CHAPTER XVI. RALPH AT HOME.

OME at last! And when that longing mother took her boy in her arms once more, and looked long and earnestly into his weary face, she saw only the boyish Ralph, whom sickness could not change; he was to her the same lad who had left his home with strong hopes and sunny smile. True, he was older and more careworn looking, but the honest look of his childhood shone from his eyes, and the same truthful, frank expression was on his features.

Ralph, as he rode up from the depot, with his friends, the Boneels, looked around at the old familiar place with eagerness. He expected to find everything changed—he had been absent so long, that to him it seemed as though the landscape, even, must have taken on new features, or at least changed its old. But there was the same gentle slope in front of the door, the same trees in the fields beyond, the same sunny knoll where he had played when a little boy. Oh, how long ago that seemed to him, now, when he reviewed the experiences of the past four years! Al and his father would not enter the house, though cordially invited to do so; they did not wish to intrude upon the sacredness of the first meeting with his mother.

She could scarcely speak for joy. At last she broke forth with words of greeting:

“Oh, my boy, my boy, you are home once more; you have come home to me, and you shall never go away again.”

“I am glad to be with you, dear mother; as glad as a little child, who needs a good petting. But it was a bitter disappointment when I found that I could not stay with the brave boys who are offering up their lives for their country.”

“Never mind, dear boy. You could not help getting sick. I will bring you back both health and strength, and then—”

“And then they will take me back in the army, again. Oh, mother, do you think it possible?”

[Original]

Her face grew sad. She had not thought of that, and her heart experienced a bitter pang, for she felt that not even her love and care were to him so sweet and dear as was his country and her cause. It wounded her deeply when she saw that even in the flush of his delight at being home again, he could not help clouding her joy by expressing a wish that in her bosom found no response.

She sighed deeply, and made him no answer, but he was so absorbed in greeting his sisters and friends who had met to welcome him, that he did not notice her silence.

Ralph could not endure patiently having to play the part of an invalid, but the home doctor's peremptory orders were that he should keep his bed, and visitors were to be admitted only when he felt as if he were able to talk with them.

There were many long days when his voice was so faint and his strength so nearly exhausted that he was forbidden the excitement caused by their presence. But as the winter passed, under the tender ministrations of his mother and sisters, hope again sprung up in his breast, that health might return to him, and with health would come a return to the service.

The medical man was using every effort to restore him to health. He was wise, keen-sighted and skillful, and he fathomed the secret of Ralph's low vitality. His diligence and care were at length rewarded, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the elastic, springing step return, the bright color come back to his cheek, and the luster to his eyes, as he grew stronger daily, and to those who had come to greet his home-coming, and had mentally felt they were taking a last farewell, his recovery seemed almost a miracle.

Soon he could walk long distances, and even spring on the back of a horse for a ride. Al Boneel had returned to his regiment, but the young man's father had sent Ralph a horse, with a suggestion that he should ride every day when he was able, a privilege which brought the boy more healing than even the doctor's careful attentions.

He had instinctively shrank from visiting George Martin, although that young man had been to his home three or four times during his illness. It was a fine afternoon, and he knew he was able to ride over to George's father's farm, over three miles distant. He longed to talk over the war with him, and yet he had a feeling of delicacy lest George might be sensitive about any reference to his own misfortune. But he could not help going, and he found George sitting on a bench in the orchard, where the green buds were just beginning to shoot forth their promise for future abundance.

“I'm glad indeed to see you able to come down here, Ralph,” was George's cordial greeting. “I've been wishing all day for some one to talk over old times with.”

“Old times! Yes, we were happy, good-for-nothing lads in those days, I know, and gave our teachers lots of uneasiness.”

“So we did, but I don't refer to those days; I mean the days in the army.”

Ralph was all attention at once. “How did you like the service?” he ventured.

[Original]

“Liked it clear through—way down to the bottom. You know how I lost my arm?” he said, pointing to the empty sleeve.

Ralph nodded. He longed to know more of the particulars, but would not ask.

“That was a great day. You should have been there, and seen a real fight. Not that a fight on land ain't all right, but there's a dash and inspiration about a battle on board ship that I enjoy! You feel as if the boat were your castle—you can't get away from it, and you're bound no one else shall get into it. Then the waves rocking beneath your feet, the shells screaming and dancing over the water, and the thought that your boat is almost a living thing, lends you a desperation nothing else can equal.”

Ralph smiled faintly. To his way of thinking those sensations were common to all who went into battle, whether on land or water.

“You know when I went into the service I made my way to Washington at once. I didn't wait to be enlisted here, but I knew Uncle Dick, who lived there, could get me onto a war-ship, and he did.

