Chapter III: Justin Enlists.—elfie Drills

Sound, sound the clarion—fill, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious strife
Is worth an age without a name!
’Twas bustle in the street below—
“Forward! march!” and forth they go.
Steeds neigh and trample all around—
Steel rings, spears glitter, trumpets sound!—SCOTT.

Young Ethel remained the honored guest of the old parsonage. He had been relieved of the command of the Sea Scourge and promoted to the rank of first lieutenant, and he was now waiting orders.

Major Fielding also, while recovering from his wounds, made the parsonage his home.

But neither arguments nor entreaties could induce Miss Conyers to profit by the large-hearted hospitality of the Rosenthals, and take up even a temporary residence under their roof. She found cheap board in a respectable private family, on the suburbs, near the parsonage, and she visited her friends very often, and went every day with Erminie to the hospitals.

Justin, very soon after his return home, made known his intention of enlisting as a private soldier in the army.

This announcement filled the heart of his sister with dismay. All the latent pride in the gentle bosom of the Lutheran minister’s meek child arose in arms. In her own person, so deep was her humility of love, she would have stooped to the most menial office by which she could serve her country, or one of its lowliest defenders; but for her idolized brother she was more ambitious, and she could not endure the thought of the hardships, privations and humiliations he would have to suffer as a soldier in the ranks.

“Do try to get a captain’s commission in one of the new regiments now being filled up. You and your friends have influence enough to secure one; you know it, Justin,” she urged.

“But, my Minie, I know no more of the science of military tactics than I do of the art of alchemy,” laughed Justin.

“What of that? Are not lawyers’ clerks, doctors’ boys, counter-jumpers, barbers, bar-tenders, penny-a-liners, and all sorts of men, who know no more of the science of war than you do, daily turned into commissioned officers—captains, majors, colonels, and even brigadier-generals?” rather impatiently demanded Erminie.

“And hence the defeats that attended our arms during the first two years of the war. No, Erminie; I am not so presumptuous as to apply for even a second lieutenancy, while conscious that I know nothing of tactics,” said Justin, seriously.

“Oh, but you can learn. There are no end to the works on military tactics. You meet them staring you in the face from every bookseller’s window, and find them lumbering up every counter where the new novels used to be displayed.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I could not begin to tell you how many there are; but two of them I remember—Casey’s Infantry Tactics and Hardee’s ditto; each in three pretty volumes, that look for all the world like song-books—little mites of volumes, that a hard student like you could master in a week.”

“I dare say,” said Justin, smiling; “and at the end of a week I should be very competent to drill a company, manœuvre a regiment, or fight a battle—_on paper_!”

“Oh, nonsense, brother! don’t be sarcastic. I tell you it is all easy enough. I began reading the first volume of Hardee myself, and I assure you I feel equal to the simple regimental drill. Now do, Justin, study tactics for an examination for a captain’s commission in one of the new regiments.”

“My good little sister, tactics cannot be learned from books comfortably conned in the chimney corner. They must be learned on the parade ground and on the battle-field.”

“But I cannot _bear_ that you, with your scholarly intellect and refined habits should be a common soldier, Justin! I cannot bear it!” said Erminie, almost ready to cry.

“My Minie! for ages to come the children of the ‘common soldiers’ who fight in this war for the Union will look back upon their forefathers with more just pride than ever did the sons of kings upon their royal ancestry.”

“I know it, Justin! But, in the meantime, the association! Why, the rank and file of our army are made up of all sorts of men!” pleaded Erminie.

“My sister, your experience among the wounded soldiers in the hospitals must have taught you that there are as noble men and true gentlemen in the rank and file of our army as any that ever wore the stars of a major-general,” said Justin, very gravely.

“I know it! oh, I know it! Heaven forgive me for my pride; for while you spoke I thought of Grandison, a Frenchman, who died after many months of suffering in the Trinity Church hospital in Georgetown. He was one of the most accomplished scholars and polished gentlemen I ever met anywhere, not even excepting his countrymen the Orleans princes whom I met at the President’s reception. Heaven forgive me for saying anything in disparagement of the common soldier!” said Erminie, meekly, as her brown eyes filled with tears at the remembrance of the dying soldier whose death-bed she had smoothed.

“And you will oppose my plan no longer, my sister?” inquired Justin, caressing her.

“No longer,” she murmured in reply.

So Justin went and enlisted in a new regiment that was being formed to go into active service.

