the hour.

“Well, Thomas, I’d rather face two rebels than that bull dog you fit with t’other night,” added gran’ther Greene. “You are as bold as a lion, Thomas.”

“Do you think I can stand it, gran’ther?” added Tom, with a smile.

“Stand it? Well, Thomas, it’s a hard life to be a soldier, and I know something about it. When we marched from—”

“Dinner’s ready,” interposed Mrs. Somers, for gran’ther Greene had marched that march so many times that every member of the family knew it by heart.

“There’s one good thing about it, Tom,” said John: “you have got a first-rate captain.”

“I’m thankful you are going with Captain Benson, for if there ever was a Christian in Pinchbrook, he is the man,” added Mrs. Somers.

“And all the company will be your own friends and neighbors,” said gran’ther Greene; “and that’s something, I can tell you. I know something about this business. When we marched from—”

“Have some more beans, brother?” asked Mrs. Somers. “You will be among your friends, Thomas, as gran’ther says.”

“That’s a great thing, I can tell you,” added the veteran. “Soldiers should stick together like brothers, and feel that they are fighting for each other, as well as for the country. Then, when you’re sick, you want friends. When we marched from Sackett’s Harbor, there was a young feller—”

“Have some more tea, brother?”

“Part of a cup, Nancy,” replied the old man, who never took offence even when the choicest stories of his military experience were nipped in the bud.

After dinner, Thomas hastened back to the store. That day seemed to him like an epoch in his existence, as indeed it was. He felt that he belonged to his country now, and that the honor of that old flag, which had been insulted by traitors, was committed to his keeping. He was taking up the work where his grandfather had left it. He was going forth to fight for his country, and the thought inspired him with a noble and generous enthusiasm, before which all the aspirations of his youth vanished.

As he passed the house of Squire Pemberton, he bestowed a pitying reflection upon the old traitor; but his mind was so full of the great event which was dawning upon him, that he did not even think of the exciting incidents which had occurred there. He had neither seen nor heard any thing of the squire since he had escaped from the attic chamber.

Just beyond the squire’s house he met Captain Barney, who was riding up to the town hall.

“What’s this I hear of you, Tom?” demanded the captain, as he reined in his horse. “They say you have joined the company.”

“Yes, sir. I have.”

“Bravo! my boy. Good on your head! You ought to go out as a brigadier general. What does your mother say?”

“I have her written consent in my pocket.”

“All right. God bless you, my boy!” said the old salt, as he started his horse.

“Thank you, sir. There’s only one thing that troubles me.”

“Eh? What’s that, my boy?” demanded Captain Barney as he reined up the horse again.

“I suppose you have heard of my scrape at Squire Pemberton’s the other night.”

“Yes; and shiver my timbers if I didn’t want to keelhaul the old traitor when I heard of it.”

“I don’t care anything about the scrape, sir; only I’m afraid the squire will bother my mother when I’m gone,” said Thomas, with some diffidence.

“If he does, he’ll settle the matter with Jack Barney,” replied the captain, decidedly.

“My father may never come back, you know, and if he does he will be a beggar. He owes the squire a note, which will be due in June.”

“I’ll pay it myself!” roared Captain Barney. “Go and fight for your country, Tom, like a man. I’ll call and see your mother once a week, or every day in the week, if you say so. She shall not want for any thing as long as I have a shot in the locker.”

“Thank you, Captain Barney; thank you, sir.”

“I’ll take care of your mother, my lad, and I’ll take care of the squire. He shall not foreclose that mortgage, Tom. Don’t bother your head about any of those things. You’re a good boy, Tom, and I’ll keep every thing all right at home.”

“Thank you, sir,” repeated the soldier boy, as Captain Barney started his horse again.

The captain was a retired shipmaster, of ample means, and Tom knew that he was not only able, but willing, to do all he had promised. His heart was lighter; a load had been removed from his mind.

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At the time of which we write, recruiting officers were not very particular in regard to the age of those whom they received into the volunteer army. If the young man seemed to have the requisite physical qualifications, it was of little consequence what his age was; and Tom Somers was tall enough and stout enough to make a very good soldier.

Captain Benson examined the certificate brought to him by the young recruit, not, however, because it was deemed a necessary legal form, but because he was acquainted with his father and mother, and would not willingly have done any thing to displease them. The matter, therefore, was disposed of to the satisfaction of all the parties concerned, and Tom actually commenced his career as a soldier boy. He immediately resigned his situation in the store, for the company now numbered forty men, not half a dozen of whom had any knowledge whatever of military drill.

As the volunteers of the Pinchbrook company could ill afford to lose the time devoted to drill before they should be mustered into the service of the United States, the town voted to pay each man fifteen dollars a month for three months. This generous and patriotic action of the town rejoiced the heart of Tom Somers, for his mother actually needed the pittance he had earned at the store. Mrs. Somers had heard nothing from her husband; but the destruction of the Gosport Navy Yard, and the seizure of several northern vessels in the harbor of Norfolk, left her little to hope for in that direction. Suddenly an impregnable wall seemed to rise up between the North and the South, and she not only feared that Captain Somers had lost all his worldly possessions, but that he would hardly be able to escape himself from the fiery furnace of secession and treason.

