The Portland daily press., 1899-02-22
TOM THE BRAT.


There are some people In this world who
seem predestinod by an unreasonable and
uncharitable fate to endure all the kicks,
cuffs and contumely allotted TO human af-
fairs That such "luck" is utterly unae-
served the victims themselves arc ever
ready to admit, no matter how strenuous
ly Interested friends try TO argue with
them against such confession.
Such buffet of fate was Tom Wilson,
whose childhood was passed in the village
of Chsrville, o. 1t was popularity sup
posed that Peg Wilson was his mother. At
least Peg was chief oastigator and tongue
lasher extraordinary to his rcdheaded high
ness.
But Peg would scarcely admit that Tom
hal been born at all, so contemptuous
seemed her regard for him, and II there
was such an impulse as motherly affection
in Pegs rough nature It must have been
regar,,ed by her as the holy of holies, as it
was nurtured so tenderly that 1t never
found expression through her lips.
1t must have been that Tom tried her
sorely, for he was an American boy, with
all that such designation implies. He had
won as many marbles at keeps" rs any
boy in the village, and had blacked the
eyes of every boy between the depot at the
end Of the village to tho briekyard at the
other.
So. drifting along, sustaining many
beatings fighting his way, Tom reached
the age of 12, Just as the country was cleo
trifled with the news of impending war.
Tom was like other boys, in that he loved
to follow the mcanderings of the awkward
squad as it drilled upon tho village COM
T.. 10, ~ ~, a,,a
pair of chair rungs he had become so
thoroughly familiar with the beats, rolls,
draggs and timings of the cross eyed drum
mer, who on each succeeding Fourth of
July had delighted to show how he did it
in the Mexican war, and who now drum
med for the new company of home guards
that he, Tom, could march almost as well
as any of them.
one day in the summer of 1861 Tom
was vigorously beating the long roll upon
his faithful -four barrel when Peg ahght-
ed upon him like spirit of evil:
"Hyar var again, y redheaded brat,
thumpin that ole bar1l I've a notion e
cram y into ct an head y upl Hyarl
Gimme them
"Oh, mann
But the chair rungs had passed under
TAPS no moro forever.
'Now git along QUITO this. Ef 1 ketch
y'-oh, ] wish y could go e war an never
come back ~
Tom heard it and said nothing Peg
went her way, but somhow the clothespins
were harder to hold, the line more kinky
and the SCOT flakes thicker that day than
ever before. Not that there was any
reason for it-no, indeed. What had she
said that should make a strong woman
nervous? Surely it was no harm TO wish
that freckled imp in Jericho. Besides he
couldn't go TO war. But what's the use Of
talkingg
Still Peg felt "narvous like" for some
days, while Tom said very little.
The shrill shrek of fife broke upon
the midnight stiffness. There was meas
ured rolling and perfect timing TO the
snare drum accompaniment, which &C
quainted the natives with the fact that
Major Smith, the cross eyed Mexican vet
eran, was not handling the ebony sticks
Never did THE Girl Left Behind Me"
sound with q weirder meaning. Never
was there a oheerier drumming. The
home guards had offered their services,
had received a call and were marching to
the front.
What's the row." asked Peg as she
thrust her nightcapped head from win
dow and hailed drowsy neighbor
Comply goin to the front.
"Is that old fool Major Smith, goln
with emp
No; Jake tells me it's the new drum
mer playin"-
"Wel, I'm glad my brat Tom hain't
awake or he'd be crazy. A drum sets him
wild. You Just ought to-
But the neighbor knew Pegs garrulous
tendency, and the window closed softly,
but with some evidence of determination.
Charyille slept awoke and ate his break
fast So did Peg Wilson. But the bacon
and potatoes cooled on the stove hearth
and the brat did not appear with his
healthy appetite.
Peg became nervous at last and went to
his room. Tom was not in sight, but in
the center of the floor was the old flour
barrel and traced across the head even the
limited education of Peg enabled her to
decipher the letters in chalk:
"Gone to skulp JEFF Davusl"
So the brat had gone TO war, for there
was no one in town who could drum SO
well as he, not even Major Smith Many
neighbors had told her So Poor Pegl
She had much difficulty in swallowing
food that day. She maryeled that the fool
chickens could strut around contentedly
and gulp down corn, a handful at time.
Things were awry and the solar system
seemed TO move more sluggishly than
usual. But the redheaded brat was gone.
The struggle of Stone River was one
that tried mems souls, even men whose
experience in the field had been of the
rougher and more dangerous kind. The
long roll had sounded for the Third bri
gade, when Colonel Miller of the Seventy
second, noticing the STRIPPING drummer
addressed him in the kindliest manner:
My little man, this is no place for you.
All that you can do has been done. Get
to the rear and seek II safe hiding place.
But belong to-
Never mind, you redheaded brat Get
TO the rear, l tell you. "
The drummer moved sullenly rearward.
Already the Sayautv- -secopd uvaS for,oinu