TOM IS SENTIMENTAL.
The little schooner which the picket guard had captured was loaded with
valuable supplies for the rebels, which of course were confiscated without
ceremony. The mail bag which was on board contained a great many letters
from traitors in Baltimore, some of whom were exposed by the capture of
their treasonable correspondence.
Tom's wound proved to be more serious than even the surgeon had
anticipated; but the best care which it was possible to give in a military
hospital was bestowed upon him. Old Hapgood, in recognition of his
services on that eventful night, was permitted to be near the patient as
much as the interests of the service would permit; and the old man was
happy when seated by the rude couch of the soldier boy, ministering to his
necessities, or cheering him with bright hopes of the future. A strong
friendship had grown up between them, for Tom's kind heart and brave
conduct produced a deep impression upon the old man.
"Here, Tom," said Captain Benson, as he approached the sufferer, a few
days after he entered the hospital, and laid a paper upon the bed. "Here's
a prescription which the colonel says you must take."
"What is it?" asked Tom, with a faint smile.
"A sergeant's warrant."
"Glory, glory, hallelujah, as we go marching on!" exclaimed old Hapgood,
jumping up like a youth of sixteen, and swinging his cap above his head.
"Shut up, there!" shouted the hospital steward. "Don't you know any better
than to make such a racket in this place?"
"I beg pardon, Jameson. I forgot where I was," apologized the veteran.
"The news was so good I couldn't help it. Our Tom is a sergeant now!"
"Not yet, Hapgood," replied Tom, feebly. "I can't accept it, Captain
Benson; it belongs to Hapgood, sir, and I shall feel a great deal better
if you put his name in place of mine."
"Don't do it, cap'n!" interposed the old man, vehemently. "Tom shall be a
brigadier general if the war lasts one year more. I should feel like a
whipped kitten if that warrant was altered."
"The matter has been fully and fairly considered at head-quarters, and
there is no such thing as altering the decision now; so, Tom, you can put
the stripes on your arm just as soon as you please."
Hapgood insisted, the surgeon insisted, and the captain insisted; and Tom
was too sick to hold way with them in an argument, and his name was placed
upon the roster of the company as a sergeant. He was proud of the
distinction which had been conferred upon him, though he thought Hapgood,
as an older and abler soldier, was better entitled to the honor than
himself.
It was six weeks before Tom was able to enter upon the actual enjoyment of
the well-merited promotion which he had won by his gallantry; but when he
appeared before the company with the chevron of the sergeant upon his arm,
he was lustily cheered by his comrades, and it was evident that the
appointment was a very popular one. Not even the grumblers, of whom there
is a full quota in every regiment, deemed it prudent to growl at the
decision of the officers. If any one ventured to suggest that he was too
young to be placed over older and stronger men, his friends replied, that
men in the army were measured by bravery and skill, not by years.
If my young readers wish to know why Tom's appointment was so well
received by his companions in arms, I can only reply, that he had not only
been brave and cheerful in the midst of peril and hardship, but he was
kind and obliging to his comrades. He had always been willing to help
those that needed help, to sympathize with those in trouble, and generally
to do all he could to render those around him happy.
Above all these considerations, Tom was a young man of high principle. He
had obeyed his mother's parting injunction, often repeated in the letters
which came to him from home, and had faithfully "read his Testament."
Without being a hypocrite or a canting saint, Tom carried about with him
the true elements of Christian character.
Tom had fought a greater battle than that in which he had been engaged at
Bull Run a hundred times, in resisting the temptations which beset him
from within and without. True to God and true to himself, he had won the
victory. Though his lot was cast in the midst of men who swore, gambled,
and drank liquor, he had shunned these vices, and loved the sinner while
he hated the sin. Such a person could not fail to win the respect of his
companions. Though he had been jeered at and insulted for being sober,
honest, and pious, he had fought down and lived down all these vilifiers,
and won their esteem.
It must be acknowledged that Tom's piety was of the robust type. He would
not allow any man to insult him; and after the chastisement he had given
Ben Lethbridge, not even those who were strong enough to whip him were
disposed to trespass upon his rights and dignity. Perhaps Tom's creed
needed a little revising; but he lived under martial law, which does not
take cognizance of insults and revilings. He was willing to be smitten on
the one cheek, and on the other also, for the good of his country, or even
his friends, but not to be wantonly insulted.
The influence of Tom's principles was not confined to himself, for "a
little leaven leaveneth the whole lump." This was particularly true of
Hapgood, who, more through Tom's preaching and practice than from any
strength in his own character, had steadily maintained his purpose to
abstain from intoxicating drinks, though occasional opportunities were
presented for the indulgence of his darling vice. Tom and he read the
Testament and other good books which were sent to the regiment, and both
profited by them.
When the soldier boy was discharged from the hospital, the surgeon gave
him a pair of woolen socks, from a case of them which had been sent by the
friends of the soldier in Boston and its vicinity. He was very much in
need of them, and from the depths of his heart he blessed the ladies who
had done this good work. He unrolled the socks, and proceeded to pull one
of them on. It was as good a fit as though his mother had knit it on
purpose for him.
"God bless the lady that knit these socks!" exclaimed Tom, as he began to
draw on the other.
