Drummer Boy at Bull Run (16 page)

“Tom,” he said in a low voice, “I can’t help but think that—well, maybe Pa got killed.”

Tom shoved his forage cap back on his head, leaned back, and stared across the fire. The flickering yellow flames cast shadows on Jeff’s face, making it look angular and very young. “You don’t know that, Jeff. Lots of our men were wounded and got taken prisoner by the Yankees.”

“Why doesn’t he write us then?” Jeff argued. “If he’s alive, he must know that we’re worried about him.”

“Can’t answer that.” Tom picked up his bayonet and poked at the fire, sending a myriad sparks whirling into the upper air. He watched them until they faded out, then said, “He may be hurt too bad to write—and I don’t reckon the Yankees will be pampering our fellows too much.”

Tom suddenly felt tired and depressed. He knew that it was up to him to cheer his younger brother. However, he himself had had thoughts such as Jeff expressed. Nonetheless, he said as cheerfully as possible, “I think they would have told us if he had died. I just have to believe he’s wounded and not able to get a letter to us. It’s not easy to get a letter across the lines—no regular mail service, you know.”

A soldier named Jed Hawkins, a member of their squad, was sitting back from the fire. He was a fine musician and carried his guitar everywhere he could, except into battle. He would have carried it there, but the sergeant had sternly ordered him to leave it in the rear. “You can’t kill a Yankee with a guitar,” Sergeant Mapes said angrily. Then he added, “You play the thing so bad, that might hurt
some of them a little bit. But leave that blasted thing behind.”

Jed began fingering the guitar, sending tinkling, melodious sounds over the night air. As the rest of the squad sat exhausted after their hard day’s march, he lifted his voice and began to sing. He sang a song called “Lorena,” a favorite with both Yankees and Rebels. The words were sad, and Hawkins’s fine tenor voice fell on the summer air:

Tom gave a disparaging look toward the singer. “Don’t you know any cheerful songs, Jed? All you do is sing those miserable, sad things!”

Hawkins, a small, lean man with black hair and dark eyes, grinned. “Sure I do. How about this one:

The song had barely ended when Sergeant Mapes said, “You fellows better pile in. You’re going to be going on another little pleasure walk tomorrow.”

A groan went up.

One of the men said, “Don’t Old Blue Light ever take a rest? All he wants to do is hear preaching and kill us on forced marches!”

Jeff privately agreed but didn’t say much. Finally he got up. “I hope we hear from Pa soon, Tom. It’s going to drive me crazy if we don’t.” He left his brother with the squad and found Charlie Bowers already in their small tent.

“Hey, Jeff,” Bowers said. “You better get on to sleep. I heard we’re going on another march tomorrow.”

When Jeff only grunted and finally settled himself down on his blankets beside the smaller boy, Charlie asked tentatively, “I guess you didn’t hear nothing about your Pa yet, huh?”

“Not yet.”

Charlie studied the brief answer. “Well, I’m going to pray that he’s all right. I’ve been doing that anyhow.”

Jeff lifted his head, placed it on his palm, and stared at the dim figure beside him. “You really think praying does any good? My ma always said that it did—but I’ve asked for a few things, and sometimes I got ’em, and sometimes I didn’t.”

“Why, sure it does good!” Bowers seemed astonished at the question. “You ought to know better
than that, Jeff. The Bible says we have to ask and we’ll receive.”

Jeff lay down in the darkness, thinking about what Charlie had said. The last thing he did before drifting off to sleep was to make a vow.
Well, I don’t know if prayer does any good or not, but I’ve tried everything else, so I’ll try that
.

He hesitated, then said,
God, I don’t know how to pray except just to say I sure would appreciate it if You would take care of Pa. He may be beyond help, but if Ma and people like Charlie are right, then You’re able to do anything. So I’m asking You to take care of Pa and keep him safe
.

A bugle sounded a sad tune far off in the distance, and then Jeff wearily closed his eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

When Jeff awakened the next morning, the first thing he thought was,
Well, I’ve done the praying; now let’s see if God will come through
. At once he was ashamed and shook his head.
Can’t think about God like that!

As the sergeant had promised, they made a hard march that day. When they got back, Jeff was so tired he barely had enough strength to go down and wash off at the creek. Then he joined his squad in the supper they had thrown together. Though it was only hardtack and biscuit, he gobbled down his share.

Charlie Bowers came over to say, “Jeff, General Jackson’s asked everybody to come to a special service tonight. Let’s go over and hear the preaching.”

“Aw, I’m too tired,” Jeff protested. But as Charlie attempted to persuade him, he finally said, “Well, if I’m going to learn how to pray, I guess that’d be a good place to do it.” He nodded reluctantly. “All right, Charlie. I’m wore out and will probably go to sleep during the sermon, but I’ll go with you.”

They made their way over to the parade ground where they found hundreds of men already seated on the grass. There was a platform where the chaplain would stand. It was lit by two bonfires on each side.

“Look, there’s General Lee. See him standing right beside our general?” Charlie Bowers whispered. “He sure is a fine-looking man, ain’t he?”

The two boys sat down, and soon the singing began. After that, the chaplain preached. Jeff was so tired he could hardly sit up. Several times his head nodded, and he came to with a snap. Looking around, however, he saw that he wasn’t the only tired one.

Finally the sermon was over, and, as he expected, some of the soldiers went forward when the chaplain invited them.

