VI. "IS THAT MOTHER?" Among the many brave, uncomplaining fellows who were brought up to the hospital from the battle of Fredericksburg was a bright-eyed, intelligent youth, sixteen years old, who belonged to a Northern regiment. He appeared more affectionate and tender, more refined and thoughtful, than many of his comrades, and attracted a good deal of attention from the attendants and visitors. Manifestly the pet of some household which he had left, perhaps, in spite of entreaty and tears, he expressed an anxious longing for the arrival of his mother, who was expected, having been informed that he was mortally wounded, and failing fast. Ere she arrived, however, he died. But before the end, almost his last act of consciousness was the thought that she had really come; for, as a lady sat by his pillow and wiped the death-sweat from his brow, just as his sight was failing, he rallied a little, like an expiring taper in its socket, looked up longingly and joyfully, and in tones that drew tears from every eye, whispered audibly, "Is that mother?" Then, drawing her toward him with all his feeble power, he nestled his head in her arms, like a sleeping infant, and thus died, with the sweet word "mother" on his quivering lips. VII. LITTLE EDDIE, THE DRUMMER. The narrative which follows is so touching, and displays so many of the best feelings of the human heart, that it would be wrong to leave it out of these pages. It is from the pen of a correspondent of the "Chicago Tribune." It has been extensively copied, and may be familiar to some of our readers: LITTLE EDDIE, THE DRUMMER. 105 A few days before our regiment received orders to join General Lyon, on his march to Wilson's Creek, the drummer of our company was taken sick and conveyed to the hospital, and on the evening preceding the day that we were to march, a negro was arrested within the lines of the camp, and brought before our captain, who asked him what business he had within the lines. He replied, "I know a drummer that would like to enlist in your company, and I have come to tell you' of it." He was immediately requested to inform the drummer that if he would enlist for our short term of service, he would be allowed extra pay; and to do this, he must be upon the ground early in the morning. The negro was then passed beyond the guard. On the following morning, there appeared before the captain's quarters, during the beating of the reveille, a good-looking, middle-aged woman, dressed in deep mourning, leading by the hand a sharp, sprightly-looking boy, apparently about twelve or thirteen years old. Her story was soon told. She was from East Tennessee, where her husband had been killed by the rebels, and all their property destroyed. She had come to St. Louis in search of her sister, but not finding her, and being destitute of money, she thought if she could procure a situation for her boy as a drummer, for the short time that we had to remain in the service, she could find employment for herself, and perhaps find her sister by the time we were discharged. During the rehearsal of her story, the little fellow kept his eyes intently fixed upon the countenance of the captain, who was about to express a determination not to take so small a boy, when he spoke out, saying, "Don't be afraid, captain; I can drum." This was spoken with so much confidence that the captain immediately observed, with a smile, "Well, well, sergeant, bring the drum, and order our fifer to come forward." In a few minutes the drum was produced, and our fifer made his appearance, a tall round-shouldered, good-natured fellow from the Dubuque mines, who stood, when erect, something over six feet in height. Upon being introduced to his new comrade, he stooped downward, with his hands resting upon his knees that were thrown forward into an acute angle, and after peering into the little fellow's face a moment, he observed, "My little man, can you drum ?” "Yes, sir,” he replied, “I drummed for Captain Hill, in Tennessee." Our fifer immediately commenced straightening himself upward until all the angles in his person had disappeared, when he placed his fife to his mouth, and played the "Flowers of Edinburgh," one of the most difficult tunes to follow with the drum that could have been selected, but nobly did the little fellow follow him, showing him to be a master of the drum. When the music ceased our captain turned to the mother and observed, "Madam, I will take your boy. What is his name?" "Edward Lee," she replied; then, placing her hand upon the captain's arm, she continued, "captain, if he is not killed" here her maternal feelings overcame her utterance, and she bent down over her boy, and kissed him upon the forehead. As she arose, she observed, "Captain, you will bring him back with you, won't you?” "Yes, yes," he replied; "we will be certain to bring him back with us. We shall be discharged in six weeks." me." In an hour after, our company led the Iowa First out of camp, our drum and fife playing "The girl I left behind Eddie, as we called him, soon became a great favorite with all the men in the company. When any of the boys had returned from a horticultural excursion, Eddie's LITTLE EDDIE, THE DRUMMER. 107 share of the peaches and melons was first apportioned out. During our heavy and fatiguing march from Rolla to Springfield, it was often amusing to see our long-legged fifer wading through the mud with our little drummer mounted upon his back, and always in that position when fording streams. The night after the fight at Wilson's Creek, where Lyon fell, I was detailed for guard duty. The hours passed slowly away, when at length the morning light began to streak along the eastern sky, making surrounding objects more plainly visible. Presently I heard a drum beat up the morning call. At first, I thought it came from the camp of the enemy across the creek; but, as I listened, I found that it came up from the deep ravine; for a few minutes it was silent, and then, as it became more light, I heard it again. I listened; the sound of the drum was familiar to me; I knew that it was Our drummer-boy from Tennessee, I was about to desert my post to go to his assistance, when I discovered the officer of the guard approaching with two men. We all listened to the sound, and were satisfied that it was Eddie's drum. I asked permission to go to his assistance. The officer hesitated, saying that the orders were to march in twenty minutes. I promised to be back in that time, when he consented. I immediately started down the hill through the thick undergrowth, and upon reaching the valley I followed the sound of the drum, and soon found him seated upon the ground, his back leaning against the trunk of a fallen tree, while his drum hung upon a bush in front of him, reaching nearly to the ground. As soon as he discovered me, he dropped his drumsticks and exclaimed, "Oh, corporal, I am so glad to see you! Give me a drink of water," reaching out his hand for my canteen, which was empty. I immediately turned to bring him some water from the brook that I could hear rippling through the bushes near by, when thinking I was about to leave him, he commenced crying, saying, "Don't leave me, corporal; I can't walk." I was soon back with the water, when I discovered that both of his feet had been shot away by a cannon-ball. After satisfying his thirst, he looked up into my face and said, "You don't think I will die, corporal, do you? This man said I would not; he said the surgeon could cure my feet." I now discovered a man lying in the grass near him dead. By his dress, I recognized him as belonging to the enemy. It appeared that he had been shot through the bowels, and had fallen near where Eddie lay. Knowing that he himself could not live, and seeing the condition of the boy, he crawled to him, took off his buckskin suspenders, and corded the little fellow's legs below the knee, and then lay down and died. While the child was telling me these particulars, I heard the tramp of cavalry coming down the ravine, and in a moment a scout of the enemy was upon us, and I was taken a prisoner. I requested the officer to take Eddie up in front of him; he did so, carrying him with great tenderness and care. When we reached the camp of the enemy, the little fellow was dead. VIII. WHAT A PHYSICIAN SAW. A physician, in the naval service on our Western waters, describes in a familiar letter some of his experience as a witness of the sad effects of war. You remember (he says to his correspondent) the sad |