And his sister saw no more of him for a week, at the end of which he re-appeared at the parsonage with his fine auburn hair cropped close to his head and surmounted by the soldier’s cap, and his athletic form displayed to the very best advantage in the round blue jacket and trowsers of the private’s uniform.

The three young ladies were alone in the drawing-room when he was ushered in in this dress.

Half laughing and half crying, Erminie sprang to welcome him.

With visible emotion Britomarte also offered him her hand.

And Elfie openly expressed her opinion:

“Justin, you were cut out for a common soldier! I never saw you look so well in my life. But then the closefitting uniform of a private certainly does show off ‘a fine figure of a man,’ as no other dress in the world could. Somehow or other, I think of a gladiator, and of an Apollo, and the Colossus of Rhodes, when I look at you in that tight fit, Mr. Rosenthal.”

“Miss Fielding, I am your slave and your knight. Were it permitted in the ranks, I would pin your glove upon my cap for a feather and bear it through the battle-field to certain victory!” said Justin, laughing and bowing.

“No, don’t! Britomarte would put a spider in my dumplin!”

“ELFIE!” indignantly exclaimed Miss Conyers.

“You _know_ you’d poison me if I should dare to—hem—be a friend of Justin’s! Oh, I know! I’ve read the story of the dog in the manger! how the dog couldn’t eat the hay and wouldn’t let the heifer eat it!” laughed the girl.

“You are privileged to jest roughly, I suppose,” said Miss Conyers, coldly.

“I know I am,” admitted Elfie—“privileged to do everything but flirt with Justin. If I was to dare to do _that_—hush, girls! you know how Britty can hate _men_, but you will never know how she can hate women until some unlucky woman gives Justin her glove to wear in his cap!—Mercy! there, I’ve done!” exclaimed Elfie, shrinking from Britomarte’s flashing eyes. “And now we’ll change the subject. Justin, _mon brave_! you look very clean and very nice; your tight suit is such a clear bright blue, and your shirt-collar is as white as the driven snow; but, Justin, _mon ami_, can you _keep_ clean over there in camp? that is the question! or, when you come to see us, shall we have to put you in soak over night before we can breakfast with you next morning?”

“The river flows below our fort, and the sutlers keep a good supply of brown soap and crash towels, so I have hopes to be able to keep out of the category of the ‘unwashed!’” said the volunteer.

“I am very glad to hear it. For as far as my observation goes, there seems to be the most intimate relationship, and an inevitable connection, between dirt and glory. Why, even my pap, in speaking of the victorious field of Gettysburg, could only describe it as a ‘very dusty’ place.”

As Justin was obliged to be back at his camp before the hour of “tattoo,” he could stay but a few minutes with his friends. He soon arose, took an affectionate leave of them, and went away.

After this they saw but little of him at the parsonage.

And when Erminie wished to see her brother, she had to get a pass from the provost marshal’s office, and cross the river, and visit him in camp, in one of the forts of the lines forming the southern defences of Washington.

All this time Major Fielding passed his days reclining in an easy chair under the shade of the vine-wreathed porch, reading, smoking, and recruiting his strength.

Young Ethel went every day to the Navy Department, with which he seemed to have a great deal of business.

Britomarte and Erminie went daily to the hospitals, with kind words and good gifts to the soldiers.

And what was Elfie doing? For one thing, she was making great havoc in the heart of the young lieutenant, who had been, from the first, fascinated by her elfin charms, and for another thing, by the mysteriousness and eccentricity of her appearance and deportment, she was exciting all manner of disagreeable conjectures concerning herself among her surrounding friends.

She was not encouraging her young adorer; far from it, she was snubbing him in the most contemptuous manner possible, by either ignoring his offered attentions entirely, or else repelling them carelessly, as she would have brushed off a troublesome fly.

She grew moody, silent and unsocial. She studied Casey’s Tactics all day long, except for an hour in the morning, which she spent in drilling. She borrowed her father’s rifle, and went through the exercises with it, while the quiet drawing-room of the parsonage echoed with “the accents of an unknown tongue.”

“_Shoale-dore_—HUMS! _Pre-sent_—HUMS! _Shoale-dore_—HUMS!”

“For you see, Britty, I notice that the drill officer on parade don’t say ‘shoulder,’ but ‘shoale-dore!’ nor ‘arms,’ but ‘hums!’ and I want to be right by drill and not dictionary,” Elfie explained to Miss Conyers, who sat watching her performance in amazement.

