deep mourning, leading by the hand a sharp, sprightly-looking boy, apparently about twelve or thirteen years of age. Her story was soon told.
She was from East-Tennessee, where her husband had been killed by the rebels, and all their property destroyed.
She had come to St. Louis in search of her sister, but not finding her, and e angle, and after peering into the little fellow's face a moment, he observed: My little man, can you drum?
Yes, sir, he replied, I drummed for captain Hill in Tennessee.
Our fifer immediately commenced straightening himself upward until all the angles in his person had disappeared, when he placed his fife in his mouth, and playlent, and then as it became more light I heard it again.
I listened — the sound of the drum was familiar to me — and I knew that it was
Our drummer-boy from Tennessee Beating for help the reveille.
I was about to desert my post to go to his assistance, when I discovered the officer of the guard approaching with two men. We