Captain Benson examined the certificate brought to him by the young recruit, not, however, because it was deemed a necessary legal form, but because he was acquainted with his father and mother, and would not willingly have done any thing to displease them. The matter, therefore, was disposed of to the satisfaction of all the parties concerned, and Tom actually commenced his career as a soldier boy. He immediately resigned his situation in the store, for the company now numbered forty men, not half a dozen of whom had any knowledge whatever of military drill.
As the volunteers of the Pinchbrook company could ill afford to lose the time devoted to drill before they should be mustered into the service of the United States, the town voted to pay each man fifteen dollars a month for three months. This generous and patriotic action of the town rejoiced the heart of Tom Somers, for his mother actually needed the pittance he had earned at the store. Mrs. Somers had heard nothing from her husband; but the destruction of the Gosport Navy Yard, and the seizure of several northern vessels in the harbor of Norfolk, left her little to hope for in that direction. Suddenly an impregnable wall seemed to rise up between the North and the South, and she not only feared that Captain Somers had lost all his worldly possessions, but that he would hardly be able to escape himself from the fiery furnace of secession and treason.
To her, therefore, the future looked dark and forbidding. She foresaw that she and her family would be subjected to the pressure of want, or at least be dependent upon the kindness of friends for support. She had freely stated her fears to her children, and fully exhibited the insufficiency of the family resources. The vote of the town was a perfect godsend to Tom, and a fat legacy from a rich relative would not have kindled a stronger feeling of gratitude in his soul.
For the next five weeks, Tom was employed forenoon, afternoon, and evening, in the drill, and he soon made himself proficient. The company was recruited nearly up to its maximum number, and was then attached to the —th regiment, which had just been formed and ordered to Fort Warren.
On the 27th day of May, the company, escorted by the patriotic citizens of Pinchbrook, marched to Boston, and Tom took a sorrowful farewell of his mother, his brother and sisters, and a score of anxious friends.
“Now don’t let the rebels hit you in the backbone, Thomas,” said gran’ther Green, as he shook the hand of the soldier boy.
“No, gran’ther; if I can’t fight, I won’t run away,” replied Tom.
“You’ve got good blood in your veins, my boy: don’t disgrace it. I don’t know as you’ll ever see me again, but God bless you, Thomas;” and the old man turned away to hide the tears which began to course down his wrinkled cheek.
“Be a good boy, Thomas,” added his mother.
“I will, mother.”
“And remember what I’ve been telling you. I’m not half so much afraid of your being killed by a bullet, as I am of your being ruined by bad men.”
“You needn’t fear any thing of that kind, mother.”
“I shall pray that you may be saved from your friends as well as from your enemies. We shall see you again before you go off, I hope.”
“Yes, mother; we shall not be sent south yet.”
“Don’t forget to read your Testament, Thomas,” said Mrs. Somers.
“I won’t, mother,” replied the soldier boy, as he again shook hands with all the members of the family, kissed his mother and his sisters, and hitching up his knapsack, took his place in the ranks.
His heart seemed to be clear up in his throat. During the tender scene he had just passed through, he had manfully resisted his inclination to weep, but he could no longer restrain the tears. Suddenly they came like a flood bursting the gates that confined it, and he choked and sobbed like a little girl. He leaned upon his musket, covering his face with his arm.
“It’s a hard case,” said private Hapgood, who stood next to him in the ranks.
“I didn’t think it would take me down like this,” sobbed Tom.
“Don’t blubber, Tom. Let’s go off game,” added Ben Lethbridge, who stood on the other side of him.
“I can’t help it, Ben.”
“Yes, you can—dry up! Soldiers don’t cry, Tom.”
“Yes, they do, my boy,” said Hapgood, who was a little old man, nearly ten years beyond the period of exemption from military duty. “I don’t blame Tom for crying, and, in my opinion, he’ll fight all the better for it.”
“Perhaps he will, old un; but I don’t think much of a soldier that blubbers like a baby. I hope he won’t run away when he sees the rebels coming,” sneered Ben.
“If he does, he’ll have a chance to see how thick the heels of your boots are,” answered the old man.
“What do you mean by that, old un?” demanded Ben.
“Attention—company! Shoulder—arms! Forward—march!” said the captain; and the discussion was prevented from proceeding any further.
The band, which was at the head of the citizens’ column, struck up an inspiring march, and Tom dried his tears. The escort moved off, followed by the company. They passed the little cottage of Captain Somers, and Tom saw the whole family except John, who was in the escort, standing at the front gate. The old soldier swung his hat, Tom’s sisters and his mother waved their handkerchiefs; but when they saw the soldier boy, they had to use them for another purpose. Tom felt another upward pressure in the region of the throat; but this time he choked down his rising emotions, and saved himself from the ridicule of his more callous companion on the left.
