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[Illustration: THE LAST OF THE “LOUISIANA.”]
_CASTLEMON’S WAR SERIES._
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SAILOR JACK, THE TRADER
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “GUNBOAT SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,”
“FOREST AND STREAM SERIES,” ETC., ETC.
_Four Illustrations by Geo. G. White._
[Illustration: colophon]
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY
PORTER & COATES
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TOM RANDOLPH, CONSCRIPT, 1
II. LAMBERT’S SIGNAL-FIRE, 29
III. MR. RANDOLPH CARRIES TALES, 59
IV. THE PHANTOM BUSHWHACKERS, 86
V. THE COTTON THIEVES, 114
VI. THE MAN HE WANTED TO SEE, 141
VII. SAILOR JACK IN ACTION, 168
VIII. BAD NEWS FROM MARCY, 195
IX. RODNEY IS ASTONISHED, 222
X. MARK GOODWIN’S PLAN, 247
XI. BEN MAKES A FAILURE, 273
XII. SURPRISED AND CAPTURED, 302
XIII. IN WILLIAMSTON JAIL, 326
XIV. THE PRISON PEN, 350
XV. ON ACCOUNT OF THE DEAD LINE, 375
XVI. SAILOR JACK, THE TRADER, 403
XVII. CONCLUSION, 435
SAILOR JACK, THE TRADER.
CHAPTER I.
TOM RANDOLPH, CONSCRIPT.
“Well, by gum! Am I dreamin’? Is this Tom Randolph or his hant?”
“I don’t wonder that you are surprised. It’s Tom Randolph easy enough,
though I can hardly believe it myself when I look in the glass. There
isn’t a nigger in the settlement that isn’t better clad and better
mounted than I am.”
“Well, I have seen you when you looked a trifle pearter, that’s a fact.”
“And what brought me to this? The Yankees and their cowardly
sympathizers. I don’t blame the boys in blue so much, for brave soldiers
always respect one another, even though their sense of duty compels them
to fight under different flags; but the traitors we have right here
among us are too mean to be of any use. And the meanest one among them
is Rodney Gray.”
The first speaker was Lieutenant Lambert, who, by his zealous efforts to
serve the cause of the South, brought about the bombardment of Baton
Rouge, and the person whom he addressed was the redoubtable Captain Tom
himself, who had just returned to Mooreville after undergoing two
months’ military discipline at Camp Pinckney.
The last time we saw these two worthies was shortly after the
Confederate General Breckenridge made his unsuccessful attempt to
capture Baton Rouge, and the conscripting officer, Captain Roach,
disappeared so completely that no one had ever heard a word of him
since, and the veteran Major Morgan, backed by fifty soldiers who hated
all Home Guards and other skulkers as cordially as they hated the
Yankees, came to take his place. Knowing that Captain Roach had been
very remiss in his duty, that he had spent more time in visiting and
eating good dinners than he had in sending conscripts to the army, Major
Morgan hardly gave himself time to take possession of the office in
Kimberley’s store before he declared that that sort of work was going to
cease entirely, and that everyone in his district who was liable to
military duty, Home Guards as well as civilians, must start for the camp
of instruction at once or be taken there by force. The news spread
rapidly, and in a very few hours everyone in the settlement had heard
it. The wounded and disabled veterans of the Army of the Centre, of whom
there were a goodly number in the neighborhood, were overjoyed to learn
that at last there was a man in the conscripting office who could not be
trifled with, and some of the civilians, who came under the exemption
clause of the Conscription Act, secretly cherished the hope that Captain
Tom and his first lieutenant might be sent to serve under Bragg, who did
not scruple to shoot his soldiers for the most trivial offences.
As to Tom and his Home Guards, they did not at first pay much attention
to the major’s threats. It was right that civilians should be forced to
shoulder muskets, since they would not do it of their own free will, but
as for them, they were State troops, and the government at Richmond
could not order them around as it pleased. Besides, they had great
confidence in Mrs. Randolph’s powers of persuasion. She would never
permit her son to go into the army, and having managed Captain Roach
pretty near as she pleased, the Home Guards did not see why she could
not manage Major Morgan as well; but when it became noised abroad that
the latter had curtly refused Mrs. Randolph’s invitation to dinner,
intimating that he was not ordered to Mooreville to waste his time in
visiting and nonsense, they were terribly frightened, and demanded that
Captain Tom should “see them through.” When they enlisted in his
company, he promised to stand between them and the Confederate
authorities, and now was the time for him to make that promise good; but
Tom was as badly frightened as they were, and did not know what to do.
