“You 'spected dey had horns, didn't you? Well, I knowed better. I'se been Norf wid Massa too many times to take in dat idee.”
Washington, the capital of the nation, was reached. As they steamed into the depot, and began to unload, Ralph, for the first time since leaving home, felt lonely. He saw throngs of people, but all was strange and new to him, and his heart sank. The city was full of soldiers waiting for orders, so full that it was a puzzle where to quarter them.
The Government buildings were full to overflowing, they “bunked” every-where, and wild pranks these boys played, their love of fun leading them into many a mad frolic. The city was too small for their mischievous natures, and it was no uncommon thing to make a trip into the surrounding territory, bent on extorting all the sport they might out of what most of them regarded as a sort of a gala time. “But we are ready whenever we are called upon,” was their unanimous cry. The shooting of Colonel Ellsworth at Alexandria, because he tore down a secession flag, so short a time previous, and his prompt avenging, as you remember, had roused them to a sense of the hostility which was felt by those who sought to divide the North and South. Then the attack of the mob of Baltimore upon the Sixth Massachusetts, while being transported from one depot to another, was another proof that their brothers of the South had trampled friendly feelings beneath their feet, and that the fires of sectional jealousy were burning fiercely.
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Their journey lay through a hostile State, and sober faces succeeded the jokes and laughter of the past few weeks. The South was plainly up in arms, and that “rebellion,” which the whole North at first thought but the task of a few weeks to crush, began to assume the appearance and proportions of a long and cruel conflict.
General Butler was in command of the military department of Virginia.
“Wonder if that means fight?” soliloquized Ralph. “The lads say he is a smart lawyer, but I don't know as that proves him to be a good fighter.”
Ralph wrote often to that dear mother who was praying for her boy. “We move to the front to-morrow,” so his letter ran. “I know how fond you are of your boy. I am going to do my duty, I believe. But is it not an awful thought that it is no foreign foe we shall meet, but our own people?—that is the sting in it to me.”
The night before the battle the boys slept as calmly as if they were at home. At dawn they were called to march, and after an attack upon their rations, they began the advance into Virginia. Raw and undisciplined, they did not accept the gravity of the situation. They marched along, light-hearted and gay, enjoying the change from quiet camp life with all the zest of school boys. Many of them fell out of the ranks and picked the luscious berries growing thickly by the wayside, while others wastefully tossed out the water in their canteens and filled them with fresh every time they came to one of the springs which abounded in that beautiful and fertile region.
“This isn't hard work,” Ralph thought. “We are having more fun than ever.”
A halt had been called for a few moments' rest. A few rods from the road a dark stream ran slowly by, whose depths no one knew. A swim in its cool waters was proposed at any hazard, and, quickly disrobing, some of the younger ones plunged in, and were having a merry time, when the roll of the drum was heard and the marching was resumed. Here was a fix! The army began to move, and a dozen soldiers were still in the stream, who snatched up the first garments they saw and hastened to dress. In their confusion they had almost to a man seized the wrong clothes, and the fit of some of them was ludicrous. But changes were quickly made, and after much good-natured “chaffing” they fell into line, and were as sedate and soldierlike as any “vet” among them.
The cry, “On to Richmond!” sounded throughout the land.
Officers and soldiers had been massed near Washington long enough, and the people, as well as the boys in blue, were impatient tor some results, now that an army had been called into being. The soldiers pined for action; the people were anxious to know what would be the outcome.
“Who commands the Southerners?” Ralph asked old “Bill” Elliott, a soldier who had taken quite a fancy to the boy, and was ready to answer his questions at all times.
“Beauregard, the same chap who opened fire on Fort Sumter.”
“And what does he propose doing now?”
“Well, as I am not in his confidence, I can't just tell you, but I 'low we're not going to be in the dark long, neither are we likely to be the gainers by any move he makes if he can help it. He's got some thirty thousand men with him, and we'll have a lively time soon, you bet.”
“The men want a brush, I think, from what they say. They're becoming tired of waiting.”
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“And so does the country; but they don't know how much easier it is to talk war than to be in it. What does the man who stays at home know about the dangers and trials of a soldier's life? How is he capable of judging whether it is time to fight or where it is best to strike, or how many odds a general of an army has against him? We'll have war enough before long—they needn't fear.”
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“Well, I suppose we'll some of us be in it soon, and who knows how many of us will come out?”
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“Why, boy, you're not showing the white feather, I hope!' and Bill peered anxiously into the lad's troubled face.
“No, sir, I am not, but I can't help thinking of my poor mother, and, besides, you know I am going to fight her people. My mother is a Virginian.”
“Is that so? I know, then, she must feel bad have you in our army. I can't blame her, nuther.
“But she's loyal to our flag, Bill,” the boy hastened to add. “It would break her heart, though, if anything should happen to me.”
“Cheer up! You'll get through all right. I can feel it in my bones.”
Ralph laughed. “Why, of course I shall. It seems to me this war won't be a very long one.”
“Perhaps not—you can't tell. But McClellan taught the Johnnies a lesson at the 'races' the other day.”
“The 'races?'” Ralph's eyes opened wide.
“Yes, the 'Philippi races,'” Bill went on. “The Confeds ran so fast from our boys at that battle that they dubbed their retreat the 'Philippi races,' in honor of the speed they showed. He has been made a general, and given the Ohio troops to command. He crossed the Ohio with four regiments and banged after the enemy. He found it hard work, for they say Colonel Porterfield burned all the bridges. He wasn't long in putting them in order, though, and getting over some big reinforcements. He routed them at Philippi and at Rich Mountain. Government ought to remember him, I tell you.”