THE DRUMMER-BOY OF THE TWENTY-SIXTH.
After the departure of the regiment there came to us a season of
languor and depression. We had been in a state of unnatural excitement
for weeks, and the reaction was inevitable. But for the letters
received regularly from our absent boys, and which were read and talked
over by all, and the Society meetings, where we came together to pray
and work for the soldiers, I think we should have experienced a social
stagnation.
Lilian Grey, now more than ever our “sunbeam,” as we loved to call her,
was out of town for a few weeks, and as Elinor seldom left her mother,
who was suffering more than usual, we saw very little of our neighbors
in the Tyrrell House. Mr. Fenton seemed a moody, disappointed man,
soured by a sense of injustice which he had no power to punish and no
inclination to forgive.
Even Miss Letty, who had always seemed to possess an unfailing fountain
of cheerfulness and hope, now wore at times a clouded brow when no
tidings came from Willie, or the news from the front was unusually
warlike. She was cheered, however, by continued reports of Willie’s
good conduct and popularity with the regiment, whose pet he had been
from the first. Of his courage there could be no question, for he
had been in several severe engagements, and boy as he was, had stood
unflinchingly by the side of the bravest.
On one occasion, at the close of a hard fought skirmish, when a furious
charge of the enemy’s cavalry had driven back his regiment, a division
commander riding over the spot soon after, found Willie beating a
tattoo on his drum as coolly as if he had been on parade.
“What are you doing here, my little fellow?” said the general.
“You see, sir,” he replied, giving the military salute, “I didn’t know
but some of our boys might be about, and I thought I’d let them know
there was a drummer here, in case they wanted to form again.”
“But what if the enemy should return, and find you here alone?”
“If they should, sir, this is my place, and I’d rather they’d find me
here than skulking, any way.”
“Here’s an unfledged hero for you,” was the exclamation of the general
as he rode on; and the next day Willie was called out and publicly
thanked by the commander in the presence of all the troops. “It was an
instance of bravery which would have done honor to a veteran.” Such
were the words of the general, and a happy woman was his aunt as she
read them in a letter written by Robert Lester on the occasion.
Then came to us the news of the invasion of Maryland by the rebels, and
in a few days the battle of Antietam flashed over the wires, and with
others we exulted in the victory, little thinking how deeply it was to
affect us, for we supposed the Twenty-sixth to be in a division at some
distance from the seat of war.
But a few days served to undeceive us; and then, as the “terrible list”
of killed and wounded was read with dimming eyes and blanched cheeks,
we learned how fearful was the loss our own troops had sustained.
Robert Lester, who had risen rapidly from the ranks, and had been made
captain on the field at Williamsburg, was wounded, it was thought,
mortally. Our dear little Willie had lost an arm, and Lieut. Wiley,
the bridegroom of an hour, had fallen gloriously at the head of his
company, while cheering them on. Many others whom we knew and loved had
also died on the field, rendered immortal by their bravery.
In the evening of the day on which the news reached us, I went to the
parsonage, and found our good clergyman preparing to start for Maryland
to look after our wounded, and to bring home the body of Lieut. Wiley.
Poor Mabel had been overwhelmed by the sad intelligence, and as her
mother was wholly occupied with the heart-broken girl, there was no one
to assist Mr. Ryder; but Miss Letty came in soon after me, and she was
a host in herself. She was very pale, but cheerful and efficient as
ever, thinking of everybody and every thing, and bringing order out of
confusion by the magic of her touch. When I expressed the hope that she
would remain at the parsonage with Mrs. Ryder and Mabel, she answered,
“Bless you, dear, you don’t suppose I could stay here, and little
Willie lying with an arm cut off at Hagerstown; do you? There is nobody
can do for him as I can, who am like a mother to him; and if they
could, I shouldn’t be willing to have them. No, no, I am going to start
to-night with Mr. Ryder, and I shall count the minutes till we get
there.”
“But have you no preparations to make for yourself for such a journey?”
I inquired.
