Tom had not only made up his mind to bear all these things, but to bear them patiently and cheerfully. He had a little theory of his own, that rather more than half of the discomforts of this mortal life exist only in the imagination. If he only thought that every thing was all right, it went a great way towards making it all right—a very comforting and satisfactory philosophy, which reduced the thermometer from ninety down to seventy degrees on a hot day in summer, and raised it from ten to forty degrees on a cold day in winter; which filled his stomach when it was empty, alleviated the toothache or the headache, and changed snarling babies into new-fledged angels. I commend Tom’s philosophy to the attention and imitation of all my young friends, assured that nothing will keep them so happy and comfortable as a cheerful and contented disposition.
“Tom Somers,” said a voice near him, cutting short the consoling meditation in which he was engaged.
His name was pronounced in a low and cautious tone, but the voice sounded familiar to him, and he turned to ascertain who had addressed him. He did not discover any person who appeared to be the owner of the voice, and was leaving the position he had taken on the forward deck of the steamer, when his name was repeated, in the same low and cautious tone.
“Who is it? Where are you?” said Tom, looking all about him, among the groups of soldiers who were gathered on various parts of the deck, discussing the present and the future.
“Here, Tom,” replied the voice, which sounded more familiar every time he heard it.
He turned his eye in the direction from which the sound proceeded, and there, coiled up behind a heap of barrels and boxes, and concealed by a sail-cloth which had been thrown over the goods to protect them from an expected shower, he discovered Fred Pemberton.
“What in the name of creation are you doing there, Fred?” exclaimed Tom, laughing at the ludicrous attitude of the embryo secessionist.
“Hush! Don’t say a word, Tom. Sit down here where I can talk with you,” added Fred.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ll tell if you will keep quiet a moment. Is the company full?”
“What company?”
“Captain Benson’s, of course.”
“No.”
“I want to join.”
“You!” ejaculated Tom.
“Come, come, Tom, no blackguarding now. You and I used to be good friends.”
“I’ve nothing against you, Fred—that is, if you’re not a traitor.”
“I want to join the company.”
“Is your father willing?”
“Of course he isn’t; but that needn’t make any difference.”
“But you don’t believe in our cause, Fred. We don’t want a traitor in the ranks.”
“Hang the cause! I want to go with the company.”
“Hang the cause? Well, I reckon that’s a good recommendation.”
“I’m all right on that.”
“Are you willing to take the oath of allegiance, and swear to sustain the flag of your country?”
“Of course I am. I only followed the old man’s lead; but I have got enough of it. Do you think Captain Benson will take me into the company?”
“Perhaps he will.”
“Ask him—will you? You needn’t say I’m here, you know.”
“But what will your father say?”
“I don’t care what he says.”
Tom thought, if Fred didn’t care, he needn’t, and going aft, he found the captain, and proposed to him the question.
“Take him—yes. We’ll teach him loyalty and patriotism, and before his time is out, we will make him an abolitionist,” replied Captain Benson. “What will his father say?”
“His father doesn’t know anything about it. Fred ran away, and followed the company into the city.”
“Squire Pemberton is a traitor, and I believe the army will be the best school in the world for his son,” added the captain. “It will be better for him to be with us than to be at home. If it was the son of any other man in Pinchbrook, I wouldn’t take him without the consent of his father; as it is, I feel perfectly justified in accepting him.”
Tom hastened to the forward deck to report the success of his mission. The result was, that Fred came out of his hiding-place, and exhibited himself to the astonished members of the Pinchbrook company. When he announced his intention to go to the war, and, with a pardonable flourish, his desire to serve his country, he was saluted with a volley of cheers. Captain Benson soon appeared on the forward deck, and the name of the new recruit was placed on the enlistment paper.
Fred was seventeen years of age, and was taller and stouter than Tom Somers. No questions were asked in regard to his age or his physical ability to endure the hardships of a campaign.
The steamer arrived at Fort Warren, and the company landed. After waiting a short time on the wharf, the color company of the —th regiment, to which they were attached, came down and escorted them to the parade ground within the fort. It was a desolate and gloomy-looking place to Tom, who had always lived among green fields, and the beautiful surroundings of a New England rural district.
If the fort itself looked dreary, how much more so were the casemates in which the company was quartered! But Tom’s philosophy was proof against the unpleasant impression, and his joke was as loud and hearty as that of any of his companions. The men were divided off into messes, and they had an abundance of work to do in bringing up the company’s luggage, and making their new habitation as comfortable and pleasant as the circumstances would permit.
