CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY.
At first Mrs. Clifford thought she did not care about having the
children go to school, as they had been kept at their studies for nearly
nine months without a vacation, except Christmas holidays.
But what was to be done with Horace? Aunt Louise, who was not
passionately fond of children, declared her trials were greater than she
could bear. Grace was a little tidy, she thought; but as for Horace, and
his dog Pincher, and the "calico kitty," which he had picked up for a
pet!--Louise disliked dogs and despised kittens. Sometimes, as she told
Margaret, she felt as if she should certainly fly; sometimes she was
sure she was going crazy; and then again it seemed as if her head would
burst into a thousand pieces.
None of these dreadful accidents happened, it is true; but a great many
other things did. Hammers, nails, and augers were carried off, and left
to rust in the dew. A cup of green paint, which for months had stood
quietly on an old shelf in the store-room, was now taken down and
stirred with a stick, and all the toys which Horace whittled out were
stained green, and set in the sun to dry. A pair of cheese-tongs, which
hung in the back room, a boot-jack, the washing-bench, which was once
red,--all became green in a very short time: only the red of the bench
had a curious effect, peeping out from its light and ragged coat of
green.
The blue sled which belonged to Susy and Prudy was brought down from the
shed-chamber, and looked at for some time. It would present a lovely
appearance, Horace thought, if he only dared cross it off with green.
But as the sled belonged to his little cousins, and they were not there
to see for themselves how beautiful he could make it look, why, he must
wait till they came; and then, very likely, the paint would be gone.
Of course, Horace soiled his clothes sadly: "that was always just like
him," his aunt Louise said.
This was not all. A little neighbor, Gilbert Brown, came to the house at
all hours, and between the two boys there was a noise of driving nails,
firing pop-guns, shouting and running from morning till night.
They built a "shanty" of the boards which grandpa was saving to mend the
fence, and in this shanty they "kept store," trading in crooked pins,
home-made toys, twine, and jackknives.
"Master chaps, them children are," said Abner, the good-natured hired
man.
"Hard-working boys! They are as destructive as army-worms," declared
grandpa, frowning, with a twinkle in his eye.
Horace had a cannon about a foot long, which went on wheels, with a box
behind it, and a rammer lashed on at the side--not to mention an
American flag which floated over the whole. With a stout string he drew
his cannon up to the large oilnut tree, and then with a real bayonet
fixed to a wooden gun, he would lie at full length under the shade,
calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the cannon. At these times woe
to the "calico kitty," or Grace, or anybody else who happened to go
near him! for he gave the order to "charge," and the charge was made
most vigorously.
Upon the whole, it was decided that everybody would feel easier and
happier if Horace should go to school. This plan did not please him at
all, and he went with sulky looks and a very bad grace.
His mother sighed; for though her little boy kept the letter of the law,
which says, "Children, obey your parents," he did not do it in the
_spirit_ of the commandment, "_Honor_ thy father and thy mother."
In a thousand ways Mrs. Clifford was made unhappy by Horace, who should
have been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed; for never did a kind
mother try harder to "train up a child" in the right way.
It did not take Horace a great while to renew his acquaintance with the
schoolboys, who all seemed to look upon him as a sort of curiosity.
"I never knew before," laughed little Dan Rideout, "that my name was
Dan-yell!"
"He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a _tin-kup_," said Gilbert
Brown.
"Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks, 'Is school _took up_?' just
as if it was knitting-work that was on needles."
"How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the
way he does! I'll bet _the ain't_ a boy can do it, unless it's a
Cahoojack." Peter meant _Hoosier_.
"Well, I wouldn't be seen saying _hoss_," returned Horace, with some
spirit; "that's _Yankee_."
"I guess the Yankees are as good as the Cahoojacks: wasn't your mother a
Yankee?"
"Yes," faltered Horace; "she was born up north here, in the Frigid
Zone; but she isn't so much relation to me as my father is, for her name
wasn't Clifford. She wouldn't have been _any_ relation to me if she
hadn't married my father!"
