THE MINISTER'S STORY.
The other day Aunt Fanny was talking with a good minister, and asked him which he thought were best for children—funny stories or serious ones.
"Well," said he, "suppose I relate what happened to me last week, and leave you to guess?"
"Oh! that will be delightful!" I answered. "I am just as fond as the children are of hearing stories, and, as they say: 'Please begin right away.'"
"Very well. Last week I was in Rochester, in this State. There is a very large orphan asylum there, and I was invited to visit it, and address the boys. I was very glad to do so; and when I entered the chapel, I found several hundred boys waiting for me—some with bright, honest faces, some looking full of mischief and fun, and all wondering what the minister was going to say, and no doubt hoping he was a good kind of a minister, who did not think it wrong to play.
"I fancy they must have seen something that pleased them in my face; for when I said, 'Boys, which would you rather have, a story or a sermon?' they all shouted out merrily, 'A story! a story!' and some added: 'Let it begin, "Once upon a time," for that is the best kind of story.'
"Very well, boys, you shall have a story, and it shall begin just as you say.
"Once upon a time, a little girl was playing in a garden, rolling hoop, jumping rope, and talking to her doll. After a while, she ran to her mother, who was sitting upon a bench that was under a wide-spreading tree, and asked if she might have some luncheon. Her mother went into the house, and soon returned with a small basket, and gave it to the little one. What was her surprise and delight, when she peeped in, to find a light, delicate biscuit, a nice cake, a beautiful ripe peach, and a little cherry tart.
"Lucy (for that was her name) placed all these things on the bench, and clapping her hands with delight, exclaimed: 'Oh! how nice they all look! What a fine party dolly and I will have with them!' Then she put the biscuit in dolly's white kid hand, who smiled sweetly all the time, and taking the cake in her own, began to eat it.
"Just then a poor woman approached the gate. Holding fast to her ragged dress was a little boy, so wan, so thin, so starved-looking, that Lucy stopped eating, and gazed pityingly at him.
"'Oh! what nice white bread!' said the poor boy.
"'It is not bread—it is cake,' said Lucy.
"'Alas! little lady,' said the poor woman, 'he does not know what cake is; he is too glad to get a crust of bread.'
"'Poor boy!' said Lucy kindly. 'How strange not to know what cake is! Here, take it.'
"He seized the cake, and in a moment he had eaten it up.
"Then Lucy took up the cherry tart, and stretching out her hand, said, in her sweet voice: 'Eat this too, poor boy!'
"He did not need to be asked twice; and the tart soon disappeared.
"'Now, take this,' said Lucy, handing him the beautiful peach.
"With joyful eagerness the boy swallowed the peach, while the generous child looked on, her face glowing with delight; and then she took the biscuit out of dolly's hand, and gave it to the poor little fellow, who finished it in double quick time, and dolly smiled just as sweetly as ever, when she gave up her biscuit, which was very good-natured in her, under the circumstances. Then the poor woman poured out thanks and blessings upon the head of the dear little girl, and upon her mother who had given the poor woman a piece of money; and she and her son went on their way with grateful hearts, the little boy looking back at Lucy as long as he could see her.
"Then the mother took the little girl in her arms, and kissed her, and said: 'My darling! you have not had any luncheon.'
"'Oh, mamma!' said Lucy, her face still glowing with pleasure, 'I feel as if I had eaten it all myself.'
"You see, boys, that the noble-hearted little child was even more happy in giving than the poor boy was in receiving; and I want you every day of your lives to love one another, and be generous and kind one to another—to do as you would wish to be done by, for this is what little Lucy did.
"God has laid His hand of blessing on your heads; He has placed you who have no earthly parents in this pleasant home, to show you that He is your Father; and the only way in which you can prove your gratitude to Him is, to 'Love one another;' and if you love one another, you will keep His commandments. Love your teachers, and you will obey them. Love God, and you will keep His commandments.
"And now, which do you think you have had—a sermon or a story?
"'A story!' shouted some of the boys.
"'A sermon!' shouted others.
"'Both!' shouted still more."
Dear little readers, which do you think it was—a story, a sermon, or BOTH?
I asked my boys when I finished whether they thought it was a story or a sermon, and they shouted just like the other boys; some, that it was one, and some the other; but they liked it very much, and thanked me for reading it. Then I said, "I will give this little 'Standard Bearer' to any one of you: which one shall it be?"
"Give it to Jacob," shouted nearly all the boys, for they all liked him.
I handed it to Jacob; and what do you think he did? He gave it to the smallest boy, saying, "I think little Joseph ought to have it."
That was really noble, because he was very fond of reading, and I knew that he wanted it; but the little fellow looked so wishful, that Jacob did as he would wish to be done by, and the bright glow on his face showed how happy this little sacrifice had made him.
And I!—wasn't I happy? Yes, indeed! And I bade them all good-by, and promised to bring a "real nice book" next time, and went back to the room where the ladies were sewing, with such a joyous expression on my face, that they asked if my ten bad boys had all flown away to the moon? to which I gravely answered: "The badness has flown away, and left ten splendid boys."
