BOY HEROES
One doesn't have to be big, or old, or strong to be brave. But one does
have to believe in something so much and so hard that nothing else
counts, even death. An idea that is so big that everything else seems
small is called an ideal. It is easy for a boy with an ideal to be
brave. Cassabianca, the boy who stayed on the burning ship because he
had been ordered to wait there by his dead father, had made obedience
his ideal. The boy of Holland who found a leak in the dyke which could
only be stopped by his hand, and who stayed through the long night and
saved his village but lost his right hand had learned this great ideal
of self-sacrifice. The shepherd boy who saved his sheep from a lion and
a bear and who afterward was the only one who dared enter the fatal
valley and meet the fierce giant-warrior had as his ideal faith. He
believed so strongly that he was doing God's will that he shared God's
strength.
In the great war between slavery and freedom which swept like fire over
the country, boys learned the ideals for which their fathers fought.
They learned to believe so entirely in freedom that there was no room
left for fear. Many of them went to the war as drummer boys, the only
way in which boys could enlist. One of these was Johnny McLaughlin of
the Tenth Indiana. Johnny lived at a place called Lafayette and was not
quite eleven years old. From the minute that the war broke out he
thought of nothing but what he could do for his country and for
freedom. Other boys played at drilling and marching, but this was not
enough for him. He made inquiries and found that if he could learn to
drum, there was a chance that he might be allowed to enlist. He said
nothing at first to his father and mother about his plans, but saved
all his spending-money and worked every holiday in order to get enough
to buy a drum. Times were hard, however. There was little money for
men, much less for boys, and after Johnny had worked for over two
months, he had saved exactly two dollars. In the village was a drummer
who had been sent home to recover from his wounds and to him Johnny
went one day to ask how much more he would have to save before he could
buy a drum. The man told him that a good drum would cost him at least
ten dollars. Johnny sighed and turned away very much discouraged.
"Why don't you play something else?" said the man. "You can get more
fun out of ten dollars than buying a drum with it."
"I don't want it to play with," said Johnny. "I want to learn to drum
so that I can enlist."
At first the man laughed at the boy--he seemed so little, but when he
found that Johnny had made up his mind to do his share for his country
in the great fight, Donaldson, as he was named, became serious.
"I tell you what I'll do," he said at last. "If you are really in
earnest about learning to drum, I'll give you lessons myself, for,"
said he modestly, "I was the best drummer in my regiment. If you can
learn and they will take you, I'll give you the old drum. I'll send it
to the front even if I can't go myself."
This was enough for Johnny. Morning, noon and night he was with his
friend Donaldson and it was a wonder that the drum-head was not worn
out long before he learned. Learn he did, however, and in a few months
there was not a roll or a call which he could not play. One morning as
the school-bell was ringing, Johnny presented himself to his parents
with the big drum around his neck looking nearly as large as he was.
"I'm going to enlist," he said simply.
At first his father and mother, like Donaldson, were inclined to laugh
at him, he was such a little boy, but Johnny was in earnest and a boy
who is in earnest always gets what he wants. A few days later found him
a drummer for the Tenth Indiana and as he led the regiment, beating the
long roll, Johnny was the proudest boy that had ever come out of
Indiana. He had his first taste of fire at Fort Donelson and afterward
at the bloody battle of Shiloh. Johnny drummed until the terrible
drumming of the muskets drowned out even his loud notes. Then he laid
down his sticks, carefully hid his drum, took a musket and cartridge
box from off one of the dead soldiers and ran on with his regiment and
fought in the front with the bravest of them all. He had a quick eye
and it was not long before he could shoot as accurately as any man
there.
It was just after Shiloh that Johnny had a narrow escape from being
captured. Wanting to try everything, he obtained permission to do
picket duty at night although this work was not required of drummer
boys. As he had shown himself such a cool and ready fighter, his
colonel felt that he was entirely able to do this duty and one dark
night put him on picket. His post was some distance away from the camp.
