few words about the bravery of the men and the terrible hardships they
had endured, fighting through dense swamps and almost impenetrable
thickets.
Oh! how terrible were the next few days passed in woful, trembling
suspense. There was no official report as yet, of the killed and
wounded; and the hours of many a household like those of the little
mother's, were passed in alternate prayers, hopes, and fears.
On the afternoon of the 14th February, Harry and Johnny went out
together. They felt so distressed about their beloved brother, they
could not sit still in the house. Near Union Park they met Gus
Averill, one of Harry's friends, and some other lads. Of course the
boys immediately began talking of the battle of Roanoke Island; as Gus
had an elder brother in the same company with George.
"Oh, Harry!" cried Gus, "have you had any news from your brother? Is he
safe?"
"We don't know yet," answered Harry sorrowfully. "Have you heard from
your brother Walter?"
"No. My mother is almost crazy. That dear Miss Wilmer, to whom he is
engaged to be married, comes and tries to comfort mother; but it always
ends in her laying her head on mother's breast and crying, oh! so
pitifully! and then mother cries; and that breaks my heart."
His lips quivered as he spoke, and the lad standing by him threw his
arms affectionately over his neck, while Harry and Johnny looked
grieved enough.
[Illustration: Near Union Park they met Gus Averill and some other
Lads.]
"Oh, if this dreadful war could only be ended!" cried a bright-looking
boy, clenching his stick, and striking it on the pavement. "Why don't
the President just proclaim freedom to every soul at once! My father
says that would end the trouble double quick!"
"If the President thought so," said Harry, "he would soon say the
word. I think he is the very best President we ever had; so honest and
_straight out_. He don't think of himself; only of his country, and
what is best for her. He's a dear, good old fellow, and if I saw him, I
should just go up to him and say, 'I love you, President Lincoln, for
you are an honest man.'"
"And so should I," said Johnny. "Aunt Fanny declares that anybody
else's head would have become addled and utterly confounded by this
time, with all this terrible war and confusion; but Mr. Lincoln's
HONESTY OF HEART keeps his _head_ clear, and so he does his
duty; while his enemies snap and snarl; but they _never_ '_catch a
gudgeon_.' Do you know Aunt Fanny?" he asked.
"Oh yes," cried all the boys.
"Well, her daughter wrote such a nice piece about the President, that I
have learned it. If you like, I will tell it to you."
"That we should!" cried the boys; so Johnny in a clear voice began:
"Fling out the broad banner! make ready each hand!
For the cry of Disunion is rife in our land;
Each day may behold a new battle begun,
And true blood must flow ere the victory's won.
Then loud let the message ring out to the South:
'Republicans have but one heart and one mouth.
For the freedom we love, for the land we adore,
_For the Union_, and Abraham Lincoln--hurrah!'
"What! brothers and countrymen! mean you to part,
With a curse on each lip, and revenge in each heart?
What! fly from a government simple, but grand,
Your future to build on foundations of sand?
No! Stop, while 'tis time, oh ye men of the South,
Let us have for our country one heart and one mouth,
And, brothers once more in the land we adore,
We'll shout 'For _The Union Forever_! Hurrah!'
"Then let enemies thicken; we'll never despair,
Where unity is--behold victory there!
Disunite--in the ruins of home you will lie,
_In_ Union you conquer--without it, you die.
Oh then, let it come from the North and the South:
'We have but one country, one heart, and one mouth.
For the freedom we love, for the land we adore,
FOR THE UNION, and ABRAHAM LINCOLN--Hurrah!'"
By the time Johnny had finished, a dozen more lads and some gentlemen
had gathered round to listen. The little fellow's color mounted high,
but he went on with admirable emphasis and animation to the end; and
then let me tell you that, when he uttered the last "Hurrah," the boys
snatched their hats off, and joined in with such a _will_, that the
stunted old trees in the Park cracked again! and if it was not a very
immense mass meeting, it was a highly respectable one, and perfectly
unanimous.
"That was splendid!" said the bright boy, who had advised the
President to proclaim universal freedom. "I love Aunt Fanny's daughter
for writing it; and you may tell her so. I wonder if she wrote the
beautiful little poem mother read to me the other day from the
Rebellion Record. It set her crying; and I had hard work, I can tell
you, to keep my face from puckering up."
"Oh, can you remember it?" asked some of the boys. "Do try."
