Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865 -- Juvenile fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Juvenile fiction
“I believe I’ll try it. It looks this way to me. If I get to be a
soldier and have a good record, then if they do get father, whatever
happens to him it won’t be quite so bad for the rest of us if I’ve
proved my loyalty.”
“That’s right! I don’t believe you’re going to help him by enlisting,
but if worst comes to worst men are going to forget your father’s
disgrace in thinking of your bravery. Will you do it? Will you enlist?”
“Yes, Sergeant Anderson, I will.”
“Then I’ll tell you what to do. You go with me. In an hour I shall
start back to the South to join my regiment. I’ll take you along. I’ll
get you into my company. I’ll get you into my mess. I’ll stand by
you, and take care of you, and share with you, because you’re a hero
already, and I’m proud of you!”
The sergeant’s eyes dimmed as he grasped the boy’s hand and shook it
enthusiastically.
“Thank you!” replied Bob. “I’m no hero; and I may disgrace you; but
I’ll go, and I’ll do the very best I can.”
“Good! Be at the depot across the bridge yonder in an hour, and I’ll
meet you there. The train leaves at eleven o’clock.”
The sergeant hurried away, and Bob went back to his hotel to get his
baggage. It occurred to him to write a brief letter to Seth Mills,
and he did so, telling him what had happened at Easton and giving him
permission to repeat to his father and mother so much or so little
of the information as he saw fit. Then he hurried to the railroad
station and there, promptly at the hour agreed upon, he met Sergeant
Anderson. At eleven o’clock they boarded the train for Harrisburg, and
from thence, with little delay, they went to Washington. It was late at
night when they reached the capital city, and Bob was very tired. They
passed through the jostling crowds at the railroad station and sought a
rooming house, not far away, with which Sergeant Anderson was familiar,
stopping on the way to get a meagre luncheon at a near-by restaurant.
They were not long in seeking their beds, and they had no sooner laid
themselves down than the young officer fell into a heavy and restful
sleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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