diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:36:06 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 18:36:06 -0700 |
| commit | 2ee0a3140af036569a33051f9441ef76ca59baba (patch) | |
| tree | 17e627814b30ef36d07199e4bdee98ba68612e75 /old/44132-h | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/44132-h')
30 files changed, 10122 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/44132-h/44132-h.htm b/old/44132-h/44132-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d6053e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/44132-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10122 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tom Strong, Lincoln's Scout, by Alfred Bishop Mason. + </title> + + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/frontcover.jpg" /> + + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p_m2 { + margin-top: .01em; + text-indent: -2.0em; + margin-bottom: .01em; +} + +.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p3 {margin-top: 3em;} +.pmb1 {margin-bottom: 1em;} +.pmb2 {margin-bottom: 2em;} +.pmb3 {margin-bottom: 3em;} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both;} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;} +hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;} +hr.r95 {width: 95%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + +.i50 {margin-left:55%;} +.i5 {text-indent:6em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.block1 {margin-left:15%; + margin-right:15%;} +.block2 {margin-left:20%; + margin-right:20%;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.font07 {font-size:0.7em;} +.font07a {font-size:0.7em; + font-weight:normal} +.font08 {font-size:0.8em;} +.font09 {font-size:0.9em;} +.font10 {font-size:1.0em;} +.font11 {font-size:1.1em;} +.font12 {font-size:1.2em;} +.font13 {font-size:1.3em;} +.font14 {font-size:1.4em;} +.font15 {font-size:1.5em;} +.font16 {font-size:1.6em;} +.font20 {font-size:2.0em;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} +.left {text-align: left;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.gesperrt +{ + letter-spacing: 0.2em; + margin-right: -0.2em; +} + +em.gesperrt +{ + font-style: normal; +} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Tom Strong, Lincoln's Scout, by Alfred Bishop Mason + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tom Strong, Lincoln's Scout + +Author: Alfred Bishop Mason + +Release Date: November 8, 2013 [EBook #44132] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM STRONG, LINCOLN'S SCOUT *** + + + + +Produced by Matthias Grammel, Greg Bergquist and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<table border="1" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="1" summary="table of contents"> + <colgroup> + <col width="360" /> + </colgroup> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.2em"><span class="smcap">Stories of Adventure in The<br /> + Young United States</span></span><br /> + <br /> + <span style="font-size:1.2em"><i>By ALFRED BISHOP MASON</i></span><br /> + <br /> + <span style="font-size:1.2em"><span class="smcap">Tom Strong,<br /> + Washington's Scout</span></span><br /> + <span class="font08"><i>Illustrated, $1.30 net</i></span><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="font-size:1.2em"><span class="smcap">Tom Strong,<br /> + Boy-Captain</span></span><br /> + <span class="font08"><i>Illustrated, $1.30 net</i></span><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="font-size:1.2em"><span class="smcap">Tom Strong,<br /> + Junior</span></span><br /> + <span class="font08"><i>Illustrated, $1.30 net</i></span><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="font-size:1.2em"><span class="smcap">Tom Strong,<br /> + Third</span></span><br /> + <span class="font08"><i>Illustrated, $1.30 net</i></span><br /> + <br /> + <br /> + <span style="font-size:1.2em">HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</span><br /> + <span class="font09">Publishers New York</span><br /> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<p class="p3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="pmb2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> + +<p class="pmb3" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 457px;"> + <img src="images/illo_003.jpg" width="457" height="700" alt="St. Gaudens' Statue of Lincoln" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">St. Gaudens' Statue of Lincoln</span> +</div> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="pmb3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>TOM STRONG,<br /> +LINCOLN'S SCOUT</h1> + +<p class="p2 center font12 pmb3">A STORY OF THE UNITED STATES IN THE<br /> +TIMES THAT TRIED MEN'S SOULS</p> + +<p class="center font09 pmb1">By</p> + +<p class="center font14">ALFRED BISHOP MASON</p> + +<p class="center pmb3 pmb2">Author of "Tom Stron, Washington's Scout," Tom Strong,<br /> +Boy-Captain," "Tom Strong, Junior," and<br /> +"Tom Strong, Third"</p> + +<p class="center font11 pmb3">Illustrated</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 75px;"> + <img src="images/liber.jpg" width="75" height="100" alt="logo -- decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<p class="pmb3" /> + +<p class="center font11">NEW YORK</p> +<p class="center font12">HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</p> +<p class="center font11 pmb3">1919</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center pmb3 pmb3"><span class="font08"> +<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1919<br /> +BY<br /> +HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</span><br /></p> + +<p class="center font07 pmb3">The Quinn & Boden Company<br /> +BOOK MANUFACTURERS<br /> +RAHWAY NEW JERSEY</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center font08 pmb1">DEDICATED BY PERMISSION</p> + +<p class="center font08 pmb1">TO</p> + +<p class="center font13 pmb1">THEODORE ROOSEVELT</p> + +<p class="center font11 pmb3">INSPIRER OF PATRIOTISM,<br /> +A GREAT AMERICAN</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="pmb3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></p> + +<div class="block1"> +<p class="center font08 pmb1"> +<tt>OYSTER BAY,<br /> +LONG ISLAND, N. Y.</tt></p> +<p class="i50 font11 pmb3"><tt>August 31st, 1917.</tt></p> + +<p class="font11 pmb1"><tt>Dear Mr. Mason:</tt></p> + +<p class="i5 font11 pmb1"><tt>All right, I shall break my rule +and have you dedicate that book to me. +Thank you<i>!</i></tt></p> + +<table border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2" summary="Signature"> + <colgroup> + <col width="50%" /> <col width="50%" /> + </colgroup> + <tr> + <td> </td><td align="right"> + <div class="figcenter" style="width: 270px;"> + <img src="images/illo_007_sign.jpg" width="270" height="32" alt="Signature T. Roosevelt" title="" /> + </div> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p class="left font11 pmb1"><tt>Mr. Alfred B. Mason,<br /> +University Club,<br /> +New York City.</tt></p> +</div> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="FOREWORD" id="FOREWORD">FOREWORD</a></h2> + + +<p class="pmb2">Many of the persons and personages who appear +upon the pages of this book have already +lived, some in history and some in the pages of +"Tom Strong, Washington's Scout," "Tom +Strong, Boy-Captain," "Tom Strong, Junior," +or "Tom Strong, Third." Those who wish to +know the full story of the four Tom Strongs, +great-grandfather, grandfather, father and son, +should read those books, too.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h2> + + +<table border="0" cellspacing="4" cellpadding="1" summary="table of contents1"> + <colgroup> + <col width="410" /> <col width="60" /> + </colgroup> + <tr> + <td align="left" valign="top"> </td> + <td align="right" valign="top"><span style="font-size:.6em">PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER I</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Tom Rides in Western Maryland—Halted + by Armed Men—John Brown—The Attack + upon Harper's Ferry—The Fight—John + Brown's Soul Goes Marching On</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="font10">CHAPTER II</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Our War with Mexico—Kit Carson and His + Lawyer, Abe Lincoln—Tom Goes to Lincoln's + Inauguration—S. F. B. Morse, Inventor + of the Telegraph—Tom Back in + Washington</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="font10">CHAPTER III</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2 font09"> + <span class="smcap">Charles Francis Adams—Mr. Strong Goes + to Russia—Tom Goes to Live in the + White House—Bull Run—"Stonewall" + Jackson—Geo. B. McClellan—Tom + Strong, Second-Lieutenant, U. S. A.—The + Battle of the "Merrimac" and the + "Monitor"</span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER IV</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Tom Goes West—Wilkes Booth Hunts Him—Dr. + Hans Rolf Saves Him—He Delivers + Despatches to General Grant</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER V</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Inside the Confederate Lines—"Sairey" + Warns Tom—Old Man Tomblin's "Settlemint"—Stealing + a Locomotive—Wilkes + Booth Gives the Alarm—A + Wild Dash for the Union Lines</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER VI</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Tom up a Tree—Did the Confederate Officer + See Him?—The Fugitive Slave + Guides Him—Buying a Boat in the Dark—Adrift + in the Enemy's Country</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER VII</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Towser Finds the Fugitives—Towser Brings + Uncle Moses—Mr. Izzard and His Yankee + Overseer, Jake Johnson—Tom Is + Pulled Down the Chimney—How Uncle + Moses Choked the Overseer—The + Flight of the Four</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER VIII</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Lincoln Saves Jim Jenkins's Life—Newspaper + Abuse of Lincoln—The Emancipation + Proclamation—Lincoln in His + Night-shirt—James Russell Lowell—"Barbara + Frietchie"—Mr. Strong Comes + Home—The Russian Fleet Comes to + New York—A Backwoods Jupiter</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER IX</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Tom Goes to Vicksburg—Morgan's Raid—Gen. + Basil W. Duke Captures Tom—Gettysburg—Gen. + Robert E. Lee Gives + Tom His Breakfast—In Libby Prison—Lincoln's + Speech at Gettysburg</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER X</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Tom Is Hungry—He Learns to "Spoon" by + Squads—The Bullet at the Window—Working + on the Tunnel—"Rat Hell"—The + Risk of the Roll-call—What Happened + to Jake Johnson, Confederate Spy—Tom + in Libby Prison—Hans Rolf + Attends Him—Hans Refuses to Escape—The + Flight Through the Tunnel—Free, + but How to Stay So?</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER XI</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Tom Hides in a River Bank—Eats Raw Fish—Jim + Grayson Aids Him—Down the + James River on a Tree—Passing the Patrol + Boats—Cannonaded—The End of + the Voyage</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER XII</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Towser Welcomes Tom to the White House—Lincoln + Re-elected President—Grant + Commander-in-Chief—Sherman Marches + from Atlanta to the Sea—Tom on + Grant's Staff—Five Forks—Fall of + Richmond—Hans Rolf Freed—Bob Saves + Tom from Capture—Tom Takes a Battery + into Action—Lee Surrenders—Tom + Strong, Brevet-Captain, U. S. A.</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_265">265</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER XIII</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_307">307</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style="font-size:1.0em">CHAPTER XIV</span></td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><div class="p_m2"><span class="font09"> + <span class="smcap">Tom Hunts Wilkes Booth—The End of the + Murderer—Andrew Johnson, President + of the United States—Tom and Towser + Go Home</span></span></div> + </td> + <td align="right" valign="bottom"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_315">315</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="2"> </td></tr> +</table> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</a></h2> + +<table border="0" cellspacing="4" cellpadding="1" summary="list of illustrations"> + <colgroup> + <col width="80" /> <col width="320" /> <col width="110" /> + </colgroup> + <tr> + <td align="left" valign="top"> </td> + <td align="left" valign="top"> </td> + <td align="right" valign="top"><span style="font-size:.6em">PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Abraham Lincoln</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><i>Frontispiece</i></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"> + <span class="font08">St. Gaudens Statue, Lincoln Park, Chicago</span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font08"> </span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">John Brown</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">The Attack upon the Engine House</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Battle of the "Monitor" and the "Merrimac"</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Admiral Farragut</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Mississippi River Gunboats</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">The Locomotive Tom Helped to Steal</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Towser</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">General Duke Samples the Pies</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Arlington</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Gen. Robert E. Lee on Traveler</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Libby Prison after the War</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Fighting the Rats</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_224">224</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Libby Prison and the Tunnel</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Abraham Lincoln in 1864</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_269">269</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Gen. W. T. Sherman</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_272">272</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"> + <span class="font08">St. Gaudens Statue, Central Park Plaza, New York</span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font08"> </span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Bob</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Gen. Philip H. Sheridan</span> + </span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_278">278</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"> + <span class="font08">Sheridan Square Statue, Washington, D. C.</span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font08"> </span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Tom Takes a Battery into Action</span> + </span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_292">292</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">The McLean House, Appomattox Courthouse</span> + </span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_299">299</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Lee Surrenders to Grant</span> + </span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_302">302</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Gen. U. S. Grant</span> + </span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_304">304</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +</table> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<h2><a name="MAP" id="MAP">MAP</a></h2> + + +<table border="0" cellspacing="4" cellpadding="1" summary="list of illustrations"> + <colgroup> + <col width="80" /> <col width="320" /> <col width="110" /> + </colgroup> + <tr> + <td align="left" valign="top"> </td> + <td align="left" valign="top"> </td> + <td align="right" valign="top"><span style="font-size:.6em"> </span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" colspan="2"> + <span class="font09"><span class="smcap">Eastern Half of United States</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><span class="font09"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></span></td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv"></a></span></p> +<p class="pmb2" /> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="pmb3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center font20 pmb3"><b>TOM STRONG, LINCOLN'S SCOUT</b></p> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 506px;"> + <img src="images/illo_017.jpg" width="506" height="700" alt="Map of the Eastern United States" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08">THE EASTERN UNITED STATES<br /> + (Showing places mentioned in this book)</span> +</div> +<p class="pmb2" /> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="pmb3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center font20 pmb3"><b>TOM STRONG, LINCOLN'S SCOUT</b></p> + + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Tom Rides in Western Maryland—Halted by +Armed Men—John Brown—The Attack +upon Harper's Ferry—The Fight—John +Brown's Soul Goes Marching On.</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>On a beautiful October afternoon, a man and +a boy were riding along a country road +in Western Maryland. To their left lay the +Potomac, its waters gleaming and sparkling +beneath the rays of the setting sun. To their +right, low hills, wooded to the top, bounded the +view. They had left the little town of Harper's +Ferry, Virginia, an hour before; had crossed to +the Maryland shore of the Potomac; and now +were looking for some country inn or friendly +farmhouse where they and their horses could be +cared for overnight.</p> + +<p>The man was Mr. Thomas Strong, once Tom + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +Strong, third, and the boy was his son, another +Tom Strong, the fourth to bear that name. Like +the three before him he was brown and strong, +resolute and eager, with a smile that told of a +nature of sunshine and cheer. They were looking +for land. Mr. Strong had inherited much +land in New York City. The growth of that +great town had given him a comfortable fortune. +He had decided to buy a farm somewhere +and a friend had told him that Western Maryland +was almost a paradise. So it was, but this +Eden had its serpent. Slavery was there. It +was a mild and patriarchal kind of slavery, but +it had left its black mark upon the countryside. +Across the nearby Mason and Dixon's line, +Pennsylvania was full of little farms, tilled by +their owners, and of little towns, which reflected +the wealth of the neighboring farmers. Western +Maryland was largely owned by absentee +landlords. Its towns were tiny villages. Its +farms were few and far between. The free State +was briskly alive; the slave State was sleepily +dead.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<p>The two riders were splendidly mounted, the +father on a big bay stallion, Billy-boy, and the +son on a black Morgan mare, Jennie. Billy-boy +was a descendant of the Billy-boy General +Washington had given to the first Tom Strong, +many years before. Jennie was a descendant +of the Jennie Tom Strong, third, had ridden +across the plains of the great West with John +C. Fremont, "the Pathfinder," first Republican +candidate for President of the United States.</p> + +<p>"We haven't seen a house for miles, Father," +said the boy.</p> + +<p>"And we were never out of sight of a house +when we were riding through Pennsylvania. +There's always a reason for such things. Do +you know the reason?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"The sin of slavery. I don't believe I shall +buy land in Maryland. I thought I might plant +a colony of happy people here and help to make +Maryland free, in the course of years, but I'm +beginning to think the right kind of white people +won't come where the only work is done by + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +slaves. We must find soon a place to sleep. +Perhaps there'll be a house around that next +turn in the road. Billy-boy whinnies as though +there were other horses near."</p> + +<p>Billy-boy's sharp nose had not deceived him. +There were other horses near. Just around the +turn of the road there were three horses. Three +armed men were upon them. Father and son +at the same moment saw and heard them.</p> + +<p>"You stop! Who be you?"</p> + +<p>The sharp command was backed by uplifted +pistols. The Strongs reined in their horses, +with indignant surprise. Who were these three +farmers who seemed to be playing bandits upon +the peaceful highroad? The boy glanced at his +father and tried to imitate his father's cool demeanor. +He felt the shock of surprise, but his +heart beat joyously with the thought: "This is +an adventure!" All his young life he had +longed for adventures. He had deeply enjoyed +the novel experience of the week's ride with the +father he loved, but he had not hoped for a +thrill like this.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Strong eyed the three horsemen, who +seemed both awkward and uneasy. "What +does this mean?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Now, thar ain't goin' to be no harm done +you nor done bub, thar, neither," the leader of +the highwaymen answered, with a note almost +of pleading in his voice. "Don't you be oneasy. +But you'll have to come with us——"</p> + +<p>"And spend Sunday with us——" broke in +another man.</p> + +<p>"Shet up, Bill. I'll do all the talkin' that's +needed."</p> + +<p>"That's what you do best," the other man +grumbled.</p> + +<p>"Well, Tom," said Mr. Strong, turning with +a smile to his son, "we seem to have found that +place to spend the night." He faced his captors. +"This is a queer performance of yours. You +don't look like highwaymen, though you act like +them. Do you mean to steal our horses?" he +added, sharply.</p> + +<p>"We ain't no hoss thieves," replied the +leader. "You've got to come with us, but you + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +needn't be no way oneasy. You, Bill, ride +ahead!"</p> + +<p>Bill turned his horse and rode ahead, Mr. +Strong and Tom riding behind him, the other +two men behind them. It was a silent ride, but +not a long one. Within a mile, they reached a +rude clearing that held a couple of log huts. +The sun had set; the short twilight was over. +Firelight gleamed in the larger of the huts. The +prisoners were taken to it. A man who was +lounging outside the door had a whispered talk +with the three horsemen. Then he turned +rather sheepishly; said: "Come in, mister; +come in, bub;" opened the door, called within: +"Prisoners, Captin' Smith," and stepped aside +as father and son entered.</p> + +<p>There were a dozen men in the big room, +farmers all, apparently. They were all on their +feet, eyeing keenly the unexpected prisoners. +Their eyes turned to a tall man, who stepped +forward and held out his hand, saying:</p> + +<p>"Sorry the boys had to take you in, but +you and your hosses are safe and we won't + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +keep you long. The day of the Lord is at +hand."</p> + +<p>There was a grim murmur of approval from +the other men. The Lord's day, as Sunday is +sometimes called, was at hand, for it was then +the evening of Saturday, October 15, 1859. But +that was not what the speaker meant. He was +not what his followers called him, Captain +Smith. He was John Brown, of North Elba, +New York, of Kansas ("bleeding Kansas" it +was called then, when slaveholders from Missouri +and freedom-lovers under John Brown had +turned it into a battlefield), and he was soon to +be John Brown of Harper's Ferry, Virginia, +first martyr in the cause of Freedom on Virginian +soil. To him "the day of the Lord" was +the day when he was to attack slavery in its +birthplace, the Old Dominion, and that attack +had been set by him for Sunday, October 16. +His plan was to seize Harper's Ferry, where +there was a United States arsenal, arm the +slaves he thought would come to his standard +from all Virginia, and so compass the fall of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +the Slave Power. A wild plan, an impossible +plan, the plan of an almost crazy fanatic, and a +splendid dream, a dream for the sake of which +he was glad to give his heroic life.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">He had rented this Maryland farm in July, +giving his name as Smith and saying he expected +to breed horses. By twos and threes his followers +had joined him in this solitary spot, until +now there were twenty-one of them. The few +folk scattered through the countryside had begun +to be suspicious of this strange gathering of +men. All sorts of wild stories circulated, though +none was as wild as the truth. The men themselves +were tense under the strain of the long +wait. They feared discovery and attack. For +the three days before "the day of the Lord" +they had patrolled the one road, looking out +for soldiers or for spies. Tom and his father had +been their sole captives.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 582px;"> + <img src="images/illo_026.jpg" width="582" height="700" alt="Portrait of John Brown" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">John Brown</span> +</div> + + +<p class="p2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>John Brown was one of Nature's noblemen +and among his friends in Massachusetts and +New York were some of the foremost men of +their time, so he had learned to know a real man +when he met one. He soon found out that Mr. +Strong was a real man. He told him of his +plans, and urged him to join in the projected +foray on Harper's Ferry. But when Mr. Strong +refused and tried to show him how mad his +project was, the fires of the fanatic blazed within +him.</p> + +<p>"Did not Joshua bring down the walls of +Jericho with a ram's horn?" he shouted. "And +with twenty armed men cannot I pull down the +walls of the citadel of Slavery? Are you a true +man or not? Will you join me or not? Answer +me yes or no."</p> + +<p>"No," was the response, quiet but firm.</p> + +<p>"You shall join me; you and your boy," +thundered the crusader, hammering the table +with his mighty fist. "Here, Jim, put these +people under guard and keep them until we +start."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Tom and his father were well-treated, but they +were kept under guard until the next night +and were then taken along by John Brown's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +"army," which trudged off into the darkness +afoot, while Billy-boy and Jennie and the other +horses in the corral whinnied uneasily, sensing, +as animals do, the stir of a departure which is to +leave them behind. In the center of the little +column the two captives marched the five miles +to Harper's Ferry and started across the bridge +that led to that tiny town.</p> + +<p>A brave man, one Patrick Hoggins, was night-watchman +of the bridge. He heard the trampling +of many feet upon the plank-flooring. He +hurried towards the strange sound.</p> + +<p>"Halt!" shouted somebody in the column.</p> + +<p>"Now I didn't know what 'halt' mint then," +Patrick testified afterwards, "anny more than a +hog knows about a holiday."</p> + +<p>But he had seen armed men and he turned +to run and give an alarm. A bullet was swifter +than he, but not swifter than his voice. He +fell, but his shouts had alarmed the town. +There were two or three watchmen at the +arsenal. They came forward, only to be made +prisoners. The few citizens who had been + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +aroused could do nothing. The "army" seized +the arsenal without difficulty.</p> + +<p>Five miles from Harper's Ferry lived Col. +Lewis W. Washington, gentleman-farmer and +slave-owner, great-grand-nephew of another +gentleman-farmer and slave-owner, George +Washington. At midnight, Colonel Washington +was awakened by a blow upon his bedroom +door. It swung open and the light of a burning +torch showed the astonished Southerner four +armed men, one of them a negro, who bade him +rise and dress. They were a patrol sent out by +Brown. Their leader, Stevens, asked:</p> + +<p>"Haven't you a pistol Lafayette gave George +Washington and a sword Frederick the Great +sent him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Where are they?"</p> + +<p>"Downstairs."</p> + +<p>His four captors tramped downstairs with +him. Pistol and sword were found.</p> + +<p>"I'll take the pistol," said Stevens. "You +hand the sword to this negro."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>John Brown wore this sword during the fighting +that followed. It is now in the possession +of the State of New York. While its being sent +George Washington by Frederick the Great is +doubtful—the story runs that the Prussian king +sent with it a message "From the oldest general +to the best general"—its being surrendered +by Lewis Washington to the negro is true.</p> + +<p>Lewis was then on the staff of the Governor +of Virginia, and had acquired in this way his +title of Colonel. He was put into his own carriage. +His slaves, few in number, were bundled +into a four-horse farm-wagon. They were told +to come and fight for their freedom. Too scared +to resist, they came as they were bidden to do, +but they did no fighting. At Harper's Ferry +they and their fellow-slaves, seized at a neighboring +plantation, escaped back to slavery at the +first possible moment. Not a single negro voluntarily +joined John Brown. He had expected +a widespread slave insurrection. There was +nothing of the sort. By Monday morning he +knew he had failed, failed utterly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>Before Monday's sun set, Harper's Ferry was +full of soldiers, United States regulars and State +militia. Brown, his men and his white captives, +eleven of the latter, were shut up in the fire-engine +house of the armory. The militia refused +to charge the engine-house, saying that this +might cost the captives their lives. Many of +them were drunk; all of them were undisciplined; +their commander did not know how to +command. The situation changed with the arrival +of the United States Marines led by +Lieut.-Col. Robert E. Lee, afterwards the famous +chief of the army of the Confederate +States.</p> + +<p>By this time Tom was beginning to think he +had had enough adventure. He had enjoyed +that silent tramp through the darkness beside +his father. He had enjoyed it the more because +they were both prisoners-of-war. Being a prisoner +was an amazingly thrilling thing. He was +sorry when brave Patrick Hoggins was shot and +glad to know the wound was slight, but sharing +in the skirmish, even in the humble capacity of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +a captive, had excited the boy immensely. Now +that there was almost constant firing back and +forth, when two or three wounded men were +lying on the floor, and when his father and he +and Colonel Washington were perforce risking +their lives in the engine-house, with nothing to +gain and everything to lose, and when scanty +sleep and little food had tired out even his stout +little body, Tom felt quite ready to go home and +have his adored mother "mother" him. His +father saw the homesickness in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Steady, my son," said Mr. Strong. "This +won't last long. No stray bullet is apt to reach +this corner, where Captain Brown has put us. +The only other danger is when the regulars rush +in here, but unless they mistake us for the +raiders, there'll be no harm done then. Steady." +He looked through a bullet-hole in the boarded-up +window and added: "Here comes a flag of +truce. Listen."</p> + +<p>The scattering fire died away. The hush was +broken by a commanding voice, demanding surrender.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There will be no surrender," quoth grim +John Brown.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">At dawn of Tuesday, two files of United +States Marines, using a long ladder as a battering +ram, attacked the door. It broke at the +second blow. The marines poured in, shooting +and striking. The battle was over. John Brown, +wounded and beaten to the floor, lay there +among his men. The captives were free. Their +captors had changed places with them.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_034.jpg" width="600" height="398" alt="THE ATTACK ON THE ENGINE-HOUSE" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08">THE ATTACK ON THE ENGINE-HOUSE</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">Colonel Washington took Mr. Strong and +Tom home with him, for a rest after the strain + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +of the captivity. He was much interested when +he found out that Tom's great-grandfather had +visited General Washington at Mount Vernon +and Tom was intensely interested in seeing the +home and home life of a rich Southern planter. +The Colonel asked his guests to stay until after +the trial of their recent jailer. They did so and +Mr. Strong, after some hesitation, decided to +take Tom to the trial and afterwards to the final +scene of all. He wrote to his wife: "Life is +rich, my dear, in proportion to the number of +our experiences and their depth. Ordinarily, I +would not dream of taking Tom to see a criminal +hung. But John Brown is no ordinary criminal. +He is wrong, but he is heroic. He faces his fate—for +of course they will hang him—like a +Roman. I think it will do Tom good to see a +hero die."</p> + +<p>Whether or no his father was right, Tom was +given these experiences. He sat beside his +father and Colonel Washington at the trial. He +heard them testify. He noted the angry stir of +the mob in the court-room when Mr. Strong + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +made no secret of his admiration for the great +criminal.</p> + +<p>Robert E. Lee, who captured Brown, said: +"I am glad we did not have to kill him, for I +believe he is an honest, conscientious old man." +Virginia, Lee's State, thought she did have to +kill this invader of her soil and disturber of her +slaves.</p> + +<p>November 2, John Brown was sentenced to be +hung December 2. The next day he added this +postscript to a letter he had already written to +his wife and children:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>"P.S. Yesterday Nov. 2d I was sentenced to +be hanged on Decem 2d next. Do not grieve on +my account. I am still quite cheerful. God +bless you all."</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Northern friends offered to try to help him to +break jail. He put aside the offer with the calm +statement: "I am fully persuaded that I am +worth inconceivably more to hang than for any +other purpose."</p> + +<p>December 2, John Brown started on his last + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +journey. He sat upon his coffin in a wagon and +as the two horses paced slowly from jail to gallows, +he looked far afield, over river and valley +and hill, and said: "This <i>is</i> a beautiful country." +He was sure he was upon the threshold of a far +more beautiful country. The gallows were +guarded by a militia company from Richmond, +Virginia. In its ranks, rifle on shoulder, stood +Wilkes Booth, a dark and sinister figure, who +was to win eternal infamy by assassinating +Abraham Lincoln. Beside the militia was a trim +lot of cadets, the fine boys of the Virginia Military +Institute. With them was their professor, +Thomas J. Jackson, "Stonewall" Jackson, one +of the heroic figures upon the Southern side of +our Civil War.</p> + +<p>When the end came, Stonewall Jackson's lips +moved with a prayer for John Brown's soul; +Colonel Washington's and Mr. Strong's eyes +were wet; and Tom Strong sobbed aloud. +Albany fired a hundred guns in John Brown's +honor as he hung from the gallows. In 1859 +United States troops captured him that he + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +might die. In 1899 United States troops fired +a volley of honor over his grave in North Elba +that the memory of him might live. Victor +Hugo called him "an apostle and a hero." +Emerson dubbed him "saint." Oswald Garrison +Villard closes his fine biography of John +Brown with these words: "Wherever there is +battling against injustice and oppression, the +Charlestown gallows that became a cross will +help men to live and die."</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Our War with Mexico—Kit Carson and His +Lawyer, Abe Lincoln—Tom Goes to Lincoln's +Inauguration—S. F. B. Morse, Inventor +of the Telegraph—Tom Back in +Washington.</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>In 1846, Mr. Strong, long enough out of Yale +to have begun business and to have married, +had heard his country's call and had helped her +fight her unjust war with Mexico. General +Grant, who saw his first fighting in this war and +who fought well, says of it in his Memoirs that +it was "one of the most unjust ever waged by +a stronger against a weaker nation."</p> + +<p>Much more important things were happening +here then than the Mexican War. In 1846 +Elias Howe invented the sewing-machine. In +1847 Robert Hoe invented the rotary printing +press. Great inventions like these are the real +milestones of the path of progress.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Strong served as a private in the ranks +throughout the war. He refused a commission +offered him for gallantry in action because he +knew he did not know enough then to command +men. It is a rare man who knows that he does +not know. His regiment was mustered out of +service at the end of the war in New Orleans. +The young soldier decided to go home by way +of St. Louis because of his memories of that old +town in the days when he had followed Fremont. +He went again to the Planters' Hotel and there +by lucky accident he met again the famous +frontiersman Kit Carson. Carson was away +from the plains he loved because of a lawsuit. +A sharp speculator was trying to take away +from him some land he had bought years ago +near the town, which the growth of the town +had now made quite valuable. Carson was +heartily glad to see his "Tom-boy" once more. +He insisted upon his staying several days, took +him to court to hear the trial, and introduced +him to his lawyer, a tall, gaunt, slab-sided, +slouching, plain person from the neighboring + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +State of Illinois. Everybody who knew him +called him "Abe." His last name was +Lincoln.</p> + +<p>"I'd heard so much of Abe Lincoln," said +Carson, "that when this speculator who's trying +to do me hired all the big lawyers in St. Louis, +I just went over to Springfield, Illinois, to get +Abe. When I saw him I rather hesitated about +hiring such a looking skeesicks, but when I +came to talk with him, he did the hesitating. I +asked him what he'd charge for defending a +land-suit in St. Louis. He told me. I sez: 'All +right. You're hired. You're my lawyer.'</p> + +<p>"'Wait a bit,' sez he.</p> + +<p>"'What for?' sez I. 'I'll pay what you said.'</p> + +<p>"'That ain't all,' sez he. 'Before I take your +money, Kit, I've got to know your side of the +case is the right side.'</p> + +<p>"'What difference does that make to a +lawyer?' sez I.</p> + +<p>"'It makes a heap o' difference to this +lawyer,' sez he. 'You've got to prove your case +to me before I'll try to prove it to the court. If + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +you ain't in the right, Abe Lincoln won't be your +lawyer.'</p> + +<p>"Darned if he didn't make me prove I was in +the right, too, before he'd touch my money. No +wonder they call him 'Honest Abe.'"</p> + +<p>It took Lincoln a couple of days to win Kit +Carson's suit. During those two days young +Strong saw much of him and came to admire +the sterling qualities of the man. Lincoln, too, +liked this young college-bred fellow from the +East, unaffected, well-mannered, friendly, and +gay. There was the beginning of a friendship +between the Westerner and the Easterner. +Thereafter they wrote each other occasionally. +When Lincoln served his one brief term in +Congress, Mr. Strong spent a week with him in +Washington and asked him (but in vain) to visit +him in New York.</p> + +<p>So, when this new giant came out of the +West and Illinois gave her greatest son to the +country, as its President, Mr. Strong went to +Washington to see him inaugurated and took +with him his boy Tom, as his father had taken + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +him in 1829 to Andrew Jackson's inauguration.</p> + +<p>Washington was still a great shabby village, +not much more attractive March 4, 1861, than +it was March 4, 1829. The crowds at the two +inaugurations were much alike. In both cases +the favorite son of the West had won at the +polls. In both cases the West swamped Washington. +But in 1829 there was jubilant victory +in the air. In 1861 there was somber anxiety. +Seven Southern States had "seceded" and had +formed another government. Other States +were upon the brink of secession. Was the +great democratic experiment of the world about +to end in failure? Would there be civil war? +What was this unknown man out of the West +going to do? Could he do anything?</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong and Tom, with a few thousand +other people, went to the reception at the White +House on the afternoon of March fourth. +President Lincoln was laboriously shaking +hands with everybody in the long line. Almost +every one of them seemed to be asking him for + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +something. He was weary long before Tom +and his father reached him, but his face brightened +as he saw them. A boy always meant a +great deal to Abraham Lincoln. "There <i>may</i> +be so much in a boy," he used to say. He +greeted the two warmly.</p> + +<p>"Howdy, Strong? Glad to see you. This +your boy? Howdy, sonny?"</p> + +<p>Tom did not enjoy being called "sonny" +much more than he had enjoyed being called +"bub," but he was glad to have this big man +with a woman's smile call him anything. He +wrung the President's offered hand, stammered +something shyly, and was passing on with his +father, when Lincoln said:</p> + +<p>"Hold on a minute, Strong. You haven't +asked me for anything."</p> + +<p>"I've nothing to ask for, Mr. President. I'm +not here to beg for an office."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious! You're the only man in +Washington of that kind, I believe. Come to +see me tomorrow morning, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Most gladly, sir."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>The impatient man behind them pushed them +on. They heard him begin to plead: "Say, Abe, +you know I carried Mattoon for you; I'd like to +be Minister to England."</p> + +<p>Boys and girls always appealed to the President's +heart. When there were talks of vital +import in his office, little Tad Lincoln often sat +upon his father's knee. At a White House reception, +Charles A. Dana once put his little girl +in a corner, whence she saw the show. The +father tells the story. When the reception was +over, he said to Lincoln: "'I have a little girl +here who wants to shake hands with you.' He +went over to her and took her up and kissed +her and talked to her. She will never forget +it if she lives to be a thousand years +old."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The next morning Tom followed his father +into a room on the second floor of the White +House. Lincoln sat at a flat-topped desk, piled +high with papers. He was in his shirt-sleeves, +with shabby black trousers, coarse stockings, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +and worn slippers. He stretched out his long +legs, swung his long arms behind his head, and +came straight to the point.</p> + +<p>"Strong, I'm going to need you. Your country +is going to need you. I want you to go +straight home and fix up your business affairs +so you can come whenever I call you. Will you +do it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>President and citizen rose and shook hands +upon it. The citizen was about to go when +Tom, with his heart in his mouth, but with a +fine resolve in his heart, suddenly said:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Father! Oh, Mr. President——"</p> + +<p>Then he stopped short, too shy to speak, but +Lincoln stooped down to him, patted his young +head and said with infinite kindness in his +tone:</p> + +<p>"What is it, Tom? Tell me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. President, I'm only a boy, but can't +I do something for my country, right now? +Can't I stay here? Father will let me, won't +you, Father?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Strong shook his head. The boy's face +fell. It brightened again when Lincoln told +him:</p> + +<p>"When I send for your father, I'll send for +you, Tom."</p> + +<p>With that promise ringing in his ears, Tom +went home to New York City. Home was a +fine brick house at the northeast corner of +Washington Place and Greene Street. The +house was a twin brother of those that still +stand on the north side of Washington Square. +Tom had been born in it. Not long after his +birth, his parents had given a notable dinner in +it to a notable man. Tom had been present at +the dinner, and he remembered nothing about +it. As he was at the table but a few minutes, +in the arms of his nurse, and less than a year +old, it is not surprising that he did not remember +it. His proud young mother had exhibited him +to a group of money magnates, gathered at Mr. +Strong's shining mahogany table for dinner, at +the fashionable hour of three <span class="smcap">P.M.</span>, to see +another young thing, almost as young as Tom. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +This other young thing was the telegraph, just +invented by Samuel F. B. Morse, at the University +of the City of New York, which then +filled half of the eastern boundary of Washington +Square.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>While Tom waited in the old brick house and +played in Washington Square, history was making +itself. Pope Walker, first Secretary of War +of the Confederate States, sitting in his office at +the Alabama Statehouse at Montgomery, the +first Confederate capital, said: "It is time to +sprinkle some blood in the face of the people." +So he telegraphed the fateful order to fire on +Fort Sumter, held by United States troops in +Charleston harbor. Sumter fell. Lincoln called +for 75,000 volunteers. Virginia, the famous Old +Dominion, "the Mother of Presidents"—Washington, +Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe were +Virginians—seceded. The war between the +States began.