SIGNING THE PAPERS.
Thomas went to sleep at last, and, worn out by the fatigue and excitement
of the day, he slept long and soundly. His mother did not call him till
eight o'clock, and it was nine before he reached the store of his
employer, where the recital of the adventure of the preceding night proved
to be a sufficient excuse for his non-appearance at the usual hour.
In the course of the week Captain Benson had procured the necessary
authority to raise a company for three years or for the war. When he
exhibited his papers, he found twenty persons ready to put down their
names. A recruiting office was opened at the store, and every day added to
the list of brave and self-denying men who were ready to go forward and
fight the battles of liberty and union. The excitement in Pinchbrook was
fanned by the news which each day brought of the zeal and madness of the
traitors.
Thomas had made up his mind, even before his mother had been surprised
into giving her consent, that he should go to the war. At the first
opportunity, therefore, he wrote his name upon the paper, very much to the
astonishment of Captain Benson and his employer.
"How old are you, Tom?" asked the captain.
"I'm in my seventeenth year," replied the soldier boy.
"You are not old enough."
"I'm three months older than Sam Thompson; and you didn't even ask him how
old he was."
"He is larger and heavier than you are!"
"I can't help that. I'm older than he is, and I think I can do as much in
the way of fighting as he can."
"I don't doubt that," added the captain, laughing. "Your affair with
Squire Pemberton shows that you have pluck enough for anything. I should
be very glad to have you go; but what does your father say?"
"He hasn't said anything. He isn't at home. He went away before Sumter was
fired upon by the rebels."
"True--I remember. What does your mother say?"
"O, she is willing."
"Are you sure, Tom?"
"Of course, I am. Suppose you write something by which she can give her
consent, and she will sign it."
Captain Benson drew up the document, and when Tom went home to dinner, he
presented it to his mother for her signature.
"I hope you won't back out, mother," said he, as she put on her
spectacles, and proceeded to ascertain the contents of the document.
"Back out of what, Thomas?"
"I've signed the muster roll, and I belong to Captain Benson's company
now."
"You!" exclaimed Mrs. Somers, lowering the paper, and gazing earnestly
into the face of the young man, to discover whether he was in earnest.
"Yes, mother; you said you were willing, and I have signed the papers; but
Captain Benson wants your consent in writing, so that there shall be no
mistake about it."
The mother read the paper in silence and sadness, for the thought of
having her noble boy exposed to the perils of the camp and the march, the
skirmish and the battle, was terrible, and nothing but the most exalted
patriotism could induce a mother to give a son to his country.
"I don't want to sign this paper, Thomas," said she, when she had finished
reading it.
"Have you forgot what you said the other night, mother?"
"No, I haven't forgot it, and I feel now just as I did then. If there is
any real need of your going, I am willing you should go."
"Need? Of course there is need of soldiers. The President wasn't joking
when he called for seventy-five thousand men."
"But there are enough to go without you."
"That's just what everybody might say, and then there wouldn't be anybody
to go."
"But you are young, and not very strong."
"I'm old enough, and strong enough. When I can get a day to myself, I
don't think it's any great hardship to carry father's heavy fowling-piece
from sunrise to sunset; and I guess I can stand it to carry a musket as
long as any of them."
"You are only a boy."
"I shall be a man soon enough."
"When you have gone, John will want to go too."
"No, mother, I don't want to go into the army," said John, with a sly wink
at his brother. "I shall never be a soldier if I can help it."
"What am I going to do, if you all go off and leave me?" added Mrs.
Somers, trying hard to keep down a tear which was struggling for birth in
her fountain of sorrows.
"I don't think you will want for anything, mother. I'm sure I wouldn't
leave you, if I thought you would. I don't get but two dollars and a half
a week in the store, and I shall have eleven dollars a month in the army,
and it won't cost me any thing for board or clothes. I will send every
dollar I get home to you."
"You are a good boy, Thomas," replied Mrs. Somers, unable any longer to
restrain the tear.
"I know you and John both will do every thing you can for me. If your
father was only at home, I should feel different about it."
"He would believe in my fighting for my country, if he were here."
"I know he would," said Mrs. Somers, as she took the pen which Thomas
handed her, and seated herself at the table. "If you are determined to go,
I suppose you will go, whether I am willing or not."
"No, mother, I will not," added Thomas, decidedly. "I shouldn't have
signed the muster roll if you hadn't said you were willing. And if you say
now that you won't consent, I will take my name off the paper."
"But you want to go--don't you?"
"I do; there's no mistake about that: but I won't go if you are not
willing."