"Yes; I learned it, only reading it twice after mother had read it to
me. I don't know as you will like it as much as I did; but I've got a
little brother, who says just such things the whole time." "Why, so
have we," cried Johnny, "lots of them! so come let's hear it."
The little fellow put his finger on his lip, to think for a moment, and
then began in a low voice; all the boys crowding round so as not to
lose a word.
"Willie stood at the window--
Little Willie, five years old--
Watching the rainbow colors,
Fading in sunset's gold,
Red pennants, and streamers of fire,
On the blue expanse unfurl;
And over the red the white clouds lie,
Like floating mists of pearl.
"'Isn't it beautiful, mamma?'
And the dark eyes grow so bright,
They almost seem to catch the gold
Of the sky's wild glory light.
'See! There is the red, mamma,
And there is the beautiful blue;
Did God make the blue and red?
Did He make the white clouds too?
"'And away up in the sky,
Oh! see the little bright star!
Why! _God is for the Union?_
Isn't He, mamma?'"
"What a dear little fellow he was," cried Johnny. "Yes, God _is_ for
the Union. Why can't everybody see it?"
"All in good time--His good time," said his brother; "come, Johnny,
let's us go back to mother." And so they separated; and our boys, Harry
and Johnny, walked quickly home.
They had not been in the house ten minutes, when the postman's
peculiarly loud and impatient ring was heard. The little mother's heart
stopped beating for a moment, while the children, too anxious to wait
for a servant to come, rushed in a body to open the door. One united
scream of joy greeted the dear brother's well-known handwriting.
"Safe! safe!" they cried, as they ran with the precious letter to
their mother, who had turned so ghastly white that she seemed to be
dying. It was a thick enclosure. With trembling, eager fingers, the
envelope was torn away. Within was a long letter written on several
sheets of paper, which were closely wrapped around a miniature of a
beautiful young girl; a short, thick lock of dark curling hair, and a
small card, on which was a tiny but most exquisite painting.
It represented a dark and stormy sea; the angry waves beating furiously
against a great rock, which stood like a tower of strength in the midst
of the waters.
On the rock far above, a cross, stead-fast and immovable, was planted,
from which all the light in the picture came.
The inscription below was: "Our faith;" and on the back was written,
"For dear Walter's birthday."
"These must belong to some one else," said the little mother in a low,
sobbing voice. Then looking again at the miniature, she uttered a cry
of grief, as she saw that it was a likeness of one she knew and loved
dearly. She took up the letter, and read, half blinded with tears--
_"February 12th, 1862._
"DARLING MOTHER, FATHER, BROTHERS, AND SISTERS:--I have had
my wish. I have been in a battle and, I hope, did my duty. I have come
out unharmed; and I thank God humbly, for his goodness and mercy.
"We went through the inlet on the sternwheel boat 'Cadet,' February
7th. Soon General Burnside directed Lieutenant Andrews to take a
boat's crew and ten soldiers, and pull for the shore to take soundings
and examine the landing.
"Lieutenant Andrews, who is a cool, brave fellow, went through this
enterprise splendidly. I had the good fortune to go with him. He
took the soundings, went ashore, saw the glitter of bayonets, and was
convinced that the landing was commanded by the rebels.
"Just as he returned to the boat, a number of men sprang up like
lightning from the tall grass, and fired at us. One bullet took
effect; one poor fellow was severely wounded.
"Then our vessels bombarded them. A hurricane of shot and shell was
poured into their battery, till they seemed to be enveloped in one
sheet of white smoke and flame; for we had set their quarters on fire.
But with a desperation that filled me with a sorrowful admiration,
they still worked at their guns.
"Then the rebel gunboats came down upon our vessels, and the brazen
throats of our guns opened upon them with such deadly effect, that a
boat of the enemy's was soon enveloped in flames. One of those awful
hundred-pound shells from a Parrott gun fell and exploded on her deck.
"At four o'clock in the afternoon, our general made a circuit of the
fleet. A shell from the enemy was aimed at his boat, but it exploded,
fell into the water, hurting no one. The fighting continued till six
o'clock, when our vessels hauled off, and all became quiet. No light
was seen on shore but the red glow of the burning ruins of the enemy's
quarters. They had fought bravely; and though in the wrong, I could
not help feeling a respect for their courage, while I condemned their
cause.
