LIBRARY or THE COMMANDERY OF 
 THE STATE OF MASSACHUSETTS MILITARY 
 ORDER OF THE LOYAL LEGION OF THE 
 UNITED STATES 
 
 CADET ARMORY, BOSTON 
 
 -^> ^_- 4029 
 
SUNSET STOEIi:S 
 
 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1 
 
 A BOOK FOK BOYS 
 
 N-o. 3. 
 
 ' In the world's broad field of battle. 
 
 In the bivouac of life, 
 Be not like dumb driven cattle! 
 Be a hero in the Btrife ! " 
 
 LOKINGJ-, r>ubli slier , 
 
 219 Washin-gton Street, 
 BOSTON. 
 
 1864. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congregg, in the year 1864, by 
 A. K. LORING, 
 the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of MassachusetU. 
 
 Stereotyped and Printed by 
 
 J. E. Fakwell and Compaitt, 
 
 37 Congress Street Boston. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Thkeb Brothers 13 
 
 II. ClECtTMSTANCES ^^ 
 
 III. Thornton aroused at last 24 
 
 IV. ^Wishes and Plans 31 
 
 V. Drilling and Waiting 41 
 
 VI. Battle and Defeat -^^ 
 
 VII. After the Battle ^^ 
 
 VIII. Horace posts his Pickets 68 
 
 IX. Horace gains the Victory 77 
 
 X. Thornton learns by Experience the Truth 
 
 OF AN old Proverb 87 
 
 XI. Insidious Foes 10*^ 
 
 XII. The Spider and the Fly 115 
 
 XIII. Thornton's Adventure, and Lee's Romance. . .124 
 
 XIV. Horace is taken Prisoner 140 
 
 XV. Bittbr Fruits ^^^ 
 
4 CONTEXTS. 
 
 CaiAPTEE PAGE 
 
 XVI. Van wins the Pbize 157 
 
 XVII. Truth prevails 163 
 
 XVIII. Horace manifests an unfailing Sign of Con- 
 valescence 179 
 
 XIX. "JiiGHTS AND Shadows "... 188 
 
 XX. "Poor Ned," and the Babes in the Wood... 198 
 
 XXI. Gettysburg and the IIospital 211 
 
 XXII. Mr. Grey's Library once more 222 
 
 XXIII. Promotion 232 
 
 XXIV. Horace gains another Victory 240 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 There was no * * lull " in the sunset circle of list- 
 eners when grandma finished reading '' Sketches of 
 Doll Life." What the young critics said will not 
 interest boys, probably, with tlie exception of Har- 
 ry's and Walter's comments, which I give you. 
 
 ' ** They are very well for babies' and little girls' 
 stories, I dare say," said Harry, patronizingly ; *' but 
 you can't expect boys to care about dolls, though I 
 like the part about Frank well enough." 
 
 *' I didn't listen much," said Walter. «' I hope 
 it is our turn now, grandma, and that you '11 give 
 us a jolly soldier story, all about camp life, and 
 fighting, and scrapes, and everything." 
 
 ** Yes," said grandma, taking out quite a formida- 
 ble-looking manuscript ; ** I have written your soldier 
 story, not altogether about soldiers in camp and on 
 the battle-field, but in part about younger soldiers, 
 of whom there are now so many thousands at home, 
 drilling in school, and in play, and at all times and 
 
b INTRODUCTION. 
 
 seasons, in fact, when they are awake, for future 
 active service. They fight battles, too ; are defeated 
 and disheartened, or are victorious and encouraged. 
 These drills and battles are not known over ihe land 
 by bulletins and through newspapers ; but they are 
 many of them as severe and as grand battles as ever 
 were fought ; their reward is greater than the hero's 
 glory, and their record is on high." 
 
 ** I know what grandma means," whispered Har- 
 ry to Walter, — "she means the battles we fight 
 with ourselves ; but I don't see how we are drilling 
 all the time, or who our drill-master is." 
 
 * « Hush ! " said Walter ; * * the story will explain 
 that, perhaps." 
 
 *'As a rule," continued grandma, ** I have not 
 undertaken to give localities or dates, — though both 
 are sometimes mentioned, — because the purpose of 
 my story did not require it, and because you can get 
 facts of that sort much better from those who have 
 been eye-witnesses and participators in what they 
 relate. 
 
 ** After reading the \dvidly portrayed realities of 
 such grand books as Hosmer's * Color Guard,' or 
 Carleton's * Days and Xights on the Battle-Field,' I 
 could hardly venture to sit down in my quiet room, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 and undertake to give you an account of tliat which 
 I had never seen. But the incidents I have given 
 are all of thcni facts, or founded iipon facts, and 
 as such must have an interest and value to you. 
 My story commences with an appeal to the Boys of 
 Our Country.'^ 
 
 *' But, grandma," said Walter, «' boys '11 skip it, 
 at least till they get through the book, and have 
 found out what the story is." 
 
 *' Never mind," answered grandma; ** it will 
 answer my purpose just as well' if they read it at 
 the close as the beginning of the book. As for 
 you," she added, laughing, *'you must hear it 
 whether you will or no, as I have you in my 
 power. So attention all, and listen to me." 
 
AN APPEAL 
 
 TO THE 
 
 BOYS OF OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 My young friends, boys of twelve years of age 
 and upwards, do you know what it is to have a 
 country, — to live for it, to add your mite of effort 
 towards its salvation, in this its hour of peril? 
 
 Do you know what it is to long to be a man, 
 that you may fight, and, if need be, die for your 
 
 country ? 
 
 Do you know what it is to have your cheeks flush 
 and your hearts glow w^ith loyal zeal as you look 
 upon the beautiful star-spangled banner, fighting for 
 love of which many a brave heart, young in years, 
 but old in valor, has given up its last drop of blood? 
 
 Ah, yes ! I know you do. I have seen it in your 
 earnest, honest faces ; I have heard it in words of 
 patriotism that burst frank and indignant from your 
 lips. I know many of you shuddered as you read, 
 but a short time since, in one of our leading periodi- 
 
10 AN APPEAL. 
 
 cals, that thrilling story, entitled, *' A Man without 
 a Countiy." You pitied that man from the depths 
 of your generous boy nature, and you felt almost 
 indignant when you found the story was fiction, not 
 fact. You could hardly believe fiction could seem 
 so real, and you thought it was cruel to arouse your 
 sympathies so needlessly. But it was not cruel, nor 
 needless. The writer of that story, a true lover of 
 his country, knew that fiction would reach where 
 grave argument would not. Perhaps the story was 
 not ^vritten for boys ; but no matter, — it has a les- 
 son for you as for others, and I think all of you who 
 have read it feel more deeply than before the price- 
 less blessing of having a country. 
 
 Yes, you are boys with a country, — and what a 
 country ! Your geogi-aphies tell you of its varied 
 climate, producing the fruits of almost every zone ; 
 its diversified surface ; its grand mountains and 
 peaceful valleys ; it& ice-bound wastes, and its broad 
 prairies ; its majestic rivers and inland seas ; of its 
 vast resources, its wealth of mines, and agricultural 
 products. A country to which Xature has been so 
 bountiful that she has given freely of the sweet and 
 the fatness considered in Eastern lands so essential 
 to luxury ; for her trees and brakes yield sugar, and 
 out of her secret storehouses bubble weUs of oil. 
 
AN APPEAL. * 11 
 
 A country so abounding in wealth and resources 
 that it has astonished the civilized world on the 
 other side of the ocean by carrying on its own wars. 
 A country whose past history is so glorious, and 
 whose prosperity has been so unexampled, as almost 
 to make us forget that not of our own might and 
 power have we done all this. A country whose Gov- 
 ernment is so great a blessing to all, that Rebellion 
 Rfjainst it has aroused almost a whole nation as one 
 man. 
 
 And this is the land each of you can say is 
 my country. And if you say the words and feel 
 them in the depth and breadth of their meaning, 
 you are now fitting yourselves to be true patriots, 
 — not Benedict Arnolds, but Washingtons ; and 
 you will not be partisans, or politicians, but you 
 will be lovers of your country ; and you will feel 
 that this is a w^ar not of North and South, of Lin- 
 coln and Davis, but "a war of right and wrong, and 
 hence God's war. 
 
 And if it is the wish and settled purpose of your 
 heart, as I know it is with some of you, to engage 
 in this war, if your services are needed, when you 
 are old enough to do so, you must remember that 
 now is your best time to drill for it. I do not refer 
 only to the drill most of you get in the military 
 
12 AN APPEAL. 
 
 companies which you have formed for your amuse- 
 ment, — tibough this sort of drilling will be of great 
 service to you, — but I refer to the moral drill you 
 must all pass through to enable you to become true 
 soldiers, where your drill-master is the Eternal prin- 
 ciple of truth and right, who makes known his be-% 
 bests to you through the voice of conscience. Obe- 
 dience to this voice will oblige you to fight many 
 hard battles ; but it will be your best preparation 
 not only for a soldier's life, but for that blessed time 
 when peace shall once more prevail, and but one 
 banner, even the star-spangled one, shall wave over 
 the whole length and breadth of our land ! 
 
 My story commences in the early autumn of 1860, 
 before Abraham Lincoln's election to the Presidency 
 was a fixed fact, and while the political world was 
 seething and boiling, and passing through throes and 
 convulsions, and unnatural comminglings, which re- 
 mind one of the witch's caldron in Macbeth. And 
 who can fail to see in Hecate's answer to the foul 
 spirits she commanded, the counterpart of the com- 
 mendation given by the leadmg men of that period 
 to their tools and servants, — 
 
 *' 0, well done ! I commend your pains, 
 And every one shall share i' the gains." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THREE BROTHERS. 
 
 ** But you will study, Thornton?" 
 
 ** Study? Yes, when I'm in the mood for it, if 
 that ever happens ; but let 's come to an understand- 
 ing, Jolmny dear. If I am a lazy dog, as all agree, 
 I 'm no hypocrite ; and I '11 tell you, my father-con- 
 fessor, and brother St. John, just what I mean to 
 do ; that is, so far as such a floating straw as I am 
 can be said to have any purpose in life. I 'm going 
 out to * Old Kentuck,' to have a good time gener- 
 ally. Now don't look as if I was about to commit 
 all the crimes in the decalogue. I scorn low vices, 
 as you well know, — and, thanks to good influence 
 at home, I 'm inclined to good rather than evil ; but 
 here I am, a good-looking fellow of eighteen, with 
 an average education, for my years, plenty of money 
 in my own right, — thanks to Uncle Thornton Les- 
 ter, — I'm not boasting, only telling facts, you 
 know, with lots of time to settle down to the work 
 
14 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 of life you are always talking about, and doing, too. 
 So I 'm just going to have a right good time on Os- 
 car's plantation this winter, take an observation of 
 life and society in the Southwest, and then, — why, 
 then, I '11 promise to look about In earnest, and settle 
 down to a work-a-day life. Will this suit you, 
 Johnny boy? I hope so, for really I 'm exhausted 
 defining my position." 
 
 " I suppose It must. Thorny, only It seems a dan- 
 gerous experiment for one of your temperament. 
 You don't love to study nor to work ; will you like 
 either any better after six months or more of idle 
 care ? " 
 
 ** Can't say, Johnny; but I'm bound to try the 
 experiment. Now don't look so grave because I 
 can't see life out of your conscientious blue eyes. I 
 shall be a * right smart chance of a man ' yet ; there's 
 the * makln's ' of one In me, — I feel that Intuition 
 sure, — not that I care much about being anybody 
 but just good, easy-going Thornton Lester Grey, 
 ^vlth plenty of money and plenty of fiiends, and a 
 mother and brother, either of whom are good enough 
 to cover up my sins, and carry me straight through 
 purgatory to paradise, but just for this reason, John- 
 ny : no fellow with any heart at all could resist for- 
 ever the example and persuasions of two such persons 
 as mother and yourself. So, now, let a fellow alone, 
 and be sure and be a good boy yourself this winter 
 that Is coming ; and just practise the reverse of all 
 
ECHOES- FROM THE GUN OF ISC 1. 15 
 
 the good advice you gave me, — dmiH study too 
 hard, do lounge upon the sofa, &c. &c. You're 
 a good old chap, after all, and rightly named St. 
 John. Anybody else would be puffed up with 
 conceit between two brothers such as you have, — 
 a ne'er-do-well, like myself, and the incarnation of 
 mischief and deviltry, like Horace. There 's the 
 scamp now." 
 
 And there he was, sure enough ; for the door of 
 the library where the brothers were sitting opened 
 with a jerk, and closed with a bang, and with a 
 loud, ** Hollo, old Sleepy Hollow! here's the 
 candy woman, — give me the two shillings you 
 promised ! " Master Horace stood, poised on one 
 leg, beside Thornton's lounge. After receiving the 
 promised money, he raised his voice to the highest 
 pitch in that fashionable chorus — 
 
 ** Bully for you I O, bully, bully for you ! You 're 
 a regular trump. Thorn. Bully for — Oi, O, O !'* 
 
 This sudden interpolation was called forth by a 
 rap from Thornton ; and the prolonged yell of min- 
 gled fun and vexation which followed, brought 
 another actor on the stage, in the person of ^Ir. 
 Grey. The door which opened to admit him also 
 permitted the escape of Horace. It was made after 
 his own fiishion. Stooping down, he turned a 
 somerset into the hall, and progressed in the same 
 manner through it and down a dark passage into 
 the back premises of the house, jostling against his 
 
16 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Aunt Esther on his way, putting one hand upon and 
 almost crushing Margaret's pet kitten, and causing 
 her to mew out most piteously, and finally knocking 
 over a small girl waiting in the hall. Arrived at 
 the kitchen, he startled the candy woman with a 
 loud — 
 
 * ' Here 's the ready ! give us your saccharine com- 
 pound, Mother Sweety ; and good weight, too ! " 
 
 After this little interlude, the brothers were silent 
 for some time. Thornton rechned lazily upon a 
 lounge, pulling the tassels of a sofa pillow; while 
 St. John sat at a table, his head resting upon his 
 hand, and an anxious expression upon his face. He 
 looked the elder of the two, and far more mature ; 
 but this was doubtless owing in a great measure to 
 the habits of his life. An injury received in early 
 childhood had resulted in a permanent lameness, 
 and threw him much upon mental resources. EQs 
 sad look caught Thornton's eye, and he said — 
 
 *' What a shame, Johnny, you should be lame, 
 and I sound in limb, when you would so revel in 
 freedom of body, and I would quite as lief spend 
 two thirds of my time lounging as not." 
 
 *' I don't agree with you, Thorny," said St. John, 
 smiling. "You certainly never would have been 
 good for anything if you had had the excuse of 
 lameness for your laziness, while I should probably 
 have out-Horaced Horace had I been free to go and 
 come as I liked. I declare to you, Thornton, I have 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 17 
 
 an intense sympathy with that boy's life and spirits, 
 and always pity him when he gets into disgrace, and 
 I feel as if I was a hypocrite to be thought so good 
 and correct, when it 's only circumstances that have 
 made me better behaved than he is." 
 
 ** Well, that's being conscientious with a witness I 
 Circumstances may have made you inactive in body, 
 but none that I can imagine would ever have taken 
 the saint out of your heart, and put — well, mischief 
 into it, or slang phrases into your mouth. By the 
 way, that same Master Circumstance who has done 
 so much for you, may take me in hand yet. Who 
 knows but Oscar may be right, and that Southern 
 talk is not all braggadocio, and that we may yet see 
 fi o-hting in our land of peace and plenty if * Old 
 Abe ' is elected President ? That would be circum- 
 stances with a vengeance, and would make or mar a 
 nation. Imagine me a soldier boy, Johnny ! " 
 
 And with these words, he rose and stood erect, 
 his fine face lighted up with momentary enthusiasm, 
 and his bearing that of one every inch a man. Mo- 
 mentary it was, however, for he did not believe there 
 was any danger of a coming conflict ; for, although 
 there were the gathering clouds and the distant mut- 
 terings which foreshadowed the future tempest, few 
 read the signs of the times aright ; and Thornton 
 Grey's conjecture was but a passing thought. 
 
 j\Ir. Grey, father of the three brothers whom I 
 have so unceremoniously introduced to my readers, 
 
18 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 was a rich merchant in New York, residing during 
 most of the year in a pleasant, attractive home on 
 the Hudson Kiver, some miles from the city. He 
 had not retired from business, simply because his 
 active habits precluded the possibility of his doing so 
 while he had health and strength. 
 
 Mrs. Grey was a woman of refinement and cul- 
 ture, and a true, self-sacrificing wife and mother. 
 The other members of the family, beside the broth- 
 ers, Thornton, St. John, and Horace, were Esther 
 St. John, Mrs. Grey's sister, and Margaret Duncan, 
 an orphan ward of Mr. Grey's, a young girl of fif- 
 teen. Oscar, the eldest son, had married the heiress 
 of a large plautation situated on the Ohio River, in 
 Kentucky. 
 
 You hear a great deal about representative men, 
 and such are held up to you as warnings, or exam- 
 ples, as the case maybe. lam proud to believe Mr. 
 Grey's to be a representative family, — representa- 
 tive of the grand ideas, and grander lives, that the 
 fire of purification which our country is passing 
 through has evoked into being. It is their glori- 
 ous privilege to aj)pear upon the broad stage of life 
 in one of the grandest and most eventful periods of 
 any nation's history. May it be mine to give a faint 
 idea of noble qualities of character, aroused to action 
 by the great alarum which sounded through the land, • 
 from one extreme to the other, in April, 1861. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 The brothers were again interrupted by Horace's 
 entrance, but this time he came shrinking in, cap in 
 hand, with an odd expression upon his face, and 
 strange to relate did not speak a word till St. John 
 said, ** What's the matter, Horace?" 
 
 ** Matter enough; here's a pretty go. It isn't 
 bad enough that Tom Bower's mother must be sick, 
 and all the family have to be packed off to Europe, 
 but ^Ir. Vernon must needs come and take the place, 
 lie 's got a boy just about my age, deformed so' that 
 he can't walk at all, and what do you think? I was 
 tearing through the park just now, with Caesar after 
 me, and between us we upset him in his little hand- 
 carriage, and his head got cut quite badly. I helped 
 the man who was drawing him get him to the house, 
 and there I saw Mr. Vernon, and he said he and my 
 father were good friends, and he hoped we boys 
 should be too. Bother the luck, I say." 
 
 ** Can't say that I quite see the relation between 
 cause and effect this time, scapegrace," said Thorn- 
 
20 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 ton. ** I don't suppose you are obliged to be friends 
 with this youncfster unless you choose to be." 
 
 *' You might see it if you 'd ever take the trouble 
 to think, Thornton," replied the boy, indignantly. St. 
 John knows just what I mean. Do you think I 'm 
 such a mean chap as to knock over a poor lame boy 
 that can't use his legs at all, and almost break open 
 his scull, and then never go near him, or try to do 
 anything for him ? Guess you would n't if you 'd 
 seen his yellow curls and white face all sprinkled 
 with blood, — ugh, it makes me sick to think of it." 
 
 Thornton was touched at the boy's evident feeling ; 
 but he did n't choose to let him see it just then ; so he 
 answered, " a lucky circumstance for you, Hor. A 
 wild, rough boy, your senior and evil adviser steps off 
 the stage, and presto, — on glides your good genius, 
 in the shape of a gentle sickly child. O I see it 
 all, — yoir reform in your manners, always take off 
 your cap when you come into the room where ladies 
 are, bow to and shake hands with mother's visitors, 
 let Margaret and her kitten be at peace, hold aunt 
 Esther's cotton and yarn for her ; in short, become a 
 pattern boy after the manner of Mrs. Nonesuch's. 
 (* My boys never do so and so.') 
 
 <*Then the invalid gains from you some of your 
 superfluous spirits, and so, all through circumstances, 
 we get a pattern boy, and Mr. Vernon a happier 
 son." 
 
 ** You may laugh as much as you like, Thornton," 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 21 
 
 said Horace, quickly, '* but don't hold up to nie 
 tho^e ^'onesuch boys. I wish their mother could see 
 them kick, and pinch, and spit in the servants' faces, 
 and knOw the mean tricks they're up to, out of her 
 sight ; such as lying, reading lessons off books, 
 stealing candy and pencils. But St. John, whatever 
 am I to do about this business ? " 
 
 *' Thornton is right, Horace. I dare say it will be 
 a lucky circumstance for you. It will draw out the 
 feelings of your kind heart ; you can do so many 
 things for the boy. You, such a stout, strong fel- 
 low, and he so weak and youtig. I '11 go with you 
 to-morrow to see him, and after that I dare say you'll 
 not mind going by yourself. As for Tom Bowers," 
 he added, with a quizzical look, " I wish. him a pleas- 
 ant voyage." 
 
 *« You are the best kind of a fellow, St. John, to 
 help a chap like me out of this scrape ; guess I can 
 behave under your wing, though I don't much fancy 
 this sort of thing ; goody boys ain't much in my line. 
 I '11 go and look over some games to carry to him. 
 No, I '11 run down to Hyde's first, to do that errand 
 for mother, I forgot this morning. Here Caes, — 
 where are you, old Conqueror? Guess we've crossed 
 the Rubicon to-day, and are in for it good or bad, 
 fun or no fun." 
 
 And off he ran followed by Ctesar, boy and dog 
 vicing with each other as to which should be the 
 noisiest. 
 
22 ECHOES FROM THE t}UN OF 1861. 
 
 *'Ifyou have, as you say, Thornton, tlie * mak- 
 ings* of a man in you, I'm sure Horace has, too." 
 
 *' Yes, yes, he has more heart than I thought. 
 How pale he looked when he spoke of the blood ! I 
 answered him as I did because I was afraid he 'd 
 break down, and he 's just the boy to think it a great 
 weakness if he did." 
 
 Thornton spent the winter, as he proposed, with 
 his brother Oscar. The effect of that winter upon 
 his character will appear incidentally in the progress 
 of my story. An extract from the commencement 
 of his journal, kept while there, because he promise^ 
 St. John he would do so, and one at the close, will 
 give some idea of the change in his feelings, caused 
 by circumstances. 
 
 October, 1860. " I am delighted with every- 
 thing in this beautiful region ; with this grand rolling 
 country, its lofty woods and broad flowing river with- 
 out, and the hearty hospitality within ; with my 
 brother's pretty wife and her charming southern man- 
 ners. I must own this is a life after my own heart. 
 Late to bed and later to rise ; social visiting ; none 
 of your formal parties, but an unceremonious drop- 
 ping in to spend day or night, plenty of servants, 
 respectful and well trained, hunting, riding, and 
 driving, on fine days ; smoking, chatting, lounging 
 or reading, on dull ones. No study yet. N. B. 
 Not in the mood for it. O Johnnv, Johnny, what 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE C CN OF 18G1. 23 
 
 will you say? And yet if * the proper study of 
 mankind, is man/ 1 'm not altogether idle." 
 
 April, l^iJl. " I can scarcely believe my own 
 eyes. When I went <lown stairs this morning, I saw 
 over the glass in the sitting-room, a large cockade 
 of red, white, and red ; and this after yesterday's 
 news from Fort Sumter! Home, home to-night, 
 where I shall find loyal hearts, and, God willing, my 
 work too." 
 
 *' Speed Malise, speed " 
 
 * * * * 
 
 ♦*The muster-place be Laurie Mead. 
 Instant the time. Speed Malise, speed." 
 
CHAPTER in. 
 
 THORNTON AROUSED AT LAST. 
 
 I MUST again bring my young friends into Mr. 
 Grey's library where the whole family are gathered, 
 including Thornton, who has just returned from 
 Kentucky. He is giving an account of his journey 
 home, and we will listen with the family circle and 
 hear what he has to relate. 
 
 '* Yes, father, I left Mulberry Grove, the 14th, 
 for Louisville, intending to start for home that very 
 night. But owing I suppose to the state of sup- 
 pressed excitement I had been in for weeks, when 1 
 arrived at our good friend's Mr. Woodford's I was 
 really sick. He sent me to bed at once, and for 
 some days I was forced to stay there. Just imagine 
 me chained to a sick-bed, my mind in a perfect chaos 
 of feeling, and a furor of excitement raging in the 
 city. My friends could not keep the state of things 
 from me, for no one felt any security, in going to bed 
 at night, that there might not be some violent out- 
 break before morning, for though as true and loyal 
 hearts beat in Louisville as elsewhere in the Union, 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 25 
 
 the strengtli of the opposing element was not known. 
 Or rather it was known that there were in the city at 
 that time many determined, reckless spirits, among 
 them I beheve isome of that most chivalric band. 
 Knights of the Golden Circle, and who only needed 
 a resolute leader to do a vast amount of mis.chief. 
 Our friend too might be a marked man, not only for 
 his known loyalty to the Government, but for his in- 
 terest in every cause of humanity. In case of diffi- 
 culty I should only be a hindrance, so I made up my 
 mind to start for home as soon as I could safely do 
 so. As readily and kindly as I had been received 
 and cared for, I was helped to get off, for both Mr. 
 and jNIrs. AVoodford knew how impatient I was. 
 
 ** But," said Mr. Grey, *' you have not told us 
 how you left Oscar and his wife affected at this 
 change of affairs. Lina, I suppose, with her South- 
 ern education, prejudices, and interests might incline 
 to excuse the South ; but Oscar, I cannot imagine 
 him, a Northerner, and my son, to have any sympathy 
 with the South, or to take but one view of the 
 matter." 
 
 *' Pie has but one view of it, father," replied Thorn- 
 ton, bitterly ; ** what that view is will appear when I 
 tell you that, the morning I left, a red, white, and 
 red cockade was put up over the glass in the family 
 sitting-room, and that Lina appeared at the breakfast- 
 table with a breast-knot of the same colors. Our 
 parting was none too brotherly, for I had swallowed 
 
26 ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 my anger and indignation so often, had forborne and 
 kept silence till forbearance and silence seemed no 
 longer a virtue, that in reply to Oscar's dignified ad- 
 vice that I should not degrade myself by herding 
 with Yankee pedlers and Northern abolitionists to 
 sustain a rail-splitting President, I gave him not a 
 piece, but the whole of my mind upon the subject. 
 I scorned, however, to notice his fling at our Presi- 
 dent, farther than to say that the world would pro- 
 nounce judgment upon him, and that it was not for 
 Northerner or Southerner to say this or that. The 
 verdict was to pass to a broader tribunal than ours ; 
 that I hoped I should be found worthy to fight side by 
 side with the rank and fife of my countrymen, in the 
 cause of my country. That was my cause and the 
 cause of every loyal heart in the land." 
 
 At this moment, while Thornton paused for breath, 
 Horace, who had been listening with evident interest, 
 but at the same time with an amused look of aston- 
 ishment, cried out, '* Bully for you. Thorn; three 
 cheers and a tiger for the chap that speaks his mind." 
 Then going towards him and looking at him from 
 head to foot, he added, ««I say, is this old Sleepy 
 Hollow? 
 
 * If this be I, as sure it cannot be, 
 M7 little dog Tray '11 know me.' 
 
 **Here, Cass, old boy, come and see if this is 
 Thorn. Yes, all right, go ahead." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 27 
 
 All laughed at this most unexpected interruption, 
 and Mrs. Grey said it was the step ffom the sublime 
 to the ridiculous ; and Thornton good-naturedly an- 
 swered, ''I don't wonder you r'e surprised, Horace. 
 I 'm astonislied at myself. It 's the latent St. John 
 element coming out at last, in part I suppose but not 
 entirely. There's a spirit abroad in the land one 
 must be a heartless, witless fellow to withstand, 
 AVhy, my journey home has been a grand triumphal 
 procession. The only trouble was, steam was too 
 slow^ for us. AVe should have travelled on the tel- 
 egraph wires, only they would n't accommodate us; 
 but I must tell you of tlie journey. Such a perfect 
 spring morning as it was when I left Louisville to 
 cross to Jeffersonville to take the cars to Cincinnati ! 
 It was one of those mornings when Xature was so 
 lovely and peaceful, with all her fair promise of fu- 
 ture growth and beauty, that it was hard to realize 
 how disturbed men's minds w^ere ; yet you read it in 
 every face. AVhile we were crossing on a slow ferry- 
 boat which sidled over la Belle Riviere at the rate ap- 
 parently of one step back to two forward, it was amus- 
 ing to watch the impatient looks of some of the 
 passengers. One tall, rough-looking backwoodsman 
 halloed to a passing craft, " I say, shipmate, could n't 
 you give this ere craft a shove across the river. I 'm 
 going home to list, but reckon old Abe '11 'bout have 
 the fight settled up 'fore I git thar." 
 
 However, w^e did get across at last, and, once 
 
28 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 started in the cars, the pace of the iron-horse was a 
 little more suited to our feelings, though, as I said, 
 all too slow. 
 
 I had seen flags waving in Louisville, and the 
 grand national colors appearing in shop windows, in 
 knots and bows for ladies dresses and children's uni- 
 forms, but I hardly looked to see such a display of 
 flags of all sizes and material as greeted our eyes as 
 we steamed along in sight at times of the Ohio River. 
 For vessel, boat, or steamboat to be without the flag 
 was the exception, and the nearer we drew towards 
 Cincinnati the thicker we saw them, from steeple 
 and belfrey, mansion-house or hut; now floating 
 broad and full to the breeze, and again so simple and 
 unpretending you could hardly see the red, white, 
 and blue. 
 
 As I saw these beautiful colors over and over 
 aorain, till evervthinsr seemed almost as if seen 
 through a red, white, and blue medium, their signif- 
 icance flashed through my mind. Red, the very hue 
 of the lifeblood so many would erelong give up to 
 their country; white, the emblem of purity, — hence 
 of truth and right ; blue, heaven's own color. 
 
 Well, the end of all this excited state of feeling, 
 for I 'm not used to thinking and talking as St. John 
 is, you know, irdon't come naturally, but by inocu- 
 lation, the end of it was a raging headache, which 
 sent me to bed when I got to Cincinnati. 
 
 I was vexed enouo^h at the time at the detention, 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 29 
 
 but glad when morning came and I got up bright and 
 welU and still more glad when I found that part of 
 an Ohio regiment were to be our companions for 
 some distance. Just now no one travels except from 
 business or necessity, and there were not many pas- 
 sengers in our car, so the soldiers filed in one after 
 the°other, in their new uniforms, bright equipments, 
 with an expression on their earnest, manly faces tha,t 
 did me good to see. Some had wreaths upon their 
 arms, others a knot of the loyal colors in a button- 
 hole, and others still carefully held bouquets, all of 
 which I suppose were parting tokens from wife, sis- 
 ter, or one dearer than sister. I sat for a while on 
 the seat with their superior officer, a man about fifty 
 years of age, and, as I should judge, an educated 
 and professional man. He said Ohio had responded 
 bravely to the President's call ; she had ^iven of her 
 best, and that thousands more were ready and willing 
 to go if needed. This regiment, he said, were of a 
 superior class of young men ; that they were from 
 eighteen to twenty-five years of age, some few older, 
 some of them married, and that all had left study or 
 profitable business to enlist. 
 
 I had been so intent before we started in looking at 
 the soldiers, that I noticed nothing else, and w^as quite 
 startled when we were fairly on the way, at the 
 demonstration which greeted us, and which followed 
 us for two or three miles out of the city. Women 
 waved their handkerchiefs from every door, window, 
 3* 
 
30 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 and yard. Men and boys took off tbelr hats and 
 with hurrahs and shouts expressed their last good 
 wishes, and children of both sexes waved miniature 
 flags. It was as if we were a conquering army, so 
 great seemed the jubilee ! " 
 
 ''Yes," said Mrs. Grey; "you saw the signs 
 of jubilee ; you did not see the sad and tearful faces 
 yon left behind." 
 
 " No, mother, and I don't think the boys thought 
 much of it, either. One idea had the mastery, one 
 idea beamed from their frank, determined faces, and 
 found utterance from their lips, — devotion to the 
 death to their country's service. By and by, in the 
 toilsome march and the tedious camp life, they will 
 think of those they left grieving at home. I was 
 sorry enough when we parted with them. I dare 
 say my account seems very tame, but it was grand 
 to see, as you might suppose," he added, laugh- 
 ingly, to St. John, "since it has broken the spell 
 which bound the enchanted knight. Now I am 
 fairly entitled to a lounge on my old couch. Don't 
 I look natural, now Thornton's himself again ? - If 
 you please, good friends, I '11 listen to you now." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AVISHES AKD PLANS. 
 
 For a few moments no one spoke. St. John's 
 flashinn^ eye and flushed cheek told liow heartily he 
 entered into his brother's enthusiasm. Mrs. Grey 
 looked fondly and sadly upon her son, knowini^ full 
 well the sacrifice that was about to be demanded of 
 her. Mr. Grey walked back and forth in the library, 
 his countenance ojrave almost to sternness. INIarsra- 
 ret wiped away the silent tears that she could not 
 keep back, and Horace sat tilting his chair most pre- 
 cariously, evidently thinking very deeply for him. 
 Miss St. John, who had been knitting w^hile Thorn- 
 ton was talking, continued her occupation. She had 
 not spoken at all, but her face had undergone curious 
 transformations of alternate contempt, pride.. Indig- 
 nation, and triumph as her nephew proceeded. She 
 now broke the silence by laying her work in her lap 
 and exclaiming, emphatically, **I wish I was a 
 man." 
 
 Xow the expression of this wish was so common 
 with Aunt Esther that usually no one noticed it, 
 unless it might be Horace, in some saucy aside to 
 
32 , ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Margaret, sucli as he wished so too, and then she 
 would n't be spying upon him all the time. But she 
 spoke now with so much feeling that Mr. Grey said, 
 "Take heart, Esther; your work is coming. If I 
 do not mistake, women will have a work to do in 
 this war as grand as any, and that soon." 
 
 '' Yes, yes, I know, — to stay at home to endure, 
 to be tortured with anxiety, to weep while their near- 
 est and dearest are suflferinGr and dvino^. That 's not 
 my work ; I 'm neither patient nor good enough for 
 it." 
 
 *' There will be other work for you, Esther, — 
 work that will try the stoutest heart and nerve of 
 man or woman. The hospital which follows surely 
 in the wake of war, will give you horrors enough. 
 For the rest," he added, smiling, '* you have the mis- 
 fortune to be a woman, and I see no remedy for it." 
 
 ** The hospital will do I suppose for want of any- 
 thing better and more stirring, only how can I wait? 
 I should like a chance at the enemy as some of the 
 Revolutionary women had. I should like to fight 
 these unnatural monsters who got up this Rebellion. 
 I wish T bad been in Baltimore when the villains 
 fired upon ihe brave Massachusetts Sixth. But as to 
 sitting here at home coddling myself, and knitting or 
 even sewing for the soldiers, I can't do it when our 
 liberties and our Government are in danger. I never 
 have been over-fond of -'woman's rights" women, 
 but it seems hard to me, now, that when I should 
 
ECHOES FROM TIIE GUN OF 18G1. 33 
 
 like to figlit, and could fight too with any man of 
 them all, I must stay at home and be nothing but a 
 cross-grained old maid, grinding my own heart out ; 
 for truer words never spake poet than these : — 
 
 " A millstone apd the human heart are driven ever round ; 
 If they have notliing else to grind, they must themselves be 
 ground." 
 
 <* Well, auntie," said Thornton, " as father says, 
 you '11 soon have better work than that to do ; and as 
 for being crose-grained, why you'll nurse me mo5t 
 tenderly yet in the hospital; and for the matter of 
 that, the Rebels too, if they need your nursing." 
 
 " The Kebels, never. Never; if I know my own 
 heart there 's not a particle of kindness or charity for 
 them in it ; yourself, yes, if you need it." 
 
 ** You are going to the war, then ?" said Mr. Grey 
 to Thornton. *' A superfluous question, however." 
 
 *' I should think so, sir. I stopped at a recruiting 
 office on my way through the city, and enlisted for 
 myself or a substitute ; the latter was a form till I 
 could get the consent from you I was sure of." 
 
 *' So soon," was all Mrs. Grey could say. 
 
 ** Yes, mother; I knew you could not hold me 
 back." 
 
 ** And father," please let me go as drummer-boy," 
 said Horace, emboldened to make the request he had 
 been pondering during his tilts back and forth upon 
 his chair, by the ready acquiescence of his parents iu 
 
34 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Thornton's plans. Rub a club, rub a dub, dub, dub ; 
 that'll be jolly. Say, father, mayn't I go." 
 
 '* I should think not; certainly not, till you have 
 drummed a little more steadiness into yourself. It 
 would be rather unfortunate if you should throw 
 down your drum and run into the woods after squir- 
 rels, or to recreate yourself with standing on your 
 head or turning somersets." 
 
 «* By the way, Hor," said Thornton, observing the 
 black expression of Horace's face ; ' ' What 's become 
 of little Verner? What's his name, IJerbert? Did 
 he prove a goody boy, as you feared he would ? " 
 
 * ' He goody ? why he 's a trump ; a face card ; high, 
 low, jack, and the game, altogether ; as spunky, as 
 peppery as Bob Sims, as merry as merry can be, and 
 as good as — St. John." 
 
 " What rare combination of qualities. Pray, how 
 do pepper versus pepper agree ? " 
 
 *' O, when he's mad I'm good as mother's pie, 
 and still as mice when the cat 's about ; but then he 
 never does get mad unless somebody's done some- 
 thing mean or dirty, and I don't go in for that you 
 know. When I get mad at nothing he never says a 
 word, only looks sorry, and I can't stand that look 
 on his pale face. He says he'd go flrummer-boy if 
 he was sound in limb, that is, if his father 'd let him. 
 He's got all sorts of red, white, and blue things 
 about, flags and rosets on things, and cockades ; and 
 my, how his eyes shine, and how red his cheeks are 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 35 
 
 when he gets talking. He says, I play about and 
 am so active that 1 do not know what it Is to feel as 
 he does, because I can't have so much time to think, 
 and hear what older people say. When he 's so ex- 
 cited I tell him he 's a Hag of the union himself." 
 
 ** How's that?" 
 
 *' Why, his eyes are blue, blue as the sky, and his 
 skin is white, all but those red spots in his cheeks. 
 Isn't there red white and blue for you? O, he's a 
 bully chap, and I pity him so." 
 
 *' Pity him, isn't he happy?" 
 
 *« Why, yes, in a way. St. John '11 tell you all 
 about that. But do you think you 'd be as happy 
 as you would be if you wanted to be up and doing, 
 and scrabbling about everywhere, and wrestling, and 
 playing, and fighting (good-natured fighting) with 
 other boys, and into all sorts of scrapes and fun, and 
 then if you had n't any limbs to do all this Avith, and 
 had just to keep quiet and be good, whether you 
 wanted to or not. I say, do you think ijou ^d like it ? '* 
 
 '* No indeed, Horace, I should not. You pity him 
 then because his free active spirit is chained down by 
 his feeble body." 
 
