The Soldier Boy; or, Tom Somers in the Army by Oliver Optic

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THE SOLDIER BOY

OR

TOM SOMERS IN THE ARMY

A Story of the Great Rebellion

BY

OLIVER OPTIC

AUTHOR OF "RICH AND HUMBLE," "ALL ABOARD," "LITTLE BY LITTLE," ETC., ETC.

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

TO

William Lee, Esq.

THIS BOOK

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED

BY HIS FRIEND

WILLIAM T. ADAMS.

PREFACE.

This volume is not altogether a military romance, though it contains the
adventures of one of those noble-hearted and patriotic young men who went
forth from homes of plenty and happiness to fight the battles of our
imperilled country. The incidents of the story may be stirring and
exciting; yet they are not only within the bounds of probability, but have
been more than paralleled in the experience of hundreds of the gallant
soldiers of the loyal army.

The work is not intended to approach the dignity of a history, though the
writer has carefully consulted the "authorities," both loyal and rebel,
and has taken down the living words of enthusiastic participants in the
stirring scenes described in this volume. He has not attempted to give a
full picture of any battle, or other army operation, but simply of those
movements in which the hero took a part. The book is a narrative of
personal adventure, delineating the birth and growth of a pure patriotism
in the soul of the hero, and describing the perils and privations, the
battles and marches which he shared with thousands of brave men in the
army of the Potomac.

The author has endeavored to paint a picture of the true soldier, one who
loves his country, and fights for her because he loves her; but, at the
same time, one who is true to himself and his God, while he is faithful to
his patriotic impulses.

The work has been a pleasure to me in its preparation, and I hope it will
not disappoint the reasonable expectation of those partial friends whose
smile is my joy, whose frown is my grief. But, more than all, I trust this
humble volume will have some small influence in kindling and cherishing
that genuine patriotism which must ever be the salvation of our land, the
foundation of our national prosperity and happiness.

WILLIAM T. ADAMS.

DORCHESTER, Feb. 22, 1864.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I. The Battle of Pinchbrook
II. The Somers Family
III. Taming a Traitor
IV. The Committee come out, and Tom goes in
V. The Attic Chamber
VI. The Way is Prepared
VII. A Midnight Adventure
VIII. Signing the Papers
IX. The Departure
X. Company K
XI. In Washington
XII. On to Richmond
XIII. The Battle of Bull Run
XIV. After the Battle
XV. Tom a Prisoner
XVI. A Perplexing Question
XVII. Dinner and Danger
XVIII. The Rebel Soldier
XIX. Through the Gap
XX. Down the Shenandoah
XXI. The Problem of Rations
XXII. The Picket Guard
XXIII. The End of the Voyage
XXIV. Budd's Ferry
XXV. In the Hospital
XXVI. Tom is Sentimental
XXVII. The Confederate Deserter
XXVIII. On the Peninsula
XXIX. The Battle of Williamsburg
XXX. More of the Battle
XXXI. Glory and Victory
XXXII. "Honorable Mention"
XXXIII. Lieutenant Somers and Others

THE SOLDIER BOY;

OR,

TOM SOMERS IN THE ARMY.

CHAPTER I.

THE BATTLE OF PINCHBROOK.

"Fort Sumter has surrendered, mother!" shouted Thomas Somers, as he rushed
into the room where his mother was quietly reading her Bible.

It was Sunday, and the exciting news had been circulated about the usually
quiet village of Pinchbrook Harbor. Men's lips were compressed, and their
teeth shut tight together. They were indignant, for traitors had fired
upon the flag of the United States. Men, women, and children were roused
by the indignity offered to the national emblem. The cannon balls that
struck the walls of Sumter seemed at the same time to strike the souls of
the whole population of the North, and never was there such a great
awakening since the Pilgrim Fathers first planted their feet upon the rock
of Plymouth.

"Fort Sumter has surrendered!" shouted the indignant young patriot again,
as his mother looked up from the blessed volume.

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Somers, as she closed the Bible, and
removed her spectacles.

"Yes, mother. The infernal rebels hammered away at the fort for two days,
and at last we had to give in."

"There'll be terrible times afore long," replied the old lady, shaking her
head with prophetic earnestness.

"The President has called for seventy-five thousand volunteers, and I tell
you there'll be music before long!" continued the youth, so excited that
he paced the room with rapid strides.

"What's the matter, Thomas?" asked a feeble old gentleman, entering the
room at this moment.