The next Friday came; and, true to my promise, I carried a book which contained a very interesting story of two children who lived in Gibraltar with their father, who was an officer in the English army. It described the battles the English fought on sea and land to obtain possession of that famous rock; a trip the children took to Africa, which you know is just opposite; and was so full of information about the customs and manners of the people who lived there, that it made a delightful little history, told in the form of a story.
My ten boys met me in the little room with joyful greetings; but I am sorry to say they had to confess that they had not kept the resolutions any better than before. Still, as they showed plainly that they wanted to be good, I was puzzled to whom to give the book, as they all seemed to have behaved equally naughty as well as good.
"I don't want to take the book home again," I said; "whom shall I give it to?"
"Give it to me!" "Give it to me!" "No, to me!" each one shouted.
I looked reproachfully at them, and said quietly, "Then it seems you are all selfish."
At this they began to call out, "Give it to Jacob," "Give it to Theodore," &c.
"Well," I said, "you have all been bad alike, according to your own confessions. I will draw lots for you, on condition that the boy who gets the book shall lend it cheerfully to the rest in turn to read, and the rest of the boys must feel willing and happy to have the winner keep it. Will you try to do this?"
They eagerly promised. So I cut ten little squares of paper, while they gathered round me and looked on with the greatest interest, and on each bit of paper I put a boy's name.
"Now, boys, you will all have a chance. See—I will roll up each bit, and tumble them all together in this saucer; and then who shall take them out one by one?"
"All of us," they cried.
"No, that won't do. Let Joseph, as he is the smallest boy; and mind, the last one wins."
"Yes, ma'am," they said; and now it was funny to see the intense importance with which little Joseph put in his thumb and finger among the papers. He took one, dropped it, and took another and handed it to me.
You could have heard a pin drop while I unfolded it; and when I read "Joseph," the little fellow's face grew so long that I felt very sorry, and wished I had bought ten books.
"Never mind, my little fellow, you will read it, you know," I said; "and you will be glad for the boy who gets it—won't you?"
He brightened up in a moment, and drew another and another till only two were left.
The two boys whose names had not yet been called were now the objects of the highest interest to the rest, and they were laughing and telling Joseph to stir the bits of paper up well. He drew again—"James" was the name—and the book belonged to Theodore, whose bright black eyes danced with delight, for his was the name left in the saucer.
"But I will let you all read it," he said, "even before I do—and little Joseph first."
I was delighted to hear him say this, and still more delighted that not a mean expression or covetous look was to be seen in the faces of my good boys. They stood the hard test nobly, and that day I was very happy.
Soon after this my daughter was taken very ill, as you know, and I could not go for many weeks to the Home: when I did go, I found everything pleasant and quiet, but the boys were restless and troublesome. So I made a report at the beginning of the next month, stating that they did not have enough to do. You see our girls learn to sew, wash and iron, and keep house. But we were puzzled to find suitable work for our boys; and I proposed in my report that they should learn some mechanical trade, and recommended that the managers should begin with shoe-making.
To my great gratification, the ladies all approved of this; and I can tell you I soon hunted up a shoemaker who was willing to come and teach them for a little money, and in a week there was a dozen boys provided with tools, leather, &c., hard at work, and very happy learning to make and mend shoes.
Such piles of shoes as wanted mending, so many little toes had rubbed out holes, that I had to laugh, for they all looked as if they were laughing with their mouths wide open. I told the boys, that as soon as they knew how to make shoes well, they must make a pair of boots for me, for which I would pay them just as much as I did my shoemaker in Broadway. They were delighted at this, and ran their tongues out, and sewed away, and promised to try their very best.
About this time we got a new teacher, a kind, grave man, whom the children liked very much. I wanted to see exactly how he managed with the children; so one day I went into the school room, and asked to have my boys read for me. The teacher gave them each a history of the United States, and handed one to me. Every boy read a paragraph in turn, and I was surprised at their improvement. They minded their stops, and generally placed the emphasis properly.
While they were reading, one little bit of a girl after another crept up to me and leaned confidingly against me; and before the reading was through, I had five of these motherless little ones nestling close to my knees. You see they did not have to sit very quiet, or learn much, because they were none of them five years old; and if they did not make a noise, they could move about a little. I said to one of them, "Well, little Kate, did you get a doll last Christmas?"
"Yes, ma'am," she answered; "and I broke it all to pieces."
Then she gave a little chuckling laugh, and looked so roguish, that I pinched her fat red cheeks. If you go to the Orphan's Home, ask to see Kate, and Lillie, and Maggie; for they are three nice little girls. Just before my daughter got so well that I could return to my pleasant work at the Home, something happened which filled me with grief. Our kind first directress, and my dear friend the treasurer, resigned their offices. They grieved about it even more than I did. They had been with the orphans so long, and had worked so hard for these poor children.
