Chapter 4

Frank, who could not help thinking that it was partly for his sake that the old man had come to this decision, was both rejoiced and sobered by this evidence of friendship in one who pretended not to believe there was such a thing as true friendship in the world.

"I am so glad you are going; but I am afraid you are too old; and if any thing should happen to you----" Frank somehow felt that, in that case, he would be to blame.

The old man said nothing, but kept poking at the coal with a trembling hand.

"Here, Old Sinjin," said Jack Winch, "have a match. Don't be _singin'_ your mustaches over the fire for nothing;" with an irreverent pun on the old man's name.

"Mr. Sinjin is going with us, Jack," said Frank.

"Is he? Bully for you, old chap!" said Jack, as the veteran, with a somewhat contemptuous smile, accepted the proffered match, and smoked away in silence. "We are going to have a gallus old time; nothing could hire me to stay at home." For Jack, when inspired by the idea of change, was always enthusiastic; he was then always going to have a gallus old time, if any body knows what that is. "Here goes my shoes," pitching those which he had worn from home into the fire.

"Why, Jack," said Frank, "what do you burn them for? Those were good shoes yet."

"I know it. But I couldn't carry them. The other boys are burning up all their old boots and shoes. Uncle Sam furnishes us shoes now."

"But you should have sent them home, Jack; I sent mine along with my clothes. If you don't ever want them again yourself, somebody else may."

"What do I care for somebody else? I care more for seeing the old things curl and fry in the fire as if they was mad. O, ain't that a splendid blaze! It's light as day all over the camp. By jimmy, the fellows there are going to have a dance."

John ran off. Old Sinjin had also taken his departure, evidently not liking young Winch's company. Frank was left once more to his own thoughts, watching the picturesque groups about the fires. It was now midnight. The last of the old straw from the emptied ticks had been cast into the flames, and the broken tent-floors were burning brilliantly. Some of the wiser ones were bent on getting a little sleep. Frank saw Atwater spreading his rubber blanket on the ground, and resolved to follow his example. Others did the same; and with their woollen blankets over them; their knapsacks under their heads, and their feet to the fire, they bivouacked merrily under the lurid sky.

It was Frank's first experience of a night in the open air. The weather was mild, although it was now November; the fires kept them warm; and but for the noises made by the wilder sort of fellows they would have slept well in that novel fashion. The drummer boy sank several times into a light slumber, but as often started up, to hear the singing and laughter, and to see Atwater sleeping all the while calmly at his side, the wakeful ones making sport and keeping up the fires, and the flames glittering dimly on the stacks of arms. The last time he awoke it was day; and the short-lived camp-fires were paling their sad rays before the eternal glory of the sunrise.

The veteran Sinjin beat the drummer's call. Frank seized his drum and hurried to join his friend,--beating with him the last reveillé which was to rouse up the regiment in the Old Bay State.

After roll-call, breakfast; then the troops were drawn up under arms, preparatory to their departure. A long train of a dozen cars was at the depot, in readiness to receive the regiment, which now marched out of the old camping-ground to the gay music of a band from a neighboring city.

After waiting an hour on the train, they heard the welcome whistle of the engine, and the still more welcome clang of the starting cars, and off they went amid loud cheers and silent tears.

Frank had no relatives or near friends in the crowd left behind, as many of his comrades had, but his heart beat fast with the thought that there were loved ones whom he should meet soon.

But the regiment reached Boston, and marched through the streets, and paraded on the Common; and all the while his longing eyes looked in vain for his friends, who never appeared. It seemed to him that nearly every other fellow in his company saw friends either on the march or at the halt, while he alone was left unnoticed and uncomforted. And so his anticipated hour of enjoyment was changed to one of bitterness.

Why was it? His last letter must have had time to reach his family. Besides, they might have seen by the newspapers that the regiment was coming. Why then did they fail to meet him? His heart swelled with grief as he thought of it,--he was there, so near home, for perhaps the last time, and nobody that he loved was with him during those precious, wasting moments.

