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.
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