THE HYMN THAT HELPED.

It was a warm night, late in May. For two long hours the battalion steadily had kept at it—ploying into column, deploying again into line, and varying things by an occasional march, in company front, around the great hall. But there comes an end to all things, even to a two hours' tramp over an unyielding floor, and at last the bugler, standing beneath the crowded spectators' gallery, puckered his lips, puffed out his cheeks, and blew the welcome bars of "Recall"—the signal that it was ten o'clock and time to wind up the evening's drill. One by one the companies filed out through the broad doorway, and as the last man passed over the threshold—even while the closing notes of the bugle-call still faintly rang among the arching trusses of the vaulted roof—the waiting armorer pressed down the lever which, at a single touch, extinguished the lights in the double row of chandeliers, and left the drill-hall to silence and darkness.

But if all was dark and still in the hall below, upstairs the state of affairs was in lively contrast, for in the company quarters there was light in plenty and the hum of many voices, while presently a yell of laughter from "K's" rooms, followed by a responsive roar from "A's" corner, across the corridor, seemed to show that the manœuvres of the evening had not brought the men to the point of complete exhaustion.

About the adjutant's desk, in the staff-room, a knot of officers had gathered to talk over the night's work, and speculate upon the weather of the morrow, for it was the night before Memorial Day, and the four companies detailed for escort duty in the coming parade had been going through a battalion drill, "To get shaken into shape for exhibition purposes," as the major put it.

"The boys measured off a good step to-night: thirty elegant inches, within an eighth," said the adjutant, footing up the last column of the drill report, and then gracing it with his undecipherable signature. "Yes, they stretched it out in gorgeous style, and the last time they came 'round the hall the company wheels were just as pretty as any you ever saw on a little, red wagon." This was in the days when Upton yet was law in the land; before the "new regulations" had come to vex the souls of company commanders.

"That's all well enough," remarked the major who was to command the battalion next day; "but, after all, we're at the mercy of whatever band we catch. It was a mistake to let ours go out of town for to-morrow."

"It was so," assented the adjutant, shoving a handful of documents into the pigeon-hole labelled "Papers awaiting action," and then, rising from his desk, "Do you know what band's been assigned?"

"Haven't heard," replied the major, with a yawn. "I wouldn't ask for any better marching music than the article the drum-corps deals out. The boys swing along like machines, when they have the old tunes to set 'em going;" and he began, to whistle "The British Grenadier," drumming with his fingers an accompaniment to the inspiring, old refrain, but stopping when the sergeant-major entered and said, "The colonel presents his compliments, and wishes the field and staff to report to him in his room."

"Come along, fellows," said the major, buttoning up his fatigue jacket. "This means an expedition against The Battery," and with this safe prediction he led the way along the corridor towards the door which bore upon its oaken panel the words "Colonel, Third Infantry."

"Come in," sang out the colonel, as the group of officers reached his door, "come in for a minute. I need your advice. Only four of you? Why, where's 'Pay'?"

The major replied, "He's escaped, sir, but those of us who are left are very much at your service—and full of advice."

"No doubt of it," laughed the colonel; "I've not the slightest doubt of it. That's where the officer of volunteers never is found lacking. I've yet to meet the one who's not prepared to give advice on any matter, and at a minute's notice, too. Well, now for that same advice: do you counsel an immediate and early scattering, or a brief visit to the dominions of Sam? Weigh your words, for I've determined to be guided to-night by the wishes of the majority."

"I haven't attained a 'majority'—as yet, sir," said the adjutant, speaking rapidly and beginning to unbuckle his belt; "but with due deference to my seniors, I would state that the evening has been long, warm, and very arid; enough so to reduce some of us—one I can swear to—to a state bordering upon collapse. I therefore most respectfully would suggest that The Battery be converted temporarily into a field-hospital, and that Major Sawin, surgeon, Third Infantry, be ordered to proceed thither without delay, to make provision for such patients as later may report to him for treatment."

"Listen to the boy!" said the colonel, as the adjutant paused for lack of breath. "And nobody has any better advice to offer?" he went on. "Well, Bones, you heard? Trot along—you're not in uniform—and start Sam on a bowl of claret-cup. The rest of us will join you in ten minutes."

