To her, therefore, the future looked dark and forbidding. She foresaw that she and her family would be subjected to the pressure of want, or at least be dependent upon the kindness of friends for support. She had freely stated her fears to her children, and fully exhibited the insufficiency of the family resources. The vote of the town was a perfect godsend to Tom, and a fat legacy from a rich relative would not have kindled a stronger feeling of gratitude in his soul.

For the next five weeks, Tom was employed forenoon, afternoon, and evening, in the drill, and he soon made himself proficient. The company was recruited nearly up to its maximum number, and was then attached to the —th regiment, which had just been formed and ordered to Fort Warren.

On the 27th day of May, the company, escorted by the patriotic citizens of Pinchbrook, marched to Boston, and Tom took a sorrowful farewell of his mother, his brother and sisters, and a score of anxious friends.

"Now don't let the rebels hit you in the backbone, Thomas," said gran'ther Green, as he shook the hand of the soldier boy.

"No, gran'ther; if I can't fight, I won't run away," replied Tom.

"You've got good blood in your veins, my boy: don't disgrace it. I don't know as you'll ever see me again, but God bless you, Thomas;" and the old man turned away to hide the tears which began to course down his wrinkled cheek.

"Be a good boy, Thomas," added his mother.

"I will, mother."

"And remember what I've been telling you. I'm not half so much afraid of your being killed by a bullet, as I am of your being ruined by bad men."

"You needn't fear any thing of that kind, mother."

"I shall pray that you may be saved from your friends as well as from your enemies. We shall see you again before you go off, I hope."

"Yes, mother; we shall not be sent south yet."

"Don't forget to read your Testament, Thomas," said Mrs. Somers.

"I won't, mother," replied the soldier boy, as he again shook hands with all the members of the family, kissed his mother and his sisters, and hitching up his knapsack, took his place in the ranks.

His heart seemed to be clear up in his throat. During the tender scene he had just passed through, he had manfully resisted his inclination to weep, but he could no longer restrain the tears. Suddenly they came like a flood bursting the gates that confined it, and he choked and sobbed like a little girl. He leaned upon his musket, covering his face with his arm.

"It's a hard case," said private Hapgood, who stood next to him in the ranks.

"I didn't think it would take me down like this," sobbed Tom.

"Don't blubber, Tom. Let's go off game," added Ben Lethbridge, who stood on the other side of him.

"I can't help it, Ben."

"Yes, you can—dry up! Soldiers don't cry, Tom."

"Yes, they do, my boy," said Hapgood, who was a little old man, nearly ten years beyond the period of exemption from military duty. "I don't blame Tom for crying, and, in my opinion, he'll fight all the better for it."

"Perhaps he will, old un; but I don't think much of a soldier that blubbers like a baby. I hope he won't run away when he sees the rebels coming," sneered Ben.

"If he does, he'll have a chance to see how thick the heels of your boots are," answered the old man.

"What do you mean by that, old un?" demanded Ben.

"Attention—company! Shoulder—arms! Forward—march!" said the captain; and the discussion was prevented from proceeding any further.

The band, which was at the head of the citizens' column, struck up an inspiring march, and Tom dried his tears. The escort moved off, followed by the company. They passed the little cottage of Captain Somers, and Tom saw the whole family except John, who was in the escort, standing at the front gate. The old soldier swung his hat, Tom's sisters and his mother waved their handkerchiefs; but when they saw the soldier boy, they had to use them for another purpose. Tom felt another upward pressure in the region of the throat; but this time he choked down his rising emotions, and saved himself from the ridicule of his more callous companion on the left.

In violation of military discipline, he turned his head to take one last, fond look at the home he was leaving behind. It might be the last time he should ever gaze on that loved spot, now a thousand times more dear than ever before. Never had he realized the meaning of home; never before had he felt how closely his heart's tendrils were entwined about that hallowed place. Again, in spite of his firmness and fortitude, and in spite of the sneers of Ben Lethbridge, he felt the hot tears sliding down his cheek.

When he reached the brow of the hill which would soon hide the little cottage from his view, perhaps forever, he gazed behind him again, to take his last look at the familiar spot. His mother and sister still stood at the front gate watching the receding column in which the son and the brother was marching away to peril and perhaps death.

"God bless my mother! God bless them all!" were the involuntary ejaculations of the soldier boy, as he turned away from the hallowed scene.

But the memory of that blessed place, sanctified by the presence of those loving and devoted ones, was shrined in the temple of his heart, ever to go with him in camp and march, in the perils of battle and siege, to keep him true to his God, true to himself, and true to those whom he had left behind him. That last look at home and those that make it home, like the last fond gaze we bestow on the loved and the lost, was treasured up in the garner of the heart's choicest memories, to be recalled in the solemn stillness of the midnight vigil, amid the horrors of the battle-field when the angry strife of arms had ceased, and in the gloom of the soldier's sick bed when no mother's hand was near to lave the fevered brow.

The moment when he obtained his last view of the home of his childhood seemed like the most eventful period of his existence. His heart grew big in his bosom, and yet not big enough to contain all he felt. He wept again, and his tears seemed to come from deeper down than his eyes. He did not hear the inspiring strains of the band, or the cheers that greeted the company as they went forth to do and die for their country's imperilled cause.

"Blubbering again, Tom?" sneered Ben Lethbridge. "I thought you was more of a man than that, Tom Somers."

"I can't help it, Ben," replied Tom, vainly struggling to subdue his emotions.

"Better go back, then. We don't want a great baby in the ranks."

"It's nateral, Ben," said old Hapgood. "He'll get over it when he sees the rebels."

"Don't believe he will. I didn't think you were such a great calf, Tom."

"Shet up, now, Ben," interposed Hapgood. "I'll bet my life he'll stand fire as well as you will. I've been about in the world some, and I reckon I've as good an idee of this business as you have. Tom's got a heart under his ribs."

"I'll bet he runs away at the first fire."

"I'll bet he won't."

"I know I won't!" exclaimed Tom, with energy, as he drew his coat sleeve across his eyes.

"It isn't the cock that crows the loudest that will fight the best," added the old man. "I'll bet Tom will be able to tell you the latest news from the front, where the battle's the hottest. I fit my way up to the city of Mexico long er old Scott, and I've heard boys crow afore today."

"Look here, old un! If you mean to call me a coward, why don't you say so, right up and down?" growled Ben.

"Time'll tell, my boy. You don't know what gunpowder smells like yet. If you'd been with the fust Pennsylvany, where I was, you'd a-known sunthin about war. Now, shet up, Ben; and don't you worry Tom any more."

But Tom was no longer in a condition to be worried. Though still sad at the thought of the home and friends he had left behind, he had reduced his emotions to proper subjection, and before the column reached Boston, he had even regained his wonted cheerfulness. The procession halted upon the wharf, where the company was to embark on a steamer for Fort Warren. As the boat which was to convey them to the fort had not yet arrived, the men were permitted to mingle with their friends on the wharf, and, of course, Tom immediately sought out his brother. He found him engaged in a spirited conversation with Captain Benson.

"What is it, Jack?" asked the soldier boy.

"I want to join this company, and the captain won't let me," replied John.

"You, Jack!"

"Yes, I."

"Did mother say so?"

"No, but she won't care."

"Did you ask her?"

"No; I didn't think of going till after I started from home."

"Don't think of it, Jack. It would be an awful blow to mother to have both of us go."

For half an hour Tom argued the matter with John; but the military enthusiasm of the latter had been so aroused by the march and its attendant circumstances, that he could not restrain his inclination.

"If I don't join this company, I shall some other," said John.

"I shall have to go home again, if you do; for I won't have mother left alone. We haven't been mustered in yet. Besides, I thought you wanted to go into the navy."

"I do; but I'm bound to go somehow," replied John.

But what neither Tom nor Captain Benson could do, was accomplished by Captain Barney, who declared John should go home with him if he had to take him by the collar. The ardent young patriot yielded as gracefully as he could to this persuasion.

The steamer having arrived, the soldiers shook hands with their friends again, went on board, and, amid the hearty cheers of the citizens of Pinchbrook, were borne down the bay.



CHAPTER X.

COMPANY K.