Mrs. Somers wrote her name upon the paper. It was a slow and difficult
operation to her, and during the time she was thus occupied, the rest of
the family watched her in silent anxiety. Perhaps, if she had not
committed herself on the eventful night when she fully believed that
Thomas had run away and joined the army, she might have offered more and
stronger objections than she now urged. But there was a vein of patriotism
in her nature, which she had inherited from her father, who had fought at
Bunker Hill, Brandywine, and Germantown, and which had been exemplified in
the life of her brother; and this, more than any other consideration,
induced her to sign the paper.
Thousands of loving and devoted mothers have given their sons to their
country in the same holy enthusiasm that inspired her. She was not a
solitary instance of this noble sacrifice, and if both her sons had been
men, instead of boys, she would not have interposed a single objection to
their departure upon a mission so glorious as that to which Thomas had now
devoted himself.
"There's my name, Thomas," said his mother, as she took off her
spectacles. "I've done it, and you have my free consent. You've always
been a good boy, and I hope you will always be a good soldier."
"I shall always try to do my duty, mother; and if ever I turn my back to a
rebel, I hope you'll disown me."
"Good, Tom!" exclaimed John, who had been deeply interested in the event
of the hour.
"Well, Thomas, I'd rather face two rebels than that bull dog you fit with
t'other night," added gran'ther Greene. "You are as bold as a lion,
Thomas."
"Do you think I can stand it, gran'ther?" added Tom, with a smile.
"Stand it? Well, Thomas, it's a hard life to be a soldier, and I know
something about it. When we marched from--"
"Dinner's ready," interposed Mrs. Somers, for gran'ther Greene had marched
that march so many times that every member of the family knew it by heart.
"There's one good thing about it, Tom," said John: "you have got a
first-rate captain."
"I'm thankful you are going with Captain Benson, for if there ever was a
Christian in Pinchbrook, he is the man," added Mrs. Somers.
"And all the company will be your own friends and neighbors," said
gran'ther Greene; "and that's something, I can tell you. I know something
about this business. When we marched from--"
"Have some more beans, brother?" asked Mrs. Somers. "You will be among
your friends, Thomas, as gran'ther says."
"That's a great thing, I can tell you," added the veteran. "Soldiers
should stick together like brothers, and feel that they are fighting for
each other, as well as for the country. Then, when you're sick, you want
friends. When we marched from Sackett's Harbor, there was a young
feller--"
"Have some more tea, brother?"
"Part of a cup, Nancy," replied the old man, who never took offence even
when the choicest stories of his military experience were nipped in the
bud.
After dinner, Thomas hastened back to the store. That day seemed to him
like an epoch in his existence, as indeed it was. He felt that he belonged
to his country now, and that the honor of that old flag, which had been
insulted by traitors, was committed to his keeping. He was taking up the
work where his grandfather had left it. He was going forth to fight for
his country, and the thought inspired him with a noble and generous
enthusiasm, before which all the aspirations of his youth vanished.
As he passed the house of Squire Pemberton, he bestowed a pitying
reflection upon the old traitor; but his mind was so full of the great
event which was dawning upon him, that he did not even think of the
exciting incidents which had occurred there. He had neither seen nor heard
any thing of the squire since he had escaped from the attic chamber.
Just beyond the squire's house he met Captain Barney, who was riding up to
the town hall.
"What's this I hear of you, Tom?" demanded the captain, as he reined in
his horse. "They say you have joined the company."
"Yes, sir. I have."
"Bravo! my boy. Good on your head! You ought to go out as a brigadier
general. What does your mother say?"
"I have her written consent in my pocket."
"All right. God bless you, my boy!" said the old salt, as he started his
horse.
"Thank you, sir. There's only one thing that troubles me."
"Eh? What's that, my boy?" demanded Captain Barney as he reined up the
horse again.
"I suppose you have heard of my scrape at Squire Pemberton's the other
night."
"Yes; and shiver my timbers if I didn't want to keelhaul the old traitor
when I heard of it."
"I don't care anything about the scrape, sir; only I'm afraid the squire
will bother my mother when I'm gone," said Thomas, with some diffidence.
"If he does, he'll settle the matter with Jack Barney," replied the
captain, decidedly.
"My father may never come back, you know, and if he does he will be a
beggar. He owes the squire a note, which will be due in June."
"I'll pay it myself!" roared Captain Barney. "Go and fight for your
country, Tom, like a man. I'll call and see your mother once a week, or
every day in the week, if you say so. She shall not want for any thing as
long as I have a shot in the locker."
"Thank you, Captain Barney; thank you, sir."
"I'll take care of your mother, my lad, and I'll take care of the squire.
He shall not foreclose that mortgage, Tom. Don't bother your head about
any of those things. You're a good boy, Tom, and I'll keep every thing all
right at home."
"Thank you, sir," repeated the soldier boy, as Captain Barney started his
horse again.
The captain was a retired shipmaster, of ample means, and Tom knew that he
was not only able, but willing, to do all he had promised. His heart was
lighter; a load had been removed from his mind.