CHAPTER VII.
On a Gun-boat.
When the Milwaukee was fairly out of range of the bullets of the guerrillas, Frank put his gun back in the rack, and started in search of the doctor's steward. He ran into the cabin without ceremony, and was about to enter the steward's room, when he discovered a pair of patent-leather boots, which he thought he recognized, sticking out from under a mattress which lay on the cabin floor; and, upon examination, he found that it concealed the steward, who was as pale as a sheet, and shaking as though he had been seized with the ague.
"What do you want here?" he asked, in a trembling voice, as Frank raised the mattress.
"Simpson is shot," answered Frank, "and I would like to have you come down and see him."
"Do you suppose I am fool enough to go out on deck, and run the risk of being shot? No, sir; I'll stay here, where I am safe;" and the steward made an effort to draw his head under the mattress again.
"There's no danger now," said Frank; "the rebels have stopped firing.
Besides, we are out of"—
"Go away, and let me alone," whined the steward.
"I am not going to expose myself."
"You're a coward," exclaimed Frank, now fairly aroused "But I guess the captain can"—
"Oh, don't," entreated the steward; "I haven't been here a minute. I started to get a gun, to pay the rebels back in their own coin; but the bullets came through the cabin so thick that I thought it best to retreat to a safe place;" and the steward threw off the mattress, and arose, tremblingly, to his feet.
"You went after a gun, did you?" inquired Frank, in a tone of voice which showed that he did not believe the steward's story.
"Yes; and I would have given them fits, for I am a dead shot."
"Where did you put your gun when you found that you had to retreat?"
"I put it back in the rack again."
This was a likely story; for a person as badly frightened as was the steward would not have stopped to put the gun back in its place; and, in his heart, Frank despised the man who could be guilty of such a falsehood.
As they were about to go out on deck, the steward drew back, exclaiming:
"I don't hardly believe it is safe to go out there just yet. Let us wait a few moments."
"I shan't wait an instant," said Frank. "Simpson has been neglected too long already. You can come down and attend to him, or not, just as you please." So saying, he opened the cabin door, and walking rapidly out, descended the stairs that led to the main deck.
The steward dreaded to follow; but he knew that, if he did not attend the wounded sailor, he would be reported to the captain, who, although a kind-hearted man, was a strict disciplinarian, and one who always took particular pains to see that his crew was well provided for. He dared not hesitate long; so, drawing in a long breath, he ran swiftly out on deck, and disappeared down the stairs like a shot.
Frank found Simpson sitting upon the mattress where he had been lain, with his elbows on his knees, and his head supported by his hands. As Frank came up, he said, in a weak voice:
"I came very near losing the number of my mess, didn't I? The rascals shot pretty close to me;" and he showed Frank an ugly-looking wound in the back of his head, from which the blood was flowing profusely.
By this time the steward arrived. After examining the wound, he pronounced it very severe, and one that would require constant attention.
Simpson was speedily conveyed to the sick bay, and every thing possible done to make him comfortable. Although the Milwaukee was completely riddled by the bullets of the guerrillas, he was the only one hurt. Frank was excused from all duty, that he might act as Simpson's nurse; and he scarcely left him for a moment during the two weeks of fever and delirium that followed. By the time they reached Cairo, however, he was pronounced out of danger.
Frank wanted very much to see his cousin; but the Milwaukee was anchored out in the river, and no one was allowed to go ashore. One afternoon, as he sat by his friend's hammock, reading aloud a letter from Harry Butler, in which he gave a vivid description of a late battle in which his regiment had participated, the orderly entered and informed him that the captain wished to see him. He followed the orderly, and, as he entered the cabin, the captain said:
"Please help yourself to a chair, Mr. Nelson; I shall be at liberty in a moment. I should like to finish this letter before the mail-steamer sails. You will excuse me, will you not?"
"Certainly, sir," answered Frank; and he seated himself, lost in wonder.
The captain had addressed him as Mr. Nelson, while heretofore he had always been called, by the officers, Nelson, or Frank. What could it mean? The captain had always treated him with the greatest kindness; but, since the engagement with the guerrillas, all the officers had shown him more consideration than ever. He had noticed the change, and wondered at it.
At length the captain, after hastily directing the letter he had written, and giving it in charge of the orderly, took an official document from his desk, saying, as he did so:
"I am greatly pleased, Mr. Nelson, to be able to give you this, for you deserve it;" and after unfolding the letter, he gave it to Frank, who read as follows:
NAVY DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON, D.C., Dec. 18, 1862.
Sir: For your gallantry in the late action at Cypress Bend, on the 1st inst., you are hereby appointed an Acting Master's Mate in the Navy of the United States, on temporary service. Report, without delay, to Acting Rear-Admiral David D. Porter, for such duty as he may assign you. Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
GIDEON WELLES, Secretary of the Navy,
Acting Master's Mate FRANK NELSON, S.S. Milwaukee, Mississippi Squadron.
