Frank Before Vicksburg

by Harry Castlemon

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  _THE GUN-BOAT SERIES._

  FRANK, THE YOUNG NATURALIST, FRANK ON A GUN-BOAT, FRANK IN THE WOODS, FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG, FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI.

  Price, $1.25 per volume, or $6.25 per set, in a neat box, forming a most excellent and interesting LIBRARY FOR YOUNG FOLKS.

  _THE GUN-BOAT SERIES._

  Frank

  BEFORE VICKSBURG.

  BY H. C. CASTLEMON, "THE GUN-BOAT BOY."

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.

  CINCINNATI: R. W. CARROLL & CO., PUBLISHERS, OPERA-HOUSE BUILDING, _73 West Fourth Street_. 1866.

  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, BY R. W. CARROLL & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Ohio.

  STEREOTYPED AT THE FRANKLIN TYPE FOUNDRY, CINCINNATI, O.

  Contents.

  PAGE CHAPTER I. HOME AGAIN 7

  CHAPTER II. HARRY ON A SCOUT 23

  CHAPTER III. ON DUTY AGAIN 38

  CHAPTER IV. THE FIGHT IN THE WOODS 60

  CHAPTER V. IN THE HANDS OF THE "JOHNNIES" AGAIN 80

  CHAPTER VI. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 96

  CHAPTER VII. A CLOSE SHAVE 111

  CHAPTER VIII. TAKING DOWN THE CAPTAIN 126

  CHAPTER IX. A PRACTICAL JOKE 144

  CHAPTER X. NEW MESSMATES 153

  CHAPTER XI. A GOOD NIGHT'S WORK 162

  CHAPTER XII. IN THE TRENCHES 183

  CHAPTER XIII. THE SCOUT'S STORY 194

  CHAPTER XIV. RUNNING THE BATTERIES 206

  CHAPTER XV. A RACE FOR THE OLD FLAG 213

  CHAPTER XVI. THE RIVAL SHARP-SHOOTERS 227

  CHAPTER XVII. THE SMUGGLER'S CAVE--CONCLUSION 243

  FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG.

  CHAPTER I.

  Home Again.

  After all the tragic adventures which Frank Nelson had passed through,since entering the service of his country, which we have attempted todescribe in the preceding volume of this series, he found himselfsurrounded by his relatives and friends, petted and feted, enjoying allthe comforts of his old and well-beloved home.

  Only those who have been in similar circumstances can imagine howpleasant that quiet little cottage seemed to Frank, after the scenes ofdanger through which he had passed. He looked back to the memorablestruggle between the lines; the scene in the turret during the firstday's fight at Fort Pemberton; the privations he had undergone whileconfined in the prison at Shreveport; his almost miraculous escape; andthey seemed to him like a dream. All his sufferings were forgotten inthe joy he felt at finding himself once more at home. But sorrow wasmingled with his joy when he looked upon the weeds which his motherwore, and when he saw the look of sadness which had taken the place ofher once happy smile. She seemed ten years older than she looked on thatpleasant morning, just fifteen months before, when, standing in thedoor, she had strained her son to her bosom, and uttered those wordswhich had rung in Frank's ears whenever he felt himself about to giveaway to his feelings of terror:

  "Good-by, my son; I may never see you again, but I hope I shall neverhear that you shrank from your duty."

  Frank shuddered when he thought how intense must have been the sufferingthat could work so great a change. But now that he was safe at homeagain, there was no cause but for rejoicing. His presence there affordedabundant proof that he had _not_ been shot while attempting to run theguards at Shreveport, as had been reported.

  And how great must have been the joy which that mother felt at beholdinghim once more! Although he did not move about the house in hisaccustomed noisy, boyish way, and although his cheek had been paled byhis recent sickness, from which he had not yet wholly recovered, he wasstill the same lively, generous Frank whom she had so freely given up tothe service of his country. During the short time that they had beenseparated, he had been placed in situations where his courage anddetermination had been severely tested, and had come safely through,never forgetting his mother's advice; and that mother could not suppressthe emotions of pride that arose in her heart, for she knew that her sonhad done his duty.