 ** Yes, that's It exactly. Now if he was a quiet, 
 tame, good boy, I 'd like him well enough I suppose, 
 but I should n't care for him as I do now, and I 
 should n't pity him. I hate to be pitied, and I never 
 let on to him that I feel so. But I 've heard and 
 talked enough for one day, so here goes. Make a 
 
36 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 bow to Captain Grey, Cass, and let's be off. I'm 
 almost stifled." 
 
 *' Stop humbug, private Grey at your service," 
 said Thornton. 
 
 *' Tell that to your granny," cried Horace, in a 
 most incredulous tone as he closed the door, and tore 
 through the hall, boy fashion. 
 
 *' Never mind his manners, mother," said Thorn- 
 ton, as he observed the pained expression upon Mrs. 
 Grey's face as Horace left the room. His heart is in 
 the right place, and he 's a noble little fellow in spite 
 of slang. He has too much spirit to be decorous. 
 The circumstance of that acquaintance has done some- 
 thing for him," he added turning to St. John. 
 
 " Thornton," said his mother, gravely, " what will 
 circumstances do for you? I dread the peril your 
 body will be exposed to when you go to the war, but 
 I dread far more the peril to your soul when you are 
 in daily intercourse with the profane and vicious." 
 
 '' Not so much danger there as you think," inter- 
 rupted Mr. Grey. *' Men who go to a war like this, 
 from the highest motives of patriotism and duty, have 
 all their best qualities called forth. Their lower pro- 
 pensities are kept in check or it may be cured." 
 
 *« Yes, mother ; and beside that, the same circum- 
 stances that hinder one man in the right, help another. 
 Now, by education and tastes, I am opposed to vice 
 in any form, and I hope to turn these same circum- 
 stances to a good pm'pose." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 37 
 
 <* 111 tell you what," he added, rising and walking 
 about. * * I mean to keep a special journal for Horace, 
 in which, beside putting down things that will amuse 
 and interest him, I will particularly note instances 
 w*here individuals have controlled circumstances,, and 
 brought good out of evil. Perhaps I'll sometimes 
 give him the reverse side to make the right stand out 
 more boldly. Poor fellow, he really thought you'd 
 let him go as as drummer-boy, father, I do believe." 
 
 **The last thing I should consent to for a boy 
 like him. He has a great deal to learn yet, before 
 he can leave home in any capacity." 
 
 An hour later, as Thornton was still lying upon 
 the lounge resting from his fatigue, and thinking over 
 the change in his life that was so soon to take place, 
 he heard Horace whistling to Ctesar in the hall. 
 Presently he came to the door of the library and 
 looked in. When he saw that Thornton was alone 
 his careless manner changed at once, and coming' up 
 to his brother, said, *' I say. Thorny, can't you per- 
 suade father to let me go as drummer-boy ; I 'm in 
 earnest, I should like it of all things." 
 
 «< No, Horace, I cannot, for two reasons; — one 
 is, it would be useless to try, as his mind is fully 
 made up on the subject ; and then again it would be 
 the worst place in the world for you." 
 
 <« I can't see why. I 'm tall and stout and strong 
 for my age, fourteen, and I can bear as much fatigue 
 as a man. I 'm tired of this lazy life up here." 
 
 4 
 
38 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 '* You cannot bear as much fatigue as a man, and 
 you are so restless and cliaugeable, liow could you 
 conform to the strict rules of the camp and the field ? 
 Then, too, you know you are a fiery, hot-tempered 
 chap ; you 'd be getting into difficulty all the time ; 
 and although I do not believe you are really low in 
 your tastes, you do talk slang, and sometimes keep 
 company that 's not the best for you, and you don't 
 know the temptations you 'd be exposed to in the army. 
 No, no, Horace, you ought not to think of going 
 from home till you Ve got a little more of the good 
 home can give you, if you'll take it. Father told you 
 you must drum a little more steadiness into you before 
 you. thought of the army ; and I tell you, you must 
 fight many a battle with yourself, before you can do 
 any other fighting, or even drum to incite others." 
 
 * * Its mighty easy for you to talk, Thorn. A Sleepy 
 Hollow like you never had any battles to fight. I 
 wish you could be in my skin for a while and see how 
 hard it is to be proper, and talk book, and keep still, 
 and all that sort of thing. The very thing I want to 
 go for is to use up some of my superfluous steam. 
 I shall biu-st my boiler one of these days up here in 
 this old stujiid Dutchified place." 
 
 <* No battles to fight," said Thornton, rising to 
 his feet, — *' why all the demons that torment you 
 to your harm, of unrest, mischief, temper, and what 
 not, are nothing to my one great enemy, call him 
 what name you will, laziness, selfish ease, inertia, or 
 
ECHOES FKOM TIIE GUN OF 18G1. 39 
 
 Sleepy Ilollowism. Your foes that you tuust fight 
 can be made your servants and aids if you subdue 
 them, and will help you along in any cause in life. 
 My foe has always to be contended against; he bids 
 me lie still when I should be up and doing; idle 
 when I should study ; lounge, when duty says, what 
 thy hand findeth to do, do with thy might. He is 
 insidious too, and plausible, and would fain make me 
 think that he keeps me out of harm. Xo, no, Hor, 
 give me your enemies and you shall have my old man 
 of the sea. Once saddled with such an incubus 
 you '11 soon beg for your little lively imps back agaiti, 
 and be quite content that all you have to do is to train 
 them a little and make them help you." 
 
 * ' I never tJiought of that before ; I always sup- 
 posed my fault»»were the worst a fellow could have 
 and the hardest to fight with, I hear so much about 
 them ; but now I see it must be a deal harder to want 
 to do nothing all the time, and feel that you must 
 and ought to be at work. Guess you may keep your 
 old man of the sea ; I always did pity poor Sinbad." 
 
 ** 1 thought so," said Thornton. ' * Xow you '11 stay 
 at home and fight more willingly wont you ? We '11 
 report to each other what progress we make; not 
 perhaps in detail ; but we '11 let each other know 
 about how we get along, I in the army, you at home 
 in school, and we can draw our own inferences." 
 
 ** Yes, I should like that; only don't you go to 
 preaching to me. I get enough of that, one way 
 
40 ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF ISGl. 
 
 and another. It'll be a blessed thing for me if 
 Aunt Esther docs go off to a hospital. I quite 
 agree with her that there 's no scope for her here." 
 
 *'You'll miss her enough, if she does go, you 
 ungrateful scapegrace," replied Thornton, with a 
 laugh : " she 's only too good to you." 
 
 ** Yes, sir," was the reply, with a prolonged 
 sound of the r that did n't quite amount to the slang 
 expression in vogue ; ** that 's just what I say, — too 
 much of a good thing she gives me." 
 
 *< Incorrigible ! " said Thornton ; " never fear that 
 I shall waste preaching, as you call it, upon you ; 
 besides," he added, seriously, *« there is no need. 
 The record of my life in the army w^ill be sufficient. 
 If good, you will know it, and profit by it, I believe. 
 I hope it may not be such as to injurg you." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 DRILLING AND WAITING. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT later found Thornton in camp, near 
 AYashington, really entered upon his soldier's life. 
 He had "adhered to his resolution of enlisting as a 
 private, although his father could easily have pro- 
 cured a commission for him. But he said he knew 
 nothing of the duties of an officer, that he was not 
 fit to command, and that he would go into the ranks 
 and earn promotion before he accepted it. His 
 father readily assented to his wishes in this respect, 
 feeling that his judgment was correct; and his 
 mother, though she sighed over his anticipated pri- 
 vations, as loving mothers will, said no word to dis- 
 suade him from his purpose. Fondly and tenderly 
 she looked after her brave boy, whom she hardly 
 knew to be hers, in the altered character in which 
 he now appeared ; and with her prayers and bless- 
 ings he had gone forth from the home of his child- 
 ho°od, as thousands have gone beside him,— some 
 to be almost miraculously preserved from peril; 
 some to hunger and die in Southern prisons ; some 
 to win glory and honor on the field; some to be 
 4* 
 
42 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 taken in strange and mysterious ways while yet 
 their young brows were wreathed with unfading 
 laurels of noble deeds, and all to a certain life of 
 exposure and hardship. Such portions of his jour- 
 nal as were written expressly for Horace I shall lay 
 before my young readers. 
 
 May, '61. Well, Hor, the Eebs didn't take 
 Washington ; did n't march on to Philadelphia and 
 New York, to the tune of 
 
 " See, the conquering hero comes ! " 
 
 didn't have a good time generally pillaging these 
 cities ; did n't dictate a peace upon their own terms, 
 and then settle down as the aristocratic race par em- 
 inence, and found a mighty empire, of which slavery 
 was the chief corner-stone, before whose might and 
 power Yankee tinkers and Northern mudsills and 
 abolitionists should bow in reverence, thankful for 
 being allowed the privilege of submission. 
 
 I say they didn't do all this. Why? 
 
 Simply because, literally and metaphorically, the 
 United States Government was too many for them, 
 — because the American heart beats true and loyal 
 to the good old flag, and thousands upon thousands 
 are ready to fight and if need be to die under its 
 folds. 
 
 How astounded the Southerners are at this great 
 uprising of the North ! I must laugh when I think 
 
ECHOES FROM THE. GUN OF 18G1. 43 
 
 how they have reckoned without their host. I used 
 to hear them talk, last winter, in their arrogant 
 fiishion, and say that, in case of a collision with the 
 North, there would be a large party there who would 
 join them, — that, as the Yankees were not a nation 
 of gentlemen, accustomed to field sports, and to 
 avenging insulted honor, they were no fighters, and 
 that one Southerner was equal to five Northerners, 
 — that while they should send their best blood into 
 the field, the flower of Southern chivalry, we at the 
 North should depend upon foreign mercenaries and 
 low mudsills to do our fighting. 
 
 All this stuflf the majority of the people South 
 have been taught to believe ! 
 
 Now put on your magical glasses, and come and 
 look with me at our encampment, and judge for 
 yourself whether we are in earnest or not. From 
 this hill we look down upon the white tents which, 
 scattered far and near, form the present lodging of 
 the Army of the Potomac. Some of these tents are 
 in thick clusters, in the open country ; others gleam 
 out through forest-trees. In open spaces yoii see 
 men in squads, companies, and regiments, infantry 
 and cavalry, going through all the various evolutions 
 which constitute the drilling of a great army. Look 
 at. them ! You can count them by hundi'cds and 
 thousands, and know that you are looking upon men 
 of all ranks and conditions in life, animated by one 
 spirit and one purpose. 
 
44 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 You 're a bright boy, Horace, so comment is need- 
 less. We 're bound to conquer. Some of our wise 
 ones say it '11 not be done in a hurry, — that we un- 
 derrate the force and earnestness of the enemy ; but 
 we boys most of us think one good drubbing from 
 our army '11 bring them to terms. 
 
 Tell St. John I 've had an opportunity already of 
 seeing how some of our boys use circumstances. 
 We have a good deal of leisure, and many of our 
 officers, and some of the men who have influential 
 friends, spend a great deal of their time in Washing- 
 ton, — evidently, for the most part, to their injury. 
 Removed from the restraints of home, and exposed 
 to the temptations ever springing up in their path, too 
 many make a poor use of their privileges, and enter 
 into dissipation that would shock their friends at 
 home, if they knew of it. Inaction in camp is bad 
 for all. Some of us, who have no inclination for 
 dissipation, stay quietly on here; and others, who 
 are strongly tempted, bravely resist. Such are 
 fighting their hardest battles now. But I don't for- 
 get I'm not to preach, and that you want to know 
 about my companions in arms. Opportunely for 
 the introduction, Pat Finnegan cries out, — 
 
 *«Be my sowl, it's meself that 's tired of this ploy 
 fightin' ! " 
 
 ** That 's so, Pat," breaks in Jake Brown's rough 
 voice. *' I come to fight, and ef I don't git a 
 chance soon to pull my trigger, I 'd a tarnation heap 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 45 
 
 rather be In tlie woods among the pine trees to 
 hum.'' 
 
 '* You 'II have fighting enough soon, old boy; 
 and maybe then you '11 wish you had some of your 
 old friends to protect you. A tree 's a good screen," 
 said Jolin Trimmer, whom, for certain reasons, we 
 call Brag. 
 
 '* Maybe," said Jake, dryly; ** but for lack of a 
 tree I '11 git behind you. I can stoop, and your back 
 is broad enough to shield a chap." 
 
 V I 'm afraid you '11 hardly do that, for I shall be 
 in the thickest of the tight." 
 
 "• Thickest? dare say," growled Jake, *' leaving 
 out the s." 
 
 *' Good for old Holdfast," roared another of our 
 boys, Jim Whittler, who is a wag in his way, and 
 whom I don't know as fighting will ever make sober. 
 
 Jake Brown is a Maine backwoodsman, who hap- 
 pened to be In Xew York at the time of the call for 
 troops, and who enlisted at once, without waiting to 
 return home, and whom we call Holdfast. 
 
 Ned HowCj of our set in the city, but now my 
 superior oflficer, to whom I am obliged to be very 
 respectful in public, is not going on very well. He 's 
 one of those fellows our present life will make or 
 mar. Just now he goes to the city too often for his 
 own good. He tries to keep away, but says he can't 
 resist temptation. 
 
 Then there's Lee Waters, a pale, delicate boy, 
 
46 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 who looks as if he ought to be at home, under his 
 mother's care, — only, poor fellow, he has n't any ; 
 instead of which, he shrinks from no hardship, and 
 never complains, though he coughs night and day. 
 He 's almost insanely patriotic. We 'd pet him if 
 we dared ; but it would never do. 
 
 In strong contrast to Lee, Is Joe Clarke, whom 
 we call Dub, for short. He's an out-and-out feath- 
 er-bed and sugar-candy boy ; so Jim Whittier called 
 him double-refined sugar, which we abbreviated as 
 above. He's always groaning and moaning, and 
 tellinoj how he had thino;s at home, and tormentinsj 
 our lives out with his complaints. In return, he gets 
 knocks and slaps, not a few, — I mean with the 
 tongue. **Does your mother know you're out?" 
 *' Lullaby, sweet lullaby ! hush, my darling, mother 
 is near ! " Condolences, offers of lozenges and dain- 
 ties, and mock petitions to headquarters for a sup- 
 ply of Mrs. Wiuslow's Soothing Syrup, constitute 
 our revenge upon him. 
 
 Our wit may not seem to you very brilliant, 
 though some of us do get off good things occa- 
 sionally. It wouldn't stand drawing-room criticism ; 
 but in camp, or on the march, with the accompani- 
 ments of droll looks and high spirits, it 's not con- 
 temptible. As a rule, I should say, our boys, 
 and I mean all with whom I come in contact, are 
 resolved to be jolly, and get all the fun they can 
 out of their hardships. Exceptions there are, of 
 
ECHOES FROM TIIE GUN OF 18C1. 47 
 
 course, — fault finders, croakers, and efFemmates, — 
 but they are tew, and the jollies are in the ascend- 
 ant. And not a whit the less serious are they about 
 the great business in hand, for this same jollity. It 
 is, in fact, a legitimate result of their earnestness. 
 l\esolutcly and cheerfully they have started to con- 
 quer, or die, and all petty annoyances are scorned or 
 turned to fun. 
 
 Well, besides jokes and fun, we have games, and 
 chats, and long yarns, and political discussions, and 
 reading and writing, to fill up the odd hours when 
 we 're not drilling, or on duty, or polishipg our 
 equipments. 
 
 There 's one thing about camp life : it does for a 
 man what school does for the boy. Each one stands 
 upon his own merit. Shams don't go down ; and if 
 conceit doesn't get taken out of a fellow mighty 
 quick, it is n't the fault of the boys. 
 
 ' ' How do I like camp fare ? " 
 
 First rate. To be sure, we get some luxuries 
 now we shan't always have, when ''we're march- 
 ing along," and as we penetrate fifrther into Vir- 
 ginia's sacred soil ; but hard tack and salt pork and 
 beef are not to be despised, with the appetites we 
 bring to them. 
 
 " How do I like ray bed?" 
 
 That 't first rate, too, whether on the ground or 
 the soft side of a board. It seemed a little hard at 
 first, and made my bones ache; but that was all 
 
48 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 owing to mother's petting at home. Now it's quite 
 soft and refreshing. 
 
 I 'm summoned to drill, — a business I'm as tired 
 of as Pat and Holdfast. Never mind, we are to 
 have real fighting soon, and I shall -wTite you a jubi- 
 lant account of victory. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BATTLE AND DEFEAT. 
 
 July, 61. I was premature in my boast, Horace. 
 We 've had a battle ; but you will hear no jubilant 
 sounds of victory. No. Before this the wail of 
 defeat has gone over the land, and perhaps you may 
 have already blushed for the army of the Potomac, 
 which went out with martial music, flying banners, 
 and exultant hearts, in full faith of speedy victory, 
 and which returned defeated, dispirited, and panic- 
 stricken. 
 
 But you need not blush for us, though you may 
 grieve for and with us. You must remember, that, 
 though ours was a large and powerful army, it was 
 an undisciplined one, the majority of us the three 
 years' troops just enlisted, and that we met a com- 
 paratively practised foe. 
 
 Errors of judgment there doubtless were, and 
 mistakes also. Perfectly organized armies do not 
 gi'ow up like Jonah's gourd in the night. But a 
 braver, truer, more patriotic set of men never went 
 out to do battle for a righteous cause than this our 
 army of the Potomac. I say this in spite of the ex- 
 5 
 
50 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 aggerated reports of our defeat, or disgraceful rout, 
 as some will have it. 
 
 But I must begin at the beginning, if I can go 
 back to anything so tame, after our late terrible ex- 
 perience. "When orders came for us to break camp, 
 taking three days' rations in our haversacks, and 
 leaving behind all supei-fluous baggage, they were 
 received with wild acclamations. 
 
 Pat roared out, ** And shure it's meself that 's 
 just aching for a foight ; we '11 show 'em how it 's 
 done in the ould counthry." 
 
 Old Holdfast grunted, *' Good news at last," and 
 showed his satisfaction by the gleam in his dark eye, 
 and his prompt movements. Brag talked big, and 
 swasfo-ered about, but looked blue enough. 
 
 Lee's cheeks burned brighter th<an ever with the 
 loyal color, and his eyes fairly danced in his head, 
 and he moved restlessly about, hither and thither, 
 and could not be persuaded to keep quiet and save 
 his streno^th for time of need. 
 
 As for Jim AYhittier, he leaped and danced about 
 like a wild creature, performing all sorts of ridiculous 
 antics and figures, little dreaming, poor fellow, how 
 it would be with him on the "battle-field. 
 
 As for mvself, I must have had somethinof of the 
 old Sleepy Hollow look about me, for, while I was 
 deliberately putting my equipments in order, Jim 
 came up to me, and gaving me a huge poke be- 
 tween my ribs, said, " Look ahve, man ! do you be- 
 
ECHOES EKOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 51 
 
 long to this generation or the past ? what kind of a 
 face is that to carry to battle? Meditation to the 
 dogs ; action 's the word," and, as he spoke, he gave 
 a leap forward with his bayonet fixed, as if charging 
 the enemy, and almost ran it into Dub, who just then 
 appeared. He did disarrange the cloak Dub had 
 just then gracefully thrown over his shoulders, there- 
 by causing the latter Infinitely more disgust than 
 the narrow escape from cold steel had induced fear. 
 Shouldn't wonder, -after all, if our double refined 
 should prove to have plenty of pluck. 
 
 Jake says a few nights sleeping in the mud, and a 
 few days' short rations, and one tough fight, will 
 make a man of him. 
 
 But to the battle. If you are as eager to hear as 
 we were to be in it, you'll not care for small details. 
 
 To our intense mortification, we were for some 
 time in the rear, seeing the signs and hearing the 
 sounds of a terrific contest rasrinfT and doino: our 
 best for the poor wounded fellows brought to us. 
 O, it was terrible to see them, with their ghastly and 
 bloody faces, some convulsed with agony, others 
 rigid In stern determination. Some raved and 
 screamed in their extremity, others bore their suffer- 
 ings with compressed lips and knitted brows. One 
 poor lad, whose wound was mortal, cried out 
 *' Mother! mother!" In tones piteous to hear. 
 Another, with a countenance distorted by pain, and 
 fierce as that of a savage warrior, yelled out to us, 
 
52 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 *' Go to the front, you lazy devils, orders or no 
 orders, — shoot, stub, kill, kill, kill, — that 's wliat 
 you 're here for," and with the last word he sank 
 back insensible, the blood gushing in torrents from 
 his side. 
 
 *' O, my country! my country !" cried another. 
 ** God help you! brother fighting against brother. 
 O, my poor head ; where am I, at home, or where? 
 O," as a kind hand bound up the wound In his tem- 
 ple, *'I remember now. Father in heaven, spare 
 me for my country." 
 
 But there was one boy from a ^lassachusetts regi- 
 ment whose agonies I shall never, never forget, lie 
 was horribly wounded ; so disfigured, I don't believe 
 even a mother's love could have recognised him. At 
 first we thought he was raving, for he kept repeating, 
 ** Cain killed his brother, and God's curse was upon 
 him ; and I, I killed my brother, I saw him fall. 
 O, brother, brother, what will our mother say?" 
 These and words of similar import he repeated over 
 and over again. At last, a young man, whose right 
 arm had been shot off, and w)\o belonged to the 
 same company, found voice to say — " You couldn't 
 help It, Ned ; you didn't know ; " and adding, to me, 
 <'Yes, he shot him down. I think he knew him 
 before the ball took effect. Who knows how many 
 brothers are to perish in the same cruel way ? Ned 
 is so tender-hearted, it will break his. heart; brave 
 as a Hon too." 
 
ECTIOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 53 
 
 Poor Brag, I could n't but pity him from the bottom 
 of my heart, though 1 was so vexed with him, too. I 
 could willingly have pitched him down hill into a 
 brook, and left him there to cool his fright. The 
 sight of the wounded, their terrible disfigurement, 
 and a stray ball which now and then found its way 
 to us, terrified him almost out of his wits. At last, 
 after a shot which came very near hitting him, he 
 actually fainted away. Lee looked as if he could 
 have killed him on the spot, and Holdfast said, 
 *' Poor chap, he's enermost skeered to death; it's 
 wus than the bullets. He '11 do better though when 
 we 're in the thick of it." 
 
 But our time was coming, and I was glad of it, 
 for I felt sick almost, looking at the poor wounded 
 fellows, and longed to be at w^ork. 
 
 I am writing of that fearful Sunday, you know ; 
 that Sunday when you were at home quiet and peace- 
 ful, or listening to the word of God in his house of 
 prayer, while we . 
 
 Come with me to this rising ground, look around. 
 It is just before we go into action ; our nerves are 
 braced, and our heart is steeled to anything. 
 
 Holdfast says '* there's hot work ahead. I come 
 to fight, and I guess here's a chance to do it pretty 
 thoroughly. Ef I git hit it can't be helped, I calcu- 
 lated to run my risk of that, but I hope I'll do some 
 tall fightin fust ; thunder an lightnin but them rebs 
 is in airnest." 
 
 5* 
 
54 ECHOES rnOM the gun of 1861. 
 
 Lee looked like an evil spirit ; and he swore be- 
 tween his set teeth, if orders didn't come to move 
 6oon, he'd go without. 
 
 I say nothing, but I look and I ask myself are 
 these men or demons I see yonder ; are they men 
 with human hearts and human aftections, or are they 
 demons let loose from the infernal regions, and hold- 
 ing high revel on this fair spot of earth ? 
 
 Far as the eye can reach are sights of blood and 
 warfare ; far as the ear can hear are sounds echoing, 
 reverberating from distant points of action only 
 fainter duplicates of those we hear around us. 
 
 There are men arrayed against men, brother against 
 brother, shooting, stabbing, and the terrible artillery 
 thundering over the smaller rain of shot and bullet, 
 and doing deadly execution too, for legs and arms are 
 severed from bodies and fly through the air in a man- 
 ner horrible to behold. Yonder in the valley, from 
 heavy clouds of smoke, come the lightning flashes of 
 artillery and rifles. To the right is the fierce onset 
 of opposing cavalry, the horses only one degree less 
 human in their looks than their riders ; and just 
 beyond the equally fierce hand to hand combat of the 
 infantry. On yonder hillside gleam out the rifle 
 and bayonet. Like us, the men are waiting for 
 orders to a certain point. And, O sight of horror, 
 down in the valley are heaps and heaps of wounded 
 and slain, horse and rider, friend and foe ; and over 
 all still sweeps on the deadly fight. The sounds, how 
 
ECHOES FU03I THE GUN OF 1861. 55 
 
 shall I describe them? The whiz, whiz, of the 
 bullets, the leaden rain, the thunderous roar, the 
 almost human scream of the murderous shells, the 
 heavy tramp of horses, the hoarse cries of leaders urg- 
 ing on their men to victory or death ; the shrieks, 
 groans, yells ; the dreadful curses, the agonized peti- 
 tions to God for mercy, and wild and fierce the martial 
 music resounding through all this, are almost stun- 
 ning to a looker-on. But I am a looker-on no longer, 
 our orders have come at last ; down the hill to the 
 left, to aid a wornout regiment who have fought 
 bravely for hours. Down we go ; double, almost 
 double-double quick, so eager are we ; and now — we 
 are on the spot, yonder our foe, a fresh regiment, 
 fresh as ours and every whit as determined. Ko time 
 to look about now ; load, fire, and slay ; load, fire, 
 and slay, as fast as many as we can, — that's our 
 work, and we do it, bravely too ; never flinching, only 
 drawing closer and closer as man after man of us is 
 shot down and foils into the human heap at our feet. 
 I am almost insane in my desire to load and shoot 
 faster, still faster. 
 
 Those fearful sounds but now so terrific to my ears 
 are but the fit accompaniment to my excited feelings. 
 To all the wild din of war my heart beats back in 
 throbs as wild.' Still we fight, and still they fight; 
 but for one moment they slacken, an alarm in the 
 rear as we afterwards heard was the cause ; that one 
 moment gives us the advantage, we pursue it, and we 
 
56 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 pursue them, the small remnant that remains, till 
 pursuit becomes too dangerous, and we look about 
 for another foe, taking breath the while and trying to 
 discover who are left of our brave boys . Lee Waters , 
 whom I had seen fighting like a devil incarnate, is 
 not wounded, but he stands pale and panting, his 
 hands close pressed against his side. 
 
 Brag, I had seen him fighting as bravely as any, 
 falls into his white fits again the moment immediate 
 pressure is over. Holdfast looks coolly at his left 
 arm, slightly wounded in the fleshy part of it, and 
 says, *' better luck than I thought for," and turns 
 me round and examines the wound in my shoulder, a 
 mere graze, looks at the bullet-mark through my coat 
 on the left side, and says, ** a near thing that." 
 
 Poor Jim is missing, and we find him presently in 
 a heap of killed and wounded, and Brag gladly helps 
 one of the other boys carry him to the rear. But we 
 had barely time to get him off, for the battle surged 
 towards us again, and we were once more drawn into 
 the midst of it. Soon the cry went forth that the 
 enemy was disheartened and had fallen ,back. So 
 they were for the moment ; and perhaps if the war 
 had been man's war only, we should have gained the 
 victory and settled down once more into supine ease, 
 quite convinced of the insignificance of our foe. But 
 tl;^ war is God's war, and He saw fit to humble us 
 that we might be aroused to greater efforts. His eye 
 had been upon us all day, really so it had seemed to 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 57 
 
 me, as I caught a glimpse of the sun riding high in 
 the heavens, the only object that was unaffected by 
 the din and carnage raging below. 
 
 Feebly as I have described these horrors to you, you 
 must have had enough of them ; it was the same thing 
 over and over, only as the day waned the contest 
 grew hotter and hotter, so sure were we of victory, 
 when suddenly came the appalling tidings that tlie 
 enemy had been reinforced, and that our army was 
 in full retreat. The next report was that a panic had 
 seized our troops and that they were flying before the 
 enemy. It was too true and too bad, and yet not so . 
 bad as has been told you, for the whole army was 
 not panic-stricken, as was proved by their preventing 
 the enemy, flushed with their unexpected victory, 
 from following us. Our army bore the stigma of 
 being panic-stricken, when crowds and crowds of 
 people who were not of us, teamsters, spectators, 
 idlers, helped to swell our numbers, and to add ten- 
 fold to the terror and confusion of the hour. I do 
 not deny that many of our men were panic-stricken. 
 All are not Jaeroes, and some who fight the most 
 bravely or even recklessly under the pressure of the 
 excitement of the battle-field, are most easily intim- 
 idated when a cry of panic is raised. Eemember too 
 the terrible strain of hard fighting and anxiety that 
 had been upon us so long. The nerves of the bravest 
 might be supposed to give way a little, so long as 
 men are men and not gods. As a resolute war-cry 
 
58 ECHOES FEOM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 will sometimes rally a disheartened host, so too will 
 a panic spread with lightning-like rapidity ; for we 
 men, proud as we are of our manliness, are sympa- 
 thetic creatures after all. But I leave all explana- 
 tions to those who, sitting at home in slippered ease 
 in the drawing-room, or lounging on balconies at 
 watering-places to catch the cooling breeze, tell men 
 how this or that might have been avoided, and the 
 battle won. Let me remind such of the old copy, 
 ** Circumstances alter cases," and sujjfrest that a 
 burning July sun, hard fighting as ever was done, 
 nerves excited almost to madness by the honible sur- 
 roundings of a battle-field, are less favorable to cool 
 clear judgment than their adjuncts. 
 
 Excuses too for our defeat I leave to those of our 
 army who think we need to make them. Bravely 
 and nobly fought our army of the Potomac on the 
 field of Manassas, as thousands of crushed hearts 
 and mourning homes bear solemn witness. Greater 
 love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his 
 life for his friends. 
 
 Our lives were freely given by us to our country. 
 Those of us who were spared made the offering as 
 freely as those that were taken. But this trouble- 
 some scratch on my shoulder wornes me a little, so 
 good night, Horace. If you have had a Bull Eun or 
 Manassas battle, I hope you came off victor. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 July, '61. The last pages in my journal were 
 hastily written as soon after our inglorious flight from 
 Manassas as I could catch a moment's leisure, and I 
 now add a few incidents which occurred afterwards, 
 that may interest and amuse you. 
 
 I shall not describe our retreat, for are not the ac- 
 counts thereof to be found in the chronicles of the 
 day? I should despair of giving you anything as 
 stirring as the sensation descriptions you may find in 
 any of the penny journals, or anything more reliable 
 than the accounts of faithful reporters. There was a 
 ludicrous side to it too, if we had been in the mood 
 to look at it. As it was, the rapid and undignified 
 skedaddling of some of our spectators, and the intense 
 anxiety depicted upon their countenances, gave the 
 assurance that they had seen the elephant, even be- 
 yond their desires. Some of them, I think, will never 
 go out again to see the spectacle of a battle. 
 
 Of the boys I have named to you, Jim is the only 
 one severely wounded, and the surgeon thinks he Avill 
 recover, and be in fighting trim, when the cry comes, 
 we so long to hear, — on to Richrtiond. 
 
60 ECHOES FROM THE GVTS OF 1861. 
 
 Brag hardly deserves his name now, and Is plainly 
 trying to retrieve his character. He has been put 
 upon picket duty several times and has acquitted him- 
 self well, though with his nervous terrors I know it 
 must be hard work for him. By the way, Horace, I 
 hope you keep a picket guard well posted in your 
 camp. If it is far better to be on the watch for a 
 foe than to be taken unawares. I lono: to hear how 
 your fight comes on. Remember, *' greater is he 
 that ruleth his ot\ti spirit than he that taketh a city.'' 
 
 But to return to our boys. Lee has had an attack 
 of bleeding at the lungs. AVe all thought he would 
 die, but he is slowly recovering. I see both him and 
 Jim occasionally at the hospital, and Lee seems as 
 vindictive as ever, nay more so ; for he thinks our 
 defeat a burning shame, and showers down abuse upon 
 all in power and command without stint. 
 
 Holdfast goes on in his old steady way, only ** more 
 so." He's likely to become Holdfast in the superla- 
 tive degi'ee, for I never saw one more thoroughly in 
 earnest. As he says of himself, '* when I fust jined 
 the army it was more cause I kinder thought I 'd like 
 a change than any great grudge I had agin' the rebs, 
 an' I don know 's I feel any bigger grudge now than 
 afore; but thunder an' lii2:htin', I'll fioht's loner's I 
 hold out for the old flag. I never knowed I keered so 
 much about it afore ; but Tvhen I seed the enemy 
 fightin' aglnst it, I kinder choked all up, and felt's 
 ef I rather die for it than live without it. An' now 
 my mind's made up to fight 's long 's the war lasts. 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1801. 61 
 
 an' ef Sally to hum kecrs enough hout mc to wait an' 
 take the chances of arms i^hot off, ef I don't lose my 
 head too, why she am wait. Ef she don't want to, 
 she need n't. 
 
 I said, I thought Sally would wait and be proud of 
 her hero. 
 
 ** I don't mean nobody shall be ashamed on me, 
 and Sally's a plaguey smart gal. She can take care 
 ef herself too while I 'm away, an' that 's somethin.' 
 Guess nobody '11 come sparkin' round her ef she 
 don't want em. Ef she does, why I 've my country 
 left." 
 
 The deep sigh that accompanied this latter sug- 
 efcstion rather contradicted his assumed stoicism. I 
 confess I never dreamed that Holdfast had a true love 
 in the wilds of Maine. He don't look it. 
 
 As for Pat, he's a case to keep in bounds when 
 we 're not hard at work some way. He thinks drill- 
 ing a '* pitiful mane business, and shure," he says, ** I 
 knows how to foight without so much bother about it ; 
 its ji&t natral to mesclf to have a shindy. An' what do 
 yees think ; I jist ached for a real foight yestreen, 
 after the play foight we 'd had, and so I was compilled 
 to give John McGee a knock in the side of his head, 
 and what do ye think the big spalpeen did ? Why 
 he intered a complaint aginst me ; an' when I tould 
 the Captain it was to keep me hand in jist, I did it, 
 he would n't take it for an apologee at all at all, an' so 
 I was forced to spind the nicht in meeditation, I was." 
 6 
 
62 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 . "Meditation, Pat?" asked one of the boys; 
 ««How was that?" 
 
 *' Och, an' shure, in a small shanty by mese'f, 
 an' niver a bit of lave to go an' come as I liked ! " 
 
 Dub has got the grumbles pretty well taken out 
 of him, and has started off on a new tack, and boasts 
 of his feats of war. We treat him like the coxcomb 
 he is, and by and by he '11 come out right. 
 
 You ask me if battle is like boys' fii^hts, on a laro^e 
 scale. For myself, I can answer, not a bit of it. 
 You beat Tom, or pitch into him, as the phrase is, 
 because you have a special grudge against him, or 
 because he has done some wrong you choose to right 
 in that fashion. It 's Tom you have a spite against ; 
 it's Tom you wish to pummel. AVe go into battle 
 with no individual grudge or enmity. Vse fight not 
 for ourselves, but for our country. AVe have no 
 scores to settle with conscience, as you boys have, 
 or ouirht to have. We are risht and we are fio^ht- 
 ino: for the ri2:ht. The fact, so' dreadful in its naked 
 reality, that we are shooting, stabbing, and killing 
 so many men, is not at the time a reality to us. We 
 are doing a needful work for our just cause. That 
 is the pre-eminent thought, and the inspiring one. 
 This Is why fighting In the ranks is so much easier to 
 a true-souled man than single hand-to-hand encoun- 
 ters, or deliberately shooting down a man when you 
 are on guard, if your duty requires it. In the lattCF 
 case, it is hard to get over the feeling that you are, 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 63 
 
 in one sense, a murtlerer, though you know you are 
 only doing your duty. The mystery of war, in this 
 nineteenth century, with all our boasted progress in 
 the arts and sciences, and our high civilization, I do 
 not pretend to fathom. Still less can 1 reconcile it 
 with the doctrine of Him who came to bring peace 
 and good will on earth. I only know that to me 
 this seems a righteous, God-appointed war; and, 
 though dimly, as a vision far off, yet can I see in it 
 results which shall affect the whole civilized world. 
 
 I have spoken of feelings which influence me, and 
 which I know influence others, in combat ; as, for 
 instance. Holdfast, who fights as bravdy as man 
 can, and yet is tender as a woman to the wounded 
 Rebels with whom he has anything to do. 
 
 But all do not feel as we do. Lee fights as if 
 every man in the ranks was a personal foe, and I 
 should piiy the poor fellow who asked mercy of him. 
 There are others like him, doubtless. I am sure he 
 must have some private grudge, that has changed the 
 milk of human kindness into gall. Some day I shall 
 find out about it. 
 
 Ko, no, Horace; although war is a horrible evil, 
 yet thousands upon thousands who are engaged in it 
 are of earth's best and noblest. Do not make it an 
 excuse for boys' fights. It won't hold good, even 
 on the side we think wrong and aggressive. The 
 majority of our enemies are self-deceived, or misled 
 by their leaders, and have as firm belief in the right- 
 eousness of their cause as we have of ours. 
 
64 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 I know no bright side, no redeeming feature, in 
 boys' jBghts. I have never been able to enjoy the 
 books you read with so much avidity, describing 
 battles and *' set-to's" between the boys in English 
 schools. I believe there are other and far nobler 
 ways of making the youth of a country brave and 
 hardy. I do not blame the boys, however. I know 
 of no slavery worse than the system of fagging, 
 through which the boys of England must pass. I 
 know no better school for turning out sneaks or bul- 
 lies, or fighters according to the original character of 
 the boy. Tell me, if you can, one noble feehng 
 ever inspired by a boy's quarrel and fight, unless it 
 be a fight to protect the weak from the oppression of 
 the stronsr. 
 
 As for me, when I fight in battle, 
 
 « 
 
 " A thousand hearts are great within my bosom ; " 
 
 SO fight I, as they bid me, for God and my country. 
 
 When I commenced the account of the battle, 
 while I was yet a looker-on, I asked myself, as you 
 will remember, if they were men or demons upon- 
 whom I looked. Now I can answer, that all men 
 do not look like demons when they are in battle. 
 Ah, no ! I have caught glimpses of " holy ardors," 
 and noble enthusiasm, which have almost transfig- 
 ured to something divine the human face out of 
 which they shone. But enough of this. I hope 
 I've not transgressed, and verged upon a *' preach." 
 
 We take prisoners, of course ; and I am going to 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 65 
 
 relate to you a somewhat laconic conversation winch 
 took place between a regular scion of the F. F. V.'s 
 and myself. He was really a Southern aristocrat, 
 educated and refined, but prejudiced withal, — such 
 a young man as you have seen, in times past, at 
 father's table, a courteous, polished guest. 
 
