Chapter 3

"Yes, sah! No, sah!" The pillow half stifled the words.

Presently poor G. W. sat up in bed again. "Colonel," he said, "you jes' banish me out yo' mind! You do your work, an' be keerful to take keer ob yo'self. I'se goin' ter do what yo want an' keep in dem limits--but if yo' does _not_ come back frum dat front, I doan' think I can face dem two up Norf! I'd jes' feel dat I hadn't done been no body-guard--fo de Lawd, Colonel Austin, doan't ask me ter face de Boy an' his Mother 'thout you! I ain't goin' ebber ter forget what you don teach me, an' I'se nebber goin' ter shame yer while I lib, but I can't go 'thout you to dem--de Lawd knows I can't."

"Under those circumstances I'll be obliged to come back, G. W." Something choked the soldier's voice. Then bending down he kissed the boy's dusky brow, as often he had kissed the white one of his own little son.

"God bless you, comrade!" he whispered. "You've lightened many a burden for us all since you came among us. I trust you and I may be spared to meet again."

Then G. W. saw the tall form of the best friend he had on earth pass out of the tent, and fade away into the confusion and unreality of the moonlit night.

VII.

THE BATTLE ON THE HILL-TOP.

A strange atmosphere hung over the camp, an air of expectant waiting. The sick men tossed upon their beds bewailing their inability to be up and doing, and calling feverishly for "news!" But no news came; nothing to break the dismal monotony.

Everybody utilized G. W. The cook taught him to cook, and the nurses made him useful. The sick men smiled up at him as their only diversion. It was well for the boy that his days were filled with labor, and that he was too utterly weary at night to stay awake long. His dreams were filled far oftener than his waking thoughts with visions of the Colonel. His dreams were always happy ones--then the Colonel appeared well and jolly as G. W. had first known him. The little fellow hailed bed-time as the release from wretchedness.

"Now, then!" he would say to himself, as his lids grew heavy, "now I'se goin' ter see my Colonel Austin!" Sometimes he would laugh aloud in his sleep, so very jolly was he, but there was no one to hear the sound in the empty tent. Little G. W. had no folks now. His only good-night was the bugle-call, "All lights out!"

But in the trenches at the front a brave man always included G. W. in his loving thoughts of home and dear ones; and up North the Mother and the Boy ended their evening prayer, "God bless Daddy and G. W. Keep them safe and bring them home to us very soon!"

No one questioned G. W.'s goings and comings. If any thought was given, it was that he was probably obeying orders which Colonel Austin had left, and that he was proving himself a blessing where most boys would have been an annoyance and burden.

So one day when he sauntered away from the cluster of tents, no one asked him where he was bound, or how soon he would be back. He passed along walking very straight as became a uniformed soldier, whistling a march-tune, now and then interrupting himself to introduce a clear flute-like note.

Something had happened to G. W. The day was oppressively hot, but his languor and sadness had vanished. He felt strong and happy; everything was beautiful, life was full of keen interest.

"I 'low somethin' is goin' ter occur!" he said to himself; "I has feelin's like my mammy used ter have. Sure's I'se a-walkin' here, the front is off dere 'yond de hill! Dat's whar de Colonel always went, an' dat's why he fix de top like a stun wall fur me. I 'clar I'se goin' up ter jes' look. What's I worth if I doan't take some chances ter find out news 'bout my Colonel Austin? Lawd! it seems like forty-seben years since he done walk away like a dream!"

Now, strange to say, before G. W. had started on this tramp, besides donning his entire uniform, he had taken his gun, a small but perfect one that some of the officers had given him as a reward for excellent target-shooting; and also he had filled his canteen with water in true soldier fashion.

Under the blazing sun his hot coat and trousers became almost unendurable, and except for his new feeling of strength and joyousness, his precious gun would have become a burden.

Suddenly he stood still, and his face became rapt and eager. He gazed up to the tall trees under which he stood.

"I'se clean forgot 'bout dat 'chance' ob mine fur ages; but, Lawd! jes' s'pose it should come to-day!" he gasped. The remembrance that his mammy had said that if he wanted to be a hero he would have the "chance" filled him with a wild delight. For a moment he could not move, so great was his glad feeling--then with a cheery whistle he plodded on straight toward his hill-top. It was an unlikely spot for "chances." It was too near camp for the foe to be there; but irresistibly G. W.'s feet carried him forward.