One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, who
could never endure ridicule, stole quietly away.
"Now, boys, you behave," said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's
a smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Come
back here, Spunky Clifford; let's have a game of _hi spy_!"
Horace was "as silent as a stone."
"He don't like to be called Spunky Clifford," said Johnny Bell; "do you,
Horace?"
"The reason I don't like it," replied the boy, "is because it's not my
name."
"Well, then," said Edward Snow, winking to the other boys, "won't you
play with us, _Master Horace_?"
"I'll not go back to be laughed at," replied he, stoutly: "when I'm home
I play with Hoosier boys, and they're politer than Yankees."
"'Twas only those big boys," said Johnny Bell; "now they've gone off.
Come, let's play something."
"I should think you'd be willing for us to laugh," added honest little
Willy Snow; "we can't help it, you talk so funny. We don't mean
anything."
"Well," said Horace, quite restored to good humor, and speaking with
some dignity, "you may laugh at me one kind of a way, but if you mean
_humph_ when you laugh, I won't stand it."
"_Woon't_ stand it!" echoed Peter Grant; "ain't that Dutch?"
"Dutch?" replied Horace: "I'll show you what _Dyche_ is! We have a
_Dyche_ teacher come in our school every day, and he stamps his foot and
tears round! 'Sei ruhig,' he says: that means, 'hush your mouth and keep
still.'"
"Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a synagogue?"
"No, he is a German _Luteran_, or a Dutch _Deformed_, or something that
way."
"What do you learn in?" said Johnny Bell.
"Why, in little German Readers: what else would they be?"
"Does it read like stories and verses?"
"I don't know. He keeps hitting the books with a little switch, and
screamin' out as if the house was afire."
"Come, say over some Dutch; _woon't_ you, Horace?"
So the little boy repeated some German poetry, while his schoolmates
looked up at him in wonder and admiration. This was just what Horace
enjoyed; and he continued, with sparkling eyes,--
"I s'pose you can't any of you _count_ Dutch?"
The boys confessed that they could not.
"It's just as easy," said Horace, telling over the numbers up to twenty,
as fast as he could speak.
"You can't any of you _write_ Dutch; can you? You give me a slate now,
and I'll write it all over so you couldn't read a word of it."
"Ain't it very hard to make?" asked the boys in tones of respectful
astonishment.
"I reckon you'd think 'twas hard, it's so full of little quirls, but _I_
can write it as easy as English."
This was quite true, for Horace made very hard work of any kind of
writing.
It was not two days before he was at the head of that part of the school
known as "the small boys," both in study and play; yet everybody liked
him, for, as I have said before, the little fellow had such a strong
sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, that he was always a
favorite, in spite of his faults.
The boys all said there was nothing "mean" about Horace. He would
neither abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. If he thought a boy
was doing wrong, he was not afraid to tell him so, and you may be sure
he was all the more respected for his moral courage.
Horace talked to his schoolmates a great deal about his father, Captain
Clifford, who was going to be a general some day.
"When I was home," said he, "I studied pa's book of _tictacs_, and I
used to drill the boys."
There was a loud cry of "Why can't you drill us? Come, let's us have a
company, and you be cap'n!"
Horace gladly consented, and the next Saturday afternoon a meeting was
appointed at the "Glen." When the time came, the boys were all as joyful
as so many squirrels suddenly let out of a cage.
"Now look here, boys," said Horace, brushing back his "shingled hair,"
and walking about the grove with the air of a lord. "First place, if I'm
going to be captain, you must mind; will you? _say_."
Horace was not much of a public speaker; he threw words together just as
it happened; but there was so much meaning in the twistings of his face,
the jerkings of his head, and the twirlings of his thumbs, that if you
were looking at him you must know what he meant.
"Ay, ay!" piped the little boys in chorus.
"Then I'll muster you in," said Horace, grandly. "Has everybody brought
their guns?--I mean _sticks_, you know!"
"Ay, ay!"
"I want to be corporal," said Peter Grant.
"I'll be major," cried Willy Snow.
