fore him, which had ceased to suffer, and
he felt thankful that he had been able to mitigate even a single pang of
the dying rebel. But not long could he gaze, awe-struck, at the ghastly
spectacle before him, for he had a life to save. The words of the
sufferer--his last words--offering him the contents of his haversack
recurred to him; but Tom's sensibilities recoiled at the thought of eating
bread taken from the body of a dead man, and he turned away.

"Why shouldn't I take it?" said he to himself. "It may save my life. With
rest and food, I may escape. Pooh! I'll not be a fool!"

Bending over the dead man, he resolutely cut the haversack from his body,
and then returned to the log whose friendly shelter had screened him from
the eyes of the rebel horsemen. Seating himself upon the ground, he
commenced exploring the haversack. It contained two "ash-cakes," a slice
of bacon, and a small bottle. Tom's eyes glowed with delight as he gazed
upon this rich feast, and, without waiting to say grace or consider the
circumstances under which he obtained the materials for his feast, he
began to eat. Ash-cake was a new institution to him. It was an Indian cake
baked in the ashes, probably at the camp-fires of the rebels at Manassas.
It tasted very much like his mother's johnny-cake, only he missed the
fresh butter with which he had been wont to cover the article at home.

The soldier boy ate the bacon, and ate both of the cakes, though each of
the latter was about the size of a saucer. It was a large meal, even for a
growing boy; but every mouthful seemed to put a new sinew into his frame.
While he was eating, he drew the cork from the bottle. It contained
whiskey. Tom had heard that there was virtue in whiskey; that it was
invigorating to a tired man, and he was tempted, under these extremely
trying circumstances, to experiment upon the beverage. He would certainly
have been excusable if he had done so; but our hero had a kind of horror
of the article, which would not let him even taste it. He was afraid that
he should acquire a habit which would go with him through life, and make
him what Hapgood and others whom he knew were--a torment to themselves,
and a nuisance to their fellow-beings. Putting the cork in the bottle, he
threw it upon the ground.

With his renewed strength came renewed hope; but he did not deem it
prudent to wander about the woods at present: therefore he threw himself
on the ground under the protecting log