[Illustration: 9071]
OU'RE in {063}luck, my boy,” and Bill Elliott's face showed genuine
pleasure as he shook hands with Ralph. “You are to show yourself at
headquarters and receive your reward, as the good boys in story books
always do.”
An orderly came up to Ralph, and said:--“You are wanted at
headquarters.”
Ralph proceeded to the officers' tent. For the first time he stood in
the presence of his commanding officers, and as he saluted respectfully,
a tall, kindly-faced man looked at him with some surprise.
“How old are you?” was the abrupt query, as the officer looked in the
beardless face of the boy.
“Nearly eighteen, sir.”
“Have you seen any service yet?”
“I was at Bull Run.”
The fine face clouded with sadness. “That was hard and tedious fighting.
You brought in a prisoner last night, whom we have strong reasons
to believe is a rebel spy. You have shown two qualities befitting a
soldier--pluck and forgetfulness of self. Your captain commends you to
me, and I have thought proper to make you a corporal.”
Ralph's heart beat loud and fast. What had he done to deserve this
honor?
“Your warrant will be handed to you, and you are expected to attend
strictly to all its requirements.”
To a general or a colonel the promotion would not seem very exalted; but
to this boy, who could not realize why he had been selected, it was as
if he had suddenly been lifted into the seventh {064}heaven To be
sure, it only meant two stripes on his jacket sleeve, and a trifle
of authority, but it also meant encouragement and notice from his
superiors, He could not answer, but, bowing low, he left the tent.
[9072]
“A board of inquiry must be appointed at once, and we'll see what this
lad whom Corporal Gregory brought in is doing within our lines.”
The boy was marched before them, but he parried all their questions, and
maintained a resolute and fearless mien.
“I have told you the truth,” he said proudly.
“I was going to make a visit when I was seized. You see I have no
weapons.”
“Spies do not always carry arms. Papers are more to their taste. You say
you came to see an uncle. Where does he live? Why did you visit him at
night?”
“I knew {065}that the enemy lay near us, and I didn't want to be taken
prisoner.”
“Where is this uncle?”
“He lives back of the bluff, on the right hand side of the road.”
“We'll invite him into our camp, and see if he'll own the relationship.”
[Illustration: 0073]
The boy's face flushed with wounded pride, as he answered scornfully:
“We call our old servants uncle and aunt. He is an old colored man, and
lives on this side of the river--one of our old slaves, whom my father
freed.”
“We'll send you to the guard-house until more is known about you,” was
the stern retort.
The boy was removed to the guard-house. To Ralph he was {066}an object
of much interest. His sympathies went out to him and he longed to say
something comforting.
And so when his turn to act as corporal of the guard, with the abrupt
frankness of youth, he blurted out:
“What were you doing over here the other night?”
[Illustration: 0074]
“I have given an account of myself to your superiors.”
“Don't be so lofty. I don't mean to be inquisitive, but I thought
you might like to know that I am awful sorry I brought you into this
trouble.”
The boys face softened.
“I don't know as you could do anything else under the circumstances.
{067}I suppose, in fact, I know, I'd have done just as you did. Perhaps
worse,” he muttered. “I might have shot you.”
“Then you don't hold any grudge against me?”
“Well, I can't pretend that I'm grateful to you for my detention in this
hole, but I can't blame you, either.”
“Were you really going to see the old slave you told the colonel about?”
An indescribable expression flitted across the boy's features. “I said
so once. My word is usually taken, where I am known. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, from curiosity, I suppose. You look too young to be very
dangerous.”
“I'm as old as you are. You look too young to be carrying arms against
your countrymen.”
“Oh, I'm going to help put down this rebellion.”
“A hard job you've selected. It is not a rebellion; it's an uprising
against meddlesome Yankee interference.”
Ralph's eyes flashed fire. “You don't mean to say that you justify the
South, do you?”
“I not only justify it, but am proud to belong to a people who can never
be subdued. Your people are trying to force us to give up our rights,
but we won't be driven. We have thousands of men in the field, who do
not know how to fear. And when their places are vacant, more are waiting
to fill them. We despise the North, and want to be a separate people.”