Just at dawn he was suddenly rushed by a party of rebel cavalry. As
they burst out of the bushes Johnny fired his carbine at the first one,
dropping him, and ran across an open field about fifty yards wide. At
the other side was an old, rotten, log fence and beyond that a mass of
briers and underbrush where he was sure the horses could not follow.
Fortunately for him the rains had made the field a mass of mud. There
his lightness gave him the advantage, for the horses slumped through at
every step. The rebels fired constantly at him as they rode with their
pistols. One ball went through his hat, another clear through his
cartridge box and lodged in his coat, fortunately without exploding any
of the cartridges. Beyond the middle of the field the ground was drier
and the horsemen commenced to gain on him, but he reached the fence
well ahead and with one jump landed on the top. The rotten rails gave
way underneath him and he plunged headlong over into the brush, right
on the back of a big sleeping wild pig who had rooted out a lair at
this place. The pig jumped up grunting and crashed through the
underbrush and Johnny heard his pursuers smashing through the broken
fence not a rod away. He curled up into the round hole which the pig
had left, drew down the bushes over his head and lay perfectly quiet.
The horsemen, hearing the rustling of leaves and the smashing of
branches as the pig dashed off down a pathway, followed after at full
gallop and were out of sight in a minute. As soon as the sound of their
galloping had died away, Johnny crawled cautiously out of his hole and
made the best of his way back to camp. The next day some of the rebel
cavalry were taken prisoners and Johnny recognized one of them as the
leader of the squad which had so nearly caught him. The prisoner
recognized the boy at the same time and they both grinned cheerfully at
each other.
"Did you catch that pig yesterday?" finally said Johnny.
"We did that," retorted the prisoner, "but it wasn't the one we were
after."
Johnny had always been able to ride the most spirited horses on the
farm and after Shiloh he asked to be transferred from the infantry to
Colonel Jacob's Kentucky Cavalry. There he attracted the attention of
the colonel so that the latter gave him one of the best horses in the
regiment and a place in the Fighting First, as the best-mounted company
was called, which the colonel always led personally in every charge. In
this company Johnny was taught how to handle a sabre. The regular sabre
was too heavy for him, but Colonel Jacob had one light, short one
specially made which Johnny learned to handle like a flash. A German
sergeant, who had been a great fencer on the Continent, taught him all
that he knew and before long Johnny was an expert in tricks of fence
which stood him in good stead later on. One in special he so perfected
that it was never parried. Instead of striking down with the sabre as
is generally done, Johnny learned a whirling, flashing upper-cut which
came so rapidly that generally an opponent could not even see much less
parry it. He was also armed with the regulation revolver and a light
carbine instead of the heavy revolving rifle used by the rest of the
troop. At Perryville he fought his first battle with his new regiment.
In the charge he stuck close to Colonel Jacob and received a ball
through his left leg above the knee. Fortunately it did not break any
bone and Johnny tore a strip off his shirt, bandaged the hole and went
on with the fight. While he was doing this, the greater part of the
regiment passed on and when Johnny started to join his colonel, he
could not find him. He rode like the wind over the field and soon
behind a little patch of woods saw Colonel Jacobs with only six or
seven men, the rest having been scattered in the fight. Johnny spurred
his horse over to him and the colonel was delighted to be joined by his
little body-guard. As they were riding along to rejoin the rest of the
regiment, from out a clump of bushes a squad of fifty men led by a
Confederate major dashed out calling on them to surrender. Colonel
Jacob hesitated, for some of his men were wounded and the odds seemed
too great for a fight. Before he had time to answer, Johnny slipped in
front of him, drew out his revolver and fired directly into the
Confederate officer's face, killing him instantly and then drawing his
sabre dashed into the ranks of the enemy. The first man he met was a
big fellow whose bare, brawny arm and blood-stained sabre proved him a
master with his weapon. Johnny never gave him a chance to strike. At
the whirl of his light sabre his opponent instinctively raised his
weapon in the ordinary parry of a down-blow and the point of Johnny's
sabre caught him under the chin and toppled him off his horse. The
Union men gave a cheer, followed their little leader, breaking clear
through the demoralized Confederates and joined their command at the
other side of the field.
