IN THE HOSPITAL.
The night was very dark, so that the rebels in the boat could not
distinguish the uniform of those who had applied for a passage on the
schooner. Perhaps Tom Somers's experience in the Blue Ridge and on the
Shenandoah had improved his strategic ability, so that his words and his
manner seemed plausible. But as strategy and cunning always owe their
success to the comparative stupidity of the victims, Tom and his
companions gained the half-deck of the schooner more by the palpable
blundering of her crew than through the brilliancy of their own scheme.
Tom did not stop, in the midst of the exciting enterprise, to determine
the particular reason of his success, as we, his humble biographer, have
done. He was on the enemy's ground, and confronting the enemy's forces,
and logic was as much out of place as rebellion in a free republican
country. He was closely followed by Hapgood, and at a later period by Fred
Pemberton. The nerves of the latter were not remarkably steady, and as he
stepped on board the schooner, he neglected to take the painter with him;
and the consequence was, that the boat went adrift. It is good generalship
to keep the line of retreat open; and Fred's neglect had deprived them of
all means of retiring from the scene of action. The only alternative was
to fight their way through, and find safety in success.
To Tom's reply, that the party were Massachusetts soldiers, the rebel who
had acted as spokesman for the crew, uttered a volley of oaths, expressive
of his indignation and disgust at the sudden check which had been given to
their prosperous voyage.
"Surrender!" repeated Tom, in energetic tones.
Two of the rebels at the stern discharged their pistols in answer to the
summons--a piece of impudence which our Massachusetts soldiers could not
tolerate; and they returned the fire. The secessionists evidently carried
revolvers; and a turn of the barrel enabled them to fire a second volley,
which the soldiers were unable to do, for they had no time to load their
guns.
"O!" groaned Fred, as he sunk down upon the half-deck. "I'm hit."
"We can't stand this, Hapgood," said Tom, fiercely, as he leaped into the
midst of the party in the standing room. "Let's give them the bayonet."
"Give it to 'em, Tom!" replied the veteran, as he placed himself by the
side of his young companion.
"Will you surrender?" demanded Tom, as he thrust vigorously with his
bayonet.
"We surrender," replied one of the men; but it was not the one who had
spoken before, for he had dropped off his seat upon the bottom of the
boat.
"Give up your pistols, then," added Hapgood. "You look out for the boat,
Tom, and I will take care of these fellows."
Tom sprang to the position which had been occupied by the spokesman of the
party, and grasping the foresheet and the tiller of the boat, he soon
brought her up to the wind. Seating himself in the stern, he assumed the
management of the schooner, while Hapgood busied himself in taking the
pistols from the hands of the rebels, and exploring their pockets, in
search of other dangerous weapons.
"How are you, Fred?" shouted Tom, when the pressing business of the moment
had been disposed of. "Are you much hurt?"
"I'm afraid my time's most up," replied he, faintly.
"Where are you hit?"
"In the face; the ball went through my head, I suppose," he added, in
tones that were hardly audible, in the warring of the December blast.
"Keep up a good heart, Fred, and we will soon be ashore. Have you got an
easy place?"
"No, the water dashes over me."
"Can't you move him aft, Hapgood?"
"Pretty soon; when I get these fellows fixed," replied the veteran, who
had cut the rope nearest to his hands, and was securing the arms of the
prisoners behind them.
"There is no fear of them now. We have got two revolvers apiece, and we can
have it all our own way, if they show fight."
But Hapgood had bound the rebels by this time, and with tender care he
lifted his wounded companion down into the standing room, and made him as
comfortable as the circumstances would permit.
"Now, where are we, Hapgood?" asked Tom, who had been vainly peering ahead
to discover some familiar object by which to steer. I can't see the first
thing."
"I don't know where we are," replied Hapgood. "I never was much of a
sailor, and I leave the navigating all to you."
"I can navigate well enough, if I knew where we were," added Tom, who had
thus far been utterly unable to ascertain the "ship's position."
During the brief struggle for the possession of the schooner, she had
drifted some distance, which had caused the new commander to lose his
bearings. The shore they had just left had disappeared, as though it had
been swallowed up by an earthquake. No lights were allowed on shore, where
they could be seen from the river, for they afforded so many targets to
the artillerymen in the rebel batteries. The more Tom tried to discover a
familiar object to steer by, the more it seemed as though the land and
everything else had been cut adrift, and emigrated to foreign parts. Those
who have been in a boat in a very dark night, or in a dense fog, will be
able to appreciate the bewilderment of the skipper of the captured
schooner.
"Look out, Tom, that you don't run us into some of those rebel batteries,"
said Hapgood, after he had watched the rapid progress of the boat for a
few moments. "A shot from a thirty-two pounder would be a pill we couldn't
swallow."
"No danger of that, Hapgood," answered Tom, confidently.
"I don't know about that, my boy," answered the veteran, in a tone heavy
with dire anxiety.
"I know it. The schooner was running with the wind on her starboard
quarter when we boarded her. We are now close-hauled, and of course we
can't make the shore on the other side while we are on this tack."
