The Drummer Boy Part 25

"None of what?"

"You're a-trying my disposition!"--And, indeed, Tucket was visibly moved; there was a tear in his eye--a bona fide tear. "I've a good disposition, nat'rally; but I shall git riled ef you say much more. I've got your watch, and that's all right. I've got the key, and that's all right, too.

But when you talk of makin' a watch-pocket for nothin', I tell ye a saint couldn't stand that."

Frank, who thought he had learned to know pretty well the man's oddities, was puzzled this time.

"I didn't mean to offend you, Tucket."

"No, you didn't. And now see here, Manly. We'll jest compromise this matter, ef you've no 'bjection. I've no watch-pocket, and you've no watch. So, s'posin' you carry the watch for me, and tell me what time it is when I ax ye? That won't be too much trouble--will it?"

"Are you in earnest?" asked Frank.

"Yes, I be, clean up to the hub. The truth is, I can't carry that watch with any kind o' comfort, and I'm bent on gitt'n' it off my hands, ef I hef to throw it overboard. Here! It's yours; take it, and be darned!"

said Seth.

"I was going to propose to you,"--stammered Frank from his too full heart,--"to take the watch, and pay you for it when I can."

"Ez for that the pay's no consequence. I was more to blame than you; and the loss ought to be mine."

"But----" insisted Frank.

"No buts! Besides, I never make bargains Sundays." And Seth turned away, abruptly, leaving the watch in Frank's hand.

The boy would have called him back, but a rush of emotions--joy, grat.i.tude, contrition--choked his voice. A dash of tears fell upon the watch as he gazed on it, and pressed it, and would have kissed it, had he been alone. It was his again; and that, after all, was an unalloyed satisfaction. He could lie awake nights and study days to devise means to reward Seth's generosity. And he would do it, he resolved. And Mr. Sinjin should know that he had recovered the prize, and that he held it all the more precious since he had found out the giver.

XX.

SUNDAY BEFORE THE BATTLE.

Frank was leaning over the rail of the schooner gazing down at the beautiful flashing water, and thinking of home. It was Sunday there, too, he remembered; and he could almost hear the sweet-toned bells solemnly chiming, and see the atmosphere of Sabbath peace brooding over field and village, and feel the serious gladness of the time. The folks were getting ready for church. There was his father, shaved and clean, in his black stock and somewhat threadbare, but still respectable, best coat.

And there was Helen, bright and blooming, with her bonnet on, and with her Bible and question-book in her hand, setting out for the morning Sunday-school. His mother was not going to meeting; she was to stay at home with Hattie, and read to her, or, what was better, comfort her with affectionate, gentle, confiding words. But Willie was going with Helen, as he seemed anxious, by strut, and hurry, and loud, impatient talk, to let every body know. And Frank wished from his heart that he could be with them that day; and he wondered, did they miss him, and were they thinking of him, far off here in Carolina waters, alone in the midst of such crowds of men?

"Wouldn't I like to be in that boat, boys!" said Ellis. "Don't she come dancing on the waves!"

"She's pulling towards us," said At.w.a.ter. "I believe they're coming aboard."

"O, At.w.a.ter!" cried Frank, as the boat drew near. "There's a face there I know! One you know, too!" And he clapped his hands with joy; for it was a face he had seen in Boston, and he felt that it came with news from home.

The rare brightness kindled in At.w.a.ter's eyes as he gazed, and remembered.

The boat came alongside, and hailed the schooner. And a man in the bow, as it rose upon a wave, seizing hold of the ladder of tarred rope, stepped quickly upon it, and came on board, cordially received by Captain Edney, who appeared to have been expecting him.

"It's the minister that married At.w.a.ter!" the rumor ran round among the troops. "What's his name, Frank?"

"His name's Egglestone," said Frank, his heart swelling with anxiety to speak with him.

The minister had come on a mission of Christian love to the soldiers of the expedition; and having, the day before, sent word to Captain Edney of his arrival, he had in return received an invitation to visit the schooner and preach to the men this Sunday morning.

A previous announcement that religious services would probably be held on board, had excited little interest; the troops surmising that the chaplain of the regiment, who had never been with them enough to win their hearts or awaken their attention, was to rejoin them, and preach one of his formal discourses.

But far different was the feeling when it was known that the "man that married At.w.a.ter" was to conduct the exercises. Then the soldiers remembered that they were New Englanders; and that here also G.o.d's Sabbath shed its silent influence, far though they were from the rude hills and rocky sh.o.r.es of home.

'Tis curious how a little leaven of memory will sometimes work in the heart. Here was half a regiment of men, who had come to fight the battles of their country. As with one accord they had left the amenities of peaceful life behind them, and a.s.sumed the rugged manners of war. Of late they had seemed almost oblivious of the fact that G.o.d, and Christian worship, and Christian rules of life were still in existence. But to-day they were reminded. To-day the child was awakened--the child that had known the wholesome New England nurture, that had sat on mother's knee, and had its earliest thought tuned to the music of Sunday bells; the child that lay hidden in the deep heart of every man of them, the same lived again, and looked forth from the eyes, and smiled once more in the softened visage of the man. And the man was carried back, far from these strange scenes, far from the relentless iron front of war, across alien lands, and over stormy seas,--carried back by the child yearning within,--to the old door yard, the village trees, the family fireside, the family pew, and the hushed congregation.

