XXIV.
THE BIVOUAC.
"There's a good time coming, and near, boys! there's a good time coming,and near!" sings out Tucket, holding his head high as he strides along,for he has caught a sight of fires beyond, and the company are nowemerging upon a tract of sandy barrens, thinly covered with pines.
A road runs through the island. The advance of the column has alreadytaken possession of it. Skirmishers have been thrown forward into thewoods, and pickets are posted on the flanks.
The troops prepare to bivouac for the night. Fires are kindled, and soonthe generous flames blaze up, illumining picturesque groups of men, andcasting a wild glare far into the depths of the great, black, silentwoods. The trees seem to stand out like startled giants, gazing at theunusual scene; and all above and around the frightened shadows lurk, inghostly boughs, behind dark trunks, among the deep grasses, and inhollows of the black morass. And the darkness of the night overhangs thearmy like a vast tent, sombrely flickering.
A dry fence of cypress and pine rails is, without hesitation,appropriated to feed the fires of the bivouac; and the chilled, soakedsoldiers gather around them to get warm and dry.
"My brave fellows," says Captain Edney, passing among them, "do the bestyou can for yourselves for the night. Try to keep warm, and get what restand sleep you can. You will need all your strength to-morrow."
"To-morrow," observes Winch, with a swaggering, braggart air, "we'regoing to give the rebels the almightiest thrashing they've had yet! Towade in their blood as deep as I've waded to-night in this mud and water,that's what'll just suit me!"
"The less blood the better, boys," says Captain Edney. "But we must beprepared to shed our own to the last drop, if need be, for we're bound tosweep this island of every traitor to his country, before we leave it.Make up your minds to that, boys!"
There is that in his tone which promises something besides child's playon the morrow. He is calm, serious, spirited, resolute; and the hearts ofhis men are fired by his words.
The troops are full of jest and merriment as they kick off their shoes,and empty the water out of them, squeeze their dripping trousers, and,lying on the ground, toast their steaming legs by the fires.
"I say, le's have a gallus old time to-night, to pay for our ducking,"suggests Jack Winch. "I don't want to sleep."
"You ought to be off in the swamps, on picket duty, then," says Harris."Let them sleep that have a chance. For my part, I'm going to take thecaptain's advice. There's no knowing what sounds will wake us up, or howearly."
"The sounds of muskets, I hope; and the earlier the better," says thevaliant Jack. "Dang that shoe! I believe I've roasted it! Bah! look atAbe there, diving into his Testament, sure's you live."
And Winch, perceiving that Atwater paid no attention to the sneer, flunghis shoe at him. The soldier was reading by the light of the flames, whenthe missile came, striking the book from his hands.
"Shame, shame!" cried Frank, indignantly. "Jack Winch, that is too mean."
"O, you go to"----France,--only Jack used a worse word,--"with that redrag on your arm! I don't have any thing to say to non-combatants."
Frank might not have been able to stifle his indignation but for thegrave example of Atwater, who gave no more heed to Jack's shoe than hehad given to his base taunt, but, silently gathering up his book again,brushed the sand from it, found his place, and resumed his reading, ascomposedly as if nothing had happened. Neither did Frank say any thing.But Ellis, near whom the shoe had fallen, tossed it back with a threat toconsign it to the fire if it came that way again.
"Wonder if my pocket-book got wet any," said Harris, taking out his moneyand examining it.
"O, you feel mighty proud of your winnings!" said Jack, who seemed benton picking a quarrel with some one.
"Yes, I do," said Harris. "I'm just so proud of it as this,"--reachingsomething towards the drummer boy. "Here, Frank, is all the money, Ibelieve, that I've won off you. We're going into a fight to-morrow, andnobody knows how we shall come out of it. I want to stand right withevery body, if I can."
Frank was too much astonished to accept the money. He seemed to thinkthere was some joke in it.
"I'm in earnest," insisted Harris. "The truth is, I've been ashamed ofwinning your money, ever since. You didn't mean it, but you've acted in away to _make_ me ashamed."
"I have! How?" Frank was more amazed than ever.
"Because you gave over play, though you had a chance to try again, andacted as if you had got above such foolish things. It's time we all gotabove them. You're a good-hearted fellow, Frank,--you've shown that,--andnobody shall say I've robbed you."
Frank took the money with a heart too full for thanks. He thought Harrisa fellow of unexampled generosity, never considering how much his ownexample had had to do with bringing about this most gratifying result.
Atwater stopped reading, and looked over his book at Harris with a smileof pleasure and approval clear as daybreak. But the silent man did notspeak.
"Well! the idea of a battle makes some folks awful pious all at once!"was Winch's comment.
Nobody heeded him. As for Frank, with triumph in his heart and money inhis fist, he ran barefoot to where Seth Tucket lay sprawled before theblazing rails, feeling of his stockings, to see if they were dry enoughto put on.
"Hello, young chap! how goes it? 'Stranger what dost thou require? Rest,and a guide, and food and fire.' Get down here and have a toasting. Itcomes cheap."
Frank sat down, and began counting the money.
"What's all that?" demanded Seth.
"All I owe you, and a little to spare!" cried Frank, elated.
"Sho, ye don't say! See here, Frank! I never meant you should troubleyourself about that. I'm all right, money or no money. I'm an independentsort of nabob--don't need the vile stuff. 'Kings may be great, but Sethis glorious, o'er all the ills of life victorious!' So put it away, andkeep it, Frank."
But when the drummer boy told him how he had come by the money, and thatit was his wish to settle his accounts before the battle, Tucket screwedup his face with a resigned expression, and received back the loan.
A great weight was now lifted from Frank's mind. The vexing problem, howhe was to retain the watch and yet satisfy Seth's rightful claims, wasthus happily solved. He could have danced for joy, barefooted, in thegrassy sand. And he yearned more than ever now to see Mr. Sinjin, andmake up with him.
A few rods off, in the rear of the soldiers' bivouacs, the old drummercould be seen, sitting with a group of officers around a fire of theirown. His stockings were hung upon the end of a rail, and he was busyroasting a piece of pork on the end of a stick, held out at arm's lengthto the fire. Frank saw that it was no time to speak with him then; so hereturned to his place, and sat down to put on his shoes and join thosewho had not yet been to supper, over their rations.