But it could not be helped. They thought it best for others to take their places, although they would remain just as warm friends as ever to the little ones.
And now I believe I have written all that there is to relate about my children in the Home, up to this time. If you feel an interest in them, and you and I live another year, at the end of it I will tell you all that happens during the year. Would you like it?
That was the end. The children clapped their hands and said, "Oh, mamma! this is the very best story yet. Dear little orphans! how sorry we are they have no mothers and fathers! What should we do if you should die!"
At this distressing thought, they rushed to their mother, and clasped her with I don't know how many arms, and kissed her forehead, and eyes, and nose, and chin, and the back of her head, till from very nearly crying they all got laughing; and two or three tumbled down in a heap together on the carpet. "Oh, dear, dear!" cried the little mother, laughing and struggling, "you will kill me if you love me so desperately; I shan't have half a nose or quarter of an ear left between you all. Shoo! Boo! Bang!"
They all fell off laughing, pretending to be shot; and soon after, with thanks to Aunt Fanny and their kind mother, the children went to bed.
["THE BATTLE OF ROANOKE ISLAND."]
The reading of the account of the "Orphan's Home," had taken several evenings; during which the mittens had greatly increased. For some time after this, there had been no story. The little mother, though she tried to keep it to herself, was in great anxiety about her soldier son, who had gone down with General Burnside's brigade to North Carolina. She had read the general's address to his men, in which he appealed to their honor and humanity, and asked them to treat the property of the enemy with unfailing protection and respect; and wounded soldiers who might fall into their hands, with the utmost kindness and attention; ending in his conviction that they would be as noble hearted as he knew they were brave. "Ah," she thought, "this looks as if a battle was intended."
Then the stirring news came of the capture of Roanoke Island, with a few words about the bravery of the men and the terrible hardships they had endured, fighting through dense swamps and almost impenetrable thickets.
Oh! how terrible were the next few days passed in woful, trembling suspense. There was no official report as yet, of the killed and wounded; and the hours of many a household like those of the little mother's, were passed in alternate prayers, hopes, and fears.
On the afternoon of the 14th February, Harry and Johnny went out together. They felt so distressed about their beloved brother, they could not sit still in the house. Near Union Park they met Gus Averill, one of Harry's friends, and some other lads. Of course the boys immediately began talking of the battle of Roanoke Island; as Gus had an elder brother in the same company with George.
"Oh, Harry!" cried Gus, "have you had any news from your brother? Is he safe?"
"We don't know yet," answered Harry sorrowfully. "Have you heard from your brother Walter?"
"No. My mother is almost crazy. That dear Miss Wilmer, to whom he is engaged to be married, comes and tries to comfort mother; but it always ends in her laying her head on mother's breast and crying, oh! so pitifully! and then mother cries; and that breaks my heart."
His lips quivered as he spoke, and the lad standing by him threw his arms affectionately over his neck, while Harry and Johnny looked grieved enough.
Near Union Park they met Gus Averill and some other Lads.
"Oh, if this dreadful war could only be ended!" cried a bright-looking boy, clenching his stick, and striking it on the pavement. "Why don't the President just proclaim freedom to every soul at once! My father says that would end the trouble double quick!"
"If the President thought so," said Harry, "he would soon say the word. I think he is the very best President we ever had; so honest and straight out. He don't think of himself; only of his country, and what is best for her. He's a dear, good old fellow, and if I saw him, I should just go up to him and say, 'I love you, President Lincoln, for you are an honest man.'"
"And so should I," said Johnny. "Aunt Fanny declares that anybody else's head would have become addled and utterly confounded by this time, with all this terrible war and confusion; but Mr. Lincoln's HONESTY OF HEART keeps his head clear, and so he does his duty; while his enemies snap and snarl; but they never 'catch a gudgeon.' Do you know Aunt Fanny?" he asked.
"Oh yes," cried all the boys.
"Well, her daughter wrote such a nice piece about the President, that I have learned it. If you like, I will tell it to you."
"That we should!" cried the boys; so Johnny in a clear voice began:
"Fling out the broad banner! make ready each hand!
For the cry of Disunion is rife in our land;
Each day may behold a new battle begun,
And true blood must flow ere the victory's won.
Then loud let the message ring out to the South:
'Republicans have but one heart and one mouth.
For the freedom we love, for the land we adore,
For the Union, and Abraham Lincoln—hurrah!'
"What! brothers and countrymen! mean you to part,
With a curse on each lip, and revenge in each heart?
What! fly from a government simple, but grand,
Your future to build on foundations of sand?
No! Stop, while 'tis time, oh ye men of the South,
Let us have for our country one heart and one mouth,
And, brothers once more in the land we adore,
We'll shout 'For The Union Forever! Hurrah!'
"Then let enemies thicken; we'll never despair,
Where unity is—behold victory there!
Disunite—in the ruins of home you will lie,
In Union you conquer—without it, you die.
