The Drummer Boy

by J. T. Trowbridge

  XI.

  A CHRISTMAS FROLIC.

  Christmas came. The men had a holiday, but no turkeys, no plum puddings,except such as had come to individuals in private boxes from home. Thesight of these boxes was not very edifying to those who had none. Frank,who was once more in communication with his friends, had expected such abox, and been disappointed.

  "You just come along with me, boys," said Seth Tucket, "and we'll lay infor as merry a Christmas as any of 'em. It may come a little later inthe day; but patient waiters are no losers,--as the waiter said when hepicked the pockets of the six gentlemen at dinner."

  "What's the fun?" asked the boys, who were generally ready for any sportinto which Seth would lead them.

  He answered them enigmatically. "'_Evil, be thou my good!_'--that's whatMilton's bad angel said. '_Fowl, be thou my fare!_'--that's what I say."From which significant response, followed by an apt imitation of aturkey-gobbler, the boys understood that he had some device forobtaining poultry for dinner.

  It was a holiday, and I have said, and they had already got permissionto go beyond the lines. There were some twenty of them in all, Frankincluded. Tucket led them to a thicket about two miles from camp, wherethey halted.

  "You see that house yonder? That's where old Buckley lives--the meanestman in Maryland."

  "I know him," said Frank. "He's a rebel; he threatened to set his dog onus one day. He hates the Union uniform worse than he does the OldScratch."

  "He has got lots of turkeys," said Ellis, "which he told the sergeanthe'd see die in the pen before he'd sell one to a Yankee."

  "I know where the pen is," said John Winch; "he keeps 'em shut up, so ourboys shan't steal 'em, and he and his dog and his nigger watch the pen."

  "Well, boys," said Seth, "now the thing is to get the turkeys. As rebelproperty, it's our duty to confiscate 'em, and use 'em for the support ofthe Union cause. Now I've an idee. I'll go over in the woods there, andwait, while one of you goes to the house and asks him if he has got anyturkeys to sell. He'll say no, of course. Then ask him if you may havethe one out in the woods there. He'll say there ain't none in the woods;but you must insist there is one, and say if 'tain't his you'll take it,and settle with the owner when he calls. That'll start him, and I'll seethat he goes into the woods fur enough, so that the rest of you can rushup, grab every man his turkey, and skedaddle. Winch 'll show you the way;he says he knows the pen. 'Charge, Ellis, charge! On, Harris, on! Shallbe the words of private John.' But who'll go first to the house?" askedSeth, coming down from the high key in which he usually got off hispoetry.

  "Let Frank," said Harris; "for he knows the man."

  "He? He dasn't go!" sneered Jack. "He's afraid of the dog."

  This base imputation decided Frank to undertake the errand, which, afterall, notwithstanding the danger attending it, was less repugnant to hisfeelings than more direct participation in the robbery.

  Seth departed to ensconce himself in the woods. Frank then went on to thesecessionists house, quieting his conscience by the way with reflectionslike these: It was owing to such men as this disloyal Marylander that theUnion troops were now suffering so many hardships. The good thingspossessed by traitors, or by those who sympathised with traitors, werefairly forfeited to patriots who were giving their blood to theircountry. Stealing, in such a case, was no robbery. And so forth, and soforth--sentiments which prevailed pretty generally in the army. Besides,there was fun in the adventure; and with boys a little fun covers amultitude of sins.

  The fun, however, was considerably dampened, on Frank's part, as heapproached the house. "Bow, wow!" suddenly spoke the deep, dreadful tonesof the rebel mastiff. He hated the national uniform as intensely as hismaster did, and came bounding towards Frank as if his intention was toeat him up at once.

  Now, the truth is, Frank was afraid of the dog. His heart beat fast, hisflesh felt an electric chill, and there was a curious stirring in theroots of his hair. The dog came right on, bristling up as large as twodogs, opening his ferocious maw, and barking and growling terribly. Thenthe fun of the thing was still more dampened, to the boy's appreciation,by a sudden suspicion. Why had his companions thrust the most perilouspart of the enterprise upon him, the youngest of the party? It was mean;it was cowardly; and the whole affair was intended to make sport for therest, by getting him into a scrape. So, at least, thought Frank.