Tom Somers felt that he was now a soldier indeed. While the company remained in Pinchbrook, he had slept every night in his own bed, and taken his meals in the kitchen of the little cottage. He fully realized that he had bade a long farewell to all the comforts and luxuries of home. That day, for the first time, he was to partake of soldiers' fare, and that night, for the first time, he was to sleep upon a soldier's bed. These thoughts did not make him repine, for before he signed the muster roll, he had carefully considered, with the best information he could obtain, what hardships and privations he would be called to endure. He had made up his mind to bear all things without a murmur for the blessed land of his birth, which now called upon her sons to defend her from the parricidal blow of the traitor.

Tom had not only made up his mind to bear all these things, but to bear them patiently and cheerfully. He had a little theory of his own, that rather more than half of the discomforts of this mortal life exist only in the imagination. If he only thought that every thing was all right, it went a great way towards making it all right—a very comforting and satisfactory philosophy, which reduced the thermometer from ninety down to seventy degrees on a hot day in summer, and raised it from ten to forty degrees on a cold day in winter; which filled his stomach when it was empty, alleviated the toothache or the headache, and changed snarling babies into new-fledged angels. I commend Tom's philosophy to the attention and imitation of all my young friends, assured that nothing will keep them so happy and comfortable as a cheerful and contented disposition.

"Tom Somers," said a voice near him, cutting short the consoling meditation in which he was engaged.

His name was pronounced in a low and cautious tone, but the voice sounded familiar to him, and he turned to ascertain who had addressed him. He did not discover any person who appeared to be the owner of the voice, and was leaving the position he had taken on the forward deck of the steamer, when his name was repeated, in the same low and cautious tone.

"Who is it? Where are you?" said Tom, looking all about him, among the groups of soldiers who were gathered on various parts of the deck, discussing the present and the future.

"Here, Tom," replied the voice, which sounded more familiar every time he heard it.

He turned his eye in the direction from which the sound proceeded, and there, coiled up behind a heap of barrels and boxes, and concealed by a sail-cloth which had been thrown over the goods to protect them from an expected shower, he discovered Fred Pemberton.

"What in the name of creation are you doing there, Fred?" exclaimed Tom, laughing at the ludicrous attitude of the embryo secessionist.

"Hush! Don't say a word, Tom. Sit down here where I can talk with you," added Fred.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'll tell if you will keep quiet a moment. Is the company full?"

"What company?"

"Captain Benson's, of course."

"No."

"I want to join."

"You!" ejaculated Tom.

"Come, come, Tom, no blackguarding now. You and I used to be good friends."

"I've nothing against you, Fred—that is, if you're not a traitor."

"I want to join the company."

"Is your father willing?"

"Of course he isn't; but that needn't make any difference."

"But you don't believe in our cause, Fred. We don't want a traitor in the ranks."

"Hang the cause! I want to go with the company."

"Hang the cause? Well, I reckon that's a good recommendation."

"I'm all right on that."

"Are you willing to take the oath of allegiance, and swear to sustain the flag of your country?"

"Of course I am. I only followed the old man's lead; but I have got enough of it. Do you think Captain Benson will take me into the company?"

"Perhaps he will."

"Ask him—will you? You needn't say I'm here, you know."

"But what will your father say?"

"I don't care what he says."

Tom thought, if Fred didn't care, he needn't, and going aft, he found the captain, and proposed to him the question.

"Take him—yes. We'll teach him loyalty and patriotism, and before his time is out, we will make him an abolitionist," replied Captain Benson. "What will his father say?"

"His father doesn't know anything about it. Fred ran away, and followed the company into the city."

"Squire Pemberton is a traitor, and I believe the army will be the best school in the world for his son," added the captain. "It will be better for him to be with us than to be at home. If it was the son of any other man in Pinchbrook, I wouldn't take him without the consent of his father; as it is, I feel perfectly justified in accepting him."

Tom hastened to the forward deck to report the success of his mission. The result was, that Fred came out of his hiding-place, and exhibited himself to the astonished members of the Pinchbrook company. When he announced his intention to go to the war, and, with a pardonable flourish, his desire to serve his country, he was saluted with a volley of cheers. Captain Benson soon appeared on the forward deck, and the name of the new recruit was placed on the enlistment paper.

Fred was seventeen years of age, and was taller and stouter than Tom Somers. No questions were asked in regard to his age or his physical ability to endure the hardships of a campaign.

The steamer arrived at Fort Warren, and the company landed. After waiting a short time on the wharf, the color company of the —th regiment, to which they were attached, came down and escorted them to the parade ground within the fort. It was a desolate and gloomy-looking place to Tom, who had always lived among green fields, and the beautiful surroundings of a New England rural district.

If the fort itself looked dreary, how much more so were the casemates in which the company was quartered! But Tom's philosophy was proof against the unpleasant impression, and his joke was as loud and hearty as that of any of his companions. The men were divided off into messes, and they had an abundance of work to do in bringing up the company's luggage, and making their new habitation as comfortable and pleasant as the circumstances would permit.

The next day the Pinchbrook boys were designated as Company K, and placed in the regimental line. The limits of this volume do not permit me to detail the every-day life of the soldier boy while at Fort Warren, however interesting and instructive it might be to our friends. A large portion of the forenoon was devoted to squad and company drill, and of the afternoon to battalion drill. The colonel, though a very diminutive man in stature, was an enthusiast in military matters, and had the reputation of being one of the most thorough and skilful officers in the state. Tom Somers, who, since he joined the company, had felt ashamed of himself because he was no bigger, became quite reconciled to his low corporeal estate when he found that the colonel of the regiment was no taller and no heavier than himself. And when he heard the high praise bestowed upon the colonel's military skill and martial energy, he came to the conclusion that it does not require a big man to make a good soldier. With a feeling of satisfaction he recalled the fact that Napoleon Bonaparte, when he commanded the army of Italy, was scarcely a bigger man than the colonel or himself.

The colonel was a strict disciplinarian, and he soon diffused his energy throughout the regiment. It made rapid progress in its military education. Tom was deeply interested in the details of his new profession, and used his best endeavors to do his duty promptly and faithfully. This was not the case with all the boys in the company from Pinchbrook, and I am sorry to say that some of them, including the brave and chivalric Ben Lethbridge, had to sit upon the stool of repentance in the guard room on several occasions.

Fred Pemberton was clothed in the uniform of the United States volunteers, and we must do him the justice to say that he performed his duty to the entire satisfaction of his officers. Fred was a good fellow, and barring his treason, which he had derived from his father, was highly esteemed by those who knew him. The only stain that had ever rested upon his character was removed, and he and Tom were as good friends as ever they had been. His motive in joining the army, however, could not be applauded. He thought all his friends were going off to the South upon a kind of frolic, spiced with a little of peril and hardship to make it the more exciting, and he did not like the idea of being left behind. To the sentiment of patriotism, as developed in the soul of Tom Somers and many of his companions, he was an entire stranger. He was going to the war to participate in the adventures of the —th regiment, rather than to fight for the flag which had been insulted and dishonored by treason.

Every day the steamers brought crowds of visitors to the fort to see their friends in the regiments quartered there, or to witness the drills and parades which were constantly succeeding each other. Among them came many of the people of Pinchbrook, and Tom was delighted by a visit from his whole family. His mother found him so comfortable and contented that she returned with half the heavy burden on her soul removed.

While the Pinchbrook boys were generally rejoiced to see their friends from home, there was one in the company who was in constant dread lest he should recognize a too familiar face in the crowds which the steamers daily poured into the fort. Fred Pemberton did not wish to see his nearest friends; but after he had been in the company some ten days, just as the boys had been dismissed from the forenoon drill, he discovered at a distance the patriarchal form of his father.

"My pipe's out, Tom," said Fred, as he rushed into the casemate where a group of his companions were resting from the fatigues of the morning.

"What's the matter now, Fred?"

"The old man has just come into the fort."

"Has he?"

"Yes—what shall I do?"

"Keep a stiff upper lip, Fred, and we will put you through all right," said Sergeant Porter.

"What shall I do?" demanded Fred, who, whatever his views in regard to the justice or injustice of coercion, did not wish to be taken from the company.

"Come with me," said the sergeant, as he led the way into an adjoining casemate. "No; nobody else will come," added he, motioning back other members of the mess who was disposed to follow.

In the casemate to which Sergeant Porter conducted Fred, there was a pile of boxes, in which the muskets of one of the regiments had been packed. The fugitive from his father's anxious search was directed to get into one of these boxes, from which the sergeant removed the gun rests. He obeyed; his confederate put on the lid so as to permit him to receive a plentiful supply of air, and other boxes were placed upon that containing the runaway.

