The Soldier Boy; or, Tom Somers in the Army: A Story of the Great Rebellion by - (top 20 books to read .TXT) 📕

swamp, through mud and mire, loading, firing, and charging, as the enemy presented opportunity. The hot work of the day had commenced; for, from every bush, tree, and covert, which could conceal a man, the rebels poured a deadly fire into the ranks of the advancing Federals.

Tom stood as firm as a rock. The doubts and fears which beset him in his first battle had no existence on this day. So thoroughly had he schooled his mind to the fearful ordeal of carnage, that he felt quite at home. He was cool and determined, and continually encouraged those around him by his cheering words as well as by his example.

“Ben is down!” exclaimed Hapgood.

“Poor fellow!” replied Tom, without taking his eye off the foe in front.

“There goes Bob Dornton!” added Hapgood.

“Stand up to it, my men!” said Tom, firmly, for he had no time then to think of the fallen.

“Forward!” shouted the impetuous colonel, who, if he had never been popular with the men before, was rapidly establishing himself in their good graces by his unflinching heroism. “Forward! double quick! march!”

And on dashed the gallant regiment, mounting the enemy’s lofty works, and driving the foe before them like sheep, at the point of the bayonet. This was the first experience of this exciting description which Tom had seen, and he entered into the spirit of it with a hearty zeal.

“Halt!” was the order, as a regiment filed out in front of them, with a flag of truce flying on its front. “Steady—don’t fire,” repeated several officers along the line.

“What regiment are you?” shouted a person, as the flag came within speaking distance.

“What are you?” demanded an officer of the storming party.

“We’re the Alabama eighth!”

“We are the Massachusetts —th,” replied our men.

“Then you are the villains we want!” returned the rebel, plentifully interlarding the sentence with oaths.

The flag of truce dropped, and the dastardly foe poured in a volley of musketry, before which a dozen of our brave boys fell, either killed or wounded.

“Fire!” yelled the colonel; and the order was obeyed with a will. “Charge bayonets! Forward—double quick—march!”

The men, burning with indignation at the treachery of the rebel horde, sprang forward to wreak their righteous vengeance upon the cowardly traitors. So impetuous was the charge, that the rebel regiment broke, and sought safety in flight.

“Down with them!” hoarsely screamed Tom, as the line swayed forward, and pursued the panic-stricken foe into the woods on the left. The even line was broken, and the boys scattered to do their work to the best advantage.

Tom’s legs seemed to be in excellent condition, notwithstanding the toilsome marches of the last twenty-four hours; and he dashed forward into the woods followed by only a dozen choice spirits, whose enthusiasm was equal to his own. A squad of flying rebels in front of them was the object of their present anxiety, and they soon distanced their companions.

The rebels, seeing by how small a force they were pursued, rallied and formed line again.

“Give it to them!” cried Tom, as he led his little force upon the rebels.

“Hold on, Tom!” said Hapgood; “we have gone far enough. There’s a rebel regiment forming behind us.”

“Can’t help it,” said Tom, as he rushed forward, with the veteran by his side. “Give it to them!”

Tom and his men threw themselves upon the rebel squad, and a sharp fight ensued, in which the parties fought with bayonets, clubbed muskets, and even with the death grip upon each other’s throats. The traitors could not stand it, and fled again.

The sergeant glanced behind him, and saw the rebel regiment formed ready to charge upon his own. He was cut off from his friends, with the enemy on his front and rear. Three of his men had fallen in the sharp encounter with the rebels, and most of them were wounded or bruised, and all of them out of breath. To add to the peril of the situation, the squad they had been pursuing were rallying and being reënforced by their fugitive companions.

“Bad, Tom, bad,” said Hapgood, who was puffing and blowing like a porpoise, as he ominously shook his head.

“Follow me!” said Tom, confidently, as he led the way in a direction at right angles with the advance of the party.

Our regiment had reformed again, and soon gave that in front of them enough to do. The rebels in their rear caused the sergeant’s squad no little annoyance; but they continued on their course, loading and firing as they retreated.

Chapter XXX. More of the Battle.

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While Tom and his little command were working their way back to the Union lines, followed up by the disorganized band of rebels, a series of most unearthly yells swept over the field, for they had emerged from the woods. It was the rallying cry of the Confederate regiment which had formed in their rear. They were charging upon the Massachusetts —th; but they might as well have charged upon the Rock of Gibraltar, for presently Tom was delighted to see them retiring before the tremendous onslaught of his friends.

“Hurrah!” shouted he, forgetting the foe in his rear, and pressing forward to that on his front, at the same time changing his course so as to approach the right wing of the rebel regiment.

“Don’t be rash, Tom,” said the old soldier, who never permitted the sergeant to leave his side.

“Follow me, boys!” roared Tom, breathless with excitement, as he started off on the double quick towards the breaking lines of the enemy.

“Here we are!” replied the gallant fellows behind him, pushing forward with a zeal equal to that of their leader, from whom they derived their inspiration. “Go in, sergeant, and we’ll stand by you.”

But the bold soldier boy had discretion as well as gallantry; and he saw that if he threw his little force upon the rebel line, the whole party would be instantly annihilated. A covert of bushes fortunately lay on the right flank of the retreating regiment, and Tom ordered his men to conceal themselves behind it, until a favorable moment should arrive to take their places in the lines.

