Issued Weekly by the Dike Book Company, 37 Vandewater Street. Subscription Price, §2.o0 per yeai . 
 Entered at the New York Post Office as second-class matter, April, 1896. 
 
 Vol. IIL-Ho. 14. Hew York, July i, 1896, Price 5 Cents! 
 
 BURT, THE HERO; 
 
 OIR, 
 
 .^cL^7-e:cLlj-ix:r?es o± a IPX-cloHs:^ Boy. 
 
 By JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS, 
 ^Hthor of ''Handsome Harry," "The Silent Hunter,'" 1 "On a Trarmp," Etc., Eta, 
 
 BURT REACHED OUT ANE GRABBEL THE THIE1" BY TH*, HAIR. "STAND BACK!" HB 
 CRIED, "THIS MAN TRIEE TC STEAL MY WATCH, AND 1 AM GOING TO JAIL HIM." 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 BURT, THE HERO ; 
 
 — OR,— 
 
 Adventures of a Plucky Boy. 
 
 BY JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 BURT AND THE CRIPPLED SOLDIER. 
 
 When the great War of the Rebellion 
 broke out in the spring of 1S61, Bart 
 ■ Carrier was just fifteen years old. He 
 •was the oldest son and child of a large 
 family, living far up on the Penobscot 
 River, in the State of Maine. 
 
 The place where the family lived was 
 hardlv a village; it was rather a hamlet, 
 or a small collection of houses, which 
 were leased by the men who owned the 
 lumbering interests in that region to the 
 foremen who conducted the business of 
 cntting down pine trees in the great 
 Maine forests, far above this hamlet, and 
 rafting them down to Bangor. 
 
 Burt's father was one of these foremen. 
 He had labored hard for many years to 
 support his 'large and growing family; 
 but his gains were not large, and ha had 
 found it necessary, as Burt grew into a 
 stout and robust boy, to take him from 
 school, and press him into the lumbering 
 business. Mr. Carrier did this very re- 
 luctantly, as his talk with his son 
 showed. 
 
 " I hate to have you leave school, Burt," 
 he said. " You are almost fitted (or the 
 A cad em v.!' 
 
 "Yes/ father," replied the stout boy, 
 "I am very sorry for it, too. But ir 
 seems necessary. I would like to go on 
 and graduate at the academy, ancLat col- 
 lege, "too, and then study for a lawyer or 
 doctor. But I know how it is. The fam- 
 ily is large, times are hard, and I ought to 
 do what I can to help support us all. 
 Yes, #11 dc it, father. Don't fee! bad 
 about'it. Maybe there'll be a chance yet 
 for me to finish my education." 
 
 We may remark that this good boy had 
 a pretty thorough education nut long 
 after, as this true record will show; 
 though not precisely of the kind that he 
 and his father was thinking about. 
 
 For some months in the fall and winter 
 of lSuO-61, Burt worked with the wood- 
 choppers, lived with them in their camp, 
 fared as they did, and made himself a 
 favorite with all by his pleasant ways 
 and the hearty manner in which he took 
 hold of the work. 
 
 Although only fifteen at this time, he 
 was nearly a man in stature and develop- 
 ment. He was tall, broad-shouldered, 
 
 and strong of limb: he had a bright blue 
 eye, a head of curly brown hair, a ringing 
 voice, and a way with him that would 
 naturally make him a. favorite anywhere. 
 
 When the news came of the firing on 
 Fort. Sumter, there was agreatstir among 
 the lumbermen. 
 
 The first newspapers that told of the 
 event were eagerly read in the camp; 
 there was a great deal of talk about the 
 duty of the men in this crisis; but when 
 it was known that President Lincoln had 
 called for volunteers, the enthusiasm of 
 these hardy sons of the forest broke all 
 bounds. 
 
 A meeting was called, and almost a 
 full hundred enrolled their names as vol- 
 unteers to fight for their country. They 
 were formed into a company, and went 
 to Bangor, where they were soon taken 
 into a regiment, a.-d sent with it to the 
 South. 
 
 Burt Carrier was full of the war-spirit. 
 He had read a great deal of the history 
 of the country, and he felt now that his 
 place was with the volunteers. He never 
 thought, then, of his parents, his brothers 
 or his sisters; his eager desire was to en- 
 list, and fight for the flag and the coun- 
 try. 
 
 His father noticed that he was restless 
 and uneasy, and one day asked him what 
 the trouble was. 
 
 "1 want to go to the war," the boy re- 
 plied, 
 
 Mr. Carrier laughed. 
 
 " They don't take boys into the army, 1 ' 
 he said." 
 
 " I don't want to be called a boy, 
 father," was Burt's warm reply. "I am 
 as strong as half the lumbermen who 
 have enlisted, and I am just as able to 
 
 "1 guess that's so," said the father, 
 looking with pride upon the stout frame 
 and art lei 1 his son. "But they 
 
 hav regulations that you can't break 
 over. A soldier must be eighteen." 
 
 "And in my case that time will be 
 three years olf," was Burt's rather rueful 
 comment. "I don't believe there is any 
 hope for me. The war will be ended long 
 before then." 
 
 " Indeed, I hope so," said Mr. Carrier. 
 "But don't fear that you won't have 
 chance enough to distinguish yourself in 
 some way or another before you die. Life 
 is long, and the world is wide; the thing 
 to do is to grapple with the duty that 
 is next you, and meet things as they 
 come." 
 
 Mr. Carrier himself was past forty-five 
 at this time, and therefore was beyond 
 the age for enlisting. While satisfied be- 
 cause Burt was not old enough to be a 
 soldier, he was well pleased with the lad's 
 
 m 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 piuck and spirit, and Hpon the same 
 night that he bad talked with Burt, he 
 te!'l the conversation to Ids wife. 
 
 'The smaller children were abed and 
 asleep, bur. it happened that Burt himself 
 was Bitting just outside the door, and 
 heard all. that was said. 
 
 "Oh, deai!' 1 said • Mrs. Carrier. "I 
 wonder J Avhat will happen next. This 
 dreadful war!'' 
 
 "Yes, it is sad to think of; but it has to 
 go on. There can be peace and union 
 now onlv after a great deal of blood- 
 shed/' 
 
 "And to think of my sister Ellen away 
 down in Georgia! 1 have not heard from 
 her since January, and heaven knows 
 when 1 shall again. Her oldest boy, 
 Jack, is older than Burt, and I shouldn't 
 wonder at all if he went into the South- 
 ern army."' 
 
 "Very likely, Hannah. You remember 
 that when your sister and her husband, 
 Mr. Ellison, were up here last year, he 
 had a great deal to say about Southern 
 rights, and he predicted the war. I 
 laughed at him, you know, for thinking 
 such a tl>in g possible; but he was right, 
 ems. And he ami all his family will 
 side with the Confederacy, of course. - ' 
 
 "Well, I'm heartily glad that our boy 
 isn't old enough to go. It would be hard 
 holding him back, if he was.'' 
 
 " Yes, he is full of the war-spirit, and is 
 :• for the adventures and hardships of 
 the thing. And while I am not sorry 
 that he is not old enough to go, we must 
 remember that the Government must 
 have soldiers, and many of. them, too. If 
 he were old enough now, and felt about 
 it just as he does, I should not say a 
 word against his volunteering." 
 
 "Oh. John! It seems so dreadful to 
 send our boy away to. fight. And bis 
 own blood relations on the other elder, 
 too! What if these very cousins should 
 happen to meet in battle as enemies?'' 
 
 " That is always one of the miseries of 
 civil war, Hannah. Jusjfc that thing, or 
 even worse, will happen thousands of 
 times before this great struggle is over." 
 
 Good Mrs. Carrier could not know how 
 prophetic her words were. But we must 
 not anticipate. 
 
 Burt thought a great deal upon this 
 conversation which he had overheard, but 
 Baiil no more to his lather on the subject. 
 
 He continued to work hard with the 
 lumbermen, but read the accounts of 
 battles and the movements of the armies 
 with the utmost eagerness; and he heard 
 a great deal said by those about him. 
 
 From time to time, some of the men 
 at the camp would enlist and go to the 
 front, and during those years our young 
 hero-to-be had an opportunity to read 
 
 many of the letters sent home from camp 
 and field by the volunteers from this re- 
 gion. 
 
 If the space could be given me I would 
 very much like to print some of those 
 letters here, so that my young readers 
 might see what the things were that 
 stirred Hurt Carrier's very soul in those 
 days. They were simple accounts, some 
 of them expressed in a rude sort of way, 
 and often written in pencil; but they told 
 of the things that the boy most wished to 
 see and hear for himself. They were 
 stories of long marches in Virginia and 
 Louisiana, of nights passed on the bare 
 ground, with no shelter but that of a 
 rubber blanket, and of skirmishes, of 
 battles, and of dangerous and exciting 
 picket-duty between the lin 
 
 News came, too, quite often, of the 
 death of some of these volunteers; many 
 families in the lumber-district were sadly 
 bereaved, and some of the soldiers came 
 home, crippled with wounds which had 
 caused their discharge. 
 
 But none of these things dampened 
 Burt Carrier's war-spirit in the least. 
 
 His mother had hoped that he would 
 learn from them what a very serious and 
 dreadful thing war is, and would be sat- 
 isfied to see it several hundreds of miles 
 off. It was not to be so. 
 
 There was one young man among the 
 lumbermen named Jerry Wall, between 
 whom and Burt there had been quhe a 
 friendship before Jerry enlisted. He Lad 
 sometimes written to Burt from the front, 
 and his descriptions of army-life were so 
 natural and interesting, that the boy 
 almost fancied he could see the things 
 himself that Jerry wrote about. 
 
 At the great battle of Autietam the 
 latter lost an arm, and the next winter he 
 was home? agafh, with his discharge. As 
 may be supposed, all of Burt's spare time 
 after that spent with his crippled 
 friend, and many were the stories that 
 he heard from his lips. 
 
 "Now, Jerry,"' said the boy, one day, 
 "I want to ask you one question. Are 
 you sorry you enlisted?" 
 
 " Am l sorry? Not a bit of it." 
 
 "But you have lost an arm. You will 
 never chop nor raft any more." 
 
 "Very true, my lad." The young vet- 
 eran looked sorrowfully at his empty 
 sleeve. "It was agood arm, and it served 
 me well; but I'll have to do without it. 
 No matter; the Government will give me 
 a pension, and I'll find something to do 
 with one hand. And harkee, Burt— when 
 it comes to talking about being sorry for 
 what I have lost, you must remember 
 what I have gained." 
 
 "Why, you can't have gained much, 
 Jerry. Thirteen dollars a month isn't 
 
 1 ,1 9 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 very large, and you were discharged in 
 less than two years after you went 
 out." 
 
 V Ah, my lad, there are other ways for 
 us to gain beside in mere money. Now, 
 you may think it strange, but I tell you 
 that I wouldn't part with the experience 
 I have gained; I wouldn't blot out from 
 my memory all the things I have seen 
 and suffered, even if my good arm could 
 be given back to me for it all. Oh, there's 
 something grand in war, after all; in 
 being in it, and part of it! Sometimes I 
 can't make it seem real at all, and it ap- 
 pears as if I had dreamed it. To think of 
 Gaines' Mill, and how we held back the 
 Confederate charge for hours before we 
 had to give ground! To think of Antie- 
 tam, and the perfect tempest of battle 
 that raged in those cornfields and about 
 the little church, where men in blue and 
 gray lay so thick that you could step 
 from one dead man* to another, without 
 touching the ground ! And the great guns 
 that thundered all day from the hill 
 across the creek where McClellan had his 
 quarters, often sending big shot and shell 
 right over our heads, at the enemy! 
 Why, there were more men on both sides 
 killed and wounded that day than would 
 make the entire population of Bangor. 
 It was dreadful, to be sure; yet it was 
 grand, too. You can understand what I 
 mean, can't you?" 
 
 " Yes. There was where you lost your 
 arm, wasn't it?" 
 
 " Right there in that bloody cornfield, 
 when the whole woods beyond were blaz- 
 ing fwith the flashes of the Confederate 
 muskets, and the whistling of bullets was 
 one continual screech. Our line had 
 charged, driven the enemy, and was now 
 being driven in turn. I had fired, and 
 was reloading, when a bullet 6truck me." 
 
 " How did it feel?" 
 
 U A good deal as if somebody had hit 
 me with a club. My arm was helpless, 
 and I found by feeling of it that there 
 were broken bones. I dropped my mus- 
 ket and made for the rear, as, of course, a 
 wounded man has a right to do; and I 
 was lucky enough to get back out of the 
 range of the fire without being hit again. 
 Many a poor fellow has been shot dead 
 while trying to get off the field with a 
 wound." 
 
 'Tell me all about yourself, Jerry. 
 What did you do?" 
 
 " I made»my way back to Boonesboro, a 
 village several miles in rear of our right. 
 The road between was a sight, I can tell 
 you: filled with ambulances going to the 
 rear with loads of wounded; and six-mule 
 teams coming up with ammunition, and 
 caissons going to the front; drivers whip- 
 ping and swearing, and lots o' wounded 
 
 men on foot, who couldn't find room in 
 the ambulances. I met a brigade of in- 
 fantry hurrying by to go in on the right, 
 and I saw some pretty white faces in the 
 ranks. The men knew well enough where 
 they were going, for there was an inces- 
 sant rip, rip, rattle of musketry, while 
 each minute there was a shock from the 
 artillery like a tremendous peal ^f thun- 
 der. It was the noisiest battle I ever 
 knew; it seemed as though the whole air 
 was quivering and shaking, and you could 
 almost follow the -course of Antietam 
 Creek by the curls of smoke that hung 
 over it. Getting back to Boonesboro, I 
 found almost every house filled with 
 wounded, and not half doctors enough to 
 attend to them. I lay around till night, 
 listening to the noise from the front, and 
 hearing all kinds of stories about how the 
 battle was going. My arm got very sore 
 and painful; I got quite hungry, too, and 
 was glad to share some bacon and hard- 
 tack with a wounded comrade, who had 
 kept his haversack. Near dark I got a 
 chance to show my wound to one of the 
 surgeons. He stripped up my sleeve, 
 looked at the arm, felt of it, and shook 
 his head. ! You'll have to lose it, my 
 boy,' he said; ' the bones are smashed 
 too badly for any doctor to save it.' He 
 sponged off the blood that had dried on, 
 bandaged the wound, put the arm in a 
 sling, and gave me a dose of something 
 strong to brace me up, as I was quite 
 faint with pain. Several wagons and 
 ambulances started that night for Fred- 
 erick, over the hills, full of wounded men, 
 and I was put into one of them. It was 
 a hard journey for us poor fellows, with 
 aching wounds, over that rough road! An 
 ambulance on easy springs couldn't move 
 softly enough; and I happened to go in a 
 wagon without springs, and was dread- 
 fully jolted. Soldiers keep up their cour- 
 age pretty well, usually; but I heard 
 screams and cries that night from poor, 
 tortured fellows, as that melancholy pro- 
 cession wound along. We reached Fred- 
 erick the next morning, and then I may 
 say my troubles were pretty much over. 
 There was a temporary hospital there, in 
 a large building, where we were taken; I 
 was chloroformed, and my arm was taken 
 off without my knowing: anything about 
 it. When I came to myself an hour or 
 two after, it seemed very strange to find 
 out that I had but one arm; and it was 
 queer enough to feel a kind of tingling in 
 the stump of the one that was gone, just 
 as though I could feel the fingers of the 
 hand that was off. The doctor smiled 
 when I told him of it. ' Yes,' he said, 
 1 that's what they all say, who have a 
 limb taken off. The nerves of thehuman 
 body are curious things, and sometimes 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 there's no accounting for the way they 
 work.' 
 
 " ' What did you do with my arm, doc- 
 tor?' I inquired. 
 
 "'Why, one of the attendants put it 
 in a basket with a bushel more of limbs 
 that we've been cutting off. You don't 
 want to look at it?' 
 
 '"'No, sir. But there's a ring on the 
 little finger of that hand that I'd like to 
 keep.' • 
 
 "He promised to get it for me. I 
 a?ked him how the battle had gone? 
 
 " "It's a kind of a Union victory,' he said, 
 'and not very much of a one, either. 
 Our army holds the ground, and the Con- 
 federates are about to cross the Potomac. 
 But it was the bloodiest day this land ever 
 saw. Now you go to sleep.' " 
 
 "Psuppose you got your ring?" said 
 Burt. 
 
 "I never got it. The doctor could not 
 find it; somebody had taken it from the 
 dead finger." 
 
 "Why, that was monstrous!" Burt 
 cried. 
 
 "To be sure; and such things hap- 
 pened very often. The grandest things, 
 the most awful things, and the very 
 meanest things that men can be guilty 
 of, come with war. There is hardly a 
 battle but many of the dead and wounded 
 are robbed, and it makes a man feel sick 
 of his kind to think of it; but then, set 
 off against that, some of the noble and 
 heroic things that war leads men to do! 
 I have seen soldiers risk their own lives 
 to carry to a wounded and suffering com- 
 rade a canteen of water; yes, I have seen 
 men shot dead while trying to do that. 
 I've seen men leave the hospital who were 
 not fit to sit up, take their muskets, and 
 go into a fight, because they could not 
 bear to have their company go into bat- 
 tle without them. Oh, I tell you, Burt, 
 the war brings out all the good there is 
 in a man, as well as the bad." 
 
 "Yes, indeed. I understand it better, 
 now. Was this the end of your experi- 
 ence?" 
 
 "Pretty much. I was at Frederick 
 only a week. The people there were very 
 kind to the wounded, and attended to all 
 our wants. The women, God bless them! 
 would visit us and bring us delicacies to 
 eat and drink. From Frederick, I was 
 taken to Baltimore by. rail, where I was 
 in a hospital for more than three months. 
 A fever came on, and I was a long time 
 getting over it. At Baltimore there were 
 then half a dozen very large hospitals, 
 all crowded with wounded from Antie- 
 tam. Many were sent to Philadelphia. 
 So, now, you know all about my last 
 months in the military service. Do you 
 still think you'd like to be a soldier?" 
 
 Burt looked 'serious, but replied with- 
 out hesitation: 
 
 "Yes, I should. But there's no use in 
 talking about it; the war will end long 
 before I am eighteen." 
 