Squire Pemberton presented himself before Captain Benson, and demanded his son. Fred was sent for, but could not be found. Sergeant Porter kept out of the way, and not another man in the company knew anything about him. The boys were very willing to assist the indignant father in his search, but all their efforts were unavailing. The squire examined every casemate, and every nook and corner upon the island, but without effect.

"I want my son, sir," said the squire, angrily, to the captain. "I require you to produce him."

"I don't know where he is," replied Captain Benson.

"You have concealed him, sir."

"I have not."

The squire appealed to the colonel, but obtained no satisfaction, and was obliged to leave without accomplishing his purpose. As soon as he had gone, Fred appeared, and the boys laughed for a week over the affair.



CHAPTER XI.

IN WASHINGTON.

On the 17th of June, the regiment left Port Warren, and after being conveyed by steamer to Boston, marched to Camp Cameron. Here the "little colonel" displayed his energy and military skill to much greater advantage than when within the narrow confines of the fort. The men were not only carefully and persistently drilled, but they were educated, as far as the circumstances would permit, for the arduous duties of a campaign.

Tom Somers had already begun to feel a soldier's pride in his new situation; and though he found that being a soldier boy was not always the easiest and the pleasantest thing in the world, he bore his trials with philosophical patience and fortitude, and made the most of whatever joys the circumstances placed within his reach.

Others grumbled, but he did not. He declared that he had enlisted for the war, and meant to take things as they came. It was not exactly agreeable to stand on guard for two hours, on a cold, rainy night; but grumbling would not make it any the more agreeable, and only made the grumbler discontented and unhappy. It did not look like "the pomp and circumstance of war," and no doubt most of the boys in the Pinchbrook company would have been better satisfied in their own houses in "the village by the sea." But most of these men had left their happy homes under the inspiration of the highest and truest motives. They were going forth to fight the battles of their imperilled country, and this reflection filled them with a heroism which the petty trials and discomforts of the camp could not impair.

While the regiment was at Camp Cameron, the state colors and a standard, procured by the liberality of its friends, were presented; and the patriotic speeches delivered on this occasion made a deep impression upon the mind and heart of the soldier boy. To him they were real—perhaps more real than to those who uttered the burning words. He was in a situation to feel the full force of the great sacrifice which the soldier makes for his country. He devoted himself, heart and soul, to the cause; and what was but an idle sentiment in the mind of the flowery speech-makers, was truth and soberness to him who was to meet the foe at the cannon's mouth and at the bayonet's point.

"We are off on the 29th," said old Hapgood, one evening, as he entered the barrack where Tom was writing a letter to his mother.

"Good! I am glad to hear it. I was just telling my mother that I hoped we should not have to stay much longer in this place," replied Tom.

"I think we are having an easy time of it here," added the veteran. "When you find out what hunger and fatigue mean, you will learn to be contented with such a place as this."

"I'm contented enough; but I want to get into the field, and have something done."

"Time enough, my boy. I used to feel just so, Tom, when I went to Mexico; but after a while I got so I didn't care what we did or where we went."

Tom added a postscript to his letter, informing his mother of the time fixed for the departure of the regiment. The intelligence in this instance proved to be correct, for on the appointed day the little colonel marched his command into the city, where it was duly embarked on the cars for New York. It was a day of excitement, for the streets of the city were thronged with people, whose cheers and applause were the benison with which the regiment went forth to do and to die for the nation. Tom was delighted with this warm reception, but more by meeting his mother and his brother and sisters at the station. It was a joyous and yet a sad meeting. Mrs. Somers wept; and what mother would not weep to see her son go forth to encounter the perils of the battle-field, and the greater perils of the camp?

It was a sad parting; and many a mother's heart was torn with anguish on that day, when she pressed her noble boy to her bosom, for the last time, as she gave him to his country. Cold, stern men, who had never wept before, wept then—the flesh that was in their stony hearts yielded its unwilling tribute to nature and affection.

"All aboard!" shouted the officers, when the train was ready to depart.

"God bless you, my boy!" sobbed Mrs. Somers, as she kissed her son. "Be good and true, and don't forget to read your Testament."

"Good by, mother," was all that Tom could say, as he grasped his musket, which John had been holding for him, and rushed into the car.

The train moved off amid the cheers of the thousands who had gathered to witness their departure. At this moment, more than ever before, the soldier boy realized what he had done when he entered the service. He listened to the shouts of the multitude, but he was sad and silent. He sank into his seat, and gave himself up to the anguish of the hour. On and on dashed the train, and his thoughts still dwelt upon the home and the mother he had left behind him.

Our readers can better imagine than we can describe the feelings of the soldier boy during that long night. The regiment arrived in New York at half-past ten in the forenoon of the following day, and was escorted up Broadway by the Sons of Massachusetts. At the Park, it was warmly welcomed by the President of the Sons, and as the little colonel was a better soldier than a speech-maker, the response was made by the surgeon. By this time, Tom was able to enter into the spirit of the occasion, and the flattering ovation bestowed upon the regiment was a source of personal pride and satisfaction. The little colonel's command was declared to be the best drilled and most soldierly body of men which had yet departed for the battle-fields of the republic.

The great city was full of wonders to the soldier boy, and during the few hours he remained there, he was in a constant whirl of excitement. If the mission before him had been less grand and sublime, he could have wished to spend a few days in exploring the wonders of the great metropolis; but the stupendous events that loomed up in the future, prophetic even to the inexperienced eye of youth, engrossed all his thoughts. He partook of the bountiful collation in the Park, and was content to march on to scenes more thrilling and exciting than the tumult of the busy city.

The regiment took a steamer, at half-past four for Elizabethport, and thence proceeded by railroad to Washington, by the way of Harrisburg. Some portions of the journey were performed under the most trying circumstances. The men were crowded, like sheep, into unsuitable cars, so that not only were they subjected to many needless discomforts, but their very lives were endangered. On the way, two men were crowded out of a car, and, for a time, were supposed to have been killed.

On the 2d of July, they arrived at Washington, and Tom had an opportunity to see the "city of magnificent distances," of which he had heard so much. The regiment marched from the station, through Pennsylvania Avenue, to their camp ground in the rear of the White House. They were received with enthusiasm by the people, but the miserable uniforms with which they had been supplied, now faded and dilapidated, with the finishing touch of destruction given to them by the perilous journey they had made, gave the politicians their first lesson on the worthlessness of "shoddy."

The regiment entered the grounds of the White House, and as it passed up the avenue, President Lincoln appeared in front of his mansion. The boys greeted him with a volley of stunning cheers, which the President acknowledged by a series of bows, which were not half so ungraceful as one might have expected after reading the descriptions of him contained in the newspapers.

To Tom Somers the President was a great institution, and he could scarcely believe that he was looking upon the chief magistrate of this great nation. He was filled with boyish wonder and astonishment; but, after all, he was forced to admit that the President, though a tall specimen of humanity, looked very much like the rest of mankind—to borrow a phrase from one of his illustrious predecessors.

Tom was too tired to wonder long at the grandeur of the Capitol, and the simple magnificence of the President. The tents were pitched, and the weary men were allowed a season of rest. In a couple of days, however, our soldier boy was "as good as new."

"Come, Tom, it is about time for you too see something of the city," said Ben Lethbridge, one afternoon, after the regiment had become fairly settled in its new quarters.

"I should like to take a tramp. There are lots of congressmen here, and I should like to know what they look like," replied Tom. "I haven't been outside the lines since we came here."

"I have; and I'm going again! Fred and I mean to have a good time to-day. Will you go?"

"Have you got a pass?"

"A pass! What a stupid! What do you want of a pass? You can't get one. They won't give any."

"Then we can't go, of course."

"Bah! What a great calf you are! Don't you want to cry again?"

"Ben, you needn't say cry to me again as long as you live," added Tom. "If you do, I'll give you something to cry for."

Tom did not like the style of remark which the other had adopted. He was angry, and, as he spoke, his fist involuntarily clinched, and his eye looked fierce and determined.

"Come, come, Tom; don't bristle up so. If you are a man, just show that you are, and come along with us."

"I say, Ben, I want to know who's a baby or a calf, you or I, before we go, I won't stand any more of your lip."

"Will you go with us?" demanded Ben, who was rather disposed to dodge the issue.

