The Drummer Boy Part 8

"Because we are off in the morning, you know, and I couldn't find you to-day; and----"

"And what, my lad?" said the old man, regarding him with a very tender smile.

"I couldn't bear the thought of going without seeing you once more."

"And what should a young fellow like you want to see an ugly, battered, miserable old hulk like me, for?"

"You have been very kind to me," said Frank, getting hold of the old man's hard, rough hand; "and I shall be sorry to part with you, sir, very sorry."

"Well, well." The veteran tried in vain to appear careless and cynical, as he commonly did to other people. "You are young yet. You believe in friends.h.i.+p, do you?"

"And don't you?" Frank earnestly inquired.

"I did once. A great while ago. But never mind about that. I believe in _you_, my boy. You have not seen the world and grown corrupted; you are still capable of a disinterested attachment; and may it be long before the thoughtlessness of some, and the treachery of others, and the selfishness of all, convince you that there is no such thing as a true friend." And the old drummer gave his mustache a fierce jerk, as if he had some grudge against it.

"O Mr. Sinjin," said Frank, "I shall never think so and I am sure you do not. Haven't you any friends? Don't you really care for any body? Here are all these boys; you know a good many of us, and every body that knows you half as well as I do, likes you, and we are going off now in a few hours, and some of us will never come back; and don't you care?"

"Few, I fancy, think of me as you do," said the old man, in a slightly choking voice. "They call me _Old Sinjin_, without very much respect,"

grinning grimly under his mustache.

"But they don't mean any thing by that; they like you all the time, sir,"

Frank a.s.sured him.

"Well, like me or not," said the veteran, his smile softening as he looked down at the boy's face upturned so earnestly to his in the fire-light, "I have determined, if only for your sake, to share the fortunes of the regiment."

"You have? O, good! And go with us?" cried Frank, ready to dance for joy.

"I've got tired, like the rest of you, of this dull camp life," said the old drummer; "and seeing you pack your knapsack has stirred a little youthful blood in my veins which I didn't suppose was there. I'm off for the war with the rest of you, my boy;" and he poked a coal from the fire to light his cigar, hiding his face from Frank at the same time.

Frank, who could not help thinking that it was partly for his sake that the old man had come to this decision, was both rejoiced and sobered by this evidence of friends.h.i.+p in one who pretended not to believe there was such a thing as true friends.h.i.+p in the world.

"I am so glad you are going; but I am afraid you are too old; and if any thing should happen to you----" Frank somehow felt that, in that case, he would be to blame.

The old man said nothing, but kept poking at the coal with a trembling hand.

"Here, Old Sinjin," said Jack Winch, "have a match. Don't be _singin'_ your mustaches over the fire for nothing;" with an irreverent pun on the old man's name.

"Mr. Sinjin is going with us, Jack," said Frank.

"Is he? Bully for you, old chap!" said Jack, as the veteran, with a somewhat contemptuous smile, accepted the proffered match, and smoked away in silence. "We are going to have a gallus old time; nothing could hire me to stay at home." For Jack, when inspired by the idea of change, was always enthusiastic; he was then always going to have a gallus old time, if any body knows what that is. "Here goes my shoes," pitching those which he had worn from home into the fire.

"Why, Jack," said Frank, "what do you burn them for? Those were good shoes yet."

"I know it. But I couldn't carry them. The other boys are burning up all their old boots and shoes. Uncle Sam furnishes us shoes now."

"But you should have sent them home, Jack; I sent mine along with my clothes. If you don't ever want them again yourself, somebody else may."

"What do I care for somebody else? I care more for seeing the old things curl and fry in the fire as if they was mad. O, ain't that a splendid blaze! It's light as day all over the camp. By jimmy, the fellows there are going to have a dance."

John ran off. Old Sinjin had also taken his departure, evidently not liking young Winch's company. Frank was left once more to his own thoughts, watching the picturesque groups about the fires. It was now midnight. The last of the old straw from the emptied ticks had been cast into the flames, and the broken tent-floors were burning brilliantly.

Some of the wiser ones were bent on getting a little sleep. Frank saw At.w.a.ter spreading his rubber blanket on the ground, and resolved to follow his example. Others did the same; and with their woollen blankets over them; their knapsacks under their heads, and their feet to the fire, they bivouacked merrily under the lurid sky.

