The Drummer Boy Part 7

"All the boys in our company."

"Which of them did the things your captain complains of?"

"I don't know, sir. They were all together; and who tipped the bed, or cut the ropes, or set the fire, I can't tell."

"It seems they were all concerned, then."

"No, sir, not all. Some did the mischief, and the rest looked on."

"Did this person with you do any of the mischief?"

"No, sir; he was with me all the time, and we kept out of it."

"How happens it, then, that only you two are caught?"

"All the rest ran."

"And why didn't you run?"

"We had not been doing anything to run for," said Frank, with convincing sincerity.

At.w.a.ter was then questioned, and gave similar answers.

"Captain ----," said the colonel, "I think it is evident these are not the persons who are most deserving of punishment. This boy, certainly, could not have been very deeply concerned in the a.s.sault, and I am inclined to place entire confidence in his story."

The captain himself appeared not a little ashamed of having accused one so young and ingenuous as the drummer boy. The prisoners were accordingly released, and the investigation of the affair was postponed until the morrow. Returning with At.w.a.ter to their tent, Frank could not repress the joy he felt at their fortunate escape. But At.w.a.ter took the whole affair with astonishing coolness, exhibiting no more emotion at their release than he had betrayed at their entrapment.

"What a fellow you are!" said Frank, staying his enthusiastic step, while his companion, with slow and stately pace, came up with him. "You don't seem to care for any thing."

"Those that care the most don't always show it," said At.w.a.ter, laconically, as they crept back into the tent.

All was hushed and dark within; but soon they heard whispers.

"Abe! Frank! that you?"

And they soon found that the tent was full of the fugitives, awaiting their return.

"What made you let 'em catch you? How did you get off?" were the first eager inquiries.

Dark as it was, Frank thought he could see At.w.a.ter shrug his shoulders and look to him for the required explanation. For Abram was a fellow of few words, and Frank was glib of speech.

So Frank, seated on his bed, related their adventure, to the great delight of the boys, who bestowed the warmest praises upon them for their spirit and fidelity. They had stood their ground when deserted by their companions; and, although they had told the truth about the whole company, they had not inculpated individuals. Thus Frank, as he afterwards learned with pleasure, had by his courage and truthfulness won both the confidence of his officers and the good will of his comrades.

The next day the company was called to an account for the offence. In reply to the captain's charges, the sergeant, acting as spokesman for the rest, stated the grievances of the men. The result was, that the captain received directions to exercise his company in the colonel's presence; and, complying reluctantly, demonstrated his own inefficiency in a manner which elicited the merriment of spectators, and even provoked the colonel to smile.

Soon after, in order to get rid of so incompetent an officer, and at the same time punish the insubordination of the men, it was resolved to disband the company. Thus was afforded to Frank the opportunity, which seemed to him almost providential, of joining Captain Edney's company, and to John Winch the desired chance to quit the service, of which he had so soon grown weary.

At this time the boys' fathers came down together to visit them. John had written home a pitiful letter, and Mr. Winch went to see about getting him off.

But Jack was no sooner out of the service than he wished to be in again.

Frank, At.w.a.ter, and several others, had joined Captain Edney's company, and he determined to follow their example.

"O John!" groaned Mr. Winch, in despair at this inconstancy, "when will you learn to be a little more steady-minded? Here I have come expressly to plead your cause, and get you off; but before I have a chance, you change your mind again, and now nothing can persuade you to go home."

"Well," said John, "I didn't like the company I was in. I'm satisfied now, and I'm going to serve my country."

"Well, well," said Mr. Winch, "I shall let you do as you please. But reflect; you enlist with my consent now, and you must dismiss all hope of getting off next time you are sick of your bargain."

"O, I shan't be sick of it again," said John, as full of ambition as he had lately been of discontent and disloyalty.

In the mean time Frank made the most of his father's visit. He showed him his new tent, his knapsack and accoutrements, and his handsome drum. He introduced him to the old drummer, and to At.w.a.ter, and to Captain Edney.

The latter invited them both into his tent, and was so kind to them that Frank almost shed tears of grat.i.tude, to think that his father could go home and tell what a favorite he was with his captain. Then, when dinner-time came, Frank drew a ration for his father, in order that he might know just what sort of fare the soldiers had, and how they ate it.

And so the day pa.s.sed. And Frank accompanied his father to the cars, and saw him off, sending a thousand good wishes home, and promising that he would certainly get a furlough the coming week, and visit them.

VI.

BREAKING CAMP.

Frank was disappointed in not being able to keep that promise. An order came for the regiment to be ready to march in two days; in the mean time no furloughs could be granted.

"I am sorry for you, Frank," said Captain Edney; "and I would make an exception in your case, if possible."

"No, I don't ask that, sir," said Frank, stoutly. "I did want to see my folks again, but----" He turned away his face.

"Well," said the captain, "I think it can be arranged so that you shall see them again, if only for a short time. You can warn them in season of our breaking camp, and they will meet you as we pa.s.s through Boston."

This was some consolation; although it was hard for Frank to give up the long-antic.i.p.ated pleasure of visiting his family, and the satisfaction of relating his experience of a soldier's life to his sisters and mates. He had thought a good deal, with innocent vanity, of the wonder and admiration he would excite, in his uniform, fresh from camp, and bound for the battlefields of his country; but he had thought a great deal more of the happiness of breathing again the atmosphere of love and sympathy which we find nowhere but at home.

The excitement which filled the camp helped him forget his disappointment. The regiment was in fine spirits. It was impatient to be on the march. Its destination was not known; some said it was to be moved directly to Washington; others, that it was to rendezvous at Annapolis, and form a part of some formidable expedition about to be launched against the rebellion; but all agreed that what every soldier ardently desired was now before them--active service, and an enemy to be conquered.

The two days in which time the regiment was to prepare to move, became three days--four days--a week; unavoidable obstacles still delayed its departure, to the infinite vexation of Frank, who saw what a long furlough he might have enjoyed, and who repeatedly sent to his friends directions when and where to meet him, which he found himself obliged, each time, to write in haste and countermand the next morning. Such are some of the annoyances of a soldier's life.

But at length the long-delayed orders came. They were received with tumultuous joy by the impatient troops. It was necessary to send the ponderous baggage train forward a day in advance; and the tents were struck at once. All was bustle, animation, and hilarity in the camp; and a night of jubilee followed.

The drummer boy never forgot that night, amid all his subsequent adventures. While his companions were singing, shouting, and kindling fires, he could not help thinking, as he watched their animated figures lighted up by the flames, that this was, probably, the last night many of them would ever pa.s.s in their native states; that many would fall in battle, and find their graves in a southern soil; and that, perhaps, he himself was one of those who would never return.

"What are you thinking about, my bold soldier boy?" said a familiar voice, while a gentle hand slapped him on the back.

He turned and saw the bushy mustache of his friend and master, the old drummer, peering over his shoulder.

"O Mr. Sinjin!" said Frank. (The veteran wrote his name _St. John_, but every body called him _Sinjin_.) "I was afraid I should not see you again."

"Eh, and why not?"