Well, I don't know much about it, Tom, but if you say its all right, I'm
satisfied; that' all. I'd trust you just as far as I would General
McClennon, and you know we all b'lieve in him."
"What are you going to do with us?" asked one of the rebels, who began to
exhibit some interest in the fate of the schooner.
"I suppose you will find good quarters in Fort McHenry," replied Tom.
"Where do you belong?"
"In Baltimore."
"What are you doing here, then?"
"We go in for the South."
"Go in, then!" added Tom, laughing.
"You'll fetch up where all the rest of 'em do," said Hapgood.
"How's that fellow that was hit?" asked Tom, pointing to the rebel who lay
in the middle of the standing room.
"I guess it's all right with him," replied Hapgood, bending over the
silent form. "No; he isn't dead."
"I have it!" shouted Tom, suddenly crowding the helm hard-a-lee.
"What, Tom?"
"I see where we are. We are running up the river. I see the land on the
weather bow."
The schooner was put about, and after running with the wind amidships for
ten or fifteen minutes, Tom discovered the outline of Mrs. Budd's house,
which was directly under the guns of the Union battery.
"Stand by the fore halliards, Hapgood," said Tom, as the boat came about
again. "Let go!"
The foresail came down, and Tom sprang upon the pier, as the schooner came
up under its lee. In a moment the boat was made fast. By this time the
pickets appeared.
"Who comes there?" demanded the soldier.
"Friends!" replied Tom.
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."
"Little Mac," whispered the soldier boy in the ear of the sentinel.
"Who are you?"
"Co. K." answered Tom.
"What's the row? The long roll was beat just now, and the whole regiment
is in line. What was that firing?"
"We have captured this boat, and five prisoners, one of them wounded, if
not dead."
"Bully for you," replied the picket.
They were soon joined by a squad of men, and Fred Pemberton and the
wounded rebel were conveyed to the hospital, while the four prisoners were
conducted to a secure place. Hapgood and Tom then hastened to the parade,
where the regiment was drawn up, and reported the events which had just
transpired. It was unanimously voted by officers and privates that the
picket guard had done "a big thing," and they were warmly and generously
commended for their skill and bravery.
Hapgood and Tom requested permission to go to the hospital and see their
companion. They found that the surgeon had already dressed his wound.
"Will he die?" asked Tom, full of solicitude for his friend.
"Die! no; it's a mere scratch. The ball ploughed into his cheek a little
way," replied the surgeon. "It isn't a bad wound. He was more scared than
hurt."
"I am glad it is no worse," said Captain Benson, who, with fatherly
solicitude for his men, had come to the hospital as soon as the company
was dismissed. "But what ails you, Tom? You look pale."
"Nothing, captain."
"Are you sure?"
"I don't think I am badly hurt. I believe one of those pistol balls grazed
my side; but I hardly felt it."
"Let me see," said the surgeon.
The doctor opened Tom's coat, and his gray shirt was found to be saturated
with blood.
"That's a worse wound than Pemberton's. Didn't you know it, Tom?"
"Well, of course I knew it; but I didn't think it was any thing," replied
Tom, apologetically. "I knew it wouldn't do to drop down, or we should all
be in Dixie in half an hour."
"You are my man for the present," said the doctor, as he proceeded to a
further examination of the wound.
Tom was hit in the side by one of the pistol bullets. As I have not the
surgeon's report of the case, I cannot give a minute description of it;
but he comforted Hapgood and the captain with the assurance that, though
severe, it was not a dangerous wound.
"Tom Somers, there's a sergeant's warrant in Company K for one of you
three men," said Captain Benson, when the patient was comfortably settled
upon his camp bed. "The colonel told me to give him the name of the most
deserving man in my company."
"Give it to Tom," said Hapgood, promptly. "He led off in this matter, and
ef't hadn't been for him, we should all have been on t'other side of the
river, and p'raps on t'other side of Jordan, afore this time. And then, to
think that the poor fellow stood by, and handled the boat like a
commodore, when the life-blood was runnin' out of him all the time! It
belongs to Tom."
"Give it to Tom," added Fred, who lay near the patient.
"No, Captain Benson," interposed Tom, faintly. "Hapgood is an old soldier,
and deserves it more than I do. Give it to him, and I shall be better
satisfied than if you give it to me."
"Tom Somers!" exclaimed old Hapgood, a flood of tears sliding down his
furrowed cheeks, "I won't stand nothin' of the sort! I'd jump into the
river and drownd myself before I'd take it, after what you've done."
"You are both worthy of it," added Captain Benson.
"Please give it to Hapgood," pleaded Tom. "He first proposed going out
after the little schooner."
"Give it to Tom, cap'n. It'll help heal his wound," said Hapgood.
"No; it would do me more good to have you receive it," protested Tom.
"Well, here, I can't have this battle fought in the hospital," interposed
the surgeon. "They are good friends, captain, and whichever one you give
it to, the other will be suited. You had better settle the case at
head-quarters."
"If you please, Captain Benson, I would like to have Hapgood stay with me
to-night, if he can be spared."
The veteran was promptly detailed for hospital duty, and the captain
returned to his quarters to decide the momentous question in regard to the
sergeant's warrant.