"What do you mean by calling me a calf and a baby? And this isn't the first time you've done it."

"Don't you know that every man in the regiment has been all over the city, and without any pass? When I ask you to go, you begin to talk about a pass."

"I choose to obey orders," replied Tom.

"O, you daresn't go with us."

"Come along!" said Tom, who had not yet learned to bear the taunts of his companion.

"Get your pail."

Tom got his pail, and was immediately joined by Fred and Ben, each of whom was also supplied with a pail. There was no water to be had within the camp ground, and the men were obliged to bring it in pails from the hydrants in the street. A pail, therefore, was quite as good as a written document to enable them to pass the guard.

The party thus provided had no difficulty in passing the sentinels. At a convenient place outside the line, they concealed the pails, and, for three hours, roamed at will over the city.

"Now, Tom, you wanted to see the congressmen?" said Ben, after they had "done" the city pretty thoroughly.

"Yes, but I have seen them at the Capitol."

"But don't you want to get nearer to them, and hear them talk?"

"Well, I should like to."

"Come with us, then."

Ben led the way down the avenue, and entered a building not far from the railroad station. After passing through a long, narrow entry, they ascended a flight of stairs, at the head of which the conductor gave two raps. The door was opened by a negro, and they were invited to enter. At a table in the middle of the room was seated a foppish-looking man who held in his hand a silver box. As he turned it, Tom saw that it contained a pack of cards.

"Where are your congressmen?" asked the soldier boy, whose eyes had been opened by the appearance of the cards.

"They will be here pretty soon," replied Ben.

The foppish man looked at his watch, and declared they would come in the course of five or ten minutes. He then took the cards out of the box, and, after shuffling them, returned them to their place. Fred placed a "quarter" on the table; the gambler put another by its side, and drew out a card from the silver case. Tom did not understand the game; but his companion put the quarters in his pocket.

"See that, Tom!" said he. "Got any money?"

"If I have I shall keep it."

"Put down a quarter, and make another."

"No, sir! I'm no gambler!" replied Tom, with emphasis.

"Quite respectable, I assure you," added the blackleg at the table.

"I'm going," said Tom, decidedly.

"Baby!" sneered Ben. "Afraid to play!"

"I won't play! I'm going."

The negro opened the door, and he passed out. Contrary to his expectation, he was followed by Fred and Ben.

"Baby is afraid of cards!" sneered Ben, as they passed through the long entry.

"Afraid of cards, but not afraid of you," replied Tom, as he planted a heavy blow between the eyes of his companion.

Ben Lethbridge returned the blow, and it cost him another, and there was a prospect of quite a lively skirmish in the entry; but Fred Pemberton interposed his good offices, and effected a compromise, which, like most of the political compromises, was only the postponement of the conflict.

"I told you not to call me 'baby,' again," said Tom, as they passed out of the building. "I will convince you before I am done that I'm not a baby."

Ben found it convenient to offer no reply to this plain statement of facts, and the three soldiers made their way back to the camp, and, having obtained their pails and filled them with water at the hydrants, they passed the guard without a question.



CHAPTER XII.

ON TO RICHMOND.

It so happened that Ben Lethbridge, probably satisfied that it was not the fist of a baby which had partially blackened both of his eyes, and produced a heavy pain under his left ear, did not demand the satisfaction which was needed to heal his wounded honor. The matter was duly discussed in the tent of Tom's mess; but our soldier boy, while he professed to be entirely satisfied, was willing to meet Ben at such time and place as he desired, and finish up the affair.

The other party was magnanimous, and declared that he too was satisfied; and old Hapgood thought they had better proceed no further with the affair, for both of them might be arrested for disorderly conduct.

"I am satisfied, Ben; but if you ever call me a baby or a calf again, it will all have to be settled over again," said Tom, as he laid aside his musket, which he had been cleaning during the conversation.

"I don't want to quarrel with you, Tom," replied Ben, "but I wish you would be a little more like the rest of the fellows."

"What do you mean by that? I am like the rest of the fellows."

"You wouldn't play cards."

"Yes, I will play cards, but I won't gamble; and there isn't many fellows in the company that will."

"That's so," added Hapgood. "I know all about that business. When I went to Mexico, I lost my money as fast as I got it, playing cards. Don't gamble, boys."

"I won't, for one," said Tom, with emphasis.

"Are you going to set up for a soldier-saint, too?" sneered Ben, turning to the old man.

"I'm no saint, but I've larned better than to gamble."

"I think you'd better stop drinking too," added Ben.

"Come, Ben, you are meaner than dirt," said Tom, indignantly.

Old Hapgood was a confirmed toper. The people in Pinchbrook said he was a good man, but, they used to add, with a shrug of the shoulders, "pity he drinks." It was a sad pity, but he seemed to have no power over his appetite. The allusion of Ben to his besetting sin was cruel and mortifying, for the old man had certainly tried to reform, and since the regiment left Boston, he had not tasted the intoxicating cup. He had declared before the mess that he had stopped drinking; so his resolution was known to all his companions, though none of them had much confidence in his ability to carry it out.

"I didn't speak to you, Tom Somers," said Ben, sharply.

"You said a mean thing in my presence."

"By and by we shall be having a prayer meeting in our tent every night."

"If you are invited I hope you will come," added Tom, "for if prayers will do any body any good, they won't hurt you."

"If you will take care of yourself, and let me alone, it's all I ask of you."

"I'm agreed."

This was about the last of the skirmishing between Tom and Ben. The latter was a little disposed to be bully; and from the time the company left Pinchbrook, he had been in the habit of calling Tom a baby, and other opprobrious terms, till the subject of his sneers could endure them no longer. Tom had come to the conclusion that he could obtain respectful treatment only by the course he had adopted. Perhaps, if he had possessed the requisite patience, he might have attained the same result by a less repulsive and more noble policy.

The regiment remained in Washington about a fortnight. The capital was no longer considered to be in danger. A large body of troops had been massed in and around the city, and the rebels' boast that they would soon capture Washington was no longer heeded. Fear and anxiety had given place to hope and expectation. "On to Richmond!" was the cry sounded by the newspapers, and repeated by the people. The army of newly-fledged soldiers was burning with eagerness to be led against the rebels. "On to Richmond!" shouted citizens and soldiers, statesmen and politicians. Some cursed and some deprecated the cautious slowness of the old general who had never been defeated.

"On to Richmond!" cried the boys in Tom's regiment, and none more earnestly than he.

"Don't hurry old Scott. He knows what he is about. I know something about this business, for I've seen old Scott where the bullets flew thicker'n snow flakes at Christmas," was the oft-repeated reply of Hapgood, the veteran of Company K.

The movement which had been so long desired and expected was made at last, and the regiment struck its tents, and proceeded over Long Bridge into Virginia. The first camp was at Shuter's Hill, near Alexandria.

"Now we are in for it," said Tom Somers, when the mess gathered in their tent after the camp was formed. "I hope we shall not remain here long."

"Don't be in a hurry, my brave boy," said old Hapgood. "We may stop here a month."

"I hope not."

"Don't hope anything about it, Tom. Take things as they come."

But the impatience of the soldier boy was soon relieved; for at daylight on the morning of the 16th of July, the regiment was routed out, the tents were struck, and at nine o'clock they took up the line of march to the southward. It was "on to Richmond," in earnest, now, and merrily marched the men, who little knew what trials and sufferings, what scenes of blood and death, lay in their path.

The little colonel's command had been put in Franklin's brigade, which formed a part of Heintzelman's division; but little did Tom or his fellow-soldiers know of anything but their own regiment. The "sacred soil" of Virginia seemed to be covered with Federal soldiers, and whichever way he turned, columns of troops might be seen, all obedient to the one grand impulse of the loyal nation—"On to Richmond."

The great wagons, gun carriages, and caissons rolling slowly along, the rattling drums, with here and there the inspiring strains of a band, the general officers, with their staffs, were full of interest and excitement to the soldier boy; and though the business before him was stern and terrible, yet it seemed like some great pageant, moving grandly along to celebrate, rather than win, a glorious triumph.

The novelty of the movement, however, soon wore away, and it required only a few hours to convince the inexperienced soldiers in our regiment that it was no idle pageant in which they were engaged. The short intervals of rest which were occasionally allowed were moments to be appreciated. All day long they toiled upon their weary way, praying for the night to come, with its coveted hours of repose. The night did come, but it brought no rest to the weary and footsore soldiers.

