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

had happened one cry arose from every
mouth:
"Whcre's our Pierre? Where's our little
drummer -
J Where, indecd2 Look which way they
would, nothing was to be seen Of their poor
little favoritc, and, when they shouted his
name, there was no answer. Then there
broke forth terrible cry of grief, and many
hard old soldier, who had looked without
tlinching at a line of lcvcled muskets, felt
tho tears start into his eyes at the thought
that that face would never be seen among
them again.
But all at once, far below them, out of
the shadow Of the black unknown gulf that
lay between those tremendous rocks, arose
the taiut roll of drum, beating the charge
The soldiers started and bent eagerly for
ward to listen; then up went shout that
| shook the air.
"lie's alive, comrades Our Pierre's
| "And beating his drum still, like brave
lad lie wanted to have the old music to
the last |"
"But we must save him, lads, or he'll
freeze to death down there. He must be
saved !"
'He shall be! !" broke in deep voice
from behind, and the general himself was
seen standing on the brink of the prccipicc
throwing of his cloak.
"No, no, gcneral!" cried the grcnadicrs
| with one voice; ''you mustn't run such a
risk us that Let one of us go instead; your
| life is worth more than all OF ours nut to-
| gether."
| "Nly soldiers arc my children, answered
Macdonaid quietly; 'sand no father grudgcs
| his own life to save his son."
The soldiers knew better than to make
| any more objections. They objected IN
| silence, and the general was swinging in
mid d-air, down, down, down, till he van
lshcd at last into the darkness of the cold
black depth below.
Then every man drew Il long breath, and
| oil eyes were strained to watch for the first
| sight OF las appearing, for they knew well
that he would never come back without the
| hoy, and that the chance was terribly
| against him.
Meanwhile Macdonald, having landed
safely at the foot of the precipice, was
looking anXlously around in search of
Pierre; but the beating of the drum had
ceased, and he had nothing to guide him.
'Picrre!" shouted he, at the top of his
voice, "whcre are you, my boy 2"
'Herc, general !" answered weak
voice, so faint that he could hardly dis
tinguish it.
And there, sure enough, was the little
fellows curly head, half buried in huge
mound OF snow, which alone had saved him
from being dashed to pieces against the
rocks as he fell. Macdonald made for him
at once; ana although he sank waist-dccp
at every step, reached the spot at last.
'All right now, my brave boy" SAID the
general, cheerily. 'Put your arms around
my neck and hold tight; we'll havo you out
| OF this in a minute"
| The child tried to obey, but his stiffencd
nngers had lost all their strength; and even
whcn Macdonald himself claspcd tho tiny
arms about his neck their hold gave way
directly.
What was to be done 2 A few minutes
more, and the numbng cold Of that dismal
place would make the resc .lcr as powerless
as him whom he came to rescue. Bul
General Macdonald was not the man to be
| 80 easily beaten. Tearing off his sash and
knotting one end Of it to the rope he bound
Pierre and himself firmly together with
the other, and then gave the signal to draw
up.
And when the two came swinging up
into the daylight once more, and the SOL
dlcrs saw Their pet still alive and ,lnhurt,
chcer upon cheer rang out, rolling far back
along the line, till the very mountains them
selves seemed to be rejoicing.
''Wc'vc been under fire and snow To.
gcthcr," said Macdonald, chatting the boys
cold hands tcnderly, ''and nothing shall
part us two after this 80 long as we LCth
live"
And the general kept his word. Years
later, when the great wars were all over.
there might be seen walking in the garden
of quiet country house in the south of
France stopping, white haired old man,
who had once been the famous Marshal
Macdonald; and he leaned for support
upon the arm of a tall, black-moustached,
soldlcr-likc fellow, who had once been little
Pierre, the drummer