Intelligence from home, accompanied with letters, papers, books, comforts, and luxuries of various kinds, reached him every two or three weeks; and when the news went back that Tom had been made a sergeant for gallant conduct, there was a great sensation in Pinchbrook. The letters which reached him after the receipt of this gratifying announcement contained all the gossip of the place in regard to the important event. Of course, Tom was delighted by these letters, and was more than ever determined to be diligent and faithful in the discharge of his duties, and never to disgrace the name he bore. He was confident his friends would never have occasion to blush for his conduct—including the original of the photograph, the author of the letter and of the socks.
Tom recovered from the effects of his wound, as we have before intimated, and took his place in the regimental line as a sergeant. January and February passed away without any very stirring events; but in the month of March came indications of activity. The rebels began to draw in their lines, by abandoning various points, till the nation was startled by the evacuation of their strongly fortified position at Manassas, and the forts in front of Budd’s Ferry were suddenly left for the occupation of the Federal troops.
Hooker’s men crossed the Potomac, and Tom was once more on the sacred soil of Virginia. Skirmishers were sent out in various directions, and though a deserted camp, which had been hastily abandoned, was found, there were no rebels to be seen. The union boys were not disposed to leave their investigations at this interesting point, and they pursued their way still farther into the country. Somehow or other, Tom and his party did not receive the order to return, and the enterprising young hero continued his march in search of further adventures. It was altogether too tame for him and the congenial spirits in his section to retire without seeing a live rebel or two; and I am not sure, if their desire had not been gratified, that they would not have penetrated to Fredericksburg, and captured that citadel of rebellion in advance to General Augur, who visited the place in April.
As it was, they stumbled upon the pickets of a rebel force, and as soon as their uniform was identified they had the honor of being fired upon, though none of them had the honor of being killed in the midst of their virtual disobedience of orders. But their appearance created a panic among the Confederates, who had no means of knowing that they were not the pioneers of a whole division of union troops, for General McClellan had removed the spell which bound the loyal army to its camps, and corps, divisions, and brigades were pushing forward into the dominion of the traitors.
The alarm was given, and Tom saw that he was rushing into a bad scrape; and as prudence is as much a requisite of the good soldier as bravery, he ordered his men to fall back. Rebels are very much like ill-natured curs, ever ready to pursue a retreating foe, or run away from an advancing one. The Confederates chased them, and as the legs of the former seemed to be in remarkably good condition, the sergeant came to the conclusion that it would not be safe to run too fast.
“Halt!” shouted he; and the men promptly obeyed the order.
They discharged their muskets, and then made a demonstration towards the enemy, who, obeying their instinct, ran away as fast as their legs would carry them. Taking advantage of this movement on their part, Tom again ordered a retreat.
“They are after us again,” said Hapgood. “I hope there ain’t no cavalry within hearing. If there is, we may take a journey to Richmond.”
“They have stopped to load their guns,” replied Tom. “We will use our legs now.”
“See that, Tom!” said Hapgood, suddenly.
“What?”
“There’s one of them rushing towards us all alone.”
“He has thrown up his gun. The others are yelling to him to come back. What does that mean?”
“He is a deserter; he wants to get away from them. There he comes.”
“Yes, and there comes the rest of them—the whole rebel army—more than a million of them,” said Fred Pemberton. “It’s time for us to be going.”
“See! They are firing at him. Forward!” added Tom, leading the way.
The party rushed forward, for a short distance; but the dozen rebels had been reënforced, and it was madness to rush into the very teeth of danger. Tom ordered his men to halt and fire at will. The deserter, probably finding that he was between two fires, turned aside from the direct course he was pursuing, and sought shelter in the woods. The sergeant then directed his men to retire, for whether the retreat of the runaway rebel was covered or not, it was no longer safe to remain.
Fortunately the Confederates were more in doubt than the unionists; and perhaps expecting to fall upon a larger body of the latter, they abandoned the pursuit, and returned to their posts. Nothing was seen of the deserter for some time, and Tom concluded that he had lost his way in the woods, or had missed the direction taken by the Federal scouts.
“He was a plucky fellow, any how,” said one of the men, “to attempt to run away in the very face of his companions.”
“Well, he timed it well, for he started just when their guns were all empty,” added another.
“I’m not sorry he missed us,” continued Hapgood. “I don’t like a desarter, no how. It goes right agin my grain.”
“But he was running from the wrong to the right side,” replied Tom.
