The Drummer Boy

by J. T. Trowbridge

  VII.

  THROUGH BOSTON.

  If ever "bwother Fwank" felt a thrill of joy, it was then. Willie ranstraight to his arms, in spite of the long-legged officer striding tocatch him, and pulling down his neck, hugged him, and kissed him, andhugged and kissed him again, with such ardor that the delightedbystanders cheered, and the pursuing policeman stepped back with a laughof melting human kindness.

  "He's too much for me, that little midget is," he said, returning to hisplace. "Does he belong to you, ma'am?" addressing a lady whose humid eyesbetrayed something more than a stranger's interest in the scene.

  "They are my children," said the lady. "Will you be so good, sir, as totell the drummer boy to step this way?"

  But already Frank was coming. How thankful he then felt that he was not aprivate, confined to the ranks! In a minute his mother's arm was abouthim, and her kiss was on his cheek, and Helen was squeezing one hand, andhis father the other, while Willie was playing with his drumsticks.

  "I am all the more glad," he said, his face shining with gratitude andpleasure, "because I was just giving you up--thinking you wouldn't comeat all."

  "Only think," said Helen, "because you wrote on your letter, _In haste_,the postmaster gave it to Maggie Simpson yesterday to deliver, for shewas going right by our house; but Dan Alford came along and asked her toride, and she forgot all about the letter, and would never have thoughtof it again, I suppose, if I hadn't seen the postmaster and set off onthe track of it this morning. She had gone over to her aunt's, and I hadto follow her there; and then she had to go home again, to get the letterout of her other dress pocket; but her sister Jane had by this time goton the dress, in place of her own, which was being washed, and worn it toschool; and so we had to go on a wild-goose chase after Jane."

  "Well, I hope you had trouble enough for one letter!" said Frank.

  "But you haven't heard all yet," said Helen, laughing, "for when we foundJane, she had not the letter, she had taken it out of the pocket, whenshe put the dress on, and left it on the bureau at home. So off again westarted, Maggie and I, but before we got to her house, the letter hadgone again--her mother had found it in the mean time, and sent it to usby the butcher boy. Well, I ran home, but no butcher boy had made hisappearance; and, do you think, when I got to the meat shop, I found himdeliberately sawing off a bone for his dog, with your letter in hisgreasy pocket."

  "He had forgotten it too!" said Frank.

  "Not he! but he didn't think it of very much importance, and he intendedto bring it to us some time during the day--after he had fed his dog! Bythis time father had got news that the regiment was in town; and such arush as we made for the horse-cars you never did see!"

  "But Hattie! where is she?" Frank asked, anxiously.

  Helen's vivacious face saddened a little.

  "O, we came away in such a hurry we couldn't bring her, even if she hadbeen well enough."

  "In she worse?"

  "She gets no better," said Mrs. Manly, "and she herself thought she oughtnot to try to come. Maggie Simpson offered to stay with her."

  "I am so sorry! I wanted to see _her_. Did she send any message to me?"

  "Yes," said his mother. "She said, 'Give my love to dear brother, andtell him to think of me sometimes.'"

  "Think of her sometimes!" said Frank. "Tell her I shall always think ofher and love her."

  By this time Captain Edney, seeing Frank with his friends, came towardsthem. Frank hastened to hide his emotion; and, saluting the officerrespectfully, said to him, with a glow of pleasure:--

  "Captain Edney, this is my mother."

  Captain Edney lifted his cap, with a bright smile.

  "Well," he said, "this is a meeting I rather think neither of us everlooked forward to, when we used to spend those long summer days in theold schoolhouse, which I hope you remember."

  "I remember it well--and one bright-faced boy in particular," said Mrs.Manly, pressing his hand cordially.

  "A rather mischievous boy, I am afraid I was; a little rebel myself, inthose days," said the captain.