When his mother suggested that it might be well for him to put his
commission in his pocket, and ride to Mooreville and talk the matter
over with the major, Tom almost went frantic.
“Go down there and face that despot alone,” he exclaimed, “while he has
fifty veterans at his back to obey his slightest wish? I’d about as soon
be shot and have done with it. Besides, what have I got to ride? The
Yankees have stolen me afoot.”
Captain Tom knew well enough that he was not telling the truth. It
wasn’t Yankees who “stole him afoot,” but men who wore the same kind of
uniform he did. You will remember that we compared the short visit of
Breckenridge’s army to a plague of locusts. Everything in the shape of
eatables in and around Mooreville, as well as some articles of value,
disappeared and were never heard of afterward; and among those articles
of value were several fine horses, Tom Randolph’s being one of the first
to turn up missing. His expensive saddle and bridle disappeared at the
same time, and now, if Tom wanted to go anywhere, he was obliged to walk
or ride a plough mule bare-back, which was harrowing to his feelings. He
wouldn’t appear before a Confederate officer of rank in any such style
as that, he said, and that was all there was about it. But, as it
happened, the conscripting officer had a word to say on that point. On
the morning following his arrival in the village a couple of strange
troopers galloped into Mr. Randolph’s front yard and drew up at the
steps with a jerk. Captain Tom’s heart sank when he saw them coming, for
something told him that they were after him and nobody else; and paying
no heed to the earnest entreaties of his mother, who assured him that he
might as well face them one time as another, for he could not save
himself by flight, he disappeared like a shot through the nearest door,
leaving her to explain his absence in any way she thought proper. But
after taking a second look at the unwelcome visitors, Mrs. Randolph knew
it would be of no use to try to shield the timid Home Guard. The trooper
who ascended the steps, leaving his comrade to hold his horse, was a
rough-looking fellow, as well he might be, for he had seen hard service.
The little pieces of metal on his huge Texas spurs tinkled musically,
his heavy cavalry sabre clanked against his heels as he walked, and Mrs.
Randolph thought there was something threatening in the sound. He lifted
his cap respectfully, but said in a brisk business tone:
“I’d like to see Tom Randolph, if you please.”
“Do you mean Captain Randolph?” corrected the lady.
“No, ma’am. He was given to me as plain Tom Randolph, and that is the
only name I know him by. I’d like to see him, if you please.”
“Will you step in while I go and find him?”
“Thank you, no. I have no time to sit down. I am in a great hurry.”
“You can spare a moment to tell me, his mother, what you are going to do
with him, can you not?”
“All I can say is that the major wants to see him at once,” was the
short answer.
“Do you know what the major wants of him, so that I can explain——”
“Pardon me if I say that no explanations are necessary. It is enough for
him to know that Major Morgan wants to see him without a moment’s
delay.”
The tone in which the words were spoken satisfied Mrs. Randolph that the
impatient trooper could not be put off any longer, so she turned about
and went into the house. She knew that Tom had gone straight to her
room, and when she tried the door she found that he had locked himself
in.
“Who’s there?” demanded a husky voice from the inside.
“It is I, my dear, and I am alone,” was the reply. “Let me in at once.
Now, call all your courage to your aid, and show yourself the brave
soldier you were on the night you knocked that Yankee sentinel down with
the butt of a musket and escaped being sent to a Northern prison-pen,”
she continued, as she slipped through the half open door, which was
quickly closed and locked behind her. “Major Morgan wants to see you at
his office, and, my dear, you had better go at once. The man at the door
will not wait much longer.”
“I don’t care if he won’t,” shouted Captain Tom, who was terribly
alarmed. “If he gets tired of standing there, let him go back where he
came from and tell that major that I—what business has that fellow got
out there?”
Tom chanced to look through the window while he was talking, and when he
saw one of the troopers ride down the carriage-way as if he were going
to the rear of the house, it flashed upon him that the man was going
there to watch the back door. At the same moment the jingling of spurs
and the rattling of a sabre were heard in the next room, the door knob
was tried by a strong hand, and something that might have been the toe
of a heavy boot was propelled with considerable force against the door
itself.
