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"THE BATTLE OF ROANOKE ISLAND."
The reading of the account of the "Orphan's Home," had taken several evenings; during which the mittens had greatly increased. For some time after this, there had been no story. The little mother, though she tried to keep it to herself, was in great anxiety about her soldier son, who had gone down with General Burnside's brigade to North Carolina. She had read the general's address to his men, in which he appealed to their honor and humanity, and asked them to treat the property of the enemy with unfailing protection and respect; and wounded soldiers who might fall into their hands, with the utmost kindness and attention; ending in his conviction that they would be as noble hearted as he knew they were brave. "Ah," she thought, "this looks as if a battle was intended."
Then the stirring news came of the capture of Roanoke Island, with a few words about the bravery of the men and the terrible hardships they had endured, fighting through dense swamps and almost impenetrable thickets.
Oh! how terrible were the next few days passed in woful, trembling suspense. There was no official report as yet, of the killed and wounded; and the hours of many a household like those of the little mother's, were passed in alternate prayers, hopes, and fears.
On the afternoon of the 14th February, Harry and Johnny went out together. They felt so distressed about their beloved brother, they could not sit still in the house. Near Union Park they met Gus Averill, one of Harry's friends, and some other lads. Of course the boys immediately began talking of the battle of Roanoke Island; as Gus had an elder brother in the same company with George.
"Oh, Harry!" cried Gus, "have you had any news from your brother? Is he safe?"
"We don't know yet," answered Harry sorrowfully. "Have you heard from your brother Walter?"
"No. My mother is almost crazy. That dear Miss Wilmer, to whom he is engaged to be married, comes and tries to comfort mother; but it always ends in her laying her head on mother's breast and crying, oh! so pitifully! and then mother cries; and that breaks my heart."
His lips quivered as he spoke, and the lad standing by him threw his arms affectionately over his neck, while Harry and Johnny looked grieved enough.
"Oh, if this dreadful war could only be ended!" cried a bright-looking boy, clenching his stick, and striking it on the pavement. "Why don't the President just proclaim freedom to every soul at once! My father says that would end the trouble double quick!"
"If the President thought so," said Harry, "he would soon say the word. I think he is the very best President we ever had; so honest and straight out. He don't think of himself; only of his country, and what is best for her. He's a dear, good old fellow, and if I saw him, I should just go up to him and say, 'I love you, President Lincoln, for you are an honest man.'"
"And so should I," said Johnny. "Aunt Fanny declares that anybody else's head would have become addled and utterly confounded by this time, with all this terrible war and confusion; but Mr. Lincoln's HONESTY OF HEART keeps his head clear, and so he does his duty; while his enemies snap and snarl; but they never 'catch a gudgeon.' Do you know Aunt Fanny?" he asked.
"Oh yes," cried all the boys.
"Well, her daughter wrote such a nice piece about the President, that I have learned it. If you like, I will tell it to you."
"That we should!" cried the boys; so Johnny in a clear voice began:
"Fling out the broad banner! make ready each hand!
For the cry of Disunion is rife in our land;
Each day may behold a new battle begun,
And true blood must flow ere the victory's won.
Then loud let the message ring out to the South:
'Republicans have but one heart and one mouth.
For the freedom we love, for the land we adore,
For the Union, and Abraham Lincoln – hurrah!'
"What! brothers and countrymen! mean you to part,
With a curse on each lip, and revenge in each heart?
What! fly from a government simple, but grand,
Your future to build on foundations of sand?
No! Stop, while 'tis time, oh ye men of the South,
Let us have for our country one heart and one mouth,
And, brothers once more in the land we adore,
We'll shout 'For The Union Forever! Hurrah!'
"Then let enemies thicken; we'll never despair,
Where unity is – behold victory there!
Disunite – in the ruins of home you will lie,
In Union you conquer – without it, you die.
Oh then, let it come from the North and the South:
'We have but one country, one heart, and one mouth.
For the freedom we love, for the land we adore,
For the Union, and Abraham Lincoln – Hurrah!'"