"I think I'll do the compounding," said the surgeon, mentally recalling a formula of his earlier days, "and if the results aren't satisfactory—why, I'll resign and give Wilder his step;" and he turned towards the door, pausing to remark, "Don't overheat yourselves by hurrying, for I'm going to take my time in getting there."

The ten minutes had stretched well along towards twenty, when an uneven trampling of feet upon The Battery's stairs warned the waiting surgeon that his patients were at hand. He had employed his time to good purpose, however, and in the arrangement of his "field-hospital" there lacked nothing which long experience could suggest.

Before the wide dormer-window—in which every sash had been thrown open to catch whatever of breeze might stray that way—stood a round table, bearing a huge glass pitcher, filled to the brim with crimson claret-cup, and beaded with the dew of its icy contents. Five heavy chairs were ranged near at hand, and to each a glass was allotted, while beside every glass lay a newly filled pipe, ready for the lighting. Save one shaded lamp, all the lights were out, to give full play to the bright moonlight which came slanting in through the casement, tracing curious patterns of light and shadow upon the floor and walls. All looked cool and restful, and the surgeon gave just one more satisfied glance at his preparations before turning to receive his wearied brothers-in-arms.

"This way to the operating-table," he called out, as the door was flung open. "The instruments are ready, and the surgeon is waiting. I shall make no diagnosis in individual cases—since it is apparent that your ailment has reached the proportions of an epidemic—but shall treat you collectively."

"Bones, you deserve to be thanked 'in orders,'" said the colonel impressively, after a comprehensive survey of the surroundings. "Sit down, all—and Charley, you man the pitcher."

"I chose a pitcher in preference to a bowl," explained the beaming doctor, waving his hand in the direction of that seductive-looking vessel, "because the effect upon the eye is so much more pleasing. I tell you, the careful practitioner has to watch out for even the most trifling details."

A clatter of chairs followed this remark, succeeded by the musical tinkle of ice, as the adjutant filled the glasses. Then came a moment of refreshing silence; and finally five grateful men set down their empty tumblers with a universal, long-drawn sigh of comfort and supreme content.

"Wilder will not get his step this time," said the colonel, holding his glass in readiness for refilling, "for your reputation, Bones, is saved."

"Your appreciation touches me," replied the surgeon, leaning forward to possess himself of a pipe, an example followed by the others. One after another the matches cracked and flamed, until five corn-cobs glowed soothingly in the dim, half-light of the quiet room, sending a pale cloud of fragrant smoke adrift across the moonbeams, to twist and circle in the fitful current of air from the open casement.

"With the brigade band, which you'll have to-morrow," observed the colonel, between puffs, to the major, "you ought to go 'swinging on the old, old gait.'"

"So it's to be the brigade band?" said the major. "Good enough! Just before we left the armory we were discussing our chances on music."

"Well, music is rather important," returned the colonel, "for a good band can put life into the lamest column. I once even knew a band to put life into a dead man, too. Fact!"

"Extraordinary!" murmured the major. "I've heard plenty of bands bad enough to strike a man dead, but I never happened to discover one that seemed quite up to the resurrection pitch. Perhaps, Colonel, you'll tell us about it?"

"I'm blessed if I don't," was the colonel's reply to this suggestion, "if for nothing else than punishment for the doubt implied in your tone."

"Thank you, sir," said the major politely, bestowing his lazy length upon the cushions of the window-seat, where he settled himself in all comfort. "It's a good long time since we've had a yarn from you, and I'm pleased to learn that we're in a fair way to get you started."

This judicious remark was not without its effect, for the chief pulled the major's empty chair handily near, gently deposited his feet upon it, and observed, "Well, if I've told you this incident at all, I'm sure it hasn't been within a year, so it will be as good as new." Then he turned his head and called, "Sam, come and put out that lamp," adding, "Moonlight's good enough for story-telling—and somehow lamplight makes a discord on a night like this."

"Got ev'rythin' handy, Cun'l?" inquired Sam, as the flame flickered and went out.

"Yes, everything except you," responded the commanding officer. "Pull up a chair, Sam, and kindle your disreputable old briarwood; for I'm going to yarn about a shindy in which your battery trumped the winning trick, and I shall need your corroborative testimony."

