s since I was a boy and I never saw such a charge
as that. I think they have done their level best," the scout replied.

"All right, then, we are good for them." How cheery the Colonel's voice
was! It thrilled my spirits with its courage. And we needed courage, for
just then, Lieutenant Beecher was stretching himself wearily before his
superior officer, saying briefly:

"I have my death-wound; good-night." And like a brave man who had done
his best he pillowed his head face downward on his arms, and spoke not
any more on earth forever.

It has all been told in history how that day went by. When evening fell
upon that eternity-long time, our outlook was full of gloom. Hardly
one-half of our company was able to bear arms. Our horses had all been
killed, our supplies and hospital appliances were lost. Our wounds were
undressed; our surgeon was slowly dying; our commander was helpless, and
his lieutenant dead. We had been all day without food or water. We were
prisoners on this island, and every man of us had half a hundred
jailers, each one a fiend in the high art of human torture.

I learned here how brave and resourceful men can be in the face of
disaster. One of our number had already begun to dig a shallow well. It
was a muddy drink, but, God be praised, it was water! Our supper was a
steak cut from a slaughtered horse, but we did not complain. We gathered
round our wounded commander and did what we could for each other, and no
man thought of himself first. Our dead were laid in shallow graves,
without a prayer. There was no time here for the ceremonies of peace;
and some of the men, before they went out into the Unknown that night,
sent their last messages to their friends, if we should ever be able to
reach home again.

At nightfall came a gentle shower. We held out our hands to it, and
bathed our fevered faces. It was very dark and we must make the most of
every hour. The Indians do not fight by night, but the morrow might
bring its tale of battles. So we digged, and shaped our stronghold, and
told over our resources, and planned our defences, and all the time
hunger and suffering and sorrow and peril stalked about with us. All
night the Indians gathered up their dead, and all night they chanted
their weird, blood-chilling death-songs, while the lamentations of the
squaws through that dreadful night filled all the long hours with
hideous mourning unlike any other earthly discord. But the darkness
folded us in,