SOMERS and De Banyan proceeded from Port Royal to Washington, by the way of Fortress Monroe. “Fighting Joe” was no longer in the field of active operations, and our officers resigned their positions on the staff. The doughty general had won the admiration of the nation; the present generation will gratefully remember his efficient services, and posterity will enroll his name among the ablest and bravest defenders of the Union.
The term of service of the major’s regiment had expired, and it had been sent home, and mustered out. Consequently he was out of employment. Somers was determined that he should not remain so long. There was a certain Senator Guilford in Washington, who considered himself under strong obligations to the young officer, and Somers immediately paid his respects to the distinguished man. He was warmly greeted, and when he had told his story, he was bold enough to ask a great favor for his friend.
“I will do what I can for him, Captain Somers, you may be sure. I remember him well, and I have always heard excellent accounts of him from your friend the general.”
“There is not a better man in the service, sir; and he is worthy of any place which the government can give him,” replied Somers, warmly.
“I know he is. By the way, captain, a certain general called upon me in relation to your affairs more than a year ago.”
“Indeed, sir?” And Somers understood that he was indebted to the senator for his position in the regular army. “I am very grateful to you, Mr. Guilford.”
“Don’t mention it; my daughter, whose life you saved, thinks I have not half paid the debt yet.”
“You have more than paid it, sir; and if I had known that I was indebted to you for my position, I should hardly have dared to speak to you in behalf of Major de Banyan.”
“Don’t be modest, Captain Somers. I have no scruples whatever in asking favors for such officers as yourself and your friend. I invariably refuse to say a word for any military man, unless I know that he is thoroughly meritorious. But, captain, you do not ask for my daughter.”
“I heard she was married, and lived in Philadelphia,” replied Somers, with some confusion.
“That is the case; she often speaks of you, and when you pass through Philadelphia you must see her.”
“I will certainly do so, sir,” replied the captain, as he took his leave.
Three days after he received a note from the senator, with De Banyan’s commission as a major in the regular army. He hastened to communicate the news to his friend. The gratitude of the major knew no bounds, and he declared that Somers had been more to him than all the rest of the world. A furlough of thirty days had been granted them, and they started, the one for Pinchbrook, and the other for Tennessee, in search of his son, who had returned to Nashville when the army moved from Chattanooga.
On the way home Somers called upon the senator’s daughter, and found her as pleasing, as pretty, and as grateful as ever; but his heart was farther north, and he hastened to the waiting arms of his loving friends. Lilian wept with joy when she saw him, and grandmother Ashford insisted upon telling about the defence of Boston during the “last war.”
“Lilian, I have lost my socks,” said Somers, when Mrs. Ashford had safely returned to their homes the firemen who went out to cut away the bridges in case of an invasion. “I had to put them on my friend De Banyan’s feet, when he had nearly perished from cold and exhaustion.”
“I am so glad you did!”
“I suffered myself, in Andersonville and Columbia, rather than wear them out, but I could not resist the appeal of my suffering friend.”
“I am glad you did not.”
“De Banyan is a noble fellow,” added Somers.
“Shall I never see him?”
“I hope you will;” and she did, as the reader will soon learn.
Somers went to Pinchbrook, and was welcomed as one who had come forth from the grave. His mother wept over him, his father rejoiced over him, and Captain Barney, the friend of the family, “crowed” over him. He spent his thirty days between Boston and Pinchbrook, and at the end of that time reported for duty in Washington. He was ordered to join the regiment in which he had been commissioned, then in the line before Petersburg. In the bloody battle for the recovery of Fort Steadman, which had been captured by the rebels in a night attack, he was one of the first to mount the rampart, and turn the tide against the enemy. He fought with desperation, and urged his men to deeds of valor, which did much to retrieve the fortunes of the day.
For his heroic conduct on that eventful morning, he was made a major. De Banyan was there also, and what one did for his company the other did for his regiment. The brave Tennesseean was not forgotten nor overlooked. His merit was promptly recognized, and when the conquering host moved forward in pursuit of the flying brigades of the rebels, he was a brigadier general of volunteers.
Then came to them in the field, and then flashed over the telegraph wires to all parts of the nation, the thrilling intelligence that Richmond was captured. Still the indomitable Grant drew his grip tighter and tighter upon the scattering hordes of the Rebellion; still Meade pressed on, and still Sheridan thundered over and through the shattered host of treason, until Lee surrendered the remnant of the vaunted army of Northern Virginia. The gallant Army of the Potomac was there to witness the humiliation of its old enemy.