[Original]

“Through his influence I went on the Cumberland. She was a wooden vessel, but stanch and trim, with a good commander, Lieutenant Morris, whom we all liked. He was brave, resolute and determined. The Merrimac, under Commander Franklin Buchanan, was trying to raise the blockade, and do us all the harm she could. She was steaming round Hampton Roads, waiting to sink any of the boats that were maintaining that blockade. Commodore Buchanan evidently fancied he had an easy job on hand, but as soon as we sighted the ungainly-looking craft, our hearts were made glad with orders to pour a broadside into her, which we lost no time in doing. We tried our best to destroy her, but her heavy iron plates withstood the assault. Had she been made of wood, we would have made a sieve of her with our charge. We did her some damage, though, for our shot went clear into her open ports, and killed some of her crew. I heard some one say when a man's hit he don't cry out, but I know better, for the shrieks of the wounded on both sides that day, mingled with the roaring of the shells, the crashing of shot against the iron-sheeted monster, and the confusion of voices as orders rang out, sound in my ears yet.

“Lieutenant Morris would not say die, and when the rifled shot from the big house, for that's what it looked like, tore our decks fore and aft, the Merrimac's commander followed it up by turning his boat so that he rammed into our gay little vessel's side, and left a huge gash. Our commander's blood was up. We felt the frigate slowly settling beneath our feet, but not a man dreamed of forsaking his gun, but steadily poured fire into the Merrimac. We were willing to die, rather than surrender, and even though the breath came quick and hard, and we may have quailed a little as we looked at our watery grave, yet we waited calmly to hear our leader's orders, while the enemy was dealing us terrible blows with shot and shell.

“I felt a sharp pang, a numbness followed. The whole world was growing black, and for a second I thought the night had suddenly settled over us, and I knew no more, until one day I woke up in hospital, and found my right arm and shoulder had parted company. A messmate told me what happened after I fell to the deck. Our brave commander would not surrender; the water rose steadily, or, rather, the Cumberland sank steadily, until the waves washed across her gun deck, when the crew sprang overboard, and the ships boats carried them ashore.

[Original]

“Tom said it was a sickening sight—they had done us great havoc, but all of our wounded who could be dragged into the boats were saved, myself among the number. Tom said it was a gloomy sight when the trusty frigate keeled over, and sank to the bottom, but she went down game, for her top-masts stood above the water, with her flag flapping in the face of the Merrimac and her commander.”

George paused. A sparkle was in his eyes, and he laughed aloud at his own idea. He continued: “But I had my revenge when I heard about the Monitor giving it to the Merrimac. You know Ericsson invented that queer boat. It's a curious affair. You never saw it? It looks for all the world like a big cheese box, with a round chimney or turret on it. This turret carries two monstrous guns, and it can be turned round so that they can be pointed in any direction.

[Original]

“The mischief she did was something worth talking about. Lieutenant John L. Worden commanded her, but he met with a mishap at the start. He was looking through the sight hole, taking observations, when a shell struck it, and hurt him badly, making him blind for a time, and he had to turn over the command to Lieutenant Sam Greene. The two boats kept on fighting wildly, each trying to ram the other. Why, they came so close once in the fight, that both guns went off together, causing such a shock that the crew at the after guns were knocked down, and some of them bled at the nose and ears. They fought four hours, so the paper stated, and the Merri-mac went back to Norfolk, badly used up, for they put her in dry dock.”

George would have talked on all night, it seemed, but Ralph, who had enjoyed the brief story of the sea-fight, said he must go, as the sun would soon be down. But that visit was but one of many which he made to George, and each one increased his anxiety to return to the army. He was gaining health under his mother's care and the long rest he was having, and he often laughingly declared that if the regimental doctor could see him now, he'd never believe in his own predictions again.

Grateful as his mother was for his restoration to health, yet it saddened her, for she saw it was useless to keep him back, for he talked of nothing else but returning to the army. She felt that he had done his duty, and she could not see why that did not content him. But she realized that it did not; she saw that he was determined to go, and her heart sank like lead in her bosom at the thought.

The day for parting came, and as Ralph, with a few other soldiers who were returning to their regiments, started for the great city beyond, from which they were to proceed to the front, she thought her heart would break at this second leave-taking. Her boy loved her more dearly than she knew; but he honestly thought his duty to his country was above any private considerations, and that he should be guilty of a great sin if he did not return to that duty.

The news from the front was most inspiring. Each day the “war news” was of more absorbing interest. Ralph wanted to be back with the army. He had no longer any ambition to win any especial distinction, but he was content to do his part as one of the vast army of great heroes of whom the world will never hear, but whose whole duty was done, quietly and unobtrusively.

How many sublime acts of self-sacrifice, of generous comradeship, were performed, on the field of battle, in camp and hospital, and even in prison life, will never be known. But a record has been kept in a higher ledger than a worldly one, and when that is revealed these deeds will come to the knowledge of all men.