To her, therefore, the future looked dark and forbidding. She foresaw that she and her family would be subjected to the pressure of want, or at least be dependent upon the kindness of friends for support. She had freely stated her fears to her children, and fully exhibited the insufficiency of the family resources. The vote of the town was a perfect godsend to Tom, and a fat legacy from a rich relative would not have kindled a stronger feeling of gratitude in his soul.

For the next five weeks, Tom was employed forenoon, afternoon, and evening, in the drill, and he soon made himself proficient. The company was recruited nearly up to its maximum number, and was then attached to the —th regiment, which had just been formed and ordered to Fort Warren.

On the 27th day of May, the company, escorted by the patriotic citizens of Pinchbrook, marched to Boston, and Tom took a sorrowful farewell of his mother, his brother and sisters, and a score of anxious friends.

“Now don’t let the rebels hit you in the backbone, Thomas,” said gran’ther Green, as he shook the hand of the soldier boy.

“No, gran’ther; if I can’t fight, I won’t run away,” replied Tom.

“You’ve got good blood in your veins, my boy: don’t disgrace it. I don’t know as you’ll ever see me again, but God bless you, Thomas;” and the old man turned away to hide the tears which began to course down his wrinkled cheek.

“Be a good boy, Thomas,” added his mother.

“I will, mother.”

“And remember what I’ve been telling you. I’m not half so much afraid of your being killed by a bullet, as I am of your being ruined by bad men.”

“You needn’t fear any thing of that kind, mother.”

“I shall pray that you may be saved from your friends as well as from your enemies. We shall see you again before you go off, I hope.”

“Yes, mother; we shall not be sent south yet.”

“Don’t forget to read your Testament, Thomas,” said Mrs. Somers.

“I won’t, mother,” replied the soldier boy, as he again shook hands with all the members of the family, kissed his mother and his sisters, and hitching up his knapsack, took his place in the ranks.

His heart seemed to be clear up in his throat. During the tender scene he had just passed through, he had manfully resisted his inclination to weep, but he could no longer restrain the tears. Suddenly they came like a flood bursting the gates that confined it, and he choked and sobbed like a little girl. He leaned upon his musket, covering his face with his arm.

“It’s a hard case,” said private Hapgood, who stood next to him in the ranks.

“I didn’t think it would take me down like this,” sobbed Tom.

“Don’t blubber, Tom. Let’s go off game,” added Ben Lethbridge, who stood on the other side of him.

“I can’t help it, Ben.”

“Yes, you can—dry up! Soldiers don’t cry, Tom.”

“Yes, they do, my boy,” said Hapgood, who was a little old man, nearly ten years beyond the period of exemption from military duty. “I don’t blame Tom for crying, and, in my opinion, he’ll fight all the better for it.”

“Perhaps he will, old un; but I don’t think much of a soldier that blubbers like a baby. I hope he won’t run away when he sees the rebels coming,” sneered Ben.

“If he does, he’ll have a chance to see how thick the heels of your boots are,” answered the old man.

“What do you mean by that, old un?” demanded Ben.

“Attention—company! Shoulder—arms! Forward—march!” said the captain; and the discussion was prevented from proceeding any further.

The band, which was at the head of the citizens’ column, struck up an inspiring march, and Tom dried his tears. The escort moved off, followed by the company. They passed the little cottage of Captain Somers, and Tom saw the whole family except John, who was in the escort, standing at the front gate. The old soldier swung his hat, Tom’s sisters and his mother waved their handkerchiefs; but when they saw the soldier boy, they had to use them for another purpose. Tom felt another upward pressure in the region of the throat; but this time he choked down his rising emotions, and saved himself from the ridicule of his more callous companion on the left.

In violation of military discipline, he turned his head to take one last, fond look at the home he was leaving behind. It might be the last time he should ever gaze on that loved spot, now a thousand times more dear than ever before. Never had he realized the meaning of home; never before had he felt how closely his heart’s tendrils were entwined about that hallowed place. Again, in spite of his firmness and fortitude, and in spite of the sneers of Ben Lethbridge, he felt the hot tears sliding down his cheek.

When he reached the brow of the hill which would soon hide the little cottage from his view, perhaps forever, he gazed behind him again, to take his last look at the familiar spot. His mother and sister still stood at the front gate watching the receding column in which the son and the brother was marching away to peril and perhaps death.

“God bless my mother! God bless them all!” were the involuntary ejaculations of the soldier boy, as he turned away from the hallowed scene.

But the memory of that blessed place, sanctified by the presence of those loving and devoted ones, was shrined in the temple of his heart, ever to go with him in camp and march, in the perils of battle and siege, to keep him true to his God, true to himself, and true to those whom he had left behind him. That last look at