Drummer Boy at Bull Run Page 6

  Leah frowned. “You know, I’m worried about Tuck. Those measles he got, they’ve drained all his strength.”

  “I know. I reckon we ought to go over and see him.”

  They made their way to the regimental hospital, and when they went down the aisles of beds, many of the soldiers spoke, for Leah and her father had visited before, leaving tracts and small gifts. Leah felt sorry for them. They all looked so young. “I wish we could stop and talk to all of them, Pa.”

  “Maybe we can come back later.”

  Then they arrived at Tuck’s cot and saw that it was empty. “Why, he was here yesterday.” Leah blinked in surprise. A male nurse was passing, and she said, “Has Private Givens been dismissed?”

  The nurse, a tall, thin man with a full beard, hesitated. He fumbled at the button on his uniform. “No, miss.” He hesitated again. “Are you his family?”

  “Oh, no, we’re just friends of his.” A premonition came to Leah, and she asked in alarm, “He is all right, isn’t he?”

  The nurse shook his head. “He took real bad, miss, last night. His fever shot up—and there wasn’t nothing we could do for him.”

  Leah and her father stared at the man in horror.

  “You don’t mean,” Mr. Carter whispered, “that he died?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. Too bad! Too bad!” The nurse shook his head. “He was a fine young man. All the men loved him in here.” Sadness came into his eyes, and he stroked his beard. “I never get used to it,” he murmured. “All these young men come to fight for their country, and they die of measles! Too bad. Too bad!”

  Leah walked away quickly, tears blinding her eyes. She was aware that her father was beside her, and when they were outside she turned to him and whispered, “Oh, Pa, how awful! He was such a fine young man … and to die like that … away from home, among strangers …”

  “But he was a Christian,” Mr. Carter said. “We know that much, so we can be glad he’s gone to be with Jesus—as sad as it is to lose him.”

  He looked over the hospital tent and murmured, “How many more will have to die before this war is over?”

  7

  Mr. Lincoln

  Leah had great difficulty getting over the death of Tuck Givens. As a matter of fact, she never did get over it—nor did she ever become accustomed to the deaths that occurred daily among the troops.

  “I don’t think I can stand it, Pa!” she moaned one day. “If it’s this bad before they go to fight, what will it be like afterwards?”

  Washington had filled itself with young men from all over the country. The capital park had become a drill ground, and soldiers stretched on the grass in the shade to watch the activities of other regiments.

  The men of the First Rhode Island spread their bunks beside the patent office. They were dressed in simple coarse uniforms—gray pants, dark blue flannel shirts, and army hats turned up at the side. Across their shoulders they slung their scarlet blanket rolls.

  Daily the troops poured in, until finally Mr. Carter exclaimed one day, “There’s only so many cats you can put in a sack! I don’t know how many more soldiers they think they can stuff into this town.”

  But the Washington populace greeted the newcomers with glee. There had been rumors that the South was mounting an invasion, and Congress and the people welcomed the soldiers. A high board fence had to be built at the depot to protect the troops from the cheering crowds. Every day the population turned out to see them parade onto the avenue. From New Jersey came 3,200 men, the largest group that Washington had ever seen in line. The well-equipped regiments received their baggage and were sent to make camp on the hills around the city.

  By the middle of May, vast loads of freight were coming to Washington by rail and by the Potomac. The navy yard was filled with steamers, schooners, and tugs carrying thousands of blankets and tons of coal, hard bread, and groceries. A herd of cattle ordered to provide fresh beef for the soldiers was put on the grounds of the Washington Monument. Many of them fell into the canal. It took a day and a half to drive them back to the shore, and six fine beefs were drowned.

  Daily they flowed in, and a gaily dressed and carefree crowd strolled through the grounds to the tune of “Yankee Doodle,” “Upidee,” “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” and “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.” Saturday afternoon Marine band concerts went on regularly, and the president hoisted the big new flag contributed by the clerks of the Interior Department.