Sam brought a chair, seated himself with proper deliberation, and added his contribution to the ever-thickening cloud of smoke; those whose glasses stood in need of refilling took the precautions necessary to avert a drought; and the colonel, fixing his eyes upon the cloudless sky without, began:

"Back in '64—a matter of a fortnight or so before that little affair at Three Mile Creek, where you, Sam, got scraped across the wrist, and won that medal of yours—the 'Old Regiment' found itself at a most forsaken sort of place which was going to ruin under the name of Ashford Four Corners. Why we had been dumped down in that particular spot we neither knew nor greatly cared, for we had reached a point in soldierly indifference which enabled us to take our billet unquestioningly, though not always uncomplainingly. Even old Burleigh, our colonel, hadn't a very definite conception of our exact errand, for he told us that we had been ordered to sit down, keep our eyes open, and stay there until we were sent for,—an order which, at the time, seemed easy of execution, though rather purposeless.

"With all due pomp and circumstance we marched into and through Ashford Four Corners, and took up a position about half a mile beyond the straggling collection of tumble-down buildings composing that metropolis; and there we prepared to 'sit down,' as per orders, and 'keep our eyes open' to see that nothing came along over a sandy road running off, in a southeasterly direction, into the dense woods in our front."

"Wal, 'twarnt sich a bad idee, havin' ye thar," observed Sam, between puffs, "an' I guess ye seen th' reason for't, finally."

"Oh, yes, the reason made itself unpleasantly obvious later," assented the colonel; "but along at the first we were rather pleased at being sent off and—as we thought—side-tracked, for we hadn't the slightest expectation of seeing or hearing anything from the enemy. No, we certainly weren't grumbling much over the detail, for we'd had a hot and trying time of it for ten days hand-running, and the prospect of even a few hours of rest and quiet seemed attractive.

"But though we weren't looking for trouble, we'd 'been in the business' too long to take anything for granted, and so we had a turn at pick-and-shovel drill, and threw up a very workmanlike line of breastworks, neatly topped-off with logs; and after the earth had been heaped up and patted down we surveyed the result of our labors, called it good, and waited patiently to see if anybody would blunder along that way to help us in a house-warming.

"In billiards 'position is everything,'" the colonel observed, after a short pause to obtain necessary restoratives, "and the same rule applies in war. Our position, as we lay at ease in our hastily constructed works, was fairly good. If I had the blackboard here I could show you, in ten strokes of the chalk, just how the land lay; but the blackboard isn't here, and, moreover, I should be too lazy to lift the chalk if it were here; and therefore I'll state that our line was established across the tapering end of a fan-shaped clearing, and in such a manner that both flanks were protected by dense woods, while on our left an impenetrable swamp afforded us additional security. The open ground in our front stretched away for a distance of about five hundred yards, ending at the edge of the unbroken forest. Do I make clear the situation?"

"Perfectly, sir," said the adjutant, rattling the ice in the pitcher, by way of serving notice that he stood ready to fill any or all depleted glasses.

"'Twas a good 'nough lay-out for inf'ntry," commented Sam, "but thar warn't quite th' right slope t' git th' best work out o' guns."

"I daresay not," said the colonel, in reply to this bit of criticism, "but your guns were able to accomplish all that we asked, eh? By the way, did you ever get a position that suited your exacting taste?"

"Wal, yis," remarked Sam, after an instant of meditation, "seems like we did once—at Malvern Hill. We hed jest th' right drop, thar, an' our plungin' fire cut out work thet warn't far from bein' plain butchery."

"After we'd got settled," resumed the colonel, "we began to look about for amusement; but the 'Four Corners' didn't seem to afford much in that line, and so most of us put in our time at making up lost sleep, and we certainly might have found less profitable employment. Of course we sent out foraging parties, but the few unhappy hens that fell into their hands didn't go far towards making chicken salad for four hundred hungry men, and so we fell back upon our usual healthful diet of hard-tack and 'salt horse.' Lord! what wouldn't I have given for a bottle of cold beer, or a pitcher of this blessed mixture," and the chief, moved by the recollection of past privations, emptied his half-filled glass at a single swallow.

The watchful adjutant promptly made good the deficiency in his superior's tumbler, and then did himself a like kindness; Van Sickles, who quietly had been smoking in a shadowy corner, rose, stretched himself, and flung himself down upon the end of the window-seat opposite the major; and then the colonel—just as the city clocks began to strike eleven—went on, "Up to nightfall there had been no developments, and when we bundled ourselves up in our blankets, after posting pickets, it was with a comfortable feeling that we were in for a quiet night.