 "It will end sooner than I think for, if 
 that is so — for you'll be eighteen in a 
 year. My word for it, Burt Carrier, if 
 you hold to the determination to be a 
 soldier, you'll have a chance yet in this 
 very war." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BURT VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 In the next year some changes came 
 which greatly influenced the future career 
 of our 3 T oung hero. 
 
 The first was the sudden and sad death 
 of his father. 
 
 Mr. Carrier was instantly killed by the 
 untimely fall of a large tree that a gang 
 of men was cutting down under his di- 
 rection. Burt was very much affected 
 by the event, for his father had always 
 been a kind and a good one to him; but 
 he put aside his own grief in his meanly 
 effort to comfort and sustain his mother 
 in her great bereavement and sorrow. 
 
 Mr. Carrier died poor, and Burt was 
 the only one of the children able to earn 
 money. 
 
 The care of the family prevented Mrs; 
 Carrier from doing much to bring in 
 money, so that Burt became the main- 
 stay of the little home. He toiled early 
 and late, brought all his earnings home, 
 and seemed happy and contented, while 
 in reality he was troubled for the future 1 
 of his mother, and his little brothers and 
 sisters. He saw that the family was get- 
 ting into debt, and that there was no 
 prospect of any better times ahead. He 
 did not talk with his mother about it, 
 because he was not ready to say to her 
 what he felt he must say soon. He had 
 lately had a talk with Jerry Wall, which 
 strengthened his determination to enlist 
 when he should be eighteen. That would 
 be in the next June; it was now February. 
 1864. ' 
 
 The armies were resting in winter 
 quarters, and preparations were going 
 forward for the campaign that would 
 open in the spring. 
 
 It was very certain that there must be 
 a great deal more fighting and bloodshed 
 before peace could come; Jerry's predic- 
 tion about Burt was in a fair way to be 
 realized. 
 
 This particular talk between Burt and 
 Jerry had much to do with some of the 
 adventures that happened to the former 
 not long after. So we must give it in 
 full. 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 Jerry now made his home at Mr. Car- 
 rier's. He was able to do the light chores 
 about the house, and our of his pension 
 pay his board. He thought it a privilege 
 to have the society of such a family, and 
 before he had been with them a month it 
 would have been considered a great mis- 
 fortune on both sides, had anything oc- 
 curred to break up these pleasant rela- 
 tions. 
 
 Burt was in the habit of reading the 
 war news aloud from the newspapers 
 that came up from Bangor. One night 
 he came across an item stating that two 
 substitutes had been shot at Harper's 
 Ferry on the way to the front, while try- 
 ing to desert. 
 
 " A soldier try to desert!" exclaimed 
 Burt, laying down his paper. "Why, 
 that is abominable!' 1 
 
 " Still, there's a good deal of that kind 
 of thing going on now," said Jerry. 
 
 " I don't quite understand it," rejoined 
 Burt. " 1 see a great deal in the papers 
 lately about drafted men and conscripts, 
 bounty-jumpers, and soon, that I don't 
 get hold. of. How is it, Jerr\?" 
 
 "I'll make it plain to you, Burt. First, 
 you must know .that times have changed 
 since the spring of '61, when I enlisted. 
 It was all patriotism then, there was lit- 
 tle bounty paid, and little need to pay 
 atty, for the voung men were eager to en- 
 list. 
 
 "So it was for two years after that.' 
 Hundreds of regiments were enrolled and 
 sent to the war, and the Government 
 might have had many more, just for the 
 asking. 
 
 "But the change came after the first 
 two years. People began to see that the 
 war was going to last a good while longer, 
 and that the bloodshed was frightful. 
 Volunteers could not be had, and the 
 Government had to resort to drafting^ 
 That is, when three hundred thousaud 
 more men were called for, . they were 
 picked out by lot." 
 
 "And had to go as soldiers?'' 
 
 " Yes, unless they could furnish substi- 
 tutes; that is, hire other people to go in 
 their places." 
 
 "1 see," said Burt. 'But is there no 
 volunteering now?" 
 
 "Some; but not. near so much as there 
 used to be. And it is so much harder to 
 get men for the armies than it used to be, 
 that large bounties are offered." 
 
 "How much?" asked Burt. 
 
 "I can't exactly say; but I think that 
 from the National, State and county 
 bounty, a volunteer might now get as 
 much as five hundred dollars." 
 
 Five hundred dollars! 
 
 Burt heard, and thought fast. Before 
 now, all his ideas of becoming a soldier 
 
 had sprung from duty and patriotism, as 
 well as from his longing for excitement 
 and adventure. He had also thought, 
 lately, that a soldier's monthly pay, al- 
 though only thirteen dollars, would be a 
 great help to his dear mother in her pres- 
 ent extremities. But 'five hundred dol- 
 lars in one lump — if he could honestly 
 get that by enlisting, whatahelp it would 
 be to the family. 
 
 These reflections ran in his head while 
 Jerry went on talking: 
 
 "But some.of the other substitutes, I 
 hear, get as much as a thousand dollars 
 each, to go in place of those who are 
 drafted; and some of them are poor 
 enough specimens, I fear. We hear a 
 great deal about this running away to 
 Canada after getting their bounty, and 
 once in a while one of them gets his 
 deserts, and is shot — as the two were that 
 you just read of." 
 
 " Yes, the scoundrels were served 
 right " said Burt, warmly. "Think of a 
 man who would try to run away afteren- 
 listing to serve his country — especially 
 after taking so much money for it! 
 Shooting is too good for him." 
 
 "That's the talk, my young man!'* 
 Jerry cried, waving his empty sleeve. 
 
 " Oh, it sail a dreadful business!" sighed 
 Mrs. Carrier. " I wish it was all over and 
 done." 
 
 "It will be, after a few more cam- 
 paigns," replied Jerry. " But there must 
 be many fierce battles first, and thou- 
 sands of men killed and wouuded. Mean- 
 time, both sides are making tremendous 
 efforts to fill up their armies. At the 
 South they take men wherever they find 
 them; hardly any one is excused. But I* 
 suspect that many of these 'substitutes' 
 sent down from the North are not worth 
 the powder to shoot them." 
 
 " Mother!" Burt suddenly exclaimed, 
 "I can't put off telling you any longer. 
 On the first day of June I shall be eight- 
 een, and I am going to enlist." 
 
 "Oh, Burt!" 
 
 His mother looked at him with tearful, 
 pleading eyes. Jerry said nothing, at 
 first: but he looked far from being dis- 
 pleased. 
 
 " I can't help it, mother," the son went 
 on. " i T ou know I've had it on my 
 mind for three years, ever since the war 
 began. I know that if father had lived, 
 he would consent; I heard him say as 
 much to you once." 
 
 "You are my dependence, Burt. How 
 can I bear to let you go? What can I do 
 without you?" 
 
 " You have just heard what Jerry says. 
 I can't benefit you as much in any way 
 as I can by enlisting." 
 
 "It's good of you to think of that. 
 
BURT. THE HERO. 
 
 Burt; but — but — oh, dear rue! You 
 mustn't go." 
 
 The distressed mother wrung her hands, 
 ;u)d looked at her boy through fast-falling 
 tears. That was the way that mothers 
 •very where were affected by the great, 
 
 .1 war. Burt was a good deal shaken, 
 himself, and Ins voice trembled.; but he 
 held stead ly to his purpose. 
 , V T have thought of all that is troubling 
 you, dear mother," he replied, "and i 
 i'eel that I must go. There is a chance 
 for a career for me in the army, and I 
 hope I may come home alive to enjoy 
 many happy yea#s with you. But, any- 
 way, I don't think it would be manly in 
 me to shirk at such a time. The Govern- 
 ment needs men, and I have my duty to 
 do. Mother! I slTbnld never feel satisfied 
 with myself if I did not go to the war." 
 
 He said it very earnestly. 
 
 She saw there was no more to be said. 
 She went and kissed him, and said, in a 
 broken voice: 
 
 "God bless and keep you safely, my 
 boy. 1 shall pray daily that you may be 
 spared and return to me." 
 
 She left the room to hide her grief. 
 After a moment's silence, Burt said: 
 
 "It is very painful, Jerry, as you see. 
 But— am I rit>ht?" 
 
 "Of course' you are, my boy. You 
 can't feel any different. I felt just so in 
 '61; I should feel so now, but for this 
 empty sleeve. Go on, and good fortune 
 to you! I'll take care of things while you 
 are gone." 
 
 We need not delay in reaching the 
 time to which Burt was now eagerly look- 
 ing forward. 
 
 The spring advanced; the oampaigns 
 were opened, and the whole land was 
 looking on breathless at the great events 
 that were ( happening. 
 
 Once, after enlisting, Burt was per- 
 mitted to come home, to bring to his 
 mother the bounty he had received, and 
 to say good-by. He came dressed in the 
 dark-blue blouse and light-blue trousers 
 of the infantry soldier, with a large pair 
 Government shoes on his feet, and a blue 
 cloth cap on his head. 
 
 We must pass over the sad partings 
 that followed. 
 
 Jerry Wall accompanied him back to 
 Bangor, and waved his farewell from the 
 wharf as the steamer went down the 
 river. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 STIRRING SCENES AFLOAT. 
 
 Burt Carrier was at this time, as we 
 have seen, young, ardent and hopeful, 
 eager to see army-life, which he had 
 
 heard and nead so much about, and with 
 a buoyancy of spirits that soon put out 
 of his head the pain of the parting that 
 he had Just gone through. But it often 
 happens— indeed it usually happens — to 
 the youth going out into the world lor 
 the first time, that things are not at all 
 as he expected them to be; and so it was 
 now, with Burt. 'His first experiences of 
 military life were not at all pleasant. 
 
 The steamer carried about fifty new re- 
 cruits, under guard of a Sergeant and 
 twenty veteran soldiers who had been 
 sent from Boston for this service. A 
 Lieutenant had been in command, but had 
 been taken sick at Bangor. The Sergeant 
 was a good soldier of a great deal of exper- 
 ience in the Army of the Potomac, and 
 the responsibility that was now put upon 
 hfm of delivering these men safely at 
 Boston, on their way to the front, made 
 him irritable and suspicious. He re- 
 garded the whole party as of the "bounty- 
 jumping" class, and plainly told them so 
 in a little speech that he made to them 
 in the forward saloon, where they were 
 to eat and sleep. 
 
 " Now, attend to me, you bummers 
 and coffee-coolers," he said. "You will 
 be under my orders till vfe get to Boston, 
 and then I'll hand you over to somebody 
 else. I'll tell you, plainly, what you've 
 got to do, and if you obey, there'll "be no 
 trouble ; if you don't", you'll suffer. 
 Cooked rations, including coffee, will be 
 served to you here three times a day; at 
 night you will spread down your blan- 
 kets here on the floor, and sleep. If 
 there's any' unnecessary noise or any 
 fighting, I'll put the guilty men in irons. 
 You may have the liberty of this saloon; 
 you may walk about the forward deck, 
 so long as you don't get in the way of 
 the guards or the people who run" the 
 boat; but let no man go to the rail. If 
 you try it, you'll be warned back by f*he 
 guards; if you don't mind, you'll be shot. 
 You hear me? Any man that attempts 
 to leave the boat in any shape will get a 
 bullet through him. " Drum and fife, 
 there! — sound ' Peas en a Trencher.'" 
 
 This is the "dinner-call '* in the army. 
 Burt naturally looked for something 
 good to eat, after hearing the name of 
 the call. What was dealt oat to the re- 
 cruits, was to each man hot coffee in a 
 tin cup, without milk or sugar, half a 
 dozen hard crackers, and a slice of fat 
 smoked bacon. And this, by the way, 
 was the staple of their fare while on the 
 boat, varied occasionally with a portion 
 of mush and molasses. , 
 
 There were some rueful faces in the 
 crowd, and here and there a muttered 
 protest, as the quality of the fare was 
 known; which led the Sergeant to in- 
 
8 
 
 BURT. THE HERO. 
 
 dulge in some further remarks, of a sar- 
 castic nature. 
 
 " You don't like it, then, my ducks? 
 Want some roast beef and plum pud- 
 ding, do you? Wish you were at home, 
 I suppose; sorry you enlisted, maybe? 
 Well, you'll be a mighty sight sorrier be- 
 fore you get through with it, I guess. 
 You'll get licked into shape pretty soon, 
 my fine gentlemen. Just don't let me 
 hear any of your nonsense." 
 
 With this, the Sergeant marched away. 
 
 Burt nibbled at his " hard-tack," tasted 
 the coffee, and threw away the bacon as 
 uneatable. His thoughts were at first by 
 no means pleasant. He was quite proud- 
 spirited, and to be classed at the very 
 onset as a ''bummer" and "coffee-cooler," 
 words which Jerry had told him were 
 only used in reproach among soldiers, 
 was not at all comfortable. But a little 
 thought showed him the real situation. 
 He remembered Jerry's repeated warn- 
 ings, that he must submit himself to dis- 
 cipline and authority, even when they 
 came in a disagreeable way; and he re- 
 flected that there was probably a num- 
 ber of the "bounty jumping" class 
 aboard, with wh»m the Sergeant's sever- 
 ity would be fully justified. 
 
 He began to look about him, and study 
 his companions. He had never seen one 
 of them before; but he could not mistake 
 their taces. About two-thirds of them 
 were honest-looking and sturdy country 
 youths, who would make good and true 
 soldiers; the other third were evil-look- 
 ing fellows from Bangor, who had en- 
 listed only for the large bounty, and who 
 meant to take the first chance to desert. 
 
 The Sergeant had carefully "sized 
 them up," and meant to be ready for 
 them. 
 
 You cannot make oil and water unite; 
 no more will good and evil fuse together. 
 
 In two hours after the boat had left 
 Bangor, the two parties of recruits had 
 drawn away from each other, each oc- 
 cupying a different end of the saloon. 
 The country boys were soon on good 
 terms together, trying to make the best 
 of the small miseries of the situation, 
 while the other crowd were gambling and 
 swearing. When the steamer reached the 
 bay, and the swells from the sea caused 
 her to rock, some one of the larger party 
 started the hymn "We are out on the 
 ocean sailing," in which most of them 
 joined with spirit, while the other fellows 
 jeerea and hooted. The testy Sergeant 
 sent an order to "stop that confounded 
 noise," and he was' of course, obeyed. 
 
 The days were at their longest, and 
 many grew tired and sleepy before dusk. 
 They made their hard beds with their 
 blankets on the floor, and some of them 
 
 slept, dreaming of home, so lately left, 
 but which seemed so far away. Far 
 away indeed it was to those who were 
 never to see it again! Others could not 
 sleep,* but lay awake and talked of the 
 future before them, and of what they 
 might be doing a week later. After 
 awhile silence came, broken only by the 
 snore of some heavy sleeper. 
 
 Burt Carrier lay awake, unable to stop 
 thinking, yet wishing for sleep, when he 
 felt a hand feeling lightly over him. He 
 knew at once what it meant, but lay per- 
 fectly still. The hand approached his 
 watch-pocket, the fingers were inserted 
 to seize the watch — when Burt reached 
 out and grabbed the thief by the hair. 
 The fellow yelled out some jargon that 
 was well understood by his crowd, for 
 several of them jumped up and hastened 
 to his aid. The noise awoke the other 
 party, who were also quickly on their 
 feet, and the saloon was at once a babel 
 of cries and confusion. 
 
 A lamp suspended in the middle of the 
 ceiling gave but a faint light, yet suffi- 
 cient to allow Burt to see what was threat- 
 ening him. He had not let go of the 
 thief's hair, and held the fellow down 
 with his left hand, while with his right 
 he menaced the ruffians who crowded up 
 to him. 
 
 " Stand back!" he cried. " If you touch 
 me, you'll be sorry. This man tried to 
 steal my watch. I'm going to give him 
 up to the Sergeant." 
 
 Oaths and abuse answered him, and 
 one of the men came close up and shook 
 his fist in his face. Burt promptly dealt 
 him a blow that sent him sprawling, and 
 caused his companions to fall back. In 
 the midst of the uproar the Sergeant 
 rushed in with two soldiers, bearing mus- 
 kets with bayonets. He was in a furious 
 passion at first; but after hearing several 
 accounts of the matter, and observing 
 that Burt still had his prisoner fast by 
 the hair, and gave him an occasional 
 thump on the side of the head to make 
 him keep quiet, he saw the true state of 
 the case. 
 
 "I think you tell the truth, young fel- 
 low," he said. "You look like it, any- 
 way; and if this other chap ain't a thief, 
 his'face is against him. You," to the sol- 
 diers, "take him up to the bow of the 
 boat, anil tie him tight to the big anchor 
 there. I tell you fellows, now, I've a lot 
 of choice punishments waiting for you, 
 when vou're caught in any deviltrv like 
 this." " 
 
 After this incident, the night passed 
 quietly, and Burt slept till he was awak- 
 ened by the drums and fifes sounding the 
 "reveille." The Sergeant was all " regu- 
 lation," and he would have the calls 
 
BURT. THE HERO. 
 
 sounded the same as though they were 
 in camp. 
 
 During the day, as Burt was standing 
 on the forward deck, looking at the great 
 expanse of the ocean, and the sails and 
 steamers near and far off, the Sergeant 
 accosted him: 
 
 "You were perfectly right about that 
 affair last night, young fellow. You did 
 the right thing in holding the rascal tight 
 till I could take care of him. You look 
 as though you'd make a soldier; what 
 regiment are you for? 1 ' 
 
 "I asked to be put into a Maine regi- 
 ment," replied Burt, "and the officer at 
 Bangor said I should be." 
 
 " Look at your descriptive-list," said the 
 Sergeant. " That'll tell you." 
 
 Burt took out the paper and con- 
 sulted it. "The Twenty-ninth,'' he read. 
 "The Twenty-ninth, indeed!" echoed 
 the Sergeant. " Well, you've got a long 
 voyage before you." 
 
 "Why, are they not in the Army of 
 the Potomac?" 
 
 " No; they are in Louisiana. I happen 
 to know, for I have friends among them. 
 Last month they wei'e away up the Red 
 River." 
 
 Burt was rather overwhelmed by this 
 unexpected discovery, and stared blankly 
 at the Sergeant. 
 