  "Yet a boy that I always hoped much good of," said Mrs. Manly. "I cannottell you how gratified I am to feel that my son is entrusted in yourhands."

  "You may be sure I will do what I can for him," said the captain, "ifonly to repay your early care of me."

  He then conversed a few moments with Mr. Manly, who was always wellsatisfied to stand a little in the background, and let his wife have hersay first.

  "And this, I suppose, is Frank's sister," turning to Helen. "I shouldhave known her, I think, for she looks so much as you used to, Mrs.Manly, that I can almost fancy myself stepping up to her with my slate,and saying, 'Please, ma'am, show me about this sum?'"

  Frank, in the mean time, was occupied in exhibiting to Willie his drum,and in preventing him, partly by moral suasion, but chiefly by mainforce, from gratifying his ardent desire to pound upon it.

  "And here is our little brother," said the captain, lifting Willie,notwithstanding his struggles and kicks, and kissing his shy, poutingcheeks. "He'll make a nice drummer boy too, one of these days."

  This royal flattery won the child over to his new friend immediately.

  "Me go to war with my bwother Fwank! dwum, and scare webels!" pantingearnestly over his important little story, which the captain was obligedto cut short.

  "Well, Frank, I suppose you would like to spend the rest of the time withyour friends. Be at the Old Colony depot at five o'clock.Meanwhile,"--touching his cap,--"a pleasant time to all of you."

  So saying, be left them, and Frank departed with his friends, carryinghis drum with him, to the great delight of little Willie, whose heartwould have been broken if all hope of being allowed to drum upon it hadbeen cut off by leaving it behind.

  "Mrs. Gillett has invited us to bring you to her house," said Mrs. Manly."I want to have a long talk with you there; and I want Mrs. Gillett'sbrother, the minister, to see you."

  Frank was not passionately fond of ministers; and immediately anunpleasant image rose in his mind, of a solemn, black-coated individual,who took a mournful satisfaction in damping the spirits of young peopleby his long and serious conversations.

  "You needn't strut so, Frank, if you _have_ got soldier clothes on,"laughed Helen. "I'll tell folks you are smart, if you are so particularto have them know it."

  "Do, if you please," said Frank. "And I'll tell 'em you're handsome, ifyou'll put your veil down so they won't know but that I am telling thetruth."

  "There, Helen," said Mrs. Manly, "you've got your joke back withinterest. Now I'd hold my tongue, if I was you."

  "Frank and I wouldn't know each other if we didn't have a little funtogether," said Helen. "Besides, we'll all feel serious enough by and by,I guess." For she loved her brother devotedly, much as she delighted totease him; and she would have been glad to drown in merry jests thethought of the final parting, which was now so near at hand.

  They were cordially received at Mrs. Gillett's house; and there Mrs.Manly enjoyed the wished-for opportunity of talking with her son, andWillie had a chance to beat the drum in the attic, and Mrs. Gillettsecretly emptied Frank's haversack of its rations of pork and hard tack,and filled it again with excellent bread and butter, slices of cold lamb,and sponge cake. Moreover, a delightful repast was prepared for thevisitors, at which Frank laughed at his own awkwardness, declaring thathe had eaten from a tin plate so long, with his drumhead for a table,that he had almost forgotten the use of china and napkins.

  "If Hattie was only here now!" he said, again and again. For it neededonly his invalid sister's presence, during these few hours, to make himperfectly happy.

  "Eat generously," said the minister, "for it may be long before you sitat a table again."

  "Perhaps I never shall," thought Frank, but he did not say so lest hemight hurt his mother's feelings.

  The minister was not at all such a person as he had expected to see, butonly a very
pleasant gentleman, not at all stiffened with the idea thathe had the dignity of the profession to sustain. He was natural,friendly, and quite free from that solemn affectation which now and thenbecomes second nature in ministers some of us know, but which never failsto repel the sympathies of the young.