“Open up here,” commanded a stern voice on the other side. “Do it at
once, or I shall be obliged to force an entrance.”
This threat brought Captain Tom to his senses. In a second the door was
unlocked and opened, and the soldier stepped into the room.
“By what right does Major Morgan——” began Tom.
“I don’t know a thing about it,” was the quick reply. “It is no part of
my duty to inquire into my superior’s private affairs. All I can say is
that I am commanded to bring Tom Randolph before him without loss of
time. You are Tom Randolph, I take it. Then saddle up and come with me.”
“But the Yankees stole my horse and I have nothing to ride except a
mule,” whined Tom.
“Then ride the mule or come afoot. Make up your mind to something, for I
am going to start in half a minute by the watch.”
“You will give my son time to exchange his citizen’s clothes for his
captain’s uniform, of course,” ventured Mrs. Randolph.
“Sorry I haven’t an instant to wait, but the color of his clothes will
make no sort of difference to Major Morgan,” was the reply. “Now then,
will you order up that mule, or walk, or ride double with my man?”
“Are you an officer?” faltered Tom.
“Not much of one—only a captain.”
“Well, that puts a different look on the matter entirely,” said Tom, who
up to this time thought he was being ordered around by a private
soldier. “Since you are an officer I expect to receive an officer’s
treatment from you, and I don’t wish to be addressed——”
“That’s all right. But hurry up, for the time is precious.”
Being satisfied at last that his meeting with the dreaded conscript
officer could not be delayed any longer, Captain Tom hastened to his
room after his commission, while his mother sent a darky to the
stable-yard to bring up the solitary mule that had been left there when
the few remaining field-hands went to work in the morning. And a very
sorry-looking beast it proved to be when it was led to the door—too
decrepit to work, and so weak with age that it fairly staggered as Tom
threw his weight upon the sheepskin which the thoughtful darky had
placed on the animal’s back to serve in lieu of a saddle. A sorry
picture Captain Tom made, too, when he was mounted; but he had no choice
between going that way and riding double with a private, and that was a
thing he could not bring himself to do.
While they were on their way to town Captain Tom made several fruitless
attempts to induce his captors—for that was just what they were—to give
him some idea of what he might expect when he presented himself before
the major; but although he could not prevail upon them to say a word on
that subject, he was able to make a pretty shrewd guess as to the nature
of the business in hand, and if he had known that he was going to prison
for a long term of years he could not have felt so utterly wretched and
disheartened.
“If I were going to jail I might have a chance to get pardoned out,”
thought Tom, “but the only way to get out of the army is to be killed or
have an arm or leg shot off. I’d be perfectly willing to go if Jeff
Davis and all his Cabinet could be compelled to go too. I’m afraid I am
in for trouble this time, sure.”
If Captain Tom had any lingering doubts on this point they were
dispelled in less than half a minute after he entered the enrolling
office. He had never before met the grizzly veteran who sat at Captain
Roach’s desk with a multitude of papers before him, and when their short
interview was ended Captain Tom hoped from the bottom of his heart that
he might never meet him again. He proved to be just what he looked—a
thorough soldier, who had come there with the determination to perform
his disagreeable duty without fear or favor. Every man in the office was
a stranger to Tom. There were stacks of carbines and cavalry sabres in
all the corners, horses saddled and bridled were hitched to the rack in
front of the door, and there were a few tanned and weather-beaten
soldiers standing around ready to start at the word, but there was not a
Home Guard to be seen.
“This is Tom Randolph, sir,” was the way in which one of the guards
brought the new-comer to the notice of the conscript officer. “Don’t sit
down,” he added a moment later, as Tom drew a chair toward him. “Take
off your hat.”
Captain Randolph was amazed, for this was not the way he had always been
treated in that office. Hitherto he had been a privileged character, and
had had as much to say as Captain Roach himself; but now things were
changed, and for the first time in his life Tom was made to see that he
was not of so much importance in the world as he had supposed himself to
be. He took off his hat, but noticed that the soldiers in the room did
not remove theirs, and that nettled him. So did the manner in which the
major acknowledged the introduction, if such it could be called. He did
not offer to shake hands as Tom thought he would, but merely looked over
the top of his spectacles for a moment. Then he pulled a sheet of paper
toward him, ran his finger down the list of names written on it until he
had found the one he wanted, and made a short entry opposite to it;
after which he pushed away the paper and said:
“Report at one o’clock this afternoon. That’s all.”