Overcome at length by the heat, G. W. reached the summit, only to sink down at once in the tangle of bushes and pant and puff. But after a while he revived; and then peering through the undergrowth he gazed down upon the plain below that stretched beyond his limit.

What had happened since last he had seen the spot? Was he dreaming, or actually looking down upon something that was really taking place? G. W. stood up and steadying himself against a tree continued to gaze and gaze below.

There was a big rude tent, with all sides open. Within was a long table around which figures moved restlessly or stood strangely still. Wagons were rolling up to this tent bringing burdens which turned poor little G. W. ill as he realized what they were. They were men! Sick or wounded men! Ready hands lifted the limp forms from the carts and laid them in long rows upon the ground; then, over and over again, as the fear-filled little watcher on the hill strained his eyes, he saw a man singled out from the lines and borne to the table. G. W. grew chill under the blazing sun as he looked, not comprehending what it meant.

"I can't--think--what--dat--means!" he said aloud; "'pears like I am habin' a dream standin' up out-doors wid my clo'es on. Lawd! how--I--does--wish--I--knew--what--dat--dar--means!"

The poor little fellow rubbed his head in a hopeless, forlorn way, while his heart beat fast and chokingly. Suddenly it came to him; like a flash the meaning became clear.

There had been a battle! They were bringing in the dead and wounded from the front to that fearsome spot below. Then G. W. shuddered as a new thought broke upon his brain. Perhaps his Colonel was there! The sudden idea took the form of a frenzy. He flung his arms up with a wild gesture, and then, alone on the hill-top, there was a battle on for G. W.--an exceedingly hard battle.

"Obey!" cried Honor; "'tis the thing you are called to do! 'Tis the thing you have promised!"

"But the Colonel may lie in the long row," pleaded Love; "no one near him to tend just him; no one to give him a drink or hold his head or his hand; to follow him and stay by him. He is just one of a row!"

G. W.'s sad little face turned gray.

"You promised!" Honor admonished. "He trusted you, with no doubt of your obedience!"

"But they may have forgotten him. He may be lying out on the battle-field--and no one could find him as surely as you!" Love sobbed in his ears.

With a pitiful moan, the little body-guard gave up his promise! A disobedient, loving little black boy sped down from the hill-top, on the forbidden side, sobbing and crying. He flung all but his love for the Colonel to the hot winds. He might be shot, he might lose his way endlessly, but he must go.

With a bitter cry he flung off his coat and cap as he ran. The honor of a soldier's uniform was no longer for him. He paused only to take the precious up-North letter out of the pocket and crush it into his shirt front.

VIII.

THE COLONEL'S BODY-GUARD

Tossing his canteen across his shoulder, and seizing his gun, G. W. tore on down the hill straight toward the gruesome place below, and right into it. No one noticed him. The surgeons were too busy to look up as he ran around the table scanning the faces upon the boards. The men carrying the helpless burdens, or ministering to their wants, had no time to question why a little black boy should suddenly be in among them.

He made sure that he had looked into every face, and then, with a feeling of relief, was about to turn away from the sad scene, when a weak voice stopped him.

"G. W.! Thank God! Come here!"

G. W. turned; there upon a blanket under a tree waiting for his turn to be taken to the table was the boy who but a few days before in camp had told him that war was "mighty near." War had indeed drawn near in haste, and poor young Corporal Jack had gone down before the enemy's fire.

"The Colonel," gasped Corporal Jack, as G. W. came and bent over him; "he was shot, too. We fell side by side. We crawled back, but when the wagon came he made them take me; there was only room for one. He's a mile back on the roadside. G. W., get help and go for him, and tell him God bless him!"

The weak voice ceased, for the men had come to carry him to the table. He tried to wave cheerfully to G. W., but the effort caused him to faint, and G. W. started away, trying to comprehend what he had heard.

"My Colonel's a mile back on the roadside!" That was all little G. W. had for a guide. But had his Colonel been a hundred miles back, it would have made no difference to his body-guard. There was but one aim in G. W.'s heart: to reach his Colonel, and save him for the Boy and the Mother up North!

On he ran, grasping his little gun in a rigid clutch. He forgot to implore aid from those he met as he rushed. Over the rough trail he sped like a deer. The fearful, ugly, swarming land-crabs scurried away from before him. "Colonel!" he sobbed, "fore de Lawd, Colonel, where is you? I'se a-comin', Colonel!--jes' you hold on!"

