Chapter 14

"We'll come to a short turn in it pretty soon," said Atwater, significantly.

"Well, Abe has spoken!" said Jack. "His mouth has been shut so tight all along, I didn't think 'twould open till the time comes for him to cry quarter."

"Atwater means to let his gun speak for him to-day," said Harris.

"What do we go so slow for? Why don't we hurry on?" said Jack. "I want to get at the rebels some time this week. I don't believe they----"

He was going to say that he didn't believe they would wait to fire a shot. But even as he spoke the confutation of his opinion resounded in the woods. Crack--crack--crack--went the rebel muskets; then followed a volley from the troops in advance.

"Why didn't you finish your sentence, Jack?" said Harris, with a smile.

"They're at it!" whispered Jack, in a changed voice.

"A little skirmishing," said Atwater, quietly.

Crack, crack, again; and--_sing!_--came a bullet over the heads of the men, cutting the leaves as it passed.

"Too high," laughed Gray, coolly.

"Halt!" come the command, which John Winch, for one, obeyed with amazing promptness.

"Hallo, Jack!" said Ellis; "who taught you to halt before the word is given?"

"Are they going to keep us standing here all day?" said Jack, presently.

"He's as wide awake now to be on the move as he was to stop," laughed Harris.

"Well," said Jack, nervously, "who likes to stand still and be shot at?"

"There's no shooting at us," replied Harris. "When it comes to that, we'll see the fun you talk about."

Fun! Jack's countenance looked like any thing but fun just then.

He gained some confidence by observing the officers coolly giving their orders, and the men coolly executing them, as if nothing of importance had happened, or was expected to happen.

Captain Edney deployed his company, pressing forward into the swamp. Bushes and fallen logs impeded their progress; the mud and water were in places leg-deep; and the men were permitted to pick their way as best they could. Suddenly out of a thicket a bullet came whizzing. Another and another followed. One tore the bark from a tree close by Captain Edney's head.

"Keep cool, boys!" he said; "and aim low."

He then gave the order, "Commence firing!" and the front rank men, halting, poured their volley into the thicket--their first shot at the enemy. Whilst they were reloading, the second rank advanced and delivered their fire.

"Don't waste a shot, my brave fellows!" cried the captain. "Fire wherever you see signs of a rebel. Always aim at _something_."

This last order was a very useful one; for many, in the excitement of coming for the first time under fire, were inclined to let off their pieces at random in the air; and the deliberation required to take aim, if only at a bush behind which a rebel might be concealed, had an excellent effect in quieting the nerves.

Yet some needed no such instruction. Atwater was observed to load and fire with as steady a hand and as serene a countenance as if he had been practising at a target. Others were equally calm and determined. There were some, however, even of the brave, who, from constitutional excitability, and not from any cowardice of spirit, exhibited symptoms of nervousness. Their cheeks paled and their hands shook. But, the momentary tremor past, these men become perhaps the most resolute and efficient of all.

Such a one was Frank; who, though in the rear of the regiment, with the ambulance corps, felt his heart beat so wildly at the first whiz of a bullet over his head, that he was afraid he was going to be afraid.

Was Jack Winch another of the sort? It was pitiful to see him attempt to load his piece. He never knew how it happened, but, instead of a cartridge, he got hold of the tompion,--called by the boys the "tompin,"--used to stop the muzzle of the gun and protect it from moisture, and was actually proceeding to ram it down the barrel before he discovered his mistake!

"Take a cartridge, Winch!" said Captain Edney, who was coolly noting the conduct of his men.

So Jack, throwing away the stopper, took a cartridge. But his hand shook _around_ the muzzle of the gun so that it was some time before he could insert the charge. He had already dodged behind a tree, the men being allowed to shelter themselves when they could.

"Dry ground is scarce as hen's teeth!" remarked Seth Tucket, droll as ever, looking for a good place to stand while he was loading.

"Fun, ain't it?" said Ned Ellis, who had sought cover by the same tree with Winch.

He stood at Jack's left hand, and a little behind him. Jack, too much agitated to respond to the unseasonable jest, threw up the barrel of his piece, in order to prime, when a bullet came, from nobody knew where, aslant, and put an end to jesting for the present.