A few weeks later they had a skirmish with the troop of John Morgan,
the most dreaded cavalry leader and fighter in all the South. Johnny,
as usual, was in the front of the charge and had just cut at one man
when another aimed a tremendous blow at his head in passing. There was
just time for Johnny to raise the pommel of his sabre to save his head,
but the deflected blow caught him on the leg and he fell from the horse
with blood spurting out of his other leg this time. He lay perfectly
quiet, but another rebel had seen him fall and spurring forward, caught
him by the collar, saying:
"We'll keep this little Yankee in a cage to show the children."
Johnny did not approve of this cage-idea and although there was no room
to use the sabre, managed to work his left hand back into his belt,
draw his revolver and shoot his captor dead. In another minute his
company came riding back and he was whirled up behind his colonel and
rode back of him to safety. This last wound proved to be a serious one
and he was sent back to Indiana on a furlough to give it time to heal.
On the way back he was stopped by a provost guard and asked for his
pass.
"My colonel forgot to give me any passes," said Johnny, "but here are
two that the rebels gave me," showing his bandaged legs, and the guard
agreed with him that this was pass enough for any one. As his wound
refused to heal, against his wishes he was discharged and once more
returned home. He then tried to enlist again, but each time he was
turned down because of the unhealed wound. Finally, Johnny traveled
clear to Washington and had a personal talk with President Lincoln and
explained to him that his wound would never heal except in active
service. His arguments had such force with the President that a special
order was made for his enlistment and he fought through the whole war
and afterward joined the regular army.
The littlest hero of the war was Eddie Lee. Shortly before the battle
of Wilson's Creek, one of the Iowa regiments was ordered to join
General Lyon in his march to the creek. The drummer of one of the
companies was taken sick and had to go to the hospital. The day before
the regiment was to march a negro came to the camp and told the captain
that he knew of a drummer who would like to enlist. The captain told
him to bring the boy in the next morning and if he could drum well he
would give him a chance. The next day during the beating of the
reveille, a woman in deep mourning came in leading by the hand a little
chap about as big as a penny and apparently not more than five or six
years old. She inquired for the captain and when the latter came out,
told him that she had brought him a drummer boy.
"Drummer boy," said the captain; "why, madam, we don't take them as
small as this. That boy hasn't been out of the cradle many months."
"He has been out long enough," spoke up the boy, "to play any tune you
want."
His mother then told the captain that she was from East Tennessee where
her husband had been killed by the rebels and all her property
destroyed and she must find a place for the boy.
"Well, well," said the captain, impatiently, "Sergeant, bring the drum
and order our fifer to come forward."
In a few moments the drum was produced and the fifer, a tall,
good-natured fellow over six feet in height, made his appearance.
"Here's your new side-partner, Bill," said the captain.
Bill stooped down, and down and down until his hands rested on his
ankles and peered into the boy's face carefully.
"Why, captain," said he, "he ain't much taller than the drum."
"Little man, can you really drum?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said the boy. "I used to drum for Captain Hill in
Tennessee. I am nearly ten years old and I want the place."
The fifer straightened himself up slowly, placed his fife at his mouth
and commenced to play "The Flowers of the Forest," one of the most
difficult pieces to follow on the drum. The little chap accompanied him
without a mistake and when he had finished began a perfect fusillade of
rolls and calls and rallies which came so fast that they sounded like a
volley of musketry. When the noise had finally died out, the captain
turned to his mother and said:
"Madam, I'll take that boy. He isn't much bigger than a minute but he
certainly can drum."
The woman kissed the boy and nearly broke down.
"You'll surely bring him back to me, captain," she said.
"Sure," said the captain; "we'll all be discharged in about six weeks."