 "Oh, never mind," said the latter, with 
 a laugh. " You'll get along, anyhow, 
 and you'll see service enough anywhere 
 with the Twenty-ninth. Take things as 
 as they come, my lad, and do your duty, 
 and you'll be all right." 
 
 Our young soldier was much disturbed, 
 however, by this news. To serve with 
 the army two thousand miles away from 
 home was a different thing from a few 
 hundred. He blamed himself for not mak- 
 ing sure that the regiment to which he 
 was to be sent was in Virginia. He could 
 not but be worried about the matter, 
 though he knew that there was no help 
 for it. 
 
 But affairs were arranging themselves 
 very strangely in his case. Things that 
 lie could not have dreamed of were to 
 happen before he should join his regi- 
 ment. *- 
 
 We shall not have the space to record 
 all the interesting incidents that oc- 
 curred on the voyage of this steamer to 
 Boston. One only can be noticed; the 
 most memorable one of the voyage. 
 
 The steamer was to stop at Portland 
 for another party of recruits. Instead of 
 going up to the city, she anchored in the 
 bay, and the men were brought down in 
 a small steamboat. It was just at night. 
 There were islands near the anchored 
 vessel; one not more than four rods off. 
 The Sergeant went from sentinel to sen- 
 
 tinel, exhorting them to be vigilant, and 
 not permit a man to go to the rail. 
 
 "It's here," he said, "that some of 
 those scoundrels below may try to run 
 for it." 
 
 About nine o'clock, and before the 
 boat- load from Portland had arrived, the 
 cry of a sentinel from the deck, "Halt — 
 halt!" was heard, followed immediately 
 by a plunge overboard. There was a 
 musket-shot, another and another. The 
 Sergeant rushed to the spot; the near- 
 est sentinel, as he reloaded his musket, 
 pointed to the form of a man struggling 
 in the water, which was tinged near him 
 with a bloody streak. As they looked, 
 the form sunk out of sight. 
 
 "He must be dead," said the sentry. 
 "I know I hit him, and very likely the 
 other did, too." 
 
 " How was it?" the Sergeant asked. 
 
 " He sprang right overboard, never 
 heeding my challenge. Of course, he 
 meant to swim to the island yonder." 
 
 The whole body of recruits were assem- 
 bled below, the roll called, and the name 
 of the desperate man, whose life had 
 thus ended, was discovered. He was 
 the same who had tried to steal Burt's 
 watch. 
 
 "The United States army is better 
 without such creatures," was the Ser- » 
 geant's remark. "You know, now, if 
 you did not before, you bounty-jumpers, 
 what is waiting for you when you try to 
 escape." 
 
 The Portland party came aboard, and 
 the voyage was continued. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TOWARD THE FRONT. 
 
 Burt Carrier had supposed that he 
 would only remain a day or two in Bos- 
 ton, and go thence to New York, taking 
 the steamer from there for the long voy- 
 age to New Orleans. But nothing fell 
 out as he had expected. On being dis- 
 embarked at the wharf, at Boston, the 
 recruits were marched some distance 'to- 
 ward the Back Bay, and put in a large 
 barracks. 
 
 These were long, wooden buildings 
 where the men slept in wooden bunks, 
 and a great room where they were 
 marched in three times a day to eat their 
 rations, sitting on benches around long 
 pine tables; rather better food than had 
 been given them aboard the steamboat. 
 
 There was a better building, where 
 the commandment of the barracks, the 
 adjutant and quartermaster lived and 
 had their offices; and there was a great 
 open place where the company of in- 
 fantry that garrisoned the place mounted 
 ! guard. 
 
10 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 These were veteran soldiers, and Burt 
 admired their appearance very much, 
 with their neat uniforms, their shining 
 muskets and belt-plates, and the precis- 
 ion of all their movements. 
 
 The recruits in all their awkwardness 
 made a sorry show in comparison, and 
 our voting hero was becoming more im- 
 patient than ever to be a real soldier. 
 
 The barracks were well guarded ; pacing 
 their beats outside, and at every place 
 where a person could pass out, was a 
 soldier with musket and fixed bayonet, 
 and none of the men could leave without 
 the pass of the commandant. 
 
 As a week went by, and there was no 
 change, Burt grew uneasy and almost 
 homesick. He saw that all the recruits 
 were distrusted, the good and the bad 
 alike, and were to be treated as prisoners 
 until they could be delivered to their re- 
 spective regiments. To relieve his feel- 
 ings, he sat down in his wooden bunk 
 and wrote a long letter to his mother, 
 and another to Jerry Wall. He did not 
 complain, and wrote as cheerfully as he 
 could; but it could be plainly seen from 
 those two letters that he was disap- 
 pointed, so far, with his military experi- 
 ence. 
 
 In the course of the next week both 
 letters were answered; his mother's in 
 such a loving, encouraging way, and Jer- 
 rv's in such a rollicking, hearty fashion, 
 making light of the young soldier's dis- 
 comfort and discontent, that Burt felt 
 very much better after reading them. 
 
 Soon things began to occur that made 
 him feel still better. Among the better 
 class of recruits he made* some acquaint- 
 ances, and began to enjoy their society 
 and talk. He found tnat they were from 
 all parts of New England, and were able 
 to tell him much that was interesting 
 about the places where they lived. 
 
 Then, one morning the order came to 
 the barracks, "Recruits, turn out for 
 drill." Nothing could have pleased Burt 
 more, and he and others like him obeyed 
 promptly. Others went unwillingly, and 
 with muttering; and two fellows, who 
 were openly defiant and disobedient, 
 were compelled to march all day to and 
 fro across the end of the barrack-yard, 
 each carrying a heavy logon his shoulder, 
 and a great placard, with the word 
 SKULK! covering his breast. 
 
 On that dav, and on each day but Sun- 
 days of three weeks that followed, the 
 Sergeants of the guard-company drilled 
 the recruits, putting them through the 
 "position of the soldier," "school of the 
 squad," "school of the company," and 
 »ven thp " manual of arms," in squads of 
 four or iive. 
 This was something that Burt highly 
 
 delighted in; he was very quick, learned 
 easily and rapidly, and soon attracted the 
 attention of his Sergeant by his readi- 
 ness. 
 
 One day he was sent for to go to head- 
 quarters. He went in, took off his cap, 
 and gave the military salute to the Major, 
 who asked him his name, and many ques- 
 tions about himself. His appearance and 
 answers were satisfactory, for the Major 
 said: 
 
 •'Well, Currier, I think you'll do. You 
 have been recommended to me for an or- 
 derly, and you shall be detailed for that 
 place. Bring your traps up here, and re- 
 port to the Adjutant. You will mess and 
 sleep with the headquarters company." 
 
 From this time, while he remained at 
 the barracks, Burt was kept quite busy 
 carrying orders and messages, not only 
 inside the guards, but <»ver to the city, 
 sometimes long distances. He always 
 carried a pass with him, and frequently 
 had to show it in the streets to patrolling 
 parties who were around picking up stray 
 soldiers. When not engaged in these du- 
 ties he was often in the Adjutant's office, 
 and heard much that interested him 
 about the movements of the troops, and 
 what was going on in Virginia, and else- 
 where at the front. 
 
 One day he learned that fiv<* hundred 
 of the recruits in these barrack-* were to 
 be forward to the army. He saw them 
 drawn up in line in the yard, cooked ra- 
 tions issued to them, and then saw them 
 marched off toward one of the railroad 
 stations, surrounded by fifty guards with 
 officers over them. 
 
 Burt thought it was a rather difift >-en< 
 way of going to the war than what ho 
 had thought of once, and not very flat- 
 tering to the pride of the patriotic volun- 
 teers; but for all that he coui/1 not help 
 wishing that he was among that five 
 hundred, bound for somewhere wher* 
 powder could be smelled and. real wai 
 seen. 
 
 Two or three times a week, uf'^r that, 
 new parties of recruits ware bi ought in, 
 and others dispatched southward. Burt 
 became very uneasy, it was new the 
 first week in July; he b.ul been a *oldier 
 five weeks, and did i«ot see any sifns of 
 his getting away from these barraeKs. 
 
 One day he ven;ured to speak to th# 
 Major about it. The latter was sur 
 prised. 
 
 "What — you want to be sent to your 
 regiment?'- he f-cnoed. "Why, what tha 
 dickens d'ye lUban? Ain't, you satisfied 
 here? You've got what soldiers call 'a 
 soft thing.'" 
 
 " I could not want a better place, nor 
 better treatment, sir," replied Burt. 
 "But I volunteered because I wanted to 
 
BUST, THR HERO. 
 
 11 
 
 gee something of the war, myself, and I 
 don't see much of it here." 
 The Major looked amused. 
 '* You've never been to the front?" 
 "No. sir. But I want to go, very 
 much." 
 
 "Do you, though? Come, now, my 
 . lad, let's reason about that. You are 
 useful here; I find you faithful, prompt 
 and exact, and I may as well tell you 
 frankly, I'd like to keep you here. I 
 know something about war; I enlisted 
 in the ranks, in April, 1$G1, and rose to 
 wear gold leaves on my shoulders, as you 
 see. Here you are comfortable, and 
 ought to be consented; you have good 
 fare, and a nice cot. Don't you suppose, 
 when you get to your regiment, and have 
 to walk twenty miles a day, in the h'eat 
 and dust, that you'll think of these 
 things? When you have nothing to eat 
 but a hard crackor soaked in strong cof- 
 fee — and sometimes not that — won't you 
 think of the fresh meat, vegetables, and 
 all that, of the old Boston barracks? 
 And when you lie down on the wet 
 ground at night, with nothing over you 
 but a rubber blanket and the rainy sky, 
 won't you Avieh you were back in your 
 comfortable cot, here?" 
 
 "I have thought about all that, sir," 
 was the prompt reply. "I have read all 
 about it; and I have a friend at home 
 who lost an arm at Antietam, who has 
 told me all about it. I expected to meet 
 just such things when I enlisted, and I 
 am not afraid of them. You could not 
 do me a greater kindness than to send 
 me to my regiment." 
 The Major slapped his knee. 
 " You're a trump, my boy," he said. "I 
 wish all of that crowd out in the barracks 
 was like you. Well, you shall go. I 
 don't like to lose you, but I must not 
 keep so good a soldier as you will make, 
 from the field. What's your regiment?" 
 "The Twenty-ninth Maine. I learn 
 that they arte in Louisiana." 
 
 The Major consulted some papers. 
 " Oh, no!" he said. "Here are orders 
 to send all recruits for that regiment to 
 Fortress Monroe. I expect I know what 
 that means. I spell it out that the 
 Nineteenth Army Corps, to which that 
 regiment belongs, is ordered up to the 
 Army of the Potomac. Yes, my lad, you 
 shall go. Get ready, and I'll send you 
 to-morrow. No danger of your running 
 away, I think?" 
 
 "I should say not, sir," replied Burt, 
 proudly. 
 
 "Illtrust you, anyway, and take the 
 responsibility. The Adjutant will give 
 you an order for your transportation. 
 Go to Baltimore, and report to head- 
 quarters there; they'll send you down to 
 
 the Fortress on one of the steamers. 
 Good-by, and good luck to you." 
 
 On the morning of the next day, Burt 
 proudly left tiu barracks and took the 
 train for New York, with the necessary 
 papers in his pocket, his roll of blankets, 
 canteen and haversack. On the day next 
 after that, he was on the train speeding 
 from New York to Philadelphia. The 
 people whom he saw on the cars and else- 
 where seemed much excited, and from 
 scraps of talk that he heard it appeared 
 that something very grave was happening 
 in the military situation. He had been 
 quite overjoyed to find that he was not 
 to go away doWn to Louisiana, but was 
 to serve in Virginia, after all; but every- 
 body's anxiety and suspense drove these 
 thoughts out of his head. He fell in with 
 several soldiers returning to the army 
 from sick furloughs, and had a good deal 
 of talk with them about the service. 
 
 The demand for the newspapers was 
 so great that he could not get one; but a 
 soldier told him that he had heard there 
 was something about a raid of the Con- 
 federates into Maryland. 
 
 The train reached Philadelphia in the 
 middle of the afternoon, and Burt fol- 
 lowed his new friends over to a great 
 building, called the "Cooper Shop," 
 where there was quite a crowd of soldiers 
 on their way to the front. Here all were 
 fed to their satisfaction on very good 
 victuals, and then Burt walked along 
 the streets to learn the news. He was 
 not long, now, in finding what it was. 
 There were great placards announcing it 
 in front of the newspaper offices, and 
 excited knots of men were gathered be- 
 fore them and elsewhere, discussing it. 
 
 He learned that General Early had 
 crossed the Potomac above Harper's 
 Ferry some days before, and was march- 
 ing on Washington with twenty thousand 
 Confederate veterans. They were now 
 between Baltimore and Washington; 
 railroads and telegraphs between those 
 two cities were entirely interrupted. 
 It was great news, indeed! 
 
 CHAPTER V. • 
 
 BURT IS GREATLY SURPRISED. 
 
 No better news came that afternoon; in 
 fact, it was worse and worse. A battle 
 was going on, the telegraph said, at Mo- 
 nocacy Junction, near Frederick; the Un- 
 ion troops were being whipped, and were 
 retiring toward Baltimore, while the 
 Confederates were pressing for Washing- 
 ton. 
 
 All Baltimore was in alarm, almost in a 
 panic; the "home-guards" were called 
 out, and breastworks w?re being thrown 
 
IS 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 up outside the city and mounted with 
 guns. 
 
 There could be no better proof that 
 Burt Carrier was a soldier at heart than 
 the fact that this startling and rather 
 gloomy intelligence filled him with new 
 eagerness to get on, to reach the army, 
 and to bear his part with others in the 
 stern work of war. 
 
 That evening he met some of the com- 
 rades he had found on the train, at the 
 " Cooper Shop," and talked over the sit- 
 uation with them. He was in such a 
 feverish state of mind over the news >that 
 he had no appetite; he could only drink 
 some coffee; and he was rather surprised 
 to see how the veterans of the Peninsula, 
 of Gettysburg and the Wilderness, 
 among whom he had been thrown, con- 
 sumed the biscuit and butter, ham, and 
 pork and beans, with pickles and coffee, 
 that the patriotic Philadelphia people 
 furnished to them in this well-known 
 soldiers' free restaurant. 
 
 "Don't they have any pie?" he heard 
 one of them ask. "Oh, yes; here it is. 
 Let's fill up on it, Joe; maybe it's our last 
 chance." 
 
 " Won't you go on to-night?" Burt 
 asked. 
 
 " I guess not," replied a Corporal of 
 the party. "I'm for staying here till we 
 know a little better what's going on be- 
 low." 
 
 "The enemy will capture Washing- 
 ton!" cried Burt. 
 
 " I hope not; but you can't help it, 
 sonny, if they do.'' 
 
 "We can get nearer, anyway," urged 
 the fervent recruit, " so as to be of some 
 help." 
 
 "We might get to Baltimore; and then 
 what? Twenty thousand of General Lee's 
 best troops are right between us and 
 Fortress Monroe, where we have got to 
 go, to get back to our army. There is no 
 way but to stay right here and take it 
 cool till the situation changes." 
 
 "I can't be easy," urged Burt. "I 
 must go to Baltimore, anyway." 
 
 The veteran bit off a chew of tobacco 
 and shut one eye. 
 
 " Go ahead, then, sonny! If old Jubal 
 Early catches you, give him our regards, 
 and tell him we told you that you were a 
 fool! Never mind, bub; when you've seen 
 something of the service, you'll get some 
 of this ' freshness ' rubbed off from you. 
 By by, if you will go." 
 
 Nobody likes to be laughed at, and 
 Burt was made quite angry by the jeer- 
 ing remarks of the Corporal and the 
 laughter of the others. He left them, re- 
 solved more than before that he would 
 get to Baltimore just as quickly as possi- 
 ble. He went straight to the railroad I 
 
 station, but before he reached it the night 
 train had gone; the next would not leave 
 till morning. He slept that night in , a 
 comfortable bed, not knowing when he 
 would have another chance, and early 
 in the morning he was at the station 
 again, waiting for the train. He asked 
 for the news, and learned that there was 
 not a word from Washington; that our 
 forces had been defeated at Monocacy, 
 and that the excitement and alarm in 
 Baltimore were at fever heat. Soon our 
 adventurer was on the train, whirling 
 away toward Wilmington and Balti- 
 more. 
 
 Events were to happen in the course of 
 a very few hours which convinced him 
 that the Corporal at the "Cooper Shop" 
 wtis entirely right in his views, and that 
 he, Burt Carrier, was quite wrong-headed 
 in not heeding the advice of older and 
 more experienced soldiers. 
 
 And yet, looking back now at the stir- 
 ring incidents of that day and those that 
 directly followed, he has never regretted 
 that he went on toward Baltimore on 
 July 10, 1864! 
 
 I want the boys who have thus far ac- 
 companied Burt Carrier on his adven- 
 tures to understand just what peril it 
 was that he was now rushing into, with- 
 out the least thought of danger. For 
 that purpose, I would like to have them 
 take a good map of Maryland, and ex- 
 amine the northern part of it east of the 
 Potomac. 
 
 Between Baltimore and the Susque- 
 hanna River there is a distance of about 
 forty miles. This is the region of tha 
 head of Chesapeake Bay; it is very near 
 the railroad from Baltimore to Havre de 
 Grace, on the Susquehanna. All along 
 this route, only a few miles apart, are 
 certain streams, called rivers, emptying 
 into the bay. They are not rivers, how- 
 ever; they are simply offshoots, or inden- 
 tations of the bay, although they extend 
 miles above it. The water in them is 
 salty, and they are always affected by 
 the tides. Some of them are quite wide 
 and deep; all of them are good sized 
 streams. They are all bridged on the 
 line of the railroad, and some of these 
 bridges are quite long. The longest is 
 at Gunpowder River, so-called, about 
 half way from Havre de Grace to Balti- 
 more. The railroad station at Gunpow- 
 der in those days was an old frame house 
 at the west side of the bridge; there was 
 hardly another house in sight. This line 
 of railroad, by the way, was the chief 
 means of communication between the 
 north and Baltimore. Early in the war 
 all the bridges were guarded by Union 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 18 
 
 troops; after 1862 the Government had 
 not thought that precaution necessary. 
 