  Numerous were the questions that were asked and answered, on both sides.Frank was obliged to relate, over and over again, the story of hiscapture and escape, until Aunt Hannah thrust her head into the room,with the announcement that supper was ready.

  When the meal was finished, Frank removed his trunk into his study.Every thing there was just as he left it: the fore-and-aft schooner, andthe box inclosing the scene at sea, still stood upon the bureau; hissporting cabinet hung on the frame at the foot of the bed; the littleclock on the mantel-piece ticked as musically as in days of yore; andthe limb of the rose-bush that covered his window flapped against thehouse just as it did the night when it was broken off by the storm.

  After he had taken a fond, lingering look at each familiar object, hewent into the museum, accompanied by his mother and sister, while Braveran on before. Julia opened the door, and there stood the wild-cat, justas he looked when the young naturalist had encountered him in the woods.Frank remembered how the cold sweat had started out from every pore inhis body when he first found himself face to face with this "uglycustomer," and he could not help smiling when he thought how terrifiedhe was. As he walked slowly around the museum, examining all thespecimens, as though he had never seen them before, he thought over thelittle history of each. There was the buck that he and Archie hadkilled in the lake, when they lost their guns, and the latter hadwished they "had never seen the deer." Then came the owl, which Frankhad shot on that rainy morning when Archie had felt so certain of hisprize. Then there was the white buck, which the boys had rescued fromthe wolves only to have him killed by a panther. Next came the moosewith which Frank had struggled so desperately in the woods, and fromwhich he had been rescued by the trapper and his dog. The skin of thebear, which he had trapped, and followed to the cave, and that of thepanther that killed the white buck, still hung on a nail behind thedoor, where he had left them after his return from the woods.

  After examining every thing to his satisfaction, he went into the shantybehind the museum, where he kept his pets. The raccoons, which hadbecome so tame that Julia allowed them to run about, started away at hisapproach; but the squirrels and otter recognized him at once; and whileone ran down into his pockets in search for nuts, the other came towardhim, uttering a faint whine, and looked up as if expecting the piece ofcracker which Frank, in former days, had always taken especial care toprovide for him. While Frank was caressing the little animal, theking-birds and crow flew into the shanty. The former were now five innumber, the old birds having raised a nestful of young ones, which wereno less efficient in driving every bird from the
orchard, or lesslenient to the crow, than their parents. The old king-birds lit onFrank's shoulders, while Daw seemed to prefer his master's uniform cap,and was about to take possession of it, when his enemies straightwaycommenced a fight, and the poor crow, after a desperate resistance, wasdriven from the shanty.

  Perhaps the reader would like to know what has become of the young mooseand the cubs which Frank captured during his visit at the trapper'scabin. Well, they have good quarters, and are well provided for at UncleMike's, the same who assisted the young naturalist on the morning whenwe saw him trying to get his scow up to his work-shop. The moose hasabout an acre of pasture allowed him. He is as tame and gentle as ever,never attempting to escape. Uncle Mike has put this entirely out of hispower, for he is surrounded by a ten-rail fence. The animal more thanpays for his keeping, and many a load of wood has he drawn up to Mike'sdoor for the use of his family.

  The cubs, which are considerably larger than when we last saw them, area source of a great deal of annoyance to the honest Irishman. They arestill as playful as ever, and amuse themselves all day long in turningsomersaults and wrestling with each other; but Mike has learned to"stand from under." He can generally defend himself against the attacksof one of the cubs, but the other is always ready to lend assistance,and the Irishman is invariably worsted. He keeps them confined in abuilding that once served as a smoke-house; and not daring to trusthimself within reach of their paws, he gives them their food through thewindow.