“But, major,” Tom almost gasped, “what am I to report for?”
“What for? Why, marching orders, of course.”
“Well, will you tell me where I am to march?”
“Along the road that leads to the camp of instruction. Where else should
a recruit march to, I’d like to know. You’re conscripted.”
“But, major,” protested Tom, drawing forth an official envelope with
hands that trembled so violently that he could scarcely control them, “I
really don’t see how you can conscript me. I am a captain in the State
troops, and there’s my commission from the governor.”
“It isn’t worth straws,” answered the major, snapping his fingers in the
air. “Don’t want to see it. Besides, you have resigned.”
“But my resignation has not been accepted.”
“That doesn’t matter. It will be, for there are no such things as State
troops now, I am happy to say. You’re liable to military duty easy
enough, and—that’s all.”
“I retain my rank, don’t I, sir?” said Tom.
It was astonishing what an effect this simple question had upon the
occupants of the room. Some quickly turned their faces to the wall,
others tiptoed through the nearest doors, and all shook with suppressed
merriment. The major jerked his spectacles off his nose, looked hard at
Tom to see if he were really in earnest, and cleared his throat before
he replied:
“No, sir; you will begin as Private Randolph, but will be given every
opportunity to show what you are made of, and to win a commission that
is worth something more than the paper it happens to be written on.
Don’t worry about that. Well, sergeant, where are the men I ordered you
to bring before me?”
Hardly able to tell whether he was awake or dreaming, Tom Randolph
yielded to the friendly hand that was laid upon his arm, and suffered
himself to be led away from the desk, his place being immediately filled
by four brawny soldiers, who raised their hands with a military salute.
The first words one of them spoke aroused Tom from his stupor and
interested him.
“We didn’t find Lambert and Moseley to home, sir. They must have had
warnin’, I reckon, for they’ve took to the bresh.”
“They needn’t think to escape me by resorting to any such trick as
that,” said the major grimly. “They owe a duty to their country in this
hour of her peril, and they’ve got to do it. I’ll have a detail watch
their houses night and day till they come back.”
Tom Randolph could hardly believe that the soldier who laid his hand
upon his arm and conducted him to a remote corner of the room, so that
they could talk without danger of being overheard, was the same captain
who had been so impatient and peremptory with him and his mother a short
time before, but such was the fact. Having performed his duty and
brought his prisoner to the office, as he had been told to do, the
captain had thrown off his soldier airs and was as jolly and friendly a
fellow as one would care to meet.
“You see you are going to have good company while you are in camp,” said
he.
“I don’t know what you call good company,” snarled Tom. “Lambert is
nothing more than a common overseer, while Moseley is a chicken and hog
thief. Good company, indeed!”
“But we heard that they are officers in your company of Home Guards,”
said the captain in a surprised tone.
“They were chosen against my earnest protest,” replied Tom, “but they
have never been commissioned by the governor. Their election was not
legal, and so I didn’t report it. But, captain, I don’t think your major
has any authority to ride over the governor in this rough way.”
“Hasn’t he a right to conscript everyone who does not come under the
exemption clause?” answered the captain. “If you have read that act I
will venture to say that you did not see the words ‘Home Guards’ in it.
Come now.”
“But I am my father’s overseer,” said Tom, switching off on another
track.
“Since when?”
“Since long before Breckenridge made his attack on Baton Rouge.”
“Where are you employed?”
“On the home plantation.”
“Your father doesn’t need two overseers on the home plantation, does he?
He has claimed exemption for—what’s his name?—Larkin.”
“And didn’t he say a word about me?”
“The records of the office don’t show it. Now let me tell you something.
If your father wants to claim exemption for you instead of Larkin no
doubt he can manage it with General Ruggles, who is in command at Camp
Pinckney. Major Morgan has no authority to act in such cases. Just now
your duty is to go home and make ready to report at one o’clock sharp.
Don’t be a second behind time unless you want to get the rough side of
the major’s tongue.”
“What shall I do to get ready?”
