Louisiana capitolian., 1880-07-06
THE DRUMMER BOY.

One cold December morning, about
eighty years ago, aparty of tourists were
crossing tho Alps-aud a, pretty large
party, too, for there were several thous
ands of them together. Some were rid
ing some walking, and most of them had
knapsacks on their shoulders, like many
Alpine tourists nowadays. But instead
of walking sticks they carried muskcts
and bayoncts, and dragged along with
them some fifty or sixty cannon.
In fact these tourists were nothing
less than French army; aud a 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 in this bitter frost and biting
wind, along these narrow, slippery
mountain-paths, with precipiccs hun
dreds of feet deep llround. The soldiers
looked thin and heavy-eyed for want of
food and sleep, and the poor horses that
were dragging the heavy guns stumbled
at every step.
But there was Que among them who
seemed quite to enjoy the rough march
ing, and trampcd along through the
deep snow and cold gray mist, through
which the great mountain peaks oyer
head loomed like shadowy giants, as
merrily us if he were going to a picnic.
This was a little drummcr.boy of 10
years old, whose fresh, rosy face looked
very bright and pretty among the grim,
SCARED visages of the old soldiers.
When the cutting wind whirled a show
or of snow in bis face he dashed it away
with a CHEEKY laugh, and awoIle 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.
Bravo, Petit Tambour" Qittlo drum
mer) cried tall man in shabby gray
cloak, who was marching at the head of
the line, with q long pole in his hand,
and striking it into the snow every now
and then, to see how deepit was.
Bravo, Pierre, my boy. With such
music as that one could march all the
way to Moscow
The boy smiled, and raised his hand
to his cap in salute, for this rough-look-
ing man was no other than tho General
himself, Fighting Macdonald,' ono of
tho 5rayest soldiers in France, of whom
his men used to say that one sight of his
face in battle was worth whole rcci-
ment.
Long live our General shouted .
hoarso voice, and the cheer, flying from
mouth to month, rolled along tho silent
like peal of distank2tl,un- |
der.
But its echo had hardy died away
when the silence was again broken by
another sound of a very different kind
. strange, unCanny sort of whispering
lar away up the great whito mountain
side. Moment by moment it grew loud
Or and harsher, till at length it swellcd |
INTO deep, hoarse roar.
On your faces, lads y roarcd the Gen. |
,ral; its an avalanchcn
But, before his men had time to obey, |
,he ruin was upon them. Down thun-
tered the great mass of snow, sweeping
,he narrow ledge path with waterfall,
md crashing down along with it came
leaps of stones and gravel and loose
'arth, and uprooted bushes, and great
blocks OF cold blue ice. For q moment
III was dark as night aud when the rush
lad passed, many of tho bravo fellows
Who had been standing on the path were
'owhcro to be seen. They had been car
led down over tho precipico, and either
>illed or buried alive in the snow.
But the first thought Of their comrades
vas not for them. When it was seen
What had happened one cry arose from
very mouth:
Where's our Pierre! Where's our lit
lie drummer 2
Where, indeed 7 Look which way
hey would, nothing was to be seen of