CHAPTER X.
A SOLDIER.
He was a soldier in camp, wearing a blue uniform, sleeping in a tent,wrapped in a blanket, with a knapsack for a pillow. He had voluntarilygiven up the freedom of home, and was ready to yield obedience tomilitary rule. He could not pass the guard without a permit. When thedrum beat, he must spring to his feet. He was obliged to wear aknapsack, a cartridge-box, a canteen, and a bayonet scabbard, and carrya gun, not always as he would like to carry it, but as ordered by theofficer in command. He was obliged to march hour after hour, and if hecame to a brook or a muddy place, instead of turning aside and passingover on stepping-stones or upon a fallen tree, he must go throughwithout breaking the ranks. His companions were not altogether such ashe liked to associate with. Some were very profane, and used indecentlanguage. There was one great, over-grown Dutchman, Gottlieb von Dunk,who smoked nearly all the time when awake, and who snored terribly whenasleep. But he was a good-hearted fellow for all that, and had a greatmany pleasant stories to tell.
It was inspiring to hear the drum and fife, the blast of the bugle, andthe playing of the band. It was glorious to look upon the star-spangledbanner, waving in the breeze; but the excitement soon wore away. Therewere rainy days, comfortless and cheerless. Sometimes the rations werenot fit to be eaten, and there was grumbling in the camp. There weredays of homesickness, when the soldiers longed to break away from therestraints of camp life, and be free once more.
The regiment in which Paul enlisted was ordered to Cairo, in Illinois,where it joined several others. When the men were enlisted, theyexpected to march at once upon the Rebels, but week after week passedby, spring became summer, and summer lengthened into autumn, and therewas no movement of the troops. The ardor of their patriotism died out.It was a monotonous life, waking early in the morning to answerroll-call, to eat breakfast of salt pork and hard-tack, drilling bysquads, by companies, by battalion, marching and countermarching, goingthrough the same manoeuvres every day, shouldering, ordering, andpresenting arms, making believe load and fire, standing on guard,putting out their lights at nine o'clock at night,--doing all this, weekafter week, with the Rebels at Columbus, only twenty miles down theriver. It was very irksome. Sometimes Paul's heart went back to NewHope, as the dear old times came crowding upon him; but he had learnedto be patient. He knew that it was necessary for soldiers to becomedisciplined. He had enlisted for the war, he gave his whole attention todoing his duty, and received his reward by being made a sergeant. Hekept his gun clean, his equipments in good order, and he was always inhis place. So prompt was he, that his commander nicknamed him SergeantReady. He was as ready to play a game of football, or to run a race, ashe was to appear in the ranks at drill. When off duty, instead of idlingaway his time, he was studying the tactics, learning not only his dutyas a sergeant, but what it would be if he were a lieutenant or acaptain.
The camp of his regiment was near the town, on the bank of theMississippi, where he saw the great steamboats pass down the Mississippifrom St. Louis, and down the Ohio from Louisville and Cincinnati, withthousands of troops on board, with the flags and banners streaming, thebands playing, and the soldiers cheering. It was pleasant to stand uponthe levee, and behold the stirring scenes,--the gunboats commanded bythe brave and good Admiral Foote, the great eleven-inch guns peepingfrom the portholes,--but Paul longed for active life. He rejoiced whenhe heard that his regiment was ordered to leave the Ohio River and godown toward Columbus on a reconnoitring expedition. The soldiers were sohappy that they threw up their caps and gave a loud hurrah.
With their haversacks full of hard-tack and cold boiled beef, carryingtheir tin cups and plates, their cartridge-boxes full of cartridges,they embarked on one of the great steamboats, and floated down theriver. They were exhilarated with the thought that they were to have newand untried experiences,--that perhaps there would be a battle. Theypaced the deck of the steamboat nervously, and looked carefully into thewoods along the river-bank to see if there were any Rebel scouts lurkingbehind the trees.
