sult a negro
by offering that for him!"

"Fifty dollars, then! I see you are sharp at a bargain. And you shall
keep that revolver."

"I intend to keep this, any way," said Frank, picking it up. "And the gun
that shot at me, too," slinging it on his back.

The rebel, seeing his determination, rose in his bids at once to a
hundred dollars.

"Not for a hundred thousand!" said Frank, who was now ready to move his
prisoner. "You are going the way my bayonet points, and no other. March!"

The rebel marched accordingly.

Frank followed at a distance of two or three paces, prepared at any
moment to use prompt measures in case his prisoner should attempt to turn
upon him or make his escape.

"How many of you fellows are hid around in these trees?" said Frank.

"Not many just around here--lucky for you!" muttered the disconsolate
rebel.

"Is that your favorite way of fighting?"

"People fight any way they can when their soil is invaded."

"What are holes cut in the pine trees for,--foot-holds for climbing?"

"Holes? them's turpentine boxes!" said the man, in some surprise at
Frank's ignorance. "Didn't you ever see turpentine boxes before?"

"Never till last evening. Is that the way you get turpentine?"

"That's the way we get turpentine. The sap begins to run and fill the
boxes along in March, and when they are full we dip it out with ladles
made on purpose, and put it into barrels."

"O, you needn't stop to explain!" cried Frank. "Push ahead!"

And the rebel pushed ahead.

It was a moment of unspeakable satisfaction to the drummer boy when he
had brought his prisoner through all the difficulties of the way to the
road. There he had him safe.

He was now in the midst of shocking and terrible scenes, but he heeded
them not as much as he would have heeded the smallest accident to a
fellow-creature a few hours before. Already he seemed familiar with
battles and all their horrors. Men were hurrying by with medical stores.
The wounded were passing, on stretchers, or in the arms of their friends,
or limping painfully, ghastly, bleeding, but heroic still. They smiled as
they showed their frightful hurts. One poor fellow had had his arm torn
off by a cannon ball: the flesh hung in strings. Some lay by the
roadside, faint from the loss of blood. And all the time the deadly,
deafening tumult of the battle went on.

To guard his prisoner securely was Frank's first thought. But greater,
more absorbing even than that,