 About ten o'clock of the morning of 
 the day that Burt Carrier left Philadel- 
 phia on the train, a company of at least 
 a hundred horsemen galloped down to 
 Gunpowder Station from up the river. 
 They rode good horses; they were dressed 
 in various costumes; some in gray, some 
 in blue, and some in mixed garments; 
 they wore slouched-hats and straw-hats, 
 and were armed with sabers, pistols and 
 carbines. They were dusty and dirty; 
 but spite of this, and their odd dresses, 
 they had the appearance of soldiers, 
 mostly because they moved and acted so 
 promptly. 
 
 After they had dismounted, their first 
 move was to send their horses out of 
 sight, under charge of ten of their num- 
 ber. Then the inmates of the old house, 
 and every person in sight, was arrested, 
 in order to prevent an alarm; and the 
 raiders concealed themselves from sight 
 by lying down in the grass along the 
 track. 
 
 It was not long before they heard the 
 whistle of the train from the north. Soon 
 the engine and cars came in sight, and 
 rumbled slowly over the long bridge. A 
 minute's stop at Gunpowder was all that 
 was allowed; but it was sufficient for the 
 raiders. Three of them jumped up and 
 boarded the engine, and their pistols 
 were at the head of the engineer before 
 he could guess what the trouble was. 
 His arms were bound behind him with a 
 rope, and he was thrown into the coal 
 of the tender, and warned to stay there. 
 One of the captors of the engine took'the 
 place of the engineer at the lever. He 
 looked back and saw that his comrades 
 were boarding the train at each platform; 
 somebody waved his hand to him as a 
 signal, which he understood, for he 
 pulled the lever, and backed the train 
 blowly along the bridge to the opposite 
 side. 
 
 The raiders swarned through the train. 
 Men turned pale, and women screamed 
 at their appearance, for all understood 
 what it meant. Still, nobody was hurt 
 nor insulted, though the captors carried 
 eocked pistols in their hands, and warned 
 all to be quiet. Each Union soldier 
 whom they discovered, at least a dozen 
 in all, was ordered to get up and follow 
 them. In this way quite a party of cap- 
 tives was collected on the east side of 
 the bridge, and under the orders of the 
 raiders, crossed on the ties to the west 
 side. 
 
 Burt Carrier was among the captives. 
 He had nothing to do but to submit to 
 vrhat he could not help. 
 
 Large armfuls of dry pine-wood were 
 
 carried out and deposited on the bridge. 
 Fire was applied in several places, and 
 soon the whole structure was fiercely 
 burning and smoking. 
 
 There was a medium-sized man with a 
 keen eye and an air of authority, who 
 walked around among the raiders, and 
 appeared to be in command of them. 
 
 "Take the names and regiments of 
 these men," he said to one of his officers, 
 pointing at the same time to the prison- 
 ers. "Then take their verbal paroles. 
 They won't dare to serve again till ex 
 changed. Tell them that any of them 
 caught breaking his parole will be 
 hung.'' 
 
 The officer to whom this order was 
 given went to work to execute it. In 
 twenty minutes he reported to his com- 
 mander again. 
 
 "They have all given their parole, sir, 
 but one." 
 
 " What's the matter with that one?" 
 
 " I don't know. He's very obstinate. 
 He says he is a new recruit; I reckon he 
 don't know what he doing." 
 
 "Bring him here." 
 
 Burt Carrier appeared, guarded by two 
 of the raiding party. The commander 
 eyed him curiously. 
 
 "What do you mean," he asked, "by 
 refusing to give your parole?" 
 
 Burt was troubled, but not in the least 
 frightened. 
 
 " They told me I must promise not to 
 fight against the Southern Confederacy 
 till I was exchanged. " 
 
 " Well— won't you do that?'' 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because I only enlisted a few weeks 
 ago. I'm not going home on parole the 
 first thing." 
 
 "You're not, eh? Rather go to Libby 
 Prison, would you?" 
 
 Burt was silent. He had heard that 
 name, and it had terrors for him; but he 
 would not promise. 
 
 "Cut this short," the leader harshly 
 exclaimed. " Will you give your parole?'' 
 
 "I can't, sir. I " 
 
 "That's enough. Corporal Jenkins, 
 put him on that spare horse, and take 
 charge of him. Shoot him if h<3 tries ta 
 escape. Bugler, sound ' Boots and sad- 
 dles."' 
 
 At the call, the troopers led out their 
 horses and mounted them. The leader 
 gave the command, "Fours right," and 
 led the column up the river. 
 
 Burt Carrier, riding by the sid6 of the 
 Confederate Corporal, looked back be- 
 fore the column had lost sight of Gun- 
 powder Station. He saw the squad of 
 paroled Union prisoners standing by the 
 old house. Across the river was the 
 
14 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 train, the passengers being collected on 
 the bank. The bridge was afire in its 
 whole length, and was sure of destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 The column went on at a smart trot. 
 Burt had nearly got over his astonish- 
 ment at the events of the last hour, and 
 his curiosity came uppermost. 
 
 " 1 don't see how you fellows got here," 
 he said, hoping to open the way to a con- 
 versation with the Corporal. The latter 
 was a serious-looking man, with no sug- 
 gestion of a laugh about him, and a 
 drawl in his speech. 
 
 "You don't? Well, I don't wonder at 
 that. Lot's of you 'uns wouldn't believe 
 it to-dav; but they'll have to, to-morrow. 
 Neat job, eh?" 
 
 " You have not told me how you got 
 here." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind! When General 
 Early crossed the Potomac, we just bore 
 off to the east, and circled round Balti- 
 more. That way brought us here to-day." 
 
 "What was it for?" 
 
 "No harm in tellin' that; you might 
 know, as well as I. The main thing was 
 to burn that bridge. You blue-coat fel- 
 lows only hindered us so much; but you 
 had to be took care of." 
 
 "It was a bold and daring stroke," 
 said Burt, speaking as he felt, though to 
 an enemy. 
 
 "Yes, I reckon it was all of that. But 
 Harry is a native Marylander; nobody 
 knows these roads better than he." 
 
 "Who?" Burt asked. 
 
 "Colonel Harry Gilmor, our leader. 
 He's a regular dare-devil." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FORTUNES OF A PRISONER. 
 
 For three days and nights, with only 
 an occasional halt for rest, sleep, or to 
 procure something to eat, these bold par- 
 tisans rode their way. The course was 
 at first westerly; after they had passed 
 around Baltimore, so near, that one of 
 the troopers pointed out to Buvt the 
 spires in the distance, the direction was 
 changed to one southerly. They met no 
 Union troops, and had no fears of meet- 
 ing any, as the leader well knew that all 
 at them in this region had been with- 
 drawn upon the approach of Early's 
 powerful column. But Burt noticed with 
 some surprise that men were at work in 
 the fields, and that the people were pur- 
 suing their employments much the same 
 as though there was not a hostile army 
 in their State. Quite often these horse- 
 men passed men in the door-yards who 
 waved their hats, and women who flut- 
 tered their handkerchiefs from the doors 
 
 and windows, in token of sympathy; and 
 the leader seemed to know exactly where 
 to stop for the refreshment of his men. 
 So they went along, much of the time 
 at a trot, over the dusty Maryland roads, 
 and under the fierce sun of that trying 
 season. Burt was not accustomed to 
 horses, but he could easily see that these 
 were very good ones, and he noticed that 
 their riders took all possible care of them, 
 though they compelled them to travel 
 fast. The horses' mouths and noses were 
 sponged at every halt, and the good 
 beasts were well fed and watered. 
 
 Burt thought a good deal upon his sit' 
 uation during the first day's ride, and 
 wisely concluded that his chances of es- 
 cape would be better if he should at first 
 appear to be perfectly resigned to his 
 fate, and carefully watch for a 'good op- 
 portunity. So he rode along with his 
 guard, trying to be cheerful, and making 
 the best of the situation. 
 
 "You 'pear to take it very cool, for a 
 greenhorn," remarkeo the Corporal. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Burt. "I might as 
 well. No u«e in crying over spilt milk, 
 you know." 
 
 "That's right. No very fine thing, to 
 go to Libby, to be sure; but it might be 
 worse." 
 
 " How do you mean to get me to Rich- 
 mond ?" 
 
 "That is not my lookout; the Colonel 
 knows what he's going to do with you. I 
 have an idea, though." 
 
 "What?" 
 . "No harm in tellin 1 you. We're on the 
 Rockville road now; it would take us 
 straight into Washington from the north, 
 if we went far enough. I fancy the Col- 
 onel will go on till he meets some of Gen- 
 eral Early's army; then he can learn the 
 news, and turn you over to them at the 
 same time." 
 
 Burt was silent for a moment. 
 
 The prospect of long imprisonment was 
 getting disagreeably near. 
 
 " Do you think Early has taken Wash- 
 ington?" he asked. 
 
 " Of course he has. There were no 
 troops but militia and hundred-day men 
 in the forts, and our veterans would walk 
 right over them. We may get near enough 
 to see the Stars and Bars floating from 
 the Capitol." 
 
 It was with a heavy heart that our hero 
 heard this prediction; but he remem- 
 bered that ft was made by an enemy, and 
 remained hopeful. As the Corporal be- 
 came more talkative, he told Burt many 
 of his adventures and daring escapes in 
 the war. 
 
 "We are great fellows for scouting 
 around, and picking up the news about 
 your people," he said. 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 15 
 
 " What way do yon take to do that?" 
 
 "A good man y way s. One of my favor- 
 ite ones is to put on a. blue overcoat, mix 
 with the Federal cavalry, sometimes rid- 
 ing all night with them, and talking with 
 them. In this way I have often learned 
 all about the column then on the march; 
 and taking some good chance to steal 
 away, I would give our folks the news in 
 an hour. 1 ' 
 
 "You don't mean to say that you have 
 done anything as bold and dangerous as 
 thaU" Burt exclaimed. 
 
 "Indeed I have; as many as half a 
 dozen, times." 
 
 "Wouldn't our people hang you for a 
 spy if they caught you at it?" 
 
 "Like enough," replied the Corporal 
 carelessly. "But they'd have to catch 
 me first.' - ' 
 
 The wide Potomac was in sight, when 
 a cloud of dust was seen far down the 
 road. The little column halted, and a 
 man was dispatched to reconnoiter. He 
 returned in a few minutes with the news 
 that it was an advance party of Early's 
 army, driving cattle into Virginia for the 
 use of the Confederates. 
 
 " Who did you see?" asked G-ilmor. 
 
 "The Lieutenant in command." 
 
 "What did he say about the cam- 
 paign?" 
 
 "That parts of the Sixth and Nine- 
 teenth Corps reached Washington in 
 time to save it. There was severe fight- 
 ing in front of the city yesterday, but 
 Early is retreating to-day." 
 
 " The devil! Then I've got to get over 
 into the Valley ahead of him, and send 
 the news to Richmond. Where's that 
 fellow we took" from Gunpowder?" 
 
 " Here, sir." 
 
 "We can't be bothered with him any 
 longer; we've enough to see to without 
 him hanging on us. Corporal, take him 
 and deliver him to that Lieutenant, and 
 then rtdoin ns up the road as fast as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 It was a queer change in Burt's fort- 
 unes; almost a laughable one, if he could 
 have forgotten that he was now headed 
 for the enemy's country in earnest. 
 
 Upon being delivered to the Lieutenant 
 in command, he was told to get a stick 
 and help drive the cattle, and was warned, 
 with some emphatic oaths, that he would 
 be certainly shot if he tried to escape. 
 The drove was at least five hundred in 
 number, and was being urged forward 
 with shouts and blows by about twenty 
 Confederate soldiers, some mounted, and 
 some afoot. Burt saw Gilmor's cavalry 
 disappearing in the distance; right be- 
 fore hint was White's Ford of the Po- 
 tomac, across which the drove was to be 
 taken. It seemed to him' that his ehance 
 
 for escape must be much better now than 
 before; and still keeping heart, he bran- 
 ished his stick and shouted with the 
 others, as the mixed procession came to 
 the river. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A DASH FOR LIBERTY. 
 
 Burt was not so distressed by the 
 gravity of his own situation but that he 
 could take in the unusual aspect of the 
 scene before and around him. The road 
 led down td the river, here a third of a 
 mile wide, as it flowed between the Mary- 
 land and Virginia hills. At this season the 
 water was knee-deep at this ford, and 
 the cattle were urged in with all speed. 
 
 The Lieutenant in command had been 
 ordered to keep at least half a day's 
 march ahead of Early's army, and he was 
 anxious to do it. As cattle and men 
 were all in the water together, the scenes 
 wen often exciting, and sometimes laugh- 
 able. 
 
 The current was rather swift, the bot- 
 tom stony, and there was an occasional 
 hole into which a man might sink up to 
 his neck. 
 
 Shouts, yells, oaths, splashing.flounder-' 
 ing and mirth all accompanied the drove 
 and th drovers across the river. 
 
 Out of the water on the other side, and 
 up th bank, the party went steadily on. 
 Burt asked leave to stop, empty the 
 water from his shoes, and wring out his 
 socks; but he was bluntly refused. 
 
 " I reckon you can stand it, if we 'uns 
 can," said the Lieutenant. 
 
 Onward toiled men and cattle that af- 
 ternoon, leaving the river far behind. 
 Burt knew from the position of the sun 
 that the direction was something north 
 of west, and from his knowledge of ereog- 
 graphy he thought that the Blue Ridge 
 could not be more than a day or two's 
 march in that direction. He tried to en- 
 gage some of the soldiers in conversation, 
 but found them glum and cross. 
 
 Thore was reason enough for that, as 
 he found out at a later day, from his own 
 experience. They had marched hundreds 
 of miles, from Richmond to Harper's 
 Ferry, and from there to Washington, in 
 heat and dust, and had fought severe 
 battles at Monocacy, and in front of 
 Washington. They were worn out in 
 body, with ragged clothes and broken 
 shoes, some with no shoes at all; and they 
 would have liked to lie right down there 
 in the, road and sleep twelve hours. 
 
 Nothing but discipline and the habit of 
 obedience keot them to their duty; as it 
 was, two of them fell out during the af- 
 ternoon, declaring to the officer that they 
 
16 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 were too exhausted to stir another step. 
 After some urging and threatening, he 
 told them to rest themselves and over- 
 take the party when they could, if they 
 were not sooner overtaken by the retreat- 
 ing army. 
 
 But although his captors would not 
 talk to him, they said a great deal among 
 themselves, which Burt overheard. He 
 learned that they were going, that he 
 was going, through Snicker's Gap into 
 the Shenandoah Valley, and from there 
 up toward Petersburg. 
 
 He remembered the location of that 
 town on the war-maps; he thought it 
 was somewhere near the railroad by 
 which he might be taken to Richmond. 
 
 He thought, too, that if he did not es- 
 cape before the mountains were crossed, 
 he would not be likely to escape at all. 
 Very sober and tormenting thoughts had 
 Bart Carrier, as he trudged along that 
 July afternoon after the cattle, among 
 the'Confederate soldier-drivers afoot and 
 on horseback. It would be a mortifying 
 end of all his bright dreams of a soldier's 
 life and experience. It was almost too 
 bitter to think of! Captured by the ene- 
 my before he had seen the Union army, 
 and put in a far-distant prison, perhaps 
 to remain there till the war closed! The 
 thought nerved him for a desperate at- 
 tempt. 
 
 Near sunset the Lieutenant ordered a 
 halt-home's rest. The cattle were herded 
 together by the roadside, the men lay or 
 sat down, and ate some of the good pro- 
 vender they had taken from Maryland 
 farm-houses. ' 
 
 There was a brook near by, where men 
 and cattle drank, and where the former 
 bathed their sore and aching feet. 
 
 The prisoner was given some corn- 
 bread. As he ate it, he saw the Lieuten- 
 ant dismount near him and look at him 
 fixedly. 
 
 " I wish Harry GKluior would keep his 
 prisoners to himself," he said, " and not 
 
 bother me with them. You Yank ■ 
 
 what's your name?" 
 
 Burt told him, and in answer to more 
 questions, gave a brief history of him- 
 self. 
 
 " Well, you did make a mess of it!" ob- 
 served the officer, grimly. "Why didn't 
 you take the parole Grilmor offered you?" 
 
 "Because I wasn't willing to promise 
 not to bear arms for the Union till ex- 
 changed. I was afraid I might not be 
 exchanged till the war was over." 
 
 " Oho! Thought you might escape?" 
 
 "Yes," was the frank reply. "I did 
 think that." 
 
 "Well, then, we must look sharply to 
 you. you young Yankee snipe. I didn't 
 want" you at all; but now I've got you, 
 
 all shan't get you away from me. 
 
 You're going right along to Richmomd, 
 and I'll see you don't have any chance 
 to cut for it. R}*nes, ho there! Have 
 you got a coil of rope in your saddle^ 
 pocket?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Tie one end of it to the saddle-ring, 
 and the other end around this* Yank. 
 We must fix him so he won't slip away 
 after dark. You'll be responsible for 
 him showing up in the morning, Rynes.'* 
 
 The Lieutenant had moved a few feet 
 away from his horse, and was lighting 
 his pipe. The horse was cropping the 
 grass, the bridle being thrown over his 
 neck. 
 
 The soldier to whom the order had 
 been given had found the rope, tied one 
 end to his saddle, and was approach- 
 ing the prisoner to tie the other end about 
 him. 
 
 With a rush, Burt Carrier was by the 
 Lieutenant's horse. His foot was in the 
 stirrup, his hand was on the bridle; he 
 was mounted before the astonished Con- 
 federates could raise a hand. 
 
 But the officer was prompt. He drew 
 his revolver, and covered Burt with it. 
 
 " Halt, there!" he shouted. 
 
 Burt lowered his face down into the 
 horse*s mane, and struck him smartly on 
 the flanks with his stick. 
 
 The animal bolted into the woods, 
 while the bullets from the officer's revol- 
 ver whistled overhead. 
 
 "Shoot him! After him!" yelled thq 
 Lieutenant. 
 
 A dropping volley of musket balls waa 
 fired into the woods, and several of the 
 mounted men spurred in pursuit. The 
 cattle, frightened by the cries and noise 
 of fire-arms, plunged and bellowed, and 
 it required much effort to keep them to- 
 gether. 
 