"I'd been officer of the guard the night before, and probably I don't need to say how soundly I fell asleep. But when, along towards morning, a shot rang out from somewhere in the darkness beyond, followed by another, and then by two or three in quick succession—why, I came rolling out of my blankets in almighty short order, and it didn't take an alarm-clock to tell me that it was time to be getting up. Well, the long roll sounded, the regiment fell in, and presently in came the pickets to report the enemy in our front.

"By this time the night was pretty well along, and the first hazy light of the new day was beginning to come; but there wasn't quite enough of it to show us what was going on across the clearing, and so we threw out skirmishers into the woods on either flank, and waited for the next number on the programme. For a good half-hour we stood there, behind the breastworks, without being able to detect a movement in our front; and I—believing the whole thing due to an attack of 'nerves'—had begun to try what satisfaction I could get from damning the eyes and ears of the pickets who had spoiled my beauty-sleep, when Bob Sheldon, my captain, touched my arm, and silently pointed out towards the clearing.

"Now, all this time the light had been gathering strength, and though it still was too dim to enable us easily to distinguish objects at any distance, I yet could make out what seemed to be a line of skirmishers, slowly moving up towards us. A second glance told me that my eyes had not deceived me, and I turned towards Sheldon, with, 'My apologies to the pickets. I damned 'em too hastily, for we're to have company at breakfast, surer than gospel.' 'Yes; them's them,' said Bob, 'but not all of 'em. I'd give a pipeful of plug to know what's hidden over there in the woods.' 'Where'd be the fun in that?' I inquired, stooping over to rub my knee, which had stiffened up a trifle during the night. 'If we knew what was coming, the chances are that we'd leg it; and then what would become of the reputations we've been so long in building up?'

"I straightened up, as I spoke, and again peered over the crest of the breastwork, discovering that the advancing line had halted about two hundred yards from us, evidently without any great ambition to attempt a closer investigation; for at this stage in the war, you must understand, both the Confederates and we had learned to think twice before intruding upon a force well entrenched. These fellows, however, didn't get much time to ponder on the situation, for we gave them a volley which sent them to the rear again, though they retired slowly, and fired as they fell back."

"About as my skirmishers did last October," said the major, half to himself, as he recalled an episode of the regiment's latest engagement.

"Yes; exactly as your men did," said the chief, catching this remark, "with this exception: your boys all went back, but when this line gave ground it left three poor devils lying motionless in the damp grass. Ah, yes; a 'Fall Drill' would be very like a real fight—if it weren't so different," and he paused to liven up his pipe by a few quick, strong puffs.

"This little exchange of compliments—the way we had in those days, you know, of saying 'How d'ye do?'—was only the curtain-raiser to the real performance," the colonel resumed, after his pipe again had begun to glow and smoke like a toy volcano, "and we hadn't long to wait for the beginning of it. In something less than fifteen minutes after we'd cut loose with that preliminary volley, a regiment came marching out from the woods, changed direction to the right, and formed line of battle; another followed it, and formed on its left; and in the interval between them a battery swung into position and unlimbered. That made the odds two to one, in infantry—and six to nothing in the matter of guns."

"Then ye don't count th' breastworks for nothin'?" queried Sam, who was in a critical mood.

"Well, they ought to be considered," admitted the colonel, with a laugh, "and I'll call it an even thing on infantry, but the guns we'll have to figure at sixes and zeros; and as an old gunner, Sam, you'll admit that the other fellows held the stronger hand.

"Now, we didn't care much for the infantry part of the show, but the artillery feature promised to be interesting. The sight of those six guns, I make no bones of admitting, worried me considerably; and even old Burleigh himself showed signs of unusual animation when he turned to Frazier, our quartermaster, with, 'Frazier, did you ever see a man ride like hell?' 'Yes, sir, I've seen several men riding that way,' replied the quartermaster. 'Well, then,' blurted out old Burleigh, 'get on your horse, and ride back to the brigade—in just that way! Give the general my compliments, and tell him I want some guns, and in the biggest kind of hurry, too, if I'm to hold this position. Say that I've got a brigade, at the least, to handle, and nobody knows how much more. I guess I can stand 'em off for an hour, unless they're in force enough to walk right over me, and I'll give you exactly those sixty minutes for getting the guns here. That's all—go! and Frazier started at a gallop, just as the first shell came screeching across the clearing.

