The Soldier Boy | Page 3

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 reënforced 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