The Drummer Boy

  XXXII.

  AFTER THE BATTLE.

  It is over. The battle is ended, the victory won. The sun goes down uponconquerors and conquered, upon the living and the dead. And the eveningcomes, melancholy. The winds sigh in the pine-tops, the sullen waves dashupon the shore, the gloom of the cypresses lies dismal and dark onRoanoke Island.

  Buildings suitable for the purpose, taken from the enemy, have beenconverted into hospitals, and the wounded are brought in.

  There is Frank with his bandaged arm, and Ellis with his stump of a handbound up, and others worse off than they. There is the surgeon of theirregiment, active, skilful, kind. There, too, is Mr. Eggleston, theminister, proving his claim to that high title, ministering in the truestsense to all who need him, holding to fevered lips the cup of medicine orsoothing drink, and holding to fevered souls the still more preciousdrink.

  There is Corporal Gray, assisting to arrange the hospital, and cheeringhis comrades with an account of the victory.

  "The rebels ran like herds of deer after we got the battery. We tracked'em by the traps they threw away. Guns, knapsacks, coats,--they flung offevery thing, and skedaddled for dear life! We met an old negro woman, whotold us where their camp was; but some of 'em had taken anotherdirection, by a road that goes to the east side of the island. Our boysfollowed, and found 'em embarking in boats. We fired on 'em, and broughtback two of their boats. In one we got Jennings Wise, of the Wise Legion,that we had the bloody fight with flanking the battery. He was woundedand dying.

  "But our greatest haul was the camp the old negress pointed out Therebels rallied, and as we moved up, fired upon us, doing no damage. Wereturned the compliment, and dropped eight men. Then more running, of thesame chivalrous sort, our boys after them; when out comes a flag of trucefrom the camp.

  "'What terms will be granted us?' says the rebel officer.

  "'No terms, but unconditional surrender,' says General Foster.

  "'How long a time will be granted us to consider?'

  "'Just time enough for you to go to your camp to convey the terms andreturn.'

  "Off went the rebel. We waited fifteen minutes. Then we pushed on again.That movement quickened their deliberations; and out came Colonel Shaw,the commander, and says to General Foster,--

  "'I give up my sword, and surrender five thousand men!' For he didn'tknow some two thousand of his force had escaped. What we have got isabout three thousand prisoners, and all their forts and quarters, whichwe call a pretty good bag."

  The boys forgot their wounds, they forgot their dead and dying comrades,listening to this recital. But short-lived was the enthusiasm of one, atleast. Scarce was Gray gone, when Frank saw four men with a stretcher,bringing upon it a grizzled, pallid old man.

  "O, Mr. Sinjin! O, my dear, dear friend! You too!"

  "Is it my boy?" said the veteran, with a wan smile. "Yes, I too! Theyhave done for me, I fear."

  "But nobody told me. How--where----" The boy's grief choked his voice.

  "An impertinent cannon-ball interrupted my conversation with Mr.Egglestone," said the old man, stifling his agony as the men removed himto a cot. "And took a--" he groaned in spite of himself--"a greedymouthful out of my side--that's all."

  Frank knew not what to say or what to do, he was so overcome.

  "There, my boy," said the old man, to comfort him, "no tears for me! Itis enough to see you again. They told me you were hurt--" looking at thelad's disabled arm. "I am glad it is no worse." And the wan veteransmiled content.

  Frank, with his one hand, smoothed the pillow under the old gray head,struggling hard to keep back his sobs as he did so.

  "Who is my neighbor there?" Mr. Sinjin cheerfully asked.

  "Atwater," Frank managed to articulate.

  "Is it? I am sorry! A bad wound?"

  "The bullet went through a Bible he carried, then into his breast, beyondthe reach of surgery, I am afraid," Mr. Egglestone answered for Frank."He lies in a stupor, just alive."

  "Poor fellow!" said Mr. Sinjin, feelingly. "If Death must have one of us,let him for once be considerate, and take me. Atwater is young, justmarried,--he needs to live; but I--I am not of much account to any body,and can just as well be spared as not."

  "O, no, O, no!" sobbed Frank; "I can't spare you! I can't let you die!"

  "My boy," said the old man, deeply affected, "I would like to tarry alittle longer in the world, if only for your sake. You have done so muchfor me--so much more than you can ever know! You have brought back to myold heart more of its youth and freshness than it had felt for years. Ithank God for it. I thank you, my dear boy."

