Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp by Jr. Horatio Alger (good summer reads .txt) 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“I thought it possible that Scip had deceived me, and accordingly spoke to the woman, inquiring if she was Scip's mother.
“She replied in the affirmative.
“'And where is his father?' I next inquired.
“'Oh, he's done dead,' she said, continuing her washing.
“'When did he die?'
“'Las' night, massa.'
“'And where is the body?'
“'Toted off, massa, very first t'ing dis mornin'.'
“In spite of this case of apparent insensibility, the negro's family attachments are quite as warm naturally as our own. They have little reason, indeed, to mourn over the loss of a husband or father, since, in most cases, it is the only portal to the freedom which they covet. The separation of families, too, tends, of course, to weaken family ties. While I write these words I cannot help recalling our own happy home, and longing for an hour, if not more, of your society. I am glad that you find Mr. Morton so agreeable an inmate. You ought to feel quite indebted him for his assistance in your studies. I am glad you have formed a boy's company. It is very desirable that the elements of military science should be understood even by boys, since upon them must soon devolve the defense of their country from any blows that may be directed against her, whether by foes from within or enemies from abroad.
“The coming season will be a busy one with you. When you receive this letter it will be about time for you to begin to plow whatever land is to be planted. As I suggested in my first letter from camp, I should like you to devote some space-perhaps half an acre-to the culture of onions. We find them very useful for promoting health in the army. They are quite high on account of the largely increased demand, so that it will be a good crop for financial reasons.”
(Here followed some directions with regard to the spring planting, which we omit, as not likely to interest our readers.) The letter ended thus:
“It is nearly time for me to mail this letter, and it is already much longer than I intended to write. May God keep you all in health and happiness is the fervent wish of
“Your affectionate father,
“HENRY FROST.”
The intelligence that their father had been a prisoner made quite a sensation among the children. Charlie declared that Mrs. Roberts was a wicked woman, and he was glad she was put in prison—an expression of joy in which the rest fully participated.
CHAPTER XXVII. POMP'S LIGHT INFANTRY TACTICS
Little Pomp continued to pursue his studies under Frank as a teacher. By degrees his restlessness diminished, and, finding Frank firm in exacting a certain amount of study before he would dismiss him, he concluded that it was best to study in earnest, and so obtain the courted freedom as speedily as possible. Frank had provided for his use a small chair, which he had himself used when at Pomp's age, but for this the little contraband showed no great liking. He preferred to throw himself on a rug before the open fire-place, and, curling up, not unlike a cat, began to pore over his primer.
Frank often looked up from his own studies and looked down with an amused glance at little Pomp's coal-back face and glistening eyes riveted upon the book before him. There was no lack of brightness or intelligence in the earnest face of his young pupil. He seemed to be studying with all his might. In a wonderfully short time he would uncoil himself, and, coming to his teacher, would say, “I guess I can say it, Mass' Frank.”
Finding how readily Pomp learned his lessons, Frank judiciously lengthened them, so that, in two or three months, Pomp could read words of one syllable with considerable ease, and promised very soon to read as well as most boys of his age.
Frank also took considerable pains to cure Pomp of his mischievous propensities, but this he found a more difficult task than teaching him to read. Pomp had an innate love of fun which seemed almost irrepressible, and his convictions of duty sat too lightly upon him to interfere very seriously with its gratification. One adventure into which he was led came near having serious consequences.
Pomp, in common with other village boys of his age, had watched with considerable interest the boys 'company, as they drilled publicly or paraded through the main street, and he had conceived a strong desire to get hold of a musket, to see if he, too, could not go through with the manual.
Frank generally put his musket carefully away, only bringing it out when it was needful. One morning, however, he had been out on a hunting-expedition, and on his return left the musket in the corner of the shed.
Pomp espied it when he entered the house, and resolved, if possible, to take temporary possession of it after his lesson was over. Having this in view, he worked with an uncommon degree of industry, and in less time than usual had learned and said his lesson.
“Very well, Pomp,” said his teacher approvingly. “You have worked unusually well to-day. If you keep on you will make quite a scholar some day.”
“I's improvin', isn't I?” inquired Pomp, with an appearance of interest.
“Yes, Pomp, you have improved rapidly. By and by you can teach your mother how to read.”
“She couldn't learn, Mass' Frank. She's poor ignorant nigger.”
“You shouldn't speak so of your mother, Pomp. She's a good mother to you, and works hard to earn money to support you.”
“Yes, Mass' Frank,” said Pomp, who was getting impatient to go. “I guess I'll go home and help her.”
Frank thought that what he had said was producing a good effect. He did not know the secret of Pomp's haste.
Pomp left the room, and, proceeding to the wood-shed, hastily possessed himself of the musket. In a stealthy manner he crept with it through a field behind the house, until he got into the neighboring woods.
He found it a hard tug to carry the gun, which was heavier than those made at the present day. At length he reached an open space in the woods, only a few rods from the road which led from the farmhouse, past the shanty occupied by old Chloe. As this road was not much traveled, Pomp felt pretty safe from discovery, and accordingly here it was that he halted, and made preparations to go through the manual.
“It begins dis yer way,” said Pomp, after a little reflection.
Grasping the musket with one hand he called out in an important tone:
“'Tention, squab!”
For the benefit of the uninitiated it
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