"The landing of our brave fellows was effected in a wonderfully short
time; for we had no trouble from the enemy, as the men who fired on
Lieutenant Andrews and his crew, were sent scampering into the woods
by a shell from one of our boats, which went howling like a fiend
through the air, and fell down upon them.
"But it began to rain, and in a cold driving storm we waded through
the swamp, the rank grass up to our eyes, until we came out on a sandy
plain. We tore up a rail fence, and at eleven o'clock that night our
bivouac fires spangled the earth.
"You may imagine how much rest we got, with nothing but our thin
overcoats to protect us. But our courage flamed up bright in spite of
the weather; and when the order to form was given next morning, we
rushed to our places with hearty good-will.
"Generals Foster and Burnside came up and said a few pleasant words.
Then the reconnaissance was made, and we soon heard firing. We were
ordered to advance. The men laughed and joked with each other as they
marched, while our great guns boomed and thundered, and the fierce,
incessant shriek of rifle shot filled the air.
"We went a mile, then two, and now the shot rattled among the leaves,
and men came past carrying the brave Massachusetts boys, pierced by
ball and bayonet, showing frightful bleeding wounds. As they were
borne to the rear, they would pass us with a smile on their ghastly
faces; or would utter a faint, trembling cheer, and the words, 'Never
give up, boys, Victory or death!' and then a grand heroic fire would
blaze up in their eyes.
"On we marched, till we heard cheers and screams of fury mingling with
the thundering of the guns. Thick smoke, through which came flashes
with a gleam like tiger's eyes, enveloped us, and the whistle of the
bullets rushed close past our ears.
"We were under fire; and now, dear mother, I breathed a prayer to God
to nerve my arm and heart. Not a weak soul--not a coward was in our
ranks. I looked around, and saw in every resolute face a look which
plainly said, 'Glory, or a grave.'
"Then our colonel gave the order to fire. Directly in front of us
was the famous redoubt, of which we had heard so much; and we could
see riflemen in the trees, under the turfed walls, and behind every
possible cover. But we obeyed the order with a _will_, and for an hour
we fought. Not a soul flinched. As the balls struck our men, and they
fell, they were carried to the rear, and the ranks closed up without
wavering. I seemed turned into stone; my heart hardened. I saw a ball
strike poor Walter Averill, who fought at my side. He gave a low cry,
and sank to the ground. Two privates carried him to an ambulance, and
I turned away with my heart of granite harder, stonier than ever. It
seemed impossible to feel sorrow. Suddenly a wild cheer rose up above
the awful din. _Our flag waved from the redoubt!_ Another! another!
The battle was won!
"Roanoke Island was ours! with all the enemy's guns, and three
thousand men with their arms, ammunition, and stores. The victory was
complete.
"There was one young fellow, dear mother, who deserved to be made
a general. Oh, mother! he was only seventeen years old--three
years younger than I. He was ordered to plant a battery of six
twelve-pounder boat howitzers from the vessels in the advance of
the centre. He dragged these through the swamp and placed them in
position. They soon began to thunder and flash into the enemy, who
returned the fire with such fury and desperation that every man,
one after the other, was shot down, and he was left alone. The
chaplain of the Twenty-fifth Massachusetts, Rev. Mr. James, then
rushed up and worked at one of the howitzers till his ammunition gave
out, and he had to retire. Still this undaunted boy kept on loading
and discharging his gun, now entirely alone, and a mark for the most
terrible galling fire; and he did this until the enemy had surrendered.
"What a heroic soul lives in that brave boy's body! You may be sure
that I found him out when the battle was over, and I just took him in
my arms and hugged him tight. I hope we shall be fast friends as long
as we live. His name is Benjamin H. Porter, and he lives in New York
State. So give three cheers for him, and our grand old State."
[Illustration: The Battle of Roanoke Island.]
The children, though in tears at hearing of all their brother had
passed through, complied with his wish, and heartily cheered the brave
young midshipman and the dear old State. Then the little mother went on
reading--
"The grand, comfortable wooden camps of the enemy were of course turned
over to our use; and our miserable captives, who certainly _looked_
like mudsills--though we have the _name_--were bivouacked outside, well
guarded.
"When the madness--for such hardness must have been a temporary
frenzy--left me after the battle was over, I got permission to hunt up
poor Walter Averill. I soon found him, lying in a room, with five other
wounded men. His eye caught mine--a thankful gleam came into them as he
beckoned me to him.