It was Mr. Egglestone's aim, in the beginning of the sermon he preached that morning, to remind the soldiers of their childhood. "It is a thought," he said, "which almost moves me to tears,--that all these hardy frames around me were but the soft, warm, dimpled forms of so many infants once. And nearly every one of you was, I suppose, watched over by tender parents, who beheld, with mutual joy, the development of each beautiful faculty. The first step taken by the babe's una.s.sisted feet, the first articulate word spoken by the little lisping lips,--what delight they gave, and how long were they remembered! And what thoughts of the child's future came day and night to those parents' b.r.e.a.s.t.s! and of what earnest prayers was it the subject! And of all the parents of all those children who are here as men to-day, not one foresaw a scene like this; none dreamed that they were raising up patriots to fight for freedom's second birth on this continent, in the most stupendous of civil wars.

"But Providence leads us by strange ways, and by hidden paths we come upon brinks of destiny which no prophet foresaw. Now the days of peace are over. Many of you who were children are now the fathers of children.

But your place is not at home to watch over them as you were watched over, but to strive by some means to work out a harder problem than any ever ciphered on slates at school."

Then he explained to his audience the origin of the war; for he believed it best that every soldier should understand well the cause he was fighting for. He spoke of the compact of States, which could not be rightfully broken. He spoke of the serpent that had been nursed in the bosom of those States. He related how slavery, from being at first a merely tolerated evil, which all good men hoped soon to see abolished, had grown arrogant, aggressive, monstrous; until, angered by resistance to its claims, it had deluged the land with blood. Such was the nature of an inst.i.tution based upon selfishness and wrong. And such was the bitter result of building a LIE into the foundations of our national structure.

Proclaiming to the world, as the first principle of our republican form of government, that "all men are created free and equal," we had at the same time held a race in bondage.

"Neither nation nor individual," said he, "can in any n.o.ble sense succeed, with such rotten inconsistency woven into its life. It was this shoddy in the garment of our G.o.ddess of Liberty, which has occasioned the rent which those needles there"--pointing to some bayonets--"must mend.

And it is this shoddy of contradiction and infidelity which makes many a man's prosperity, seemingly substantial at first, promising warmth and wear, fall suddenly to pieces, and leave his soul naked to the winds of heaven."

It was not so much a sermon as a friendly, affectionate, earnest talk with the men, whom he sought to counsel and encourage. There was a melting love in his tones which went to their inmost souls. And when he exhorted them to do the work of men who feared G.o.d, but not any mortal foe, who dreaded dishonor, but not death, he made every heart ring with the stirring appeal.

Then suddenly his voice sank to a tone of solemn sweetness, as he said,--

"Peace! O, my brothers! struggle and violence are not the all of life.

But G.o.d's love, the love of man to man, holiness, blessedness,--it is for these realities we are created, and placed here on this beautiful earth, under this blue sky, with human faces and throbbing human hearts around us. And the end of all is PEACE. But only through fiery trial and valiant doing can any peace worth the name come to us; and to make the future truly blessed, we must make the present truly brave."

Before and after the discourse the men sang some of the good old tunes which all had been familiar with at home, and which descended like warm rain upon the ground where the scattered seed of the sermon fell.

The services ended, Mr. Egglestone went freely among the soldiers, and conversed with any who wanted to have speech of him; especially with At.w.a.ter; whose wife he had seen a few days before leaving Boston, where she came to see him, having learned who he was, and that he was about departing for the army in which her husband served.

After long waiting, Frank's turn came at last. They sat down on a bench apart; and the clergyman told him he had lately seen his mother, and that she had charged him with many messages. And one was a message of sorrow.

"She had heard unwelcome news of you," he said, holding the boy's hand.

"And she wished me to say to you what I could to save you from what she dreads most--what any wise, loving mother dreads most for her child. But is there need of my saying any thing? By what your captain tells me, and still more by what your face tells me, I am convinced that I may spare my words. You have had in your own experience a better lesson than any body can teach you. You have erred, you have suffered. And"--he took a letter from his pocket--"I have something here to make you remember what you have learned--I think, for always."

Frank had listened, humbly, tremblingly, full of tears which he did not shed for the eyes that were about them. But now he started, and took the letter eagerly. "What's it? any bad news?" for he felt an alarming presentiment.

"I do not think it is bad. If you had seen what I saw, you would not think so either." Mr. Egglestone's manner was exceedingly tender, and his voice was liquid and low. "All is well with your folks at home; both with those who are there as you left them, and with the one whose true home is not there any longer, but in a brighter land, we trust."

"O!"--it was almost a cry of pain that broke from Frank. "Hattie?"

"Yes, Frank; it is of Hattie I am speaking. She has pa.s.sed away. I was present, and saw her depart. And she was very calm and happy, and her last look was a smile, and her last words were words of hope and love.

The letter will tell you all about it. I recall one thing, however, which I will repeat, since it so nearly concerns you. They were speaking of you. And she said, 'Maybe I shall see him before any of you will! Yes!'

she added, her face shining already like a spirit's with the joyful thought, 'tell him how I love him; and say that I shall be with him when he does not know!' And I am sure that, if it is possible for souls that have escaped from these environments of flesh to be near us still, she will often be near you, loving you, influencing you. Perhaps she is present now, and hears all we say, and sees how badly you feel, and thinks you would not feel quite so badly if you knew that she is happy."

Frank would have spoken, to ask some earnest question which arose in his heart; but his feelings were too much agitated, and he could not trust his voice.

"We will believe such things are true of our lost ones," Mr. Egglestone said, with a parting pressure of the boy's hand. "For, with that faith, we shall surely try so to live that, when they approach us, they will not be repelled; and thus we will be guarded from evil, if not by any direct influence of theirs, then by our own reverence and love for them."