AFTER THE BATTLE.
Tom Somers floated with the tide of humanity that was setting away from
the scene of disaster and defeat. The panic that prevailed was even more
fearful than the battle, for wounded and dying men were mercilessly
trodden down by the feet of the horses, and run over by the wheels of the
cannon and the baggage wagons. Though the battle was ended, the rebels
still poured storms of shot and shell into the retreating, panic-stricken
host.
Tom did not know where to go, for there were panic and death on all sides
of him. The soldiers were flying in every direction, some of them into the
very arms of their remorseless enemies. But the woods seemed to promise
the most secure retreat from the fury of the Black Horse Cavalry, which
was now sweeping over the battle-field. The Zouave ran in this direction,
and our soldier boy followed him. Now that the excitement of the conflict
was over, the enthusiasm which had buoyed him up began to subside. The day
was lost; all hopes of glory had fled; and a total defeat and rout were
not calculated to add much strength to his over-tasked limbs.
He was nearly used up, and it was hard work to run--very hard work; and
nothing but the instinct of self-preservation enabled him to keep the tall
and wiry form of the Zouave in sight. They reached the ravine, where the
water was about three feet deep. The shot, and shell, and bullets still
fell in showers around them, and occasionally one of the luckless
fugitives was struck down. They crossed the stream, and continued on their
flight. An officer on horseback dashed by them, and bade them run with all
their might, or they would be taken.
"For Heaven's sake, get me some water!" said a rebel, who was wounded in
the leg, to a Zouave, who passed near him.
"You are a rebel, but I will do that for you," replied the Zouave; and he
gave him a canteen filled with water.
The rebel drank a long, deep draught, and then levelled his musket at the
head of his Samaritan enemy and fired. This transaction had occupied but a
moment, and Tom saw the whole. His blood froze with horror at the
unparalleled atrocity of the act. The Zouave, whom Tom had followed,
uttered a terrible oath, and snatching the musket from the hands of the
soldier boy, he rushed upon the soulless miscreant, and transfixed him
upon the bayonet. Uttering fierce curses all the time, he plunged the
bayonet again and again into the vitals of the rebel, till life was
extinct.
"Boy, I used to be human once," said the Zouave, when he had executed this
summary justice upon the rebel; "but I'm not human now. I'm all devil."
"What a wretch that rebel was!" exclaimed Tom, who seemed to breathe freer
now that retribution had overtaken the viper.
"A wretch! Haven't you got any bigger word than that, boy? He was a fiend!
But we mustn't stop here."
"I thought the rebels were human."
"Human? That isn't the first time to-day I've seen such a thing as that
done. Come along, my boy; come along."
Tom followed the Zouave again; but he was too much exhausted to run any
farther. Even the terrors of the Black Horse Cavalry could not inspire him
with strength and courage to continue his flight at any swifter pace than
a walk.
"I can go no farther," said he, at last.
"Yes, you can; pull up! pull up! You will be taken if you stop here."
"I can't help it. I can go no farther. I am used up."
"Pull up, pull up, my boy!"
"I can't."
"But I don't want to leave you here. They'll murder you--cut your throat,
like a dog."
"I will hide myself in the bushes till I get a little more strength."
"Try it a little longer. You are too good a fellow to be butchered like a
calf," added the generous Zouave.
But it was no use to plead with him, for exhausted nature refused to
support him, and he dropped upon the ground like a log.
"Poor fellow! I would carry you in my arms if I could."
"Save yourself if you can," replied Tom, faintly.
The kind-hearted fireman was sorry to leave him, but he knew that one who
wore his uniform could expect no mercy from the rebels. They had been too
terrible upon the battle-field to receive any consideration from those
whom they had so severely punished. He was, therefore, unwilling to trust
himself to the tender mercies of the cavalry, who were sweeping the fields
to pick up prisoners; and after asking Tom's name and regiment, he
reluctantly left him.
Tom had eaten nothing since daylight in the morning, which, added to the
long march, and the intense excitement of his first battle-field, had
apparently reduced him to the last extremity. Then, for the first time, he
realized what it was to be a soldier. Then he thought of his happy
home--of his devoted mother. What must she not suffer when the telegraph
should flash over the wires the intelligence of the terrible disaster
which had overtaken the Union army! It would be many days, if not weeks or
months, before she could know whether he was dead or alive. What anguish
must she not endure!
He had but a moment for thoughts like these before he heard the sweep of
the rebel cavalry, as they dashed down the road through the woods. He must
not remain where he was, or the record of his earthly career would soon be
closed. On his hands and knees he crawled away from the road, and rolled
himself up behind a rotten log, just in season to escape the observation
of the cavalrymen as they rode by the spot.
Here and there in the woods were the extended forms of Federals and
rebels, who had dragged their wounded bodies away from the scene of mortal
strife to breathe their last in this holy sanctuary of nature, or to
escape from the death-dealing shot, and the mangling wheels that rumbled
over the dead and the dying. Close by the soldier boy's retreat lay one
who was moaning piteously for water. Tom had filled his canteen at a brook
on the way, and he crawled up to the sufferer to lave his dying thirst. On
reaching the wounded man, he found that he was a rebel, and the fate of
the Zouave who had done a similar kindness only a short time before
presented itself to his mind.