In violation of military discipline, he turned his head to take one last, fond look at the home he was leaving behind. It might be the last time he should ever gaze on that loved spot, now a thousand times more dear than ever before. Never had he realized the meaning of home; never before had he felt how closely his heart’s tendrils were entwined about that hallowed place. Again, in spite of his firmness and fortitude, and in spite of the sneers of Ben Lethbridge, he felt the hot tears sliding down his cheek.
When he reached the brow of the hill which would soon hide the little cottage from his view, perhaps forever, he gazed behind him again, to take his last look at the familiar spot. His mother and sister still stood at the front gate watching the receding column in which the son and the brother was marching away to peril and perhaps death.
“God bless my mother! God bless them all!” were the involuntary ejaculations of the soldier boy, as he turned away from the hallowed scene.
But the memory of that blessed place, sanctified by the presence of those loving and devoted ones, was shrined in the temple of his heart, ever to go with him in camp and march, in the perils of battle and siege, to keep him true to his God, true to himself, and true to those whom he had left behind him. That last look at home and those that make it home, like the last fond gaze we bestow on the loved and the lost, was treasured up in the garner of the heart’s choicest memories, to be recalled in the solemn stillness of the midnight vigil, amid the horrors of the battle-field when the angry strife of arms had ceased, and in the gloom of the soldier’s sick bed when no mother’s hand was near to lave the fevered brow.
The moment when he obtained his last view of the home of his childhood seemed like the most eventful period of his existence. His heart grew big in his bosom, and yet not big enough to contain all he felt. He wept again, and his tears seemed to come from deeper down than his eyes. He did not hear the inspiring strains of the band, or the cheers that greeted the company as they went forth to do and die for their country’s imperilled cause.
“Blubbering again, Tom?” sneered Ben Lethbridge. “I thought you was more of a man than that, Tom Somers.”
“I can’t help it, Ben,” replied Tom, vainly struggling to subdue his emotions.
“Better go back, then. We don’t want a great baby in the ranks.”
“It’s nateral, Ben,” said old Hapgood. “He’ll get over it when he sees the rebels.”
“Don’t believe he will. I didn’t think you were such a great calf, Tom.”
“Shet up, now, Ben,” interposed Hapgood. “I’ll bet my life he’ll stand fire as well as you will. I’ve been about in the world some, and I reckon I’ve as good an idee of this business as you have. Tom’s got a heart under his ribs.”
“I’ll bet he runs away at the first fire.”
“I’ll bet he won’t.”
“I know I won’t!” exclaimed Tom, with energy, as he drew his coat sleeve across his eyes.
“It isn’t the cock that crows the loudest that will fight the best,” added the old man. “I’ll bet Tom will be able to tell you the latest news from the front, where the battle’s the hottest. I fit my way up to the city of Mexico long er old Scott, and I’ve heard boys crow afore today.”
“Look here, old un! If you mean to call me a coward, why don’t you say so, right up and down?” growled Ben.
“Time’ll tell, my boy. You don’t know what gunpowder smells like yet. If you’d been with the fust Pennsylvany, where I was, you’d a-known sunthin about war. Now, shet up, Ben; and don’t you worry Tom any more.”
But Tom was no longer in a condition to be worried. Though still sad at the thought of the home and friends he had left behind, he had reduced his emotions to proper subjection, and before the column reached Boston, he had even regained his wonted cheerfulness. The procession halted upon the wharf, where the company was to embark on a steamer for Fort Warren. As the boat which was to convey them to the fort had not yet arrived, the men were permitted to mingle with their friends on the wharf, and, of course, Tom immediately sought out his brother. He found him engaged in a spirited conversation with Captain Benson.
“What is it, Jack?” asked the soldier boy.
“I want to join this company, and the captain won’t let me,” replied John.
“You, Jack!”
“Yes, I.”
“Did mother say so?”
“No, but she won’t care.”
“Did you ask her?”
“No; I didn’t think of going till after I started from home.”
“Don’t think of it, Jack. It would be an awful blow to mother to have both of us go.”
For half an hour Tom argued the matter with John; but the military enthusiasm of the latter had been so aroused by the march and its attendant circumstances, that he could not restrain his inclination.
“If I don’t join this company, I shall some other,” said John.
“I shall have to go home again, if you do; for I won’t have mother left alone. We haven’t been mustered in yet. Besides, I thought you wanted to go into the navy.”
“I do; but I’m bound to go somehow,” replied John.
But what neither Tom nor Captain Benson could do, was accomplished by Captain Barney, who declared John should go home with him if he had to take him by the collar. The ardent young patriot yielded as gracefully as he could to this persuasion.
The steamer having arrived, the soldiers shook hands with their friends again, went on board, and, amid the hearty cheers of the citizens of Pinchbrook, were borne down the bay.
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