tenor," said Si, as the song ended.

"And it was Hen Withers doin' the bass stunt," returned Shorty.

"You just oughter hear him do the ornamental on a mule whacker. Why, Si,
he's an artist at cussing. Hen Withers is. Sodom and Gomorrah would git
jealous of him if he planted himself near 'em, he's that wicked."

"Well, he can sing all right," grunted Si.

Just then Hen Withers, in the squad some 50 feet away broke into song
again--

"Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light"

It welled up from his throat like the pipe from a church organ, and as
mellow as the strains from a French horn. When the refrain rolled out
fully 3,000 men were singing, yelling and shouting in frenzied fervor--

"And the Star Spangled banner.
In triumph shall wave,
O'er the land of the free,
And the home of the brave."

While Hen Withers rested on his well-earned laurels, a strong, clear
voice, whose owner was probably thinking of home and the shady gloom
of the walk through the grove to singing school with his sweetheart,
trilled an apostrophe to the queen of light.

"Roll on, silvery moon,
Guide the traveler on his way,"

but he had it pretty much to himself, for not many knew the words, and
he trailed off into

"I loved a little beauty, Bell Brandon,"

then his music died out in the night.

It was now the "tenore robusto" who chimed in bells, on a new battle song
that held a mile square of camp spellbound:

"Oh, wrap the flag around me, boys,

To die were far more sweet
With freedom's starry emblem, boys.

To be my winding sheet.
In life I loved to see it wave

And follow where it led,
And now my eyes grow dim, my hands

Would clasp its last bright shred.
Oh, I had thought to meet you, boys,

On many a well-worn field
When to our starry emblem, boys,

The trait'rous foe should yield.
But now, alas, I am denied

My dearest earthly prayer,
You'll follow and you'll meet the foe,

But I shall not be there."

Wilse Hornback knew by the hush of the camp as the sound of his
wonderful voice died on the far horizon that he had his laurels, too,
and so he sang on while the mile square of camp went music-mad again as
it sang with him--

"We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen mo