"Now, fellows, tell us what the news is," said Tom, as he seated himself on a camp stool before the tent of his mess.

"There are letters for you, Tom, in the hands of the orderly," added one of his friends. "I suppose you have got a bigger story to tell than any of us, but you shall have a chance to read your letters first."

These precious missives from the loved ones at home were given to him, and the soldier boy opened them with fear and trembling, lest he should find in them some bad news; but his mother and all the family were well. One of them was written since the battle, and it was evidently penned with deep solicitude for his fate, of which nothing had been heard.

Hapgood, who sat by him while he read his letters, assured him that his mother must know, by this time, that he was not killed, for all the men had written to their friends since the battle. The captain who had escaped from Sudley church had reported him alive and well, but he had no information in regard to his escape.

"We are all well, and every thing goes on about the same as usual in Pinchbrook," wrote one of his older sisters. "John is so bent upon going to sea in the navy, that it is as much as mother can do to keep him at home. He says the country wants him, and he wants to go; and what's more, he must go. We haven't heard a word from father since he left home; but Captain Barney read in the paper that his vessel had been sunk in the harbor of Norfolk to block up the channel. We can only hope that he is safe, and pray that God will have him in his holy keeping.

"Squire Pemberton was dreadful mad because his son went into the army. He don't say a word about politics now."

In a letter from John, he learned that Captain Barney had advanced the money to pay the interest on the note, and that Squire Pemberton had not said a word about foreclosing the mortgage. His brother added that he was determined to go into the navy, even if he had to run away. He could get good wages, and he thought it was a pity that he should not do his share towards supporting the family.

Tom finished his letters, and was rejoiced to find that his friends at home were all well and happy; and in a few days more, a letter from him would gladden their hearts with the intelligence of his safe return to the regiment.

"All well—ain't they?" asked Hapgood, as Tom folded up the letters and put them in his pocket; and the veteran could not fail to see, from the happy expression of his countenance, that their contents were satisfactory.

"All well," replied Tom. "Where is Fred Pemberton? I haven't seen him yet."

"In the hospital: he's sick, or thinks he is," answered Hapgood. "Ben Lethbridge is in the guard house. He attempted to run away while we were coming over from Shuter's Hill."

"Who were killed, and who were wounded? I haven't heard a word about the affair, you know," asked Tom.

"Sergeant Bradford was wounded and taken prisoner. Sergeant Brown was hit by a shell, but not hurt much. The second lieutenant was wounded in the foot, and—"

A loud laugh from the men interrupted the statement.

"What are you laughing at?" demanded Tom.

"He resigned," added Bob Dornton, chuckling.

"You said he was wounded?"

"I didn't say so; the lieutenant said so himself, and hobbled about with a big cane for a week; but as soon as his resignation was accepted, he threw away his stick, and walked as well as ever he could."

The boys all laughed heartily, and seemed to enjoy the joke prodigiously. Tom thought it was a remarkable cure, though the remedy was one which no decent man would be willing to adopt.

"How's Captain Benson?"

"He's better; he felt awful bad because he wasn't in that battle. The colonel has gone home, sick. He has more pluck than body. He was sun-struck, and dropped off his horse, like a dead man, on the field. It's a great pity he hasn't twice or three times as much body; if he had, he'd make a first-rate officer."

It was now Tom's turn to relate his adventures; and he modestly told his story. His auditors were deeply interested in his narrative, and when he had finished, it was unanimously voted that Tom was a "trump;" which I suppose means nothing more than that he was a smart fellow—a position which no one who has read his adventures will be disposed to controvert.

A long period of comparative inactivity for the regiment followed the battle of Bull Run. General McClellan had been called from the scene of his brilliant operations in Western Virginia, to command the army of the Potomac, and he was engaged in the arduous task of organizing the vast body of loyal troops that rushed forward to sustain the government in this dark hour of peril.

While at Bladensburg the —th regiment with three others were formed into a brigade, the command of which was given to Hooker—a name then unknown beyond the circle of his own friends.

About the first of November the brigade was sent to Budd's Ferry, thirty miles below Washington, on the Potomac, to watch the rebels in that vicinity. The enemy had, by this time, closed the river against the passage of vessels to the capital, by erecting batteries at various places, the principal of which were at Evansport, Shipping Point, and Cockpit Point. Budd's Ferry was a position in the vicinity of these works, and the brigade was employed in picketing the river, to prevent the enemy on the other side from approaching, and also to arrest the operations of the viler traitors on this side, who were attempting to send supplies to the rebels.

It was not a very exciting life to which the boys of our regiment were introduced on their arrival at Budd's Ferry, though the rebel batteries at Shipping Point made a great deal of noise and smoke at times. As the season advanced the weather began to grow colder, and the soldiers were called to a new experience in military life; but as they were gradually inured to the diminishing temperature, the hardship was less severe than those who gather around their northern fireside may be disposed to imagine. Tom continued to be a philosopher, which was better than an extra blanket; and he got along very well.

It was a dark, cold, and windy night, in December, when Tom found himself doing picket duty near the mouth of Chickamoxon Creek. Nobody supposed that any rebel sympathizer would be mad enough to attempt the passage of the river on such a night as that, for the Potomac looked alive with the angry waves that beat upon its broad bosom. Hapgood and Fred Pemberton were with him, and the party did the best they could to keep themselves comfortable, and at the same time discharge the duty assigned to them.

"Here, lads," said old Hapgood, who, closely muffled in his great-coat, was walking up and down the bank of the creek to keep the blood warm in his veins.

"What is it, Hapgood?" demanded Fred, who was coiled up on the lee side of a tree, to protect him from the cold blast that swept down the creek.

"Hush!" said Hapgood. "Don't make a noise; there's a boat coming. Down! down! Don't let them see you."

Tom and Fred crawled upon the ground to the verge of the creek, and placed themselves by the side of the veteran.

"I don't see any boat," said Tom.

"I can see her plain enough, with my old eyes. Look up the creek."

"Ay, ay! I see her."

"So do I," added Fred. "What shall we do?"

"Stop her, of course." replied Tom.

"That's easy enough said, but not so easily done. We had better send word up to the battery, and let them open upon her," suggested Fred.

"Open upon the man in the moon!" replied Tom, contemptuously. "Don't you see she is under sail, and driving down like sixty? We must board her!"

Tom spoke in an emphatic whisper, and pointed to a small boat, which lay upon the shore. The craft approaching was a small schooner apparently about five tons burden. The secessionists of Baltimore or elsewhere had chosen this dark and tempestuous night to send over a mail and such supplies as could not be obtained, for love or money, on the other side of the Potomac. Of course, they expected to run the risk of a few shots from the Union pickets on the river; but on such a night, and in such a sea, there was very little danger of their hitting the mark.

Up the creek the water was comparatively smooth; but the little schooner was driving furiously down the stream, with the wind on her quarter, and the chances of making a safe and profitable run to the rebel line, those on board, no doubt, believed were all in their favor.

"We have no time to lose," said Hapgood, with energy, as he pushed off the boat, which lay upon the beach. "Tumble in lively, and be sure your guns are in good order."

"Mine is all right," added Tom, as he examined the cap on his musket, and then jumped into the boat.

"So is mine," said Fred; "but I don't much like this business. Do you know how many men there are in the schooner?"

"Don't know, and don't care," replied Tom.

"Of course they are armed. They have revolvers, I'll bet my month's pay."

"If you don't want to go, stay on shore," answered Hapgood, petulantly. "But don't make a noise about it."

"Of course I'll go, but I think we are getting into a bad scrape."

Tom and Hapgood held a hurried consultation, which ended in the former's taking a position in the bow of the boat, while the other two took their places at the oars. The muskets were laid across the thwarts, and the rowers pulled out to the middle of the creek, just in season to intercept the schooner. Of course they were seen by the men on board of her, who attempted to avoid them.

"Hallo!" said Tom, in a kind of confidential tone. "On board the schooner there! Are you going over?"

"Yes. What do you want?" answered one of the men on board the vessel.

"We want to get over, and are afraid to go in this boat. Won't you take us over?"

"Who are you?"

"Friends. We've got a mail bag."

"Where did you get it?"

"In Washington."

By this time, the schooner had luffed up into the wind, and Tom directed his companions to pull again. In a moment the boat was alongside the schooner, and the soldier boy was about to jump upon her half-deck, when the rebel crew, very naturally, ordered him to wait till they had satisfied themselves in regard to his secession proclivities.

There were five men in the schooner, all of whom were seated near the stern. Tom did not heed the protest of the traitors, but sprang on board the schooner, followed by his companions.

"Now, tell us who you are before you come any farther," said one of the men.

"Massachusetts soldiers! Surrender, or you are a dead man," replied Tom, pointing his gun.



CHAPTER XXV.

IN THE HOSPITAL.

The night was very dark, so that the rebels in the boat could not distinguish the uniform of those who had applied for a passage on the schooner. Perhaps Tom Somers's experience in the Blue Ridge and on the Shenandoah had improved his strategic ability, so that his words and his manner seemed plausible. But as strategy and cunning always owe their success to the comparative stupidity of the victims, Tom and his companions gained the half-deck of the schooner more by the palpable blundering of her crew than through the brilliancy of their own scheme.