All over the land cannon roared, bells pealed, bonfires blazed, and all the people shouted “Glory, Hallelujah,” as the military power of the Rebellion crumbled and fell. Firmly had it stood, defying freedom, justice, and humanity; it drooped and expired almost in the twinkling of an eye.
The nation was filled with joy. Soldiers, sailors, and civilians rejoiced together, and from the hearts of all rose the pæan of thanksgiving for the victory which had crowned our arms. Then, in the midst of the people’s gladness, came the terrible shock of the assassination of the nation’s ruler—of the wise, noble, and good President Lincoln; and the redeemed Union was shrouded in mourning for him, who fell just as he rose to the glory of the mighty work he had accomplished.
The war was virtually ended. The surrender of Lee was followed by that of Johnston, and others in command of portions of the rebel army. The regiment to which Major Somers belonged was ordered to garrison a post; and De Banyan, who was attached to the same regiment, but for brave and skilful conduct in one of Sheridan’s mighty charges, had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel, also joined the command when his brigade was dissolved.
“General De Banyan, we meet again!” exclaimed Somers, as they joined hands, after several months of separation.
“Glory, Hallelujah!” shouted the general. “The war is over! The Union is saved! Rebellion is forever crushed! Somers, my dear fellow, I would hug you if it were dignified for a lieutenant colonel to do such a thing.”
“Never mind your dignity, general. I feel like being silly, now that ‘this cruel war is over.’ I am delighted to see you. Do you remember Columbia? Do you remember the blood-hounds?”
“Shall I ever forget them?” replied De Banyan, feelingly.
“Do you remember that night when we reached the Augusta road?”
“I could not forget that any more than I could forget you,” answered the general, as he again wrung the hand of his devoted friend. “Somers, our country is saved. We have fought it through to the end.”
“We have had a hard time of it. Do you suppose, De Banyan, if it were to be done over again, you would be willing to go through with it once more?” asked Somers.
“Upon my soul, I should!” replied the general, warmly. “If I knew I had to die on the cold, wet ground, by the side of the Augusta road, after three years of hard service, I would go in as cheerfully as I would eat my dinner when I am hungry. Somers, if there is any man that loves his country, I do. I am willing to fight for her, and willing to die for her. This was a most infernal rebellion, and I thank God I have lived to see the end of it.”
“So do I,” responded Somers, fervently.
With the end of the war ends our story, though a few months later, an interesting event occurred in Boston, which we have not the heart to withhold from our readers, who have patiently followed our hero through his career of duty and suffering. As they have seen him in the carnage of battle, in the toils of the foe, in the loathsome prison camps of the rebels, so should they now see him in the hour of his greatest earthly joy. The event to which we allude was chronicled in the papers of the city as follows:—
“December 7, by the Rev. Dr. ——, Major Thomas Somers, of the —th United States Infantry, to Miss Lilian Ashford, daughter of Richard C. Ashford, Esq., of this city. (No Cards.)”
No. — Rutland Street was brilliantly illuminated, as the stars broke forth from the storm clouds of that snowy Thanksgiving evening. There was a select assemblage of gentlemen, civil and military, and of ladies, young and old, from the matrons in sober black, to the maidens decked in colors appropriate to the joyous occasion. “Fighting Joe” had been cordially invited, but a severe illness alone prevented his attendance.
Half an hour before the time appointed for the ceremony, a carriage stopped at the door, from which stepped a tall gentleman, dressed in an elegant new uniform, on the shoulder-straps of which glistened the silver leaves that indicated his rank. With nervous energy he dashed up the steps, and endangered the bell wire by the desperate pull he gave. His summons was promptly answered by a colored gentleman in white cotton gloves.
“Major Somers,” said the gentleman, sententiously.
“The major is engaged just now, sir, and cannot be seen,” replied the waiter.
“Can’t be seen!” exclaimed the arrival.
“Not just now, sir. Walk in, if you please, sir.”
“Tell him Colonel De Banyan is here; and if that don’t fetch him, say ‘Magenta’ to him.”
The waiter went up stairs to the front room, where the bride and groom and their more intimate friends were assembled.