Tom was terribly fatigued. His knapsack, which had been light upon his buoyant frame in the morning, now seemed to weigh two hundred pounds, while his musket had grown proportionally heavy. Hour after hour, in the darkness of that gloomy night, he trudged on, keeping his place in the ranks with a resolution which neither the long hours nor the weary miles could break down.

"I can't stand this much longer," whined Ben Lethbridge. "I shall drop pretty soon, and die by the roadside."

"No, you won't," added Hapgood. "Stick to it a little while longer; never say die."

"I can't stand it."

"Yes, you can. Only think you can, and you can," added the veteran.

"What do they think we are made of? We can't march all day and all night. I wish I was at home."

"I wish I hadn't come," said Fred Pemberton.

"Cheer up! cheer up, boys. Stick to it a little longer," said the veteran.

It was three o'clock the next morning before they were permitted to halt, when the boys rolled themselves up in their blankets, and dropped upon the ground. It was positive enjoyment to Tom, and he felt happy; for rest was happiness when the body was all worn out. A thought of the cottage and of his mother crossed his mind, and he dropped asleep to dream of the joys of home.

Short and sweet was that blessed time of rest; for at four o'clock, after only one brief hour of repose, the regiment was turned out again, and resumed its weary march to the southward. But that short interval of rest was a fountain of strength to Tom, and without a murmur he took his place by the side of his grumbling companions. Ben and Fred were disgusted with the army, and wanted to go back; but that was impossible.

Again, for weary hours, they toiled upon the march. They passed Fairfax, and encamped near the railroad station, where a full night's rest was allowed them. By the advice of Hapgood, Tom went to a brook, and washed his aching feet in cold water. The veteran campaigner gave him other useful hints, which were of great service to him. That night he had as good reason to bless the memory of the man who invented sleep as ever Sancho Panza had, and every hour was fully improved.

At six o'clock, the next morning, the regiment marched again. Tom's legs were stiff, but he felt so much better than on the preceding day, that he began to think that he could stand any thing. In the early part of the afternoon his ears were saluted by a new sound—one which enabled him more fully than before to realize the nature of the mission upon which he had been sent. It was the roar of cannon. On that day was fought the battle of Blackburn's Ford; and when the regiment reached its halting-place at Centreville, the story of the fight was told by enthusiastic lips. Massachusetts men had stood firm and resolute before the artillery and musketry of the rebels, and every man who heard the story was proud that he hailed from the Old Bay State, and panted for the time when he might show himself worthy of his origin, and true to the traditions of the past.

The regiment lay in camp the two following days, and the men had an opportunity to recover in some measure from the fatigues of their first severe march. Visions of glory and victory were beginning to dawn upon them. They had listened to the cannon of the enemy, and they knew that the rebels were not many miles distant in front of them. A few days, perhaps a few hours, would elapse before the terrible conflict would commence. Some of those manly forms must soon sleep in the soldier's grave; some of those beating hearts must soon cease to beat forever; but still the brave and the true longed for the hour that would enable them to "strike home" for the nation's salvation.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN.

"Tumble out! Tumble out!" shouted the sergeant, who was in the mess with the soldiers we have introduced. "Reveille! Don't you hear it?"

"But it isn't morning," growled Ben Lethbridge.

"I haven't been asleep more than an hour or two," snarled Fred Pemberton.

"Shut up your heads, and turn out!" said the sergeant.

It was the morning of the eventful twenty-first of July, and it was only two o'clock when the regiment was roused from its slumbers; but there was no great hardship in this fact, for most of the men had been sleeping the greater portion of the time during the preceding two days. Tom Somers was ready to take his place in the line in a few moments.

"Come, fellows, hurry up," said he to his tardy companions. "The time has come, and, I tell you, there'll be music before many hours."

"Where are we going, Tom? Have you any idea?" asked Fred.

"Going down to Manassas Junction, I suppose. That's where the rebels are."

"Do you suppose we shall get into a fight?" asked Ben.

"I don't know; I hope so."

"So do I," returned Ben, faintly; "but I don't like to be broke of my rest in this way."

Tom, full of excited anticipations in regard to the events of the day, laughed heartily at this reply, and left the tent. The regiment was formed in line, but there were two vacancies in the section to which he belonged. Fred and Ben had answered to their names at roll call. On some pretence they had asked permission to leave the line for a few moments, and that was the last that had been seen of them.

"Where do you suppose they are?" said Tom to Hapgood.

"I don't know. I hain't got much confidence in Ben's pluck, and I shouldn't wonder if he had run away."

"But that is desertion."

"That's just what you may call it; and I've seen men shot for it."

The regiment remained in line several hours before the order came to move. At daylight, while the men were still standing in the road, four soldiers, attended by a staff officer, conducted the two missing men of Company K into the presence of the regiment.

"These men say they belong to your regiment," said the officer, saluting the little colonel.

Captain Benson immediately claimed them, and Fred and Ben were ordered into the ranks.

"Cowards—are you?" said the captain. "You shall take your places in the ranks, and at the right time we will settle this case."

"I enlisted without my father's consent, and you can't hold me if I don't choose to stay," replied Fred Pemberton.

"Next time you must ask your father before you come. It is too late to repent now."

"I'm going home."

"No, you're not. Sergeant, if either of those men attempt to leave the ranks again, shoot them!" said the captain.

Fred and Ben took their places in the ranks amid the laughter and jeers of the company.

"Who's the baby now?" said Bob Dornton.

"You have disgraced the company," added old Hapgood. "I didn't think you would run away before the battle commenced."

"I shall keep both eyes on you, my boys, and if you skulk again, I'll obey orders—by the Lord Harry, I will!" said the sergeant, as he glanced at the lock of his musket. "Company K isn't going to be laughed at for your cowardice."

At six o'clock the order came for the brigade to march. It now consisted of only three regiments, for the time of one, composed of three months' men, had expired while at Centreville; and though requested and importuned to remain a few days longer, they basely withdrew, even while they were on the very verge of the battlefield. This regiment left, and carried with it the scorn and contempt of the loyal and true men, who were as ready to fight the battles of their country on one day as on another.

The men knew they were going to battle now, for the enemy was only a few miles distant. The soldier boy's heart was full of hope. He knew not what a battle was; he could form no adequate conception of the terrible scene which was soon to open upon his view. He prayed and trusted that he might be able to do his duty with courage and fidelity. To say that he had no doubts and fears would be to say that he was not human.

As the brigade toiled slowly along, he tried to picture the scene which was before him, and thus make himself familiar with its terrors before he was actually called to confront them. He endeavored to imagine the sounds of screaming shells and whistling bullets, that the reality, when it came, might not appall him. He thought of his companions dropping dead around him, of his friends mangled by bayonets and cannon shot; he painted the most terrible picture of a battle which his imagination could conjure up, hoping in this manner to be prepared for the worst.

The day was hot, and the sun poured down his scorching rays upon the devoted soldiers as they pursued their weary march. They were fatigued by continued exertion, and some of the weary ones, when the sun approached the meridian, began to hope the great battle would not take place on that day. Tom Somers, nearly worn out by the tedious march, and half famished after the scanty breakfast of hard bread he had eaten before daylight, began to feel that he was in no condition to face the storm of bullets which he had been imagining.

No orders came to halt at noon, though the crowded roads several times secured them a welcome rest: but on marched the weary soldiers, till the roar of cannon broke upon their ears; and as they moved farther on, the rattling volleys of musketry were heard, denoting that the battle had already commenced. These notes of strife were full of inspiration to the loyal and patriotic in the columns. A new life was breathed into them. They were enthusiastic in the good cause, and their souls immediately became so big that what had been body before seemed to become spirit now. They forgot their empty stomachs and their weary limbs. The music of battle, wild and terrible as it was to these untutored soldiers, charmed away the weariness of the body, and, to the quickstep of thundering cannon and crashing musketry, they pressed on with elastic tread to the horrors before them.

Tom felt that he had suddenly and miraculously been made over anew. He could not explain the reason, but his legs had ceased to ache, his feet to be sore, and his musket and his knapsack were deprived of their superfluous weight.

"God be with me in this battle!" he exclaimed to himself a dozen times. "God give me strength and courage!"