A wagon bearing another pitiful load came by.

"Is Colonel Austin in dar?" he cried.

Some one knew him and called an answer: "No, G. W., your Colonel isn't here!"

On, on, again.

What was that? A roar of cannon! G. W. shuddered, but gripped his gun and kept on, making forward.

Presently he began to meet more wounded men, singly, or in groups of two or three, trying with what strength remained in them to reach the rear. Occasionally a man knew the boy, and gave him a friendly smile; once one asked him for a drink.

"Don't youse take much of it, Captain," G. W. pleaded, holding the canteen to the parched lips, "cose dis is fur my Colonel Austin."

Be it to the man's eternal credit that, almost dying of thirst as he was, he handed back all but a mouthful of the blessed water. "Thank you; that will help me to the camp. Colonel Austin is to the right of the road, a little further back, behind some bushes; he tried to come on with me, but fell. I'll send you help, for he cannot walk. God bless you, G. W."

On through awful scenes the little black boy went. No one looked upon him with surprise. The small, familiar figure was part of the camp-life and war.

Again the little rescuer dashed on. And oh, go quickly now, G. W.! Among the tangled bushes is a slinking, leaf-covered figure running as rapidly as you!

Hurry, tired feet! Steady, little dusky hand! there is a deed for you to do which will make your name blessed up North, if only you are in time!

Ah, hist! A crackling among the bushes made G. W. pause.

What was it? With a sudden impulse the boy crouched in the jungle and listened. After a moment a form, covered with leaves, half crawled, half ran, near where he was hidden.

G. W. held his breath, and got his gun in position. He understood. He had heard of the foes' trick of covering themselves with leaves to escape attention, and he knew at once what he had to deal with. Never was he calmer than he grew at that moment.

But oh, look! the crawling form, in the open now, stopped, raised his gun, and took deliberate aim at something beyond. G. W. was as quick; and before there was time for the leafy form to draw the trigger, his own small sure hand had flashed forth a bullet! With a cry the wretched creature flung up his arms and fell back.

G. W. stood up and wiped the perspiration from his cold, drawn face. His eyes were blazing, but the strange new calmness still possessed him. He pushed forward to find the object at which the Spaniard's gun had been aimed.

That it was "one of our boys" little G. W. of course knew; but he was _not_ prepared for the sight that presently rose before him.

A bit beyond, leaning against a tree, bloodstained, dirt-begrimed, and faint, sat his Colonel.

At the first glimpse of him something like the ice of winter gave way in G. W.'s breast. The blood began to flow through his veins; the past was but a bad dream--he was once more a glad and loving little fellow.

"Colonel!" he whispered, like one coming out of sleep. "Colonel, I'se here!"

But Colonel Austin took no heed of the tender voice.

IX.

"I'SE GOT DE COLONEL!"

G. W. stumbled onward and reached the tree, put his arm about the officer, and carefully held the canteen to his lips. A gurgle, the water was drained to the last drop; and then, oh, joy! the heavy eyes opened.

It did not seem strange to Colonel Austin to see G. W.'s dusky face. It was but part of the troubled dream that held his heated brain.

"Hello, comrade!" he said. "Just tell them I couldn't see the little Corporal die. There was only room for one. He was crying for his mother, and he had been brave all day. The Boy and his Mother will--understand--by and by."

"Now you see heah, Colonel," said poor little G. W. "You jes' stop dat kind ob talk. Your laigs ain't hurt--it's your chist, an' you'se got ter git up an' come along!"

G. W.'s voice was full of fright and determination combined.

"No use, G. W.," groaned the Colonel. "I tried it, and fell. Help will be sent back, but it will be too late, my boy."

"You get up, sah!" persisted G. W. "You'se got ter make a move fur de Boy an' his Mother! I'se goin' ter sabe yo' fur dem, sah, like I swar to. Now stan' up, sah!"

Colonel Austin staggered to his feet, leaning upon the little shoulder.

The water had revived him, and G. W.'s words had recalled him to a sacred duty.

The wound in his breast began to bleed again, and the crimson drops fell upon G. W. The man's weight, too, almost bowed the little boy down. But he set his teeth and smiled grimly. The undertaking seemed nearly big enough for a hero to tackle--and here he was just a disobedient, dishonored little black boy!