Tom did not stop, in the midst of the exciting enterprise, to determine the particular reason of his success, as we, his humble biographer, have done. He was on the enemy's ground, and confronting the enemy's forces, and logic was as much out of place as rebellion in a free republican country. He was closely followed by Hapgood, and at a later period by Fred Pemberton. The nerves of the latter were not remarkably steady, and as he stepped on board the schooner, he neglected to take the painter with him; and the consequence was, that the boat went adrift. It is good generalship to keep the line of retreat open; and Fred's neglect had deprived them of all means of retiring from the scene of action. The only alternative was to fight their way through, and find safety in success.

To Tom's reply, that the party were Massachusetts soldiers, the rebel who had acted as spokesman for the crew, uttered a volley of oaths, expressive of his indignation and disgust at the sudden check which had been given to their prosperous voyage.

"Surrender!" repeated Tom, in energetic tones.

Two of the rebels at the stern discharged their pistols in answer to the summons—a piece of impudence which our Massachusetts soldiers could not tolerate; and they returned the fire. The secessionists evidently carried revolvers; and a turn of the barrel enabled them to fire a second volley, which the soldiers were unable to do, for they had no time to load their guns.

"O!" groaned Fred, as he sunk down upon the half-deck. "I'm hit."

"We can't stand this, Hapgood," said Tom, fiercely, as he leaped into the midst of the party in the standing room. "Let's give them the bayonet."

"Give it to 'em, Tom!" replied the veteran, as he placed himself by the side of his young companion.

"Will you surrender?" demanded Tom, as he thrust vigorously with his bayonet.

"We surrender," replied one of the men; but it was not the one who had spoken before, for he had dropped off his seat upon the bottom of the boat.

"Give up your pistols, then," added Hapgood. "You look out for the boat, Tom, and I will take care of these fellows."

Tom sprang to the position which had been occupied by the spokesman of the party, and grasping the foresheet and the tiller of the boat, he soon brought her up to the wind. Seating himself in the stern, he assumed the management of the schooner, while Hapgood busied himself in taking the pistols from the hands of the rebels, and exploring their pockets, in search of other dangerous weapons.

"How are you, Fred?" shouted Tom, when the pressing business of the moment had been disposed of. "Are you much hurt?"

"I'm afraid my time's most up," replied he, faintly.

"Where are you hit?"

"In the face; the ball went through my head, I suppose," he added, in tones that were hardly audible, in the warring of the December blast.

"Keep up a good heart, Fred, and we will soon be ashore. Have you got an easy place?"

"No, the water dashes over me."

"Can't you move him aft, Hapgood?"

"Pretty soon; when I get these fellows fixed," replied the veteran, who had cut the rope nearest to his hands, and was securing the arms of the prisoners behind them.

"There is no fear of them now. We have got two revolvers apiece, and we can have it all our own way, if they show fight."

But Hapgood had bound the rebels by this time, and with tender care he lifted his wounded companion down into the standing room, and made him as comfortable as the circumstances would permit.

"Now, where are we, Hapgood?" asked Tom, who had been vainly peering ahead to discover some familiar object by which to steer. I can't see the first thing."

"I don't know where we are," replied Hapgood. "I never was much of a sailor, and I leave the navigating all to you."

"I can navigate well enough, if I knew where we were," added Tom, who had thus far been utterly unable to ascertain the "ship's position."

During the brief struggle for the possession of the schooner, she had drifted some distance, which had caused the new commander to lose his bearings. The shore they had just left had disappeared, as though it had been swallowed up by an earthquake. No lights were allowed on shore, where they could be seen from the river, for they afforded so many targets to the artillerymen in the rebel batteries. The more Tom tried to discover a familiar object to steer by, the more it seemed as though the land and everything else had been cut adrift, and emigrated to foreign parts. Those who have been in a boat in a very dark night, or in a dense fog, will be able to appreciate the bewilderment of the skipper of the captured schooner.

"Look out, Tom, that you don't run us into some of those rebel batteries," said Hapgood, after he had watched the rapid progress of the boat for a few moments. "A shot from a thirty-two pounder would be a pill we couldn't swallow."

"No danger of that, Hapgood," answered Tom, confidently.

"I don't know about that, my boy," answered the veteran, in a tone heavy with dire anxiety.

"I know it. The schooner was running with the wind on her starboard quarter when we boarded her. We are now close-hauled, and of course we can't make the shore on the other side while we are on this tack."

Well, I don't know much about it, Tom, but if you say its all right, I'm satisfied; that' all. I'd trust you just as far as I would General McClennon, and you know we all b'lieve in him."

"What are you going to do with us?" asked one of the rebels, who began to exhibit some interest in the fate of the schooner.

"I suppose you will find good quarters in Fort McHenry," replied Tom. "Where do you belong?"

"In Baltimore."

"What are you doing here, then?"

"We go in for the South."

"Go in, then!" added Tom, laughing.

"You'll fetch up where all the rest of 'em do," said Hapgood.

"How's that fellow that was hit?" asked Tom, pointing to the rebel who lay in the middle of the standing room.

"I guess it's all right with him," replied Hapgood, bending over the silent form. "No; he isn't dead."

"I have it!" shouted Tom, suddenly crowding the helm hard-a-lee.

"What, Tom?"

"I see where we are. We are running up the river. I see the land on the weather bow."

The schooner was put about, and after running with the wind amidships for ten or fifteen minutes, Tom discovered the outline of Mrs. Budd's house, which was directly under the guns of the Union battery.

"Stand by the fore halliards, Hapgood," said Tom, as the boat came about again. "Let go!"

The foresail came down, and Tom sprang upon the pier, as the schooner came up under its lee. In a moment the boat was made fast. By this time the pickets appeared.

"Who comes there?" demanded the soldier.

"Friends!" replied Tom.

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."

"Little Mac," whispered the soldier boy in the ear of the sentinel.

"Who are you?"

"Co. K." answered Tom.

"What's the row? The long roll was beat just now, and the whole regiment is in line. What was that firing?"

"We have captured this boat, and five prisoners, one of them wounded, if not dead."

"Bully for you," replied the picket.

They were soon joined by a squad of men, and Fred Pemberton and the wounded rebel were conveyed to the hospital, while the four prisoners were conducted to a secure place. Hapgood and Tom then hastened to the parade, where the regiment was drawn up, and reported the events which had just transpired. It was unanimously voted by officers and privates that the picket guard had done "a big thing," and they were warmly and generously commended for their skill and bravery.

Hapgood and Tom requested permission to go to the hospital and see their companion. They found that the surgeon had already dressed his wound.

"Will he die?" asked Tom, full of solicitude for his friend.

"Die! no; it's a mere scratch. The ball ploughed into his cheek a little way," replied the surgeon. "It isn't a bad wound. He was more scared than hurt."

"I am glad it is no worse," said Captain Benson, who, with fatherly solicitude for his men, had come to the hospital as soon as the company was dismissed. "But what ails you, Tom? You look pale."

"Nothing, captain."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think I am badly hurt. I believe one of those pistol balls grazed my side; but I hardly felt it."

"Let me see," said the surgeon.

The doctor opened Tom's coat, and his gray shirt was found to be saturated with blood.

"That's a worse wound than Pemberton's. Didn't you know it, Tom?"

"Well, of course I knew it; but I didn't think it was any thing," replied Tom, apologetically. "I knew it wouldn't do to drop down, or we should all be in Dixie in half an hour."

"You are my man for the present," said the doctor, as he proceeded to a further examination of the wound.

Tom was hit in the side by one of the pistol bullets. As I have not the surgeon's report of the case, I cannot give a minute description of it; but he comforted Hapgood and the captain with the assurance that, though severe, it was not a dangerous wound.

"Tom Somers, there's a sergeant's warrant in Company K for one of you three men," said Captain Benson, when the patient was comfortably settled upon his camp bed. "The colonel told me to give him the name of the most deserving man in my company."

"Give it to Tom," said Hapgood, promptly. "He led off in this matter, and ef't hadn't been for him, we should all have been on t'other side of the river, and p'raps on t'other side of Jordan, afore this time. And then, to think that the poor fellow stood by, and handled the boat like a commodore, when the life-blood was runnin' out of him all the time! It belongs to Tom."

"Give it to Tom," added Fred, who lay near the patient.

"No, Captain Benson," interposed Tom, faintly. "Hapgood is an old soldier, and deserves it more than I do. Give it to him, and I shall be better satisfied than if you give it to me."

"Tom Somers!" exclaimed old Hapgood, a flood of tears sliding down his furrowed cheeks, "I won't stand nothin' of the sort! I'd jump into the river and drownd myself before I'd take it, after what you've done."

"You are both worthy of it," added Captain Benson.

"Please give it to Hapgood," pleaded Tom. "He first proposed going out after the little schooner."

"Give it to Tom, cap'n. It'll help heal his wound," said Hapgood.

"No; it would do me more good to have you receive it," protested Tom.

"Well, here, I can't have this battle fought in the hospital," interposed the surgeon. "They are good friends, captain, and whichever one you give it to, the other will be suited. You had better settle the case at head-quarters."

"If you please, Captain Benson, I would like to have Hapgood stay with me to-night, if he can be spared."

The veteran was promptly detailed for hospital duty, and the captain returned to his quarters to decide the momentous question in regard to the sergeant's warrant.