 In half an hour the pursuers returned. 
 They reported that they could find noth- 
 ing of the fugitive. And the Lieuten- 
 ant, enraged by the loss of both his horse 
 and his prisoner, gave the command to 
 move on. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A DESPERATE RESOLVE. 
 
 The escape of our young soldier was 
 due to his own promptness, and to the 
 speed of the animal that he took in his 
 unceremonious flight. 
 
 The Confederate Lieutenant had a 
 good eye for a horse, and on the way 
 from the defenses of Washington to the 
 Potomac he had impressed as good a one 
 as he could And, for his own use. It 
 was, in fact, a very good one, and came 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 u 
 
 near being a thoroughbred; it was cer- 
 tainly a far better horse than any other 
 in this party. 
 
 When, therefore, by his quick audacity, 
 Burt had mounted the animal and put 
 him to his paces, and had escaped injury 
 from the bullets of his captors, his es- 
 cape from this party was really assured. 
 
 Only two or three blows from his stick 
 were needed; the spirited animal tore 
 thorugh the woods in a kind of cart-path 
 that traversed them at this place, until a 
 lane beyond was reached. There was a 
 gate between, which was cleared at a Hy- 
 ing leap. Burt was not much of a horse- 
 man, as we have seen; but he was wise 
 enough in this situation to let the horse 
 go, and cling to the saddle. He never 
 saw the pursuing horsemen at all, so 
 swift was his pace. The horse went like 
 the wind down the lane for a third of a 
 mile, leaped another gate into a high- 
 way, and went along this road at a full 
 gallop for twenty minutes. 
 
 Then Burt pulled up, and began to 
 consider. 
 
 The first glow of triumph in his escape 
 was vanishing, as he thought of the diffi- 
 culties of his situation. He had escaped 
 from his captors, it was true; but he was 
 in the enemy's country, and likely to be 
 recaptured at any moment. 
 
 The roads to the Potomac must be al- 
 ready occupied by Early's retreating 
 army; it was impossible for him to get 
 back to Maryland. To keep on west- 
 Ward would be quite as dangerous, for 
 he would be only plunging deeper into 
 the enemy's country. 
 
 To ride northerly toward Harper's 
 Ferry would be full of peril; he had read 
 enough of the war to know that this 
 region was alive with Mosby's guerrillas, 
 and that he would most likely be taken 
 again ere he had accomplished half a 
 dozen miles. 
 
 In this apparently hopeless situation, 
 he resolved upon the only course that 
 seemed to promise any hope. 
 
 The people of this region were, of 
 course, friendly to the Confederacy, but 
 perhaps the negroes were loyal. He had 
 read and heard much about the negroes 
 aiding Union soldiers to escape, and he 
 thought he would now put it to the test, 
 since he had no otbjer hope. 
 
 He stopped his horse and looked about 
 him. The sun had set, but there was a 
 long twilight at that season of the year, 
 and he was able to distinguish all about 
 him. There was an open stretch of road, 
 bordered here and there with trees; a 
 little way off was a frame house set back 
 from the road, with a barn and out- 
 houses back of it. 
 
 Any one who knew anything of Vir- 
 
 ginia life and customs would have said 
 that this was a plantation of what might 
 be called the middle class. 
 
 An old negro came shuffling along the 
 road with a bag over his shoulder. Burt 
 halted him without any ceremony. The 
 old man took off his battered hat, and 
 began to beg: 
 
 "Why, Massa Sojer, you wouldn't done 
 hurt old Epraim Snowball? I'se nebber 
 hurt yo\ An' you wears de blue coat! 
 Why, I habn't seen any ob dem about 
 here fer eber so long." 
 
 "I don't want to harm you," said Burt. 
 " I want you to help me. Don't you love 
 the Union and Union soldiers?" 
 
 "Why, yes, young Massa. But we has 
 to be mighty careful 'bout dat, now, I 
 tells yo!" 
 
 "Who lives in that house over there?" 
 
 "Dat's where I lib. Dat's de Wemple 
 plantation. Dey had lots ob cullud folks 
 dah befo' de wah; but dey hab runoff 
 lately, so my ole Susannah and I' is all 
 dat is left to take care ob pretty young 
 Missy." 
 ■ "Whose place is it?" 
 
 "Massa Grove Wemple's, sah; but he 
 done killed ober at Bull Run— oh, he was 
 a stiff Rebel, now, I tells yo'!— an' Missy 
 Wemple died ob grief, an' de boys all 
 done gone an' 'listed in de Confederacy— 
 so now dere's no one left but nice young 
 Missy Grace Wemple, an' me an' Susan- 
 nah to take care ob her." 
 
 " Is your young mistress for the Rebel- 
 lion?" 
 
 "Golly, yes, Massa Sojer. She hates 
 all de blue sojers." 
 
 "See here, Uncle Ephraim— I might as 
 well tell you that I have just escaped 
 from the Confederates. They'll be look- 
 ing for me soon. Can't you hide me 
 somewhere?" 
 
 "I'd like to, young Sojer-Massa; Eph- 
 raim likes de Linkum sojers powerful 
 well; but he's only a pore, old cullud 
 pusson. He's afraid " 
 
 "Well, I understand. I won't ask you 
 to put yourself in peril for me. Take me 
 to Miss Grace. I'll throw myself on her 
 mercy." 
 
 The old negro's eyes dilated with terror 
 in the dim light. 
 
 " Why, Lawd Gawd, young Massa Sojer 
 
 yo' be careful what yo' do! She's 
 
 proper nice gal— but she's a drefful 
 Rebel." 
 
 "There's no other way left to me, 
 Uncle. There are enemies on^every side 
 of me, and I've got to trust somebody. 
 I'd rather trust a woman than a man, 
 where both are enemies. I can't get to 
 the Union lines without help; and until I 
 can get there, I've got to be hid some- 
 where. If a woman will betray me, so be 
 
18 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 it; I have no other hope. Take me to 
 her, at once." 
 
 Burt had really brought himself into 
 the frame of mind that he expressed to 
 the negro. Realizing the dangers that 
 menaced him on every side, he saw no 
 possible chance for him to get himself 
 concealed somewhere until he could reach 
 the Union lines. And the resolution to 
 go to the young and fair occupant of the 
 house nearest him, and to appeal to her 
 womanly pity, came of a sudden impulse. 
 He must do something immediately, for 
 he had reason to believe that he would 
 be closely searched after. He saw no 
 way but this. 
 
 " Lead on, Uncle!" he said. 
 
 The negro conducted him through a 
 large gateway, up a carriage road, to the 
 front of the house. Darkness had now 
 set in, and the inmates of the house, hear- 
 ing the noise of hoofs and gravel, came 
 out on the porch with a light, to see what 
 was the matter. Burt, sitting on the 
 horse, saw a charming girl of sixteen, 
 bearing a lamp, while an old negress 
 shrank behind her. 
 
 " Snowball, what does this mean?" 
 asked the girl, in clear and firm tones. 
 "Who is this with you?" 
 
 Burt spoke up for himseU. 
 
 "Miss," I am a Union soldier. I was 
 taken prisoner a few days ago in Mary- 
 land, and have just made my escape. I 
 don't know where to go; I am likely to be 
 captured again. Will you not shelter me 
 — hide me, if necessary?" 
 
 "You have come to the wrong place," 
 she promptly answered. " I have no love 
 for Union soldiers. I don't like their 
 cause. They killed my father at Bull 
 Run; my brothers are fighting against 
 the Union. You had better not come 
 here." 
 
 Her tone was forbidding, as well as her 
 words. 
 
 But Burt saw her face, and was encour- 
 aged. , 
 
 CHAPTER I&. 
 
 DANGER AND DELIVERANCE. 
 
 " I don't expect we can agree about the 
 war, Miss," said Burt. 'You look at it 
 from your part of the country and your 
 feelings, and I from mine. But I suppose 
 that if one of your brothers was in the 
 same situation that I am in now, and was 
 trying tc^find refuge and protection, in 
 Pennsylvania, say, you'd hope he would 
 succeed — wouldn't you?" 
 
 The girl was silent. 
 
 " Of coarse, we are enemies, as this 
 land is unhappily divided. But I don't 
 feel any hatred toward you, personally; 
 
 it can't be possible that you feel any to- 
 ward me. I don't believe you would like 
 to see me shut up in Libby Prison for 
 months or years, any more than I would 
 like to see one of your brothers confined 
 at Elmira or Johnson's Island. Would 
 you, now?" 
 
 "Oh, Missy, do help de pore Linkum 
 sojer!" Snowball put in. 
 
 "Yes, Missy Grace, please do!" added 
 Susannah. 
 
 Burt saw a decided softening of the 
 girl's face. 
 
 " You may come in," she said. 
 
 The soldier sprang from his horse, and 
 handed the bridle to the negro. 
 
 '* Take him two or three miles, and 
 turn him loose, Snowball," he said. 
 '"Don't put him in your stables, tq betray 
 me by his presence." 
 
 " I'll 'tend to dat, Massa Sojer," the 
 negro joyfully exclaimed. 
 
 And while he led away the horse, Burt 
 was received into the house. 
 
 Aunt Susannah busied herself to pre- 
 pare a good supper. While she was at 
 this good work in the kitchen, our hero 
 sat in the room into which he had been 
 received, looking rather awkwardly at 
 his fair young hostess, and trying to 
 think of something to say to her. 
 
 She sat on the opposite side of the 
 room, as pretty a picture, Burt thought, 
 with her blue eyes, fair hair, regular 
 features, and comely figure and dress, as 
 he had ever seen. 
 
 " Y'ou are very kind to me, Miss," he at 
 last ventured. 
 
 " I don't believe I am doing right," she 
 replied, rather tartly. " The idea of my 
 sheltering a Yankee!" 
 
 " Would you have felt right if you had 
 turned me away?" 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " I really hope you won't be sorry for 
 your kindness to me, Miss." 
 
 "I don't know," she said, with a sigh. 
 " I can't forget my poor father, and 
 the cause he died fighting for. But 
 then " 
 
 Burt thought there was a great deal of 
 pity and compassion in her melting blue 
 eyes, as she looked at him. 
 
 Old Susannah brought in an excellent 
 supper, with nice "chicken-fixings," to 
 which our hero did ample justice. 
 
 During the meal he continued to talk 
 to Grace, and succeeded in getting some 
 answers from her. 
 
 Hardly was the table cleared, when a 
 tramping of horses was heard about the 
 house. 
 
 'To' God!" the old negress cried. 
 " Dere's Mosby's men!" 
 
 Burt started up. Grace turned pale, 
 and then exclaimed: 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 19 
 
 "Here! Quick! Go in here." 
 
 She threw open the door of a large china 
 closet, and poshed him into it. Then 
 she shut the door and locked it. 
 
 In three minutes the room was filled 
 with men in gray, armed with sabers and 
 pistols. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss Weniple," 
 said the Captain, "Has a Yankee been 
 here?" 
 
 "Yes," was the reply. "I gave him 
 something to eat, for he was so hungry; 
 and left as much as an hour ago." 
 • "Strange!" said the Captain. "We 
 found his horse off here in the woods. 
 He can't be far away." 
 
 Souie of the guerrillas were prying 
 about the room. Grace spoke with a 
 good deal of temper. 
 
 " I did not expect such an insult as this 
 from you, Captain Usher. You know in y 
 sentiments, and you know where my 
 kindred are. Pray, do you want to 
 search this house for hidden Yankees?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss Wemple. 
 Perhaps we have been led too far by our 
 anxiety to retake this Yankee. Ho, of 
 course we would not suspect you. Come 
 away, there, men; get out to your horses, 
 and mount. We'll run the fellow down 
 soon." 
 
 Grace took his offered hand, with a 
 smile. 
 
 When the tramp of the horses had died 
 away in the distance she unlocked the 
 door of the closet, and*Burt stepped out. 
 With such feelings as may better be 
 imagined than described he had listened 
 to this conversation, and now greeted 
 Grace with an emotion that he did not try 
 to suppress. 
 
 "You .are my preserver,'' he cried. 
 "You have saved me from dreadful cap- 
 tivity. Believe me, Miss, if I escape the 
 perils of this war. there is nothing that 
 I will not try to do for you. I will " 
 
 In his warmth he was approaching her, 
 holding out both hands. But she folded 
 her arms and looked coldly at him. 
 
 "I have been false to my cause in hid- 
 ing and protecting you," she said. "I 
 blame myself for being so weak. Don't 
 say any more to me. Susannah will take 
 care of you. I don't want to see you 
 a;-rain. Farewell!" 
 
 She left him when she had spoken. 
 
 Glad, and yet sad, Burt submitted him- 
 self to the direction of the old negress, 
 who took him up to an upper chamber, 
 where, for the next two days, he was 
 carefully secluded. His food was brought 
 to him there, and there he remained, day 
 and night, waiting for the wished-for 
 chance to seek the Union lines. 
 
 On the day next following his intro- 
 duction to the house, the old negress 
 
 came to him and told him that he must 
 go up into the garret. 
 
 "^Missy Grace says so," she explained. 
 "De whole Rebel army am gain' by on 
 dis yere road. Some ob dem might come 
 in yere." 
 
 From the garret window Burt peered 
 out, and saw brigade after brigade of 
 Early's army marching past. Dusty and 
 ragged as they were, all were veteran 
 soldiers with arms; and the sight, such a 
 one as he had never seen before, gave 
 him a new glimpse of war. There were 
 batteries of artillery, and cavalry; there 
 were waving banners and shining mus- 
 ket-barrels. Buit began to understand 
 what fighting would mean, when such 
 soldiers got into it. 
 
 When the Confederate host had passed 
 by, he was taken back to his room. That 
 night he enjoyed a comfortable bed for the 
 last time in several months. The next 
 morning, shortly after the old negress 
 had brought him his breakfast, she came 
 running in, all out of breath. 
 
 "Oh, young Massa Sojer! De Linkum 
 sojers are a-comin', suah!" she cried. 
 
 He ran to the front room, and looked 
 from the window. It was true; a large 
 body of cavalry in blue was passing, and 
 fcr a long way back the road was filled 
 with blue-coated infantry, swinging 
 along at the route-step, with "arms at 
 will." 
 
 The boy's heart swelled at the sight; 
 he was about to hasten to theni, when he 
 thought of Grace. He turned to ask old 
 Susannah for her, when he saw her stand- 
 ing near him. 
 
 "There are my friends, Miss," he said. 
 " I must go with them." 
 
 "Yes," she replied. 
 
 Burt noticed that her pretty face was 
 quite serious; it did not look at all angry. 
 
 "You have done me a very great ser- 
 vice," he continued. "I cannot repay 
 you now; but I hope to some day, if God 
 spares my life through the war." I shall 
 never forget you. Shall we not part 
 friends?" 
 
 He held out his hand, and she did not 
 refuse to take it. Although she said very 
 little, he thought she looked kind at him, 
 and a little sorry that he was going. 
 
 What he did next was quite natural, 
 under the circumstances; at all events, 
 he felt that he must doit. He put his 
 arm around her neck, and kissed her. 
 
 She broke away from him and ran out 
 of the room, and he left the house in 
 rather a more serious mood than he was 
 in three minutes before; while Snowball 
 and Susannah shouted after him, " Good 
 luck, Massa Sojer." 
 
 Regiment after regiment was marching 
 by as he stood at the gate, when a staff- 
 
20 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 officer rode up and asked him where his 
 musket was, and why he was not in the 
 ranks. In a very few words Burt told 
 him his story. 
 
 " Well, my lad, you're in luck at last," 
 said the officer. "This is the First Di- 
 vision of the Nineteenth Corps; yonder 
 comes the Twenty-ninth Maine. Fall in 
 with them; I'll speak to the Colonel 
 about you." 
 
 To his great joy, Burt recognized in the 
 ranks three or four lumbermen he had 
 known up the Penobscot. 
 
 A hearty soldier's welcome was given 
 him. 
 
 It happened that several men in this 
 regiment had fallen out from heat and 
 fatigue, and were riding in the ambu- 
 lance; one of them was reported suffer- 
 ing from sunstroke, and likely die. 
 
 At the next halt for rest the arms and 
 accouterments of this unfortunate soldier 
 were brought to Burt, and his new com- 
 rades helped him to adjust them. His 
 blankets, haversack and canteen had 
 been taken from him by the guerrillas at 
 Gunpowder River; he was told that the 
 Quartermaster would issue new ones to 
 his Captain for him that night. 
 
 He put on the belt with its plate in 
 in front, marked " TJ. S.," the cap-pouch 
 in front at the right, the cartridge-box, 
 containing forty rounds of cartridges, 
 also stamped "U. S.," over his right hip, 
 and the bayonet-sheath at the left; he 
 took the good Springfield rifle-musket, 
 weighing sixteen pounds, and carrying a 
 pointed ounce-ball that would kill at 
 
 eight hundred yards and Burt Carrier 
 
 at last began to look like a soldier! 
 
 Presently the bugle sounded "Atten- 
 tion!" then "Forward!" and the long 
 column moved on. 
 
 Burt noticed that the soldiers, al- 
 though formed in fours, spread out for 
 greater comfort, and filled the entire 
 roadway, marching without time or reg- 
 ular step, and each man carrying his 
 musket as he pleased. 
 
 "Why, is this the way you do?" he 
 asked of the man who marched at his 
 right. "I thought it was more regular 
 than this." 
 
 The soldier smiled grimly. 
 
 " When you've marched twenty miles 
 on such a day as this, my boy," he re- 
 plied, "you'll think this way is 'regular' 
 enough for you." 
 
 Just then a staff-officer came riding 
 down the column, speaking to each regi- 
 mental commander. Then the order 
 came, repeated by each Captain, "Close 
 up— four fours — guide left," and the 
 column came together in precise and reg- 
 ular order. At the head of each regi- 
 ment the drum began to tap for the step. 
 
 "What's up, now, I 'wonder?" Burt'a 
 comrade said, and then replied to his 
 own question: "Oh, I see; there's Lees- 
 burg, just ahead; we're going to inarch 
 through in style. That's what we usu- 
 ally do when we come to a Southern 
 town." 
 
 Twenty martial bands burst forth with 
 the stirring music of " Rally Round the 
 Flag." 
 
 "Right shoulder shift arms!" 1 was 
 
 the order, repeated down the column; 
 the flags blew out, the fifes and drums 
 screamed and rattled, and the soldiers, 
 the way-worn and weary, stepped out in 
 time. 
 