  One regiment of New Yorkers attracted more attention than others—the Seventh Infantry. A young man named Elmer Ellsworth had recruited a regiment from the volunteer fire departments. A gang of roughs dressed in gray, scarlet, and blue Zouave costumes were armed with rifles and huge bowie knives and encumbered with handsome presentation flags.

  Heavy-shouldered, hard-faced, spoiling for a fight, the fiery Zouaves tumbled off the cars asking for Jeff Davis and growling over the fact that they had not gotten into battle yet. As they marched up the avenue, Ellsworth took the cheers of the gathering crowds. His Zouaves were ready for battle, he declared.

  The fiery Zouaves had little respect for anything. In their gaudy, fancy dress they swung themselves down ropes from the cornice of the Rotunda and hung like monkeys from the edge of the Capitol dome. They had great respect for their little colonel but were as wild as wharf rats. One day some seized a wandering pig, cut its throat, and ate it. They bought new shoes at a fashionable bootmaker’s and directed the bill be sent to Old Abe—President Lincoln. Dinners and suppers, cigars and transportation, were charged to Jeff Davis.

  So Washington’s prayers for soldiers were answered. The country town had been turned into a great confused garrison, and the entertaining novelty soon began to pall. Quiet residential neighborhoods were in an uproar. Soldiers drilled and bugled and drummed all over the place. Irresponsible as children, they fired their weapons in any direction—in the streets and even in houses.

  Leah and her father could not keep enough supplies. The soldiers quickly bought them out, which meant they had to make trips into the city to get more and more supplies for their wagon. They gave away many tracts and Bibles, and almost every night there was a religious service somewhere in the vicinity of the camp.

  Royal and his friend Jay Walters, who had enlisted with him in Pineville, spent a great deal of time with Dan Carter and Leah.

  Another young fellow had joined Royal, whose name was Ira Pickens. Pickens was a tall, lean youth with a head of bushy black hair. He was plain almost to the point of ugliness but spent a great deal of time boasting about his sweetheart back home in Rhode Island—Rosie.

  One day Ira approached Leah with a request.

  She could see he was nervous and tried to put him at ease. “What is it, Ira? Do you need some supplies?”

  “Uh … no … I don’t need nothing out of your wagon, but—” He broke off and stared at the ground. He was obviously embarrassed and could not go on.

  Leah had grown accustomed to the bashfulness of many of the soldiers and asked at once, “What is it, Ira? You know I’ll help you if I can.”

  Ira lifted his eyes and said, “Well, the thing is, I can’t write.”

  This did not come as a surprise to Leah. Many of the young men could not, especially those from backwoods districts.

  Pickens bit his lip. “You know I had to leave my gal Rosie when I jined the army, and I’m afraid some of them fellows that didn’t jine up are giving her the rush. Since I can’t go back and whup ’em, I guess the onliest thing I can do is write her letters.”

  “Oh, why I’d be glad to write her for you. Just a minute.” Leah bustled around, got pen and paper and ink, and sat herself down at the small table just outside their tent. “You just say what you want, and I’ll put it down for you, Ira.”

  Ira slumped down on a nail keg and began to pull at his long bushy hair. Strain came into his eyes as he tried to find the words. Finally he said, haltingly, “Dear Rosie. I am fine. How are you?” He stopped and looked over, sa
ying, “I can’t think of nothing to say.”

  “Why, of course you can,” Leah encouraged. “Just tell her what you’ve been doing.”

  Pickens brightened, and for the next ten minutes he dictated slowly the account of his activities. Then he said, “Yours truly, Ira Pickens.”

  Leah looked up and smiled. “Why, you can’t end a letter like that, Ira!”

  “Why not?” Pickens was truly surprised.

  “This is a letter you might write to your father or your sister,” she protested. She cocked her head to one side and bit the end of her pen. “Rosie’s your sweetheart, isn’t she?”

  “Well, I reckon so.”

  “Well, then, you’ve got to say more than ‘I went to drill this morning.’ You’ve got to say something sweet.”

  “Sweet? Like what?”

  Leah tried to hide the smile that came to her lips. It struck her as amusing that the tall soldier had no more idea of how to write a love letter than he had of writing an encyclopedia.

