The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1880-08-07
The Drummer Boy.

One cold December morning, about eighty
years ago, party of tourists were CROSSING
the Alps-and pretty large party, too, fol
there were several thousand of men together.
some were riding, some walking, and most
OF them had knapsacks on their shoulders.
like many Alpine tourists nowadays. But
instead OF walking-stlcks they carried mus
kcts and bayonets, and dragged along with
them some fifty or sixty cannon.
III fact, these tourists were nothing less
than French army and very hard time
OF it they seemed to be having. TRYING
work, certainly, even for the strongest man
To wade for miles through knee-deep snow
in this bitter frost and biting wind, along
these narrow slippery mountain paths, with
precipices hundreds of feet deep all round
The soldiers looked Thin and heavy eyed
for want OF food and sleep, and the poor
horses that were dragging the heavy runs
stumbled at every step
But there was one among them who
seemed quite to enjoy the rough marching
and tramped along through the deep snow
and cold, gray mist, through which The
great mountain peaks overhead loomed like
shadowy giants, rs lnerrily rs if he were
going to picnic. This was a little dram
mer boy of ten years old, whose fresh, rosy
cheeks looked very bright and pretty among
the grim, SCARED visagcs Of the old soldiers.
When the cutting wind whirlcd a shower of
snow In his face he dashed it away with a
CHEEKY laugh, and awokc all the echoes
with the lively rattle of his drum, till it
seemed as if the huge black rocks around
were all singing in chorus.
'sBravo, Petit Tambour!" (littlc drum
mcr) cried tall man in a shabby gray
cloak, who was marching at the head Of the
line, with a long pole in his hand, and strik-
ing 1t into the snow every now and then to
sec how deep it was. "Brayo, Pierre. nv
boy With such music as that we could
march all the way to Moscow"
The boy smiled, and raised his hand to
his hat in salute, for thisrough- looking man
was no other than the general himself,
"Fighting Macdonald" one of the braycst
soldiers in France, of whom his men used
to say that one sight of his face in battle
was worth whole regiment.
Long live our general, shouted a hoarsc
voice, and the cheer, flying from mouth to
mouth, rolled along the silent mountains
like peal of distant thunder.
But its echo had hardly died away when
tbe silence was again broken by another
sound Of very different kinda strange,
uncanny sort Of whispering far away up
the great white side. Moment by moment
it grew louder and harshcr, till at length it
swclled into deep, hoarsc roar.
"On your faces, ladsl" roarcd the gene
raj; otis an avalanchol"
But, before his men had time to obey,
the ruin was upon them. Down thundcrcd
the great mass Of snow, sweeping the mar.
row ledge path like waterfall, and crash
ing down along with 1t came heaps of
stones and gravel and loose earth, and up.
rooted bushes, and great blocks of cold,
blue Ice. For moment all was dark as
night; and when the rush had passed, many
Of the bravo fellows who had been standing
on the path were nowhere to be seen. They
had been carried down over the precipico,
and either killed or buried alive in the
snow.
But the first thought Of their comrades
was not for them. When II was seen what