"You'se doin' fine!" G. W. said, whenever Colonel Austin's steps flagged; "you'se done a mile _mos'_, Colonel; dere ain't but a step or two furder. Lean heavy, Colonel,--yo' jes' ain't no heft at all!" And all the while the keen eyes were searching the underbrush for another leaf-clothed foe.

Once they stopped so that G. W. might tear his shirt in strips and bind it roughly over the bleeding wound. The blessed letter from up North fell out upon the ground. G. W. clutched it and put it in his trousers pocket; the sight of it gave him fresh strength.

Stumbling and swaying, the two went on again. No help came along the road. But dust-covered and near to death, the comrades at length reached the field hospital.

It was growing dark when they came into the open space. Lanterns were hanging around the great rough table, and the restless figures were still moving about. With rising hope little G. W. made a last rally. "Come on, Colonel," he panted; "you jes' hang on to me. We'se all right now. Only you jes' come faster, Colonel! You jes' _run_ now, Colonel,--dere ain't no call ter act so back'ard here,--you'se on de road home!"

The fainting man heard the brave soft voice, and he braced up and struggled yet again.

They were nearing the tent opening, the lanterns flashed, and the moonlight fell full upon their faces. A soldier among the many who were lying out under the stars saw them and cried out:

"Look, boys! It's Colonel Austin and G. W."

"Yes, sah!" the boy said simply. "I'se got de Colonel! here's de Colonel!"

"Three cheers for G. W!" cried a weak voice. "G. W.'s saved the Colonel!"

The crowd of sufferers took up the quivering cry, and all around the tent spread the story of G. W.'s bravery.

A surgeon glanced up--then with an exclamation rushed forward.

"Austin!" he shouted. "Austin, let go of him, the boy is fainting! Here, some one, lift G. W.! I've got the Colonel!"

That was all. For little G. W. the lights went out. The voices melted into silence. The Colonel was safe! All was right.

X.

IN THE TENT HOSPITAL.

There were long, troubled dreams for little G. W.--dreams that were unlike those which used to come and cheer him in camp before he had given up his hopes of being a hero. These were full of terror--a longing for water, and visions of his dear Colonel wounded and dying.

Sometimes a skulking figure, leaf-covered and terrible, stalked through those pain-filled visions. Then he would shout for his gun. But always when he cried aloud, a voice familiar but distant called upon him to be calm and trust some one, whose name he had forgotten.

At last there came a day when the dreams began to fade. Voices not so distant reached him. Then he tasted water, for the first time, he thought, in years!

"Thank you!" he said to some one holding the glass to his lips, but did not open his eyes. He was very tired.

"G. W. is coming around all right," said a grave, quiet voice. "Plenty of nourishment, nurse,--all that you can get for him. That boy mustn't slip through our fingers." The boy heard, but he did not stir.

A new voice broke in upon the strange calm. "Can't you speak to me, my child?"

The simple question sent a thrill through the faithful heart. G. W. faintly unclosed his eyes. He must see who was speaking in that dear, dear voice.

"Colonel!" he whispered. "Oh! my Colonel!"

Then G. W.'s eyes opened wide. On the pillow of the bed next his own--for they were both lying in the tent hospital--he saw the face of Colonel Austin. The one face in the world that G. W. longed to see, and the one that he had dreamed and dreamed and dreamed was gone forever!

Little G. W. opened his lips with a gasp and an effort to speak. But memory rushed upon him. In that glance of recognition he remembered what he had done.

"I done broke my word, Colonel!" was what he said. Two slow tears rolled down the dusky cheeks.

"Yes, G. W."

"An' I follered you, Colonel, like you tole me not to."

"I know it--thank God!"

If poor little G. W. had not been so weak he would have sprung up; he tried to, but fell limply back.

"G. W., my child," said the Colonel, moving a little nearer, "if you had not disobeyed and come after me I would not have been here. You took your orders from some one higher in command, G. W. We're going home soon, going home together. Do you know what I am saying, G. W.? Just as soon as we can travel we are going up North together to the Boy and his Mother!"

Things happened for dear little G. W. in snatches after that. Pain-filled pauses and unconscious lapses and short, sudden, sharp throbs of happiness, made up life.