“Colonel De Banyan, from Magenta, sir, is—”
“From where?” roared Somers, jumping from his chair, so thoroughly convulsed with laughter that the buttons on his new coat threatened to be wrenched from their proper spheres. “Show him up,” added he, when he could speak the words.
“My dear Somers, I am with you once again,” said the colonel, as he rushed into the room and seized his friend by both hands. “From the deepest depths of an honest heart I congratulate you upon your approaching happiness.”
“Thank you, general. I am delighted to see you,” replied Somers. “It needed only your presence to complete my happiness.”
“Mrs. Somers, I greet you,” continued the colonel, dashing towards the old lady, and saluting her with the most courtly elegance.
“Sakes alive!” exclaimed the happy matron. “If it ain’t Captain de Bangyang.”
“Colonel de Banyan, if you please, is my present appellation; though I am sometimes called General de Banyan. I trust you are quite well, madam.”
“Well, I’m pretty toler’ble, I thank ye, General de Bang—Well, I’m—I declare, I’m so flustrated I can’t speak a word to-night.”
“Madam, you are the proud and happy mother of the noblest young man in this noble republic,” said the colonel, magnificently.
“Excuse me, De Banyan, but there is a lady here who has long desired to make your acquaintance,” interposed Somers, as he led his friend to another part of the room, where Lilian sat, blushing and beautiful.
“Lilian, this is my friend, General de Banyan. General, Miss Ashford.”
“Miss Ashford,” said the general, with a dignified bow, as he took the gloved hand that was extended to him, “I bend in homage before one who is mighty enough in her beauty and her virtues to win the heart of my friend Major Somers.”
Lilian blushed deeper than ever as she expressed her pleasure at meeting the man who had shared the toils and the sufferings of her intended husband.
“Miss Ashford, I have long known you, though we now meet for the first time; but permit me to add, that my friend is the only man in the United States who is worthy of the hand which is so soon to be his,” added De Banyan, who was clearly in a “magnificent” mood on this occasion.
“I am afraid I shall be jealous of you, general,” laughed Lilian.
“Nay, the major’s heart is big enough to hold us all, Miss Ashford,” continued De Banyan, still holding the little hand. “I pray to God that he may never be called upon to do as much for you as he has done for me. When you sink down to die upon the cold, wet ground in winter, exhausted by sickness, borne under by starvation, with the savage blood-hounds baying in the distance, and more savage rebels lying in wait for you; when you lie down to die under these awful conditions, and he”—pointing to the major—“steps between you and the quaking messenger of death, who already has a grip upon you; when he, at the imminent peril of his life, procures food and clothing to restore you; when he has stood over you like an angel, and won back the breath of life to your feeble body; when he has done this for you, you will know him as I know him.”
As he finished, a great tear slid down each side of his bronzed face; but he dashed it away, and smiled again. Lilian pressed the great hand she held, and a tear burned among the roses of her bright cheek.
“But all this, and more, has he done for me!” exclaimed Somers, pointing to the colonel. “When I was wounded and helpless—”
“Upon my word, we are getting sentimental, major: and we had better subside,” interposed the colonel. “Introduce me to the rest of the people.”
Somers complied; and to each De Banyan made one of his characteristic speeches; and perhaps he would have been voted ridiculous, if his eloquence had not a moment before started the tears of more than half the persons in the room.
Among those present was John Somers, the major’s twin brother, who had come home to participate in this festive scene. On his arm was a beautiful young lady; but who and what she was, we must, for prudential reasons, decline to explain in this volume.
The clergyman came; the ceremony was performed, and the interesting incidents which follow it were duly and properly disposed of; and never was a happy couple more sincerely congratulated.
“Mrs. Somers, permit me to express my warmest hopes for your future happiness,” said De Banyan. “May your husband be to you all that he has been to me; he can be no more; he will be no less.”
There was nothing to mar the harmony of the occasion. Grandmother Ashford mercifully permitted the heroes of the “last war” to rest in their honored graves; and all gave a hearty God-speed to the happy couple, as they twain set out on the blissful journey of wedlock.
Major Somers is a man of good motives, and of high Christian principles, won in the day of trial and suffering, no less than in prosperity; and we doubt not he will be as true to his God, his country, and himself, in the future, as he has been in the past; when, by his fidelity, his bravery, and his patriotism, he carved out his fortunes on the battle-fields of The Great Rebellion.