Though Tom Somers had been absent from the regiment only a fortnight, it seemed to him as though a year had elapsed since the day of the battle when he had stood shoulder to shoulder with his townsmen and friends. He had been ordered to report to the provost marshal at Washington, where he learned that his regiment was at Bladensburg, about six miles from the city. Being provided with the necessary pass and “transportation,” he soon reached the camp.  
“Tom Somers! Tom Somers!” shouted several of his comrades, as soon as they recognized him.
 
“Three cheers for Tom Somers!” shouted Bob Dornton.
 
The soldier boy was a favorite in the company, and his return was sufficient to justify such a proceeding. The cheers, therefore, were given with tremendous enthusiasm.
 
“Tom, I’m glad to see you!” said old Hapgood, with extended hand, while his eyes filled with tears. “I was afeared we should never see you again.”
 
The fugitive shook hands with every member of the company who was present. His reception was in the highest degree gratifying to him, and he was determined always to merit the good will of his companions in arms.
 
“Now, fellows, tell us what the news is,” said Tom, as he seated himself on a camp stool before the tent of his mess.
 
“There are letters for you, Tom, in the hands of the orderly,” added one of his friends. “I suppose you have got a bigger story to tell than any of us, but you shall have a chance to read your letters first.”
 
These precious missives from the loved ones at home were given to him, and the soldier boy opened them with fear and trembling, lest he should find in them some bad news; but his mother and all the family were well. One of them was written since the battle, and it was evidently penned with deep solicitude for his fate, of which nothing had been heard.
 
Hapgood, who sat by him while he read his letters, assured him that his mother must know, by this time, that he was not killed, for all the men had written to their friends since the battle. The captain who had escaped from Sudley church had reported him alive and well, but he had no information in regard to his escape.
 
“We are all well, and every thing goes on about the same as usual in Pinchbrook,” wrote one of his older sisters. “John is so bent upon going to sea in the navy, that it is as much as mother can do to keep him at home. He says the country wants him, and he wants to go; and what’s more, he must go. We haven’t heard a word from father since he left home; but Captain Barney read in the paper that his vessel had been sunk in the harbor of Norfolk to block up the channel. We can only hope that he is safe, and pray that God will have him in his holy keeping.
 
“Squire Pemberton was dreadful mad because his son went into the army. He don’t say a word about politics now.”
 
In a letter from John, he learned that Captain Barney had advanced the money to pay the interest on the note, and that Squire Pemberton had not said a word about foreclosing the mortgage. His brother added that he was determined to go into the navy, even if he had to run away. He could get good wages, and he thought it was a pity that he should not do his share towards supporting the family.
 
Tom finished his letters, and was rejoiced to find that his friends at home were all well and happy; and in a few days more, a letter from him would gladden their hearts with the intelligence of his safe return to the regiment.
 
“All well—ain’t they?” asked Hapgood, as Tom folded up the letters and put them in his pocket; and the veteran could not fail to see, from the happy expression of his countenance, that their contents were satisfactory.
 
“All well,” replied Tom. “Where is Fred Pemberton? I haven’t seen him yet.”
 
“In the hospital: he’s sick, or thinks he is,” answered Hapgood. “Ben Lethbridge is in the guard house. He attempted to run away while we were coming over from Shuter’s Hill.”
 
“Who were killed, and who were wounded? I haven’t heard a word about the affair, you know,” asked Tom.
 
“Sergeant Bradford was wounded and taken prisoner. Sergeant Brown was hit by a shell, but not hurt much. The second lieutenant was wounded in the foot, and—”
 
A loud laugh from the men interrupted the statement.
 
“What are you laughing at?” demanded Tom.
 
“He resigned,” added Bob Dornton, chuckling.
 
“You said he was wounded?”
 
“I didn’t say so; the lieutenant said so himself, and hobbled about with a big cane for a week; but as soon as his resignation was accepted, he threw away his stick, and walked as well as ever he could.”
 
The boys all laughed heartily, and seemed to enjoy the joke prodigiously. Tom thought it was a remarkable cure, though the remedy was one which no decent man would be willing to adopt.
 
“How’s Captain Benson?”
 
“He’s better; he felt awful bad because he wasn’t in that battle. The colonel has gone home, sick. He has more pluck than body. He was sun-struck, and dropped off his horse, like a dead man, on the field. It’s a great pity he hasn’t twice or three times as much body; if he had, he’d make a first-rate officer.”
 
It was now Tom’s turn to relate his adventures; and he modestly told his story. His auditors were deeply interested in his narrative, and when he had finished, it was unanimously voted that Tom was a “trump;” which I suppose means nothing more than that he was a smart fellow—a position which no one who has read his adventures will be disposed to controvert.
 
A long period of comparative inactivity for the regiment followed the battle of Bull Run. General McClellan had been called from the scene of his brilliant operations in Western Virginia, to command the army of the Potomac, and he was engaged in the arduous task of organizing the vast body of loyal troops that rushed forward to sustain the government in this dark hour of peril.
 
While at Bladensburg the —th regiment with three others were formed into a brigade, the command of which was given to Hooker—a name then unknown beyond t............