But, suddenly, as he was casting his eyes for the twentieth time along the lines of spectators, searching for some familiar face, he heard a voice--not father's or mother's, or sister's, but one scarcely less dear than the dearest.

"My bwother Fwank! me want my bwother Fwank!"

And turning, he saw little Willie running towards him, almost between the legs of the policemen stationed to keep back the crowd.

VII.

THROUGH BOSTON.

If ever "bwother Fwank" felt a thrill of joy, it was then. Willie ran straight to his arms, in spite of the long-legged officer striding to catch him, and pulling down his neck, hugged him, and kissed him, and hugged and kissed him again, with such ardor that the delighted bystanders cheered, and the pursuing policeman stepped back with a laugh of melting human kindness.

"He's too much for me, that little midget is," he said, returning to his place. "Does he belong to you, ma'am?" addressing a lady whose humid eyes betrayed something more than a stranger's interest in the scene.

"They are my children," said the lady. "Will you be so good, sir, as to tell the drummer boy to step this way?"

But already Frank was coming. How thankful he then felt that he was not a private, confined to the ranks! In a minute his mother's arm was about him, and her kiss was on his cheek, and Helen was squeezing one hand, and his father the other, while Willie was playing with his drumsticks.

"I am all the more glad," he said, his face shining with gratitude and pleasure, "because I was just giving you up--thinking you wouldn't come at all."

"Only think," said Helen, "because you wrote on your letter, _In haste_, the postmaster gave it to Maggie Simpson yesterday to deliver, for she was going right by our house; but Dan Alford came along and asked her to ride, and she forgot all about the letter, and would never have thought of it again, I suppose, if I hadn't seen the postmaster and set off on the track of it this morning. She had gone over to her aunt's, and I had to follow her there; and then she had to go home again, to get the letter out of her other dress pocket; but her sister Jane had by this time got on the dress, in place of her own, which was being washed, and worn it to school; and so we had to go on a wild-goose chase after Jane."

"Well, I hope you had trouble enough for one letter!" said Frank.

"But you haven't heard all yet," said Helen, laughing, "for when we found Jane, she had not the letter, she had taken it out of the pocket, when she put the dress on, and left it on the bureau at home. So off again we started, Maggie and I, but before we got to her house, the letter had gone again--her mother had found it in the mean time, and sent it to us by the butcher boy. Well, I ran home, but no butcher boy had made his appearance; and, do you think, when I got to the meat shop, I found him deliberately sawing off a bone for his dog, with your letter in his greasy pocket."

"He had forgotten it too!" said Frank.

"Not he! but he didn't think it of very much importance, and he intended to bring it to us some time during the day--after he had fed his dog! By this time father had got news that the regiment was in town; and such a rush as we made for the horse-cars you never did see!"

"But Hattie! where is she?" Frank asked, anxiously.

Helen's vivacious face saddened a little.

"O, we came away in such a hurry we couldn't bring her, even if she had been well enough."

"In she worse?"

"She gets no better," said Mrs. Manly, "and she herself thought she ought not to try to come. Maggie Simpson offered to stay with her."

"I am so sorry! I wanted to see _her_. Did she send any message to me?"

"Yes," said his mother. "She said, 'Give my love to dear brother, and tell him to think of me sometimes.'"

"Think of her sometimes!" said Frank. "Tell her I shall always think of her and love her."

By this time Captain Edney, seeing Frank with his friends, came towards them. Frank hastened to hide his emotion; and, saluting the officer respectfully, said to him, with a glow of pleasure:--

"Captain Edney, this is my mother."

Captain Edney lifted his cap, with a bright smile.

"Well," he said, "this is a meeting I rather think neither of us ever looked forward to, when we used to spend those long summer days in the old schoolhouse, which I hope you remember."

"I remember it well--and one bright-faced boy in particular," said Mrs. Manly, pressing his hand cordially.

"A rather mischievous boy, I am afraid I was; a little rebel myself, in those days," said the captain.

"Yet a boy that I always hoped much good of," said Mrs. Manly. "I cannot tell you how gratified I am to feel that my son is entrusted in your hands."