The men were glad enough to obtain a breathing spell; but, at such a tremendous moment as that, idleness would have been treason, for such a glorious opportunity to strike a heavy blow had not before occurred.

“Load up, and fire at will,” said Tom, as he charged his musket. “Don’t throw your lead away either.”

“We are a dead shot here if we are any where,” added Hapgood, as he and the rest of the party hastily loaded their muskets.

Pop went Tom’s piece first, and over went the rebel at the extreme right of the rebel regiment. There was no such thing as missing the mark, for they were on the flank of the Confederate line, which the united efforts of the officers could hardly preserve. The men in the covert fired when they were ready; and as they carefully observed the injunction of Tom not to waste their lead, every shot told upon the rebels.

The Confederate officers glanced nervously at the clump of bushes, which glowed with flashes of fire as the sergeant’s little command poured in their volleys; but they were too closely pressed by the Federals in front to attempt to dislodge them. The rebel privates were not long in ascertaining what was so clear to their officers—that they were flanked, and were being shot down like sheep, from a quarter where they could not defend themselves. They had been slowly and doggedly retiring before the advancing Federals, disputing every inch of ground; but when they realized that the bolts of death were dropping among them from another direction, they could no longer endure that awful suspense which takes possession of the minds of men when they are suspended, as it were, between life and death.

Tom saw them waver, and he knew what it meant. The rebel line was just abreast of him, and he had seen at least a score of men fall before the deadly fire of his party.

“Give it to them, boys! They shake!” shouted Tom, as he delivered his fire again. “Pour in as fast as you can, but don’t waste your powder.”

The men redoubled their exertions, and the rapidity of their fire was sensibly increased. The effect was soon perceptible in the rebel ranks; for the right of the line, probably supposing a company, if not a whole regiment, of sharp-shooters was concealed in the covert, suddenly broke and fled with the utmost precipitation, in spite of the gallant efforts of their officers to rally them.

The Federal regiment instantly took advantage of this partial panic, and charged furiously upon the rebel line. A desperate hand-to-hand encounter ensued, during which Tom and his companions emerged from their concealment, and ran along the rear of the victorious line. They soon satisfied themselves of what they had before believed—that the regiment was their own; and they lost no time in finding the company to which they belonged. They joined in the pursuit, which soon ended in the utter rout of the rebel force.

The position of the enemy’s lines did not permit them to follow the advantage to any great extent, and the order was soon given to fall back. At this juncture the regiment, which had been constantly engaged for several hours, was relieved; and not too early in the day, for the men were completely exhausted by the furious onslaughts they had made.

“Who were those men in the bushes on the flank of the rebel regiment?” demanded the colonel, as he reined up his jaded horse in front of Company K.

“Sergeant Somers and others,” replied Captain Benson.

“Somers again!” exclaimed the colonel.

“Yes, sir. They pursued the regiment into the woods—the one that showed the flag of truce—till they were separated from the rest of us.” “Forward, Sergeant Somers,” added the colonel.

Tom modestly stepped forward, and he would have blushed if his face had not been so reddened by his previous exertions as to leave no room for a deepening of its tint.

“You did a big thing, Sergeant Somers. You broke that rebel line by your steady fire. Sergeant Somers, I thank you and the men you commanded for your good service.”

Tom bowed, and the regiment cheered. It was the proudest moment of his life to be thanked on the field, while the guns were roaring and the musketry rattling, for the good service he had rendered. It would form an excellent paragraph for his letter to Lilian Ashford, especially as he had more than once, in the perils of that exciting hour, thought of the socks he wore, and of the letter and the photograph which nestled in his breast pocket, and upon which his quick throbbing heart was beating the notes of glory and victory.

“We gave you up for lost,” said Captain Benson, as Tom returned to the line.

“We are safe, thank God!” replied Tom, “though three of our number fell in the woods, or on the field where we were chased by the rebels.”

“Sergeant Somers saved us,” added uncle Hapgood. “If he hadn’t been as cool as cowcumber, and as stiff as the mainmast of a frigate, we should have been taken, every one of us.”

“Bravo, Tom!” said the captain.

“The men stood by me like heroes, or it would have been all up with the whole of us. They are good fellows, and they deserve as much credit as I do.”

The battle continued to rage with increasing fury, till the roar, and the crash, and the sweep of armed legions beggared description. Regiments and brigades advanced and fell back with the varying fortunes of the day, but as yet there was nothing to indicate the final result.

When the men of our regiment had recovered their breath, an order came for them to proceed to the left. On their arrival at the position assigned to them, they were immediately led to the front, where the batteries which had been pouring a hot fire into the enemy were in imminent danger of being surrounded. Indeed, the swoop of the rebel infantry upon the guns had already been made, and the cannoneers had been driven from their stations. With the colonel on the right, and the adjutant in command on the left, the regiment charged upon the foe, as it had twice before charged on that eventful day, with an enthusiasm bordering upon fury.

The rebels had even spiked one of the guns, and they maintained their position with an obstinacy which promised the annihilation of one or the other of the contending forces. A desperate strife ensued, in which the least perceptible advantage was gained by the Federals. But if they could do no more, they held the enemy in check, till the gunners could charge their pieces with grape and canister, which they poured into the rebels with the most deadly effect.

“Hurrah!” shouted Tom, as the rebels quaked before the withering storm of shot belched forth by the guns of the battery. “They shake! Give it to them!”

“Steady, my men! steady,” said Captain Benson. “The ammunition of the battery