By the time Johnny had finished, a dozen more lads and some gentlemen had gathered round to listen. The little fellow's color mounted high, but he went on with admirable emphasis and animation to the end; and then let me tell you that, when he uttered the last "Hurrah," the boys snatched their hats off, and joined in with such a will, that the stunted old trees in the Park cracked again! and if it was not a very immense mass meeting, it was a highly respectable one, and perfectly unanimous.
"That was splendid!" said the bright boy, who had advised the President to proclaim universal freedom. "I love Aunt Fanny's daughter for writing it; and you may tell her so. I wonder if she wrote the beautiful little poem mother read to me the other day from the Rebellion Record. It set her crying; and I had hard work, I can tell you, to keep my face from puckering up."
"Oh, can you remember it?" asked some of the boys. "Do try."
"Yes; I learned it, only reading it twice after mother had read it to me. I don't know as you will like it as much as I did; but I've got a little brother, who says just such things the whole time." "Why, so have we," cried Johnny, "lots of them! so come let's hear it."
The little fellow put his finger on his lip, to think for a moment, and then began in a low voice; all the boys crowding round so as not to lose a word.
"Willie stood at the window —
Little Willie, five years old —
Watching the rainbow colors,
Fading in sunset's gold,
Red pennants, and streamers of fire,
On the blue expanse unfurl;
And over the red the white clouds lie,
Like floating mists of pearl.
"'Isn't it beautiful, mamma?'
And the dark eyes grow so bright,
They almost seem to catch the gold
Of the sky's wild glory light.
'See! There is the red, mamma,
And there is the beautiful blue;
Did God make the blue and red?
Did He make the white clouds too?
"'And away up in the sky,
Oh! see the little bright star!
Why! God is for the Union?
Isn't He, mamma?'"
"What a dear little fellow he was," cried Johnny. "Yes, God is for the Union. Why can't everybody see it?"
"All in good time – His good time," said his brother; "come, Johnny, let's us go back to mother." And so they separated; and our boys, Harry and Johnny, walked quickly home.
They had not been in the house ten minutes, when the postman's peculiarly loud and impatient ring was heard. The little mother's heart stopped beating for a moment, while the children, too anxious to wait for a servant to come, rushed in a body to open the door. One united scream of joy greeted the dear brother's well-known handwriting.
"Safe! safe!" they cried, as they ran with the precious letter to their mother, who had turned so ghastly white that she seemed to be dying. It was a thick enclosure. With trembling, eager fingers, the envelope was torn away. Within was a long letter written on several sheets of paper, which were closely wrapped around a miniature of a beautiful young girl; a short, thick lock of dark curling hair, and a small card, on which was a tiny but most exquisite painting.
It represented a dark and stormy sea; the angry waves beating furiously against a great rock, which stood like a tower of strength in the midst of the waters.
On the rock far above, a cross, stead-fast and immovable, was planted, from which all the light in the picture came.
The inscription below was: "Our faith;" and on the back was written, "For dear Walter's birthday."
"These must belong to some one else," said the little mother in a low, sobbing voice. Then looking again at the miniature, she uttered a cry of grief, as she saw that it was a likeness of one she knew and loved dearly. She took up the letter, and read, half blinded with tears —
"February 12th, 1862.
"Darling Mother, Father, Brothers, and Sisters: – I have had my wish. I have been in a battle and, I hope, did my duty. I have come out unharmed; and I thank God humbly, for his goodness and mercy.
"We went through the inlet on the sternwheel boat 'Cadet,' February 7th. Soon General Burnside directed Lieutenant Andrews to take a boat's crew and ten soldiers, and pull for the shore to take soundings and examine the landing.
"Lieutenant Andrews, who is a cool, brave fellow, went through this enterprise splendidly. I had the good fortune to go with him. He took the soundings, went ashore, saw the glitter of bayonets, and was convinced that the landing was commanded by the rebels.
"Just as he returned to the boat, a number of men sprang up like lightning from the tall grass, and fired at us. One bullet took effect; one poor fellow was severely wounded.
"Then our vessels bombarded them. A hurricane of shot and shell was poured into their battery, till they seemed to be enveloped in one sheet of white smoke and flame; for we had set their quarters on fire. But with a desperation that filled me with a sorrowful admiration, they still worked at their guns.
