II.
OFF TO THE WAR.
It was a calm, clear October night. The moonlight streamed through thewindow of Frank's room, an he lay in bed, thinking of the evening thatwas past, and of the morning that was to come. Little Willie, his youngerbrother, was sleeping sweetly at his side. He had heard his sisters comeup stairs and go to bed in the room next to his; and they were conversingnow in low tones,--about him he was sure.
Would he ever sleep in that nice warm bed again? Would he ever again folddear little Willie in his arms, and feel his dewy cheek against his own,as he did now? What was the future that awaited him? Who would fill hismother's place when he was gone from her? He had read over the prayer shewrote for him; it was still fresh in his thoughts, and he repeated it nowto himself in the silence of the moonlit chamber.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a white shape enter softly and approachhis bedside. There it stood in the moonlight, white and still. Was it aghost? Was it an angel? Frank was not afraid.
"Mother!"
"Are you awake, my darling?"
"O, yes, mother. I haven't slept at all."
"I didn't mean to awake you, if you were asleep," she said, kneeling downbeside him. "But I could not sleep; and I thought I would come and lookat you, and kiss you once more; for perhaps I shall never see you in yourbed again."
"O, mother, don't talk so. I hope I shall be spared to you a long, longtime yet."
"I hope you will; but we must think of the worst, and be prepared for it,my son. If it is God's will, I can give you up. And you--you must make upyour mind to brave all dangers, even to die, if necessary. It is a greatand holy cause you are engaging in. It is no gay and pleasant adventure,as perhaps you think. Are you sure you have thought of it well?"
"I have," responded Frank. "I am going; and I am going to do my duty,whatever it is. For a few minutes after I came to bed, thinking of whatyou had said, and of leaving you, and of"--here he choked--"I was almostsorry I had said a word about going; it looked so dreary and sad to me.But I said my prayers, and now I feel better about it. I don't think anything can shake my resolution again."
"If it is so," replied his mother, "I have nothing more to say." And shekissed him, and gave him plentiful good advice, and finally prayed withhim, kneeling by his bedside.
"O, don't go, mother," said Frank; "it is such a comfort to have youhere! May-be it is the last time."
"May-be it is, my son. But I must bid you goodnight. You must sleep. Seehow soundly Willie is sleeping all this time! He don't know that he islosing a brother."
After she was gone, Frank felt more lonesome than ever, the house was sosilent, the moonshine in his chamber was so cold. But he hugged his warmlittle brother close to his heart, and cried very softly, if he cried atall.
I do not know how much he slept that night. No doubt his excited thoughtskept him awake until very late, for he was fast asleep the next morningwhen Helen came to call him.
"Hurrah!" he exclaimed, starting up; "fight for the old flag!" for he wasdreaming of a battle. "Hallo!" he said, rubbing his eyes open. "That you,Helen?"
"A wide-awake drummer boy you are," she replied, with her usualgood-natured irony. "You'll have to rouse up earlier than this, I tellyou, if you ever beat the reveille for the soldiers."
"So much the more reason why I should have a good nap in the morning,when I can," said Frank.
"Well, lie and sleep, if you want to," she added, with a touch oftenderness. "I thought I'd let you know breakfast was ready."
But Frank was wide awake enough now. He felt there was something greatand grand in the day before him, and he was anxious to meet it. He was upand dressed in a minute. He threw open his window, and looked awaytowards the city, which lay dim and strange in the beautiful mists of themorning, with the crimson clouds of the sunrise lifting like curtainsbehind it. And the far-off roar of the rumbling streets reached his ear,inspiring him freshly with hope and action.
All the family were at breakfast, except Hattie, the sick one, when Frankcame down stairs. Even Willie had crept out of bed before him, wonderingwhat made his brother sleep so long that morning. And now he found thelittle fellow dividing his attentions between his breakfast and his toygun, which had acquired a new interest in his eyes since Helen had toldhim Frank was going to the war.
"I'm going with my bwother Fwank," he declared, shouldering arms over hisjohnny-cake. "And if any body--any webel"--breathing earnestly--"hurt mybwother Fwank, me shoot 'em me will!"
"Yes," remarked Helen, "you and Frank will put down the rebellion, I'venot the least doubt."
This was meant for a sly hit at Frank's youthful patriotism; but Willietook it quite seriously.
"Yes," he lisped; "me and Fwank--we put down the webellion. Takeaim!"--pointing his toy at his father's nose. "Fire! bang! See, me kill awebel."
"How little the child realizes what it is to fight the rebels," said hismother, with a sigh.
"I'm afraid," said Helen, "Frank doesn't realize it much more than Williedoes. He has just about as correct a notion about putting down the_webellion_."
"Very likely," said Frank, who had learned that the beat way to treat ajoke of this kind is always to humor it, instead of being offended. For ajoke is often like a little barking dog--perfectly harmless, if you passserenely by without noticing it, or if you just say, "Poor fellow! bravedog!" and pat its neck; but which, if you get angry and raise your stick,will worry you all the more for your trouble, and perhaps be provoked tobite.
There was a silence of several minutes--Willie alone manifesting a desireto keep up the conversation on war matters. He stuck his johnny-cake onthe end of his gun, and bombarded his mother's coffee-cup with it; andwas about to procure more johnny-cake, in order to shell the sugar-bowl,which he called "Fort Sumter," when Helen put an end to his sport bydisarming him.
"I want father to go to town with me, to the recruiting office," saidFrank; "for I don't suppose I will be accepted, unless he does."
That sounded like proceeding at once to business, which Mr. Manly neverliked to do. He was one of those easily discouraged men, whose rule isalways to postpone until to-morrow what they are not absolutely obligedto do to-day. He waited, however, as usual, to hear what his wife wouldsay to the proposition, before expressing himself decidedly against it.Fortunately, Mrs. Manly had energy and self-reliance enough for both.