CHAPTER XXVI.

TOM IS SENTIMENTAL.

The little schooner which the picket guard had captured was loaded with valuable supplies for the rebels, which of course were confiscated without ceremony. The mail bag which was on board contained a great many letters from traitors in Baltimore, some of whom were exposed by the capture of their treasonable correspondence.

Tom's wound proved to be more serious than even the surgeon had anticipated; but the best care which it was possible to give in a military hospital was bestowed upon him. Old Hapgood, in recognition of his services on that eventful night, was permitted to be near the patient as much as the interests of the service would permit; and the old man was happy when seated by the rude couch of the soldier boy, ministering to his necessities, or cheering him with bright hopes of the future. A strong friendship had grown up between them, for Tom's kind heart and brave conduct produced a deep impression upon the old man.

"Here, Tom," said Captain Benson, as he approached the sufferer, a few days after he entered the hospital, and laid a paper upon the bed. "Here's a prescription which the colonel says you must take."

"What is it?" asked Tom, with a faint smile.

"A sergeant's warrant."

"Glory, glory, hallelujah, as we go marching on!" exclaimed old Hapgood, jumping up like a youth of sixteen, and swinging his cap above his head.

"Shut up, there!" shouted the hospital steward. "Don't you know any better than to make such a racket in this place?"

"I beg pardon, Jameson. I forgot where I was," apologized the veteran. "The news was so good I couldn't help it. Our Tom is a sergeant now!"

"Not yet, Hapgood," replied Tom, feebly. "I can't accept it, Captain Benson; it belongs to Hapgood, sir, and I shall feel a great deal better if you put his name in place of mine."

"Don't do it, cap'n!" interposed the old man, vehemently. "Tom shall be a brigadier general if the war lasts one year more. I should feel like a whipped kitten if that warrant was altered."

"The matter has been fully and fairly considered at head-quarters, and there is no such thing as altering the decision now; so, Tom, you can put the stripes on your arm just as soon as you please."

Hapgood insisted, the surgeon insisted, and the captain insisted; and Tom was too sick to hold way with them in an argument, and his name was placed upon the roster of the company as a sergeant. He was proud of the distinction which had been conferred upon him, though he thought Hapgood, as an older and abler soldier, was better entitled to the honor than himself.

It was six weeks before Tom was able to enter upon the actual enjoyment of the well-merited promotion which he had won by his gallantry; but when he appeared before the company with the chevron of the sergeant upon his arm, he was lustily cheered by his comrades, and it was evident that the appointment was a very popular one. Not even the grumblers, of whom there is a full quota in every regiment, deemed it prudent to growl at the decision of the officers. If any one ventured to suggest that he was too young to be placed over older and stronger men, his friends replied, that men in the army were measured by bravery and skill, not by years.

If my young readers wish to know why Tom's appointment was so well received by his companions in arms, I can only reply, that he had not only been brave and cheerful in the midst of peril and hardship, but he was kind and obliging to his comrades. He had always been willing to help those that needed help, to sympathize with those in trouble, and generally to do all he could to render those around him happy.

Above all these considerations, Tom was a young man of high principle. He had obeyed his mother's parting injunction, often repeated in the letters which came to him from home, and had faithfully "read his Testament." Without being a hypocrite or a canting saint, Tom carried about with him the true elements of Christian character.

Tom had fought a greater battle than that in which he had been engaged at Bull Run a hundred times, in resisting the temptations which beset him from within and without. True to God and true to himself, he had won the victory. Though his lot was cast in the midst of men who swore, gambled, and drank liquor, he had shunned these vices, and loved the sinner while he hated the sin. Such a person could not fail to win the respect of his companions. Though he had been jeered at and insulted for being sober, honest, and pious, he had fought down and lived down all these vilifiers, and won their esteem.

It must be acknowledged that Tom's piety was of the robust type. He would not allow any man to insult him; and after the chastisement he had given Ben Lethbridge, not even those who were strong enough to whip him were disposed to trespass upon his rights and dignity. Perhaps Tom's creed needed a little revising; but he lived under martial law, which does not take cognizance of insults and revilings. He was willing to be smitten on the one cheek, and on the other also, for the good of his country, or even his friends, but not to be wantonly insulted.

The influence of Tom's principles was not confined to himself, for "a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump." This was particularly true of Hapgood, who, more through Tom's preaching and practice than from any strength in his own character, had steadily maintained his purpose to abstain from intoxicating drinks, though occasional opportunities were presented for the indulgence of his darling vice. Tom and he read the Testament and other good books which were sent to the regiment, and both profited by them.

When the soldier boy was discharged from the hospital, the surgeon gave him a pair of woolen socks, from a case of them which had been sent by the friends of the soldier in Boston and its vicinity. He was very much in need of them, and from the depths of his heart he blessed the ladies who had done this good work. He unrolled the socks, and proceeded to pull one of them on. It was as good a fit as though his mother had knit it on purpose for him.

"God bless the lady that knit these socks!" exclaimed Tom, as he began to draw on the other.

"Amen!" replied Hapgood, who was watching the operation in full sympathy with his protege.

"Eh! what's this?" added Tom, for his foot had met with an obstruction in its passage down the leg.

He pulled off the sock, and thrusting his hand into it, took therefrom a letter enclosed in an envelope.

"See that, uncle?" said he, exhibiting the prize.

"What is it, Tom? Open it quick," replied Hapgood.

The soldier boy broke the envelope, and took from it a note enclosing a photograph. Tom looked at the picture with a feeling of pleasure, which would have caused the original of the miniature, the author of the note, and the author of the socks, to blush up to her eyes if she had beheld the expression of admiration which glowed upon the handsome, manly face of the young sergeant.

"By all that's lovely, isn't she a beauty!" exclaimed Tom, rapturously, as he glanced from the picture to Hapgood, who was looking over his shoulder.

"She's hahnsome, and no mistake," replied the veteran, with a grim smile.

"Well, she is!" added Tom, whose eyes were riveted to the photograph.

"Well, why don't you read the letter, Tom?" demanded the old soldier, after the young man had gazed with blushing cheek upon the sweet face of the author of his socks for full five minutes.

"I guess I will," said Tom; but he did not; for the picture seemed to be glory and beauty enough to satisfy him for the present.

"Read the letter, Tom!" shouted the veteran, after he had waited as long as the nature of the case seemed to require.

The soldier boy carefully placed the photograph in the envelope, and unfolded the letter. It was written in a beautiful hand, which looked as soft and delicate as the fair fingers which had penned the lines. He glanced at it as a whole, admired the penmanship, and the fairy-like symmetry that make up the tout-ensemble of the page, and was about to dissolve into another rhapsody, when Hapgood, who was not half so sentimental as the sergeant, became impatient to know the contents of the missive. Tom read it aloud to the stoical veteran; and though we cannot clothe its sweet words in the fairy chirography which transported our hero, and made the letter a dream of bliss to him, we shall venture to present it to our curious readers, stiffened and hardened into the dull, cold forms of the printer's art.

No.——, RUTLAND STREET, BOSTON, Nov. 5, 1861.

MY DEAR SOLDIER:—

This is the first pair of socks I ever knit; and I send them to you with my blessing upon the brave defenders of my country. I hope they will keep your feet warm, and thus keep your heart warm towards God and our blessed land.

Grandma says I am a silly girl, and I suppose I am; but if you feel half as much interest in me as I do in the person who will wear the first pair of socks I ever knit, you will wish to know how I look; therefore I send you my photograph.

I very much desire to know whether my work has done any good; whether my socks are ever worn in a battle; and most of all, I desire to know how the noble fellow looks that wears them. Therefore I beg you to answer my letter, and also to send me your photograph, if you can conveniently.

Now, my dear soldier, be brave and true, and, above all, do not run away from the rebels with my socks on your feet. You may retreat when your officers order you to retire; but if you are a coward, and find yourself compelled to run away, please pull them off before you do so, for I should die with mortification if I thought I had knit a pair of socks for a Union soldier to run away in.

Truly yours, for our flag and our country.

LILIAN ASHFORD.

"Well, if that gal ain't a trump, then there ain't no snakes in Virginny!" exclaimed Hapgood. "She's got the true grit, and no mistake."

"That's so," replied the recipient of the gift, thoughtfully, as he bent down, and began to pull off the sock which encased his left foot.

"What are you doing?" demanded Hapgood, surprised at this new movement of his companion.

"I can't wear these socks yet, uncle," replied he.

"Why not?"

Don't she say she wants them worn in a battle?"

"Tom, you are a little fool!" added the veteran, petulantly. "Are you going with cold feet just to please a silly gal, whose head is as full of moonshine as an egg is of meat. Put on the socks, and keep your feet warm. If you don't, I'll write to her, and tell what a fool you are."

Tom did put them on, but he could not help feeling that uncle Hapgood, as he was familiarly called in the camp, did not understand and appreciate his sentiments. The socks seemed to be too precious to be worn in the vulgar mud of Maryland. To him there was something ethereal about them, and it looked a little like profanation to put any thing emanating from the fairy fingers of the original of that photograph, and the author of that letter, upon his feet.

"Now you act like a sensible fellow, as you are, Tom," said Hapgood, as the sergeant put on his army brogans.

"Well, uncle, one thing is certain: I never will run away from the rebels with these socks on," added Tom, with a rich glow of enthusiasm.