“Oh, my preparations were all made hours ago, as soon as I heard the
news. I have put up every thing I shall be likely to want for my boy;
and as for myself, I am always ready, you know. There is nothing to
be done but to fix up Mr. Ryder and be off. Miss Lilian and poor Fanny
Lester are going with us, to see the captain, if he’s alive; and who
knows but their going may save his life, if he isn’t dead when they get
there. Some folks will blame Miss Lilian for going; but Fanny can’t
go without her, and she wont care much for talk when she thinks she’s
doing right.”
I saw the little company off a few hours later, and a sorrowful parting
it was, though Miss Letty and Lilian tried hard to assume a courage
they did not feel, to comfort Fanny Lester, whose grief was terrible
to witness; and how I loved and admired Lilian, when I saw her so
forgetful of self, soothing and sustaining the weeping sister, while
her own heart was bleeding silently. This young girl was not one to
proclaim her sorrow on the house-tops, or to make noisy demands for
sympathy. When the iron entered her soul, she would turn away quietly
from observation, and pursuing her daily round of duty, pour the tale
of her suffering into the ear of Infinite pity alone.
It may be that I am about to betray Miss Letty’s confidence; but her
letters from Hagerstown were such faithful transcripts of her heart and
character, that I cannot resist the temptation to give a few extracts
from them to my readers.
“... I wish I could give you some idea of the hospitals here, but I
can’t begin to describe them. The rooms look airy and clean enough;
but, Oh dear, those long rows of beds, with poor suffering, maimed,
dying heroes lying on them, some with faces paler than the sheets, some
burning up with fever, and all having such a tired, anxious look, as
if they wanted somebody to comfort them; and, poor fellows, they do
need it bad enough, I can tell you. I should have been glad to stop and
say a kind word to every one of them, but a nurse hurried me on to a
little room beyond the large one, with three or four beds in it, and
there, on a cot, I found my boy, looking as white and weak as could be,
but just as pleasant as ever.
“He was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake him, so I took a chair very
softly, and sat down close by the dear little fellow till his nap was
out. The first I knew, the tears were dripping, dripping into my lap
just like rain. I’m sure I’d no thought of crying in that place, but
there were tears in my heart when I saw that dear little face all drawn
up with pain in his sleep, and when I thought about that arm that had
been round my neck so often, and never would be any more. By and by he
waked up, and when he saw me sitting there, he gave one shout, and if
the sun had been shining right into his eyes, they couldn’t have been
any brighter. That one look would have paid me for all the journey, if
I hadn’t done a single thing for him.
“‘Oh, aunty,’ says he, ‘I was just dreaming that you had come, and it
seemed so good to have you over me once more, and now here you are. I
don’t know what to say, our Father is so good to me.’
“It was as much as I could do to speak, but I made out to tell him I
had come to stay and take care of him till he could go home with me.
“He gave his head a little shake, just as he used to when he wasn’t
certain about a thing, and said,
“‘I don’t think much about going to that home, Aunt Letty; I’m a
little boy, you know, to have an arm cut off, and mine isn’t doing very
well, I know from the doctor’s looks. But it will all come out right;’
and such a smile as there was on his face. ‘And now, dear aunty, give
me another kiss, and I’ll turn over and go to sleep again; and I wish
you could too, you look so tired.’
“I told him I wasn’t tired, and then I shook up his pillow, and he
turned over and went right to sleep like the lamb he is.
“All this while there had been a pair of great black eyes watching
me ever so wishfully the other side of the room; so when Willie was
asleep, I thought I’d find out who they belonged to. I went over to the
bed, and found a poor young fellow eighteen years old, who looked as if
he couldn’t live twenty-four hours.
“‘Is there any thing I can do for you?’ said I, for I felt awfully to
see him lie there looking so pitiful.
“‘O yes, ma’am,’ said he; ‘if you will only speak a few kind words to
me, and smooth my hair as you did little Willie’s, it would do me so
much good. I thought when I saw you kiss his forehead, if my mother
could only come and do that, it would be easier to die.’
“‘Well, my dear boy,’ said I, ‘I a’n’t your mother, nor any of your
relation; but I’m a fellow-creature, and I feel for you, and am willing
to do any thing I can to make you comfortable.’
“So I got some bay-rum from a nurse, and bathed his hot hands and face,
and brushed his hair and smoothed his pillow, and then I gave him just
such a kiss as I did Willie, and I a’n’t ashamed to own it. The big
tears were in his eyes, and he said,
“‘I didn’t think any thing in the world could do me so much good. It
seems as if mother was here, and I thank you a thousand times.’