"If you are still firmly resolved to go, then your father will go withyou to the recruiting office," she said; and that settled it: for Frankwas resolved--his character resembling his mother's in respect to energyand determination.
Accordingly, after breakfast, Mr. Manly, with frequent sighs offoreboding and discouragement, made a lather, honed his razor, and shavedhimself, preparatory to a visit to town. Frank, in the mean while, madeready for his departure. He put in order the personal effects which heintended to leave at home, and packed into a bundle a few things hepurposed to take with him. An hour passed quickly away, with all its busypreparations, consultations, and leave takings; and the last momentarrived.
"Say good-by twice to me," said Hattie, the little invalid, rising up onher lounge to give him a farewell kiss.
"Why twice to you?" asked Frank.
"Because," she answered, with a sad, sweet smile, "If you do come homefrom the war, perhaps you won't find me here;" for the child had a notionthat she was going to die.
"O sissy," exclaimed Frank, "don't say so; I shall come back, and I shallfind you well."
"Yes," replied Hattie, sorry that she had said any thing to make him feelbad; "we will think so, dear brother." And she smiled again; just asangels smile, Frank thought.
"Besides, this isn't my good-by for good, you know," said he. "I shallget a furlough, and come home and see you all, before I leave for theseat of war with my regiment." Frank couldn't help feeling a sort ofpride in speaking of _his regiment_. "And may-be you will all visitme in camp before I go."
"Come
," called his father, at the door; "if we are going to catch thiscar, we must be off."
So Frank abbreviated his adieus, and ran.
"Wait, wait!" screamed Willie, pulling his cap on "Me go, me go!"
"Go where, you little witch?" cried Helen.
"Me go to war, along with my bwother Fwank. Put down webellion," poutedthe child, shouldering his gun, and trudging out of the door in eagerhaste, fearing lest he should be left behind.
Mrs. Manly was parting from her son on the doorstep, putting back a straycurl from his cheek, smoothing his collar, and whispering, with wet eyesand quivering lips, "My child, remember!"
"I will--good-by!" were Frank's last words; and he hastened after hisfather, just pausing on the next corner to look around at the faces inthe door of his home, and wave his hat at them. There was Hattie, leaningon Helen's arm, and waving her handkerchief, which was scarcely whiterthan that thin white face of hers; and there was his mother gazing afterhim with steadfast eyes of affection and blessing, while her hands werefully occupied in restraining that small but fiery patriot, Willie, who,with his cap over his eyes, was vehemently struggling to go with hisbwother Fwank.
This was the tableau, the final picture of home, which remained imprintedon Frank's memory. For the corner was passed, and the doorway and windowsof the dear old house, and the dearer faces there, were lost to sight. Hewould have delayed, in order to get one more look; but already thetinkling bells gave warning of the near approach of the horse-car, and heand his father had no more than time to reach the Main Street, when itcame up, and stopped to take them in.
In but little more than an hour's time, by far the most important step inFrank's life had been taken. He had enlisted.
"Well," said his father, after Frank, with a firm and steady hand, hadwritten his name, "it is done now. You are a brave boy!"--with a tear ofpride, as he regarded his handsome, spirited young volunteer, and thoughtthat not many fathers had such promising sons.
While they were at the recruiting office, one of their neighbors came in.
"What!" he exclaimed, "you here? on business?"
"Patriotic business," replied Mr. Manly, showing his son with a fondfather's emotion. "He has volunteered, neighbor Winch."
"And you give your consent?"
"I do, most certainly, since he feels it his duty to go, and his motheris willing."
Neighbor Winch stood speechless for a moment, the muscles of his mouthworking. "I have just heard," he said, in an agitated voice, "that my sonJohn has enlisted _without_ my consent; and I have come here to ascertainthe fact. Do you know any thing about it, Frank?"
"I suppose I do," replied Frank, with some reluctance. "He enlisted threedays ago. He wanted me to go with him then; but I----"
"You what?" said neighbor Winch.
"I couldn't, without first getting permission from my father and mother,"explained Frank.
"O, if my John had only acted as noble a part!" said the neighbor. "It'sa bad beginning for a boy to run away. He has nearly broken his mother'sheart."
"Well, well, neighbor," observed Mr. Manly, consolingly, "reflect thatit's in a good cause. Jack might have done worse, you know."
"Yes, yes. He never was a steady boy, as you know. He has set out tolearn three different trades, and got sick of them all. I couldn't keephim at school, neither. Of late nothing would do but he must be asoldier. If I thought he'd stick to it, and do his duty, I wouldn't say aword. But he'll get tired of carrying a gun, too, before he has seen hardservice. Where is he? Do you know, Frank?"
"He is in camp, in the Jackson Blues," mid Frank. "I am going as drummerin the same company."
"I'm glad of that," replied Mr. Winch. "For, though he is so much olderthan you, I think you always have had an influence over him, Frank--agood influence, too." And the neighbor took the young volunteer's hand.
Frank's eyes glistened--he felt so touched by this compliment, and soproud that his father had heard it, and could go home and tell it to hismother and sisters.
Neighbor Winch went on: "I want you to see John, as soon as you can,Frank, and talk with him, and try to make him feel how wrongly he hasacted----"
Here the poor man's voice failed him; and Frank, sympathizing with hissorrow, was filled with gratitude to think that he had never been temptedto grieve his parents in the same way.
Mr. Manly accompanied his son to the railroad depot, and saw him safelyin the cars that were to convey him to camp, and then took leave of him.The young volunteer would have forgotten his manhood, and cried, if theeyes of strangers had not been upon him; even as it was, his voice brokewhen he said his last good-by, and sent back his love to his mother andsisters and little Willie.