 Through Leesburg they went, the 
 streets of which town were deserted 
 by the people, who looked out through 
 closed w.indow-shutters. 
 
 Burt Carrier felt proud and almost 
 happy in that hour; he was with his com- 
 rades, in his right place, and was at last 
 a soldier in earnest! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A SOLDIER IN EARNEST. 
 
 It will be impossible for us to describe 
 all of Burt Carrier's experiences in the 
 war from the day when he finally joined 
 his regiment, down to the close of the 
 war in the next spring. 
 
 As we have seen, he has been a long 
 time reaching the Union army, and had 
 got to it only by a difficult and danger- 
 ous route; but once he became a soldier 
 among soldiers, stirring adventures and 
 experiences crowded thick and fast upon 
 him. 
 
 We must select the most thVilling and 
 wonderful ot them with which to fill out 
 this narrative; but it would be hardly 
 fair to him to entirely pass over all that 
 he did and saw with others from the mid- 
 dle of that July down to the 19th day of 
 September. 
 
 We have space only to glance at these 
 things in one brief chapter; but the small 
 mention that will be made of them will 
 be enough to show the boys who have 
 become interested in Burt and his fort- 
 unes what it was to be a soldier in his 
 time. 
 
 The march upon which the last chap- 
 ter left him ended at Snicker's Ferry, on 
 the Shenandoah. The way led through 
 the rocky walls of Snicker's Gap, which 
 pierces the Blue Ridge at this point. The 
 command that our hero was with stacked 
 arms by the river, and waited for several 
 hours. Across the river, several miles 
 away, a battle was going on between a 
 part of the Eighth Corps and Early's 
 army. 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 21 
 
 Burt and hie comrades heard the sound 
 of artillery. like the roll of distant thun- 
 der, and they saw some wounded men 
 brought across the river; but they were 
 not ordered into that fight. 
 
 At nightfall they were ordered to take 
 arms and fall in, and the weary march 
 back to Washington was begun. It 
 lasted all night, and most of the next 
 day, ar?d it gave Burt a rude introduction 
 to the dreadful fatigues of soldiering. 
 
 It was after daylight when the column 
 passed the Wemple house again, and he 
 looked eagerly for a glimpse of Grace, 
 bnt did not see her. 
 
 Old Snowball was by the gate, how- 
 ever, watching for him; and when he 
 saw him in the column he ran to him and 
 put a pair of nice dressed chickens into 
 his hand, saying: 
 
 " Young Missy tole me to gib 'em to 
 young Massa Sojer." 
 
 Burt and some qf his comrades had a 
 feast that- night, after they got in camp 
 across the Chain Bridge at Washington; 
 but the thought that pretty Grace re- 
 membered him so kindly (after all that 
 had occurred) rejoiced him far more than 
 did the gift. 
 
 That "Was only one of the many severe 
 marches that he endured in those two 
 months. 
 
 Early's army was in the Shenandoah 
 Valley, his cavalry was threatening the 
 Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and the 
 Pennsylvania border, and our soldiers 
 were moved fast and far to counteract 
 them. 
 
 They marched from Washington to 
 mountainous Harper's Ferry; from there 
 to Frederick; from Frederick back to 
 Harpers Ferry; and such marches! Night 
 and day they had to go, with only a brief 
 halt now and then for rest; they moved 
 so fast that they were often without ra- 
 tions; 1 hey went with blistered feet over 
 ■ those hard roads; they slept on the 
 ground, glad of a chance to sleep at all; 
 and one day as many as twenty in that 
 army died of sunstroke. 
 
 Often, when suffering for lack of sleep, 
 Burt would march along sound asleep, 
 never waking till there was a halt; and 
 when he spoke of this strange fact, he 
 found that it was quite common among 
 his comrades. 
 
 In those trying days he often thought 
 of the kind words and warning of the 
 Major at the Boston Barracks; and then 
 he would grit his teeth, take a new hold 
 on his heavy "Springfield," and say to 
 h; nself: "Well, what of it? I wanted to 
 be * real soldier; now I am one, I'm not* 
 going to flinch. I'll be a man, and see it 
 out." And he did! He was a model 
 American soldier-boy. 
 
 There were many thousands like him 
 on both sides during the war; Burt Car- 
 rier was an excellent type of that kind. 
 
 Early in August, when he was in camp 
 at Halltown, over the mountain from 
 Harper's Ferry, he saw enough going on 
 about him to make him sure that a pow- 
 erful army was being concentrated here. 
 There was the Sixth Corps, the Eighth, 
 and the Nineteenth with all their artil- 
 lery; and there was cavalry enough to 
 make of itself a small army. There were 
 wagons by the acre, and so many mules 
 that he thought they never could be 
 counted. 
 
 One day he heard an ordertread on 
 parade, that a certain General Sheridan 
 was to command that army. Neither he 
 nor those near him had heard that name 
 before; but they were to hear much of it 
 in the months following. 
 
 And now the soldiers were sure there 
 would be a battle right away! Like all 
 new soldiers, Burt was anxious to see 
 one; but war is a strange thing, and it 
 often takes a great deal of marching to 
 get two hostile armies where they must 
 fight. 
 
 The army that our hero was with 
 moved up the Shenandoah Valley, be- 
 tween its grand mountain ranges — and 
 then it moved back again. It kept doing 
 this for a month. 
 
 Once in awhile Burt would hear of a 
 skirmish which the cavalry had with 
 that of the enemy; but during this time 
 he never saw a soldier in a gray uniform. 
 And so regularly did this army get back 
 to Harper's Ferry each week, that a 
 joker in the ranks said it ought to be 
 called "Harper's Weekly." 
 
 " I'd like to know why we don't fight?" 
 Burt often said to John Williams, his 
 particular friend and comrade. 
 
 " The fighting will come soon enough, 
 never you fear," replied quiet John. 
 
 " These Generals don't seem to be in 
 any hurry, so far." 
 
 " I can wait, anyway," said the vet- 
 eran, as he smoked his pipe. " And do 
 you mind my words, Carrier — after you've 
 been through just one battle, you won't 
 be so eager to see another. You'll take 
 'em as they come, without pining after 
 them." 
 
 Burt recalled those words later, and 
 saw that they were full of homely wis- 
 dom. 
 
 But on the 18th of September, when 
 this army was in camp near Berryville, 
 there was a busy stir all through it. 
 Cooked rations were dealt out to the 
 men, and there were orders to break 
 camp at three o'clock the next morning. 
 
 The Surgeon of the regiment was talk- 
 ing with the Captain of Burt's company, 
 
22 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 and he was overhead to say that there 
 would be a battle next day, sure. 
 
 Burt got a caudle,end, and sat up that 
 ni-ht, writing a long letter to his 
 mother. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 WHAT A BATTLE IB LIKE. 
 
 It seemed very early on the next morn- 
 ing that the Sergeant-Major went round 
 and aroused the Captains, and the latter 
 sent the Orderly-Sergeants to wake up 
 the men. It was so dark that they could 
 onlv see each other by the light of the 
 fires that they made to boil coffee. 
 
 "Tbif does look like real work," said 
 John William*, as he sipped his hot cof- 
 fee and munched a piece of hard bread. 
 ' How d'ye feel now, Carrier?" 
 
 " I'm ready, John," was the reply. 
 
 It was still" dark when the roll of the 
 company was called, and the Captain 
 took command. 
 
 "By fours, right face file right 
 
 march!" was t.lie command. 
 
 The company filed out on the road, 
 and took its place in the regiment; the 
 regiment fell into the brigade, the bri- 
 gade into the division — and soon the 
 strong column, which was one of other 
 strong columns, was pressing along the 
 road toward Winchester, in the dark. 
 
 They marched till daylight; they 
 marched long after that. They went at 
 top speed. The legs' of those veterans, 
 well used to marching, reached out that 
 morning as though the men knew there 
 was serious work ahead. And mo6t of 
 them did understand it, by this time. 
 
 While it was dark, the soldiers said but 
 little to each other. They went on si- 
 lently and swiftly, now and then chang- 
 ing their muskets from one shoulder to 
 the other. 
 
 Sometimes there were exasperating de- 
 lays, which excited staff-officers galloped 
 about to correct. 
 
 Once the column waited for almost an 
 hour for a tardy train to go to the rear. 
 It filled the road from side to side; the 
 staff-officers threatened, and even swore; 
 the drivers whacked their mules, and the 
 infantry rested idly by the roadside. 
 
 It was past daylight when they were 
 marching again. 
 
 "Hark!" said John Williams. "Did 
 you hear thatP 
 Burt heard it. 
 1 ' Boom! — Boom! — Boom!" 
 It was far off; yet no soldier could 
 mistake it. The artillery was engaged at 
 the front! 
 
 "I guess we're in for it, to-day," said* 
 John. 
 
 Soon after daylight they came to a 
 creek flowing across the road. 
 
 "Into it, and across!" was the com- 
 mand; and the soldiers dashed through. 
 On the other side there was consider- 
 able delay, caused by the soldiers remov- 
 ing their shoes and wringing out their 
 socks. 
 
 On went the long column. The boom 
 of the guns grew louder and nearer. 
 Burt saw stragglers and skulkers from 
 other regiments sitting by the roadside: 
 a sure sign, to the experienced soldier, 
 that there was a battle going on in front. 
 Further on, men with yellow braid on 
 the seams of their jackets stood holding 
 their horses by the bridles. 
 
 Some of these men were wounded; 
 blood was dropping from the limbs of 
 some of them, and others had their heads 
 tied up over saber-cuts. 
 
 They were pale, but still stood firm, 
 waiting orders; and they talked with the 
 infantry as they pressed on. ' 
 
 " Nasty work in the front?" asked John 
 Williams of one of them. 
 
 " You bet! They're pretty strong. We 
 drove their eavalry back from this road, 
 and then we ran into their artillery and 
 infantry. It's too big a job for us; you'll 
 have to take hold of it, comrades." 
 
 "We're the boys that can do it!" one 
 of the infantry men shouted; but there 
 was generally silence in the ranks. On 
 the threshold of the tremendous and 
 terrible things that they felt was before 
 them, the soldiers were silent. 
 
 There was a deep gorge through which 
 the road passed; aiong this the columns 
 pressed, passed beyond it, and filing 
 sharply to the left, struck across some 
 uneven, open fields toward a thick belt 
 of woods. 
 
 There was a humming and disturbance 
 in the air overhead — an explosion— and 
 fragments of iron flew about and tore up 
 the ground. Shriek! — scream! — hum, and 
 burst! The whole air seemed full of the 
 dreadful noises. 
 
 "Double-quick!" came the order, in 
 the ringing voice of the officer in com- 
 mand of the regiment. Shells burst rap- 
 idly overhead, as the men obeyed it. But 
 as yet, nobody w.as hurt. 
 
 " This is lively," remarked John Will- 
 iams to Burt, with a smile. 
 "Yes," said Burt. 
 
 There was a lull of a few minutes. 
 What was going on in the wood our sol- 
 dier did not know. Very quickly his 
 brigade was formed into close column by 
 division — that is, two companies in line 
 together, with only the length of one 
 company between them and the next 
 division"; the bugle sounded "Forward!" 
 and they entered the woods. 
 
 What followed, Burt Carrier thinks he 
 will never forget till his dying day. 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 Almost as fast as he could count, the 
 fuse-shells shrieked and tore through the 
 woods. 
 
 Great branches were lopped off, and 
 came down with a crash upon the heads 
 of the advancing lines. Some of the 
 shells struck the ground and burst right 
 between the divisions, carrying death 
 and wounds broadcast. 
 
 The officers drew their swords and 
 shouted. "Steady, men — steady!*' 
 
 One shell struck the Colonel's horse, 
 killing him instantly, and sprawling his 
 rider unhurt on the ground. Another 
 struck the man whose elbow touched 
 Burt's on the left, and exploded, killing 
 and wounding half a dozen more. 
 
 Still these men moved on — right on! 
 It was a Babel of noise; a very hell of 
 slaughter; but they marched right on. 
 
 As Burt glanced down the line, he saw 
 no faces but white faces. His comrades 
 told him afterward that his own face was 
 very white. In those first moments of 
 the great battle, he felt as though he 
 would rather be anywhere else. But 
 he did not flinch; his comrades did not 
 flinch. They went straight on. As they 
 got almost through the wood, the sharp 
 "zip-zip!" of musket-balls was thick 
 around them. Straight out in front they 
 heard a mighty noise of yells — something 
 that sounded like "Yi! — yi!— yi!" 
 
 They reached the edge of the woods. 
 Some broad meadow-land, crossed by 
 rail-fences, was next; beyond it, another 
 woods, at the end of which the smcke 
 from thousands of muskets rolled up in 
 a long line; incessant flashes rent the 
 smoke; battle-flags with stars and bars 
 upon them were waving over the smoke. 
 
 The fields between them were dotted 
 thickly with Union soldiers, swarming to 
 the rear; another division had just 
 charged, and been repulsed. 
 
 The fierce battle-yell continued to go 
 up; the storm of musketry-fire came thick 
 and hist I 
 
 Burt was not afraid now; his comrades 
 were not. Their blood was up; they 
 were eager to fight, and return blow for 
 blow. 
 
 The loud voice of the Commander was 
 heard above the roaring of shot and 
 shell, the hum of musketry, and the 
 yells. Moving at double-quick by the 
 flank, the brigade got into line, and with 
 an inspiring cheer, dashed for a fence 
 well out from the woods. They seized it, 
 they held it, they rapidly loaded and 
 fired, sitting, lying, kneeling en the 
 ground. The dry grass between the hos 
 tile lines was set on fire by the cartridge 
 paper, and blazed up. 
 
 The Union soldiers, loading and firing 
 at the ascending line of smoke across the 
 
 fields, were searched out by the deadly 
 bullets coming their way. Men fell prone 
 on their fac^y, and never' stirred again; 
 others were hard hit, and hastened to 
 the rear. And there were the shouts of 
 officers— the cries, the cheers, the veils 
 of the fighting lines, mingled with the 
 continued noise of the firing. 
 
 Burt had dropped to his knee, and 
 steadily loaded and fired. He was well 
 keyed-up to the work now; he was 
 warmed up to the fight. 
 
 " This is lively, John," he said. 
 
 "les," said Williams, as he pressed a 
 cap on the nipple of his gun. "Here 
 goes for another." 
 
 Burt did not hear the report of his rifle, 
 and looked at him. Poor John lav on 
 his back, a black bullet-hole thj-ough hie 
 forehead. 
 
 So the fight went on for hours. Both 
 lines stood stubborn, fighting, bleeding, 
 dying. And this was but a part of the 
 great battle. To the right, to the left, it 
 was raging in the same way. 
 
 Although Burt was intent on speeding 
 bullets to the enemy, he noticed some 
 things that stand out in his memory like 
 separate pictures of that fray. 
 
 One was the comrade who made a rest 
 for his musket, in firing, of the knapsack 
 and blanket-roll on the back of a dead 
 soldier. 
 
 Another was the Sergeant, who was' 
 mortally wounded just as he had his rifle 
 at his shoulder. 
 
 " Raise me up," he cried. " I will fire 
 that shot!" And propped by the arm of 
 a comrade, he fired his last round, and 
 lay down to die! 
 
 Still another, was the battery that 
 came tearing in at the left of the brigade, 
 and, unlimbering, began belching grape- 
 shot at the Confederate line. Sweeter 
 music than that, our soldier thought he 
 had never heand in his life. How the 
 brass guns roared, four a minute! How 
 the Captain of the battery shouted his 
 orders— and how the artillery boys 
 cheered! 
 
 Then there was a time when the in- 
 fantry-soldiers had exhausted their "forty 
 rounds," and the stern cry, " Cartridges! 
 cartridges!' went up along the line. The 
 brigade fell back to the woods; pine boxes 
 of fixed ammunition were hurried up; 
 the excited soldiers took them and burst 
 them open against the trunks of trees, 
 scooped up haudfuls of them, and re- 
 turned to the fight. 
 
 A bullet had rudely scraped Burt's 
 cheek, leaving a track of blood. ' The 
 wound healed with a slight scar that he 
 bears to-day. 
 
 But no scratch like that could taka 
 Burt Carrier out of the fight. Not he. 
 
24 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 indeed! i r et he wonders bow he escaped 
 so well; how any who we^e so exposed 
 could escape. That night he found the 
 sleeves and the skirt of his blouse cut in 
 three places by bullets. 
 
 About five o'clock there n r as a lull on 
 this part of the field; the Confederate 
 fire slackened, and soon entirely ceased. 
 It appeared afterward that the enemy 
 that had fought here so stubbornly ail 
 day had been hurriedly transferred to 
 the left, to meet a flank attack. 
 
 Not long after that, Burt and his com- 
 rades heard a great noise over that way- 
 shouts, yells, and a long burst of musket- 
 sh«»ts. Then came the order for them to 
 advance. They went forward in line 
 over the fields that had lately been the 
 scene of such desperate fighting. The 
 fields, tha woods beyond, the yard of a 
 stone house opposite, were strewn thick 
 with dead men, with wounded men, in 
 blue and gray. They came in sight of 
 the low range of hills near Winchester, 
 where the Confederate artillery were 
 posted, and from which shells were still 
 flying over them. But the uproar off to 
 their right grew louder and still louder; 
 far in' the distance they saw disordered 
 masses of the enemy retreating, and the 
 Union cavalry charging them. The 
 whole line advanced everywhere on the 
 field, and Sheridan's great battle of Win- 
 chester was won. 
 
 That day, five thousand Union soldiers 
 and four thousand Confederates we^e 
 killed and wounded.- Such is war. 
 
 A surprise was awaiting Burt on that 
 bloody field. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A DISCOVERT. 
 
 There was a halt before the fields and 
 woods were passed, and Winchester was 
 in full sight. Everywhere the beaten en- 
 emy was in full retreat!, and the haste 
 with which it was pressed caused the 
 victorious forces to become somewhat 
 broken up. It was to allow the soldiers 
 who had become separated from this 
 brigade to rejoin it, that it halted for a 
 few moments near the stone house, spoken 
 of in the last chapter. 
 
