MAJOR SOMERS AND FRIENDS.
SOMERS and De Banyan proceeded from Port Royal to Washington, by the way
of Fortress Monroe. “Fighting Joe” was no longer in the field of active
operations, and our officers resigned their positions on the staff. The
doughty general had won the admiration of the nation; the present
generation will gratefully remember his efficient services, and
posterity will enroll his name among the ablest and bravest defenders of
the Union.
The term of service of the major’s regiment had expired, and it had been
sent home, and mustered out. Consequently he was out of employment.
Somers was determined that he should not remain so long. There was a
certain Senator Guilford in Washington, who considered himself under
strong obligations to the young officer, and Somers immediately paid his
respects to the distinguished man. He was warmly greeted, and when he
had told his story, he was bold enough to ask a great favor for his
friend.
“I will do what I can for him, Captain Somers, you may be sure. I
remember him well, and I have always heard excellent accounts of him
from your friend the general.”
“There is not a better man in the service, sir; and he is worthy of any
place which the government can give him,” replied Somers, warmly.
“I know he is. By the way, captain, a certain general called upon me in
relation to your affairs more than a year ago.”
“Indeed, sir?” And Somers understood that he was indebted to the senator
for his position in the regular army. “I am very grateful to you, Mr.
Guilford.”
“Don’t mention it; my daughter, whose life you saved, thinks I have not
half paid the debt yet.”
“You have more than paid it, sir; and if I had known that I was indebted
to you for my position, I should hardly have dared to speak to you in
behalf of Major de Banyan.”
“Don’t be modest, Captain Somers. I have no scruples whatever in asking
favors for such officers as yourself and your friend. I invariably
refuse to say a word for any military man, unless I know that he is
thoroughly meritorious. But, captain, you do not ask for my daughter.”
“I heard she was married, and lived in Philadelphia,” replied Somers,
with some confusion.
“That is the case; she often speaks of you, and when you pass through
Philadelphia you must see her.”
“I will certainly do so, sir,” replied the captain, as he took his
leave.
Three days after he received a note from the senator, with De Banyan’s
commission as a major in the regular army. He hastened to communicate
the news to his friend. The gratitude of the major knew no bounds, and
he declared that Somers had been more to him than all the rest of the
world. A furlough of thirty days had been granted them, and they
started, the one for Pinchbrook, and the other for Tennessee, in search
of his son, who had returned to Nashville when the army moved from
Chattanooga.
On the way home Somers called upon the senator’s daughter, and found her
as pleasing, as pretty, and as grateful as ever; but his heart was
farther north, and he hastened to the waiting arms of his loving
friends. Lilian wept with joy when she saw him, and grandmother Ashford
insisted upon telling about the defence of Boston during the “last war.”
“Lilian, I have lost my socks,” said Somers, when Mrs. Ashford had
safely returned to their homes the firemen who went out to cut away the
bridges in case of an invasion. “I had to put them on my friend De
Banyan’s feet, when he had nearly perished from cold and exhaustion.”
“I am so glad you did!”
“I suffered myself, in Andersonville and Columbia, rather than wear them
out, but I could not resist the appeal of my suffering friend.”
“I am glad you did not.”
“De Banyan is a noble fellow,” added Somers.
“Shall I never see him?”
“I hope you will;” and she did, as the reader will soon learn.
Somers went to Pinchbrook, and was welcomed as one who had come forth
from the grave. His mother wept over him, his father rejoiced over him,
and Captain Barney, the friend of the family, “crowed” over him. He
spent his thirty days between Boston and Pinchbrook, and at the end of
that time reported for duty in Washington. He was ordered to join the
regiment in which he had been commissioned, then in the line before
Petersburg. In the bloody battle for the recovery of Fort Steadman,
which had been captured by the rebels in a night attack, he was one of
the first to mount the rampart, and turn the tide against the enemy. He
fought with desperation, and urged his men to deeds of valor, which did
much to retrieve the fortunes of the day.
For his heroic conduct on that eventful morning, he was made a major. De
Banyan was there also, and what one did for his company the other did
for his regiment. The brave Tennesseean was not forgotten nor
overlooked. His merit was promptly recognized, and when the conquering
host moved forward in pursuit of the flying brigades of the rebels, he
was a brigadier general of volunteers.
Then came to them in the field, and then flashed over the telegraph
wires to all parts of the nation, the thrilling intelligence that
Richmond was captured. Still the indomitable Grant drew his grip tighter
and tighter upon the scattering hordes of the Rebellion; still Meade
pressed on, and still Sheridan thundered over and through the shattered
host of treason, until Lee surrendered the remnant of the vaunted army
of Northern Virginia. The gallant Army of the Potomac was there to
witness the humiliation of its old enemy.
