[Illustration]
_THE GUN-BOAT SERIES._
FRANK, THE YOUNG NATURALIST,
FRANK ON A GUN-BOAT,
FRANK IN THE WOODS,
FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG,
FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI.
Price, $1.25 per volume, or $6.25 per set, in a neat box,
forming a most excellent and interesting
LIBRARY FOR YOUNG FOLKS.
_THE GUN-BOAT SERIES._
Frank
BEFORE VICKSBURG.
BY
H. C. CASTLEMON,
"THE GUN-BOAT BOY."
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
CINCINNATI:
R. W. CARROLL & CO., PUBLISHERS,
OPERA-HOUSE BUILDING,
_73 West Fourth Street_.
1866.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865,
BY R. W. CARROLL & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of Ohio.
STEREOTYPED AT THE
FRANKLIN TYPE FOUNDRY,
CINCINNATI, O.
Contents.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
HOME AGAIN 7
CHAPTER II.
HARRY ON A SCOUT 23
CHAPTER III.
ON DUTY AGAIN 38
CHAPTER IV.
THE FIGHT IN THE WOODS 60
CHAPTER V.
IN THE HANDS OF THE "JOHNNIES" AGAIN 80
CHAPTER VI.
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 96
CHAPTER VII.
A CLOSE SHAVE 111
CHAPTER VIII.
TAKING DOWN THE CAPTAIN 126
CHAPTER IX.
A PRACTICAL JOKE 144
CHAPTER X.
NEW MESSMATES 153
CHAPTER XI.
A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK 162
CHAPTER XII.
IN THE TRENCHES 183
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SCOUT'S STORY 194
CHAPTER XIV.
RUNNING THE BATTERIES 206
CHAPTER XV.
A RACE FOR THE OLD FLAG 213
CHAPTER XVI.
THE RIVAL SHARP-SHOOTERS 227
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SMUGGLER'S CAVE--CONCLUSION 243
FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG.
CHAPTER I.
Home Again.
After all the tragic adventures which Frank Nelson had passed through,
since entering the service of his country, which we have attempted to
describe in the preceding volume of this series, he found himself
surrounded by his relatives and friends, petted and fĂȘted, enjoying all
the comforts of his old and well-beloved home.
Only those who have been in similar circumstances can imagine how
pleasant that quiet little cottage seemed to Frank, after the scenes of
danger through which he had passed. He looked back to the memorable
struggle between the lines; the scene in the turret during the first
day's fight at Fort Pemberton; the privations he had undergone while
confined in the prison at Shreveport; his almost miraculous escape; and
they seemed to him like a dream. All his sufferings were forgotten in
the joy he felt at finding himself once more at home. But sorrow was
mingled with his joy when he looked upon the weeds which his mother
wore, and when he saw the look of sadness which had taken the place of
her once happy smile. She seemed ten years older than she looked on that
pleasant morning, just fifteen months before, when, standing in the
door, she had strained her son to her bosom, and uttered those words
which had rung in Frank's ears whenever he felt himself about to give
away to his feelings of terror:
"Good-by, my son; I may never see you again, but I hope I shall never
hear that you shrank from your duty."
Frank shuddered when he thought how intense must have been the suffering
that could work so great a change. But now that he was safe at home
again, there was no cause but for rejoicing. His presence there afforded
abundant proof that he had _not_ been shot while attempting to run the
guards at Shreveport, as had been reported.
And how great must have been the joy which that mother felt at beholding
him once more! Although he did not move about the house in his
accustomed noisy, boyish way, and although his cheek had been paled by
his recent sickness, from which he had not yet wholly recovered, he was
still the same lively, generous Frank whom she had so freely given up to
the service of his country. During the short time that they had been
separated, he had been placed in situations where his courage and
determination had been severely tested, and had come safely through,
never forgetting his mother's advice; and that mother could not suppress
the emotions of pride that arose in her heart, for she knew that her son
had done his duty.