Six miles below Cairo is a place called Old Fort Jefferson, where manyyears ago the white settlers built a fort, and where they had a battlewith the Indians. The Essex gunboat, Captain Porter, was lying there,swinging at her anchors in the stream. A sailor paced the deck in ashort blue jacket, who had a spy-glass in his hand, and kept a sharplookout down the river, for there were two Rebel gunboats below in thebend.
The regiment landed on the Kentucky side, where a narrow creek comesdown from the hills through a wild ravine. Suddenly there was a cry of"There they come! the Rebel gunboats." Paul looked down the river, andsaw two dark-colored boats.
"Heave anchor! Put on steam. Light up the magazines. Pipe all hand toquarters! Lively!" were the orders on board the Essex.
The boatswain blew his whistle, the drummer beat the long roll, and thesailors, who had been dozing about the decks, were instantly astir,weighing the anchors, running out the great guns, bringing up shot andshell from the hold, and clearing the deck for action. The great wheelsturned, and the Essex swung out into the stream, and prepared to meether antagonists. What an exciting moment! Paul felt the blood rushthrough his veins as he never felt it before. One of the approachinggunboats was suddenly enveloped in white smoke. He heard a screaming inthe air, coming nearer and nearer, and growing louder and louder andmore terrifying. He felt a cold chill creep over him. He held hisbreath. He was in doubt whether it would be better to get behind a tree,or lie down, or take to his heels. He could see nothing in the air, buthe knew that a shot was coming. Perhaps it might hit him. He thought ofhome, his mother, Azalia, and all the old friends. He lived years in asecond. "I won't run," he said to himself, as the iron bolt came on.Crash! it went through a great oak-tree, shivering it to splinters, andflying on into the woods, cutting off branches, and falling to theground at last with a heavy _thug!_ ploughing a deep furrow and buryingitself out of sight. There was a roar of thunder rolling along theriver-banks, echoing from woodland to woodland. Then the heavyeleven-inch gun of the Essex jumped up from the deck, took a leapbackwards, almost jerking the great iron ringbolts from the sides of theship, coming down with a jar which made her quiver from stem to stern,sending a shell, smoking and hissing, down stream, towards the Rebelgunboat, and striking it amidships, throwing the planks into the water."Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted the crew of the Essex. "Hurrah! Hurrah!"answered the soldiers on shore, dancing about and cheering. Another shotcame screeching towards them as loud as the first; but it was not halfso terrifying. Paul thought it was not worth while to be frightened tillhe was hurt, and so he stood his ground, and watched the firing till theRebel gunboats turned towards Columbus and disappeared behind thedistant headland, followed by Captain Porter, who kept his great gunsbooming till he was almost within range of the Rebel batteries atColumbus. He was a brave man, short and stout, with a heavy beard. Hisfather commanded the United States ship Essex in 1812, and had a long,hard fight with two British ships in the harbor of Valparaiso, fightingagainst great odds, till his decks were slippery with blood, till nearlyall of his guns were dismounted, when he was obliged to surrender.
"The son is a chip of the old block," said Admiral Foote the next day toCaptain Porter, commending his watchfulness and promptness to meet theenemy. Paul saw how necessary it was in military operations to be alwayson the watch, and he felt that it was also necessary to be calm andself-possessed when on the battle-field.
The regiment took up its line of march, for a reconnoissance towardsColumbus, along a winding path through the woods, passing logfarm-houses, crossing creeks on log bridges. Paul noticed all thewindings of the road, the hills, houses, and other objects, keepingcount of his steps from one place to another, jotting it down on a slipof paper when the regiment came to a halt. They could not kindle a fire,for they were in the enemy's country, and each man ate his supper ofhard-tack and cold beef, and washed it down with water from the creek.
Paul was sitting on a log eating his supper, and looking about for aplace
to spread his blanket for the night, when the Colonel of theregiment came to him and said: "Sergeant Parker, it is very importantthat a reconnoissance be made to-night towards the enemy's lines. I hearthat you are a good, faithful, and trustworthy soldier. Are you willingto take it?"