Oh then, let it come from the North and the South:
'We have but one country, one heart, and one mouth.
For the freedom we love, for the land we adore,
For the Union, and Abraham Lincoln—Hurrah!'"
By the time Johnny had finished, a dozen more lads and some gentlemen had gathered round to listen. The little fellow's color mounted high, but he went on with admirable emphasis and animation to the end; and then let me tell you that, when he uttered the last "Hurrah," the boys snatched their hats off, and joined in with such a will, that the stunted old trees in the Park cracked again! and if it was not a very immense mass meeting, it was a highly respectable one, and perfectly unanimous.
"That was splendid!" said the bright boy, who had advised the President to proclaim universal freedom. "I love Aunt Fanny's daughter for writing it; and you may tell her so. I wonder if she wrote the beautiful little poem mother read to me the other day from the Rebellion Record. It set her crying; and I had hard work, I can tell you, to keep my face from puckering up."
"Oh, can you remember it?" asked some of the boys. "Do try."
"Yes; I learned it, only reading it twice after mother had read it to me. I don't know as you will like it as much as I did; but I've got a little brother, who says just such things the whole time." "Why, so have we," cried Johnny, "lots of them! so come let's hear it."
The little fellow put his finger on his lip, to think for a moment, and then began in a low voice; all the boys crowding round so as not to lose a word.
"Willie stood at the window—
Little Willie, five years old—
Watching the rainbow colors,
Fading in sunset's gold,
Red pennants, and streamers of fire,
On the blue expanse unfurl;
And over the red the white clouds lie,
Like floating mists of pearl.
"'Isn't it beautiful, mamma?'
And the dark eyes grow so bright,
They almost seem to catch the gold
Of the sky's wild glory light.
'See! There is the red, mamma,
And there is the beautiful blue;
Did God make the blue and red?
Did He make the white clouds too?
"'And away up in the sky,
Oh! see the little bright star!
Why! God is for the Union?
Isn't He, mamma?'"
"What a dear little fellow he was," cried Johnny. "Yes, God is for the Union. Why can't everybody see it?"
"All in good time—His good time," said his brother; "come, Johnny, let's us go back to mother." And so they separated; and our boys, Harry and Johnny, walked quickly home.
They had not been in the house ten minutes, when the postman's peculiarly loud and impatient ring was heard. The little mother's heart stopped beating for a moment, while the children, too anxious to wait for a servant to come, rushed in a body to open the door. One united scream of joy greeted the dear brother's well-known handwriting.
"Safe! safe!" they cried, as they ran with the precious letter to their mother, who had turned so ghastly white that she seemed to be dying. It was a thick enclosure. With trembling, eager fingers, the envelope was torn away. Within was a long letter written on several sheets of paper, which were closely wrapped around a miniature of a beautiful young girl; a short, thick lock of dark curling hair, and a small card, on which was a tiny but most exquisite painting.
It represented a dark and stormy sea; the angry waves beating furiously against a great rock, which stood like a tower of strength in the midst of the waters.
On the rock far above, a cross, stead-fast and immovable, was planted, from which all the light in the picture came.
The inscription below was: "Our faith;" and on the back was written, "For dear Walter's birthday."
"These must belong to some one else," said the little mother in a low, sobbing voice. Then looking again at the miniature, she uttered a cry of grief, as she saw that it was a likeness of one she knew and loved dearly. She took up the letter, and read, half blinded with tears—
"February 12th, 1862.
"Darling Mother, Father, Brothers, and Sisters:—I have had my wish. I have been in a battle and, I hope, did my duty. I have come out unharmed; and I thank God humbly, for his goodness and mercy.
"We went through the inlet on the sternwheel boat 'Cadet,' February 7th. Soon General Burnside directed Lieutenant Andrews to take a boat's crew and ten soldiers, and pull for the shore to take soundings and examine the landing.
"Lieutenant Andrews, who is a cool, brave fellow, went through this enterprise splendidly. I had the good fortune to go with him. He took the soundings, went ashore, saw the glitter of bayonets, and was convinced that the landing was commanded by the rebels.
"Just as he returned to the boat, a number of men sprang up like lightning from the tall grass, and fired at us. One bullet took effect; one poor fellow was severely wounded.
"Then our vessels bombarded them. A hurricane of shot and shell was poured into their battery, till they seemed to be enveloped in one sheet of white smoke and flame; for we had set their quarters on fire. But with a desperation that filled me with a sorrowful admiration, they still worked at their guns.
"Then the rebel gunboats came down upon our vessels, and the brazen throats of our guns opened upon them with such deadly effect, that a boat of the enemy's was soon enveloped in flames. One of those awful hundred-pound shells from a Parrott gun fell and exploded on her deck.