Numerous were the questions that were asked and answered, on both sides.
Frank was obliged to relate, over and over again, the story of his
capture and escape, until Aunt Hannah thrust her head into the room,
with the announcement that supper was ready.
When the meal was finished, Frank removed his trunk into his study.
Every thing there was just as he left it: the fore-and-aft schooner, and
the box inclosing the scene at sea, still stood upon the bureau; his
sporting cabinet hung on the frame at the foot of the bed; the little
clock on the mantel-piece ticked as musically as in days of yore; and
the limb of the rose-bush that covered his window flapped against the
house just as it did the night when it was broken off by the storm.
After he had taken a fond, lingering look at each familiar object, he
went into the museum, accompanied by his mother and sister, while Brave
ran on before. Julia opened the door, and there stood the wild-cat, just
as he looked when the young naturalist had encountered him in the woods.
Frank remembered how the cold sweat had started out from every pore in
his body when he first found himself face to face with this "ugly
customer," and he could not help smiling when he thought how terrified
he was. As he walked slowly around the museum, examining all the
specimens, as though he had never seen them before, he thought over the
little history of each. There was the buck that he and Archie had
killed in the lake, when they lost their guns, and the latter had
wished they "had never seen the deer." Then came the owl, which Frank
had shot on that rainy morning when Archie had felt so certain of his
prize. Then there was the white buck, which the boys had rescued from
the wolves only to have him killed by a panther. Next came the moose
with which Frank had struggled so desperately in the woods, and from
which he had been rescued by the trapper and his dog. The skin of the
bear, which he had trapped, and followed to the cave, and that of the
panther that killed the white buck, still hung on a nail behind the
door, where he had left them after his return from the woods.
After examining every thing to his satisfaction, he went into the shanty
behind the museum, where he kept his pets. The raccoons, which had
become so tame that Julia allowed them to run about, started away at his
approach; but the squirrels and otter recognized him at once; and while
one ran down into his pockets in search for nuts, the other came toward
him, uttering a faint whine, and looked up as if expecting the piece of
cracker which Frank, in former days, had always taken especial care to
provide for him. While Frank was caressing the little animal, the
king-birds and crow flew into the shanty. The former were now five in
number, the old birds having raised a nestful of young ones, which were
no less efficient in driving every bird from the orchard, or less
lenient to the crow, than their parents. The old king-birds lit on
Frank's shoulders, while Daw seemed to prefer his master's uniform cap,
and was about to take possession of it, when his enemies straightway
commenced a fight, and the poor crow, after a desperate resistance, was
driven from the shanty.
Perhaps the reader would like to know what has become of the young moose
and the cubs which Frank captured during his visit at the trapper's
cabin. Well, they have good quarters, and are well provided for at Uncle
Mike's, the same who assisted the young naturalist on the morning when
we saw him trying to get his scow up to his work-shop. The moose has
about an acre of pasture allowed him. He is as tame and gentle as ever,
never attempting to escape. Uncle Mike has put this entirely out of his
power, for he is surrounded by a ten-rail fence. The animal more than
pays for his keeping, and many a load of wood has he drawn up to Mike's
door for the use of his family.
The cubs, which are considerably larger than when we last saw them, are
a source of a great deal of annoyance to the honest Irishman. They are
still as playful as ever, and amuse themselves all day long in turning
somersaults and wrestling with each other; but Mike has learned to
"stand from under." He can generally defend himself against the attacks
of one of the cubs, but the other is always ready to lend assistance,
and the Irishman is invariably worsted. He keeps them confined in a
building that once served as a smoke-house; and not daring to trust
himself within reach of their paws, he gives them their food through the
window.