“Then I asked him if there was any thing more he wanted, and what do
you think he said?
“‘If you could only read a few verses out of my Bible and pray with me,
I should be so glad. I’m going to die, and I a’n’t afraid to go, but I
do want somebody to read and pray with me first.’
“Only think of that; for me, who never dared to speak loud in any
meeting at home, to be asked to pray with a sick man in a hospital! It
was like a blow to me, and for a minute I didn’t know what to say; but
there were those eyes looking right through me, and he said softly,
‘If you only could.’ So I plucked up courage, and said, ‘I _will_,’
and then I shut to the door and read a chapter in a low voice, just
so he could hear me, and tried to ask God to help and comfort the poor
boy, for he was nothing more. When I got through, he took hold of my
hand, and said, ‘I can’t thank you for your kindness as I want to, but
God will reward you, I’m sure. Take the blessing of a dying man, and
remember you have comforted my last hours.’
“I was ashamed to hear him speak so; for after all, what had I done to
deserve thanks for?
“He died the next day, and I staid by him all I could when Willie
didn’t need me, and wrote a letter to his mother just as he gave the
words to me only an hour or two before he breathed his last. Poor
woman! I pitied her, for he was a noble-looking fellow, and one that
feared God, and I know a mother must have set a great store by such a
son.”
In another letter she wrote,
“My little Willie is getting along very slowly, and the doctors look
sober about him, and I know they’re afraid he’s going into a decline.
His mother died of that, and they say the shock to his system has been
so great that it may not be able to rally again. But he’s just as happy
as the day is long, and says if he had twenty arms, he’d be willing to
give them all for his country.
“I don’t see much of the captain or Miss Lilian, for he is in another
building where the officers are; and he’s so low, they don’t let
anybody visit him unless they have a special permit from the doctor. I
believe they have a little more hope of him than they had at first, but
Miss Lilian says his life hangs by a single thread. Dear Miss Lilian,
she looks tired and pale, but her smile is just as bright as ever, and
when she comes to see Willie, it always cheers him up, like a breath
of fresh air or a bunch of flowers.”
[Illustration]
While Miss Letty was away in Hagerstown, a letter came to the Fenton’s
from their absent son, who was a prisoner in our lines, and had been
severely wounded, bringing the joyful intelligence that he had taken
from his heart the oath of allegiance to the dear old flag. As soon as
he could travel he would come home for a short visit, and then join the
Union army. He told them how he had been left for dead on the field at
Williamsburg, and that a little drummer-boy chanced to find him; that
he brought him water at the risk of his own life, and finally had him
carried from the field by some members of the Twenty-sixth, to which
regiment the boy belonged.
While in the hospital there, he said little Willie visited him often
at his own special request, and to the artless conversation of this
child he attributed his first convictions of the wrong course he had
been pursuing. “It was the last thing he thought of,” the letter
concluded, “to teach me, whom he regarded as greatly his superior; but
his thoughts, so far beyond his years, brought to mind the neglected
lessons of my precious mother, and now, if I am like the repenting
prodigal, I owe it, under God, to that dear boy, whose heroism is only
equalled by the kindness of his heart.”
It will be readily believed that the Fentons were enthusiastic in
their expressions of love and gratitude to Willie for the signal
service he had rendered them, and a letter was sent at once to Miss
Letty informing her of the facts, and entreating her to bring the dear
invalid to the Tyrrell House immediately on her return.
It was a lovely evening in early autumn when Miss Letty and her charge
came back to us, and the first glance at Willie’s pale, sweet face
told us that his days were numbered. Yet his spirits were so buoyant,
his enjoyment of every thing so earnest and childlike, it was hard to
believe that he was indeed passing away from earth.
When I first visited him at the Tyrrell House, he was sitting up in an
easy-chair in a room overlooking the garden, and with choice flowers
all about him. He smiled as I took his hand and inquired after his
health, saying,
“I’m quite well, and so happy. I can’t think what makes everybody so
kind to me. I don’t deserve it at all, but God puts it into their
hearts, and I thank him for it. If dear Miss Lilian was only here; but
I’m so glad she’s with the captain.”
