Chapter XI. In Washington.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I’m contented enough; but I want to get into the field, and have something done.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Have you got a pass?”

 

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

 

“Then we can’t go, of course.”

 

“Bah! What a great calf you are! Don’t you want to cry again?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I choose to obey orders,” replied Tom.

 

“O, you daresn’t go with us.”

 

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

 

“Get your pail.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes, but I have seen them at the Capitol.”

 

“But don’t you want to get nearer to them, and hear them talk?”

 

“Well, I should like to.”

 

“Come with us, then.”

 

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

 

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

 

“They will be here pretty soon,” replied Ben.

 

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

 

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

 

“If I have I shall keep it.”

 

“Put down a quarter, and make another.”

 

“No, sir! I’m no gambler!” replied Tom, with emphasis.

 

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

 

“I’m going,” said Tom, decidedly.

 

“Baby!” sneered Ben. “Afraid to play!”

 

“I won’t play! I’m going.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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