</p> + +<p>Mr. Strong found in his mail one day this +letter:</p> + +<p class="pmb2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<div class="block2"> + +<p class="right">"The Executive Mansion, <br /> +Washington, April 17, 1861. </p> + +<p>Sir:</p> + +<p>The President bids me say that he would like +to have you come to Washington at once and +bring your son Tom with you.</p> + +<p class="center"> +Respectfully,</p> + +<p class="right pmb2"><span class="smcap">John Hay</span>,<br /> +Assistant Private Secretary."<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Tom and his father started at once, as the +President bade them. At Jersey City, they +found the train they had expected to take had +been pre-empted by the Sixth Massachusetts, a +crack militia regiment of the Old Bay State, +which was hurrying to Washington in the hope +of getting there before the rebels did. The +cars were crammed with soldiers. A sentry +stood at every door. No civilian need apply for +passage. However, a civilian with a letter +from Lincoln's secretary bidding him also hurry +to Washington was in a class by himself. With +the help of an officer, the father and son ran the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +blockade of bayonets and started southward, the +only civilians upon the train. It was packed to +suffocation with soldiers. Mr. Strong sat with +the regimental officers, but he let Tom roam at +will from car to car. How the boy enjoyed it. +The shining gun-barrels fascinated him. He +joined a group of merry men, who hailed him +with a shout:</p> + +<p>"Here's the youngest recruit of all."</p> + +<p>"Are you really going to shoot rebels?" +asked Tom.</p> + +<p>"If we must," said Jack Saltonstall, breaking +the silence the question brought, "but I hope it +won't come to that."</p> + +<p>"The war will be over in three months," +Gordon Abbott prophesied.</p> + +<p>"Pooh, it will never begin,—and I'm sorry for +that," said Jim Casey, "I'd like to have some +real fighting."</p> + +<p>Within about three hours, Jim Casey was to +see fighting and was to die for his country. The +beginning of bloodshed in our Civil War was in +the streets of Baltimore on April 19, 1861, just + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +eighty-six years to a day from the beginning of +bloodshed in our Revolution on Lexington Common. +Massachusetts and British blood in 1775; +Massachusetts and Maryland blood in 1861.</p> + +<p>When the long train stopped at the wooden +car-shed which was then the Baltimore station, +the regiment left the cars, fell into line and +started to march the mile or so of cobblestone +streets to the other station where the train for +Washington awaited it. The line of march was +through as bad a slum as an American city +could then show. Grog-shops swarmed in it and +about every grog-shop swarmed the toughs of +Baltimore. They were known locally as "plug-uglies." +Like the New York "Bowery boys" +of that time, they affected a sort of uniform, +black dress trousers thrust into boot-tops and +red flannel shirts. Far too poor to own slaves +themselves, they had gathered here to fight the +slave-owners' battles, to keep the Massachusetts +troops from "polluting the soil of Maryland," as +their leaders put it, really to keep them from +saving Washington.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p>A roar of jeers and taunts and insults hailed +the head of the marching column. Tom was +startled by it. He turned to his father. The +two were walking side by side, in the center of +the column, between two companies of the +militia. He found his father had already turned +to him.</p> + +<p>"Keep close to me, Tom," said Mr. Strong.</p> + +<p>The storm of words that beat upon them increased. +At the next corner, stones took the +place of words. The mob surged alongside the +soldiers, swearing, stoning, striking, finally stabbing +and shooting. The Sixth Massachusetts +showed admirable self-restraint, which the +"plug-uglies" thought was cowardice. They +pressed closer. With a mighty rush, five thousand +rioters broke the line of the thousand +troops. The latter were forced into small +groups, many of them without an officer. Each +group had to act for itself. Tom and his father +found themselves part of a tiny force of about +twenty men, beset upon every side by desperadoes +now mad with liquor and with the lust + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +of killing. Jack Saltonstall took command by +common consent. Calmly he faced hundreds of +rioters.</p> + +<p>"Forward, march!"</p> + +<p>As he uttered the words, he pitched forward, +shot through the chest. A giant "plug-ugly" +bellowed with triumph over his successful shot, +yelled "kill 'em all!" and led the mob upon +them. But Mr. Strong had snatched Saltonstall's +gun as it fell from his nerveless hands, +had leveled and aimed it, and had shouted +"fire!" to willing ears. A score of guns rang +out. The mob-leader whirled about and +dropped. Half-a-dozen other "plug-uglies" lay +about him. This section of the mob broke and +ran. Some of them fired as they ran, and Jim +Casey's life went out of him.</p> + +<p>"Take this gun, Tom," said Mr. Strong.</p> + +<p>The boy took it, reloading it as he marched, +while his sturdy father lifted the wounded +Saltonstall from the stony street and staggered +forward with the body in his arms. Casey and +two other men were dead. Their bodies had to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +be left to the fury of the mob. Saltonstall lived +to fight to the end. As the survivors of the +twenty pressed forward, the mob behind followed +them up. Bullets whizzed unpleasantly +near. Twice, at Mr. Strong's command, the +men faced about and fired a volley. In both +these volleys, Tom's gun played its part. He +had hunted before, but never such big game as +men. The joy of battle possessed him. Since +it was apparently a case of "kill or be killed," +he shot to kill. Whether he did kill, he never +knew. The two volleys checked two threatening +rushes of the rioters and enabled Mr. Strong +to bring what was left of the gallant little band +safely to the railroad station. An hour later the +Sixth Massachusetts was in Washington. During +that hour Tom had been violently sick upon +the train. He was new to this trade of man-killing.</p> + +<p>At Washington, once vacant spaces were soon +filled with camps. Soldiers poured in on every +train. Orderlies were galloping about. Artillery +surrounded the Capitol. And from its + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +dome Tom saw a Confederate flag, the Stars-and-Bars, +flying defiantly in nearby Alexandria.</p> + +<p>Those were dark days. There were Confederate +forces within a few miles of the White +House. Sumter surrendered April 15th. Virginia +seceded on the 17th. Harper's Ferry fell +into Southern hands on the 18th. The Sixth +Massachusetts had fought its way through Baltimore +on the 19th. Robert E. Lee resigned his +commission in our army on the 20th and left +Arlington for Richmond, taking with him a long +train of army and navy officers whose loyal support, +now lost forever, had seemed a national +necessity. Lincoln spent many an hour in his +private office, searching with a telescope the +reaches of the Potomac, over which the troop-laden +transports were expected. Once, when he +thought he was alone, John Hay heard him call +out "with irrepressible anguish": "Why don't +they come? Why don't they come?" In public +he gave no sign of the anxiety that was eating +up his heart. He had the nerve to jest +about it. The Sixth Massachusetts, the Seventh + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +New York, and a Rhode Island detachment had +all hurried to save Washington from the capture +that threatened. When the Massachusetts men +won the race and marched proudly by the White +House, Lincoln said to some of their officers: +"I begin to believe there is no North. The Seventh +Regiment is a myth. Rhode Island is +another. You are the only real thing." They +were very real, those men of Massachusetts, and +they were the vanguard of the real army that +was to be.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Charles Francis Adams—Mr. Strong Goes to +Russia—Tom Goes to Live in the White +House—Bull Run—"Stonewall" Jackson—Geo. +B. McClellan—Tom Strong, Second +Lieutenant, U. S. A.—The Battle of the +"Merrimac" and the "Monitor."</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>A few days passed before the President had +time to see Mr. Strong and Tom. When +they were finally ushered into his working-room, +they found there, already interviewing Lincoln, +the hawk-nosed and hawk-eyed Secretary of +State, William H. Seward of New York, scholar, +statesman, and gentleman, and a short, grizzled +man, the worthy inheritor of a great tradition. +He was Charles Francis Adams of Boston, son +and grandson of two Presidents of the United +States. He had been appointed Minister to +England, just then the most important foreign + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +appointment in the world. What England was +to do or not do might spell victory or defeat for +the Union. Mr. Adams had come to receive his +final instructions for his all-important work. +And this is what happened.</p> + +<p>Shabby and uncouth, Lincoln faced his two +well-dressed visitors, nodding casually to the +two New Yorkers as they entered at what +should have been a great moment.</p> + +<p>"I came to thank you for my appointment," +said Adams, "and to ask you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," replied Lincoln, "thank +Seward. He's the man that put you in." He +stretched out his legs and arms, and sighed a +deep sigh of relief. "By the way, Governor," +he added, turning to Seward, "I've this morning +decided that Chicago post-office appointment. +Well, good-by."</p> + +<p>And that was all the instruction the Minister +to Great Britain had from the President of the +United States. Even in those supreme days, the +rush of office-seekers, the struggle for the spoils, +the mad looting of the public offices for partisan + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +purposes, was monopolizing the time and absorbing +the mind of our greatest President. +There is a story that one man who asked him +to appoint him Minister to England, after taking +an hour of his time, ended the interview by asking +him for a pair of old boots. Civil Service +Reform has since gone far to stop this scandal +and sin, but much of it still remains. Today you +can fight for the best interests of our beloved +country by fighting the spoils system in city, +state, and nation.</p> + +<p>Adams, amazed, followed Secretary Seward +out of the little room. Then Lincoln turned to +the father and son.</p> + +<p>Tom had more time to look at him now. He +saw a tall man with a thin, muscular, big nose, +with heavy eyebrows above deep-set eyes and +below a square, bulging forehead, and with a +mass of black hair. The face was dark and sallow. +The firm lips relaxed as he looked down +upon the boy. A beautiful smile overflowed +them. A beautiful friendliness shone from the +deep-set eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So this is another Tom Strong," he said. +"Howdy, Tommy?"</p> + +<p>The boy smiled back, for the welcoming smile +was irresistible. He put his little hand into +Lincoln's great paw, hardened and roughened +by a youth of strenuous toil. The President +squeezed his hand. Tom was happy.</p> + +<p>"You're to go to Russia, Strong," Mr. +Lincoln said to the father. "England and +France threaten to combine against us. You +must get Russia to hold them back. We'll have +a regular Minister there, but I'm going to depend +upon you. See Governor Seward. He'll +tell you all about it. Will you take Mrs. Strong +with you?"</p> + +<p>"Most certainly."</p> + +<p>"Well, I s'posed you would. And how about +Tom here?"</p> + +<p>Tom's heart beat quick. What was coming +now?</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Strong must decide that. I suppose +he had better keep on with his school in New +York."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why not let him come to school in Washington?" +asked Lincoln. "In the school of the +world? You see," he added, while that irresistible +smile again softened the firm outlines of his +big man's mouth, "you see I've taken a sort +of fancy to your boy Tom. S'pose you give him +to me while you're away. There are things he +can do for his country."</p> + +<p>It was perhaps only a whim, but the whims +of a President count. A month later, Mr. and +Mrs. Strong started for St. Petersburg and Tom +reported at the White House. He was welcomed +by John Hay, a delightful young man of +twenty-three, one of the President's two private +secretaries. The welcome lacked warmth.</p> + +<p>"You're to sleep in a room in the attic," said +Hay, "and I believe you're to eat with Mr. +Nicolay and me. I haven't an idea what you're +to do and between you and me and the bedpost +I don't believe the Ancient has an idea either. +Perhaps there won't be anything. Wait a while +and see."</p> + +<p>The Ancient—this was a nickname his secretaries + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +had given him—had a very distinct idea, +which he had not seen fit to tell his zealous +young secretary. Tom found the waiting not +unpleasant. He had a good many unimportant +things to do. "Tad" Lincoln, though younger, +was a good playmate. The White House staff +was kind to him. Even Hay found it difficult +not to like him. Then there was the sensation +of being at the center of things, big things. He +saw men whose names were household words. +Half a dozen times he lunched with the President's +family, a plain meal with plain folks. +Even the dinners at the White House, except +the state dinners, were frugal and plain. Lincoln +drank little or no wine. He never used +tobacco. This was something of a miracle in +the case of a man from the West, for in those +days, particularly in the unconventional West, +practically every man both smoked and chewed +tobacco. The filthy spittoon was everywhere +conspicuous. We fiercely resented the tales told +our English cousins, first by Mrs. Trollope and +then by Charles Dickens, about our tobacco-chewing, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +but the resentment was so fierce because +the tales were so true. Those were dirty +days. In 1860 there were few bathrooms except +in our largest cities. Those that existed were +mostly new. In 1789, when the present Government +of the United States came into being, in +New York City, there was not one bathroom +in the whole town.</p> + +<p>At these family luncheons, Tom was apt to +become conscious that Lincoln's eyes were bent +beneath their shaggy eyebrows full upon him. +There was nothing unkind in the glance, but +the boy felt it go straight through him. He +wondered what it all meant. Why was he not +given more work to do? Had he been weighed +and found wanting? He waited in suspense a +good many months.</p> + +<p>The early months of waiting were not merry +months. In July, 1861, the first battle of Bull +Run had been fought and had been lost. Our +troops ran nearly thirty miles. Telegram after +telegram brought news of disgrace and defeat +to the White House. In the afternoon Lincoln + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +went to see Gen. Winfield S. Scott, then commander-in-chief +of our armies. The fat old +general was taking his afternoon nap. Awakened +with difficulty, he gurgled that everything +would come out well. Then he fell asleep again. +Before six o'clock it was known that everything +had turned out most badly. Washington itself +was threatened by the Confederate pursuit. +Lincoln had no sleep that night. The gray dawn +found him at his desk, still receiving dispatches, +still giving orders. When he left the desk, +Washington was safe.</p> + +<p>It was at the beginning of the battle of Bull +Run, when the Confederates came near running +away but did not do so because the Union troops +ran first, that "Stonewall" Jackson got his famous +nickname. The brigade of another Southern +soldier, Gen. Bernard Bee, was wavering and +falling back. Its commander, trying to hearten +his men, called out to them: "Look! there's +Jackson standing like a stone wall!" The men +looked, rallied, and went on fighting. It may +have been that one thing of Jackson's example + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +that turned the tide at Bull Run, gave the battle +to the South, and prolonged the war by at +least two years. Stonewall Jackson's soldiers +were called foot-cavalry, because under his inspiring +leadership they made marches which +would have been a credit to mounted men. It +was his specialty to be where it was impossible +for him to be, by all the ordinary rules of war. +He was a thunderbolt in attack, a stone wall in +defense.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>In November of that sad year of 1861, the +President made another noteworthy call upon +the then commander-in-chief, Gen. George B. +McClellan. President and Secretary of State, +escorted by young Hay and younger Tom, called +upon the General at the latter's house, in the +evening. They were told he was out, but would +return soon, so they waited. McClellan did return +and was told of his patient visitors. He +walked by the open door of the room where they +were seated and went upstairs. Half an hour +later Lincoln sent a servant to tell him again + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +that they were there. Word came back that +General McClellan had gone to bed. John +Hay's diary justly speaks of "this unparalleled +insolence of epaulettes." As the three men and +the boy walked back to the White House, Hay +said:</p> + +<p>"It was an insolent rebuff. Something should +be done about it."</p> + +<p>Lincoln's almost godlike patience, however, +had not been worn out.</p> + +<p>"It is better," the great man answered, "at +this time not to be making a point of etiquette +and personal dignity."</p> + +<p>The President, however, stopped calling upon +the pompous General. After that experience, +he always sent word to McClellan to call upon +him.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One day, at the close of a family luncheon, +the President said to Tom: "Come upstairs +with me."</p> + +<p>In the little private office, Lincoln took off +his coat and waistcoat with a sigh of relief and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +lounged into his chair. He bade Tom take a +chair nearby. Then he looked at the boy for a +moment, while his wonderful smile overflowed +his strong lips.</p> + +<p>"I've been studying you a bit, Tom. I think +you'll do. Now I'll tell you what I want you to +do."</p> + +<p>The smile died quite away.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you can keep still when you +ought to keep still? Balaam's ass isn't the only +ass that ever talked. Most asses talk—and always +at the wrong time."</p> + +<p>"The last thing Father told me," Tom +answered, "was never to say anything to +anybody 'less I was sure you'd want me to +say it."</p> + +<p>"Your father is a wise man, my boy. Pray +God he does what I hope he will in +Russia."</p> + +<p>The serious face grew still more serious. The +long figure slouching in the chair straightened +and stiffened. The sloping shoulders seemed to +broaden, as if to bear steadfastly a weight that + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +would have crushed most men. The dark eyes +gleamed with a solemn hope. Tom longed to +ask what his father was to try to do, but he +was not silly enough to put his thought into +words. Another good-by counsel his father had +given him was never to ask the President a +question, unless he had to do so. There was +silence for a moment. Then Lincoln spoke +again:</p> + +<p>"You're to carry dispatches for me, Tom. +This may take you into the enemy's country +sometimes. If you were captured and were a +civilian, it might go hard with you. So I've had +you commissioned as a second lieutenant. If +you should slip into a fight occasionally I +wouldn't blame you much. Mr. Stanton, the +Secretary of War, kicked about it. He said he +didn't believe in giving commissions to babies. +I told him you could almost speak plain and +could go 'round without a nurse. Finally he +gave in. I haven't much influence with this +Administration"—here Tom looked puzzled +until the President smiled over his own jest—"but + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +I did get you the commission. Here +it is."</p> + +<p class="pmb2">He laid the precious parchment on the desk, +put on his spectacles, took up his quill pen, and +wrote at the foot of it</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> + <img src="images/illo_069.jpg" width="200" height="72" alt="Autograph A. Lincoln" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="p2">The boy's heart thrilled and throbbed. He +had never dreamed of such an opportunity and +such an honor. He was an officer of the Union. +He was to carry dispatches for the President of +the United States. His hand shook a little as +he took the commission, reverently.</p> + +<p>"You've been detailed for special service, Tom. +Stanton wanted to know whether your special +service was to be to play with my boy, Tad. +Stanton was pretty mad; that's a fact. Well, +well, you must do your work so well that he'll +get over the blow. You would have thought I +was asking him for a brigadier's commission for +a girl. Well, well. Being a war messenger is +only one of your duties, son. You're to be my + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +scout. Keep your ears and eyes both open, +Tom, and your mouth shut. Ever hear the +story of what Jonah said to the whale when he +got out of him? The whale said to Jonah: +'You've given me a terrible stomach-ache.' And +Jonah said: 'That's what you got because you +didn't have sense enough to keep your mouth +shut.' But remember, Tom, to go scouting in +the right way. What I want is the truth. It's +a hard thing for a President to get. I don't +want tittle-tattle, evil gossip, idle talk. When +I was in Congress, there was a fine old fellow +in the House from Florida. I remember he +said once that the Florida wolf was 'a mean +critter that'd go snoopin' 'round twenty miles a +night ruther than not do a mischief.' Don't be +a wolf, Tom,—but don't be a lamb either, with +the wool pulled over your eyes and ears. Here's +your first job. This envelope"—Lincoln took +from the desk a sealed envelope, not addressed, +and handed it to the boy—"this envelope is for +the commander of the 'Cumberland,' in Hampton +Roads. This War Department pass will + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +carry you anywhere. When Stanton signed it, +he asked me whether he was to spend a whole +day signing things for you to play with. Mrs. +Lincoln has had a uniform made for you, on the +sly. I rather think you'll find it in your room, +Tom. You'd better start tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Mayn't I start this afternoon, Mr. President?"</p> + +<p>"Good for you. Of course you may. I'll say +good-by to the folks for you. God bless you, +son."</p> + +<p>Lincoln waved a kindly farewell as Tom, with +drumbeats in his young heart, gave a fair imitation +of an officer's salute—and strode out of the +room with what he meant to be a manly step. +Once outside, the step changed to a run. He +flew along the halls and up the stairs to the +attic. He burst into his room. On his narrow +bed lay his new uniform. Mrs. Lincoln, kindly +housewife that she was, had done her part in +the little conspiracy for the benefit of the boy +who was Tad Lincoln's beloved playmate. She +had herself smuggled an old suit of Tom's to a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +tailor, who had made from its measure the +resplendent new blue uniform that now greeted +Tom's enraptured eyes.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, Lieutenant Tom Strong left +the White House for Hampton Roads. A swift +dispatch boat carried him there. He reached +the flagship on a lovely, peaceful, spring day, +and delivered his dispatches. The boat that had +taken him there was to take him back the next +morning. He was glad to have a night on a +warship. It was a new experience. And his +father had told him that experience was the best +teacher in the world. The beautiful lines of the +frigate were a joy to see. Her spick and span +cleanliness, the trim and trig sailors and marines, +the rows of polished cannon that thrust +their grim mouths out of the portholes, these +things delighted him. He was standing on the +quarter-deck with Lieutenant Morris, almost +wishing he could exchange his brand-new lieutenancy +in the army for one in the navy, when +from the Norfolk navy yard a rocket flared up +into the air.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is that, sir?" asked Tom. "Is it a +signal to you?"</p> + +<p>"I fancy it is," Morris answered, "but it isn't +meant to be. That's a rebel rocket. You know +we lost the navy-yard early in the war and we +haven't got it back—yet. That rocket went up +from there. The Secesh are up to some deviltry. +They've been signaling a good bit of late. +I wish they'd come out and give us a chance at +them. Hampton Roads is dull as ditchwater, +with not a thing happening."</p> + +<p>The gallant lieutenant yawned prodigiously. +He little knew what terrible things were to happen +on the morrow. That rocket meant that the +rebel ram, the "Merrimac," the first iron-clad +vessel that ever went into action, was to sail +down Hampton Roads, where nothing ever +happened, the next morning and was to make +many things happen. The Confederates had +converted the old Union frigate, the "Merrimac," +into a new, strange, and monstrous +thing. They had placed a battery of cannon of +a size never before mounted on shipboard upon + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +her deck, close to the water-line; they had built +over the battery a framework of stout timbers, +covered with armor rolled from rails, and they +had put a cast-iron bow upon this marine +marvel. A wooden ship was a mere toy to +her.</p> + +<p>The next morning came—it was March 8, +1862—and the "Merrimac" came. As she +emerged from distance and mist, our scout-boats +came racing to the "Cumberland" with +news of the danger that was fast nearing her. +The news was a tonic to officers and to men. +Here at last was something to fight. Here at +last was something to do. They were all weary +of having the flagship lie, week after week,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"As idle as a painted ship<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a painted ocean."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The men sprang to quarters with a joyful cheer. +The officers were at their posts. The gun-crews +waited impatiently for the order to fire. And +Tom, again upon the quarter-deck, thrilled with +the thrill of all about him, was glad to know that +the dispatch boat would not sail until that afternoon + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +and that he could see the fight. Everyone +around him was sure of victory. The foe was +soon to be sunk. The Stars-and-Bars, now flying +so impudently at her stern, was to be hung +up as a trophy in the ward-room of the "Cumberland." +It never was.</p> + +<p>The ram steered straight for the flagship. +She did not fire a shot, though the flagship's +cannon roared. A tongue of fire blazed from +every porthole of the starboard side, towards +which she came, silently and swiftly. Behind +every tongue of fire there rushed a cannon-ball. +Many a ball hit the "Merrimac." A wooden +ship would have been blown to bits by the concentrated +fury of the cannonade. Alas! the +cannon-balls glanced from her armored sides +"like peas from a pop-gun." They rattled like +hail upon her and did her no more hurt than +hail-stones would have done. She came on like +an irresistible Fate. There had been shouts of +savage joy below decks when the first order to +fire had echoed through them. A burst of wild +cheering from the gun-crews had almost + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +drowned the first thunder of the guns. There +were no shouts or cheers now. Sharp orders +pierced the clangor of artillery.</p> + +<p>"Stand by to board!"</p> + +<p>The marines formed quickly at the starboard +bow of the "Cumberland." Then at last the +guns of the "Merrimac" spoke. She was close +upon her prey now. The sound of her first volley +was the voice of doom. Her great cannon +sent masses of iron through and through the +pitiful wooden walls that had dared to stand up +against walls of iron. The shrieks of wounded +men, of men screaming their mangled lives +away, rolled up to the quarter-deck. A messenger +dashed up there.</p> + +<p>"Half the gun-crew officers are dead. Send +us others!"</p> + +<p>"Go below," said Lieutenant Morris, turning +to two young midshipmen who stood near Tom, +"keep the guns manned."</p> + +<p>The two middies bounded below and Tom +bounded down with them. There was no hope +of victory now, but the fight must be fought to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +a finish. If the cannon could still be served, a +lucky shot might strike the foe in a vital part, +might disable her engines, might carry away her +steering-gear, might—there was a long chapter +of possible accidents to the "Merrimac" that +might still save the "Cumberland" from what +seemed to be her sure destruction. As the +three boys raced down to the gun-deck, they +saw a fearful scene. Dead and wounded men +lay everywhere. The sawdust that in those +days used to be strewn about, before entering +action, in order to soak up the blood of the men +who fell and keep the decks from growing slippery +with it, had soaked up all it could, but there +were thin red trickles flowing along the deck. +Two or three of the cannon had been dismounted. +Crushed masses that had been human +flesh lay beneath them. A dying officer half +raised himself to give one last command and fell +back dead before he could speak. The men were +standing to their task as American sailors are +wont to do, but like all men they needed leaders. +Three leaders came. The two middies and Tom + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +took command of these officerless cannon. The +other two boys knew their work and did it. +Tom knew that it was his business to keep his +cannon at work and he did it. He repeated, +mechanically:</p> + +<p>"Load! Fire! Load! Fire!"</p> + +<p>His men responded to the command. The +cannon roared once, twice. Then there came a +sickening shock. The rebel ram drove its iron +prow home through the side of the "Cumberland." +The good ship reeled far over under the +deadly blow, righted herself, but began to sink. +Her race was run. The black bulk of the "Merrimac" +was just opposite the porthole of the +gun Tom was handling. There was a last order. +With the lips of their muzzles wet with the engulfing +sea, the cannon of the "Cumberland" +roared their last defiance of death. Down went +the ship. The sea about her was black with +wreckage and with struggling men. Boats +from other ships and from the shore darted +among them, picking them up. The dispatch +boat that had brought Tom down was busy with + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +that good work. The "Merrimac" could have +sunk her without effort, but of course the Confederates +never dreamed of making the effort. +Americans do not fire at drowning men. When +Tom jumped into the water, as the ship sank +beneath him, he swam to a shattered spar and +clutched it. But other men who could not swim +clutched at it too. It threatened to sink with +their added weight and carry them down with +it. So the boy, thoroughly at home in the water, +let go, turned upon his back, floated with his +nose just above the surface, and waited for the +help that was at hand. A boat-hook caught his +trousers at the waist-band. He was pulled up +to the deck of the dispatch boat. It was not +quite the way in which he had expected to board +her. From her bridge, with the deck below him +crowded with the rescued sailors of the "Cumberland," +he saw the second sad act of that +day's tragedy.</p> + +<p>The "Merrimac" had backed away, after that +terrible thrust of her iron ram, until she was +free from the ship she had destroyed. Then she + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +laid her course for the "Congress," invincible +yesterday, today helplessly weak in the face of +this new terror of the seas. The "Congress" +fought to the last gasp, but that last gasp came +all too soon. Raked fore and aft by her adversary's +guns, unable to fire a single effective shot +in reply, she ran upon a shoal while trying to +escape from being rammed and lay there, no +longer a fighting machine, but a mere target for +her foe. Her captain could not hope to save +his ship. The only thing he could do was to +save the lives of such of his crew as were still +alive. And there was but one way to do that. +The "Congress" surrendered. The Stars-and-Stripes +fluttered down from her masthead. In +place of the flag of the free, the Stars-and-Bars, +symbol of slavery, flew above the surrendered +ship. The "Cumberland," going down with her +flag, had had the better fate of the two.</p> + +<p>The "Merrimac," justly satisfied with her +day's work and with the toll she had taken of +the Union squadron, steamed proudly back to +Norfolk, to repair the slight damages she had + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +suffered and to make ready to complete her +conquest on the morrow. Three Union ships +still lay in Hampton Roads, great frigates, the +finest of their kind then afloat, perfectly appointed, +fully manned,—and as useless as though +they had been the toy-boats of a child. The +"Minnesota," now the flagship, signaled Captain +Lawrence's stirring slogan: "Don't give up +the ship!" It might have been called a bit of +useless bravery, but no bravery is useless. At +least the officers and men of the three doomed +ships would fight for the flag until they died. It +was just possible that one of the three might +so maneuver that she would strike the foe +amidships and sink with her to a glorious +death.</p> + +<p>That night the wild anxiety at Hampton +Roads was more than echoed at New York and +Washington. The wires had told the terrible +tale of the "Merrimac." It was thought she +could go straight to New York, sink all the +shipping there, command the city and levy +tribute upon it. Lincoln's Secretary of the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +Navy, Gideon Welles of Connecticut, wrote in +his diary that night: "The most frightened man +on that gloomy day was the Secretary of War. +He was at times almost frantic.... He ran +from room to room, sat down and jumped up +after writing a few words, swung his arms, +and scolded and raved." Hay records that +"Stanton was fearfully stampeded. He said +they would capture our fleet, take Fort Monroe, +be in Washington before night."</p> + +<p>Without consulting the Secretary of the +Navy, Stanton had some fifty canal-boats loaded +with stone and sent them to be sunk on Kettle +Bottom Shoals, in the Potomac, to keep the +"Merrimac" from reaching Washington. The +canal-boats reached the Shoals, but the order to +sink them was countermanded by cooler heads. +They were left in a long row, tied up to the +river bank.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The three doomed ships at Hampton Roads +soon knew that at nine o'clock of that fateful +night there had steamed in from the ocean a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +Union iron-clad. Her coming, however, brought +scant comfort.</p> + +<p>"What is she like?" asked the first captain +to hear the news.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">"Like? She's like a cheese-box on a raft."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_083.jpg" width="600" height="359" alt="THE BATTLE OF THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08">THE BATTLE OF THE "MONITOR" AND THE "MERRIMAC"</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">It was not a bad description. She was the +"Monitor," an unknown boat of an unknown +type that day, and on the morrow the most famous +fighting craft that ever sailed the seas. +She was born of the brain of a Swedish-American, +Capt. John Ericsson, whose statue +stands in Battery Park, the southern tip of the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +metropolis, looking down to the ocean he saved +for freedom's cause.</p> + +<p>Lieut. A. L. Worden, commanding the +"Monitor," was soon in consultation with the +other commanders. They scarcely tried to disguise +their belief that he had merely brought +another predestined victim. His ship was tiny, +compared with the "Merrimac." She was not +built to ram, as was her terrible antagonist. +Her guns were of a greater caliber, to be sure, +than any wooden ship mounted, but there were +but two of them and they could be brought to +bear only by revolving the "Monitor's" turret,—a +newfangled device in everyday use now, but +then unknown and consequently despised. Men +either fear or despise the unknown. They are +usually wrong in doing either. The council of +captains agreed upon a plan for the next day's +fight. The plan was based upon the theory that +the "Monitor" would be speedily sunk. Nevertheless, +she was to face the foe first of all.</p> + +<p>Again the next morning came and again there +came the rebel ram. Decked out in flags as if + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +for a festival, proudly certain of victory, the +"Merrimac" steamed down Hampton Roads. +The cheese-box on a raft steamed out to meet +her. It was David confronting Goliath. Goliath +had fourteen guns and David had two. The +iron-clads came nearer and the most famous sea-duel +ever fought began. Tom saw it all from +the bridge of the "Minnesota." Both vessels +fired and fired again, without result. Their +armor defied even the big guns they carried. +Then the "Merrimac" tried to bring her deadly +ram into play. The "Monitor" dodged into +shoal water, hoping her foe would follow her +and run aground. The "Merrimac" did not +fall into the trap. On the contrary, she left her +adversary and made a headlong course for the +helpless "Minnesota." On board the latter, +drums beat to quarters, shrill whistles gave +orders, and the great ship moved forward to +what seemed certain destruction. But the +"Monitor" slipped away from the shoals and +made after the "Merrimac," firing her guns as +rapidly as her creaking turret could turn. The + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +"Merrimac" faced about, bound this time to +make short work of this wretched little gnat that +was seeking to sting her. This time the two +came to close grips. Each tried to ram the other +down. Each struck the other, but struck a +glancing blow. They lay almost alongside and +pounded each other with their giant guns. A +missile from the "Monitor" came through a +porthole of the "Merrimac," breaking a cannon +and dealing death and destruction within her +iron sides. She turned and ran for safety to the +shelter of the Confederate batteries at Norfolk. +The "Monitor" lay almost unharmed upon the +gentle waves of Hampton Roads, the ungainly +master of the seas. The "Merrimac" never +dared again to try conclusions with her stout +little rival. She stayed at her moorings until +she was blown up there just before the Union +forces captured Norfolk. The Union blockade +was never broken. The "Monitor" survived +the fight only to founder later in "the graveyard +of ships," off Cape Hatteras.</p> + +<p>The wires had told the story of the famous + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +fight before Tom reached Washington, but he +was the first eye-witness of it to reach there and +he had to tell the tale many and many a time. +His first auditors were Lincoln and Secretary +Welles. The dispatch boat that carried him +back put him on board the President's boat, +south of Kettle Bottom Shoals, on the Potomac, +in obedience to orders signaled to it. When he +had finished his story, there was silence for a +moment. The boy saw Lincoln's lips move, perhaps +in prayer, perhaps in thanksgiving. Then +the grave face relaxed and the pathetic eyes +twinkled with humor. The President laid his +hand upon the Secretary's arm and pointed to a +long line of stone-laden canal-boats that bordered +the bank.</p> + +<p>"There's Stanton's navy," said Lincoln.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Tom Goes West—Wilkes Booth Hunts Him—Dr. +Hans Rolf Saves Him—He Delivers +Dispatches to General Grant</span>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p class="pmb2">At the end of the next month, April, 1862, +Admiral Farragut gallantly forced open the +closed mouth of the Mississippi. He took his +wooden ships into action against forts and iron-clad +gunboats and captured New Orleans. +Within fifteen months thereafter, the North was +in practical control of the whole Mississippi. +By July, 1863, the Confederacy had been split +into two parts, east and west of the "Father of +Waters." That was the poetic Indian name of +the Mississippi. Farragut's fleet began the driving +of the wedge. Grant's army drove it home. +When the driving home had just begun, Tom, +to his intense delight, was sent West with dispatches +for Grant. He left on an hour's notice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 518px;"> + <img src="images/illo_089.jpg" width="518" height="690" alt="ADMIRAL FARRAGUT" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08">ADMIRAL FARRAGUT</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">During that hour, a colored servant employed +in the White House, whose heart was blacker +than his sooty skin, had left the mansion, had +sought a tumble-down tenement in the slums, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +and had found there a vulture of a man, very +white as to face, very black as to the masses of +hair that fell to his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Dat dar boy Strong, he's dun sure goin'," +said the darkey, "wid papers fur dat General +Grant out West."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Coz I listened to de door, when dey-uns wuz +a-talkin'."</p> + +<p>"He'll have to go West by Baltimore," mused +the white man. "The next train leaves in half +an hour. I can make it. Here, Reub, here's +your pay."</p> + +<p>He took a five-dollar gold piece from his +pocket. The negro clutched at it. Then what +was left of his conscience stirred within him. +He said, pleadingly, hesitatingly:</p> + +<p>"Massa, you knows I'se doin' dis coz old +Massa told me to. You ain't a-goin' to hurt dat +boy Strong, is you? He's a nice boy. Eberybody +lubs him up dar."</p> + +<p>"What is it to you, confound you!" snarled +the man, "whether I hurt him or not? What's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +a boy's life to winning the war? You keep on +doing what old Massa told you to do, or I'll cut +your black heart out."</p> + +<p>With a savage gesture, he thrust the trembling +negro out of the dingy room. With +savage haste, he packed his scanty belongings. +With a pistol in his hip pocket, with a bowie-knife +slung over his left breast beneath his waistcoat, +with a vial of chloroform in his valise, +Wilkes Booth left Washington on the trail of +Tom Strong.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Hunter and hunted were in the same car. +Tom little dreamed that a few seats behind him +sat a deadly foe, who would stick at nothing to +get the precious papers he carried. Washington +swarmed with Confederate spies. The face +of everybody at the White House was well +known to every spy. The hunter did not have +to guess where the hunted sat.</p> + +<p>General Grant had begun his career of victory +in the West. It was all-important to the Confederacy +to know where his next blow was to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +be aimed. The papers in the scout's possession +would tell that great secret. Wilkes Booth +meant to have those papers soon. As the train +bumped over the rough iron rails, towards Baltimore, +Booth went to the forward end of the car +for a glass of water and as he walked back along +the aisle with a slow, lounging step, he stopped +where Tom sat and held out his hand, saying:</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Mr. Strong? I'm Mr. +Barnard. I have had the pleasure of seeing you +about the White House sometimes, when I have +been calling on our great President. Lincoln +will crush these accursed rebels soon!"</p> + +<p>It was a trifle overdone, a trifle theatrical. +Wilkes Booth could never help being theatrical. +His greeting was one of the few times Tom had +ever been called "Mister." He felt flattered +and took the proffered hand willingly, but he +searched his memory in vain for any real recollection +of the striking face of the man who spoke +to him. There was some vague stirring of +memory about it, but certainly this had no relation +to that happy life at the White House. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +Something evil was connected with it. Puzzled, +he wondered. He had seen Booth under arms at +John Brown's scaffold, but he did not remember +that.</p> + +<p>The alleged Mr. Barnard slipped into the seat +beside him and began to talk. He talked well. +Little by little, suspicion fell asleep in Tom's +mind as his companion told of adventures on sea +and land. Booth was trying to seem to talk +with very great frankness, in order to lure Tom +into a similar frankness about himself. He +larded all his talk with protestations of fervent +loyalty to the Union. Tom bethought himself +of a favorite quotation his father often used +from Shakespeare's great play of "Hamlet." +The conscience-stricken queen says to Hamlet, +her son:</p> + +<p>"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."</p> + +<p>Wilkes Booth was protesting too much. The +drowsy suspicion in Tom's mind stirred again. +But he was but a boy and Booth was a man, +skilled in all the craft of the stage. Once more +his easy, brilliant talk lulled caution to sleep. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +Tom, questioned so skillfully that he did not +know he was being drawn out, little by little +told the story of his short life. But the story +ended with his saying he was going to Harrisburg +"on business." He was still enough on his +guard not to admit he was going further than +Harrisburg.