 He was standing leaning against a tree, looking 
 rather fiercely around him, but every Inch the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 - I addressed a few remarks to him, in courteous 
 tones, and offered to bind up his bleeding arm till 
 the surgeon came. He refused, saying it was noth- 
 ing ; and then, eyeing me earnestly for a few mo- 
 ments, inquired, — 
 
 ** Are there many in your army like yourself?" 
 
 '* In what respect?" 
 
 ** In your position in life." 
 
 «' Thousands!" 
 
 *« What do you fight us for ? " 
 
 '« For the love of country, and yonder stars and 
 stripes." 
 
 ** We fight for our homes and hearths, and to repel 
 Northern invasion." 
 
 * « Do you read the newspapers ? " 
 
 Haughtily : " Of course." 
 
 *' Who commenced the war, fired the first shot? " 
 
 ** We were compelled to it. We had asserted 
 our independence, and didn't want your troops in 
 our ports, in and upon our territory." 
 6* 
 
6G ECHOES FIIOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 *' Who had troops, arms, and ammunition ready 
 for this struggle ? " 
 
 *' We, to be prepared for this very invasion." 
 
 *' Whew ! Yet you, — your press, rather, — say 
 that we are a nation of cowards, mudsills, worship- 
 pers of the dollar, Yankee pedlers, &c. Such a foe 
 would hardly require such extensive preparation." 
 
 " We expected to intimidate you, and save blood- 
 shed." 
 
 '* What do you think 7iow ? " 
 
 '* We have beaten you." 
 
 *' Yes, to-doy. But that is evading the question." 
 
 «* Well, we think you can fight." 
 
 ** Yes, we ca?i, and we shalL" 
 
 ** We are prepared for Lincoln's hordes." 
 
 " Excuse me, but I must laugh." 
 
 Defiantly : *' At what, sir?" 
 
 ** At that expression. I used to read about Attila 
 and his hordes ; and to hear these words applied to 
 our Northern troops, mustered by our good Father 
 Abraham ! Excuse me, but isn't it of the hifalutiu' 
 style of talk?" 
 
 ** I admit that you are a better set of men than we 
 expected to meet ; but we suppose you have taken 
 all your best men to meet this emergency." 
 
 *' You shall see." 
 
 Defiantly again: **Many or few, good or bad, 
 we are ready for you, and shall fight to the death ! " 
 
 ** Be sure ; so shall we." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF lSt)l. 67 
 
 ** But we fight for our homes and hearths; you 
 for an idea." 
 
 ** A grand idea, granting that to be the fact." 
 
 ** Yes, it's plain ymt think it so. I saw you in 
 the heat of the fight. Our company opposed yours ; 
 and when I &aw how you and others fought, I 
 thought better of you, as men of pluck, than I ever 
 did before. But I detest your wicked invasion, 
 and your meddlesome interference with us and our 
 rights. Still, I must admit that there are some men 
 of honor, and gentlemen, among you. But we have 
 all our best blood in the field, probably far outnum- 
 bering yours, of equal rank." 
 
 I looked askance, at this, at a *'poor white," 
 who, also a prisoner, lounged upon the ground, — 
 a wretched object, but the tenth part of a man in 
 appearance, — at least, as I reckon manhood. 
 
 ** Yes," he said, answering my look, *' we have 
 such men in our army ; but we have, too, the flower 
 of Southern chivalry." 
 
 He was a prisoner, and I thought it ignoble to 
 taunt him, or I should have said, '* It will take a 
 great many flowers to counterbalance such weeds 
 as that ; " so I made him no reply, but went off* to 
 find the surgeon ; for his increasing paleness proved 
 that his wound was more severe than he was willing 
 to acknowledge. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HORACE POSTS HIS PICKETS. 
 
 Meantime, while Thornton is busy in camp, or 
 on the field, -what are the family at home about? 
 
 Up and doing, every one. 
 
 Mr. Grey. gives freely of his time, his money, and 
 his correct and mature judgment, to help on the cause 
 of right. 
 
 So also does Mrs. Grey, in her sphere ; and 
 most bravely, too, she bears the burden of anxiety 
 for her son's safety, — so bravely, those who never 
 look beneath the surface call her a Spartan mother, 
 and wonder at her cool and calm manner. Xo eye 
 but that of the AU-Merciful One sees her agony and 
 grief. He sees, and pities and strengthens her ; and 
 she goes on wdth the work that her hand findeth 
 for her to do, and in it she gains the best relief to 
 her anxious heart. 
 
 Esther St. John has found her work, — not quiet- 
 ly at home, like her sister, but in hospital service ; 
 and so engrossed is she in it, that she has no tinfe to 
 regret that she Is not a man, — for, in fact, in this 
 service, if anywhere, a true woman has no time for 
 idle lamentations. 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 69 
 
 Margaret knits socks and makes shirts for the sol- 
 diers, and fashions for them the prettiest little thread- 
 cases, weaving in with her stitches many a kind wish 
 for the soldier-boy, fresh and warm from her tender 
 heart. 
 
 Horace Is trying, too, to learn to knit ; but I will 
 tell you, confidentially, that I do not think he will 
 succeed in helping the soldiers much In this way. 
 He Is too restless. ' He drops stitch after stitch, and 
 as they go down, he looks despairingly at them, and 
 begs Margaret to takQ, them up scientifically. He 
 can't be made to see through the Intricacies of seam 
 and narrow, and slip and bind, and finally tosses his 
 knitting In the air, and rushes out of doors for a vent 
 to his pent-up spirits, and races with Caesar. It is 
 true, I am getting before my story, for It is now 
 July, and Horace didn't take his knitting-lessons 
 tiirautumn ; but I am telling you, In a general way, 
 how they all worked. In one fashion and another. 
 
 As for St. John, he possessed his soul In patience 
 as long as he could, and contented himself as best 
 he might in helping his fother and mother, In 'small 
 ways; but when the second great uprising of the 
 loyal North came, he could forbear no longer. So, 
 one day, he sought Mr. Grey, and said, — 
 ** Father." 
 
 *< Well, my son, what Is It? " 
 *' I must do more for my country than I am now 
 dolnfi-. You know Sam Drew, sir ! " 
 
70 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 ** Yes, St. John ; what of him?" 
 
 «* He is clerk in the city, and gets a good salary, 
 upon which his mother and young brothers and sis- 
 ters depend mainly for their support. He would 
 gladly go to the war. He 's a stout, strong, healthy 
 fellow. His mother will not refuse her consent. 
 INIay I take his place, do his work for the benefit of 
 his family, and let him go ? " 
 
 *' Have you thought this matter over in all its 
 bearings, St. John?" 
 
 *' Yes, sir, in all." 
 
 ** Veiy well, then, I do not object, and will make 
 but one condition : if your health fails, I must find 
 another to do the work. The sacrifice you make to 
 your taste, I know you will readily bear." 
 
 *< A small one, sir, to one who longs to give his 
 life to his country. You hare removed the only ob- 
 stacle by promising to fill my place if my health 
 fails." 
 
 You see St. John made neither his youth nor his 
 delicate health an excuse for doing nothing. He 
 could not do what he lono-ed to do with all the earn- 
 
 o 
 
 est ardor of an enthusiastic nature, — go forth, with 
 Thornton, to active service ; but here was a work he 
 could do for the cause, — a most distasteful work, it 
 is true, and one requiring him to give up his books 
 and studies, — for all the leisure he would have he 
 must now devote to rest and exercise, — yet he was 
 ready to do it. Did not he control circumstances, 
 and noblv. too ? 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 71 
 
 Thornton's sii«rgcstion to Horace, that he 'should 
 figlit battles at home, while he was fighting abroad, 
 pleased that restless lad's fancy. No other form of 
 suii'^estin": to him that he must learn to be his own 
 master before he could hope to control others would 
 have had so much influence with him. 
 
 *'Pooh!" he said, *'I'll let Thorn see I can 
 fight myself, as well as another chap. I 've had a 
 few skirmishes before now with Horace Grey, that 
 nobody, unless it 's mother, knows anything about. 
 I mean to have a regular pitched battle next time 
 there 's occasion." 
 
 There soon was an occasion ; but he shall tell his 
 own story to you as he told it to Thornton. 
 
 July, '61. Well, old chap, you are in a fair 
 way to get all the Sleepy PIollow taken out of you. 
 I 'm following your course, and that of the other 
 boys, pretty closely, and I guess I shall see what 
 you all make out of circumstances. Mother told me 
 your plan. I 'm glad you let me find out for myself, 
 and don't give me a little preach every now and then, 
 saying, " You see how this and that caused t'other," 
 as if a boy of common sense could n't tell that two 
 and two make four ! Give my respects to Pat, and 
 tell him I shake hands with him, and have longed 
 many a time to pitch into somebody or other. 
 
 I s'pose 't is n't magnanimous (I can spell the 
 word, and that's the rule, 1 believe, for using big 
 
72 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 ones) to triumph over a beaten man, so I won't do 
 it ; but, instead, I '11 tell you about my Bull Run 
 and Manassas fight, and how I came oflf with flying 
 colors, victor. 
 
 You know a lot of us chaps have been tutored by 
 Mr. Lowell. "Well, he took the war fever desper- 
 ately, and now he 's off as chaplain, much to our 
 vexation, for he was such a good, easy soul, we had 
 gay times at school. Now we have a Mr. Marsh, 
 and we don't like him, and we should hate him, only 
 we can't quite get up to that, he 's such a gentleman. 
 He^s his own master, anyhow. 
 
 Well, we 'd loafed and idled so long that we found 
 it pretty hard to come to terms, — a few of us, at 
 least, for some of the boys are like lambs. Well, 
 Hal, and Van, and Court, and Steve, and I, thought 
 we 'd try and see how far we could go with the new 
 man without being brought up. So, one day, we 
 came to recitation with never a word of our lesson 
 learned. Mr. Marsh looked us through and through, 
 and then said, — 
 
 <* How's this, boys?" 
 
 *' Please, sir," said Van, as soft as silk, "we 
 didn't have time. We never had to get such hard 
 lessons." 
 
 *' It's time you commenced then. I shall expect 
 the lesson prepared before you go home." 
 
 He was n't one bit cross, but just spoke and looked 
 as much as to say, ** I'm master here." 
 
ECHOES FROM Till! GUN OF 18G1. 73 
 
 You better believe we growled and scolded well 
 when we met again, on our way home, after having 
 lost our fun at recess, and lost having our own w^ay, 
 too. I felt mutinous enough ; but I thought I 'd 
 fight this little skirmish with myself, and then I 
 should get my hand in before the pitched battle 
 came on. So I got my lesson, and so did the rest, 
 after a fashion. When we had finished, Mr. Marsh 
 said to us all, but he looked at me, — 
 
 ** Xow I see what you are capable of, I shall be 
 less lenient in future." 
 
 That roiled me, — it sounded like a threat, — so 
 I felt all ready to join in with the other boys, who 
 wanted to get up a row. I could n't see exactly 
 where the "leniency" came in. I'd had to eat 
 humble pie, lose my play time, and learn my lesson. 
 So when the boys proposed a general stampede from 
 school hours, next morning, and to trust to luck for 
 the end of the scrape, I thought I 'd join. I thought 
 't would be good fun, too, to see what he 'd do to us, 
 — nothing very dreadful, we thought. I didn't 
 pledge myself, though, and only said he was a mean 
 old thing, and I 'd like to plague him. We thought 
 the worst he 'd do would be to give us a flogging, 
 and as that would be a novelty, we'd like to try 
 it. We agreed to meet in Van's grove at half 
 past eight in the morning, and decide finally about 
 it. When I got home, somehow I thought mother 
 looked sad, and then I thought I should n't like to 
 7 
 
74 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 worry her. I thought I 'd think it all over when I 
 went to bed ; but I was so sleepy, I could n't, and 
 off I went to sleep in the midst of the pros and cons. 
 I waked uj) with a sort of feeling that the cons had 
 it. Any way, I did n't get my lesson, and went to 
 the grove, as I promised, and found the other boys 
 thought it was a settled thing, and were making 
 their plans for the day. 
 
 '* Kot so fast, chaps," said I ; *' I 'm on the fence 
 yet, — have n't quite made up my mind to go in for 
 this thing, — don't quite * see it ' yet." 
 
 '* What a spoony, to back out now ! " said Hal. 
 ** Been to see little what 's-his-name, no-legs, up 
 there, and he wouldn't let you join the rowdies, eh? 
 or does n't your mother know you 're out ? " 
 
 ** Nonsense ! " sneered Van ; " he 's conscientious 
 scruples, no doubt." 
 
 *' Xo," said Court ; *' he 's afraid, — let him go ; 
 no cowards train in this company." 
 
 This fling settled the question double quick. Be- 
 fore, I 'd half made up my mind to join the boys, just 
 for the sake of the scrape, and to see what stuff Mr. 
 Marsh was made of; but when Court said that, I 
 thought of you, and what a rare chance this was to 
 fight the battle ; and then I knew I was n't a cow- 
 ard, and I knew the boys knew it, too. Wasn't I 
 mad, though ! I fell just like a big beer bottle, all 
 working and working mside, and trying to get the 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 75 
 
 Stopple out ; but something kept it down. If it had 
 come out, wouldn't there have been a burst ! 
 
 So I kept cool as I could, and just thought it 
 over, — how my mother would feel, what Herbert 
 would say, and how I knew it would be wrong ; so 
 I put out my pickets, as you advised, for I knew 
 the battle hadn't come yet, and that I might be 
 taken prisoner after all, and said to Court, step- 
 ping back as I spoke, <' You are right; I shan't 
 train in this company ; whether it is because I am a 
 coward or not, I leave you to judge." 
 
 '' Here 's a pretty go ; sneak, traitor, time-server," 
 said one and another. 
 
 It was mighty hard work keeping the stopple in 
 then, I tell you; but I did, and just gave them a look 
 and turned off, when Court, who was nearest, took 
 hold of me roughly, and said with a wicked oath, 
 '' you shan't go till you have given your reasons for 
 this mean conduct." 
 
 *' Leave ^e alone then. I thought I should join 
 you at first, but when I came to think of it, I knew 
 it was^n't right." 
 
 ** Pretty dear, it shan't do what 's wrong, shall it ; 
 it'll get a whipping if it does," said Court. 
 
 <' Hurrah boys, here's the greatest farce of the 
 season. Horace Grey turned good boy." 
 
 There, I've told you enough, as long as you know 
 how boys talk, 
 
 ** Any how," said Court, who is a regular bully, 
 
76 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 *' you shall fight your way out of us, if you want to 
 go and play informer, and curry favor with old red- 
 head." 
 
 I said I didn't want to fight then, and they jeered 
 at me again, and looked as if they meant I should at 
 any rate. 
 
 At last, Steve, who had been quiet all along, said, 
 ** Fair play, boys ; you are n't going to fight fgur to 
 one. Let's make a ring round him, and if he can 
 break through and get over the fence before we catch 
 him, let him go. He's not worth such a fuss." 
 
 I did break through between Steve and Van, and 
 was over the fence quick step, you may be sure, 
 and saying, **we'll settle this another day, boys," 
 was off to school. I was late, and not in the best of 
 trim, and of course missed in my lessons, and had to 
 bear all the penalties ; but no questions were asked. 
 
 I told mother all about it, and she thought I'd 
 gained a pretty good victory. I did n't know before 
 'twould be such hard work to fight Horace Grey. 
 But now I 've conquered him once, 't will be easier 
 next time. So you see I 've beaten the enemy, and 
 the enemy has beaten you. I must brag just that 
 little. But I'm not out of the woods yet, for I 
 don't know as I can keep my temper if the boys are 
 so aggawatin again. But I '11 try. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HORACE GAINS THE VICTORY. 
 
 Horace was right ; he was not out of the woods. 
 I will relate to you the rest of his battle, or per- 
 haps I should call it his second engagement with the 
 enemy, for although he described it to Thornton, it 
 was in a very laconic style, having exhausted his 
 writing abilities in his first account'. 
 
 ^Ir. Marsh, knew more about the matter than the 
 boys were aware of, for he had been passing through 
 the grove and had heard their conversation on the 
 morning that Horace had resisted the boys. Pre- 
 vious to this he had looked upon him as a boy who 
 would give him a good deal of trouble. He mis- 
 judged him, in fixct, as almost every one but his 
 mother and St. John, did. 
 
 There are few persons ^ho discriminate sufficiently 
 in judging a boy's character, to see the difference 
 between getting into scrapes from a love of fun and 
 an excess of animal spirits, or from depravity and 
 wickedness. As soon as his teacher found that 
 Horace could resist temptation, and conquer his tem- 
 per, the boy rose at once high in his esteem. He 
 *7* 
 
78 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 did not abate one jot of the penalties he had Incurred 
 by his tardiness, and neglect of lessons, but he 
 treated him with a consideration that Horace felt, 
 and the other boys noticed, at once. It increased 
 their ill-will towards him, and made them resolve to 
 disgrace him if possible. 
 
 Mr. j\Iarsh had not called upon Horace to inform 
 against the others, neither had he asked them aiiy 
 questions about the matter. Such a course w^as to be 
 pursued only in case of necessity, and urgent neces- 
 sity it must be too. For he knew that the system of 
 informing against each other had a bad effect upon 
 both parties. In this case he had all the Information 
 that was needful for him, and he took his measures 
 accordingly. 
 
 When the truants appeared In school the day after 
 their voluntary holiday, he took no notice of the 
 matter, but went on with the usual routine of the 
 day. When school was dismissed, however, he bade 
 the delinquents remain, and then, without tempting 
 them to equivocation by questions, told them what 
 he had overheard, and the penalty each one must 
 suffer for his fault. 
 
 ** I shall also," he said, *' report to your parents 
 this affair, and ascertain if I am to be your master, 
 or you mine. In the former case, you will, as I 
 have already told you, remain one hour after school 
 each day, till the time of your absence is made up, 
 learning lessons which I shall give out to you, and 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 79 
 
 makinp: up at home the duties neglected upon tliat 
 day. I shall alao consider you bound as manly 
 boys, and as the sons of gentlemen, to a different 
 course hereafter. Floc^G^ins^ I do not choose to in- 
 ilict. It is a punishment degrading to him who 
 inflicts, and to him who receives it. In large public 
 schools it doubtless must be resorted to. I shall not 
 resort to it here. If milder measures fail, expulsion 
 shall be my last remedy." 
 
 This happened on Friday, and in the afternoon of 
 that day Horace met Van coming over to see him. 
 
 •** AVe are to meet in the grove to-morrow, Hor- 
 ace, and talk this matter over," he said, ** and make 
 up our minds what to do ; and we want you to come 
 too. AVe think, if we make a great fuss our gov- 
 ernors"ll give old red-head his walking-ticket, and 
 get somebody who '11 not be quite so strict with the 
 sons of 2:entlemen." 
 
 *' Be sure and come ; nine o'clock 's the time." 
 
 ** For what purpose? My mind's made up now." 
 
 ** Well, to settle old scores then ; you promised to 
 some time, when we let you off t'other day. We 
 could have thrashed you as easy as not then. Yes, 
 or no, which is the word?" 
 
 ** Yes, I '11 be on hand." 
 
 Van had been very civil thus far, but as he turned 
 to go he said, in a sneering tone, " don't forget." 
 
 ** Never fear," replied Horace, good-naturedly; 
 my memory is better than you think." 
 
80 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 ** I must go," he said to himself after Van left 
 Him, **I'spose it would be real mean not to, after 
 what has happened. I 'm afraid I shall get hopping 
 mad. Forewarned is forearmed though, and I'll 
 put out my pickets strong all round, and if the 
 enemy catches me, 'twont be without a desperate 
 struggle first." 
 
 Accordingly at nine the next morning Horace met 
 the boys at the grove. They received him pleasantly 
 enough, and Court began widi, " my constituents 
 have chosen me to express their sentiments for them 
 in a speech." Here he waved his right hand to%- 
 ards the boys and continued, '* we think our liberties 
 have been infringed upon, or rather perhaps I should 
 say we think they are to be infringed upon by our 
 new instructor ; therefore we deem it advisable to — 
 ahem, take time by the forelock and assert ourselves 
 before we find ourselves in — a ^- hem — such a fix 
 we can't get out of it. Now our minds are made 
 up, or at least nearly so," he added, as one or two 
 of the boys made a gesture of dissent. ** You see 
 here is the case; we are the sons* of rich men, aris- 
 tocrats ; consequently, we are not to be treated like 
 the sons of men in the lower walks of life. Coer- 
 cion (that's the crack word now) '11 do for tJiem, 
 never for m. Our fathers don't wish us to be coerced 
 into study. They believe it will be far more politic 
 if the powers that be (otherwise, old red-head) yield 
 a little, compromise a little ; at least we believe it 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 81 
 
 aiKl of course our fatliers are dutiful enough to agree 
 with us. To be sure, red-head has n't done anything 
 very bad yet, only to require us to get our lessons 
 and obey him. But It Is plain he Is prepared to be a 
 terrible tyrant If once he gets firm hold of the reins 
 of government. He does n't know how to manage 
 m; as how should he, a Connecticut yankee, son or 
 nephew at least to a tin pedler or wooden nutmeg 
 dealer. I don't know what he Is, but I infer It, and 
 our class are quick at Inferences. So the long and 
 short of it Is, friends, we intend to secede, and either 
 o-overn ourselves or choose a teacher who will respect 
 our feelings and prejudices. We have with us an 
 old and long-cherished institution, one dear as life 
 to all our hearts ; that of having our own way, 
 and we cannot, no, we will not, give it up ; better far 
 to die a thousand deaths than thus Ignobly yield. 
 My brothers, my constituents, I hope and I believe, 
 we are of one mind upon this subject. Some great 
 man has said a — a — divided we, — no that is not 
 it. United we stand, divided we fall. Friends, 
 countrymen, lovers, am I right, — are we united? I 
 see but one dissentient face." 
 
 **I hear a sound you cannot hear, I see a sight 
 you cannot see. So please stop. Master- Courtland 
 Templeton ; your constituents respond to your very 
 eloquent and original address, and pronounce it a 
 very nice hash from the Sunny South, Yankeedom, 
 and Rome. We were all convinced before you began 
 
82 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 and are * more so ' now ; even Master Horace Grey, 
 whilom so near becoming a traitor is all right, and 
 goes in for secession strong. I propose three cheers 
 and a tiger for our representative's thrilling and pat- 
 riotic address." 
 
 The above interruption was made by Van, who had 
 long been fidgetting under Court's protracted speech. 
 Three cheers and a tiger were given, and then there 
 was a pause, an evident waiting for Horace. 
 
 He straightened himself up from a leaning posture 
 asralnst a tree, looked around with a half smile, and 
 said, *' &s quotation is the order of the day I begin 
 vnth 
 
 ' He who is convinced against his will, 
 Holds to the same opinion still." 
 
 * ' I bow to the eloquence and unanswerable argu- 
 ments of Master Templeton, but as I find myself in 
 that singular predicament of being at once party and 
 leader, constituent and speaker, my words in reply 
 shall be few. 
 
 "Briefly, then, I have decided not to secede, but to 
 submit to coercion, or in other words to obey Mr. 
 Marsh's rules and conform to hfe wishes, at least 
 until he proves himself a tyrant. As for the notion 
 some of you entertain that I was pledged to join you 
 the other day, it is a mistake. I told you I 'd think 
 about it. I did think about it, and I thought I 
 would n't. I have nothing more to say." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 83 
 
 *» But by — " (find here Hal, for he it was who had 
 started forward when Horace finished, swore a wick- 
 ed oath) , '' u-e have a great deal more to say about it. 
 If you do not join us we will be revenged upon you 
 in one way or another. War it shall be between us 
 now and forever. If you join these sneaking goody 
 fellows, who will do anything to curry favor, we will 
 have nothing more to do with you, in school or out, 
 except,'' he added, maliciously, " to take our revenge 
 on you ; and we shall consider you as a mean, cow- 
 ardly chap." 
 
 '' Can't help it if you do ; my mind is made up ; 
 and I've as good a right to take my way as you 
 yours. It takes two sides to make a quarrel, and 
 i 've none with you. I don't wish to lose your friend- 
 ship, but I can bear even that in a good cause." 
 
 * ' Let it go home to its own mammy and its saint 
 of a brother, and be fed on sugar-plums, and be cos- 
 seted for being good, and then it shall go to its little 
 pretty playmate, and make dolls and jackstraws, it 
 shall," said Van, in his most sneering tones. 
 
 Ridicule is a powerful weapon, and boys and girls 
 are particularly susceptible to it, not having learned 
 that, which is a hard lesson for any to learn, — to be 
 indifferent to the laugh it occasions. 
 
 Horace heard the other boys laugh, all but Steve, 
 and he found now w^as his hour of danger, and the 
 need he had of the picket guard he had stationed 
 around his camp. Do you wish to know what this 
 guard was? 
 
84 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Thoughts of the promise he had made his brother, 
 Thornton, of his mother, and of what was right and 
 just. These thoughts secured him from quite falling 
 into the enemy's power. The fling about dolls and 
 jackstraws irritated him exceedingly. He had em- 
 ployed some leisure rainy days in helping Herbert 
 paint a military company designed for a fair to be 
 held by some little girls in the neighborhood, in be- 
 half of the soldiers, and also in whittling out jack- 
 straws for the same purpose. The boys had laughed 
 at him at the time, called him a Miss Nancy and a 
 Yankee, and advised him to open a toy-shop ; but 
 he had laughed it off, and given them back, as he 
 said, as good as they sent. 
 
 He was in no mood for laus^hino^ now. He was 
 very angry, — what boys call mad, in fact, — and it 
 was hard fighting. The enemy beset him before and 
 behind, and he could with a hearty good-will have 
 pitched (I use the phrase that expresses his feeling) 
 into Van then and there, and stopped his taunts 
 about hife mother and Herbert. He did not yield, 
 however. He gained a great victory, — a victory 
 it was, although he was angry, for he kept back the 
 expression of his feelings. And while he was thus 
 manfully fighting his battle, lo ! a new ally appeared 
 in the person of Steve Harwood. He stepped for- 
 ward and said, — 
 
 * * It 's a mighty poor cause that needs ridicule to 
 uphold itc I join Horace now." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1801 85 
 
 Were n't the three boys left vexed enough ! To 
 use one of their own favorite expressions, ** you'd 
 better believe " they were, not only vexed and angry, 
 but mad, — raging like wild creatures. All the 
 epithets at command of Yan w^ere freely bestowed 
 upon first Horace, and then Steve ; and Van's vo- 
 cabulary of ** naughty words " was neither small nor 
 choice. It was bad enough for Horace to have de- 
 serted them, — Horace, whose father was a rich and 
 influential man in the neighborhood, — but that was 
 trifling to Steve's loss to their side. Steve was the 
 oldest of them all, between fifteen and sixteen, aiid 
 his father was quite the nabob of the place ; and he, 
 Steve, had unlimited powers at home, — so, at least, 
 the boys thought, — and upon his influence they had 
 reckoned to carry out their foolish scheme. Without 
 him, they saw only discomfiture and final submission. 
 
 " Come on, then, cowards and deserters, and fight 
 it out ! " roared Hal. 
 
 *'No," said Steve, calmly, «'we'll not fight. 
 Horace is in the right ; but, for all that, as I hate 
 to study, I dare say I should have kept with you if 
 you hadn't used unfair weapons. I think the mean- 
 ness and cowardice comes in where you twit a boy 
 about his mother and his kindness to a poor de- 
 formed fellow. That 's my opinion, and you can 
 take it free gratis, and make the most of it. I 
 think, too," he added, changing his tone, " the best 
 thing you can do is to let this rest, and come to 
 8 
 
86 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 school Monday In an orderly fashion. Come, Hor- 
 ace. Good morning, boys, and a better mind to 
 you when we meet again." 
 
 The immediate result of this affair was a request 
 on the part of the fathers of the refractory boys that 
 Mr. Marsh should remain, promising good behavior 
 on behalf of their sons for the future. 
 
 When the boys met at school the following Mon- 
 day, the three would-be seceders were very civil, and 
 apparently on friendly terms with the others. 
 
 '* A violent storm soon blown over," said Horace 
 to Steve. 
 
 ** Humph! I've heard of storms blowing over, 
 and coming up again in another quarter of the heav- 
 ens. They haven't done with us yet; but I'm not 
 afraid. As for you, Horace, you did well, and 
 made me feel ashamed of myself." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THORNTON LEARNS BY EXPERIENCE THE TRUTH 
 OF AN OLD PROVERB. 
 
 I TOLD you, at the beginning of this story, that it 
 would not be a connected history of a soldier's life in 
 the army, but a series of sketches and incidents, il- 
 lustrative of the different phases of his experience, 
 and of the leading idea of the book. Therefore, I 
 now make a long leap, from the time of Thornton's 
 first bloody and fearful battle, to a period of com- 
 parative rest and '' masterly inactivity." 
 
 January, '62. Well, Horace, my young fighter, 
 we've been having a pretty queer muddle of an ex- 
 perience since I last journalized for your benefit, — 
 a mingling of the serious and comic, — out of which 
 I leave you to gather hints to aid and fun to amuse 
 
 you. 
 
 A pretty serious matter it was to our company, a 
 week ago, when, about four in the morning, we were 
 tumbled out of our tents, with the order to fall in, 
 stumbling over each other and every tumble-over- 
 able article near, and sent off a mile in pursuit of a 
 
88 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 small body of Rebels, who were quietly waiting for 
 the morning light to do us some mischief, — so, at 
 least, the report had come to us. Of course, they 
 did n't mean a serious attack, but had their eye upon 
 some supplies they thought were in an available posi- 
 tion for a raid. 
 
 Our captain, Ned Howe, of whom I spoke as be- 
 longing to our set in the city, led us a pretty wild- 
 goose chase. Under the influence of that subtle 
 enemy which steals away the brains, he mistook his 
 orders, and marched us oflf into a morass, after 
 floundering through which, we brought up square 
 against a wood too tliick to be a hiding-place for 
 any but Lilliputian warriors, and were ordered to 
 fire ; which we did in the dim light of the waning 
 moon, and received for response the echo of our own 
 fire^ms, followed by curses loud and deep from our 
 own men upon the discovery that the enemy was n't 
 *'thar." 
 
 It was some time before Captain Howe recovered 
 his wits enough to be made to realize his blunder ; 
 
 and when he did, he swore roundly that the 
 
 Rebels had given him the slip, and gone round 
 't other way ! 
 
 We returned to camp, angry and mortified, minus 
 a good round of ammunition, and all our patience, 
 and plus a liberal coating of mud, and aching limbs. 
 
 Ned was Jiot discharged, — O, no ! The matter 
 was hushed up in some remarkable manner; and, 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18C1. 89 
 
 because he was high in office, and had Influential 
 friends, he was allowed to remain and lead his men 
 into the cannon's mouth, or, still more trying to us, 
 into ridiculous and shameful positions. 
 
 Meantime, while we had marched through the 
 swpjnp and back again, another company, ordered 
 out to support us, had taken the right direction, 
 bagged the enemy mostly, and were quietly resting 
 on their laurels when we got back. 
 
 Our fellow-soldiers twitted us for a time with sly 
 allusions to safe mistakes, verdant groves, and Vir- 
 ginia mud, till they were coolly informed 'twas 
 hardly prudent to make game of us for one man's 
 sin. 
 
 Xow, Horace, I must say a few words to you 
 about the mischief done, disgrace and ruin wrought, 
 by that one vice, intemperance. 
 
 The privates, of course, can't get liquor, except in 
 some rare cases of smuggling, and private barter 
 with friendly Rebs. The officers can, and do. So 
 our country, engaged in a war which should check 
 all the lower vices, and call out every noble feeling, 
 presents to the world the spectacle of brave, self- 
 sacrificing men led to the front of battle by officers 
 who have not yet learned to control their appetites, 
 and who, under the dominion of intemperance, have 
 caused the destruction of their subordinates. I know 
 very many of our officers are as noble and true men 
 in every respect as the world ever saw, — brave, 
 
90 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 feelf-sacrificing, unflinching, masters of themselves 
 and thpir soldiers ; but there are all too many who 
 are the reverse of all this, — cowards, because too 
 timid to resist evil desires ; selfish, because forgetful 
 of their great responsibilities ; vacillating, because 
 their heads are dizzy and bewildered with their po- 
 tations. 
 
 Touch not, taste not, handle not the vile poison ; 
 abjure it forever, now while you are young, if you 
 would be a man and not a brute. Some of the offi- 
 cers who are intemperate abstain from the immoderate 
 use of liquor till the battle is over, and then get 
 beastly drunk. Coarse language, you will say, as 
 applied to gentlemen. ( ?) No language is coarse 
 enough to express the vileness of the habit, none 
 strong enough to portray the mischief its indulgence 
 causes. 
 
 Imagine, though I loathe the thought of describ- 
 ing such a scene to you, imagine one of our brave 
 officers, who in battle has had the look and bearing 
 almost of a God among men, so royally did he bear 
 upon his face the image and daring of a hero, 
 imagine him lying upon the floor of his tent, either 
 a senseless brute, too steeped in liquor to be conscious 
 of anything, or looking a very baboon, wit a his leer- 
 ing visage, his thick speech, or senseless jargon. A 
 brute, did I say? I ask pardon of the brute creation 
 for the insult. Look at his horse, and »see how far 
 nobler an animal he is of the two ! Again, I say 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUX OF 1801. 91 
 
 to you touch not, taste not, handle not the vile stuff. 
 The temptation to indulge is strong for one who has 
 the appetite, either before or after battle, either as a 
 help to greater courage, or as a relief from weariness 
 and exhaustion. But enou£:h of this. If Ned Howe 
 doesn't lead himself and us into trouble before he's 
 done with us, I shall be glad to prove a false proph- 
 et, — but he has taken a good many downward steps 
 since we left home. In the army, if never before in 
 this life, one realizes the force of the petition, lead 
 us not into temptation. 
 
 Should you like to have an account of one of our 
 foraging expeditions? Yes, I know that will be 
 something after your own heart. You may not be 
 surprised to hear that we have not met with the far- 
 famed Virginia hospitality, and hence that we have 
 been under the necessity of taking the matter into 
 our own hands, and supply ourselves, with the per- 
 mission of our superior officers, of course. The 
 craving for fresh meat and soft bread becomes pretty 
 strong after a long diet on salt horse (as some of 
 our men disrespectfully call the beef) , and hard tack, 
 and when these latter articles become scarce, it is 
 quite useless to forbid the men from taking what they 
 can find from their enemies. This is the case now, — 
 rain and mud, — mud, such as you, in your lofty 
 perch on the Hudson, never dreamed of, have de- 
 layed the arrival of our supplies, and permission is 
 given a certain number of men, ui\der the command 
 
92 ECHOES FROM THE GUX OF 1861. 
 
 of a corporal, to go forth and see what they can find, 
 under restrictions, ho\yever, not to use needless vio- 
 lence, or inflict wanton injury upon anything, or in- 
 terfere with those who have a Government protec- 
 tion. Something is said, too, about our not being 
 Goths and Yandals, if we have the reputation of 
 being so ; and having respectfully received orders, 
 and listened to advice, we decorously march out of 
 camp, and out of sight of camp. Holdfast, Pat, 
 Brag, myself, and half a dozen others, under com- 
 mand of Corporal Trim. 
 
 Decorously, while in sight of camp, but double 
 quick, each at his own pace of that measure, too, 
 when the woods are between us and our officers. 
 
 '* Hoorah for fresh vittles, and good luck to that 
 same boy that finds the biggest spoil. An its meself 
 that'll rin off wid the first pig I lay me hands on," 
 said Pat. 
 
 ** Be sure and git a good grip on the cretur, Pat ; 
 them's pesky slippery, them air," said Holdfast. 
 
 **'And be sure that the old woman don't give you 
 a hot shower-bath while you 're seizing her pig," said 
 Brag. *' I've heard of such retaliation." 
 
 **It's along of yer ignorance," retorted Pat; 
 ' ' ye suppose I can't manage any ould wooman of 
 em all. Yer niver saw my ould wooman, an the 
 way I kape her straight, or yer would n't be after 
 misdoubting me this way. Was n't she that spiteful 
 and quarrelsome loike, that she kept the whole neigh- 
 
ECHOES FIIOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 93 
 
 borhood in an uproor, and niver would live out to 
 sarvice at all ; an' there was talk of sending her to 
 the House of Corriction, an' I thought that was shame 
 for her when she was the child of my fourth cousin 
 removed, in the ould counthry, an' so I jes married 
 her, and be me faith and St. Patrick, she's as quite 
 as a lamb sence." 
 
 "Waal, I call that ar reel grit," said Holdfast. 
 *' I've faced many a wild cretur in the backwoods to 
 hum, but a cantankerous woman's beyond me. I 
 ain't fraid of nothin' else." 
 
 These words, with the honest look of admiration 
 Holdfast bestowed upon Pat, set us all into a roar. 
 *' Steady there, boys," said Corporal Trim, who 
 was never known to be anything but steady himself, 
 whatever he was about. "Here's one place I've 
 had my eye on for some time." 
 
 AVe were in sight of one of those dilapidated, mis- 
 erable-looking houses so common in Virginia, but 
 still dignified ( ?) by still more wretched-looking 
 negro cabins around. Open-mouthed negro children 
 stared at us, and upon our near approach ran off to 
 report our arrival. 
 
 A loud knock of Corporal Trim's brought to the 
 door a lean, sallow- visaged woman, who planted her- 
 self in our way, with arms akimbo. To a civil de- 
 mand for food she answered gruffly, " Reckon you '11 
 have to help yourselves ; reckon 'taint my business 
 to feed xVbe Lincoln's armies." 
 
94 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 *< Thank you, marm," said Corporal Trim, with 
 his' most polite bow, " that's all we want, the liberty 
 to help ourselves. We didn't know as you'd like to 
 have us tramping over your clean floors. Sorry to 
 trouble you, marm, but this is one of the chances of 
 war." 
 
 * * None of your soft sawder to me ; git what you 
 
 kin and be off with you ; hope it '11 choke every 
 
 Yankee of you." 
 
 '* I pray, marm, don't be so hard-hearted, — step 
 along boys, steady there." 
 
 Nothing loath we obeyed ; and visited kitchen 
 larder and cellar, and found — several well-picked 
 ham bones, a little cold corn bread, and a little 
 corn meal. 
 
 Holdfast, who had petitioned for leave to search 
 out of doors, examined the smoke-house with like 
 want of success. 
 
 Returning to the kitchen, our Corporal politely 
 said, '* Pray what do you live upon, marm?" 
 
 ''Anything we kin pick up," was the sullen 
 answer. 
 
 " Small pickens here," said Holdfast. 
 
 " If you'll allow me, marm," said Corporal Trim, 
 stepping towards a door against which the woman 
 leaned half- defiantly, half-carelessly. 
 