“I don’t keer if he was. Them colors on t’other side were his’n. He chose ’em for himself, and it’s mean to run away from ’em. If a man’s go’n to be a rebel, let him be one, and stick to it.”
“You don’t know any thing about it, uncle. Thousands of men have been forced into the rebel army, and I don’t blame them for getting out of it the best way they can. I should do so.”
“That may be. Tom; that may be,” added the veteran, taking off his cap and rubbing his bald head, as though a new idea had penetrated it. “I didn’t think of that.”
“He’s a brave man, whoever he is, and whatever he is.”
“He must want to get away from ’em pretty bad, or he wouldn’t have run that risk. I shouldn’t wonder if they hit him.”
“Perhaps he is wounded, and gone into the woods there to die,” suggested Tom.
“Halloo!” shouted some one in the rear of them.
“There’s your man,” said Hapgood.
“Halloo!” cried the same voice.
“Halloo, yourself!” shouted Hapgood in reply to the hail.
The party halted, and after waiting a few moments, the rebel deserter came in sight. He was apparently a man of fifty; and no mendicant of St. Giles, who followed begging as a profession, could have given himself a more wretched and squalid appearance, if he had devoted a lifetime to the study of making himself look miserable. He wore a long black and gray beard, uncut and unkempt, and snarled, tangled, and knotted into the most fantastic forms. His gray uniform, plentifully bedaubed with Virginia mud, was torn in a hundred places, and hung in tatters upon his emaciated frame. On his head was an old felt hat, in a terribly dilapidated condition. He wore one boot and one shoe, which he had probably taken from the common sewer of Richmond, or some other southern city; they were ripped to such an extent that the “uppers” went flipperty-flap as he walked, and had the general appearance of the open mouth of the mythic dragon, with five bare toes in each to represent teeth.
As he approached, the unthinking soldiers of the party indulged in screams of laughter at the uncouth appearance of the whilom rebel; and certainly the character in tableau or farce need not have spoken, to convulse any audience that ever assembled in Christendom. Rip Van Winkle, with the devastations and dilapidations of five-and-twenty years hanging about him, did not present a more forlorn appearance than did this representative of the Confederate army.
“What are you laughing at?” demanded the deserter, not at all delighted with this reception.
“I say, old fellow, how long since you escaped from the rag-bag?” jeered one of the men.
“What’s the price of boots in Richmond now?” asked another.
“Who’s your barber?”
“Silence, men!” interposed Tom, sternly, for he could not permit his boys to make fun of the wretchedness of any human being.
“We’ll sell you out for paper stock,” said Ben Lethbridge, who had just returned from three months’ service in the Rip-Raps for desertion.
“Shut up, Ben!” added Tom.
“Dry up, all of you!” said Corporal Snyder.
“Who and what are you?” asked Tom, of the deserter.
“I’m a union man!” replied the stranger with emphasis; “and I didn’t expect to be treated in this way after all I’ve suffered.”
“They thought you were a rebel. You wear the colors of the rebel army,” answered the sergeant, willing to explain the rudeness of his men.
“Well, I suppose I do look rather the worse for the wear,” added the grayback, glancing down at the tattered uniform he wore. “I joined the rebel army, after I had tried every way in the world to get out of this infernal country; but I never fired a gun at a union man. Seems to me, sergeant, I’ve seen you before somewhere. What’s your name? Where did you come from?”
“Pinchbrook, Massachusetts; and most of us hail from the same place.”
“Creation!” exclaimed the deserter. “You don’t say so!”
“Your voice sounds familiar to me,” added Tom; and for some reason his chest was heaving violently beneath his suddenly accelerated respiration.
As he spoke, he walked towards the dilapidated rebel, who had not ventured to come within twenty feet of the party.
“Did you say Pinchbrook?” demanded the stranger, who began to display a great deal of emotion.
“Pinchbrook, sir,” added Tom; and so intensely was he excited, that the words were gasped from his lips.
“What’s your name?”
“Thomas Somers,” replied the sergeant.
“Tom!” screamed the deserter, rushing forward.
“Father!” cried Tom, as he grasped the hand of the phantom Confederate.
The soldiers of the party were transfixed with astonishment at this unexpected scene, and they stood like statues gazing at the meeting of father and son, till the final development of their relationship, when the muscles of their faces relaxed, and the expression of wonder gave place to joyous sympathy.
“Captain Somers, of Pinchbrook!” shouted old Hapgood; and the men joined with him in a roar of intense satisfaction, that made the woods ring.
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