  It was dark before Frank had seen and heard enough to satisfy him toreturn to the cottage. The evening was spent in listening to his storiesof gun-boat life on the Mississippi, and it was midnight before heretired to his room. The Newfoundlander, which had been close at hismaster's side ever since he returned, scarcely leaving him for a moment,followed him into his study, and took possession of the rug before thedoor. After winding up the clock that stood on the mantel, and settingthe alarm, Frank put out the light, and tumbled into bed. Although hewas pretty well tired-out, he did not hesitate a moment to answer thesummons of the little bell that rang at four o'clock, but was out on thefloor almost before the notes of the alarm had ceased. In a few momentshe was dressed; and taking his fish-pole and basket, which hung on therack at the foot of the bed, accompanied by Brave, set out with theintention of paying a visit to the lake in the swamp, which had been thescene of the fight with the buck.

  As he walked along up the road, the associations connected with eachlocality were recalled to his mind. Here was the place where the blackfox, which had so long held possession of Reynard's Island, had crossedthe creek with Sport--"the dog that had never lost a fox"--followingclose on his trail. There was the tree leaning out over the creek,behind which Archie had crept for concealment when in pursuit of thecanvas-backs; and a little further on was the bridge which they hadcrossed on that rainy morning that the geese had taken refuge in theswamp.

  Frank feasted his eyes on each familiar object as he walked along, untilhe arrived at the end of the road, where stood Uncle Mike's rusticcottage. As he approached, that individual appeared at the door, shadedhis eyes with his hand, gazed at our hero for a moment, and then sprangout, and greeted him with--

  "Arrah, Master Frank! is this you, me boy?"

  "Yes, Uncle Mike, it's I," answered Frank, extending his hand to theman, who shook it heartily, while tears of genuine joy rolled down hischeeks. "I'm back again, safe and sound."

  "It's me ownsilf that's glad to see you," said Mike. "I heered you waskilt intirely by the rebels; bad luck to the likes o' them. But comewith me, Master Frank; ye's been fightin' rebels, but I've been fightingthem varmints ye ketched in the woods."

  The Irishman led the way to the building in which the cubs wereconfined, and opened the blind which protected the window, to allowFrank to look in. He could scarcely recognize in the large, shaggy formsthat were tumbling about over the floor, the small, weak cubs which hehad carried for twenty miles in the pocket of his overcoat.

  As soon as the window was opened, they raised themselves on theirhaunches, and endeavored to reach Uncle Mike's red-flannel cap, anarticle he had worn ever since Frank could remember.

  "Aisy, aisy, there, you blackguards!" exclaimed Mike, endeavoring toward off the blows which the cubs aimed at him. "Can't yees be aisy, Isay? That's the way they always do, Master Frank; me old cap seems togive 'em a deal of throuble."

  After amusing himself for some time in watching the motions of theclumsy animals, Frank followed Uncle Mike to the pen in which the moosewas kept. He had grown finely, was nearly as large as a horse, and hishead was furnished with a pair of wide-spreading antlers, the sight ofwhich made Frank shudder, and recall to mind that desperate fight in thewoods, and his narrow escape from death. The moose was very gentle, andallowed his young master to lead him about the yard, and would come athis call as readily as a dog.

  After seeing the animal "shown off" to his best advantages, Frank gotinto Uncle Mike's skiff, and pulled up the creek toward the lake. Halfan hour's rowing brought him to the point behind which he and his cousinhad captured the eider-ducks, and where they had first caught sight ofthe buck. After making his skiff fast to a tree on the bank, he riggedhis pole, baited his hook, and dropped it into the water. Almostinstantly a sudden jerk showed him that the "old perch-hole" had stillplenty of occupants, and in a moment more a fish lay floundering in thebottom of the boat.

  We need not say that Frank enjoyed himself hugely during the hour and ahalf that he remained in the lake. The fish bit voraciously, and thesport was exciting, especially as it had been so long since Frank hadhad an opportunity to engage in his favorite recreation. But hisconscience would not allow him to "wantonly waste the good things ofGod," and, when he had caught enough for his breakfast, he unfastenedhis skiff and pulled toward home.