</p> + +<p>"You're pretty young to be on the way to the +State Capitol on business," said the skillful +actor, hoping to hear more details in answer to +the half-implied sneer. But just then Tom remembered +what his father had advised: "Never +say anything to anybody, unless you are sure +the President would wish you to say it." He +shut up like a clam. Booth could get nothing +more out of him. But he meant to get those +dispatches out of him. They were either in the +boy's pocket or his valise, probably in his +pocket. When he fell asleep, the spy's time +would come. So the spy waited.</p> + +<p>Darkness came. Two smoky oil-lamps gave +such light as they could. The train rumbled +on in the night. There were no sleeping cars + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +then. People slept in their seats, if they slept +at all. Booth's tones grew soothing, almost +tender. They served as a lullaby. Tom slept. +The spy beside him drew a long, triumphant +breath. His time had come.</p> + +<p>Some time before, he had shifted his traveling-bag +to this seat. Now he drew from it, +gently, quietly, the little bottle of chloroform +and a small sponge, which he saturated with the +stupefying drug. Then he slipped his arm under +the sleeping boy's head, drew him a little closer +to himself, and glanced through the dusky car. +Nearly everybody was asleep. Those who were +not were trying to go to sleep. No one was +watching. Booth pressed the sponge to Tom's +nostrils. Tom stirred uneasily. "Sh-sh, Tom," +purred the actor, "go to sleep; all's well." The +drug soon did its work. The boy was dead to the +world for awhile. Only a shock could rouse him.</p> + +<p>The shock came. Booth's long, sensitive, +skilled fingers—the fingers of a musician—ransacked +his coat and waistcoat pockets swiftly, +finding nothing. But beneath the waistcoat + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +their tell-tale touches had detected the longed-for +papers. The waistcoat was deftly unbuttoned—it +could have been stripped off without +arousing the unconscious boy—and a triumphant +thrill shot through Booth's black heart as +he drew from an inner pocket the long, official +envelope that he knew must hold what he had +stealthily sought. He was just about to slip it +into his own pocket and then to leave his stupefied +victim to sleep off the drug while he himself +sought safety at the next station, when one of +those little things which have big results occurred. +The sturdy man who was snoring in the +seat behind this one happened to be a surgeon. +He was returning from Washington, whither he +had gone to operate on a dear friend, a wounded +officer. Chloroform had of course been used, +but the patient had died under the knife. It +had been a terrible experience for the operator. +It had made his sleep uneasy. A mere whiff +from the sponge Booth had used reached the +surgeon's sensitive nostril. It revived the +poignant memories of the last few hours. He + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +awoke with a start that brought him to his feet. +And there, just in front of him, he saw by the +dim light a boy sunk in stupefied slumber and +a man glancing guiltily back as he tried to thrust +a stiff and crackling paper into his pocket. The +sponge had fallen to the floor, but its fumes, far-spreading +now, told to the practiced surgeon a +story of foul play. He grabbed the man by +the shoulder and awoke most of the travelers, +but not Tom, with a stentorian shout: "What +are you doing, you scoundrel?"</p> + +<p>The scoundrel leaped to his feet, throwing off +the doctor's hand, and sprang into the aisle, +clutching the long envelope in his left hand, +while his right held a revolver. He rushed for +the door, pursued by half a dozen men, headed +by the doctor. Close pressed, he whirled about +and leveled his pistol at his unarmed pursuers. +They fell back a pace. He whirled again, stumbled +over a bag in the aisle, fell, sprang to his +feet once more. A brakeman opened the door. +He was hurrying to see what this clamor meant. +Wilkes Booth fired at him pointblank. The + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +bullet missed, but it made the brakeman give +way. Booth rushed by him, gained the platform +and leaped from the slow train into the +sheltering night.</p> + +<p>The shock that waked Tom was the sound of +the shot. Weak, dizzy, and sick, he knew only +that some terrible thing was happening. Instinctively, +his hand sought that inner pocket, +only to find it empty. Then, indeed, he was +wide awake. The horror of his loss burned +through his brain. He shouted: "Stop him! +Stop thief!" and collapsed again into his seat.</p> + +<p>He was in fact a very sick boy. The dose of +chloroform that had been given him would have +been an overdose for a man. Notwithstanding +his awakening, he might have relapsed into +sleep and death, had not the skillful surgeon +been there to devote himself to him. An antidote +was forced down his throat. Willing volunteers, +for of course the whole car was now +awake in a hurly-burly of question and answer, +rubbed life back into him. When he was a bit +better, he was kept walking up and down the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +aisle, while two strong men held him up and +his head swayed helplessly from side to side. +But the final cure came when the surgeon who +had kept catlike watch upon him saw that he +could now begin to understand things.</p> + +<p>"Here is something of yours," he whispered +into the lad's half-unconscious ear. "That scoundrel +stole it from you. When he fell, he must +have dropped it on the floor. I found it there +after he had jumped off the platform."</p> + +<p>Tom's hand closed over the fateful envelope. +His trembling fingers ran along its edges. It +had not been opened. He had not betrayed his +trust. A profound thankfulness and joy stirred +within him. Within an hour he was practically +himself again. Then he poured out his heart +in thanks to the sturdy surgeon who had saved +not only his life, but his honor. He asked his +name and started at his reply:</p> + +<p>"Dr. Hans Rolf, of York, Pennsylvania."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Hans Rolf," repeated Tom, "but perhaps +you are the grandson of the Hans Rolf I've +heard about all my life. My father is always + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +telling me of things Hans Rolf did for my +grandfather and great-grandfather."</p> + +<p>"And what is <i>your</i> name?" queried the doctor, +surprised as may be imagined that this unknown +boy should know him so well.</p> + +<p>"Tom Strong."</p> + +<p>"By the Powers," shouted the hearty doctor, +seizing the boy's hand and wringing it as his +grandfather used to wring the hand of the Tom +Strongs he knew, "By the Powers, next to my +own name there's none I know so well as yours. +My grandfather never wearied of talking about +the two Tom Strongs, father and son. The last +day he lived, he told me how your great-grandfather +saved his life."</p> + +<p>"And you know he saved great-grandfather's, +too," answered Tom, "and now you have saved +mine."</p> + +<p>He looked shyly at his preserver. He was +still weak with the after-effects of the drug that +had been given him. The Hans Rolf he saw +was a bit blurred by the unshed tears through +which he saw him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said the surgeon, "whatever +I've done is just in the day's work. But you +must stop at York and rest. I can't let my +patient travel just yet, you know. And this may +be your last chance to see me at home. I go +into the army next month."</p> + +<p>However, Tom was not to be persuaded to +stop. Duty called him Westward and to the +West he went, as fast as the slow trains of those +days could carry him. But when Hans Rolf and +he parted, a few hours after they had met, they +were friends for life.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">It took Tom two days to get from Harrisburg +to Cairo, the southernmost town in Illinois. It +lies at the junction of the Mississippi and Ohio +rivers. The latter pours a mass of beautiful blue +water—the early French explorers named the +Ohio "the beautiful river"—into the muddy +flood of the Mississippi. For miles below Cairo +the blue and yellow streams seem to flow side +by side. Then the yellow swallows the blue and +the mighty Mississippi rolls its murky way to +the Gulf of Mexico. A gunboat took the young + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +messenger from Cairo to General Grant's headquarters.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_102.jpg" width="600" height="244" alt="MISSISSIPPI RIVER GUNBOATS" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08">MISSISSIPPI RIVER GUNBOATS</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">A Western gunboat was an odd thing. James +B. Eads, an eminent engineer, who after the war +built the St. Louis bridge and the New Orleans +jetties, which keep the mouth of the Mississippi +open, had launched a flotilla of gunboats for +the government within four months of the time +when the trees which went to their making were +growing in the forests. On a flat-boat of the +ordinary Western-river type, Mr. Eads put a +long cabin, framed of stout timbers, cut portholes +in the sides, front and rear of it, mounted +cannon inside it, covered it with rails outside +(later armor-plate was used), and behold, a gunboat. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +The one which sped swiftly with Tom +down the Mississippi and waddled slowly with +him up the Tennessee, against the current of the +Spring freshets, finally landed him at Grant's +headquarters.</p> + +<p>Tom approached the tent over which headquarters' +flag was flying with a beating heart. +It beat against the long envelope that lay in the +inner pocket of his waistcoat. He was about to +finish his task and he was about to see the one +successful soldier of the Union, up to that time. +The Northern armies had not done well in the +East—the defeat had been disgraceful and the +panic sickening with the raw troops at Bull Run, +Virginia, and little had been gained elsewhere—but +in the West Grant was hammering out success. +All eyes turned to him.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Upon the top of a low knoll, half a dozen +packing-boxes were grouped in front of the +tent. Two or three officers, most of them spick +and span, sat upon each box except one. Upon +that one there lounged a man, thick-set, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +bearded, his faded blue trousers thrust into the +tops of dusty boots, his blue flannel shirt open +at the throat, his worn blue coat carrying on each +shoulder the single star of a brigadier-general.</p> + +<p>It was General Grant, Hiram Ulysses Grant, +now known as U. S. Grant. When the Confederate +commander of Fort Donelson had asked +him for terms of surrender, he had answered +practically in two words: "unconditional surrender." +The curt phrase caught the public +fancy, and gave his initials a new meaning. He +was long known as "Unconditional Surrender" +Grant.</p> + +<p>Born in Ohio, he had been educated at West +Point, had fought well in our unjust war against +Mexico, had resigned in the piping times of +peace that followed, had been a commercial +failure, and was running an insignificant business +as a farmer in Galena, Illinois, an obscure +and unimportant citizen of that unimportant +town, when the Civil War began. Eight +years afterwards, he became President of the +United States and served as such for eight + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +years, doing his dogged best, but far less successful +as a statesman than he had been as a +soldier. He was a patriot and a good man. In +the last years of his life, ruined financially by a +wicked partner and tortured by the cancer that +finally killed him, he wrote his famous memoirs, +which netted his family a fortune after the +grave had closed upon this great American. He +ran a race with Death to write his life. And +he won the grim race.</p> + +<p>The young second-lieutenant saluted and explained +his mission. The long envelope, deeply +dented with the mark of Wilkes Booth's dirty +thumb and finger, had reached its destination at +last. Grant took it, opened it, read it without +even a slight change of expression, though it +contained not only orders for the future, but +Lincoln's warm-hearted thanks for the past and +the news of his own promotion to be major-general. +Not only Tom, but every member of +his staff was watching him. The saturnine +face told no one anything. The little he said at +the moment was said to Tom.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The President tells me he would like to have +you given a glimpse of the front. Have you had +any experience?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"When were you commissioned?"</p> + +<p>"A week ago, sir."</p> + +<p>"Are all the Eastern boys of your age in the +army?"</p> + +<p>"They would like to be, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Grant, with a kindly smile, "perhaps +a little experience at the front may make +up for the years you lack. Send him to General +Mitchell, Captain," he added, turning to a spruce +aide who rose from his packing-box seat to +acknowledge the command.</p> + +<p>"Pray come with me, Mr. Strong," said the +captain.</p> + +<p>Tom saluted, turned, and followed his guide. +A backward glance showed him the general, his +eyes now bent sternly upon Lincoln's letter, his +staff eyeing him, a group of quiet, silent figures. +And that was all that Tom saw, at that time, +of the greatest general of our Civil War.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Inside the Confederate Lines—"Sairey" +Warns Tom—Old Man Tomblin's "Settlemint"—Stealing +a Locomotive—Wilkes +Booth Gives the Alarm—A Wild Dash for +the Union Lines.</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Three days afterwards, Tom found himself +"on special service," on the staff of +Gen. O. M. Mitchell, whose troops were pushing +towards Huntsville, Alabama. They occupied +that delightfully sleepy old town, the center of +a group of rich plantations, April 12, 1862, but +Tom was not then with the column. Five days +before, with Mitchell's permission, he had volunteered +for a gallant foray into the enemy's +country. He had taken prompt advantage of +Lincoln's hint that he might fight a bit if he +wanted to do so. He was to have his fill of +fighting now.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tom was one of twenty-two volunteers who +left camp before dawn on April 7, under the +command of James J. Andrews, a daredevil of a +man, who had persuaded General Mitchell to let +him try to slip across the lines with a handful +of soldiers disguised as Confederates in order +to steal a locomotive and rush it back to the +Union front, burning all the railroad bridges it +passed. The railroads to be crippled were those +which ran from the South to Chattanooga, +Tennessee, and from the East through Chattanooga +and Huntsville to Memphis. A few +miles from camp, Andrews gave his men their +orders. They were to separate and singly or in +groups of two or three were to make their way +to the station of Big Shanty, Georgia, where +they were to meet on the morning of Saturday, +April 12. Andrews took Tom with him. For +two days they hid in the wooded hills by day +and traveled by night, guided by a compass and +by the stars. Then their scanty supply of food +was exhausted and they had to take to the open. +Their rough clothing, stained a dusty yellow + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +with the oil of the butternut, the chief dye-stuff +the South then had, their belts with +"C.S.A."—"Confederate States of America"—upon +them, their Confederate rifles (part of +the spoils of Fort Donelson), and their gray +slouched hats made them look like the +Confederate scouts they had to pretend +to be.</p> + +<p>Danger lurked about them and detection +meant death. They did their best to talk in the +soft Southern drawl when they stopped at huts +in the hills and asked for food, but the drawl +was hard for a Northern tongue to master and +more than one bent old woman or shy and +smiling girl started with suspicion at the strange +accents of these "furriners." The men of the +hills were all in the army or all in hiding. On +the fourth day they reached a log-hut or rather +a home made of two log-huts, with a floored +and roofed space between them, a sort of open-air +room where all the household life went on +when good weather permitted. An old, old +woman sat in the sunshine, her hands busy with + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +a rag quilt, her toothless gums busy with holding +her blackened clay pipe. Behind her sat her +granddaughter, busy too with her spinning +wheel. The two women with their home as a +background made a pleasing and a peaceful +picture.</p> + +<p>"Howdy," said Andrews.</p> + +<p>The wheel stopped. The quilt lay untouched +upon the old woman's lap. She took her pipe +from her mouth.</p> + +<p>"Howdy," said she.</p> + +<p>The conversation stopped. The hill-folk are +not quick of speech.</p> + +<p>"Please, ma'am, may I have a drink of milk?" +asked Tom.</p> + +<p>"Sairey," called the old dame, "you git sum +milk."</p> + +<p>Sairey started up from her spinning wheel, trying +to hide her bare feet with her short skirt +and not succeeding, and walked back of the +house to the "spring-house," a square cupboard +built over a neighboring spring. It was dark +and cool and was the only refrigerator the hill-folk + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +knew. While she was away, her grandmother +began to talk. The man and boy would +much rather she had kept still. For she peered +at them suspiciously, and said:</p> + +<p>"How duz I know you uns ain't Yankees? I +hearn thar wuz a right smart heap o' Yankee +sojers not fur off'n hereabouts."</p> + +<p>At this moment Sairey fortunately returned. +She brought in her brown hand an old glass +goblet, without a standard, but filled to the brim +with a foaming mixture that looked like delicious +milk. Alas! Tom, who loathed buttermilk, +was now to learn that in the hills "milk" +meant "buttermilk." He should have asked for +"sweet milk." Sairey handed him the goblet +with a shy grace, blushing a little as the boy's +hand touched hers. He lifted it eagerly to his +thirsty lips, took a long draught, and sputtered +and gagged. But the mistake was in his asking +and the girl had gone a hundred yards to get +him what she thought he wanted. He was a +boy, but he was a gentleman. He swallowed +the nauseous stuff to the last drop, and made his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +best bow as he thanked her. Suddenly the old +woman said to him:</p> + +<p>"Where wuz you born, bub?"</p> + +<p>"New—New——" stammered Tom. His +tongue did not lend itself readily to a lie, even +in his country's cause. When he was still too +young to understand what the words meant, his +mother had told him: "A lie soils a boy's +mouth." As he grew older, she had dinned that +big truth into his small mind. Now, taken by +surprise, the habit of his young life asserted +itself and the tell-tale truth that he had been +born in New York was on his unsoiled lips, +when Andrews finished the sentence for him.</p> + +<p>"New Orleans," said Andrews, coolly.</p> + +<p>"He don't talk that-a-way," grumbled the old +beldam.</p> + +<p>"He was raised up No'th," Andrews explained, +"but soon as this yer onpleasantness +began, he cum Souf to fight for we-uns."</p> + +<p>Andrews had overdone his dialect.</p> + +<p>"Sairey," commanded the old woman, "put +up the flag."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, granma," pleaded Sairey from where +she had taken refuge behind her grandmother's +chair, "what's the use?"</p> + +<p>"Chile, you hear me? You put up the flag."</p> + +<p>From her refuge, Sairey held out her hands +in a warning gesture, and then, before she entered +one of the log-houses, she pointed to a cart-track +that wound up the hill before the hut. +She came out with a Confederate flag, made of +part of an old red petticoat with white stripes +sewn across it. It was fastened upon a long +sapling. She put the staff into a rude socket in +front of the platform. As she passed Tom in +order to do this, she whispered to him: "You-uns +run!"</p> + +<p>"What wuz you sayin' to Bub, thar?" her +grandmother asked in anger.</p> + +<p>"I wuzn't sayin' nuthin' to nobuddy," Sarah +replied.</p> + +<p>But Andrews' ears, sharper than the old +woman's, sharpened by fear, had caught the +words.</p> + +<p>"We-uns'll haf to go," he remarked. "You-uns + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +haz bin right down good to us. Thanky, +ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Jes' wait a minute," the old woman answered. +"I'll give you somethin' fer yer to eat +as ye mosey 'long."</p> + +<p>She walked slowly, apparently with pain, into +the dark log-room. Sairey wrung her hand and +whispered: "Run, run. Take the cart-track." +Instantly the grandmother appeared on the +threshold, her old eyes flashing, a double-barreled +shot-gun in her shaking hands. She +tried to cover both man and boy, as she +screamed at them:</p> + +<p>"You-uns stay in yer tracks, you Yankees! +My man'll know what to do with you-uns."</p> + +<p>Their guns were at her feet. There was no +way to get them, even if they would have used +them against a woman.</p> + +<p>"Run!" shouted Andrews and bounded towards +the cart-track.</p> + +<p>Tom sprang after him, but not in time to +escape a few birdshot which the old woman's +gun sent flying after him. The sharp sting of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +them redoubled his speed. The second barrel +sent its load far astray. They had run just in +time, for from another hilltop behind the hut +a dozen armed men came plunging down to the +house, shouting after the scared fugitives. The +raising of the flag had been the agreed-upon +signal for their coming. Sairey's father and several +other men had taken to the nearby hills to +avoid being impressed into the Confederate +army, but they adored the Confederacy, up to +the point of fighting for it, and they would have +rejoiced to capture Andrews and Tom. The old +woman's eyes and ears had pierced the thin disguise +of the raiders. So she had forced her +granddaughter to fly the flag and the girl, afraid +to disobey her fierce old grandmother but loath +to see the boy she had liked at first sight captured, +had warned him to flee. Man and boy +were out of gunshot, but still in sight, when +their pursuers reached the house, yelled with +joy to see the abandoned guns, and ran up the +cart-track like hounds hot upon the scent. As +Tom and Andrews panted to the hilltop, they + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +saw why Sairey had bidden them take the cart-track. +At the summit, it branched into half a +dozen lanes which wound through a pine forest. +Lanes and woodlands were covered with pineneedles, +the deposit of years, which rose elastic +under their flying feet and left no marks by +which they could be tracked. And beyond the +forest was a vast laurel-brake in which a regiment +could have hidden, screened from discovery +save by chance. It gave the fugitives shelter +and safety. Once they heard the far-off voices +of their pursuers, but only once. Ere many +hours they had the added security of the night.</p> + +<p>When they found a hiding-place, beside a tiny +brook that flowed at the roots of the laurel-bushes, +Tom found that his wound, forgotten in +the fierce excitement of the flight, had begun to +pain him. His left shoulder grew stiff. When +Andrews examined it, all it needed was a little +care. Three or four birdshot had gone through +clothing and skin, but they lay close beneath the +skin, little blue lumps, with tiny smears of red +blood in the skin's smooth whiteness. They + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +were picked out with the point of a knife. The +cool water of the brook washed away the blood +and stopped the bleeding. Andrews tore off a +bit of his own shirt, soaked it in the brook, and +bandaged the shoulder in quite a good first-aid-to-the-injured +way. Tom and he were none the +worse, except for the loss of their guns. And +that was the less serious because both knives +and pistols were still in their belts.</p> + +<p>They slept that night in the laurel-brake, forgetting +their hunger in the soundness of their +sleep. Just after dawn, they were startled to +hear a human voice. But it was the voice of a +gentle girl. It kept calling aloud "Coo, boss, +coo, boss," while every now and then it said in +lower tones: "Is you Yanks hyar? Hyar's +suthin' to eat." At first they thought it was a +trap and lay still. Finally, however, spurred by +hunger, they crept out of their hiding-place and +found it was Sairey who was calling them. +When she saw them, she ran towards them, +while the cows she had collected from their pasture +stared with dull amazement.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is you-uns hurt?" she asked, clasping her +hands in anxiety.</p> + +<p>Reassured as to this, she produced the cold +cornbread and bacon she had taken from +the spring-house when she left home that +morning for her daily task of gathering the +family cows. Man and boy bolted down the +food.</p> + +<p>"You're good to us, Sairey," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"Dunno as I ought to help you-uns," the girl +replied, peering slyly out of her big sunbonnet +and digging her brown toes into the earth, "but +I dun it, kase—kase—I jes' had to. Kin you +get away today?"</p> + +<p>"We'll try."</p> + +<p>"Whar be you goin'?"</p> + +<p>Should they tell her where they were going? +It was a risk, but they took it. They were glad +they did, for Sairey was not only eager to help +them on their way, but could be of real aid. +Once in her life she had been at Big Shanty. +She told them of a short cut through the hills, +by which they would pass only one "settle<i>mint</i>," + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +as the infrequent clearings in the hills +were called.</p> + +<p>"When you-uns git to Old Man Tomblin's +settle<i>mint</i>," said Sairey, "I 'low you-uns better +stand at the fence corner and holler. Old Man +Tomblin's spry with his gun sometimes, when +furriners don't do no hollerin'. But when he +comes out, you-uns tell him Old Man Gernt's +Sairey told you he'd take care of you-uns. +'N he will. 'N you kin tell Bud Tomblin—no, +you-uns needn't tell Bud nothin'. Good-by."</p> + +<p>The hill-girl held out her hand. She looked up +to Andrews and smiled as she shook hands. She +looked down at Tom—she was half a head taller +than he—and smiled again as she shook hands. +Then suddenly she stooped and kissed the +startled boy. Then she fled back along the lane +by which she had come, leaving the placid cows +and the thankful man and boy behind her. With +a flutter of butternut skirt and a twinkle of bare, +brown feet, she vanished from their sight.</p> + +<p>Thanks to her directions, they found Old Man +Tomblin's settle<i>mint</i> without difficulty. They + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +duly stood at the corner of the sagging rail fence +and there duly "hollered." Old Man Tomblin +and Bud Tomblin came out of the cabin, each +with a gun, and were proceeding to study the +"furriners" before letting them come in, when +Andrews repeated what Old Man Gernt's Sairey +had told them to say. There was an instant +welcome. Bud Tomblin was even more anxious +than his father to do anything Sairey Gernt +wanted done. The fugitives' story that they had +been scouting near General Mitchell's line of +march and had lost their guns and nearly lost +themselves in a raid by Northern cavalry was +accepted without demur. Old Mrs. Tomblin, +decrepit with the early decrepitude of the hill-folk, +whose hard living conditions make women +old at forty and venerable at fifty, cackled a +welcome to them from the corner of the fireplace +where she sat "dipping" snuff. "Lidy" +Tomblin, the eldest daughter, helped and hindered +by the rest of a brood of children, took +care of their comfort. They feasted on the best +the humble household had to offer. They slept + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +soundly, albeit eight other people, including Mr. +and Mrs. Tomblin and Lidy, slept in the same +room. In the morning they were given a bountiful +breakfast and were bidden good-by as old +friends.</p> + +<p>"I hate to deceive good people like the +Tomblins," said Tom, when they were out of +earshot.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes the truth is too precious to be +told," laughed Andrews.</p> + +<p>But Tom continued to be troubled in mind as +he tramped along. He made up his mind to +fight for his country, the next time he had a +chance, in some other way. Telling a lie and +living a lie were hateful to him.</p> + +<p>The next morning found them at Big Shanty, +a tiny Georgia village, which the war had made +a great Confederate camp. It was the appointed +day, Saturday, April 12, 1862. Of the twenty-two +men who had started with Andrews, +eighteen met that morning at Big Shanty. The +train for Chattanooga stopped there for breakfast +on those infrequent days when it did not + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +arrive so late that its stop was for dinner. It +was what is called a "mixed" train, both freight +and passenger, with many freight cars following +the engine and a tail of a couple of shabby +passenger cars. On this particular morning it +surprised everybody, including its own train-crew, +by being on time. Passengers and crew +swarmed in to breakfast. The train was deserted. +The time for the great adventure had +come.</p> + +<p>Before the train was seized, one thing must +be done. The telegraph wire between Big +Shanty and Chattanooga must be cut. If this +were left intact, their flight, sure to be discovered +as soon as the train-crew finished their brief +breakfast, would end at the next station, put on +guard by a telegram. To Tom, as the youngest +and most agile of the party, the task of cutting +the wire had been assigned. He was already at +the spot selected for the attempt, a clump of +trees a hundred yards from the station, where +the wire was screened from sight by the foliage. +As soon as the train came in, Tom started to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +climb the telegraph-pole. He had just started +when he heard a most unwelcome sound.</p> + +<p>"Hey, thar! What's you doin'?"</p> + +<p>He turned his head and saw a Confederate +sentry close beside him. He recognized him as +a man with whom he had been chatting around +a camp-fire early that morning. His name was +Bill Coombs. Tom's ready wit stood by him.</p> + +<p>"Why, Bill," he said, "glad to see you. +Somethin's wrong with the wire. The Cunnel's +sent me to fix it. Give me a boost, will ye?"</p> + +<p class="pmb2">The unsuspicious Bill gave him a boost and +watched him without a thought of his doing +anything wrong while Tom climbed to the top +of the rickety pole, cut the one wire it carried, +fastened the ends to the pole so that from the +ground nobody could tell it was cut, and +climbed down. Bill urged him to stay and talk +awhile, but Tom reminded him that sentries +mustn't talk, then he strolled at first and soon +ran towards the station. He had to run to catch +the train. The instant Andrews saw him returning, +he sprang into the cab of the locomotive.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_124.jpg" width="600" height="337" alt="The locomotive Tom helped to steal" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">The Locomotive Tom Helped to Steal</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>One of his men had already uncoupled the first +three freight cars from the rest of the train. All +the men jumped into the cab or the tender or +swarmed up the freight-car ladders. Andrews +jerked the throttle wide open. The engine +jumped forward, the tender and the three cars +bounding after it. The crowd upon the platform +gaped after the retreating train, without the +slightest idea of what was happening under their +very noses. A boy came running like an antelope +from the end of the platform. He jumped +for the iron step of the locomotive, was clutched +by a half-dozen hands and drawn aboard. But +as he jumped, he heard a voice he had reason +to remember call out:</p> + +<p>"They're Yanks. That's Lieutenant Strong, +a Yankee! Stop 'em! Shoot 'em!"</p> + +<p>Livid with rage, his long black hair streaming +in the wind as he ran after them, Wilkes Booth +fired his pistol at them, while the motley crowd +his cry had aroused sent a scattering volley +after the train. Nobody was hurt then, but the +danger to everybody had just begun.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was instant pursuit. The train-crew, +startled by the sound of the departing train, +came running from the station. They actually +started to run along the track after the flying +locomotive. They jerked a hand-car off a siding +and chased the fugitives with that. At a station +not far off, they found a locomotive lying with +steam up. They seized that and thundered +ahead. Now hunters and hunted were on more +even terms. The hunters reached Kingston, +Georgia, within four minutes after the hunted +had left. The latter had had to make frequent +stops, to cut the wires, to take on fuel, to bundle +into the freight cars ties that could be used to +start fires for the burning of bridges, and to tear +up an occasional rail. This last expedient delayed +their pursuers but little. When a missing +rail was sighted, the Confederates stopped, tore +up a rail behind them, slipped it into the vacant +place, and rushed ahead again.</p> + +<p>Andrews was running the captured train on +its regular time schedule, so he could not exceed +a certain speed. From Kingston, however, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +where the only other train of the day met this +one, he expected a free road and plenty of time +to burn every bridge he passed. He did meet +the regular train at Kingston, but alas! it carried +on its engine a red flag. That meant that +a second section of the same train was coming +behind it. There was nothing to do but to wait +for this second section. The railroad was single-track, +so trains could pass only where there was +a siding. But in every moment of waiting there +lurked the danger of detection. Southerners, +soldiers, and civilians, crowded about the locomotive +as she lay helplessly still on the Kingston +sidetrack, puffing away precious steam and precious +time.</p> + +<p>"Whar's yer passengers?" asked one man. +"I cum hyar to meet up with Cunnel Tompkins. +Whar's he'n the rest of 'em?"</p> + +<p>"We were ordered to drop everything at Big +Shanty," explained Andrews, "except these +three cars. They're full of powder. I'm on +General Beauregard's staff and am taking the +stuff to him at Corinth. Jove, there's the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +whistle of the second section. I'm glad to +hear it."</p> + +<p>He was indeed glad. At one of his stops, he +had bundled most of his men into the freight +cars. The cars were battered old things without +any locks. If a carelessly curious hand were +to slide back one of the doors and reveal within, +not powder, but armed men, all their lives would +pay the forfeit. Andrews was in the cab with +engineer, fireman, and Tom, who had been +helping the fireman feed wood into the maw +of the furnace on every mile of the run. His +young back ached with the strain of the unaccustomed +toil. His young neck felt the touch +of the noose that threatened them all.</p> + +<p>"Tom, you run ahead and throw that switch +for us as soon as the other train pulls in," said +Andrews. "We mustn't keep General Beauregard +waiting for this powder a minute longer +than we can help. He needs it to blow the Yankees +to smithereens."</p> + +<p>So Tom ran ahead, stood by the switch as +the second section came in, and promptly threw + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +the switch as it passed. But his train did not +move and a brakeman jumped off the rear platform +of the caboose of the second section, as it +slowed down, told Tom he was an ass and a +fool, pushed him out of the way and reset the +switch.</p> + +<p>"You plum fool," shouted the brakeman, +after much stronger expressions, "didn't ye see +the flag fur section three?"</p> + +<p>Tom had not seen it, had not looked for it, +but it was too true that the engine of section +two also bore the red flag that meant that section +three was coming behind it.</p> + +<p>Again there was a long wait, again the sense +of danger closing in upon them, again the +thought of scaffold and rope, again the necessity +of playing their parts with laughter and good-natured +chaff amid the foes who thought them +friends. The slow minutes ticked themselves +away. At last the third section came whistling +and lumbering in. Thank fortune, it bore no red +flag. This time Tom threw the switch unchecked +and then jumped on the puffing engine + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +as she reached the main-track and sped onwards.</p> + +<p>"Free, by Jove!" said Andrews, with a deep +breath of deep relief. "Now we can burn +Johnny Reb's bridges for him!"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Four minutes later, while section three of the +train that had so long delayed them was still at +Kingston, a shrieking locomotive rushed into +the station. Its occupants, shouting a story of +explanation that put Kingston into a frenzy, +ran from it to an engine that lay upon a second +sidetrack, steam up and ready to start. They +had reached Kingston so speedily by using their +last pint of water and their last stick of wood. +They saved precious minutes by changing +engines.</p> + +<p>Five seconds after their arrival, the station-agent +had been at the telegraph-key, frantically +pounding out the call of a station beyond Andrews's +fleeing train. There was no reply.</p> + +<p>"Wire cut!" he shouted, running out of the +station. Of course that had been done by the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +fugitives just out of sight of Kingston. "Wire +cut! I kain't git no message through."</p> + +<p>"We'll take the message!" answered the +Confederate commander, from the cab of the +locomotive that was already swaying with her +speed, as she darted ahead.</p> + +<p>They came near delivering the message within +four miles of Kingston. Andrews's men, with a +most comforting sense of safety had stopped +and were pulling up a rail, when they heard the +whistle of their avenging pursuer.</p> + +<p>"Quick, boys, all aboard," Andrews called. +"They're closer'n I like to have 'em."</p> + +<p>Quickly replacing the rail, the Confederates +came closer still. Around the next curve, quite +hidden from sight until close upon it, the fugitives +had put a rail across the track. It delayed +the pursuit not one second. Whether the cowcatcher +of the engine thrust it aside or broke it +or whether the engine actually jumped it, nobody +knew then in the wild excitement of the +chase and nobody knows now. The one thing +certain is that there was no delay. Very likely + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +the rail broke. Rails of those days were of iron, +not steel, and throughout the South they were +in such condition that at the close of the Civil +War one of the chief Southern railroads was said +to consist of "a right-of-way and two streaks +of rust." The locomotive whistled triumphantly +and sped on.</p> + +<p>On the Union train, Tom had crept back to +the rear car along the rolling, jumping carroofs, +with orders to set it on fire and stand +ready to cut it off. The men inside arranged a +pile of ties, thrust fat pine kindling among them, +and touched the mass with a match. It burst +into flame as they scuttled to the roof and +passed to the car ahead. A long covered +wooden bridge loomed up before them. Halfway +across it, Andrews stopped, dropped the +flaming car, and started ahead again. In a very +few minutes the bridge would have been a burning +mass, but the few minutes were not to be +had. The Confederate locomotive was now +close upon them. It dashed upon the bridge, +drove the burning car across the bridge before + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +it, pushed it upon a neighboring sidetrack and +again whistled triumphantly as it took up the +fierce chase. The two remaining cars were detached, +one by one, but in vain. The game +was up.</p> + +<p>"Guess we're gone," said Andrews, tranquilly, +as he looked back over the tender, now almost +empty of wood, to the smokestack that was +belching sooty vapor within a mile of them. +"By this time, they've got a telegram ahead of +us. Stop 'round that next curve in those woods. +We must take to the woods. Don't try to keep +together. Scatter. Steer by the North Star. +Make the Union lines if you can. We've done +our best."</p> + +<p>The engine checked its mad pace, slowed, +stopped.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, boys," shouted Andrews, as he +sprang from the engine and disappeared in the +forest that there bordered the track. "We'll +meet again."</p> + +<p>Seven of them did meet him again. It was +upon a Confederate scaffold, where he and they + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +were hung. The other six of the fourteen who +were captured were exchanged, a few months +later. Three others reached the Union lines +within a fortnight, unhurt. But where was Tom +Strong?</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Tom up a Tree—Did the Confederate Officer +See Him?—A Fugitive Slave Guides Him—Buying +a Boat in the Dark—Adrift in the +Enemy's Country.</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>At first, Tom was up a tree. When he +jumped from the abandoned locomotive, +his mind was working as quickly as his body. +He reasoned that the Confederates would expect +them all to run as fast and as far away as +they could; that they would run after them; +that they would very probably catch him, utterly +tired out as he was, so tired that even fear +could not lend wings to his leaden feet; that the +pursuit, however, would not last long, because +the Confederates would wish to reach a station +soon, in order both to report their success and +to send out a general alarm and so start a general + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +search for the fugitives; and that he would +best hide as near at hand as might be. In other +words, he thought, quite correctly, that the best +thing to do is exactly what your enemy does +not expect you to do. He picked out a big oak +tree quite close to the track, its top a mass of +thick-set leaves such as a Southern April brings +to a Southern oak. He climbed it, nestled into +a sheltered crotch high above the ground, and +waited. He did not have to wait long. He +could still hear the noise of his comrades plunging +through the woods when the Confederate +engine drew up beneath his feet. Before it +stopped, the armed men who clustered thick +upon locomotive and tender were on the ground +and running into the woods. A gallant figure +in Confederate gray led them. He heard the +rush of them, then a shot or two, exultant yells, +and ere long the tramp of returning feet. They +came back in half a dozen groups, bringing with +them three of his comrades in flight, less fortunate +than he, at least less fortunate up to that +time. Andrews was one of the prisoners. He + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +had slipped and fallen, had strained a sinew, and +had lain helpless until his pursuers reached him. +Tom, peering cautiously through his leafy +shelter, saw that his late leader was limping and +was held upright by a kindly Confederate, who +had passed his arm about him.</p> + +<p>"'Tain't fur," said his captor, cheerily, +"hyar's the injine."</p> + +<p>"The Yank's goin' fur," sneered a soldier of +another kind, "he's goin' to Kingdom Cum, +blast him!" He lifted his fist to strike the helpless +man, but the young officer in command +caught the upraised arm.</p> + +<p>"None of that," he said, sternly. "Americans +don't treat prisoners that way. You're +under arrest. Put down your gun and climb +into the tender. Do it now and do it quick." +Sulkily the brute obeyed. "Lift him in," went +on the officer to the man who was supporting +Andrews. This was gently done. The other +two captives climbed in. So did the Confederates. +Their officer turned to them.</p> + +<p>"You've done your duty well," he said. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +"You've been chasing brave men. They've +done their duty well too.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'For such a gallant feat of arms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was never seen before.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Tom started with surprise. The young officer +was quoting from Macaulay's "Lays of Ancient +Rome." The boy had stood beside his mother's +knee when she read him the "Lays" and had +often since read them himself.</p> + +<p>That start of surprise had almost been Tom's +undoing. He had rustled the leaves about him. +A tiny shower of pale green things fell to the +ground.</p> + +<p>"Captain, there's somebody up that tree," +said a soldier, pointing straight at the point +where Tom sat. "I heard him rustle."</p> + +<p>The captain looked up. The boy always +thought the officer saw him and spared him, +partly because of his youth—he knew the fate +the prisoners faced—and partly because of his +admiration for "the gallant feat of arms." Be +that as it may, he certainly took no step just +then to make another prisoner. Instead he +laughed and answered:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's a 'possum. We haven't time for a +coon-hunt just now. Get ahead. We'll send an +alarm from the next station and so bag all the +Yankees."</p> + +<p>The engine, pushing the recaptured one before +it, started and disappeared around the end +of the short curve upon which Andrews had +made his final stop. For the moment at least, +Tom was safe. But he knew the hue-and-cry +would sweep the country. Everybody would be +on the lookout for stray Yankees. And as +everybody would think the estrays were all +going North, Tom decided to go South. He slid +down the tree, looked at his watch, studied the +sunlight to learn the points of the compass, drew +his belt tighter to master the hunger that now +assailed him, and so began his southward tramp, +a boy, alone, in the enemy's country.