“Were you in Captain Lester’s company?” I asked.
“O yes, he got me transferred; and, Mrs. Glenn, I don’t think there’s
another man in the world like Captain Lester.”
“In what respect, Willie?”
“In every thing. The men all love him so, they’d give their lives for
him; and yet he’s very strict, and wont have any drinking or gambling
or swearing in the camp. They have to do just right, and then he’s the
kindest man I ever saw. If anybody is sick or in trouble, they know
where to go for help; and when the chaplain is away, he prays and reads
a sermon to the men in the big tent every Sunday. Oh dear, I do hope
he wont die.” And the tears, which no sufferings of his own could call
forth, fell fast for those of his beloved captain.
“Willie,” I said, “do you remember any thing about being wounded, and
how you felt then?”
“Not much at first. It is all like a confused dream; how we marched all
day to get up with the army; how we lay down to escape the shot and
shell that the rebs were pouring into us; and at last, how the captain
called out to us, ‘Now, boys, is your time!’ and then we went in on
the double-quick, till we were in the thickest of it. It seems somehow
as if that was years ago; but all at once, when I was beating my drum
as hard as I could, I felt as if I was falling down ever so far, and I
didn’t know any thing more for a good while.
“When I came to myself, the fighting was over, and the rebs all gone;
but I was so weak that I couldn’t stir nor speak, and I thought my time
had come; but I didn’t feel afraid to die.
“You remember, ma’am, the time of that revival in the Sabbath-school,
when several of the children were admitted to the church? I think I
gave my heart to the Saviour then; and though Aunt Letty thought I
was too young to come forward with them, I have always loved my Bible
better than any other book; and when I lay there, I tried to look up to
the Lord Jesus, but my eyes were heavy, and wouldn’t keep open. Then
it seemed as if angels were all round me, and I forgot my pain and how
much I wanted water, and went to sleep again. The next thing I knew, I
was in the hospital, and my arm gone.”
I was affected to tears by this simple recital, and could hardly
command my voice to say,
“But, Willie, you have always been very full of life and activity; does
it never seem hard to you to lose your arm, and to be shut up here so
sick, and perhaps to die?”
His face flushed, and he looked up in surprise, but soon answered
pleasantly,
“Oh, you are only asking that to try me; you couldn’t mean it in
earnest, I’m sure. Why, there never was any boy who had so many
blessings as I have. In the first place, it was such goodness in God
to let me go out with the regiment, such a poor little fellow as I
am. Then when I was hurt, he sent dear Aunt Letty to take care of me,
and bring me home here to such a nice place, and such kind friends.
It isn’t any matter about my arm, for when I die I’ll have wings, you
know, and so it will never be missed.”
Dear young disciple! So early and plainly taught of the blessed
Saviour, what could older Christians do but sit at thy feet and learn
wisdom from thy simple, childlike words?
While I still lingered, unable to tear myself away from a scene so
peaceful and hallowed, Mrs. Flint came in, and took a seat by his side.
Her looks and voice were carefully graduated to suit the occasion as
she said,
“I am glad to see you so comfortable, and hope, my dear child, that the
chastisement of the Lord is doing you good. Do you feel that this is
the case?”
Willie was a brave, happy boy naturally, and religion had added to
these traits a firm trust in God as his Father, through Jesus Christ,
so he smiled as he answered,
“I don’t know, ma’am; I hope I love the Saviour, and I know he loves
me, and he gives me so many blessings I don’t think much about
punishment. I don’t feel as if he was angry with me, when he has died
for me, and I want to please him more than any thing else in the world.”
“I am afraid, my dear,” she replied, “that you do not realize how great
a sinner you are, if you think you don’t deserve punishment for your
sins.”
“No indeed, it isn’t that,” Willie exclaimed, while his cheeks flushed
with the excitement of his feelings. But Miss Letty could keep silence
no longer, and interrupted him, saying,
“Mrs. Flint, my little Willie can’t talk much now, but I think he lives
religion better than a great many of us. He means, and I say, that
though we don’t deserve any thing but punishment for our sins, it isn’t
always a sign that God is angry with us when he lets us suffer in this
world. He wasn’t angry with Job, when he allowed Satan to try him so;
nor with Daniel, when he was put into the lions’ den; but he did it to
show what religion could do for people when they are in the worst of
troubles. I believe it’s just so nowadays; and that God is nearer to us
sometimes when every thing seems to go wrong, than he is when it’s fair
weather and smooth sailing.”
