laid along the floor, and I missed the sharp
accent of my Yankee boys in the slower, softer voices calling cheerily
to one another, or answering my questions with a stout, "We'll never
give it up, Ma'am, till the last Reb's dead," or, "If our people's free,
we can afford to die."

Passing from bed to bed, intent on making one pair of hands do the work
of three, at least, I gradually washed, fed, and bandaged my way down
the long line of sable heroes, and coming to the very last, found that
he was my contraband. So old, so worn, so deathly weak and wan, I never
should have known him but for the deep scar on his cheek. That side lay
uppermost, and caught my eye at once; but even then I doubted, such an
awful change had come upon him, when, turning to the ticket just above
his head, I saw the name, "Robert Dane." That both assured and touched
me, for, remembering that he had no name, I knew that he had taken mine.
I longed for him to speak to me, to tell how he had fared since I lost
sight of him, and let me perform some little service for him in return
for many he had done for me; but he seemed asleep; and as I stood
reliving that strange night again, a bright lad, who lay next him softly
waving an old fan across both beds, looked up and said,--

"I guess you know him, Ma'am?"

"You are right. Do you?"

"As much as any one was able to, Ma'am."

"Why do you say 'was,' as if the man were dead and gone?"

"I s'pose because I know he'll have to go. He's got a bad jab in the
breast, an' is bleedin' inside, the Doctor says. He don't suffer any,
only gets weaker 'n' weaker every minute. I've been fannin' him this
long while, an' he's talked a little; but he don't know me now, so he's
most gone, I guess."

There was so much sorrow and affection in the boy's face, that I
remembered something, and asked, with redoubled interest,--

"Are you the one that brought him off? I was told about a boy who nearly
lost his life in saving that of his mate."

I dare say the young fellow blushed, as any modest lad might have done;
I could not see it, but I heard the chuckle of satisfaction that escaped
him, as he glanced from his shattered arm and bandaged side to the pale
figure opposite.

"Lord, Ma'am, that's nothin'; we boys always stan' by one another, an' I
warn't goin' to leave him to be tormented any more by them cussed Rebs.
He's been a slave once, though he don't look half so much like it as me,
an' I was born in Boston."