An hour later Eddie was marching at the head of the Iowa First playing
"The Girl I Left Behind Me" as it had never been played before. He and
Bill, the fifer, became great chums and Eddie was the favorite of the
whole regiment. Whenever anything especially nice was brought back by
the foraging parties, Eddie always had his share and the captain said
that he was in far more danger from watermelons than he was from
bullets. On heavy marches the fifer would carry him on his back, drum
and all, and this was always Eddie's position in fording the numerous
streams.
At the Battle of Wilson's Creek the Iowa regiment and a part of an
Illinois regiment were ordered to clear out a flanking party concealed
in a ravine upon the left of the Union forces. The ravine was a deep,
long one with high trees and heavy underbrush and dark even at
noontime. The Union regiments marched down and there was a dreadful
hand-to-hand fight in the brush in the semi-twilight. Men became
separated from each other and as in the great battle between David and
Absalom, the wood devoured more people that day than the sword
devoured. The fight was going against the Union men when suddenly a
Union battery wheeled into line on a near-by hill and poured a rain of
grape and canister into the Confederates which drove them out in short
order. Later on the word was passed through the Union Army that General
Lyon had been killed and soon after came the order to fall back upon
Springfield. The Iowa regiment and two companies of a Missouri regiment
were ordered to camp on the battle-field and act as a rear guard to
cover a retreat. When the men came together that night there was no
drummer boy. In the hurry and rush of hand-to-hand fighting, Eddie had
become separated from Bill and although the latter raged back and forth
through the brush like an angry bull, never a trace of his little
comrade could he find. That night the sentries stood guard over the
abandoned field and along the edge of the dark ravine now filled with
the dead of both sides. It was a wild, desolate country and as the men
passed back and forth over the stricken field, they could hear the
long, mournful, wailing howl of the wolves which were brought by the
smell of blood from the wilderness to the battle-field from miles
around. That night poor Bill was unable to sleep and moaned and tossed
on his blanket and said for the thousandth time:
"If only I had kept closer to the little chap."
Suddenly he sprang to his feet and roused the sleeping men all around
him.
"Don't you hear a drum?" said he.
They all listened sadly, but could hear nothing.
"Lie down, Bill," said one of them. "Eddie's gone. We all did the best
we could."
"He's down there in the dark," cried poor Bill, "drumming for help, and
I must go to him."
The others tried to hold him back for it was impossible to see a foot
through the tangled ravine at night and moreover the orders were strict
against any one leaving camp. Bill went to the sentry who guarded the
captain's tent and finally persuaded the man to wake up the captain.
The latter lay exhausted with fatigue and sorrow, but came out and
listened as did all the rest for the drum, but nothing could be heard.
"You imagined it, my poor fellow," he said. "There's nothing you could
do to-night anyway. Wait until morning."
Bill paced restlessly up and down all through that dark night and just
as the dawn-light came in the sky, he heard again faint and far away a
drum beating the morning call from out of the silence of the deep
ravine. Again he went to the captain.
"Of course you can go," said the latter, kindly, "but you must be back
as soon as possible for we march at daybreak. Look out for yourself as
the place is full of bushwhackers and rebel scouts."
Bill started down the hill through the thick underbrush and wandered
around for a time trying to locate the drum-beats which were thrown
back by the trees so that it was difficult to determine from what point
they came. As he crept along through the underbrush, they sounded
louder and louder and finally in the darkest, deepest part of the
ravine, he came out from behind a great pin-oak and saw his little
comrade sitting on the ground leaning against the trunk of a fallen
tree and beating his drum which was hung on a bush in front of him.
"Eddie, Eddie, dear old Eddie," shouted Bill, bursting through the
thicket. At the sound the little chap dropped his drumsticks and
exclaimed:
"Oh, Bill, I am so glad to see you. I knew you would come. Do get me a
drink."
Bill started to take his canteen down to a little near-by brook when
Eddie called him back.
"You'll come back, Bill, won't you," he said, "for I can't walk."
Bill looked down and saw that both of his feet had been shot away by a
cannon-ball and that the little fellow was sitting in a pool of his own
blood. Choking back his sobs, the big fifer crawled down to the brook
and soon came back with his canteen full of cold water which Eddie
emptied again and again.
