The Blue and The Gray

She could scarcely speak for joy. At last she broke forth with words of greeting:

"Oh, my boy, my boy, you are home once more; you have come home to me, and you shall never go away again."

"I am glad to be with you, dear mother; as glad as a little child, who needs a good petting. But it was a bitter disappointment when I found that I could not stay with the brave boys who are offering up their lives for their country."

"Never mind, dear boy. You could not help getting sick. I will bring you back both health and strength, and then—"

"And then they will take me back in the army, again. Oh, mother, do you think it possible?"

Her face grew sad. She had not thought of that, and her heart experienced a bitter pang, for she felt that not even her love and care were to him so sweet and dear as was his country and her cause. It wounded her deeply when she saw that even in the flush of his delight at being home again, he could not help clouding her joy by expressing a wish that in her bosom found no response.

She sighed deeply, and made him no answer, but he was so absorbed in greeting his sisters and friends who had met to welcome him, that he did not notice her silence.

Ralph could not endure patiently having to play the part of an invalid, but the home doctor's peremptory orders were that he should keep his bed, and visitors were to be admitted only when he felt as if he were able to talk with them.

There were many long days when his voice was so faint and his strength so nearly exhausted that he was forbidden the excitement caused by their presence. But as the winter passed, under the tender ministrations of his mother and sisters, hope again sprung up in his breast, that health might return to him, and with health would come a return to the service.

The medical man was using every effort to restore him to health. He was wise, keen-sighted and skillful, and he fathomed the secret of Ralph's low vitality. His diligence and care were at length rewarded, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the elastic, springing step return, the bright color come back to his cheek, and the luster to his eyes, as he grew stronger daily, and to those who had come to greet his home-coming, and had mentally felt they were taking a last farewell, his recovery seemed almost a miracle.

Soon he could walk long distances, and even spring on the back of a horse for a ride. Al Boneel had returned to his regiment, but the young man's father had sent Ralph a horse, with a suggestion that he should ride every day when he was able, a privilege which brought the boy more healing than even the doctor's careful attentions.

He had instinctively shrank from visiting George Martin, although that young man had been to his home three or four times during his illness. It was a fine afternoon, and he knew he was able to ride over to George's father's farm, over three miles distant. He longed to talk over the war with him, and yet he had a feeling of delicacy lest George might be sensitive about any reference to his own misfortune. But he could not help going, and he found George sitting on a bench in the orchard, where the green buds were just beginning to shoot forth their promise for future abundance.

"I'm glad indeed to see you able to come down here, Ralph," was George's cordial greeting. "I've been wishing all day for some one to talk over old times with."

"Old times! Yes, we were happy, good-for-nothing lads in those days, I know, and gave our teachers lots of uneasiness."

"So we did, but I don't refer to those days; I mean the days in the army."

Ralph was all attention at once. "How did you like the service?" he ventured.

"Liked it clear through—way down to the bottom. You know how I lost my arm?" he said, pointing to the empty sleeve.

Ralph nodded. He longed to know more of the particulars, but would not ask.

"That was a great day. You should have been there, and seen a real fight. Not that a fight on land ain't all right, but there's a dash and inspiration about a battle on board ship that I enjoy! You feel as if the boat were your castle—you can't get away from it, and you're bound no one else shall get into it. Then the waves rocking beneath your feet, the shells screaming and dancing over the water, and the thought that your boat is almost a living thing, lends you a desperation nothing else can equal."

Ralph smiled faintly. To his way of thinking those sensations were common to all who went into battle, whether on land or water.

"You know when I went into the service I made my way to Washington at once. I didn't wait to be enlisted here, but I knew Uncle Dick, who lived there, could get me onto a war-ship, and he did.