Jack felt a benumbing shock, and dropped his gun, the stock of which had been shivered in his grasp. At the same instant Ellis dropped his gun also, and threw out his hands wildly, exclaiming,--

"I am shot!"

And both fell to the ground together.

"That's what ye call two birds with one stun!" said Tucket, a flash of ferocity kindling his face as he saw his comrades fall. "Pay 'em for that, boys! Pay 'em for that!"

And hearing the order to charge the thicket, he went forward with a yell, taking strides that would have done credit to a moose in his own native woods of Maine.

Ellis had by this time got upon his feet again. But Jack lay still, his neck bathed in blood.

XXVIII.

JACK WINCH'S CATASTROPHE.

Several companies were by this time engaged driving in the rebel skirmishers, and three or four men had been disabled.

It was impracticable to take the stretchers, or litters for the wounded, into such a wilderness of bogs and thickets; and accordingly the most forward and courageous of the carriers leaped into the swamps without them.

As soon as Frank heard that some of his company had been wounded, all sense of danger to himself was forgotten, and no remonstrance from his friend the drum-major could prevent his rushing in to assist in bringing them off.

Finding that the boy, whose welfare was so precious to him, could not be restrained, Mr. Sinjin plunged in with him, and kept at his side, scrambling through mud and brush and water, and over logs and roots, in the direction of the firing.

They had not gone far when they met a wounded soldier coming out. His right hand hung mangled and ghastly and bleeding at his side. A slug from a rifle musket had ploughed it through, nearly severing the fingers from the wrist.

"Ellis!" cried Frank--"you hurt?"

Ned swung the disabled and red-dripping member up to view, with a sorry smile.

"Not so bad as might be!" he said, with a rather faint show of gayety. "Jack has got it worse."

"Jack who?"--for there were several Jacks in the company.

"Winch," said Ellis, whilst the old drummer was binding up his hand to stop the blood.

"Is he killed?" asked Frank, with a strange feeling--almost of remorse, remembering his late bitter and vindictive thoughts towards John.

"I don't know. We were both hit by the same ball, I believe. It must have passed through his neck. It came from one side, and we tumbled both together. What I tumbled for, I don't know. It didn't take me long to pick myself up again!"

"And Jack?"

"There he lies, with blood all over his face."

"And nobody caring for him?"

"The boys have something else to think of!" said Ellis, with a pallid smile.

Mr. Sinjin, having tied up the wound, directed him how to find the surgeon. And Ellis, in return, pointed out the best way to get at Jack.

The company had advanced, driving the rebel skirmishers before them, and leaving Winch where he had fallen. Frank and his companion soon reached the spot. There lay the hapless youth under the roots of the tree, the left side of his face and neck all covered with gore.

"Jack!" cried Frank, stooping by his side, and lifting his arm.

No answer. The arm fell heavily again as he released it.

"Dead!" said the boy, a sudden calmness coming over him. "We may as well leave him where he is, and look for others."

"Not dead yet," said the more experienced Sinjin, feeling Jack's heart, which was beating still. In corroboration of which statement Winch uttered something between a gasp and a groan, and rolled up horrible eyes.

Frank was standing, and the old man was trying to find Winch's wound, in order to prevent his bleeding to death while they were carrying him out, when the report of a rifle sounded, seemingly quite near, and a bullet passed with a swift vehement buzz close by their ears. At the instant Frank felt something like a quick tap or jerk on his arm. He looked, and saw that the strip of red flannel, which betokened the service he was engaged in, and which should have rendered his person sacred from any intentional harm, had been shot away. A hole had been torn in his sleeve also, but his flesh was untouched.

The old drummer looked up quickly.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," said Frank, feeling of his arm while he looked around to discover where the shot came from. "It must have been a spent ball; for, see! it fell there in the water!"--pointing at a pool behind them, the surface of which was still rippling with the plunge of the shot.

Winch gave another groan.

"The wound must be an internal one," said Sinjin, "for he is not bleeding much now."

Frank assisted to lift him, and together they bore him back towards the road. It was a difficult task. Frank had neither the stature nor the strength of a man; but he made up in energy and good will what he lacked in force. Very carefully, very tenderly, through bogs and through thickets, they carried the helpless, heavy weight of the blood-stained volunteer.