</p> + +<p>That part of Georgia is a beautiful country +and Tom loved beauty, but it did not appeal to +him that afternoon. He was hungry; he was +tired; the excitement that had upheld him +through the hours of flight on the captured + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +engine was over. He plodded through a little +belt of forest and found himself in a broad valley, +with a ribbon of water flowing through it. +He stumbled across plowed fields to the little +river. A dusty road, with few marks of travel, +meandered beside the stream. He was evidently +near no main highway. Not far away a +planter's home, with a stately portico, gleamed +in the sunlight through its screen of trees. In +the distance lay a little village. There was food +in both places and he must have food. To which +should he go? It was decided for him that he +was to go to neither. As he slipped down the +river bank, to quench his burning thirst and to +wash his dusty face and hands, he almost +stepped upon a negro who lay full length at the +foot of the bank, hidden behind a tree that had +been uprooted by the last flood and left stranded +there. The boy was scared by the unexpected +meeting, but not half as much as the +negro.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Massa," said the negro, on his knees +with outstretched hands, "don' tell on me, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +Massa. I'll be your slabe, Massa. Jes' take me +with you. Please don't tell on me. You kin +make a lot o' money sellin' me, Massa. Please +lemme go wid you."</p> + +<p>"What is your name?" asked Tom.</p> + +<p>"Morris, Massa."</p> + +<p>"Where did you come from?"</p> + +<p>"From dat house, Massa." He pointed to +the big house nearby.</p> + +<p>"And what are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>Little by little, Morris (reassured when he +found Tom was a Northern soldier and like himself +a fugitive) told his story. He had been +born on this plantation. Reared as a house-servant, +he could read a little. He had learned +from the newspapers his master took that a +Northern army was not far away. He made up +his mind to try for freedom. His master kept +dogs to track runaways, but no dog can track +a scent in running water. It was not probable +his flight would be discovered until after nightfall. +So he had stolen to his hiding-place in the +afternoon, intending to wade down the tiny + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +stream as soon as darkness came. Two miles +below, the stream merged itself into a larger +one. There he hoped to steal a boat, hide by +day and paddle by night until he reached the +Tennessee. "Dat ribber's plum full o' Massa +Lincum's gunboats," he assured Tom.</p> + +<p>"How are you going to live on the journey?" +asked the boy.</p> + +<p>"I spec' dey's hen-roosts about," quoth Morris +with a chuckle, "and I'se got a-plenty to eat +to start wid. Dis darkey don' reckon to starve +none."</p> + +<p>"Give me something to eat, quick!"</p> + +<p>Morris willingly produced cornpone and +bacon from a sack beside him. Tom wanted to +eat it all, but he knew these precious supplies +must be kept as long as possible, so he did not +eat more than half of them. The two agreed +to keep together in their flight for freedom. As +soon as it was dark, they began their wading. +The two miles seemed an endless distance. The +noises of the night kept their senses on the +jump. Once a distant bloodhound's bay scared + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +Morris so much that his white teeth clattered +like castanets. Once the "too-whit-too" of a +nearby owl sent Tom into an ecstasy of terror. +He fairly clung to Morris, who, just ahead of +him, was guiding his steps through the shallow +water. When he found he had been scared by +an owl, he was so ashamed that he forced himself +to be braver thereafter. At last they +reached their first goal, the larger river. Here +Morris's knowledge of the ground made him +the temporary commander of the expedition. +He knew of a little house nearby, the home of +a "poor white," who earned part of his precarious +livelihood by fishing. Morris knew just +where he kept his boat. There was no light in +the little house and no sound from it as they +crept stealthily along the bank to the tree where +the boat was tied. Tom drew his knife to cut +the rope.</p> + +<p>"No, Massa," whispered Morris. "Not dat-a-way. +Ef it's cut, dey'll know it's bin tuck and +dey'll s'picion us. Lemme untie it. Den dey'll +t'ink it's cum loose and floated away. 'N dey'll + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +not hurry after it. Dey'll t'ink dey kin fin' it in +some cove any time tomorrer."</p> + +<p>Morris was right. It did not take him long +to untie the clumsy knot. Three oars and some +fishing-tackle lay in the flat-bottomed boat. +They got into it, pushed off, and floated down +the current without a sound. Morris steered +with an oar at the stern. Once out of earshot, +they rowed as fast as the darkness, intensified +by the shadows of the overhanging trees, permitted.</p> + +<p>Just before they had pushed off, Tom had +asked:</p> + +<p>"What is this boat worth, Morris?"</p> + +<p>"Old Massa paid five dollars fer a new one +jest like it, dis lastest week."</p> + +<p>Tom's conscience had told him that even +though a fugitive for his life in the enemy's +country he ought not to take the "poor +white's" boat without paying for it. He unbuttoned +an inside pocket in his shirt and drew out +a precious store of five-dollar gold pieces. +There were twenty of them, each wrapped in + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +tissue-paper and the whole then bound together +in a rouleau, wrapped in water-proofed silk, so +that there would be no sound of clinking gold +as he walked. He figured that the three oars +and the sorry fishing tackle could not be worth +more than the boat was, so he took out two +coins and put them in a battered old pan that +lay beside the stump to which the boat was tied. +There the "cracker"—another name for the +"poor white"—would be sure to see them in the +morning. As a matter of fact he did. And they +were worth so much more than his vanished +property that he was inclined to think an angel, +rather than a thief, had passed that way. Tom's +conscientiousness spoiled Morris's plan of having +the owner think the boat had floated away, +but the "cracker" was glad to clutch the gold +and start no hue-and-cry. He was afraid that if +he recovered his boat, he would have to give up +the gold. It was much cheaper to make +another. So he kept still.</p> + +<p>And still, very still, the fugitives kept as they +paddled slowly down the stream until the first + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +signs of dawn sent them into hiding. They hid +the boat in the tall reeds that fringed the mouth +of a tiny creek and they themselves crept a few +yards into the forest, ate very much less than +they wanted to eat of what was left of Morris's +scanty store of food, and went to sleep. They +slept until—but that is another story.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Towser Finds the Fugitives—Towser Brings +Uncle Moses—Mr. Izzard and His Yankee +Overseer, Jake Johnson—Tom is Pulled +Down the Chimney—How Uncle Moses +Choked the Overseer—The Flight of the +Four.</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>They slept until late in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>Then Morris woke up with a yell. A dog's +cold nose was thrusting itself against his cheek. +He thought his master's bloodhounds were upon +him and that the whipping-post was the least he +had to fear. As Tom, startled from sound sleep +by the negro's scream of terror, sprang to his +feet, he saw Morris crouching upon the ground, +babbling "Sabe me, good Lord, sabe old Morris!" +The dog, a big black-and-yellow mongrel, +a very distant cousin of the bloodhound the +scared darkey imagined him to be, was looking +with a grieved surprise at the cowering man. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +He was a most good-natured beast, accustomed +to few caresses and many kicks, and he had +never before seen a man who was afraid of him. +As he turned to Tom, he saw a boy who wasn't +afraid of him. Tom, who had always been loved +by dogs and children, smiled at the big yellow +mongrel, said "Come here, old fellow," and in +an instant had the great hound licking his hand +and looking up to him with the brown-yellow +eyes full of a dog's faith and a dog's fidelity. +These are great qualities. A cynic once said: +"The more I see of men the more I like dogs." +That cynic probably got from men what he gave +to them. But still it is true that the unfaltering +faith of a dog and a child, once their confidence +has been won, is a rare and a precious thing. +Tom patted his new friend's head. The big tail +wagged with joy. The hound looked reproachfully +at Morris, as much as to say: "See how +you misunderstood me; I want to be friends: but +here"—he turned and looked at the boy who +was smiling at him—"here is my best friend."</p> + +<p>He stayed with them an hour, contented and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +happy, humbly grateful for a tiny piece of meat +they gave him. Then, as dark drew near, he +became uneasy. Two or three times he started +as if to leave them, turned to see whether they +were following him, looked beseechingly at +them, barked gently, put his big paw on Tom's +arm and pulled at him. Evidently he wanted +them to come with him, but this they did not +dare to do.</p> + +<p>"Ef we lets him go, he'll bring his folkses +here," Morris whispered.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we must tie him up," Tom reluctantly +assented. "I hate to treat him that +way, for he's a good dog. But if we leave him +tied and push off in the boat, he'll howl after a +while and his master will find him. Take a bit +of fishing-line and tie him."</p> + +<p>Morris turned towards the hidden boat, but +the hound, as if aware of what they had said, +suddenly started for his hidden home and vanished +into the underbrush before Tom could +catch hold of him. When Tom called, he +stopped once and looked back, but he did not + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +come back. He shouldered his way into the +bushes and trotted off, with that amusing air +of being in a hurry to keep a most important +appointment which all dogs sometimes show. +And as he started, Morris appeared again, with +a shrill whisper: "De boat's dun sunk hisself."</p> + +<p>Tom ran to the bank of the creek. The news +was too true. The boat had sunk. The rotten +caulking had dropped from one of the rotten +seams. The bow, tied to a tree in the canebrake, +was high in air. The stern was under +five feet of water. The oars had floated away. +The fishing-pole was afloat, held to the old craft +by the hook-and-line, which had caught in the +sunken seat. What were they to do? They felt +as a Western trapper used to feel, when he had +lost his horse and saw himself compelled to +make his perilous way on foot through a country +swarming with savage foes. What to do?</p> + +<p>"We must raise the boat, Morris, get her on +shore, turn her over, caulk her with something, +make some paddles somehow and get off."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>They did, by great effort and with much more +noise than they liked to make, drag the crazy +old craft upon the bank of the creek. They +turned her bottom-side up. The negro plucked +down a long, waving mass of Spanish moss from +a cypress that grew in the swampy soil. Children +in the South call this Spanish moss "old +men's gray beards." Each long drift of it looks +as if it might have grown on the chin of an aged +giant. They were pressing it into the gaping +seam with feverish haste, listening the while for +any sign of that dreaded coming of the big +hound's "folkses." The short twilight of Southern +skies ended. A deep curtain of darkness fell +upon them. And through it they heard the +nearby patter of the dog's paws and the +shuffling footfalls of a man. And they saw the +gleam of a lantern.</p> + +<p>"We'se diskivered, Massa Tom," old Morris +whispered, "we'se diskivered."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, he slipped over the bank into the +creek and lay in much his attitude when Tom +had first "diskivered" him, except that the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +water covered all of him except mouth and nose +and eyes. Tom bent down to him.</p> + +<p>"Hush," he said, "keep still. There's only +one man coming. The dog's all right. I'll meet +the man. You stay here."</p> + +<p>Then he stepped into a circle of light cast by +the lantern upon a mass of underbrush and +said, with a cheerful confidence he did not +feel:</p> + +<p>"Howdy, neighbor?"</p> + +<p>The big yellow dog was fawning at his feet +in a second. A quavering old voice came from +behind the light of the lantern.</p> + +<p>"Howdy, Massa," it said. "Is I intrudin' on +you?"</p> + +<p>An old, old negro shambled up to him, the +lantern in one hand, a ragged hat in another. +He bowed his crown of white kinky hair respectfully +before the white boy. There was no +enemy to be feared here. The boy's heart +bounded with relief and he laughed as he answered:</p> + +<p>"No, Uncle, you're not intruding. I'm glad to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +see you. I'm sure you'll help us. Come here, +Morris."</p> + +<p>Morris scrambled up the bank, the wettest +man in the world. His eyeballs shone as he +neared them. They shone still more as he stood +before the old negro, held out his hand, and said:</p> + +<p>"Unk' Moses, I'se po'erful glad to meet up +wid you."</p> + +<p>Uncle Moses almost dropped his rude lantern +in his surprise.</p> + +<p>"Well, ef it ain't Massa Pinckney's Morris! +Howdy, Morris? How cum so as you-uns is +here, a-hidin'? I know'd de way dat ar Towser +wuz a-actin' when he dun cum home dat dere +wuz sum-un in de bush out hyar, but I neber +s'picioned t'wuz you, Morris. Is you dun run +away?"</p> + +<p>The situation was soon explained. Uncle +Moses had already become familiar with it. +Hunted men, both white and black, were no +novelty to him by that time. He had helped +many of them on their scared way. Too old to +work, he lived alone in a little cabin on the outskirts + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +of his owner's plantation. He tilled a tiny +plot of vegetables when "de rumatiz" permitted +and with these and some rations from +"de big house" he eked out a scanty living. +This owner's self-respect had not prevented his +working Moses through all a long life, with no +payment except food and lodging, and behind +these always the shadow of the whip. But the +slave's self-respect required him to work for the +hand that fed him, so long as failing strength +permitted. All he could do now was to scare +crows from the cornfield, but that he could do +well, for his one suit of the ragged remains of +what had been several other people's clothes +made him a perfect scarecrow. Besides his +vegetables, he had some chickens, a sacred possession. +"Old Unk' Mose" was known and respected +through all the countryside. No +chicken-thief ever came to his cabin. The kind +old patriarch was reaping the reward of a kind +long life. He dwelt in peace.</p> + +<p>He took Tom and Morris to the lonely cabin +and treated them there with a royal hospitality. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +Despite his protests, Tom was obliged to take +the one bed. Unk' Mose and Morris slept upon +the floor. First, they had a mighty dinner. +Two of Moses's fattest chickens and everything +Moses had in the way of other food filled their +starved stomachs. Then to sleep. The last +thing Tom heard that night was the swish of +Towser's mighty tail upon the earthen floor as +the dog lay beside his cot. The last thing of +which he was conscious was Towser's gently +licking the hand that hung down from the cot.</p> + +<p>The next day they toiled with such feeble help +as Moses could give them upon their leaky boat. +They put it in fair shape and then, with a rusty +ax which was one of Unk' Mose's most precious +possessions, they fashioned a couple of +rough oars. Then they spent a day trying to +persuade Moses to seek freedom with them. It +was in vain.</p> + +<p>"I'se too old, Massa Tom," said Uncle Moses. +"Dey wuz timeses when I dun thought all de +days and dun prayed all de nights dat freedum'd +cum along or dat I cud go to freedum. It's too + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +late nowadays. Unk' Mose mus' jes' sot hyar, +a-waitin'. P'raps, ef I keeps a-helpin' udder +folkses to find deir freedum, p'raps sum day, +'fore I'se troo' a-waitin', de angel ob de Lawd'll +cum a-walkin' up to my do' and he'll be a-holdin' +by de han' ob a great big udder angel 'n de +udder angel he'll dun smile at me and say: +'Unk' Moses, I'se Freedum 'n I'se cum to you.' +Den I'll say: 'Thank de good Lawd,' and I'll be +so happy I guess I'll jes' die 'n go to de great +White Throne, whar ebberybody's free."</p> + +<p>Late that afternoon when they had had to +give up the hope of taking Uncle Mose with +them, they were making a bundle of the food +he had given them. It was a big bundle. He +would have slaughtered his last chicken for +them, had they permitted it. Suddenly there +came the sound of a long, shrill whistle. Uncle +Moses, tying up the bundle on his knees, forgot +"de rumatiz" and almost sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Lawd-a-massy, dat's de oberseer! He's dun +callin' de hands to de quarters." The quarters +were the slave-quarters which always clustered + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +at a respectful distance in the rear of a planter's +home. "Dat ar oberseer mebbe'll cum hyar. +You folkses mus' hide."</p> + +<p>The whistle had sounded dangerously near. +As they looked out of the one door that gave +light to the slave's cabin, they saw three horsemen +trotting towards it, two white men and a +negro. They were Moses's master, the dreaded +overseer, and a groom. It was impossible to run +across the small cleared space about the cabin +and seek the woods without being seen. But +where could they hide in a one-roomed hut?</p> + +<p>"De chimbley, quick, de chimbley," gasped +Uncle Mose.</p> + +<p>A big chimney, full of the soot of many years +of wood-fires on the broad hearth below, filled +half one side of the room. Tom and Morris +rushed to it, climbed up the rough stone sides, +found a precarious footing just above the fireplace, +and waited. Fortunately the fire upon +which the food for the journey had been cooked +had almost died down. A little smoke floated +up the wide opening. The smoke and the soot + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +tickled the boy's nostrils until it seemed to him +that he must sneeze. A sneeze might mean +death. With a mighty effort he kept still for +what seemed to him an hour. It was really +about five minutes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Izzard, owner of Uncle Moses and of +some hundreds of other black men, Jake Johnson, +his overseer, a renegade Yankee, with a +face that told of the cruel soul within him, +trotted up to the door, the black groom a few +yards behind them. Uncle Moses had thrust the +bundle of food far back under the bed. He +stood respectfully in his doorway, bowing to the +ground. Towser cowered beside him. Towser +had felt more than once the sting of the long +whip Jake Johnson carried. He feared and he +hated the overseer.</p> + +<p>"Howdy, Massa Izzard." said Moses. +"Howdy, Mista Johnsing. Will you-uns light +down 'n cum in?"</p> + +<p>"Howdy, Uncle Moses?" Mr. Izzard replied. +He was a tall, pale, well-born, well-bred, well-educated +man, as kind a man as ever held his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +fellowmen in slavery, and as sure that he was +justified in doing so by the laws of both God +and man as the German emperor was that he +ruled a subject people by divine right. "No, +we won't light down. We just came to say +howdy. Are you getting on all right? If you +want anything, come up to the big house and +ask for it."</p> + +<p>He smiled and the overseer scowled upon the +old negro as he stammered a few words of +thanks. Suddenly the overseer asked:</p> + +<p>"Have you seen anything of Mr. Pinckney's +Morris, Mose?"</p> + +<p>"No, sah, Mista Johnsing, sah, I ain't seen +hide nor har ob Morris. Has dat fool nigger +runned away?"</p> + +<p>Johnson looked at him sharply.</p> + +<p>"If I thought you knew already he had run +away," said he, "I'd"—he cracked his whip in +the air to show what he would have done.</p> + +<p>Moses and Towser cowered. But Mr. Izzard +told Johnson to stop frightening "the best +darkey on the place" and they rode away. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +Mose dropped upon his one chair and was just +about to give fervent thanks for the escape from +detection, when Johnson, who had turned a +short distance away and had galloped back, +flung himself off his horse at the door and strode +into the dusky hut.</p> + +<p>"I b'lieve you know something about that +Morris," he roared at the shrinking old negro. +"You looked guilty. Tell me what you know +or I'll thrash you within an inch of your black +life." He cracked his dreaded whip again.</p> + +<p>"I dun know nothin' 'bout him, Mista Johnsing," +Moses pleaded.</p> + +<p>Alas, at that moment, smoke and soot proved +too much for the overtried nostrils of Tom. He +sneezed with the vigor of a sneeze long held +back. His "at-choo! at-choo!" sounded down +the chimney like a chorus of bassoons. Johnson +was across the room in a bound. He knelt +upon the hearth, groped up the chimney, caught +the boy by the ankle and pulled him down. The +soot had made a negro of Tom. The overseer +was sure he had caught the fleeing Morris.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p class="pmb2">At that terrible moment, when Johnson's +throat was swelling for a yell of triumph that +would surely have brought Mr. Izzard back to +the hut, Uncle Moses cast the traditions of a life +of servile fear of the white man behind him. +Never had he dreamed of laying a finger on one +of his owner's race, even in those long-ago days +when stout thews and muscles made him fit to +fight. Now, in trembling old age, the truth of +the poet's saying,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who would be free, himself must strike the blow,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="p2">put spirit for a second into his old heart. He +knew the danger that lay in that yell. He meant +to stop it, cost him what it might. Johnson was +still on his knees in the ashes, still clutching +Tom's ankle, the boy still sprawling on the +hearth, half-dazed with the shock of discovery +and of his fall, when Uncle Moses's withered old +body hurled itself upon the overseer's broad +back and his feeble fingers clutched the man's +windpipe and choked him into a second's silence. +That second was enough. Tom sprang to his +feet and sprang at his foe like a wildcat, and good + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +old Towser, rejoicing in the vengeance that +beckoned to him, sunk his teeth in Johnson's +shoulder and tore him down from the back +while Tom struck his strongest just below the +overseer's chin and knocked him out for the time +being. Before he came to, he had been lashed +hand-and-foot into a long bundle, had been effectually +gagged with his own whip, had been +blindfolded and had been rolled beneath the +bed, from under which the food had been hurriedly +withdrawn. Meanwhile Morris had +neither been seen nor heard. Tom called up the +chimney to him to come down.</p> + +<p>"I kain't, Massa Tom," said a stifled voice. +It had never occurred to Morris to slip down +and help in the fight he heard going on below. +His one thought had been to escape himself. +So he had climbed still higher up the chimney +and in his frantic haste he had so wedged himself +into it that it took Tom an hour to pull him +down. It was a battered, bruised, and bleeding +negro who finally appeared. That was a very +long hour. Mr. Izzard might return in search + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +of his overseer at any moment. The overseer +himself must be conscious by this time. His +ears must have told him much. Tom whispered +to Morris and Moses to say nothing. His +anxious gesture toward the bed beneath which +Johnson lay frightened both negroes into scared +silence. Fortunately for them the overseer's +ears had told him nothing. Towser's teeth had +drawn so much blood—the mighty hound had +been pried off his foe with difficulty—that the +man lay in a faint until the four fugitives had +fled. For there were four fugitives now. +Neither Moses nor Towser could stay to face +the coming wrath. The rest of Moses's chickens +were killed, the rest of his vegetables gathered. +When darkness fell, the old flat-boat, laden until +she had a scant two inches of free-board above +the water, was slipping down the river again. +Uncle Moses was no longer "a-waitin' fer freedum." +He was going in search of the freedom +he had so long craved. He and his fellows had +two clear days in which to get away without +pursuit, for Johnson lay in his dark prison beneath + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +the bed for fortyeight hours before he +was found. One of the ropes used to bind him +had caught upon an old nail in the wall. He +was too weak to tear it away and so could not +even roll himself to the outer air. On the second +day of his unexplained absence, Mr. Izzard +had sent all the negroes in search of him and +had offered a reward for his finding. The discovery +of his horse in a distant part of the plantation +had concentrated the search there. The +darkies who finally got the reward did not rejoice +much in it, for in finding the overseer, they +knew they were finding a cruel taskmaster and +his cruel whip. But the story of his discomfiture +by three negroes, for he had never known +that Tom's sooty face was really white, soon +spread through the countryside. He became a +neighborhood joke and in his wrath at being +made a butt he resigned as Mr. Izzard's overseer. +Leaving this place deprived him of his +immunity from conscription. He was promptly +seized by the nearest Confederate officer and +impressed into the army. The Izzard negroes + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +had the infinite joy of seeing their hated ex-overseer +marched off under guard to a Confederate +camp, to serve as a private soldier.</p> + +<p>Tom was destined to see Jake Johnson again.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Two nights they rowed down the river, almost +without a word, afraid to speak lest someone +in the infrequent houses and still more infrequent +villages along the banks should hear +them. Wise old Towser knew enough not to +bark when men about him kept so still. He lay +always where with nose or paw or tail he could +touch Tom. The latter was the commander of +the expedition and Towser felt it and became +his abject slave accordingly. At the close of the +second night they had reached the Tennessee +River. By day they camped upon shore in some +hidden place, first craftily secreting the boat +amid rushes and reeds. From their second +hiding-place, they saw about noon a Confederate +gunboat, a small stern-wheel steamboat, +with cotton-bales at her bow and stern screening +her two guns. Though she was making + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +all possible speed up the current, she moved +but slowly. Her decks were thick with excited +men. A babble of voices reached the fugitives, +peering at her behind a mass of bushes. The +few words that could be made out told them +nothing. The sight of her, however, warned +them that a new danger might await them on +the traveled waters of the Tennessee. Their +hearts would have beat higher, had they known +that General Mitchell had pushed south from +Huntsville and that Union forces were then encamped +in strength upon the river, not many +miles below where they were cowering. The +Confederate gunboat had been steaming upstream +to escape capture.</p> + +<p>When darkness came, they embarked again +upon what proved to be the last chapter in the +history of the old flat-boat. The next morning, +caught in an eddy at the mouth of a small, swift +tributary of the Tennessee, she whirled about, +the Spanish moss dropped out of her rotten +seams, she filled and sank. She dropped so +swiftly beneath them that before they realized + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +their danger they were all floundering in water +over their heads. Tom could swim like a fish. +That is one of the first things a boy should learn +to do. To his delight, he found Uncle Moses +was also surprisingly at home in the water, considering +his years. Towser accepted the situation +as something he did not understand, but +which was doubtless entirely all right, as his +lord and master, Tom, was in the water too. +Morris, however, could not swim a stroke and +saw only certain death before him. He gave a +yell of terror as he went under. That yell came +near costing them dear. As he rose to the surface, +Tom on one side and Uncle Mose on the +other, acting under Tom's instructions, edged a +shoulder under him, and started to swim to +shore with him. Again he yelled. This time +Moses lost patience.</p> + +<p>"Shet up, you fool nigger. You sho'ly needs +to be 'mersed."</p> + +<p>With this whispered menace, he reached up +one hand and ducked Morris's head quite under +water. That stopped all further sound from + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +him. And by this time their feet had touched +bottom. They waded ashore, with Towser wagging +a triumphant tail, shaking himself and +sending showers of spray over them. There +they stood, wet as water-rats, with nothing in +the world except the dripping clothes they wore. +And there was no hiding-place near. For half +a mile on either side of them a cleared field lay +open to the day and the day was upon them. +They had tempted Fate by rowing on too long +after the first signs of dawn. Fate had turned +the trump upon them. The sun rolled up above +the eastern horizon at their back. It showed +them, not half a mile away, a plantation house. +It showed them a swarm of field-hands coming +to the day's toil. It showed them a mounted +overseer, only a few hundred feet away, riding +up to the flat range of the field from a ravine +that had hidden him. He had heard Morris's +yells. He saw the three and rode furiously at +them, calling out:</p> + +<p>"What are you niggers doin' here?"</p> + +<p>Tom stepped forward to meet him. His two + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +companions were useless in an emergency like +this. They cowered back and were dumb. +Towser strode ahead beside Tom and barked. +The overseer pulled up short. He saw he was +dealing with a white man, or rather with a white +boy. The circumstances were suspicious. Who +were these three dripping ragamuffins? But +since one of them was white, the man's tone +changed and he modified his question.</p> + +<p>"Who are ye? And what are ye doin' here?"</p> + +<p>"I am on my way to Vicksburg," Tom answered, +"by the river. My boat sunk just off +shore here and we swam ashore. Can you give +me another boat?"</p> + +<p>"I mout 'n I moutn't."</p> + +<p>"I am carrying dispatches," said Tom, +sternly. "You will delay me at your peril. I +shall take one of those boats, whether you consent +or not."</p> + +<p>With this he pointed at the most encouraging +thing the sunrise had shown him. This was a +line of three boats fastened to a wooden landing-place +by the river.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I b'lieve you're a Yankee," said the horseman, +"and these are runaway niggers. You and +they must come up to the big house with me. +If you're all right, we'll send you on your way. +If you're not, well, we know what to do with +Yanks and runaway niggers! March!"</p> + +<p>He slipped his hand behind him, as if to draw +a pistol. Tom was already making the same +gesture. Neither of them had a pistol. Tom's +had gone to the bottom. It was pure bluff on +both sides. And in a moment, seeing this and +being Americans, both laughed. But none the +less the overseer demanded that they should go +to the big house. Tom, protesting, but apparently +half-yielding, edged along until he was +near the landing-platform. Then, shouting +"Come on, boys!" he ran to it, the frightened +negroes following at his heels and Towser running +ahead. He hustled them into the boat at +the eastern end of the pier, jumped in himself, +jerked the rope off the wooden peg that insecurely +held it, and pushed off. The overseer, +angrily protesting, stood a moment watching his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +prey escape and then galloped like mad for the +big house, shouting "Yanks! spies!! thieves!!! +Yanks!!!!" He was met halfway by half a +dozen men in Confederate gray, roused by his +yells. They were officers who had spent the +night at the hospitable house, had breakfasted +at daybreak, and were just about to mount for +their day's march when the overseer gave the +alarm. It was lucky for the fugitives that officers +do not carry anything bigger than pistols. +A fusillade of revolver-bullets all fell short of the +fleeing mark. Tom and Morris were pulling an +oar apiece—they had found but two in the boat—with +a desperate energy. But it was unlucky +for the fugitives that they had not thought to +steal or to scuttle the other two boats. This +was Tom's fault, for he was captain.</p> + +<p>"I'll know better next time," said Tom to +himself ruefully, as he saw three men spring +into each boat for the pursuit. "I'll know better +next time—if there ever is a next time."</p> + +<p>It did not seem likely that there would be a +next time. One of the pursuing boats fell behind, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +to be sure. In it, too, there were but two +oars and the men who plied them could not +match the black man and the white boy who +rowed for freedom's sake and life's sake. But +in the other boat, two strong men each pulled +two oars, while the third man crouched in the +bow, pistol in hand, calling out steering instructions. +This boat gained upon them, bit by bit. +The fugitives could hear the lookout call "Port, +hard-a-port!" and could almost see the extra +weight thrown into the sweep of the starboard +oars to send the boat's head the right way. +Once the man at the bow took a chance on a +long shot. His bullet fell harmlessly two hundred +feet astern of Towser who stood in the +stern of the fleeing boat, barking savagely. +Thrice they turned a sharp bend and were out +of sight of their enemy for a moment, but each +time there was a shorter interval before the +enemy shot into sight behind them. A fourth +point lay just ahead. Tom looked back over his +shoulder and measured the distance with his +eye.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We can just make that next point," he +panted. "Soon as we do, we'll land and run. +It's our only chance."</p> + +<p>"I kain't run," said Uncle Moses, "but you'se +right, Massa Tom. Dey'll catch us ef we keep +a-rowin'."</p> + +<p>They had almost reached the bend. Another +strong pull would have sent them around it. +But the pursuers had now so gained upon them +that the lookout chanced another shot. By +chance or by skill, it was a very good shot. The +bullet struck Tom's oar, just above the blade. +The blade dropped off as Tom was putting +every ounce of his failing strength into a prodigious +pull. The handle, released from all +pressure, flew through the air and Tom rolled +over backwards into Morris's lap. There was a +shout of triumph from astern. The rowers bent +to their work with a fierce vigor, feeling the victory +won. Morris gave one last pull with his +one oar and it sent the boat around the bend.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">"And dere," as Uncle Moses with widespread +arms used to tell the tale thereafter, "and dere + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +wuz Massa Lincum's gunboats, a-crowdin' ob de +ribber—'n de Stars-'n-Stripeses, dey jest kivered +de sky!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_176.jpg" width="600" height="642" alt="TOWSER" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08">TOWSER</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">And so Unk' Mose and Morris came to their +freedom and Tom came to his own. Towser +became Tom's own. Uncle Moses insisted upon +this and Towser highly approved of it. The +giant hound worshiped the boy. Morris was +speedily put to work driving a four-mule team +for the commissary department of General +Mitchell's force. He was accustomed to having +food and lodging doled out to him, so it seemed +quite natural to be given sleeping quarters +(usually under the canvas cover of the wagon +he drove) and rations, but it took him some +months to recover from the shock of actually +being paid wages for his work. When this too +became natural, he felt that he was really free. +Uncle Moses was too old for that sort of thing. +He was bewildered by the rough and teeming +life of an army-camp. He clung to Tom, was as +devoted to him as Towser was, and much more +helpless than the dog was. Towser made + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +friends and important friends at once. It happened +that food was rather short at headquarters +the day after the fugitives found safety. +Tom, waiting for a chance to go North, had been +asked to share the tent of a staff-officer and to +eat at headquarters' mess. An hour before dinner, +one of his hosts was bewailing the scanty +fare they were to have when Towser sidled +around the corner of the tent with a fat chicken + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +in his mouth and laid it with respectful devotion +at his master's feet. There was a shout of applause +and a roar from the assembled officers of +"Good dog, good dog, Towser, do it again!" +Whereupon, after some majestic wags of his +mighty tail, he disappeared for a few minutes +and did do it again. When the second chicken +was laid at Tom's feet, Towser's position was +assured. He was named an orderly by acclamation +and was given a collar made of an old army +belt, with the magic letters "U. S. A." upon it, +a collar which he wore proudly through his +happy life.</p> + +<p>Tom, who felt quite rich when his arrears of +pay were handed him, decided to give himself a +treat by making Uncle Moses happy. That is +the best kind of treat man or boy can give himself. +Make somebody else happy and you will +be happy yourself. Try it and see. So, when +he finally started back for Cairo and Washington +he took both Uncle Moses and Towser with +him. Neither of them had ever been on a railroad +train before. Equally bewildered and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +equally happy, they sped by steam across the +thousand miles between Cairo and Washington. +In those days dogs could travel with their masters, +without being banished to the baggage-car. +As the three neared the latter city, the great +dome of the Capitol sprang into sight. Tom +eagerly pointed it out.</p> + +<p>"Look, Uncle Mose, look, Towser, there's +the Capitol."</p> + +<p>"Dat's Freedum's home," murmured Unk' +Mose.</p> + +<p>And Towser, stirred by the others' emotion, +barked joyfully. He felt at home, too, because +he was with Tom.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Lincoln Saves Jim Jenkins's Life—Newspaper +Abuse of Lincoln—The Emancipation Proclamation—Lincoln +in His Night-shirt—James +Russell Lowell—"Barbara Frietchie"—Mr. +Strong Comes Home—The +Russian Fleet Comes to New York—A +Backwoods Jupiter.</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Tom neared the White House with a beating +heart. He had done what Lincoln had +bade him do. The dispatches had been carried +safely and had been put into General Grant's +hands. But he had taken a rather large +advantage of the President's smiling suggestion +that he might occasionally slip into a +fight if he wanted to do so. He had volunteered +to go with Andrews on the railroad +raid, which was to take a week, and he +had been away for many weeks, during which +he had been carried on the army-rolls as "missing." + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +Would the President think of him as a +truant, who had run away and stayed away from +duty? John Hay's welcome of him was frigid. +The boy's heart went down into his boots. But +it sprang up into his mouth when he was +ushered into Lincoln's room, to be greeted with +the winning smile he knew so well and to be +congratulated both on his bravery in going with +Andrews and on his good fortune in finally getting +back to the Union lines.</p> + +<p>The President was not alone when Tom +entered the room. There sat beside the desk a +middle-aged woman, worn and weary, her eyes +red with weeping, her rusty black dress spotted +with recent tears. Her thin hands were nervously +twisting the petition someone had prepared +for her to present to the President. She +looked at him with heartbroken pleading as he +turned to her from Tom and resumed his talk +with her which Tom's entrance had interrupted.</p> + +<p>"So Secretary Stanton wouldn't do anything +for you, Mrs. Jenkins?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, sir; no, Mr. President," sobbed the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +woman. "He said—he said it was time to make +an example and that my boy Jim ought to be +shot and would be shot at—at—sunrise tomorrow."</p> + +<p>The sentence ended in a wail and the woman +crumpled up into a heap and slid down to the +floor at the President's feet. She had gained +one moment of blessed oblivion. Jim, "the +only son of his mother and she a widow," had +overstayed his furlough, had been arrested, hurried +before a court-martial of elderly officers +who were tired of hearing the frivolous excuses +of careless boys for not coming back promptly +to the front, had been found guilty of desertion, +and had been sentenced to be shot in a week. +Six days the mother had haunted the crowded +anteroom of the stern Secretary of War, bent +beneath the burden of her woe. Admitted at +last to his presence, her plea for her boy's life +had been ruthlessly refused.</p> + +<p>"The life of the nation is at stake, madam," +Stanton had growled at her. "We must keep +the fighting ranks full. What is one boy's life + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +to that of our country? It is unfortunate," the +grim Secretary's tones grew softer at the sight +of the mother's utter anguish, "it is unfortunate +that the life happens to be that of your boy, but +an example is needed and an example there shall +be. I will do nothing. He dies at sunrise. +Good-day."</p> + +<p>He rang the bell upon his desk. The sobbing +mother was ushered out and the next person on +the list was ushered in. An hour afterwards +she was with Lincoln. There was no six days' +wait at the White House for the mother of a +Union soldier.</p> + +<p>When she fell to the floor in a faint, Tom +sprang to help her, but the President was +quicker than he. Lincoln's great arms lifted her +like a child and laid her upon a sofa. He +touched a bell and sent word to Mrs. Lincoln +asking her to come to him. When she did so, +she took charge of Mrs. Jenkins and speedily +revived her. But it was the President, not his +wife, who completed the cure and saved the +weeping woman's reason from wreck and her + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +life from long anguish. He pointed to the petition +which had fallen from her nerveless fingers +to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Hand me that paper, Tom."</p> + +<p>He put on his spectacles and started to read +it. The glasses grew misty with the tears in his +eyes. He wiped them with a red bandanna +handkerchief, finished reading the paper, and +wrote beneath it in bold letters: "This man is +pardoned. A. Lincoln, Prest." Then he held +the petition close to the sofa so that the first +thing Mrs. Jenkins saw as she came back to consciousness +in Mrs. Lincoln's arms was Jim Jenkins's +pardon. It was that blessed news which +made her herself again. She broke into a torrent +of thanks, which Lincoln gently waved +aside.</p> + +<p>"You see, ma'am," said the President, "I +don't believe the way to keep the fighting ranks +full is to shoot one of the fighters, 'cause he's +been a bit careless. There's a Chinese proverb: +'Never drown a boy baby.' I guess that means +that if a boy makes a mistake, it's better to give + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +him a chance not to make another. You tell +Jim from me to do better after this. Tom, you +take Mrs. Jenkins over to the Secretary and +show him that little line of mine. He won't like +it very much. Usually he has his own way, but +sometimes I have mine and this happens to be +one of those times. Glad you came to see me, +Mrs. Jenkins. There's lots of things you can +do to an American boy that are better than +shooting him. Here's a little note you can read +later, ma'am. Hope it'll help you a bit. +Good-by—and God bless you."</p> + +<p>Tom took the widow Jenkins, dazed with her +happiness, to the War Department, where the +formal order was entered that sent Jim Jenkins +back to the front, resolute to pay his country +for the life the President had given him. Only +when the order had been entered did the mother +remember the envelope clutched in her hand +which the President had given her. It contained +no words, unless it be true that "money talks." +It held a twenty-dollar bill. Mrs. Jenkins had +spent her last cent on her journey to Washington + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +and her six days' stay there. Abraham +Lincoln's gift sent her safely back to home and +happiness. When once again she had occasion +to weep over her son, a year later, her tears +were those of a hero's mother. For Jim Jenkins +died a hero's death at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, +on July 4, 1863, that day of "the high tide of the +Confederacy," when Robert E. Lee, the great +Confederate commander, saw the surge of his +splendid soldiers break in vain upon the rocks +of the Union line, in the heart of the North. +The bullet that killed Jim Jenkins tore through +the picture of Abraham Lincoln Jim always +wore over his heart. And Lincoln found time +in that great hour of the country's salvation to +turn aside from the myriad duties of every day +long enough to write Jim Jenkins' mother a letter +about her dead son's gift of his life to his +country, a letter of a marvelous sympathy and +of a wondrous consolation, which was buried +with the soldier's mother not long afterwards, +when she rejoined in a world of peace her soldier +son.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Jenkins's experience with Stanton was a +typical one. Everybody hated to come in contact +with the surly Secretary. One day, when +Private Secretary Nicolay was away, Hay came +into the offices with a letter in his hand and a +cloud on his usually gay brow. "Nicolay wants +me to take some people to see Stanton," he said. +"I would rather make the tour of a smallpox +hospital."