L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion

“If you do that,” was the reply, “you'll take the life of a good and true man. I can show by J. W. Ratcliffe that I am a true Southerner, that I have done much good for the cause-very likely much more than you have-and that I am doing good every day I live.”

“ Captain,” said one of the men, “it may be that he is an important man to our cause; and you had better see Ratcliffe and inquire into his case,”

Harris studied a moment, and finally concluded to go with the prisoner to Ratcliffe's and confer about the matter-at the same time assuring him that it was of no use, for he should certainly hang him anyhow. At Franklin all stopped to drink, and Harris and his men became beastly drunk. Reeling into their saddles, they were once more on their way to Ratcliffe's, but had gone only a short distance, when Harris wheeled his horse and hiccoughed out-

“Boys, there's no use in fooling. I am satisfied this fellow's a Yankee spy; and here's just as good a place as we can find to hang him. Take the halter off that horse's neck and bring it here.”

It was indeed a fitting place in which to do foul murder. Not a house was to be seen; and the road wound through one of those cedar thickets so dense that even in mid-day it was almost dark within them. It was now night, and the sombre shade even more gloomy than ever, as Harris jumped from his horse, and, taking the halter, made a noose of it, and, fitting it around the neck of the unlucky scout, drew it up uncomfortably tight, until, in fact, it was just about strangling him.

Now or never was the time to expostulate and entreat. In a moment it might be too late; and then farewell