 "It's nothin' but a bedroom, and my darter's 
 mighty sick thar. You would n't be so barbarous 'a 
 t' sturb her ! " 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUX OF 18G1, 95 
 
 Now, it had struck me that a frowsy head and red 
 face that we caught a glimpse of at the window as we 
 came up, had nowhere been visible ; and probably 
 the same idea had occurred to our Corporal, for he 
 persisted in passing the woman, and opening the 
 door. At first sij^^ht nothinc; met our view but a 
 most uncomfortable, untidy-looking room, with 
 heaps of bedclothes upon the bed, and a frowsy 
 head just visible.. 
 
 ** Bless me, marm, what a high fever your daugh- 
 ter's in ! I served my time, at home, in a Apothe- 
 cary shop ; maybe I could prescribe for her," said 
 Trim, as a farther entrance into the room revealed 
 the red face of the invalid. 
 
 ** Xone of your prescribin's for us ; we don't take 
 pisins with our eyes open. Ef you 're convinced the 
 gal 's sick, jest step out, with your men, ef you 've 
 any decency left ! " 
 
 **'Yes, marm, quite convinced," said Trim, dis- 
 arrano^incj some of the bedclothes, and brino^in<; to 
 view some sacks of meal, and pointing significantly 
 under the bed. "We didn't wait for farther per- 
 mission, but dragged out a couple of boxes, in 
 which we found a good store of bacon, and a small 
 firkin containing: colors. 
 
 Corporal Trim allowed us to take but half of the 
 spoils, and most politely bade the woman good 
 morning. Her rage was excessive. No French 
 fish wife couki ever have exceeded her in the li- 
 
96 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 cense she gave her tongue. Her daughter, too, 
 recovered sufficiently to join her mother in abuse 
 of us, our country, our Government, and our Presi- 
 dent . 
 
 *'Whew!" said Trim, when once more in the 
 open air, *'it's kind of stifled in there. I say, 
 boys, isn't it remarkable that there should be eggs, 
 and no sio^ns of chickens or hens about ? Hallo ! 
 there's a queer noise. What are you sitting on, 
 youngster ? " 
 
 This was addressed to a boy, a miniature likeness 
 of the fever-stricken daughter of the house, who sat 
 perched upon the top of a reversed hogshead in one 
 corner of the yard, from whence, despite a vigorous 
 whistling on his part, proceeded strange sounds. 
 
 The boy was speedily dismounted from his perch, 
 and the hogshead as speedily turned over ; and then 
 commenced a regular skedaddle therefrom of hens, 
 roosters, and chickens. 
 
 ** Easy, boys ; don't take many. They deserve a 
 reward for their ingenuity ; and there 's a prime lot 
 of poultry and live stock on the next place we 're 
 going to," said Trim. 
 
 Rather unwillingly we obeyed, thinking of the old 
 proverb, *' A bu-d in hand is worth two in the 
 bush," — the truth of which we were doomed to 
 prove. 
 
 *'Now, boys," said Trim, as we marched off with 
 our spoils, *' a little more quiet this time. It isn't 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 97 
 
 worth wliile to give these ci\il people the trouble to 
 hide away their stores, — best not to give notice." 
 
 Our next adventure was in striking contrast to 
 the first. True, the negro children stared as be- 
 fore, but did not run away ; and the woman who 
 opened the door to us, after growling out a few in- 
 distinct words, to which we paid no heed, contented 
 herself with scowling upon and watching us narrow- 
 ly. I thought she was even making a list of the 
 articles we took ; and we had a harvest here, — 
 corn, meal, bacon, eggs, vegetables, poultry, and 
 live stock in abundance, we found ; and as there 
 seemed plenty, we helped ourselves generously. 
 Pat secured his pig, aiid the rest of us took turkeys 
 and chickens freely ; and, finally, when we w^ere so 
 loaded we could n't take any more, we left, thanking 
 our frow^ning hostess for her liberal contribution to 
 our wan|s. To our surprise, she frowned no longer, 
 but gave us a grin which w^e were at a loss to inter- 
 pret ; for it was of that nature that did n't indicate 
 much good will. The interpretation came soon 
 enough, however. 
 
 Well, we had a jolly, if a heavy, march home to 
 the camp ; and our mouths watered as we revelled in 
 luxuries in imagination, and had our *' chicken fix- 
 ins " prepared to our taste. Chickens are rather a 
 luxury at home, but you can't tell how high they 
 loom up in that list after salt beef, varied with "salt 
 beef, week in and week out. So we must not be set 
 
98 ECHOES FHOM THE GUN OF 18C1. 
 
 down as gluttons if * * chicken fixins " was still the 
 burden of our song. 
 
 But, alas ! alas ! there 's many a slip between the 
 cup and lip. Pride must have a fall, and so did our 
 elation ; for we had no sooner arrived at camp, told 
 our tale most triumphantly, and described the loca- 
 tion of the two plantations we had visited, than we 
 were coolly informed that the one we last visited had 
 a Government protection ! 
 
 ** Why in did n't the hag show it, then?" 
 
 said Corporal Trim, fairly enraged out of his pro- 
 priety. 
 
 '* Because you did n't ask for it, probably ; though 
 she says she did tell you so, and you took no notice 
 of her." 
 
 *' She says!" said Corporal Trim, aghast; "is 
 the woman a witch?" 
 
 " Xo, only a keen woman. She took a list of 
 the articles you appropriated, and as soon as you 
 were out of sight, despatched a fleet messenger to 
 camp. The lad is half-way home now." 
 
 ** What's to be done?" 
 
 ''Return everything that is not injured, pay for 
 what is, out of your own pockets, and make an 
 apology, — at least, tell the woman you did n't 
 know she had a protection." 
 
 " She 's as arrant a Rebel as ever wore petticoats," 
 said Trim. 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18C1. 99 
 
 *' No matter," said our superior officer ; '* her hus- 
 band 's an Unionist, and she has a protection." 
 
 *'Ifwe must, we must, I s'pose," said our dis- 
 comfited leader. *' That's what her infernal grin 
 meant ! " 
 
 I can't dwell much upon our return to the abode 
 of plenty, nor its results. This time we felt we were 
 fair game to the rest of the company, and so bravely 
 joined in the laugh ; and by unanimous vote, called 
 our camp, ** Camp Chicken Fixins." 
 
 I think I have verified to you the truth of the old 
 proverb, *' There 's many a slip between the cup and 
 the lip." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 INSIDIOUS FOES. 
 
 WjfEKS passed, and nothing occurred on the part 
 of the intended seceders to confirm Steve's prophecy 
 that "they hadn't done with them yet." On the 
 contrary, they were pleasant and conciliating in their 
 demeanor, and maintained a better rank m school 
 than ever before. Mr. Marsh treated them with 
 kindness and consideration. Horace said, laughing- 
 ly, to Steve, one day, — 
 
 '* It takes a long time for your storm to come up. 
 Guess we 've weathered this gale, anyhow." 
 
 Steve shook his head. He knew the boys, Hal 
 and Van, at least, to be resentful and vindictive, and 
 Court was easily led by the others. But he did n't 
 give himself much trouble about the matter. He 
 had no fears on his own part, and he hardly saw 
 how they could injure Horace. The affair had done 
 Steve a great deal of good. It had roused him from 
 his indolence ; and the wish to retrieve his character 
 with Mr. Marsh had induced greater faithfulness in 
 his studies. This brought with it its own reward ; 
 and his lessons, hitherto a task, became a pleasure ; 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 101 
 
 and he was now, what he had always been capable of 
 being, one of the best scholars in the school. So 
 the slight circumstance of his taking the part of 
 Horace against the other boys, had results for him 
 which affected his whole future course in life. 
 
 But to return to our home soldier. His case was 
 like that of many an older and more experienced 
 one. A great victory had made him self-confident, 
 and careless of more insignificant enemies. These 
 were more numerous than he was aware of. Be- 
 cause they did not come to him roaring and raging, 
 and compelling him to do battle, or yield at once, as 
 in his former experience, he slackened in his watch- 
 fulness, and neglected to keep his pickets well posted. 
 He did not recall the stirring counsel of the hymn, — 
 
 ** Awake, my soul ! lift up thine eyes, 
 See where thy foes against thee rise, — 
 In long array, a numerous host, — 
 Awake, my soul ! or thou art lost ! " 
 
 Neither did he remember that, — 
 
 " The meanest foe of all the train 
 Has thousands and ten thousands slain." 
 
 No ; he wrote to Thornton, in a most self-congratu- 
 latory manner, that one good fight was the best 
 thing in the world for a fellow, and added, *'I'm 
 afraid I sha n't be able to keep up with you in gal- 
 lant exploits, for one bout with the enemy has beaten 
 him." 
 
 9* 
 
102 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 And all this time Horace was losing ground in 
 scholarship and in strict principle ! 
 
 Naturally a bright boy, he could easily maintain 
 a good rank in school with ordinary attention to his 
 studies ; but he was so fond of play and out of door 
 exercise, that he was very apt to neglect study out 
 ♦ of school, for amusement. Faithful scholarship re- 
 quired that the boys should give some of their time 
 at home to their lessons, although there was still 
 abundance left for recreation. Of course, he be- 
 longed to a military company, the Highland Zou- 
 aves by name, for all boys from six years upwards 
 took the military fever. Some took it so severely 
 that playing soldier ended in real soldiership, a little 
 later ; others took it so lightly that it ended with the 
 gloss of their new uniforms, and if not in literal, at 
 least metaphorical smoke. 
 
 But Horace, of course, with his military aspira- 
 tions, had the fever severely, with all its most violent 
 symptoms, and was so thoroughly imbued with it, 
 that everything for a time was done en miUtairc. 
 His school satchel was slung like a knapsack upon 
 . his back ; Caesar was called upon to enact the ene- 
 my, and receive imaginary charges in front, and sur- 
 prises in the rear ; was humiliated by being taken 
 prisoner, or astounded by the vociferous impreca- 
 tions bestowed upon him, if he turned tail and fled. 
 The family were gTeeted with military salutes ; his 
 mother's nicely-cooked viands were designated as 
 
ECHOES FllOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 103 
 
 salt horse, and hard tack, and once or twice he 
 made imaginary bayonet charges, with the carving 
 knife, at the sirloin, till peremptorily forbidden to 
 bring the camp to the dinner-table. 
 
 With this fascination upon him, of course, all his 
 leisure time, and much tliat was not lawfully such, 
 was spent in camp, drilling, or in marching, camp- 
 ing'out, &o. And this was not all, nor the w^orst. 
 He spent more time in lounging about, and talking 
 over their last performances, and planning some- 
 thing new for the next, than in the real duties of 
 camp life ; and then his lessons were — where ? All 
 boys with like propensities can tell me. 
 
 He belonged, also, to a boat .club ; and the river 
 side w^as another favorite resort of his, where he 
 would rock idly in one of the boats, talking with the 
 man who had charge of them, or with some com- 
 panion as careless as himself, and as averse to in- 
 door pursuits. 
 
 One day his mother remonstrated with him upon 
 these habits, and his evident neglect of his studies. 
 
 ** A boy must have some time to play, mother. 
 It 's enough to be cooped up in school from nine till 
 two, without spending any more time studying. My 
 opinion is, mother, that the house was never intended 
 for boys to live in, — only to eat and sleep in." 
 
 '* So it seems you think," replied his mother, 
 gently; ** but, unfortunately for you, neither your 
 father nor. I hold to the same opinion. A boy has 
 
104 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 duties, as well as pleasures. I just came from Mrs. 
 Harwood's. AVhen I went there, an hour ago, Steve 
 was sittmg on the piazza, studying his lesson. ' Don't 
 you go out to-day with the Zouaves, Steve? ' I asked. 
 * O yes, ma'am,' he answered ; * we 've had a drill, 
 and a march, and it was all over half an hour ago.' 
 I came home to find you just coming up the avenue. 
 Play while you play, Horace, and work when you 
 work ; that's a good motto for you." 
 
 * * I only stopped to talk over a plan for one of our 
 marches, with Van." 
 
 ** No special harm, in that, to be sure, if you had 
 no lessons to learn at home, or any other duty to 
 attend to ; although one great objection I have to 
 these lounging chats is, that, though boys may begin 
 with their boat club, the affairs of their company, 
 their last game, whatever it may be, they often end 
 in conversation, or, I should say, talk, less innocent. 
 Is it not so ? " 
 
 *' Sometimes I suppose it is, with bad boys." 
 
 * * And with boys not altogether what you 'd call 
 bad. When boys are out together, I believe in 
 action, doing something. Let them come home to 
 rest and talk, and bring their companions with 
 them." 
 
 *' Can't a boy ever talk to another except in the 
 house ? " 
 
 " Did I say they couldn't, Horace? I am only 
 speaking of those pernicious, loitering chats, when 
 
ECHOES FR03I THE GUN OF 1861. 105 
 
 often boys are needed at home for some duty, or if 
 they are not, they ougbt to be there. Besides, I 
 think some of your home pleasures not so very mucli 
 restricted to the house ; for instance, riding White- 
 foot to accompany Margaret, walks with your 
 mother, work in your garden, and exercise in the 
 gymnasium." 
 
 ** Well, please mayn't I go out and have a race 
 with Ccesar ? Guess I could n't remember any more 
 good advice now." 
 
 **Yes," said his mother, smiling, "presently, if 
 you will listen to one more suggestion. The time 
 spent in loitering might save rebukes, and dismissals 
 from the table for rough hair and dirty hands, and 
 might give a boy time to put away his possessions, 
 and hang up his cap." 
 
 <^ Please don't say any more now, — I'm off! " 
 
 You may be very sure the boys who were anxious 
 to cause Horace's disgrace, took advantage of this 
 failing. There was always some pretext or other for 
 delay after the others had gone home from drill, or 
 boating ; and if once they had detained Horace, he 
 was safe in their hands for a definite or indefinite 
 space of time, as the case mio-ht be, according to 
 their wishes. 
 
 The reward of all this negligence was the, to 
 Horace, astounding address of Mr. Marsh to him, 
 one day : — 
 
 *' Horace Grey, are you aware how your report 
 stands?" 
 
106 ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 The severe tone in which this question was asked, 
 startled Horace, and he answered, meekly, — 
 
 ** No, sir." 
 
 *' I am, unfortunately for you. You have a low- 
 er average than any boy in school, with, perhaps, 
 two exceptions. This, for a boy of good abilities, 
 good healthy and good home influence, is unpardon- 
 able. Your carelessness and neglect have been so 
 apparent to the whole school, that I have no hesita- 
 tion in thus publicly reprimanding you. See to it 
 that your course is changed. The term is nearly 
 half over, but you can still retrieve your character, 
 if you will. All that you need is a little less time 
 spent in play and idling, and a little more devoted 
 to study. 
 
 '' And now, boys," Mr. Marsh continued, '* I 
 have a proposal of general interest to make. You 
 have most of you made gocd progress in drawing 
 and writing. I propose that you should outline a 
 map of the United States, filling up with accuracy 
 and marking special war localities, the District of 
 Columbia, Maryland, and Virginia. The design, as 
 you doubtless understand, is to fix in your minds 
 interesting facts and situations^relating to the war. 
 I shall wish you, at some future time, to go on and 
 fi^l up the remainder of the map*. You cannot do 
 this without work, nor without making some sacrifice 
 of your amusements ; but if you manage with sys- 
 tem, I believe it will not be an alarming one. To 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 107 
 
 the one who, in the opinion of six impartial judges, 
 succeeds the best, I will with pleasure give — my 
 cordial api)robation and — a copy of Irving's Life of 
 Washington. Those of you who approve my pro- 
 posal will signify it by saying * Ay.*" 
 
 A deafening shout of ayes rang through the school- 
 room. 
 
 *' Those who disapprove, — and by disapproval I 
 mean indifference, as well as decided objection, — 
 will signify it by saying * Xo.' " 
 
 A fixlnt no was heard from one of the idlers of the 
 school, — one, moreover, who never seemed able to 
 draw a straight line. At this sound, the other boys 
 laughed. 
 
 jNIr. ^larsh looked reprovingly at them, and said : 
 
 ** Bravely done, George Lee ! You have been 
 honest, as well as brave, and I count those two great 
 virtues. Many boys, perhaps some among those 
 who have just laughed at your moral courage, would 
 have joined the majority, conscious all the while they 
 had neither the wish nor the ability to do as I desire. 
 Again I say, bravely done, and I honor you for it." 
 
 ** Now's your time, Horace," said Steve. *' You 
 draw better than most of us, and you'll be sure to 
 succeed rf you will only be careful." 
 
 "Xow's our time " said Van to Hal. *'We'll 
 start something that '11 keep him from having much 
 time to draw." 
 
 ' ' I don't know as those dodges '11 work any longer. 
 
108 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 If old Marsh had n't spoken out just yet to him, we 
 could have manacled it all rii^ht." 
 
 "Pooh! I'll risk it yet. If he gets the prize, 
 I '11 let him alone in future, as too sharp for us. 
 But get the prize he never shall. If fair means 
 don't succeed, I'll use foul." 
 
 * ' What do you call fair means ? " 
 
 '* O, enticing him away to play, and talk, and 
 that sort of thing. There's other means can be 
 used. I 've waited too long now to pay off that old 
 
 score, him. He 's mistaken if he thinks I Ve 
 
 forgotten. No, no ; I never forget, and I '11 pay 
 him double for himself and Steve, too. I dare n't 
 meddle with Steve ; besides, it was aU his fault." 
 
 Mortified and half-repentant, Horace walked slow- 
 ly home, thinking over the last few weeks, and real- 
 izing fully that it would have been far better if he 
 had listened more heedfully to his mother's advice. 
 Like many boys, pretty good boys, too, in the 
 main, he had an idea that a woman couldn't be 
 supposed to understand a boy's needs, and that even 
 an affectionate mother might at times be unreason- 
 able in her requirements. Xow he had proved the 
 truth of her words ; and gladly would he have re- 
 called the hours worse than wasted, when he should 
 have been attending to his studies. He resolved, 
 however, upon a different course in future, and de- 
 termined to try for the prize, — not that he cared 
 very much for the books, but he knew success would 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 109 
 
 gratify his parents, and help to reinstate hira in Mr. 
 Marsh's good opinion. 
 
 lie stopped to see Herbert Vane, and told him of 
 his intention to try and get the prize Mr. Marsh had 
 offered. He couldn't quite make up his mind to 
 tell him of his mortification and disgrace, but said — 
 
 *' Marsh was cross as a bear to-day, and gave me 
 a sitting down because I don't pore over my books 
 all the time. I shall be glad when I get out of 
 school, — I hate it." 
 
 Herbert saw that the less he said to Horace about 
 study, the better, in his present mood ; so he laughed, 
 and answered — 
 
 ** That'll do very well for you to say, and I know 
 how much it means. About this map, if you '11 
 bring your materials here and draw, I '11 help you 
 with my suggestions, and you will be quiet in my 
 room. Only, Horace, I would fix upon some time 
 to come every day, and always come at that hour, 
 unless something very important prevents. If you '11 
 persevere, I guess your chance is as good as any 
 other boy's." 
 
 Horace agreed to tliis plan, and it was decided as 
 drill did n't commence till five o'clock, now that the 
 days were so long, that he should come to Herbert 
 between four and five. 
 
 On his way home, he met Court, who said to him, 
 " Too bad in old Marsh to come down upon you so 
 to-day. We 're all agreed that 'twas real shabby in 
 
 10 
 
110 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 him, just for a few mistakes. He's partial, too. 
 Steve 's the favorite, and nobody else has a chance 
 for his favor. I hate partiality." 
 
 **0, I don't think he's partial," said Horace, 
 thoughtfully ; '' at least, I never did think so ; I dare 
 say I deserved all he said." 
 
 '* Well, if you'll think a little more about it, 
 you '11 see he is. Every boy in school thinks so but 
 you, and we fellows are real mad at him on your 
 account. You did us a deal of good that time you 
 kept us out of that scrape you know, and we don't 
 forget it. 1 hope you don't owe us any grudge, do 
 you ? You see we were so mad we did n't know 
 what we were doing." 
 
 *' Grudge, no indeed," said Horace, looking sur- 
 prised, for this was the first allusion that had ever been 
 made to the affair. '< How could you think I did." 
 
 *' Oh, nothing in particular, only you seem shy 
 of us, and some boys are so spiteful they never for- 
 get anything. I 'm right glad you 're all right 
 though, and Van means to show his good will, by 
 not trying for the prize. He 's sure to succeed if he 
 did, he 's such a master hand at drawing." 
 
 «* He's very kind, but I think each boy better do 
 the best he can." 
 
 * ' Oh, he '11 do well enough, but then he won't make 
 any great effort. He says he owes you a good turn, 
 and if you succeed in this, it'll set you all right with 
 old Marsh." - 
 
 For nearly a week after this, Horace persevered 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. Ill 
 
 not onlv in attendins: to his lessons, but in croIn'T 
 regularly to draw at Mr. Vane's, and neither Hal, 
 Van, nor Court, tried to delay him, but on the con- 
 trary sometimes gave him a friendly reminder that 
 it was time for him to be going home when he seemed 
 inclined to linger after drill or boating. At the ex- 
 piration of that time however, they changed their 
 tiictics, as will be seen. 
 
 ** What time do you go to draw Hor," asked Hal, 
 as the boys were going home from school. 
 
 ** About four o'clock." 
 
 *' AVell, Yan wants to consult with you about a 
 plan he has for capturing Fort Dunbar. He means 
 to scale the walls and plant the Union Flag on the 
 highest battlement. He don't want to tell any of 
 the boys but you, till the day comes, for fear they '11 
 let the cat out of the bag, and the enemy '11 be 
 prepared for us. He says he wants your advice, 
 you 're so daring and spunky. Meet us at the 
 water's edge just below Fort Dunbar, about half past 
 three. That'll not interfere with your drawing. 
 AVillyou?" 
 
 *' That 's a jolly plan ; meet you to be sure I will ; 
 it's only going without my dessert, and that's noth- 
 ing. I 've been hoping we should have some sport, 
 and not do all our fighting in such a tame way." 
 
 ** Well, be sure and be on hand ; half past three 's 
 the time." 
 
 Punctually to the hour Horace was at the spot 
 named. 
 
112 ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Hal and Court were there, but not Van. 
 
 '* Hallo, boys," shouted Horace, '* where 's the 
 Captain ? " 
 
 ** As bad luck would have it his father had com- 
 pany to dine, and Van said he would n't let him off 
 before dessert, and of course dinner would be a little 
 later than usual. But he '11 be here before five, and 
 we shall only have to hurry up our talk, answered 
 Hal. 
 
 Four o'clock came though, and no Van, and Hor- 
 ace had just decided to go back, when he came hur- 
 rying towards them. 
 
 *'It's too bad, Horace, but I couldn't help it. 
 Here 's a little pen-and-ink sketch I 've made of the 
 fort, and my plan. See what you think of it." 
 
 Horace took the sketch and expressed his appro- 
 bation, making, however a suggestion or two, to 
 which Yan assented cordially, and which Hal op- 
 posed vehemently, and Court timidly. 
 
 * ' I shall follow Horace's advice ; he 's an eye to 
 see things right, boys ; so you needn't take offence." 
 
 *' Of course not," said Hal;.*' only I tliink you 
 are making a mistake." 
 
 He then proceeded to urge his objections still more 
 decidedly, and time passed rapidly, till Yan pulled 
 out his watch and exclaimed, — 
 
 "Bless me, it's quarter to five, and there's 
 barely time to get ready to drill. It don't matter 
 for U3, but you wanted to go to Mr. Yane's, did n*t 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 113 
 
 you, Horace? By the way, how do you get along 
 with the map?" 
 
 ** Finely. I 've made a good beginning ; the out- 
 line is nearly done." 
 
 ** Oh, well, then an afternoon's work lost don't 
 signify. * Well begun, is half done,' you know. 
 Let me see your map when you 've finished the out- 
 line, will you? I shan't copy it," he added, with 
 a laugh, as Horace hesitated. ** I only want to see 
 bow it 's done ; and we 're allowed to make sugges- 
 tions to each other, you know. You're not too 
 proud to be advised, are you?" 
 
 ** No, — O no," said Horace ; ** only, — perhaps, 
 — I thought -— " 
 
 '' O, never mind your reasons; it's no conse- 
 quence at all : '' and Van put away his sketch, took 
 up his cap, and with a pleasant nod hurried off. 
 
 **He's a trump," said Hal. ** Most any boy 
 would have been mad to have had such an offer 
 treated so coldly." 
 
 .Horace thought he was a trump, too, and deter- 
 mined he would bring him his map. '' 'T would be 
 real mean not to," he thought; ** and I despise 
 mean things." 
 
 Fort Dunbar was a precipitous rock, rising some 
 thirty or forty feet from the river side, almost per- 
 pendicularly for about twenty-five feet, then grad- 
 ually shelving backwards, and terminating in a thick 
 wood. On the shelving part grew a few shrubs and 
 10* 
 
114 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 stunted trees, and there were also rough projections 
 of rock. Boys had scaled it in the spirit of adven- 
 ture, but -it was considered a daring feat. 
 
 The Highland Zouaves had early in their campaign 
 called it Fort Dunbar, had pretended to regard it 
 as inaccessible, and had talked a great deal about 
 the enemy entrenched in his fortress, and discussed 
 plans for bringing him down to the river side. They 
 had been so earnest in the matter, that one little boy, 
 the youngest of the company, really believed an 
 enemy was there, and inquired if he wore the grey 
 uniform of the Rebels. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 
 
 *« Hallo, Court, what 's this?" '' Boys are for- 
 bidden to trespass on these grounds," said Horace to 
 Court one day, as they were passing near a thick 
 wood, and the above notice in staring capital letters 
 greeted their eyes. 
 
 ' * It seems pretty plain to me what it is ; nothing 
 more nor less than old Skin Flint's notice. That 's 
 old Thacher, you knew ; whoever heard of a man's 
 forbidding boys to go through a wood before ? " 
 
 " Van and Hal went through t'other night, just to 
 spite the old fellow, who was spying about. They 've 
 got dogs there now, and it is n't quite such fun to risk 
 them. But Van vows he '11 play him a trick yet. 
 You know he means — " 
 
 '* What," said Horace, *' means what?" 
 
 ** Oh, nothing ; I was only going to tell about the 
 old man, how cross he is ; and how he won't have 
 anything to do with the neighbors, and how surly he 
 is to Van's father. The estates join, you know." 
 
 *' Yes, I know. I heard father talking about him 
 
116 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 the other day ; and though he said he should n't do 
 such a thing, yet a man had a perfect right to shut 
 up his woods if he pleased. He told me on no ac- 
 count to go near them ; so now I can't join in any 
 trick, and I 'm real sorry, for I should like to right 
 well. I hate mean, small people ; and if it is n't 
 mean to shut up a wood like a private park, I should 
 like to know what is." 
 
 *' What will Van do?" 
 
 << Oh, I don't know ; not much I guess." 
 
 * ' By the way, I was just going after him. Do you 
 know if he 's at home ? " 
 
 '' Yes, he just went up the avenue as I came along. 
 Step quick and 'you '11 find him. Special business, 
 eh?" 
 
 ** No, nothing very special," said Horace, looking 
 confused. A few moments later, and he found Van 
 upon his father's piazza, and taking out his map, said, 
 ** I brought you this to look at. I don't know what 
 made me so surly the othfer day." 
 
 '* Oh, never mind, 't was natural enough." So say- 
 ing, Van took the map, examined it carefully, praised 
 the execution, made one or two trifling suggestions, 
 and added, *' I 've got a splendid map of the seat of 
 war, and you shall see it when you come to fill yours 
 up ; but don't tell any of the other fellows. I don't ' 
 care to help them, or give them my chance." 
 
 *' But I don't want you to give up trying, for me ; 
 it is n 't right. 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 117 
 
 . **Pooh, what do I care for old Marsh's opinion, 
 or the book either ? " 
 
 *♦ I don't care for the books." 
 
 ** Just so, of course you don't ; but naturally you 
 want to show Marsh that you can be careful and per- 
 severing. I should I know, out of spite, to prove 
 he was mistaken, if nothing more. Come in a min- 
 ute and look at my map before you go. I '11 tell you 
 in confidence that I mean to take the company up 
 Brice Hill some day on a march. They 're a lazy set, 
 the most part of them, and I'll give 'em a tramp. 
 We '11 go before and reconnoitre some day, and pick 
 out the worst path we can find. I guess they '11 think 
 the enemy's upon them in earnest before they get 
 home again. Let's go to-morrow, will you?" 
 
 **What time?" 
 
 ** Before drill. It's only one afternoon, and 
 you 're ahead of all the boys, so you 've nothing to 
 fear about your map : here 's the one I told you of; 
 is n't it stunning ? " 
 
 ''That's 80," said Horace, ** splendid and first- 
 rate, too. That '11 help me ever so much ; it is larger 
 and more complete than the one my father has." 
 
 As Horace left the avenue, he met Hal cominof in. 
 
 *' I say Van's a real trump, is n't he?" was his 
 greeting to Hal. 
 
 ** To be sure ; he 's worth two of plodding Steve. 
 Steve 's well enough ; but there 's no adventure or 
 spirit in him ; none of your Miss Nancy's for me. 
 
118 ECHOES FROM TILE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 I tell yon we boys are getting jealous of your favor 
 with the Captain." 
 
 Horace smiled and passed on ; and as the two chief 
 conspirators met, they exchanged significant looks, 
 and then laughed heartily. 
 
 ** "What a guy he Is," said Van, contemptuously. 
 
 " Yes, for a bold, brave boy as he Is, and no mis-, 
 take, he certainly Is the most easily duped of any 
 chap I ever saw," replied Hal. ** He really believes 
 you are as much Interested for him as you pretend. 
 He just told me you were a trump." 
 
 '< I am Interested for him, as he shall see to his 
 cost. No boy ever crosses me without paying for It. 
 I 've got him now in my net as safe as the spider had 
 the fly." 
 
 <* You better caution Court a little, or he'll betray 
 some of your schemes ; and If you once rouse Hor's 
 suspicions, It won't be over easy to manage him. 
 Court told me just now that he almost let on to Hor 
 about old Thacher. That he just began to tell him 
 about Fort Dunbar's being upon liis grounds, and 
 your plan of putting the flag there, and how mad the 
 old man would be,. because he Is suspected of favoring 
 the South, when he remembered In time, and turned 
 off the talk." 
 
 '* Court's a fool," said Van, Impatiently; <« but 
 I 've got Horace one way If not another. I can 
 show a map so like his that he can 't tell the differ- 
 ence, — the same paper and all ; and then If he does 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 119 
 
 finish his own, and do it well, it '11 be very easy to 
 put in a few last strokes that '11 spoil it all." 
 
 " But Ills private mark ? " 
 
 *' I know what that is : * Fortune favors the 
 brave ; ' " and Van drew from his pocket a paper 
 upon which was drawn many times over a miniature 
 shield, inscribed with the motto, " Totis viribus," in 
 tiny letters. Underneath was written H. G., his 
 mark. The latter, of course, was not designed to be 
 upon the finished map. 
 
 "Now, wasn't it good luck for him to drop that 
 one day, just before dress parade, and for me to pick 
 it up * unknownst ' to Hor, and then when he asked 
 me if I 'd seen it, was n't I so anxious to help him 
 find it. I asked him if it was very important to 
 him, the paper, you know, and he said no : yes, in 
 one sense it was ; it was his private mark for his 
 map, and he had made a good one after much labor, 
 and he wanted it for a copy. I told him I thought 
 it likely if he lost it when we were on dress parade,* 
 it had blown into the river, as the wind was in that 
 direction^ He seemed quite relieved at that idea, as 
 he said he didn't want to get up another, and he 
 wanted to feel sure no one would take that from him. 
 He thought he had made it over so many times that 
 he could easily draw another like it without a copy ; 
 that the conceit pleased him, and he was just going 
 to tell me what it was when I virtuously stopped him. 
 
 ** I forget," said he ; " but I should n't be afraid 
 
120 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 to trust you." *« I dare say not," I replied ; ** but 
 I don't want you to tell me. Don't you see that it 
 might be a very unpleasant thing for me to know 
 anything about it ? " 
 
 * * He thanked me for my thoughtfulness ; and as I 
 was passing his desk the other day, I saw him at 
 work' on the same device." 
 
 ** * With all his might ' won't save him from me." 
 
 * * But I don't see how you can get possession of 
 his map if he succeeds in it ? " 
 
 ** Well, I don't know as you need to see," replied 
 Van, petulantly. *' I shall, some way ; so don't you 
 worry." 
 
 I am sorry to give so much space in my story to 
 the plottings of bad boys ; but I wish you to see to 
 wljat mean, wicked devices a vindictive disposition 
 indulged in will lead. Van and Hal were so blinded 
 by their revengeful feelings that they did n't give a 
 thought to the means employed in attaining their 
 ends. 
 
 As for Horace, do you, too, think he was a 
 ** guy" to be so easily deceived, to be made to be- 
 lieve that boys, who a few weeks ago had vowed 
 revenge upon him, would now be such kind and dis- 
 interested friends? 
 
 If he had been mean and revengeful in his dispo- 
 sition, he would have suspected the same traits in 
 others ; as it was, he judged them by what would 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 121 
 
 have been his own feelings under the same circum- 
 stances. After his passion was over, he would have 
 been heartily ashamed of himself, and would have 
 done all in his power to atone for his fault. 
 
 Herbert Yane did not call him a guy, because he 
 was not in the habit of expressing himself in such 
 language ; but he did fear that Horace was being 
 duped in some way by the boys, and warned him to 
 beware of them, when Horace described to him, in 
 glowing terms, Van and Hal's kindness. 
 
 In answer, Horace said, excitedly, *' Now I don't 
 think that 's kind of you, Herbert, to be so suspicious 
 of these boys. You don't know them ; so how can 
 you judge?" 
 
 ** Very true, Horace, I don't know them except 
 through you, and I judge from what you have told 
 me about them. This sudden change is what I don't 
 understand." 
 
 * ' It isn't a sudden change ; it 's been coming on 
 by degrees for weeks, and I don't know what you'd 
 have ; because a boy's been wrong and ugly once, it 
 don't follow he 's always to be so. I 'm sure if that 's 
 the way you judge people, you better be done with 
 me at once. I 've done heaps of ugly things in my 
 day." 
 
 *'I dare say, under the influence of temper. I 
 understand that from my own feelings. I hope I'm 
 wrong about these boys ; but it will do you no harm 
 to be cautious." 
 11 
 
122 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 « * I can't keep thinking a boy means mischief when 
 he seems so kind and good. What does Yan try and 
 help me for, what does he (Hal and Court, too, for 
 that matter) keep reminding me if I am likely to 
 delay and linger when I ought to be studying, what 
 did he show me his map for, that 's so much better 
 than mine ? Tell me if you can ? " asked Horace, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 *'I can't tell you," replied Herbert. *'I hope 
 you are right ; perhaps you are." 
 
 Nevertheless, he was not convinced ; for every 
 proof Horace gave of the boys kindness to him was 
 so much at variance with his preconceived idea of 
 their characters, that he was more and more persuaded 
 that they had some motive of their own for their 
 course. 
 
 ** Oh," said Herbert, with flushed face and flashing 
 eyes, as he sat thinking the matter over after Horace 
 had gone, "why am I not like others? why am I 
 caged and confined here? I htow if I could see 
 those boys and hear them talk, I could convince 
 Horace that they mean him no good. Patience, 
 patience ; that must be my motto." 
 
 The reconnoissance of Brier Hill had two results. 
 A pretty tough, toilsome march for the Highland 
 Zouaves, who thought if that was play marching, 
 real marchino^ must be touo-h work indeed, and a 
 firmer conviction on the part of Horace than ever 
 before that Van was a *' trump." 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUX OF 18G1. 123 
 
 Van knew just how far it was safe to flatter Hor- 
 ace ; and by a judicious use of praise, and a defer**, 
 ence to his opinion, he established his power too 
 effectually for Herbert to weaken it. The plan of 
 the siege of Fort Dunbar was again discussed ; and 
 it was agreed that it should take place the next week, 
 that there mi<jht still be a fortnis^ht left before the 
 close of the term. 
 
 ** I shall finish my map first, though," said Horace 
 to Van. *' I mean to have it all done before the 
 siege. There 's no knowing what may happen ; and 
 if I meet with any of the casualties of war, I want 
 to have the comfort of knowing my map 's all right." 
 
 ** So I would. I'd make sure of not being lec- 
 tured another time," replied Van, cordially. 
 
 What high spirits Horace was in now ! He was 
 doing better at school. The most fastidious critic 
 CQuld find no fault with the execution of his map thus 
 far. He was having jolly good times in camp, and 
 no danger seemed to menace him from any quarter." 
 Was his picket guard kept well posted ? We shall 
 see. 
 
CHAPTER Xm. 
 Thornton's adventure, and lee's romance. 
 
 March, '62. I hare had the pleasure of being 
 taken prisoner, — a pleasure not a little enhanced by 
 my escape from durance vile (literally so you w411 
 think it) in less than twelve hours after my capture. 
 
 Our army, though not of late engaged in active 
 operations, has yet seen a good deal of skirmishing 
 with the enemy. Some of our supply stores are 
 kept in inconveniently convenient location for raids, 
 and that part of our camp has to be well watched, 
 and strong picket guards are constantly posted. It 
 was my luck to be on picket duty in a recent attempt 
 of the enemy to carry off our stores. 
 
 To be of any service when on picket duty, you 
 must necessarily be in an exposed situation, and the 
 chances of being shot down unawares by an unseen 
 enemy, is not a pleasant subject for reflection. I 
 must confess to what I suppose is a nervous feeling 
 at such times. From our ignorance of the country 
 and the most available points of attack, the enemy 
 has a decided advantage over us, as they not only 
 attack us from unexpected quarters, but in case of 
 a repulse know the best places to skedaddle to. 
 
ECHOES FliOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 125 
 
 "Well, as I was about to tell you, one starlight 
 night as I was doing duty on picket, a ball whizzed 
 in most unpleasant nearness to my head, lodging in 
 fact in a tree just above it. In another moment the 
 alarm was given, and falling back to rejoin our com- 
 pany, we found ourselves surrounded by quite a body 
 of the enemy. We fought like tigers, but they far 
 outnumbered us, and before aid could reach us sev- 
 eral of our boys, including Holdfast and- myself, 
 were taken prisoners, and as many of the supplies 
 were seized as could be carried off. After a few 
 miles the Rebels found us something of an incum- 
 brance, and left us with a strong guard near a rude 
 cabin, with orders to rejoin them in the morning. I 
 was privileged to have a bed on the hard floor of the 
 cabin, while the others threw themselves on the 
 ground outside, making the best of their fate. I was 
 at a loss to know why I was so favored as to be 
 allowed to come into the cabin, and also to have an 
 extra guard over me in the person of a stout negro. 
 The mystery was explained later. I know not why 
 it was, for it was too dark to see the man's face, but 
 I had an intuitive feeling that he was friendly to me, 
 and to attract his attention I began to moan. 
 