"'Twas all-fired short range for artill'ry work," commented Sam, at this point, "an' I've always allowed thet th' only thing thet saved ye were raw gunners. Must ha' be'n that, for guns half handled would ha' had ye dead an' buried 'fore we got up."

"Yes, the guns seemed frightfully near," assented the chief, slightly shifting his position, to bring his glass within easier reach, "and I think your guess about the gunners must be a good one, for a smartly handled battery ought to have wiped us off the face of the earth in less than half the time that we faced this one. In fact, now that I come to think of it, I remember noticing that most of the shells went over us, and wondering how soon the pieces would be depressed sufficiently to knock our line of works into a cocked hat.

"Well, as I've said, Frazier left for the rear in something of a hurry, and none of us devoted much time to watching his departure, for in front there was more than plenty to take up our attention. Five hundred yards was as long range for the muskets of those days as it was close quarters for guns; but we couldn't stand idle and take all the pounding, and so we went in for a little firing on our own account.

"For a time things were rather in a mixed-up mess, and I had my hands full in seeing that my boys kept cool—or decently near it—and didn't go to chucking their ammunition away too generously; so you can understand that I had no eye for anything except what went on in my immediate vicinity. But I can remember, as distinctly as if it had occurred but yesterday, how I turned, when a shell burst just over us, and saw poor Bob Sheldon throw up his hands, stagger, and go plunging down, flat upon his face. I was at his side in an instant, but there was nothing to be done, for he lay there dead, with the blood gushing in torrents from a frightful wound which apparently had crushed in his skull. Poor old Bob! I turned him over upon his back, gave just one hurried look at him, and then went back to the company, for—our second lieutenant being then in hospital—I was the only officer left."

The colonel paused long enough to take a sip from his glass, holding it for an instant up before him to catch the effect of the bright moonlight upon the ruddy claret. Then he went on: "Just how long we'd been at it I'm not certain—for it's hard to compute time when every minute is crowded with noise, and smoke, and death; but finally there came a let-up in the firing, and with it an indescribable sort of feeling that something new was about to happen. I was walking up and down behind my company—now and again saying a word to steady the boys—when, from our rear, I heard the music of a military band; and presently, as it drew nearer, I caught the air it was playing. It was our own band—we were one of the few volunteer regiments provided with such a luxury—and old Colonel Burleigh had ordered it to march up to the front, playing for all it was worth, in the hope that the Confederates might be led to believe that we were being reënforced.

"Now, we were a careless and godless set, the most of us, but we were a Massachusetts regiment, New Englanders born and bred, and we all knew the 'psalm tunes' of our boyhood days; so when the band came marching up, thundering out the 'Portuguese Hymn'—that grand old psalm beginning,

the effect was instantaneous. The old colonel afterwards told us that he had intended to pass along word for the boys to set up a cheer when the band began to play, but the command never was given; for when our fellows recognized the old, familiar air, they rose as one man, and shouted and yelled, and yelled again, until the woods reëchoed with the cheering.

"The cheering was at its height when an inspiration came to our color-sergeant—a great, bearded fellow, with a voice like a trumpet—and, holding high in air the torn and faded colors, he sprang upon the breastworks, and roared out the second verse of the hymn—

"It was magnificent! One after another the boys joined in the refrain, until four hundred throats swelled the chorus, and four hundred strong voices sang the old psalm as it never had been sung before. It was one of those moments that make an impression upon the memory which only death can efface, and I never shall forget the electric thrill which ran along our worn-out line as we sung those words of mighty comfort and cheer.

"I had joined in with the rest, and was singing for all that was in me, when I heard at my side a weak voice trying to follow the air, and, looking down, I saw Bob Sheldon—whom I had thought dead—supporting himself on one elbow, and feebly wandering along upon the words of the hymn. It was a ghastly sight, for he was covered with blood from the gaping wound in his head, and so begrimed with the dirt which had clung to it that his own mother never could have recognized him. He was alive, to be sure, but barely alive; and as I knelt beside him he sank back with a pitifully feeble groan, for the effort he had made had exhausted the little strength that was left in him.