"You may be sure I will do what I can for him," said the captain, "if only to repay your early care of me."

He then conversed a few moments with Mr. Manly, who was always well satisfied to stand a little in the background, and let his wife have her say first.

"And this, I suppose, is Frank's sister," turning to Helen. "I should have known her, I think, for she looks so much as you used to, Mrs. Manly, that I can almost fancy myself stepping up to her with my slate, and saying, 'Please, ma'am, show me about this sum?'"

Frank, in the mean time, was occupied in exhibiting to Willie his drum, and in preventing him, partly by moral suasion, but chiefly by main force, from gratifying his ardent desire to pound upon it.

"And here is our little brother," said the captain, lifting Willie, notwithstanding his struggles and kicks, and kissing his shy, pouting cheeks. "He'll make a nice drummer boy too, one of these days."

This royal flattery won the child over to his new friend immediately.

"Me go to war with my bwother Fwank! dwum, and scare webels!" panting earnestly over his important little story, which the captain was obliged to cut short.

"Well, Frank, I suppose you would like to spend the rest of the time with your friends. Be at the Old Colony depot at five o'clock. Meanwhile,"--touching his cap,--"a pleasant time to all of you."

So saying, be left them, and Frank departed with his friends, carrying his drum with him, to the great delight of little Willie, whose heart would have been broken if all hope of being allowed to drum upon it had been cut off by leaving it behind.

"Mrs. Gillett has invited us to bring you to her house," said Mrs. Manly. "I want to have a long talk with you there; and I want Mrs. Gillett's brother, the minister, to see you."

Frank was not passionately fond of ministers; and immediately an unpleasant image rose in his mind, of a solemn, black-coated individual, who took a mournful satisfaction in damping the spirits of young people by his long and serious conversations.

"You needn't strut so, Frank, if you _have_ got soldier clothes on," laughed Helen. "I'll tell folks you are smart, if you are so particular to have them know it."

"Do, if you please," said Frank. "And I'll tell 'em you're handsome, if you'll put your veil down so they won't know but that I am telling the truth."

"There, Helen," said Mrs. Manly, "you've got your joke back with interest. Now I'd hold my tongue, if I was you."

"Frank and I wouldn't know each other if we didn't have a little fun together," said Helen. "Besides, we'll all feel serious enough by and by, I guess." For she loved her brother devotedly, much as she delighted to tease him; and she would have been glad to drown in merry jests the thought of the final parting, which was now so near at hand.

They were cordially received at Mrs. Gillett's house; and there Mrs. Manly enjoyed the wished-for opportunity of talking with her son, and Willie had a chance to beat the drum in the attic, and Mrs. Gillett secretly emptied Frank's haversack of its rations of pork and hard tack, and filled it again with excellent bread and butter, slices of cold lamb, and sponge cake. Moreover, a delightful repast was prepared for the visitors, at which Frank laughed at his own awkwardness, declaring that he had eaten from a tin plate so long, with his drumhead for a table, that he had almost forgotten the use of china and napkins.

"If Hattie was only here now!" he said, again and again. For it needed only his invalid sister's presence, during these few hours, to make him perfectly happy.

"Eat generously," said the minister, "for it may be long before you sit at a table again."

"Perhaps I never shall," thought Frank, but he did not say so lest he might hurt his mother's feelings.

The minister was not at all such a person as he had expected to see, but only a very pleasant gentleman, not at all stiffened with the idea that he had the dignity of the profession to sustain. He was natural, friendly, and quite free from that solemn affectation which now and then becomes second nature in ministers some of us know, but which never fails to repel the sympathies of the young.

Mr. Egglestone was expecting soon to go out on a mission to the troops, and it was for this reason Mrs. Manly wished them to become acquainted.

"I wish you were going with our regiment," said Frank. "We have got a chaplain, I believe, but I have never seen him yet, or seen any body who has seen him."

"Well, I hope at least I shall meet you, if we both reach the seat of war," said the minister, drawing him aside. "But whether I do or not, I am sure that, with such a good mother as you have, and such dear sisters as you leave behind, you will never need a chaplain to remind you that you have something to preserve more precious than this mortal life of ours,--the purity and rectitude of your heart."

