At the conclusion of the banquet exercises, each newly enlisted man hurried away from the hall to arrange for his departure. The families and friends of those living at a distance, were nearly all in town to witness the departure of friends and loved ones. The streets of the town were crowded with excited citizens and visitors. There was the faithful mother with tearful eyes and blanched cheeks clinging to the arm of her soldier boy and bravely struggling to calm the throbbings of her aching heart. The sad eyed father and sorrowing brothers and sisters were standing near, each vainly trying to say encouraging words. A group of half tipsy recruits joked and laughed and sang snatches of patriotic songs with thick and wobbling tongues. Across the street in the shadow of the maples, a boy and girl paced to and fro with slow and measured steps. Maybe afterwards that girl when her hair was frosted with age remembered that last promenade with bitter tears, and again maybe the grim old war kindly gave back to her at the last her boy, lithe-limbed but bronzed by the sulphurous breath of battle.
I saw Tom Wilson hurry home after the banquet, and I knew he had gone to stay with his old mother and assist her in preparing his meagre belongings for departure, and I knew what the agony of that parting would be when the supreme minute of departure actually came. And when I called for him on my way to the depot, I saw him unclasp her loving arms from his neck and lay her almost unconscious form tenderly upon the lounge. He kissed her pale lips, and with a great sob hurried out across the threshold of his humble home. At the gate we met Mrs. Haywood, who, having bade her own son goodbye, was making her way to the Wilson home to try and comfort and be comforted in their common sorrow. We bade Mrs. Haywood a tender farewell, and we promised to watch over her boy through the days of his absence, and she in turn assured Tom that she would care for and protect his dear old mother to the best of her ability. When Mrs. Haywood had passed into the house, Tom turned and watched the window anxiously until he saw again the dear old face with its straggling gray locks framed there, and then with our modest bundles under our arms and hats drawn down over our flushed, sad faces, we went slowly down to the depot. And when almost to the depot, Tom could still see that window with its precious living picture. With streaming eyes she had watched him drifting out of her life. Tom was her only child. He was all she had on earth to cling to and love. For many years his meager earning had supported the home. Ever since the death of his father the boy had been her idol. And now in her old age, not only was she to be deprived of his presence and companionship, but also of the simple little income his labor had produced. And she at last saw her darling drifting away from the shores of her simple life out into the blue depths of the Union army, maybe never to return. She had given the country the father, now the country had taken the only son. The measure of her sacrifices was more than full and almost more than she could bear.
Arriving at the depot, many farewells were said to us by both friends and strangers, as the processions of men, women and children swept along the platform ere the coming of our train. The queenly Miss Frankie Bell, whom we young fellows had always considered with her wealth and beauty too high and mighty to ever deign to notice one of us common fellows, actually sobbed when she pressed our hands, and pledged poor Tom Wilson that his aged mother should be her especial charge during his absence and should want for no comfort which her means could obtain. And when I saw the glad look her assurances had brought out on Tom's face, and knew so well her ability to do all she promised, she all at once became in my estimation the grandest and most angelic woman I had ever beheld. And at last the low rumble of our train was heard in the distance, and the click of the strumming rails warned the anxious waiting friends that the final farewells were now in order and must be said quickly. Ike at the last moment appeared upon the scene, actually staggering under his great load of boxes and bundles. He was sweating and puffing like a porpoise, and said as he came up to us, in his usually droll way. "Got a few things here mother fixed up for us to chaw on the way down to war."
We had to laugh at him. On his shoulder he carried a dry goods box crammed full. From his waist belt dangled an old battered coffee pot and cracked skillet. In his left hand he carried a mammoth cloth satchel wadded so full that ghastly stumps of a roast turkey were protruding from its gaping mouth. To the smiling bystander he said with a comical squint, "The feller who won't provide for his own household is wus than an infidel, b'gosh." It was plain to be seen that Ike had fully anticipated and provided for his most pressing wants during our trip to the front. As the train came wheezing up to the platform, the perfect shower of goodbyes, farewells, Godspeeds and kisses, hugs and hand pressures were hastily enacted, the locomotive tolled mournfully for a brief space, the conductor shouted, "All aboard," the engine began to wheeze and cough, and the train crawled slowly away into the shadows of the night. The citizens cheered the vanishing cars, and we sent back an answering cheer, which hardly rose above the rumble of the receding train. We watched the lights of the old home town until they were finally quenched in the thick midnight gloom, as we were whirled away toward the scene of conflict. We were destined for Cairo, where the other part of our company awaited us. When we had gotten out beyond the limits of the old home town we suffered a reaction, and those who had so recently wept now talked and laughed excitedly. The long faces began to broaden, and the compressed lips curl into smiles. Some one led off with "John Brown's Body, etc., etc." and by the time they got his body mouldering in the grave everybody was singing and they sang hysterically and wildly.
When all had howled themselves hoarse, they raided their well-filled lunch baskets and ate like famished wolves, notwithstanding the fact that every soul of them had been crammed and wadded with food at the banquet that evening. If the mothers and friends of those boys could have seen them in their wild carousal they would have thought them heartless and dissembling wretches but such judgment would have been wholly unjust. This line of action was the result of the relaxation of the overwrought nerves and muscles. Every old veteran of the civil war will recall many occasions where the relaxation of overwrought nerves made him act very foolishly.
The effect of that hour of final leave taking upon the depot platform upon our boys was not wholly unlike that afterwards sustained on the battle line just preparatory to an engagement, when an occasional double leaded message jarred the sensitive membrane of a fellow's ears as it scooted by with a cold hiss or a shell shrieking and seething in its mad flight through the upper air; such occasions not only try men's nerves, but they try men's souls. Finally things settled down and everyone sought repose and some manner of rest. I watched from the car window, the lights flitting past as the train forged steadily ahead. Station after station had been passed while we caroused and slept. For the men were sprawled out through the coaches in every conceivable position, now forgetful in their heavy slumber of both home and friends. Late in the night a sudden jerk of the engine tumbled me off my seat, and this was the first knowledge I had that I had actually been asleep. As I rubbed my sleepy eyes, I saw the outlines of an angular form picking his way towards me, and carefully over-stepping the sleeping forms that lay in his path. He carried a big satchel, and made manifest his mission when sufficiently near me. It was Ike, and he opened his remarks by saying "Thought 't was 'bout time we foddered up." He lounged down beside me.
"I was taking it pretty comp'table back yonder till the durned old engine just yanked me off my roost," he said.
He explored the inside of the old satchel, and brought out a goodly supply of provender. "The boys must have sung themselves to sleep," said I for want of something better to say.
"Yes," drawled Ike, as he sliced off two huge chunks of roast turkey breast. "They kept John Brown's body moulderin' in the grave till it seemed to me the corpse got mighty stale. I tell ye, Jack, we may fetch the rebs down with our muskets," he continued, "an frighten them with wild whoops, but we'll never charm 'em much with our singin', I reckon," he mused as he busied himself spreading our lunch on the opposite seat.
"I guess the boys had to do something extraordinary to overcome the sad sensations the parting engendered," said I.