It was Frank's first experience of a night in the open air. The weather was mild, although it was now November; the fires kept them warm; and but for the noises made by the wilder sort of fellows they would have slept well in that novel fas.h.i.+on. The drummer boy sank several times into a light slumber, but as often started up, to hear the singing and laughter, and to see At.w.a.ter sleeping all the while calmly at his side, the wakeful ones making sport and keeping up the fires, and the flames glittering dimly on the stacks of arms. The last time he awoke it was day; and the short-lived camp-fires were paling their sad rays before the eternal glory of the sunrise.

The veteran Sinjin beat the drummer's call. Frank seized his drum and hurried to join his friend,--beating with him the last reveille which was to rouse up the regiment in the Old Bay State.

After roll-call, breakfast; then the troops were drawn up under arms, preparatory to their departure. A long train of a dozen cars was at the depot, in readiness to receive the regiment, which now marched out of the old camping-ground to the gay music of a band from a neighboring city.

After waiting an hour on the train, they heard the welcome whistle of the engine, and the still more welcome clang of the starting cars, and off they went amid loud cheers and silent tears.

Frank had no relatives or near friends in the crowd left behind, as many of his comrades had, but his heart beat fast with the thought that there were loved ones whom he should meet soon.

But the regiment reached Boston, and marched through the streets, and paraded on the Common; and all the while his longing eyes looked in vain for his friends, who never appeared. It seemed to him that nearly every other fellow in his company saw friends either on the march or at the halt, while he alone was left unnoticed and uncomforted. And so his antic.i.p.ated hour of enjoyment was changed to one of bitterness.

Why was it? His last letter must have had time to reach his family.

Besides, they might have seen by the newspapers that the regiment was coming. Why then did they fail to meet him? His heart swelled with grief as he thought of it,--he was there, so near home, for perhaps the last time, and n.o.body that he loved was with him during those precious, wasting moments.

But, suddenly, as he was casting his eyes for the twentieth time along the lines of spectators, searching for some familiar face, he heard a voice--not father's or mother's, or sister's, but one scarcely less dear than the dearest.

"My bwother Fw.a.n.k! me want my bwother Fw.a.n.k!"

And turning, he saw little Willie running towards him, almost between the legs of the policemen stationed to keep back the crowd.

VII.

THROUGH BOSTON.

If ever "bwother Fw.a.n.k" felt a thrill of joy, it was then. Willie ran straight to his arms, in spite of the long-legged officer striding to catch him, and pulling down his neck, hugged him, and kissed him, and hugged and kissed him again, with such ardor that the delighted bystanders cheered, and the pursuing policeman stepped back with a laugh of melting human kindness.

"He's too much for me, that little midget is," he said, returning to his place. "Does he belong to you, ma'am?" addressing a lady whose humid eyes betrayed something more than a stranger's interest in the scene.

"They are my children," said the lady. "Will you be so good, sir, as to tell the drummer boy to step this way?"

But already Frank was coming. How thankful he then felt that he was not a private, confined to the ranks! In a minute his mother's arm was about him, and her kiss was on his cheek, and Helen was squeezing one hand, and his father the other, while Willie was playing with his drumsticks.

"I am all the more glad," he said, his face s.h.i.+ning with grat.i.tude and pleasure, "because I was just giving you up--thinking you wouldn't come at all."

"Only think," said Helen, "because you wrote on your letter, _In haste_, the postmaster gave it to Maggie Simpson yesterday to deliver, for she was going right by our house; but Dan Alford came along and asked her to ride, and she forgot all about the letter, and would never have thought of it again, I suppose, if I hadn't seen the postmaster and set off on the track of it this morning. She had gone over to her aunt's, and I had to follow her there; and then she had to go home again, to get the letter out of her other dress pocket; but her sister Jane had by this time got on the dress, in place of her own, which was being washed, and worn it to school; and so we had to go on a wild-goose chase after Jane."

"Well, I hope you had trouble enough for one letter!" said Frank.

"But you haven't heard all yet," said Helen, laughing, "for when we found Jane, she had not the letter, she had taken it out of the pocket, when she put the dress on, and left it on the bureau at home. So off again we started, Maggie and I, but before we got to her house, the letter had gone again--her mother had found it in the mean time, and sent it to us by the butcher boy. Well, I ran home, but no butcher boy had made his appearance; and, do you think, when I got to the meat shop, I found him deliberately sawing off a bone for his dog, with your letter in his greasy pocket."

"He had forgotten it too!" said Frank.