This was spoken so sincerely and affectionately that Frank felt those few words sink deeper into his soul than the most labored sermon could have done. Mr. Egglestone said no more, but putting his arm confidingly over the boy's shoulder, led him back to his mother.

And now the hour of parting had come. Frank's friends, including the minister, went with him to the cars. Arrived at the depot, they found it thronged with soldiers, and surrounded by crowds of citizens.

"O, mother!" said Frank, "you _must_ see our drum-major, old Mr. Sinjin--my teacher, you know. There he is; I'll run and fetch him!"

He returned immediately, dragging after him the grizzled veteran, who seemed reluctant, and looked unusually stern.

"It's my mother and father, you know," said Frank. "They want to shake hands with you."

"What do they care for me?" said the old man, frowning.

Frank persisted, and introduced his father. The veteran returned Mr. Manly's salute with rigid military courtesy, without relaxing a muscle of his austere countenance.

"And this is my mother," said Frank.

With still more formal and lofty politeness, the old man bent his martial figure, and quite raised his cap from his old gray head.

"Madam, your very humble servant!"

"Mr. St. John!" exclaimed Mrs. Manly, in astonishment. "Is it possible that this is my old friend St. John?"

"Madam," said the veteran, with difficulty keeping up his cold, formal exterior, "I hardly expected you would do me the honor to remember one so unworthy;" bending lower than before, and raising his hat again, while his lips twitched nervously under his thick mustache.

"Why, where did you ever see him, mother?" cried Frank, with eager interest.

"Mr. St. John was an old friend of your grandfather's, Frank. Surely, sir, you have not forgotten the little girl you used to take on your knee and feed with candy?"--for the old man was still looking severe and distant.

"I have not forgotten many pleasant things--and some not so pleasant, which I would have forgotten by every body." And the old drummer gave his mustache a vindictive pull.

"Be sure," said Mrs. Manly, "I remember nothing of you that was not kind and honorable. I think you must have known who my son was, you have been so good to him. But why did you not inform him, or me through him, who _you_ were? I would have been so glad to know about you."

"I hardly imagined that."--The old cynical smile curled the heavy mustache.--"And if I could be of any service to your son, it was needless for you to know of it. I was Mr. St. John when you knew me; but I am nobody but Old Sinjin now. Madam, I wish you a very good-day, and much happiness. Your servant, sir!"

And shaking hands stiffly, first with Mrs. Manly, then with her husband, the strange old man stalked away.

"Who is he? what is it about him?" asked Frank, stung with curiosity. "Never did _I_ think _you_ knew _Old Sinjin_."

"Your father knows about him, and I will tell _you_ some time," said Mrs. Manly, her eyes following the retreating figure with looks of deep compassion. "In the mean time, be very kind to him, very gentle and respectful, my son."

"I will," said Frank, "but it is all so strange! I can't understand it."

"Well, never mind now. Here is Captain Edney talking with Helen and Mr. Egglestone, and Willie is playing with his scabbard. Pretty well acquainted this young gentleman is getting!" said Mrs. Manly, hastening to take the child away from the sword.

"Pitty thord! pitty man!" lisped Willie, who had fallen violently in love with the captain and his accoutrements. "Me and Helen, we like pitty man! We go with pitty man!"

Helen blushed; while the captain, laughing, took a piece of money from his pocket and gave it to Willie for the compliment.

Frank, who had been absent a moment, now joined the group, evidently much pleased at something.

"The funniest thing has happened! A fellow in our company,--and one of the best fellows he is too! but I can't help laughing!--he met his girl to-day, and they suddenly took it into their heads to get married; so they sent two of their friends to get their licenses for them, one, one way, and the other another way, for they live in different places. And the fellow's license has come, and the girl's hasn't, and they wouldn't have time to go to a minister's now if it had. It is too bad! but isn't it funny? The fellow is one of my very best friends. I wrote to you about him; Abe Atwater. There he is, with his girl!"