"There, you've spoke," shouted the captain. "I wish there was a tub or
bar'l to stand you on when you talk."
After some time an empty flour barrel was brought, and placed upright
under a tree, to serve as a dunce-block.
"Now we'll begin 'new," said the captain. "Those that want to be
mustered, rise up their hands; but don't you snap your fingers."
The caution came too late for some of the boys; but Horace forgave the
seeming disrespect, knowing that no harm was intended.
"Now, boys, what are you fighting about?--Say, For our country!"
"For our country," shouted the soldiers, some in chorus, and some in
solo.
"And our flag," added Horace, as an after-thought.
"And our flag," repeated the boys, looking at the little banner of stars
and stripes, which was fastened to the stump of a tree, and faintly
fluttered in the breeze.
"Long may it wave!" cried Horace, growing enthusiastic, and pointing
backward to the flag with a sweep of his thumb.
"There ain't a 'Secesh' in this company; there ain't a man but wants our
battle to beat! If there is, we'll muster him out double-quick."
A few caps were flourished in the air, and every mouth was set firmly
together, as if it would shout scorn of secession if it dared speak. It
was a loyal company; there was no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain was
so bitter against the South, that he had asked his aunt Madge if it was
right to let _southernwood_ grow in the garden.
"Now," said Horace, "Forward! March! 'Ploy column!--No, form a line
first. Ten_tion_!"
A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the letter S, gradually
straightened itself, and the boys looked down to their feet as if they
expected to see a chalk-mark on the grass.
"Now, when I say, 'Right!' you must look at the buttons on my jacket--or
on yours, I've forgot which; on yours, I reckon. Right! Right at 'em!
Right at the buttons!"
Obedient to orders, every boy's head drooped in a moment.
"Stop!" said Horace, knitting his brows; "that's enough!" For there
seemed to be something wrong, he could not tell what.
"Now you may ''bout face;' that means whirl round. Now march! one, two,
quick time, double-quick!"
"They're stepping on my toes," cried barefooted Peter Grant.
"Hush right up, private, or I'll stand you on the bar'l."
"I wish't you would," groaned little Peter; "it hurts."
"Well, then, I shan't," said the captain, decidedly, "for 'twouldn't be
any punishin'.--Can't some of you whistle?"
Willy Snow struck up Yankee Doodle, which soon charmed the wayward feet
of the little volunteers, and set them to marching in good time.
Afterward their captain gave instructions in "groundin' arms," "stackin'
arms," "firin'," and "countin' a march," by which he meant
"countermarching." He had really read a good many pages in Infantry
Tactics, and had treasured up the military phrases with some care,
though he had but a confused idea of their meaning.
"Holler-square!" said he, when he could think of nothing else to say. Of
course he meant a "hollow square."
"Shall we holler all together?" cried a voice from the midst of the
ranks.
The owner of the voice would have been "stood on the barrel," if Horace
had been less busy thinking.
"I've forgot how they holler, as true as you live; but I reckon it's all
together, and open your mouths wide."
[Illustration: STAND BY THE FLAG.--Page 85.]
At this the young volunteers, nothing loath, gave a long, deafening
shout, which the woods caught up and echoed.
Horace scratched his head. He had seen his father drill his men, but he
could not remember that he had ever heard them scream.
A pitched battle came off next, which would have been a very peaceful
one if all the boys had not wanted to be Northerners. But the feeling
was greatly changed when Horace joined the Southern ranks, saying "he
didn't care how much he played Secesh when everybody knew he was a good
Union man, and his father was going to be a general." After this there
was no trouble about raising volunteers on the rebel side.
The whole affair ended very pleasantly, only there was some slashing
right and left with a few bits of broken glass, which were used as
swords; and several mothers had wounds to dress that night.
Mrs. Clifford heard no complaint from her little son, although his
fingers were quite ragged, and must have been painful. Horace was really
a brave boy, and always bore suffering like a hero. More than that, he
had the satisfaction of using the drops of blood for red paint; and the
first thing after supper he made a wooden sword and gun, and dashed them
with red streaks.