"If Gen'l McClennon don't stir his stumps pretty soon, you'll wear 'em out afore you git a chance to run away."

Tom, almost for the first time since he had been in the army, wanted to be alone. With those socks on, it seemed just as though he was walking the streets of the New Jerusalem, with heaven and stacks of silver-fringed and golden-tinged clouds beneath his feet, buried up to the eyes in floods of liquid moonshine.

If "grandma" really thought that Lilian Ashford was a silly girl, and if Lilian really supposed so herself, it must be added, in justification of her conduct, that she had given the soldier boy a new incentive to do his duty nobly, and kindled in his soul a holy aspiration to serve God and his country with renewed zeal and fidelity.



CHAPTER XXVII.

THE CONFEDERATE DESERTER.

While Tom was in the hospital, he received a letter from his sister, informing him that his brother John had actually entered the navy, and with his mother's consent. The news from home was so favorable, that the soldier boy was pleased to hear that Jack had realized his darling wish, and that he was now in his element.

Intelligence from home, accompanied with letters, papers, books, comforts, and luxuries of various kinds, reached him every two or three weeks; and when the news went back that Tom had been made a sergeant for gallant conduct, there was a great sensation in Pinchbrook. The letters which reached him after the receipt of this gratifying announcement contained all the gossip of the place in regard to the important event. Of course, Tom was delighted by these letters, and was more than ever determined to be diligent and faithful in the discharge of his duties, and never to disgrace the name he bore. He was confident his friends would never have occasion to blush for his conduct—including the original of the photograph, the author of the letter and of the socks.

Tom recovered from the effects of his wound, as we have before intimated, and took his place in the regimental line as a sergeant. January and February passed away without any very stirring events; but in the month of March came indications of activity. The rebels began to draw in their lines, by abandoning various points, till the nation was startled by the evacuation of their strongly fortified position at Manassas, and the forts in front of Budd's Ferry were suddenly left for the occupation of the Federal troops.

Hooker's men crossed the Potomac, and Tom was once more on the sacred soil of Virginia. Skirmishers were sent out in various directions, and though a deserted camp, which had been hastily abandoned, was found, there were no rebels to be seen. The Union boys were not disposed to leave their investigations at this interesting point, and they pursued their way still farther into the country. Somehow or other, Tom and his party did not receive the order to return, and the enterprising young hero continued his march in search of further adventures. It was altogether too tame for him and the congenial spirits in his section to retire without seeing a live rebel or two; and I am not sure, if their desire had not been gratified, that they would not have penetrated to Fredericksburg, and captured that citadel of rebellion in advance to General Augur, who visited the place in April.

As it was, they stumbled upon the pickets of a rebel force, and as soon as their uniform was identified they had the honor of being fired upon, though none of them had the honor of being killed in the midst of their virtual disobedience of orders. But their appearance created a panic among the Confederates, who had no means of knowing that they were not the pioneers of a whole division of Union troops, for General McClellan had removed the spell which bound the loyal army to its camps, and corps, divisions, and brigades were pushing forward into the dominion of the traitors.

The alarm was given, and Tom saw that he was rushing into a bad scrape; and as prudence is as much a requisite of the good soldier as bravery, he ordered his men to fall back. Rebels are very much like ill-natured curs, ever ready to pursue a retreating foe, or run away from an advancing one. The Confederates chased them, and as the legs of the former seemed to be in remarkably good condition, the sergeant came to the conclusion that it would not be safe to run too fast.

"Halt!" shouted he; and the men promptly obeyed the order.

They discharged their muskets, and then made a demonstration towards the enemy, who, obeying their instinct, ran away as fast as their legs would carry them. Taking advantage of this movement on their part, Tom again ordered a retreat.

"They are after us again," said Hapgood. "I hope there ain't no cavalry within hearing. If there is, we may take a journey to Richmond."

"They have stopped to load their guns," replied Tom. "We will use our legs now."

"See that, Tom!" said Hapgood, suddenly.

"What?"

"There's one of them rushing towards us all alone."

"He has thrown up his gun. The others are yelling to him to come back. What does that mean?"

"He is a deserter; he wants to get away from them. There he comes."

"Yes, and there comes the rest of them—the whole rebel army—more than a million of them," said Fred Pemberton. "It's time for us to be going."

"See! They are firing at him. Forward!" added Tom, leading the way.

The party rushed forward, for a short distance; but the dozen rebels had been reenforced, and it was madness to rush into the very teeth of danger. Tom ordered his men to halt and fire at will. The deserter, probably finding that he was between two fires, turned aside from the direct course he was pursuing, and sought shelter in the woods. The sergeant then directed his men to retire, for whether the retreat of the runaway rebel was covered or not, it was no longer safe to remain.

Fortunately the Confederates were more in doubt than the Unionists; and perhaps expecting to fall upon a larger body of the latter, they abandoned the pursuit, and returned to their posts. Nothing was seen of the deserter for some time, and Tom concluded that he had lost his way in the woods, or had missed the direction taken by the Federal scouts.

"He was a plucky fellow, any how," said one of the men, "to attempt to run away in the very face of his companions."

"Well, he timed it well, for he started just when their guns were all empty," added another.

"I'm not sorry he missed us," continued Hapgood. "I don't like a desarter, no how. It goes right agin my grain."

"But he was running from the wrong to the right side," replied Tom.

"I don't keer if he was. Them colors on t'other side were his'n. He chose 'em for himself, and it's mean to run away from 'em. If a man's go'n to be a rebel, let him be one, and stick to it."

"You don't know any thing about it, uncle. Thousands of men have been forced into the rebel army, and I don't blame them for getting out of it the best way they can. I should do so."

"That may be. Tom; that may be," added the veteran, taking off his cap and rubbing his bald head, as though a new idea had penetrated it. "I didn't think of that."

"He's a brave man, whoever he is, and whatever he is."

"He must want to get away from 'em pretty bad, or he wouldn't have run that risk. I shouldn't wonder if they hit him."

"Perhaps he is wounded, and gone into the woods there to die," suggested Tom.

"Halloo!" shouted some one in the rear of them.

"There's your man," said Hapgood.

"Halloo!" cried the same voice.

"Halloo, yourself!" shouted Hapgood in reply to the hail.

The party halted, and after waiting a few moments, the rebel deserter came in sight. He was apparently a man of fifty; and no mendicant of St. Giles, who followed begging as a profession, could have given himself a more wretched and squalid appearance, if he had devoted a lifetime to the study of making himself look miserable. He wore a long black and gray beard, uncut and unkempt, and snarled, tangled, and knotted into the most fantastic forms. His gray uniform, plentifully bedaubed with Virginia mud, was torn in a hundred places, and hung in tatters upon his emaciated frame. On his head was an old felt hat, in a terribly dilapidated condition. He wore one boot and one shoe, which he had probably taken from the common sewer of Richmond, or some other southern city; they were ripped to such an extent that the "uppers" went flipperty-flap as he walked, and had the general appearance of the open mouth of the mythic dragon, with five bare toes in each to represent teeth.

As he approached, the unthinking soldiers of the party indulged in screams of laughter at the uncouth appearance of the whilom rebel; and certainly the character in tableau or farce need not have spoken, to convulse any audience that ever assembled in Christendom. Rip Van Winkle, with the devastations and dilapidations of five-and-twenty years hanging about him, did not present a more forlorn appearance than did this representative of the Confederate army.

"What are you laughing at?" demanded the deserter, not at all delighted with this reception.

"I say, old fellow, how long since you escaped from the rag-bag?" jeered one of the men.

"What's the price of boots in Richmond now?" asked another.

"Who's your barber?"

"Silence, men!" interposed Tom, sternly, for he could not permit his boys to make fun of the wretchedness of any human being.

"We'll sell you out for paper stock," said Ben Lethbridge, who had just returned from three months' service in the Rip-Raps for desertion.

"Shut up, Ben!" added Tom.

"Dry up, all of you!" said Corporal Snyder.

"Who and what are you?" asked Tom, of the deserter.

"I'm a Union man!" replied the stranger with emphasis; "and I didn't expect to be treated in this way after all I've suffered."

"They thought you were a rebel. You wear the colors of the rebel army," answered the sergeant, willing to explain the rudeness of his men.

"Well, I suppose I do look rather the worse for the wear," added the grayback, glancing down at the tattered uniform he wore. "I joined the rebel army, after I had tried every way in the world to get out of this infernal country; but I never fired a gun at a Union man. Seems to me, sergeant, I've seen you before somewhere. What's your name? Where did you come from?"

"Pinchbrook, Massachusetts; and most of us hail from the same place."

"Creation!" exclaimed the deserter. "You don't say so!"

"Your voice sounds familiar to me," added Tom; and for some reason his chest was heaving violently beneath his suddenly accelerated respiration.

As he spoke, he walked towards the dilapidated rebel, who had not ventured to come within twenty feet of the party.

"Did you say Pinchbrook?" demanded the stranger, who began to display a great deal of emotion.

"Pinchbrook, sir," added Tom; and so intensely was he excited, that the words were gasped from his lips.

"What's your name?"

"Thomas Somers," replied the sergeant.

"Tom!" screamed the deserter, rushing forward.

"Father!" cried Tom, as he grasped the hand of the phantom Confederate.

