beloved battery, "an' we'd had good practice an' lots of it, too. Would we be takin' p'ints from th' reg'lars or anybody else? I guess not! No, not by a gol durn sight!"

"You used to put up some pretty stiff work in your line," the colonel hastened to say, after this outburst. "Why, my boys have yelled themselves hoarse many a time when you fellows have gone thundering by to take up position and unlimber."

"Yes, indeed," I put in at this point, "even we young men have heard of Burdett's Battery, and the work it did"—which wasn't altogether true, but served to mollify the disturbed sergeant just as well as if it had been.

"Go on, sergeant," said the colonel, "tell us when you came in. It isn't possible that you were the—"

"'Twas terrible hot that noon," began the old fellow, as if he had paid no attention to what we had been saying. "Th' air was close an' muggy, an' th' smoke jest hung 'round 's if 'twas too tired t' drift away. Why, we sent up rings o' smoke from th' guns that was jes' as perfect 's that one," pointing towards one I just had blown from my lips, "an' they lasted a heap sight longer 'n that did, too."

"Yes," assented the colonel, "it certainly was hotter than—"

"Tophet an' th' brazen hinges thereof," said the veteran. "Yes, 'twas awful hot, an' a'ter th' flurry was over—that time we served th' guns so fast—I was jest a-sweatin', I kin tell ye. Thirsty, too? Wal, I ruther guess! Prob'bly that was what put it inter my head t' take a couple o' canteens an' slip down inter th' medder where your skirmishers had left their dead an' wounded. Ye see, a'ter I'd sponged my gun, an' sent home another shell in case it should be needed, I took a drink, an' while I had th' ol' canteen up t' my lips th' thought come t' me that p'raps some o' th' poor devils layin' out there in th' sun might be gettin' dryer 'n all torment."

The colonel had risen from the bench and slowly was pacing to and fro upon the path, but he kept his eyes fixed upon the old sergeant, and, when he paused, broke out with, "So you were the one who went to give water to our boys. Why, man, the risk was awful!"

"'Twarn't neither," said the old fellow, bluntly. "I got back all right, didn't I?" and then, as his eye fell upon a long, low steamer, which was ploughing its way along towards Newport News, he dismissed the whole matter with, "B'gosh! ain't that a pretty sight? See th' smoke trailin' out behind, an' watch th' sparkle o' th' water. Oh, this is a great place in some ways. Here 'tis 'most November, an' I'm settin' out here 'thout no overcoat, an' warm 's a pot o' beans."

"You were fired upon, weren't you?" asked the colonel, whose face wore a look I never had seen there. Farwell glanced at the scene before him for a moment longer, and then turned his eyes upon his questioner. "Oh, yis, th' Johnnies practised on me a little, an' I got scratched 'crost th' wrist. There's th' mark," he said, drawing up his sleeve, and displaying a scar which ran diagonally across the flesh. "I got out of it well enough, but I was all-fired sorry 'bout that lieutenant I brought in with me. He was livin' when I picked him up, but when I turned him over t' th' boys that run out t' meet me, he was deader 'n a door-nail—shot plum' through th' head while I was a-luggin' him in, an' I never knowed it! Must ha' b'en that I was excited—or else my wrist hurt me so I didn't notice. Poor little cuss! I've always felt that he might ha' be'n alive yet 'f I'd let him be. But ye can't tell; no, ye can't tell, an' I meant well, anyhow."

"It must be something more than chance that has brought us together," said the colonel. "Why, sergeant, that lieutenant was one of my closest chums—poor little Hale, of Company H. And you brought him in!"

"Wal, I didn't mean t' get him killed," began Farwell, grasping the hand the colonel offered, "an' I'm sorry—"

"You need be sorry for nothing," broke in Colonel Elliott, "for the surgeon looked him over as he lay there in our lines, and found that he had been mortally wounded at first, so the shot that came last was only a merciful one."

"Now, that's a piece o' good news," exclaimed the old man. "I've always worried myself, more or less, wonderin' 'f I hadn't oughter ha' let him lay where I found him. So 'twarnt my fault? Gosh! I'm glad o' that! Wal, that's what they give me th' medal for, an', 's I said in th' fust place, it don't signify much, one way or t'other."

I got up and shook hands with the old fellow, and then—because I had a sort of impression that the colonel would like to be left for a minute alone with him—I walked over to the sea-wall, and stood looking out over the blue waters where the Cumberland had gone down, with the old flag defiantly waving, and her men still standing by the smoking guns. But I wasn't thinking of the heroism that has made this place forever famous. No; I was wondering if I could do what the old gunner had done, and then make so little account of it afterwards. I had been standing there for perhaps ten minutes, watching the gulls as they lazily swept by, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and heard the colonel say, "It's time we were getting back to the hotel. We've had experiences enough for one morning, eh, Jack? Well, now what do you think of the stuff we had in the old corps?"

"Pretty good stuff, if that's a fair sample," I returned, glancing over at the bench where I had left the old sergeant seated. "Hello! he's gone."

"Yes, there he is, walking back to quarters. But you'll see him again," said the colonel, and as we trudged along back towards the hotel he explained for my approval the details of a scheme which he had evolved.

Well, the upshot of the whole matter was that when we went north, ten days later, Sam—for "Sam" is his official title now—went with us. It took some trouble to get him started, for he had settled himself at Hampton for a winter of ease and genteel laziness. But the colonel has a very persuasive way about him, and finally Sam fell a victim to it. So now he is installed as presiding genius at "The Battery," and under his watchful eye that comfortable roost of ours becomes more comfortable day by day; for who can build the cheeriest fire, who can most brightly polish our pewter mugs, who can while away a dull half hour with yarns of the by-gone days in camp and field—who, but Sam?