"At four o'clock in the afternoon, our general made a circuit of the fleet. A shell from the enemy was aimed at his boat, but it exploded, fell into the water, hurting no one. The fighting continued till six o'clock, when our vessels hauled off, and all became quiet. No light was seen on shore but the red glow of the burning ruins of the enemy's quarters. They had fought bravely; and though in the wrong, I could not help feeling a respect for their courage, while I condemned their cause.
"The landing of our brave fellows was effected in a wonderfully short time; for we had no trouble from the enemy, as the men who fired on Lieutenant Andrews and his crew, were sent scampering into the woods by a shell from one of our boats, which went howling like a fiend through the air, and fell down upon them.
"But it began to rain, and in a cold driving storm we waded through the swamp, the rank grass up to our eyes, until we came out on a sandy plain. We tore up a rail fence, and at eleven o'clock that night our bivouac fires spangled the earth.
"You may imagine how much rest we got, with nothing but our thin overcoats to protect us. But our courage flamed up bright in spite of the weather; and when the order to form was given next morning, we rushed to our places with hearty good-will.
"Generals Foster and Burnside came up and said a few pleasant words. Then the reconnaissance was made, and we soon heard firing. We were ordered to advance. The men laughed and joked with each other as they marched, while our great guns boomed and thundered, and the fierce, incessant shriek of rifle shot filled the air.
"We went a mile, then two, and now the shot rattled among the leaves, and men came past carrying the brave Massachusetts boys, pierced by ball and bayonet, showing frightful bleeding wounds. As they were borne to the rear, they would pass us with a smile on their ghastly faces; or would utter a faint, trembling cheer, and the words, 'Never give up, boys, Victory or death!' and then a grand heroic fire would blaze up in their eyes.
"On we marched, till we heard cheers and screams of fury mingling with the thundering of the guns. Thick smoke, through which came flashes with a gleam like tiger's eyes, enveloped us, and the whistle of the bullets rushed close past our ears.
"We were under fire; and now, dear mother, I breathed a prayer to God to nerve my arm and heart. Not a weak soul—not a coward was in our ranks. I looked around, and saw in every resolute face a look which plainly said, 'Glory, or a grave.'
"Then our colonel gave the order to fire. Directly in front of us was the famous redoubt, of which we had heard so much; and we could see riflemen in the trees, under the turfed walls, and behind every possible cover. But we obeyed the order with a will, and for an hour we fought. Not a soul flinched. As the balls struck our men, and they fell, they were carried to the rear, and the ranks closed up without wavering. I seemed turned into stone; my heart hardened. I saw a ball strike poor Walter Averill, who fought at my side. He gave a low cry, and sank to the ground. Two privates carried him to an ambulance, and I turned away with my heart of granite harder, stonier than ever. It seemed impossible to feel sorrow. Suddenly a wild cheer rose up above the awful din. Our flag waved from the redoubt! Another! another! The battle was won!
"Roanoke Island was ours! with all the enemy's guns, and three thousand men with their arms, ammunition, and stores. The victory was complete.
"There was one young fellow, dear mother, who deserved to be made a general. Oh, mother! he was only seventeen years old—three years younger than I. He was ordered to plant a battery of six twelve-pounder boat howitzers from the vessels in the advance of the centre. He dragged these through the swamp and placed them in position. They soon began to thunder and flash into the enemy, who returned the fire with such fury and desperation that every man, one after the other, was shot down, and he was left alone. The chaplain of the Twenty-fifth Massachusetts, Rev. Mr. James, then rushed up and worked at one of the howitzers till his ammunition gave out, and he had to retire. Still this undaunted boy kept on loading and discharging his gun, now entirely alone, and a mark for the most terrible galling fire; and he did this until the enemy had surrendered.
"What a heroic soul lives in that brave boy's body! You may be sure that I found him out when the battle was over, and I just took him in my arms and hugged him tight. I hope we shall be fast friends as long as we live. His name is Benjamin H. Porter, and he lives in New York State. So give three cheers for him, and our grand old State."
The Battle of Roanoke Island.
The children, though in tears at hearing of all their brother had passed through, complied with his wish, and heartily cheered the brave young midshipman and the dear old State. Then the little mother went on reading—
"The grand, comfortable wooden camps of the enemy were of course turned over to our use; and our miserable captives, who certainly looked like mudsills—though we have the name—were bivouacked outside, well guarded.
"When the madness—for such hardness must have been a temporary frenzy—left me after the battle was over, I got permission to hunt up poor Walter Averill. I soon found him, lying in a room, with five other wounded men. His eye caught mine—a thankful gleam came into them as he beckoned me to him.
"'Oh, Walter!' I cried, my heart now softened and beating loud with sorrow, 'we've gained the victory, but you lie here wounded'—I stopped, for my voice became choked.
"'Yes, George, and dying,' he hoarsely whispered. 'Thank God you have come. I shall never see my home again. Look here.'
"He raised his bloody shirt, and I saw the life-blood slowly ebbing away, from a ghastly wound in his breast.
"Oh, mother, don't think me weak; but I burst into tears, crying, 'Walter, Walter, what will your mother do?'