It was dark before Frank had seen and heard enough to satisfy him to
return to the cottage. The evening was spent in listening to his stories
of gun-boat life on the Mississippi, and it was midnight before he
retired to his room. The Newfoundlander, which had been close at his
master's side ever since he returned, scarcely leaving him for a moment,
followed him into his study, and took possession of the rug before the
door. After winding up the clock that stood on the mantel, and setting
the alarm, Frank put out the light, and tumbled into bed. Although he
was pretty well tired-out, he did not hesitate a moment to answer the
summons of the little bell that rang at four o'clock, but was out on the
floor almost before the notes of the alarm had ceased. In a few moments
he was dressed; and taking his fish-pole and basket, which hung on the
rack at the foot of the bed, accompanied by Brave, set out with the
intention of paying a visit to the lake in the swamp, which had been the
scene of the fight with the buck.
As he walked along up the road, the associations connected with each
locality were recalled to his mind. Here was the place where the black
fox, which had so long held possession of Reynard's Island, had crossed
the creek with Sport--"the dog that had never lost a fox"--following
close on his trail. There was the tree leaning out over the creek,
behind which Archie had crept for concealment when in pursuit of the
canvas-backs; and a little further on was the bridge which they had
crossed on that rainy morning that the geese had taken refuge in the
swamp.
Frank feasted his eyes on each familiar object as he walked along, until
he arrived at the end of the road, where stood Uncle Mike's rustic
cottage. As he approached, that individual appeared at the door, shaded
his eyes with his hand, gazed at our hero for a moment, and then sprang
out, and greeted him with--
"Arrah, Master Frank! is this you, me boy?"
"Yes, Uncle Mike, it's I," answered Frank, extending his hand to the
man, who shook it heartily, while tears of genuine joy rolled down his
cheeks. "I'm back again, safe and sound."
"It's me ownsilf that's glad to see you," said Mike. "I heered you was
kilt intirely by the rebels; bad luck to the likes o' them. But come
with me, Master Frank; ye's been fightin' rebels, but I've been fighting
them varmints ye ketched in the woods."
The Irishman led the way to the building in which the cubs were
confined, and opened the blind which protected the window, to allow
Frank to look in. He could scarcely recognize in the large, shaggy forms
that were tumbling about over the floor, the small, weak cubs which he
had carried for twenty miles in the pocket of his overcoat.
As soon as the window was opened, they raised themselves on their
haunches, and endeavored to reach Uncle Mike's red-flannel cap, an
article he had worn ever since Frank could remember.
"Aisy, aisy, there, you blackguards!" exclaimed Mike, endeavoring to
ward off the blows which the cubs aimed at him. "Can't yees be aisy, I
say? That's the way they always do, Master Frank; me old cap seems to
give 'em a deal of throuble."
After amusing himself for some time in watching the motions of the
clumsy animals, Frank followed Uncle Mike to the pen in which the moose
was kept. He had grown finely, was nearly as large as a horse, and his
head was furnished with a pair of wide-spreading antlers, the sight of
which made Frank shudder, and recall to mind that desperate fight in the
woods, and his narrow escape from death. The moose was very gentle, and
allowed his young master to lead him about the yard, and would come at
his call as readily as a dog.
After seeing the animal "shown off" to his best advantages, Frank got
into Uncle Mike's skiff, and pulled up the creek toward the lake. Half
an hour's rowing brought him to the point behind which he and his cousin
had captured the eider-ducks, and where they had first caught sight of
the buck. After making his skiff fast to a tree on the bank, he rigged
his pole, baited his hook, and dropped it into the water. Almost
instantly a sudden jerk showed him that the "old perch-hole" had still
plenty of occupants, and in a moment more a fish lay floundering in the
bottom of the boat.
We need not say that Frank enjoyed himself hugely during the hour and a
half that he remained in the lake. The fish bit voraciously, and the
sport was exciting, especially as it had been so long since Frank had
had an opportunity to engage in his favorite recreation. But his
conscience would not allow him to "wantonly waste the good things of
God," and, when he had caught enough for his breakfast, he unfastened
his skiff and pulled toward home.