"Then the rebel gunboats came down upon our vessels, and the brazen throats of our guns opened upon them with such deadly effect, that a boat of the enemy's was soon enveloped in flames. One of those awful hundred-pound shells from a Parrott gun fell and exploded on her deck.
"At four o'clock in the afternoon, our general made a circuit of the fleet. A shell from the enemy was aimed at his boat, but it exploded, fell into the water, hurting no one. The fighting continued till six o'clock, when our vessels hauled off, and all became quiet. No light was seen on shore but the red glow of the burning ruins of the enemy's quarters. They had fought bravely; and though in the wrong, I could not help feeling a respect for their courage, while I condemned their cause.
"The landing of our brave fellows was effected in a wonderfully short time; for we had no trouble from the enemy, as the men who fired on Lieutenant Andrews and his crew, were sent scampering into the woods by a shell from one of our boats, which went howling like a fiend through the air, and fell down upon them.
"But it began to rain, and in a cold driving storm we waded through the swamp, the rank grass up to our eyes, until we came out on a sandy plain. We tore up a rail fence, and at eleven o'clock that night our bivouac fires spangled the earth.
"You may imagine how much rest we got, with nothing but our thin overcoats to protect us. But our courage flamed up bright in spite of the weather; and when the order to form was given next morning, we rushed to our places with hearty good-will.
"Generals Foster and Burnside came up and said a few pleasant words. Then the reconnaissance was made, and we soon heard firing. We were ordered to advance. The men laughed and joked with each other as they marched, while our great guns boomed and thundered, and the fierce, incessant shriek of rifle shot filled the air.
"We went a mile, then two, and now the shot rattled among the leaves, and men came past carrying the brave Massachusetts boys, pierced by ball and bayonet, showing frightful bleeding wounds. As they were borne to the rear, they would pass us with a smile on their ghastly faces; or would utter a faint, trembling cheer, and the words, 'Never give up, boys, Victory or death!' and then a grand heroic fire would blaze up in their eyes.
"On we marched, till we heard cheers and screams of fury mingling with the thundering of the guns. Thick smoke, through which came flashes with a gleam like tiger's eyes, enveloped us, and the whistle of the bullets rushed close past our ears.
"We were under fire; and now, dear mother, I breathed a prayer to God to nerve my arm and heart. Not a weak soul – not a coward was in our ranks. I looked around, and saw in every resolute face a look which plainly said, 'Glory, or a grave.'
"Then our colonel gave the order to fire. Directly in front of us was the famous redoubt, of which we had heard so much; and we could see riflemen in the trees, under the turfed walls, and behind every possible cover. But we obeyed the order with a will, and for an hour we fought. Not a soul flinched. As the balls struck our men, and they fell, they were carried to the rear, and the ranks closed up without wavering. I seemed turned into stone; my heart hardened. I saw a ball strike poor Walter Averill, who fought at my side. He gave a low cry, and sank to the ground. Two privates carried him to an ambulance, and I turned away with my heart of granite harder, stonier than ever. It seemed impossible to feel sorrow. Suddenly a wild cheer rose up above the awful din. Our flag waved from the redoubt! Another! another! The battle was won!
"Roanoke Island was ours! with all the enemy's guns, and three thousand men with their arms, ammunition, and stores. The victory was complete.
"There was one young fellow, dear mother, who deserved to be made a general. Oh, mother! he was only seventeen years old – three years younger than I. He was ordered to plant a battery of six twelve-pounder boat howitzers from the vessels in the advance of the centre. He dragged these through the swamp and placed them in position. They soon began to thunder and flash into the enemy, who returned the fire with such fury and desperation that every man, one after the other, was shot down, and he was left alone. The chaplain of the Twenty-fifth Massachusetts, Rev. Mr. James, then rushed up and worked at one of the howitzers till his ammunition gave out, and he had to retire. Still this undaunted boy kept on loading and discharging his gun, now entirely alone, and a mark for the most terrible galling fire; and he did this until the enemy had surrendered.