"Through his influence I went on the Cumberland. She was a wooden vessel, but stanch and trim, with a good commander, Lieutenant Morris, whom we all liked. He was brave, resolute and determined. The Merrimac, under Commander Franklin Buchanan, was trying to raise the blockade, and do us all the harm she could. She was steaming round Hampton Roads, waiting to sink any of the boats that were maintaining that blockade. Commodore Buchanan evidently fancied he had an easy job on hand, but as soon as we sighted the ungainly-looking craft, our hearts were made glad with orders to pour a broadside into her, which we lost no time in doing. We tried our best to destroy her, but her heavy iron plates withstood the assault. Had she been made of wood, we would have made a sieve of her with our charge. We did her some damage, though, for our shot went clear into her open ports, and killed some of her crew. I heard some one say when a man's hit he don't cry out, but I know better, for the shrieks of the wounded on both sides that day, mingled with the roaring of the shells, the crashing of shot against the iron-sheeted monster, and the confusion of voices as orders rang out, sound in my ears yet.

"Lieutenant Morris would not say die, and when the rifled shot from the big house, for that's what it looked like, tore our decks fore and aft, the Merrimac's commander followed it up by turning his boat so that he rammed into our gay little vessel's side, and left a huge gash. Our commander's blood was up. We felt the frigate slowly settling beneath our feet, but not a man dreamed of forsaking his gun, but steadily poured fire into the Merrimac. We were willing to die, rather than surrender, and even though the breath came quick and hard, and we may have quailed a little as we looked at our watery grave, yet we waited calmly to hear our leader's orders, while the enemy was dealing us terrible blows with shot and shell.

"I felt a sharp pang, a numbness followed. The whole world was growing black, and for a second I thought the night had suddenly settled over us, and I knew no more, until one day I woke up in hospital, and found my right arm and shoulder had parted company. A messmate told me what happened after I fell to the deck. Our brave commander would not surrender; the water rose steadily, or, rather, the Cumberland sank steadily, until the waves washed across her gun deck, when the crew sprang overboard, and the ships boats carried them ashore.

"Tom said it was a sickening sight—they had done us great havoc, but all of our wounded who could be dragged into the boats were saved, myself among the number. Tom said it was a gloomy sight when the trusty frigate keeled over, and sank to the bottom, but she went down game, for her top-masts stood above the water, with her flag flapping in the face of the Merrimac and her commander."

George paused. A sparkle was in his eyes, and he laughed aloud at his own idea. He continued: "But I had my revenge when I heard about the Monitor giving it to the Merrimac. You know Ericsson invented that queer boat. It's a curious affair. You never saw it? It looks for all the world like a big cheese box, with a round chimney or turret on it. This turret carries two monstrous guns, and it can be turned round so that they can be pointed in any direction.

"The mischief she did was something worth talking about. Lieutenant John L. Worden commanded her, but he met with a mishap at the start. He was looking through the sight hole, taking observations, when a shell struck it, and hurt him badly, making him blind for a time, and he had to turn over the command to Lieutenant Sam Greene. The two boats kept on fighting wildly, each trying to ram the other. Why, they came so close once in the fight, that both guns went off together, causing such a shock that the crew at the after guns were knocked down, and some of them bled at the nose and ears. They fought four hours, so the paper stated, and the Merri-mac went back to Norfolk, badly used up, for they put her in dry dock."

George would have talked on all night, it seemed, but Ralph, who had enjoyed the brief story of the sea-fight, said he must go, as the sun would soon be down. But that visit was but one of many which he made to George, and each one increased his anxiety to return to the army. He was gaining health under his mother's care and the long rest he was having, and he often laughingly declared that if the regimental doctor could see him now, he'd never believe in his own predictions again.

Grateful as his mother was for his restoration to health, yet it saddened her, for she saw it was useless to keep him back, for he talked of nothing else but returning to the army. She felt that he had done his duty, and she could not see why that did not content him. But she realized that it did not; she saw that he was determined to go, and her heart sank like lead in her bosom at the thought.

The day for parting came, and as Ralph, with a few other soldiers who were returning to their regiments, started for the great city beyond, from which they were to proceed to the front, she thought her heart would break at this second leave-taking. Her boy loved her more dearly than she knew; but he honestly thought his duty to his country was above any private considerations, and that he should be guilty of a great sin if he did not return to that duty.