"Fort Sumter has surrendered, gran'ther," repeated Thomas, at the top of
his lungs, for the aged man was quite deaf; "and the President has called
for seventy-five thousand men to go down and fight the traitors."

"Sho!" exclaimed the old man, halting, and gazing with earnestness into
the face of the boy.

"It's a fact, gran'ther."

"Well, I'm too old to go," muttered gran'ther Greene; "but I wa'n't
older'n you are when I shouldered my firelock in 1812. I'm too old and
stiff to go now."

"How old were you, gran'ther, when you went to the war?" asked Thomas,
with more moderation than he had exhibited before.

"Only sixteen, Thomas; but I was as tall as I am now," replied the
patriarch, dropping slowly and cautiously into the old-fashioned high-back
chair, by the side of the cooking stove.

"Well, I'm sixteen, and I mean to go."

"You, Thomas! You are crazy! You shan't do any thing of the kind,"
interposed Mrs. Somers. "There's men enough to go to the war, without such
boys as you are."

"You ain't quite stout enough to make a soldier, Thomas. You ain't so big
as I was, when I went off to York state," added gran'ther Greene.

"I should like to go any how," said Thomas, as he seated himself in a
corner of the room, and began to think thoughts big enough for a
full-grown man.

"Fort Sumter has surrendered," shouted John Somers, rushing into the house
as much excited as his brother had been.

"We've heard all about it, John," replied his mother.

"The President has called for seventy-five thousand men, and in my opinion
the rebels will get an awful licking before they are a fortnight older. I
should like to go and help do it."

The exciting news was discussed among the members of the Somers family, as
it was in thousands of other families, on that eventful Sunday. Thomas and
John could think of nothing, speak of nothing, but Fort Sumter, and the
terrible castigation which the rebels would receive from the insulted and
outraged North. They were loyal even to enthusiasm; and when they retired
to their chamber at night, they ventured to express to each other their
desire to join the great army which was to avenge the insult offered to
the flag of the Union.

They were twin brothers, sixteen years of age; but they both thought they
were old enough and strong enough to be soldiers. Their mother, however,
had promptly disapproved of such suggestions, and they had not deemed it
prudent to discuss the idea in her presence.

On Monday, the excitement instead of subsiding, was fanned to a fever
heat; Pinchbrook Harbor was in a glow of patriotism. Men neglected their
usual occupations, and talked of the affairs of the nation. Every person
who could procure a flag hung it out at his window, or hoisted it in his
yard, or on his house. The governor had called out a portion of the state
militia, and already the tramp of armed men was heard in the neighboring
city of Boston.

Thomas Somers was employed in a store in the village, and during the
forenoon he mechanically performed the duties of his position; but he
could think of nothing but the exciting topic of the day. His blood was
boiling with indignation against those who had trailed our hallowed flag
in the dust. He wanted to do something to redeem the honor of his
country--something to wipe out the traitors who had dared to conspire
against her peace. On his way home to dinner, he met Fred Pemberton, who
lived only a short distance from his own house.

"What do you think now, Fred?" said Thomas.

"What do I think? I think just as I always did--the North is wrong, and
the South is right," replied Fred.

"Who fired upon Fort Sumter? That's the question," said Thomas, his eyes
flashing with indignation.

"Why didn't they give up the fort, then?"

"Give up the fort! Shall the United States cave in before the little State
of South Carolina. Not by a two chalks!"

"I think the North has been teasing and vexing the South till the
Southerns can't stand it any longer. There'll be war now."

"I hope there will! By gracious, I hope so!"

"I hope the South will beat!"

"Do you? Do you, Fred Pemberton?" demanded Tom, so excited he could not
stand still.

"Yes, I do. The South has the rights of it. If we had let their niggers
alone, there wouldn't have been any trouble."

"You are as blind as a bat, Fred. Don't you see this isn't a quarrel
between the North and the South, but between the government and the
rebels?"

"I don't see it. If the North had let the South alone, there wouldn't have
been any fuss. I hope the North will get whipped, and I know she will."

"Fred, you are a traitor to your country!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are; and if I had my way, I'd ride you on a rail out of town."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would. I always thought you were a decent fellow; but you are a
dirty, low-lived traitor."

"Better be careful what you say, Tom Somers!" retorted the young
secessionist, angrily.

"A fellow that won't stand by his country ain't fit to live. You are an
out-and-out traitor."