  With these words still ringing in his ear, Frank was taken away by thethoughtful Mr. Egglestone and compelled to lie down.

  "You must not agitate the old man, and you need repose yourself, Frank.I fear the effects of all this excitement, together with that wound, onyour slender constitution."

  "O, my wound is nothing!" Frank declared. "See that he and Atwater haveevery thing done for them--won't you, Mr. Egglestone?"

  The minister promised, and Frank endeavored to settle his mind to rest.

  But he could not sleep. Every five minutes he started up to inquire afterhis friends. Hour after hour passed, and he still remained wakeful as aspirit doomed never to sleep again. His wounded arm pained him; and hehad so many things to think of,--his suffering comrades, old Buckleyshot out of the tree, his rebel brother, his folks at home, and all thewhirling incidents and horrors of that dread day.

  So he thought, and thought; and prayed silently for the old drummergroaning on his bed of pain; and pleaded for Atwater lying there, still,with the death-shadow he had foreseen darkening the portal of his body.And Frank longed for his mother, as he grew weary and weak, until at lastsleep came in mercy, and dropped her soft, vapory veil over his soul.

  * * * *

  The thrilling news of the victory came north by telegraph. Then followedletters from correspondents, giving details of the battle, when, onemorning, Helen Manly ran home in a glow of excitement, bringing a dampand crumpled newspaper.

  "News from Frank!" she cried, out of breath.

  In a moment the little family was gathered about her, the parents eagerand pale.

  "Is he living? Tell me that!" said Mrs. Manly.

  "Yes, but he has been wounded, and is in the hospital."

  "Wounded!" broke forth Mr. Manly in consternation; but his wife kept hersoul in silence, waiting with compressed white lips to learn more.

  "In the arm--not badly. There is a whole half column about him here. Forhe has made himself famous--Frank! our dear, dear Frank!" And the quicktears flooding the girl's eyes fell upon the paper.

  Mrs. Manly snatched the sheet and read, how her boy had distinguishedhimself; how he had captured a rebel, and fought gallantly in the ranks,and received a wound without minding it; and how all who had witnessedhis conduct, both officers and men, were praising him; it was allthere--in the newspaper.

  "What adds to the romance of this boy's story," said the writer inconclusion, "is a circumstance which occurred at the capture of thebreastwork. Among the dead and wounded left behind when the enemy took toflight, was a rebel captain, of northern parentage, who came south a fewyears ago, married a southern belle, became a slaveholder, joined theslaveholders' rebellion in consequence, and lost his life in defence ofRoanoke Island. He lived long enough to recognize in the drummer boy_his own younger brother_, and died in his arms."

  Great was the agitation into which the family was thrown by thisintelligence.

  "O that I had the wings of a dove!" said Mrs. Manly. "For I must go, Imust go to my child!"

  Pride and joy in his youthful heroism, pain and grief for the other'stragic end, all was absorbed in the dreadful uncertainty which hung aboutthe welfare of the favorite son; and she knew that not all the attentionsand praises of men could make up to him, there on his sick bed, for thea
bsence of his mother.

  The family waited, however,--in what anguish of suspense need not to betold,--until the next mail brought them letters from Mr. Egglestone andCaptain Edney. By these, their worst fears were confirmed. Exposure,fatigue, excitement, the wound he had received, had done their work withFrank. He was dangerously ill with a fever.

  "O, dear!" groaned Mr. Manly, "this wicked, this wicked rebellion! Georgeis killed, and now Frank! What can we do? what can we do, mother?" heasked, helplessly.

  While he was groaning, his wife rose up with that energy which so oftenatoned for the lack of it in him.

  "I am going to Roanoke Island! I am going to my child in the hospital!"

  That very day she set out. Alone she went, but she was not long without acompanion. On the boat to Fortress Monroe she saw a solitary anddisconsolate young woman, whose face she was confident of having seensomewhere before. She accosted her, found her going the same journey withherself, and on a similar errand, and learned her history.

  "My husband, that I was married to at the cars just as his regiment wasleaving Boston, has been shot at Roanoke Island, and whether he is aliveor dead I do not know."

  "Your husband," said Mrs. Manly,--"my son knows him well. They were closefriends!"

  And from that moment the mother of Frank and the wife of Atwater wereclose friends also, supporting and consoling each other on the journey.