The National tribune., 1882-11-30
lisicnlt Of nassace ~ anr time and under the

difficult of passage at any time and under the
most favorable circumstances. And his was no
leisure ride-no holiday amusement. It was
one where life was the prize to be won and
death the forfeit of failure. But very soon both
the pace and the firing from below became too
hot to be longer endured. and he gladly avaiied
himself of friendly thicket that his painting
horse might gain a moment of rest
water, for the love of heaven, water
came in feeble tones to his ears as he drew rein
and leaped to the ground.
One swift glance revealed to him wounded
boy-a tiny waif of the war thrown aside by
its bloody billows and stranded far from home,
far from help, but very near TO death.
Water! Water!"
second glance was scarcely necessary TO tell
the Northern soldier that the tattered uniform
Of the young sufferer was gray, and that his
little hands had not been idle during the battle,
for upon shattered drum was pillowed his
curly head, and the sticks lay where they had
slipped from his nerveess fingers.
He forgot that the lad was an enemy rs he saw
the little hands held pleadingly up TO him, and
STOPPING he tenderly raised the dropping head
and put his canteen to the feverish lips,
Take it; drink, my hoy" he whispered,
"and may heaven forgive those who forced
you from home"
a strange, wild cry caused the soldier TO
spring suddenly again to his feet. That " rebel
yell" warned him that he must not tarry
longer.
Take the canteen, my poor boy" he said
Perhaps it may save your life"
The cries came nearer. He rushed to the side
of the thic}et, saw that his retreat above was
cut of, and that his only hope was in dashing
through those who would bar his way below
in gaining the valley aud taking the desperate
chances Of escaping through a country swarm
ing with enemies. There was no time for de-
liberation. He sprang to the saddle drew his
sword, and with a loud shout of defiance
spurred his horse At headIong speed down the
steep descent. Those who were eager for his
capture made room for him to pass, No human
arm could resist so fiery charge, such rush
Of powerful horse and dauntless rider. To the
ringing Of iron-shod hoofs and the rafting of
muSket and pistol balls hs passed from sight,
needless alike of angry curses Of disappointed
men and the ftfuI, painful bTeathing of the
dying boy.
But his daring ride was as brief as swift. He
had almost gained the level ground, and the
friendly darkness was fast coming on, when he
saw the glitter of bayonets, and the command
to halt rang in his ears.
To have refused would have been to court
death, and he drew the reins so sharply as to
almost throw his horse upon his launches, and
then awaited developments.
A group Of soldiers in motley garb confronted
him, demanded who he was, aud, in the same
breath cursed the uniform he wore.
" l am lieutenant Harry Hammond, of the
Illinois volunteers"
That name served to arouse all their ire.
With a guerrilla-hke yell they sprang toward
him, dragged him from his horse, and dubbed
him to the ground despite vigorous resist
anCs.
He would have then and there paid the pen
atty of his daring with his life, had not
mounted officer appeared upon the scene, and
demanded the cause of the disturbance.
"a Yankee spy" they replied, with rattling