Part 3 (1/2)
Colonel Austin often took heed of the faithful little shadow, and began to fear anew for the time when he might be obliged to ”go to the front”
and leave the boy behind.
”G. W., you must never go beyond that point alone,” he said one day, naming a hill a half mile or so distant. ”These are not play-days, comrade; I want to feel that you are safe. I cannot afford to worry about you now. Obedience first, old man, you know, and then you are on the way to being a hero.”
”Yes, sah!” The small black hand gave the salute gravely. G. W. never by any possible chance forgot his military training. ”But, Colonel, you goes furder dan de hill right often.”
”That's true, G. W., but my duty calls _me_ beyond; _your_ duty bids you stay this side of the hill--that's the difference, G. W.”
”Yes, sah! but how is I goin' ter take care ob you, wid you trapesing off de Lawd knows whar?”
Colonel Austin smiled. ”You must try to be willing to trust me out of your sight, my boy,” he said, ”just as I have to trust you when you stay behind.”
”But, Colonel, jes' 'spose war should attack you, wid me fur off? How does yo' 'spec I 'se goin' ter report to de Boy an' his Mother?”
Colonel Austin saw trouble ahead unless he got G. W. into shape.
”Look here, old fellow,” he replied, taking the young body-guard between his knees. ”War isn't going to catch us napping. We'll know at what minute to point our guns at the enemy. We shall know and we shall obey our orders. And you'll know, and _you_ must obey _your_ orders, comrade.
You must stay in your turret chamber, like the brave boy of old. You mustn't follow me past that point. If you do, G. W.,”--Colonel Austin had never threatened the boy before,--”unless you promise me, G. W., I'll tie the flaps of the tent upon you every time I leave it.”
The childish lips quivered in an un-soldier-like way. ”I'll promise, Colonel!”
”All right, then, and give us your hand. Comrade, you've taken a load from my mind.”
The days following grew to be hard days for the boy, so long petted by the regiment. Food was scarce, and when there was plenty it was often of a kind that he turned from. The evenings in the tent were very long and lonely before he fell asleep. No stories now. His Colonel's absences grew more frequent and more prolonged. G. W.'s only solace was to gaze at the picture of the Boy and his Mother.
The half-mile hill became more and more every day a dread landmark. From that hated point of view he had to watch the Colonel's tall figure disappear only too often, while he stayed behind to return ingloriously to the tent. Where was the ”chance” that was going to make him a hero if he must always stay behind in the place of safety? Did the Colonel think heroes were made on hill-tops a half mile from camp? G. W. grew sarcastic. He kept his b.u.t.tons bright and his uniform brushed and trim; not because he loved it as when he expected to soon wear it as a hero, but because the Colonel kept himself in order--his faithful G. W. could at least follow him in that.
But at last came a thing that roused him from this mood. Fever broke out in camp, and G. W. developed into a nurse of no mean order. He carried water and bathed aching heads. Hot hands clung to him, forgetting how very small and weak he was. ”Sing to us, G. W.,” often those weary, suffering fellows said, ”and don't give us the jig-tunes, old man, but something soft.”
With his brown, childish face upraised G. W. would sing the old camp-meeting songs that his mother used to sing in the days of long ago before he had dreamed of being a hero.
Was it the religious thought in the quaint words, or the tender quality of the airs, or was it G. W.'s pathetic voice that had the power to quiet the delirium and make it possible for the tired sick men to rest?
How can one tell? But as the boy sang stillness settled down over the rough hospital, and many a ”G.o.d bless you, G. W.!” came from thankful lips.
Colonel Austin watched the little comforter bustling to and fro, and with a grim smile he thought that the hero-side of G. W. was developing fast.
The boy had grown thin, and an anxious, worn look made the small dusky face very touching; but weariness, disappointment, and bodily discomfort never dragged a complaint from the firm lips.
V.
THE BOY UP NORTH.
Just before the Colonel and G. W. had been ordered by President McKinley to ”move on,” Colonel Austin had had the dear dusky little attendant photographed, dazzling uniform and all and had sent it to little Jack who was playing his harder part away up in the Northern home. Underneath he had written, ”My Body-Guard.”
After Mrs. Austin had gazed long and searchingly at the radiant little soldier, she had surprised her son by suddenly bursting into tears.
”Why, Mamma-dear!” cried Jack, ”don't you like his looks?”
”Oh! I do indeed, Jack; I like his looks so well that it almost breaks my heart--poor little fellow!”