"Don't call me that again, Tom Somers," replied Fred, doubling up his
fist.

"I say you are a traitor."

"Take that, then."

Tom did take it, and it was a pretty hard blow on the side of his head.
Perhaps it was fortunate for our young patriot that an opportunity was
thus afforded him to evaporate some of his enthusiasm in the cause of his
country, for there is no knowing what might have been the consequence if
it had remained longer pent up in his soul. Of course, he struck back; and
a contest, on a small scale, between the loyalty of the North and the
treason of the South commenced. How long it might have continued, or what
might have been the result, cannot now be considered; for the approach of
a chaise interrupted the battle, and the forces of secession were
reenforced by a full-grown man.

The gentleman stepped out of his chaise with his whip in his hand, and
proceeded to lay it about the legs and body of the representative of the
Union side. This was more than Tom Somers could stand, and he retreated in
good order from the spot, till he had placed himself out of the reach of
the whip.

"What do you mean, you young scoundrel?" demanded the gentleman who had
interfered.

Tom looked at him, and discovered that it was Squire Pemberton, the father
of his late opponent.

"He hit me first," said Tom.

"He called me a traitor," added Fred. "I won't be called a traitor by him,
or any other fellow."

"What do you mean by calling my son a traitor, you villain?"

"I meant just what I said. He is a traitor. He said he hoped the South
would beat."

"Suppose he did. I hope so too," added Squire Pemberton.

The squire thought, evidently, that this ought to settle the question. If
he hoped so, that was enough.

"Then you are a traitor, too. That's all I've got to say," replied Tom,
boldly.

"You scoundrel! How dare you use such a word to me!" roared the squire, as
he moved towards the blunt-spoken little patriot.

For strategic reasons, Tom deemed it prudent to fall back; but as he did
so, he picked up a couple of good-sized stones.

"I said you were a traitor, and I say so again," said Tom.

"Two can play at that game," added Fred, as he picked up a stone and threw
it at Tom.

The Union force returned the fire with the most determined energy, until
one of the missiles struck the horse attached to the chaise. The animal,
evidently having no sympathy with either party in this miniature contest,
and without considering how much damage he might do the rebel cause,
started off at a furious pace when the stone struck him. He dashed down
the hill at a fearful rate, and bounded away over the plain that led to
the Harbor.

Squire Pemberton and his son had more interest in the fate of the runaway
horse than they had in the issue of the contest, and both started at the
top of their speed in pursuit. But they might as well have chased a flash
of lightning, or a locomotive going at the rate of fifty miles an hour.

Tom Somers came down from the bank which he had ascended to secure a good
position. He had done rather more than he intended to do; but on the whole
he did not much regret it. He watched the course of the spirited animal,
as he dashed madly on to destruction. The career of the horse was short;
for in the act of turning a corner, half a mile from the spot where Tom
stood, he upset the chaise, and was himself thrown down, and, being
entangled in the harness, was unable to rise before a stout man had him by
the head.

"I wish that chaise had been the southern confederacy," said Tom to
himself, philosophically, when he saw the catastrophe in the distance.
"Well, it served you right, old Secesh; and I'll bet there ain't many
folks in Pinchbrook Harbor that will be willing to comfort the mourners."

With this consoling assurance, Tom continued on his way home. At dinner,
he gave the family a faithful account of the transaction.

"You didn't do right, Thomas," said his mother.

"He hit me first."

"You called him a traitor."

"He is a traitor, and so is his father."

"I declare, the boys are as full of fight as an egg is of meat," added
gran'ther Greene.

"You haven't seen the last of it yet, Thomas," said the prudent mother.

"No matter, Tom; I'll stand by you," added John.

After dinner, the two boys walked down to the Harbor together.

CHAPTER II.

THE SOMERS FAMILY.

The town of Pinchbrook is not a great distance from Boston, with which it
is connected by railroad. If any of our young readers are of a
geographical turn of mind, and are disposed to ascertain the exact
locality of the place, we will save them any unnecessary trouble, for it
is not laid down on any map with which we are familiar. We live in times
of war, and probably our young friends have already learned the meaning of
"military necessity." Our story is essentially a military story, and there
are certain military secrets connected with it which might be traced out
if we should inform our inquisitive readers exactly where Pinchbrook is
situated.

