"No, sir, I do not know it----," Frank reflecting as he spoke, that a man cannot really _know_ any thing of which he has not been an eye-witness, and comforting his conscience with the fact that he had not _seen_ the turkeys stolen.

"Now,"--Captain Edney did not betray by look or word whether he believed or doubted the boy's a.s.sertion,--"tell me who was with you in the woods."

"Seth Tucket, sir."

"Who else?"

"O, ever so many fellows had been with me."

"Name them."

And Frank proceeded to name several who had really been with him that morning, but not on the forage after poultry. On being called up and questioned, they were able to give the most positive testimony, to the effect that they had neither stolen any fowls themselves nor been with any party that had. In the mean time the sergeant and second lieutenant inst.i.tuted a search through the company's tents, and succeeded in finding a solitary turkey, which n.o.body could give any account of, and which n.o.body claimed. This the secessionist identified; averring that there were also a dozen more, besides several chickens, for which redress was due. But not one of them could be discovered, perhaps because they were so skilfully concealed, but more probably because those who searched were not anxious to find.

Captain Edney accordingly paid the man for the loss of the single turkey, which he ordered sent immediately to the hospital. He also told the secessionist that he would pay him for all the poultry he was ready to swear had been appropriated by the men of his company, provided he would first take the oath of allegiance to the United States. This Buckley sullenly refused to do, and he was immediately conducted by a guard outside the lines. Seth Tucket followed at a short distance, saying, as he put his hand in his pocket, as if to produce some money, "Say, friend!

better le' me pay ye for that gobble I stole. Any thing in reason, ye know."

But Buckley gave him only a glance of compressed rage, and marched off in silence, with disappointment and revenge in his heart.

XIII.

THE EXPEDITION MOVES.

Frank won the greatest credit from his comrades by the manner in which he had gone through the investigation. And the fowls, which those who searched could not discover, found their way somehow to the cooks, and back again to the boys, and were shared among their companions, who had a feast and a good time generally.

But when all was over, and the excitement which carried Frank through had subsided, and it was night, and he lay in the darkness and solitude of the tent, with his comrades asleep around him,--then came sober reflection; and he thought of the poor man who had lost his turkeys, and who, for one, had got no fun out of the business; and he remembered that he had, to all intents and purposes, lied to Captain Edney; and he knew in his heart that he had done a dishonest thing.

Yes, he had actually been engaged in stealing turkeys. He was guilty of an act of which, a few weeks before, he would have deemed himself absolutely incapable. All the mitigating circ.u.mstances of the case, which had lately stood out so clear and strong as almost to hide the offence from his moral vision, now faded, and shrunk away, and the wrong itself stood forth, alone, in its undisguised ugliness.

"What is it to me that the man is a secessionist? That doesn't give us the right to rob him. He is not in arms against the government; and we don't know that he a.s.sists the rebels in any way, either by giving them information or money. Perhaps he had good reason to hate the Union soldiers. If he had not before, he has now. I wish I had let his turkeys alone."

These words Frank did not exactly frame to himself, lying there in the dark and silent tent; but so said the soul within him. And the next day the culpability of his conduct was brought home still more forcibly to his conscience by the receipt of a box from home. It contained, besides a turkey, pies, cakes, apples, and letters. And in one of the letters his mother wrote,--

"I hope these things will reach you by Christmas, and that you will enjoy them, and share them with those who have been good to you, and be very happy. We all think of the hardships you have to go through, and would willingly give up many of our comforts if you could only have them. We shall not have any turkey at Christmas--we shall all be so much happier to think you have one. For I would not have you so much as _tempted_ to do what you say some of the soldiers have done--that is, steal the turkeys belonging to the secessionists. If there are rebels at heart, not yet in open opposition to the government, I would have you treat them kindly, and not provoke them to hate our cause worse than they do already. And always remember that, whatever the government may see fit to do to punish such men, you have no right to interfere with either their private opinions or their private property."

Why was it that the contents of Frank's Christmas box did not taste so good to him as he had antic.i.p.ated? Simply because he could partake of neither pie nor turkey without the sorry sauce of a reproving conscience.

He thought to atone for his fault by magnanimity in sharing with others what he could not relish alone. He gave liberally to all his mates, and carried a large piece of the turkey, together with a generous supply of stuffing, and an entire mince pie, to his old friend Sinjin.

Now, Frank had not, for the past month, been on as good terms with the veteran as formerly. The meeting with Mrs. Manly in Boston seemed to have awakened unpleasant remembrances in the old drummer's mind, and to render him unpleasantly stiff and cold towards her son. He had received the thanksgiving wreath with a very formal and stately acknowledgment, and Frank, who knew not what warm torrents might be gushing beneath the stern old man's icy exterior, had kept himself somewhat resentfully aloof from him ever since. But he still felt a yearning for their former friendship, and he now hoped, with the aid of the good gifts of which he was the bearer, to make up with him.

"I wish you a merry Christmas," said Frank, arrived at the old man's tent.

"You are rather late for that, it seems to me," replied Sinjin, lifting his brows, as he sat in his tent and looked quietly over his shoulder at the visitor.