The soldiers of the party were transfixed with astonishment at this unexpected scene, and they stood like statues gazing at the meeting of father and son, till the final development of their relationship, when the muscles of their faces relaxed, and the expression of wonder gave place to joyous sympathy.

"Captain Somers, of Pinchbrook!" shouted old Hapgood; and the men joined with him in a roar of intense satisfaction, that made the woods ring.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

ON THE PENINSULA.

The scene between Captain Somers and his son was very affecting and very exciting; and if the soldiers had all been uncles and first cousins of the parties, they could not have manifested more interest on the joyous occasion. The father wept, and the son wept; for each, amid the terrible experience of these troublous times, had hardly expected to meet the other.

For several minutes they held each other by the hand, laughing and weeping alternately, and neither being able to express the intense emotions which agitated him. The men shouted and laughed in full sympathy with the reunited sire and son.

"I'm glad to see you, Tom," said Captain Somers, as he wiped away the tears that were sliding down upon his grizzly beard. "I haven't cried before for thirty years; I'm ashamed of it, Tom, but I can't help it."

"I didn't expect to find you here, father, and clothed in the rebel uniform; but I'm glad to see you in any uniform," replied the soldier boy.

"So you're in the army, Tom," continued the father, gazing with satisfaction at the neat appearance of the sergeant.

"Yes, sir; I enlisted within a fortnight after we heard that the traitors had bombarded Fort Sumter."

"I see you've got three stripes on your arm."

"Yes, Cap'n Somers," said Hapgood; "Tom was made a sergeant for gallant conduct on the river in December; and he deserved his promotion too."

"I'm glad to see you with that uniform on your back, Tom; and glad to hear that you have behaved well."

"I was in the battle of Bull Run, father, and was taken prisoner, but I got away."

"Well, Tom, we'll hear about that bimeby," said the old man, stopping and looking nervously into the face of his son. "I want to ask a great many questions, Tom, but I hardly dare to do it. You know I haven't heard a word from home since I left, and it's almost a year now."

"You needn't be afraid, father; the folks are all well. I have got a heap of letters at the camp, and you shall read them all as soon as we get there."

"Is your mother well, Tom?"

"First rate."

"And John?"

"Yes, sir; but he's gone into the navy. He was bound to be in the fight any how."

"John's a chip of the old block. He wanted to snuff the salt water afore he was a week old. John's a good sailor, and he ought to have a good lay wherever he goes," added the father.

Captain Somers and Tom sat upon the ground for half an hour, until the fugitive from the rebel army was in some degree rested after the hard run he had had through the woods. The soldiers gathered around them, as much interested as though they had been members of the Somers family. Tom's father had a multitude of questions to ask about Pinchbrook and its people, all of which were answered to his satisfaction.

The sergeant thought it was time for the party to move on, and his father declared that he was able to walk any distance which would bring him nearer to the home of his wife and children. The order was given, and the little band resumed its march.

"How have you been all this time, father?" asked Tom, as he walked along by the side of Captain Somers.

"I've been pretty fairly most of the time. I'm tough and hardy, or I should have been dead afore this time. We've been half starved and half frozen in the camp; but I managed to live through it, hoping and expecting to get away from those rascally rebels."

"Where have you been all the time?" asked Tom. "Have you been in the rebel army long?"

"About four months; but I may as well begin at the beginning, and tell you the whole story," added the captain. "I got to Norfolk all right, and was there when the news came up that the rebels had taken Sumter. Every body was mad, and I was as mad as the rest of them, though not exactly in the same way. I let on a little with my tongue, and came pretty near being tarred and feathered, and I think I should have been, if your uncle Wyman hadn't interfered."

"Did he settle with you, father?"

"After a while he did. He had some fifteen thousand dollars in New York, which had just been sent over from England, and as he was secesh, he was terribly afeard the Lincoln government would confiscate it; so he settled with me, and gave me a power of attorney to draw his money, pay myself, and take care of what was over. I've got the papers safe in my waistbands now."

"Good! Glory, hallelujah!" shouted Tom. "We can pay off old Pemberton now, for it goes against my grain to owe a dollar to a traitor. But if uncle Wyman is a rebel, and I suppose he is, I hope the government will confiscate what's over after you have paid yourself."

"Well, I don't know. We will see about that bimeby. He used me fair, and I don't wish him any harm; but I hate his principles. Well, just then, Tom, when I had got my accounts squared, the rascals took my vessel, and sunk it in the channel to keep the Union fleet out. My pipe was out then, and I couldn't do any thing more. I hung round the city of Norfolk till I saw there was no chance to get out in that direction; and then I left. I was up near Bull Run—the rebels call it Manassas—when the battle was fought; but our folks got licked so badly, that it was no use to try to get through there.

"I tried half a dozen times to crawl through, and had nearly starved to death in the woods; but some rebel cavalry pickets spied me out, called me a traitor, and sent me back. My money was all gone by this time, and I went over to Norfolk again. Your uncle Wyman told me I had better keep quiet where I was, for just as sure as his name was Somers, the North would all fall to pieces in less than six months. He expected the rebel army would be in New York afore long, and I should be a great deal better off where I was. He tried to get a pass to send me through the rebel lines, but he couldn't do it.

"Things went on in this way till your uncle Wyman went to Charleston on business, and I haven't seen him from that day to this. The rebels tried to make me go into their navy, but I wouldn't do it, of course; but when I couldn't do any other way, I went into the army, hoping I should be sent to the front, and find a chance to get away. I've been watching ever since, but I never happened to get within twenty miles of the Union pickets before. But here I am, and I'm perfectly satisfied with the past, though I've suffered a good deal in one way and another."

By the time Captain Somers had finished his narrative, the party arrived at the camp. Tom was reprimanded very gently for detaching himself from the main body of the regiment; but when he reported the events of his excursion, as he had safely returned with his command, nothing more was said about his adventure.

At the camp the Union refugee was provided with comfortable clothing; his hair and beard were trimmed down to decent proportions, and he was otherwise purged of the barbarisms of the rebel camp. But even then he did not look like the stout, hearty, healthy Captain Somers who sailed from Boston in the Gazelle nearly a year before. He was haggard and emaciated from anxiety and semi-starvation.

Captain Somers was warmly welcomed by the members of Company K, who came from Pinchbrook; and when his physical wants had been satisfied, he was sent to General Hooker, to communicate to him such intelligence as he possessed in regard to the position and numbers of the rebel army. He remained at the camp but two days, at the end of which time he was sent to Washington, and from there hastened to his home in Pinchbrook. A letter from Tom, announcing the joyful intelligence of his return, had preceded him.

In ten days after parting with his father, the sergeant received a full and glowing account of the reception of Captain Somers, who became quite a lion in Pinchbrook for the time being. He received his money as he passed through New York, though not without the aid of a government order which he had procured in Washington, and only the amount that was actually due to him, for uncle Wyman's funds were then in process of being confiscated.

The only drawback upon his father's happiness was the absence of John, who had been drafted into a vessel bound to the South. He had not seen him for a year, and another year would probably elapse before he could expect to realize this pleasure. But the captain's patriotism had been intensified a hundred fold by his bitter experience in Virginia; and while his twin sons were gallantly serving their country in the army and the navy, he was willing to sacrifice the yearnings of his paternal heart, and he hoped and prayed that they might do their duty faithfully.

Tom's regiment remained on the Potomac but a short time after the event we have related. Sharper and sterner experience was before these tried soldiers, and the first indications of active service were greeted with joyous enthusiasm. Suddenly the camp was broken up, and the order to march given. The men wondered and speculated upon their destination, and though the prophets of the regiments gave them certain information in regard to the direction they were to take, most of them were incredulous. One declared they were going to Richmond by the way of Fredericksburg; another, by the way of Manassas; and a third was positive, from hints he had seen in the newspapers, that they were going down the valley of the Shenandoah, to take the capital of Rebeldom on the flank and rear.

While the prophets and wise men were speculating, the regiment marched on; and to the astonishment of all, and to the utter confusion of the seers, they were embarked in a transport—the steamer Napoleon—bound no one knew where. One regiment and half of another belonging to the brigade were huddled on board of this one steamer. Every foot of standing room was occupied, and, of course, the boys were not very comfortably quartered; but, as Tom expressed it, there was music ahead, and the brave hearts on board were ready to stand any thing if they could only get a fight out of the rebels. The mortification of their defeat at Bull Run still hung heavily on their spirits, and they were panting for an opportunity to retaliate upon the foe, and win the laurels they had lost upon that disastrous field.

The prophets, though their failure to foretell the coming event had cast them into disgrace, were still ready to volunteer an opinion. They declared that the transports were bound to North Carolina, to follow up Burnside's successes; but most of the men were content to wait till the future should develop itself.

The troops were eager for active duty, and if they could get into the field and strike a heavy blow at the rebellion, they did not care where it was. They had unbounded confidence in the young general who was to organize victory for them, and they were willing to obey orders, and leave every thing to him.

It "thundered all around" them. Roanoke, Pea Ridge, Newbern, Winchester, Donelson, were a succession of Union victories, which inspired them with zeal and courage to endure all hardships, and face any peril which might be in their path.