Frank spent the forenoon in recounting some of his adventures to his
mother and Julia, of which they seemed never to grow weary. When Aunt
Hannah announced that dinner was ready, he lingered for a moment on the
portico to watch the movements of a flock of ducks, which, in company
with the old ones, the same that he and Archie had captured in the lake,
were swimming about in the creek in front of the house; but, as he was
about to follow his mother into the dining-room, he heard a loud scream,
which seemed to come from above him, and looked up just in time to see a
bald eagle swoop down upon the ducks. The old ones uttered their notes
of alarm, and, rising from the water, flew over the cottage toward the
barn, while the ducklings darted under the leaves of the lilies. But one
was too late; for, as the eagle arose in the air, he bore off his prize.
Frank immediately ran into the house for his gun, determined that the
life of the eagle should pay for that of the duck; but on his return he
found that the robber was already being severely punished for the
mischief he had done. Daw and the king-birds, which seemed to have an
idea that something unusual was going on, had attacked him with a fury
that Frank had never before witnessed. The eagle was flying, zigzag,
through the air, but was met at every point by his tormentors. Frank,
who dared not fire for fear of wounding his pets, ran down the walk,
sprang over the fence, and awaited the issue of the fight, hoping that
the eagle would be compelled to take refuge in one of the trees that
grew on the bank of the creek. Nor was he mistaken; for the robber,
finding that he could not escape his enemies, settled down on a limb but
a short distance off, and, after deliberately folding his wings, snapped
his beak, as if defying them to keep up the contest. The king-birds
seated themselves on the branches above his head, and commenced their
angry twittering, and Daw joined in with a loud "caw, caw."
This seemed to be the first intimation that the king-birds had received
of his presence, for they straightway flew at him, and Daw, although he
had lent effective assistance in fighting the eagle, did not stop to
resist, but beat a hasty retreat toward the cottage. This seemed a
favorable moment for the eagle; he leaped from his perch, and was flying
off with his booty, when the report of Frank's gun brought him to the
ground. The young naturalist shouldered his prize, and was starting
toward the house, when a voice called out:
"Halloo, there! At your old tricks again so soon?"
Frank looked up, and saw Harry Butler coming toward him. Neither had
dreamed of the presence of the other in the village, and the cordial
manner in which the two friends greeted each other proved that their
long separation had not lessened their affection. But Frank noticed at
once that his friend was greatly changed. He looked haggard and
careworn; he was no longer the wild, impetuous Harry; he had grown more
sedate; and his face, which had once beamed with a smile for every one,
now wore a look of sorrow, for which Frank could not account. It is true
that he noticed that Harry carried his arm in a sling, but he knew that
it was not bodily suffering that had caused that look of sadness.
"Harry, what is the matter with you?" was his first question. "You look
completely worn out."
"So I am," was the answer. "Let us sit down on this log, and I'll tell
you all about it. I've often been here to visit your folks," he
continued, "never expecting to see you again, as I learned that you had
been captured, and afterward shot, while trying to escape. You say I
look worn out; so would you if your only brother was a prisoner in the
hands of the rebels, held as a hostage, and every moment expecting to be
hung. George is in that situation, and I look upon his death, not only
as a possible, but a very probable thing. It has been a hard task for me
to convince myself that, if I should live to return home after the war,
I should be alone, as I certainly thought I should be when I heard that
you had been shot, and that George was not much better off. I had made
up my mind to pass my furlough in the house, for I didn't want to have
any one near me; but, now that you are here, I want to visit all our old
haunts again. Let us take a walk in the woods. Bring your dinner along
with you; I haven't had mine yet."
In accordance with Harry's suggestion, a basket was filled with
eatables, and the boys bent their steps through the orchard toward the
meadow that lay between the cottage and the woods. As they walked along,
Frank related some of the interesting incidents of his life in the
service, and Harry finally began to recover his usual spirits. At length
they reached the cabin in the woods, that had been the scene of the camp
on the day of the raccoon hunt, and here they stopped to rest and eat
their dinner.