“That may be so,” replied Mrs. Flint, “but don’t you think there’s
danger of making the way of religion too easy, so that people will
think they are Christians when they are not?”
“I don’t think we have any thing to do with making the way hard or
easy. We must take it just as Jesus Christ left it; and he says, ‘I
love them that love me, and those that seek me early shall find me.’ I
don’t read that any thing but repentance and faith in the Saviour, and
renewing by the Holy Spirit, is necessary to be a humble Christian;
and I am sure the Saviour never turned away any one who came to him in
earnest, and wanted to be his disciple. But Willie is getting tired,
and it wont do to talk any longer.”
The visitor departed, leaving the little invalid weary and feverish,
until soothed by the gentle ministrations of Miss Letty and Elinor
Fenton. Why is it that some individuals, who pass in society for good
people, have the unenviable talent of making every one uncomfortable
with whom they come in contact? Under all the velvet of their
professions, the claws continually lacerate, even while they seem to
caress. There are few communities in which some of these specimens of
humanity may not be found; and it is sad when they wear the garb of
religion, and pretend to be holier than others, while doing the work
of him who has sought from the beginning to foment strife and jealousy
among brethren.
During the fall, Willie had several attacks of hemorrhage of the
lungs, which rapidly wasted his strength; but he was still the same
happy, trusting, loving boy, enjoying life with all a boy’s enthusiasm,
yet welcoming death with perfect serenity.
On one of the last days of the Indian summer, when a golden haze lay
on every thing, softening the landscape and giving to autumn more than
the beauty of spring, I was called to see Willie die. I found him
sitting up in bed, gasping for breath, and his forehead damp with the
death-dew; but his eye was still clear, and on his lips was a smile
bright with heaven’s own radiance. “Dear Willie,” I said, “you are
almost home.”
“O yes, I like this home very much, but that one is better. I am where
Christian was when he began to cross the river, and in a little while I
shall be over.”
Bunyan’s inimitable allegory was his favorite book, and he had it
almost by heart. While in camp it had been his greatest pleasure to
repeat portions of it to the listening soldiers, by whom “Willie’s
stories” were preferred to any other. And now on his dying-bed the
pilgrim was to him a living friend who had crossed the stream just
before him, and whom he was about to join in the Celestial City.
“Willie,” said Mr. Ryder, “have you no wish to live?”
“To live!” he repeated with animation; “why, don’t you know I am just
going to live? Oh, if you could only see what I see, such beautiful
angels with shining wings, and hear the sweet music, you would be
willing to die too, so that you could go and live with them.”
The eloquence of look and tone with which this was said is
indescribable. He lay quietly for a few moments with closed eyes, then
suddenly turning to Miss Letty, who was weeping, he said,
“Dear aunty, you told me of Jesus, and taught me how to seek him, and
now I am going to live with him for ever. Perhaps he will let me fly
down to you sometimes, and whisper to you about heaven when you are
sorrowful; I should love to so much. If I could only have seen the
captain and Miss Lilian once more; but no matter, they’ll come, you’ll
all come home by and by.”
His voice failed, and he seemed almost gone, when raising his hand, he
whispered,
“They are all coming, mother; it is light, all light;” and then with
one long tremulous sigh, the ransomed spirit fled, leaving the impress
of its happiness.
We buried him in a quiet spot, selected by himself near his childhood’s
home, and a plain marble slab, with the inscription, “OUR WILLIE,”
marks his resting-place. His drum, a beautiful and richly ornamented
one given him by his regiment after the battle of Malvern Hills, and
which he kept constantly near him through all his illness, was enclosed
in a glass case, and placed at the head of his grave. We shall see
him no more on earth, but the memory of the little drummer-boy is
still cherished in the hearts of many who loved him here, and who hope
to meet him in the better land where “sorrow and parting are sounds
unknown.”