"Amen!" replied Hapgood, who was watching the operation in full sympathy
with his protege.
"Eh! what's this?" added Tom, for his foot had met with an obstruction in
its passage down the leg.
He pulled off the sock, and thrusting his hand into it, took therefrom a
letter enclosed in an envelope.
"See that, uncle?" said he, exhibiting the prize.
"What is it, Tom? Open it quick," replied Hapgood.
The soldier boy broke the envelope, and took from it a note enclosing a
photograph. Tom looked at the picture with a feeling of pleasure, which
would have caused the original of the miniature, the author of the note,
and the author of the socks, to blush up to her eyes if she had beheld the
expression of admiration which glowed upon the handsome, manly face of the
young sergeant.
"By all that's lovely, isn't she a beauty!" exclaimed Tom, rapturously, as
he glanced from the picture to Hapgood, who was looking over his shoulder.
"She's hahnsome, and no mistake," replied the veteran, with a grim smile.
"Well, she is!" added Tom, whose eyes were riveted to the photograph.
"Well, why don't you read the letter, Tom?" demanded the old soldier,
after the young man had gazed with blushing cheek upon the sweet face of
the author of his socks for full five minutes.
"I guess I will," said Tom; but he did not; for the picture seemed to be
glory and beauty enough to satisfy him for the present.
"Read the letter, Tom!" shouted the veteran, after he had waited as long
as the nature of the case seemed to require.
The soldier boy carefully placed the photograph in the envelope, and
unfolded the letter. It was written in a beautiful hand, which looked as
soft and delicate as the fair fingers which had penned the lines. He
glanced at it as a whole, admired the penmanship, and the fairy-like
symmetry that make up the _tout-ensemble_ of the page, and was about to
dissolve into another rhapsody, when Hapgood, who was not half so
sentimental as the sergeant, became impatient to know the contents of the
missive. Tom read it aloud to the stoical veteran; and though we cannot
clothe its sweet words in the fairy chirography which transported our
hero, and made the letter a dream of bliss to him, we shall venture to
present it to our curious readers, stiffened and hardened into the dull,
cold forms of the printer's art.
No.----, RUTLAND STREET, BOSTON, _Nov._ 5, 1861.
MY DEAR SOLDIER:--
This is the first pair of socks I ever knit; and I send them to
you with my blessing upon the brave defenders of my country. I
hope they will keep your feet warm, and thus keep your heart warm
towards God and our blessed land.
Grandma says I am a silly girl, and I suppose I am; but if you
feel half as much interest in me as I do in the person who will
wear the first pair of socks I ever knit, you will wish to know
how I look; therefore I send you my photograph.
I very much desire to know whether my work has done any good;
whether my socks are ever worn in a battle; and most of all, I
desire to know how the noble fellow looks that wears them.
Therefore I beg you to answer my letter, and also to send me your
photograph, if you can conveniently.
Now, my dear soldier, be brave and true, and, above all, do not
run away from the rebels with my socks on your feet. You may
retreat when your officers order you to retire; but if you are a
coward, and find yourself compelled to run away, please pull them
off before you do so, for I should die with mortification if I
thought I had knit a pair of socks for a Union soldier to run away
in.
Truly yours, for our flag and our country.
LILIAN ASHFORD.
"Well, if that gal ain't a trump, then there ain't no snakes in Virginny!"
exclaimed Hapgood. "She's got the true grit, and no mistake."
"That's so," replied the recipient of the gift, thoughtfully, as he bent
down, and began to pull off the sock which encased his left foot.
"What are you doing?" demanded Hapgood, surprised at this new movement of
his companion.
"I can't wear these socks yet, uncle," replied he.
"Why not?"
Don't she say she wants them worn in a battle?"
"Tom, you are a little fool!" added the veteran, petulantly. "Are you
going with cold feet just to please a silly gal, whose head is as full of
moonshine as an egg is of meat. Put on the socks, and keep your feet warm.
If you don't, I'll write to her, and tell what a fool you are."
Tom did put them on, but he could not help feeling that uncle Hapgood, as
he was familiarly called in the camp, did not understand and appreciate
his sentiments. The socks seemed to be too precious to be worn in the
vulgar mud of Maryland. To him there was something ethereal about them,
and it looked a little like profanation to put any thing emanating from
the fairy fingers of the original of that photograph, and the author of
that letter, upon his feet.
"Now you act like a sensible fellow, as you are, Tom," said Hapgood, as
the sergeant put on his army brogans.
"Well, uncle, one thing is certain: I never will run away from the rebels
with these socks on," added Tom, with a rich glow of enthusiasm.
"If Gen'l McClennon don't stir his stumps pretty soon, you'll wear 'em out
afore you git a chance to run away."
Tom, almost for the first time since he had been in the army, wanted to be
alone. With those socks on, it seemed just as though he was walking the
streets of the New Jerusalem, with heaven and stacks of silver-fringed and
golden-tinged clouds beneath his feet, buried up to the eyes in floods of
liquid moonshine.
If "grandma" really thought that Lilian Ashford was a silly girl, and if
Lilian really supposed so herself, it must be added, in justification of
her conduct, that she had given the soldier boy a new incentive to do his
duty nobly, and kindled in his soul a holy aspiration to serve God and his
country with renewed zeal and fidelity.