Our Village in War-time

by S. T. Martyn

Lilian Grey, now more than ever our “sunbeam,” as we loved to call her, was out of town for a few weeks, and as Elinor seldom left her mother, who was suffering more than usual, we saw very little of our neighbors in the Tyrrell House. Mr. Fenton seemed a moody, disappointed man, soured by a sense of injustice which he had no power to punish and no inclination to forgive.

Even Miss Letty, who had always seemed to possess an unfailing fountain of cheerfulness and hope, now wore at times a clouded brow when no tidings came from Willie, or the news from the front was unusually warlike. She was cheered, however, by continued reports of Willie’s good conduct and popularity with the regiment, whose pet he had been from the first. Of his courage there could be no question, for he had been in several severe engagements, and boy as he was, had stood unflinchingly by the side of the bravest.

On one occasion, at the close of a hard fought skirmish, when a furious charge of the enemy’s cavalry had driven back his regiment, a division commander riding over the spot soon after, found Willie beating a tattoo on his drum as coolly as if he had been on parade.

“What are you doing here, my little fellow?” said the general.

“You see, sir,” he replied, giving the military salute, “I didn’t know but some of our boys might be about, and I thought I’d let them know there was a drummer here, in case they wanted to form again.”

“But what if the enemy should return, and find you here alone?”

“If they should, sir, this is my place, and I’d rather they’d find me here than skulking, any way.”

“Here’s an unfledged hero for you,” was the exclamation of the general as he rode on; and the next day Willie was called out and publicly thanked by the commander in the presence of all the troops. “It was an instance of bravery which would have done honor to a veteran.” Such were the words of the general, and a happy woman was his aunt as she read them in a letter written by Robert Lester on the occasion.

Then came to us the news of the invasion of Maryland by the rebels, and in a few days the battle of Antietam flashed over the wires, and with others we exulted in the victory, little thinking how deeply it was to affect us, for we supposed the Twenty-sixth to be in a division at some distance from the seat of war.

But a few days served to undeceive us; and then, as the “terrible list” of killed and wounded was read with dimming eyes and blanched cheeks, we learned how fearful was the loss our own troops had sustained. Robert Lester, who had risen rapidly from the ranks, and had been made captain on the field at Williamsburg, was wounded, it was thought, mortally. Our dear little Willie had lost an arm, and Lieut. Wiley, the bridegroom of an hour, had fallen gloriously at the head of his company, while cheering them on. Many others whom we knew and loved had also died on the field, rendered immortal by their bravery.