 Burt had a good chance to look about 
 him. and he improved it. This place was 
 opposite the position held by the brigade 
 all the afternoon; and Burt noticed the 
 many bodies in gray scattered about the 
 yard, and lying at the edge of the woods, 
 where the Confederate line had been. It 
 appeared to him that the fire of his brig- 
 ade had been quite as deadly as that of 
 the enemy. 
 
 He looked back over the field to the 
 edge of the opposite woods, where the 
 
 Union line had held its ground, and 
 hundreds had fallen, dead and wounded, 
 and he wondered again how any could 
 escape. 
 
 Let any boy-reader' think of an ordi- 
 nary-sized grain-field, and two lines of 
 men shooting at each other for hours 
 from opposite sides of it, with guns that 
 will kill five times that distance! Then 
 he will have an idea of what the part of 
 this battle that Burt saw, was like. 
 
 He went about a short distance among 
 the fallen bodies. There were many- 
 more dead than wounded; the reason for 
 this being, that large numbers of wound- 
 ed, even those badly hurt, are able to get 
 away to the rear. 
 
 As he looked about him at these sor- 
 rowful sight, his eyes rested on a young 
 Confederate soldier lying on his side, very 
 quiet and still, though his eyes were wide 
 open, and his face showed much suffer- 
 ing. Burt noticed that one sleeve of his 
 gray jacket was stained red, and that the 
 string from his canteen was tied tight 
 about one leg above the knee. He was 
 a slender, boyish-looking fellow, with a 
 handsome, blonde face, blue eyes and 
 light hair; but all the color was out of 
 his cheeks now. 
 
 When Burt had once seen that face, he 
 felt strangely attracted to it. Surely, he 
 had never met this unfortunate soldier 
 before; yet he looked very familiar. 
 What could that mean? 
 
 He came closer up, and spoke to the 
 Confederate. 
 
 "Are you badly hurt?" 
 
 The soldier looked at him with a sullen 
 and defiant look; but his face quickly 
 softened as he saw the kind and sympa- 
 thizing expression of the other. 
 
 " Bad enough, I reckon," he said, and 
 \':hen added: " And I'm almost dead with 
 thirst." 
 
 Burt had used the water in his own 
 canteen very sparingly that afternoon, 
 remembering that if he should be seri- 
 ously wounded himself, he would need 
 it. He now quickly unstrung it from his 
 shoulder and put it to the mouth of the 
 suffering lad. 
 
 The latter drank long and eagerly, end- 
 ing with .a deep sigh of relief. 
 
 " Thank you," he said. "Water is the 
 most precious thing in the world to one 
 in my condition." 
 
 Burt poured out some in his hand, and 
 wet the other'r head. The big blue eyes 
 silently thanked him. 
 
 "This is more than I expected from a 
 Yankee," he said, with a smile. 
 
 "You'll find that the Yankees have 
 hearts as wellastheSoMthe-ners. Would- 
 n't you have done as mwcV 'or me. if o**» 
 places were changed?" 
 
BURT, THE HEKU. 
 
 "I believe so; I hope so. You fellows 
 have drivenjus, it seems." 
 
 " Yes; it looks as though our side had 
 the field." 
 
 "It was your cavalry, and the attack 
 on our left, that did the business. We 
 could have held out here till night; but 
 our people had to change front to meet 
 that attack over there, and it weakened 
 our line all along." 
 
 "You fought well," said Burt. "It is 
 a dearly bought victory, after a hard- 
 fought battle. But let us talk about 
 yourself. I can stay but a few minutes; 
 tell me what more I can do for you?" 
 
 " I don't see that you can help me any 
 more. You can tell me who you are, 
 though; I want to remember you." 
 
 Burt told him. The lad opened his 
 eyes wide with surprise. 
 
 "Maine soldiers, you say? To think of 
 you coming away down here so far, to 
 fight us! I belong to one of the Virginia 
 light" batteries. We fired a great many 
 rounds to-day." 
 
 "You haven't told me where you are 
 wounded. I see blood on your arm." 
 
 "That's only a scratch; a mere flesh 
 wound. There's the worst business." 
 
 He looked at his leg. 
 
 "A musket-ball struck it above the 
 knee. I think the bone is broken; I 
 know I can't stand up. I bound that 
 cord round above it, and that stops the 
 bleeding; but I couldn't crawl ten feet. I 
 suppose there's nothing for it but to lie 
 here till some of your parties look over the 
 field to take care of the wounded ; but that 
 may not be till to-morrow." 
 
 He closed his eyes and sighed weai'ily 
 at the hard prospect of lying there all 
 night, in the cold and dew, helpless, and 
 with aching wounds. 
 
 All the horrors that Burt Carrier had 
 seen on that day had not moved him as 
 did the distressful plight of that wounded 
 lad. He wanted to say something, but 
 his heart swelled so that he could not 
 utter a word. 
 
 "So you see it's quite likely I may die 
 right here," the Confederate went on. 
 "Since you're so kind, perhaps there is 
 one thing you can do for me. Please take 
 that ring from the little finger of my left 
 hand. My dear sister gave it to me when 
 I enlisted. I'd like to have it go back to 
 her, in case I should never see her again. 
 If you are saved in these dreadful battles, 
 you may go where we live — where my 
 old home is — and give it to her from me. 
 If not, you can send it. Will you?" 
 
 Burt was so choked with emotion that 
 he could hardly speak. 
 
 " I'll do the best I can to get it to her," 
 he made out to say. "Tell me her name, 
 and where she lives." 
 
 "Her name is Grace Wemple; mine 
 Charles. Our home is about three miles 
 beyond Leesburg." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 In an .instant Burt was down on his 
 knees by the wounded lad, and had his 
 arm about his neck. His heart was so 
 full that he could not keep back the 
 tears; and for my part, I think they were 
 a credit to him. It is sometimes manly 
 to cry; and Burt Carrier certainly had 
 the best kind of excuse for it at that 
 moment. 
 
 "My dear fellow," he said, "we two 
 must be friends, even if war makes us 
 enemies. I know where your home is 
 very well; I was there only last July; I 
 was hidden in that house two days, from 
 the pursuit of the Confederates, from 
 whom I had escaped. Your sister is an ' 
 angel; she loves your cause as well as you 
 do, and if she were a man she would be 
 fighting for it; but she is a woman above 
 all, and she pitied me in my distress, and 
 relieved and hid me. Now see what a 
 debt of gratitude I owe to her! If I don't 
 repay some of it to her brother, then may 
 I never see my own home again, up in the 
 pine-woods of Maine!" 
 
 He spoke earnestly; his cheeks flushed 
 and his eyes shone. Charles Wemple 
 smiled as he heard him. 
 
 " Why you surprise me!" he said. 
 " Did Grace do all that for you? I'd 
 hardly think it of her, little Rebel that 
 she is; a deal more one than I am, I can 
 assure you. Yet I know she is the kind- 
 est-hearted girl in Virginia, and, after 
 all, I can believe that she acted just as 
 you say she did." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. The two 
 clasped hands and looked straight into 
 each other's eyes. 
 
 The bugle near by sounded — "Atten- 
 tion!" 
 
 " There!" said Charles. " I know what 
 that ineans. You'll have to leave me. Let 
 me have your canteen, if you will, and do 
 you take the ring, and do as I said. God 
 bless you, Burt" — and he smiled again. 
 " Maybe I'll get through some way, and 
 by and by, when the war is over, we'll be 
 fast, friends. You've got to go now, any- 
 way." 
 
 " I will never leave you in this way," 
 was the reply. "Wait — I'll be back in 
 three minutes." 
 
 Burt hastened back to the regiment. It 
 was just about moving on. The guns on 
 the hills were silent now; some had 
 joined in the retreat; others had been 
 taken by the cavalry. He went straight 
 
2G 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 to his Captain, and in a few words told 
 him what had occurred. 
 
 i me stay here awhile, please/' he 
 
 begged, ''and help that poor fellow. His 
 
 sister saved me from Libby Prison, 
 
 >ugh she is a Rebel herself. I must do 
 
 h;il I can for him." 
 
 The Captain was a young man who 
 had left Bowdoio College to light for the 
 .. m. And had become a thorough sol- 
 dier. He had become much attached to 
 Burt 'Carrier on account of the boy's 
 
 lity to duty and pleasant ■ 
 he had observed his unflinching courage 
 d fighting all through tins Way. 
 
 •"Burt," he said, kindly, "I hardly 
 think I ought to give you leave to be ab- 
 sent, even for a few hours, on such an 
 errand. What would the Go&< uel say?* 1 
 
 " Hi "d say you did just right,' 1 replied 
 Burt, promptly. 
 
 The Captain laughed. 
 
 >- Well, it's hard to say \Nb,' outright. 
 to such a, soldier as you. But look here! 
 I I a rn that we are going; to bivouac over 
 there beyond the town tonight, and lake 
 a i sariy start in the morning in pursuit 
 of the enemy, if you are on hand the)/, ' 
 it'il be all right. I'll have you excused 
 at rcl! call tonight — and I shant know 
 where you are." 
 
 Thanking his officer, Burt hurried back 
 to his friend — for he could now call him 
 nothing else. 
 
 " 1 can stay with you till morning," he 
 said. "Now let's see what can be done. 
 You can't walk at .all?" 
 
 " No; nor stand. 
 
 " Perhaps you could help me over DO 
 the stone house there."' Bagge* 
 I ss, "It's full of oar wounded." 
 
 "Do you think tnere is anv Surgeon 
 theme?" 
 
 " No. I believe our Surgeons are at 
 Winchester. Lots of our wounded went 
 there and were taken there before the 
 retreat began." 
 
 " I'm bound to get you somewhere so 
 that your leg can be attended to. Let 
 me think. There are wounded enougli 
 everywhere to be seen to. Winchester, 
 I suppose, is two miles off." 
 
 " Yes," said Charles. " About that." 
 
 " It'll be nearer back to the field-hospi- 
 ta.l, in the rear of where our lines were. 
 Fm sure there is one."' 
 
 "As much as a mile from here?" 
 
 " Yes>> 1 should say so. More." 
 
 "Little good will that do me. How 
 ! get there?" 
 
 " I am going to carry you." 
 
 "Nonsense!" cried "Charles, while he 
 looked pleased at Burt's ready offer. 
 "You can't do it." 
 
 " We'll see about that rau't. Take 
 some more water, first. Now, be per- 
 
 fectly quiet, and 1*11 try not to hurt you. 
 Put your arm round my neck — like that. 
 Here's an arm under your shoulders, and 
 another under your "knees; so — steady- 
 there you are." 
 
 As gently as a mother might lift her 
 babe from the cradle did those stout arms 
 raise the wounded man; and thus he was 
 borne, with a very few rests, across the 
 tields, through the woods, and over the 
 rough ground where the columns had de- 
 ployed under the fierce shell-fire at the 
 opening of the battle, to a stone mill 
 near the road, over which the yellow 
 hospital flag was floating. 
 
 Charles Wemple, sleuder and rather 
 delicate himself, wondered at the strength, 
 so easily exerted, with which he was car- 
 ried back to this place of relief. He did 
 not learn till afterward how the lone ex- 
 perience of the young Maine soldier in 
 the pine forests, wielding the ax and 
 managing the rafts, had hardened his rnus- 
 elesand given him a reserve of strength 
 that he could put forth on occasion. 
 
 What Burt Carrier and Charles Wemple 
 saw and heard at that field-hospital may 
 not be closely described. 
 
 Those who read these experiences must 
 understand that this is the darkest, sad- 
 dest phase of war. Enough to say that 
 half-a-dozen surgeons were busy," with 
 coats off, and twice as many assistants, 
 among long rows of wounded men laid 
 out upon the floor; that knives and saws 
 were busy, that there were moans and 
 groans, and that the sickly smell of chlo- 
 roform was all about the place. It is 
 better uot to linger over so dreadful a 
 picture. 
 
 At least two hours had passed before 
 Burt was able to get any attention paid his 
 friend. Then the latter was taken up 
 and laid upon the table, and his leg ex- 
 amined. 
 
 "Bad fracture," said the surgeon, feel- 
 ing of the limb, sponging off the wound, 
 and binding a stiff compress about it 
 "Bone much splintered; these pointed , 
 balls play the dickens with bones.'" 
 
 "I won't have to lose my leg, will If 
 asked Charles. 
 
 " Hope not, my boy. We've got to 
 find that bullet, and take out lots of 
 splintered bone. You'll have one short 
 leg, but I trust we can save it for you. 
 We'll see." 
 
 It was long past midnight in the old 
 stone mill. Charles Wemple was still 
 dozing from the unspent effectsof chloro- 
 form; Burt sat by him, waiting for him 
 to awaken. He had put some blankets 
 under him, and was wetting his feverish 
 lips. 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 27 
 
 With a start Charles awoke. He recog- 
 nized his faithful friend. 9 
 
 " Did they cut off my leg? '' he asked. 
 
 "No," replied Burt. "They'll save it 
 for you. The doctor says you must keep 
 quiet, and in a day or two you'll be 
 taken over to Winchester, and well 
 cared for. Here's the bullet." 
 
 He held it up so that Charles could see 
 it. A curious looking thing it was! It 
 had been a conical ball; now it was flat- 
 tened out like a saucer. 
 
 "1 wish (irace could come to Win- 
 chester," said Charles. 
 
 "Who knows but she may? I'll write 
 her a note, telling her all about it, and 
 I'll hire one of these negroes to take it 
 over. I've got a little money left from 
 pay-day. She may be with you in less 
 than a week." 
 
 The wounded man pressed his friend's 
 hand gratefully. 
 
 "She'll be sure to come, if it reaches 
 her," he said. " Please put that ball in 
 my pocket. I'd like to save it." 
 
 Burt did so. 
 
 " Keep ui< your spirits," he said. \ "You 
 are past the worst of it; you'll come out 
 all right. It's hard to leave you; but it's 
 got to be. I think the Union army must 
 be back to Winchester before long; then 
 I'll look you up." 
 
 Burt would have been considerably 
 surprised if any one could have foretold 
 to him how soon, and just how, he was to 
 get Lack to Winchester! 
 
 He wrote with his pencil on a blank 
 page of his diary a brief note to Grace, 
 and found a negro who agreed to carry it 
 to the place described, in consideration 
 of two greenback dollars. 
 
 The part in'>; with Charles that followed 
 was an affecting one to both. Burt took 
 his musket, which he had never relin- 
 quished when carrying his friend, and 
 started for the bivouac of the army. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE NIGHT BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 He was with that army on the morrow, 
 when, after hasty coffee, and hard- 
 crackers, it moved up the valley, the long 
 columns of the cavalry and the artillery 
 taking the road, while the infai^try 
 marched in the fields. Twenty-five thou 
 sand soldiers could be seen at a glance; 
 ;md a brave show Burt thought it was, 
 in spite of the slaughter *<ad .havoc of the 
 previous day. About nine o'clock, a 
 short, thick-set man on a h'.eck horse, 
 and wearing a General's uniform, rode 
 along, followed by many horsemen; and 
 then the soldiers eheered. and Burt 
 cheered with them. For the n.ian was 
 General Sheridan. 
 
 It was a month after the events last de- 
 scribed, that the most stirring of Burt 
 Carrier's adventures occurred. 
 
 Very much happened in that month; 
 so much, that we have no room to 
 set it forth. We can only glance at it, 
 as we did at the events of the months 
 that came before his first great battle. 
 We wish to show where he«was on the 
 night before these later strange adven- 
 tures, and how he had come there. 
 
 He had seen more fighting, and a great 
 deal more marching. He was at the bat- 
 tle of Fisher's Hill, three days after that 
 of Winchester, when Early's army was 
 again defeated, and driven further up 
 the valley. 
 
 For days after that he was on the ad- 
 vance line of skirmishers, which kept up 
 a running fight with the enemy's rear 
 guard, through Newmarket, Mount Jack- 
 son, and beyond. It was exciting and 
 dangerous work ; Burt saw some wounded, 
 and a few killed. The skirmishers went 
 right on, taking shelter behind fences, 
 trees, and rocks, making a mark of every 
 enemy they caught a glimpse of, and be- 
 coming targets themselves. 
 
 The infantry went up to Harrisonburg, 
 a hundred miles from Harper's Ferry. It 
 was too far from the latter place, which 
 was the base of supply, for the army to 
 remain. Long trains of wagons had to 
 convey food and ammunition over that 
 hundred miles, and they were often cap- 
 tured by Mosby's tireless guerrillas. It 
 became necessary to fall back. 
 
 The new position was three miles north * 
 of Strasburg. The soldiers now had lit- 
 tle "shelter-tents," made of three pieces 
 of canvas, which they could carry with 
 their blankets; and the great camp made 
 a city of these little white houses. 
 
 The grand mountain-wall of the Blue 
 Ridge was close at hand, with the silver 
 Shenandoah winding round it. From 
 this chain over to the North Mountains 
 extended the great, high rampart tjf 
 Fisher's Hill, just beyond Strasburg. 
 "The enemy lay somewhere up the val- 
 ley, and there had been a few skirmishes 
 since the Union army bad come to this 
 camp. But the front was picketed, the 
 cavalry was well advanced, and every- 
 body felt secure. Nobody thought that 
 the enemy that had been whipped so bad- 
 ly twice and driven up the valley, could 
 make any serious demonstration so soon. 
 
 General Sheridan had been called to 
 Washington two days before. 
 
 It was the evening of October 18th; a 
 mild, pleasant evening, and many of 
 Burt's regiment were sitting on the 
 ground together, chatting and talking 
 of what they had lately seen and done. 
 
 "Looks to me as if the war was pretty 
 
28 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 much over, here in the valley," said one. 
 
 " Yes, that's so," said another. " There 
 ain't much left here to fight with." 
 
 "Wonder where we'll be this winter?" 
 suggested a third. 
 
 " Oh, the war'll be over everywhere be- 
 fore that. We'U be back in the lumber 
 country — what there is left of us— and 
 you, Simmons, will be lying about what 
 you did down here, and wanting the rest 
 of us to swear to it." 
 
 "Well, Perkins, you ought to be able 
 to lie— for you've never fought any." 
 
 With such harmless jokesas these they 
 amused themselves. Then one cf the 
 comrades brought out a fiddle and began 
 to play a lively tune; a negro was cap- 
 tured and brought into the ring, and was 
 soon dancing grotesquely, while the sol- 
 diers laughed and applauded. 
 