 He stooped over me and said, '* What's the mat- 
 ter, massa ? " 
 
 **0h! my arm, — it's wounded; can't you bind 
 it up with my handkerchief?" 
 
 *' I'se try, Massa ; do bes' I can." 
 11* 
 
126 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 While tying up my bleeding arm (it was nothmg 
 but a slight flesh wound), he whispered to me, 
 '* Yous 'long to Company C, l^ew York Reg- 
 iment ? " 
 
 ** Yes, my friend, I do, and I should be glad to 
 be back with them now." 
 
 ** Hush, hush! Yous knows one Massa Lee 
 somebody, I done forgot his name, after all Miss 
 Em'lysaid?" 
 
 ** Yes; what of him?" 
 
 ** Ise got letter for him from young misses. You 
 take him letter safe to Massa Lee, an' I gib you free 
 if I can." 
 
 ' ' But how '11 you manage it ? I fancy the guards 
 outside have no desire to ' gib me free.' " 
 
 ** In course not. Dey hate Massa Linkem's men. 
 I don't, an' I want to please Miss Em'ly, too. Don' 
 you stir till I gib de word. But when I knocks over 
 one man, and scream out he running away, den you 
 run for de woods. If yous can't get dere, jis you 
 jump into de pigsty back of dis cabin, stoop down 
 feel board, take hold strap, pull up, jump in, shut 
 down, and stay dere till I done come. Un'stan' 
 datar'?" 
 
 **Yes, I understand. I shall try hard for the 
 woods ; the prospect of a leap into a pigsty is n't 
 alhu'ino^." 
 
 " Better dan de prisons dey put Massa Linkem's 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 127 
 
 <* What you about there, Virgil," said an imperious 
 voice, the owner of which appeared at the same mo- 
 ment at the door of the cabin. 
 
 *' O dcar,^ massa, I'se playing doctor, dat's all. 
 Dis man's arm done be hurt drefFul bad, sure. I'se 
 trying to help him. We's told to lub our enemies." 
 
 **.Well, love aw^y, if you like, so long as you 
 don't let him escape. He loves you, I dare say, like 
 the rest of his canting race," garnishing his speech 
 with oaths which I will not soil my paper with tran- 
 scribing. 
 
 ** De fac' are," said my sable friend, after this 
 interruption was over, '' dat ar' my young massa up 
 big house yonder. I's 'spicious he make lub to Miss 
 Em'ly, an' I's more dan 'spicious she lub Massa Lee 
 bes'. Now keep still dere till you hear great noise ; 
 then be wide awake, an' clar out double quick." 
 
 The next act in this httle drama was an astounding 
 one to Holdfast. He had scorned to lie down on 
 the ground, and stood leaning just outside^he cabin 
 door, apparently half asleep, really with every sense 
 alert for a chance to escape. 
 
 Virgil went to the door of the cabin quietly, ad- 
 ministered a heavy blow on Holdfast's shoulder, 
 which knocked him against the nearest guard, who 
 fell over, then screamed at the top of his voice, 
 * * Dere's a pris'ner 'scaping ! " and in various ways 
 added so much to the tumult and confusion, that 
 Holdfast improved his opportunity, and took his long 
 
128 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 legs out of sight shortly. I ran for the woods, as 
 directed ; but my pui'suers were too quick for me, 
 and I was obliged to avail myself of Virgil's hiding- 
 place. I turned, and passing behind the log cabin 
 leaped into the pigsty, much to the terror of the 
 inhabitants thereof, pulled at the bobbin as directed, 
 and the latch flew up, tumbled in and over on to a 
 bed of corn-husks, and lay there convulsed with 
 laughter at this new phase of military life and at the 
 incongruous thoughts that came rushing to my mind. 
 Wouldn't my mother, gentle and loving as she is, 
 turn up her pretty nose at my redolent garments ? 
 What words of love and truth were in the dainty 
 missive safe under the breast of my mire-stained 
 jacket? What did my porcine neighbors think, and 
 what was their language, as they still grunted out 
 their disapproval of my unceremonious disturbance 
 of their swinish slumbers ? How I lauo:hed inwardlv, 
 too, you may be sure, to think of the discomfited 
 Rebs, who were seeking me in the woods back of the 
 cabin when I was n't * thar.' " 
 
 *' All was quiet" about the cabin at last, and long 
 I lay in masterly inactivity. By-and-by back came 
 some of my pursuers, and among them Colonel Dar- 
 rell, pointed out by Virgil as '* Miss Em'ly's" suitor, 
 who gave strict orders to Virgil to keep close watch 
 after me, as I might be still lurkino^ about. 
 
 a The Yankee had on the uniform of a pri- 
 vate, but he was an officer in disguise. I'll swear 
 
ECHOES FIIOM THE GUN OF 1861. 129 
 
 the contemptible Northern mudsills don't raise such 
 privates as he. I'm sure of that," were his parting 
 words to Virgil. 
 
 I report this, Horace, for mother's motherly pride. 
 
 Virgil answered his master's cautions with an em- 
 phatic *■*■ Never you fear, massa; be sure I keep one 
 good watch after he. My, how he run into de woods ! 
 guess dat ar' what you call out of de frying-pan into 
 de fire, for I's confiding I fin' him yet." 
 
 A full half hour passed after the last sound of the , 
 Colonel's voice had died away before Virgil opened 
 any communication with me, although he frequently 
 passed back and forth in the rear of the cabin, 
 
 " Carry me back to Ole Virginny." 
 
 At last he took a long pole and struck vigorously 
 against my hiding-place, from wliich I needed no 
 second bidding to escape. 
 
 *' You done come hurry out quick, massa. Dere's 
 a horse in de woods, an' I show you a bridle-path. 
 You got him safe ? " 
 
 Him plainly referring to the letter, I answered, 
 *'A11 right, friend;" adding, with a laugh, as I 
 glanced at my mired and odorous garments, ** You 
 choose strange entrances to your hiding-places." 
 
 ** Yes, massa ; dat ar' 'bout de only place Massa 
 George (Massa George was the Rebel Colonel re- 
 
130 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 ferred to above) don care for to poke he long nose 
 into. An' arter all, yous had one narrow escape dis 
 time. When you jumped into de pigsty, and dey 
 squealed so, some ob de men arter you looked 
 in dere an' said 't was mighty queer what they was 
 gruntin' 'bout ; an' one of 'em poked bout a while, 
 till I offered to jump in an' see if anybody was dere ; 
 an' then he said I was an old black fool to fink he 
 could n't tell whether 't was a man or pigs that was 
 dere. Lucky for you, nobody but I an' Scip knows 
 bout dat ar'." 
 
 Grasping the hand of my sable friend with the 
 classical name, I said, '* Thank you most heartily 
 for your aid, Virgil, whatever your motive.'' 
 
 " Oh, I help ebery one Massa Linkem's men if 
 dey like you, such fine-mannered, fine-spoken gen- 
 tlemens. (There's another plum for you, mother 
 dear.) But you see, massa, I's hab to make b'leve 
 very much hate yous all , else I could n't help Miss 
 Em'ly ; don' you see ? " 
 
 Virgil led me to the wood, pointed out to me the 
 bridle-path, and observing, I suppose, rny quizzical 
 look at the sorry nag, he said, " Him got plenty go 
 in liim, massa ; jes' you see." 
 
 It was as he said, and I spon found myself in my 
 own quarters again, much to the astonishment of my 
 friends, who thought I was already far on the way 
 to a Kebel prison. 
 
 I sought Lee out at once, and though my heart 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 131 
 
 was moved at the pleasure I was about to give him, 
 1 istill could not refrain from a hearty laugh as I 
 drew out the dainty billet-doux from underneath its 
 outer mire-stained envelope. 
 
 Lee fired up at once, and went red in the face as 
 a tuikey-cock, and as he caught sight of the familiar 
 hand, said fiercely, ** What are you laughing at?" 
 
 "Forgive me, Lee," I said. "You'll laugh too 
 when you hear my story. Now read your note, 
 which is, I hope, the bearer of good tidings to you." 
 
 ** Yes, yes; k can, it must be done. I can get 
 leave of absence, I know ; and you'll help me, Thorn, 
 I know you will. You know the way, too, and 
 where to find Virgil," was his hurried address after 
 reading bis note. 
 
 " Yes," I said, laughing again, "I'll help you, 
 wliatever the job is." 
 
 " I forgot," said Lee, " that you don't know as 
 much as I do about this affair. Come out and sit on 
 tliat old stump, and I'll tell you the story. Emily 
 Kay was my early playmate and friend. I do not 
 remember the time when we did not love each other, 
 first with a tender sort of brother and sister affection, 
 which, as we grew older, deepened into a strong, ar- 
 dent love. The year before this Rebellion broke out, 
 Emily went to Virginia, to teach in the family of a 
 distant relative. When the troubles commenced, 
 she was anxious to return North. She, too, like 
 myself, is motherless ; but her relatives persisted 
 
132 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 in detaining her, and of late she has been kept 
 almost a prisoner. Colonel Darrell, son of Mrs. 
 Darrell, with whom she is, is determined to marry 
 her. I unite with her in the determination that 
 he shall not, and his success is consequently more 
 than doubtful. I knew the Darrells lived some- 
 where in this neighborhood, but I thought it was 
 farther South. Yirgll will help us, and, indeed, 
 all the slaves, for Emily has made friends of 
 them. To-morrow night Darrell -will be with his 
 regiment. There's no one else to fear, as all the 
 men of the family are absent in the army. There 
 are visitors now at headquarters, who will see 
 Emily safe home when they return to the North, 
 which will be in a day or two. I will-get leave of 
 absence for us both, if you will go with me." 
 
 «« Eight gladly will I go with you, Lee, — the 
 sooner the better." 
 
 I entertained my conapanions that evening with 
 my experience while a prisoner, much to their mirth. 
 Holdfast inquired in his usual deliberate manner why 
 in thunder and lightning they could n't have made an 
 opening Into the trap, as he called it, in a more 
 decent place. 
 
 Pat fired up at this. ''An' what should ye be 
 afther wanting a dacenter place than alongst of the 
 pigs, the dear crathurs. Sure an' it's meself has 
 found them better company nor some of yer black 
 gintry there's such hoorahs about." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 133 
 
 <* Chacun a son gout,'' I ventured to say, in a low 
 tone ; and Holdfast shouted out — 
 
 *' Waal, this is the first time i ever heerd of any- 
 body's taking a notion to pigs' company. To my 
 mind pigs is pigs, and that's same's to say the nas- 
 tiest creturs livin'." 
 
 ** But that's neither here nor there," said I, laugh- 
 ing, anxious to avert Pat's wrath. ** The* reason 
 why,' was given me by Virgil, — because it was the 
 only place Colonel Darrell would n't ' be poking his 
 Ion 2: nose into.' If made from the floor of the cab- 
 in, or from the outside beyond the pigsty, of course 
 the opening would be discovered." 
 
 **AVaal, that sounds sensible. A reason's a rea- 
 son, and satisfies me a heap better than a tarnation 
 string of words with nothing but jabber in 'em," 
 said Holdfast, looking slyly at Pat as he spoke. 
 
 Lee easily obtained leave of absence for us both, 
 and on the night appointed we set forth gayly to 
 meet Virgil at the appointed place of rendezvous, 
 the afore-mentioned cabin. He was there, and mak- 
 ing a motion of caution, said, — 
 
 ** De debil and all's to pay. My massa, de Col- 
 onel, done come home to-night, an' dere's no cheat- 
 ing him.*" 
 
 ** AVe shall see," said Lee, contemptuously. 
 '< Did he bring any of his company with him." 
 
 ** Neber a one 'cept Jake; and Jake'd like no 
 12 
 
134 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 better fun clan to see his massa shot down. Jake 
 jes' hates hhn." 
 
 Lee then briefly detailed a new plan of campaign 
 to me, which meeting my cordial approbation, he 
 took Virgil aside and gave him his directions. 
 
 '* My golly, Massa Lee, neber you fear us ; we 's 
 all for you an' Miss Em'ly. Jes' take care ob de 
 Colonel, an' we manage de res'. My, dat ar'll be 
 good joke, s'pose you carry him t'rough." 
 
 *' There's no suppose about it," replied Lee, loft- 
 ily, <* if you negroes do your part. Plenty of noise 
 and confusion, and information the wrong way; do 
 you understand ? " 
 
 ''Yes, massa, I un'stan' dat ar' ; an' I un'stan', 
 too, I's to hab de boss and traps ready in de wood 
 jes' back ob de house. Now you un'stan' you 's to 
 go to de right ob de summer-house, not to de lef?" 
 
 **Yes. Be off with you. We'll come in half 
 an hour ; they '11 be at supper then." 
 
 At the expiration of the appointed time we fol- 
 lowed Viroril to the old house which fj-leamed out 
 through the trees about a quarter of a mile distant. 
 There was just light enough from an increasing moon 
 to show us our way without difficulty, and not enough 
 to make us conspicuous to any one who might be on 
 the lookout from the mansion. We went first to the 
 front door, which opened on to the wide piazza, and 
 found that it was as Virgil had promised it should 
 be, slightly ajar ; then we crept cautiously round to 
 
ECHOES FllOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 135 
 
 the back of the house, and looked in through the un- 
 curtained windows at the party at the table. There 
 sat Mrs. Darrell and her daughters, and Colonel 
 Darrell, and beside him Emily Kay. I knew it was 
 she from the pale fiice and anxious look, and from 
 the quick, short breaths Lee drew. 
 
 ** The scoundrel !" he muttered, between his set 
 teeth. *'Now*s your time," he whispered to me. 
 '* Make a rush, and if he tries to escape, a bullet 'II 
 soon settle him. It 's hard to give this up to you," 
 added Lee, jealously. 
 
 ** O, well," I whispered, '* I'd quite as lief take 
 charge of the young lady ; it 's only to change parts, 
 and let the play go on all the same." 
 
 ** Don't be a fool!" said Lee, between his set 
 teeth. *' Now for it!" 
 
 I stepped lightly forward, threw up the long win- 
 dow in an instant, rushed in, walked up to the Col- 
 onel, and demanded his sword. 
 
 ** By what right, you * Yankee? " he cried, 
 
 rising and confronting me. 
 
 a By right of might, sir. Will you go peaceably, 
 or shallT order in my company, which I left out of 
 doors, out of respect to the ladies?" 
 
 * Keeping my eye upon him, I stepped a little 
 towards the open window, and said, " Corporal 
 
 * The reader will perceive that I have taken the liberty of bor- 
 rowing, in part, the recent gallant exploit of a brave Boston boy, 
 and have, of course, made an anachronism. 
 
136 ECHOES FK(X>I THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Trim, to the front of the house, and guard the ave- 
 nue. Sergeant Cripps, send off five more men to 
 the rear, and remain where you are with the rest. 
 If there 's trouble here, come in at once. 
 
 Brief as the time was in which this passed, it suf- 
 ficed for the servants to get up a perfect pandemo- 
 nium in noise. Cries of " Oh, oh, massa, we 's be 
 all murdered ! Dere 's heaps an' heaps of 'em out 
 dere ! " " Oh, missus, what shall we do? Here's 
 Massa Linkem's whole army jes' ober de bridge ! " 
 *' Oh, my good Lord, dere's Miss Em'ly done gone 
 faint away I Here, you, Lize and Dinah, take her 
 away ! " " Oh, dear Lord, is dis de judgmen', com- 
 in w^id de fire and sword ? " And sundry like excla- 
 mations, while the women and children shrieked, the 
 dogs barked, and over all rose Colonel Dan-ell's 
 stern voice, — 
 
 '* Silence, idiots ! To your huts and kennels, and 
 cease this din ! " 
 
 Supposing the house to be actually surrounded, he 
 haughtily begged a moment's talk with his mother. 
 
 " It mflst be but a moment, then," I said, " my 
 time is precious." A few brief words in w^hich I 
 could distinguish some words about Emily's being 
 closely watched, and the haughty scion of one of 
 Virginia's first families, fell into the trap laid for 
 him, and was soon preceding me down the ave- 
 nue towards the wood. Of course I followed w^th 
 rifle at full cock ready for any emergency, but de- 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 137 
 
 voutly prayinf^ such emergency might not arise ; for 
 I felt it would be a fiir different thing shooting a 
 man down in cold blood as it were, to firing on the 
 battle-field, yourself attacked as well as attacking. 
 We had not proceeded far upon our solitary march 
 before he turned partly round and said to me, '* where 
 is your company ? " 
 
 *'Here Sir, at your service," I replied. <*I am 
 corporal, sergeant, and company. Thornton Grey, 
 
 private in company C, New York regiment." I 
 
 don't register oaths in these pages, Horace, and I 
 hope your knowledge of wicked words has never 
 gone so far as to enable you to conceive the horrid 
 imprecations that burst from Darrell's lips when he 
 comprehended the trick that had been played upon 
 him ; and as yet he knew not that he w^as foiled in 
 love, as well as in war ! 
 
 My blood ran cold at his words, and I almost 
 feared his very wickedness would prove more than a 
 match for my arms and watchfulness. It was an 
 anxious march, and I must confess to great relief, 
 when I was met half w^ay to camp, by a strong guard, 
 who took possession of my prisoner, and left me free 
 to breathe and think once more naturally. 
 
 Lee, aided by Vjrgil, had escaped with Emily with- 
 out much difficulty, though one or two of the slaves 
 who were not in the secret, owing to some uncertainty 
 as to their trustworthiness, made some vigorous 
 resistance at first to her being carried off. Chloe, 
 
 12* 
 
138 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 however, Ylrgil's mother, and a person of conse- 
 quence in the colored estabhshment of Madam Dar- 
 rell, interfered in time to prevent any serious delay- 
 in the lovers' escape. When we reached our tent, 
 Lee and Emily had already gone to headquarters, and 
 the very next day she set out on her journey home 
 under kind and safe escort. 
 
 As for Darrell, he was almost beside himself with 
 rage when he learned that Emily had escaped his 
 mother's guardianship. He insisted vehemently upon 
 being allowed to confront Lee ; and I was told by 
 Ned, — I beg his pardon. Captain Howe, — who 
 was present, that Lee, although every whit as en- 
 rasred as Darrell, bore himself far more like a man 
 than the latter. It was a bitter pill for a haughty 
 Rebel to swallow, — to be outwitted in war and love 
 by a couple of Yankee mudsills ; for he seemed to 
 forget after this affair the impression my appearance 
 had made upon him previously. 
 
 For the rest, I must tell you, because I know that 
 it wiU gratify you, that I gained a good deal of credit 
 in my regiment for my share in the capture of Col- 
 onel Darrell. Our Colonel said — and his praise is 
 not so freely given as to make it valueless — that it 
 was a brave thing for one who was not only in mil- 
 itary parlance, but in actual fact, a boy, to do, when 
 my captive was a bold, fearless man, every inch an 
 experienced soldier. 
 
 Boy I was when I left home, but boy I am no 
 
ECHOES FIIOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 139 
 
 longer. Experiences such as ours puts the man into 
 the heart, if there 's ever to be a man's spirit in one. 
 I have thus far given you only the froth of my daily 
 life, with here and there a glimpse of something more 
 solid ; but you will yet find, I trust, that under all 
 our jollity beat stout, strong hearts. 
 
CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 HORACE IS TAKEN PKISOXER. 
 
 Horace was in a very critical situation just at 
 this time. Not only was he exposed to the machi- 
 nations of enemies without, but the very security 
 that he felt that he was now safely guarded from 
 foes within increased his danger. There is a text 
 which every human being should ponder well in 
 their hearts, as a safeguard against temptation, — 
 * ' Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest 
 he fall." 
 
 Horace thou2:ht his footlns^ was secure. Since the 
 public reproof Mr. Marsh had given him, his les- 
 sons, if not thoroughly learned, were at least quite 
 up to the average mark of other boys. Thanks to 
 Herbert's persevering warnings, his mother's gentle 
 reminders, and St. John's interested inquiries re- 
 specting his progress, his map was in a very com- 
 mendable state of forwardness as the time appointed 
 for the sie2:e of Fort Dunbar drew near. 
 
 The whole map was neatly outlined, — the loyal 
 States with a faint black line, enclosing a triple row 
 of the loval colors ; while the seceded States w^ere 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 141 
 
 heavily outlined with black only, and beside their 
 gay sisters looked like mourners. Locations already 
 famous for battles were marked by stars, large and 
 full if victories, and small and jagged if they indi- 
 cated defeat or doubtful success. In one corner was 
 the shield upon which was the motto already de- 
 scribed, and which Horace had exultingly pronounced 
 to be done tip-top style, if it was his own work. Just 
 below the motto, written in such tiny letters that no 
 one could distino^uish them from a slis^ht ink line 
 unless told what they were, were the initials II. G. 
 In fact, nothing remained to be done but to write out 
 neatly the names of the principal towns, and mark 
 the localities of camps and hospitals, the former to 
 be designated by a tiny row of tents, the latter by a 
 miniature tree. 
 
 As Horace looked with gratified pride at his map 
 when it was in the state described, he could not help 
 exultantly saying to Herbert, '* Well, you see, old 
 croaker, I 'm likely to succeed, after all. Van says 
 there 's no fear for me ; I shall always pull through 
 whatever I undertake." 
 
 ** Perhaps you will, only there are different ways 
 of pulling through," said Herbert. *' Perhaps my 
 croaking has n't done you any harm." 
 
 *' Don't say it has ; in fact, I dare say I should n't 
 have done so much but for you ; but then I could do 
 double the work I have to do on it before the timers 
 up. One would think you were calculating upon 
 my breaking my right arm at least in the siege." 
 
142 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 «' One can never calculate what may happen," 
 said Herbert, gravely. '' I think you are under- 
 taking a perilous feat and a dangerous one, from 
 your own account, of the place." 
 
 '* Of course you think so," retorted Horace, hast- 
 ily, and in a tone that conveyed more than the 
 words. 
 
 Herbert flushed scarlet, and said, quickly, ** I 
 know a poor, deformed boy like me is no judge of 
 the sports of active, healthy ones." 
 
 '* O Herbert, I didn't mean that; at least, I 
 did n't mean to hurt your feelings ; I did n't think." 
 
 '' Never mind ; you are very thoughtful generally, 
 Horace, and it was foolish in me to care for what 
 you said then." 
 
 This conversation was two days before the long- 
 talked-of siege of Fort Dunbar. 
 
 Van, whQ was determined Horace should not finish 
 his map previous to that event, exerted every means 
 possible to detain him from his work these two after- 
 noons, and he was successful. ** After all," said 
 Horace to Herbert, '*it is folly to be so set about 
 it. I don't expect to lose my right arm or break 
 my neck in this feat of war ; but I '11 tell you what, 
 there 's so little to be done, I will take it to school, 
 and finish it this morning. I shall have lots of time. 
 I can write better there than anywhere else." 
 
 *< O, I wouldn't lake it to school, Horace ; don't," 
 
 ** Why not? what can happen to it?" 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 143 
 
 ** I don't know; you may forget it, and leave it 
 there." 
 
 *'It'll be safe enough if I should. Good by; 
 I'll come in to-morrow, and tell you all about the 
 siege, and show you the map too." 
 
 Herbert saw him go with many misgivings, al- 
 though he could not have tuld what he feared. 
 
 Before recess Van, passing by Horace's desk, saw 
 him with his map spread out before him, and laid his 
 plans accordingly. 
 
 The moment school was over, he hurried up to 
 Horace, told him to come with him quickly, for he 
 had something of importance to say. His eager and 
 authoritative manner put everything out of Horace's 
 mind, and books, map, and everything were left to 
 follow Van, and receive some unimportant directions 
 about the ladder to be used in their scaling feat that 
 afternoon. 
 
 *' All right," said Horace, ** but you could have 
 told me this just as well another time. I want to 
 go back now to my desk, and get my books." 
 
 Van swore roundly he was a fool to be worrying 
 about his books. *' Have a good time for once in 
 your life, can't you? Come along with me." 
 
 Horace looked disturbed. 
 
 **AVell, I shouldn't have sworn if you hadn't 
 kept me waiting. Fact is, if a boy hears swearing 
 at home, he 's pretty likely to rip out once in a while 
 himself. You 've done me good in that way as well 
 a^ others," said Van. 
 
144 ECHOES FE03I THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 This mollified Horace completely, and his com- 
 panion managed to keep him interested till there wa3 
 ' barely time to run -home and get the early dinner 
 the boys were to have previous to going to camp. 
 
 *<I've carried my point, though I don't know 
 what special good it 's to do me, for, if I could get 
 the map, it would be no use to deface or change it 
 now ; but fortune '11 favor me yet, maybe some- 
 thing '11 turn up," said Van to himself, as he hurried 
 home. 
 
 As for Horace, it was hours before he thought of 
 his map again, and then it was with 'a bitter pang 
 that he had not followed Herbert's advice. 
 
 The boys met at their camping-ground, a beautiful 
 grove in the neighborhood, at the appointed hour, 
 and proceeded to carry out their plan for the siege. 
 They were in the highest spirits, and it wa's some 
 time before they could get sober enough to observe 
 military decorum. At last the drum beat, the roll 
 was called, they were mustered into rank, and the 
 order was given to shoulder arms and march single 
 file to the river side, to take boats to Fort Dunbar, 
 about half a mile above ; for the expedition was to 
 be in part a naval one. 
 
 The advance boat was under the charge of Horace, 
 manned by Court and five other boys, who had been 
 detailed for the special duty of scaling and storming 
 the fort, while the remainder of the company were to 
 make a demonstration lower down for the purpose of 
 
ECHOES FH03I THE GUN OF 1861. 145 
 
 drawing off the enemy's attention. The enemy was 
 not altogether an imaginary one, as they found after 
 a while to their cost ; and even now they were as- 
 sailed by showers of small stones, dirt, and sand, 
 propelled downwards by certain small boys engaged" 
 for the purpose, who were hidden behind protecting 
 shrubs and trees on the slo[)ing side of the precipice. 
 Of course the Highland Zouaves received this for- 
 midable repulse with great bravery and abundant 
 demonstration of a noisy nature. 
 
 As soon as the boat in which Horace and his com- 
 panions were touched the shore, he leaped out, and 
 with the aid of the other boys took the ladder out 
 from the bushes where it had been secreted, and 
 placed it in proper position against the wall of rock 
 which rose up before them. Both Van and Horace 
 thought the ladder was quite long enough to reach 
 up to the portion of the rock which, shelving back, 
 would afford a comparatively safe footing. But 
 when Horace reached the last round, he found to his 
 dismay that too long a space still intervened to make 
 it safe to try and reach that part of the precipice. 
 He looked about him in disappointment for a mo- 
 ment, and then saw a place in the rock just above 
 him almost large enough to hold his foot, while still 
 farther up was a thick stunted shrub, of which he 
 was sure he could lay hold if once as higli up as the 
 little cleft above mentioned. He coolly took out his 
 knife, opened it, and found that he could easily en- 
 13 
 
146 ECHOES FIJOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 large the hole sufficiently for his purpose. He did 
 so, left the ladder, phiced his foot in the cleft, laid 
 hold of the shrub, which proved a sure support, and 
 was soon on the top of the rock, waving his hat to 
 his excited companions below. It was a perilous 
 feat, and but for his great daring, added to a cool 
 head and steady nerves, it would have been a fatal 
 one. Even Van had trembled with horror when he 
 found the predicament Horace was in, because he 
 knew he would run every risk rather than come 
 down the ladder foiled in his purpose. He did not 
 wish to be the means of his death ; he only wi:^hcd 
 to disgrace him. - It had been no lack of personal 
 courage, or fear of getting into a scrape, that had 
 kept him from taking the post of peril he had as- 
 signed to Horace. No, he had been actuated by a 
 far different motive. 
 
 Court had wavered in liis design to follow Horace, 
 till the acclamations with which his feat was received, 
 and the promptings of a reckless and bold spirit, de- 
 termined him to follow ; and, before Van could in- 
 terfere, lie was already up the ladder, had taken the 
 dangerous leap, was safe beside Horace, and was in 
 his turn greeted with loud applause. The other boys 
 declined following, and no one attempted to induce 
 them to do so. 
 
 Captain Van and his soldiers had been so intent 
 upon watching Horace that their part of the play was 
 left unperformed, much to the disgust of the afore- 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18C1. 147 
 
 mentioned small boys, who were to personate the 
 enemy. One of them, in particular, — a boy with 
 a fierv red head, and a revengeful face, — muttered 
 to himself, '* I 've lost the chance this time. My 
 little stone would have been a big un for him. 
 You '11 cotch it yet. Cap n Van, and larn not to med- 
 dle with me." 
 
 The next proceeding on the part of the successful 
 assailants was to let down a cord, by means of which 
 the flaty was to be drawn up. This was done, and 
 the two boys soon had it flying from the topmost 
 branch of a tree which stood on the very summit of 
 the rock. Three cheers and a tiger were next pro- 
 posed by the company below for the brave besiegers 
 of Fort Dunbar, and then they all made the shores 
 and rocks resound with America. 
 
 It was now sunset, and Horace was just consulting 
 Court as to the best way of getting down, by a path 
 with which Court had said he was familiar, when he 
 was startled by his companion's exclaiming, ** Come 
 away, Horace, quick, or you'll be killed!" and at 
 the same instant came a flash, and a loud report, and 
 Horace fell to the ground, blinded and stunned. 
 
 The next act in this performance, which seemed to 
 be ftist turning into a tragedy, was equally astound- 
 ing to both boys. 
 
 A rough-looking man, accompanied by two huge 
 dogs, appeared from the wood beyond, and, roughly 
 shakinjj: Court, asked him how he dared to be tres- 
 
148 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 passing on private property, raising flags and the 
 devil at the same time. 
 
 Court answered, angrily, that he wasn't trespass- 
 ing, and that there had been no harm done, — the 
 boy was only stunned. 
 
 The man swore he did n't care what became of the 
 boy, but they were to go with him. Horace, who 
 was now somewhat recovered from the shock of the 
 explosion, and the effects of a blow on the temple 
 from a piece of stone, rose to his feet, and attempted 
 to explain. 
 
 «* Ye needn't waste yer words on me. The no- 
 tice 's up plain as day, the farther end of these woods, 
 that there 's no trespassing allowed. Ef 't aint tres- 
 passing to yell like devils, string up flags, and 
 
 blow up rocks, without leave, I should like to know 
 what Is." 
 
 '* I didn't know," said Horace, Fort Dunbar was 
 in Mr. Thacher's woods ; and I don't know any 
 more than. yourself about the rock's blowing up." 
 
 **A likely story! Come along. No; I guess, 
 though, as you've taken a fancy to call this here 
 rock a fort, I '11 see ef I can't find a dungeon for 
 you. Pity to spile good sport ! " 
 
 *' But I'm hurt, and burned, too," pleaded Hor- 
 ace. *' Don't leave us here to-nio;ht." 
 
 *' One of the fortius of war, I guess," said the man, 
 with a savage grin. " Ye '11 have to try and see 
 how vou like it." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 149 
 
 In vain Horace begged him to have compassion on 
 his state ; equally In vain did Court swear and threat- 
 en the man with his father's vengeance. He made no 
 answer, but coolly dragged Horace along to the edge 
 of the wood, motioning Court to follow, and, open- 
 ing the door of a small building, roughly put the 
 boys In,, and calling one of the dogs to him, said, 
 ** Lie down there, sir, till I come to you \ " pointing 
 to a spot just outside the door. Then, turning to the 
 boys, with the words, ** Ef ye try to git away, he'll 
 tear you to pieces," left them to their fate. 
 13* 
 
CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 BITTER FRUITS. 
 
 For a moment neither of the boys spoke, and then 
 Horace asked, angrily, of Court — 
 
 '< What does all this mean? Are we on Mr. 
 Thacher's grounds, and what was the cause of the 
 explosion ? You know we were forbidden the use of 
 powder when we first got up our company." 
 
 *' Only in firearms," replied Court. 
 
 * * You know that is a pitiful equivocation ; it was 
 not intended we should use it at all. You will oblige 
 me by telling me how this happened. I cannot take 
 it quite as coolly as you do, seeing that I am badly 
 burned." 
 
 «' "Well," said Court, sulkily, ** Van said it would 
 be nice fun to have a salute fired just as the flag was 
 raised ; and so he had a little powder placed in a 
 crevice in a rock, and after you had chmbed the tree, 
 I was to apply a slow match to it. Van calculated 
 it would go oiF about the time we were ready to come 
 down; but it went off sooner than we expected, and 
 you were close by the rock before I knew it. I did 
 call out as soon as I could ; but it was no use, — it 
 
ECHOES FllOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 151 
 
 was too late. As for old Thacher, I knew these 
 were his woods, but I did n't suppose lie kept guard 
 here. I dare say Van did, though, now I think of 
 it ; for he was mighty sly in all his doings up here, 
 would only go at certain hours, and all such thing;?. 
 I wish I knew, guess I 'd tell a thing or two that 
 would make him repent playing his tricks on me." 
 
 ** Well," said Horace, contemptuously, **yan and 
 Hal have made a cat's paw of you. I begin to * see 
 It' now. Herbert was right. Oh, what a fool I 
 have been ! " 
 
 ** A cat's paw, indeed ! If I thought they had, 
 should n't they repent it ! Well, if I 'm a cat's paw, 
 you've been a fool over and over again. They've 
 been imposing upon you for weeks, and just trying 
 to do all they could to injure you. Yes, I * see it ' 
 too, now. They wanted me to help them, and did n't 
 care how big a scrape they got me into." 
 
 And here Court began to curse and swear and 
 stamp with impotent rage, to wliich the dog respond- 
 ed with loud and prolonged barking ; and Horace, 
 smarting and blinded from the effects of his burn, 
 his limbs aching, and his heart swelling at the treach- 
 ery practised against him, sternly bade Court be si- 
 lent and let him think. 
 
 Thinking was of little comfort or help to him, 
 however. There was no chance for escape, In his 
 condition ; for, even had he dared to encounter tlie 
 dog, he was too weak and dizzy to do so, with any 
 
152 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 prospect of success. The more he thought of his 
 present condition, and the schemes that had brought 
 him to it, the more angry and mortified he was. At 
 last anger with his companions gave place to the 
 voice of conscience, and indignation at himself. Ap- 
 pearances were all against him. What would his 
 parenis and Herbert say to his declaration that he 
 did n't know Fort Dunbar was on Thacher's grounds. 
 "Why did n't he know ? Why had he gone blindly 
 into the trap set for him ? Of what avail now were 
 all his attempts to regain his character at school. 
 Though he was not guilty of any great wrong, yet 
 the situation he was now in was owing to his careless 
 manner of looking into things, his neglect of wise 
 counsel, his ready ear to the voice of flattery, which 
 had blinded his judgment, and made him a willing 
 dupe of wicked, designing boys. He thought, too, 
 of Thornton, and his advice to keep his pickets well 
 posted, and to beware of insignificant foes. He 
 thought of all these things, and then, as if to fill his 
 cup of bitterness to the very brim, there flashed into 
 his mind the recollection of his map, in his desk at 
 school, unfinished ! If he had kept to his original 
 plan of working upon it with diligence till it was 
 completed, this anxiety, at least, would have been 
 spared to him. And Horace groaned again in agony 
 of spirit. The smart from his wounds was less pain- 
 ful than his regrets. There could be no hojDC now 
 that he could finish his map. He felt sure that his 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 153 
 
 eyes were injured, for a time, at least; and eveft if 
 Mr. Marsh was willing, on account of his accident, 
 to overlook its unfinished state, what security had he 
 that he should find it safe in his desk as he left it ? 
 Why had Van been so anxious to see it ? Why had 
 he examined it so closely ? What a deep-laid plan 
 Van's was ! Who but Herbert, who had warned 
 him against these boys, would believe that they were 
 guilty, and he innocent, when they had been making 
 marked progress in school, while he had been pub- 
 licly censured for his neglect ! 
 
 Ah! Horace, Horace, the little faults you have 
 80wn so lavishly have become a heavy harvest for 
 you to reap ! The little events of your daily life, 
 which you might have controlled to your highest 
 good, resisting temptation, and strengthening your 
 character, you h&ve suffered to control you ! 
 
 Little things they may seem to you, my young 
 friends, who read this record, and scarcely worth so 
 many words, since you cannot see that Horace did 
 anything very wrong, after all. So they seemed to 
 him, at the time ; so they do not seem to him now 
 in their results. And he thinks, as he sits in dark- 
 ness and suffering, that he shall never, never again 
 be so easily led away from the straight path of right, 
 or be so easily duped. 
 
 And thus the slow hours lag on, and Court's ex- 
 pressions of rage at his companions' meanness are 
 unheeded by Horace, and unnoticed save 1-y the re- 
 
154 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 sponsive growl of Lion, who at each loud tone of the 
 incensed boy, lets him know that he is alert and vigi- 
 lant. 
 
 Meantime, where are the Highland Zouaves? A 
 brave and reliable company, surely, thus to leave 
 their companions in peril. 
 
 When Van and Hal heard the loud report from 
 the explosion of the rock, the barking of the dogs, 
 and the angry voice of the man, they began to fear 
 that their work of mischief was a little overdone, and 
 they held a short consultation as to the next step to 
 be taken. Some of the boys wished to rush up at 
 once, by a side path, to the summit of the rock and 
 rescue their comrades ; but Van vetoed this plan. 
 The man or men, and the dogs, would be more than 
 a match for them ; they would only get themselves 
 into trouble and not aid their companions. No, the 
 the only thing to be done was to notify Mr. Grey, 
 and IMr. Warrenton, Court's father, of the flight of 
 their sons. This Van undertook to attend to himself, 
 and desired the other boys to go quietly home, and 
 say as little as possible about the affair. 
 
 But Van was in no hurry to inform the gentlemen 
 of what had happened, — he hardly knew how to 
 frame his story so as to screen himself from all blame. 
 Consequently it was dark before he reached Mr. 
 Grey's home, which was the most distant one, 
 and told his stoiy. ISIr. Grey did not ask many 
 questions or make many comments upon Van's ac- 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 155 
 
 count of the matter, but he regarded him sternly and 
 hastened to Mr. Warren ton's. 
 
 Mr. Warrenton did n't take the matter so quietly, 
 but said angrily that they were a pretty set of fellows 
 to put two boys to the most difficult part of their 
 enterprise, and then desert them in the time of diffi- 
 culty. It seemed that nothing was to be done but 
 go direct to Mr. Thacher. He received them very 
 gruffly, and at first refused to allow the boys to be 
 liberated, appearing to consider their imprisonment, 
 not only as a good joke, as his man had regarded it, 
 but also a well-merited punishment for trespassing. 
 