And Frank pointed out the tall young soldier, standing stately and taciturn, but with a strong emotion in that usually mild, grave face of his, perceptible enough to those who knew him. His girl was at his side, crying.

"How I pity her!" said Helen. "But he takes it coolly enough, I should think."

"He takes every thing that way," said Frank; "but you can't tell much by his face how he feels, though I can see he is biting hard to keep his heart down now, straight as he stands."

"I'll speak to her," said Helen; and while Frank accosted Atwater, she made acquaintance with the girl.

"Yes," said the soldier, "it would be better to know I was leaving a wife behind, to think of me and look for my coming back. But I never knew she cared so much for me; and now it's too late."

"To think," said the girl to Helen, "he has loved me all along, but never told me, because he thought I wouldn't have him! And now he is going, and may be I shall never see him again! And we want to be married, and my license hasn't come!" And she poured out her sorrows into the bosom of the sympathizing Helen, with whom suffering and sympathy made her at once acquainted.

Just then the signal sounded for the train to be in readiness to start. And there were hurried partings, and tears in many a soldier's eye. And Frank's mother breathed into his ear her good-by counsel and blessing. And Atwater was bidding his girl farewell, when a man came bounding along the platform with a paper in his hand--the marriage license.

"Too late now!" said Atwater, with a glistening smile. "We are off!"

"But here is a minister!" cried Helen,--"Mr. Eggleston!--O, Captain Edney! have the train wait until this couple can be married. It won't take a minute!"

The case of the lovers was by this time well understood, not only by Captain Edney and Mr. Egglestone, but also by the conductor of the train and scores of soldiers and citizens. An interested throng crowded to witness the ceremony. The licenses were in the hands of the minister, and with his musket at _order arms_ by his right side, and his girl at his left, Atwater stood up to be married, as erect and attentive as if he had been going through the company drill. And in a few words Mr. Egglestone married them, Frank holding Atwater's musket while he joined hands with his bride.

In the midst of the laughter and applause which followed, the soldier, with unchanging features, fumbled in his pocket for the marriage fee. He gave it to Mr. Egglestone, who politely handed it to the bride. But she returned it to her husband.

"You will need it more than I shall, Abram!"--forcing it, in spite of him, back into his pocket. "Good-by!" she sobbed, kissing him. "Good-by, my husband!"

This pleasing incident had served to lighten the pain of Frank's parting with his friends. When sorrowful farewells are to be said, no matter how quickly they are over. And they were over now; and Frank was on the departing train, waving his cap for the last time to the friends he could not see for the tears that dimmed his eyes.

And the cars rolled slowly away, amid cheers which drowned the sound of weeping. And the bride who had had her husband for a moment only, and lost him--perhaps forever,--and the mother who had given her son to her country,--perhaps never to receive him back,--and other wives, and mothers, and fathers, and sisters, were left behind, with all the untold pangs of grief and anxious love in their hearts, gazing after the long swift train that bore their loved ones away to the war.

VIII.

ANNAPOLIS.

And the train sped on; and the daylight faded fast; and darkness shut down upon the world. And still the train sped on.

When it was too dark to see any thing out of the car windows, and Frank was tired of the loud talking around him, he thought he would amuse himself by nibbling a little "hard tack." So he opened his haversack, and discovered the cake, and bread and butter, and cold lamb, with which some one who loved him had stored it. He was so moved by this evidence of thoughtful kindness that it was some time before be could make up his mind to break in upon the little stock of provisions, which there was really more satisfaction in contemplating than in eating any ordinary supper. But the sight of some of his comrades resorting for solace to their rations decided him, and he shared with them the contents of his haversack.

The train reached Fall River at nine o'clock, and the passengers were transferred to the steamer "Metropolis." The boat was soon swarming with soldiers, stacking their arms, and hurrying this way and that in the lamp-light. Then the clanking of the engine, the trembling of the steamer, and the sound of rushing water, announced that they were once more in motion.

Frank had never been on salt water before, and he was sorry this was in the night; but he was destined before long to have experience enough of the sea, both by night and by day.