The news from the front was most inspiring. Each day the "war news" was of more absorbing interest. Ralph wanted to be back with the army. He had no longer any ambition to win any especial distinction, but he was content to do his part as one of the vast army of great heroes of whom the world will never hear, but whose whole duty was done, quietly and unobtrusively.

How many sublime acts of self-sacrifice, of generous comradeship, were performed, on the field of battle, in camp and hospital, and even in prison life, will never be known. But a record has been kept in a higher ledger than a worldly one, and when that is revealed these deeds will come to the knowledge of all men.

CHAPTER XVII. RALPH RE-ENLISTS

ONCE again our hero was in Chicago. The city had put on its spring dress, and well was it named the Garden City, for the streets at that time were nearly all bordered with trees, and their green foliage gave it, at a little distance, the appearance a wooded plain, for the city is built on level ground—indeed, it was once a swamp, and it has cost the labor of years and an outlay of millions of dollars to reclaim it from its original state, and fill in and grade and elevate its highways.

The terrible battle of Chancellorsville had been fought, under General Hooker ("Fighting Joe," as the soldiers loved to call him), and a victory had resulted for the Union army. The news electrified the North, and great results were predicted. General Hooker had been given the command after the utter failure of General Burnside at Fredericksburg, and his soldiers were ready to follow him to the death, for he was intrepid and fearless. This memorable engagement had been fought with Hooker on the Federal forces, and Stonewall Jackson, the brave Confederate leader on the Confederate side. He was General Lee's right hand man, the ablest and best Lieutenant he ever had. Close upon this victory came the news that General Jackson had been shot by his own men. When the shades of evening began to fall, he rode to the front to see what could be learned of the movements of the Federals, and as he rode back to his own lines, surrounded by his staff, some of his own followers, watchful and faithful to their duty, not recognizing him in the dim twilight, but mistaking the mounted men for cavalry belonging to the Union side, fired a volley at them, killing several of the horsemen, and wounding others. This was, of course, supposed to be an attack from some of the Union soldiers, and to them was imputed the firing. The Confederate loss in the day's encounter had been severe, and they smarted at their defeat, They had been met by such a storm of grape and canister as no mortal power could withstand. The charge of Major Peter Keenan, which had been ordered by General Pleasanton, had been so brilliant that it had surprised the Confederates, who could not believe that Keenan, with four hundred men, would dare oppose ten thousand of their infantry, and they concluded that tremendous numbers must be behind them. The Major, with his little band, was slain, but his charge stopped the onset of the Confederates.

The stories of individual bravery which are furnished by the annals of the conflict, are alone enough to fill a volume, but will probably never be written. The heroic Major knew that he was inviting death, but he never faltered. Indeed, his own words were to that effect, for he said to his officers, "It is the same as saying we must be killed, but we'll do it." And his words proved prophetic, for he fell, and but few came out of that engagement alive.

The twilight was falling, veiling every object in its uncertain light, the trees cast their dark shadows over the path which General Jackson had chosen. As his men, ever watchful, saw the result of their first volley, they became exultant at their success, and again they loaded their guns, discharging them at the form of the leader of the approaching party, who had thus singularly fallen into their hands. They knew that they had wounded an officer, and as he fell from his seat, they rushed forward to learn his rank and name, if possible. Alas, to their consternation, they discovered that their beloved commander, General Jackson, had received three wounds. His steed, mad with fright, plunged wildly forward, and dashed into the depths of the thicket, tossing him against the limbs of the trees in his path, and bruising him most severely.

While his men were sorrowfully conveying him to the rear, a Union battery belched forth its fire down the road after them, one man was wounded, and the General fell to the ground. He was borne to an hospital but lived only one week, after having endured amputation of his arm.

