had
not been comforted. When this came to him, his self-reproach cut him
sharply, and he resolved to make amends at once. He obtained permission
from the officer of the day, and that evening, after retreat, went to
see Buff.

He found the general plucked of his plumage. The prospect of death so
close to him had narrowed the black boy's perspective. "The worldly hope
men set their hearts upon" had turned ashes, and it were hard to find "a
man who looked so wistfully on the day" as this doomed soldier. He
wanted to live. Every atom of animal strength in his perfect body was
charged with a desire to exist. This living, day after day, in close
proximity to the grave had tended to a simplification of ideas. He had
harked back to childhood, and when his father came, the prisoner, in his
clanking irons, turned to him as a pickaninny might have done for
protection from some bugaboo.

Old Jeremiah sat on the cot, while Buff occupied a small stool directly
in front of him. They talked in low tones, of ordinary subjects, at
first; then gradually went back through the years. The white-haired old
negro and the young soldier both smiled as they recalled childish
escapades of the latter, 'way back in "God's country." They lost
themselves in reminiscence, and forgot the present, until the wan moon,
coming up, cast the shadows of the bars in the window across them. Then
with a shiver they remembered.

Suddenly the private began to talk of his death, and as he spoke the
terror of it grew on him. This man, known to have killed more than one
American soldier and to be absolutely fearless in battle, quaked with
abject fright. He would contend gladly in a contest against hopeless
odds; but at the thought of his end creeping on him thus, slowly,
inexorably his soul writhed in terror. He leaned forward and pressed his
face on his father's knees.

"Oh, paw, ain't yer gwine ter help me? Won't you do somethin' fer me? Ah
doan' wanter die yit. Tain't my time ter die. Ah nevah meant no hahm,
paw. Ef they'll just give me one moah chanst, ah'll do anything they
say. Honest, ah will. Gawd! paw, yer ain't gwine ter let 'em kill me, is
yer?"

The soldier raised his head and looked into the sergeant's black face as
though the latter were omnipotent, and only had to say the word to make
him free. Then, with a shivering sigh, he laid his head on his father's
knees again.

"Sh--sh," the old sergeant said softly, "Sh--sh"; and that was all he
could