"'Will you take a message to her and all the dear ones at home?' he answered. 'Tell them I fought bravely, and they must not grieve, for victory spread her pinions over my bloody bed, and took away the sting of death. Tell brother Gus he must comfort mother, and stand with his arms clasped lovingly round her, when the troops come marching home without me. Tell him to look upon them with proud, steadfast eyes; for his brother filled his own place with honor in the ranks, while he was among them, and did not fear to die. It is God's will. He knows best.'
"'And, George, there is another. She who was to have been my dear wife when I came back.' He turned away his head, and through my own blinding tears I saw the great woful drops roll down his cheeks.
"'Oh, Walter,' I sobbed, 'it's too hard!'
"'Next Tuesday would have been my birthday,' he said. 'I should have been twenty-two years old. Some little precious gift will be sure to come from Helen. If it comes in time, will you lay it on my breast to be buried with me? But if too late, take care of it, and return it to her when you find an opportunity. And cut one or two locks of my hair for my mother, and my poor—' his face changed all at once. With a last, dying effort he put his hand to his neck and drew out a ribbon, to which was attached a miniature, and placed it in my hand. Then in a voice faint, hoarse, dying, he murmured 'Mother—Helen.' One fluttering sigh, and he lay quite still. He was dead.
"The first pale moonbeam came creeping in, and rested softly on his face. It was calmly looking down on the red sand of the battle field with its bloody corses strewn here and there; and it was shining as calmly upon you at home, dear mother, who knew nothing then of that dreadful scene. As I thought of this, and the anguish the events of that day would make for Walter's family, and many another beside, I threw my head down on my dear lost comrade's bed, and sobbed till I thought my heart would break.
"I send the miniature, the locks of hair, and the little package that came the day after we buried him, with this letter. You will have to make these sad tidings known to his family. No one can do it as tenderly—but, 'Walter killed!' There is no softening of that terrible word.
"Good-by, dear mother, and all my dear ones. Write often to me; and, above all, pray for
"Your loving son and brother,
George."
As the letter concluded, Harry, who loved his friend, Gus Averill, next to his own brothers, exclaimed, "Oh, poor Gus!"—threw his arms on the table, and laying his forehead on them, gave way to such terrible convulsive sobs that it seemed as if his very heart was bursting with grief. The poor children could not comfort him, for they were crying themselves. Grateful that their own dear brother was safe, they could still feel the sharp sting of sympathetic sorrow at their friend's loss. No family had taken a greater interest in the children's evening work for the soldiers than Mrs. Averill's; and for the first time that winter, the whole evening was passed by them alone, and in a mournful silence; for the little mother went immediately on her sad and terrible errand, and did not return till quite late.
But a loving, thankful letter was to be despatched without delay to the dear son and brother; and as there was a prospect of his remaining some time in his present quarters, a box of comforts was eagerly prepared.
Every one of the children wrote letters perfectly running over with love and joy at his safety; and Willie and Bennie, with immense efforts and a great deal of rubbing out to make them better, sent to him divers pictures which they had drawn on purpose to please him.
Bennie sent this—which he called General Floyd—with a shield with a C in the middle for "Confederate," and four legs to show how very fast he could run. I am sure we all ought to be glad he did run; for the expression of his face, if Bennie's portrait is correct, is enough to strike terror and dismay to the heart of every loyal soul.
Willie made a likeness of President Davis, with a crown on his head, and pointing with a grin to the stars, which represented the Southern States.
Then Bennie made an elegant picture of the army of the Potomac, with the American eagle in one of the corners looking approvingly at it, all travelling down together to kill a turkey buzzard and a mud turtle, which somebody told him were Southern productions. He put numbers on the heads of those he meant for our generals, also on the guns, and Southern celebrities; and left the American eagle and the privates to get along as well as they could without them.
Bennie's Portrait of Genl. Floyd.
Willie's "Cavalry Picture."
When Willie was favored with a glance at this remarkable picture, he concluded that it would never do for him to take no notice of the army; so he devoted himself to the production of a cavalry scene. Here it is. I think the horse with five tails and a square lump on his back, is particularly fine, or funny; but Willie is very proud of the whole thing, and wants to have it framed, and hung up in the parlor when George comes home.
A few days after, George wrote another letter, which was much more cheerful. He said:
"February 17th, 1862.
"Dear Mother:"We are quietly bivouacked here, and everything is coming right except the loss of our friends.
"I send you a rough sketch of the tent in which we worshipped on Sundays. We have the Presbyterian form of service, and every one seems to enjoy the holy quiet of the day. It seems so dreadful that most of our battles have been fought on Sunday. Ah! I am called. I will write more to-morrow if I can.
"February 23d. I am so glad that my letter did not go the other day, as it gives me the opportunity to thank you all—dear, dear ones! for your letters. The box, of course, of which you speak, cannot be here near as quickly, as the express has thousands upon thousands to deliver.