The next day the Pinchbrook boys were designated as Company K, and placed in the regimental line. The limits of this volume do not permit me to detail the every-day life of the soldier boy while at Fort Warren, however interesting and instructive it might be to our friends. A large portion of the forenoon was devoted to squad and company drill, and of the afternoon to battalion drill. The colonel, though a very diminutive man in stature, was an enthusiast in military matters, and had the reputation of being one of the most thorough and skilful officers in the state. Tom Somers, who, since he joined the company, had felt ashamed of himself because he was no bigger, became quite reconciled to his low corporeal estate when he found that the colonel of the regiment was no taller and no heavier than himself. And when he heard the high praise bestowed upon the colonel’s military skill and martial energy, he came to the conclusion that it does not require a big man to make a good soldier. With a feeling of satisfaction he recalled the fact that Napoleon Bonaparte, when he commanded the army of Italy, was scarcely a bigger man than the colonel or himself.
The colonel was a strict disciplinarian, and he soon diffused his energy throughout the regiment. It made rapid progress in its military education. Tom was deeply interested in the details of his new profession, and used his best endeavors to do his duty promptly and faithfully. This was not the case with all the boys in the company from Pinchbrook, and I am sorry to say that some of them, including the brave and chivalric Ben Lethbridge, had to sit upon the stool of repentance in the guard room on several occasions.
Fred Pemberton was clothed in the uniform of the United States volunteers, and we must do him the justice to say that he performed his duty to the entire satisfaction of his officers. Fred was a good fellow, and barring his treason, which he had derived from his father, was highly esteemed by those who knew him. The only stain that had ever rested upon his character was removed, and he and Tom were as good friends as ever they had been. His motive in joining the army, however, could not be applauded. He thought all his friends were going off to the South upon a kind of frolic, spiced with a little of peril and hardship to make it the more exciting, and he did not like the idea of being left behind. To the sentiment of patriotism, as developed in the soul of Tom Somers and many of his companions, he was an entire stranger. He was going to the war to participate in the adventures of the —th regiment, rather than to fight for the flag which had been insulted and dishonored by treason.
Every day the steamers brought crowds of visitors to the fort to see their friends in the regiments quartered there, or to witness the drills and parades which were constantly succeeding each other. Among them came many of the people of Pinchbrook, and Tom was delighted by a visit from his whole family. His mother found him so comfortable and contented that she returned with half the heavy burden on her soul removed.
While the Pinchbrook boys were generally rejoiced to see their friends from home, there was one in the company who was in constant dread lest he should recognize a too familiar face in the crowds which the steamers daily poured into the fort. Fred Pemberton did not wish to see his nearest friends; but after he had been in the company some ten days, just as the boys had been dismissed from the forenoon drill, he discovered at a distance the patriarchal form of his father.
“My pipe’s out, Tom,” said Fred, as he rushed into the casemate where a group of his companions were resting from the fatigues of the morning.
“What’s the matter now, Fred?”
“The old man has just come into the fort.”
“Has he?”
“Yes—what shall I do?”
“Keep a stiff upper lip, Fred, and we will put you through all right,” said Sergeant Porter.
“What shall I do?” demanded Fred, who, whatever his views in regard to the justice or injustice of coercion, did not wish to be taken from the company.
“Come with me,” said the sergeant, as he led the way into an adjoining casemate. “No; nobody else will come,” added he, motioning back other members of the mess who was disposed to follow.
In the casemate to which Sergeant Porter conducted Fred, there was a pile of boxes, in which the muskets of one of the regiments had been packed. The fugitive from his father’s anxious search was directed to get into one of these boxes, from which the sergeant removed the gun rests. He obeyed; his confederate put on the lid so as to permit him to receive a plentiful supply of air, and other boxes were placed upon that containing the runaway.
Squire Pemberton presented himself before Captain Benson, and demanded his son. Fred was sent for, but could not be found. Sergeant Porter kept out of the way, and not another man in the company knew anything about him. The boys were very willing to assist the indignant father in his search, but all their efforts were unavailing. The squire examined every casemate, and every nook and corner upon the island, but without effect.
“I want my son, sir,” said the squire, angrily, to the captain. “I require you to produce him.”
“I don’t know where he is,” replied Captain Benson.
“You have concealed him, sir.”
“I have not.”
The squire appealed to the colonel, but obtained no satisfaction, and was obliged to leave without accomplishing his purpose. As soon as he had gone, Fred appeared, and the boys laughed for a week over the affair.
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