</p> + +<p>Lincoln always shrank from studying the records +of court-martials, but he often had to do +so, that justice or injustice might be tempered +by mercy. He caught at every chance of showing +mercy. A man had been sentenced to be +shot for cowardice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I won't approve that," said the President. +"'He who fights and runs away, may live +to fight another day.' Besides, if this fellow is +a coward, it would frighten him too terribly to +shoot him."</p> + +<p>The next case was that of a deserter. After +sentence, he had escaped and had reached +Mexico.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I guess that sentence is all right," Lincoln +commented. "We can't catch him, you see. +We'll condemn him as they used to sell hogs in +Indiana, 'as they run.'"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At this time the fortunes of war were not +favoring the North. There were days of doubt, +days almost of despair. A shrill chorus of abuse +of the President sounded from many Northern +newspapers. Its keynote was struck by Horace +Greeley, the editor of the New York <i>Tribune</i> +and the foremost man in a group of great editors +such as the country has never seen since. +They were Horace Greeley of the <i>Tribune</i>, +Henry J. Raymond of the <i>New York Times</i>, and +Samuel Bowles of the Springfield (Mass.) <i>Republican</i>. +Bowles wrote: "Lincoln is a Simple Susan"; +Raymond demanded that he be "superseded" +as President; and Greeley, in a letter +that was published in England and that greatly +harmed the Union cause, said Lincoln ruled +"a bleeding, bankrupt, almost dying country."</p> + +<p>In Tom's boyhood, the names of the three + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +were household words and names by which to +conjure. The arrows the three shot at Lincoln +pierced his heart, but his gentle patience never +gave way. He bore with their well-meant but +unjust criticism as he bore with so much else +in those dark days, careless of hurt to himself, +if he could but serve his country and do his duty +as he saw it to do. A clear light shone upon one +great duty and this he did. On September 22, +1862, he signed his famous Emancipation Proclamation, +which with its sequence the Thirteenth +Amendment to the Constitution of the +United States ended forever slavery wherever +the Stars-and-Stripes waved. In the early days +of that great September, even a boy could feel +in the tense atmosphere of the White House +that some great event was impending. Nobody +knew upon just what the master mind was +brooding, but the whole world was to know it +soon. It was not until Lincoln had written with +his own hand in the solitude of his own room +the charter of freedom for the Southern slaves +that he called together his Cabinet, not to advise + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +him about it, but to hear from him what +he had resolved to do. The messenger who +summoned the Cabinet officials to that historic +session was none other than Uncle Moses. Tom +of course had long since told the story of his +flight for freedom, including Unk' Mose's stout-hearted +attack at the very nick of time upon the +overseer. Lincoln was touched by the tale of +the old negro's fine feat. He had Tom bring +Moses to see him and Moses emerged from that +interview the proudest darkey in the world, for +he was made a messenger and general utility +man at the White House. Part of his duty was +to keep in order the room where the Cabinet +met and to summon its members when a meeting +of it was called. Uncle Moses, pacing slowly +but majestically from the White House to the +different Departments, bearing a message from +the President to his Cabinet ministers, was a +very different person from the Unk' Mose who +had cared for Tom and Morris in the Alabama +canebrake. The scarecrow had become a man. +On these little journeys, Tad Lincoln often<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +went with him, his small white hand clutching +one of Mose's big gnarled, black fingers. Although +Moses knew nothing of it at the time, +the day he bore the summons to the meeting at +which the Proclamation that freed his race was +read was the great day of his life. It is well for +any man or boy even to touch the fringe of a +great event in the world's history.</p> + +<p>"I dun car'd de freedum Proc-a-mation," +Uncle Moses used to say with ever-deepening +pride as the years rolled by. In his extreme old +age, he came to think he really had carried the +Proclamation to the Cabinet, instead of simply +summoning the Cabinet to the meeting at which +the Proclamation was first read. Memory plays +queer tricks with the old. So Unk' Mose's tale +lost nothing in the telling, year after year.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The next evening the Cabinet gathered at a +small party at the residence of Salmon P. Chase, +Secretary of the Treasury. John Hay was +there. He wrote that evening in his diary: +"They all seemed to feel a sort of new and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +exhilarated life; they breathed freer; the President's +Proclamation had freed them as well as +the slaves. They gleefully and merrily called +themselves Abolitionists and seemed to enjoy +the novel accusation of appropriating that horrible +name." The Proclamation made it respectable +to be an Abolitionist. Every great +reform is disreputable until it succeeds.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The Proclamation seemed to have freed the +President too. When a man has made a New +Year's gift of freedom to millions of men in +bondage—emancipation was to take place wherever +the Stars-and-Stripes flew on January 1, +1863—such a man must have a wonderful glow +of reflected happiness. Always gentle, he grew +gentler. Always with a keen eye for humorous +absurdity, he grew still more fond of it.</p> + +<p>Tom was sent for one day and hurried to the +President's office. Lincoln was stretched out at +full length, his body in a swivel-chair, his long +legs on the sill of the open window. He was +holding a seven-foot telescope to his eyes, its + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +other end resting upon his toes. He was looking +at two steamboats puffing hard up the +Potomac. What news did they bring? As the +boy knocked, the President, without turning his +head, called out: "Come in, Tommy."</p> + +<p>Tom opened the door and as he did so John +Hay pushed excitedly by him, a telegram in his +hand, saying:</p> + +<p>"Mr. President, what do you think Smith of +Illinois has done? He is behaving very badly."</p> + +<p>"Smith," answered Lincoln, "is a miracle of +meanness, but I'm too busy to quarrel with him. +Don't tell me what he's done and probably I'll +never hear of it."</p> + +<p>He knew how to disregard little men and their +little deeds.</p> + +<p>That night Tom sat up late. Nicolay and +Hay had asked him to spend the evening, after +the household had gone to bed, in their office. +Crackers and cheese and a jug of milk were the +refreshments and John Hay's talk was the delight +of the little gathering. Midnight had just +struck when the door opened quietly and the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +President slipped into the room. Never had +Tom seen him in such guise. The only thing he +had on was a short nightshirt and carpet-slippers. +He was smiling as he entered.</p> + +<p>"Hear this, boys," he said. "It's from the +'Biglow Papers.' That fellow Lowell knows +how to put things. Just hear this. He puts +these Yankee words into Jeff Davis's mouth:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'An' votin' we're prosp'rous a hundred times over<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wun't change bein' starved into livin' on clover.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="r5" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' wut Spartans wuz lef' when the battle wuz done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wuz them that wuz too unambitious to run.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="r5" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' how, sence Fort Donelson, winnin' the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consists in triumphantly gettin' away!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And here," continued the President, utterly unaware +of the oddity of his garb, "and here is a +good touch on the Proclamation. I wish all the +'cussed fools' in America could read it. Hear +this:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'An' why should we kick up a muss<br /></span> +<span class="i4">About the Pres'dent's proclamation?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It ain't a-goin' to lib'rate us<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ef we don't like emancipation.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The right to be a cussed fool<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is safe from all devices human.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's common (ez a gin'l rule)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To every critter born o' woman.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lincoln strode out again, "seemingly utterly +unconscious," says Hay's diary, "that he, with +his short shirt hanging about his long legs and +setting out behind like the tail feathers of an +enormous ostrich, was infinitely funnier than +anything in the book he was laughing at."</p> + +<p>"That fellow Lowell" was James Russell +Lowell, an American critic, poet, and essayist, +later our Minister to England.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One day Tom had a welcome letter from his +father, saying he was on his way home and +would be in Washington almost as soon as his +letter was. The letter was written from St. +Petersburg and had upon its envelope Russian +stamps. Tom had never seen a Russian stamp +before. He showed the envelope as a curiosity +to little Tad Lincoln and at that small boy's +eager request gave it to him. Tom happened +to lunch with the Lincoln family that day. Tad +produced his new possession at the table, crying +to his mother:</p> + +<p>"See what Tommy has given me."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who wrote you from Russia?" asked Mrs. +Lincoln.</p> + +<p>"My father," the boy answered. "He sent +me good news. He's coming home right away."</p> + +<p>"Your father sent me good news, too," said +Mr. Lincoln from the head of the table.</p> + +<p>"What was that?" interjected the first lady +of the land.</p> + +<p>"You shall know soon, my dear." Then the +beautiful smile came to the President's firm lips +and overflowed into his deep-set eyes as he said +to Tom: "The highest honor the old Romans +could give to a fellow-citizen was to decree that +he had 'deserved well of the Republic.' That +can be said of your father now. He has deserved +well of the Republic. Before long, the +world will know what he has done. Until then," +he turned as he spoke to his wife, "until then +we'd better not talk about it."</p> + +<p>This talk was in early June of 1863. By September +the whole world, or at least all the governments +of the world, did know what Mr. +Strong had done after Lincoln sent him abroad.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +The whole world saw the symbol of his work, +without in many cases knowing what the symbol +signified. That symbol was the famous visit +of the Russian fleet to New York City in September +of 1863.</p> + +<p>The governing classes of both England and +France were in favor of the South during our +Civil War. The English and French Empires +were jealous of the growth of the Republic and +wished to see it torn asunder. France hoped to +establish a Mexican Empire, a vassal of France, +if the Confederacy won. England needed +Southern cotton and could not get it unless our +blockade of Southern ports was broken. The +people of both France and England had little to +say as to what their governments would do. +Many distinguished Frenchmen took our side +and the mass of Englishmen were also on our +side, but the latter were helpless in the grip of +their aristocratic rulers. They testified to their +belief, however, splendidly. In the height of +what was called "the cotton famine," when the +Lancashire mills were closed for lack of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +fleecy staple and when the Lancashire mill-operatives +were facing actual starvation, a tiny group +of great Englishmen, John Bright and Thomas +Bayley Potter among them, spoke throughout +Lancashire on behalf of the Northern cause. +There was to be a great meeting at Manchester, +in the heart of the stricken district. The cost +of hall, lights, advertising, etc., was considerable. +Someone suggested charging an admission +fee. It was objected that the unemployed +poor could not afford to pay anything. Finally +it was arranged to put baskets at the door, with +placards saying that anyone who chose could +give something towards the cost of the meeting. +When it was over, the baskets were found to +hold over four bushels of pennies and ha'pennies. +The starving poor of Lancashire had +given them, not out of their abundance, but out +of their grinding want.</p> + +<p>This was the widow's mite, many times multiplied.</p> + +<p>The crafty Napoleon the Third, "Napoleon +the Little," as the great French poet and novelist,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +Victor Hugo, called him, asked England +to have the English fleet join the French fleet +in breaking our blockade and in making Slavery +triumph. England hesitated before the proposed +crime, but finally said it was inclined to +follow the Napoleonic lead, if Russia would do +likewise. Then the French Emperor wrote +what is called a holographic letter, that is, a letter +entirely in his own handwriting, to the then +Czar of Russia, asking him to send part of his +fleet on the unholy raid that was in contemplation.</p> + +<p>Russia was then a despotism, with one despot. +It was not only a European and an Asiatic +Power, but an American Power as well, for it +did not sell Alaska to the United States until +1867. Despotism does not like to see Liberty +flourish anywhere, least of all near itself. Liberty +is a contagious thing. Might not the +American example infect Alaska, spread through +Siberia, even creep to the steps of the throne +at St. Petersburg? But this time, thanks to the +work of our Minister to Russia and of our extra-official<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +representative there, the Hon. Thomas +Strong, Despotism stood by Liberty. The Russian +Czar wrote the French Emperor that the +Russian fleet would not be a party to the proposed +attack upon the Northern navy, but that +on the contrary it was about to sail for New +York in order that its commander might place +it at the disposal of the President of the United +States in case any Franco-English squadron appeared +with hostile intent at our ocean-gates.</p> + +<p>This was the beginning of the traditional +friendship between America and Russia. It explains +why New York and Washington went +mad in those September days of 1863 in welcoming +the Russian fleet and the Russian officers. +It explains why Lincoln told Tom that +his father had "deserved well of the Republic."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was at about this time that John Hay once +asked Tom:</p> + +<p>"What do you think of the Tycoon by this +time, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"Tycoon" and "the Ancient" were names + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +his rather irreverent secretaries had given Lincoln. +Nevertheless they both reverenced and +loved him. Their nicknames for him were born +of affection.</p> + +<p>"Why, why," Tom began. He did not quite +know how to put into fitting words all he felt +about his chief. But John Hay, who was never +much interested in the opinion on anything of +anybody but himself, went on:</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what he is, Tom. He's a backwoods +Jupiter. He sits here and wields both the +machinery of government and the bolts of war. +A backwoods Jupiter!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Tom Goes to Vicksburg—Morgan's Raid—Gen. +Basil W. Duke Captures Tom—Gettysburg—Gen. +Robert E. Lee Gives Tom +His Breakfast—In Libby Prison—Lincoln's +Speech at Gettysburg.</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Late in June of 1863 Tom again left General +Grant's headquarters. These were then in +the outskirts of Vicksburg, Mississippi. The +long siege of that town, held by a considerable +Confederate force under General Pemberton, +was nearing its end. Tom longed to be in at +the death, but that could not be. He had been +sent with dispatches to Grant and this time +there had been no suggestion by the President +that he might fight a bit if he felt like it. So he +was now again on his way to Washington. He +was a long time getting there, nearly a year; and +this was the way of it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>July 2, 1863, Gen. John H. Morgan, a brilliant +and daring Confederate cavalry commander, got +his troops across the Cumberland River at +Burkesville, in southern Kentucky, on flat-boats +and canoes lashed together. None but he and +his second in command knew whither the proposed +raid was to lead. People about their +starting-point thought Morgan was merely +reconnoitering. An old farmer from Calfkills +Creek went along uninvited, because he wished +to buy some salt at a "salt-lick" a few miles +north of Burkesville and within the Union lines. +He expected to go and come back safely with +Morgan's men. After he had been through a +few marches and more fights and saw no chance +of ever getting home, he plaintively said: "I +swar ef I wouldn't give all the salt in Kaintucky +to stand once more safe and sound on the banks +of Calfkills Creek."</p> + +<p>Tom Strong, second-lieutenant, U. S. A., had +not reckoned upon John H. Morgan, general +C. S. A., when he planned his journey eastward +from Cairo. No one dreamed that Morgan + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +would dare do what he did do. The Confederate +cavalry rode northward across Kentucky, +with one or two skirmishes per day to keep it +busy. It crossed the Ohio and fought for the +South on Northern soil. It threatened Cincinnati. +It threw southern Indiana and Ohio into +a frenzy of fear. It did great damage, but +damage such as the laws of civilized warfare +permit. Morgan's gallant men were Americans. +No woman or child was harmed; no man not +under arms was killed. Military stores were +seized or destroyed, food and supplies were +taken, bridges were burned, railroads were torn +up, and a clean sweep was made of all the +horses to be found. The Confederate cavalry +was in sad need of new horses. The Union officer +who led the pursuit of Morgan said, in his +official report: "His system of horse-stealing +was perfect." But so far as war can be a Christian +thing Morgan made it so.</p> + +<p>Now the railroad which suffered most from +the Confederate raid was the one upon which +Tom was traveling eastward. The train he had + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +taken came to a sudden stop at a way-station in +Ohio, where a red flag was furiously waved.</p> + +<p>"Morgan's torn up the track just ahead," +shouted the man who held the flag.</p> + +<p>Nothing more could be learned there and +then. Of course the raiders had cut the wires. +By and by fugitives began to straggle in from +the eastward, farmers who had fled from their +farms driving their horses before them, villagers +who feared the sack and ruin that really +came to no one, women and children on foot, +on horseback, in carts, in wagons, in buggies. +Every fugitive had a new tale of terror to tell, +but nobody really knew anything. Tom questioned +each newcomer. Piecing together what +they said, he concluded that Morgan had swept +northward; that the track had been destroyed +for but a mile or so, possibly less: and that the +quickest way for him to get to Washington was +to walk across the short gap and get a train or +an engine on the other side. He could find no +one who would go with him, even as a guide, +but well-meant directions were showered upon + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +him. So were well-meant warnings, about ten +warnings to one direction. The railroad, however, +was his best guide-post. He started eastward, +riding a horse he had bought from one of +the fugitives. The big bay brute stood over sixteen +hands high, but the price Tom paid for him +was a good deal higher than the horse.</p> + +<p>All went well at first. He soon reached the +place where the Confederates had wrecked the +railroad. Their work had been thorough. Every +little bridge or trestle had been burned. Rails +and ties had been torn up, the ties massed together +and set on fire, the rails thrown upon the +burning ties and twisted by the heat into sinuous +snakes of iron. Occasionally a hot rail had +been twisted about a tree until it became a mere +set of loops, never to serve again the purpose +for which it had been made. The telegraph +poles had been chopped down and the wires +were tangled into a broken and useless web. +In some places the rails had entirely disappeared. +Doubtless these had been thrown into +the little streams which the burned bridges had + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +spanned. Altogether the road-bed looked as if +some highly intelligent hurricane and earthquake +had co-operated in its destruction. It +would be many a day before a train could again +run upon it. Morgan's system of wrecking a +railroad was almost as perfect as his system of +horse-stealing.</p> + +<p>A country-road wandered along beside where +the railroad had been, so Tom's progress was +easy. Its bridges, too, had gone up in smoke, +but the little streams were shallow and could be +forded without difficulty, for June had been +rainless and hot that year. The few houses the +boy passed were shut-up and deserted. The +fear of Morgan had swept the countryside bare +of man, woman, and child. The solitude, the +unnatural solitude of a region normally full of +human life, told on Tom's nerves. He longed to +see a human being. He had now left the gap +in the railroad well behind, but he was still in +an Eden without an Adam or an Eve. So, as +dusk came, he rejoiced to see the gleam of a +candle in a farmhouse not far ahead. He was so + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +sure Morgan's whole command was by this time +far to the northward that he galloped gayly up +to the house—and, perforce, presented to the +Confederacy one of the best horses seized in the +entire raid.</p> + +<p>The gleam had come from a back window. +The whole front of the house was closed, but +that is common in rustic places and Tom was +sure he would find the family in the kitchen, +with both food and news to give him. Instead +he found just outside the kitchen, as he and +the big bay turned the corner, a group of dismounted +cavalrymen in Confederate gray. A +mounted officer was beside them. Two +mounted men, one carrying a guidon, was +nearby. Tom pulled hard on his right rein, to +turn and run, and bent close to his saddle to +escape the bullets he expected. But one of the +men was already clutching the left rein. The +horse reared and plunged and kicked. The +rider, to his infinite disgust, was hurled from +the saddle and landed on his hands and knees before +the group. It was rather an abject position + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +in which to be captured. The Southerners +roared with good-humored laughter as they +picked him up. Even the officer smiled at the +boy's plight.</p> + +<p>Before the men, on a table outside the +kitchen door, lay a half-dozen appetizing apple +pies, evidently of that day's baking. The +farmer's wife, before she fled, had put them +there with the hope that they might propitiate +the raiders, if they came, and so might save +the house from destruction. She did not know +that Morgan's men did not make war that way. +Those of them who had come there suspected +a trap in this open offer of the pies.</p> + +<p>"They mout be pizened," one trooper suggested.</p> + +<p>At that moment, when they were hesitating +between hunger and fear, Tom butted in upon +them and was seized.</p> + +<p>"Let the Yankee sample the pies," shouted a +second soldier when the little scurry of the capture +was over. This met instant approval and +Tom, now upon his feet, was being pushed forward + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +to the table when the officer spoke, with +a smiling dignity that showed he was the friend +as well as the commander of his rude soldiery.</p> + +<p>"I'll do the sampling," he said. "Give me a +pie."</p> + +<p>He bit with strong white teeth through the +savory morsel and detected no foreign taint. +The pies vanished forthwith, half of one of +them down Tom's hungry throat. Then the +officer spoke to him.</p> + +<p>"Son," he said, "I suppose you borrowed that +uniform somewhere, didn't you? You're too +young to wear it by right. Who are you?"</p> + +<p class="pmb2">He was a man of medium height, spare but +splendidly built, with his face bronzed by long +campaigning in the open air, regular features, +piercing black eyes that twinkled, but could +shoot fire, waving black hair above a beautiful +brow, dazzling white teeth—altogether a vivid +man. His mustache and imperial were black. +He was as handsome as Abraham Lincoln was +plain, yet there was between the two, the one +the son of a Southern aristocrat, the other the +son of a Southern poor white, an elusive resemblance. +It may have been the innate nobleness +and kindliness of both men. It may have +been the Kentucky blood which was their common +portion. At any rate, the resemblance was +there.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_210.jpg" width="600" height="382" alt="GENERAL DUKE SAMPLES THE PIES" title="" /> + <span class="font07a">From "Famous Adventures of the Civil War." The Century Co.</span><br /> + <span class="caption font08">GENERAL DUKE SAMPLES THE PIES</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tom took one glance at the chief of his captors +and then saluted with real respect as he +replied:</p> + +<p>"I am Thomas Strong, sir, second-lieutenant, +U. S. A."</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, sir, I am sorry to hear it. +We don't make war on boys. If you had been, +as I thought, just masquerading as a soldier, I +would have turned you loose at once. Now I +must take you with us."</p> + +<p>Ten minutes afterwards, the little group with +Tom, disarmed but unbound, in the middle of +it, was galloping northeastward. A few yards +ahead of it the officer rode with a free bridle +rein, chatting with an aide beside him. He rode +like a centaur. Tom thought him one of the +finest soldiers he had ever seen. And so he was. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +He was Gen. Basil W. Duke, brother-in-law, +second in command, and historian of General +Morgan. He was a soldier and a gentleman, +if ever God made one.</p> + +<p>A fortnight later, a fortnight of almost constant +fighting, much of it with home-guards and +militia who feared Morgan too much to fight +him hard, but part of it with seasoned soldiers +who fought as good Americans should, Morgan +crossed the Ohio again into the comparative +safety of West Virginia. He took across with +him his few prisoners, including Tom. Then, +finding that the mass of his brigade had been +cut off from crossing, the Confederate general +detached a dozen men to take the prisoners +south while he himself with most of the troopers +with him recrossed to where danger beckoned. +On July 26, 1862, at Salineville, Ohio, not far +from Pittsburg, trapped, surrounded, and outnumbered, +he surrendered with the 364 men +who were all that were left of his gallant band. +Our government made the mistake of treating +him and his officers not as captured soldiers but + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +as arrested bandits. They were sent to the Ohio +State Penitentiary, whence Morgan made a daring +escape not long afterwards. He made his +way to freedom on Southern soil. Meanwhile, +Tom had been taken to captivity on that same +soil. He was in Libby Prison, at the Confederate +Capital, Richmond, Virginia.</p> + +<p>His journey thither had been long and hard +and uneventful, except for the gradual loss of +the few things he had with him. His pistol +and his money had been taken when he was +first captured. Now, as he was turned over to +one Confederate command after another, bit by +bit his belongings disappeared. His boots went +early in the journey. His cap was plucked from +his head. His uniform was eagerly seized by +a Confederate spy, who meant to use it in getting +inside the Union lines. When he was finally +turned over to the Provost Marshal of the chief +Confederate army, commanded by Gen. Robert +E. Lee, he was bareheaded and barefoot and +had nothing to wear except an old Confederate +gray shirt and the ragged remains of what had + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +once been a pair of Confederate gray trousers, +held about his waist by a string. He was +hungry and tired and unbelievably dirty. The +one good meal he had had on his long march +had been given him at Frederick, Maryland, by +a delightful old lady whom Tom always believed +to be Barbara Frietchie.</p> + +<p>It was August now. On July 4, Grant had +taken Vicksburg and Meade had defeated Lee +at Gettysburg. The doom of the Confederacy +had begun to dawn. None the less Robert E. +Lee's tattered legions, forced back from the +great offensive in Pennsylvania to the stubborn +defense of Richmond, trusted, worshiped, and +loved their great general.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Meade, the Union commander, by excess of +caution, had let Lee escape after Gettysburg. +He did not attack the retreating foe. Lincoln +was deeply grieved.</p> + +<p>"We had them within our grasp," he said, +throwing out his long arms. "We had only to +stretch forth our hands and they were ours. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +And nothing I could say or do could make our +army move."</p> + +<p>Four days afterwards, General Wadsworth of +New York, a gallant fighter, one of the corps +commanders who had tried to spur the too-prudent +Meade into attacking, came to the +White House.</p> + +<p>"Why did Lee escape?" Lincoln eagerly +asked him.</p> + +<p>"Because nobody stopped him."</p> + +<p>And that was the truth of it. If Lee had been +stopped, the war would have ended nearly two +years before it did end. It is a wonderful proof +of Lincoln's wonderful sense of justice that +though he repeated: "Our army held the war +in the hollow of their hand and they would not +close it," he added at once: "Still, I am very, +very grateful to Meade for the great service he +did at Gettysburg."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Lee was a son of "Light-Horse Harry" Lee, +the daring cavalry commander of the Revolution +and the author of the immortal phrase about + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +Washington: "First in war, first in peace, and +first in the hearts of his countrymen." Robert +E. Lee had had an honorable career at West +Point and in the war with Mexico and was Lieutenant-Colonel +of Engineers in the United +States army when the war between the States +began. He loved his country and her flag, but +he had been bred in the belief that his loyalty +was due first to Virginia rather than to the +Union. When the Old Dominion, after first +refusing to secede, finally did so, Lieut.-Col. Lee, +U. S. A., became General Lee, C. S. A. Great +efforts were made to keep him on the Union +side. It is said he was offered the chief command +of our army. Sadly he did his duty as he +saw it. He put aside the offers made him, resigned +his commission, and left Arlington for +Richmond.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">Arlington, now a vast cemetery of Union soldiers, +crowns a hill on the Virginia side of the +Potomac. The city of Washington lies at its +feet. The valley of the Potomac spreads before +it. From the portico of the old-fashioned house, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +a portico upheld by many columns, one can look +towards Mt. Vernon, not many miles away, but +hid from sight by clustering hills. The house +was built in 1802 by George Washington Parke +Custis, son of Washington's stepson, who was +his aide at Yorktown in 1783, and grandson of +Martha Washington. Parke Custis, who died in +1858, directed in his will that his slaves should +be freed in five years. Lee, his son-in-law and +executor, scrupulously freed them in 1863 and +gave them passes through the Confederate lines. +He had already given freedom to his own slaves. +Long before the war, he wrote from Fort +Brown, Texas, to his wife: "In this enlightened +age there are few, I believe, but will +acknowledge that slavery as an institution, is a +moral and political evil in any country.... +I think it is a greater evil to the white than the +black race."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> + <img src="images/illo_218.jpg" width="550" height="700" alt="Arlington" title="" /> + <span class="caption"><span class="font08"><span class="smcap">Arlington</span></span><br /> + <span class="font07a">Copyright by Underwood & Underwood. New York.</span><br /> + </span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2">Robert E. Lee was one of the greatest four +Virginians. He ranks with George Washington, +George Mason, and Thomas Jefferson. No +praise could be greater. When "the Lost +Cause," as the Southerners fondly call their +great fight for what they believed to be right, +reeled down to decisive defeat, the general +whom they had worshiped in war proved himself +a great patriot in peace. His last years were +passed as President of Washington and Lee +University in Virginia. Long before his death, +his name was honored by every fair-minded +man on the Northern as well as the Southern +side of Mason and Dixon's line. One of the +noblest eulogies of him was voiced upon the +centennial of his birth, January 9, 1907, at Washington +and Lee University, by Charles Francis +Adams. The best blood of Massachusetts honored +the best blood of Virginia. Our country +was then again one country and all of it was +free.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Tom Strong was standing with a group of +other prisoners, all Northern officers, under +guard, beside the Provost Marshal's tent at +Lee's headquarters. These were upon a little +knoll, from which the eye ranged over the long + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +lines of rotten tents, huts, and heaps of brush +that gave such shelter as they could to the +ragged, hungry, and undaunted legions of the +Confederacy. It was early in the morning. +Scanty breakfasts were cooking over a thousand +fires. From the cook-tent at headquarters, +there came an odor of bubbling coffee that made +the prisoners' hunger the harder to bear. The +whole camp was strangely silent.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">Then, in the distance, there was a storm of +cheering. It gained in sound and shrillness. +The soldiers poured out of their tents by the +thousand. Those who had hats waved them; +those who had not waved their arms; and every +throat joined in the famous "rebel yell." +Through the shouting thousands rode a half-dozen +superbly mounted horsemen, at their +head a gallant figure, with close-cropped white +beard, whiskers, and mustache, seated upon a +superb iron-gray horse, sixteen hands high, the +famous Traveler.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 595px;"> + <img src="images/illo_222.jpg" width="595" height="407" alt="GEN. ROBERT E. LEE ON TRAVELER" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">GEN. ROBERT E. LEE ON TRAVELER</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2">It was Robert E. Lee, the one hope of the +Confederacy. Even his iron self-control almost +broke, as he saw the passionate joy with which +he was hailed by the survivors of the gallant +gray army he had launched in vain against the +bayonet-crowned hills of Gettysburg. A flush +almost as red as that of youth crept across his +pale cheeks and a mist crept into his eyes. His +charger bore him proudly up the grassy knoll +where the Union prisoners were huddled together. +As his glance swept over them, he +noted with surprise the youthfulness of the boy +who stood in the front line. Many a boy as +young as Tom or even younger was in the ranks +Lee led. Many an old man bent under the +weight of his gun in those ranks. The Confederacy, +by this time almost bled white, was said +to have "robbed the cradle and the grave" to +keep its armies at fighting strength. The North, +with many more millions of people, had not been +driven to do this. Tom was one of the few +boys in the armies of the Union.</p> + +<p>"Who is this?" asked Lee, as he checked +Traveler before the group.</p> + +<p>"Thomas Strong, sir," answered the boy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your rank?"</p> + +<p>"Second-lieutenant, sir."</p> + +<p>"Where were you captured?"</p> + +<p>"In Ohio, sir, by General Morgan."</p> + +<p>Tom was faint with hunger as he was put +through this little catechism. As he made the +last answer, he reeled against the next prisoner, +Col. Thomas E. Rose, of Indiana, who caught +and held him. Lee misunderstood the movement. +His lip curled with disgust as he said:</p> + +<p>"Are you—a boy—drunk?"</p> + +<p>Tom was too far gone to answer, but Rose +and a half-dozen others answered for him.</p> + +<p>"Not drunk, but hungry, General."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," the courteous Virginian +replied, "but at least you shall be hungry no +longer. My staff and I will postpone our breakfast +until you have eaten. Pompey!" An old +negro came out of the cook-tent. He had been +one of George Washington Parke Custis's +slaves. When freed, he had refused to leave +"Marse Robert," whose cook he had become. +He wore the remains of a Confederate uniform. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +"Pompey, give these gentlemen our breakfast. +We will wait."</p> + +<p>"But—but—Marse Robert, I'se dun got real +coffee dis mornin'."</p> + +<p>"Our involuntary guests," said Lee with a +gentle smile as he turned to the prisoners, "will, +I hope, enjoy the real coffee."</p> + +<p>And enjoy it they did. It and the cornbread +and bacon that came with it were nectar and +ambrosia to the hungry prisoners. The only +fleck upon the feast was when one of them, in +his hurry to be served, spoke rudely to old +Pompey. The negro turned away without a +word, but his feelings were deeply hurt. When +the Union officer hurled after him a word of +foul abuse, Pompey turned back, laid his hand +upon his ragged uniform, and said:</p> + +<p>"I doesn't objeck to de pussonal cussin', sah, +but you must 'speck de unicorn."</p> + +<p>After that the "unicorn" and the fine old +negro who wore it were both amply respected. +When everything in sight had been eaten, the +prisoners were ordered to fall in line. Their + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +guards stood in front of the little column, beside +it, behind it.</p> + +<p>"Forward, march!"</p> + +<p>They marched southward for a few miles, +tramped through the swarming, somber streets +of Richmond, and reached Libby Prison. Its +doors closed behind them with a clang. Captivity +in the open had been hard enough to bear. +This new kind of captivity, within doors, with +barred windows, was to be harder yet. Tom +was to spend six weary months in Libby Prison.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was while he was there that Abraham Lincoln +made his wonderful Gettysburg speech.</p> + +<p>The battlefield of Gettysburg was made +sacred by the men who died there for Freedom's +sake and also by the men who died there +for the sake of what they honestly thought were +the rights of the Slave States. Congress made +the battlefield a Soldiers' Cemetery. It was to +be dedicated to its great memories on November +19, 1863. The morning before a special train +left Washington for Gettysburg. It carried + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +President Lincoln, Secretary of State Seward, +two other members of the Cabinet, the two private +secretaries, Nicolay and Hay, the distinguished +Pennsylvanian, Wayne MacVeagh, +later U. S. Attorney-General and later still our +Minister to Italy, and others of lesser note. +Among those latter was the Hon. Thomas +Strong, who had been made one of the party by +Lincoln's kind thoughtfulness. It was he who +afterwards told his son the story of Lincoln's +Gettysburg speech, scarcely regarded at the moment, +but long since recognized as one of the +masterpieces of English literature.</p> + +<p>The little town of Gettysburg was in a ferment +that November night, when the President's +train arrived. It was full of people and +bands and whisky. Crowds strolled through +the streets, serenading statesmen and calling for +speeches with an American crowd's insatiable +appetite for talky-talk. "MacVeagh," says +Hay, "made a most beautiful and touching +speech of five minutes," but another Pennsylvanian +made a most disgusting and drunken + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +speech of many minutes. Lincoln and most of +his party of course had no share in all this brawling +merriment. He and Seward had talked +briefly to shouting thousands early in the +evening.</p> + +<p>On the way up from Washington, the President +had sat in a sad abstraction. He took little +part in the talk that buzzed about him. Once, +when MacVeagh was vehemently declaiming +about the way the Southern magnates were misleading +the Southern masses, Lincoln said with +a weary smile one of those sayings of his which +will never be forgotten. "You can fool part of +the people all the time; you can fool all the +people part of the time; but you can't fool all +the people all the time." Then he became silent +again. He did not know what he was to say +on the morrow. The chief oration was to be +by Edward Everett of Massachusetts, a trained +orator, fluent and finished in polished phrase. +He had been Governor of Massachusetts, Minister +to England, Secretary of State, United +States Senator. He was handsome, distinguished, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +graceful. The ungainly President felt +that he and his words would be but a foil to +Everett and his sonorous sentences, sentences +that were sure to come rolling in like "the +surge and thunder of the Odyssey." Everett had +graduated from Harvard, Lincoln from a log-cabin. +Both must face on the morrow the same +audience.</p> + +<p>The President searched his pockets and found +the stub of a pencil. From the aisle of the car, +he picked up a piece of brown wrapping paper, +thrown there by Seward, who had just opened +a package of books in the opposite seat. He +penciled a few words, bent his head upon his +great knotted hand in thought, then penciled a +few more. Then he struck out some words and +added others, read his completed task and did +not find it good. He shook his head, stuffed the +brown wrapping paper into his pocket, and took +up again his interrupted talk with MacVeagh.</p> + +<p>At eleven the next morning, from an open-air +platform on the battlefield, Everett held the vast +audience through two hours of fervent speech, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +fervent with patriotism, fervent also with bitterness +against the men he called "the Southern +rebels." His speech was literature and his +voice was music. As the thunder of his peroration +ended a thunderstorm of applause began. +When it, too, died away, there shambled to the +front of the platform an ungainly, badly dressed +man, contrasting sharply and in every way disadvantageously +with Everett of the silver +tongue. This man's tongue betrayed him too. +He tried to pitch his voice to reach all that vast +audience and his first words came in a squeaking +falsetto. A titter ran through the crowd. Lincoln +stopped speaking. There were a few seconds +of painful silence. Then he came to his +own. With a voice enriched by a passionate +sincerity, he began again and finished his Gettysburg +speech. Here it is:</p> + +<p>"Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers +brought forth on this Continent a new nation, +conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition +that all men are created equal. Now we +are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so +dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a +great battlefield of that war. We have come to +dedicate a portion of it as a final resting-place +for those who here gave their lives that that +nation might live. It is altogether fitting and +proper that we should do this. But in a larger +sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, +we cannot hallow, this ground. The brave men, +living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated +it far above our poor power to add or +to detract. The world will little note nor long +remember what we say here, but it can never +forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, +rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished +work which they who fought here have +thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us +to be here dedicated to the great task remaining +before us—that from these honored dead we +take increased devotion to that cause for which +they here gave the last full measure of devotion—that +we here highly resolve that these +dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; +and that government of the people, by the people, +for the people shall not perish from the +earth."</p> + +<p>The President ceased to speak. There was no +thunderstorm of applause such as had followed +Everett's studied sentences and polished periods. +There was no applause at all. One long stir of +emotion throbbed through the silent throng, but +did not break the silence. Then the multitude +dispersed, talking of what Everett had said, +thinking of what Lincoln had said. Most of the +notables on the platform thought the President's +speech a failure. Time has shown that it was +one of the greatest things even he ever did.