The transport descended the Potomac, and came to anchor in the bay, where they lay one day; the steamer then continued on her course, and landed her troops in Cheseman's Creek, an indentation of the peninsula between the York and James Rivers. After lying in camp a few days, they marched again, and Tom learned that the regiment was before Yorktown, which had been strongly fortified by the rebels to resist the advance of the Union army.



CHAPTER XXIX.

THE BATTLE OF WILLIAMSBURG.

What the army of the Potomac achieved and suffered before Yorktown, we must leave for the historian. Our soldier boy was only one hero among thousands who toiled in the soft mud of the early spring, who watched and waited for the tremendous events which have now passed into history, and whose actors will be honored and remembered by future generations.

Tom Somers bore his full share of the trials and hardships of that eventful period; and when McClellan's scientific engineering had driven the rebels from their strong works without a struggle to retain them, he moved forward with the gallant army. "On to Richmond!" again sounded along the lines, and the soldiers toiled through mud and mire, hoping and expecting to strike the final blow that would crush out the rebellion.

Yorktown was evacuated. The rebels were fleeing from their frowning batteries, and the order came for Hooker's division to join in the pursuit. At noon the brigade—now under command of General Grover commenced its forward movement.

"Rather rough," said Hapgood, as the regiment struggled on through the mire. "Rather soft, I think," replied Tom, laughing.

"I hope we haven't got to march far through this mud," added Ben Lethbridge.

"That will depend upon how soon we come up with the rebels. If it rests with Hooker, I tell you he will get a fight out of the rebs, if such a thing is possible."

After the regiment had marched five or six miles, the order came to halt; and the intelligence passed along the column that the cavalry had come up with the enemy, and were waiting the arrival of an infantry force to assist in the attack.

"Good!" shouted Tom. "We shall have a battle before night."

"Perhaps not," added Hapgood. "It takes the cat a good while to catch the mouse, even after she smells the critter."

"Why don't we march? What are we stopping here for?" said Tom, impatiently.

"They say Smith's division has got in ahead of us. Keep cool, Tom; never be in a hurry for a battle. Some of us that stand here now won't be alive in twenty-four hours from now; for I don't believe the rebs are going to let us have it all our own way," said the veteran.

"Nor I," added Fred Pemberton. "I shall be killed in this fight."

"How do you know, Fred?" demanded Hapgood, sternly.

"Of course I don't know, but I feel it in my bones that I shall fall in the first battle."

"Your bones ain't no guide at all. I know something about this business, and I've seen croakers afore to-day. Don't talk about being killed, or even hit. Be ready to die, do your duty like a soldier, and leave all the rest to your Maker," said the veteran, solemnly.

"I don't have any such feeling as that. I know I shan't be killed," laughed Ben. "The bullet hasn't been cast yet that will stop my wind."

"Perhaps it has, my boy. It may be in some rebel soldier's cartridge box over yonder, even now. I tell you, boys, you don't know any thing about it. Just afore we went in at Cerry Gordy, a feller by my side said the same thing you did, Ben; and he was the first man that went down. I tried to pick him up, and do something for him, but he was stone dead. I tell you, Ben, you don't know any thing about it. Leave it all to the Almighty."

"Pooh, uncle!" sneered Ben, trying to laugh down the solemn words of the old man. "Don't you think we'd better have a prayer meetin' before we go in?"

"I think we should fight the better for it, for he who trusts in God don't fear death."

But it was evident that the words of Hapgood, especially the incident of Cerro Gordo, had made a deep impression upon the mind of the thoughtless young man. Though the division did not move for three hours, he was very silent and sober. He seemed to feel that he had been tempting Providence by his bold speech, and even expressed his regret to Tom for what he had said.

It was dark when the order to march was given. The night was exceedingly gloomy, and the rain poured down upon the devoted army, as it moved forward to do its great work. Hour after hour, in the deep darkness and the pouring rain, the men struggled through the mire, expecting every moment to be hurled upon the rebel battalions, or to meet the impetuous onset of the foe.

Between ten and eleven, when the men were nearly worn out by the exhausting labors of the march, they were ordered to halt in the road, and bivouac for the rest of the night. What a time and what a place for repose! They could only wrap themselves up in their wet blankets, and stretch themselves upon the ground, soaked with water, and with the rain still pouring down upon them. But they slept, and enjoyed their rest, for Nature was imperative in her demands.

At daylight the march was resumed; for the intrepid Hooker, ever faithful to the trust confided to him, was wholly in earnest. At half-past five the column was halted in the woods. The rebel works before Williamsburg were in sight, and General Hooker rode to the front to examine the position of the enemy.

In front of the rebel batteries, and on each side of the roads, the trees had been felled, in order to give the guns in the field works full play upon an approaching force.

"Hurrah!" shouted some of the boys on the right of the column. "Our brigade is to commence the attack."

"How do you know?" growled Hapgood, who did not think a soldier ought to know any thing about the plan of the battle.

"We are ordered to move," replied Tom. "I suppose that's all they know about it."

The prophets on the right were correct this time, for the regiment was soon sent to the right of the road, and ordered to deploy as skirmishers. A battery was thrown forward in front of the felled timber; but before a gun could be fired, two officers and two privates were seen to fall before the unerring aim of the rebel sharpshooters, occupying the rifle pits which dotted the cleared land in front of the forts.

"That's a hot place," said Ben Lethbridge.

"We shall all see hot work before the sun goes down to-night," replied Tom. "But let us stand up to it like men."

"That's the talk, Tom!" exclaimed Hapgood.

"Have you got those socks on, my boy?"

"I have, uncle; and I have the letter and the photograph in my pocket."

"Good, Tom! After this day's work is over, you can write the lady a letter, and tell her that her socks have been in a battle."

"And that I didn't run away in them."

The roar of the guns in Fort Magruder interrupted the conversation. The gunners of the battery in front of them had been driven from their pieces; but it was almost instantly manned by volunteers, and a destructive fire poured into the works. Other batteries were brought up, and the fort was soon silenced. The roar of battle sounded all along the line; the thunder of cannon and the crash of musketry reverberated through the woods and over the plain, assuring the impatient troops that they were engaged in no trivial affair; that they were fighting a great battle, of which thousands yet unborn would read upon the pages of history.

Our regiment closed up its lines, and the gallant colonel gave the order to move forward in the direction of the field works. On, on, steadily and firmly marched the men of Massachusetts, through ditch and swamp, through mud and mire, loading, firing, and charging, as the enemy presented opportunity. The hot work of the day had commenced; for, from every bush, tree, and covert, which could conceal a man, the rebels poured a deadly fire into the ranks of the advancing Federals.

Tom stood as firm as a rock. The doubts and fears which beset him in his first battle had no existence on this day. So thoroughly had he schooled his mind to the fearful ordeal of carnage, that he felt quite at home. He was cool and determined, and continually encouraged those around him by his cheering words as well as by his example.

"Ben is down!" exclaimed Hapgood.

"Poor fellow!" replied Tom, without taking his eye off the foe in front.

"There goes Bob Dornton!" added Hapgood.

"Stand up to it, my men!" said Tom, firmly, for he had no time then to think of the fallen.

"Forward!" shouted the impetuous colonel, who, if he had never been popular with the men before, was rapidly establishing himself in their good graces by his unflinching heroism. "Forward! double quick! march!"

And on dashed the gallant regiment, mounting the enemy's lofty works, and driving the foe before them like sheep, at the point of the bayonet. This was the first experience of this exciting description which Tom had seen, and he entered into the spirit of it with a hearty zeal.

"Halt!" was the order, as a regiment filed out in front of them, with a flag of truce flying on its front. "Steady—don't fire," repeated several officers along the line.

"What regiment are you?" shouted a person, as the flag came within speaking distance.

"What are you?" demanded an officer of the storming party.

"We're the Alabama eighth!"

"We are the Massachusetts —th," replied our men.

"Then you are the villains we want!" returned the rebel, plentifully interlarding the sentence with oaths.

The flag of truce dropped, and the dastardly foe poured in a volley of musketry, before which a dozen of our brave boys fell, either killed or wounded.

"Fire!" yelled the colonel; and the order was obeyed with a will. "Charge bayonets! Forward—double quick—march!"

The men, burning with indignation at the treachery of the rebel horde, sprang forward to wreak their righteous vengeance upon the cowardly traitors. So impetuous was the charge, that the rebel regiment broke, and sought safety in flight.

"Down with them!" hoarsely screamed Tom, as the line swayed forward, and pursued the panic-stricken foe into the woods on the left. The even line was broken, and the boys scattered to do their work to the best advantage.

Tom's legs seemed to be in excellent condition, notwithstanding the toilsome marches of the last twenty-four hours; and he dashed forward into the woods followed by only a dozen choice spirits, whose enthusiasm was equal to his own. A squad of flying rebels in front of them was the object of their present anxiety, and they soon distanced their companions.

The rebels, seeing by how small a force they were pursued, rallied and formed line again.

"Give it to them!" cried Tom, as he led his little force upon the rebels.

"Hold on, Tom!" said Hapgood; "we have gone far enough. There's a rebel regiment forming behind us."

"Can't help it," said Tom, as he rushed forward, with the veteran by his side. "Give it to them!"

Tom and his men threw themselves upon the rebel squad, and a sharp fight ensued, in which the parties fought with bayonets, clubbed muskets, and even with the death grip upon each other's throats. The traitors could not stand it, and fled again.

