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The Floating Press - Harry Castlemon

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93 pages

English

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Younger readers will love this thrilling first-hand look at one of the crucial battles of the American Civil War, the Siege at Vicksburg, during which more than 30,000 soldiers were injured, killed or captured. After a period of rest and recuperation back home, Frank Nelson, the star of Castlemon's beloved Gunboat Series, is called back into service. Will he be able to survive this legendarily bloody battle?

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Children's

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 février 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775562436
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG
THE GUN-BOAT SERIES
* * *
HARRY CASTLEMON

*
Frank Before Vicksburg The Gun-Boat Series First published in 1866 ISBN 978-1-77556-243-6 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I - Home Again Chapter II - Harry on a Scout Chapter III - On Duty Again Chapter IV - The Fight in the Woods Chapter V - In the Hands of the "Johnnies" Again Chapter VI - An Old Acquaintance Chapter VII - A Close Shave Chapter VIII - Taking Down the Captain Chapter IX - A Practical Joke Chapter X - New Messmates Chapter XI - A Good Night's Work Chapter XII - In the Trenches Chapter XIII - The Scout's Story Chapter XIV - Running the Batteries Chapter XV - A Race for the Old Flag Chapter XVI - The Rival Sharp-Shooters Chapter XVII - The Smugglers' Cave—Conclusion
Chapter I - Home Again
*
After all the tragic adventures which Frank Nelson had passed through,since entering the service of his country, which we have attempted todescribe in the preceding volume of this series, he found himselfsurrounded by his relatives and friends, petted and fêted, enjoying allthe comforts of his old and well-beloved home.
Only those who have been in similar circumstances can imagine howpleasant that quiet little cottage seemed to Frank, after the scenes ofdanger through which he had passed. He looked back to the memorablestruggle between the lines; the scene in the turret during the firstday's fight at Fort Pemberton; the privations he had undergone whileconfined in the prison at Shreveport; his almost miraculous escape; andthey seemed to him like a dream. All his sufferings were forgotten inthe joy he felt at finding himself once more at home. But sorrow wasmingled with his joy when he looked upon the weeds which his motherwore, and when he saw the look of sadness which had taken the place ofher once happy smile. She seemed ten years older than she looked on thatpleasant morning, just fifteen months before, when, standing in thedoor, she had strained her son to her bosom, and uttered those wordswhich had rung in Frank's ears whenever he felt himself about to giveaway to his feelings of terror:
"Good-by, my son; I may never see you again, but I hope I shall neverhear that you shrank from your duty."
Frank shuddered when he thought how intense must have been the sufferingthat could work so great a change. But now that he was safe at homeagain, there was no cause but for rejoicing. His presence there affordedabundant proof that he had not been shot while attempting to run theguards at Shreveport, as had been reported.
And how great must have been the joy which that mother felt at beholdinghim once more! Although he did not move about the house in hisaccustomed noisy, boyish way, and although his cheek had been paled byhis recent sickness, from which he had not yet wholly recovered, he wasstill the same lively, generous Frank whom she had so freely given up tothe service of his country. During the short time that they had beenseparated, he had been placed in situations where his courage anddetermination had been severely tested, and had come safely through,never forgetting his mother's advice; and that mother could not suppressthe emotions of pride that arose in her heart, for she knew that her sonhad done his duty.
Numerous were the questions that were asked and answered, on both sides.Frank was obliged to relate, over and over again, the story of hiscapture and escape, until Aunt Hannah thrust her head into the room,with the announcement that supper was ready.
When the meal was finished, Frank removed his trunk into his study.Every thing there was just as he left it: the fore-and-aft schooner, andthe box inclosing the scene at sea, still stood upon the bureau; hissporting cabinet hung on the frame at the foot of the bed; the littleclock on the mantel-piece ticked as musically as in days of yore; andthe limb of the rose-bush that covered his window flapped against thehouse just as it did the night when it was broken off by the storm.