Animated by his trust in Him who will always sustain those who confide in him, the soldier boy pressed on, determined not to disgrace the name he bore. The terrible sounds became more and more distinct as the regiment advanced, and in about two hours after the battle had opened, the brigade arrived at the field of operations. One regiment was immediately detached and sent off in one direction, while the other two were ordered to support a battery on a hill, from which it was belching forth a furious storm of shells upon the rebels.

The little colonel's sword gleamed in the air, as he gave the order to march on the double-quick to the position assigned to him.

"Now, Tom, steady, and think of nothing but God and your country," said old Hapgood, as the regiment commenced its rapid march. "I know something about this business, and I can tell you we shall have hot work before we get through with it."

"Where are the rebels? I don't see any," asked Tom, who found that his ideas of the manner in which a battle is fought were very much at fault.

"You will see them very soon. They are in their breastworks. There! Look down there!" exclaimed the veteran as the regiment reached a spot which commanded a full view of the battle.

Tom looked upon the fearful scene. The roar of the artillery and the crash of the small arms were absolutely stunning. He saw men fall, and lie motionless on the ground, where they were trampled upon by the horses, and crushed beneath the wheels of cannon and caisson. But the cry was, that the army of the Union had won the field, and it inspired him with new zeal and new courage.

Scarcely had the remnant of the brigade reached the right of the battery, before they were ordered to charge down the valley, by Colonel Franklin, the acting brigadier. They were executing the command with a dash and vigor that would have been creditable to veterans, when they were ordered to cross the ravine, and support the Eire Zouaves. The movement was made, and Tom soon found himself in the thickest of the fight. Shot and shell were flying in every direction, and the bullets hissed like hailstones around him.

In spite of all his preparations for this awful scene, his heart rose up into his throat. His eyes were blinded by the volumes of rolling smoke, and his mind confused by the rapid succession of incidents that were transpiring around him. The pictures he had painted were sunlight and golden compared with the dread reality. Dead and dying men strewed the ground in every direction. Wounded horses were careering on a mad course of destruction, trampling the wounded and the dead beneath their feet. The hoarse shouts of the officers were heard above the roar of battle. The scene mocked all the attempts which the soldier boy had made to imagine its horrors.

In front of the regiment were the famous Eire Zouaves, no longer guided and controlled by the master genius of Ellsworth. They fought like tigers, furiously, madly; but all discipline had ceased among them, and they rushed wildly to the right and the left, totally heedless of their officers. They fought like demons, and as Tom saw them shoot down, hew down, or bayonet the hapless rebels who came within their reach, it seemed to him as though they had lost their humanity, and been transformed into fiends.

As soon as the regiment reached its position, the order was given to fire. Tom found this a happy relief; and when he had discharged his musket a few times, all thoughts of the horrors of the scene forsook him. He no longer saw the dead and the dying; he no longer heard the appalling roar of battle. He had become a part of the scene, instead of an idle spectator. He was sending the bolt of death into the midst of the enemies of his country.

"Bravo! Good boy, Tom," said old Hapgood, who seemed to be as much at ease as when he had counselled patience and resignation in the quiet of the tent. "Don't fire too high, Tom."

"I've got the idea," replied the soldier boy. "I begin to feel quite at home."

"O, you'll do; and I knew you would from the first."

The shouts of victory which had sounded over the field were full of inspiration to the men; but at the moment when the laurels seemed to be resting securely upon our banners, the rebel line moved forward with irresistible fury. Tom, at one instant, as he cast his eye along the line, found himself flanked on either side by his comrades; at the next there was a wild, indescribable tramp and roar, and he found himself alone. The regiment was scattered in every direction, and he did not see a single man whom he knew. There was a moving mass of Federal soldiers all around him. The Zouaves had been forced back, and the cry of victory had given place to the ominous sounds which betokened a defeat, if not a rout.

The rebels had been reenforced, and had hurled their fresh legions upon our exhausted troops, who could no longer roll back the masses that crowded upon them. The day was lost.

Tom, bewildered by this sudden and disastrous result, moved back with the crowds around him. Men had ceased to be brave and firm; they were fleeing in mortal terror before the victorious battalions that surged against them.

"It's all up with us, my lad," said a panting Zouave. "Run for your life. Come along with me."

Tom followed the Zouave towards the woods, the storm of bullets still raining destruction around them.



CHAPTER XIV.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

Tom Somers floated with the tide of humanity that was setting away from the scene of disaster and defeat. The panic that prevailed was even more fearful than the battle, for wounded and dying men were mercilessly trodden down by the feet of the horses, and run over by the wheels of the cannon and the baggage wagons. Though the battle was ended, the rebels still poured storms of shot and shell into the retreating, panic-stricken host.

Tom did not know where to go, for there were panic and death on all sides of him. The soldiers were flying in every direction, some of them into the very arms of their remorseless enemies. But the woods seemed to promise the most secure retreat from the fury of the Black Horse Cavalry, which was now sweeping over the battle-field. The Zouave ran in this direction, and our soldier boy followed him. Now that the excitement of the conflict was over, the enthusiasm which had buoyed him up began to subside. The day was lost; all hopes of glory had fled; and a total defeat and rout were not calculated to add much strength to his over-tasked limbs.

He was nearly used up, and it was hard work to run—very hard work; and nothing but the instinct of self-preservation enabled him to keep the tall and wiry form of the Zouave in sight. They reached the ravine, where the water was about three feet deep. The shot, and shell, and bullets still fell in showers around them, and occasionally one of the luckless fugitives was struck down. They crossed the stream, and continued on their flight. An officer on horseback dashed by them, and bade them run with all their might, or they would be taken.

"For Heaven's sake, get me some water!" said a rebel, who was wounded in the leg, to a Zouave, who passed near him.

"You are a rebel, but I will do that for you," replied the Zouave; and he gave him a canteen filled with water.

The rebel drank a long, deep draught, and then levelled his musket at the head of his Samaritan enemy and fired. This transaction had occupied but a moment, and Tom saw the whole. His blood froze with horror at the unparalleled atrocity of the act. The Zouave, whom Tom had followed, uttered a terrible oath, and snatching the musket from the hands of the soldier boy, he rushed upon the soulless miscreant, and transfixed him upon the bayonet. Uttering fierce curses all the time, he plunged the bayonet again and again into the vitals of the rebel, till life was extinct.

"Boy, I used to be human once," said the Zouave, when he had executed this summary justice upon the rebel; "but I'm not human now. I'm all devil."

"What a wretch that rebel was!" exclaimed Tom, who seemed to breathe freer now that retribution had overtaken the viper.

"A wretch! Haven't you got any bigger word than that, boy? He was a fiend! But we mustn't stop here."

"I thought the rebels were human."

"Human? That isn't the first time to-day I've seen such a thing as that done. Come along, my boy; come along."

Tom followed the Zouave again; but he was too much exhausted to run any farther. Even the terrors of the Black Horse Cavalry could not inspire him with strength and courage to continue his flight at any swifter pace than a walk.

"I can go no farther," said he, at last.

"Yes, you can; pull up! pull up! You will be taken if you stop here."

"I can't help it. I can go no farther. I am used up."

"Pull up, pull up, my boy!"

"I can't."

"But I don't want to leave you here. They'll murder you—cut your throat, like a dog."

"I will hide myself in the bushes till I get a little more strength."

"Try it a little longer. You are too good a fellow to be butchered like a calf," added the generous Zouave.

But it was no use to plead with him, for exhausted nature refused to support him, and he dropped upon the ground like a log.

"Poor fellow! I would carry you in my arms if I could."

"Save yourself if you can," replied Tom, faintly.

The kind-hearted fireman was sorry to leave him, but he knew that one who wore his uniform could expect no mercy from the rebels. They had been too terrible upon the battle-field to receive any consideration from those whom they had so severely punished. He was, therefore, unwilling to trust himself to the tender mercies of the cavalry, who were sweeping the fields to pick up prisoners; and after asking Tom's name and regiment, he reluctantly left him.

Tom had eaten nothing since daylight in the morning, which, added to the long march, and the intense excitement of his first battle-field, had apparently reduced him to the last extremity. Then, for the first time, he realized what it was to be a soldier. Then he thought of his happy home—of his devoted mother. What must she not suffer when the telegraph should flash over the wires the intelligence of the terrible disaster which had overtaken the Union army! It would be many days, if not weeks or months, before she could know whether he was dead or alive. What anguish must she not endure!