"Frank! is it you?" murmured Winch, faintly.

"Yes, Jack!" panted the boy, out of breath with exertion.

"Am I killed?" articulated Jack.

"O, no!" said Frank. "You've got a bullet in you somewhere; but I guess the surgeon will soon have it out, and you'll be all right again."

"O!" groaned Jack.

Just then there came another rifle-crack, not quite so near as before, and another bullet came with its angry buzz. It cut a twig just over Mr. Sinjin's head, and grazed a cypress tree farther on, at a point considerably lower, and with a downward slant, as the mark revealed.

"Another spent ball," said Frank.

But the old drummer shook his head. "Those are no spent balls. Some murderous rebel is aiming at us."

"How can that be?"

"I don't know. And our best way is not to stop to inquire, but to get out of this as soon as possible."

"Frank!" groaned the burden they were bearing.

"What, Jack?"

"Forgive me, Frank!"

"For what?" said Frank, cheerily.

"For writing home lies about you."

"They were not all lies, I'm sorry to say, Jack. But even if they were, I forgive you from my very soul."

Jack groaned, and said no more. Assistants now came to meet them, and Frank, who was almost exhausted with the fatigue of bringing his comrade so far, was relieved of the burden. The road was near, and Jack was soon laid upon a stretcher.

"Frank!" he gasped, rolling his eyes again, "don't leave me! For God's sake, stay by me, Frank!"

So Frank kept by his side, while the men bore him along the road to a tree, where the surgeon had hung up his red flag, and established his hospital.

Ellis had just undergone the amputation of his mangled hand, without once flinching under the surgeon's knife, and he remained on the spot to encourage Winch.

"If I die," began Jack, stirring himself more than he had been observed to do before. "Frank, do you hear me?"

"What is it, Jack?" asked the sympathizing boy.

"If I die, don't let me be buried on this miserable island!"

"But you are not going to die," said the surgeon, kindly, cutting away the clothes from his neck.

Mr. Sinjin assisted, while Frank anxiously awaited the result of the examination. The surgeon looked puzzled. There was blood, but not any fresh blood--and no wound! Not so much as a scratch of the skin.

Jack in the mean time was groaning dismally.

"What are you making that noise for?" exclaimed the surgeon, sharply. "There isn't a hurt about you!"

"Ain't I shot?" cried Jack, starting up, as much astonished as any body; for he had really believed he was a dead man. "I was hit, I know! and I swooned away."

"You swooned from fright, then," declared the indignant surgeon. "Take the fellow away!"

Jack, however, gratified as he was to learn he was not killed, testily insisted that a bullet had passed through him, adducing the blood on his face as a proof.

Thereupon Ellis broke into a laugh.

"It takes Jack to make capital out of a little borrowed blood. I know something about that. When my hand was ploughed through, I slapped it against his face; and down he went, fainting dead away." And, notwithstanding the ache of his wound and his weakness, and the scenes of horror thickening around, Ned leaned back against the tree, and laughed merrily at what he called Jack's "awful big scare."

Frank felt immensely relieved, at first, on learning that Jack was not killed; then immensely amused; and, lastly, immensely disgusted. He remembered the severe struggle it cost to bring him out of the swamp, the rolled-up eyes, the lugubrious groans, and the faintly murmured dying request to be forgiven. And in the revulsion of his feelings he could not help saying, "Yes, Jack, I forgive ye! and if you die, you shan't be buried on this miserable island."

He was excited when he uttered this taunt, and he was sorry for it afterwards. Seeing the craven slink away, conscious of the scorn of every body, he felt a touch of pity for him.

"Jack," said he, with friendly intent, "why don't you go back and wipe out this disgrace? _I_ would."

"Because," snarled Jack, goaded by his own shame and the general contempt, "I'm hurt, I tell ye! _internally_, I s'pose,"--for he had heard Mr. Sinjin use the word, and thought it a good one to suit his case. And he lay down wretchedly by the roadside, and counterfeited anguish, while the fresh troops marched by to the battle.

A fiery impulse seized the drummer boy. He glanced at his torn sleeve, from which the badge had been shot away, and thought there was something besides accident in what appeared so much like an omen. If it meant any thing, was it not that his place was elsewhere than in the ambulance corps?