After he had taken a fond, lingering look at each familiar object, hewent into the museum, accompanied by his mother and sister, while Braveran on before. Julia opened the door, and there stood the wild-cat, justas he looked when the young naturalist had encountered him in the woods.Frank remembered how the cold sweat had started out from every pore inhis body when he first found himself face to face with this "uglycustomer," and he could not help smiling when he thought how terrifiedhe was. As he walked slowly around the museum, examining all thespecimens, as though he had never seen them before, he thought over thelittle history of each. There was the buck that he and Archie hadkilled in the lake, when they lost their guns, and the latter hadwished they "had never seen the deer." Then came the owl, which Frankhad shot on that rainy morning when Archie had felt so certain of hisprize. Then there was the white buck, which the boys had rescued fromthe wolves only to have him killed by a panther. Next came the moosewith which Frank had struggled so desperately in the woods, and fromwhich he had been rescued by the trapper and his dog. The skin of thebear, which he had trapped, and followed to the cave, and that of thepanther that killed the white buck, still hung on a nail behind thedoor, where he had left them after his return from the woods.
After examining every thing to his satisfaction, he went into the shantybehind the museum, where he kept his pets. The raccoons, which hadbecome so tame that Julia allowed them to run about, started away at hisapproach; but the squirrels and otter recognized him at once; and whileone ran down into his pockets in search for nuts, the other came towardhim, uttering a faint whine, and looked up as if expecting the piece ofcracker which Frank, in former days, had always taken especial care toprovide for him. While Frank was caressing the little animal, theking-birds and crow flew into the shanty. The former were now five innumber, the old birds having raised a nestful of young ones, which wereno less efficient in driving every bird from the orchard, or lesslenient to the crow, than their parents. The old king-birds lit onFrank's shoulders, while Daw seemed to prefer his master's uniform cap,and was about to take possession of it, when his enemies straightwaycommenced a fight, and the poor crow, after a desperate resistance, wasdriven from the shanty.
Perhaps the reader would like to know what has become of the young mooseand the cubs which Frank captured during his visit at the trapper'scabin. Well, they have good quarters, and are well provided for at UncleMike's, the same who assisted the young naturalist on the morning whenwe saw him trying to get his scow up to his work-shop. The moose hasabout an acre of pasture allowed him. He is as tame and gentle as ever,never attempting to escape. Uncle Mike has put this entirely out of hispower, for he is surrounded by a ten-rail fence. The animal more thanpays for his keeping, and many a load of wood has he drawn up to Mike'sdoor for the use of his family.
The cubs, which are considerably larger than when we last saw them, area source of a great deal of annoyance to the honest Irishman. They arestill as playful as ever, and amuse themselves all day long in turningsomersaults and wrestling with each other; but Mike has learned to"stand from under." He can generally defend himself against the attacksof one of the cubs, but the other is always ready to lend assistance,and the Irishman is invariably worsted. He keeps them confined in abuilding that once served as a smoke-house; and not daring to trusthimself within reach of their paws, he gives them their food through thewindow.
It was dark before Frank had seen and heard enough to satisfy him toreturn to the cottage. The evening was spent in listening to his storiesof gun-boat life on the Mississippi, and it was midnight before heretired to his room. The Newfoundlander, which had been close at hismaster's side ever since he returned, scarcely leaving him for a moment,followed him into his study, and took possession of the rug before thedoor. After winding up the clock that stood on the mantel, and settingthe alarm, Frank put out the light, and tumbled into bed. Although hewas pretty well tired-out, he did not hesitate a moment to answer thesummons of the little bell that rang at four o'clock, but was out on thefloor almost before the notes of the alarm had ceased. In a few momentshe was dressed; and taking his fish-pole and basket, which hung on therack at the foot of the bed, accompanied by Brave, set out with theintention of paying a visit to the lake in the swamp, which had been thescene of the fight with the buck.
As he walked along up the road, the associations connected with eachlocality were recalled to his mind. Here was the place where the blackfox, which had so long held possession of Reynard's Island, had crossedthe creek with Sport—"the dog that had never lost a fox"—followingclose on his trail. There was the tree leaning out over the creek,behind which Archie had crept for concealment when in pursuit of thecanvas-backs; and a little further on was the bridge which they hadcrossed on that rainy morning that the geese had taken refuge in theswamp.
Frank feasted his eyes on each familiar object as he walked along, untilhe arrived at the end of the road, where stood Uncle Mike's rusti