“You despise a government that has always protected you in all your
rights. You have no cause for wishing to be disunited. How dare you talk
so to me?”
“'Dare?' Am I not your equal? Why should I not speak when I am
insulted?”
“Don't talk treason to me again, then.”
“I am a prisoner,” the boy said, sadly, “innocent of any crime,
surrounded by foes and powerless. Were it not so you would not give me a
defiance.”
Ralph's conscience smote him. It did appear as if the odds were on
{068}his side, and with the quick generosity of youth he said--
“I am sorry for you. We will not quarrel.”
Not to be outdone in generosity, the other replied--“I believe you; but
we had better not talk about it any more, for we can never agree, and
we are both hot-headed. You see affairs in a different light from what I
do, that is all.”
The next day the youth was rigidly examined. He gave his name as Charles
Arlington, stated that he was merely crossing the river to look after
the old slave; that he had chosen the night-time as he heard the Union
pickets were thrown out, and he did not think, with his knowledge of
the stream, that he would be captured in the darkness. Meantime, the
soldiers had been searching, and had found an old half imbecile negro in
a little cabin half a mile back from the river, whom they brought into
camp, shaking with fear.
“Old man,” one of the soldiers said, “do you know this boy?”
“Yas, honey. I knows him well. I'se old Marsa Thomas' boy. I bin on his
old plantation since he was a baby. His mud-der was one of de----”
“Say, we don't care who his mother was. What do you know about the boy
standing there?”
“Yas, yas, I knows lots. Why, he was de littlest pickaninny of de
hull lot, and his father he say to me, 'Jim'--I was young and strong
den--'Jim, dis yere boy's gwine to be your young mastah some day, if
he ebber grows big enuff. And I tole him de sweetest posies were always
small, like de vi'lets and lilies ob de valley, and--”
“You black rascal, we don't want a dissertation on flowers. Tell us
about the young man standing there.”
“Yas, marsa, but you tole me to tell you all 'bout him, and doan't I hab
to begin at the beginning?”
“Well, go on,” the Colonel interposed. {069}
[Illustration: 0077]
“Dat ar chile dere was de idle of Massa Thomas' heart. My old woman,
Easter, who's dun been dead dese free years, nussed him. {070}And when
she died she cried mo' for leabing him alone in dis cold world dan she
did fer me. You see de boy's mudder was put under de roses when he was
only a few days in de world, and Easter she lubbed him mo' fer dat.
Oh, de old times kaint come back no mo'. Marsa Thomas is in de war wid
Gineral Johnston, and 'fore he went he say to me--'Jim, you'se been
a faiful old servant, and I gibs you yo freedom.' 'I doan't want it,
Marsa,' I say. 'Let me lib and die wid you,' 'Yo neber shall want,' he
kep' on, 'go lib in de little cabin toder side ob de ribber. You know he
owns bof sides ob dis yere big plantation. 'Go lib dar, and de chilluns
will look arter you.' An' bress dere hearts, dey all does care for po'
old Jim. But I fell sick wid some sort ob a feber, and de rest ob 'em
got a little scared like, all but dis yere chile. He neber left me till
I done got well and able to hoe my leetle truck patch. And now he's tuk
a prisoner, fer being kind to de po' ole man, who won't lib many years
longer, to git him into trubble.”
The old man's withered features shone with a light that was beautiful;
his utterance was choked, and the tears rolled down his black cheeks as
his simple eloquence found its way to the hearts of those who heard him.
“Sergeant, release the boy and let him go home. And while we stay here,
see that the old man is not molested.”
“Praise de Lawd! Bress you for yore kindness.”
The boy bowed courteously to the Colonel, and with a look of gratitude
he passed out of the officer's tent, with the old man hobbling after
him. As he approached Ralph he said, “Goodbye. We may meet again.”
It was not all danger and dread with the boys in the army. Weeks passed
swiftly, and fun reigned in camp. The gypsy life held charms for them
such as no indoor employment could offer. The men were hardy and strong,
and with light hearts talked of the battles yet in store for them.