He turned to Mr. Sinjin, and asked to be excused from going with the stretcher. And Mr. Sinjin, who prized the boy's safety too highly to wish to see him go again under fire, was only too glad to excuse him, never once suspecting what wild purpose was in his heart.

The battle was now fairly begun. The rebel battery had opened. The continual rattle of musketry and the thunder of heavy cannon shook the island. The regiments in line in front of the cleared space before the battery, returned the fire with energy, and the marine howitzers also responded. Soon a shell from the enemy's work came flying through the woods with a hum, which increased to a howl, and burst with a startling explosion within a few rods of the hospital. Nobody was hurt; but the incident had a very marked effect on Jack Winch. He got better at once, and moved to the rear with an alacrity surprisingly in contrast with his recent helplessness.

XXIX.

HOW FRANK GOT NEWS OF HIS BROTHER.

Frank was already moving off quite as rapidly, but in the opposite direction. He plunged once more into the swamp, and returned to the spot where Jack had fallen. The battle was raging beyond; the troops had passed on; the ground was deserted. But there lay Winch's gun; with his cartridge-box beside it. Near by was Ellis's piece, abandoned where it had fallen. There, too, lay the red badge which had been shot from Frank's arm. He picked it up, thinking his mother would like to have him preserve it.

Then he slipped on the cartridge-box, and took up Winch's gun; for this was the resolution which inspired him--to assume the poltroon's place in the company, and by his own conduct to atone for the disgrace he had brought upon it.

But the gun-stock was, as has been said, shattered; and Frank could not have the satisfaction of revenging himself and his comrades for Winch's cowardice with Winch's own gun. So he threw it down, and took up Ellis's, which he found ready loaded and primed.

While he was examining the piece, he remembered the shots which he had taken for spent balls, and bethought him to look around the woods in the direction from which they had come. Raising his eyes above the undergrowth, he beheld a singular phenomenon.

At first, he thought it was a wild animal--a coon, or a wildcat, coming down a tree. Then there were two wildcats, descending together, or preparing to descend. Then the wildcats became two human legs clasped around the trunk, and two human arms appeared enjoying an equally close hug above them. The body to which these visible members appertained was itself invisible, being on the farther side of the trunk.

"That's the chap that was shooting at us!" was Frank's instantaneous conviction.

And now he could plainly discern an object slung across the man's back, as his movements swung it around a little to one side. It was the sharpshooter's rifle.

Frank was so excited that he felt himself trembling--not with fear, but with the very ardor of his ambition.

"Since he has had two shots at me, why shouldn't I have as much as one at him?"

To disable and bring in the rebel who had shot the badge from his arm--what a triumph!

But he was not in a good position for an effective shot, even if he could have made up his mind to fire at a person who, though without doubt an enemy, was not at the moment defending himself. It seemed, after all, too dreadful a thing deliberately to kill a man.

Frank's excitement did not embarrass his faculties in the least, but only rendered them all the more keenly alive and vigilant. It took him but a moment to decide what to do. Through the swamp he ran with a lightness and ability of which in calmer moments he would have been scarcely capable. The exigency of the occasion inspired him. Such leaps he took over miry places! so safely and swiftly be ran the length of an old mossy log! so nimbly he avoided the undergrowth! and so suddenly he arrived at last at the tree the rebel was descending!

For he was a rebel indeed. Frank knew that by his gray uniform and short jacket. He had been perched in the thick top of a tall pine to pick off our men during the skirmish. It was he who had taken the bark from the tree near Captain Edney's head. It was he who had basely thought to assassinate those who were carrying away the wounded. And now, the advancing troops having passed him, he was taking advantage of the solitary situation to slip down the trunk and make his escape through the woods.

Unfortunately for him, he could not go up and down trees like a squirrel. He proceeded _hugging_ his way so slowly and laboriously that Frank reached the spot when he was still within a dozen feet of the ground. Hearing a noise, and looking down over his arm, and seeing Frank, he would have jumped the remainder of the distance. But Frank was prepared for that.

"Stop, or I'll fire!"

Shrill and menacing rang the boy's determined tones through the soul of the treed rebel. He saw the gun pointed up at him; so he stopped.

"What's wanting?" said he, gruffly.

