“But you want to go—don’t you?”
“I do; there’s no mistake about that: but I won’t go if you are not willing.”
Mrs. Somers wrote her name upon the paper. It was a slow and difficult operation to her, and during the time she was thus occupied, the rest of the family watched her in silent anxiety. Perhaps, if she had not committed herself on the eventful night when she fully believed that Thomas had run away and joined the army, she might have offered more and stronger objections than she now urged. But there was a vein of patriotism in her nature, which she had inherited from her father, who had fought at Bunker Hill, Brandywine, and Germantown, and which had been exemplified in the life of her brother; and this, more than any other consideration, induced her to sign the paper.
Thousands of loving and devoted mothers have given their sons to their country in the same holy enthusiasm that inspired her. She was not a solitary instance of this noble sacrifice, and if both her sons had been men, instead of boys, she would not have interposed a single objection to their departure upon a mission so glorious as that to which Thomas had now devoted himself.
“There’s my name, Thomas,” said his mother, as she took off her spectacles. “I’ve done it, and you have my free consent. You’ve always been a good boy, and I hope you will always be a good soldier.”
“I shall always try to do my duty, mother; and if ever I turn my back to a rebel, I hope you’ll disown me.”
“Good, Tom!” exclaimed John, who had been deeply interested in the event of the hour.
“Well, Thomas, I’d rather face two rebels than that bull dog you fit with t’other night,” added gran’ther Greene. “You are as bold as a lion, Thomas.”
“Do you think I can stand it, gran’ther?” added Tom, with a smile.
“Stand it? Well, Thomas, it’s a hard life to be a soldier, and I know something about it. When we marched from—”