"But Bennie and Willie! what shall I say to express my delight at their elegant pictures! I have pinned them to my tent, and I look at them and think that never were such funny, darling little brothers before! and certainly never were more perfect pictures of the kind. Here is a drawing of an ambulance, which I send in return: two poor wounded soldiers are inside, and two sitting behind with their arms in slings; and here is one I have made of the celebration we had yesterday in honor of Washington's birthday. It was a pretty rough affair; and the few natives who gathered round, did not remind me in the least of New York. The country people here are very uncouth and ignorant; and do not seem to know what comfort is, as we understand it. They "reckon" about everything; and when they consider themselves fortunate in any possession, they say they "reckon" they have a "pretty smart chance" of it.
"I am cheerful during the day, but in my dreams at night, I still hear the deadly whiz of bullets, and feel the horrible breath of the great balls and shells on my cheek. You can form no idea of the peculiar sensation it causes. Then poor Walter's dying form and words rise up in my brain; and I go over that woful scene, again and again. It will be many a long month before I can think of him without grief. He was beloved by everybody in the regiment. Tell this, dear mother, to his family.
"Tell Bennie, I think General Floyd must have used all his four legs when he ran away so fast from Fort Donelson; while that brave Commodore Foote stuck like wax to his duty, and did not leave the fort till he had put not only his own foot in it, but the foot of every man who helped him to take it. That's the kind of Foote for us! Isn't it, Bennie?
"And tell Willie, I showed his picture of Jeff. Davis grinning at his stars, to a darkey, who waits upon me; and he stooped over, put his hands on his knees, and said, laughing, "Hech! hech! y-a-h! Mas' Jeff. Davis, he grin toder side he mouf, bimeby; he mighty fas' wid he larf. Let ole Mas' Linkum 'lone. He knows. He make me for free, de Lord bress him!"
"Oh! oh! how I wish I could be with you all for just one day. I think I should kiss and hug you nearly to death.
"Don't forget to read my letters to Aunt Fanny, dear little old soul! I am afraid she will forget me, or will not have me hanging round her any more, now that I have got so big and clumsy. But she need not try to get rid of me. I'm a deal the strongest, and if she says she won't have me for one of her children forever and a day, I'll come home and pack her up in my cartridge box, and keep her there till she repents of her cruelty. Tell her that I would rather she should
Stab me through,
And shoot me too,
And kill me, which is worse, worse, worse,than to refuse to consider me as one of her boys.
"And now, dear sisters and brothers, I must get ready for parade. I love you all, oh, how dearly! God grant we may meet again. Pray that this awful war between brothers, which is literally, most sadly true in many cases, may come to a speedy ending; and pray for, and love your son and brother,
George."
The Army of the Potomac.
Celebration of Washington's Birthday.
You may be sure I got all the letters to read; and every scrap of news about my dear boy, that the little mother and her children could glean. We knew that he had won the warm approbation of his superior officers for his coolness and bravery in the battle; but not a word did we hear from him in praise of himself.
A few evenings after this letter, all the mittens were gathered together for the last time; for, as spring approached, no more could be needed, at least this winter; and all prayed, that when another cold season came round, it would be bright with peace restored all over our beloved land.
There were just twenty-one pairs. George's birthday would come on the 8th of March, when he would be of age, and they hoped that a box containing these mittens and a loving gift from each and every member of his family, would reach him in time.
"Twenty-one years old!" cried Harry. "Why, George can vote! I think that is the very best of being a man."
"So do I," said a voice at the door.
"Oh, Aunt Fanny! you little darling; come help us count up our mittens."
Down we sat, with pencils and paper, and did dreadful hard sums, the smaller ones thought, casting up the long column of mittens which had been sent to the brave soldiers. Poor Mary O'Reilly had rubbed her red bags off at last, and was sitting close to Pet, comfortably washing her face, while the "tremendous dog" winked lazily at us, to let us know that he was all right, and on our side.
How many do you guess had been made and given, beside those the little play brought? Just take the six books, turn to the last pages of each, and then count up for yourselves. It will make a very nice little sum in arithmetic.
And, my darlings, it will do more, I hope, and believe. It will show you that children can do a great deal of good, if they only try. If I have proved this to your satisfaction, and if you should ever form or join a children's society to work for the soldiers, or help the poor, I really think you must let me know it, so that I can write you a letter, or come and give you a good, loving kiss.
And now, as my book is already getting too long, I can only tell you that George remained in his beloved General Burnside's division during the spring and summer of this year, 1862; doing his duty well, and winning the respect and love of all who knew him.
At first the General thought he was only a dandified chap, without much fighting in him, because his hair was parted so very evenly down the back of his head, and his gloves and boots were always, the one so snowy white, and the other so brilliantly black. The General did not know, as we do, that our little Johnny had given George a comb, expressly that he might make that very particular parting; and that his habits of scrupulous neatness in dress were a part of West Point and home education, which he would never neglect. But it was not long before the little mother's soldier son was rated as his courage and merits deserved; in proof of which he was soon writing a letter home, with the good news that he had been chosen one of the General's aids, and had had a horse given him, whose merits, in his estimation, were very little inferior to Mr. Bonner's famous horse Lantern.