  Mr. Egglestone was expecting soon to go out on a mission to the troops,and it was for this reason Mrs. Manly wished them to become acquainted.

  "I wish you were going with our regiment," said Frank. "We have got achaplain, I believe, but I have never seen him yet, or seen any body whohas seen him."

  "Well, I hope at least I shall meet you, if we both reach the seat ofwar," said the minister, drawing him aside. "But whether I do or not, Iam sure that, with such a good mother as you have, and such dear sistersas you leave behind, you will never need a chaplain to remind you thatyou have something to preserve more precious than this mortal life ofours,--the purity and rectitude of your heart."

  This was spoken so sincerely and affectionately that Frank felt those fewwords sink deeper into his soul than the most labored sermon could havedone. Mr. Egglestone said no more, but putting his arm confidingly overthe boy's shoulder, led him back to his mother.

  And now the hour of parting had come. Frank's friends, including theminister, went with him to the cars. Arrived at the depot, they found itthronged with soldiers, and surrounded by crowds of citizens.

  "O, mother!" said Frank, "you _must_ see our drum-major, old Mr.Sinjin--my teacher, you know. There he is; I'll run and fetch him!"

  He returned immediately, dragging after him the grizzled veteran, whoseemed reluctant, and looked unusually stern.

  "It's my mother and father, you know," said Frank. "They want to shakehands with you."

  "What do they care for me?" said the old man, frowning.

  Frank persisted, and introduced his father. The veteran returned Mr.Manly's salute with rigid military courtesy, without relaxing a muscle ofhis austere countenance.

  "And this is my mother," said Frank.

  With still more formal and lofty politeness, the old man bent his martialfigure, and quite raised his cap from his old gray head.

  "Madam, your very humble servant!"

  "Mr. St. John!" exclaimed Mrs. Manly, in astonishment. "Is it possiblethat this is my old friend St. John?"

  "Madam," said the veteran, with difficulty keeping up his cold, formalexterior, "I hardly expected you would do me the honor to remember one sounworthy;" bending lower than before, and raising his hat again, whilehis lips twitched nervously under his thick mustache.

  "Why, where did you ever see him, mother?" cried Frank, with eagerinterest.

  "Mr. St. John was an old friend of your grandfather's, Frank. Surely,sir, you have not forgotten the little girl you used to take on yourknee and feed with candy?"--for the old man was still looking severeand distant.

  "I have not forgotten many pleasant things--and some not so pleasant,which I would have forgotten by every body." And the old drummer gavehis mustache a vindictive pull.

  "Be sure," said Mrs. Manly, "I remember nothing of you that was not kindand honorable. I think you must have known who my son was, you have beenso good to him. But why did you not inform him, or me through him, who_you_ were? I would have been so glad to know about you."

  "I hardly imagined that."--The old cynical smile curled the heavymustache.--"And if I could be of any service to your son, it was needlessfor you to know of it. I was Mr. St. John when you knew me; but I amnobody but Old Sinjin now. Madam, I wish you a very good-day, and muchhappiness. Your servant, sir!"

  And shaking hands stiffly, first with Mrs. Manly, then with her husband,the strange old man stalked away.

  "Who is he? what is it about him?" asked Frank, stung with curiosity."Never did _I_ think _you_ knew _Old Sinjin_."

  "Your father knows about him, and I will tell _you_ some time," saidMrs. Manly, her eyes following the retreating figure with looks of deepcompassion. "In the mean time, be very kind to him, very gentle andrespectful, my son."

  "I will," said Frank, "but it is all so strange! I can't understand it."

  "Well, never mind now. Here is Captain Edney talking with Helen and Mr.Egglestone, and Willie is playing with his scabbard. Pretty wellacquainted this young gentleman is getting!" said Mrs. Manly, hasteningto take the child away from the sword.

  "Pitty thord! pitty man!" lisped Willie, who had fallen violently in lovewith the captain and his accoutrements. "Me and Helen, we like pitty man!We go with pitty man!"

