Just as
the flames began to eat into the timbers, John Ring, the boy orderly,
thought of his Captain's sword, that wonderful gold-sheathed sword
which had been presented to Captain Conwell on the memorable day in
Springfield when he had so eloquently called upon it to fight in the
cause of Justice. It had been left behind in the Captain's tent, the
Army Regulations requiring that he wear one less conspicuous. Even now
it might be in the hands of some slave-owning Confederate. Maddened at
the thought, John King leaped on to the burning bridge, plunged
back through the fire, through the ranks of the yelling, excited
Confederates, reached the tent unobserved and grasped the sword of his
idolized Captain. Again he made a rush for the flame-wrapped bridge.
But this time the keen eyes of the enemy discerned him.

"Look at the Yank with the sword. Wing him! Bring him down." And
bullets sped after the fearless boy. But he fled on undeterred, and
plunged into the mass of flame and smoke. The fire had gained too
great headway by this time for any living thing to pass through it
unhurt. He saw it was useless to attempt to cross as before, and
belting the sword about him, he dropped beneath the stringers and
tried to make his way hand over hand. All about him fell the blazing
brands. The biting smoke blinded him. The very flesh was burning from
his arms. The enemies' bullets sung about him. But still he struggled
on. In sheer admiration of his courage, the Confederate general gave
the order to cease firing, and the two armies stood silent and watched
the plucky fight of this brave boy. Inch by inch, he gained on his
path of fire. But he could see no longer. In torturing blackness
he groped on, fearful only that he might not succeed in saving the
precious sword, that in his blindness he might grasp a blazing timber
and his hand be burnt from him, that death in a tongue of flame be
swept down into his face, that the bridge might fall and the sword be
lost. At last he heard his comrades shouting. They guided him with
their cheers, "A little farther," "Keep straight on," "You're all
right now." And then he dropped blazing into the outstretched arms
of his comrades, while a mighty shout went up from both sides of the
river, as enemy and friend paid the tribute of brave men to a brave
deed.

[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-COLONEL CONWELL]

With swelling hearts and tear-blinded eyes, they tenderly laid the
insensible hero on a gun carriag