  “Why, tell her that you miss her. Tell her how pretty she looked the last time you saw her, and tell her that you love her. Ask her to be faithful to you.”

  Ira Pickens perked up. “Yeah,” he said brightly. “Say all that, Leah.”

  Leah laughed. “Why, I can’t put down what I say,” she protested. “Rosie wants to hear what you have to say.”

  Pickens slumped down again and shook his head dolefully. “Aw, I ain’t never had no practice much talking like that!”

  Leah thought for a moment. “Why don’t you write her a poem?”

  “A poem?” Pickens stared at her blankly. If she had asked him to jump over the sun he could not have been more surprised. “Why, Miss Leah, that’s crazy. If I can’t write no letter, how’m I going to write a poem?”

  “Well,” Leah confessed, “I guess that is a bit much. But you’ve got to put a little romance in your letter, Ira. Young ladies expect it.”

  “Do you get letters from your sweetheart, Miss Leah?”

  Leah blushed, “Why—”

  “I expect you do got a suitor, ain’t you?”

  “Why, I’m only thirteen years old!” Leah said. “I’m too young for things like that.”

  But Pickens must have seen her blush, and he was a sharp young man despite his backwardness. He studied her carefully, then grinned. “I bet you have got some young fella that you like, ain’t you, now?”

  Leah tried to deny it, but when he persisted she said, “Well, I do have a friend. We grew up together. His name is Jeff, and we write. I do think a lot about him.”

  “Whereabouts is he?”

  Leah’s face grew sad. She shook her head and said, “He’s in Virginia. His father’s in the Confederate army.”

  “Aw, that’s too bad, Miss Leah,” Ira said. “It’s terrible, ain’t it—the way this war’s done tore people up.” He sat there, a lank shape, his homely face in repose. Finally he said, “Well, you write that letter for me, and I’ll make my mark at the end. Rosie knows I can’t write, but she’ll know my mark.”

  Several times during the next few weeks, Ira came to dictate other letters to Rosie. He took considerable jesting from his fellow soldiers, but he never seemed to grow angry. “That’s all right,” he said to Leah. “Let ’em make fun of me. But with letters like you’ve been writing, why, them other fellas back home ain’t got a chance.”

  “Why don’t you let me teach you how to write, Ira?” Leah asked. “You’re smart enough—it wouldn’t take you any time to learn.”

  Ira shook his head. “Naw, I reckon not. I got me a good letter writer already, and I’m thinking this shooting will be over before I have time to learn anything as complicated as writing. Naw, you just keep writing to Rosie for me.”

  * * *

  It was on a fine afternoon the last of May that Mr. Lincoln came down to inspect the army. All of the companies were driven by their sergeants into their best appearance. Buckles were polished, uniforms had to be neatly pressed and beards trimmed.

  And on the afternoon President Lincoln came, Leah and her father were close enough to see him where he stood in his box.

  “My, he’s tall, isn’t he?” Leah said. She studied his face. “And he doesn’t look at all like a gorilla—not like those Southern newspapers call him.”

  “No,” her father agreed, “he’s got a kind look on his face, hasn’t he? I think he’s just the man we need for our president.”

  For the next two hours the two stood and watched the parade.

  First the infantry strutted by. Company after company divided into brigades, their buttons sparkling in the sun, as—bayonets fixed and gleaming—they marched past the president’s box.

  Then the ground rumbled as teams drew the caissons and cannons by—row after row of them, one man seated on a horse, the other seated on the caisson. After this came a thundering charge by the cavalry, all dressed in blue, their sabers drawn, flashing in the sun.

  Next was a demonstration of artillery fire so that the ground seemed to shake with the sound of the explosions.

  Finally, it was over. Leah and her father went back at once to their wagon, knowing they would be besieged by the soldiers on such an occasion as this. They had laid in a large store of good things to eat, and, as the soldiers crowded around, Mr. Carter murmured, “I wish we could just give this away to these fine young men.”

  “If we did that,” Leah said practically, “we wouldn’t be able to buy any more to pass out to the others.” She was aware that her father was making very little money. He couldn’t bear to see a young soldier who had no money go away empty-handed.