  Helen blushed; while the captain, laughing, took a piece of money fromhis pocket and gave it to Willie for the compliment.

  Frank, who had been absent a moment, now joined the group, evidently muchpleased at something.

  "The funniest thing has happened! A fellow in our company,--and one ofthe best fellows he is too! but I can't help laughing!--he met his girlto-day, and they suddenly took it into their heads to get married; sothey sent two of their friends to get their licenses for them, one, oneway, and the other another way, for they live in different places. Andthe fellow's license has come, and the girl's hasn't, and they wouldn'thave time to go to a minister's now if it had. It is too bad! but isn'tit funny? The fellow is one of my very best friends. I wrote to you abouthim; Abe Atwater. There he is, with his girl!"

  And Frank pointed out the tall young soldier, standing stately andtaciturn, but with a strong emotion in that usually mild, grave face ofhis, perceptible enough to those who knew him. His girl was at his side,crying.

  "How I pity her!" said Helen. "But he takes it coolly enough, I shouldthink."

  "He takes every thing that way," said Frank; "but you can't tell much byhis face how he feels, though I can see he is biting hard to keep hisheart down now, straight as he stands."

  "I'll speak to her," said Helen; and while Frank accosted Atwater, shemade acquaintance with the girl.

  "Yes," said the soldier, "it would be better to know I was leaving a wifebehind, to think of me and look for my coming back. But I never knew shecared so much for me; and now it's too late."

  "To think," said the girl to Helen, "he has loved me all along, but nevertold me, because he thought I wouldn't have him! And now he is going, andmay be I shall never see him again! And we want to be married, and mylicense hasn't come!" And she poured out her sorrows into the bosom ofthe sympathizing Helen, with whom suffering and sympathy made her at onceacquainted.

  Just then the signal sounded for the train to be in readiness to start.And there were hurried partings, and tears in many a soldier's eye. AndFrank's mother breathed into his ear her good-by counsel and blessing.And Atwater was bidding his girl farewell, when a man came bounding alongthe platform with a paper in his hand--the marriage license.

  "Too late now!" said Atwater, with a glistening smile. "We are off!"

  "But here is a minister!" cried Helen,--"Mr. Eggleston!--O, CaptainEdney! have the train wait until this couple can be married. It won'ttake a minute!"

  The case of the lovers was by this time well understood, not only byCaptain Edney and Mr. Egglestone, but also by the conductor of the trainand scores of soldiers and citizens. An interested throng crowded towitness the ceremony. The licenses were in the hands of the minister, andwith his musket at _order arms_ by his right side, and his girl at hisleft, Atwater stood up to be married, as erect and attentive as if he hadbeen going through the company drill. And in a few words Mr. Egglestonemarried them, Frank holding Atwater's musket while he joined hands withhis bride.

  In the midst of the laughter and applause which followed, the soldier,with unchanging features, fumbled in his pocket for the marriage fee. Hegave it to Mr. Egglestone, who politely handed it to the bride. But shereturned it to her husband.

  "You will need it more than I shall, Abram!"--forcing it, in spite ofhim, back into his pocket. "Good-by!" she sobbed, kissing him. "Good-by,my husband!"

  This pleasing incident had served to lighten the pain of Frank's partingwith his friends. When sorrowful farewe
lls are to be said, no matter howquickly they are over. And they were over now; and Frank was on thedeparting train, waving his cap for the last time to the friends he couldnot see for the tears that dimmed his eyes.

  And the cars rolled slowly away, amid cheers which drowned the sound ofweeping. And the bride who had had her husband for a moment only, andlost him--perhaps forever,--and the mother who had given her son to hercountry,--perhaps never to receive him back,--and other wives, andmothers, and fathers, and sisters, were left behind, with all the untoldpangs of grief and anxious love in their hearts, gazing after the longswift train that bore their loved ones away to the war.