"He who serves well need not fear to ask his wages."
I
It was under a blue cap that I first saw the honest face of Joe
Collins. In the third year of the late war a Maine regiment was
passing through Boston, on its way to Washington. The Common was all
alive with troops and the spectators who clustered round them to say
God-speed, as the brave fellows marched away to meet danger and death
for our sakes.
Every one was eager to do something; and, as the men stood at ease,
the people mingled freely with them, offering gifts, hearty grips of
the hand, and hopeful prophecies of victory in the end. Irresistibly
attracted, my boy Tom and I drew near, and soon, becoming excited by
the scene, ravaged the fruit-stands in our neighborhood for tokens of
our regard, mingling candy and congratulations, peanuts and prayers,
apples and applause, in one enthusiastic jumble.
While Tom was off on his third raid, my attention was attracted by
a man who stood a little apart, looking as if his thoughts were far
away. All the men were fine, stalwart fellows, as Maine men usually
are; but this one over-topped his comrades, standing straight and
tall as a Norway pine, with a face full of the mingled shrewdness,
sobriety, and self-possession of the typical New Englander. I liked
the look of him; and, seeing that he seemed solitary, even in a crowd,
I offered him my last apple with a word of interest. The keen blue
eyes met mine gratefully, and the apple began to vanish in vigorous
bites as we talked; for no one thought of ceremony at such a time.
"Where are you from?"
"Woolidge, ma'am."
"Are you glad to go?"
"Wal, there's two sides to that question. I calk'late to do my duty,
and do it hearty: but it _is_ rough on a feller leavin' his folks, for
good, maybe."
There was a sudden huskiness in the man's voice that was not
apple-skins, though he tried to make believe that it was. I knew a
word about home would comfort him, so I went on with my questions.
"It is very hard. Do you leave a family?"
"My old mother, a sick brother,--and Lucindy."
The last word was uttered in a tone of intense regret, and his brown
cheek reddened as he added hastily, to hide some embarrassment.--
"You see, Jim went last year, and got pretty well used up; so I felt
as if I'd ought to take my turn now. Mother was a regular old hero
about it and I dropped everything, and come off. Lucindy didn't think
it was my duty; and that made it awful hard, I tell you."
"Wives are less patriotic than mothers," I began; but he would not
hear Lucindy blamed, and said quickly,--
"She ain't my wife yet, but we calk'lated to be married in a month
or so; and it was wus for her than for me, women lot so on not being
disappointed. I _couldn't_ shirk, and here I be. When I git to work, I
shall be all right: the first wrench is the tryin' part."
Here he straightened his broad shoulders, and turned his face toward
the flags fluttering far in front, as if no backward look should
betray the longing of his heart for mother, home, and wife. I liked
that little glimpse of character; and when Tom returned with empty
hands, reporting that every stall was exhausted, I told him to find
out what the man would like best, then run across the street and get
it.
"I know without asking. Give us your purse, and I'll make him as happy
as a king," said the boy, laughing, as he looked up admiringly at
our tall friend, who looked down on him with an elder-brotherly air
pleasant to see. While Tom was gone, I found out Joe's name and
business, promised to write and tell his mother how finely the
regiment went off, and was just expressing a hope that we might meet
again, for I too was going to the war as nurse, when the order to
"Fall in!" came rolling down the ranks, and the talk was over. Fearing
Tom would miss our man in the confusion, I kept my eye on him till the
boy came rushing up with a packet of tobacco in one hand and a good
supply of cigars in the other. Not a romantic offering, certainly, but
a very acceptable one, as Joe's face proved, as we scrambled these
treasures into his pockets, all laughing at the flurry, while less
fortunate comrades helped us, with an eye to a share of these fragrant
luxuries by and by. There was just time for this, a hearty shake of
the big hand, and a grateful "Good-by, ma'am;" then the word was
given, and they were off. Bent on seeing the last of them, Tom and I
took a short cut, and came out on the wide street down which so many
troops marched that year; and, mounting some high steps, we watched
for our man, as we already called him.
As the inspiring music, the grand tramp, drew near, the old thrill
went through the crowd, the old cheer broke out. But it was a
different scene now than in the first enthusiastic, hopeful days.
Young men and ardent boys filled the ranks then, brave by instinct,
burning with loyal zeal, and blissfully unconscious of all that lay
before them. Now the blue coats were worn by mature men, some gray,
all grave and resolute: husbands and fathers, with the memory of wives
and children tugging at their heart-strings; homes left desolate
behind them, and before them the grim certainty of danger, hardship,
and perhaps the lifelong helplessness worse than death. Little of the
glamour of romance about the war now: they saw it as it was, a long,
hard task; and here were the men to do it well. Even the lookers-on
were different now. Once all was wild enthusiasm and glad uproar; now
men's lips were set, and women's smileless as they cheered; fewer
handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyes needed them; and sudden
lulls, almost solemn in their stillness, followed the acclamations
of the crowd. All watched with quickened breath and brave souls that
living wave, blue below, and bright with a steely glitter above, as
it flowed down the street and away to distant battle-fields already
stained with precious blood.
"There he is! The outside man, and tallest of the lot. Give him a
cheer, auntie: he sees us, and remembers!" cried Tom, nearly tumbling
off his perch, as he waved his hat, and pointed out Joe Collins.
Yes, there he was, looking up, with a smile on his brave brown face,
my little nosegay in his button-hole, a suspicious bulge in the pocket
close by, and doubtless a comfortable quid in his mouth, to cheer the
weary march. How like an old friend he looked, though we had only met
fifteen minutes ago; how glad we were to be there to smile back at
him, and send him on his way feeling that, even in a strange city,
there was some one to say, "God bless you, Joe!" We watched the
tallest blue cap till it vanished, and then went home in a glow of
patriotism,--Tom to long for his turn to come, I to sew vigorously on
the gray gown the new nurse burned to wear as soon as possible, and
both of us to think and speak often of poor Joe Collins and his
Lucindy. All this happened long ago; but it is well to recall those
stirring times,--to keep fresh the memory of sacrifices made for us by
men like these; to see to it that the debt we owe them is honestly,
gladly paid; and, while we decorate the graves of those who died, to
remember also those who still live to deserve our grateful care.