"I know it," said Frank. "But the truth is, I hadn't any thing to wish you a merry Christmas with yesterday. But this morning I got a box by express, full of goodies, direct from home."

"Ah!" said the old man, with a singular unsteadiness of eye, while he tried to look cold and unconcerned.

"Yes; isn't it grand? A turkey of my mother's own stuffing, and pies of her own baking, and every thing that's splendid. And she said she hoped you would accept a share, with her very kind regards. And so I've brought you some."

The old man had got up on his feet. But he did not offer to relieve Frank's hands. He made no reply to his little speech; and he seemed not so much to look _at_ him, as _through_ him, into some visionary past far away. Perhaps it was not the drummer boy he saw at all, but fairer features, still like his--a sweet young girl; the same he used to trot upon his knees, in those unforgotten years, so long ago, when he was in his manhood's prime, and life was still fresh to him, and he had not lost his early faith in friendship and love.

There Frank stood, holding the cover of the Christmas box, with the good things from home upon it, and waited, and wondered; and there the old man stood and dreamed.

"Please, sir, will you let me leave them here?" said Frank, ready to cry with disappointment at this strange reception.

The old man heaved a sigh, brushed his hand across his eyes, and came back to the present. He stooped and took the gift with a tremulous smile, but without a word. He did not tell the drummer boy that he had, in that instant of forgetfulness, seen his mother as she was at his age, and that his old heart now, though seemingly withered and embittered, gushed again with love so sorrowful and yearning, that he could have taken her son in his arms, even as he had so often taken her, and have wept over him. And Frank, in his ignorance, went away, feeling more hurt than ever at his old friend's apparent indifference.

And now matters were a.s.suming a more and more warlike appearance. For some time Frank's regiment had been out on brigade drill twice a week, and he had written home a glowing description of the scene. But an incomparably grander sight was the inspection and review of the entire division, which took place the last week of December. The parade ground, comprising two thousand acres, at once smooth and undulating, was admirably fitted to show off, with picturesque and splendid effect, the evolutions of regiment, brigade, and division. Thousands of spectators flocked from Annapolis and the vicinity, in vehicles, on horseback, and on foot, to witness the display.

Frank was with his company, carrying his knapsack, haversack, tin cup, and canteen, like the rest, and with his drum at his side. He could not but feel a pride in the grand spectacle of which he formed a part. At eleven o'clock, Brigadier-General Foster, commanding the department in Burnside's absence, pa.s.sed down the line, accompanied by a numerous staff, and followed by the governor of the state and members of the legislature. They inspected each regiment in turn; and many were the looks of interest and pleased surprise which the young drummer boy received from officers and civilians.

The reviewing party then took its position on the right, the words of command rang along the line, and regiment after regiment, breaking into battalion column, filed, with steady tramp, in superb, glittering array, to the sound of music, past the general and his a.s.sistants. No wonder the drummer boy's heart beat high with military enthusiasm, as he marched with his comrades in this magnificent style, marvelling what enemy could withstand such disciplined ma.s.ses of troops.

And now the fleet of transports, which were to convey them to their destination, were gathering at Annapolis. The camp was full of rumors respecting the blow which was to be struck, and the troops were eager to strike it.

So ended the old year, the first of the war; and the new year came in. It was now January, 1862.

On the 3d, the regiment was for the first time paid off. Frank received pay for two months' service, at twelve dollars a month. He kept only four dollars for his own use, and sent home the remaining twenty dollars in a check, to be drawn by his father in Boston. It was a source of great pride and satisfaction to him that he could send money to his parents; and he wondered at the greedy selfishness of John Winch, who immediately commenced spending his pay for pies and cakes, at the sutler's enormous prices.

On the 6th, the regiment broke camp and marched to Annapolis. There was snow on the ground, which had fallen the night before; and the weather was very cold. The city was a scene of busy activity. The fleet lay in the harbor. Troops and baggage trains crowded to the wharves. Transport after transport took on board its precious freight of lives, and hauling out into the stream to make room for others, dropped anchor off the town.

After waiting five hours--five long and dreary hours--at the Naval Academy, our regiment took its turn. One half went on board an armed steamer, whose decks were soon swarming with soldiers and bristling with guns. The other half took pa.s.sage in a schooner. And the steamer took the schooner in tow, and anch.o.r.ed with her in the river. And so Frank and his comrades bade farewell to the soil of Maryland.

The excitement of these scenes had served to put Frank's conscience to sleep again. However, it received a sting, when, on the day of leaving Annapolis, he learned that the secessionist whose turkeys had been stolen, had, in revenge for his wrongs, quitted his farm, and gone to join the rebel army.

XIV.

THE VOYAGE AND THE STORM.

On the morning of the 9th of January the fleet sailed.

Frank was on board the schooner towed out by her steam consort.

Although the morning was cold and wet, the decks of the transports were crowded with troops witnessing the magnificent spectacle of their own departure.

Just before they got under way, a jubilant cheering was heard. Frank made his way to the vessel's side, to see what was going on. A small row-boat pa.s.sed, conveying some officer of distinction to his ship. Frank observed that he was a person of quite unpretending appearance, but of pleasant and n.o.ble features.

"Burnside! Burnside! Burnside!" shouted a hundred voices.