He had but a moment for thoughts like these before he heard the sweep of the rebel cavalry, as they dashed down the road through the woods. He must not remain where he was, or the record of his earthly career would soon be closed. On his hands and knees he crawled away from the road, and rolled himself up behind a rotten log, just in season to escape the observation of the cavalrymen as they rode by the spot.

Here and there in the woods were the extended forms of Federals and rebels, who had dragged their wounded bodies away from the scene of mortal strife to breathe their last in this holy sanctuary of nature, or to escape from the death-dealing shot, and the mangling wheels that rumbled over the dead and the dying. Close by the soldier boy's retreat lay one who was moaning piteously for water. Tom had filled his canteen at a brook on the way, and he crawled up to the sufferer to lave his dying thirst. On reaching the wounded man, he found that he was a rebel, and the fate of the Zouave who had done a similar kindness only a short time before presented itself to his mind.

"Water! Water! For the love of God, give me a drop of water," moaned the dying soldier.

Tom thought of the Zouave again, and had almost steeled his heart against the piteous cry. He turned away.

"Water! Water! If you are a Christian give me some water," groaned the sufferer.

Our soldier boy could no longer resist the appeal. He felt that he could not be loved on earth or forgiven in heaven if he denied the petition of the dying rebel; but before he granted it, he assured himself that the sufferer had no dangerous weapon in his possession. The man was deadly pale; one of his arms hung useless by his side; and he was covered with blood. He was a terrible-looking object, and Tom felt sick and faint as he gazed upon him.

Placing his canteen at the lips of the poor wretch, he bade him drink. His frame quivered as he clutched the canteen with his remaining hand. The death damp was on his forehead; but his eye lighted up with new lustre as he drank the grateful beverage.

"God bless you! God bless you!" exclaimed he as he removed the canteen from his lips. "You are a Yankee," he added, as he fixed his glazing eyes upon Tom's uniform. "Are you wounded?"

"No; I am worn out. I have eaten nothing since daylight, and not much then. I am used up."

"Put your hand in my haversack. There is something there," gasped the dying man.

Tom bent over him to comply with the invitation; but, with a thrill of horror, he started back, as he listened to the death-rattle in the throat of the rebel, and saw his eyes fixed and lustreless in death. It was an awful scene to the inexperienced youth. Though he had seen hundreds fall in the battle of that day, death had not seemed so ghastly and horrible to him as now, when he stood face to face with the grim monster. For a few moments he forgot his own toil-worn limbs, his craving hunger, and his aching head.

He gazed upon the silent form before him, which had ceased to suffer, and he felt thankful that he had been able to mitigate even a single pang of the dying rebel. But not long could he gaze, awe-struck, at the ghastly spectacle before him, for he had a life to save. The words of the sufferer—his last words—offering him the contents of his haversack recurred to him; but Tom's sensibilities recoiled at the thought of eating bread taken from the body of a dead man, and he turned away.

"Why shouldn't I take it?" said he to himself. "It may save my life. With rest and food, I may escape. Pooh! I'll not be a fool!"

Bending over the dead man, he resolutely cut the haversack from his body, and then returned to the log whose friendly shelter had screened him from the eyes of the rebel horsemen. Seating himself upon the ground, he commenced exploring the haversack. It contained two "ash-cakes," a slice of bacon, and a small bottle. Tom's eyes glowed with delight as he gazed upon this rich feast, and, without waiting to say grace or consider the circumstances under which he obtained the materials for his feast, he began to eat. Ash-cake was a new institution to him. It was an Indian cake baked in the ashes, probably at the camp-fires of the rebels at Manassas. It tasted very much like his mother's johnny-cake, only he missed the fresh butter with which he had been wont to cover the article at home.

The soldier boy ate the bacon, and ate both of the cakes, though each of the latter was about the size of a saucer. It was a large meal, even for a growing boy; but every mouthful seemed to put a new sinew into his frame. While he was eating, he drew the cork from the bottle. It contained whiskey. Tom had heard that there was virtue in whiskey; that it was invigorating to a tired man, and he was tempted, under these extremely trying circumstances, to experiment upon the beverage. He would certainly have been excusable if he had done so; but our hero had a kind of horror of the article, which would not let him even taste it. He was afraid that he should acquire a habit which would go with him through life, and make him what Hapgood and others whom he knew were—a torment to themselves, and a nuisance to their fellow-beings. Putting the cork in the bottle, he threw it upon the ground.

With his renewed strength came renewed hope; but he did not deem it prudent to wander about the woods at present: therefore he threw himself on the ground under the protecting log to obtain the repose he so much needed.

He thought of home, and wondered whether he should ever see the cottage of his parents again; and while he was thinking, overcome by the excitement and fatigue of the day, he dropped asleep. It was strange that he could do so, consciously environed by so many perils; but he had in a measure become callous to danger, and he slept long and deep.

When he awoke, it was dark and silent around him. The roar of battle had ceased, and the calm of death seemed to have settled upon the scene of strife. Tom's bones still ached; but he was wonderfully refreshed by the nap he had taken. He had no idea of the time, and could not tell whether he had slept one hour or six. He was strong enough to walk now, and the first consideration was to escape from the vicinity of the rebel camps; but he had no conception of where he was, or what direction would lead him to the Federal lines.

A kind Providence had watched over him thus far; had spared his life in the fury of battle; had fed him in the wilderness, like Elijah of old; and restored his wasted strength. He could only trust to Providence for guidance, and, using his best judgment in choosing the direction, he entered upon the difficult task of finding his way out of the woods. He had walked an hour or more, when, suddenly, three men sprung up in the path before him.

"Halt! Who comes there?" demanded one of them.

"Friend!" replied Tom; though he had a great many doubts in regard to the truth of his assertion.

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign!"

But the soldier boy had no countersign to give. He had fallen upon a rebel picket post, and was made a prisoner.



CHAPTER XV.

TOM A PRISONER.

Tom could not exactly understand how he happened to be made a prisoner. He had certainly moved with extreme caution, and he wondered that he had not received some intimation of the presence of the enemy before it was too late to retreat. But, as we have before hinted, Tom was a philosopher; and he did not despair even under the present reverse of circumstances, though he was greatly disconcerted.

"Who are you?" demanded one of the rebel soldiers, when they had duly possessed his body, which, however, was not a very chivalrous adventure, for the prisoner was unarmed, his gun having been thrown away by the friendly Zouave, after he had so terribly avenged his murdered companion.

"I'm a soldier," replied Tom, greatly perplexed by the trials of his difficult situation.

As yet he did not know whether he had fallen into the hands of friend or foe, for the night was cloudy and dark, and he could not see what uniform the pickets wore.

"What do you belong to?" demanded the spokesman of the picket trio.

"I belong to the army," answered Tom, with admirable simplicity.

Our soldier boy, as the reader already knows, had been well "brought up." He had been taught to tell the truth at all times; and he did so on the present occasion, very much to the confusion, no doubt, of the rebel soldiers, who had not been brought up under the droppings of the sanctuary in a New England village.

"B'long to the army—do you?" repeated Secesh, who must have thought Tom a very candid person.

"Yes, sir, I belong to the army," added the prisoner.

"I s'pose you won't mind telling us what army you belong to, 'cause it mought make a difference in our calculations," added the spokesman.

Tom did not know but that it might make some difference in his calculations, and for this reason he was exceedingly unwilling to commit himself before he ascertained upon which side his questioners belonged.

"Can you tell me where I am?" asked Tom, resolved to use a little strategy in obtaining the desired information.

"May be I can," replied the picket.

"Will you do so?"

"Sartin, stranger—you are in the woods," added Secesh; whereat his companions indulged in a wholesome chuckle, which assured Tom that they were human, and his hopes rose accordingly.

"Thank you," replied Tom, with infinite good nature.

"You say you belong to the army, and I say you are in the woods," said the soldier, repeating the double postulate, so that the essence of the joke should by no possibility fail to penetrate the cerebellum of his auditor.

Tom was perfectly willing to acknowledge that he was in the woods, both actually and metaphorically, and he was very much disturbed to know how he should get out of the woods—a problem which has puzzled wiser heads than his, even in less perplexing emergencies. He was fearful that, if he declared himself to be a Union soldier, he should share the fate of others whom he had seen coolly bayoneted on that eventful day.

"Now, stranger, s'pose you tell me what army you b'long to; then I can tell you where you are," continued the soldier.

"What do you belong to?" asked Tom, though he did not put the question very confidently.