 Mr. Grey replied that the punishment might be a 
 deserved one, but it was running some risk of the 
 boys' lives to leave them all night in such a place ; 
 that he would see that his son was punished ac- 
 cording to his fault, and that he would pay any fine 
 for trespassing Mr. Thacher thought proper to re- 
 quire. ** 
 
 Upon this Mr. Thacher yielded, saying, m an under- 
 tone, it was more than he 'd have dune for any other 
 man in the neighborhood, as Mr. Grey was the only 
 one who knew how to mind his own business. 
 
 He then had his man called, and the j^nrty set off 
 through the woods to the place of the boys' imprison- 
 ment. 
 
 Mr. Grey was shocked indeed to find Horace 
 lying insensible upon the ground, his face blackened 
 with powder and stained with blood from the cut on 
 his forehead. 
 
156 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Van had merely mentioned the explosion in a care- 
 less manner ; and, in fact, he did not know that 
 Horace had been burned. Court gave but a lame ac- 
 count of the matter. Mr. Warrenton swore roundly 
 that the whole affair should be looked into, and that 
 those who had made scapegoats of the otliers should 
 pay dearly for it. Mr. Grey, as before, expressed 
 his indignation only in his countenance, which grew 
 more and more stern. 
 
 Horace was taken home as quickly as possible, and 
 upon examination the cut was found to be slight, and 
 the bruises not very serious ; but he was chilled 
 and exhausted from his exposure to the night air and 
 the fatigue he had undergone, and before morning 
 was In a high fever, raving of sieges, scaling walls, 
 and explosions. 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 VAN WINS THE PRIZE. 
 
 Now, according to the most approved style of 
 stGrv-writlnc:, I should leave Horace in the midst 
 of his troubles and return to Thornton. But I can- 
 not desert him now in his dark hour, and hasten to 
 relate how he came out into liMit ao^ain. 
 
 Poor boy! his fever ran high, — little knew or 
 cared he abaut the tender love and anxious fears that 
 kept watch night and day by his bedside. All things 
 had but one meaning to him ; all faces but one ex- 
 pression. He was fighting battles against treacher- 
 ous foes. The idea of treachery seemed uppermost 
 in his mind, for he was particularly averse to those 
 who regarded him with the most interest ; and one 
 day when his mother, with anguish in her heart but 
 a smile on her lips, bent over him to perform some 
 office of love, he motioned her away with every ap- 
 pearance of dislike, and said: *' You smile, and I 
 know what that means ; it means deception. Yes, 
 a man may smile, and smile, and be a villain.'* 
 
 Then, tossing restlessly upon his bed, he would 
 U 
 
158 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 call out — ** Beware of the rocks, the woods, the 
 fields, there's an enemy there ; he is everywhere. O, 
 why do you not drive him away. Don't you see him 
 grinning at me from behind that wall of rock ?' 
 pointing, as he spoke, to a half open door. *' Mark, 
 he 's filling that tree with powder ; don't you hear it 
 go off? Take care, you '11 be killed just a^ I was. 
 I was killed the other day, but I had to come to life 
 to finish my map, and now no one will bring it to 
 me. Why don't you bring it to me ; O, the enemy 's 
 got it, has he? I thought so." 
 
 He raved so much of his map that ]\Ir. Grey sent 
 over to ask Herbert Ycre about it. Herbert told of 
 his'taldng it to school the last day he went. Mr. 
 Grey sent for it, and it was found safe in his desk, 
 neatly rolled and tied with a blue ribbon his mother 
 had given him for that purpose. 
 
 Mr. Grey examined the map, and passing it to his 
 wife, said, — " It is well begun and the shield and 
 motto are finely executed, but the names of places 
 are carelessly written, and there are blots and marks 
 upon it. What a pity Horace should have neglected 
 his work for these boys, who, I ijpar, have been play- 
 ing a double part." 
 
 '* Cannot you find out about the matter," asked 
 Mrs. Grey, anxiously. 
 
 "No, Court says he knew they were on Thacher's 
 grounds, but he did n't suppose it was any harm, and 
 he did n't think Horace thought it was either. Kow, 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 159 
 
 Horace Inav it was wrong if he knew wliose land he 
 was upon. I have questioned Van and Hul, and can 
 find out nothing against them but the cowardly part 
 they acted in the end of the affair. It seems to 
 me Court knows more than he chooses to tell : as 
 for the otlier boys in the com})any, it is plain they 
 have told all they do know. If Horace recovers the 
 matter shall be thoroughly sifted. He will tell the 
 truth, at all events. If he does not, some way will 
 be opened to us to discover all the facts of the case. 
 
 *' If," repeated Mrs. Grey, with pale face and tear- 
 ful eyes — 
 
 *' Yes, Annie," replied Mr. Grey, sadly, <* it is, if, 
 Horace's situation is very critical, but we will remem- 
 ber that our boy is in the hands of his heavenly 
 Father." 
 
 Mr. Grey had not been able thus far to find out 
 the truth of the late disastrous affair to Horace. For 
 Court, who had been so angry with the other boys 
 on the night of his imprisonment, had been very 
 easily intimidated by them into keeping their counsel, 
 and, as they declared, his own as well.. ** For," said 
 Van, ** you have gone into this thing with us from 
 the first ; you knew all about it that we knew, for 
 of course we neither expected nor wished the matter 
 to end as it did. All we wanted was to put Horace 
 foremost in the affair so that old Thacher would vent 
 his rage upon him, and thus get the sneak into dis- 
 grace with his particular, proper old Dad." 
 
160 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18&1. 
 
 This was tnie, and Court, who was really a coward, 
 feared the other boys too much to betray them, and 
 faithfully promised to * keep dark' whatever was said. 
 
 So time passed, and Horace still lay on his sick- 
 bed in a critical state when the day came fixed upon 
 for the examination of the maps. Mr. Marsh sent 
 a note to Mr. Grey, requesting him to send Horace's 
 map, adding, if it was nearly finished and proved to 
 be better executed than the others, he saw no reason 
 why it should not take the prize under the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 *' There is not a shadow of a chance for Horace," 
 said Mr. Grey, when he read the note. 
 
 *' Why, then," anxiously asked Mrs. Grey, *' do 
 you send it?" 
 
 *' Because, I think it right to do so," he replied, 
 *' as Mr. i\Iarsh has sent for it. Had it been well 
 executed throughout we should gladly have sent it. 
 That part of it is very carelessly done is a misfor- 
 tune, and a fault, too, but one that we have no right 
 to conceal. If the lesson it can teach is not for 
 Horace it may be for another." 
 
 The examination of the maps resulted in Van's 
 being pronounced the best, without a dissenting voice. 
 When this was announced to the school by Mr. 
 Lewis, a friend of Mr. Marsh's, from the city, and 
 a stranger to all the boys, he added, that while giving 
 the prize to the owner of the map marked with two 
 crossed swords, the committee must admit that a part 
 
ECHOES FliOM THE GUN OF 18G1. IGl 
 
 of the execution of the one which bore the motto 
 Talis viribus within a shield, was really superior to 
 that of the one which had gained the prize. ** So 
 much superior," he continued, <<that I regret it 
 sliould be defaced by such evident marks of haste 
 and carelessness. I am afraid the lad whose work it 
 is lacks perseverance, a grievous feature in any char- 
 acter. Let me advise him in future to take as much 
 pains in finishing as beginning whatever he under-' 
 takes." 
 
 Alas, he knew not that the boy whose work he 
 was criticising was lying even then between life and 
 death, and that a few more hours would determine 
 whether his right hand would ever hold pen or pencil 
 more. 
 
 It was even so, for the crisis of his disease was at 
 hand, and in tearful prayer his parents awaited their 
 heavenly Father's will. 
 
 Van received the books with ill-concealed triumph, 
 and walked homeward with Hal, exulting that their 
 schemes had been successful. ''If Horace o-ets 
 well and declares he did n't leave his map in such a 
 state, it'll be no use — there's nothing to prove his 
 words, and all his careless habits are against him," 
 said Van. 
 
 " Yes," said Hal, '* and if he does n't the matter 's 
 
 done with ; we 've carried this through and I 've had 
 
 enough of it for one, and mean to let him alone in 
 
 future. I hope he won't die; it gives me an ugly 
 
 14* 
 
162 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 feeling to think of that ; it was a mean thing, as 
 Court says, to leave them there by themselves." 
 
 " Oh, get out with your sciTiples, the day after the 
 fair,'' said Van, angrily. *' You were ready enough 
 then to leave them ; and as we did n't know they 
 would be kept there ill the damp so long, how are 
 we to blame, I should like to know? " 
 
 *' At least, you might have let his map alone," 
 said Hal. ** That was mean when he was sick in 
 his bed ; I'm sorry I helped you, there." 
 * ' * Shut up ^Wth you ; how do you know who 's 
 passing us. I thought he 'd be out In a day or two 
 when I did it, and I wanted to fix him out both 
 ways, — what 's done 's done, and it's no use to re- 
 pent of it." 
 
 *' No," said Hal, with a sneer, '* certainly not, 
 when one has gained a handsome set of books by it." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TRUTH PREVAILS. 
 
 But I leave these boys to their quarrel, which 
 waxed hotter and hotter till they parted, mutually 
 enraged with each other, and return to Mr. Marsh, 
 who, when he was alone In his schoolroom, took up 
 Horace's map and regarded it with a stern yet sor- 
 rowing face. 
 
 ** Too bad, too -bad, and the boy was so capable," 
 said he unconsciously aloud. At this moment he 
 heard a slight noise, and raising his eyes saw at the 
 door two boys, the smaller of whom came forward, 
 while the larger remained at the door. 
 
 *< What do you want?" asked Mr. ]Marsh. 
 
 *' "Want to tell you suthin," was the gruff answer. 
 
 ** What is It? speak, for I am in haste," said Mr. 
 Marsh quickly, for the boy's appearance, coarse, 
 ragged, and dirty as he was, was not prepossessing. 
 
 " I knows all about that 'ere map, the sick un's, 
 I mean." 
 
 *'You, how?" was the astonished reply, '* and 
 who are you ? " 
 
 *' Mv name 's Josh Grew." 
 
164 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Now, Josh Grew was the small boy who, upon the 
 day of the attack of Fort Dunbar, had been heard 
 to utter threats against Van, but of this Mr. Marsh 
 knew nothing. Out of a spirit of wanton mischief, 
 not because he cared which of the two was right, 
 Van had one day interfered between this boy and a 
 larger one in a quarrel, taking the part of the larger. 
 Josh neither forgot nor forgave this act, and even as 
 Van had done with Horace, so had his smaller foe 
 watched for his opportunity of revenge. 
 
 From time to time he had heard scraps of talk 
 between Van and Hal, and sometimes Court, that 
 soon put his keen wits upon a track that he thought 
 would lead to revenge. But he knew full well that 
 his own character for truth was by no means so good 
 amons: those who knew him as to have, his word 
 taken against boys so far removed from him in social 
 position, as well as in reputation. While casting 
 about in his prematurely cunning brain how he should 
 remedy this defect in his evidence against Van, acci- 
 dent threw an opportunity in his way, of which he 
 was not slow to avail himself. 
 
 The conversation which ensued between Mr. Marsh 
 and the two boys will be inferred from what follows. 
 
 The next day everything passed off as usual in 
 school till twelve o'clock, when Mr. Marsh requested 
 the boys to lay aside their books, as he had some- 
 thing of importance to communicate to them. 
 
 When, this order was obeyed with wondering 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 18C1. 1G5 
 
 astonishment by the pupils, Mr. Marsh stood up on 
 his desk and looked around upon the scholars with 
 an air of deep feeling, and addressed them as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 *'Bojs, the matter to which I wish to call your 
 attention is one of great importance to me, and I 
 hope it will prove to be no less so to you, since it 
 involves the character of one of your schoolmates 
 now lying dangerously ill. I do not doubt many of 
 you think that the faults of which Horace Grey has 
 been deemed guilty are trifling in their nature. In 
 fact, so much so, as to make it unadvisable to refer 
 to them. You, none of you, think it a very bad 
 thing to trespass upon the grounds of a neighbor 
 whom you think unsocial or disobliging. You, none 
 of you, think carelessness in habits, or neglect of 
 lessons, a very grave fault. 
 
 * * Yet it is certain , if Horace Grey Tcnowinghj tres- 
 passed upon i\Ir. Thacher's grounds, he committed 
 the double fault of disobedience to his father's com- 
 mands and infringing upon the rights of another. 
 
 " These misdemeanors, even your boyish habits of 
 viewing leniently small faults, as you call them, can- 
 not excuse. As for carelessness and neglect of study, 
 I consider them grave errors in themstlves, and the 
 evils to which they lead are legion, and their results 
 lifelong. 
 
 ' ' But my present object is to lay before you a few 
 fiicts, wliich in a most unexpected manner have come 
 
166 ECHOES .FROM THE aUN OF 1861. 
 
 to my knowledge, and then I shall leave you to de- 
 cide whether Horace is guilty of the charges that 
 have been brought ao^amst him." 
 
 A breathless silence pervaded the schoolroom at 
 these words. Eager looks were interchanged, and 
 Van, who had at first glanced triumphantly at Hal, 
 as much as to say, *'he's got to be publicly dis- 
 graced 'now," changed countenance, and looked 
 alarmed and anxious. 
 
 Mr. Marsh continued: *« Van Dusen Whltmore, 
 Courtland Warrenton, and Harry Glerson, you are 
 accused of being engaged in a conspiracy against 
 Horace Grey's character ; of endeavoring to seduce 
 him from his duties ; of making him, unknown to 
 himself, commit an unwarrantable trespass upon a 
 neighbor's grounds ; and finally, of defacing the 
 map which he had partially completed, thus causing 
 him to appear guilty of great carelessness. 
 
 " The first witness I shall summon against you is 
 Stephen Harwood. You best know whether his evi- 
 dence will be in your favor or against you. Stephen 
 Harwood, have you any reason to suppose that there 
 has been a conspiracy among these boys against 
 Horace Grey?" 
 
 Stephen rose in his seat, no less astonished at 
 being called upon, than the guilty boys were that he 
 should be, and said : " Some weeks ago, sir, I knew 
 there was something of the sort growing out of the 
 foolish scrape to which I also was a party. But I 
 
ECUOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 107 
 
 have heard nothing of it of Lite, or seen any indi- 
 cations that they bore Horace any ill-will. On the 
 contrary " 
 
 '* That is sufficient on that point. Confine your- 
 self in your evidence strictly to answering the ques- 
 tions that are asked. Relate the circumstances of 
 that affair to which you allude as accurately as 
 possible." 
 
 Stephen gave the account with which my readers 
 are already familiar, taking care this time not to add 
 any of his own impressions. 
 
 AVhen he had finished, Mr. Marsh said : *' Now, 
 I wish to ask you what knowledge you have of their 
 feelings towards Horace of late, or rather, what your 
 impressions upon that point are ? " 
 
 " I have noticed proofs of marked friendliness, 
 sir, towards Horace." 
 
 ' * What effect did this altered course of conduct 
 have upon your mind ? " 
 
 * * It surprised me at first, because it was so unex- 
 pected ;. but after a while I supposed they had for- 
 gotten the affair, and in consequence I ceased to feel 
 any more anxiety about Horace." 
 
 * ' Why was it unexpected ? boys often quarrel 
 furiously and then are good friends immediately 
 afterwards." 
 
 *'If you will excuse me, sir, I should prefer not 
 to answer that question, except by saying it arose 
 from my knowledge of the parties concerned." 
 
168 ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 A half smile stole over Mr. Marsh's face, as if the 
 answer was quite sufficient for him, but it was in- 
 stantly repressed, and he said, ** That will do Ste- 
 phen, — you may sit down." 
 
 Mr. Marsh then rang a bell, and the door opened 
 and three boys entered. Slouching, spiteful, and 
 leering sideways at Van, came Josh Grew, followed 
 by Joe Lane, a poor boy, well known to. Mr. Marsh 
 for his steady, industrious habits, and Tom Dale, 
 who took charge of the schoolroom. 
 
 <* Come forward, Joshua Grew, and tell me what 
 you know of a plot against Horace Grey,'' said 
 Mr. Marsh. 
 
 ' ' I knows I 've heerd them boys talk it over in the 
 woods and down by the shore, lots of times. They 
 .said as how they 'd fix out Horace Grey yet; that 
 they never forgot a grudge ; that he should pay yet 
 for spiling their fun. I heerd em say as how they 'd 
 make him go up to old Thacher's w^oods, and put a 
 flag on the tallest tree there ; that the old man was 
 a southern suthin — I forget w^hat — only I made 
 out he 'd be all-fired mad to see the Union flasr a 
 waving on his trees. They said he was such a care- 
 less, reckless dog, he 'd never know whether he was 
 on Queen Victory's grounds or whose ; that his 
 father 'd be tarnation mad with him, as well as Skin- 
 flint, and old Marsh. I heerd 'em say, too, they 'd 
 spile his map for him if he did n't spile it hisself. 
 Leastways, they all talked about these 'ere things, — 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1801. 169 
 
 but that one, pointing to Van, seemed to be most 
 spiteful like." 
 
 ** IIow came you to hear all this ; you must have 
 been spying?" asked Mr. Marsh, when the boy had 
 got to the end of his volubly delivered story. 
 
 ** I was in the woods one day when two on 'em. 
 Van and Hal, came along and I heerd suthin about 
 it then, so I j;racked 'em urterwards and used to hide 
 and listen." 
 
 " AVhat was your object In pursuing such a mean 
 course ? " 
 
 ** O, curosity, I 'spect, to begin with ; and then I 
 owed Van a grudge and thought this 'ud pay it off." 
 
 ** How then do you expect your story to be be- 
 lieved, if you own that you owe a boy a grudge?" 
 asked Mr. Marsh, severely. 
 
 ** Did n't never 'spect nobody to 'bleve me, as 
 nobody never does ; but I thought I'd kinder frighten 
 'em about it arter I'd heerd all I wanted to. But as 
 good luck 'd have it, a boy came along one day folks' 
 could 'bleve, and as soon as I see him, says I, * bully 
 for you, Joe Lane, you's the chap.' But he was 
 goin' on straight ahead, and says I * no you don't ; ' 
 says he, * yes I am, I'm in a hurry.' ' O, says I, 
 very well ; then you don't want to help git Horace 
 Grey out of a big scrape, do you?' ' What?' says 
 he, stopping short. < That's so,' says I, * an' then I 
 telled him all I knew, an' what I wanted him for, an' 
 15 
 
170 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 that I knowed the boys 'd be 'long soon. He can 
 tell the rest hisself." 
 
 Mr. Marsh then requested Joe to tell all he knew 
 about the affah' in question. 
 
 Joe rose with evident unwillingness and said, 
 '' It 's just as Josh tells you, sir. I was plaguey loth 
 to turn listener, for it ain't in my line ; but I 'd do 
 anything to serve Horace Grey, for he 's been real 
 kind to me, and his mother 'd helped my mother 
 when she was in a deal of trouble. So, when the 
 boys came down to the shore, as Josh thought they 
 would, I heard Van say to Master Hal, ' It's about 
 all fixed now; he's as ready as can be to run head- 
 long into my trap. "When he 's performed the gal- 
 lant exploit I keep cramming him with, of scaling 
 Fort Dunbar, and planting the flag in the enemy's 
 country (poor fool, he don't know it is the enemy's 
 in earnest) , *I guess he '11 have to come down a peg 
 in old Marsh's estimation, as well as his governor's. 
 As to his map — we sliall see.'" 
 
 * * How came you to hear so distinctly ? " asked Mr. 
 Marsh. <« It seems very careless in boys who have 
 a plot against another to talk so freely of it out of 
 doors." 
 
 *' Why, sir, they did speak low, and could see all 
 around them, but we were perched behind a rock 
 over their heads. It was n't a likely place to be look- 
 ing out for listeners." 
 
 * ' What more do you know about this matter ? " 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 171 
 
 • 
 <* Well, sir, the day after the Fort Dunbar scrape 
 Josh came to me and wanted me to go Into the woods 
 over there, that side of the schoolroom. He said 
 there was more mischief brewing, and I must go and 
 find it out. So I came and hid behind a tree just 
 over by that window, sir," pointing, as he spoke, to 
 a large tree opposite a window which commanded a 
 view of a row of desks, in the range of which was 
 the one occupied by Horace Grey. " I heard steps, 
 and presently Hal-came up and went Into the lower 
 schoolroom, and seemed to be looking for something, 
 and then I heard him ask Tom to go up to the reci- 
 tation rooms and help him hunt for his pencil. I 
 heard them go up stairs ; they made a good deal of 
 noise ; and then, two minutes after. Van came in 
 and went to a desk over there — I don't know exactly 
 which one — and took out a roll tied with a blue rib- 
 bon and put it into his pocket, and then slipped out 
 as fast as he could and came into the wood where 
 Josh and me were hiding. I was scared for fear he 'd 
 find us ; but luckily he wanted to hide where he could 
 see the schoolroom door. Presently out came Hal 
 whistling, and he joined Yan in the woods, and I 
 heard Yan gay ' all right ; come to-morrow morning 
 and I'll bring the map back after I 've finished it for 
 Horace,' and then they both laughed. So I came 
 early in the morning, too, with Josh, and got behind 
 the same tree, and pretty soon along came Hal again 
 and waited till Tom came up. Then he said, ' let 
 
172 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 me in to the schoolroom, will you? I can't find my 
 gold pencil and it must be here.' So Tom let him in, 
 and I saw him rummaging about, but I coudn't hear 
 what he said because the windows were shut ; but 
 pretty soon the two went off up stairs again, though 
 Tom looked as if he did n't like to over -much. Then 
 Van comes in as before, and puts back the roll 
 into the desk, and looks about kind of scared and 
 runs out, and walked off a little way from the school- 
 room down by the brook." 
 
 "How do you know, as you could not see him 
 pass around the schoolroom ? " inquired Mr. jNIarsh. 
 
 ** No, sir, I could n't, but I saw him in the path 
 after he got beyond the schoolroom." 
 
 '* Why should he have gone that way instead of 
 the way he came ? " 
 
 '* To avoid meeting any one, sir." 
 
 A peculiar expression passed over Mr. ]\Iarsh's 
 countenance at this reply, which no one but Van 
 could interpret, — that he could, was evident from 
 the crimson flush that overspread his face. 
 
 *asthisaU?" 
 
 *' Yes, sir, and I hope you '11 believe that I never 
 did such a mean thing before as to follow boys about 
 and spy on them , and that I would n't have done it 
 now for anything else than to save Horace from being 
 blamed for what he did n't know was wi'ong, and for 
 what he did n't do. And I heard, too, he was sick 
 and mio'ht die." 
 
KCUOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 173 
 
 <* Yes, I believe you, Joe, and so I think do all 
 present," said Mr. Marsh, looking around upon the 
 eager faces -upraised to his. 
 
 *' Xow, Tom, what have you to say?" 
 
 <* I don't know nothin' 'bout it, sir, 'cept what Joe 
 jist telled you 'bout Hal's comin' to look for his pen- 
 cil. It was jist as he said, and I didn't see Van nor 
 him nother, an' I didn't know they was about. I 
 know I was pretty cross to hev to leave my work an' 
 go an' help him find his pencil ; an' now it seems it 
 was jist to cheat me. I calls it real mean,' I does." 
 
 *« That will do, Tom. You can retire boys," said 
 Mr. Marsh, motioning to the three witnesses. I 
 have now a little evidence of my own to give upon 
 this matter, and then we will hear if the accused 
 have anything to say in their defence. In conse- 
 quence of an interview that I had with Josh and Joe 
 yesterday noon, I took Horace Grey's map over to 
 i\Ir. Vane's, as I knew that Horace had done a 
 great deal of the work upon It there in Herbert's 
 room. Herbert told me that when Horace took the 
 map from his room, which was the day of the siege 
 of Fort Dunbar, there was not a name written upon 
 it, and that he was very positive that the handwrit- 
 ing, though very similar to his friend's, was not his, 
 in proof of which he showed me several notes that 
 Horace had written to him, and I agreed with him in 
 his opinion. 
 
 I know that Horace brought his maj^o school, for 
 
174 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 I noticed at recess that lie sat in his desk at work, 
 and I went to him and told him that he must take his 
 recess. I glanced inadvertently at his map as I stood 
 there, and observed that there were no names written 
 upon it then. After recess I gave the boys an unex- 
 pected lesson to learn, and Horace had no more time 
 to work upon it. When I looked at the map previous 
 to its examination by the committee, I supposed that 
 he had written the names hastily at noon, and that 
 this accounted for the blots upon it and the careless 
 writing. ' You now see that such could not have been 
 the case. One word more and my e^-idence is given. 
 The morning upon which Joe Lane states that the 
 map was returned to the desk by Yan, I met him 
 about an eighth of a mile from the schoolroom, in 
 the path leading by the brook. This path Joe Lane 
 also saw him take, as you have heard. 
 
 I now call upon the accused ta answer for their 
 share in this affair ; and first — 
 
 *• Yan Dusen Whitmore, what have you to say in 
 your defence ? " 
 
 " I say," said Yan angrily, rising and facing Mr. 
 ~ Marsh almost defiantly, " that you've got a pretty 
 set of witnesses together, beginning with a thief, liar, 
 and blackguard ; for Steve's evidence amounts to 
 nothing, as you well know. A pretty set, indeed, 
 to testify against a gentleman's son ! And I say that 
 I 've nothing to urge in my defence. My case is 
 prejudged, aod I don't expect justice from you." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 175 
 
 ** And joii, Harry Gierson?" 
 
 ** I say, Sir, that I am heartily ashamed of the 
 part I Ve taken in this affair, and that if I 'd have 
 known the mean things I should do when I began, I 
 would n't have had any share in it, — biit somehow 
 I was so mad with Horace I only thought of paving 
 him off. And I beg your pardon. Sir, for what I 've 
 done, and I will beg Horace Grey's, too, if I ever 
 get the chance." 
 
 < « Courtland Warrenton ? " 
 
 ** O, please don't punish me. Sir, or send me away 
 from school. I got into the scrape, and Van and 
 Hal kept threatening me all the time if I did n't stay 
 by them. I beg your pardon, and I wont do so an- 
 other time." 
 
 ** Boys," said Mr. Marsh, ** if any among you 
 think your schoolfellows have been wrongfully ac- 
 cused, you are at liberty to say so." 
 
 An ominous silence pervaded the schoolroom. 
 
 *' Then I proceed to pronounce sentence upon you. 
 
 Van Dusen "Whitmore, yours is expulsion from the 
 school which you have disgraced, not only because 
 you have been the leader in this conspiracy against 
 an innocent boy, but because you show neither peni- 
 tence nor a desire to make reparation for your 
 offence. 
 
 Harry Gierson and Courtland Warrenton, I accept 
 your apologies, and I will retain you" in school upon 
 probation. It rests with yourselves whether or not 
 you remain permanently. 
 
176 ECHOES FKQM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Van Dusen, if at any future time you should wish to 
 return to my school you can do so, by acknowledging 
 your fault in a full confession, and promising future 
 amendment. For your sake I hope Horace Grey 
 will recover. The knowledge that through a per- 
 sistent determination to injure his character you were 
 indirectly the cause of his death, would be a grievous 
 remembrance for you. Take, I beseech you, this 
 lesson home to your heart — 
 
 ' Truth crushed to earth will rise again. 
 The eternal years of God are hers." 
 
 Here you have gone on, week after week, weaving a 
 tissue of falsehoods, flattering and deceiving a boy 
 of an open and unsuspicious nature, apparently suc- 
 cessful in the end you sought to gain, when lo, mys- 
 terious power of retribution ! a witness rises up 
 against you in the form of a vindictive boy, whom in 
 a moment of wanton tyranny you had injured. As 
 revenge prompted you to plot against a companion 
 whose sole fault was adherence to duty, so 'the same 
 passion prompts a keen-witted child, schooled in arts 
 and cunning, to plot in his turn against you, and 
 bring your schemes to the light of truth. You have 
 /ailed in the hour of your greatest triumph. He has 
 succeeded, and the majesty of truth is vindicated. 
 Reflect upon this aflliir, I beg of you, and do not 
 give yourself up to the dominion of evil passions. 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 177 
 
 ** Boys," continued ]Mr. ]Marsh, in a deep, solemn 
 Toice, looking around upon his scholars as he spoke, 
 *< I do not think you need one word of comment from 
 me upon what you have just heard. You can now 
 lay aside your books and return to your homes. For 
 myself, I shall go to Mr. Grey's at once. I hope 
 to-morrow to bring you good tidings from Horace, — 
 I mean what you will call good tidings, — in any 
 event it will be well with him." 
 
 My readers can imagine the confusion and babel 
 of voices that ensued upon the boys finding them- 
 selves in the open air, free to give expression to their 
 long pent-up feelings of astonishment, indignation, 
 and satisfaction. The whole matter was so strange 
 to them, — no one but Steve had ever dreamed of 
 any ill-will towards Horace upon the part of the guilty 
 boys. They expressed themselves in the unmeasured 
 terms of condemnation which boys use when once 
 fjiirly aroused to indignation. Steve was surrounded 
 and questioned ; but he said his head ached, he was 
 ■ sick, and he had told already all he knew. Yan had 
 taken his books, and walked off with an air of in- 
 jured pride. Harry lingered till the other boys had 
 left Steve, and then went up to him, and they walked 
 slowly away through the wood, striking out upon the 
 path which led to the brook. As for Court, he 
 sneaked off home by himself, trying not to believe 
 that the words he overheard: '* pitiful sneak, cow- 
 ard, cat's paw," &c. were applied to him. 
 
178 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Mr. Marsh went to ]Mr. Grey's, and in answer to 
 his earnest inquiries about Horace, was told by his 
 father that the crisis was past, and that he was slowly 
 recovering. i\Ir. Grey's surprise at Mr. Marsh's 
 report of the events of the morning was only equalled 
 by hi.s gratitude that the whole mystery with regard 
 to his son was cleared up. 
 
CHAPTER XVin. 
 
 HORACE MANIFESTS AN UNFAILD^G SIGN OF CON- 
 VALESCENCE. 
 
 Horace's recovery was very tedious. The fever 
 had fed upon his fresh, young Hfe, and when it left 
 him he was the shadow of his former self. His 
 mental sufferings, too, were as great as his physical. 
 Those of you who have passed through a violent fit of 
 sickness, know how hard getting well is, — how the 
 limbs ache, how the head throbs and tires at the least 
 thought and exertion, how the grassliopper is a bur- 
 den : and you scarcely feel grateful for the boon of a 
 life that day after day is such a weariness to you. 
 How irritable you are ; how you rebel against the kind 
 and needful restrictions of parents and friends ; and 
 you see everybody and everything through the distorted 
 medium of a feeble body and weak nerves. All this 
 Horace felt, and he had other troubles too. As 
 soon as he recovered his senses, after the crisis in his 
 disease was over, he felt a great weight upon his 
 spirits, for which he could not account ; for tlie past 
 was very confused to him, and nothing stood out 
 clearly in his remembrance. But this confusion 
 
180 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 passed away in a few days, and every event preceding 
 his sickness flashed distinctly into his mind. He was 
 not much troubled at the remembrance of the trespass 
 he had committed upon Mr. Thacher's grounds, al- 
 thou'T-h it was, as he acknowledged, owing to his 
 careless way of rushing into things without suflScient 
 forethought ; but he knew that he was innocent of 
 any intention to do wrong, and he knew, too, that 
 his father and mother would believe him when he told 
 them so. 
 
 But he was very much disturbed when he thought 
 of his map, and the unfinished state in which he had 
 left it ; for he had staked much more upon his success 
 in winning the prize for the map than any one knew. 
 He did not, as he told Yan, care so very much for 
 the prize in itself, but he did care for it as an honor- 
 able testimonial from his teacher, and as a proof to 
 him and his parents that he could overcome his care- 
 less and dilatory habits. O, why had he not attended 
 to his first resolution, to finish it entirely before he 
 engaged in anything likely in any way to draw off his 
 attention from it. He could just as easily have 
 finished it before the siege of Fort Dunbar as not, 
 by the practice of a little resolution. 
 
 He wished to know the result of the examination, 
 whether after all his map, unfinished though it was, 
 mio-ht not have been admitted with the others. And 
 the boys who had schemed against him, all of whose 
 plots and cunning devices were now clear as day to 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 181 
 
 him, had they been found out? Why didn't some- 
 body tell him ? 
 
 So he grew more and more moody and irritable, 
 answering only in monosyllables his mother's and 
 Margaret's kind inquiries, and efforts to interest and 
 amuse him. At last he could bear this state of sus- 
 pense no longer, and one day said abruptly to his 
 mother, ** Who got the prize for the map — Van?" 
 
 ** Yes," she answered, surprised at the question, 
 and wondering whether he had been brooding over 
 that, and making himself unhappy when they had 
 carefully avoided any allusion to it, lest it should 
 annoy him. 
 
 He made no reply, but his mother, seeing the dis- 
 turbed expression of his face, added, — Yes, Van 
 got the prize ; undeservedly, however, as it proved. 
 You shall hear the whole story when you are strong 
 enough to bear it." 
 
 '* I am strong enough now. Please tell me ; you 
 would if you only knew how the thought of it haunts 
 me day and night." 
 /' Your father will tell you if he thinks it best." 
 
 *'It is best, — worrying about it just keeps me 
 back ; I want to know all about it. I thought you 'd 
 know I did, and tell me before." This was said in 
 one of his crossest tones, and with the air of a person 
 who feels that he has been injured. 
 
 Tears came to liis mother's eyes, but she only said, 
 16 
 
182- ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 gently, " We did what we thought was for your good ; 
 I am sorry if we have made a mistake." 
 
 This melted Horace at once, and he said impetu- 
 ously, *' Please forgive me, mother, for speaking so ; 
 but you can't tell how this affair has worried me, and 
 how I want you and father to know the whole truth 
 about it ; and then, O dear, I do feel so cross and 
 ugly it's much as I can do to speak decently to any- 
 body. But it is too bad to speak so to you ! — how 
 pale you look ! " 
 
 '* We have had a very anxious time about you, 
 Horace ; we thought at one time we must part with 
 you ; roses," she added, with a sweet smile, *' do not 
 flourish if the atmosphere is too cloudy and damp ; 
 for the rest, I know pretty well' how you feel, but 
 you must try and keep the crossness down when you 
 can." 
 
 " O, I try hard enough; I feel mad every day 
 when my dinner comes up, I 'm so hungry and you 
 allowance me. I could eat all the world up." 
 
 ** I dare say you think you could, and I am sorry 
 that you must be allowanced at present. Eemember 
 the second plate of broth last week, and the three 
 days of high fever that ensued." 
 
 *' O," said Horace with a grimace, ** I Tcnowjov 're 
 aJl right, mother dear ; but for all that, ' Oliver 
 wants more.'" 
 
 *' Poor Oliver," said his mother, patting his pale, 
 
ECHOES JFROM THE GUN OF ISGl. 183 
 
 thin cheek, ** he shall have more as soon and as fast 
 as it is safe for him." 
 
 AVhen Mr. Grey came home and was informed of 
 the state of Horace's feehngs, he told him all that he 
 knew about the map as concisely as possible." 
 
 *' Too bad — too mean — wasn't it, father?" was 
 his comment. 
 
 ** Yes, bad enough and mean enough ; but worse 
 for Van than for you." 
 
 * * Did Van keep the books after he was expelled ? " 
 
 *'Yes; or rather Mr. Whitmore did. Van sent 
 them back to Mr. Marsh with a saucy message, of 
 which he took no notice, but returned them to Van's 
 father, with the request that he would retain them for 
 his son as a reminder of what had occurred. Mr. 
 Whitmore was so angry with Van that he kept the 
 books, though Van swore that he would cut them to 
 pieces. He is to be sent to Pennsylvania, to a school 
 where he will be under constant restriction and ^uar- 
 dianship. I hope it is not too late to reform him from 
 his wild courses." 
 
 '* AVell, father," said Horace, with a sigh of relief, 
 * * you see I was not disobedient — at least wilfully 
 
 80." 
 
 ** Yes, Horace, I see you have been far more sin- 
 ned against than sinning ; and I feel that you have 
 had a. severe lesson upon dilatory and careless habits. 
 It may however, severe as it has been, be of the 
 greatest service to you in the future. I could scarcely 
 
184 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 enumerate to you the evils which follow in the train 
 of procrastination and carelessness. Many and many 
 a man has had his life's happiness and his prosperity 
 marred, if not totally wrecked, by indulgence in 
 them. And they are so often considered little faults. ' 
 And how often have I heard parents and friends say 
 of boys and girls who had such faults, ' O, they are 
 natural to childhood, — they will outgrow them.* 
 Sometimes they do, but oftener they regain too 
 deeply rooted in the character for any future efforts to 
 eradicate entirely. So, my boy, while I grieve that 
 you should thus early in life have had such a hard 
 lesson to learn, I still think it will be a lasting benefit 
 to you." 
 
 ** I know it will, Sir; I have thought so much of 
 those little delays and neglects that prevented me 
 from attending to my duties ; they seemed so little at 
 the tiuie, I never could believe they would do me so 
 much harm. But I don't see as I was to blame for 
 being deceived by the boys, was I? " 
 
 *' Xot exactly to blame, as I count it always nobler 
 to trust than to suspect ; but careless, perhaps, as 
 I think both Stephen and Herbert warned you of 
 them." 
 
 *' Yes, I see, I was ready enough to believe in 
 them because I wanted to, I suppose ; I had such 
 good times with them, they were so spirited and up 
 to fun. O, dear." Then after a moment's pause, 
 he asked, '' What of Hal and Court?" 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 185 
 
 *' Both doing well. Hal was heartily ashamed of 
 his part when he saw clearly what he had been doing. 
 He was blinded at the time by the indulgence of his 
 revengeful feelings. Now he is doing his best to 
 make reparation, and wishes to see you as soon as 
 you are able to have an interview with him. As for 
 Court, he has little real nobleness of character, and 
 less strength. He is one of those unfortunate boys 
 wlio, I fear, will always be controlled by circum- 
 stances. If favorable for the development of good, 
 he will be negatively good ; if exposed to evil in- 
 fluence, he will be positively base. He is under 
 Steve's influence now, and is doing well. Steve feels 
 that he did wrong not to watch more carefully over 
 you, as he was older and knew the boys' character 
 so well." 
 
 ** May I see my map, father?" 
 
 *'Do you think it best, — are you not already 
 quite excited enough about it ? " 
 
 ** I should like to get it off my mind and have 
 pleasant things to think of, instead of imagining how 
 it looks." 
 
 Mr. Grey made no farther objection, but brought 
 the map to Horace. He doubted the wisdom of the 
 act, however, when he saw his cheeks flusli crimson, 
 and his eyes fill with tears, which, after a vain effort to 
 repress, he suffered to flow freely ; then dashing his 
 hand across his face he said, ** What a baby I am." 
 
