Tom of the Raiders | Page 2

upon the
points where they would come into contact with the rebs: others were
playing games, or lying upon blankets spread before their tents,
sleeping, reading and writing letters. The rows of tents gave a
suggestion of military orderliness to the scene, but it was a suggestion

only, for the tents and their guy ropes were strung with blankets and
clothing put out to dry.
Although it was not quite what he had expected to see, the camp was
wonderful and thrilling to Tom Burns. He had expected more military
pomp and precision; not simply hundreds of men, half-clothed and
weather-worn, loitering and shifting between rows of tents. Even the
tents were patched and dirty. But if the scene did not compare with the
picture he had in his imagination--of officers mounted upon spirited
horses, buglers sounding calls, companies standing at attention--there
was a spirit of action and excitement in the air which made him rejoice.
These men, who were half-clothed because the only garments they had
to put upon their backs were tied to the guy ropes drying, were
hardened campaigners; men, roughened and toughened in their months
of service, pausing a moment before battle. The stains and tears of the
tents were campaign badges. Tom began to feel proud that "his"
regiment was not like the new, raw troops he had seen in the
north--immaculately clean troops which had never known a night in the
open, far from the comforts of barracks.
He was speechless as the messenger who had been detailed by the
Sergeant of the Guard led him down the regimental street, where the
officers' tents faced each company street. Company F ... Company E ...
Company D.... At the head of each street was a small penciled sign
telling them what company they were passing. Tom glanced ahead to
Company B. In front of the officer's tent two men were talking.
"Is one of them the Captain?" he asked.
"Yep--the short one," answered the messenger. "The other's the
doctor."
"What's the Captain's name?"
"Moffat--Captain Moffat."
They stopped a few paces from where the Captain and the doctor were
standing, and waited. Tom hazarded a glance down the street of

Company B to see if he could catch a glimpse of his cousin, but
Herbert Brewster was not in sight. Presently the Captain turned toward
them. He was a short man, heavily built, and his manner was that of a
man who had spent a lifetime commanding soldiers.
"Well, what is it?" he asked.
The messenger snapped to attention: he saluted. "This man wants to see
Herbert Brewster of your company, sir."
"I'm his cousin, sir," added Tom.
The Captain dismissed the messenger with a nod. "You're Corporal
Brewster's cousin, eh?"
"Corporal?" asked Tom.
The Captain laughed. "I thought that would surprise you. Yes, he was
made Corporal last week. You'll find him in the third tent on your left. I
don't suppose you know that he's on the sick list with a bad ankle?"
"No!"
"Yep."
"I hope it isn't serious."
"Hm-m-m"--the Captain stroked his chin--"no, the ankle isn't serious,
but being on the sick list is. Run along and cheer him up. Tell him that
I'll be down to see him in a few minutes."
"Yes, sir."
The Captain turned back to the doctor, and Tom threaded his way down
the street. At the third tent he stopped, pulled open the flap and peered
in. There was Bert, stretched out on his bedding, writing a letter. His
right ankle was a mass of bandages from which his toes peered out. He
did not look up from his writing.

"Does Corporal Herbert Brewster of Cleveland, Ohio, live here?" asked
Tom.
"You, Tom! you!"
"Don't try to get up on that bad ankle." He rushed over and grabbed
Bert's hand. "How are you?"
"What in the world are you doing at Murphytown?--or whatever they
call this end of the mud-puddle. And how are all the people? When did
you see mother and father last?"
Tom held up his hands in surrender; then, as he sat down on the edge of
the bedding, Bert took him by the shoulders and shook him. "They're
all fine. I'm here to enlist, Corporal. Will you have me in your squad?"
"You bet! Tell me about home."
Bert had been among the first to enlist, and, except for one furlough of
two weeks, he had not been able to return home. Many minutes passed
before Tom reached the point of his own departure from Cleveland;
how he had gained the consent of his father and mother to his
enlistment; his trip to Murfreesboro and all his adventures and
misadventures en route. "And, by the way," he ended, "the Captain said
that I was to tell you that he'd be here to see you soon.