XIII.
THE EXPEDITION MOVES.
Frank won the greatest credit from his comrades by the manner in whichhe had gone through the investigation. And the fowls, which those whosearched could not discover, found their way somehow to the cooks, andback again to the boys, and were shared among their companions, who hada feast and a good time generally.
But when all was over, and the excitement which carried Frank throughhad subsided, and it was night, and he lay in the darkness and solitudeof the tent, with his comrades asleep around him,--then came soberreflection; and he thought of the poor man who had lost his turkeys, andwho, for one, had got no fun out of the business; and he remembered thathe had, to all intents and purposes, lied to Captain Edney; and he knewin his heart that he had done a dishonest thing.
Yes, he had actually been engaged in stealing turkeys. He was guiltyof an act of which, a few weeks before, he would have deemed himselfabsolutely incapable. All the mitigating circumstances of the case, whichhad lately stood out so clear and strong as almost to hide the offencefrom his moral vision, now faded, and shrunk away, and the wrong itselfstood forth, alone, in its undisguised ugliness.
"What is it to me that the man is a secessionist? That doesn't give usthe right to rob him. He is not in arms against the government; and wedon't know that he assists the rebels in any way, either by giving theminformation or money. Perhaps he had good reason to hate the Unionsoldiers. If he had not before, he has now. I wish I had let his turkeysalone."
These words Frank did not exactly frame to himself, lying there in thedark and silent tent; but so said the soul within him. And the next daythe culpability of his conduct was brought home still more forcibly tohis conscience by the receipt of a box from home. It contained, besides aturkey, pies, cakes, apples, and letters. And in one of the letters hismother wrote,--
"I hope these things will reach you by Christmas, and that you will enjoy them, and share them with those who have been good to you, and be very happy. We all think of the hardships you have to go through, and would willingly give up many of our comforts if you could only have them. We shall not have any turkey at Christmas--we shall all be so much happier to think you have one. For I would not have you so much as _tempted_ to do what you say some of the soldiers have done--that is, steal the turkeys belonging to the secessionists. If there are rebels at heart, not yet in open opposition to the government, I would have you treat them kindly, and not provoke them to hate our cause worse than they do already. And always remember that, whatever the government may see fit to do to punish such men, you have no right to interfere with either their private opinions or their private property."
Why was it that the contents of Frank's Christmas box did not taste sogood to him as he had anticipated? Simply because he could partake ofneither pie nor turkey without the sorry sauce of a reproving conscience.
He thought to atone for his fault by magnanimity in sharing with otherswhat he could not relish alone. He gave liberally to all his mates, andcarried a large piece of the turkey, together with a generous supply ofstuffing, and an entire mince pie, to his old friend Sinjin.
Now, Frank had not, for the past month, been on as good terms with theveteran as formerly. The meeting with Mrs. Manly in Boston seemed to haveawakened unpleasant remembrances in the old drummer's mind, and to renderhim unpleasantly stiff and cold towards her son. He had received thethanksgiving wreath with a very formal and stately acknowledgment, andFrank, who knew not what warm torrents might be gushing beneath the sternold man's icy exterior, had kept himself somewhat resentfully aloof fromhim ever since. But he still felt a yearning for their former friendship,and he now hoped, with the aid of the good gifts of which he was thebearer, to make up with him.
"I wish you a merry Christmas," said Frank, arrived at the old man'stent.
"You are rather late for that, it seems to me," replied Sinjin, liftinghis brows, as he sat in his tent and looked quietly over his shoulder atthe visitor.
"I know it," said Frank. "But the truth is, I hadn't any thing to wishyou a merry Christmas with yesterday. But this morning I got a box byexpress, full of goodies, direct from home."
"Ah!" said the old man, with a singular unsteadiness of eye, while hetried to look cold and unconcerned.
"Yes; isn't it grand? A turkey of my mother's own stuffing, and pies ofher own baking, and every thing that's splendid. And she said she hopedyou would accept a share, with her very kind regards. And so I've broughtyou some."