</p> + +<p>Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews has written +in her short story "The Perfect Tribute" +the history of the Gettysburg speech. The boy +who would know what manner of man our +Abraham Lincoln was should read "The Perfect +Tribute." One of the characters in the +story, a dying Confederate officer, says to Lincoln +without knowing to whom he was speaking: + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +"The speech so went home to the hearts +of all those thousands of people that when it +ended it was as if the whole audience held its +breath—there was not a hand lifted to applaud. +One might as well applaud the Lord's prayer—it +would be sacrilege. And they all felt it—down +to the lowest. There was a long minute +of reverent silence, no sound from all that great +throng—it seems to me, an enemy, that it was +the most perfect tribute that has ever been paid +by any people to any orator."</p> + +<p>The Gettysburg speech was not for the moment. +It is for all time.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Tom is Hungry—He Learns to "Spoon" by +Squads—The Bullet at the Window—Working +on the Tunnel—"Rat Hell"—The +Risk of the Roll-call—What Happened +to Jake Johnson, Confederate Spy—Tom +in Libby Prison—Hans Rolf Attends +Him—Hans Refuses to Escape—The Flight +Through the Tunnel—Free, but How to +Stay So?</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="pmb2">When the war between the States began, +Libby & Son were a thriving firm of merchants +in Richmond. They owned a big warehouse, +which fronted on Carey Street and extended +back over land that sloped down to +another street, which occupied all the space between +the southern wall of the warehouse and +the canal that here bordered the James River. +The building was full before the war of that +rich Virginia tobacco which Thackeray praises in + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +"The Virginians" and which the worn-out lands +of the Old Dominion can no longer produce.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_235.jpg" width="600" height="468" alt="LIBBY PRISON AFTER THE WAR" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">LIBBY PRISON AFTER THE WAR</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">The prisoners in Libby had painfully little to +eat. The whole South was hungry. When Confederate +soldiers were starving, Confederate +prisoners could not expect to fatten. Nor was +this the only evil thing. The prison was indescribably +unclean. The cellar and the lower +floor, upon which no prisoners were allowed +except in the dining-room in the middle of the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +floor and the hospital, swarmed with huge rats +which climbed upstairs at night and nipped +mouthfuls of human flesh when they could. +There was no furniture. The prisoners slept on +the floor, so crowded together that they had to +lie spoon fashion in order to lie down at all. +They had divided themselves into squads and +had chosen commanders. Tom found himself +assigned to Squad Number Four. The first +night, when he had at last sunk into uncomfortable +sleep upon the hard floor, he was awakened +by the sharp command of the captain of +his group:</p> + +<p>"Attention, Squad No. Four! Prepare to +spoon! One, two, spoon!"</p> + +<p>The squad flopped over, from one weary +bruised side to another. It seemed to the worn-out +boy that he had just "spooned," when again +he waked to hear the queer command and again +he flopped. This was a sample of many nights.</p> + +<p>On the following morning Tom had one of the +narrow escapes of his life. He was leaning +against one of the barred windows, looking at + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +the broad valley of the James, when he was suddenly +seized violently by the arm and jerked to +one side. His arm ached with the vice-like grip +that had been laid upon it and his knees, sticking +through his torn trousers, had been barked +against the floor, as he was dragged back, but +he turned to the man who had laid hold of him, +not with anger, but with thankfulness. For, at +the second he had been seized a bullet had +whizzed through the window just where his +head had been. If he had not been jerked away, +the Chronicles of Tom Strong would have ended +then and there.</p> + +<p>If Tom was not angry, the man was. He +glared at him.</p> + +<p>"You little fool, don't you know better than +that?"</p> + +<p>When the boy heard himself called a fool, he +did become angry, but after all this big person +had saved his life, even if he did call him names. +So he swallowed his wrath—which is an excellent +thing to do with wrath—and answered +quite meekly:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, sir, I don't know better. Can't we look +out of the windows?"</p> + +<p>"Hasn't anybody told you that?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then I shouldn't have called you a fool." +Tom smiled and nodded in acceptance of the +implied apology. "The sentries outside have +orders to fire whenever they see anybody at a +window. Last week two men were killed that +way. I thought you were a goner, sure, when +I saw you looking out. Sorry if I hurt you, but +it's better to be hurt than to be killed. Shake."</p> + +<p>The boy wrung the big man's hand and +thanked him for his timely aid. They strolled +together up and down the big room now deserted +by most of its occupants, who had begun +below their patient wait for dinner. The man +was Colonel Rose. He found Tom to his liking. +And he needed an intelligent boy in his business. +Just then Colonel Rose's business was to +escape. This seemed hopeless, but the Colonel +did not think so. Yet it had been often tried +and had always failed. When several hundred + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +intelligent Americans are shut up, through no +fault of their own, in a most unpleasant prison, +with nothing to do, they are quite certain to +find something to do by planning an escape and +by trying to make the plan a reality. One trouble +about the former plans at Libby had been +that the whole mass of prisoners had known +about them. There must always be leaders in +such an enterprise, but hitherto the leaders had +taken the crowd into their confidence. Now +there were Confederate spies in the crowd, sham +prisoners. The former plots had always been +found out. Once or twice they had been allowed +to ripen and the first fugitives had found their +first free breath their last, for they had stumbled +into a trap and had been instantly shot +down upon the threshold of freedom. More +often the ringleaders had disappeared, spirited +away without warning and probably shot, while +their scared followers had been left to despair. +Rose had learned the history of all the past attempts. +He planned along new lines. He decided +upon absolute secrecy, except for the men + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +who were actually to do the work. This work +involved a good deal of burrowing into holes +that must be particularly narrow at first and +never very big. A strong, lithe boy could get +into a hole where a stout man could not go. +Once in, he could enlarge it so that many men +could follow. Colonel Rose wanted a human +mole. He had picked Tom Strong for the job. +Now, in whispered sentences, he told the boy +of the plan and asked his aid. Tom's shining +eyes threatened to tell how important the talk +was.</p> + +<p>"Act as though you were uninterested, my +boy," Colonel Rose warned him. "Keep your +eyelids down. Yawn occasionally."</p> + +<p>So Tom tried to look dull, which was not at +all his natural appearance. He studied the +floor as if he expected to find diamonds upon it. +He yawned so prodigiously as to attract the +attention he was trying to escape. An amateur +actor is apt to overact his part. And all the +time he was listening with a passionate interest +to Colonel Rose's story of the way to freedom. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +Of course he was glad to try to help make the +hope a fact.</p> + +<p class="pmb1">That night the work began. The kitchen +dining-hall was deserted from 10 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> to 4 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>, +so it was selected as the field of operation. Below +the kitchen was the carpenter-shop. No +opening could be made into that without instant +detection. On the same floor with the kitchen +and just east of it was the hospital. That room +must be avoided too. Below the hospital was +an unused cellar, half full of rotting straw and +all full of squealing rats. It was called "Rat +Hell." Outside of it was a small sewer that +led to a larger one which passed under the canal +and emptied its contents into the James River. +These sewers were to be the highway to freedom. +The first step must be to get from the +kitchen to Rat Hell. To do this it was necessary +to dig through a solid stone wall a reversed +"S," like this:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 60px;"> + <img src="images/illo_241.jpg" width="60" height="48" alt="Reverse S" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="p1">The upper end of the secret passage was to +open into the kitchen fireplace, the lower into + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +Rat Hell. There were fourteen men in the +secret, besides Tom. Between them, they had +just one tool, an old knife. One of them owned +a bit of burlap, used sometimes as a mattress +and sometimes as a bed-quilt. It had a new +use now. It was spread upon the kitchen hearth +in the midnight darkness and a pile of soot was +pulled down upon it. Then the mortar between +a dozen bricks at the back of the fireplace was +cut out with the knife and the bricks pried out +of place. This was done by Major A. G. Hamilton, +Colonel Rose's chief assistant. He carefully +replaced the bricks and flung handfuls of +soot over them. He and Rose crept upstairs, +carrying the sooty bit of burlap with them, and +slept through what was left of the night. The +next day was an anxious time for them. When +they went down to the kitchen, where a couple +of hundred men were gathered, it seemed to +them that the marks of their toil by night were +too plain not to be seen by some of them. Their +nervousness made them poor judges. Nobody +saw what had been done. That night, as soon + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +as the last straggler left, Rose and Hamilton +again removed the bricks and attacked the stubborn +stone behind the fireplace. Fortunately +the stones were not large. Bit by bit they were +pried out of the loosened mortar.</p> + +<p>Now came Tom's chance to serve the good +cause. He was a proud boy, a few nights later, +when he was permitted to go down to the +kitchen with the Colonel and the Major, in order +that he might creep into the hole they had made +and enlarge it. His heels wiggled in the air. +He laid upon his stomach in the upper part of +the reversed "S" and plied the old knife as +vigorously as it could be plied without making +a tell-tale noise. When he had widened the passage, +one of the men took his place in it and +drove it downward. One night Colonel Rose +in his eagerness got into the opening before +the lower part of it had been sufficiently +enlarged and stuck there. It was only by +a terrible effort that Hamilton and Tom finally +dragged him out, bruised, bleeding and gasping +for breath. Finally, after many nights, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +Rat Hell was reached. A bit of rope, stolen +from about a box of food sent a prisoner, +had been made into a rope ladder. It was hung +from the edge of the hole. The three crept cautiously +down to Rat Hell. This haven did +not seem much like heaven. With squeals of +wrath, the rats attacked the intruders and the +intruders fled up their ladder. They were no +match for a myriad rats. Moreover they feared +lest the noise would bring into the basement the +sentry whose steps they could hear on the sidewalk +outside. So they fled, taking their rope-ladder +with them, and again, as ever, they replaced +the bricks and painted them with the +friendly soot.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">The next night, armed this time with sticks +of wood, they fought it out with the rats and +made them understand their masters had come +to stay. Fortunately the fight was short. It +was noisy and the sentry came. But when he +opened the door from the street and looked into +the darkness of the basement, the Union officers +were safely hid under the straw and only a few + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +of the defeated rats still squealed. At last the +tunnel to the sewer could be begun. Colonel +Rose had long since decided, by forbidden, +stealthy glances from an upper window, just +where it was to be. The measurement made + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +above was now made below, the straw against +the eastern wall was rolled aside and the old +knife, or what was left of it after its battle with +brick and stone, was put to the easier task of +digging dirt.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 474px;"> + <img src="images/illo_245.jpg" width="474" height="700" alt="FIGHTING THE RATS" title="" /> + <span class="caption"><span class="font08 smcap">FIGHTING THE RATS</span><br /> + <span class="font07a">From "Famous Adventures of the Civil War."<br /> + The Century Co.</span> + </span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">Soon a new difficulty had to be met. Before +the tunnel was five feet long, the air in it became +so foul that candles went out in it. So +would the lives of the diggers have gone out if +they had stayed in it long. Five of the fifteen +now went down each night, so that everybody +had two nights' rest out of three. But the progress +made was pitifully slow. Man after man +was hauled by his heels out of the poisonous +pit, almost at his last gasp. Once, when Hamilton +had been brought out and was being +fanned back to life by Colonel Rose and Tom, +the boy whispered:</p> + +<p>"Why not fan air into the tunnel?"</p> + +<p>Nobody had thought of that obvious plan. +Like most great inventions it was simple—when +seen. Thereafter one or two men always sat at +the end of the tunnel fanning air into it with + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +their hats. But even so, many a candle went +out and many a digger was pulled out, black in +the face and almost dead.</p> + +<p>The tunnel sloped downwards, of course, to +reach the sewer. It sloped too far down. It +got below the water-level of the canal. Hamilton +was caught in it by the rush of water and +almost drowned. So much work had to be done +over again. Then came a crushing blow. When +the small sewer was finally reached, it proved +to be too small for a man to pass through it. +But it had a wooden lining, which was bit by +bit taken off. When this had been done to +within a few feet of the main sewer, two men +were detailed to cut their way through. The +next night was set as the time for the escape. +None of the thirteen slept while the two were +cutting away the final obstacle. The thirteen +did not sleep the next night either, for it was +36 hours before the two came back with their +heartbreaking news. They had found the last +few feet of the sewer-lining made of seasoned +oak, three inches thick and hard as stone. The + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +poor old knife that had served them so long and +so well, could not even scratch the toughened +oak. Thirty-nine nights of grinding toil had +ended in failure.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the thirteen had had to face a new +problem. There were two roll-calls every day, +at 9 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> and 4 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> How were the two absent +men to answer? At roll-call everybody stood in +one long line and everybody was counted. If +the count were two short, there would be swift +search for the missing. And the beginning of +the tunnel was hidden only by a few bundles of +straw. This was before they knew the tunnel +was useless, but had they known it they would +have been scarcely less anxious, for its discovery +would have made all future attempts to +escape more dangerous and more doubtful. +However, the roll-call problem was safely +solved. The thirteen crowded into the upper +end of the line and two of them, as soon as they +had answered to their own names, dropped back, +crouched down, crept behind the backs of many +men to the other end of the line, slipped into + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +place, and there answered for the missing men, +without detection. In the afternoon, they came +very near being caught. Some of the other +prisoners thought this was being done just for +fun, to confuse the Confederate clerk who called +the roll, and thought they would take a hand in +the fun too. There was so much dodging and +double answering that "Little Ross," the good-humored +little clerk, lost his temper and ordered +the captives to stand in squads of ten to be +counted. By this time he had called the roll +half a dozen times, with results varying from +minus one to plus fifteen. When he gave his +order, an order obedience to which would have +certainly told the tale of two absentees, he went +on to explain why he gave it.</p> + +<p>"Now, gentlemen, there's one thing sho'; +there's eight or ten of you-uns yere that ain't +yere."</p> + +<p class="pmb2">This remarkable statement brought a shout +of laughter from the Confederate guards. The +prisoners joined in it. "Little Ross" himself +caught the contagion and also began to laugh.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_250.jpg" width="600" height="185" alt="SECTIONAL VIEW OF LIBBY PRISON AND THE TUNNEL" title="" /> + <span class="caption"> + <span class="font07a">From "Famous Adventures of the Civil War." The Century Co.</span><br /> + <br /> + <span class="font08"><span class="smcap">SECTIONAL VIEW OF LIBBY PRISON AND THE TUNNEL</span></span><br /> + <br /> + <span class="font07a">1. Streight's room; 2. Milroy's room; 3. Commandant's office; 4. Chickamauga room (upper); + 5. Chickamauga room (lower); 6. Dining-room; 7. Carpenter's shop (middle cellar); 8. Gettysburg + room (upper); 9. Gettysburg room (lower); 10. Hospital room; 11. East or "Rat Hell" cellar; 12. + South side Canal street, ten feet lower than Carey street; 13. North side Carey street, ground sloping + toward Canal; 14. Open lot; 15. Tunnel; 16. Fence; 17. Shed; 18. Kerr's warehouse; 19. Office James + River Towing Co.; 20. Gate; 21. Prisoners escaping; 22. West cellar.<br /></span><br /> + </span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2">The dreaded order was laughed out of court +and forgotten.</p> + +<p>The two men crept upstairs early the next +morning. The first night daylight had caught +them at work, so they had not dared to return, +but had stayed and had worked through the +36 hours. They brought back the handle of +the knife, with a mere stump of a blade, and +the depressing news of failure. But men who +are fit for freedom do not cease to strive for it. +If one road to it is blocked, they seek another. +That very day, when the fifteen had gathered +together and the two had told their tale, a pallor +of despair crept over some of the faces, but +it was dispelled by the flush of hope when +Colonel Rose said: "If we can't go south, we'll +go east; we must tunnel to the yard beyond the +vacant lot. We'll begin tonight."</p> + +<p>"But," objected one doubting Thomas, "from +the yard we'd have to come out on the street. +There's a gas-lamp there—and a sentry."</p> + +<p>"We can put out the lamp and if need be the +sentry," Colonel Rose answered, "when we get + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +to them. The thing now is to get there. We +have fifty-three feet of tunnel to dig, if my +figures are correct. That's a job of a good many +nights. This night will see the job begun."</p> + +<p>It was begun with a broad chisel kind Fate +had put in their way and with a big wooden +spittoon, tied to a rope. This, when filled with +earth, was pulled out, emptied, and returned for +a fresh load. A fortnight afterwards the officer +who was digging that night made a mistake in +levels and came too near the surface, which +broke above him. Dismayed, he backed out and +reported the blunder. The hole was in plain +sight. Discovery was certain if it were not +hidden. The story was but half told when +Colonel Rose began stripping off his blouse.</p> + +<p>"Here, Tom, take this. It's as dirty as the +dirt and won't show. Stuff it into the hole so +it will lie flat on the surface. Quick!"</p> + +<p>Tom wriggled along the tunnel to the hole. +There he smeared some more dirt on the dirty +blouse, put it into the hole with cunning care, +and wriggled back. That morning at sunrise, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +when they peeked down from their prison windows +into the eastern lot, even their straining +eyes could scarcely see the tiny bit of blouse that +showed. No casual glance would detect it. Of +that they were sure.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Every few days new prisoners were thrust +into Libby. Whenever this happened it was the +custom that on the first evening they should +tell whatever news they could of the outside +world and of their own capture to the whole +prison community. One morning the keeper +of Libby receipted for another captured Yankee +and soon Captain Jacob Johnson appeared in the +grimy upper rooms. He responded very cordially, +rather too cordially, to the greetings he +received. It soon became understood that he +was only a guerilla captain from Tennessee. +Now neither side was overproud of the guerillas +who infested the borderland, who sometimes +called themselves Unionists and sometimes Confederates, +and who did more stealing than fighting. +So a rather cold shoulder was turned to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +the new captive, though the community's judgment +upon him was deferred until after he +should have been heard that evening. He +seemed to try to warm the cold shoulder by a +certain greasy sidling to and fro and by attempts +at too familiar conversation. He began to talk +to Colonel Rose, who soon shook him off, and +to sundry other persons, among whom was +Tom. The boy was not mature enough in the +ways of the world to get rid of him. Johnson +spent some hours with him and bored him to +distraction. There was a mean uneasiness about +him that repelled Tom. His face, an undeniably +Yankee face, awoke some unpleasant memory, +from time to time, but the boy could not place +him and finally decided that this was merely a +fancy, not a fact. None the less the man himself +was an unpleasant fact. He peered about +and sidled about in a way that might be due +only to Yankee curiosity, but Tom didn't like +it. He disliked Johnson more and more as the +newcomer kept returning to him and growing +more confidential. His talk was on various + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +natural enough themes, but it kept veering back +to the chances of escape.</p> + +<p>"I don't mean to stay in this hole long," +Johnson whispered. "Pretty mean-spirited in +all these fellows to just hang around here, without +even trying to make a getaway. What d'ye +say 'bout our trying it on, son?"</p> + +<p>The familiar address increased the boy's dislike +of the man, but he was too young to realize +that he was being "sounded" by a spy. He +was old enough, however, to know how to keep +his mouth shut about the pending plan for an +escape. He thought Johnson got nothing out +of him, but in the many half-confidential talks +the unpleasant Yankee forced upon him, perhaps +he had revealed something after all. Perhaps, +however, the newcomer got such information +as he did from other men in the secret. +Certainly he got somewhere an inkling of the +plan of escape.</p> + +<p>That evening, when he stood in a circle of sitting +men to tell his story,—a simple tale of +Northern birth, of a Southern home, of belief + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +in the Union, of raising a guerilla company to +fight for it, of capture in a raid on a Confederate +supply-depot,—the unpleasant memory +which had been troubling Tom came back and +hammered at his head until suddenly, as if a +flashlight had been turned on the scene, he saw +himself sprawling on the hearth of Uncle +Mose's slave-cabin, with this man's hand clutching +his ankle. He was sitting on the floor beside +Colonel Rose. He leant against him and whispered:</p> + +<p>"That man didn't come from Tennessee. He +was overseer on a plantation in Alabama. He +'most captured me once. I b'lieve he's a spy."</p> + +<p>Johnson caught the gleam of Colonel Rose's +eye fixed upon him. He had seen Tom whisper +to him. He faltered, stopped speaking, and sat +down. Rose walked across the circle and sat +beside him. He had snapped his fingers as he +walked and half a dozen men had answered the +signal and were now close at hand.</p> + +<p>"What did you do before you turned +guerilla?" asked Colonel Rose.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know that that's any of your darned +business," said Johnson.</p> + +<p>"Answer me."</p> + +<p>The stronger man dominated the weaker. +The spy sulkily said:</p> + +<p>"I kept a general shop in Jonesboro', Tennessee."</p> + +<p>"Ever live anywhere else in the South?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Ever do anything else in the South?"</p> + +<p>"No, sirree. What's the good of asking such +questions?"</p> + +<p>The Colonel rose to his feet and said aloud:</p> + +<p>"Major Hamilton."</p> + +<p>"Here, sir," answered the Major.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you live in Jonesboro', Tennessee, before +the war?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"How long?"</p> + +<p>"Seven years."</p> + +<p>"Who kept the general store there?"</p> + +<p>"Hezekiah Butterworth, from Maine."</p> + +<p>"Did you know him?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Rather. We were chums. He and I left +Jonesboro' together to join the army."</p> + +<p>"Is this man he?"</p> + +<p>Rose pointed to where Jake Johnson sat at his +feet, cowering, covering his face with his hands. +Other hands not too gently snatched Jake's +hands from his face. Hamilton looked at him.</p> + +<p>"He's no more Hezekiah Butterworth than +he's General Grant."</p> + +<p>By this time the whole prison community was +crowded about Colonel Rose. The latter called +again:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Strong."</p> + +<p>"Here, sir," Tom's voice piped up.</p> + +<p>"Do you know this man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." Tom told the story of Jake Johnson +on the Izzard plantation.</p> + +<p>There was an ominous low growl from the +audience. Yankee overseers of Southern plantations +were not exactly popular in that crowd +of Northern officers. And evidently this particular +overseer had been lying. But Colonel +Rose lifted his hand and said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Silence. No violence. What we do will be +done decently and in order." After this impressive +speech, he suddenly yelled: "Ah, you +would, would you?" and choked Johnson with +every pound of strength he could put into the +process. He had just seen him slip a bit of +paper into his mouth and he meant to know +what that paper was. It was plucked out of the +spy's throat as he gasped for air. Upon it the +spy's pencil had written:</p> + +<p>"Plot to escape. Lieutenant Strong knows +about it. Think Colonel Rose heads it."</p> + +<p>It was to have been Jake Johnson's first report +in his new business of being a spy. It put an +end to all business on his part forever. Gagged +and tied, he was pushed across the big room, +while Tom watched uncomprehendingly, wondering +what was to be done with the writhing +man. Suddenly he understood, for he saw it +done. Johnson was pushed into a window. +Two kneeling men held his legs and another, +standing beside him but screened by the wall, +pushed him in front of the window. The Confederate + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +sentry below obeyed his orders. There +was no challenge, no warning. He aimed and +fired at the prisoner who was breaking the laws +of the prison by looking out of the window. +What had been Jake Johnson, Yankee, negro-overseer, +Confederate conscript, volunteer spy, +fell in a dead heap to the floor of Libby. Gag +and bonds were quickly removed, so there was +nothing to tell the Confederates the real cause +of the man's death when they came to remove +the body. They had unwittingly executed their +own spy.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was right that the man should die, but the +shock of seeing him done to death was too much +for Tom. Weakened by the fatigues and hardship +of the long captivity during which he had +been carried from Ohio to Virginia and worn +out by the sufferings of life in Libby and by the +toil of the tunnel, the boy collapsed when Jake +Johnson did and for a few moments seemed as +dead as the man was. He was taken to the hospital-room, +but the hospital in Libby was usually + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +only the anteroom of the graveyard at Libby. +One of the scarcest things in the Confederacy, +the home of scarcity, was a good doctor. The +armies in the field needed far more doctors than +there were in the whole South, at the outbreak +of the war. Medical schools were quickly +created, but the demand for doctors so far outran +the supply that by this time ignorant country +lads were being rushed through the schools, +with reckless haste, so that they were graduated +when they knew but little more than when they +began. A so-called surgeon was handling his +scalpel six months after he had been handling a +plow. Some of them barely knew how to read +and write. It was inevitable that the prison hospitals +should be manned by the poorest of the +poor among the graduates of these wretched +schools. A fortunate chance, fortunate that is +for Tom, gave him, however, care that was both +skilful and tender.</p> + +<p>A few hours after the righteous execution of +Jake Johnson there had been thrust into Libby +a fresh group of prisoners, captured but fortyeight + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +hours before. Among them towered a +jovial, bearded giant, an army surgeon, Major +Hans Rolf. Libby was ringing of course with +talk of what had happened there that day. The +new prisoners quickly heard of Johnson and of +Tom Strong. Within an hour, Hans Rolf had +given his parole not to try to escape and had +been allowed to station himself beside Tom's +bed. Through that night and through the next +day, he fought Tom's battle for him, doing all +that man could do. When the boy struggled out +of his delirium and saw Rolf's kind eyes beaming +upon him, his first thought was that he was +still in the clutches of Wilkes Booth in the railroad +car. His right hand plucked feebly at his +left side, where he had then carried the dispatches +Booth sought. Hans Rolf saw and +understood the movement.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Tom," he said. "Everything's +all right. Go to sleep."</p> + +<p>And Tom, still a bit stupefied, thought everything +was all right and that he was home in New +York, with Rolf somehow or other there too. A + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +gracious and beautiful Richmond woman, who +gave her days to caring for her country's +enemies, bent over him with a smile. The boy's +eyes gleamed with a mistaken belief.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"Oh, Mother!" gasped Tom. He smiled +back and sank gently into a profound sleep, from +which he awoke to life and health. Again a +Hans Rolf had saved a Tom Strong's life.</p> + +<p>Night after night passed, one night of work +by each man followed by two of such rest as +lying spoon fashion upon a hard floor allowed. +On the seventeenth night of the new tunnel +work, Colonel Rose was digging away in it. It +was over fifty feet long. His candle flickered +and went out. The foul air closed in upon him. +Hats were fanning to and fro, back in Rat +Hell, fifty feet away, but the fresh air did not +reach him. He felt himself suffocating. With +one last effort he thrust his strong fists upward +and broke through the surface. Soon revived +by the rush of fresh air into the tunnel, he +dragged himself out and found himself in the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +yard that had been their aim. The tunnel had +reached its goal. He climbed out and studied +the situation. A high fence screened the yard +from Libby. A shed with an easily opened door +screened it from the street. At three <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>, February +6, 1864, Colonel Rose returned to prison.</p> + +<p>That morning he told his news. Most of the +men wanted to try for freedom the next night, +but there was much to do to erase all traces of +their work, so that, if the tunnel were not forthwith +discovered after their flight, it could be +used later by other fugitives. With a rare unselfishness, +they waited for sixty hours. Meanwhile +each of the fifteen had been authorized to +tell one other man, so that thirty in all could +make their escape together. Colonel Rose felt +that this was the limit. A general prison-delivery +would, he believed, result in a general recapture. +Such a secret, however, was too mighty to keep. +a whisper of it spread through the prison.</p> + +<p>When Hans Rolf had saved Tom's life, he +had been at once taken into the inner councils +of the tunnel group. He had not expressed as + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +much joy in the plan as Tom had expected. The +reason of this was now revealed. He declined +to go.</p> + +<p>"You see," he explained to Colonel Rose and +Tom, "I gave my parole not to try to escape +when Tom here was sick. I had to do so in +order to be allowed to take care of him. I +made up my mind not to ask to be relieved from +it because if I had the Confeds. might have suspected +some plan to escape was on hand. And +they seem to have forgotten all about it, for they +haven't cancelled it. So you see I'm bound in +honor not to go. Don't bother, Tom." The +boy's face showed the agony he felt that Hans +Rolf's kindness to him should now bar Hans +Rolf's way to freedom. "Don't bother. 'Twon't +be long before I'll be exchanged. And p'raps I +can save some lives here by staying. Don't +bother. It's all right. I rather like this boarding-house."</p> + +<p>The giant's great laugh rang out. The +heartiness of it amazed the weary men scattered +about the room. It brought smiles to lips that + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +had not smiled for many a day. Laughter that +comes from a clean heart does good to all who +hear it.</p> + +<p>It was clear that Rolf could not go. He was +an officer and a gentleman. Honor forbade it. +Sadly, Tom left him.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday evening, February 9, 1864, when +the chosen thirty had crawled down the inverted +"S" and the rope-ladder to Rat Hell, Col. +H. C. Hobart, who knew the secret, but had gallantly +offered to stay behind, so that he could +replace the tell-tale bricks in the fireplace, replaced +them. But before he could get upstairs, +some hundreds of men had come down. The +secret was a secret no longer. There was a +fierce struggle to get to the fireplace, a struggle +all the fiercer because it had to be made in grim +silence, for there was a sentry but a few feet +away, on the other side of the wall, in the hospital. +The bricks were taken out again. In all, +one hundred and nine Union officers got through +the hole. Then, warned by approaching daylight, +the less fortunate in the fight for freedom + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +put back the bricks and crept stealthily upstairs, +resolved to try their luck the next night, if the +tunnel were not before that discovered.</p> + +<p>Tom had wormed his way through the inverted +"S" among the first fifteen. On the +rope ladder he lost his hold and fell in a heap +upon the floor of Rat Hell. The huge rodents +swarmed upon him, squealing and biting. He +almost shrieked with the horror of it, but he +sprang to his feet, threw off his tormentors, +and ran across the room to the opening of the +tunnel. His ragged clothes were still more +ragged and his face and hands were bleeding +from rat-bites, but he cared nothing for all this. +Was he not on his way to freedom? On his way, +yes; but the way was a long one. He might +never reach the end. When he had pushed and +pulled himself through the tunnel; when he had +come out into the yard and gone through the +shed; and when, at the moment the sentry in +the canal street was at the further end of his +beat, he had slipped out of the doorway and +turned in the opposite direction,—when all this + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +had happened, he was out of prison, to be sure, +but he was in the heart of the enemy's country, +with all the risks of recapture or of death still to +be run.</p> + +<p>The men had all been cautioned to stroll away +in a leisurely fashion, on no account to run or +even to walk fast, and not to try to get away +in groups of more than two or three. It was +hard to walk slowly to the next corner. The +boy made himself do so, however. Half a block +ahead of him on the side street, he saw a couple +of men walking with a somewhat faster stride. +He hurried ahead to join them. A Confederate +patrol turned the corner of Carey Street. He +heard the two men challenged and he heard the +little scuffle as they were seized. Their brief +moment of freedom had passed. He stepped to +one side of the wooden sidewalk and crawled +under it. There was just space enough for him +to lie at full length. Hurrying feet, the feet of +men hunting other men, trampled an inch above +his nose. His heart beat so that he thought it +must be heard. The patrol reached the street + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +along the canal and peered into the darkness +there, a darkness feebly fought by one flickering +gas-lamp. Fortunately, nobody came out of the +shed just then. The sentry happened to be coming +towards it and the men inside were waiting +for him to turn. The patrol had no thought of +a general jail-delivery. It turned back with its +two prisoners, tramped back over Tom's head +to Carey Street, and took its captives to the +prison. The boy crawled out from under the +sidewalk as the next batch of fugitives, three of +them, reached the corner. He ran down to +them and warned them of the Carey Street +patrol. The three men turned with him and +walked along the canal. It was just after midnight. +Not a soul was stirring. Not a light +showed. As they walked unquestioned, their +spirits rose. How fine to be free.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Tom Hides in a River Bank—Eats Raw Fish—Jim +Grayson Aids Him—Down the James +River on a Tree—Passing the Patrol Boats—Cannonaded—The +End of the Voyage.</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Tom had made up his mind how he would +try to reach the Union lines. As he had +escaped before from the locomotive-foray by +pushing boldly into the enemy's country, so +he would do now. He would try his luck in +following the James River to the sea, for off +the river's mouth he knew there lay a squadron +of Northern ships, blockading Hampton +Roads. The "Merrimac's" attempt of March, +1862, had never been repeated. Our flag was +still there, in these February days of 1864, and +Tom knew it. He had resolved to seek it there.</p> + +<p>He explained his plan to his three comrades. +They would steal a boat, row or drift down the +James by night, hide and sleep by day, forage + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +for food upon the rich plantations, many of +them the historic homes of Virginia, that bordered +the broad river, and finally float to freedom +where our war-ships lay. But the three +men would have nothing to do with it. By land +the Union lines were much nearer. They meant +to stick to the land. They asked the boy to go +with them, but he stuck to his plan. So, with +hearty handshakes and a whispered "good +luck!" he left them, went over a canal-bridge, +and found himself upon the bank of the river. +He was again alone.</p> + +<p>Of his three temporary companions, one +finally reached our lines, one was shot within a +few hundred yards of his goal, and one was recaptured. +Of the 109 who escaped from Libby, +48 were caught and thrust back into prison.</p> + +<p>Tom walked along the river bank, prying in +the welcome darkness for a boat. It would not +have been difficult to steal it, if he could have +found it. But at this point the James is wide and +shallow and full of miniature rapids. It was +utterly bare of boats. The boy's search could + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +not be carried on after dawn. He spent that +day hidden in a clump of willows by the waterside. +The excitement of the night had kept +him up. Now the reaction from it left him limp +and miserable and hungry as he never remembered +being hungry before. It was hard work +to "grin and bear it," but at least he tried to +grin and he reminded himself a thousand times +through that long, long day that he was much +better off than if he were still a prisoner in +Libby.</p> + +<p class="pmb1">That night he followed the bank until he was +below the city, still without finding a boat. +There had been plenty of boats along this part +of the river the morning before, but as soon as +the escape from Libby had been discovered, all +boats had been seized by the military authorities, +to prevent their being used by the fugitives. +They had been taken to a point below the town. +As Tom wormed himself cautiously near this +point, very cautiously, for he heard voices upon +the bank above his head, and also the crackle +of a camp-fire, he saw in the gray dawn a flotilla + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +of boats just below him. At first sight, his heart +leaped into his mouth with joy. At the second +sight, it sank down into his boots. For above +the boats he saw a big Confederate camp and +beyond them he saw a half-dozen small craft, +negroes at the oars and armed men at bow and +stern, patrolling the river. Hope left him. He +crawled into a hiding-place in the bank. He was +so hungry that he cried. But not for long. +Stout hearts do not yield to such weakness long. +If he could not escape in a boat fashioned by +man's hands, why not in one fashioned by God? +The early spring freshets of the James were +making the river higher every hour. He saw in +cautious peeps from the hole where he had hidden +great trees from far-off forests, uprooted +there by the high water, come plunging down +mid-channel like battering rams. He noted that +the patrol-boats gave these dangerous monsters +a wide berth. If a trunk of a tree were to ram +them or if the far-flung branches were to strike +them, their next patrol would be at the bottom +of the river. On a sandbank not a hundred + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +yards from the boy's lair a big oak had stranded. +It lay quite still now, but it evidently would not +do so for many hours, for the rising water +lapped higher and higher against it. Tom +made up his mind that that tree should be his +boat—if only it were still there when it was dark +enough for him to swim out to it. Through the +daylight hours he watched it with lynx eyes, +fearing lest it were swept along towards the sea +before he could shelter himself in it. And +through these daylight hours he grew ever more +faint with hunger, until he told himself that he +must have food, at any risk, at any cost. Without +the strength it would give, he felt he could +not possibly swim even the hundred yards that +lay between him and the now tossing tree. +There is truth in the line:</p> + +<p class="center"> +"Fate cannot harm me; I have dined today."<br /> +</p> + +<p class="p1">It is too much to do to face Fate on an empty +stomach. Napoleon said that an army traveled +on its belly. Men must have food if they are to +march and fight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<p>A Confederate soldier sauntered along the +shore and stopped just in front of the boy's +hiding-place. He had a rude fish-pole. Either +he knew how to fish, or the James River fish +were very hungry. A string of a dozen hung +from his shoulder. The sight of them was too +much for Tom to stand. A raw fish seemed to +him the most toothsome morsel in the world. +He knew he was courting certain capture, but +he was starving. He would pretend to be a +Confederate himself. He spoke to the soldier, +not out of the fullness of his heart, but out of +the emptiness of his stomach.</p> + +<p>"I'm hungry," he said, "give a fellow a fish, +will you?"</p> + +<p>The soldier turned with a start. He was a +tall, gaunt man, an East Tennessee mountaineer, +who had started to join the Union army +when a Confederate conscript-officer seized him +and sent him South, under guard, to serve the +cause he had meant to fight against. East Tennessee +was, as a rule, loyal to the Union. The +men from there who were found in the Confederate + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +army were like the poor peons who are +supposed to "volunteer" in the Mexican army. +"I send you fifty volunteers," wrote a Mexican +mayor to a Mexican general, "please return me +the ropes." Jim Grayson had not been tied up +with a rope, but he had had a bayonet behind +him, when he was put into the Confederate +ranks. He was a man of intelligence and of +rather more education than most of his fellow +mountaineers. Many of them could not even +read and write. Grayson had learned both at a +"deestrik skule" and had actually had a year, +a precious year, at a "high skule." The last +thing he had read before starting to fish that +morning had been the printed handbills that +had been flung broadcast by the Confederate +authorities, announcing the escape of 108 men +and one boy from Libby Prison and offering rewards +for their recapture. And the first thing +he thought as he saw Tom in his hole in the +bank was that he was probably the boy of the +handbills. He meant to give the fellow a fish, +of course, but if he found the fellow was that + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +boy he also meant to do what he could to help +him go where he himself wanted to go, to the +Union lines.</p> + +<p>"Sholy, I'll give you a fish," he said. "You +can have all you want. I'll light a fire and cook +some for you."</p> + +<p>"I can't wait," gasped Tom, wolf-hunger in +his gleaming eyes. "I'm starving."