"Water! Water! For the love of God, give me a drop of water," moaned the
dying soldier.
Tom thought of the Zouave again, and had almost steeled his heart against
the piteous cry. He turned away.
"Water! Water! If you are a Christian give me some water," groaned the
sufferer.
Our soldier boy could no longer resist the appeal. He felt that he could
not be loved on earth or forgiven in heaven if he denied the petition of
the dying rebel; but before he granted it, he assured himself that the
sufferer had no dangerous weapon in his possession. The man was deadly
pale; one of his arms hung useless by his side; and he was covered with
blood. He was a terrible-looking object, and Tom felt sick and faint as he
gazed upon him.
Placing his canteen at the lips of the poor wretch, he bade him drink. His
frame quivered as he clutched the canteen with his remaining hand. The
death damp was on his forehead; but his eye lighted up with new lustre as
he drank the grateful beverage.
"God bless you! God bless you!" exclaimed he as he removed the canteen
from his lips. "You are a Yankee," he added, as he fixed his glazing eyes
upon Tom's uniform. "Are you wounded?"
"No; I am worn out. I have eaten nothing since daylight, and not much
then. I am used up."
"Put your hand in my haversack. There is something there," gasped the
dying man.
Tom bent over him to comply with the invitation; but, with a thrill of
horror, he started back, as he listened to the death-rattle in the throat
of the rebel, and saw his eyes fixed and lustreless in death. It was an
awful scene to the inexperienced youth. Though he had seen hundreds fall
in the battle of that day, death had not seemed so ghastly and horrible to
him as now, when he stood face to face with the grim monster. For a few
moments he forgot his own toil-worn limbs, his craving hunger, and his
aching head.
He gazed upon the silent form before him, which had ceased to suffer, and
he felt thankful that he had been able to mitigate even a single pang of
the dying rebel. But not long could he gaze, awe-struck, at the ghastly
spectacle before him, for he had a life to save. The words of the
sufferer--his last words--offering him the contents of his haversack
recurred to him; but Tom's sensibilities recoiled at the thought of eating
bread taken from the body of a dead man, and he turned away.
"Why shouldn't I take it?" said he to himself. "It may save my life. With
rest and food, I may escape. Pooh! I'll not be a fool!"
Bending over the dead man, he resolutely cut the haversack from his body,
and then returned to the log whose friendly shelter had screened him from
the eyes of the rebel horsemen. Seating himself upon the ground, he
commenced exploring the haversack. It contained two "ash-cakes," a slice
of bacon, and a small bottle. Tom's eyes glowed with delight as he gazed
upon this rich feast, and, without waiting to say grace or consider the
circumstances under which he obtained the materials for his feast, he
began to eat. Ash-cake was a new institution to him. It was an Indian cake
baked in the ashes, probably at the camp-fires of the rebels at Manassas.
It tasted very much like his mother's johnny-cake, only he missed the
fresh butter with which he had been wont to cover the article at home.
The soldier boy ate the bacon, and ate both of the cakes, though each of
the latter was about the size of a saucer. It was a large meal, even for a
growing boy; but every mouthful seemed to put a new sinew into his frame.
While he was eating, he drew the cork from the bottle. It contained
whiskey. Tom had heard that there was virtue in whiskey; that it was
invigorating to a tired man, and he was tempted, under these extremely
trying circumstances, to experiment upon the beverage. He would certainly
have been excusable if he had done so; but our hero had a kind of horror
of the article, which would not let him even taste it. He was afraid that
he should acquire a habit which would go with him through life, and make
him what Hapgood and others whom he knew were--a torment to themselves,
and a nuisance to their fellow-beings. Putting the cork in the bottle, he
threw it upon the ground.
With his renewed strength came renewed hope; but he did not deem it
prudent to wander about the woods at present: therefore he threw himself
on the ground under the protecting log to obtain the repose he so much
needed.
He thought of home, and wondered whether he should ever see the cottage of
his parents again; and while he was thinking, overcome by the excitement
and fatigue of the day, he dropped asleep. It was strange that he could do
so, consciously environed by so many perils; but he had in a measure
become callous to danger, and he slept long and deep.
When he awoke, it was dark and silent around him. The roar of battle had
ceased, and the calm of death seemed to have settled upon the scene of
strife. Tom's bones still ached; but he was wonderfully refreshed by the
nap he had taken. He had no idea of the time, and could not tell whether
he had slept one hour or six. He was strong enough to walk now, and the
first consideration was to escape from the vicinity of the rebel camps;
but he had no conception of where he was, or what direction would lead him
to the Federal lines.
A kind Providence had watched over him thus far; had spared his life in
the fury of battle; had fed him in the wilderness, like Elijah of old; and
restored his wasted strength. He could only trust to Providence for
guidance, and, using his best judgment in choosing the direction, he
entered upon the difficult task of finding his way out of the woods. He
had walked an hour or more, when, suddenly, three men sprung up in the
path before him.
"Halt! Who comes there?" demanded one of them.
"Friend!" replied Tom; though he had a great many doubts in regard to the
truth of his assertion.
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign!"
But the soldier boy had no countersign to give. He had fallen upon a rebel
picket post, and was made a prisoner.