"'Oh, Walter!' I cried, my heart now softened and beating loud with
sorrow, 'we've gained the victory, but you lie here wounded'--I
stopped, for my voice became choked.
"'Yes, George, and dying,' he hoarsely whispered. 'Thank God you have
come. I shall never see my home again. Look here.'
"He raised his bloody shirt, and I saw the life-blood slowly ebbing
away, from a ghastly wound in his breast.
"Oh, mother, don't think me weak; but I burst into tears, crying,
'Walter, Walter, what _will_ your mother do?'
"'Will you take a message to her and all the dear ones at home?' he
answered. 'Tell them I fought bravely, and they must not grieve, for
victory spread her pinions over my bloody bed, and took away the sting
of death. Tell brother Gus he must comfort mother, and stand with his
arms clasped lovingly round her, when the troops come marching home
without me. Tell him to look upon them with proud, steadfast eyes; for
his brother filled his own place with honor in the ranks, while he was
among them, and did not fear to die. It is God's will. He knows best.'
"'And, George, there is another. She who was to have been my dear wife
when I came back.' He turned away his head, and through my own blinding
tears I saw the great woful drops roll down his cheeks.
"'Oh, Walter,' I sobbed, 'it's too hard!'
"'Next Tuesday would have been my birthday,' he said. 'I should have
been twenty-two years old. Some little precious gift will be sure to
come from Helen. If it comes in time, will you lay it on my breast to
be buried with me? But if too late, take care of it, and return it to
her when you find an opportunity. And cut one or two locks of my hair
for my mother, and my poor--' his face changed all at once. With a
last, dying effort he put his hand to his neck and drew out a ribbon,
to which was attached a miniature, and placed it in my hand. Then in a
voice faint, hoarse, dying, he murmured 'Mother--Helen.' One fluttering
sigh, and he lay quite still. He was dead.
"The first pale moonbeam came creeping in, and rested softly on his
face. It was calmly looking down on the red sand of the battle field
with its bloody corses strewn here and there; and it was shining as
calmly upon you at home, dear mother, who knew nothing then of that
dreadful scene. As I thought of this, and the anguish the events of
that day would make for Walter's family, and many another beside, I
threw my head down on my dear lost comrade's bed, and sobbed till I
thought my heart would break.
"I send the miniature, the locks of hair, and the little package
that came the day after we buried him, with this letter. You will
have to make these sad tidings known to his family. No one can do it
as tenderly--but, 'Walter _killed_!' There is no softening of that
terrible word.
"Good-by, dear mother, and all my dear ones. Write often to me; and,
above all, pray for
"Your loving son and brother,
"GEORGE."
As the letter concluded, Harry, who loved his friend, Gus Averill, next
to his own brothers, exclaimed, "Oh, poor Gus!"--threw his arms on
the table, and laying his forehead on them, gave way to such terrible
convulsive sobs that it seemed as if his very heart was bursting with
grief. The poor children could not comfort him, for they were crying
themselves. Grateful that their own dear brother was safe, they could
still feel the sharp sting of sympathetic sorrow at their friend's
loss. No family had taken a greater interest in the children's evening
work for the soldiers than Mrs. Averill's; and for the first time that
winter, the whole evening was passed by them alone, and in a mournful
silence; for the little mother went immediately on her sad and terrible
errand, and did not return till quite late.
But a loving, thankful letter was to be despatched without delay to the
dear son and brother; and as there was a prospect of his remaining some
time in his present quarters, a box of comforts was eagerly prepared.
Every one of the children wrote letters perfectly running over with
love and joy at his safety; and Willie and Bennie, with immense efforts
and a great deal of rubbing out to make them better, sent to him
divers pictures which they had drawn on purpose to please him.
Bennie sent this--which he called General Floyd--with a shield with a
C in the middle for "Confederate," and four legs to show how very fast
he could run. I am sure we all ought to be glad he _did_ run; for the
expression of his face, if Bennie's portrait is correct, is enough to
strike terror and dismay to the heart of every loyal soul.
Willie made a likeness of President Davis, with a crown on his head,
and pointing with a grin to the stars, which represented the Southern
States.
Then Bennie made an elegant picture of the army of the Potomac, with
the American eagle in one of the corners looking approvingly at it, all
travelling down together to kill a turkey buzzard and a mud turtle,
which somebody told him were Southern productions. He put numbers
on the heads of those he meant for our generals, also on the guns, and
Southern celebrities; and left the American eagle and the privates to
get along as well as they could without them.