  Frank spent the forenoon in recounting some of his adventures to hismother and Julia, of which they seemed never to grow weary. When AuntHannah announced that dinner was ready, he lingered for a moment on theportico to watch the movements of a flock of ducks, which, in companywith the old ones, the same that he and Archie had captured in the lake,were swimming about in the creek in front of the house; but, as he wasabout to follow his mother into the dining-room, he heard a loud scream,which seemed to come from above him, and looked up just in time to see abald eagle swoop down upon the ducks. The old ones uttered their notesof alarm, and, rising from the water, flew over the cottage toward thebarn, while the ducklings darted under the leaves of the lilies. But onewas too late; for, as the eagle arose in the air, he bore off his prize.

  Frank immediately ran into the house for his gun, determined that thelife of the eagle should pay for that of the duck; but on his return hefound that the robber was already being severely punished for themischief he had done. Daw and the king-birds, which seemed to have anidea that something unusual was going on, had attacked him with a furythat Frank had never before witnessed. The eagle was flying, zigzag,through the air, but was met at every point by his tormentors. Frank,who dared not fire for fear of wounding his pets, ran down the walk,sprang over the fence, and awaited the issue of the fight, hoping thatthe eagle would be compelled to take refuge in one of the trees thatgrew on the bank of the creek. Nor was he mistaken; for the robber,finding that he could not escape his enemies, settled down on a limb buta short distance off, and, after deliberately folding his wings, snappedhis beak, as if defying them to keep up the contest. The king-birdsseated themselves on the branches above his head, and commenced theirangry twittering, and Daw joined in with a loud "caw, caw."

  This seemed to be the first intimation that the king-birds had receivedof his presence, for they straightway flew at him, and Daw, although hehad lent effective assistance in fighting the eagle, did not stop toresist, but beat a hasty retreat toward the cottage. This seemed afavorable moment for the eagle; he leaped from his perch, and was flyingoff with his booty, when the report of Frank's gun brought him to theground. The young naturalist shouldered his prize, and was startingtowa
rd the house, when a voice called out:

  "Halloo, there! At your old tricks again so soon?"

  Frank looked up, and saw Harry Butler coming toward him. Neither haddreamed of the presence of the other in the village, and the cordialmanner in which the two friends greeted each other proved that theirlong separation had not lessened their affection. But Frank noticed atonce that his friend was greatly changed. He looked haggard andcareworn; he was no longer the wild, impetuous Harry; he had grown moresedate; and his face, which had once beamed with a smile for every one,now wore a look of sorrow, for which Frank could not account. It is truethat he noticed that Harry carried his arm in a sling, but he knew thatit was not bodily suffering that had caused that look of sadness.

  "Harry, what is the matter with you?" was his first question. "You lookcompletely worn out."

  "So I am," was the answer. "Let us sit down on this log, and I'll tellyou all about it. I've often been here to visit your folks," hecontinued, "never expecting to see you again, as I learned that you hadbeen captured, and afterward shot, while trying to escape. You say Ilook worn out; so would you if your only brother was a prisoner in thehands of the rebels, held as a hostage, and every moment expecting to behung. George is in that situation, and I look upon his death, not onlyas a possible, but a very probable thing. It has been a hard task for meto convince myself that, if I should live to return home after the war,I should be alone, as I certainly thought I should be when I heard thatyou had been shot, and that George was not much better off. I had madeup my mind to pass my furlough in the house, for I didn't want to haveany one near me; but, now that you are here, I want to visit all our oldhaunts again. Let us take a walk in the woods. Bring your dinner alongwith you; I haven't had mine yet."

  In accordance with Harry's suggestion, a basket was filled witheatables, and the boys bent their steps through the orchard toward themeadow that lay between the cottage and the woods. As they walked along,Frank related some of the interesting incidents of his life in theservice, and Harry finally began to recover his usual spirits. At lengththey reached the cabin in the woods, that had been the scene of the campon the day of the raccoon hunt, and here they stopped to rest and eattheir dinner.