All over the land cannon roared, bells pealed, bonfires blazed, and all
the people shouted “Glory, Hallelujah,” as the military power of the
Rebellion crumbled and fell. Firmly had it stood, defying freedom,
justice, and humanity; it drooped and expired almost in the twinkling of
an eye.
The nation was filled with joy. Soldiers, sailors, and civilians
rejoiced together, and from the hearts of all rose the pæan of
thanksgiving for the victory which had crowned our arms. Then, in the
midst of the people’s gladness, came the terrible shock of the
assassination of the nation’s ruler—of the wise, noble, and good
President Lincoln; and the redeemed Union was shrouded in mourning for
him, who fell just as he rose to the glory of the mighty work he had
accomplished.
The war was virtually ended. The surrender of Lee was followed by that
of Johnston, and others in command of portions of the rebel army. The
regiment to which Major Somers belonged was ordered to garrison a post;
and De Banyan, who was attached to the same regiment, but for brave and
skilful conduct in one of Sheridan’s mighty charges, had been promoted
to the rank of lieutenant colonel, also joined the command when his
brigade was dissolved.
“General De Banyan, we meet again!” exclaimed Somers, as they joined
hands, after several months of separation.
“Glory, Hallelujah!” shouted the general. “The war is over! The Union is
saved! Rebellion is forever crushed! Somers, my dear fellow, I would hug
you if it were dignified for a lieutenant colonel to do such a thing.”
“Never mind your dignity, general. I feel like being silly, now that
‘this cruel war is over.’ I am delighted to see you. Do you remember
Columbia? Do you remember the blood-hounds?”
“Shall I ever forget them?” replied De Banyan, feelingly.
“Do you remember that night when we reached the Augusta road?”
“I could not forget that any more than I could forget you,” answered the
general, as he again wrung the hand of his devoted friend. “Somers, our
country is saved. We have fought it through to the end.”
“We have had a hard time of it. Do you suppose, De Banyan, if it were to
be done over again, you would be willing to go through with it once
more?” asked Somers.
“Upon my soul, I should!” replied the general, warmly. “If I knew I had
to die on the cold, wet ground, by the side of the Augusta road, after
three years of hard service, I would go in as cheerfully as I would eat
my dinner when I am hungry. Somers, if there is any man that loves his
country, I do. I am willing to fight for her, and willing to die for
her. This was a most infernal rebellion, and I thank God I have lived to
see the end of it.”
“So do I,” responded Somers, fervently.
With the end of the war ends our story, though a few months later, an
interesting event occurred in Boston, which we have not the heart to
withhold from our readers, who have patiently followed our hero through
his career of duty and suffering. As they have seen him in the carnage
of battle, in the toils of the foe, in the loathsome prison camps of the
rebels, so should they now see him in the hour of his greatest earthly
joy. The event to which we allude was chronicled in the papers of the
city as follows:—
“December 7, by the Rev. Dr. ——, Major Thomas Somers, of the —th United
States Infantry, to Miss Lilian Ashford, daughter of Richard C. Ashford,
Esq., of this city. (No Cards.)”
No. — Rutland Street was brilliantly illuminated, as the stars broke
forth from the storm clouds of that snowy Thanksgiving evening. There
was a select assemblage of gentlemen, civil and military, and of ladies,
young and old, from the matrons in sober black, to the maidens decked in
colors appropriate to the joyous occasion. “Fighting Joe” had been
cordially invited, but a severe illness alone prevented his attendance.
Half an hour before the time appointed for the ceremony, a carriage
stopped at the door, from which stepped a tall gentleman, dressed in an
elegant new uniform, on the shoulder-straps of which glistened the
silver leaves that indicated his rank. With nervous energy he dashed up
the steps, and endangered the bell wire by the desperate pull he gave.
His summons was promptly answered by a colored gentleman in white cotton
gloves.
“Major Somers,” said the gentleman, sententiously.
“The major is engaged just now, sir, and cannot be seen,” replied the
waiter.
“Can’t be seen!” exclaimed the arrival.
“Not just now, sir. Walk in, if you please, sir.”
“Tell him Colonel De Banyan is here; and if that don’t fetch him, say
‘Magenta’ to him.”
The waiter went up stairs to the front room, where the bride and groom
and their more intimate friends were assembled.
“Colonel De Banyan, from Magenta, sir, is—”
“From where?” roared Somers, jumping from his chair, so thoroughly
convulsed with laughter that the buttons on his new coat threatened to
be wrenched from their proper spheres. “Show him up,” added he, when he
could speak the words.