</p> + +<p>He tried to reach out for the fish and collapsed +in utter weakness. With food at last within his +grasp, he was too far gone to take it. Jim +Grayson had been very hungry more than once +in his thirty years of hard life. He saw that +Tom was telling the truth.</p> + +<p>"Hush," he whispered, for he had caught +sight of some fellow soldiers on the bank, not a +hundred feet away. "Hush, sumbuddy's comin'. +You mus' take little pieces first. I'll cut one +up for you."</p> + +<p>He was drawing out his knife from a deep +pocket when the soldiers stopped on the bank +above their heads and shouted down, asking him +to give them some fish too.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sholy," laughed Jim. "Here's some for +you-uns."</p> + +<p>He tossed half a dozen up to them and then +sat down at the mouth of the hole that sheltered +Tom, thinking to hide him in case the +others came down the bank. His back was towards +the boy. What was left of his catch hung +within two inches of Tom's nose. That was +Tom's chance. He tore off a couple of little fish +and tore them to bits with his teeth. His first +sensation was one of deathly sickness; his next +one of returning strength. Grayson twitched +the remaining fish into his lap. He knew the +boy had already had too much food, for a first +meal. Meanwhile he was chatting cheerily with +his fellow soldiers, who fortunately did not come +down the bank and soon moved off, leaving Jim +and Tom alone. Now was the time for explanations.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afeard," said Jim, with a kindly +smile. "I 'low you be Tom Strong, bean't you? +I guess you was in Libby day afore yisterday. +I ain't goin' to give you up. I'm Union, I be, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +ef I do wear Secesh gray. How kin I help +you?"</p> + +<p>The sense of safety, safety at least for the +moment, was too much for Tom. He could not +speak.</p> + +<p>"Thar, thar," Jim went on, "it's all right. +Jes' tell me what I can do. I'll bring you eatins +soon ez night comes, but what'll you do then?"</p> + +<p>Tom told him what he hoped to do then. It +was a wild scheme to float down nearly two hundred +miles of river through a hostile country, +but yet it offered a chance of success. And if +there was a chance of success for the boy, why +not for the man?</p> + +<p>"Ef so be's ez you'se sot on it," Jim said, at +the end of the talk, "I vum I'll run the resk +with you. You ain't no ways fit to start off +alone. Ef you have to hist that thar tree into +the James River, you cudn't a-do it. I kin. 'N +ef you wuz all alonst, you mout fall off'n be +drownded. We-uns'll go together. 'N then I'll +hev a chanst to fight fer the old Union."</p> + +<p>Tom was only too glad of the promised company. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +It was arranged that Jim was to come to +him as soon as possible after nightfall, with +whatever provisions he could lay his hands +upon, and that then they were to get away on +the queer craft Providence seemed to have prepared +for them, provided only that Providence +did not send the big tree swirling southward to +the sea before they could reach it. The river +was now considerably higher. It was tugging +hard at its prey. Sometimes the tree shook with +the impact of the rushing waves as if it had decided +to let go the sandbank forthwith. If it +did go before nightfall, they must try to find +another. There were always others in sight, +but they were far away in mid-channel, floating +swiftly seaward. How could one of these be +reached, if their fellow on the sandbank joined +them? There was nothing to be done, however, +except to wait. Tom's waiting was solaced by +the eating of the rest of the fish. Man and boy +agreed that the man must loiter there no longer. +Making a fire would delay him beyond roll-call. +So Jim went and Tom again ate raw fish, trying + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +to do so slowly, but not making a great success +of that. He felt as if he could eat a whale.</p> + +<p>Darkness came only a few minutes before Jim +Grayson did. He brought with him a bundle of +food, upon part of which Tom forthwith supped. +He also brought his gun. "I'm a deserter now, +you see," he explained to the boy, "and I'll be +shot ef so be I'm caught. But ef I be caught, +I'll shoot some o' they-uns fust."</p> + +<p>They could dimly see the outlines of the big +tree, now tossing in the waves that broke above +the submerged sandbank, as if it were struggling +to be free. They swam out to it, Jim strongly, +Tom weakly. They reached it none too soon. +Ten minutes later it would have started of its +own accord. Jim's task in "histing" it was +easy. They were afloat at once. The top of the +tree, a mass of bare branches, for the tiny tender +leaves of the early Southern spring had been +swept away by the water, formed the bow of +their craft. They both perched far back, leaning +against the tangled roots. Jim gave a final push +with one dangling foot and they were off. That + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +was all Tom knew for some time. He had fallen +asleep as soon as he had snuggled securely into +his place. He did not know it when they swept +through the cordon of patrol-boats below, which +hastened to give room to the vast battering ram. +He did not even know that Jim's arm held him +in place as the tree lurched and wobbled on its +downward road. A few hours afterwards, he +awoke, refreshed and hopeful, a new man, or +rather a new boy. The night was clear. The +outlines of both shores were visible. A young +moon added its feeble light to the brilliant radiance +of the stars.</p> + +<p>"Where are we?" whispered Tom. He knew +the human voice carries a great distance over +water and while there seemed to be no one who +could overhear, he would run no unnecessary +risk.</p> + +<p>"I never sailed no river before," Jim cheerily +answered, "'n I dun know nothin' 'bout the +Jeems River, but I 'low we've come 'bout a thousand +mile. 'N it's nigh sun-up. How'll we-uns +git to sho' 'n hide?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If we did that," said Tom, "we'd have to +give up our ship. Don't let us do that. Let's +say what Captain Lawrence said: 'Don't give +up the ship!' We'll call her the 'Liberty' and +sail her down to Hampton Roads. We can hide +in the branches or the roots if we meet anybody +on the river. Everybody will give us a wide +berth. We have some food, thanks to you. +Forty-eight hours more will see us through."</p> + +<p>"All right, Captain," Jim Grayson replied. +"You're the commander."</p> + +<p>Up to that time, the Confederate private had +been in command of the expedition, but now +that the Union officer was himself again, he took +charge of everything, much to Jim's content and +also, we must admit, much to Tom's content.</p> + +<p>The good ship "Liberty," Tom Strong, captain, +Jim Grayson, mate, made a prosperous +voyage. Its crew was thoroughly scared three +or four times by the sight of Confederate craft, +small and large. When a gunboat selected it as +a floating target and plumped half-a-dozen cannon +balls around it, the crew thought the end + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +had come. But nobody on the gunboat saw the +two people cowering amid the branches of the +tree. The gunners were untrained. Their aim +was poor. And powder and cannon-balls were +not so abundant in the Confederacy that the +practice-firing could continue long. Early on +the third morning of the voyage, they were in +Hampton Roads, borne by the ebbing tide towards +the Union squadron that lay under the +guns of Fortress Monroe. As the sun rose +above the horizon, our flag sprang to the mastheads +of the ships. Tom felt like echoing Uncle +Mose's triumphant phrase: "De Stars 'n de +Stripeses, dey jest kivered de sky."</p> + +<p>The "Liberty" would have gone straight out +to sea, so far as any control by its crew was concerned. +It did go out to sea, indeed, but not +until after Tom and Jim had been taken from +it by a boat from the Admiral's ship. Jim had +fired off his gun to attract attention, as the +"Liberty" neared the squadron, and then he +and Tom had both stood up on the teetering +trunk of their tree and shouted and waved their + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +shirts, which they had taken off for that purpose, +as they had nothing else to wave, until +help came. The "Liberty" had brought them +to liberty. They said good-by to her almost +with regret. But their joy was deep when they +stood on the deck of the flagship, under the flag +of the free.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h2> + +<blockquote> + +<p><span class="smcap">Towser Welcomes Tom to the White House—Lincoln +Re-elected President—Grant Commander-in-Chief—Sherman +Marches from Atlanta to the Sea—Tom on Grant's Staff—Five +Forks—Fall of Richmond—Hans +Rolf Freed—Bob Saves Tom from Capture—Tom +Takes a Battery into Action—Lee +Surrenders—Tom Strong, Brevet-Captain +U. S. A.</span></p></blockquote> + + +<p>The warmest welcome Tom had at the +White House was given him by Towser. +The next warmest was given him by Uncle +Moses and the next by Lincoln. The staff was +glad to see him back, but many of them were +jealous of the President's evident liking for him +and would not have sorrowed overmuch if he +had not come back at all. The patient President +found time, amid all his myriad cares, to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +listen to Tom's story and to make Secretary +Stanton give a captain's commission to Jim +Grayson, who was sent to his own mountains to +gather recruits for the Union army. For +Towser, time existed only to be spent in welcoming +his young master home. He clung close +to him, with slobbering jaws and thumping tail, +through the first day, and the first night he +managed to escape from Uncle Mose's care in +the basement and to find Tom's attic room. +Thenceforth, as long as Tom stayed at the +White House, Towser stretched his yellow +bulk across the threshold of his door every +night and slept there the sleep of the utterly +happy.</p> + +<p>There were no utterly happy men under the +White House roof. Lincoln's presidential term +was drawing to a close. He was renominated +by the Republicans, but his re-election at times +seemed impossible. The Democrats had put +forward Gen. George B. McClellan, once chief +commander of the Union forces, but a pitiful +failure as an aggressive general. A discontented + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +wing of the Republicans had nominated Gen. +John C. Fremont. Fremont had not fulfilled the +promise of his youth. At the beginning of the +war, he had been put in command at St. Louis, +had proved to be incompetent, and had been retired. +He was still strong in the hearts of many +people, but Lincoln feared the success, not of +Fremont, but of McClellan. John Hay once +said to the President:</p> + +<p>"Fremont might be dangerous if he had more +ability and energy."</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the reply, "he is like Jim Jett's +brother. Jim used to say that his brother was +the greatest scoundrel that ever lived, but in the +infinite mercy of Providence he was also the +greatest fool."</p> + +<p>Family sayings, when they are not loving, are +apt to be bitter. One of the Vanderbilts said +of a connection of his by marriage that he was +"more kinds of a fool to the square inch than +anybody else in the world."</p> + +<p>McClellan, who seemed practically certain of +success in August, 1864, was badly beaten in + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +November, when the battle of parties was +fought out at the polls. Fremont had retired +from the contest early in the campaign. At the +first Cabinet meeting after the election, November +11, 1864, the President took a paper out of +his desk and said:</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, do you remember last summer +I asked you all to sign your names to the back +of a paper, of which I did not show you the +inside? This is it. Now, Mr. Hay, see if you +can get this open without tearing it."</p> + +<p class="pmb1">Its cover was so thoroughly pasted up that it +had to be cut open. This done, Lincoln read it +aloud. Here it is:</p> + +<div class="block2"> + +<p class="right">"Executive Mansion, <br /> +Washington, August 23, 1864. <br /> +</p> + +<p>"This morning, as for some days past, it seems +exceedingly probable that this Administration +will not be re-elected. Then it will be my duty +to so co-operate with the President elect as to +save the Union between the election and the inauguration; +as he will have secured his election +on such ground that he cannot possibly save it +afterwards.</p> + +<p class="right pmb1"><span class="smcap">A. Lincoln</span>." <br /></p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>In that memorandum is the sign-manual of a +great soul. Lincoln, believing his own defeat +was written in the stars, thought, not of himself, +but of how he, defeated, could best save the +cause of the Union from defeat. A small man +thinks first of himself. A big man thinks first +of his duty.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">Life was happy at the White House now. +The President had been re-elected and it was +clear that long before his second term was over, +he would have won a victorious peace. The +South was still fighting with all the energy +brave men can show for a cause in the righteousness +of which they believe, but after all the +energy was that of despair. Grant was now in +supreme command of the Union forces, East and +West. He had been commissioned Lieutenant-General +and put in command March 17, 1864. +In commemoration of this event, the turning + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +point in the great struggle, Lincoln had had a +photograph of himself taken. But two copies of +it were printed. One Lincoln kept himself. One +he gave Grant. Here is the one given Grant.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 513px;"> + <img src="images/illo_291.jpg" width="513" height="690" alt="ABRAHAM LINCOLN" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">ABRAHAM LINCOLN</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">The new Lieutenant-General was hammering +away at Richmond. The Mississippi, now under +Union control, cut the Confederacy in two. All +the chief Southern seaports, except Savannah +and Charleston, had been captured. And in this + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +same month of November, 1864, Gen. William +Tecumseh Sherman, who ranked only second to +Grant in the United States army, cut loose from +Atlanta, Georgia, captured two months before +and began his famous march to the sea, with +Savannah as his destination. He illustrated his +own well-known saying: "War is hell." If it +was hell in Sherman's time, what word can +describe the horror of it in our day? He swept +with sword and fire a belt of fertile country, +sixty miles wide, from Atlanta to the sea. He +found it smiling and rich; he left it a bare and +blackened waste. He had destroyed the granary +of the Confederacy and before the next month +ended he had made his country a Christmas +present of the remaining chief Southern seaport, +Savannah. He wrote to Lincoln: "I beg to present +to you as a Christmas gift the city of +Savannah, with one hundred and fifty heavy +guns and plenty of ammunition and also twenty-five +thousand bales of cotton." Cotton was +worth a dollar a pound in those days.</p> + +<p>Early in 1865 Sherman swung northward + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +from Savannah, forced the surrender of Charleston, +South Carolina, and joined Union forces +advancing from the North at Goldsboro', North +Carolina, March 23. Six days later Grant began +the final campaign against the Confederacy. +Six days before, Lincoln had said to the boy:</p> + +<p>"Tom, would you like to see some more +fighting?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. President; very much."</p> + +<p>"Well, you needn't tell anybody, but I guess +there'll be some to see before long near Richmond. +I've had you ordered from special service +at the White House to special service with +the Lieutenant-General. Here's the order and +here's a letter to General Grant. I wouldn't +wonder if he put you on his staff."</p> + +<p>"How can I thank you, Mr. Lincoln?"</p> + +<p class="pmb2">"The best way to thank anybody is to do well +the work he gives you to do. Good-by, my son, +and good luck."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 457px;"> + <img src="images/illo_294.jpg" width="457" height="700" alt="Gen. W. T. Sherman" title="" /> + <span class="caption"><span class="font08 smcap">Gen. W. T. Sherman</span><br /> + <span class="font07a">St. Gaudens' Statue, New York</span></span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2">With a pressure of Lincoln's huge hand Tom +was sped on his rejoicing way. Two days later +he was at Grant's headquarters, at City Point, +Virginia, near Fortress Monroe. He saluted +and handed the General Lincoln's letter. The +soldier sat, a silent sphinx, for a moment. Then +he looked up at Tom with a quizzical but not +unkindly smile, and said:</p> + +<p>"Have you learned anything since you +brought me dispatches at Fort Donelson and +Vicksburg?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so, General."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes the President sends me people +for political reasons. I suppose he has to. But +I don't take them if I know it. Have you any +political influence behind you?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, sir." Tom laughed at the +thought.</p> + +<p>"You laugh well. You and Horace Porter +ought to get on together. He laughs well, too. +You can serve on my staff.</p> + +<p>"I thank you, General."</p> + +<p>Tom saluted and walked away, to find Horace +Porter, whom he found to be a very nice fellow +indeed. One of the first things the nice fellow +did for him was to get him a good horse. There + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +was no lack of horses at headquarters. The difficulty +was not to find one, but to choose the +best of many good ones. Tom, who had a good +eye for a horse, found one that exactly suited +him except as to color. He was of a mottled +gray. The boy did not much care for such a +color, but he knew it had its advantages. It +does not advertise its presence. Where a black, +a white or a bay horse would stand out and +make a mark for hostile sharpshooters, a mottled +gray might well elude their view. And the +horse, apart from this, was just what he wanted. +He paced fast, he galloped fast, and he walked +fast, which is a rare and precious accomplishment +in a horse. The average horse walks, as +a rule, slower than the average man. In an +hour, he covers a quarter-of-a-mile less ground. +One question remained to be settled.</p> + +<p>"Can he jump?" asked Tom.</p> + +<p>"Jump, is it?" answered the soldier-groom. +"Shure, the cow that jumped over the moon +couldn't lift a leg to him."</p> + +<p class="pmb2">"You bet your life he can jump," said Horace + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +Porter. "General Grant has ridden him twice +and I saw him put Bob over a fence or two."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_298.jpg" width="600" height="375" alt="BOB" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08">BOB</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">Not long afterwards Tom did bet his life on +Bob's jumping. He was named Bob before the +United States took him. He had been captured +the month before and had come across the lines +with his name embroidered by some woman's +hand on his saddle-blanket and with his late +owner's blood upon his saddle. He was a tall, +leggy animal who showed a trace of Arabian +blood and who needed to be gentled a bit to get +his best work out of him. His mouth was + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +appreciative of sugar and his eyes were appreciative +of kindness.</p> + +<p>Both dogs and horses talk with their eyes.</p> + +<p>"I like my new master," was what Bob's eyes +said to Tom.</p> + +<p>It was through a chance suggestion of Colonel +Porter that the boy saw most of what he did see +of the final fight for freedom. Porter had presented +Tom to Gen. Philip H. Sheridan, who +was then at City Point, receiving Grant's final +instructions for the twelve-day campaign that +ended in the fall of Richmond and the surrender +of Lee's brave army. Sheridan was a stocky, +red-faced young Irishman, a graduate of West +Point, and a born leader of men, especially of +cavalrymen. He liked the clear-eyed lad who +stood respectfully before him. He had done too +much in his own youth to think Tom was useless +because he was so young. Porter saw that +the boy had made a good impression. He ventured +a suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you take young Strong with you, +General?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sheridan turned sharply to Tom, asking:</p> + +<p>"Can you ride?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir. I've ridden ever since I can +remember."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's not so very long a time. But +I'll take your word for it. Would you like to go +with me?"</p> + +<p>"I'd like it better than anything else in the +world, General."</p> + +<p>Tom had rejoiced in the idea of being with +Grant, but he knew that the commander-in-chief +must stay behind his lines and that his +staff could catch but glimpses of the fighting, +when they were sent forward with orders, +whereas with Sheridan he might be in the very +thick of the fighting itself. His ready answer +and the joy that beamed in his eyes pleased the +fighting Irishman.</p> + +<p>"Can I borrow him of General Grant?" +Sheridan asked Porter.</p> + +<p>"I'll answer for that," Porter replied. "The +General told me to put Strong to whatever work +I could find for him to do."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come ahead," said Sheridan. "You'll see +some beautiful fighting!"</p> + +<p>Sheridan loved fighting, but he made no pretense +of never being afraid. He thought a general +should be close to the front, to keep his +soldiers' spirits high.</p> + +<p>"Are you never afraid?" Charles A. Dana, +then Assistant Secretary of War, once asked +him.</p> + +<p>"If I was, I should not be ashamed of it. If I +should follow my natural impulse, I should run +away always at the beginning of the danger. +The men who say they are never afraid in a battle +do not tell the truth."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="pmb2">March 29, 1865, the twelve-day campaign began. +The cavalry swung out towards Five +Forks, where Lee's right wing lay behind deep +entrenchments. April 1, Sheridan attacked in +force. Americans fought Americans with stubborn +bravery on both sides. The issue was long +in doubt. Sheridan and his staff were close to +the firing-line, so that Tom had but a few hundred +yards to gallop under fire when his general +said to him:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 444px;"> + <img src="images/illo_302.jpg" width="444" height="700" alt="Statue of Gen. Philip H. Sheridan" title="" /> + <span class="caption"><span class="font08 smcap">Statue of Gen. Philip H. Sheridan</span><br /> + <span class="font08">Sheridan Square, Washington, D. C.</span><br /> + <span class="font07a">Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York.</span></span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2">"Tell General Griffin to charge and keep +charging."</p> + +<p>Griffin's order to his troops was so quickly +given that it seemed an echo of the order Tom +brought him. It was the boy's business to return +forthwith and report upon his mission, but +he simply couldn't do it. There were the Confederate +lines manned with hungry soldiers in +the remnants of their gray uniforms, the Stars-and-Bars +flying above them. And there were +battalions of blue-clad cavalry, men and horses +in prime condition, straining to start like hounds +upon a leash. Griffin's order was the electric +spark that fired the battery. The men shouted +with joy as they spurred their horses into a mad +gallop. The shout was answered by the shrill +"rebel yell" from the dauntless foe in the +trenches. The charging column shook the +ground. In its foremost files rode Second-lieutenant +Tom Strong, forgetful of everything +else in the world but the joy of battle. Musketry + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +and artillery tore bloody lanes in the close-packed +column. Men and horses fell in heaps +upon the blood-stained ground. But the column +went on. At dusk of that April day it poured +over the parapets so bravely held. Even then +the fight was not over. There was still stout +resistance. The two armies were a mass of +struggling men, shooting, stabbing, striking. +The battle had become a series of duels man to +man. Tom, pistol in hand, rode at a big Kentuckian, +but the gray-clad giant dodged the bullet, +caught his own unloaded musket by the +muzzle, and dealt the boy a blow with its butt +that knocked him off his horse and left him +senseless on the ground.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, when he came to his +senses, he felt as if he were a boy annexed to a +shoulder twice as big as all the rest of his body. +It was on his shoulder that the blow of the +clubbed musket had gone home. The fall from +his horse had stunned him. Bob was standing +over him, as Black Auster stood over Herminius, +nuzzling at the outstretched hand of this + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +silent, motionless thing that had been his +master. They had been together for less than +a week, but a day is often long enough for a +horse to find out that his master is his friend. +Tom had been more careful of his horse's comfort +than of his own. Now the good gray had +stood by him and over him, perhaps saving him +from being trampled to death in that fierce last +act of the Drama of Five Forks. Bob whinnied +with joy as Tom's eyes slowly opened again. +He thrust his muzzle down along the boy's +cheek and the boy caught hold of the flowing +mane with his right hand and pulled himself +upon his feet again. His left arm hung useless +by his side. One glance told him the battle was +won. The duels were over. The Confederates +were in full retreat. A stream of prisoners was +already flowing by him. He mounted and followed +it to Sheridan's headquarters. There the +skillful fingers of a surgeon found that no bones +were broken. The swollen shoulder was dressed +and bandaged. The healthy blood that filled +Tom's veins did much to make a speedy cure. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +So did the joy of victory. Sheridan had done +what Grant had given him to do. He had +driven back Lee's right flank and cut the railroad +by which Lee must escape from Richmond, +if escape he could.</p> + +<p>Richmond was doomed. The next morning, +Sunday, April 2, 1865, Jefferson Davis, President +of the Confederate States of America, sat +in his pew in St. Paul's Church, Richmond. The +solemn service began. Soon there was a stir at +the door, a rustle, a turning of heads away from +the chancel, where the gray-haired rector stood. +Swiftly a messenger came up the aisle. Davis +rose from his knees to receive the message. The +service stopped. Every eye was bent upon the +leader of the Lost Cause. He put on his spectacles, +opened the missive, and read it amid a +breathless silence. It told him that the Cause +was lost indeed. It was from Lee, who wrote: +"My lines are broken in three places. Richmond +must be evacuated this evening." There +was no sign of feeling upon Jefferson Davis's +impassive face, as he read the fateful dispatch. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +Without a word, without a sign, he left the +church with the wife whose utter devotion had +helped him bear the burden of those terrible +years, during which proud hope gradually gave +way to sickening fear. Davis was not of those +weak men who despair. There was still a little +hope in his heart, despite the tremendous blow +Lee's letter had dealt him. He walked down +the aisle with head as high as though he were +marching to assured victory. But through the +congregation there ran the whisper "Richmond +is to be evacuated." A panic-stricken mob +poured out of the church with faltering steps +behind Jefferson Davis's firm, proud ones. +Early that afternoon the Confederate Government +fled. Early the next morning, Monday, +April 3, 1865, Gen. Godfrey Weitzel marched +his negro troops into the Confederate capital. +The flag of the free floated from the dome of +the Statehouse, which almost from the earliest +days of the war had sheltered what was now +indeed the Lost Cause. It was raised there by +Lieut. Johnston L. De Peyster, a youth of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +eighteen, who had carried it wrapped around the +pommel of his saddle for some days, hoping for +the chance that now came to him. The second +Union flag that was raised that day in Richmond +was over Libby. The prison gates gave up their +prey. The prisoners poured out, some too weak +to do more than smile, others in a frenzy of +joy. Major Hans Rolf, reduced by hunger to a +long lath of a man, had lost none of his spirit.</p> + +<p>"Now, boys," he shouted, "three times three +for the old flag!"</p> + +<p>The cheers rang out in a feeble chorus and +then there rang out Han's contagious laughter.</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha!" he roared. "We're free, boys, +we're free."</p> + +<p>By that Sunday night, the fate of Petersburg +was sealed. Grant had ordered an assault in +force at six o'clock Monday morning, but the +Confederates abandoned their works in the gray +dawn and our troops met little resistance in taking +over the town. "General Meade and I," +says General Grant in his "Personal Memoirs," +"entered Petersburg on the morning of the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +third and took a position under cover of a house +which protected us from the enemy's musketry +which was flying thick and fast there. As we +would occasionally look around the corner, we +could see ... the Appomattox bottom ... +packed with the Confederate army.... I had +not the heart to turn the artillery upon such a +mass of defeated and fleeing men and I hoped +to capture them soon."</p> + +<p>"Let us follow up Lee," Meade suggested. +He was a better follower than a fighter. He had +followed Lee before, from Gettysburg to Richmond, +without ever attacking him.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," Grant replied, "we will +cut off his retreat by occupying the Danville railroad +and capture him. He must get to his food +to keep his troops alive. We will get between +him and his food."</p> + +<p>With constant fighting this was done. By +Wednesday, April 5, the Union lines were drawn +about the Confederate army. Sheridan, hampered +by Meade's slowness, was urgent that +Grant should come to the front. He sent message + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +after message to that effect to Grant on +Wednesday. A scout in gray uniform was entrusted +with the second message. He was made +up to look like a Confederate scout, but he was +Tom Strong. He had put on his disguise at +Sheridan's headquarters. As he stood at attention +to receive his orders, Sheridan laughed and +said:</p> + +<p>"You make a good 'Johnny Reb.' Do you +chew tobacco?"</p> + +<p>Surprised at the question, Tom said he didn't.</p> + +<p>"Well, you may have to begin the habit today. +You're to take this message to General Grant. +If you're caught, chew it—and swallow it quick."</p> + +<p>He handed the boy a bit of tinfoil. It looked +like a small package of chewing-tobacco, but it +contained a piece of tissue-paper upon which +Sheridan's message was written.</p> + +<p>The ride from the left flank to the center was +not without danger. Tom, duly provided with +the password, could go by any Union forces +without difficulty, but the country swarmed +with Confederates, some of them deserters, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +many of them straggling detachments cut off +from the main army and seeking to rejoin it, all +of them more than ready to capture a Union +soldier and his horse.</p> + +<p>The boy climbed a little clumsily into the saddle. +His left shoulder still felt like a big balloon +stuffed full of pain. But there was nothing +clumsy in his seat, as Bob shot off like an arrow +at the touch of Tom's heel on his flank. It was +a beautiful, bright April morning, too beautiful +a day for men to be killing each other. Evidently, +however, it did not seem so to the commander +of a company of Confederate cavalry, +who had laid an ambush into which Tom gayly +galloped. He heard a sharp order to halt. He +saw men ride across the road in front of him. +He whirled about, only to see the road behind +him blocked. He was fairly trapped. But there +was one chance of escaping from the trap and +Tom took it. His would-be captors had come +from the left of the road, its northern side, for +he was traveling east. On the south was a high +rail-fence, laid in the usual zigzags, one of the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +few which had not fed the camp-fires of Northern +Virginia. It was a good five feet high; it was +only a few feet away; Bob was standing still +for a second in slippery mud. It was not at all +the kind of place to select for a jump, but the +Confederates had selected the place, not Tom. +He remembered Colonel Porter's saying "You +can bet your life Bob can jump," and he bet his +life on Porter's being right. He put Bob at +the fence. The gallant gray, as if he sensed his +master's danger, took one bound toward the +rails, gathered himself together into a tense +mass of muscle, and rose into the air like a bird. +As he flew over the top-rail, carbines cracked behind +him, but as he leaped southward across the +countryside, a ringing cheer followed him too. +The brave Southerners rejoiced in the brave feat +that took their captive into freedom. Their jaded +horses could not follow. There was no pursuit.</p> + +<p>It took Tom some hours to double back towards +Grant's headquarters. He met long lines +of Union cavalry, infantry, and artillery pressing +forward to strengthen Sheridan's forces. They + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +were going west and they choked every road +and lane and path by which the boy sought to go +east. They had begun their march at three +o'clock that morning. They had had no breakfast. +They carried no food. Their wagon-trains +were miles in the rear. It was their fourth day +of continuous fighting. They had a right to be +tired, but they were not tired. They had a right +to be hungry, but they were not hungry. When +the air was full of victory, what did an empty +stomach matter? Cheering and singing, they +swept along. The end of four years' fighting +was in sight. The hunted foe was trying to +slink away to safety, as many a fox, with hounds +and huntsmen closing in upon him, had tried to +do on these Virginian fields. Never were huntsmen +more anxious to be "in at the death" than +were those joyous Union soldiers on that memorable +April day.</p> + +<p>It was nearly night when the boy reached +headquarters, saluted the commander-in-chief, +said "A message from General Sheridan," and +handed over the little tinfoil package.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You can go back with me," said Grant. +"That horse of yours is Bob, isn't it?" Grant +never forgot a horse he had once ridden.</p> + +<p>Within an hour the General and his staff, with +a small cavalry escort, started for Sheridan's +headquarters. By ten that night the two were +together. Sheridan was almost crying over the +orders Meade had given him. By midnight +Sheridan was happy. "I explained to Meade," +say the "Personal Memoirs," "that we did not +want to follow the enemy; we wanted to get +ahead of him; and that his orders would allow +the enemy to escape.... Meade changed his +orders at once."</p> + +<p>That change of orders incidentally put Tom +Strong the next day into the hottest fight of his +life. This was the battle of Sailor's Creek, almost +forgotten since amid the mightier happenings +of that wonderful April week, but never +forgotten by Tom Strong. Our forces had attacked +Lee's retreating legions, retreating toward +the provision trains that were their only +hope of food. The fight was fierce. We had + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +attacked with both infantry and cavalry, but our +gallant fellow-countrymen held their lines unbroken. +Then with a thunder of wheels our +field artillery came into action. The Confederate +guns were shelling the hillside up which the +plunging horses drew our cannon. There were +six horses in each team, an artilleryman riding +each near horse and holding the off horse of +the pair by a bridle. Tom had come up with +orders and was standing by General Wright as +the guns bounded up the hillside. Bob stood +behind his master, whinnying a bit with excitement.</p> + +<p>General Wright snapped his watch shut impatiently.</p> + +<p>"They're ten minutes late," he complained. +"We're beaten if we don't get 'em into action +instantly. Good Heavens! there goes our first +gun to destruction!"</p> + +<p>A Confederate shell had struck and burst +close to the leaders. A fragment of it swept the +foremost rider from his seat and from life. The +two horses he had handled reared, plunged, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +jumped to one side. The six horses were huddled +into a frightened heap. The two other soldiers +could do nothing with the leaders out of +control. The gun stopped short. And behind it +stopped all of one of the two lines of advancing +artillery.</p> + +<p>"Take that gun into action!"</p> + +<p class="pmb2">Tom heard the General's brief command and +ran toward the huddled horses. He sprang into +the saddle, seized both bridles, and drove on. +As he did so, another Confederate shell burst +beside the off horse. Its fragments spared the +foremost rider this time, but they dealt death +to one of his two comrades. The man in control +of the wheelers threw his right arm out and +toppled over into the road, dead before the +heavy cannon-wheel crashed and crushed over +him. The leaders, so skillfully handled that +their very fear made them run more madly into +danger, tore ahead, keeping the other four +horses galloping behind them, until the gun was +in position. It roared the news of its coming +with a well-aimed shot into the midst of the +enemy's forces.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_318.jpg" width="600" height="373" alt="Tom Takes a Battery Into Action" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">Tom Takes a Battery Into Action</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2">Its fellows fell into line and +followed suit. The infantry and cavalry attacked +with renewed spirit. Sullenly and savagely, +fighting until darkness forbade more +fighting, Lee's troops withdrew towards the +west, with the Union forces pounding away at +them. They left a mass of dead upon the battlefield, +lives finely lost for the Lost Cause, and +they also left as prisoners six general officers +and seven thousand men. More than a third of +all the prisoners taken in the battles before the +final surrender were taken at the battle of +Sailor's Creek. Tom had stuck to his new arm +of the service through the three hours of fighting. +The guns had been continually advanced +as the Southerners retreated. They had been +continually under fire. Nearly half the gunners +had been killed or wounded. When the fight +was over, Tom remembered for the first time his +own wounded shoulder. He had never thought +of it from the moment when he had sprung upon +the artillery horse. Now it began to throb with +a renewed and a deeper pain, as if resenting his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +ignoring of it so long, but the new pain also +vanished when he rejoined General Wright and +heard him say:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Strong, you helped to save the day. +I shall recommend you for promotion for distinguished +bravery under fire."</p> + +<p>The boy saluted, his heart too full to speak. +As he rode away upon Bob, some of the joy +in his heart must have got into Bob's heels, for +Bob pirouetted up the main street of the little +town of Farmville, late that night, as though he +were prouder than ever of his master.</p> + +<p class="pmb1">Farmville was now headquarters. Grant was +there, in a bare hotel, not long before a Confederate +hospital. It was from the Farmville hotel +that he wrote to Lee a historic note. It ran +thus:</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<p class="right"> +"Headquarters Armies of the U. S. <br /> +5 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span>, April 7, 1865. <br /> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +"General R. E. Lee,<br /> + Commanding C. S. A.:<br /> +</p> + +<p>The results of the last week must convince +you of the hopelessness of further resistance on + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +the part of the Army of Northern Virginia in +this struggle. I feel that it is so, and regard it +as my duty to shift from myself the responsibility +of any further effusion of blood by asking +of you the surrender of that portion of the Confederate +States army known as the Army of +Northern Virginia.</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">U. S. Grant </span>,<br /> +Lieut.-General." <br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="p1">Under a flag of truce, this note reached General +Lee that evening, so near together were the +headquarters of the contending armies in those +last days. His letter in reply, asking what terms +of surrender were offered, reached Grant the +next morning while he was talking on the steps +of the Farmville hotel to a Confederate Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Jes' tho't I'd repo't to you, General," said +the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"You see I own this hyar hotel you're +a-occupyin'."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, we shall move out soon. We are + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +moving around a good deal, nowadays. Why +aren't you with your regiment?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, General, I am my regiment."</p> + +<p>"How's that?"</p> + +<p>"All the men wuz raised 'round hyar. A few +days ago they jes' begun nachally droppin' out. +They all dun dropped out, General, so I jes' +tho't there wan't any use being a cunnel without +no troops and I dun dropped out too. Here +I be? What you goin' to do with me, General?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to leave you here to take care of +your property. Don't go back to your army and +nobody'll bother you."</p> + +<p>That was a sample of the way in which the +beaten army was melting away. Not even the +magic of Lee's great name could hold it together +now. But the men who did not drop out fought +with heroism to the bitter end.</p> + +<p>The next day, Saturday, April 8, 1865, +Sheridan captured some more of Lee's provision +trains at Appomattox Station and on Sunday, +April 9, Lee's whole army attacked there, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +still seeking to cut its way out of its encircling +foes. Its brave effort was in vain. Held in a +vice, it threw up its hands. A white flag flew +above the Confederate lines.</p> + +<p>Grant had spent Saturday night struggling +with a sick headache, his feet in hot water and +mustard, his wrists and the back of his neck covered +with mustard-plasters. On Sunday morning, +still sick and suffering, he was jogging along +on horseback towards the front, when a Confederate +officer was brought before him. He carried +a note from Lee offering to surrender. +"When the officer reached me," writes Grant, +"I was still suffering with the sick headache; +but the instant I saw the contents of the note, +I was cured." The ending of the war ended +Grant's headache.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The two commanders met at Appomattox +Court House, a sleepy Virginian village, five +miles from the railroad and endless miles from +the great world. It lies in a happy valley, not +wrapped in happiness that April day, for Sheridan's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +forces held the crest at the south and Lee's +were deployed along the hilltop to the north. A +two-hour armistice had been granted. If that +did not bring the end desired, that end was to +be fought out with all the horrors of warfare +amid the peaceful houses that had straggled together +to make the peaceful little town.</p> + +<p>At the northern end of the village street, surrounded +by an apple orchard, stood a two-story +brick house with a white wooden piazza in front +of it. It was the home of Wilmer McLean, a +Virginia farmer upon whose farm part of the +battle of Bull Run had been fought at the outbreak +of the war. Foreseeing that other battles +might be fought there—as the second battle of +Bull Run, in 1862, was—he had sold his property +there and had moved by a strange chance +to the very village and the very house in which +the final scene of the great tragedy of this war +between brothers was to be played. Here Lee +awaited Grant.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">The Union general had gone to Sheridan's +headquarters before riding up to the McLean + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +house. Sheridan and his staff had gone on with +him. Least important of the little group of +Union officers who followed Grant into the +presence of Lee was Tom Strong, but the boy's +heart beat as high as that of any man there.