The sergeant glanced behind him, and saw the rebel regiment formed ready to charge upon his own. He was cut off from his friends, with the enemy on his front and rear. Three of his men had fallen in the sharp encounter with the rebels, and most of them were wounded or bruised, and all of them out of breath. To add to the peril of the situation, the squad they had been pursuing were rallying and being reenforced by their fugitive companions.

"Bad, Tom, bad," said Hapgood, who was puffing and blowing like a porpoise, as he ominously shook his head.

"Follow me!" said Tom, confidently, as he led the way in a direction at right angles with the advance of the party.

Our regiment had reformed again, and soon gave that in front of them enough to do. The rebels in their rear caused the sergeant's squad no little annoyance; but they continued on their course, loading and firing as they retreated.



CHAPTER XXX.

MORE OF THE BATTLE.

While Tom and his little command were working their way back to the Union lines, followed up by the disorganized band of rebels, a series of most unearthly yells swept over the field, for they had emerged from the woods. It was the rallying cry of the Confederate regiment which had formed in their rear. They were charging upon the Massachusetts —th; but they might as well have charged upon the Rock of Gibraltar, for presently Tom was delighted to see them retiring before the tremendous onslaught of his friends.

"Hurrah!" shouted he, forgetting the foe in his rear, and pressing forward to that on his front, at the same time changing his course so as to approach the right wing of the rebel regiment.

"Don't be rash, Tom," said the old soldier, who never permitted the sergeant to leave his side.

"Follow me, boys!" roared Tom, breathless with excitement, as he started off on the double quick towards the breaking lines of the enemy.

"Here we are!" replied the gallant fellows behind him, pushing forward with a zeal equal to that of their leader, from whom they derived their inspiration. "Go in, sergeant, and we'll stand by you."

But the bold soldier boy had discretion as well as gallantry; and he saw that if he threw his little force upon the rebel line, the whole party would be instantly annihilated. A covert of bushes fortunately lay on the right flank of the retreating regiment, and Tom ordered his men to conceal themselves behind it, until a favorable moment should arrive to take their places in the lines.

The men were glad enough to obtain a breathing spell; but, at such a tremendous moment as that, idleness would have been treason, for such a glorious opportunity to strike a heavy blow had not before occurred.

"Load up, and fire at will," said Tom, as he charged his musket. "Don't throw your lead away either."

"We are a dead shot here if we are any where," added Hapgood, as he and the rest of the party hastily loaded their muskets.

Pop went Tom's piece first, and over went the rebel at the extreme right of the rebel regiment. There was no such thing as missing the mark, for they were on the flank of the Confederate line, which the united efforts of the officers could hardly preserve. The men in the covert fired when they were ready; and as they carefully observed the injunction of Tom not to waste their lead, every shot told upon the rebels.

The Confederate officers glanced nervously at the clump of bushes, which glowed with flashes of fire as the sergeant's little command poured in their volleys; but they were too closely pressed by the Federals in front to attempt to dislodge them. The rebel privates were not long in ascertaining what was so clear to their officers—that they were flanked, and were being shot down like sheep, from a quarter where they could not defend themselves. They had been slowly and doggedly retiring before the advancing Federals, disputing every inch of ground; but when they realized that the bolts of death were dropping among them from another direction, they could no longer endure that awful suspense which takes possession of the minds of men when they are suspended, as it were, between life and death.

Tom saw them waver, and he knew what it meant. The rebel line was just abreast of him, and he had seen at least a score of men fall before the deadly fire of his party.

"Give it to them, boys! They shake!" shouted Tom, as he delivered his fire again. "Pour in as fast as you can, but don't waste your powder."

The men redoubled their exertions, and the rapidity of their fire was sensibly increased. The effect was soon perceptible in the rebel ranks; for the right of the line, probably supposing a company, if not a whole regiment, of sharp-shooters was concealed in the covert, suddenly broke and fled with the utmost precipitation, in spite of the gallant efforts of their officers to rally them.

The Federal regiment instantly took advantage of this partial panic, and charged furiously upon the rebel line. A desperate hand-to-hand encounter ensued, during which Tom and his companions emerged from their concealment, and ran along the rear of the victorious line. They soon satisfied themselves of what they had before believed—that the regiment was their own; and they lost no time in finding the company to which they belonged. They joined in the pursuit, which soon ended in the utter rout of the rebel force.

The position of the enemy's lines did not permit them to follow the advantage to any great extent, and the order was soon given to fall back. At this juncture the regiment, which had been constantly engaged for several hours, was relieved; and not too early in the day, for the men were completely exhausted by the furious onslaughts they had made.

"Who were those men in the bushes on the flank of the rebel regiment?" demanded the colonel, as he reined up his jaded horse in front of Company K.

"Sergeant Somers and others," replied Captain Benson.

"Somers again!" exclaimed the colonel.

"Yes, sir. They pursued the regiment into the woods—the one that showed the flag of truce—till they were separated from the rest of us." "Forward, Sergeant Somers," added the colonel.

Tom modestly stepped forward, and he would have blushed if his face had not been so reddened by his previous exertions as to leave no room for a deepening of its tint.

"You did a big thing, Sergeant Somers. You broke that rebel line by your steady fire. Sergeant Somers, I thank you and the men you commanded for your good service."

Tom bowed, and the regiment cheered. It was the proudest moment of his life to be thanked on the field, while the guns were roaring and the musketry rattling, for the good service he had rendered. It would form an excellent paragraph for his letter to Lilian Ashford, especially as he had more than once, in the perils of that exciting hour, thought of the socks he wore, and of the letter and the photograph which nestled in his breast pocket, and upon which his quick throbbing heart was beating the notes of glory and victory.

"We gave you up for lost," said Captain Benson, as Tom returned to the line.

"We are safe, thank God!" replied Tom, "though three of our number fell in the woods, or on the field where we were chased by the rebels."

"Sergeant Somers saved us," added uncle Hapgood. "If he hadn't been as cool as cowcumber, and as stiff as the mainmast of a frigate, we should have been taken, every one of us."

"Bravo, Tom!" said the captain.

"The men stood by me like heroes, or it would have been all up with the whole of us. They are good fellows, and they deserve as much credit as I do."

The battle continued to rage with increasing fury, till the roar, and the crash, and the sweep of armed legions beggared description. Regiments and brigades advanced and fell back with the varying fortunes of the day, but as yet there was nothing to indicate the final result.

When the men of our regiment had recovered their breath, an order came for them to proceed to the left. On their arrival at the position assigned to them, they were immediately led to the front, where the batteries which had been pouring a hot fire into the enemy were in imminent danger of being surrounded. Indeed, the swoop of the rebel infantry upon the guns had already been made, and the cannoneers had been driven from their stations. With the colonel on the right, and the adjutant in command on the left, the regiment charged upon the foe, as it had twice before charged on that eventful day, with an enthusiasm bordering upon fury.

The rebels had even spiked one of the guns, and they maintained their position with an obstinacy which promised the annihilation of one or the other of the contending forces. A desperate strife ensued, in which the least perceptible advantage was gained by the Federals. But if they could do no more, they held the enemy in check, till the gunners could charge their pieces with grape and canister, which they poured into the rebels with the most deadly effect.

"Hurrah!" shouted Tom, as the rebels quaked before the withering storm of shot belched forth by the guns of the battery. "They shake! Give it to them!"

"Steady, my men! steady," said Captain Benson. "The ammunition of the battery is expended," he added, as the cannon ceased their work of destruction. "We must hold these pieces, and every man must do his duty."

"Ay, ay, sir!" replied Tom, vigorously, and the cry was repeated through the company.

As soon as the guns were thus rendered useless, the enemy swept down upon the supports again, intent upon capturing the pieces. They advanced with that terrific yell which is enough of itself to frighten a nervous man, and with an impetuosity which nothing human could resist. Our regiment recoiled under the shock; but it was forced back by the sheer stress of numbers.

"Rally men! Rally, my brave fellows!" shouted the adjutant, in command of the left wing.

"Stand stiff! Roll them back!" roared the colonel.

"Steady, men!" added Captain Benson.

"Now, give it to them!" screamed Tom, as he plunged his bayonet into the vitals of the rebel in front of him, and pushed forward into the very midst of the foe.

The sergeant seemed suddenly to be endowed with the strength of a giant, and he held his own till Hapgood sprang to his assistance. The rest of the line, inspired by this daring conduct, rushed forward, and fell upon the foe with a fury that could not be resisted.

"Bravo! Bravo, Tom!" shouted the captain. "Go in, boys!" roared the lieutenant.

And the boys "went in," and forced back the rebel line, and held the guns until another battery with a supply of ammunition arrived upon the ground to relieve them. The enemy was again repulsed, and the guns were saved by the unflinching heroism of our gallant Massachusetts regiment—another paragraph for the letter to Lilian Ashford.



CHAPTER XXXI.

GLORY AND VICTORY.

The battle now raged more fiercely than ever, and hotter and hotter became the fire on every side. The shouts of the enemy indicated the arrival of reenforcements. "Johnston!" "Long-street!" resounded over the field, and roused the rebels to renewed activity. More certainly was the increase of the enemy's force determined by the gradual falling back of the brigade at the left of the road; but the men fought with desperate courage, and yielded not a foot of ground without enriching it with their best blood.

