The Northern Pacific farmer. [volume] (Wadena, Minn.) 1878-1885, 1885-01-01
MY DRUMMER

MY DRUMMER.BOY.
Well-nigh twenty years have passed
since the sound of the last gun of the
war of the Rebellion died away in ST.
fence. The enmities engendered by the
bitter struggle are buried with the ma
TONS dead. The blue and gray who
fell lie peacefully side by side, and we,
the blue and gray who live, have clasped
hands together, and spoken loyal words
of courtesy and friendship.
But the children of that dark hour
have grown to be young men and wom-
en-, and know little of war but it's holt
day pomp and glory; so I have brought
this little sketch from memory's port
folio that they may catch passing
glimpse of its stern reality, and part
~, too, that they may see how suffer-
ing hcroism sometimes finds it's home
in young, brave hearts.
Early in the year 1868 the Uuion for
ces, in one of the regiments Of which I
was all officer, lay encamped near Will
mington. North Carolina. There had
been an exchange of prisoners, and the
sick from Andcrsonvillc had been car
ried by boat down the Cape Fear River
to Wilmington.
Partly from sympathy, and partly,
perhaps, from curiosity, I had come in
from our camp, which was located a
few miles out of the city, to visit the
hospital. All old brick warehouse was
utilized for this purpose. 1t was long,
low, narrow building and the sick men
lay on the floor, with their heads to the
wall, in two rows up and down the
room. AS I entered from the street
and passed slowly along between them,
the wan, haggard faces of the sick men
seemed CHASTITY in t..c uncertain light.
1t was forlorn and desolate sick room,
indeed, and did not wonder that the
poor fellows were discouraged and al
most despairing.
As moved on I was startled at see
ing what seemed to be the face of a
mere child among the sick men-a lad
of not over thirteen years-propped up
against the Sall. A tattered old blan-
ket covered him. His hair was long and
neglected, his cheeks sunken and fever
ish, and his body emaciated almost be-
yond belief.
I can give no idea of the pitiable,
skeleton-like thinness of the little fell
low. On his arms was hardly any
flesh. His knees pointed the worn
blanket sharply as it covered them, and
his diseased feet had become utterly
lifeless, with the toes and the ball of
the foot entirely gone from one of them.
was in horror at the sight; but as
the poor little sufferer noticed nv
startled look, he said, in bright, CHEEKY
voice, "They amt good for much, are
they, lieutenant? See here!" and to
my unspeakable dismay, with his fingers
be broke off piece of the dead flesh,
as one would snap off the end of u chalk
pencil.
While I shuddered at the sight, my
heart was taken captive by the cheer
full, undaunted spirit of the boy. OBJ
tanning permission, I bathed him,
combed his hair, and in short time
had him in clean clothing and under a
decent blanket. He was so patient,
grateful and enthusiastic over his new
possessions, that my admiration and af-
lection for the little fellow rapidly in
creased
20 lieutenant, amt they just splen-
did?" he burst out as he first saw the
new blue blouse with it's bright brass
buttons, and felt of the soft blanket.
"Ain't I glad to be clean again! I
wish 1 could see myself now. You're
right good to me, sir, and thank you
very much"
He must have been beautiful boy
before privation and disease had enact
ated him. He had thick, curly, brown
hair, large, speaking eyes, delicate nos
trils, and chin In which there nestled
the shadow of what must have been a
charming dimple. Exposure and sick
ness had clouded, but not entirely
spoiled, a fair, clear complexion, and he
still retsiaed frank and wonderfully
winning smile, and out of his eyes
looked dounrless spirit, which evil as
sociations had failed to corrupt or cap
tivity to subdue.
He was, in word, a boy whom every
woman would have been drawn to and
have loved, whom any man might have
been proud to call his son.
His name, he told me, was Arthur
Perry, his home in Ohio, his mother a
widow. He was a drummer boy, had
been captured some months before
while with an ammunition train, and
had endured all the pr1vations of prison
life ever since. Sickness had broken
his constitution, and reduced him to a
shadow. He was weak and feverish.
His one great desire was to get home to
his mother, whom he seemed to idolize.
Taking my hand he said,-
1T was pretty hard, sometimes, when
there wasn't anything to eat and I was
sick, and it was wet and cold. Some
times was so lonesome and homesick I
couldn't help crying. and it seemed as
if never should get home. But It's all
over now. I'm going home to mother.
wish you knew her, lieutenant. She's
the dearest, lovelist mother in the
world, and oh, do love her so! Do
you suppose she'll know me?"
"Why, of course she'll know you,
and she'll be very proud of you, too," I
replied.
y "Do you really think she will? You
don't think these will make any differ.
ence, do you?" he asked, chokingly, os
he pointed to his crippled feet.
mo. no, no, my dear boy. She will
only love you thousand times the
MORE"
I'm glad you think 50, lieutenant"
and he went on to picture his coming
home-how his mother would fold him
IN her arms and kiss him again and
again, and how his little brother and Sis
ter would listen to his stories with wide
open eyes, and how he would run out to
see his old SCHOOL, ellows-here, as the
fhOrphf 0f hia ro0r ,,ca1ooo foot Aoobo1