A thought came to Jeff. He said, “Charlie, I’m going to go talk to General Jackson. This may be the only chance I’ll get.”

“About getting saved, you mean?”

“No, about my pa. You wait here, Charlie, or go on back to the camp.”

“I’ll wait,” Charlie said. “You go on and see the general.”

Jeff moved through the men, noticing that some of them were on their knees and had their eyes closed. Then he stood off on one side, close enough to see General Jackson go to one, then another,
putting his hand on their shoulders at times, leaning over to whisper to them.

Jeff thought,
He sure is different than on the battlefield. He’s a wild man out there, and now, why, he’s just as gentle as any woman I ever saw!

He waited patiently until the last soldier had left, then he went to the general and said, uncertainly, “General Jackson … uh … could I speak to you, sir?”

Jackson turned. “Why, it’s young Majors, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” Jeff hesitated, then said, “I know you’re real busy, General, but I came to ask you to do me a favor.”

“What is it, my boy?”

“Well, Pa was captured after Bull Run, you know?”

Jackson nodded. Compassion was on his long face. “I know. I miss him greatly. But not as much as you do, of course. What is it you want me to do, my boy?”

Jeff said, “Well, last night I did something I haven’t done much of. My ma, she was a praying woman, but she’s dead. And I didn’t know anything to do, so last night I prayed that God would take care of my pa.”

Jackson’s face lit up. “Why, that’s exactly what you should have done, Jeff.”

“Well, there’s one more thing. I thought maybe you would see about getting my pa exchanged. I hear that we’ll swap some of the Yankee officers we took for some they took. So I was wondering if you couldn’t let my pa be one of those.”

Jackson studied the boy’s face. “Do you know the Lord, Jeff?”

Jeff was an honest young man. He shook his head. “No, sir, not very good. My ma did, though, and so does Pa, and my brother, Tom, too, I reckon.”

“Well,” Jackson said, “it would be easier for you to pray if you could go to God as a loving Father.” He talked with Jeff about becoming a Christian, until the boy felt nervous. He finally said, “Well, I will do what I can, but you must have faith in God.”

Jeff blurted out without thinking, “I’ve got faith in Stonewall Jackson!”

Jackson laughed but then shook his head. “‘Put not your trust in princes,’” he admonished. “The Bible says that. However, I will do what I can to see about getting your father exchanged.”

Jeff beamed. “Thank you, General Jackson.” Then he turned and left.

When he found Charlie waiting, he said, “Well, I talked to the general, and he’s going to try and get Pa exchanged.”

“I told you prayer would work.”

Jeff looked after General Jackson, who was disappearing into the darkness with his staff. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I’ve got a lot of faith in General Jackson, but I don’t guess I’ll believe it until I actually see my pa set free from the Yankees!”

T
om! Tom! Look what I got!”

Tom Majors looked up from the musket he was cleaning and, seeing joy on his brother’s face, leaped to his feet. “Is it a letter from Pa?”

“Yes, I think so,” Jeff said. “It just came. Look, it’s addressed to both of us.” He held up the envelope.

Tom stared at it and frowned. “I don’t know that handwriting. It’s not Pa’s, though.”

“No, it’s Leah’s.” Jeff was almost jumping up and down with excitement. “I didn’t open it because I wanted us to read it together.”

“Well, open it now,” Tom said quickly. He watched nervously as Jeff tore open the envelope and then moved to stand beside him. “You read it aloud, Jeff, while I look over your shoulder.”

“All right.” And Jeff began to read:

Jeff looked up, and relief washed across his face. “Boy, that’s a relief, isn’t it, Tom?”

“It sure is.” Tom pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “I couldn’t help worrying and wondering, and it’s great to hear that he’s all right.”

Jeff looked at the letter again. “But it doesn’t sound like he’s doing too well, does it?”

“No, he would have been all right by now if it had been a simple wound.” Tom’s brow furrowed. “We’ve got to get him out of that hospital somehow. Did General Jackson say anything to you? You seem to have an inside track with him.”

“No, I only talked to him once, and he said that he had turned Pa’s name over to the commission
that takes care of prisoner exchanges. He said he recommended that one of the Yankees be exchanged for Pa as soon as possible.”

Tom nodded eagerly. “It’s a good thing you went to him, Jeff. I would never have thought of going to a general and asking a favor like that.”

“Well, I hope the job gets done. But you know the general warned me that they’d be more likely to exchange one of the Union prisoners for a healthy man. We need all the active soldiers we can get. Of course, with General Jackson’s name on it, that ought to mean something.”

“I think it will, and we’ll just have to pray that it’ll go through and that Pa will be back with us soon.”

* * *

By the end of August both Tom and Jeff had lost hope of an early exchange for their father. They went about their duties, and the army seemed to have settled down into a routine.

However, one day Tom found Jeff while he was practicing on his drum. He looked excited. “Jeff, I’ve got some good news—at least I think it is.”

Jeff put down the drum. “What is it, Tom–something about Pa?”

“Well, not exactly. Captain Brandon told me about a herd of horses that were to be had over in Kentucky—in Boone County. He wants me to take a few men and go bring them back.”

“Why, that’s the county next to ours,” Jeff said. His face lit up. “You’re taking
me
, aren’t you, Tom?”

“Why, who else would I take? There’ll be a pretty good herd, so the Captain said to choose three men,
and you’re one of them. Get your stuff together, because we’re going to leave right away.”