“Why, pack up a suit or two of your strongest clothes, an extra pair of
shoes and stockings, and a few blankets, which I assure you will come
handy for shelter tents when you take the field.”
“And you don’t think of any way in which I can get out of it?” said Tom
in a choking voice.
“Oh, no. _That’s_ a dead open and shut. You’ve got to go to camp and
stay there while your friends are working to get you out, if that is
what you want them to do. But I wouldn’t let them make any move in that
direction if I were you. Why don’t you go with us and make a man of
yourself? We are whipping the Yankees right along, and you will have
plenty of chances to distinguish yourself. We’re bound to gain our
independence, and don’t you want to be able to say that you had a hand
in it?”
The captain’s earnest words did not send any thrill of patriotism into
the heart of Tom Randolph, who just then wished that the Yankees would
sweep through Mooreville in irresistible numbers, put an end to the war
in a moment, and so keep him from going to Camp Pinckney. He turned
sorrowfully away from the captain, who had really tried to befriend him
by giving what he thought to be good advice, mounted his aged mule, and
set out for home. His mother’s face brightened when he dismounted at the
foot of the steps, but fell instantly when Tom told her that she had
better take a good long look at him while she had the chance, for after
that day was past she would never see him again. Of course there was
mourning in that house when he told his story, and the gloom that rested
there was but partially dispelled by Mr. Randolph’s promise to discharge
Larkin without loss of time and claim exemption for Tom in his stead.
“If you could do it this minute it would not keep me from going to the
camp of instruction,” whined Tom, “for the major has no authority to do
anything but conscript everybody he can get his hands on.”
“Has he warned Ned Griffin and Rodney Gray?” inquired Mrs. Randolph.
“That’s so,” exclaimed Tom angrily. “What a dunce I was not to speak to
the captain about those fellows! But I was so taken up with my own
affairs that I never once thought of it. However, I’ll think of it when
I go down to the office at one o’clock, I bet you. And, father, if you
get on the track of Lambert and Moseley, don’t fail to let the major
know it. If I’ve got to be disgraced I want them to keep me company.”
“I will bear it in mind,” answered Mr. Randolph. “And since one o’clock
isn’t so very far off, hadn’t you better get ready?”
The conscript thought this a very heartless suggestion and so did his
mother; but they could not deny that there was reason in it, and so
preparations for Tom’s departure were made at once. The parting which
took place an hour or so later was a tearful one on Tom’s part as well
as his mother’s, but there was not very much sorrow exhibited by the
black servants who crowded into the dining-room to shake his hand, as
they were in duty bound to do, and Tom made the mental resolution that,
when he returned from Camp Pinckney to take his place as overseer on the
plantation, he would see them well paid for their indifference. He rode
in his mother’s carriage this time, accompanied by his father and a
bundle of things that would have filled a soldier’s knapsack to
overflowing. When the carriage turned into the street that ran past
Kimberley’s store, Tom thrust his head out of the window, but instantly
pulled it in again to say, while tears of vexation filled his eyes and
ran down his cheeks:
“There’s a bigger crowd of people in front of the office than I ever saw
before. No doubt some of them will be glad to know I have been
conscripted; but if you have the luck I am sure you will have, I shall
be back to turn the laugh on them before many days have passed over my
head. Just look, father, and remember the name of every one who has a
slighting word or glance for me, so that I may settle with him at some
future time. I hope Rodney and Ned Griffin are there.”
“You’ve got your wish,” replied Mr. Randolph, after he had run his eye
over the crowd, which extended clear across the street to the
hitching-rack. “Rodney and Ned are there, but they seem to be standing
on the outskirts.”
Tom mastered up courage enough to look again, and then he saw what his
father meant by “the outskirts.” There were three distinct classes of
people in that gathering. In the middle of the crowd and in front of the
office stood two score conscripts, who were closely guarded by half as
many of Major Morgan’s veterans. Some of the conscripts seemed resolved
to make the best of the situation, and joked and laughed with their
friends and relatives who had assembled to see them off, and who formed
the third class that stood outside the guards; but Tom noticed that most
of their number looked very unhappy indeed. Tom did not see Rodney and
Ned, but he discovered several disabled veterans of Bragg’s army with
whom he had a speaking acquaintance, and they in turn discovered him and
sent up a shout of welcome.