“My dear Somers, I am with you once again,” said the colonel, as he
rushed into the room and seized his friend by both hands. “From the
deepest depths of an honest heart I congratulate you upon your
approaching happiness.”
“Thank you, general. I am delighted to see you,” replied Somers. “It
needed only your presence to complete my happiness.”
“Mrs. Somers, I greet you,” continued the colonel, dashing towards the
old lady, and saluting her with the most courtly elegance.
“Sakes alive!” exclaimed the happy matron. “If it ain’t Captain de
Bangyang.”
“Colonel de Banyan, if you please, is my present appellation; though I
am sometimes called General de Banyan. I trust you are quite well,
madam.”
“Well, I’m pretty toler’ble, I thank ye, General de Bang—Well, I’m—I
declare, I’m so flustrated I can’t speak a word to-night.”
“Madam, you are the proud and happy mother of the noblest young man in
this noble republic,” said the colonel, magnificently.
“Excuse me, De Banyan, but there is a lady here who has long desired to
make your acquaintance,” interposed Somers, as he led his friend to
another part of the room, where Lilian sat, blushing and beautiful.
“Lilian, this is my friend, General de Banyan. General, Miss Ashford.”
“Miss Ashford,” said the general, with a dignified bow, as he took the
gloved hand that was extended to him, “I bend in homage before one who
is mighty enough in her beauty and her virtues to win the heart of my
friend Major Somers.”
Lilian blushed deeper than ever as she expressed her pleasure at meeting
the man who had shared the toils and the sufferings of her intended
husband.
“Miss Ashford, I have long known you, though we now meet for the first
time; but permit me to add, that my friend is the only man in the United
States who is worthy of the hand which is so soon to be his,” added De
Banyan, who was clearly in a “magnificent” mood on this occasion.
“I am afraid I shall be jealous of you, general,” laughed Lilian.
“Nay, the major’s heart is big enough to hold us all, Miss Ashford,”
continued De Banyan, still holding the little hand. “I pray to God that
he may never be called upon to do as much for you as he has done for me.
When you sink down to die upon the cold, wet ground in winter, exhausted
by sickness, borne under by starvation, with the savage blood-hounds
baying in the distance, and more savage rebels lying in wait for you;
when you lie down to die under these awful conditions, and he”—pointing
to the major—“steps between you and the quaking messenger of death, who
already has a grip upon you; when he, at the imminent peril of his life,
procures food and clothing to restore you; when he has stood over you
like an angel, and won back the breath of life to your feeble body; when
he has done this for you, you will know him as I know him.”
As he finished, a great tear slid down each side of his bronzed face;
but he dashed it away, and smiled again. Lilian pressed the great hand
she held, and a tear burned among the roses of her bright cheek.
“But all this, and more, has he done for me!” exclaimed Somers, pointing
to the colonel. “When I was wounded and helpless—”
“Upon my word, we are getting sentimental, major: and we had better
subside,” interposed the colonel. “Introduce me to the rest of the
people.”
Somers complied; and to each De Banyan made one of his characteristic
speeches; and perhaps he would have been voted ridiculous, if his
eloquence had not a moment before started the tears of more than half
the persons in the room.
Among those present was John Somers, the major’s twin brother, who had
come home to participate in this festive scene. On his arm was a
beautiful young lady; but who and what she was, we must, for prudential
reasons, decline to explain in this volume.
The clergyman came; the ceremony was performed, and the interesting
incidents which follow it were duly and properly disposed of; and never
was a happy couple more sincerely congratulated.
“Mrs. Somers, permit me to express my warmest hopes for your future
happiness,” said De Banyan. “May your husband be to you all that he has
been to me; he can be no more; he will be no less.”
There was nothing to mar the harmony of the occasion. Grandmother
Ashford mercifully permitted the heroes of the “last war” to rest in
their honored graves; and all gave a hearty God-speed to the happy
couple, as they twain set out on the blissful journey of wedlock.
* * * * *
Major Somers is a man of good motives, and of high Christian principles,
won in the day of trial and suffering, no less than in prosperity; and
we doubt not he will be as true to his God, his country, and himself, in
the future, as he has been in the past; when, by his fidelity, his
bravery, and his patriotism, he carved out his fortunes on the
battle-fields of The Great Rebellion.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
OLIVER OPTIC’S BOOKS
----------
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LEE AND SHEPARD, BOSTON, SEND THEIR COMPLETE CATALOGUE FREE.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
● Transcriber’s note:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores
(_italics_).