Being satisfied at last that his meeting with the dreaded conscript officer could not be delayed any longer, Captain Tom hastened to his room after his commission, while his mother sent a darky to the stable-yard to bring up the solitary mule that had been left there when the few remaining field-hands went to work in the morning. And a very sorry-looking beast it proved to be when it was led to the door—too decrepit to work, and so weak with age that it fairly staggered as Tom threw his weight upon the sheepskin which the thoughtful darky had placed on the animal’s back to serve in lieu of a saddle. A sorry picture Captain Tom made, too, when he was mounted; but he had no choice between going that way and riding double with a private, and that was a thing he could not bring himself to do.
While they were on their way to town Captain Tom made several fruitless attempts to induce his captors—for that was just what they were—to give him some idea of what he might expect when he presented himself before the major; but although he could not prevail upon them to say a word on that subject, he was able to make a pretty shrewd guess as to the nature of the business in hand, and if he had known that he was going to prison for a long term of years he could not have felt so utterly wretched and disheartened.
“If I were going to jail I might have a chance to get pardoned out,” thought Tom, “but the only way to get out of the army is to be killed or have an arm or leg shot off. I’d be perfectly willing to go if Jeff Davis and all his Cabinet could be compelled to go too. I’m afraid I am in for trouble this time, sure.”
If Captain Tom had any lingering doubts on this point they were dispelled in less than half a minute after he entered the enrolling office. He had never before met the grizzly veteran who sat at Captain Roach’s desk with a multitude of papers before him, and when their short interview was ended Captain Tom hoped from the bottom of his heart that he might never meet him again. He proved to be just what he looked—a thorough soldier, who had come there with the determination to perform his disagreeable duty without fear or favor. Every man in the office was a stranger to Tom. There were stacks of carbines and cavalry sabres in all the corners, horses saddled and bridled were hitched to the rack in front of the door, and there were a few tanned and weather-beaten soldiers standing around ready to start at the word, but there was not a Home Guard to be seen.
“This is Tom Randolph, sir,” was the way in which one of the guards brought the new-comer to the notice of the conscript officer. “Don’t sit down,” he added a moment later, as Tom drew a chair toward him. “Take off your hat.”
Captain Randolph was amazed, for this was not the way he had always been treated in that office. Hitherto he had been a privileged character, and had had as much to say as Captain Roach himself; but now things were changed, and for the first time in his life Tom was made to see that he was not of so much importance in the world as he had supposed himself to be. He took off his hat, but noticed that the soldiers in the room did not remove theirs, and that nettled him. So did the manner in which the major acknowledged the introduction, if such it could be called. He did not offer to shake hands as Tom thought he would, but merely looked over the top of his spectacles for a moment. Then he pulled a sheet of paper toward him, ran his finger down the list of names written on it until he had found the one he wanted, and made a short entry opposite to it; after which he pushed away the paper and said:
“Report at one o’clock this afternoon. That’s all.”
“But, major,” Tom almost gasped, “what am I to report for?”
“What for? Why, marching orders, of course.”
“Well, will you tell me where I am to march?”