The Colonel gained his strength far sooner than G. W. He could have travelled, but he would not leave his little comrade. "I'll stay by the little chap until the end, or I'll take him home with me," he said to the doctor who urged his departure. "I'll never desert him."

The "end" did not come to G. W., however. All at once he began to mend. White and weak, his eyes too large for his face, for fever had worn him to a shadow, Colonel Austin sat beside his bed retelling the old hero-stories, while G. W. smiled with closed eyes. Sometimes the boy roused and asked a series of questions.

"When is we goin' home, Colonel?"

"On the next transport, comrade."

"I s'pose we has ter live in jes a house when we goes home?" sighed the boy.

"Why, G. W., a house isn't a bad thing--do you think so?"

"I likes tents mighty well, I does!" said G. W.

"Well, old man, don't lose heart; you're not going to live in a house right away."

"I spect de uniform wasn't nebber found up on de hill-top, Colonel?"

"No, my boy. There was no time to hunt up lost uniforms; it was all the boys could do to hunt up lost men."

"Colonel, what is I goin' ter do when dat transport comes in? No cloes, no nothin'!"

Colonel Austin laughed, and many a sick man's face relaxed at the sound.

"The Colonel is laughing--G. W.'s better," murmured a weak voice, and the good news travelled around the hospital tent.

"The Boy and his Mother are having a new suit made for you, G. W.," the Colonel said. "The Boy thought of it the first thing."

When the transport came that was to carry the Colonel, G. W., and several hundred others home, it had among its stores the new suit of blue for the destitute little soldier. If anything, it was more splendid than the first one, but it was wofully large for the poor little body-guard. When he first appeared in it the men were about to laugh, then grew suddenly silent as they saw the gray little dusky face, and remembered _why_ G. W. had so shrunk. But even G. W. smiled after a moment.

He stood up by his cot, and put his hands in the pockets and spread wide the almost empty trouser-legs of the fine uniform.

"I clar," said he, "if you'se all didn't see me a standin' on my feet, yo nebber would say dere were legs 'tached to my body!"

"Never mind, G. W.!" It was Corporal Jack who spoke. He, too, was going home on the transport, and the knowledge had put a pound or so of flesh on his bones. "Never you care, G. W.! Those shanks'll get you into God's country; and your rightful legs will grow again up there. Lordy, G. W., if you only knew what is a-waiting for you!"

G. W. smiled inquiringly. Something was going to happen, as every one seemed to know. It was evidently an army secret, and the gossip of all the men, until G. W. drew near!

Then, smiling silence.

XI.

"IT'S ALL YOURS, G. W.!"

The cool air was sweeping, like a breath of Paradise, over the face of little G. W. They had brought him up on deck, for the transport was nearing home. Colonel Austin stood by, anxious; he did not like the look upon the thin, drawn countenance.

"Take a brace, G. W.!" he said, while he laid his fingers upon the weak pulse in the tiny wrist.

Sea-sickness had reduced the child to a mere skeleton. It had been worse than the fever. Not even the thought that "up North" was within sight could arouse him now.

"I see a long stretch of land, my boy," Colonel Austin went on, "and a fine white light-house on the farthest point. G. W., I'll bet you don't know what this light-house looks like!"

"I bet I doesn't!" G. W. spoke in a whisper, his eyes shut.

"In a few hours, G. W., we will swing into the bay." G. W. shuddered. The idea of _swinging_ into anything made him ill afresh. "And then they will put you on a litter, old man, and I will walk beside you up to--up to--are you listening, G. W.?"

"Yes, sah!" Then a quiver passed over G. W.'s face. "I thought," he whispered, "I done thought I smelled land!"

"And so you do, old fellow," said the Colonel, cheerily. "Here, let me lift you up. Now, G. W., open your eyes! See the light-house shining like a slim white finger? That's Montauk Point, comrade, stretching along in the sea. They are going to land us here to rest a bit before we go home. Are you understanding, my child?"

G. W. lay staring at the scene with his great, round, soft eyes. The smell of the land was in his nostrils and presently he smiled a beautiful, satisfied smile, and Colonel Austin whispered, "Thank God!" under breath.

"Colonel," G. W. said, low, "you jes' fetch my clo'es! I'se goin' ter land wid my soldier-clo'es all on. Dat smell done cure me for sure! Dat's a mighty fine smell, Colonel, dat is!"