“Hey-youp! Here comes another, and I do think in my soul it’s Captain
Tommy Randolph,” exclaimed one. “It’s him, for I know that there
kerridge.”
“An’ they tell me that you might jest as well be in the army to onct as
to be in that camp,” chimed in a second veteran. “There aint no sich
thing as gettin’ away when they get a grip onto you.”
“Not by no means,” cried a third. “Kase why, don’t you know that they
keep a pack of nigger hound dogs there that aint got nothin’ in the wide
world to do but jest chase deserters?”
The tone in which the taunting words were uttered was highly
exasperating to Tom, whose face grew red with anger.
“I wouldn’t mind them,” said his father soothingly. “That’s only
soldiers’ fun. They don’t mean anything by it.”
“I’ll try not to mind them now, but I’ll get even with every one of them
when I come back,” said Tom savagely.
Stepping out of the carriage, and showing himself to that little mob of
laughing, jeering soldiers, was one of the most trying ordeals that Tom
Randolph ever passed through, but there was no way to escape it. As he
hurried through their ranks toward the guards, who stood aside to let
him pass, they sent a few more words of advice and encouragement after
him.
“Where’s all your purty clothes, Tommy?” inquired one. “Go home to onct
an’ get ’em. If you don’t, them fule Yanks will think you are nothin’
but a dog-gone private.”
“Don’t listen to him, Tommy,” said another. “The Yanks always pick for
officers in battle, an’ they’re dead shots, I tell you.”
“You’re mighty right,” chorused a dozen voices. “I never did see anybody
who could shoot like them Yanks. I’m glad I aint got to face ’em agin,
tell your folks. I wouldn’t do it for all the money the Confedrit
gov’ment is worth.”
“It’s a disgrace the way those fellows are allowed to go on,” said Tom
to the first soldier he met when he entered the office, and who turned
out to be the captain whose acquaintance he had made that morning. “Why
don’t you put a stop to it?”
“Aw! They want some sport, don’t they?” was the answer. “Let them go
ahead with it until they get tired, and then they will stop. Besides,
you might as well get used to such talk one time as another, for you
will hear plenty of it in the army.”
“But you mustn’t permit them to force me into the army,” whispered Tom
to his father. “If you do, you will always be sorry for it, because you
will never see me again.”
In a dazed sort of way Tom reported to the major, and then tried to hide
himself in a corner of the office where he would be out of sight of his
tormentors, but he was quickly routed from there by one of the major’s
men, who told him to go outside where he would be under the eye of the
guard. Of course his appearance was the signal for another outburst from
the veterans, but he wisely tried to drown their gibes by entering into
conversation with a conscript who looked as disconsolate and wretched as
Tom himself felt. His father had given the bundle into his keeping, and
taken his place outside the guards with the rest of the exempts, and Tom
began to realize how it seemed to be alone in a crowd. Rodney and Ned
did not come near him, and that made him angry and threaten vengeance.
They might at least shake hands with him and assure him of their
sympathy, Tom thought, but if they had been foolish enough to attempt
it, it is more than probable that he would have turned his back upon
them. More than that, Rodney Gray was not a hypocrite. Having had the
most to do with the breaking up of Tom’s company of Home Guards, he
would have uttered a deliberate untruth if he had said he was sorry to
see him conscripted. He wasn’t; he would have been sorry to see him stay
at home.
“And when he reaches the camp of instruction I hope some strict
drill-sergeant will put him through an extra course of sprouts to pay
him for the mean trick he tried to play on Dick Graham,” said Rodney to
his friend Ned. “I could have told things that would have got all the
Pinckney guards down on him if I had been so disposed, and now I am glad
I didn’t do it. There he goes. Good-by, Tom Randolph.”
“Fall in!” shouted a stentorian voice. “Not off there, but here, with
the right resting where I stand. Haven’t you Home Guards been drilled
enough to learn how to fall in in two ranks? Face out that way toward
the hitching-rack. Now listen to roll-call!”
In ten minutes more the conscripts had answered to their names and were
headed toward Camp Pinckney, marching in a crooked straggling line with
their bundles on their shoulders and armed guards on each side of them.
There were forty-five in all, and two-thirds of them were Home Guards.
There were many sober and tearful faces among the spectators when they
moved away, and even the discharged veterans must have taken the matter
seriously, for they did not utter one taunting word.