Squire Pemberton, we doubt not, is very anxious to find out certain
persons connected with some irregular proceedings in and around his house
on the evening of Monday, April 16th. Fidelity to the truth of history
compels us to narrate these proceedings in our humble volume; but we
should exceedingly regret thereby to get any of our friends into a scrape
by informing the squire that they were active participants in the scenes
of that eventful night, or to say any thing which would enable him, a
lawyer, to trace out the authors of the mischief through these pages.
Therefore we cannot say where Pinchbrook is, or even give a hint which
would enable our readers to fix definitely its locality.

Pinchbrook is a town of about three thousand inhabitants, engaged, as the
school books would say, in agriculture, manufactures, commerce, and the
fisheries, which, rendered into still plainer English, means that some of
the people are farmers; that wooden pails, mackerel kegs, boots and shoes,
are made; that the inhabitants buy groceries, and sell fish, kegs, pails,
and similar wares; and that there are about twenty vessels owned in the
place, the principal part of which are fishermen.

We have not the agricultural and commercial statistics of the place at
hand; but the larger territorial part of the town was devoted to the
farming interest, and was rather sparsely populated, while the principal
village, called Pinchbrook Harbor, was more densely peopled, contained two
stores, four churches, one wharf, a blacksmith shop, and several shoe and
bucket manufactories.

We are willing to acknowledge that Pinchbrook is rather a singular name.
The antiquarians have not yet had an opportunity to determine its origin;
but our private opinion is that the word is a corruption of _Punch_-brook.
Perhaps, at some remote period in the history of the town, before the Sons
of Temperance obtained a foothold in the place, a villainous mixture,
known to topers under the general appellation of "punch," may have been
largely consumed by the Pinchbrookers. Though not a very aged person
ourself, we have heard allusions to festive occasions where,
metaphorically, the punch was said to "flow in streams." Possibly, from
"streams" came "brooks,"--hence, "Punchbrook,"--which, under the strange
mutations of time, has become "Pinchbrook." But we are not learned in
these matters, and we hope that nothing we have said will bias the minds
of antiquarians, and prevent them from devoting that attention to the
origin of the word which its importance demands.

The Somers family, which we have already partially introduced, occupied a
small cottage not quite a mile from Pinchbrook Harbor. Captain Somers, the
head of the family, had been, and was still, for aught his wife and
children knew, master of the schooner Gazelle. To purchase this vessel, he
had heavily mortgaged his house and lands in Pinchbrook to Squire
Pemberton. But his voyages had not been uniformly successful, though the
captain believed that his earthly possessions, after discharging all his
liabilities, would amount to about five thousand dollars.

The mortgage note would become due in June, and Captain Somers had been
making a strong effort to realize upon his property, so as to enable him
to pay off the obligation at maturity. Captain Somers had a brother who
was familiarly known in the family as uncle Wyman. He had spent his life,
from the age of eighteen, in the South, and at the time of which we write,
he was a merchant in Norfolk.

Captain Somers and his brother had been interested together in certain
mercantile transactions, and uncle Wyman being the business man, had the
proceeds of these ventures in his own hands.

On the 10th of April, only two days before the bombardment of Fort Sumter,
Captain Somers had sailed in the Gazelle, with an assorted cargo, for
Norfolk. Before leaving home he had assured his wife that he should not
return without effecting a settlement with Wyman, who had postponed it so
many times, that the honest sailor began to fear his brother did not mean
to deal justly with him. Nothing had been heard of the Gazelle since her
departure from Boston.

Uncle Wyman was known to be a northern man with southern principles, while
his brother, though not in the habit of saying much about politics, was
fully committed on the side of the government, and was willing to sustain
the President in the use of all the coercion that might be necessary to
enforce obedience to the laws. The threatening aspect of affairs at the
South had made Captain Somers more than ever anxious to have his accounts
adjusted, as all his earthly possessions, except the schooner, were in the
hands of his brother; and the fact that uncle Wyman was so strong an
advocate of Southern rights, had caused him to make the declaration that
he would not return without a settlement.

The financial affairs of the Somers family, therefore, were not in a very
prosperous condition, and the solvency of the house depended entirely upon
the adjustment with uncle Wyman. The mortgage note which Squire Pemberton
held would be due in June, and as the creditor was not an indulgent man,
there was a prospect that even the little cottage and the little farm
might be wrested from them.

