Renny’s Uniform

‘What is your name?’ asked Renny Page of a poor boy he had met one cold morning with bare feet bleeding from chestnut burs.

‘It’s George,’ was the answer.

‘Now, George, I’m a soldier and I ought to know how to help you; you put your arm around me and I’ll carry you – only you mustn’t cry, because I shall cry too, and then we won’t ever get up the hill.  My goodness! What a thin coat you’ve got on – it’s no thicker than I wear in dog days; haven’t you got a thick coat, one ever so thick like mine?’

‘No.’

‘You’ve got a comforter and a cap with fur around it, and all over the ears?’

‘No.’

‘But it’s too late for any boys to go barefoot; why didn’t you put on your thick boots to-day; I declare it’s real cold – and then you wouldn’t have got into our burs.  We’ve been up on the hill, playing battle and charging the big chestnuts, and when we came down we gathered all the burs together, and thought we’d be very good, better than the rebels are, and bury the killed and wounded, so we put them all in a pile and threw a mess of leaves over them, and then we marched away.  I’m real sorry; but the rebels are always in mischief, and can’t stay dead.  There’s their big president, Mr. Davis; he died a great while ago; ever so many people saw him lying, all laid out just as if he was a good man, but he’s come to life again, and isn’t a bit better than he used to be; and then there’s that other fellow, out West, Gen. Mc–Mc– I can’t think his name – but he’s been killed in battle ever so many times, but some how, up he gets again when there’s anybody to fight, and goes at it.  See here, George! Maybe that’s the kind your father died.’

‘No, ’tisn’t,’ said George; ‘my father wasn’t a rebel, and our soldiers don’t sham that way.’

‘I didn’t think of that,’ said Renny, ‘but there is the fence – we’ve got so far; and now you wait when you get most over, and I’ll lift you down.’

‘You can’t – I shall throw you over.’

‘Nonsense! Didn’t I tell you I was a soldier, and soldiers have to lift and dig, and do everything.  Come on now; I am stronger than I ever was before; and Renny managed it so that George landed safely and got up the hill.  It was quite dark then, and Renny’s mother had put her hat and shawl on, and come out of the house to search for Renny.  She met him and asked ‘Why, Renny, where have you been?’

‘Busy, mother, bringing in the wounded; have you got a hospital here? ‘cause I found a boy with his feet full of chestnut burs, and he can’t walk without most killing himself; and he’s cold, and may be hungry; and, mother’ – Renny whispered this, going quite close to his mother – ‘his father is dead, killed in that battle you read about this morning, at the Ferry.’

‘Come in,’ kindly said Renny’s mother; and she helped the boy in, and tended to his bleeding feet as tenderly as if he had been her Renny.  After the sharp points had been removed she fitted his feet with stockings and shoes that had long been unused, for the feet that wore them had gone forever out of her home, and her mother-heart listened vainly through the years for the faintest echo ‘from over the river.’

Renny’s father was a soldier, and Renny’s mother felt her own heart ache and quiver as George told her his story.  ‘Why was not George, Renny – why was not George’s father Renny’s father?’ and the answer came to her from the God of battles, but she only heard it.

Mrs. Page took George home that night – after her soldier-boy was busy with his dreams – took him home to his mother to tell the story – ‘the story,’ must it be told near every hearthstone – must it be heard going ‘mid shot and shell into every woman’s heart in the nation?

The morning following, very early in the late October morning, came the woman to make Renny’s uniform, but Rennyh was up before her, and he had spread out the bright material and its gay trimmings on the table; and looked at them with admiring eyes.

‘Come, Master Renny,’ said the woman, taking out her measuring line, ‘I am ready.”

‘You can go home, if you please, after mother has given you some breakfast, for I don’t want any soldier-clothes now.’

‘Why not?’ asked Mrs. Page, in astonishment at this sudden change.

‘Because, George is a dead soldier’s boy, and he hasn’t got even one warm coat to wear; please mother, take these things back again, and get something to make a lot of clothes for George, and then get them made.  I guess I can be a soldier if I don’t wear uniform; and if General Sam won’t let me, then I’ll be Renny Page right back again.  I’ve got a real soldier for a father, and I’m glad of that.’

The unmade uniform went back, and George was fitted with comfortable clothing, even two boots for his hurt feet.  Renny did not tell this story to the regiment, but somebody else did, for before the week was over, Renny was promoted still further, and ‘Captain Renny,’ in citizens dress became very popular.

A week passed away.  Saturday night came – Renny said ‘Good night, mother,’ and was on the top most stair when he heard a man ask at the door ‘Does Captain Renny Page live here?’

‘That’s me,’ shouted Renny.

‘A box for you by Adams’ express; please pay me for bringing it.’

‘Here is a letter for you, Renny,’ said Mrs. Page when she had opened the box.

Renny unfolded the letter and read, ‘For my brave soldier-boy – God bless his kind little heart.’

Mrs. Page and Renny looked beneath the cover, and Renny exclaimed, ‘A little uniform for me, just like father’s own.  Now won’t I be captain, in grand earnest?  Mother do you believe General Sam will be sorry? For this is grander than his uniform.  I hope he won’t – How sorry I am for poor George!  He hasn’t any father to be good to him.  Don’t you believe God will be his father, and send him nice things?  I am going to tell God about George this very night, and ask Him to be better to him than he is to me, because I’ve got a father down here that can see when holes come in my boots, and when I want a new jacket; a father here and a Father up in heaven – isn’t it nice? And this uniform besides;’ and Renny Page went slowly up the stairs to his bed, carrying his present hugged tight to his heart, that beat faster and faster with gladness, until sleep came and wrapped him in one of her rosiest dreams, wherein he dreamed that George came to live with them, and got a uniform, just like his own, that nobody found out who sent. –{Merry’s Museum.

– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, May 31, 1862, p. 2