 '' Not at all, Horace. I do not wonder at your 
 16* 
 
186 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 feeling; but the thing is over now, and every one 
 knows those careless words were not written by your 
 hand, or those blots made by you; and Mr. Marsh 
 intends to have another trial when you are well." 
 
 * ' But I shall never feel the same pleasure in doing 
 another. It seems as if I traced in true and loyal 
 thoughts, with every line I made on this map, and as 
 if the resolutions that seemed to spring unbidden to 
 my mind when I worked upon it were inscribed 
 there. I can never have such feelinors aojain. 
 
 *' Perhaps not, my dear boy, just such feelings; 
 but you may have even nobler ones. I believe our 
 highest resolves and noblest impulses to right, in 
 youth as well as manhood, are born of disappointment 
 and trial when bravely met and endured as this has 
 surely been by you. But no more talking now. 
 You are weary and must rest." 
 
 From the date of this conversation, Horace's im- 
 provement was much more rapid. His spirits were 
 better, — he was even tolerably good natured, — and 
 he told his mother his greatest trial was the want 
 of enough to eat : even that grievance was now re- 
 moved, as permission was given him to satisfy his 
 appetite as soon as he was able to exercise in the open 
 air. 
 
 Upon his return to school he was treated with a 
 degree of respect and regard by his schoolfellows, 
 and consideration by Mr. Marsh, that was very grati- 
 fying to his feelings. In the second trial for the 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 187 
 
 prize for the map he was entirely successful, and re- 
 ceived a handsomely-bound edition of Longfellow's 
 Poems. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 «< LIGHTS AND SHADOWS." 
 
 I PASS over more than a year in the life of ^Ir. 
 Grey's family, with only a slight summary of the 
 events which occurred in that time. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Grey never tired in their loyal zeal 
 for the cause of their country ; and though they 
 mourned over reverses and defeats, and sympathized 
 with those whose dear ones had been taken from 
 them, yet their faith in the ultimate triumph of truth 
 and right never wavered, and their labors never 
 slackened. 
 
 Miss St.-John was happier in her life of hospital 
 service than she had ever been in her life before, and 
 found in it, as Mr. Grey had predicted, full scope 
 for her energies, and for the exercise of the more 
 than ordinary self-control and heroism which distin- 
 guished her. She had been in various situations, in 
 temporary hospitals on the field, in cities, and on 
 boats on the Western rivers, because she was one 
 of those cool, resolute women who are equal to al- 
 most any emergency, and hence was called upon to 
 fill difficult positions. The amount of good she had 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 189 
 
 done In binding up bodily wounds, and pouring in 
 the oil and wkie of consolation and hope to bruised 
 and wearied spirits, could never be estimated. At 
 the present date of my story (May, '62 ,) she was in 
 one of the hospitals in Alexandria, taking a partial 
 rest from her labors, that she might be fit to meet 
 the next loud call for her aid. 
 
 Margaret, too, did what she could ; and it is sur- 
 prising how much a school-girl can accomplish, in 
 addition to daily duties and lessons by gathering up 
 and using the odd moments of time, which too many 
 consider too insigniiicant to be employed at all. 
 Such forget that 
 
 *' Little drops of water, 
 Little grains of sand, 
 Make the mighty ocean 
 And the beauteous land." 
 
 By using the odd moments, Margaret accom- 
 plished a good deal in the way of knitting, sewing, 
 and making fancy articles for juvenile fairs. 
 
 As for St. John, he was the true martyr of the 
 family for his country's service. All the others 
 found pleasure in the work they engaged In, not 
 kOnly in the work Itself, but in seeing its results as 
 labors in behalf of a suffering country. He had no 
 such satisfaction. He disliked his occupation of clerk 
 with all the depth of decided feelings and the intens- 
 ity of a strong will, bull, he licvcr wavered nur 
 
190 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 faltered, and day after day found him at his post. 
 If he sometimes sighed heavily for his loved books, 
 it was in the solitude of his own room, a^d none of 
 the family knew the sacrifice he was making. Could 
 they have foreseen the extent of that sacrifice, it 
 would never have been permitted. The spring of 
 '62 found him so exhausted from the winters labor, 
 that he was obliged to keep his agreement with his 
 father, and allow him to find a substitute for him. 
 Contrary to all expectation, release from work did 
 not bring with it restored health. Instead, as soon 
 as the stimulus of necessary exertion was removed, 
 it was seen how feeble he really was, and a slight 
 cough gave cause for the most serious apprehensions 
 in regard to him. 
 
 To Horace the time that had elapsed since we left 
 him recovering from his fever had been a period of 
 great improvement. He had given himself up to 
 the duties of school as eagerly as heretofore he had 
 entered into schemes for fun and enterprise, though 
 the latter were by no means neglected. On the con- 
 trary, firm in the resolve to enter the army as soon 
 as his parents would permit him to do so, he spent 
 most of his lawful leisure in riding, boating, walking, 
 and climbing, and every sport which would be most^^ 
 likely to develop his muscles and strengthen his^ 
 body. His scljoolmates had so little sympathy with 
 the excess to which he carried his hobby, as they 
 termed it, that they gave him the nickname of " One 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 191 
 
 Idea," which finally degenerated into *' Old' Ida," 
 with a marked eniplia.sis upon the la^t syllable. He 
 could afford to be laughed at, however, for he wa^ 
 a tall, manly-looking fellow, with a breadth of chest 
 to match his height, an arm whose well-developed 
 muscle commanded respect in all athletic sports, 
 and a countenance radiant and fresh with the health 
 and vigor breathed in with the free air of heaven. 
 £n fact, so full of life and energy was he that his 
 mother laughingly said it was well her young giant 
 could spend some of his superabundant spirits else- 
 where than in the house. He tormented ^Margaret 
 after a different fashion now from that of his earlier 
 years. For instance, she would be sitting by an 
 open window, busy at her work, and, before any sign 
 had been given of the approach of an enemy, she 
 would find herself gently but firmly lifted from her 
 seat, and carried to a dark room, and placed upon a 
 lounge, from whence she was released only on de- 
 claring herself a true and loyal servant of her conn- 
 try. Or she would be quietly walking in the garden, 
 and suddenly strong arms would uplift her to some 
 high perch, where she would be kept till she had 
 agreed to some absurd plan of Horace's, which he 
 would gravely declare was essential to the welfare 
 of the good cause. Or, again, she would, if walk- 
 ing by the river-side, be seized as a Rebel spy, 
 placed in a boat, and rowed off to some distance 
 from the shore, and compelled to give up her '' pa- 
 
192 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 pers " and pocket-book, which were at once pro- 
 nounced " contraband." However, she never failed 
 to find them untouched in her own room, for Horace 
 was honorable even in his mischief. 
 
 But it was the strangest mixture of the ludicrous 
 and pathetic — the pathetic triumphing, however, 
 usually — to see his attempts to be quiet, and not^ 
 jar upon St. John's sensitive nerves, after he was 
 confined to the house from his sickness. His efforts • 
 to step quietly, and not make a noise, generally 
 ended in stumbling over a footstool or small chair, 
 knocking books off tables, or upsetting vases, which 
 disasters he would remedy with various grimaces and 
 expressions of so^tow, and then seat himself near St. 
 John with a tender, wistful longing in his eyes, as 
 if he desired to give to him some of his own over- 
 flowing life. He would try to tone down his harsh, 
 changing voice, and talk about Thornton, and tell 
 his pale, languid brother any little event which he 
 thought might interest him. Then he would start 
 up, and say, "No wonder you're pale breathing 
 this stifled atmosphere ; I must be off for one breath 
 of air." Ah ! he knew not that the chill wind of 
 May which was life to him was torture and danger 
 to his brother. 
 
 But I leave the family at home, with their labors^fc 
 of love and mercy, their absorbing young life, and 
 their failing strength, their hopes and fears, their 
 prayers and agonies, to return to our soldier boy, 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 193 
 
 and see what time and circumstances have done for 
 him. 
 
 Thornton had gone through ahnost every variety 
 of experience that this great war affords, with the 
 exception of any serious wound or any imprisonment 
 more tedious and ignoble than the one recounted 
 some chapters back. We ah-eady know in part the 
 horrors and terrors of his first battle, and we have 
 followed him in his inactive camp life, his foraging 
 expeditions, his service on picket, and his daring and 
 romantic adventure with Lee Waters. Later than 
 that, however, commenced the real hardships of his 
 soldier's career. He had been out upon expeditions 
 w^hlch required long forced marches, the end of which 
 was quite as likely to be marks of an escaped foe as 
 anything else ; and when he, with others, gladly ac- 
 cepted a bed of mud or the yielding morass, from 
 utter inability to seek elsewhere for better lodgment. 
 He had due: In trenches and aided in erectlno^ breast- 
 w^orks as cheerily and as diligently as any. He had 
 waded through mud and morass, and crossed rivers, 
 in ordinary times deemed impassable. He had 
 known what it was when the supply trains were 
 temporarily cut off, to suffer from hunger and to long 
 for a morsel of hard tack, as the traveller longs for 
 • water in the desert. He had been cold, ragged, and 
 dirty. He had bandied jokes with his comrades upon 
 the dignity of being ranked with the "Great Un- 
 washed," and had proposed they should institute a 
 
194 ECHOES FROM TIIE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 new order called * ' The Knights of the Kagged 
 Blues." And there had been times, too, though 
 these were comparatively few, when the joke and 
 laugh would not pass round, and he and others bore 
 silently, but unflinchingly, the hardships to which 
 there seemed little prospect of a speedy termination. 
 For soldiers engaged in active service in this wonder- 
 ful as well as dreadful war, could not console them- 
 selves with a newspaper paragraph, which prophesied 
 that this or that victory achieved, the decisive battles 
 of the war would be over, and a way opened to 
 peace. They could not so console themselves, for 
 they were in the enemy's country, daily, almost 
 hourly, meeting fresh proofs of the force, the deter- 
 mination, the bravery of their foe, the entire sacrifice 
 of every thing to the cause in which that enemy had 
 engaged ; and they knew that many and many a 
 bloody battle must be fought, and many a great vic- 
 tory gained, before his proud heart could be subdued, 
 and that Rebellion, if put down in one corner of this 
 great land, would spring up elsewhere hydra-headed. 
 Thornton had followed McClellan to the peninsula 
 and shared with others in all the hardships that march 
 involved , and he had been engaged In the seven days' 
 fight which ensued upon their masterly retreat there- 
 from. And, though feeling, with others, the bitter 
 disappointment of the result of that campaign, he 
 was not discouraged or disheartened, for through all 
 the thick clouds that overshadowed him at times, he 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 195 
 
 knew that beyond his vision the sun of liberty Wcas 
 still shining, and would one day burst in full and 
 perfect radiance upon his view. The following ex- 
 tract from a letter, from the colonel of his regiment 
 to his father, will give an idea of the estimation in 
 which he was held by his superior officer : — 
 
 *' Your boy is a great credit to our regiment ; cool, 
 unflinching, in the hour of wildest excitement ; never 
 rash or headlong, his example has been of infinite 
 service to the other boys in his company ; not alone 
 in the respects I have mentioned, but also in his per- 
 fectly proper and soldier-like deference to his superior 
 officers. At first, many of our free and independent 
 * sovereigns ' in the army found it very galling to con- 
 form to military etiquette and subordination to those 
 with whom they had formerly been ' hale fellows well 
 met.' But Thornton and a few more like him, have 
 set noble examples, and thus have influenced hun- 
 dreds. I can hardly tell the mischief that would 
 have ensued if he and others of his social position in 
 life had shown any distaste to conforming to rules and 
 obevinof orders. And this influence has been jrained 
 not by any assumption of condescension, but simply 
 by doing their duty as an entire matter of course. 
 Long ago I would have recommended your boy for 
 promotion, but he did not wish it. * No, sir,' he 
 said to me, * let me earn promotion by two years 
 service in the ranks ; then, if my superior oflScers are 
 satisfied that I deserve it, I will gladly accept it? 
 
196 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 The two years are out, and he will soon receive a 
 lieutenant's commission, and I doubt not he will rise 
 rapidly. 
 
 * ' Another respect in which his example has been of 
 great service in his company, is the uniformly fair 
 and generous treatment he has shown towards the 
 Rebels with whom the fortunes of war have brought 
 him in contact, thereby commanding their respect 
 and oblio^inof them to alter their notions of the Yan- 
 kee character. It is true the necessities of our situ- 
 ation have obliged him at times to join foraging 
 expeditions, but I have been told his influence has 
 always been exerted to protect those from whom 
 these unwilling contributions have been levied, from 
 wanton injury and insult. In conclusion, my dear 
 sir, let me say that this war has made a man of your 
 son ; a consistent, brave, and noble-hearted man, too ; 
 and, that living or dying for his country, you have 
 every reason to be proud of him ; proud with a true 
 Christian pride. For the sake of our long friendship 
 I have watched him narrowly, and I am conscious he 
 is turning the circumstances of his situation to the 
 best account. I wish I could say as much for poor 
 Ned Howe, who is falling as low as your son is rising 
 high in the esteem of others. It is probable his com- 
 mission will be taken from him." 
 
 When this letter was read aloud in the family 
 circle, it was received by Horace with noisy demon- 
 strations of delight. <* Hurrah for my brother, the 
 
ECHOES EIIOM THE GUN OF 18G1. 197 
 
 lieutenant that is to be I Good for old Sleepy Hol- 
 low ! He did n't sleep in those old days for nothing. 
 When he 's promoted I '11 step into his shoes as 
 private. I 'm as big and strong as he was when he 
 left. Say yes, father? All right, silence gives con- 
 sent. Here, ^lag, let's have a waltz in honor of 
 my brother, the lieutenant. What, crying? the 
 dickens, how solemn you all look ! I should think 
 Thorny had been sliot instead of promoted. Come, 
 Gvsar, let's ventilate our feelings in the woods, 
 old boy." 
 
 And off started boy and dog, apparently in the 
 highest spirits ; but they were no sooner out of 
 sight than Horace threw himself upon the grass, 
 gave a deep sigh, which ended in a quick sob, and 
 exclaimed, *' O, dear, what a fool I always am, to 
 make sucb a noise, and St. John so sick. I hiow 
 he thinks he shall never see Thornton again, and 
 they are so fond of each other ! " 
 17* 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 ** Poor Ned" and the Babes in the Wood. 
 
 In Camp, June, '63. 
 
 About this matter of promotion, which elates you 
 so much, Horace, I must confess I feel not a little 
 gratified at having earned my honors, much more so 
 than if I had received the commission, long ago, 
 simply because I was my father's son. My comrades 
 in arms are as glad for me as I am for myself, 
 although I am younger than many of them who are 
 not promoted. It is pleasant, too, to stay on in the 
 old regiment. My predecessor was obliged to re- 
 turn home on account of sickness, and I just step 
 into his place. My heartiest congratulations have 
 been from Holdfast, now corporal, and Pat. 
 
 Holdfast, w^ith a grip of the hand that almost 
 made me wince, said, ** I 've only one fault to find 
 with them that gin ye yer commission, and that is, 
 that they did n't turn out the cap'n neck and heels 
 and put ye in his place. Thunder and lightnin' ! 
 but I call it a pesky shame to put honest men under 
 a chap who does n't know half the time whether he 's 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1«61. 199 
 
 on his head or his heels. I 'II be blamed ef I don t 
 *bleve he 'U come to grief yit, and that of the worst 
 sort, at the hands of some of the men. They hate 
 him tarnation bad. Now, we all on us feel respect 
 and so on for ye, and would go to the devil ef ye 
 bade us, an' think yc had a reason for It." 
 
 ** Thank you for your good will and good faith, 
 Holdfast," said I. **I shouldn't like to test It In 
 the way you speak of, however. I 'm sorry for the 
 captain. He means to do right, but he is easily 
 tempted. At all events, I don't want his place." 
 
 '* O yis, he means to do right p'raps, but I guess 
 his resolutions is the kind of commodity that hell 's 
 paved with ; In that case they ain't likely to do him 
 nor us a tarnation sight of good. Mark my words, 
 he's got bitter enemies, an' he'll git come up with 
 yit." 
 
 ** Surely, Holdfast, if you know of any plot against 
 him, you ought to make It known." 
 
 **I don' know any plots agin him, I only know 
 he 's all-fired unpopular, an' I know there 's boys in 
 our company that as lief shoot him as a Rebel, in 
 fact a heap sooner." 
 
 *' Can nothing be done, the Idea is dreadful." 
 
 ' ' / don' know how you kin do nothin' w4ien you 
 don' Tciiow nothin'. I never heerd anybody say they 'd 
 like to shoot him, though I've seen 'em look it afore 
 now. Yer an oflScer now, yer might gin him some 
 good advice ; if it warn't nothin' but pourin' water into 
 
200 ECHOES FROM .THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 a Sieve, 'twould n't be your fault. But I was arter 
 congratulating you, which I does most heartily ; ef 
 ever a man or boy desarved promotion you's the chap ; 
 beg pardon, lieutenant, for the liberty I takes, I for- 
 glts old times Is done." 
 
 * ' Old times never will be done for you and me In 
 this world, old fellow," I said, heartily grasping his 
 bio- rouo-h hand. *' ^Ye '11 hold fast to each other to 
 the death, as good friends and true, and after death 
 too, as I hope and believe." 
 
 ** That's[||o," he said, with a queer twinkle in his 
 grey eyes, *'I'm agreeable ef you be. I allers 
 knowed you was one of the true quality. Them's 
 the sort I 'd as lief take off my hat to as not ef I kin 
 remember it ; but when it comes to yer whipper- 
 snlfFers, ^nd dandies, and monkeys, I just 'spise 'em." 
 (Perhaps, Horace, you can define whipper-sniffers, 
 I can't.) 
 
 Just then up comes Pat with * ' the top of the 
 morning to yer honor. May yees live a thousand 
 years and die a major-glneral in the prime of yer 
 life, with all yer forefathers around yees. And it 's 
 meself that '11 say I knowed yees when ye was nothin' • 
 but a private that rlz by ralson of yer merits." 
 
 <« I thanked Pat for his rather Irish wishes, and I 
 cannot help being amused at the evident pride he 
 takes in my promotion, apparently considering it as 
 a personal compliment." 
 
 After my chat with Holdfast, I sought an opportu- 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 201 
 
 nitv to speak with Ned Howe. I found him alone 
 in his quarters one evening, his head resting on both 
 hands in a state of great depression. ** What is 
 the matter, Ned?" I askecf, as cheerily as possible. 
 When we are by ourselves we dispense with formal- 
 ities. 
 
 *« Matter enough, as nobody knows better than 
 yourself," he answered, gruffly enough ; then added, 
 ** Oh, Thornton, the devil's got me soul and body ; 
 it's no use contending." 
 
 «<Not so, Ned; * never too late to mend,' you 
 know. Put your will to the work of reform ; strive, 
 pray, and you '11 find you have no devil that cannot 
 be exorcised." 
 
 «* I have tried and tried ; as for praying, it don't 
 come natural to me." 
 
 ** I should think it would come natural to any one 
 w^ho feels as keenly as you do the weakness of your 
 own resolutions. You have everything at stake, and 
 more than that Ned, your course is making you ex^ 
 cessively unpopular in the company ; with some even 
 to a dangerous extent." 
 
 «' I know it, said he, doggedly ; I 've seen it in their 
 black scowling faces. I hope the next fight '11 end it 
 
 all." 
 
 *« But think of your mother, Ned," I said, ** and 
 
 of your friends at home." 
 
 '' My mother ! " he answered with a fearful oath, 
 " if she had been a true mother to me I should never 
 have had this fotal haljit. Who encouraged me 
 
202 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 to sip wine after dinner and laughed at my first tipsy 
 speeches, and thought it was pretty? Who, when I 
 was older and carried out the taste she had fostered, 
 and came home drunk, — yes, drunk ; it's a coarse 
 word to use, but a coarser thing to do, — spurned me 
 from her with disgust, and was too much absorbed 
 in her round of pleasures to try and win me back to 
 right?" 
 
 *' Still, you had every inducement to reform when 
 you joined the army, and were placed in such a re- 
 sponsible situation, and I don't think it quite right 
 when a man is of age to judge between good and 
 evil, to charge one's faults or follies upon others." 
 
 **Xo it isn't right, I suppose, but I have bitter 
 feelings towards my mother ; she seems so willing I 
 should go down, down. To be sure, there's poor 
 little Lina, it 's hard for her." 
 
 *' For your sister's sake, then Xed, for your coun- 
 try's sake, for the sake of all that is best and noblest 
 in your nature, do try and give up this habit." 
 
 '* I'm bound hand and foot, a perfect slave to the 
 habit, as you call it, to the demon, as I call it. 1 
 haven't your strength of mind. You could go to the 
 stake like the martyrs of old, while I should recant 
 again and again. I'm not of the stuff to resist 
 temptation as you do, and make it a means of im- 
 provement. Xo, I say again, I hope the next fight 
 — and it'll be a tough one — will finish me. I'm 
 tired of living. A good thing for you, you'll get 
 my place ; and you'll do it honor, too." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 203 
 
 Poor, poor Xed ; he looked so despairing that I 
 almost felt as If his words were prophetic. I found 
 he did n't wish to talk any more, so I left him with a 
 cordial gra^p of the hand and the words, ** do try 
 hard, for Lina's sake." 
 
 It is dreadful to see him so hopeless, and dreadful 
 to hear him blame his mother for his vice. Yet who 
 knows how far he is responsible for faults that arise 
 from early peglect. I can't judge ; only this I know, 
 conscience speaks ever, if parents do not. God has 
 given us one sure guide, if we will heed it. 
 
 You ask me about the other boys, Horace, how they 
 get on, &c. Dub and Brag are the two that have 
 chan2:ed the most. There 's not a trace of the moth- 
 er's boy now in Dub, except such traces of truth and 
 honor and bravery that true mothers inspire in their 
 boys' hearts ; and Mrs. Winslow's soothing syrup is 
 at a discount. He can go unwashed and uncombed 
 with as good a grace as the best, drop down in tlue 
 mud for a night's lodging, and joke about our old 
 order as heartily as any of us ; and he 's all pluck 
 and nerve. 
 
 As for Brag, though sometimes a little nervous, 
 he never shrinks from any duty, however exposed, 
 and now acts his courage, whereas before he talked 
 it. His place is more than filled, though, by a cou- 
 ple of recruits that have been in service only a few 
 months. These boys, a couple of big six-footers, 
 with bone and muscle enough to beat a score of us, 
 
204 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 are the most arrant cowards that ever tried to pull a 
 trigger. They get well tormented, you may be sure, 
 and Pat gave them a name that stuck to them till 
 some one found another. We were enoaaed one 
 day in a skirmish with an unseen foe, — that is, we 
 were on a plain and the Eebs In a wood near by, and 
 the shots they sent out to us were rather more sure 
 of a mark than ours, fired at hap-hazard. One of 
 these brave boys had a trick of clapping his cartridge- 
 box up to the side of his head every time a bullet 
 whizzed by, and always on the wrong side. Pres- 
 ently a bullet came that nearly took off a bit of his 
 ear. Such a howl as he set up, his friend joining in, 
 and they both commenced -a series of hops unlike 
 any figure I ever saw performed in the dancing-hall 
 or on the battle-field. 
 
 «* Me faith," said Pat, *' do ye see the big grass- 
 hoppers out yonder? Barring there's no grass here, 
 it" makes one think of the w^arrum summer time, it 
 does." 
 
 This occurred some weeks ago, and the name 
 clung to those valiant youths till Jim gave them 
 another. Poor Jim, he seldom gets oflP any witti- 
 cisms nowadays, for his wound injured his health 
 seriously. He ought to be at home under treatment, 
 but he says he would rather live two years for his 
 country than forty for himself. But I was to tell 
 you of the second adventure of our *' grasshoppers." 
 This time the enemy were opposite us on ay:ising 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 205 
 
 ground, while we were upon a flat, and a small river 
 between. Tiiey had so manifest an ad^mtage over 
 us that we were ordered to lie down and do what we 
 could in the way of returning their deadly attentions 
 in that position. It w^as near dark, and we soon 
 crot tired of fi^htinf]: in that fashion, and beo^^ed to 
 be allowed *' to give it to 'em" once upon our feet. 
 So, loading, we rose with a shout that might of itself 
 have frightened a common foe, so shrilly did it ring 
 out upon the air. If the cry did n't frighten them 
 our unexpected shot did, and we were able to repeat 
 it before they got well over their astonishment. AVe 
 outnumbered them, and after the proof we had given 
 of our intentions they withdrew, with the design, we 
 thought, of inducing us to cross the river and follow 
 them. We suspected they wanted to get us into an 
 ambush, as we knew a large body of their forces was 
 encamped not far distant, — so we remained where we 
 were, keeping close watch lest we should be surprised, 
 intending to rejoin our regiment in the morning. 
 We missed our " grasshoppers," and upon inquiring 
 one of the men said he had seen them making tracks 
 for the wood behind us soon after we had risen to our 
 feet. 
 
 ** O ho ! " said Jim ; '' Babes in the Wood, are 
 they? Wonder if the robins will cover the dears 
 with leaves, to keep them warm? Come, Thorn, 
 it 's our duty to look them up." 
 
 We went into the wood, and soon found them, — 
 18 
 
206 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 one sitting upon the ground holding the head of his 
 comrade, and both of them chattering with cold, or 
 fear, or both. 
 
 They took us for the enemy, and cried for mercy 
 in the most abject tones. Jim proposed to me, in a 
 whisper, that we should follow out the idea, and pre- 
 tend to take them prisoners. 
 
 *' No," said I. ** In the first place you might 
 frighten the fools to death ; in the second, I 've no 
 patience to joke with such craven-hearted creatures." 
 
 So I stepped up to them and asked them sternly 
 what they were doing there, while we had been 
 fighting. 
 
 <* O," said the one who was sitting down, ** that's 
 you, is it. Private Grey? John, here, has had an 
 awful wound, and I came with him to stop the bleed- 
 ing. He 's been awful faint, John has, and I thought 
 he was gone once." 
 
 *' Let me see- it." 
 
 With much preliminary caution, and, I fancy, 
 some inward misgiving, the man unbound a handker- 
 chief from the arm of his still groaning comrade. 
 
 *« Pooh," said Jim; *' a mere scratch — a flesh- 
 wound, which a couple of " 
 
 *' O, it wasn't the wound alone ; it was the effect 
 of the bleeding. He told me he had been subject to 
 fits from an infant, brought on by the loss of blood." 
 
 " Haw, haw, haw ! " roared Jim ; ** I. don't doubt 
 it. Fits, indeed! Yes, that's the plain truth; no- 
 body doubts that story." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 207 
 
 <* Come," said I, angrily, ** we 've had enough of 
 this nonsense ; come with us." 
 
 t * * Are — they — all — gone, — are you quite sure ?" 
 asked the man' of fits. 
 
 * * AVho gone, — the Rebs or our fellows ? " inquired 
 Jim. 
 
 ** Oh, the Rebels. You didn't see em as we 
 did, — there was a lot on 'em." 
 
 *' Yes, they're gone to bring up reinforcements, 
 probably ; about time for them to be back. I 
 don't know but our boys have gone too. I left 
 them debating the matter," said Jim, with unblush- 
 ing effrontery. 
 
 They both found their feet with astonishing celer- 
 ity, and exclaimed in concert, ** Gone, and left us to 
 our fate ! " 
 
 »* Why not?" said Jim ; "if they have gone, and 
 I don't say as they have, of course they thought you 
 would keep guard, and let us know if the enemy was 
 coming." 
 
 "When we rejoined our Company many were the 
 inquiries made as to the nature of the wounds the 
 missing men had received, and Jim's account w^as 
 listened to with roars of laughter. 
 
 ** The Babes in the Wood, boys, — the latest edi- 
 tion issued ; tender, innocent creatures. I commend 
 them to your care, as the robins are all asleep, 
 particularly this unfortunate babe, who is subject to 
 fits ; speak gently to him, nurse him tenderly." 
 
208 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 Jim was interrupted by the appearance of our Cap- 
 tain, who was perfectly sober, but in an exceedingly 
 irritable mood. " What's all this noise, boys? ^ I 
 should think you had better be sleeping ; you 'U have 
 to fight to-morrow." 
 
 Jim related the adventure again in his comical way, 
 but the Captain swore furiously if ever such a thing 
 happened again the men should be reported as desert- 
 ers. And so the aftair ended, only they still go by 
 the name of the Babes in the Wood, and are obliged 
 to. listen to all sorts of changes rung upon the story. 
 Perhaps this seems flat to you, — it is ludicrous 
 enough to us, with all the accompaniments of comical 
 looks and the aspect of the men when they receive 
 the hits, which come hard sometimes. They try to 
 keep it off, for they do not dare to resent it ; but, as 
 Jim says, they laugh the wrong side of the mouth. 
 But cowards and sneaks are, I am happy to say, the 
 exception. Aside from the benefit this experience of 
 a soldier's life in the rank and file has been to me, I 
 shall always feel more kindly towards my fellow-men 
 in consequence of it. I told you before that shams 
 of any sort don't go down in qamp life. You see 
 men as they are when the restraints of home and 
 society are removed, and they sit with you by the 
 camp fii'e or join you on the long march. And you 
 often find among those from whom you would least 
 expect it, traits of self-denial and nobleness which 
 gladdens your heart and makes you feel more than 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 209 
 
 ever that goodness and greatness are not confined to 
 any favored portion of society. These acts, too, are 
 such as will never be blazoned abroad, although they 
 will be forever enshrined in the hearts of their com- 
 rades. To everything in life there is a reverse side, 
 and brutality, coarseness, and profanity are found also, 
 but I believe in less proportion than the redeeming 
 traits. 
 
 But I have wandered away from my subject,, which 
 was to tell you of my companions in arms. This 
 leaf in my journal is like some of the figures I learned 
 at dancing school, where various evolutions to the 
 right, left, and front, bring you back to the point 
 whence you started. I am back now to Lee Waters, 
 of whom I know you wish to hear. He has changed 
 somewhat since you last met him in his romantic ad- 
 venture with Emily. He is in better health, more 
 cheerful, and a little less vindictive than of old, 
 though still far enough from being what I call a 
 model soldier. Model he is for bravery and endur- 
 ance, but he still fights the Kebels more as personal 
 enemies than as enemies of his country. 
 
 News has just been received that the enemy are In 
 considerable force in Pennsylvania, and we are ready 
 for marching at an hour's notice. From all we can 
 gather this m not a mere raid to seize supplies, &c. ; 
 but is intended to be a great victory over us upon our 
 own soil. VCe are ready, whatever comes ; and I, 
 18* 
 
210 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 for one, feel a firm conviction that we are to conquer 
 the Eebels this time, — with heavy loss it may be, but 
 Victory, Victory is our watchword. 
 
 If I should fall, remember, Horace, that I have 
 never for one moment regretted that I enlisted, and 
 that I die willingly for my country, nay gladly, if the 
 sacrifice is needed. And as I feel so feel thousands 
 of others in our army. If it does sound like self- 
 glbrification (though I speak not for myself, I know, 
 but as if I stood apart) , I say, All honor to the rank 
 and file of the armies of the United States ! The 
 country will never know how many thousands of 
 brave, untitled martyrs have suffered and died that 
 she mio-ht live, and that forever — 
 
 The star-spangled banner triumphant shall wave, 
 O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.' 
 
 But God knows, and he will reward each one accord- 
 ing to his deeds, be he high or low private, master or 
 servant. 
 
 Good night, Horace. I have a strange feeling 
 that I shall perhaps never take pen in hand more, and 
 yet I do not feel that I shall die yet. If I do, still 
 remember I die willingly. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 GETTYSBUEG AND THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 You all know how bravely the battle of Gettys- 
 burg was fought, and that it resulted in a total rout 
 of the self-confident Rebels, and a complete victory 
 for our troops, and that simultaneously with the 
 shouts of victory went up the wail of mourning for 
 the loved and slain upon the battle-field. 
 
 The regiment to which Thornton belonged bravely 
 did their share of the three days' fighting, and came 
 out of the conflict with the loss of nearly one half in 
 killed and wounded. Among the former were the 
 Captain, Corporal Trim, Pat, and Brag. Among 
 the latter Thornton and Lee Waters, Holdfast and 
 Dub. There were dark rumors afloat that the Cap- 
 tain's death was caused by a bullet from one of his 
 own men, but there had been no time for investiga- 
 tion. Corporal Trim had escaped wonderfully, for 
 he was brave as a lion, till the close of the thh'd day, 
 when he fell, shot through the heart with a bullet. 
 Pat had risked and lost his life in an excited rush 
 after a tall Rebel, against whom he had been observed 
 
212 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 to have an especial spite. His earnestness had carried 
 him too far into the enemy's ranks, and he had fallen 
 pierced through and through with bullets. Brag had 
 done nobly, and had proved himself a true hero at 
 last ; for he had rushed to the aid of the color-bearer, 
 who was in- imminent danger, and had been shot down 
 in defence of the flag of his country. 
 
 Thornton had received a wound in his fixce which 
 had bled profusely, and which promised to disfigure 
 his mouth forever. In addition to that, he had a 
 severe wound in his thigh, a slighter one in his right 
 side, and his right leg had been trampled upon and 
 severely bruised, for he had lain long upon the field 
 unconscious of all that was transpiring around him. 
 
 Lee Waters and Holdfast were also badly, but not 
 dangerously wounded ; and Dub was positively jubi- 
 lant over the loss of his left arm. Poor fellow, he 
 thought the glory of it was more than a compensa- 
 tion for his loss. 
 
 When Thornton recovered his senses he found his 
 Aunt Esther bending over him, with a kindly look 
 upon her face and a moisture in her eyes such as he 
 had never seen there before. Faint and bewildered, 
 he murmured, " Thank God, I am at home. Where 
 is mother ? " and then closed his eyes again in exhaus- 
 tion. He was in one of the many quickly improvised 
 hospitals in Gettysburg, and his Aunt Esther had 
 come at once to the battle-ground to look after him ; 
 and throuoh her exertions he had been discovered 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 213 
 
 among the slain and wounded. For a few days 
 Thornton's life trembled in the balance, and his father 
 and mother and Miss St. John watched over him 
 with unceasing anxiety. At the expiration of that 
 time the surgeon said he would live if nothing unfor- 
 seen occurred to retard his recovery, but that it 
 would be many weeks before he could go into service 
 again. As soon as he was out of danger Mrs. Grey 
 returned home to St. John, whose failing health de- 
 manded all her lovinor care. Previous to doinir so, 
 however, she had a conversation with Thornton about 
 his brother. Up to this time, and while there had 
 been a shadow of hope that he might recover, Thorn- 
 ton had been kept in ignorance of his real condition. 
 It was now thought best to prepare him for the shock 
 of meeting St. John. When his mother told him 
 she must go home, Thornton asked : ** Must you 
 leave me, mother? I think I can travel in a few 
 days, and I shall miss you so much, though, to be 
 sure, Aunt Esther is a capital nurse." 
 
 *' Yes, I must go, my son ; St. John needs me." 
 **Trhat is the matter with St. John, mother? I 
 know he is n't well, but you seem so anxious when- 
 ever you speak of him ; is it anything more than 
 debility caused by over-exertion ? " 
 
 *' We hoped it was nothing more for a long time, 
 but now his symptoms only too clearly indicate the 
 steady progress of a fatal disease. I tell you this, 
 Thornton, for, I think you will bear it bravely, and 
 
214 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 not suffer the sad intelligence to injure you or retard 
 your recovery." 
 
 *' Oh, mother, can it be?" was all Thornton could 
 say for some moments, then he added, " why could 
 not I have been taken and he spared ? " 
 
 *' Because," said Mrst Grey, with tearful eyes and 
 trembling lips, *' such was not God's will. You 
 
 must fill a double place when when he is gone. 
 
 When you return to us you will, I know, strive to 
 be cheerful ; he will wish it." 
 
 "Does he know, is he ready and willing? Oh, 
 mother, it cannot be. There was so much he had 
 planned to do ; he was so earnest in all he ever 
 undertook, earnest and faithful ! I take St. John's 
 place to you ? never ; I am hardly worthy to be his 
 brother." 
 
 '' I do not wonder that you feel as you do, Thorny. 
 I have often felt rebuked in his presence. I think he 
 is aware of his situation ; but he has n't seemed dis- 
 posed to talk of himself. I fear he has had a hard 
 struggle. When I return to him he will no doubt 
 talk freely to me. Do not dwell too sadly upon this 
 impending soitow. God doeth all things well, and 
 out of great peril He has saved you to comfort us." 
 
 ** I was going to ask a favor of you, mother, but 
 now I think I ought not." 
 
 *« Ask it, my boy, and I will freely grant it, if it 
 is in my power." 
 
 *' I wanted to ask if you would invite Holdfast 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 215 
 
 and Lee Waters to pass a few weeks with us till 
 they are quite fit for service. Lee ha^ no friends to 
 whom he can go, and Holdfast is too far from his to 
 go home. But it is not right to trouble you now, 
 that you have St. John to take care of." 
 
 Mrs. Grey thought a few moments and then an- 
 swered, *' I think it will be a good thing for us all. 
 It will interest St. John, too. I know nothing would 
 give him more pleasure. We have pleasant rooms, 
 good servants, and everything needed to make them 
 comfortable. Your father will be glad to have them 
 come. By all means ask them, Thorny. If St. 
 John becomes alarmingly sick, it will only be need- 
 ful to keep his rooms quiet." 
 
 '<But, mother!" 
 
 «* What is it, now, Thorny?" 
 
 ** Will you ask them? Lee is very proud and 
 sensitive. I am afraid I should n't ask him in the 
 right way, and as for Holdfast, it would please him 
 so much to have you invite him." 
 
 ** With pleasure, I will do it at once." 
 
 Mrs. Grey passed out of the room, and seeking 
 her husband, told him of Thornton's wishes, and her 
 readiness to gratify them, adding, she was sure of 
 his approval. 
 
 ** Certainly, if you wish it; nothing could be 
 more gratifying to me. I have thought of it, but I 
 did not know but it would be too much for you. My 
 heart has ached many a time for poor homeless fel- 
 
216 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 
 
 lows. The least we can do Is to open our doors to 
 them." 
 
 When Mrs. Grey, taking in her own, Lee's hot, 
 wasted hand, said gently and tenderly, in sweet 
 motherly tones, *' I have a favor to ask of you, my 
 dear young friend," he looked up amazed, and said, 
 * * a favor to ask of me ? I do not know how I can 
 do anything for you, but you have only to ask it; I 
 should be most ungrateful to refuse you an}i;hing." 
 