The family at home consisted of Mrs. Somers and three children. The two
oldest daughters were married to two honest, hard-working fishermen at the
Harbor. Thomas and John were twins, sixteen years of age. The former had a
place in one of the stores at the village, and the latter occasionally
went a fishing trip with his brothers-in-law. Both of the boys had been
brought up to work, and there was need enough now that they should
contribute what they could to the support of the family. The youngest
child, Jane, was but eleven years of age, and went to school. Mrs.
Somers's brother, a feeble old man, a soldier in the war of 1812, and a
pensioner of the government, had been a member of the family for twenty
years; and was familiarly known in town as "Gran'ther Green."

Having thus made our readers acquainted with Pinchbrook and the Somers
family, we are prepared to continue our story.

Thomas and John walked down to the Harbor together after dinner. The
latter had listened with interest and approbation to his brother's account
of the "Battle of Pinchbrook," as he facetiously called it; and perhaps he
thought Thomas might need his assistance before he reached the store, for
Fred and his father would not probably be willing to let the matter rest
where they had left it.

We are sorry not to be able to approve all the acts of the hero of this
volume; but John, without asking our opinion, fully indorsed the action of
his brother.

"Fred is a traitor, and so is his father," said he, as they passed out at
the front gate of the little cottage.

"That's so, Jack; and it made my blood boil to hear them talk," replied
Thomas. "And I couldn't help calling things by their right names."

"Bully for you, Tom!" added John, as he turned round, and glanced at the
house to assure himself they were out of the hearing of their mother.
"Between you and me, Tom, there will be music in Pinchbrook to-night."

He lowered his voice, and spoke in tones big with mystery and heavy with
importance.

"What do you mean?" asked Thomas, his interest excited by the words
and manner of his brother.

"There is fun ahead."

"Tell me what it's all about."

"You won't say a word--will you?"

"Of course I won't."

"Not to mother, I mean, most of all."

"Certainly not."

"Squire Pemberton has been talking too loud for his own good."

"I know that; he was in the store this forenoon, and Jeff Davis himself is
no bigger traitor than he is."

"Some of the people are going to make him a call to-night."

"What for?"

"What do you suppose? Can't you see through a millstone, Tom, when there
is a hole in it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You can come with us if you like, and then you will know all about it,"
added John, mysteriously.

"But what are you going to do?"

"We are going to make him hoist the American flag on his house, or hang it
out of his window."

"Well, suppose he won't."

"Then we'll hang him where the flag ought to be. We'll pull the house down
over his head."

"I'm with you, Jack," replied Thomas, with enthusiasm.

"We won't have a traitor in Pinchbrook. If we can't cure him, we'll ride
him on a rail out of the town."

"I don't know as you and I ought to get into this scrape," added Thomas,
thoughtfully.

"Why not?"

"You know the squire has a mortgage on our house, and he may get ugly."

"Let him, if he likes. I'm not going to tolerate a traitor because he has
a mortgage on my father's house. Besides, that is a fair business
transaction; the squire gets his interest."

"Mother is afraid of him, as she is of the evil spirit."

"Women are always timid," said John, sagely.

"By George! there comes the very man himself!" exclaimed Thomas, as he
discovered a horse and chaise slowly approaching.

"So it is; that old chaise looks rather the worse for the wear. It looks
as though it had been through the wars."

The vehicle did bear very evident marks of hard usage. One of the shafts
was broken, the dasher wrenched off, and the top stove in. The horse was
covered with mud, and limped badly from the effects of his fall. The
broken shaft and the harness were now plentifully adorned with ropes and
old straps. In fact, the catastrophe had utterly ruined all claim which
the chaise ever might have had to be considered a "hahnsome kerridge."

"There'll be fun nearer home, I reckon," said John, as he obtained his
first view of the sour visage of the squire.

"Can't help it," added Thomas.

"Keep a stiff upper lip, Tom."

"I intend to do so."

"Don't say a word about to-night, Tom."

"Of course not."

When the chaise had approached near enough to enable the squire to
recognize the author of his misfortunes, he stopped the horse, and got out
of the vehicle, with the whip in his hand.

"Now, you young scoundrel, I will teach you to insult me and my son, and
destroy my property. Stay in the chaise, Fred, and hold the horse," he
added to his son.

But there was not much need of holding the horse now, for he was too lame
to run fast or far. Thomas and John came to a halt; and if the squire had
been a prudent man, he might have seen by the flash of their eyes, that he
was about to engage in an unsafe operation.

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