The Drummer Boy Part 10

"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 n.o.body 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 compa.s.sion. "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 At.w.a.ter. 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 At.w.a.ter, 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 At.w.a.ter 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 At.w.a.ter, 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, At.w.a.ter 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 At.w.a.ter'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 b.u.t.ter, 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 pa.s.sengers 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.

When he went upon deck the next morning, the steamer was cutting her way gayly through the waters of New York harbor,--a wonderful scene to the untravelled drummer boy, who had never before witnessed such an animated picture of dancing waters, ships under full sail, and steamboats trailing long dragon-tails of smoke in the morning air.

Then there was the city, with its forests of masts, its spires rising dimly in the soft, smoky atmosphere that shrouded it, and the far, faint sound of its bells musically ringing.

Then came the excitement of landing; the troops forming, and, after a patriotic reception by the "Sons of Ma.s.sachusetts," marching through the city to the barracks; then dinner; and a whole afternoon of sight-seeing afterwards.

The next day the regiment was off again, crossing the ferry, and taking the cars for Philadelphia. From Philadelphia it kept on into the night again, until it reached a steamer, in waiting to receive it, on Chesapeake Bay.

The next morning was rainy; and the rain continued all day, pouring dismally; and it was raining still when, at midnight, the boat arrived at Annapolis. In the darkness and storm the troops landed, and took up their temporary quarters in the Naval Academy. In one of the recitation halls, Frank and his comrades spread their blankets on the floor, put their knapsacks under their heads, and slept as soundly after their wearisome journey as they ever did in their beds at home. Indeed, they seemed to fall asleep as promptly as if by word of command, and to snore by platoons.

The next morning the rain was over. At seven o'clock, breakfast; after which the regiment was reviewed on the Academy parade. Then Frank and a squad of jovial companions set out to see the town,--taking care to have with them an intelligent young corporal, named Gray, who had been there before, and knew the sights.

"Boys," said young Gray, as they sallied forth, "we are now in Queen Anne's city,--for that, I suppose you know, is what the word Annapolis means. It was the busiest city in Maryland once; but, by degrees, all its trade and fashion went over to Baltimore, and left the old town to go to sleep,--though it has woke up and rubbed its eyes a little since the rebellion broke out."