Ah! how I grieve to part with you, my dear little readers. As I write, I always think of the sweet and bright eyes that will read, and the small hands that will hold my true story book. I wonder to myself if you have good and pure hearts; and then I pray for you all, though I do not know you, and hope that you are obedient, lovely children. Above all, I pray that no written or spoken word of mine will ever do you the least grain of harm. It would make me most wretched, did I think it possible.
Before I say good-by, I must tell you what I saw the other day, in one of the splendid show windows of Ball & Black's magnificent store.
An elegant sword and belt lay on the velvet cover, and above was a sheet of parchment with an inscription, which I went in and asked permission to copy, as I knew you would be delighted to read it. Here it is:
"Presented by the citizens of Lockport to Midshipman Benjamin H. Porter, as a testimony of their appreciation of his gallant conduct at Roanoke Island." (We know something about that, don't we?)
"Midshipman Porter was but seventeen years old, when, at the battle of Roanoke Island, his noble daring elicited the admiration of his superior officer, who exclaimed, 'My brave boy, you have won your epaulettes!'
"He led his battery, six Dahlgren howitzers, through the swamp, and, in the face of a galling fire, continued to load and discharge one of his guns, after every man around him had been shot down; bravely remaining at his post until the enemy was dislodged and had made an unconditional surrender."
Oh! how pleased I was to see this testimony, and touch with my hand the sword that his true and brave hands would clasp.
I had just written the last word, when my little Alice's grandpapa came into the room, and handed her a package, saying, "Here, Monsieur Pop, your uncle John has sent you something by a soldier who came home wounded, and too ill to fight;" and he handed her a little parcel.
This uncle was my dear brother John. He had been in some dreadful battles, and we, like all left at home, suffered constant anxiety about him, dreading that each day might bring bad news.
He had been very ill with the terrible fever, which, I believe, has killed more than the guns of the enemy, and had taken "a cartload or so" of quinine, which is the very bitterest medicine that ever was invented. It ought always to cure, it is so very bad to take. It did cure my brother; and, so far, we were grateful to know, that though foremost in the fight, no bullet had yet touched him.
So Alice eagerly took the parcel, and undid it—my father and I looking on with our eyes very wide open. Inside the first paper were three smaller parcels. She unrolled the smallest first, and out came a little doll's china leg, with the foot broken off.
"Why, how funny!" she exclaimed.
Then the next was quickly opened. Another little china leg, this time with a foot encased in a black gaiter boot, with a straw-colored sole to it—all painted on, of course.
The third parcel contained a china head and neck, very pretty, and quite perfect.
"Oh," cried Alice, "what a pretty doll's head! only she has no seam to her hair. It must be because she is a secession doll."
"We laughed, and wondered what it meant, till we noticed that one of the papers had something written on it. They were printed pages, and seemed to be a report of something; but one of them had a blank side, and on this was written in faint pencil marks—
"Camp near Harrison's Landing,}
August 12, 1862. }"My Dear Father:
"This, with its accompanying parcel, will be handed to you by a comrade, who has gone home ill. The parcel contains the head and legs of a porcelain doll. I picked them up last week, when out scouting with the regiment, on the right bank of the James river. They had been taken, I suppose, from one of the houses of an F. F. V., and dropped again. I found them on the estate of the Ruffin family, one of whom fired the first gun at Sumter.
"Give it to Alice, with my love, and let her place it in disgrace among her numerous family as 'Miss Secesh.' I will write you by mail to-day or to-morrow.
"Your affectionate son,
"John."
"Oh!" said Alice, "I am sorry for the little girl that lost her doll; but I'm glad I've got it. What a good uncle John, to send it to me!"—and she immediately whirled round and made two cheeses, in honor of the event.
"How many dolls will that make?" inquired Grandpa.
"Let me see," she answered, thinking, with her finger on her lip. "Forty-one paper dolls. Then there is Willie, my small china doll; Anna, my large china doll; Baby, my wax doll, that cries, and opens and shuts its eyes; Genevieve Virginie, my new porcelain doll; and Miss Secesh.
"Bless me!" said Grandpa, "what a family to look after! You ought to write down the day you got Miss Secesh—twenty-fourth of August."
"No, Grandpa," said Alice, "it is the twenty-tooth—"
"So it is," cried Grandpa—while I had to run and look out of the window, so that the dear little old monkey should not see me laughing at her funny mistake. She meant the "twenty-second;" but you see she spoke in a hurry.
And now I must really say good-by, my darlings, and throw my pen out of the window.
The door opens. Every one of the Little Mother's children rush in.
"What?!! what is that you say?!"
"Yes, Aunt Fanny! George is made a Captain! Hurrah!!!"