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> + <img src="images/illo_326.jpg" width="600" height="450" alt="THE McLEAN HOUSE, APPOMATTOX COURTHOUSE" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">The McLeanN House, Appomattox Courthouse</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2 pmb2">It was in the orchard about the house that +the myth of "the apple-tree of Appomattox" +was born. Millions of men and women have +believed that Lee surrendered to Grant under an +apple tree at Appomattox. That apple tree is + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +as famous in mistaken history as is that other +mythical tree, the cherry tree which George +Washington did not cut down with his little +hatchet. Washington could not tell a lie, it is +true, but he never chopped down a cherry tree +and then said to his angry, questioning father: +"Father, I cannot tell a lie; I cut it down with +my little hatchet." That fairy story came from +the imagination of one Parson Weems, who did +not resemble our first President in the latter's +inability to tell lies. Perhaps the myth of the +apple tree will never die, as the myth of the +cherry tree has never died. In 1880, when +Grant's mistaken friends tried to nominate him +for a third Presidential term, other candidates +had been urged because this one, it was said, +could carry Ohio, that one Maine, and so on. +Then Roscoe Conkling of New York strode +upon the stage to nominate Grant and declaimed +to a hushed audience of twenty thousand men:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And if you ask what State <i>he</i> comes from,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our sole reply shall be:</span><br /> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> comes from Appomattox</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the famous apple tree!"</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2">The twenty thousand were swept off their feet +by the magic of that myth. Grant was almost +nominated—but not quite.</p> + +<p>The historic interview began in the room to +the left of the front door in the McLean house. +Two very different figures confronted each +other. Grant had not expected the meeting to +take place so soon and had left the farmhouse +where he had spent the night before in rough +garb. He writes: "I was without a sword, as +I usually was when on horseback in the field, +and wore a soldier's blouse for a coat, with the +shoulder-straps of my rank to indicate to the +army who I was.... General Lee was +dressed in a full uniform, which was entirely +new, and was wearing a sword of considerable +value, very likely the sword which had been presented +by the State of Virginia.... In my +rough traveling suit, the uniform of a private +with the straps of a lieutenant-general, I must +have contrasted very strangely with a man so +handsomely dressed, six feet high and of faultless + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +form. But this was not a matter that I +thought of until afterwards."</p> + +<p class="pmb2">Lee requested that the terms to be given his +army should be written out. Grant asked General +Parker of his staff, a full-blooded American +Indian, for writing materials. He had prepared +nothing beforehand, but he knew just what he +wanted to say and he wrote without hesitation +terms such as only a great and magnanimous +nation could offer its conquered citizens. After +providing for the giving of paroles (that is, an +agreement not to take up arms again unless the +paroled prisoner is later exchanged for a prisoner +of the other side) and for the surrender of +arms, artillery, and public property, he added: +"This will not embrace the sidearms of the officers +nor their private horses or baggage. This +done, each officer and man will be allowed to +return to their homes, not to be disturbed by +United States authority so long as they observe +their paroles and the laws in force where they +reside." There are some mistakes in grammar +in these words, but there are no mistakes in +magnanimity. When Lee, having put on his +glasses, had read the first sentence quoted +above, he said with feeling:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 454px;"> + <img src="images/illo_330.jpg" width="454" height="700" alt="Lee Surrenders to Grant" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08 smcap">Lee Surrenders to Grant</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p> + +<p class="p2">"This will have a happy effect upon my +army."</p> + +<p class="pmb2">He went on to say that many of the privates +in the Confederate cavalry and artillery owned +their own horses; could they retain them? +Grant did not change the written terms, but he +said his officers would be instructed to let every +Confederate private who claimed to own a horse +or mule take the animal home with him. "It +was doubtful," writes Grant, "whether they +would be able to put in a crop to carry themselves +and their families through the next winter +without the aid of the horses they were then +riding." Again Lee remarked that this would +have a happy effect. He then wrote and signed +an acceptance of the proposed terms of surrender. +The war was over. The first act of +peace was our issuing 25,000 rations to the army +we had captured. For some days it had lived +on parched corn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 531px;"> + <img src="images/illo_333.jpg" width="531" height="690" alt="GEN. U. S. GRANT" title="" /> + <span class="caption font08">GEN. U. S. GRANT</span> +</div> + +<p class="p2">The news of the surrender flashed along the +waiting lines like wildfire and the Union forces +began firing a salute of a hundred guns in honor +of the victory. "I at once sent word," says +Grant, "to have it stopped. The Confederates +were now our prisoners and we did not want to +exult over their downfall." This was the spirit +of a great man and of a great nation. It was +not the soldiers who fought the war who kept +its rancors alive after peace had come, It was + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +the politicians, who tore open the old wounds +and kept the country bleeding for a dozen years +after the Lost Cause was lost.</p> + +<p>On the morning of Tuesday, April 10, 1865, +Grant and Lee again met between the lines and +sitting on horseback talked for half an hour. +Then Grant began his journey to Washington. +His staff, including Tom, went with him. When +they reached their goal, Second-Lieutenant +Strong found he was that no longer. For General +Wright had done what he had told Tom +he meant to do. The recommendation had been +heeded. Lincoln himself handed the boy his +new commission as a brevet-captain.</p> + +<p>"I was glad to sign that, Tom," the President +told him, "and even Stanton didn't kick this +time."</p> + +<p>"You don't know how glad I am to get it, +Mr. President," was the reply. "Now I'm a +boy-captain, as my great-grandfather was before +me."</p> + +<p>"I'm not much on pedigrees and ancestry and +genealogical trees, my boy," answered Lincoln. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +"Out West we think more of trees that grow +out of the ground than we do of trees that grow +on parchment. But you're right to be proud of +an ancestry of service to your country. When +family pride is based on money or land or social +standing, it is one of the most foolish things +God Almighty ever laughed at, but when it is +based on service, real service, to your country, +to your fellowmen, to the world, why, then, +Tom, it's one of the biggest and best things in +God's kingdom. But remember this, son,"—Lincoln's +eyes flashed in their deep sockets—"if +a boy has an ancestor who has done big +things, the way to be proud of him is to do big +things yourself. Living on the glory of what +somebody else has done before you is a mighty +poor kind of living. I never knew but one man +that was perfect and I'd never have known he +was if he hadn't told me so. Nobody else ever +found it out. But if we can't be perfect, we can +grow less imperfect by trying every day to serve +our fellowmen. Remember that, Tom."</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>On the evening of Good Friday, April 14, +1865, Laura Keene, an English actress of +great repute in America, was to play <i>Our American +Cousin</i> at Ford's Theater, the chief place of +amusement for war-time Washington.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, Assistant-Secretary-of-War +Dana was notified by wire that Jacob Thompson +of Mississippi, once Secretary of the Interior +under our poor old wavering President, +Buchanan, afterwards a leading Secessionist, +would take a steamship for England that +evening at Portland, Maine.</p> + +<p>"What shall I do?" Dana asked Stanton.</p> + +<p>"Arrest him! No, wait; better go over and +see the President."</p> + +<p>So Dana went to the White House. Office-hours +were over. He found Lincoln washing his +hands.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Halloo, Dana!" was Lincoln's greeting. +"What's up?"</p> + +<p>The telegram was read aloud.</p> + +<p>"What does Stanton say?"</p> + +<p>"He says to arrest him, but that I should +refer the question to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, no, I rather think not. When you +have got an elephant by the hind legs and he's +trying to run away; it's best to let him run."</p> + +<p>Dana reported this to Stanton.</p> + +<p>"Oh, stuff!" said Stanton.</p> + +<p>But Thompson was not arrested, so that the +last recorded act of Lincoln as President was +one of mercy.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>In the upper stage-box, to the right of the +audience, that evening, sat Abraham Lincoln, +President of the United States, Mrs. Lincoln, a +friend, Miss Harris, and an officer, Major Henry +R. Rathbone. The cares of State seemed to +have slipped for the moment from Lincoln's +shoulders. He had bowed smilingly from the +box in response to the cheers of the packed audience + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +in the body of the house. He had followed +intently the action of the amusing play, constantly +smiling, often applauding. The eyes of +the little party of four were bent upon the stage, +about ten o'clock, when the door of the box was +jerked violently open behind them. As they +turned at the noise, Death stalked in upon +them.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Five minutes before, Tom Strong had been +idly strolling along Tenth Street and had paused +at the theater door to read the play-bills posted +there. A small group of belated play-goers was +at the ticket-booth. A man shoved roughly +through them. A woman's "Oh!" of surprise +and protest drew Tom's attention to the man. +He had seen him but thrice before, yet the man's +face was engraved upon his memory. Once, at +Charlestown, Virginia, Wilkes Booth had stood +in the ranks of the militia, eagerly awaiting the +execution of John Brown. Once, upon a railroad +train north of Baltimore, Wilkes Booth had +drugged the boy and left him, as the scoundrel + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +thought, to die. Once, upon a railroad platform +at Kingston, Alabama, Wilkes Booth had recognized +him and had again sought his death. +Whose death did he seek to compass now? +What was the Confederate spy doing here? +Tom had scarcely glimpsed the hawk-like features, +the pallid face, the flowing black hair of +his foe, when Booth disappeared from his sight +in the crowded lobby of the theater.</p> + +<p>Instantly Tom pursued him. But he was delayed +by the little group through whom Booth +had elbowed his rough way. And when he +reached the ticket-window, he found no money +in his pocket with which to buy admittance. He +had put on civilian clothes that evening and had +left his scanty store of currency in his uniform. +The wary ticket-seller, used to all sorts of +dodges by people who wanted to get in without +paying, laughed at his story and refused to give +him a ticket on trust. Tom's claim that he was +an officer caused especial amusement.</p> + +<p>"That won't go down, bub," said the ticket-seller. +"Try to think up a better lie next time. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +And clear out now. Don't block up the passageway."</p> + +<p>"I <i>must</i> get in," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"You shan't," snarled the man, sure that he +was being imposed upon.</p> + +<p>The doorkeeper, attracted by the little row, +had come towards the ticket-window. He +swung his right arm with a threatening gesture. +As Tom started towards him he struck the +threatened blow, but his clenched fist hit nothing. +The boy had ducked under his arm and +had fled into the theater. The doorkeeper pursued +him. But Tom was now making his way +like a weasel through the crowd. He had +caught sight of Wilkes Booth nearly at the top +of the right-hand staircase that led to the aisle +from which the upper right-hand box was +reached. Without any actual premonition of +the coming tragedy which was to echo around +the world upon the morrow, he still felt that +Booth had in mind some evil deed and that it +was his duty to prevent him. As he struggled +toward the foot of the stairway, Booth saw + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +him, recognized him and smiled at him, a smile +of triumphant hideous evil. Tom yelled:</p> + +<p>"Spy! Confederate spy! Stop him! Let +me follow!"</p> + +<p>Upon the startled crowd there fell a sudden +stillness. Nobody laid hand upon Booth, but +everybody made way for the frantic boy who +rushed up the stairway as the scoundrel he +chased ran down the corridor. He clutched the +newel post at the head of the stairway just as +Booth flung open the door of the box. Tom +ran towards him.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The door of the box was violently jerked +open. Wilkes Booth sprang across the +threshold. He put his pistol close to the head +of the unarmed man he meant to murder. He +fired. The greatest American sank forward +into his wife's arms. High above her shrieks +rose the actor's trained voice. He leaped upon +the balustrade of the box, shouted "<i>Sic semper +tyrannis!</i>" and jumped down to the stage. He +was booted and spurred for his escape. His + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +horse was held for him near the stage-door. +One of his spurs caught upon the curtain of the +box, so that he stumbled and fell heavily. But +he had played his part upon that stage many a +time before. He knew every nook and cranny +of the mysterious labyrinth behind the footlights. +He rose to his feet, disregarding a +twisted ankle, and rushed to safety—for a few +hours. He reached his horse and galloped into +the calm night of God, profaned forever by this +hideous crime of a besotted fanatic.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The martyred President was taken to a neighboring +house, No. 453 Tenth Street. In a back +hall bedroom, upon the first floor, that that was +still Abraham Lincoln, but was soon to cease +to be so, was laid upon a narrow bed. Tom had +helped to carry him there. Wife and son, John +Hay, Secretary-of-War Stanton, and a few +others crowded into the tiny room. Doctors +worked feverishly over the dying man. Their +skill was in vain. The slow and regular breathing +grew fainter. The automatic moaning + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> +ceased. A look of unspeakable peace came to +the face the world now knows so well. In a +solemn hush, at twenty-two minutes after seven +in the morning of Saturday, April 15, 1865, the +great soul of Abraham Lincoln went back to +the God Who had given him to America and to +the world. A moment later Stanton spoke:</p> + +<p>"Now he belongs to the ages."</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h2> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Tom Hunts Wilkes Booth</span>—<span class="smcap">The End of the +Murderer</span>—<span class="smcap">Andrew Johnson, President of +the United States</span>—<span class="smcap">Tom and Towser Go +Home.</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>The assassination of Lincoln was not the +only crime that stained that memorable +night. Secretary-of-State Seward was stabbed +in his sick-bed by one of Booth's co-conspirators. +Attempts were made upon the lives of other +Cabinet ministers. Many arbitrary arrests had +been made during the war by Secretary Stanton. +It had been said that whenever Stanton's little +bell rang, somebody went to prison. That little +bell had little rest this Saturday. Wholesale +arrests were made of suspected Southern sympathizers +who might have known something of +the hideous conspiracy of murder. Stanton put +all the grim energy of him into the pursuit of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> +the leading criminals. He was said never to +forget anything. One of the things he had not +forgotten was that Tom Strong knew Wilkes +Booth by sight. He sent him from Lincoln's +bedside, hours before Lincoln died, to join a +troop of cavalry that was to pursue Booth. The +road by which the murderer had left Washington +was known. Hard upon his heels rode the +avengers of crime. Wherever there was a light +in one of the few houses along the lonely road, +often where there was no light, the occupants +were seized, questioned, sometimes sent to +Washington under guard, sometimes released +and sternly bidden to say nothing of the midnight +ride. Piecing together scraps of information +gathered here and there, studying every +crossroad for possible hoof-marks of flight, the +silent commander of the cavalrymen at last convinced +himself that he was on the trail of the +quarry. The troops broke into full gallop. A +few minutes before dawn they reached a small +village on the bank of the Potomac, where the +fires of a smithy gleamed. They pulled up short + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> +as the startled blacksmith came out of his sooty +shed.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?" demanded the +captain.</p> + +<p>"I've been—I've been—putting on a horseshoe, +sir."</p> + +<p>"For what kind of a looking man?"</p> + +<p>"He said his name was Barnard."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir," said Tom from his +saddle, "but Barnard was the name Wilkes +Booth once gave me for his own." At the beginning +of the ride, Tom had described Booth's +appearance to the captain.</p> + +<p>"Was the man pale? Did he have long black +hair?"</p> + +<p>"Long black hair," answered the blacksmith, +"but his cheeks were red. He seemed excited. +While I was replacing the shoe his horse had +cast, he kept drinking brandy from a bottle he +carried. He never gave me none of it," the +man added with an injured air.</p> + +<p>"Did he say anything?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. He said I'd hear great news later + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> +today, that the Southerners had won their +greatest victory. I asked him where and he +swore at me and told me to shut up. But he +gave me a silver dollar. Perhaps it's bad. +Is it?"</p> + +<p>The blacksmith pulled out of his grimy pocket +a dollar and showed it to the captain.</p> + +<p>"Do you know who that man was?" was the +stern command.</p> + +<p>"No, sir, o' course I don't. I s'pose he was +Mr. Barnard."</p> + +<p>"He was Judas. He has murdered Abraham +Lincoln. And he has given you one of the forty +pieces of silver."</p> + +<p>With wild-eyed horror, the smith started +back. He flung the accursed dollar far into the +Potomac.</p> + +<p>"God's curse go with it," he cried. "Captain, +the man went straight down the river road. +He gave his horse a cut with his whip 'n he +yelled 'Carry me back to ole Virginny!' and +he went off lickety-split. He ain't half-an-hour +ahead of you."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p> + +<p>No need to command full speed now. Every +man was riding hard. Every horse was putting +his last ounce of strength into his stride. Within +an hour, the hounds saw the slinking fox they +chased. Booth, abandoning his exhausted steed, +took refuge in a tumble-down barn. A cordon +was thrown about it and he was called on to +surrender. The reply was a shot. Tom heard +the whiz of the bullet as it tore by him. The +cavalry pumped lead into the barn. Once, +twice, thrice they fired. At the first volley, the +trapped murderer had again fired. There was no +answer to the second and third. With reloaded +carbines, the troopers charged, burst open the +barred door, and rushed into the rickety shed. +A man lay on the earthen floor, breath and +blood struggling together in his gaping mouth. +As they gathered about him, the Captain +asked:</p> + +<p>"Do you know this man, Captain Strong?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"Wilkes Booth, sir."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sound of his own name half recalled +Booth to life. He looked up at the boy who +stood beside him and recognized him. Ferocious +hate filled the glazing eyes. Then Wilkes +Booth went to his eternal doom, hating to the +end.</p> + +<p>"Is he dead?" said the Captain, turning to a +major of the medical service, who had galloped +beside Tom on that fierce ride of the avengers. +A big, bearded man knelt beside the body of +Wilkes Booth, put his finger where the pulse +had been and laid his hand where the heart had +once beat.</p> + +<p>"He is dead," answered Major Hans Rolf.</p> + +<p>His body was thrust somewhere into the earth +he had disgraced or else was flung, weighted +with stones, into the river, all the flood tides of +which could not wash away the black guilt of +him. No man knows where the body of Wilkes +Booth was buried.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"The king is dead! Long live the king!"</p> + +<p>When Tom rode sadly up Pennsylvania Avenue, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> +with a crape-laden flag at half-mast over +the Capitol, glad for the stern justice that had +been dealt out to the murderer he loathed, but +bowed down with grief for the murdered President +he had loved, Abraham Lincoln was no +longer President of the United States. In his +stead, our uncrowned king was Andrew Johnson, +of Tennessee, a Southern Unionist who had +been elected Vice President when the people +chose Lincoln a second time for their ruler. +Johnson had been born to grinding poverty in a +rough community where "skule-l'arnin'" was +not to be had. He was a grown man, earning a +scanty livelihood as a village tailor, when his +wife taught him to read and write. He worked +his hard way up in life, became a man of +prominence in his village, in his county, in his +State, until he was chosen for Lincoln's running-mate +as a representative Southern Unionist. He +was of course a man of native force, but he +sometimes drowned his mind in liquor. That +fatal habit pulled him down. He was a failure +as a President, though thereafter he served his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +State and his country well as a United States +Senator from Tennessee.</p> + +<p>The White House was changed under its new +ruler. John Hay, full of cheer and wit, was +abroad as a secretary of legation. Nicolay, his +superior officer, was a consul in Europe. The +Lincoln family had gone West through a sorrowing +country, bearing the body of the martyr-President +to its burial-place in Springfield, +Illinois. For a while some familiar faces were +left. At first, the same Cabinet ministers served +the new President. For some time, Uncle Moses +had to learn no new names as he carried about +the summons to the Cabinet meetings. But the +visitors to the White House had changed mightily. +Rough men from Tennessee and the other +Border States, some of them diamonds in the +rough, swarmed there. Lincoln had never used +tobacco. The new-comers both smoked and +chewed. Clouds of smoke filled the lower story +and giant spittoons lined the corridors and invaded +the public rooms. Gradually the Republican +leaders ceased to wait upon the President.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> + +<p>Among the people who left the White House +soon after Lincoln left it was Tom Strong. On +a bright May morning he walked across the +portico, where Towser was eagerly awaiting +him and where Uncle Moses followed him. +Unk' Mose lifted his withered black hands and +called down blessings on the boy who had been +his angel of freedom and had led him out of +bondage.</p> + +<p>"De good Lawd bress you, Mas'r Tom. And +de good Lawd bress dat dar wufless ol' houn' +dawg Towser, too. 'Kase Towser, he lubs you, +Mas'r Tom,—and so duz I," Uncle Moses shyly +added.</p> + +<p>The venerable old negro and the white boy +shook hands in a long farewell upon the steps +of the White House. Then Tom turned away +from the historic roof that had so long sheltered +him and walked to the railroad station, to take +the train for New York. Towser trotted stiffly +by his side, trying at every step to lick his master's +hand.</p> + +<p>Tom Strong studied hard at home and then + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +went to Yale, as his father had done before him.</p> + +<p class="pmb3">Towser could not go with him. The laws of +Yale forbade it. That is one of the chief disadvantages +of being a dog. Soon after Tom +went to New Haven, Towser went to heaven. +At least, let us hope he did. He deserved to do +so. One of the human things about Martin +Luther, the stern founder of Protestantism in +Germany in the Sixteenth Century, was that he +once said to a tiny girl, weeping over the death +of her tiny dog: "Do not cry, little maid; for +you will find your dog in heaven and he will +have a golden tail."</p> + +<p class="center pmb3">THE END</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 380px;"> + <img src="images/illo_353.jpg" width="380" height="308" alt="TOWSER" title="" /> +</div> + + +<p class="p2 pmb3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv"></a></span></p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="block1"> + +<p class="center font20">BOOKS FOR YOUNG FOLKS</p> + +<hr class="r65" /> + +<p class="center font15">THE DOGS OF BOYTOWN</p> + +<p class="center font10">By <span class="smcap">Walter A. Dyer</span></p> + +<p class="center font09"><i>Author of "Pierrot, Dog of Belgium," etc.</i><br /> + +<i>Illustrated. $1.50 net</i></p> + +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font09"><i>New York Sun</i>: "It takes the cake—in this case, of course, +a dog biscuit.... It is the most unusual book of its kind.... +Dyer enters a new field for boys ... all boys will +want to know about Dogs—their ways and habits, their histories +and origins.... Threaded through this wonderful +textbook on dogs is the story of adventures of two boys ... +shows the reader where to find out about everything from +bench shows and the care of puppies to fleas...."</span></p> + +<p class="center font15">THE FIVE BABBITTS AT BONNYACRES</p> + +<p class="center font10">By <span class="smcap">Walter A. Dyer</span></p> + +<p class="center font09"><i>Illustrated, by J. O. Chapin. $1.50 net</i></p> + +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font09">A back-to-the-farm story for young folks based on actual +experience. The farm problems and results are such as could +actually occur on thousands of American farms.</span></p> + + +<p class="center font15">MAGIC PICTURES OF THE LONG AGO</p> + +<p class="center font10">By <span class="smcap">Anna Curtis Chandler</span></p> + +<p class="center font09"><i>With some forty illustrations. $1.30 net</i></p> + +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font09">Each recounts the youth and something of the later life of +some striking character in art, history, or literature, and is +made very vivid by reproductions of famous pictures, etc.</span></p> + + +<p class="center font15">BLUE HERON COVE</p> + +<p class="center font10">By <span class="smcap">Fannie Lee McKinney</span></p> + +<p class="center font09"><i>Author of "Nora-Square-Accounts."</i></p> + +<p class="center font09"><i>Illustrated. $1.35 net</i><br /></p> + +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font09">Tells how Blue Heron Island and its seafaring folks +change "a little German countess in white satin" into "a +real, authentic American girl."</span></p> + + +<p class="center font15">THE GUN BOOK</p> + +<p class="center font10">By <span class="smcap">Thomas H. McKee</span></p> + +<p class="center font09"><i>Profusely illustrated. $1.60 net</i></p> + +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font09">A book about guns for boys of all ages. The history is +accurate; boys will remember the anecdotes; and the technical +parts are sensibly adapted to show "just how it works."</span></p> + +</div> +<p class="pmb3" /> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<hr class="r95" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="pmb3" /> +<blockquote> +<blockquote> + +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:2.0em">COMPANION STORIES OF COUNTRY LIFE</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:1.9em">FOR BOYS <i>By CHARLES P. BURTON</i></span></p> + +<hr class="r65" /> + +<p class="p2 center font13"><b>THE BOYS OF BOB'S HILL</b></p> + +<p class="center font09"> +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">George A. Williams</span>. 12mo. $1.35 net.</p> + +<p>A lively story of a party of boys in a small New England +town.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font08">"A first-rate juvenile ... a real story for the live human boy—any +boy will read it eagerly to the end ... quite thrilling adventures."—<i>Chicago +Record-Herald</i>.</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:1.3em"><b>THE BOB'S CAVE BOYS</b></span></p> + +<p class="center font09"> +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Victor Perard</span>. $1.35 net.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="font08 pmb2">"It would be hard to find anything better in the literature of New +England boy life. Healthy, red-blooded, human boys, full of fun, +into trouble and out again, but frank, honest, and clean."—<i>The Congregationalist.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:1.3em"><b>THE BOB'S HILL BRAVES</b></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="font09"> +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">H. S. DeLay</span>. 12mo. $1.35 net.</span></p> + +<p>The "Bob's Hill" band spend a vacation in Illinois, where +they play at being Indians, hear thrilling tales of real Indians, +and learn much frontier history. A history of especial interest +to "Boy Scouts."</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font08">"Merry youngsters. Capital. Thrilling tales of the red men and +explorers. These healthy red-blooded, New England boys."—<i>Philadelphia +Press.</i></span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:1.3em"><b>THE BOY SCOUTS OF BOB'S HILL</b></span></p> + +<p class="center font09"> +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Gordon Grant</span>. 12mo. $1.35 net.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">The "Bob's Hill" band organizes a Boy Scouts band and +have many adventures. Mr. Burton brings in tales told around +a camp-fire of La Salle, Joliet, the Louisiana Purchase, and +the Northwestern Reservation.</p> + + +<p class="center font13"><b>CAMP BOB'S HILL</b></p> + +<p class="center font09"> +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Gordon Grant</span>. $1.35 net.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">A tale of Boy Scouts on their summer vacation.</p> + + +<p class="center"><span style="font-size:1.3em"><b>THE RAVEN PATROL OF BOB'S HILL</b></span></p> + +<p class="center font09"> +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Gordon Grant</span>. $1.35 net.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">The account of a camping trip of the Raven Patrol of the +Boy Scouts to the Massachusetts coast, with much real boy +fun and wholesome adventure.</p> + + +</blockquote> +</blockquote> + +<p class="pmb3" /> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<hr class="r95" /> + +<p class="pmb3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span></p> + + +<blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p class="center font20">BY ALICE CALHOUN HAINES</p> + +<p class="center font15"><i>For Young Folks from 9 to 16 Years old.</i></p> + +<hr class="r65" /> + +<p class="center font13"><b>PARTNERS FOR FAIR</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">With illustrations by <span class="smcap">Faith Avery</span>. $1.35 net</p> + +<p class="pmb2">A story full of action, not untinged by pathos, of a boy +and his faithful dog and their wanderings after the poor-house +burns down. They have interesting experiences with a +traveling circus; the boy is thrown from a moving train, and +has a lively time with the Mexican Insurrectos, from whom he +is rescued by our troops.</p> + + +<p class="center font13"><b>THE LUCK OF THE DUDLEY GRAHAMS</b></p> + +<p class="center font09"> +Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Francis Day</span>. 300 pp., 12mo. $1.35 net.</p> + +<p>A family story of city life. Lightened by humor and an +airship.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="font08">"Among the very best of books for young folks. Appeals especially +to girls."—<i>Wisconsin List for Township Libraries.</i></span></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p><span class="font08">"Promises to be perennially popular. A family of happy, healthy, +inventive, bright children make the best of restricted conditions and +prove themselves masters of circumstances."—<i>Christian Register.</i></span></p> +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font08">"Sparkles with cleverness and humor."—<i>Brooklyn Eagle.</i></span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="center font13"><b>COCK-A-DOODLE HILL</b></p> + +<p class="center font09"> +A sequel to the above. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Francis Day</span>.</p> + +<p class="center font08">296 pp., 12mo. $1.35 net.</p> + +<p>"Cockle-a-doodle Hill" is where the Dudley Graham family +went to live when they left New York, and here Ernie started +her chicken-farm, with one solitary fowl, "Hennerietta." The +pictures of country scenes and the adventures and experiences +of this household of young people are very life-like.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font08">"No better book for young people than 'The Luck of the Dudley +Grahams' was offered last year. 'Cock-a-Doodle Hill' is another of +similar qualities."—<i>Philadelphia Press.</i></span></p> +</blockquote> + + +</blockquote> +</blockquote> + +<p class="pmb3" /> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<hr class="r95" /> + +<p class="pmb3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span></p> + + +<blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p class="center font20">By ALFRED BISHOP MASON</p> + +<hr class="r65" /> + +<p class="p2 center font13"><b>TOM STRONG, WASHINGTON'S SCOUT</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">Illustrated. $1.30 net.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">A story of adventure. The principal characters, a boy and +a trapper, are in the Revolutionary army from the defeat at +Brooklyn to the victory at Yorktown.</p> + + +<p class="center font13"><b>TOM STRONG, BOY-CAPTAIN</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">Illustrated. $1.30 net.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">Tom Strong and a sturdy old trapper take part in such +stirring events following the Revolution as the Indian raid +with Crawford and a flat-boat voyage from Pittsburgh to +New Orleans, etc.</p> + + +<p class="center font13"><b>TOM STRONG, JUNIOR</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">Illustrated. $1.30 net.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">The story of the son of Tom Strong in the young United +States. Tom sees the duel between Alexander Hamilton and +Aaron Burr; is in Washington during the presidency of Jefferson; +is on board of the "Clermont" on its first trip, and +serves in the United States Navy during the War of 1812.</p> + + +<p class="center font13"><b>TOM STRONG, THIRD</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">Illustrated. $1.30 net.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">Tom Strong, Junior's son helps his father build the first railroad +in the United States and then goes with Kit Carson on +the Lewis and Clarke Expedition.</p> + + +<p class="center font13"><b>TOM STRONG, LINCOLN'S SCOUT</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">Illustrated. $1.30 net.</p> + +<p class="pmb2">Serving under President Lincoln, the fourth Tom Strong becomes +an actor in the most stirring events of the Civil War.</p> + + +</blockquote> +</blockquote> + +<p class="pmb3" /> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + +<hr class="r95" /> + +<p class="pmb3"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span></p> + + +<blockquote> +<blockquote> + +<p class="center font14">STANDARD CYCLOPĘDIAS FOR YOUNG OR OLD</p> + +<hr class="r65" /> + +<p class="center font16">CHAMPLIN'S</p> + +<p class="center font20"><span class="smcap">Young Folks' Cyclopędias</span></p> + +<p class="center font12">By JOHN D. CHAMPLIN</p> + +<p class="center font07"><i>Late Associate Editor of the American Cyclopędia</i></p> + +<p class="pmb2">Bound in substantial red buckram. Each volume complete +in itself and sold separately. 12mo, $3.00 per volume, net.</p> + + +<p class="center font14"><b>COMMON THINGS</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">New, Enlarged Edition, 850 pp. Profusely Illustrated</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2 font08">"A book which will be of permanent value to any boy or girl to +whom it may be given, and which fills a place in the juvenile library, +never, so far as I know, supplied before."—<i>Susan Coolidge.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="center font14"><b>PERSONS AND PLACES</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">New, Up-to-Date Edition, 985 pp. Over 375 Illustrations</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2 font08">"We know copies of the work to which their young owners turn +instantly for information upon every theme about which they have +questions to ask. More than this, we know that some of these copies +are read daily, as well as consulted; that their owners turn the leaves +as they might those of a fairy book, reading intently articles of which +they had not thought before seeing them, and treating the book simply +as one capable of furnishing the rarest entertainment in exhaustless +quantities.—<i>N. Y. Evening Post.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="center font14"><b>LITERATURE AND ART</b></p> + +<p class="center font09">604 pp. 270 Illustrations</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2 font08">"Few poems, plays, novels, pictures, statues, or fictitious characters +that children—or most of their parents—of our day are likely to inquire +about will be missed here. Mr. Champlin's judgment seems unusually +sound."—<i>The Nation.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="center font14"><b>GAMES AND SPORTS</b></p> + +<p class="center font10">By <span class="smcap">John D. Champlin</span> and <span class="smcap">Arthur Bostwick</span></p> + +<p class="center font09">Revised Edition, 784 pp. 900 Illustrations</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2 font08">"Should form a part of every juvenile library, whether public or +private."—<i>The Independent.</i></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="center font14"><b>NATURAL HISTORY</b></p> + +<p class="center font10">By <span class="smcap">John D. Champlin</span>, assisted by <span class="smcap">Frederick A. Lucas</span></p> + +<p class="center font09">725 pp. Over 800 Illustrations</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="pmb2"><span class="font08">"Here, in compact and attractive form, is valuable and reliable information +on every phase of natural history, on every item of interest +to the student. Invaluable to the teacher and school, and should be on +every teacher's desk for ready reference, and the children should be +taught to go to this volume for information useful and interesting."—<i>Journal +of Education.</i></span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<hr class="r65" /> + +<p class="center font16"> +HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</p> +<p class="center font10 pmb1"> +PUBLISHERS NEW YORK +</p> + +</blockquote> +</blockquote> + +<p class="pmb3" /> +<p class="pmb3" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Tom Strong, Lincoln's Scout, by Alfred Bishop Mason + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM STRONG, LINCOLN'S SCOUT *** + +***** This file should be named 44132-h.htm or 44132-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/1/3/44132/ + +Produced by Matthias Grammel, Greg Bergquist and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/frontcover.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/frontcover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6219c47 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/frontcover.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_003.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d94c26 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_003.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_007_sign.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_007_sign.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..615b63f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_007_sign.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_017.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_017.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ee435dd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_017.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_026.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_026.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a99071 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_026.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_034.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_034.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e62687 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_034.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_069.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_069.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9f89a2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_069.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_083.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_083.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bba5db3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_083.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_089.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_089.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e793603 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_089.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_102.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_102.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cfa3d87 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_102.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_124.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_124.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7dfcd9d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_124.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_176.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_176.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3076e2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_176.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_210.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_210.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..86df2b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_210.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_218.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_218.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff73d34 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_218.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_222.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_222.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d9e192 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_222.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_235.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_235.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..836af18 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_235.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_241.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_241.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..132af17 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_241.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_245.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_245.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bcad7f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_245.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_250.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_250.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7810b89 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_250.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_291.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_291.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..24db412 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_291.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_294.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_294.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4865b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_294.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_298.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_298.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f52ca83 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_298.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_302.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_302.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8c1e6ca --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_302.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_318.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_318.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..76a5245 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_318.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_326.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_326.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0eb98f6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_326.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_330.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_330.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..29ecf49 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_330.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_333.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_333.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..43e2941 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_333.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/illo_353.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/illo_353.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e31e3f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/illo_353.jpg diff --git a/old/44132-h/images/liber.jpg b/old/44132-h/images/liber.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b816cd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44132-h/images/liber.jpg |