"You don't think I am going to die, do you, Bill?" said the little boy
at last. "I do so want to finish out my time and go back to mother.
This man said I would not and that the surgeon would be able to cure
me."
For the first time Bill noticed that just at Eddie's feet lay a dead
Confederate. He had been shot through the stomach and had fallen near
where Eddie lay. Realizing that he could not live and seeing the
condition of the boy, he had crawled up to him and taking off his
buckskin suspenders had bandaged with them the little fellow's legs so
that he would not bleed to death and on tying the last knot had fallen
back dead himself. Eddie had just finished telling Bill all about it in
a whisper, for his strength was going fast, when there was a trampling
of horses through the ravine and in a minute a Confederate scouting
party broke through the brush, calling upon Bill to surrender.
"I'll do anything you want," said Bill, "if you will only take my
little pal here safe back to camp and get him into the hands of a
surgeon."
The Confederate captain stooped down and spoke gently to the boy and in
a minute took him up and mounted him in front of him on his own horse
and they rode carefully back to the Confederate camp, but when they
reached the tents of the nearest Confederate company they found that
little Eddie had served out his time and had given his life for his
country.
On June 30, 1862, was fought the stubborn battle of Glendale, one of
the Seven Days' Battles between McClellan, the general of the Union
forces, and Lee, the Confederate commander. This battle was part of
McClellan's campaign against Richmond, the capital of the Confederacy
which he had within his grasp when he was out-generaled by Lee, who
that month for the first time had been placed in supreme command of the
Confederate Army. With him were his two great generals, Stonewall
Jackson and Longstreet. McClellan was within sight of the promised
land. The spires of Richmond showed against the sky. Instead of
fighting he hesitated and procrastinated away every chance of victory.
Lee was even then planning that wonderful strategy which was to halt a
victorious army, turn it away from the beleaguered capital of the
Confederacy and send it stumbling back North in a series of defeats. It
was necessary for him to have a conference with Stonewall Jackson, his
great fighting right-hand in military matters. Jackson rode almost
alone fifty miles and attended a conference with Lee, Longstreet and
Generals D. H. and A. P. Hill. To each of them General Lee assigned the
part that he was to play. In the meantime, knowing that McClellan
always read and pondered the Richmond papers, he arranged that
simultaneously every paper should publish as news the pretended facts
that strong reinforcements had been sent to the Shenandoah Valley.
McClellan fell into the trap and instead of pressing forward to attack
Richmond, which was now only guarded by a small force, he, as usual,
waited for reinforcements and allowed his antagonists to march around
him and start flanking battles which threatened to cut off his line of
communications. The battle of Gaines Mill was fought in which battle
General Fitz John Porter with thirty-one thousand men stubbornly faced
Lee and Jackson's forces of fifty-five thousand and with sullen
obstinacy only retreated when it was absolutely impossible longer to
hold his ground. This defeat, which occurred simply because McClellan
could not bring himself to send Porter the necessary reinforcements,
made General McClellan resolve to withdraw, although even then, with a
superior army, he could have fought his way to Richmond. From June 25th
to July 1, 1862, occurred the Seven Days' Battles fought by the
retreating Union Army. By one of the few mistakes which General Lee
made in that campaign, the Union Army was allowed a respite of
twenty-four hours to organize its retreat and were well on their way
before pursuit was given. On June 29th there was a battle between the
rear guard of the Union force and the Confederate's under General
Magruder in which the Confederates were defeated. The next day came the
battle of Glendale. Generals Longstreet and A. P. Hill commanded the
Confederate Army while the rear guard of the retreating Union forces
was made up of General McCall's division and that of General
Heintzelman and a part of the corps under General Sumner which had done
such gallant fighting the day before. It was a stern and stubborn
battle. If the Confederates could cut through the rear guard, they
would have the retreating army at their mercy. On the other hand, if
they could be held back, the main army would have time to occupy a
favorable position and entrench and could be saved. For a time it
seemed as if the Confederate attack could not be checked. Every
available man was called into action. Back at the rear were posted the
hospital corps where the sick and wounded lay. With them were stationed
the band and the drum-corps made up of drummer boys who were supposed
to keep out of actual fighting as much as possible. Among them was a
little Jewish boy named Benjamin Levy, who was only sixteen years old
and small for his age. Benjamin stayed back with the hospital while the
roar of the battle grew louder and louder. Finally there was a
tremendous chorus of yells and groans and shouts mingled with the
rattle of rifle-shots and the heavy thudding sounds which sabres and
bayonets make as they slash and pierce living flesh. Little groups of
wounded men came straggling back or were carried back to the hospital
and each one told a fresh story of the fierce fight which was going on
at the near-by front. Benjamin could stand it no longer. The last
wounded man that came in hobbled along with a broken leg, using his
rifle for a crutch. The boy helped him to a near-by cot and made him as
comfortable as he could.