 The headquarters of the army were 
 near by, and the brass band there began 
 to play. Such sweet music they made, 
 with "Listen to the Mocking Bird," 
 "Twinkling Stars," and "Annie Laurie," 
 that thousands of soldiers listened in 
 silence. 
 
 Last, they played "Sweet Home." Ah, 
 how that familiar air touched the hearts 
 of these men, inured to battle and dan- 
 ger as they were! 
 
 The fifes and drums sounded "Tattoo," 
 the hum and stir of company roll-call was 
 everywhere heard. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later came "Taps" — 
 the call for "lights out." 
 
 Burt Carrier crawled into his little 
 shelter, rolled his overcoat up into a 
 pillow, took his musket under his blan- 
 ket with him to keep it from rust, and 
 went to sleep. The strains of " Sweet 
 Home" haunted his dreams; he thought 
 he was at home with his mother, and 
 Jerry, and the children. And if anybody 
 had been there to see, and if it had been 
 light enough to see, a smile might have 
 been discovered on his face; for he 
 dreamed of Grace Wemple. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CAPTURED AGAIN! 
 
 The slumbers of our young soldier were 
 rudely broken by a sound of rapid firing, 
 far off. He sat up and listened. Next 
 came a volley; then the noise of yells. 
 They came from a distance; but they 
 were in the familiar " Yi! yi! yi! " that he 
 had heard at Winchester. 
 
 To put on his shoes, buckle on his belt, 
 roll up his blankets and hang them in a 
 loop over his shoulder, and put on his 
 overcoat was the work of a minute. He 
 seized his musket and rushed out, just as 
 the alarm of the "long-roll" began to 
 sound through the camps. 
 
 r He found the whole scene covered by a 
 fog, in whidh a man could hardly be seen 
 a hundred feet off. The regiment was 
 promptly in line; the command was 
 given to "order arms," and the men 
 stood at rest. 
 
 The noise seemed to come from away 
 off at the left. The rattle of musketry 
 broke out again; there were yells, and it 
 was noticed that bullets began to come 
 into the camp. 
 
 And then there was a sorrowful sight! 
 Soldiers in blue, singly, by twos and 
 threes, their arms thrown away, broke 
 out of the fog and rushed in panic to the 
 rear. They would not stop nor answer 
 questions; they were thoroughly demor- 
 alized. 
 
 A staff-officer rode up and gave a hasty 
 order to the Colonel. The regiment was 
 faced by the left, moved a little way out 
 of its camp, and brought into line again, 
 facing the directioh of the noise, from 
 which a steady stream of Union soldiers 
 was now drifting to the rear. 
 
 The fog hung thick and low. Here 
 and there it was rent by flashes, showing 
 that other regiments were at work. 
 
 "Fire by file! — Commence firing!" the 
 Colonel shouted. 
 
 The musket-shots came thick and fast 
 from the ranks. The men could see noth- 
 ing, save the flying soldiers going contin- 
 ually to the rear; they could only fire 
 into the fog in the direction of the yell- 
 ing and the volleys. 
 
 The yells drew nearer and louder. The 
 regiment was attacked from front, left 
 and rear. Out of that dreadful fog the 
 deadly bullets hissed, striking down men 
 in the ranks, dead and wounded. 
 
 " This is dreadful!" Burt heard his Cap- 
 tain say. "If we could only see! But 
 stick to them, boys; don't flinch!" 
 
 Burt never knew how long this hope- 
 less fight went on. He loaded and fired as 
 fast as he could; he knew that his com- 
 rades were falling fast, and that bullets 
 were singing though the air all about 
 him; but he was hot with the fight, and 
 thought of nothing else. The order was 
 given to retreat; he never heard it, and 
 still stood there among the dead and 
 the dying, loading and firing with all 
 speed. 
 
 In three minutes he discovered that he 
 was fighting alone. He took a farewell 
 shot into the fog, and started for the 
 rear. The fog was lightening a little. In 
 a coufused way he could see bodies of 
 troops moving through it, and flashes 
 everywhere. 
 
 He had not gone ten yards when he 
 found his way barred by three men in 
 butternut-colored clothes. They had 
 I come up from the left. 
 
\*= 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 29 
 
 He ran right upon them. Instantly 
 their musKets covered him. 
 
 "Surrender, Yank!" one of them 
 shouted. 
 There was nothing else to do. 
 " Yes," he said. "I surrender." 
 His gun was taken from him, as well as 
 bis blankets and overcoat, and one of 
 them marched him off in the direction 
 where the attack came from. 
 
 "We've got your 'Little Phil,' and 
 your ' Yellow-beaded Custer, 1 and all the 
 rest of you, I r6£kon," said his guard. 
 
 Burt thought t would be wiser for him 
 to say nothing. 
 
 They passed Wge masses of Confeder- 
 ate infantry, pressing on after the disor- 
 ganized and retreating Union forces. 
 They fell in with hundreds of prisoners in 
 blue uniforms, under guard, going the^ 
 same was as they went. There were pri- 
 vates, corporals, sergeants, Lieutenants, 
 Captains, Majors — even a few Colonels. 
 There had been a great surprise, a strug- 
 gle, a rout and retreat, and twelve hun- 
 dred prisoners had been secured. 
 
 They reached the "pike," the wide 
 stone road that runs through the val- 
 ley. 
 
 "Hyar comes the artillery!" cried the 
 Confederate soldier, with glee. 
 
 Three large guns drawn by stout horses 
 came thundering down the road from 
 Strasburg. They were quickly put in 
 position, and began throwing round-shot 
 over the heads of the Confederates at the 
 retreating lines. 
 
 Burt's guard urged him on, threaten- 
 ing him with his bayonet; but an occa- 
 sional glance back over his shoulder 
 showed him the fields as far as he could 
 see covered with stragglers and fugitives, 
 Avl.ile there were still lines here and there 
 trying to hold the enemy back. 
 
 The prisoner was taken more than 
 three miles, to a place beyond Strasburg. 
 Many were there before him, and during 
 the forenoon more continued to come in, 
 until more than a regiment of them were 
 assembled. They were closely guarded 
 by horsemen as well as foot-soldiei's, and 
 were kept well together. 
 
 Until. the middle of the afternoon they 
 .were kept there. The noise of battle had 
 drifted away far to the north, and all the 
 appearances, as well as the exulting talk 
 or the guard, wet* of a great Union dis- 
 aster. 
 
 It was about three o'clock that the 
 noise of battle broke out afresh. Rapidly 
 it drew nearer. Although the anxious 
 and heavy-hearted prisoners did not 
 know it then, General Sheridan had come 
 up, the stragglers were returning, and an- 
 other battle was begun! 
 They got a glimpse of the truth >vht>n a 
 
 staff-officer dashed up and shouted to the 
 officer in command of the guard: 
 
 "Colonel, General Early orders that 
 you march these prisoners to Staunton 
 as rapidly as possible. Keep them going 
 all night; crowd them! Get them so far 
 that there'll be in no danger of recap- 
 ture." 
 
 Burt knew then that the tide had 
 turned, and that victory was to be with 
 his comrades. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BLOOD THICKER THAN WATER. 
 
 "Step out lively, now," ordered the 
 Colonel, as he rode around the column, 
 and urged it to greater speed. "Keep 
 moving; hurry 'em up there, guards! 
 Keep your eyes on the Yanks, and shoot 
 any man that tries to leave the road." 
 
 With sinking hearts did the prisoners 
 start on their weary journey. Most of 
 them knew that they must march far up 
 the valley before they should cross the 
 mountains to Charlotteville, from which 
 place they could be taken by railroad to 
 Richmond. They saw before them a long 
 and dreary imprisonment in the Libby, 
 and they abandoned themselves to their 
 fate. 
 
 No — not all. At least one there never 
 lost hope of freedom; an undaunted sol- 
 dier-boy — Burt Carrier! 
 
 He had been in as dark situations as 
 this before, when his own courage and 
 clevernejss helped him to extricate him- 
 self. He had gained large experience 
 since then, and had learned more and 
 more to rely upon himself. He started 
 upon that march with the determination 
 that he would not go to Richmond, even 
 if he had to put his life in peril to avoid 
 it. 
 
 He thought of t home, of his mother — 
 and then he th'ought of Grace. The 
 thoughts strengthened him for the at- 
 tempt. 
 
 But it seemed hopeless, at the startl 
 The foot-guards with loaded muskets, 
 and bayonets, and the mounted men with 
 sabers and revolvers, surrounded the 
 column, urging it to a faster pace, and 
 with repeated threats of instant death to 
 any straggler. 
 
 They reached the table-lands on top of 
 Fisher's Hill by the winding road. It 
 was not yet dark, and far off, over the 
 plains and fields below, they could see 
 the fires and smoke of the new battle, 
 from whieh the sound of firing still came 
 nearer. 
 
 On, on, they were marched through 
 the night. It came on cold and dark; 
 only a star in the sky here and there 
 lighted the lonely way. 
 
30 
 
 BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 • 
 
 " Guards, keep close to the prisoners!" 
 the Colonel shouted. '"Don't let a man 
 escape. Lieutenant Ellison — where is 
 Lieutenant Ellison?" 
 
 " Here, sir!" 
 
 Burt's place was at the outside of one 
 of the files on the west side of the road. 
 The voice that answered came from a 
 man so near him that lie could have 
 reached out his hand and Touched him. 
 
 •' I it all right, there, Lieutenant?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Lieutenant Ellison! Burt heard that 
 name, and his heart gave a sudden 
 bound. 
 
 He could see the man's face, but could 
 not distinguish the features. Yet, as he 
 looked, something in The walk and car- 
 riage of the officer was familiar. 
 
 "Lieutenant," he said softly, "1 want to 
 speak with you." 
 
 The officer came close to him. 
 
 "What is it, Yank?" he asked, rather 
 harshly. 
 
 "Sh! — Speak in a whisper. How are 
 Aunt Ellen — and Uncle — and how are 
 you, yourself, Jack Ellison?" 
 
 The astonished officer put his face close 
 to Burt's. 
 
 " Why — why, who are you?" he asked. 
 
 "Only your cousin Burt. I suppose 
 you haven't forgotten the visit you made 
 us in '60, with your folks, and The fun we 
 boys had in the woods and on the rafts." 
 
 His hand was grasped and tightly 
 pres 
 
 "Burt Carrier — cousin Burt — you here? 
 Good heavens, what a meeting!" 
 
 They spoke in whispers; for another 
 minute nothing was said. Our soldier 
 perceived that the shock of the discovery 
 to his cousin was great, and he waited 
 fojr lii in to recover from it. 
 
 John Ellison stilkheld his cousin by 
 the hand as he strode along. He thought 
 of his own Georgia home, broken up by 
 the cruel war, and he thought of the 
 home up in Maine that he had visited 
 four years before — of his boyish sports 
 and friendship with him whom he 
 was now .taking to prison — and he be- 
 came as Tender 'and. merciful as a man 
 could be. 
 
 He heard the tramp of the column 
 along the road, and the voices of the 
 guards, in commands and oaths, with 
 sometimes a blow. He was thinking 
 fast. 
 
 " I'll try to help you, Burt?" lie said. 
 
 "Its now or never, Jack! We go so 
 fast that in three hours 1 shall be beyond 
 all hope. It's almost dark; let me try it 
 right here." 
 
 "All right, okj fellow. Take to the 
 woods, if you get away — and God be with 
 you!" 
 
 He wrung the hand he had-held hard. 
 
 " Step a little outside— so! Now, -when 
 I begin to make a fuss, and scold these 
 fellows, do you make a dive for the side 
 of the road, and lie flat in the grass till 
 we're all out of sight. One rod will be 
 enough. It's desperate; the next guard 
 on this flank may see you, and — and — " 
 
 "I'll take the risk, Jack." 
 
 "Well, then — now!' 1 '' 
 
 Burt made one bound to the roadside, 
 and sank low in the grass. All that fol- 
 lowed he heard distinctly, with fast- 
 beating hjeart. 
 
 "Ho, there, Lieutenant Ellison! I 
 Thought I saw a man dodge' past you 
 there." 
 
 "Nothing but a shadow, Jackson; I 
 saw it. But look here! — these men are 
 too far apart; you don't keep them 
 enough in the middle of the road. Con- 
 found you, Jackson, you'd do betTer if 
 you paid more attention to the prisoners, 
 and less to what's outside." 
 
 "I'm doing the best I can, sir," the 
 soldier sulkily replied. 
 
 " What's the matter?" asked amounted 
 officer, riding up. 
 
 "I was merely keeping things straight 
 here." 
 
 • "All right. Lieutenant. Watch these 
 fellows well." 
 
 The escape had been noticed by two 
 or three of the prisoners near by, But 
 never once during the whole war did men 
 in that situation betray a comrade; and 
 these men did not then. 
 
 Burt Carrier lay quietly in the grass. 
 The wretched column toiled and struggled 
 by; farther and farther he heard the 
 id of feet and the voices recedhitr. 
 Soon all was still again. He. raised his 
 head; he sat up. He was not yet out of 
 danger; but he was free again — God be 
 praised, he was free! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 . NEAR TO DEATH. 
 
 Burt hastened into the patch of woods 
 that was next the road at this point. 
 Therft, safe from discovery for the pres- 
 ent, he sat down on the trunk of a fallen 
 tree, and reflected as to what his course 
 should be. 
 
 To take the turnpike* back to Stras- 
 burg, and so on to the lines of the Union 
 army, was out of the question. Because 
 if the tide bad really turned, and there 
 was a. great Union victory, as he had the 
 best of reasons to believe, he knew that 
 the roads would soon be filled with re- 
 treating Confederates. He supposed that 
 it had been only by the mosrt rapid 
 marching that the prisonerg and guard 
 
BURT, THE HERO. 
 
 22 
 
 had kept in advance of the drift and 
 wreck of the beaten army; and this was 
 the fact. 
 
 He looked up through, the tree-tops to 
 the skies. They were cloudy; bur he 
 could make out some of the stars of the 
 Dipper, and could now and then catch the 
 twinkle of the North Star. So, he was in 
 no danger of losing his way. 
 
 The coulee that he had resolved upon 
 was to strike straight west for at lea.-.t 
 two miles, then descend to the Hack 
 Road, and take his chances of getting 
 around on a wide circuit to his friends. 
 He thought in this way he shook] run 
 tli" least- risk of falling in with enemies. 
 
 It was perhaps as good a plan as any 
 poor, distressed fugitive could have 
 made. If it failed, Hurt Carrier was not 
 at fault in the planning. 
 
 His course once decided upon, he lost 
 not a moment in putting it in execution. 
 He rose and went west through the 
 woods. 
 
 The air was cold; a thick bleak frost 
 covered everything next morning. Over- 
 coat and blankets had been taken from 
 hilli, as we have seen; but in the first 
 glow of hope, and in rapid walking, he 
 (lid not at first feel the bitter air. 
 
 The woods became thinner as he pro- 
 ceeded. He had almost passed them, 
 when he ran right upon three men.- They 
 were gathering and breaking up sticks 
 tor a fire. 
 
 He could only see their forms, not their 
 faces; but he knew that they must be 
 fugitives from Early's army. None others 
 con It 1 , be in such a place at such a time. 
 
 He tried to withdraw silently; hut he 
 had alr< a perceived. The men 
 
 sprang to their feet, and one of them 
 abruptly asked: 
 
 "Ho, "there! Who's you'uns?'' 
 
 Burt had learned to think quickly, it 
 passed through his mind instantly that, 
 as he could not in the obscurity of the 
 wood \ see what uniform they wore, 
 neither could they see bis. 
 
 "Wickbaua's Brigade," he boldly an- 
 swered, remembering that he had heard 
 of such an organization in Early's army. 
 
 "Licked, with all of weiins, be you?" 
 one of them asked. 
 
 "Why, of course. What are you do- 
 ing?' 1 
 
 " GittiB 1 up a fire to warm at. Got, 
 anything to eat?" 
 
 "No. Have you?" 
 
 "Some pork and hard-tack we fcook 
 from a dead Yank's bag." 
 
 The men did not offer to share with 
 him, and Burt in his own mind fully for- 
 gave their iuhospitahcy. 
 
 " Well, good-by," he said. "I know a 
 man over here, where I can get some- 
 thing." 
 
 They grunted an indifferent' farewell, 
 and he left them without hindrance. He 
 breathed much freer after he had put a 
 mile between him and them! 
 
 The hours were long, before daylight, 
 and his sufferings from cold and fatigue 
 were sore. He remembers those hours 
 now as the most painful of his life. A 
 new calamity now o .'ertook him. Just 
 before dawn, when- the darkness was the 
 greatest, his foot slipped under the ex- 
 posed root of a tree. In. pulling it out, 
 he gave the ankle a. severe wrench. It 
 began to pain him, and he found that he 
 could not step (irmly upon it. There was 
 no break nor sprain; but the ankle was 
 weakened by the strain of the cords. 
 
 He sat down, woary, weak, almost de- 
 sponding. His situation had been des- 
 perate enough before; but with this crip- 
 limb, how could he ever'escape? 
 
 The longer he sat, his back propped up 
 against a great tree-trunk, the less he 
 felt like moving. aid exposure 
 
 to the cold had partially stupefied him; 
 he lapsed away into a drowse, in which, 
 for a few moment.-?, he forgot his hapless 
 condition, and thought of his mother, 
 and Jerry, 'the children, and home, and 
 Grace Wemple and her brother. 
 
 Daylight found him there, and with the 
 early morn ha made his way, lame and 
 sore, into the Union lines. 
 
 Not many more words will be needed 
 to finish our story. Burt Carrier had to 
 be taken to the hospital. His fatigues 
 ami exposures had brought on a f>ver, 
 which kept him to his bed lor a month. 
 
 Charles Wemple occupied a cot next to 
 him and was able to sit up, now, and 
 wh n Plucky Burt was overthe delirium 
 of fever, their meeting was a happy one. 
 His sister Grace had been nursing him 
 for three weeks, and the meeting between 
 the two was a pleasure. Six months later 
 Burt was made a Lieutenant, and at the 
 close of the war Grace and he were mar- 
 ried, and they went to live in his New 
 England home, where to-day he is a pros- 
 perous man, and has his latch-string al- 
 ways hung out and his purse open for all 
 old soldiers who have not been as pros- 
 perous as he. 
 
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