Bounties had been offered in all the Northern States. New York was offering liberal sums to recruits. The new levy for 300,000 men ordered in April had not been filled, and trouble was anticipated, as a draft had been threatened. But in Chicago no such fears disturbed her people.

Ralph found that city full of activity. Groups were gathered on every street corner discussing the war and their hopes of its probable early ending. The South had suffered severely in loss of men and means, and so had the North. Many a family could point to the "vacant chair" and lament the dear one who had gone, never to return. Death had been busy at every fireside and the cruel war had wrought the havoc.

But the spirit of patriotism was not dead, but burned more brightly than ever, and those who had lain down their lives were embalmed in the hearts of a grateful people. They fell in a sacred cause, and their memories will live forever.

Ralph walked through the streets with a hopeful step. He had won his mother's free consent to go to the front, but little did he dream how far from willing the consent she had spoken was. He knew, too, that her blessing accompanied him everywhere, and he wished he could see her now, and tell her how happy he was. Turning down a street near the river, he saw a crowd standing round an office, on whose front was a big poster, with the words—"Recruits wanted—Enlist here!" Stepping in at the door, he saw a motley crowd of men pushing and jostling each other in their desire to be among the earliest to be enrolled. A military man sat at a desk, with a huge book open before him, and two officers sat near at desks, writing busily.

Ralph made known his business as soon as he could engage the officer's attention. He was questioned as to his age, occupation, and many other particulars.

"You say you've been in the army already?" the officer queried, while he looked earnestly into the boy's face. "How is it that you are here now, trying to re-enlist? Why did you not serve your time?"

"I got sick, really sick, sir," as he saw a smile flit over the other's face. "I did not want to come home, but the doctor said I would surely die if I remained. I received a discharge and went home to mother, and she cured me all up, and I am well—well, and stronger than ever. And now I want to go back to the boys in the army, and help them finish this contract they have taken, to bring the South back into the Union. Yes, I want to enlist 'for the war.'"

As the boy concluded, his eye grew bright, his cheeks were flushed, and his form seemed to expand with the strength of his emotions.

The officer seemed to enjoy his earnestness, and writing down his name, age, and place of birth, passed him over to the doctor for examination. He passed satisfactorily, and thankfully he heard the verdict of the doctor. He was sent to military headquarters, and then he was assigned to the Seventy-second Illinois Infantry. That regiment was the first one organized by the Board of Trade of Chicago. It was then at Milliken's Bend, after having tried in vain to make the Yazoo Pass. A canal had been ordered dug by General Sherman in a bend opposite Vicksburg, into which he was confident he could divert the river, but this plan was checked by the sudden rising of the river, and it was only by a miracle that entire regiments escaped drowning.

The attempt afterward made by General Grant to enter this Pass had proved equally disappointing, even though an embankment which the Confederates had thrown up had been as promptly blown up by him. His boats entered the streams, whose banks had heavy growths of timber, only to find that the Confederates had cut down trees of immense bulk, and thrown them across the channel. But General Grant kept on, removing the fallen, trees that blocked the way, but he at once discovered that he was placing himself in a trap, for the rebels were felling trees and throwing them across the channel behind him, so that he could not get out again. They had also raised earthworks at a point where two rivers met, and they were well guarded.

There was one forlorn chance left, yet untried, and that was to go up the Yazoo a short distance, in boats, and pass into Big Sunflower River, and then descend that stream into the Yazoo again. This hazardous expedition was intrusted to Generals Sherman and Porter, to carry forward.

The situation was desperate. The channels were narrow, there was no solid ground on which to plant troops, the cane-brake was dense and nearly impassable, and they actually had to pick their way through the dark and uncanny swamp by the aid of candles. It was inviting death too openly to proceed, for, added to natures horrors, the whole region swarmed with sharpshooters to whom every step of the way was familiar, and whose unerring aim told heavily all along the lines of the Federals, who were glad to escape from the narrow pass.