"What a heroic soul lives in that brave boy's body! You may be sure that I found him out when the battle was over, and I just took him in my arms and hugged him tight. I hope we shall be fast friends as long as we live. His name is Benjamin H. Porter, and he lives in New York State. So give three cheers for him, and our grand old State."
The children, though in tears at hearing of all their brother had passed through, complied with his wish, and heartily cheered the brave young midshipman and the dear old State. Then the little mother went on reading —
"The grand, comfortable wooden camps of the enemy were of course turned over to our use; and our miserable captives, who certainly looked like mudsills – though we have the name– were bivouacked outside, well guarded.
"When the madness – for such hardness must have been a temporary frenzy – left me after the battle was over, I got permission to hunt up poor Walter Averill. I soon found him, lying in a room, with five other wounded men. His eye caught mine – a thankful gleam came into them as he beckoned me to him.
"'Oh, Walter!' I cried, my heart now softened and beating loud with sorrow, 'we've gained the victory, but you lie here wounded' – I stopped, for my voice became choked.
"'Yes, George, and dying,' he hoarsely whispered. 'Thank God you have come. I shall never see my home again. Look here.'
"He raised his bloody shirt, and I saw the life-blood slowly ebbing away, from a ghastly wound in his breast.
"Oh, mother, don't think me weak; but I burst into tears, crying, 'Walter, Walter, what will your mother do?'
"'Will you take a message to her and all the dear ones at home?' he answered. 'Tell them I fought bravely, and they must not grieve, for victory spread her pinions over my bloody bed, and took away the sting of death. Tell brother Gus he must comfort mother, and stand with his arms clasped lovingly round her, when the troops come marching home without me. Tell him to look upon them with proud, steadfast eyes; for his brother filled his own place with honor in the ranks, while he was among them, and did not fear to die. It is God's will. He knows best.'
"'And, George, there is another. She who was to have been my dear wife when I came back.' He turned away his head, and through my own blinding tears I saw the great woful drops roll down his cheeks.
"'Oh, Walter,' I sobbed, 'it's too hard!'
"'Next Tuesday would have been my birthday,' he said. 'I should have been twenty-two years old. Some little precious gift will be sure to come from Helen. If it comes in time, will you lay it on my breast to be buried with me? But if too late, take care of it, and return it to her when you find an opportunity. And cut one or two locks of my hair for my mother, and my poor – ' his face changed all at once. With a last, dying effort he put his hand to his neck and drew out a ribbon, to which was attached a miniature, and placed it in my hand. Then in a voice faint, hoarse, dying, he murmured 'Mother – Helen.' One fluttering sigh, and he lay quite still. He was dead.
"The first pale moonbeam came creeping in, and rested softly on his face. It was calmly looking down on the red sand of the battle field with its bloody corses strewn here and there; and it was shining as calmly upon you at home, dear mother, who knew nothing then of that dreadful scene. As I thought of this, and the anguish the events of that day would make for Walter's family, and many another beside, I threw my head down on my dear lost comrade's bed, and sobbed till I thought my heart would break.
"I send the miniature, the locks of hair, and the little package that came the day after we buried him, with this letter. You will have to make these sad tidings known to his family. No one can do it as tenderly – but, 'Walter killed!' There is no softening of that terrible word.
"Good-by, dear mother, and all my dear ones. Write often to me; and, above all, pray for
"Your loving son and brother,
George."
As the letter concluded, Harry, who loved his friend, Gus Averill, next to his own brothers, exclaimed, "Oh, poor Gus!" – threw his arms on the table, and laying his forehead on them, gave way to such terrible convulsive sobs that it seemed as if his very heart was bursting with grief. The poor children could not comfort him, for they were crying themselves. Grateful that their own dear brother was safe, they could still feel the sharp sting of sympathetic sorrow at their friend's loss. No family had taken a greater interest in the children's evening work for the soldiers than Mrs. Averill's; and for the first time that winter, the whole evening was passed by them alone, and in a mournful silence; for the little mother went immediately on her sad and terrible errand, and did not return till quite late.
But a loving, thankful letter was to be despatched without delay to the dear son and brother; and as there was a prospect of his remaining some time in his present quarters, a box of comforts was eagerly prepared.