 ** Then come home with Thornton for a rest, and 
 remain till you are fit to go to the army again. My 
 son tells me you have a friend not far from us. It 
 will be very gratifying to her to be able to visit you 
 often. I have an invalid son whose whole heart is 
 enlisted for our soldiers. It will beguile many a 
 weary hour for him if you will come." 
 
 Lee flushed scarlet, and said, '* I cannot grant 
 you a favor, for it is all on my side, but I will thank- 
 fully go to your home. I do not deserve it, though. 
 I am not like Thornton." 
 
 * * If you consent we will not talk about the mat- 
 ter, or decide whose obligation is the greater. I 
 must gladden Thornton by telling him you will go ; 
 he wishes it so much." 
 
 As Mrs. Grey approached the cot upon which 
 Holdfast lay, the surgeon was just leaving him. He 
 greeted Mrs. Grey with the words, «* I am glad to 
 gee you. I hope you bring an antidote for the un- 
 welcome sentence I have just passed upon our sturdy 
 friend." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 217 
 
 ** Yes, marm," said Holdfast, with an odd grim- 
 ace, "I need some sort 'o sugar-plums arter bein* 
 told I couldn't use this pesky arm for six weeks. 
 What 's a feller to do idling about all that time ? " 
 
 ** I've come just in season then to tell you," said 
 Mrs. Grey, kindly, shaking his left hand (the right 
 arm was the one disabled) . 
 
 ** Go with my son and breathe the pure air of our 
 country home. It will be next to the pine woods in 
 Maine. Thornton wishes it very much, and ^Ir, 
 Grey and myself also. My youngest son will hard- 
 ly leave you a moment's peace, so anxious will he 
 be to hear your fortunes in war. It will gratify us 
 all if you will consent." 
 
 <* Waall, I never heerd the like of this; you 
 really want me to go to your home ; me, such a 
 rough-spoken chap 's I be ? Thunder and lightnin ' ! 
 guess I 'm delirious." 
 
 *' I guess not," said Mrs. Grey with a smile, softly 
 laying her hand upon his forehead. ** No, not a bit ; 
 shall I tell Thorny you '11 come ? He has quite set 
 his heart upon It." 
 
 <' Shall I go to paradise when I git 'a chance, or 
 stay out in the cold and dark ? that 's 'bout it ; thank 
 ye, marm. Guess I '11 go to paradise, seein' 's your 
 so good 's to ax me. "VYaall, I allers did think 
 Thornton Grey must 'a had a powerful good bringin' 
 up, and now I's sure on it." Then changing his 
 tone of astonishment to one of deep feeling, and 
 19 
 
218 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 wiping away some suspicious moisture with the back 
 of his hand, he said, *' God bless you, marm, for the 
 thought. I shall be a better man all my days for 
 your goodness." 
 
 *' Thank you, cordially, for consenting to come. 
 Horace will try and make it as pleasant to you as 
 possible, I 'know, and we shall feel proud to have 
 three of the heroes of Gettysburg at once under our 
 roof." 
 
 Holdfast followed ]\Irs. Grey as long as he could 
 with his eyes, and then muttered to himself, " Waall, 
 I never; makin' a favor on it, too, to herself and 
 family. Hope 't ain't a dream ; allers thought should 
 like ter know ef the gentry had hearts like common 
 folks. Some on 'em has, that 's so." 
 
 *' Aunt Esther," said Thornton, one day, to that 
 lady, after she had bound up his wounds, and care- 
 fully adjusted his pillow to suit him, ** I 'm getting 
 jealous." 
 
 *' Of whom, pray?" was the response. 
 
 *' That 's just what I want you to tell me, who the 
 chap is J you are so devoted to the other side of the 
 room. Such care as he gets ; such nice things as 
 you take him ; such talks as you have with him ; 
 such words of comfort as you read to him. If I 
 did n't know you on your own telling for a ' cross- 
 grained old maid,' I should think you had some 
 wounded colonel, of suitable years, whose gallant 
 deeds and wounds, * poor dumb mouths,' had at last 
 touched your hardest of hard hearts ! " 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GXTS OF 1861. 219 
 
 ** Will nothing ever take the nonsense out of you, 
 Thornton Grey?" replied his aunt, trying to look 
 severe, and evidently confused at this question. 
 
 *' It 's only a boy, — younger than you are." 
 
 ^^ It is n't an it. I suppose you meant to say he '« 
 only a boy." 
 
 *' Well, suppose I did?" 
 
 ** Suppose you tell me his name, his regiment, &c. 
 &c. I feel a strong interest in all our boys, and I 
 feel an especial interest in any one who interests my 
 aunt so deeply." 
 
 ** His name is Thomas Jefferson Peyton ; his regi- 
 ment, &c. I have n't asked. He -is suiFcring, and 
 has no friends, to look after him. Any more ques- 
 tions, Mr. Inquisitive?" 
 
 **Yes, no; I reckon father '11 find out anything 
 more I want to know." 
 
 *« Your father! you needn't trouble yourself to 
 ask him. Peyton is a Virginian, and a Rebel." 
 
 * ' Whew-ew-ew ! that's a joke. * Never, if I 
 know my own heart, ^vill I give aid or succor to a 
 Rebel.' I quote from memory; do I quote cor- 
 rectly ? To think how careful I 've been not to let 
 you know how many times I 've bound up the wounds 
 of, and given cups of cold water to, these same Reb- 
 els, lest you should doubt my patriotism, and now, 
 to find you doing the same thing ! Oh, auntie, you 
 had a heart, after all, for them as for us." 
 
 *' I feel just as I did about them in the mass, "or 
 
220 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 rather, I think them more wicked and ungrateful than 
 I ever did, but I cannot help feeling interested in 
 some of them as individuals. When you can walk, 
 come over and see this fair-skinned, golden-haired 
 boy, with a girl's beauty and the soul of a hero ; if 
 his cause is one that I detest, I must say I honor 
 him. He is deceived ; he believes, or did believe, 
 all he has always been taught about us. He seea 
 now we are not barbarians. When I first went to 
 him to remove the bandages from his wound and put 
 on others, I really believe he thought I was going to 
 let him bleed to death. I soon quieted him, how- 
 ever, and to me he has been gentle and grateful 
 since." 
 
 **I can readily believe it, auntie," said Thorn- 
 ton, laying aside his jesting manner, " and I rejoice 
 that you are proving to him that humanity knows no 
 distinction between friend or foe with us. Poor, 
 poor boy, I pity him without having seen him ; and 
 as for you, aunt Esther, I always knew how kind 
 you were at heart, and I was in earnest when I said, 
 before I went to the war, you would nurse all who 
 required your care, tenderly, friend or foe." 
 
 '* Thank you for your just appreciation of me, 
 Thornton. You understood me better than I under- 
 stood myself." 
 
 Yes; until now Esther St. John had never fully 
 known what a deep well of tenderness and humanity 
 was in her heart. Some natures are never developed 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUK OF 18C1. 221 
 
 by the events of everyday life. It requires more 
 than common influences to smite the rock which liold 
 the waters back. Such influences she had found in 
 the hospital service, and on the field of Gettysburg ; 
 the rock had been smitten, and the deep fountains 
 of Esther St. John's heart had been opened, and Its 
 waters gushed forth full and free, carrying refreshin"- 
 and healing to all within her reach, and to her own 
 surprise she had found her heart was large enough to 
 embrace in its compassion the Rebel as well as the 
 loyal sufferer from the horrors of war. 
 
 Is not the unsealing of such noble natures to the 
 world and themselves part of the silver lining of the 
 black cloud of w^ar? 
 19* 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MR. grey's library OXCE MORE. 
 
 It is a far different scene that we look upon, in 
 that pleasant gathering-plaCe of ]\Ir. Grey's family, 
 from the one in which we first met the three brothers. 
 They are all there now, and it is not necessary for 
 me to tell you that they are changed, for that you 
 know already if you have followed the progress of 
 this story. 
 
 Perhaps of the three the one of whom we have 
 known the least in these pages has had the hardest 
 battles to fight ; and, judging from his countenance, 
 his victory has been complete, and he has already 
 entered into his reward. To a few pure spirits, who 
 have bravely fought the good fight, and so conquered 
 themselves as to yield with childlike love and trust 
 to a heavenly Father's will, — to a few such God 
 grants on earth such foretaste of the joys of heaven, 
 that not only are their own hearts lifted up to serene 
 heights of peace, but those who are in daily inter- 
 course with them are sometimes privileged almost to 
 behold the heavenly gates, and the world and its de- 
 lights and temptations and sorrows are almost for- 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 223 
 
 gotten. Such a spirit was St. John Grey, and such 
 was the influence he exerted over the other members 
 of the family. Even Horace, who, in his stirring 
 boy life and keen enjoyment of the present, knew 
 not the need a^ yet of sometliing higher and more 
 spiritual than he had yet attained, was chastened and 
 softened by intercourse with the brother whom he 
 regarded with a mixture of awe and veneration, and 
 who had already spiritually passed beyond the veil, 
 to him. 
 
 After Mrs. Grey's return from Gettysburg, St. 
 John had in this very room poured out to her the 
 free confidence of his heart ; and even his mother 
 felt that Ills was a nature so for purified from the 
 dross of earth, that heaven alone could henceforth 
 satisfy his longings. 
 
 After inquiring most earnestly for Thornton, and 
 expressing his gratitude at the prospect of his recov- 
 ery, he added, '' It would have been so hard, mother, 
 for you to part with us both." 
 ** My boy, my darling ! " 
 
 ** Yes, mother, you know that I must go hence. 
 I am ready and willing, and you will not hold me 
 back. I believe none of our brave heroes in the war 
 have had harder battles to fight; but then I liave 
 come out of my battles healed, not wounded, re- 
 newed, nofblighted ; and oh, mother, do not grieve ; 
 but I wish to go, I am so weary, and I do not want 
 to be drawn back to the world, and have to fi<rht 
 
224 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. • 
 
 mj battles over again. Let me go, dear mother, 
 and do not be too sad for my loss from your bodily 
 sight." 
 
 A gentle pressure of the hot, wasted hand she 
 held was the only answer Mrs. Grey could give ; 
 and St. John continued : — 
 
 " Life was very dear to me, I had so many plans 
 and hopes for the future, — how dear, with its broad 
 field of labor and its calls for service from every true 
 heart, none can tell ; for I do not think any one can 
 understand fully the feelings of a person who is de- 
 barred by physical infirmity from mingling in the 
 more active pursuits of life. I think they are sup- 
 posed to have less hold upon life from their very 
 infirmities ; whereas I think the contrary is often the 
 case. From a little fellow up I haye thought and 
 planned what I should do in the future, and how, 
 if God had given me but one talent, I would use 
 that in his service. Few boys of my age ever have 
 time to think seriously as I have done ; hence few 
 could have cherished schemes to forego. Since this 
 war broke out, I have so longed, so hoped, so prayed, 
 to be able to serve my country directly in some way. 
 I thought, if I could not -v^ait to be fitted to go as 
 chaplain, I could do something in the hospitals. I 
 know I could be of use there, for my heart would be 
 in my work. But I soon found God's plans for. me 
 were not my plans. • Oh, mother, it is such blessed 
 peace to be able to say and to feel, ' Thy will be 
 done ! ' " 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 225 
 
 !Much more liad mother and son to say to each 
 other in this free outpouring of the heart, but I have 
 told you enough to enable you to do justice to St. 
 John's character, and to understand why his battles 
 were so hard to fight, and why the victory was so 
 complete. One more contest, however, he liad with 
 himself, and this came from a cause for which he 
 was quite unprepared. He had entered warmly into 
 his mother's plan for receiving Lee and Holdfast into 
 their home, and had thanked her for it, as for a per- 
 sonal favor ; but when they arrived, he was at first 
 repelled by Lee's proud reserve, and by the harsh 
 and vindictive spirit he evinced in conversation. For 
 a few days he held himself aloof from him, and, if 
 he talked at all, it was with Holdfost, whose sturdy, 
 honest nature interested him at once. He soon felt, 
 however, that this was a wrong course to pursue, 
 injurious to himself, as well as debarring him from 
 obtaining any good influence over Lee. He soon 
 won Lee's confidence, and, when he understood how 
 such a noble, generous nature had become soured, 
 he set himself to minister to a mind diseased. Pie 
 learned that an orphaned childhood, dependence upon 
 unsympathizing and grudging relatives, premature 
 contest with the stern, cold realities of life, and, 
 lastly, his intense anxiety for Emily, the only star 
 visible to him in his dark night of life, and indigna- 
 tion against her persecutors, had made him what he 
 was. 
 
226 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 You must not think that St. John influenced Lee 
 by set discourses upon the duties of life, or formal 
 scriptural teaching of the broad charity which is love, 
 taught in the gospel. No ; he knew too well that 
 Lee would only chafe under such teaching. He re- 
 paid confidence with confidence, showed the strug- 
 gles and longings of his own heart, its rebellion, its 
 final submission, and then the fruits of that submis- 
 sion ; and all this was done so naturally, so kindly, 
 that before he was aware of the change, Lee felt 
 that, to be a true soldier in battle, one must first be 
 a soldier of the cross of Christ. 
 
 Let us now return to the assembled company in 
 the library, for it is the night before Holdfast and 
 Lee Waters leave to go to the army, being now 
 quite able to perform their duties. 
 
 Thornton lies upon the lounge, his old favorite 
 resting-place. The scar on his face will' soon be 
 hidden by his beard, and his wounds are now rap- 
 idly healing, but he still requires weeks more of 
 home care and nursing to make him fit to encounter 
 hardships again. Horace sits- on a mat beside him, 
 and near Holdfast, who has drawn his chair just 
 behind Thornton's lounge. St. John reclines in an 
 easy-chair, his face lighted up with inward peace ; 
 and on a stool at his feet sits Margaret, sometimes 
 knitting, sometimes glancing upwards with a strange, 
 wistful longing into St. John's face. Near by are 
 Lee Waters and Emily Ray, for the latter has been 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18G1. 227 
 
 a frequent giiest at ]Mrs. Grey's since the return of 
 her solJIer-boy. How bright and happy, even radi- 
 ant, she looks ! For the joy in her heart at tlie 
 chancre in Lee makes her almost forfi^etful that this 
 is the last meeting for who knows how long a time 
 between the two? Who knows, indeed ! 
 
 As for Lee, his attention is divided between Emily 
 and St. John. Emily is his own; he hopes to live 
 many years blessed with her companionship. St. 
 John he may never meet again on earth, and to St. 
 John he owes the peace and rest, the noble enthusi- 
 asm, the true courage, and the Christian fortitude 
 which shines out of his now really noble face. Mr. 
 Grey sits by the table in the centre of the room, and 
 Mrs. Grey by St. John, her hand laid lightly upon 
 his, as it rests on the arm of the chair. 
 
 There is a hush of deep feeling over all, broken by 
 Thornton, who says, lightly, ** Beware, boys, not to 
 rise too far above me by your deeds of valor before 
 I return to the army. To be robbed of honors by 
 my soldier boys would be too much even for my 
 Sleepy-Hollowism." 
 
 * * Guess the Sleepy Hollow 's about played out of 
 you," said Horace. 
 
 ** I don't know about that. It 's mighty easy, and 
 natural too, to He here and be petted. It 's only the 
 fear of being outstripped in rank that makes me 
 anxious to return to the army." 
 
 ** Very well for you to say, old hypocrite ! " re- 
 
228 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 torted Horace ; ' * but I wish you would hurry up 
 and get well, so 's to get a place for me in your com- 
 pany. You know I 'm to enlist this autumn ; is n't 
 it so, father? *' 
 
 '' Yes," replied Mr. Grey, ** if you wish; if you 
 think it best to do so when the proper time comes." 
 
 This was said so gravely Horace looked astounded, 
 but made no answer. Another long pause ensued, 
 which was broken by Holdfast so abruptly that most 
 of the company started as if a gun had been fired off 
 amongst them. 
 
 * ' 'T ain't no use for me to try and make a great 
 speech, marm ; I never was no great at talkin', — 
 doin' 's my business ; but I must say 's I don' see 
 how 's I ever going to thank you for all yer kind- 
 ness, I mean all on yer. 'T ain t so much the good 
 food and good lodgin' you give me, though that's 
 been fit for a prince, and by no means despised, but 
 it's the kindness an' — an' — what I 've larnt here, 
 that 's what makes me wish I could say what I want 
 to ; but I can't, so 'tain't no use to try." 
 
 ** We never can repay our obligations to you all, 
 Mrs. Grey," said Lee; *' and I am sure I am as 
 much at a loss to know how to express my gratitude 
 to you as Holdfast is. His debt is nothing to mine^ 
 though. I know how I can repay it in part, and I 
 will try to do it. I will try henceforth," he added, 
 in a lower, solemn tone of voice, almost as if register- 
 to be a Christian soldier." 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUx\ OF 18G1. 229 
 
 ** Waall," sjiicl Holdfast, gathering fresh courage 
 from this aid, '* guess my debt's much the same as 
 yourn. Anyhow, it 's the first time I ever felt sartin 
 there was suthin reel in religion. Now I 've seen 
 with my eyes, and heerd with my ears, that folks 
 that 's rich an' prosperous can pray and practice too. 
 It '11 be comfort to me nights, when I 'm out in the 
 cold an' mud an' dark, to feel sartin there's sich good 
 folks to hum who thinks on us." 
 
 *' It is the very least we can do for you, who do 
 €0 much for us," said Mrs. Grey. *' We are only 
 one family among thousands and thousands who 
 think and feel and act as we do. As for your debt 
 to us, ours to you is far greater. I cannot express 
 to you the real heartfelt pleasure it has been to us 
 to have you here. Your visit has done us all good.' 
 
 *' Yes," said Horace, *' it has been such jolly times 
 to hear about your scrapes, and fighting, and every- 
 thing. I don't know what I shall do with myself till 
 Thorn goes back. I want a field for my vast en- 
 ergies." 
 
 It was strange how many fruitless efforts were 
 made that evening to talk. Every one felt too 
 deeply for words, and after a few more attempts of 
 Horace to draw out his soldier friends, Mr. Grey 
 said, '* Some of us must take an early breakfast to- 
 morrow, and St. John looks weary. Let us unite 
 in our usual eveninir service." After rcadinir the 
 twentieth chapter of the Gospel of John, which came 
 20 
 
230 ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 in regular order for the eveoing reading, he turned 
 to the twenty-seventh psalm, beginning, '* The Lord 
 is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? 
 The Lord is the strength of my life ; of whom shall 
 I be afraid ? " As he read this full outpouring of 
 love and faith of the Psalmist of Israel, and es- 
 pecially the closing verse, in tones of deep feeling, 
 *' Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he 
 shall strengthen thy heart : wait, I say, on the Lord," 
 there was not one present who did not feel strength- 
 ened and encouraged for future hardship and trial. 
 The prayer which followed was one of those heart 
 utterances that strike some chord in every human, 
 breast. It was a prayer of faith and loye, a fervent 
 supplication for God's protection and fatherly care for 
 all ; alike those who remained at home in peace and 
 comfort, and those who went forth to the perils of 
 battle. As he concluded. Holdfast rose from his 
 seat, held out his rough hand, which was warmly 
 grasped by Mr. Grey, and said, ''thank ye, sir," 
 and sat down again. The act was simple and touch- 
 ing, for it told how completely the soldier had been 
 taken out of himself and uphfted above all his usual 
 shyness and awkwardness. 
 
 It was usual to close with singing, as most of the 
 party could join and Margaret played upon the piano. 
 *' America" was proposed, but Horace begged first 
 for "Daughter of Zion awake from thy sadness," 
 and it was sung, all joining but Thornton, St. John, 
 and Holdfast. 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 231 
 
 ** America " followed, and then the party dispersed. 
 Holdfast was the first to go, cordially shaking hands 
 with Thornton, and saying, *« I shall miss ye, a heap ; 
 come back soon 's yer can." To St. Johu's kind 
 wishes for his welfare, he could only falter out, 
 * ' There'%no need for me to give ye good wishes ; I 
 reckon you've got the peace that passeth under- 
 standing. I '11 never, never forget yer sweet face." 
 
 To Thornton, Lee Waters said, gayly, '* when 
 shall we three meet again ? " but when he took St. 
 John's hand and held it closely pressed in his, 
 he could speak no word ; again and again he tried, 
 but he could not command his voice. Till that mo- 
 ment he had not fully realized what that parting 
 would be. 
 
 ** Good by, Lee," said St. John, cheerfully, ** we 
 shall meet again, if not here — there " — pointing, as 
 he spoke, to heaven ; ** God bless you." 
 
 A fortnight later, this telegram came to !Mr. Grey 
 from Washington : ' ' Lee Waters died this morning, 
 from hemorrhage of the lungs." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. ^ 
 
 PROMOTION, 
 
 Yes, it was too true. Lee Waters had passed 
 through numberless perils and exposures, in camp 
 and on the march ; had fought as bravely as any, 
 and more recklessly than most, at Manassas and 
 Gettysburg, and had escaped death through all, and 
 now, when it appeared to all human seeming that 
 his health was far better than formerly, he had been 
 suddenly taken down with a violent attack of bleed- 
 ins: at the lun^s, which terminated his life in a few 
 hours. He was in Washington at the time, whither 
 he and Holdfast had been sent upon an errand by 
 their superior officer. Mr. Grey, who had become 
 much interested in Lee, and who knew that he had 
 no friends out of the army to pay to his body the last 
 tribute 'of respect, went immediately to Washington 
 and brought back with him the mortal part of the 
 young soldier. The funeral was attended from the 
 house of a kind friend of Emily's, in th^ city, Mr. 
 Grey and Thornton following to Greenwood as chief 
 mourners. Poor Emily, it was a sad blovr to her, 
 and although she knew that there were thousands of 
 
ECHOES FROM TPIE GUN OF 1861. 233 
 
 hearts in the country suffering even as she suffered, 
 it did not make her individual sorrow the less. But 
 she did not mourn as one without hope, for the re- 
 membrance of the last few weeks of his life, his 
 changed character and purposes, gave her the assur- 
 ance that the change was for him a blessed one. For 
 herself, life was full of duties which she would strive 
 to perform faithfully, and, as she had strength, cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 Thornton felt Lee's loss as a personal grief. In 
 spite of his ftiults he had become much attached to 
 him in the army, and the weeks of companionship at 
 home had drawn them still nearer together. Per- 
 haps a few lines from Holdfast to Thornton may 
 interest my readers. 
 
 Dear Sir axd Friexd : Hoping you '11 'scuse 
 my poor writin', seeiu' 's I scursely ever take pen in 
 hand, 'cept to Sally, who has n't much laming her- 
 self, an' as I knowed you 'd like to heer 'bout Lee, 
 I '11 tell you the little there is to tell. 
 
 Poor chap ! we was both in high spirits when we 
 come to AVashington, for we knowed we was to have 
 comissions, both on us, — he fust and I second loo- 
 tenant. I never heerd him run on so wild like 'bout 
 everything. He talked 'bout Miss Em'ly, said how 
 much too good she was for him, and all tliat, and 
 'bout all yer good folks. He said nobody knowed 
 how much good you done liim by yer coorse in the 
 
 20* 
 
234 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 army, and how often he felt 'shamed of his own ugly 
 temper when you was so calm and cool like. He 
 said one sich man 's you was enough -to salt a rigi- 
 ment with savin' grace, or suthin' like it. And then 
 he said, as for yer brother, he finished what ye 
 begun, and altogether he owed ye both, and indeed 
 all on ye, a heavy debt ; but he 'd try and square it 
 off the way ye 'd all like best. Then he 'd sing and 
 talk away, so full of fun and stories, and sich as I 
 never heern before. Waall, I wasn't with him when 
 he was took ; but when I come up to his room to look 
 arter him, — we was going back that arternoon to 
 camp, — I found him lyin' all white an' still on his 
 bed, and a woman seein' to him. And then she 
 telled me how he 'd been bleeding, and how the doc- 
 tor said he could n't git over it. Presently he opened 
 his eyes, and said, ** Good-by, old chap: no more 
 fightin' for me here. Tell them, tell Emily — I am 
 willing to go — and — give — my — love." Then 
 he did n't say nothin' more for an hour or so, an' 
 then he looked round sort of wild like, and said, 
 ' ' Don't run ; we '11 beat 'em yet ; charge bayonets ! " 
 Then his look changed, an' he said, "Read in my 
 Bible where the mark is ; " an' he spoke so strong 
 an' clear-like, I said, *'He's getting better." She 
 shook her head, an' I got his Bible, an' opened at 
 the mark, an' there I found the chapter yer father 
 read us that last night to yer house. I mean the one 
 in the Old Testament. It was all marked, day of 
 
ECHOES FKOM THE GUN OF 1861. 235 
 
 month an' all. F read it, an' he looked so bright 
 an' pleased, an' after I got through he took my hand 
 an' held it tight-like, as a little child might, an' then 
 he seemed sinkin' an' sinkin' away, an' his lips jist 
 moved, an' all I could make out was, " Though I 
 walk through the valley," — an' then he stopped, an 
 
 never spoke agin, an' then — that's all Hoping 
 
 ye 'r 'most smart agin, your sarvant an' friend, 
 
 Jake Brown. 
 
 St. John received the intelligence of Lee's death 
 calmly, and said, '* I did not think our separation 
 would be so short. I cannot say poor Lee, I must 
 say blessed Lee, for he would always have had a 
 great deal to contend with, with his fiery temper and 
 proud spirit, and religion does n't alter the whole 
 temperament ; it can't do that for us ; it only helps 
 us to control our passions. How glad I am I learned 
 to know all the good there was in him, and how glad 
 I was able to help him ever so little ! Yes, he used 
 to tell me how much good Thorny's example had 
 done him." 
 
 Time passed on, and brought strength and healing 
 on its wings to the elder, and weakness and decline 
 to the younger brother ; and Horace, with his buoy- 
 ant spirits and exuberant life, looked with wondering 
 awe and tender love upon the dear one who had 
 never, in his wildest and rudest days, misjudged his 
 heart. 
 
236 ECHOES from the gun of isgi. 
 
 Thornton was well, entirely well again. His 
 wounds were all healed, his limbs had regained their 
 elasticity and vigor, his full beard hid entirely the 
 scar on his cheek, and he looked a man of twenty- 
 five or thirty, so mature was his expression and 
 bearing. 
 
 He reported his restored health to his colonel, at 
 the same time askins: for a little longrer furlou^^h on 
 account of his brother's rapidly failing condition. 
 He did not receive an immediate reply, and was hes- 
 itating whether to write again when the expected 
 letter came. 
 
 It was the close of a beautiful autumn day. St. 
 John lay upon a couch, propped up with pillows. 
 He had never been confined to his bed for a day, 
 and he had expressed the wish that he might not be. 
 Just as ]Mr. Grey entered the library with Thorn- 
 ton's letter in his hand, Mrs. Grey had* thrown back 
 the blinds opening to the western sky, and a flood 
 of golden light poured into the apartment. *' See," 
 said St. John, *' the room is full of glory. A letter, 
 — the letter for Thorny, father ? A good omen for 
 
 you." 
 
 Thornton took the letter, read it, his face flushing 
 with pleasure, his eyes sparkling, handed it to his 
 father, and said to St. John, *' Yes, a good omen, a 
 true one. I am promoted to a captaincy in my old 
 company, to take poor Xed's place. It has been 
 kept for me, only temporarily filled till now. Is n't it 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 237 
 
 good news, Johnny, dear? Oh, what is tlje matter ? " 
 he exclaimed in a changed tone as he looked into his 
 brother's face. 
 
 ** Nothing bad, dear ; perhaps I too am to be pro- 
 moted. Call the others. I am glad for you dear, 
 dear Thorny, and oh, so happy for myself! Mother, 
 dear ones all, — good night, — good night." 
 
 This was all ; with his mother's hand clasped in 
 his, his fiither's laid lightly upon his brow, his pure 
 spirit had passed on with his last words, ** good 
 night." 
 
 " Good night ! — now cometh gentle sleep, 
 And tears that fall like gentle rain ; 
 Good night ! O holy, blest, and deep, 
 The rest that follows pain ! 
 How should we reach God's upper light, 
 If life's long day had no ' good night.' " 
 
 "Not dead, but born again, 
 Born by a new celestial birth." 
 
 Henceforth the anniversary of that day shall be kept 
 in Mr. Grey's family, not with fasting and mourning, 
 though sad memories will mingle with bright hopes, 
 but as a private Easter Sunday of their hearts. So 
 far as practicable the family will meet together, and 
 with reverent hearts and cheerful faces celebrate that 
 celestial birthday. Pure, beautiful flowers shall dec- 
 orate the rooms, and hymns of praise and thankful- 
 ness shall ascend to heaven. 
 
 Aft?r all was over, and love and reverence had 
 
238 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 done all that could be done for the mortal remains of 
 St. John Grey, the family sat together once more in 
 the library, and talked in low voices of the dear one, 
 not lost but gone before. Or rather Mr. Grey and 
 Thornton talked, for Mrs. Grey sat back in her chair 
 weary and sorrow-stricken, and Margaret on a stool at 
 her feet laid her head upon her lap and pondered over 
 the mystery of death, while Horace listened to his- 
 father and brother, but did not speak. 
 
 **How strange," said Thornton, *' that my pro- 
 motion and his summons came at the same time. I 
 shall never, never, forget the expression of his face 
 as he said, * perhaps I too am to be promoted.' 
 What earthly rank can equal his ? " 
 
 *« Yes," said Mr. Grey, *' it was a beautiful 
 thought. Death w^ould lose its terrors if we could 
 regard it in its true light ; promotion from care and 
 sorrow to peace and rest, from weariness of the flesh 
 to full spiritual life, from the imperfect service of 
 earth, to the perfect service of heaven." 
 
 ' * I shall attach a sacred significance henceforth to 
 my promotion. I can hardly bear to think of scenes 
 of blood and warfare after this sacred experience, 
 and yet I must." 
 
 "We walk by faith and not by sight," said Mr. 
 Grey ; ** war and the principles of Christianity are in 
 direct opposition to each other, and yet my conviction 
 never weavers that this is a God-appointed war, and 
 that out of it we are to come purified and strength- 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 239 
 
 ened, and really worthy our great blessings and privi- 
 leges. AVe shall all do our work of life "better for 
 the experience of the past few weeks, whether It be 
 deeds of love and mercy, or a just resistance to 
 
CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 HORACE GAINS ANOTHER VICTORY. 
 
 *' Are you going to the city this morning, Captain 
 Grey?" said Horace, a day or two after the events 
 I have narrated occurred. 
 
 *' No, I think not, it is not necessary, and I don't 
 feel much hke it." 
 
 *' Come with me then out into the woods, I want 
 to talk to you." 
 
 ** What is it," said Thornton after they had 
 walked some distance ; still Horace did not speak. 
 * ' About your going into the army ? " 
 
 * * About my not going into the army, at least this 
 autumn." 
 
 " Indeed, has the war fever left you then? If so, 
 I am glad of it." 
 
 *' On the contrary it is higher than ever. I never 
 felt before so anxious to be in the army as I do now ; 
 but the long and short of it is. Thorn, that I can't 
 make up my mind that it is quite right for me to go. 
 If you don't understand why, I can't tell you." 
 
 "You're a brave fellow, Horace, braver than I 
 am, after all. I do understand why. I ask your 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 241 
 
 forgiveness for not seeing at once what you meant. 
 I am so glad you have decided to stay at home. It 
 would seem cruel to leave father and mother alone 
 after all that has pas-ed, though I know they would 
 not think of themselves ; but you are still so young 
 they both dread to have you go. But how came you 
 to think of it, Horace ? I don't believe I should, in 
 your place." 
 
 ** Perhaps the first time I ever thought of it was 
 the night before the boys went back to the army, and 
 father said, if you remember, I might go with you if 
 I wished it. This set me to thinking what could 
 happen that I should not wish it. As soon as I un- 
 derstood what father meant, I felt bad enough, and 
 it seemed as if I could n't give up my plans ; but I 
 watched St. John, and saw how good and unselfish 
 1^^ was, even while he was so sick, and I knew what 
 he would think it right to do in such a case." 
 
 *' Did he, did Johnny ever say anything to you 
 about this?" 
 
 '* Xo, not a word. He never did talk much to 
 me about being good, and all that. He under- 
 stood me, St. John did, and always seemed to know 
 just how I felt about things. He said once to me 
 that I must take his place to father and mother, and 
 that he was sure I would, for, — for I had a true, 
 kind heart." 
 
 Here Horace stopped abruptly. 
 
 '* Have you told father?" asked Thornton. 
 
 21 
 
242 ECHOES FROM THE GLN OF 1861. 
 
 "No, not yet; I shall to-night. You see if I 
 was older, I should feel that I ought to go with you 
 at any rate ; but now I suppose it 's a clear case my 
 duty is at home. Steve and Hal are going, and 
 some other fellows I know in the city, but that's 
 neither here nor there if it 's right for me to stay at 
 home." 
 
 ** I said you were a brave fellow, and you are, Hor, 
 — brave and strong to give up such a darling wish 
 to a sense of duty, and, without a hint from any one 
 either. Tell father, by all means ; and if he thinks 
 it right for you to stay at home, he will say so. Xow 
 let 's have a good ride with Margaret ; she looks pale, 
 and the fresh air '11 do her good. I'll speak to her 
 if you'll tell John to bring up the horses." 
 
 ** Yes, — but. Thorny, I wish father would n't ask 
 me why I've changed my mind. I don't want to 
 talk about that:' 
 
 *' Well, perhaps he wont; I don't think he will, 
 in fact." 
 
 Perhaps Thornton spoke to his father that evening 
 before Horace saw him. At all events, w^heu the 
 latter said to him, '* Father, if you please, I will 
 stay at home this winter and enlist in the spring," he 
 was silent for a few moments and then said, " Thank 
 you, my boy, for this sacrifice of your feelings to 
 your mother and myself. We could not consent to 
 it,' however, unless we felt sure that a delay would 
 be better for you as well as ourselves. You shall 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 18C1. 243 
 
 help me in my coimtlng-room and in my labors for 
 the soldiers, and we shall have a busy and happy 
 winter. So best shall we show our love for the dear 
 one above." 
 
 "Oh, father, thank you, I am so glad you will 
 let me help you. I don't want to study any more ; 
 I don't believe I could settle down to that. I don't 
 think I was ever made for a scholar." 
 
 * ' Perhaps not for a distinguished one ; but you 
 are made for a true, faithful man in whatever you 
 undertake. Believe me, my son, this sacrifice of 
 your feelings to duty will be of more service to your 
 character than you can foresee. Even I did not 
 expect it of you. This is what I call controlliiig 
 circumstances to your best good. If you can do it 
 now you will do it hereafter. * The boy is father of 
 the man.'" 
 
 **I don't exactly know what you mean, father, 
 about my controlling circumstances in this case. 
 Have n't they controlled me ? " 
 
 *' Xot exactly. If you had followed, your wishes 
 would you not have gone into the army this autumn, 
 — were you not much more anxious to do so than 
 ever before, partly because you felt sad and lonely, 
 partly because your patriotism has increased with 
 your knowledge of public affairs, and partly because 
 it will be a broad field for your active and energetic 
 nature ? " 
 
 " Yes sir, that is true." 
 
244 ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 
 
 *' Well, circumstances, then, would have urged 
 your going into the army had you suffered them to 
 control you, but you controlled them, you resisted 
 their promptings, and the result will be as I have 
 said, a lasting benefit to your character. You must 
 not think, I repeat again, either your mother or 
 myself would accept so great a sacrifice from you 
 were we not persuaded it would be for your good." 
 
 And so it was decided, and no word passed be- 
 tween Horace and his mother upon the subject for 
 weeks, although in her good-night kiss and fond 
 pressure of his hand that evening he thought there 
 was even more than usual tenderness. 
 
 He passed a busy and a happy winter, as his 
 father had promised, and was more than repaid for 
 the sacrifice he had made of his desires to a sense 
 of duty, by the gratification that he saw his presence 
 in the family gave to his parents and to Margaret. 
 
 Poor Margaret. St. John's death had been more 
 of a loss to her tlian, in her innocent heart, she 
 really was aware of, and after the excitement of an 
 event so new and mysterious (for her parents had 
 died before her remembrance) had passed off, she 
 drooped and paled like a delicate flower touched with 
 early frost. But here Horace came in to cheer and 
 sustain her. He persuaded her to ride, drive, and 
 walk with him ; at first upon the plea of helping 
 dispel his loneliness, and afterwards as a mutual 
 pleasure and benefit. He enlisted her aid in little 
 
ECHOES FROM THE GUN OF 1861. 245 
 
 plans for assistance to the sick and wounded soldiers 
 in the Xew York hospitals, and he enlivened her with 
 his bright sallies and his abounding spirits. 
 
 In November, his father took Horace with him to 
 the consecration of the National Cemetery at Gettys- 
 burg, which was a great deliglit to the ardent boy, 
 not only for the new scenes it opened to him, but for 
 the privilege he enjoyed of hearing the oration de- 
 livered upon that occasion by one of America's truest 
 patriots and finest orators. Here, also, he met his 
 brother, ''Captain Grey," and had the gratification 
 of seeing the estimation in which he was held by his 
 companions in arms. Here, too, to his unbounded 
 surprise, he met Van Dusen Whitmore, as second 
 lieutenant in a Pennsylvania regiment. He was told 
 that Yan had not remained more than a few weeks 
 in the school where his father had placed him, and 
 that he had then run away and enlisted as a private 
 in the company in which he now held a commission. 
 He was very unpopular, however, with his men, be- 
 ing harsh and arrogant to them, and cruel and vin- 
 dictive to the enemy. More tlian one dark story had 
 already been told of barbarity to fallen and wounded 
 foes, and those who had watched his career from its 
 commencement in the army, prophesied disgrace or 
 violent death. Horace also heard of Steve and Hal 
 from one of the oflScers of the regiment in which 
 they had enlisted. Steve was spoken of highly for 
 
 21* 
 
246 ECnOES from the GUX of 1861. 
 
 his cool determination, and Hal for his bravery, 
 amountinir almost to rashness. 
 
 The winter has passed, and Horace is now view- 
 ing with great satisfaction and delight the prepara- 
 tions for his joining the army as a private in his 
 brother's company. It is hard for him to keep within 
 bounds his pleasure at the prospect before him ; a 
 pleasure enhanced by the knowledge that he has 
 nobly earned the gratification of his long-cherished 
 desires. I do not think such a broad-chested, tall, 
 vigorous-looking youth, with so much resolution and 
 energy expressed in his face, will remain a private 
 very long. Those of you who have followed his 
 course in these pages, can fancy for him as rapid 
 promotion in the future as is reasonable to expect. 
 
 My story is finished. I will not slight your pow- 
 ers of penetration so much as to suppose you need 
 to be told what its lessons are, but will simply ex- 
 press the wish that this book may prove something 
 more to you than the recreation of an Idle hour. 
 
^