palling roar of
battle. He had become a part of the scene, instead of an idle spectator.
He was sending the bolt of death into the midst of the enemies of his
country.

"Bravo! Good boy, Tom," said old Hapgood, who seemed to be as much at ease
as when he had counselled patience and resignation in the quiet of the
tent. "Don't fire too high, Tom."

"I've got the idea," replied the soldier boy. "I begin to feel quite at
home."

"O, you'll do; and I knew you would from the first."

The shouts of victory which had sounded over the field were full of
inspiration to the men; but at the moment when the laurels seemed to be
resting securely upon our banners, the rebel line moved forward with
irresistible fury. Tom, at one instant, as he cast his eye along the line,
found himself flanked on either side by his comrades; at the next there
was a wild, indescribable tramp and roar, and he found himself alone. The
regiment was scattered in every direction, and he did not see a single man
whom he knew. There was a moving mass of Federal soldiers all around him.
The Zouaves had been forced back, and the cry of victory had given place
to the ominous sounds which betokened a defeat, if not a rout.

The rebels had been reenforced, and had hurled their fresh legions upon
our exhausted troops, who could no longer roll back the masses that
crowded upon them. The day was lost.

Tom, bewildered by this sudden and disastrous result, moved back with the
crowds around him. Men had ceased to be brave and firm; they were fleeing
in mortal terror before the victorious battalions that surged against
them.

"It's all up with us, my lad," said a panting Zouave. "Run for your life.
Come along with me."

Tom followed the Zouave towards the woods, the storm of bullets still
raining destruction around them.

CHAPTER XIV.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

Tom Somers floated with the tide of humanity that was setting away from
the scene of disaster and defeat. The panic that prevailed was even more
fearful than the battle, for wounded and dying men were mercilessly
trodden down by the feet of the horses, and run over by the wheels of the
cannon and the baggage wagons. Though the battle was ended, the rebels
still poured storms of shot and shell into the retreating, panic-stricken
host.

Tom did not know where to go, for there were panic and death on all sides
of him. The soldiers were flying in every direction, some of them into the
very arms of t