"I want you to throw down that rifle as quick as ever you can!" cried Frank.

"What do you want of my rifle?"

"I've a curiosity to see what sort of a piece you use to shoot at men carrying off the wounded."

And the "grayback" (as the boys termed the rebels) could hear the ominous click of the gun lock in Frank's hands.

"Was it you I fired at?"

"Yes, it was; and I'm bound to put lead into you now, if you don't do as I tell you pretty quick!"

"I can't throw my gun down; I can't get it off," remonstrated the man.

"You never will come down from that tree alive, unless you do!" said Frank.

"Well, take the d----d thing then!" growled the man. And unclasping one arm from the tree, while he held on with the other and his two legs, he slipped the belt over his head, and dropped the gun to the ground. "If it had been good for any thing, I reckon you wouldn't be here now, bothering me!" he added, significantly.

"No doubt!" said Frank. "You are brave fellows, to shoot out of trees at men carrying off the wounded. Wait! I'm not quite ready for you yet."

And he stood under the tree, with his musket pointed upwards, ready cocked, and with the point of the bayonet in rather ticklish proximity to the most exposed and prominent part of the rebel's person.

"Ye think I'm going to stick here all day?" growled the desperate climber.

"You'll stick there till you throw me down your revolver," Frank resolutely informed him.

"How do you know I've got a revolver?"

"I saw your hand make a motion at your pocket. You thought you'd try a shot at me. But you saw at the very next motion you'd be a dead man!"

"You mean to say you'd blow my brains out?"

"Yes, if your brains are where my gun is aimed, as I think the brains of rebels must be, or they never would have seceded."

Frank's gun, by the way, was aimed at the above mentioned very exposed and prominent part.

"Grayback" grinned and growled.

"Come, my young joker, I can't stand this!"

"You'll have to stand it till you throw down that revolver!"

"I'm slipping!"

"Then I'll give you something sharp to slip on!"

The man felt that he had really betrayed himself by making the involuntary movement towards his breast-pocket, which Frank had been too shrewd not to notice. The cocked gun, and bayonet, and resolute young face below, were inexorable. So he yielded.

"Don't throw it towards me! Drop it the other side!" cried the wary Frank.

The revolver was tossed down. Then Frank stepped back, and let the man descend from his uncomfortable position.

"Boy!" said the man, as soon as his feet were safe on the ground, and he could turn to look at his captor, "I reckon you're a cute 'un! A Yankee, ain't ye?"

"Yes, and proud to own it!" said Frank. "Keep your distance!"--as the man made a move to come nearer--"and don't you stoop to touch that gun!"

"Look here," said the man, coaxingly, "you'd better let me go! I'm out of ammunition, and can't hurt any body. I'll give ye ten dollars if you will."

"In confederate shinplasters?"

The rebel laughed. "No, in Uncle Sam's gold."

"You don't place a very high value on yourself," said Frank. "You are too modest."

"Twenty dollars!"--jingling the money in his pocket. "Come, I'm a gentleman at home, and I don't want to go north. Well, say thirty dollars."

"If you hadn't said you were a gentleman, I might trade," said Frank. "But a gentleman is worth more than you bid. You wouldn't insult a negro by offering that for him!"

"Fifty dollars, then! I see you are sharp at a bargain. And you shall keep that revolver."

"I intend to keep this, any way," said Frank, picking it up. "And the gun that shot at me, too," slinging it on his back.

The rebel, seeing his determination, rose in his bids at once to a hundred dollars.

"Not for a hundred thousand!" said Frank, who was now ready to move his prisoner. "You are going the way my bayonet points, and no other. March!"

The rebel marched accordingly.

Frank followed at a distance of two or three paces, prepared at any moment to use prompt measures in case his prisoner should attempt to turn upon him or make his escape.

"How many of you fellows are hid around in these trees?" said Frank.

"Not many just around here--lucky for you!" muttered the disconsolate rebel.

"Is that your favorite way of fighting?"

"People fight any way they can when their soil is invaded."

"What are holes cut in the pine trees for,--foot-holds for climbing?"

"Holes? them's turpentine boxes!" said the man, in some surprise at Frank's ignorance. "Didn't you ever see turpentine boxes before?"

"Never till last evening. Is that the way you get turpentine?"