[Illustration: Bennie's Portrait of Genl. Floyd.]
[Illustration: Willie's "Cavalry Picture."]
When Willie was favored with a glance at this remarkable picture, he
concluded that it would never do for him to take no notice of the army;
so he devoted himself to the production of a cavalry scene. Here it
is. I think the horse with five tails and a square lump on his back,
is particularly fine, or funny; but Willie is very proud of the whole
thing, and wants to have it framed, and hung up in the parlor when
George comes home.
A few days after, George wrote another letter, which was much more
cheerful. He said:
"_February 17th, 1862._
"DEAR MOTHER:
"We are quietly bivouacked here, and everything is coming right
except the loss of our friends.
"I send you a rough sketch of the tent in which we worshipped on
Sundays. We have the Presbyterian form of service, and every one seems
to enjoy the holy quiet of the day. It seems so dreadful that most of
our battles have been fought on Sunday. Ah! I am called. I will write
more to-morrow if I can.
"_February 23d._ I am so glad that my letter did not go the other day,
as it gives me the opportunity to thank you all--dear, dear ones!
for your letters. The box, of course, of which you speak, cannot be
here near as quickly, as the express has thousands upon thousands to
deliver.
"But Bennie and Willie! what shall I say to express my delight at
their elegant pictures! I have pinned them to my tent, and I look at
them and think that never were such funny, darling little brothers
before! and certainly never were more perfect pictures of the kind.
Here is a drawing of an ambulance, which I send in return: two poor
wounded soldiers are inside, and two sitting behind with their arms
in slings; and here is one I have made of the celebration we had
yesterday in honor of Washington's birthday. It was a pretty rough
affair; and the few _natives_ who gathered round, did not remind me in
the least of New York. The country people here are very uncouth and
ignorant; and do not seem to know what comfort is, as we understand
it. They "reckon" about everything; and when they consider themselves
fortunate in any possession, they say they "reckon" they have a
"pretty smart chance" of it.
"I am cheerful during the day, but in my dreams at night, I still hear
the deadly whiz of bullets, and feel the horrible breath of the great
balls and shells on my cheek. You can form no idea of the peculiar
sensation it causes. Then poor Walter's dying form and words rise up
in my brain; and I go over that woful scene, again and again. It will
be many a long month before I can think of him without grief. He was
beloved by everybody in the regiment. Tell this, dear mother, to his
family.
"Tell Bennie, I think General Floyd must have used all his four
legs when he ran away so fast from Fort Donelson; while that brave
Commodore Foote stuck like wax to his duty, and did not leave the fort
till he had put not only his own foot in it, but the foot of every man
who helped him to take it. That's the kind of Foote for us! Isn't
it, Bennie?
"And tell Willie, I showed his picture of Jeff. Davis grinning at his
stars, to a darkey, who waits upon me; and he stooped over, put his
hands on his knees, and said, laughing, "Hech! hech! y-a-h! Mas' Jeff.
Davis, he grin toder side he mouf, bimeby; he mighty fas' wid he larf.
Let ole Mas' Linkum 'lone. He knows. He make me for free, de Lord
bress him!"
"Oh! oh! how I wish I could be with you all for just one day. I think
I should kiss and hug you nearly to death.
"Don't forget to read my letters to Aunt Fanny, dear little old soul!
I am afraid she will forget me, or will not have me hanging round her
any more, now that I have got so big and clumsy. But she need not try
to get rid of me. I'm a deal the strongest, and if she says she won't
have me for one of her children forever and a day, I'll come home and
pack her up in my cartridge box, and keep her there till she repents
of her cruelty. Tell her that I would rather she should
Stab me through,
And shoot me too,
And kill me, which is worse, worse, worse,
than to refuse to consider me as one of her boys.
"And now, dear sisters and brothers, I must get ready for parade. I
love you all, oh, how dearly! God grant we may meet again. Pray that
this awful war between brothers, which is literally, most sadly true
in many cases, may come to a speedy ending; and pray for, and love
your son and brother, GEORGE."
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Army of the Potomac.]
[Illustration: Celebration of Washington's Birthday.]
You may be sure I got all the letters to read; and every scrap of news
about my dear boy, that the little mother and her children could glean.
We knew that he had won the warm approbation of his superior officers
for his coolness and bravery in the battle; but not a word did we hear
from him in praise of himself.