"I have no desire to shirk any responsibility. If you wish me to go, Iam ready," said Paul.
"Very well; gain all the information you can, and report at daybreak,"said the Colonel.
He went out alone in the darkness, past the pickets. And now that he wasalone, and moving towards the enemy, he felt that he was engaged in ahazardous undertaking. He walked softly, crouching down, listening toevery sound;--on through deep and gloomy ravines, through the denseforests, past farm-houses, where dogs were howling,--noticing all theobjects, and picturing them in memory.
"Halt! Who comes there?" shouted a voice. He heard the click of agun-lock. It was a very dark night; stooping close to the ground, hecould see an object by the roadside, immediately before him. He held hisbreath. What should he do? "Keep cool," said a monitor within. His hearthad leaped into his throat, but it went back to its proper place. "Whocomes there?" said the sentinel again.
Instead of answering, he moved backward so softly and noiselessly thathe could not hear his own footsteps.
"What is the row?" he heard a Rebel officer ask of the sentinel.
"There is a Yankee prowling about, I reckon," said the sentinel in awhisper, and added, "There he is."
"Shoot him!" said the officer.
There was a flash which blinded Paul. He heard the Minie bullet singabove him. He could see the dark forms of the two men. He had a revolverin his hand, and could have shot them, but he was there to gaininformation, and not to bring on a fight.
"It is nothing but a stump, after all," said the officer.
The report of the gun re-echoed far and near. The night was still, andhe could hear other pickets talking out in the field on his right handand on his left. How fortunate! He knew where they were, and now couldavoid them. But ought he not to turn back? He resolved not to befrightened from his object. After lying still awhile, he went back alongthe road, then turned aside, walked softly from tree to tree, carefulnot to crackle a twig beneath his feet, crept on his hands and kneesthrough the thick underbrush, and gained the road in the rear of thepicket. Being inside of the enemy's lines, he knew that he could movemore freely, for if any of the sentinels heard him they would think itone of their own number. He walked on, but suddenly found himselfstanding face to face with a dozen soldiers.
"Well, Jim, are there any Yankees down there?" one asked.
"The sentinel thought he saw a Yankee, but I reckon he fired at astump," said Paul, passing boldly by them to their rear.
He now saw that he was in a Rebel camp. There were smouldering fires,tents, a cannon, baggage-wagons, and horses which were munching theirgrain. What should he do? He felt that he was in a critical situation.If taken, he would be hung as a spy. He stood still and reflected amoment, to calm his nerves. He had blundered in, perhaps he might getout. He would try; but as he was there, ought he not to improve theopportunity to find out all about the camp, how large it was, how manymen there were? He counted the baggage-wagons and the tents. He almoststumbled over a man who was wrapped in his blanket. It was an officersound asleep, with his sword by his side. He was sleeping so deeply thatPaul ventured to take the sword, for he thought, unless he carriedsomething back as evidence, his report would not be believed. And thenhe crept back past the grand guard, and past the sentinels, sometimescrawling an inch at a time, then stepping as noiselessly as a cat insearch of her prey, till he was past them all. He was surprised to findhow cool and self-possessed he was, how clear his brain, and how wideawake were all his faculties. He was as light-hearted as a bird inspring-time, for even in the darkness, while he was dimly discerningwhat was around him, he saw Azalia, as he last beheld her in thegravelled walk before her home, waving him on! At daybreak he reachedthe lines once more. The Colonel heard his story, and was in doubt aboutits truth; but when he saw how accurate a map Paul drew, and that thesword was marked C. S. A., for the Confederate States of America,--whenhe saw how modest and straightforward Paul was in all that he did,--hesaid, "Sergeant Parker, I shall inform General Grant that you have doneyour duty faithfully."
Winning His Way Page 10