but, springing from tree to tree, they press on, and at
last reach the summit. Then suddenly the hill is gray with Confederates,
who, rising from ambush, pour their deadly volleys into the little band
of only one hundred. In a moment they waver, but their leader calls out,
'Every man to a tree! Give them as good as they send, my boys!'

"The Confederates, behind rocks and a rude intrenchment, are obliged to
expose their heads to take aim at the advancing column; but the Union
troops, posted behind the huge oaks and maples, can stand erect, and
load and fire, fully protected. Though they are outnumbered ten to one,
the contest is therefore, for a time, not so very unequal.

"But soon the Confederates, exhausted with the obstinate resistance,
rush from cover, and charge upon the little handful with the bayonet.
Slowly they are driven down the hill, and two of them fall to the ground
wounded. One never rises; the other, a lad of only eighteen, is shot
through the thigh, and one of his comrades turns back to bear him to a
place of safety. The advancing Confederates are within thirty feet, when
one of them fires, and his bullet strikes a tree directly above the head
of the Union soldier. He turns, levels his musket, and the Confederate
is in eternity. Then the rest are upon him; but, zigzagging from tree to
tree, he is soon with his driven column. But not far are the brave boys
driven. A few rods lower down they hear the voice of the brave Captain
Williams, their leader.

"'To the trees again, my boys!' he cries. 'We may as well die here as in
Ohio!'

"To the trees they go, and in a moment the advancing horde is checked,
and then rolled backward. Up the hill they turn, firing as they go, and
the little band follows. Soon the Confederates reach the spot where the
Hiram boy lies wounded, and one of them says: 'Boy, give me your
musket.'

"'Not the gun, but its contents,' cries the boy, and the Confederate
falls mortally wounded. Another raises his weapon to brain the prostrate
lad, but he too falls, killed with his comrade's own rifle. And all this
is done while the hero-boy is on the ground, bleeding. An hour afterward
his comrades bear the boy to a sheltered spot on the other side of the
streamlet, and then the first word of complaint escapes him. As they are
taking off his leg, he says, in his agony, 'Oh, what will mother do?'"

Poor boy! At that terrible moment, in the throes of his fierce agony, he
thought not of h