"See here, guard, this is a shame. How do you expect to guard me, drunk as you are?"

66

Yes, guard," muttered one.

"Your-turn now-you

guard us. Don't leave-or-by G-d, I'll shoot you when

wake up."

"But hold on," said I! "how do you expect me to guard you when I don't know the password ?"

By vigorous strokes and punches, I so far routed him that he muttered:

"Rattlesnake !"

I had no doubt but this was the magical "open sesame" that was to give me my liberty. In five minutes the men were sound asleep. The place where we were was a deep gulley in the woods, and about a mile distant was the rebel camp. My purpose was soon fixed. I swapped clothes with one, which was considerable trouble, as he was as flimsy as a rag; but I succeeded at last in making the exchange, and had the satisfaction of seeing the drunken rebel nicely buttoned up in Yankee regimentals. Taking his arms I hurried away When I got out through the woods I came into a road, and had no sooner done so than I saw a squad of rebel soldiers.

"Halt!" was the word, which I responded to with soldiery precision.

"What are you doing here?" said the lieutenant commanding.

I told him that two of us were guarding a prisoner, and that my comrade and the prisoner were both so dead drunk I could do nothing with them.

"That's a h-1 of a story," replied the lieutenant. "I believe you're some d―d Yankee spy. I've a mind to clip your head off, on suspicion." And he raised his sword.

"Let him prove what he suggested one of the squad.

says by showing us the men,"

But

At this they all laughed, supposing I was bluffed. when I readily assented to this, they followed me, cautiously, however, as I suppose they feared I was leading them into

ambush. When the Lieutenant saw the men-one in butternut and one in Yankee blue-as I had represented, he gave each a hearty kick and said:

"Well, this is a h-1 of a mess.

do about it?"

What are you going to

"Going to hunt a wagon and have them carried on," said I.

This was satisfactory, and we parted. Finding it would not do to take the road, I skulked around in the woods all day. When night came I took, as I supposed, a route that would lead me to the Union camp. All night I climbed about over the hills; twice I was hailed by rebel pickets, but rattlesnake carried ne safely by. Just at daylight I discovered a camp. I could see the tents twinkling through the strip of woods before me, and I felt certain it was the Federal camp.

When I had got about half way through the piece of woods, I saw something that completely took all the exultation of my delivery out of me. Well, I've been in many a perilous position. I have had bayonets, bullets and bowies rummaging round in the region of my loyal bosom; but never, in all my life, was I so astonished and chagrined-so utterly taken down. There, in the bottom of a broad, deep ravine, not ten steps from me, lay the two drunken guards! Lord! this was a pretty fix, to be sure. I had accomplished a feat equal to the hero of Mother Goose, who went,

"Fourteen miles in fifteen days,

And never looked behind him."

One of the guard was sitting up, and endeavoring to rouse the supposed prisoner; for he was still too much stupefied to recognize the cheat. Perceiving me, he sung out:

"Say, Bill, this d-d Yankee's too drunk to wake up. What's to be done with him?" Have we been here all night? Lord! what'll the old General say? Come over here."

"No," said I, feigning his comrade's voice. "We've been

drunk here all night, and I'm going to report before he wakes up, or they'll have us in the guard house. You stay and watch him, while I go."

"No, let's wake the devilish lubber up, and take him where we're going to. But blame me if I know where that is. Don't go."

"But I will," said I; and, hurrying away, I was soon out of sight. This day I hid myself in a hollow tree, and, when night came, I took a good look at the stars, and, getting my bearings, started again for the Union camp. I several times came upon the rebel pickets, but the "Rattlesnake" snaked me along without any trouble; all but one, the last one I came to. He was a sprightly little fellow, and appeared to be determined that I should go with him to headquarters. I offered every excuse I could think of, but it was of no avail, so I at last agreed to go, and we started. I went with him about half a mile, and, during this time, I engaged him in conversation about the affairs of the war, playing the rebel, of course, and talking in a jolly way, till, finding him a little unguarded, I sprang upon him and took him down, and before he knew what was the matter he was unarmed.

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Now, you beggarly whelp,” said I, as I snatched his gun and sprang away from him, "about face, and put, or I'll shoot you in a minute."

The fellow was scared, sure, and lost no time in getting out of my sight. It was now beginning to grow light, and I found myself on the banks of the Potomac, with the Federal camp far in the distance. As there was no other mode of conveyance, I was forced to swim the river, which was no easy job, considering I had two muskets to carry. However, I got safely over, and was just climbing the bank, when a musket was leveled at me, and a clear voice rung out:

"Stand! who goes there?"

This I knew was a Union picket; so I told him I had been taken prisoner, and had escaped; had been two days without eating; and I wanted him to let me go, or take me at once

into camp, where I could get something to eat, and some dry clothes. I had no doubt but he believed this, and would immediately comply; but the answer was an ominous click of the trigger.

"I believe you're a real Butternut Rebel," said the picket, "and I've a notion to give you a pop, any how."

"But I ain't," said I.

"What are you doing with them butternut regimentals on then, and them two muskets ?" said he.

I saw my fix, and hungering, dripping and shivering as I was, I stood there before that grinning musket till I had told the whole story. Finally upon my giving him the names of our colonel and captain, and mentioning several other matters familiar to him, he was satisfied, for he belonged to the same regiment that I did.

AFTER THE BATTLE-MISSION RIDGE.

BY BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.

WHEN a furnace is in blast, the red fountain sparkles and plays like a mountain spring, and the rude surroundings brighten to the peak of the rough rafters with a strange beauty. When the fire is out, and the black and ragged masses of dull iron lie dead upon the ground, with a dumb and stubborn resistance, who would dream that they ever leaped with life and light?

A battle and a furnace are alike. It is wonderful how dull natures brighten and grow costly in the glow of battle; how the sterling worth and wealth that is in them shines out, and the common man stands transfigured, his heart in his hand and his feet in the realm of heroic grandeur: But ah, when the fire is out and the scarred earth heaped with

rigid clay, the black mouths of the guns speechless, mighty hammers and no hands, the flags furled, the wild hurrah died away, and all the splendid action of the charge vanished from the rugged field like a flash of sunshine, and you wander among the dull remainders, the dead embers of the intensest life and glow that swept your soul out, only yesterday, and, drifted with the skirmish line, you begin to know what these words mean, "after the battle."

It is days since great waves of gallant life dashed against Mission Ridge and swept up and over it in surges; days since I tried to tell you how it all looked; so many days that it is even now indurating into history, and yet I feel like taking up the story just where I left it, on Wednesday night at sunset, when our flags flapped like eagles' wings, and the wild cry of triumph quivered along the mountain. Standing on the edge of the field in the moonlight, calm as "God's acre," stretches the rough valley that, but an hour before, jarred with the rush and whirl of battle. From away beyond the Ridge, indeed, three miles out to Chickamauga Station, the dropping shots from Sheridan's guns faintly punctuate the silence, but here, listen as you will, you can hear no sound but the click of ambulance wheels, slowly rolling in with their mangled burdens; no sigh, no groan, nothing but the sobbing lapse of the Tennessee. I can never tell you with what a warm feeling at the heart I looked up and saw the federal fires kindling like a new constellation upon Mission Ridge; they were as welcome as dawning day to eyes that have watched the night out. The old baleful glare from the rebel camp and signal light was quenched with something thicker than water, and Chattanooga was at peace.

It is strange that a battle almost always lies between two breadths of sleep; the dreamless slumber into which men always fall upon its eve, the calm repose they sink in at its end. Night fairly held its breath above the camps; the wing of silence was over them all. Then came Thursday morning, bright and beautiful. You go out to the field, and you keep