  "But I'll show them I've got some pluck," said something within him,proud and determined.

  To fear danger is one thing. To face it boldly, in spite of that fear, isquite another. The first is common; the last is rare as true courage. Thedog came straight up to Frank, and Frank marched straight up to the dog.

  "Even if I had known he would bite," said Frank, afterwards, "I'd havedone it." For he did not know at the time that this was the very best wayto avoid being bitten. The dog, astonished by this straightforwardproceeding, and probably thinking that one who advanced unflinchingly,with so brave a face, without weapons, must have honest business with hismaster, stepped aside, and growlingly let him pass.

  "Where's your master?" said Frank, coolly, to an old negro, who wasshuffling across the yard. "I want to see him a minute."

  "Yes, massa," said the black, pulling at his cap, and bowingobsequiously.

  He disappeared, and presently "old Buckley" came out, looking worthy tobe the dog's master.

  "Perhaps," thought Frank, "if I treat him in the same way, he won't bite,either;" and he walked straight up to him. The biped did not bark orgrowl, as the quadruped had done, but he looked wickedly at the intruder.

  "How about those turkeys?" said Frank.

  "What turkeys?" returned the man, surlily.

  "It is Christmas now, and I thought you might be ready to sell some ofthem," continued Frank, nothing daunted.

  "I've no turkeys to sell," said the man.

  "But you had a lot of them," said Frank.

  "I had fifty." Buckley looked sternly at Frank, and continued: "Half ofthem have been stolen by you Yankee thieves. And you know it."

  "Stolen! If that isn't too bad!" exclaimed Frank. "I am sure I have neverhad one of them. Are you certain they have been stolen? I heard a gobblerover in the woods here, as I came along."

  "You did?" said the man.

  Frank thought it only a very white lie he was telling, having heard, atall events, a very good imitation of a gobbler. He repeated roundly hisassertion. The man regarded him with a steady scowling scrutiny for neara minute, his surly lips apart, his hands thrust into his pockets. Frank,who could speak the truth with as clear and beautiful a brow as ever wasseen, could not help wincing a little under the old fellow's slow,sullen, suspicious observation.

  "Boy," said the man, without taking his hands from his pockets, "you're alying to me!"

  "Very well," said Frank, turning on his heel, "if you think so, then Isuppose it isn't your turkey."

  "And what are you going to do about it?" said the man.

  "The federal army," said Frank, with a smile, "has need of that turkey. Ishall take him, and settle with the owner when he turns up."

  And he walked off. The man was evidently more than half convinced therewas a turkey in the woods--probably one that had escaped when a part ofhis flock was stolen.

  "Toby," said he, "fetch my gun."

  The old negro trotted into the house, and trotted out again, bringing adouble-barrelled shot-gun, which Frank did not like the looks of at all.

  "There's some Yankee trick here," said the secessionist, cocking thepiece, and carefully putting a cap on each barrel; "but I reckon they'llfind me enough for 'em. Toby, you stay here with the dog, and take careof things. Now, boy, march ahead there, and show me that gobbler."

  The old negro grinned. So did his master, in a way Frank did not fancy.It was a morose, menacing, savage grin--a very appropriate prelude, Frankthought, to a shot from behind out of that two-barrelled fowling-piece.But it was too late now to retreat. So, putti
ng on a bold and confidentair, he started for the woods, followed by the grim man with the gun.

  His sensations by the way were not greatly to be envied. He had neverfelt, as he afterwards expressed it, so _streaked_ in his life. By thatterm I suppose he alluded to those peculiar thrills which sometimescreep over one, from the scalp to the ankles, when some great danger isapprehended. For it was evident that this man was in deadly earnest.Tramp, tramp, he came after Frank, with his left hand on the stock ofhis gun, the other on the lock, ready to pop him over the moment heshould discover he had been trifled with. No doubt their departure hadbeen watched by the boys from the thicket, and the unlucky drummerexpected every moment to hear the alarm of a premature attack upon theturkey-pen, which would, unquestionably, prove the signal for his ownimmediate execution.

