“Madam, I will take the boy. What is his name?”
“Edward Lee,” she replied. Then placing her hand upon the captain's arm, she continued in a choking voice, “If he is not killed!—Captain,—you will bring him back to me?”
“Yes, yes,” he replied, “we shall be certain to bring him back to you. We shall be discharged in six weeks.”
An hour after, the company led the regiment out of camp, the drum and fife playing “The Girl I left behind me.”
Eddie, as the soldiers called him, soon became a great favorite with all the men of the company. When any of the boys returned from foraging, Eddie's share of the peaches, melons, and other good things was meted out first. During the heavy and fatiguing marches, the long-legged fifer often waded through the mud with the little drummer mounted on his back, and in the same fashion he carried Eddie when fording streams.
During the fight at Wilson's Creek, a part of the company was stationed on the right of Totten's battery, while the balance of the company was ordered down into a deep ravine, at the left, in which it was known a party of Confederates was concealed.
An engagement took place. The contest in the ravine continued some time. Totten suddenly wheeled his battery upon the enemy in that quarter, and they soon retreated to high ground behind their lines.
In less than twenty minutes after Totten had driven the Confederates from the ravine, the word passed from man to man throughout the army, “Lyon is killed!” And soon after, hostilities having ceased upon both sides, the order came for the main part of the Federal force to fall back upon Springfield, while the lesser part was to camp upon the ground, and cover the retreat.
That night a corporal was detailed for guard duty. His post was upon a high eminence that overlooked the deep ravine in which the men had engaged the enemy. It was a dreary, lonesome beat. The hours passed slowly away, and at length the morning light began to streak along the western sky, making surrounding objects visible.
Presently the corporal heard a drum beating up the morning call. At first he thought it came from the camp of the Confederates across the creek, but as he listened he found that it came from the deep ravine. For a few moments the sound stopped, then began again. The corporal listened closely. The notes of the drum were familiar to him,—and then he knew that it was the drummer-boy from Tennessee playing the morning call.