One of the most pleasing incidents of the day occurred in the morning. This was the presentation of wreaths. Frank had made one for each of the company tents, and a fine one for Captain Edney, and one equally fine for Mr. Sinjin, the drum-major, and a noble one for the colonel of the regiment. He presented them all in person, except the last, which he requested Captain Edney to present for him. The captain consented, and at the head of a strong delegation of officers and men, proceeded to Colonel ——'s tent, called him out, and made a neat little speech, and presented the wreath on the end of his sword.
The colonel seemed greatly pleased.
"I accept this wreath," he said, "as the emblemof a noble thought, which I am sure must have inspired our favorite young drummer boy in making it."
Frank blushed like a girl with surprise and pleasure at this unexpected compliment.
"The wreath," continued the colonel, "is the crown of victory; and we will hang up ours, my fellow-soldiers, on this memorable Thanksgiving day, as beautiful and certain symbols of the success of Burnside's Expedition."
This short speech was greeted with enthusiastic applause. Frank was delighted with the result of his little undertaking, feeling himself a thousand times repaid for all his pains; while John Winch, seeing him in such high favor with every body, could not help regretting, with many a jealous pang, that he had not assisted in making the wreaths, and so become one of the heroes of the occasion.
That evening another incident occurred, not less pleasing to the drummer boy. With a block of wood for a seat, and the head of his drum for a desk, he was writing a letter to his mother, by a solitary candle, around which his comrades were playing cards on a table constructed of a rough board and four sticks. Amid the confusion of laughter and disputes, with heads or arms continually intervening between him and the uncertain light, he was pursuing his task through difficulties which would have made many a boy give up in vexation and despair, when a voice suddenly exclaimed, with startling emphasis,—
"Frank Manly, drummer!" And at the same instant something was thrown into the tent, like a bombshell, passing the table, knocking over the candle, and extinguishing the light.
"Well, that's manners, I should say," cried the voice of Seth Tucket, a fellow, as Frank described him, "who makes lots of fun for us, partly because he is full of it himself, and partly because he is green, and don't know any better." Tucket muttered and spat, then broke forth again, "I be darned ef that pesky football didn't take me right in the face, and spatter my mouth full of taller."
"Well, save the taller, Seth, for we're getting short of candles," said Frank. "Here, who is walking on my feet?"