  "He will shoot me first," thought Frank, "to be revenged; then he'll ranback to defend his property."

  And now, although he had long since made up his mind that he was willingto die, if necessary, fighting for his country, his whole soul shrunkwith fear and dread from the shameful death, in a shameful cause, withwhich he was menaced.

  "_Shot, by a secessionist, in the act of stealing turkeys._" How wouldthat sound, reported to his friends at home?

  "_Shot while gallantly charging the enemy's battery_." How differentlythat would read! and the poor boy wished that he had let the miserableturkeys alone, and waited to try his fortunes on the battle-field.

  However, being once in the scrape, although the cause was a bad one, hedetermined to show no craven spirit. With a heart like hot lead withinhim, he marched with every appearance of willingness and confidence intothe woods, regarding the gun no more than if it had been designed for theobvious purpose of shooting the gobbler.

  "When we come in sight of him," said Frank, "let me shoot him, won'tyou?"

  "H'm! I reckon I'll give you a shot!" muttered the man, with darklydubious meaning.

  "I wish you would," said Frank. "Our boys have two cartridges apiecegiven them every day now, and they practise shooting at a target. But asI am a drummer, I don't have any chance to shoot. There's your turkeynow."

  In fact an unmistakable gobble was just then heard farther on in thewoods.

  "May I take the gun and go on and shoot him?" Frank asked, with aninnocent air.

  And he stopped, determined now to get behind the man, if he could notobtain the gun.

  The rebel laughed grimly at the idea of giving up his weapon. But thesound of the turkey, together with the boy's cool and self-possessedconduct, had so far deceived him that he no longer drove Frank inexorablybefore him, but permitted him to walk by his side, and even to lag alittle behind.

  "Gobble, obble, obble!" said the turkey, behind some bushes, stillseveral rods off.

  "Yes, that's my turkey!" said the man, ready enough to claim the unseenfowl.

  "How do you know he is yours?" asked Frank.

  "I know his gobble. One I had stole gobbled jest like that." And thesecessionist's stern features relaxed a little.

  Frank's relaxed a little, too; for, serious as his dilemma had seemeda minute since, he could not but be amused by the man's undoubtingrecognition of _that_ gobble.

  "All turkeys make a noise alike," said Frank.

  "No they don't, no they don't!" said the man, positively,--no doubtfearing a plot to get the fowl away from him, and anxious to set up hisclaim in season. "I reckon I know about turkeys. Hear that?"--as thesound was heard again, still at a distance. "That's my bird. I shouldknow that gobble among five hundred."

  Frank suppressed his merriment, thinking that now was his time to getaway.

  "Well," said he, "unless you'll sell me the bird, I don't know thatthere's any use of my going any farther with you."

  He expected a repetition of the refusal to sell, when he would have thebest excuse in the world for making his escape. But Buckley was stillsuspicious of some trick,--fearing, perhaps, that Frank would run off andget help to secure the turkey.

  "We'll see; we'll see. Wait till we get the bird," said the man. "You'vedone me a good turn telling me about him, and mayhap I'll sell him to youfor your honesty. But wait a bit; wait a bit."

  They were fast approaching the bushes where the supposed turkey was.

  "Quit, quit, quit! Gobble, obble, obble!" said the pretended fowl.

  "He _must_ know now," thought Frank, with renewed apprehension; but hedared not run.

  In fact, the old fellow was beginning to see that his recognition of_his_ gobbler had been premature. A patch of blue uniform was visiblethrough the brush. The rebel stopped, and drew up his gun. As Hamletkilled Polonius for a rat, so would he kill a Yankee for a turkey.Click! the piece was cocked and aimed.

  "Here, you old clodhopper, you; don't you shoot! don't you shoot!"screamed Seth Tucket, rushing wildly out of the bushes just as the rebelpulled the trigger.