The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1905-06-01
My one weakness Is writing my
name Chicago Inter Ocean.


We were at the Rappahannock. says
DR.. Woods in "Stedman and His Men,"
and the enemy was before us, rapidly
advancing to meet us. The river was
so narrow that a musket-ball could
easily find its way across, but it served
as temporary line of defense, behind
which we could secure needed rest and
rations, and give time for our rein
forcements. The river was spanned
by new trestlework bridge, the TIM
bers Of which our advance guard had
covered with tar. Piles of tarred shaw
ings were also placed along its length.
A detachment of infantry was set to
work throwing up line of entrench-
ments In front of the Confederate end
of the bridge, over which they could
retreat and join US.
Soon the enemy's skirmfshers APP
peared, and before long a sudden fury
was let loose from the cannon. directed
at the infantry at work in front Of the
bridge, who retreated Immediately.
The only thing was. of course, to fire
the bridge to delay the enemy, but
such an undertaking meant almost
certain death. The enemy's musketry
and cannon swept every inch Of the
bridge.
Twill any one volunteer to apply the
torchT called General Pope.
Not a man moved. The danger was
too appalling; the destruction too sure.
The question was repeated; still ST.
lence. A third time the general asked
for volunteer, and a soldier stepped
forward, and shaking off the OBTAINING
hand Of comrade, gracefully saluted,
saying:
General, 1 will fire the bridge"
General Pope, shrinking from sending
any one on such a perilous errand,
asked the volunteer if he realized what
1t meant
Eyes, general, I understand It." re-
piled the thin-faced. 19-year-old boy.
MY brave fellow" said the general,
you will probably not succeed in
crossing the bridge; it is barely posi-
BILE you will return alive. There are
three piles of shavings on either side;
mainder as you return. There must be
no mistake"
II will neither falter nor turn back"
replied the boy, throwing off his shoes,
blouse and cap. Six torches were light
ed at the blacksmith's forge, while he
waited apparently without concern.
Three we're placed In each hand, and
without a tremor of muscle he started
on a rapid rHf1.
Even the enemy. within 100 yards Of
the bridge. ceased firing in their amaze
ment at his daring. With hair floating
in the wind that famed the torches
into streaming blaze, he increased his
speed until he had passed the center
Of the bridge and laid a torch on the
farther pile. The flashing flame woke
the enemy from its dream Of admira-
ton, and instantly the bridge was
swept by storm Of balls. On went
the flying boy. dashing his torches into
the heaps Of shavings. The fierce
musketry fire increased, and the smoke
of the powder and burning tar surge6
about him. With swift feet he trod
the path Of deadly peril.
Our hearts stood still as pile after
pile was lighted amid the Kissing show
er of MIME balls. shot and sseil The
last torch had found its place when
suddenly the boy fell. A dozen COM
rades rushed to the PROSTATE body and
bore it to safety.
The boy was not dead; he was not
even seriously wounded. although his
clothes were riddled by balls. and here
and there dark stain told Of injury.
The men were frantic in their joy,
and General Pope threw himself from
his saddle, and grasping the young fell
lows limp hand, thanked him again
and again.