XXV.
ATWATER.
As the evening wore on, Atwater was observed sitting apart from the rest,unusually silent and grave even for him; gazing at the fire, with thebook he had been reading closed and folded thoughtfully between hishands.
Now Frank, following his example, had lately formed the resolution toread a little in the Testament every night,--"if only for his mother'ssake." But to-night his Testament was in his knapsack, and his knapsackwas on board the schooner.
"I'll borrow Atwater's," he thought; and with this purpose he approachedthe tall private.
"Sit down here, Frank," said Atwater, with a serious smile. "I want totalk with you."
It was so extraordinary for the phlegmatic Abe to express a wish to talkwith any body, that Frank almost felt awed by the summons. Somethingwithin him said that a communication of no trivial import was coming. Sohe sat down. And the tongue of the taciturn was that night, for once inhis life, strangely loosened.
"I can't say it to the rest, Frank; I don't know why. But I feel as if Icould say it to you."
"Do," said Frank, thrilling with sympathy to the soldier's mysteriousemotion. "What is it, Abe?"
For a minute Atwater sat gazing, gazing--not at the fire. Then he liftedfrom the book, which he held so tenderly, his right hand, and laid itupon Frank's. And he turned to the boy with a smile.
"I've liked you from the first, Frank. Did you know it?"
"If you have, I don't know why," said Frank, deeply touched.
"Nor do I," said the private. "Some we like, and some we don't, withoutthe reason for it appearing altogether clear. I liked you even when youdidn't please me very well."
"You mean when----" began Frank, stammeringly.
"Yes, you know when. It used to hurt me to see and hear you--but that ispast."
"I hope so," said Frank, from his heart.
"Yes. And I like you better than ever now. And do you know, Frank, Idon't think I could say to you what I am going to, if you hadn't been introuble yourself, lately? That makes me feel I can come near you."
"O! are you in trouble, Abe?"
"Yes,"--with another mild, serious smile. "Not just such trouble as youwere in, though. It is nothing on my own account. It is on _hers_." Andthe soldier's voice sunk, as it always did, when he alluded to his wife.
"You have heard from her?" asked Frank, with sympathizing interest.
"Nothing but good news; nothing but good news," said Atwater, pressingthe pocket where his letters were. "I wish you could know that girl'sheart. I am just beginning to know it. She has blessed me! She is asimple creature--not so smart as some; but she has, what is better thanall that, a heart, Frank!"
Frank, not knowing what else to say, answered earnestly, that he was sureof it.
"She has brought me to know this book," the soldier continued, hisfeatures tremblingly alive with emotion. "I never looked into it muchbefore. I never thought much about it--whether it was true or not. Butwhether it is true or not, there is something in it that reaches mehere,"--laying his hand on his heart,--"something that sinks into me. Ican't tell how. It gives me comfort."
Frank, still not knowing how to reply, murmured that he was glad to hearit.
"Now, this is what I have been wanting to say to somebody," Abram wenton, in a calm but suppressed voice. "I am going into battle to-morrow.Don't think I am afraid. I have no fear. But of one thing I am tolerablycertain. I shall not come out of that fight unhurt."
The smile which accompanied these words, quite as much as the wordsthemselves, alarmed Frank.
"Don't say that!" he entreated. "You are a little low-spirited, Abe;that's it."
"O, no! I am not low-spirited in the least. My country demandssacrifices. I, for one, am willing to die." This was said with singularcalmness and cheerfulness. But the soldier's voice failed him, as headded, "It is only when I think of her----"
Frank, powerfully wrought upon, endeavored in vain to dissuade his friendfrom indulging in such sad presentiments.
"Well, we will hope that they are false," said Atwater, but with a lookthat betrayed how thoroughly he was convinced of their truth. "If I gothrough safely, then we can laugh at them afterwards. But much may happenin these coming twenty-four hours. Now, I am sitting here with you,talking by these fires that light up the woods so. To-morrow night, thiswhich you call me,"--the soldier smilingly designated his body,--"may bestretched upon this same earth, and you may talk in vain--it cannotanswer you."