"I belong to the army;" and the two other pickets honored the reply with another chuckle. "You can't fool old Alabammy."

There was no further need of fooling "Old Alabammy," for the worthy old gentleman, symbolically represented by the rebel soldier, had kindly done it himself; and Tom then realized that he was in the hands of the enemy. It is true, the balance of the picket trio laughed heartily at the unfortunate slip of the tongue made by their companion, but Tom was in no condition to relish the joke, or he might perhaps have insinuated himself into the good graces of the jolly Secesh by repeating Pat's mysterious problem—"Tell me how many cheeses there are in the bag, and I'll give ye the whole five;" for, though this is an old joke in the civilized parts of the world, it is not at all probable that it had been perpetrated in the benighted regions of Secessia.

The announcement of the fact that he was in the hands of the foe, as we have before intimated, left Tom in no condition to give or take a joke. His heart was suddenly deprived of some portion of its ordinary gravity, and rose up to the vicinity of his throat. He drew sundry deep and long breaths, indicative of his alarm; for though Tom was a brave boy,—as these pages have already demonstrated,—he had a terrible idea of the tender mercies of the rebels. His first impulse was to break away from his captors, and run the risk of being overtaken by a trio of musket balls; for death from the quick action of a bullet seemed preferable to the fate which his fears conjured up if he should be taken by the bloodthirsty rebels. But the chances were too decidedly against him, and he reluctantly brought his mind to the condition of philosophical submission.

"Well, stranger, which army do you b'long to?" said the spokesman of the picket trio, when he had fully recovered his self-possession.

"I belong to the United States army," replied Tom, desperately.

"That means the Yankee army, I s'pose."

"Yes, sir; you call it by that name."

"Then you are my prisoner."

"I surrender because I can't help myself."

"Hev you nary toothpick or bone-cracker in your pockets?"

"Any what?" replied Tom, whose dictionary seemed to be at fault.

"Nary pistol, knife, or any thing of that sort?"

"Nothing but my jackknife."

"Any plunder?"

"We piled up our knapsacks and haversacks before we went into the fight. Here is my canteen half full of water; I gave the other half to one of your soldiers, when he was dying of his wounds."

"Did ye?"

"Now will you be kind enough to tell me where I am?"

"You are inside the lines of our army, about three miles below Centreville," replied one of the pickets.

"What time is it?"

"Nigh upon nine o'clock, I should say. One of you fellers must take this prisoner to headquarters," he continued, speaking to his companions.

Tom was very agreeably surprised to find that his captors did not propose to hang, shoot, or bayonet him; and the Southern Confederacy rose a few degrees in his estimation. Certainly the men who had taken him were not fiends, and he began to hope that his situation as a prisoner would not be so terrible as his fancy had pictured it.

One of the men was deputed to conduct him to the officer of the guard; and he walked along by the side of the soldier through the woods, in the direction from which he had just come.

"Can you tell me how the battle went at last?" asked Tom, as they pursued their way through the forest.

"We whipped you all to pieces. Your army hasn't done running yet. We shall take Washington to-morrow, and Jeff Davis will be in the White House before the week is out."

"Have you taken many prisoners?" asked Tom, who could not dispute the position of the rebel soldier.

"About fifty thousand, I b'lieve," replied Secesh, with refreshing confidence.

Tom indulged in a low whistle, but his companion could not tell whether it was an expression of regret or incredulity. If they had stood on an equality, Tom would probably have suggested that the figures should be interpreted "over the left"—an idiosyncrasy in language which he had imported from Pinchbrook, but which may not be wholly unintelligible to our young readers.

From his conductor he obtained some particulars of the battle and its result, which were afterwards more fully set forth in General Beauregard's official report, and which would have read better on the pages of Sinbad the Sailor than in the folios of a military despatch. But the Secesh soldier's "facts and figures" were comforting to Tom, who still had a stronger interest in the condition of the good cause, after the heavy blow it had received, than he had in his own individual welfare. Like too heavy a dose of poison, the magnitude of the stories refuted and defeated them. The soldier boy listened in respectful silence, but he was utterly incredulous. It was even possible that the Union army had won a victory, after all, though he was not very sanguine on this point.

He was ultimately conducted to the headquarters of the regiment to which his captors belonged, and then turned into a lot with about twenty others, who were strongly guarded. Tom joined his companions in misery, most of whom, worn out by the fatigues of the day, were sleeping soundly upon the ground. Only two or three of them were awake; but these were strangers to him, and he was unable to obtain any information from them concerning any of his friends in the regiment.

It began to rain shortly after Tom joined his fellow-prisoners; but there was no shelter for them. They had neither blankets nor great coats, yet this did not seem to disturb them. Our soldier boy threw himself upon the ground, but the nap he had taken under the side of the log set his eyes wide open for a time. He could only think of home, his mother and sisters, and John, by this time snugly coiled away in the bed where he had been wont to dream of the glories of war. He had cast his fears to the winds when he found that his captors did not intend to butcher him, and he could not help thinking that his situation might have been worse.

Those with whom he had spoken told him they had eaten nothing since morning; and in this respect he was far better off than his companions were. The only thing that troubled him was the thought of the anguish which his mother must suffer, when she heard of the battle. When the regiment should be gathered together again, he would be reported as "missing," and this would be a terrible word to her, for it meant killed, wounded, or a prisoner. If he could only assure her that he still lived and was uninjured, he would have been happy—happy in spite of the drenching rain—happy in spite of the prospective dungeon, and the hardships to which he might be subjected. He felt that he had faithfully performed his duty. When he began to be drowsy, he settled himself in the most comfortable place he could find on the ground, and thanked God that he had been spared his life through the perils of that awful day, and more fervently that he had been enabled to do his duty like a good soldier; and then, with the Giver of all Good, the Fountain of all Mercy, in his heart, he fell asleep.

He slept several hours, and waked up to find himself as thoroughly soaked as though he had just come out of the river. There was no help for it, and it was no use to grumble. After walking to and fro for half an hour, he lay down again, and, between sleeping and waking, finished the night; uncomfortably, it is true, and yet without any positive suffering. There were hundreds, if not thousands, who were enduring the agony of fearful wounds through that long night; who were lying alone and uncared for where they had fallen in the deadly strife; who were dying every hour, away from their homes and friends, and with no kind hand to minister to their necessities, with no sweet voice of a loved one to smooth their passage down to the dark, cold grave.

Tom thought of these, for he had seen them in his path, and he felt that he had no cause to complain—that he ought to be cheerful and happy. At the dawn of the day he and his fellow-prisoners were marched to Sudley Church, where they were to be confined until they could be sent to Richmond. Here Tom found a captain belonging to his regiment; but neither could give any information to the other in regard to their friends.

"I shall not stay here long," said the captain, in a whisper, when they had become better acquainted. "I intend to leave to-night."

"Can't I go with you?" asked Tom.

"You can go, but we had better not go together."

Tom thought for a while, and determined upon an attempt to escape. During the day, he carefully examined the premises, and decided upon his mode of operations.



CHAPTER XVI.

A PERPLEXING QUESTION.

Tom Somers, who had had some experience, in a small way, in the kind of business now before him, was filled with hope when he had adopted his plan. He was a resolute and energetic young man, and to resolve upon any thing was almost equivalent to doing it. There were a great many difficulties in the way of success, it is true; but, nothing daunted by these, he determined to persevere. The church in which the prisoners were confined was carefully guarded on the exterior, and the sentinels carried loaded muskets in their hands—so that the affair before him was more hazardous and trying than that of escaping from the attic chamber of Squire Pemberton's house in Pinchbrook.

If he succeeded in making his way out of the church and eluding the guard which surrounded it, even then his trials would only have commenced; for there were many miles of hostile country between him and Washington, whither he supposed the Federal army had been driven. The captain who intended to escape at the same time gave him some information which would be of service to him in finding his way to the Potomac. He charged him particularly to follow the railroad, which would conduct him to Alexandria, in the vicinity of which he would probably find the regiment.

At dark the prisoners disposed of themselves as well as they could for the night. Tom saw the captain go through all the forms of preparing for a comfortable lodging, and he did the same himself. For hours he lay ruminating upon his purpose. When it was midnight, he thought it was time for him to commence the enterprise. He worked himself along on the floor till he reached the principal entrance. The door was open, as it had been all day, to enable the guards to obtain an occasional view of the prisoners.