Chapter IX: Robert's Mother

IT was scarcely fifteen minutes before the officer returned dragging a short, stout, ill-dressed lad by the arm, when the following examination took place.

"Are you acquainted with Robert Weeks?"

"Yes, I know him."

"When did you see him last?"

"Nobody can make me tell if I'm not a mind to. I haven't got nothing to do with it."

Mr. Woodward opened his pocket-book, and took out five dollars.

"I'll give you that," he said, "if you'll tell us all we want to know."

"Well," said the boy, his eyes cunningly watching the money. "I haven't no objection, only I'm not a going to be driv. I seed him yesterday morning afore breakfast."

"What did he say?"

"He came to my house to get some money. You see he'd got me to sell his clothes for him, 'cause he wouldn't want 'em where he was going."

"How much did you get for 'em?"

"Two dollars, and my commission out, made him one sixty-two."

"Where did he say he was going?"

"I say, are you honest? I mean will you truly give me that V, if I tell you all I know? Some gents try to trap fellows, and not pay up after all."

"Yes, I'm honest in saying, you shall have it, be your information worth little or much, only tell all you know." The scene was rather amusing to the gentleman, who had a keen sense of the ridiculous.

"Well, then," answered the boy. "He's gone to the war. He got a big chance under the Captain. One hundred dollars a month and living at the officers' table where they're fed up like fighting cocks. He'd got the promise of a uniform too, with shoulder straps on. That's his story; but he's such a liar, I wouldn't give that," snapping his finger with a contemptuous miff, "for all he says."

"Did he tell you the name of the Captain who had made him such big offers?"

"No, he didn't, but I reckon Captain Pierce of the New York Seventh don't know nothing about it, 'cause I went there, and asked one of the soldiers that I'm acquainted with.

"He laughed like to kill himself when I told him about it. There hadn't been no such chap round there."

"So you really don't know any thing more about him, except his story that you don't believe? Did he give you any reason for going to the war?"

"He said he had to study too hard. It didn't agree with his constitution, and then he hadn't enough to eat; but I knew better. He allus had his pockets stuffed full of raisins and cake, and he'd keep munching, munching hisself, without offering a feller so much as a crumb."

"There is your money, and if you can find out where Robert is, so that his mother," motioning to where she stood, "can see him, I'll give you as much more."

"Is that his mother?" cried the boy staring at her. "Whew! Aren't I sold!"

He started off at once clasping the money tight and calling out,—

"I'll find him, never fear. Whew! Ar'n't I rich?"

By this time, Mrs. Weeks was almost beyond control. She shrieked and wrung her hands, and cried out:

"Oh my poor, dear fatherless boy! I never shall see you again. Oh, why didn't I keep you at home! I'm the most miserable creature that ever lived!"

Mrs. Bowles at length persuaded her to go to her chamber, and finding her shaking from head to foot with nervous excitement, persuaded her to go to bed, and take an anodyne to prevent serious illness, promising to bring her the first news of the runaway.

But the evening and night passed without any news. Search had been made throughout the city, but the boy could not be found.

Just as the family assembled for breakfast, Mrs. Weeks came rushing in from the street:

"He isn't in the city. I've been to the hospitals and the Soldiers' Home, and the Soldiers' Refuge, and I've searched the rooms myself. I went early before they were up, and I know he isn't there. I'm afraid he's killed himself."

"Not the slightest danger of that, Annie," said Mr. Woodward. "You have done your part, and need breakfast."

"Where's Josephine?"

"In bed with a severe attack of nervous headache. She must on no account be disturbed."

"I sha'n't be in her way, if you mean me. I'm going home in the first train. I shall go to Lincoln myself, and ask him to send to all the camps in the country, and find out where my poor, dear boy is." She burst into tears, and sobbed till she shook all over.

"You had better leave the business with me, Annie. I'll do all I can. It will involve considerable expense. As the boy ran away from my house, I mean to find him if I can. Go home if you must, and keep quiet."

"Robert isn't your boy, or you wouldn't talk so cruelly. How can I keep quiet when he may be dying of starvation?"

"A most painful situation for him," remarked the gentleman, biting his lips to keep from smiling; "but I don't apprehend that he is in danger."

Mrs. Weeks left without one word of regret for the trouble she and her son had caused, or a word of thanks for the offered kindness.

Soon after, a hack drove to the door, and Mrs. Bowles, accompanied by a gentleman friend, set out on an exploring tour to the various camps surrounding the city. Mr. Woodward's business required his presence for a few hours, after which he intended to run down to Washington, if nothing had previously been ascertained.

Arriving first at Camp Lincoln, a call was made for the officer of the day. When he appeared, Mrs. Bowles, a tall lady of very dignified appearance, walked with him through the entire camp to the Colonel's tent. Here she related her story, and inquired whether such a boy had been seen there.

The officer treated her with great respect,—gave her a seat and sent round the camp to inquire whether a boy of twelve years old was hidden in the tents.

"Occasionally, our men decoy a child to join them," remarked the Colonel, "especially if he is smart and witty. It relieves the tedium of camp-life to talk with such a child; but I must acknowledge it's a poor school for the youth. I had rather a son of mine were in his coffin."