And when jests were exchanged, often after having come from a scene of
carnage, it would be hard to believe that these same men were ready
to respond at any moment if summoned by the long roll of the drum into
action.
In {071}the early part of the war many little conveniences were provided
for the rank and file, among them being tents for shelter, which did not
keep out the cold, however, and many a man died from disease who would
have lived to fight, had he been properly housed. The second winter,
however, many huts were put up, rough enough, but better calculated to
withstand the cold than canvas.
[Illustration: 0079]
Each company had a “cook tent” and a cook, generally selected from
the men, the officers boasting a “cullered individual” who was always,
according to his own account, a “perfeshunal.” The culinary department
was ever a point of interest to the men, whose appetites were never so
dainty that they failed to enjoy their daily rations. No soldier, no
matter from what part of the North he came, {072}ever turned up his nose
at the beans, which were cooked in holes dug in the earth, and filled
with hot embers, in which the iron pot containing them was buried and
kept there all night.
To Bill Elliott fell the task of ministering to the hungry ones of his
company, and many were the compliments he received.
“You can broil a chicken as good as any French cook,” a man would
coaxingly declare.
[Illustration: 0080]
“Not a boughten one,” Bill replied; “somehow those kind of chickens the
sutler has on hand don't have the genooine flavor.”
The hint was always taken, and alas, for the poor farmer who had a nice
hen-roost, or a young porker in the sty. They had no regard for property
rights, and though they were not supposed to forage, except under
orders, yet the temptation was too strong to be resisted.
At {073}such times the cackling of the fowls, whose quiet was disturbed,
the melodious grunting of the pigs, who often led them a hard chase, and
the laughter and shouting of the pursuing soldiers, made a scene of wild
merriment never forgotten.
[Illustration: 90801]
But Ralph could not see the funny side of these depredations. To him it
was a clear wrong to take what did not belong to them. He never would
join them in these expeditions, a course which exposed him to much
ridicule for his “pious notions,” but which had no effect upon him.
Often their zeal in this direction brought its own punishment. On one of
these forays a long-legged, awkward fellow, who could outrun the fastest
chicken, chased an anxious hen into a thicket, where the grass was long
and rank. As he peered round for his game he spied a dozen or so eggs
shining in the sun. “Ah,” he said, “my lady hen is stealing a nest.
Well, they look white and fresh, and I'll just confiscate them.” His
pockets were full of sweet potatoes, he had a brace ot chickens slung
over his shoulders, he had lost his handkerchief, if he ever owned one,
and the problem was how to hold possession of the coveted prize.
“I know how I'll fix it. I'll put them in my cap. I can carry them all
right.”
The eggs were tenderly deposited therein, and he started for camp.
He heard the boys who were still engaged in the chase {074}laughing
boisterously, and saw Rob Douglass, one of the new recruits, with a rope
tied to one of the hind legs of a monstrous pig, who was jerking him
right and left, in quite an unmilitary fashion. Now he was nearly on the
animal's back, and next he was measuring his length on the ground, but
he never once released the rope, while the shouts and cheers of the boys
who were watching the contest made Rob more determined than ever to land
his prize at the cook's tent.
Zach Smith joined in the merriment and began to chaff Rob, whose face
was grimy with perspiration, while his dust-covered clothes looked as
though a good brushing and a few stitches would improve them materially.
Seeing Zach he called to him to help haul in the “critter.” The latter
started toward him, but Mrs. Piggie was of the same mind, for she turned
quickly and ran between his legs. Zach lost his balance and fell, and
as he instinctively shot out his hands to save his eggs his head struck
them squarely, while the liquid streaming down his face and neck sent
forth such an odor that the men, who had inhaled many strange ones since
leaving home, voted unanimously that that particular one “beat anything
on record.”
Zach made his way back to his tent, followed by the jibes of his
comrades, as he bade Rob, in very strong language, to settle the pig as
best he could while he attended to disinfecting himself.
[Illustration: 0082]