"Supporting his head with one arm, I moistened his lips from my canteen, and then bent over to catch what he was saying; for, though his eyes were closed, he was muttering indistinctly, and I could make out an occasional word or short sentence. 'Nell—little Nell,' I heard him murmur, 'it's hard to go away.' Poor old Bob! I knew in a minute that he was clean out of his head, and that his thoughts had gone wandering back to his old New England town, and to the brown-haired girl who, with brimming eyes and quivering lips, had bidden him Godspeed when the 'Old Regiment' marched away. 'Be patient and—and brave, dear,' he rambled on, in his feeble voice, 'for I'm surely, surely coming—back—to you,' Was he? Gad! something caught me in the throat when I heard the words," and the colonel abruptly paused, and reached for his glass.

Half unconsciously the major slipped his hand inside the breast of his coat, where it rested upon a much-worn leathern case in which lay hidden a photograph; the adjutant blew a succession of feathery smoke-rings across the broad beam of moonlight which came streaming into the room, and—for he was a very young man—fancied that each ring framed a certain sunny face; Van Sickles tranquilly went on with his pipe; and the colonel, clearing his throat by a slight cough, continued:

"Now, all this meant a great deal to me, for I had known from childhood both Sheldon and the girl whom he was to marry. And I can remember how I wondered, as I knelt there, if it would be my duty to tell her how her lover had gone down at his post. I tell you, boys," and his teeth tightened a bit upon the reed stem of his pipe, "war has a terrible fascination—I wouldn't willingly wipe away the memory of the old days in the service—and yet many an experience of mine made me stop to think if, after all, war were worth the while.

"But in this case matters turned out all right in the end," went on the chief, reaching for the jar of tobacco, and extracting a pipeful, which he slowly rubbed in the palm of one hand, "and when the 'Old Regiment' marched through the crowded streets of Washington, in the grand review, Bob Sheldon rode along with us—and his straps bore the gold leaves, in place of the silver bars. Yes, he pulled through all right, and not long after we were mustered out, I stood with him in the little church at home, and saw his handsome face light up when Nell—his 'little Nell'—came blushing down the aisle to end the long waiting.

"You see, the flying splinter of shell that had crushed him down had torn a frightful furrow in his scalp, and had stunned him for a time; but the skull wasn't fractured, and so, after a few weeks, he came back from hospital to us, strong and hearty, and nearly as handsome as ever. And now, Ned," glancing towards the major, and holding a flaming match above his freshly filled cob-pipe, "I've demonstrated to you how a band—if it's a good one and judicious in the selection of its music—can call a dead man back to life."

"But the fight, sir?" asked Van Sickles, from his lounging-place upon the cushions; "how did the fight come out?"

"Why, that's so! I forgot to mention how the affair ended," said the colonel, rising with a yawn. "Sam, you tell 'em; you know as much as I do about the rest of it."

"Wal, I dunno's thar's much more t' tell," drawled the old gunner, in response to this command. "Fact is, thar warn't much fightin' a'ter th' reg'ment'd got through with its praise-meetin'. Ye see, soon's th' ol' gineral heard th' sound o' th' guns down Ashford way, he started a couple o' troops an' our batt'ry a-jumpin', an' we met Cun'l Burleigh's messenger on th' road. Wal, we sweat our teams some, an' got down thar real suddin; an' 'fore we'd done enough firin' t' heat th' guns, th' rebs pulled out o' th' clearin', hoss, foot, an' artill'ry—only thar warn't no hoss—an' took 'emselves off out o' th' way."

"Yes, that was the way it ended," said the chief, as Sam closed his official report of the action. "And now we must be getting along towards bed. Don't set too stiff a pace for us, Ned, in the parade; for all of the old boys aren't so able-bodied as I am, and to-morrow there'll be many a man in the Grand Army who'll have a hard struggle between pride and stiffened joints. Wonder why I lighted this pipe! Well, it's late, and I'm going to risk being caught on the street with it. Good-night, Sam."

"What's become of your man Sheldon, since the war?" asked Van Sickles, as the little party picked its way down the stairs.

"I've lost him," replied the colonel, in an altered tone. "It's a long story, Van, and a sad one. Some other time, perhaps, I'll tell you; but not now."

THE SEVENTH MAJOR