“But Elfie, my dear, why do you go through all this!” she inquired.

“Don’t you wish I’d tell you?” mocked Elfie, trailing arms and panting for breath.

“Yes, I do!” said Miss Conyers, gravely.

“But I won’t.—Dear me, this rifle is very heavy,” said Elfie, as she set the arms up in a corner, and threw herself into an easy chair to recover her breath; “I do wonder why the government don’t have lighter ones made, such as might be handled easily by a boy of fifteen—”

“Or a girl of twenty,” murmured Britomarte, looking wistfully at Major Fielding’s daughter.

“—I am sure they have enough of such boys in the army—”

“—And a few of such girls,” murmured Miss Conyers thoughtfully.

“And I don’t wonder the poor lads drop exhausted on the march, carrying such heavy rifles.”

“Or that the poor lasses sometimes break down and get found out.”

“I wish to goodness they would make lighter ones; I’m sure it would pay to do it.”

“So do I; I think so, too,” murmured Miss Conyers.

“Britomarte, why do you sit there whispering to yourself like a wicked enchantress muttering her incantations? What are you saying or thinking?” irritably questioned Elfie.

“I am thinking, Elfie, from what I see, that you are contemplating enlistment; and Elfie, I will not be the one to discourage you provided you have your father’s consent,” said Miss Conyers, earnestly.

“Yes; but I haven’t got it, and I couldn’t get it. At the mere mention of the thing the dear old boy raised such a row as never was. Blest if I didn’t think he’d raise the other Old Boy from the place below, you know. No, Britty, I am not dreaming of enlisting.”

“Well, then, what _are_ you dreaming of?”

“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Indeed I should. What is it, Elfie?”

“Why, that’s the mystery; but it may come out in a few days, as the doctor said of the measles, or the cat of the mouse, I forget which.”

“Elfie, what _are_ you talking of, love? Mystery, measles, mouse—what do you mean?”

“When does the draft come off?” inquired Elfie, without answering Britomarte’s question.

“Next week.”

“Then next week you will find out what I mean.”

“How?”

“That’s all.”

And that was all, for not another word of explanation could Britomarte get from Elfie.

The next morning after this conversation, Justin paid one of his rare visits to the parsonage.

He informed his sister that he was promoted to the rank of corporal, and laughingly pointed to the chevrons on his sleeves.

Major Fielding, who was much better, and was expecting to be ordered to his regiment, chuckled as he congratulated Corporal Rosenthal.

“Your promotion is the second step up the ladder of military fame, on which your enlistment was the first step. And let me remind you, my boy, that half the greatest generals the world has ever known were men who rose from the ranks. Why, Lord bless my soul, boy, I myself enlisted as a private soldier, and see where I am now,” said the major, with a little pardonable egotism.

“Good gracious, pap, that was two years ago! If Justin rises no faster than you did, the war will be over before he is a drill sergeant,” said Elfie.

“Yes; but he will rise faster, daught’. Young men can rise faster, as well as run faster, than old ones. You see with me there were drawbacks, daught’. For one thing, I wasn’t tip-top at the double-quick!”

“Except in retreat, pap!”

“Hush, you saucy imp!”

“But, in any case,” sighed Erminie, “Justin’s promotion must be very tedious.”

“Not at all,” said the major. “He will rise as fast as he learns. A young man like our volunteer here is not going to be overlooked in the lines. He will be promoted as fast as possible. The regiment is not filled up yet, you know. New companies are being formed. And I will guarantee, before the regiment marches, Justin will have received his captain’s commission.”

“Heaven send it!” aspirated Erminie.

“Dear sister, and good friends,” said Justin, earnestly, “I beg you to understand that I did not enter the army to seek my own advancement, but to do my duty to my country.”

“I know that, Justin,” said Erminie—“know it well; but——”

“Advancement will be your destiny whether you seek it or not,” said the major.

As time was up, and Justin had to be back in camp by the evening roll call, he took leave of his sister and friends and departed.

The prophecies of Major Fielding were fulfilled. Justin rose rapidly from the ranks. The next time he visited his sister, he wore the badge of a sergeant upon his sleeves. And he delighted Erminie with the announcement that the colonel of his regiment had notified him that he should have a lieutenant’s commission in a company that was then being formed of new recruits, and had also hinted at still further advancement.