The old man had got up on his feet. But he did not offer to relieveFrank's hands. He made no reply to his little speech; and he seemed notso much to look _at_ him, as _through_ him, into some visionary past faraway. Perhaps it was not the drummer boy he saw at all, but fairerfeatures, still like his--a sweet young girl; the same he used to trotupon his knees, in those unforgotten years, so long ago, when he was inhis manhood's prime, and life was still fresh to him, and he had notlost his early faith in friendship and love.
There Frank stood, holding the cover of the Christmas box, with the goodthings from home upon it, and waited, and wondered; and there the old manstood and dreamed.
"Please, sir, will you let me leave them here?" said Frank, ready to crywith disappointment at this strange reception.
The old man heaved a sigh, brushed his hand across his eyes, and cameback to the present. He stooped and took the gift with a tremulous smile,but without a word. He did not tell the drummer boy that he had, in thatinstant of forgetfulness, seen his mother as she was at his age, and thathis old heart now, though seemingly withered and embittered, gushed againwith love so sorrowful and yearning, that he could have taken her son inhis arms, even as he had so often taken her, and have wept over him. AndFrank, in his ignorance, went away, feeling more hurt than ever at hisold friend's apparent indifference.
* * * *
And now matters were assuming a more and more warlike appearance. Forsome time Frank's regiment had been out on brigade drill twice a week,and he had written home a glowing description of the scene. But anincomparably grander sight was the inspection and review of the entiredivision, which took place the last week of December. The parade ground,comprising two thousand acres, at once smooth and undulating, wasadmirably fitted to show off, with picturesque and splendid effect, theevolutions of regiment, brigade, and division. Thousands of spectatorsflocked from Annapolis and the vicinity, in vehicles, on horseback, andon foot, to witness the display.
Frank was with his company, carrying his knapsack, haversack, tin cup,and canteen, like the rest, and with his drum at his side. He could notbut feel a pride in the grand spectacle of which he formed a part. Ateleven o'clock, Brigadier-General Foster, commanding the department inBurnside's absence, passed down the line, accompanied by a numerousstaff, and followed by the governor of the state and members of thelegislature. They inspected each regiment in turn; and many were thelooks of interest and pleased surprise which the young drummer boyreceived from officers and civilians.
The reviewing party then took its position on the right, the words ofcommand rang along the line, and regiment after regiment, breaking intobattalion column, filed, with steady tramp, in superb, glittering array,to the sound of music, past the general and his assistants. No wonder thedrummer boy's heart beat high with military enthusiasm, as he marchedwith his comrades in this magnificent style, marvelling what enemy couldwithstand such disciplined masses of troops.
And now the fleet of transports, which were to convey them to theirdestination, were gathering at Annapolis. The camp was full of rumorsrespecting the blow which was to be struck, and the troops were eager tostrike it.
So ended the old year, the first of the war; and the new year came in. Itwas now January, 1862.
On the 3d, the regiment was for the first time paid off. Frank receivedpay for two months' service, at twelve dollars a month. He kept on
ly fourdollars for his own use, and sent home the remaining twenty dollars in acheck, to be drawn by his father in Boston. It was a source of greatpride and satisfaction to him that he could send money to his parents;and he wondered at the greedy selfishness of John Winch, who immediatelycommenced spending his pay for pies and cakes, at the sutler's enormousprices.
On the 6th, the regiment broke camp and marched to Annapolis. There wassnow on the ground, which had fallen the night before; and the weatherwas very cold. The city was a scene of busy activity. The fleet lay inthe harbor. Troops and baggage trains crowded to the wharves. Transportafter transport took on board its precious freight of lives, and haulingout into the stream to make room for others, dropped anchor off the town.
After waiting five hours--five long and dreary hours--at the NavalAcademy, our regiment took its turn. One half went on board an armedsteamer, whose decks were soon swarming with soldiers and bristling withguns. The other half took passage in a schooner. And the steamer took theschooner in tow, and anchored with her in the river. And so Frank and hiscomrades bade farewell to the soil of Maryland.
The excitement of these scenes had served to put Frank's conscience tosleep again. However, it received a sting, when, on the day of leavingAnnapolis, he learned that the secessionist whose turkeys had beenstolen, had, in revenge for his wrongs, quitted his farm, and gone tojoin the rebel army.