"We don't know,--that's true," Frank agreed. "But I hope for the best."
"And that may be the best--for me. God knows. And for her, too,--though Idread the stroke for her! This is what I want you to do for me, Frank. IfI fall,--_if_ I fall, you know,--you will write to her. Send back to hermy last words, with the book she gave me, and her letters. You will findthem all in this pocket, here. Will you?"
Frank could not refrain from tears, as he made the promise.
"That is all," said Atwater, cheerfully. "Now, my mind is easier. Now,whatever comes, I am ready. Stay with me, if you like, and we will talkof something else. Or shall we read a little together?"
"I'd like to read a little," said Frank.
And he opened the book to these words:--
"'Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill thesoul.... Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shallnot fall to the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of yourhead are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; ye are of more value thanmany sparrows.'"
"How came you to read there?" said Atwater with a smile.
"I don't know," said Frank. "But it seems meant for you--don't it?"
"Yes, and it somehow makes me happy. Go on."
And Frank read,--
"'Think not I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace,but a sword.'"
"That is for both of us, for all of us, for all our people to-day," saidAtwater. "I believe it is the struggle of Satan against Christ that hasbrought on this war. To attempt to build up a nation on humanslavery--that is Satan. And I believe, wicked as we are at the north too,that the principle of freedom we are fighting for is the opposite ofSatan. And whoever brings that into the world, brings a war that willnever cease until the right triumphs, and the wrong ceases forever."
Frank was astonished. He had never suspected that in this stiff, reservedsoldier there dwelt the spirit which, when their tongues are loosed,makes men eloquent.
Atwater had roused up, and spoken with earnestness. But his glow passed,and he said quietly,--
"Go on."
"'A man's foes shall be they of his own household.'"
There Frank stopped again, this time of his own accord. The words struckhim with peculiar force.
"That is true too," said Abram; "of the nation, for a nation is ahousehold; and of many, many families."
Frank studied the words a moment, and, after a struggle with hisfeelings, said in a hushed voice,--
"Did you know, Abe, I've a brother in the rebel army?"
"I did not know. I have heard you have one somewhere in the south."
"Yes, you have heard Jack twit me about my secesh brother. And I havebeen obliged to own he was a--traitor. And since I left home my folkshave had a letter from him, in which he wrote that he was on the point ofjoining the confederate army, and that we would not probably hear fromhim again. So I suppose he is fighting against us somewhere."
"Not here, I hope," said Atwater.
"As well here as any where," said Frank. "I always loved my brother. Ilove him still. But, as you say, wicked as we are, Christ is in ourcause, and----" Frank read,--
"'He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me; andhe that loveth son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me.'"
"And I," said the boy, lifting up his face with a patriotic, even areligious, fervor in it, "I love my country, I love the cause of rightand freedom, better than I love m
y brother!"
"With that true of us, with that love in our hearts," said Atwater, "wecan dare to fight, and whatever the result, I believe it will be wellwith us. See what the book says."
And Frank read on.
"'He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that looseth his lifefor my sake shall find it.'"
"That is enough," said Atwater. "I can bind that sentence like an armoraround my heart."
"What does it mean?"
"It means, I think, that though wickedness triumphs, it triumphs to itsown confusion, for it has no immortal life. But even the death of a saintis victory."
After that the soldier seemed inclined to relapse into revery. Frankthought he did not wish to talk any more; so he gave him back the book.Abram put it in his pocket, and took the boy's hand.
"Good night, Frank," he smilingly said. "We shall see each other in themorning."
"Good night, Abe."
Frank left him. And Atwater, stretching himself upon the ground, put hisarm beneath his head, and with the fire-light on his placid countenance,dismissed all worldly care from his mind, and slept peacefully.