"Well," said the captain, after Frank had read the letter over three times, to make sure that he was not dreaming, and that he was really an officer, "what do you think of it?"
"I hardly know what to think, sir," answered Frank. "It is an honor I did not expect."
"Very likely," said the captain, with a laugh; "but you deserve it. If it hadn't been for you, we should all have been captured. I saw the whole of the transaction from the pilot-house."
"It was my duty to do it, sir."
"It was a brave act, call it what else you will. Now go and give this to the paymaster," continued the captain, handing Frank an order for the settlement of his accounts, "and then go immediately and report to the Admiral."
Frank left the captain, a good deal elated at his success; and when he approached Simpson, the latter exclaimed:
"What is it, my hearty? Your promotion?"
"Yes," answered Frank; "read that;" and he handed his appointment to his friend, who said:
"I knew you would get it. The captain isn't the man to let such a thing as you did at Cypress Bend pass unnoticed. Give us your flipper, my boy; I'm glad to see you an officer." And the brave fellow actually shed tears, as he shook Frank's hand. "Now, when you are ordered to your ship," he continued, "I wish you would speak a word for me. I am very well contented here, but I had much rather sail with you."
Frank promised to do his best, and, after putting on his "shore togs," as Simpson called them, and giving the captain's order to the paymaster, he started off to report to the Admiral.
When he arrived on board the flag-ship, he was met by the officer of the deck, who inquired his business.
"I wish to see the Admiral, sir" answered Frank; "I am ordered to report to him."
The officer immediately led the way aft, and showed Frank a marine standing at the door of the cabin, who took his name and disappeared. In a moment he returned, and informed Frank that the Admiral was waiting to see him.
He entered the cabin, and handed his appointment to the Admiral, who, after reading it, said:
"So, you are the young man that saved the Milwaukee, are you? Take a chair, sir."
In a few moments his orders to report, without delay, on board the
Ticonderoga, were ready; and as the Admiral handed them to him, he said:
"Now, young man, you will be on a ship where you will have a chance to distinguish yourself. I shall expect to hear a good account of you."
"I shall always endeavor to do my duty, sir," answered Frank; and he made his best bow and retired.
When he returned to the Milwaukee, his accounts had all been made out. After the paymaster paid him up in full, Frank started for the nearest clothing-store, and when he came out, he was changed into a fine-looking officer.
He immediately directed his steps toward the naval wharf-boat, where he found a lively little fellow, who seemed full of business, superintending the loading of a vessel with provisions. It was Archie Winters; but it was plain that he did not recognize his cousin in his new uniform, for Frank stood close behind him, several moments, and Archie even brushed against him, as he passed.
"Can you tell me, sir, where I can find Mr. Winters?" inquired Frank, at length.
"Yes, sir," answered Archie, promptly, looking his cousin full in the face; "I'm the—why, Frank, how are you?" and he seized his cousin's hand, and shook it heartily. "I've been on board the Milwaukee twice this morning, but you were off somewhere. I heard you had a fight down the river, with the rebels. But what are you doing? What boat are you ordered to?"
"I am not doing any thing at present," answered Frank; "but I am ordered to report on board the Ticonderoga."
"There she is," said Archie, pointing to a long, low, black vessel that lay alongside of the wharf boat. "I am just putting provisions on board of her. I'll come and see you as soon as I get my work done."
Frank went on board his vessel, where he was received by the officer of the deck, who showed him the way into the cabin. After the captain had indorsed his orders, he strolled leisurely about the ship, examining into every thing, for as yet he knew nothing of gun-boat life.
The Ticonderoga was a queer-looking craft. She was not exactly a Monitor; but she had a turret forward, and mounted two eleven-inch guns and four twelve-pounder howitzers. She had a heavy iron ram on her bow, and the turret was protected by three inches of iron, and the deck with two inches. It did not seem possible that a cannon-ball could make any impression on her thick armor.
The officers' quarters were all below decks; and, although it was then the middle of winter, Frank found it rather uncomfortable in his bunk.
During the two weeks that elapsed before the ship was ready to sail, the time was employed in getting every thing in order—in drilling at the great guns, and with muskets and broad-swords.
Most of the crew were old seamen, who understood their duty; and by the time their sailing orders came, every thing moved like clock-work.
In the mean time Frank had been assigned his station, which—being the youngest officer on board the ship—was to command the magazine. He learned very rapidly, and, as he was always attentive to his duties, he grew in favor with both officers and men.
At length, one afternoon, the anchor was weighed, and the Ticonderoga steamed down the river. Her orders were to report to the Admiral, who had sailed from Cairo about a week previous. They found him at Arkansas Post, where they arrived too late to take part in the fight. In a few days a station was assigned to her in the Mississippi River; and the Ticonderoga immediately set sail, in obedience to orders.