The Drummer Boy | Page 5

was a silence of several minutes--Willie alone manifesting a
desire to keep up the conversation on war matters. He stuck his
johnny-cake on the end of his gun, and bombarded his mother's
coffee-cup with it; and was about to procure more johnny-cake, in
order to shell the sugar-bowl, which he called "Fort Sumter," when
Helen put an end to his sport by disarming him.
"I want father to go to town with me, to the recruiting office," said
Frank; "for I don't suppose I will be accepted, unless he does."
That sounded like proceeding at once to business, which Mr. Manly
never liked to do. He was one of those easily discouraged men, whose
rule is always to postpone until to-morrow what they are not absolutely
obliged to do to-day. He waited, however, as usual, to hear what his
wife would say to the proposition, before expressing himself decidedly
against it. Fortunately, Mrs. Manly had energy and self-reliance enough
for both.
"If you are still firmly resolved to go, then your father will go with you
to the recruiting office," she said; and that settled it: for Frank was
resolved--his character resembling his mother's in respect to energy and
determination.
Accordingly, after breakfast, Mr. Manly, with frequent sighs of
foreboding and discouragement, made a lather, honed his razor, and
shaved himself, preparatory to a visit to town. Frank, in the mean while,
made ready for his departure. He put in order the personal effects which
he intended to leave at home, and packed into a bundle a few things he
purposed to take with him. An hour passed quickly away, with all its
busy preparations, consultations, and leave takings; and the last
moment arrived.
"Say good-by twice to me," said Hattie, the little invalid, rising up on
her lounge to give him a farewell kiss.
"Why twice to you?" asked Frank.
"Because," she answered, with a sad, sweet smile, "If you do come

home from the war, perhaps you won't find me here;" for the child had
a notion that she was going to die.
"O sissy," exclaimed Frank, "don't say so; I shall come back, and I shall
find you well."
"Yes," replied Hattie, sorry that she had said any thing to make him feel
bad; "we will think so, dear brother." And she smiled again; just as
angels smile, Frank thought.
"Besides, this isn't my good-by for good, you know," said he. "I shall
get a furlough, and come home and see you all, before I leave for the
seat of war with my regiment." Frank couldn't help feeling a sort of
pride in speaking of his regiment. "And may-be you will all visit me in
camp before I go."
"Come," called his father, at the door; "if we are going to catch this car,
we must be off."
So Frank abbreviated his adieus, and ran.
"Wait, wait!" screamed Willie, pulling his cap on "Me go, me go!"
"Go where, you little witch?" cried Helen.
"Me go to war, along with my bwother Fwank. Put down webellion,"
pouted the child, shouldering his gun, and trudging out of the door in
eager haste, fearing lest he should be left behind.
Mrs. Manly was parting from her son on the doorstep, putting back a
stray curl from his cheek, smoothing his collar, and whispering, with
wet eyes and quivering lips, "My child, remember!"
"I will--good-by!" were Frank's last words; and he hastened after his
father, just pausing on the next corner to look around at the faces in the
door of his home, and wave his hat at them. There was Hattie, leaning
on Helen's arm, and waving her handkerchief, which was scarcely
whiter than that thin white face of hers; and there was his mother

gazing after him with steadfast eyes of affection and blessing, while her
hands were fully occupied in restraining that small but fiery patriot,
Willie, who, with his cap over his eyes, was vehemently struggling to
go with his bwother Fwank.
This was the tableau, the final picture of home, which remained
imprinted on Frank's memory. For the corner was passed, and the
doorway and windows of the dear old house, and the dearer faces there,
were lost to sight. He would have delayed, in order to get one more
look; but already the tinkling bells gave warning of the near approach
of the horse-car, and he and his father had no more than time to reach
the Main Street, when it came up, and stopped to take them in.
In but little more than an hour's time, by far the most important step in
Frank's life had been taken. He had enlisted.
"Well," said his father, after Frank, with a firm and steady hand, had
written his name, "it is done now. You are a brave