  They worked hard for an hour, and finally the crowd thinned out. All of a sudden someone said, “Look, there he is—Mr. Lincoln!”

  Leah looked up in surprise. The president, accompanied by several government leaders and a group of officers, was making his way down through the troops. Every once in a while, President Lincoln would stop and talk to a lowly private and shake his hand.

  “Pa, he’s coming this way!” Leah whispered with excitement. “I’d give anything just to shake his hand.”

  Then Abraham Lincoln paused right in front of their wagon. His warm brown eyes fell on her, and he advanced at once. He seemed very tall as he looked down at Leah.

  “Well, young lady, I’m glad to see you here serving our fine soldiers.”

  “Yes, sir.” She stumbled, barely able to speak for excitement. “My father and I, we came to do all we could for the Union.”

  “And what might your name be?” the president inquired.

  “I’m Leah Carter, and this is my father, Daniel,” Leah answered quickly. “And my brother, Royal, is in A Company.”

  “So the whole family has come to help the Union?” The president smiled. He did have a homely face, but there was a kindness and a warmth in it that seemed to shed light as he looked around. He shook hands with her father, saying, “You are to be congratulated, sir, on your efforts.”

  Daniel Carter cleared his throat and nodded.

  “Mr. President, I pray for you every day of my life. I know the heavy burden that you’re under, and I pray that God will give you strength to bear it.”

  Lincoln’s eyes opened wide, and he grew sober. “I thank you, sir, and I encourage you to continue to do so. Without the help of the Almighty there is no way that I could carry this burden, but with His help we cannot fail.”

  A murmur of appreciation ran around, and Leah suddenly put out her hand. “Mr. Lincoln,” she said, “can I shake your hand?”

  At once her hand was enclosed in the president’s. It was so large that hers seemed lost, but he held it gently. “Well, I never refuse a chance to shake hands with an attractive young woman,” Lincoln said with a smile. “Where are you from, Miss Leah?”

  “From Kentucky, sir.”

  “Ah, yes, Kentucky.” Lincoln shook his head sadly. “One of our border states, neither Confederate nor Federal. You have great problems there.”

&n
bsp; “Yes, sir. Many of our friends went to be with the South.”

  “Yes, I too have fine friends in the South,” Lincoln said at once. “We must pray that one day soon we will all be united again.”

  Leah looked up and asked before she thought, “Will we win, Mr. President?”

  Lincoln stared at her for a long moment, then whispered, “Yes, Miss Leah, I must believe that the Almighty will bring this country back under one flag again.” He studied her. “You worry about your friends and perhaps relatives in the South?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  Lincoln nodded. “A sad thing.” He hesitated and then put his hand out again. When he had hers in his, he said, “I thank you on the part of your government for what you’re doing to help our brave boys. If you ever need help that I can give, I hope you will come and ask for it.”

  And then he was gone.

  Leah’s hand seemed warm after the pressure of his. As she watched the president walk away, surrounded by the officers and statesmen, she thought suddenly of Jeff so far away in the South. Sadness came over her, but she thought of the president’s words—“The Almighty will bring this country back under one flag again,” and she whispered, “Pa, he’s right, isn’t he? One day this will all be over.”

  Dan Carter put his hand on her shoulder and whispered, “Yes, daughter, one day it’ll all be over, and we’ll be one people again.”

  8

  A New Recruit

  As Jeff stepped down off the train, he discovered that war fever had come to Richmond. A host of young men had flocked to the city to enlist, and he soon learned that their greatest fear was that the big battle would be over before they could become a part of it. As he pressed his way through the streets, the people behaved as though they were infected. They rushed from rally to rally, faces flushed, shouting war slogans.

  “I guess I better go find Pa,” he murmured and managed to make his way through the crowds. He noticed that the volunteer companies that were seeking to enlist new members had rather awe-inspiring names, such as Baker Fire-eaters, Southern Avengers, Bartol Yankee Killers, Cherokee Lincoln Killers, and Hornet’s Nest Riflemen.