There were no signs of reenforcements for over exhausted troops, though a whole corps was within hearing of the booming guns that were slaughtering our outnumbered and exhausted brigades. On the field the aspect began to be dark and unpromising, and Tom prayed with all his soul that he might be spared the pain of beholding another defeat, another rout.

Our regiment was ordered to the support of the yielding brigade on the left. The woods were full of rebels, and the issue of the conflict in this part of the field was almost hopeless. The enemy seemed to be inspired by the slight advantage they had gained, and their yells were fiercer and more diabolical than ever, as they gathered themselves up for a desperate onslaught.

The Federal brigade was overmatched, and the result seemed to waver upon a balance; then the equilibrium was slightly disturbed, and the Union force fell back a little, but only a little, and doggedly resisted the advance of the foe. It needed but little to restore the equilibrium, and our regiment, after struggling through the mud with all attainable speed, arrived upon the spot when the prospect was so gloomy for the loyal cause.

The men were almost exhausted by the tremendous strain which had all day long been imposed upon their nervous systems, and by the physical exertion required of them. But the battle was going against the North, and they were ready again to make a desperate effort to redeem the field.

"One more of your Massachusetts charges, colonel," said General Hooker, as the weary soldiers moved up to the endangered position.

"You shall have it, general. My men are always ready, though they are nearly used up."

"Hancock and Kearney are close by, and if we can hold out a few minutes longer, all will be well with us."

"We'll drive them back, general!" shouted the colonel.

"Go in, then!" added the gallant Hooker, waving his sword to encourage the soldiers. "Forward! You have no time to lose!"

The fiery colonel briefly stated to the regiment the nature of the work before them, admonished the men to do as they had done all day, and Massachusetts would be proud of them. A ringing cheer was the reply to the stirring words of the colonel, and the orders were given for the advance.

On went the brave fellows like a wall of iron, and precipitated themselves upon the rebels, buoyant with hope as they followed up their temporary advantage. The point of attack was all in their favor, and their exhilarating shouts as they sprang upon the foe kindled up the expiring enthusiasm of the yielding brigade to whose assistance they had come. The shock was terrible—more fearful and destructive than any which our boys had before experienced.

"Steady, my men!" shouted Captain Benson.

"Give it to them!" roared Tom, maddened to desperation by the awful strife around him, and by seeing so many of our men fall by his side.

"Stand up to it!" shouted the excited colonel. "They run!"

At this moment an inequality of the ground beneath the men of Company K placed them in a bad position, and the rebels in front of them, taking advantage of the circumstance, pressed forward, and actually broke through the line, trampling some of our soldiers beneath their feet, and transfixing them with their bayonets.

A terrible scene ensued at this gap in the ranks, for the whole rebel regiment began to press into the weak place. The breach was made by the side of our sergeant, so that he was not borne down by the pressure of the rebel battalion.

"Close up!" yelled Tom. "Close up! Hail, Columbia! and give it to them!"

Drawing a revolver which he had been permitted to retain after the capture of the contraband craft on the Potomac, he discharged its six barrels into the foremost of the assailants; and Hapgood and Fred Pemberton, who were armed in like manner from the same source, imitated the example of the sergeant.

"Now give them the bayonet, boys!" screamed Tom, hoarsely, as he plunged into the midst of the rebels.

The men on the other side of the gap pushed forward with equal energy, and the ranks closed up again over a pile of dead and wounded rebels, and Federals, who had fallen in that sharp encounter.

"Bravo!" shouted General Hooker, whose attention had been drawn to the break in the line. "Bravo, sergeant! You shall have a commission! Forward, my brave boys! Massachusetts sees you!"

"Up and at them," cried Tom, as the rebels began to yield and break before the tremendous charge of our regiment.

The young sergeant's throat was raw with the shouting he had done, and his limbs were beginning to yield to the fatigues of the day; but the words of the commander of the division made him over new again, and his husky voice still rang along the line, full of new courage and new energy to his exhausted comrades. The rebels were driven back for the time, and fled before the iron masses that crowded upon them.

The regiment was recalled, and the weary troops, now almost decimated by the slaughter which had taken place in their ranks, were permitted to breathe once more.

"This is awful," said the veteran of Company K, panting from the violence of his exertions. "I never saw any thing like this before."

"Nor I," replied Tom, dropping upon the ground with exhaustion.

"I know something about this business. I thought Cerry Gordy was consid'able of a battle, but 'twas nothin' like this."

"It's awful," sighed Tom, as he thought of the good fellows he had seen fall upon the field.

"Heaps of our boys have gone down!"

"Attention—battalion!" came ringing with startling effect along the line, in the familiar tones of the intrepid colonel.

"If we win the day, we can afford to lose many. Victory or death!" shouted Tom, as he sprang to his feet, in obedience to the command. "More work for us!"

"How do you feel, Tom?" demanded the veteran, as they sprang into the line.

"All right," replied Tom, with a forced buoyancy of spirits.

"Are you sure, my boy?" continued the veteran, gazing with deep anxiety into the face of the sergeant.

"I'm first rate, uncle. I think I can stand it as long as any body else."

"You have done wonders to-day, Tom. I'm proud of you, but I'm afeared you are doing too much. If you are used up, it wouldn't be any disgrace for you to go to the rear. After what you've done, nobody will say a word. Don't kill yourself, Tom, but go to the rear."

"I go to the rear!" exclaimed Tom, with indignation.

"If you are disabled, I mean, of course," apologized the veteran.

"I'm not disabled. If I go to the rear with these socks on, it won't be till after the breath has left my body."

"Socks!" replied Hapgood, with a sneer. "I'm afeared that gal will be the death of you."

"I don't sulk in these socks," replied Tom, with a faint smile, as the regiment moved off on the double quick to some new position of peril.

"The rebels are flanking us!" shouted an officer in another command, as our regiment hurried forward to the endangered point.

"That's what we are wanted for," said Hapgood.

The enemy had nearly accomplished their purpose when our gallant colonel and his jaded force reached the left of the line, and in a few moments more would have poured a flanking fire into our devoted battalions, which were struggling with terrible energy to roll back the pressure in front of them.

The colonel had his men well in hand, and he manoeuvred them with consummate skill, so as to bring them advantageously to the work they were to perform. The regiment was hurled against the head of the flanking column, and the boys rushed forward with that dash and spirit which had characterized their conduct half a score of times before in various parts of the field.

Tom's muscles had become loose and soft after the long continued strain upon them, and if his soul had not been ten times as big as his body, he must have sunk under the exhaustion of the day. Another desperate onslaught was required of the men of our regiment, and commanding all his energies, Tom braced himself up once more for the fearful struggle.

"How do you feel now, Tom?" demanded the anxious veteran, as he bit off the cartridge, and rammed it home.

"First rate, uncle!" replied Tom, as the regiment poured a withering volley into the rebel line.

"For Heaven's sake, Tom, don't kill yourself," added the old man, as they loaded up again. "Your knees shake under you now."

"Do you think I'm afraid, uncle?" demanded the sergeant with a grim smile.

"No, no, Tom; of course I don't think any thing of the kind. I'm afeared you'll bust a blood-vessel, or something of that sort."

"If I do, I'll let you know, uncle."

"Charge bayonets! Double quick—march!" rang along the line.

"Have at them!" cried Tom, who was always the first to catch the orders of the commanding officer. "Down with them! Give 'em Yankee Doodle, Hail, Columbia, and the Red, White, and Blue."

The advancing column, shaken by the furious fire of our regiment, recoiled before the shock. Slowly the foe fell back, leaving heaps of their slain upon the hotly-contested ground. Our boys halted, and poured in another destructive volley.

The Confederate officers rallied their men, and, maddened by the check they had received, drove them forward to recover the lost ground.

"Once more, boys! Give it to 'em again," cried Tom, as the order to advance was repeated.

His words were only representations of his actions; for, as he spoke, he rushed on a little in front of his comrades, who, however, pressed forward to keep up with him. He did not exceed the orders of his superior, but he was one of the promptest to obey them. On dashed the regiment, and again the rebel line recoiled, and soon broke in spite of the admirable efforts of their officers to keep them steady.

"Kearney! Kearney! Kearney is here!" shouted the weary heroes in various parts of the field.

"Down with them!" roared Tom, as the inspiring words rang in his ears. "Down with them! Kearney has come, and the day is ours!"

He had scarcely uttered the words, and sprung forward, before he was seen to drop upon the ground, several paces in front of the line, though the undaunted old Hapgood was close by his side. The enemy had fled; the danger of being flanked was averted; and when Kearney's men dashed on the field, the sad-hearted veteran, assisted by Fred Pemberton, bore the silent form of the gallant sergeant to the rear.

Kearney and Hancock rushed gallantly to the rescue of the exhausted troops, and Hooker's division was ordered to the rear to act as a reserve. The strife raged with unabated fury as those who had borne the brunt of the battle slowly fell back to give place to the fresh legions.

Poor Tom was tenderly carried by the wiry veteran and his friends to the surgeon's quarters in the rear. There were tears in the eyes of the old man as he laid the silent form of his protege upon the wet ground. There he sat by his charge, sorrowful beyond expression, till tremendous shouts rent the air. Tom opened his eyes.