s
he supported me on his shoulder. He was gazing coolly before him.

"If we have to march soon, you had better rest," he said, deliberately.
"There's a tree you can sit under. And if you have money or a watch, you
had better hide them in your armpits."

We went to the tree, and set ourselves against it.

The fresh air that brushed by us, like fine steel points, relieved me of
my oozing faintness, and in the ease of my circumstances I could attend
somewhat to my bruises. With the aid of my canteen, I relaxed the
strained muscles. It was my desire to have my loins girt about and my
limbs in good order for the foot-journey that I doubted not was before
us. They would march us to Gordonsville, and thence to Libby, carrying
us through in an incredibly short time, and without boots at that. I had
two objects to labor for, as I began to get myself into condition:
first, to be taken in charge by an officer; and then--to escape from him
that night, whilst the train was in disorder. I was of opinion that my
companion, a taciturn machine, who labored, like the miners, well with
his little light, had some such plan of his own, as I saw him buckling
his belt beneath his trousers. He was stowing away his watch and a
photograph,--which every soldier must have, of some poor maid or other
who toils in the shades of obscurity at home,--and making himself ready
for a run at any favorable moment. I thought that I would sound him.

"You had better do it, orderly, soon in the day," I said; "since the
enemy will march you between two files, and you will then have but
little chance."

"So I think," he replied. "I thought no time better than now. But
then"----

"But what?" I asked.

"Well, it's rather hard to leave you here. What with your sprain, and
your blow on the head, you're pretty sure to halt at Libby."

I had no chance to answer, for the Rebel was before me who was to have
the honor of my capture.

He was of the flabby white-flesh species of the genus Rebel, a Quaker
scarecrow with matty locks, that many of my brethren in arms have met;
harmless in units, but ponderous, as even scarecrows will be, if hurled
back and forth in thousands, swarms; lank, cadaverous, and whining;
snuff-chewing, and grossly filthy, even under the best of circumstances.
His flesh was set dough, and his hair was long and yellow. He spoke
through the dirty causeway of his nose. The road-dust and drab of his
uniform, so called in satire, have often bee