Commodore Farragut, with one gunboat and his flagship, had shot by the batteries at Port Hudson, and several boats had passed Vicksburg. On the night of April 16 Commodore Porter ran by the batteries, but the watchful enemy had provided for this move, and suddenly setting fire to huge heaps of wood on the bank, a brilliant flame darted up to the heavens, and by its light for an hour and a half they sent a heavy fire into the fleet, which as industriously returned the courtesy as it steamed past its adversary. But the Federal fleet met with no loss save the sinking of one transport.

This was some of the history of the campaign which the regiment to which Ralph was sent had taken part in, and the thought of joining it gave him unbounded delight.

"I was not contented, dear mother," he wrote to her a few days later, "until I was back with the boys in blue. This is a lovely country. When this war is over, I'll bring you down here, and we'll spend our days where nature has done so much for her creatures."

Down the river they steamed. When they reached Milliken's Bend, Louisiana, their corps united with Grant's army in its memorable march on Vicksburg. Ralph was on the alert to see all that he could of the country. But there were no signs of aught but desolation. Fences had been torn down, and consumed to cook the camp fare on marches; here a pile of charred timber told where a house had once reared its stately head; a few half-starved animals roamed round an old, deserted place, in search of the food they needed. Poverty, devastation and ruin were evident everywhere, and spoke plainly of the blight that followed in the wake of the armies that had tramped over and destroyed the beautiful homes of former days.

The morning of May 16, they reached Champion's Hill, where they found severe work. General Sherman had been left at Jackson to destroy the railroad, and the factories which were making goods for the Confederate soldiers. He performed this task with thoroughness. He now received orders from General Grant to send forward an ammunition train, so as to be ready for the battle that must take place soon. He was not disappointed. At Champion's Hill, on rising ground, he found General Pemberton waiting to receive him, with 23,000 men drawn up in line. His force held the vantage, as they were stationed on high ground, commanding three roads, and thus it was admirably calculated for a defensive point.

For hours the fighting went on. The Union force's made a overwhelming charge, and the rebel lines wavered, but speedily regained their position. It was a desperate duel, and fought to the death.

General Pemberton had a splendid army of well-disciplined men, and when the two lines met with impetuosity, the day seemed lost to the Federals. General Logan saw the danger threatening them, and pushing forward on the right with his magnificent division, he passed the rebel General's left flank, and secured the only road by which the latter could make his retreat.

The enemy were dismayed. Cut off from escape, they knew defeat was inevitable. The movement of Logan had been so sudden and brilliant that there was not a moment of grace given them. But that General was not conscious that he held the road in his grasp, and when General Hovey, who was besieged vigorously by the Confederates, a few moments later, shouted for aid, Logan fell back to his assistance.

Now was their chance, for the road was left unguarded, and a dash was made by General Pemberton, whose flying columns were in full retreat, without giving a thought to his dead and wounded, left uncared for on the field. He also abandoned thirty guns, and crossed the Big Black River.

The battle was over, and to the opportune move of the brave Logan was due the hard-won success of the day. Four hours of hard fighting had been followed by the usual harvest of dead and maimed. Nurses and hospital stewards succored all whom they could find, but wounded men were lying between the lines and in every corner, groaning with the anguish of uncared for injuries. Among those lost on the Confederate side was General Tilghman, who fell early in the day.

The soldiers found a brief rest in sleep. Ralph had thrown himself on the ground in a state of perfect exhaustion. He would not confess, even to himself, that he had overrated his strength. But when the stars came out, and the silence of night succeeded, nature asserted her rights, and he slept undisturbed by dreams of carnage and bloodshed, but his visions were of home and its charms.

"Wake up, young fellow!"

He sprang to his feet, while a man of about forty, who had been shaking him violently, said, with a hearty laugh:

"You're something of a sleeper. Rip Van Winkle is nowhere. Reveille has sounded, the regiments are ready to move as soon as we get a cup of coffee, and you've been sleeping through it all, as sweetly as if you were in your little bed at home. It's a mighty fine thing to have a clear conscience."