“There, now, don’t screech so like an owl,” he said, releasing himself from her, and adding, as he glanced at a huge silver watch, won by gambling, “Maybe seein’ I’ve a few minutes to spare, I’ll drive a nail or so into that confounded gate, and I dun know, but while I’m about it, I’ll split you an armful of wood. I had or’to have cut up the hull on’t I s’pose, but when Hal is ’round I can’t do nothin’.”
It was strange how many little things Bill did do in these few minutes he had to spare—things which added greatly to his mother’s comfort, and saved her several shillings, beside making a soft warm spot in a heart which knew not many such. Glancing at the tall clock brought from New England, when Mrs. Baker first moved to Rockland, Bill remarked:
“The darned thing has stopped agin. I or’to have iled it, I s’pose. It would kind of been company for you, hearin’ it tick. I vum, if I hain’t a mind to give you this old turnep,” and again he drew out the silver watch. “You’ll lay abed all day without no time. Like enough I’ll nab one from some tarnal rebel,—who knows?” and with his favorite expression, “Nuff said,” Bill laid the watch upon the table, his mother moaning all the while,
“Billy boy, Billy boy, I never sot so much store by you before. How can I let you go? Stay, Billy, do, or else run away the first chance you git. Will you, Billy boy?”
“Not by a jug full!” was the emphatic response. “I ain’t none of that kind. I’ll be shot like a dog before I’ll run. The Baker name shall never be disgraced by my desertin’. It’s more like Hal to do that; but don’t howl so. I’m kinder puttin’ on the tender, you know, ‘cause I’m goin’ away. I should be ugly as ever if I’s to stay to hum. So stop your snivelin’,” and having driven the last nail into a broken chair, Bill gathered up his bundle, and with the single remark, “Nuff said,” darted through the open door, and was off ere his mother fairly comprehended it.
There was a great crowd out that morning to see the company off. Fathers, mothers, wives, and sisters,—those who had friends in the company and those who had none. The Mather carriage was there, and from its window Rose’s childish face looked out, now irradiated with smiles as its owner bowed to some acquaintance, and again shadowed with sympathy as the cries of some bereaved one were heard amid the throng.
Widow Simms, too, was there, drawn thither by a desire to see if Isaac did march with Charlie Warner, as she hoped he would, notwithstanding that he had told her he was probably too short. She didn’t believe that,—he was taller than he looked, and inasmuch as Charlie was the most aristocratic of the company, she did hope Isaac would go with him. So there she stood waiting, not far from Mrs. Baker, who had dried her eyes, and come for a last look at her boys.
Onward the soldiers came, slowly, steadily onward, the regular tread of their feet and the measured beat of the drum making solemn music as they came, and sending a chill to many a heart; for ’twas no gala day, no Fourth of July, no old-fashioned general training, they were there to celebrate. Every drum-beat was a note of war, and they who kept time to it were going forth to battle. Onward, onward still they came, George Graham’s splendid figure towering above the rest, and eliciting more than one flattering compliment from the lookers on.
There were John and Eli, side by side,—John eagerly scanning the female forms which lined the walk for a sight of last night’s bride, and Eli looking for his mother, if perchance she should be there. She was there, and what to John was better yet, she stood with her hand on Susan’s shoulder, showing that thus early she was trying to mother her.
“That’s him,—that’s John,” and Susan’s voice faltered as she pointed him out to the widow, whose heart gave one great spasm of pain as she saw him, and then grew suddenly still with wrath and indignation; for alas, her Isaac, who was to have gone with Charlie Warner, son of Rockland’s Judge, was marching with William Baker,—Bill,—who had been to the workhouse twice, to say nothing of the times he had stolen her rare-ripes and early melons! She had not looked for anything like this, and could scarcely believe her senses. Yet there they were, right before her eyes, Isaac and Bill, the former hoping his mother would not see him, and the latter trying not to see his mother, who was quite as much delighted to see him with Isaac Simms as the widow would have been had Isaac been with Charlie Warner, just in front.