The National tribune., 1880-09-01
The Drummer Boy.

One cold December morning, about eighty years ago
party of tourists crossing the Aps-and pretty
large party too for there thousands Of them
together, Some riding walking, and most of
them had knapsacks their shoulders like many Anime
tourists nowadays. But instead Of walking sticks they
carried muskes and bayones and dragged along with
them some fifty sixty
In fact these tourists nothing less than French
army very hard time of it they seemed to be HAVING
Trying work certainly, for the strongest man. to
wade for miles through needeep in this bitter frost
and biting wind along these narrow spperv monntain
paths with precipces hundreds of feet deep all around
The soldiers locked thin and heavy eyed want of food
and sleep and the poor horses that were dragging the
heavy guns stumbled at every step.
But there one among them who seemed quite to
enjoy the rough marching and Iamped along through the
deep snow and cold gray mist through which great
mountain peaks overhead oomed like shadowy giants
merrily If we going to picnic This was little
drummer-boy of years DID, whose fresh rosy face
looked very bright and pretty among the grim SCARED
visages of the old soldiers. When the cutting wind hurled
a shower OF in his face he dashed it away with
CHEEKY laugh, and awoke all the echoes with the lively
rattle of his drum till it seemed the huge black rocks
around all singing in chorus
Bravo, Petit Tambour (little drummer) cried a tall
in shabby gray cloak, who was marching AT the
head of the line with long pole in his hand aud striking
it into the snow every and then how deep it
was. Bravo, Pierre, my boy! With music such as
that one could march all the way to Moscow"
The boy smiled and raised his hand his cap in salute
for this roqgAookng man was other than the General
himself. Fighting Macdonald, of the bravest sol
diers IN France OF whom his used say that one
sight Of his face in battle worth whole regiment
= Long live our General " shouted hoarse voice. and
the cheer flying from mouth mouth rolled along the
silent mountains like peal Of distant thunder
But its echo had hardly died away the silence was
again broken 10y another sound of different kinda
strange uncanny of whispering far away up the great
white mountanside. Moment by moment it grew louder
and harsher till at length it swelled into deep hoalse
roar.
On your faces lads, roared the General 'it's an
avalanche !"
But before his men had time to obey the was upon
them Down hundeTed the great of snow sweep
ing the narrow ledge path like waterfall and ashng
down along with IL came heaps Of aud gravel and
loose EARTH and uprooted bushes and great blocks of cold
blue ice For moment all was dark as night and when
the rush was past many of the brave fellows who were
standing the path were nowhere to be seen They had
been carried down the precipce and either killed or
buried alive in tile
But the first thought of their comrades was not for
them. When 1t was seen what had happened one cry
arose from every mouth
where's our Pierre? Where's little drummer -
" Where, indeed? Look which way they would. moth
ing to be of their poor little tavoe and when
they shouted his name there answer Then there
broke forth terrible cry Of grief and many hard old
soldier, who had looked without hinchng at a line of
eyeed muskets felt the tears his eyes at the
thought that that bright face would be among
them again
But all at far below them out of the shadow Of
the black unknown gulf that lay beneath those tremend-
GUS rocks arose the hit roll Of drum, heating the
charge The soldiers started and bent eagerly forward
TO listen; then up went shout that shook the air
" He's alive comrades Our Perres alive after all -