"Now you lie quiet," he said, "until the doctor comes and I'll just
borrow this rifle of yours and do a little fighting in your place," and
Benjamin picked up the gun and slipped on the other's cartridge belt.
"Hi there, you come back with my gun," yelled the wounded man after
him. "That front's no place for kids like you."
Benjamin, however, was well on his way before the man had finished
speaking and slipping past an indignant doctor who was trying to stop
him, he ran forward, keeping as much as possible in the shelter of the
trees among which the bullets and grape-shot were whining and humming.
He passed many wounded limping to the rear and rows of prostrate men,
some still, some writhing in the agony of their wounds. These were the
men who had fallen on their way back to the hospital. A minute later
Benjamin found himself in the thick of the fight. There had been a
Confederate charge which the Union soldiers had just barely been able
to drive back. The men were still panting and shouting and firing
volleys at the gray forces who were reluctantly withdrawing to rally
for another attack. The boy lay down with the rest and loaded and fired
his borrowed rifle as rapidly as he could. No one seemed to notice him
except the color-bearer who happened to be the man next to him. He had
stopped firing to wipe his face and saw the little fellow close by his
arm.
"Why don't you get back to the rear where you belong?" he said,
pretending to talk very fiercely. "This is no place for little boys.
When those gray-backs come back, you'll scamper quick enough, so you
had better be on your way now."
"No I won't," said Benjamin positively. "I guess boys have got as much
right to fight in this war as men have. Anyway, you won't see me do
much running."
Benjamin was mistaken in that last statement, for a minute later the
colonel of this particular regiment decided that instead of waiting for
a Confederate attack, he would do a little charging on his own account.
The signal came. The men sprang over the earthworks and Benjamin found
himself running neck and neck with the color-bearer at the head of them
all. It was a glorious charge. The ground ahead was smooth, the fierce
flag of the regiment streamed just in front and all around were men
panting and cheering as they ran. It was almost like a race on the old
school-green at home. They came nearer and nearer to the masses of
gray-clothed men who were hurriedly arranging themselves in regular
ranks out of the hurry and confusion of their retreat. When they were
only a short hundred yards distant, suddenly a wavering line of fire
and smoke ran all up and down the straggling line in front of them. Men
plunged headlong here and there and Benjamin noticed that he and the
color-bearer seemed to have drawn away from the rest and were racing
almost alone. Suddenly his friend with the colors stopped in full
stride, swung the flag over his head once with a shout and dropped
backward with a bullet through his heart. As he fell the colors slowly
dropped down through the air and were about to settle on the
blood-stained grass when the boy, hardly knowing what he did, shifted
his rifle to his left hand, caught the staff of the flag and once more
the colors of the regiment were leading the men on. Right up to the
gray line he carried them, followed by the whole regiment. Firing,
cutting and stabbing with their bayonets they broke straight through
the Confederates and after a hand-to-hand fight, drove them out of
their position. They carried the boy, still clinging to the colors, on
their shoulders to their colonel and to the end of his life Benjamin
remembered the moment when the colonel shook hands with him before the
cheering regiment as the climax of the greatest day of his life.