Tom Somers floated with the tide of humanity that was setting away from the scene of disaster and defeat. The panic that prevailed was even more fearful than the battle, for wounded and dying men were mercilessly trodden down by the feet of the horses, and run over by the wheels of the cannon and the baggage wagons. Though the battle was ended, the rebels still poured storms of shot and shell into the retreating, panic-stricken host.  
Tom did not know where to go, for there were panic and death on all sides of him. The soldiers were flying in every direction, some of them into the very arms of their remorseless enemies. But the woods seemed to promise the most secure retreat from the fury of the Black Horse Cavalry, which was now sweeping over the battle-field. The Zouave ran in this direction, and our soldier boy followed him. Now that the excitement of the conflict was over, the enthusiasm which had buoyed him up began to subside. The day was lost; all hopes of glory had fled; and a total defeat and rout were not calculated to add much strength to his over-tasked limbs.
 
He was nearly used up, and it was hard work to run—very hard work; and nothing but the instinct of self-preservation enabled him to keep the tall and wiry form of the Zouave in sight. They reached the ravine, where the water was about three feet deep. The shot, and shell, and bullets still fell in showers around them, and occasionally one of the luckless fugitives was struck down. They crossed the stream, and continued on their flight. An officer on horseback dashed by them, and bade them run with all their might, or they would be taken.
 
“For Heaven’s sake, get me some water!” said a rebel, who was wounded in the leg, to a Zouave, who passed near him.
 
“You are a rebel, but I will do that for you,” replied the Zouave; and he gave him a canteen filled with water.
 
The rebel drank a long, deep draught, and then levelled his musket at the head of his Samaritan enemy and fired. This transaction had occupied but a moment, and Tom saw the whole. His blood froze with horror at the unparalleled atrocity of the act. The Zouave, whom Tom had followed, uttered a terrible oath, and snatching the musket from the hands of the soldier boy, he rushed upon the soulless miscreant, and transfixed him upon the bayonet. Uttering fierce curses all the time, he plunged the bayonet again and again into the vitals of the rebel, till life was extinct.
 
“Boy, I used to be human once,” said the Zouave, when he had executed this summary justice upon the rebel; “but I’m not human now. I’m all devil.”
 
“What a wretch that rebel was!” exclaimed Tom, who seemed to breathe freer now that retribution had overtaken the viper.
 
“A wretch! Haven’t you got any bigger word than that, boy? He was a fiend! But we mustn’t stop here.”
 
“I thought the rebels were human.”
 
“Human? That isn’t the first time to-day I’ve seen such a thing as that done. Come along, my boy; come along.”
 
Tom followed the Zouave again; but he was too much exhausted to run any farther. Even the terrors of the Black Horse Cavalry could not inspire him with strength and courage to continue his flight at any swifter pace than a walk.
 
“I can go no farther,” said he, at last.
 
“Yes, you can; pull up! pull up! You will be taken if you stop here.”
 
“I can’t help it. I can go no farther. I am used up.”
 
“Pull up, pull up, my boy!”
 
“I can’t.”
 
“But I don’t want to leave you here. They’ll murder you—cut your throat, like a dog.”
 
“I will hide myself in the bushes till I get a little more strength.”
 
“Try it a little longer. You are too good a fellow to be butchered like a calf,” added the generous Zouave.
 
But it was no use to plead with him, for exhausted nature refused to support him, and he dropped upon the ground like a log.
 
“Poor fellow! I would carry you in my arms if I could.”
 
“Save yourself if you can,” replied Tom, faintly.
 
The kind-hearted fireman was sorry to leave him, but he knew that one who wore his uniform could expect no mercy from the rebels. They had been too terrible upon the battle-field to receive any consideration from those whom they had so severely punished. He was, therefore, unwilling to trust himself to the tender mercies of the cavalry, who were sweeping the fields to pick up prisoners; and after asking Tom’s name and regiment, he reluctantly left him.
 
Tom had eaten nothing since daylight in the morning, which, added to the long march, and the intense excitement of his first battle-field, had apparently reduced him to the last extremity. Then, for the first time, he realized what it was to be a soldier. Then he thought of his happy home—of his devoted mother. What must she not suffer when the telegraph should flash over the wires the intelligence of the terrible disaster which had overtaken the union army! It would be many days, if not weeks or months, before she could know whether he was dead or alive. What anguish must she not endure!
 
He had but a moment for thoughts like these before he heard the sweep of the rebel cavalry, as they dashed down the road through the woods. He must not remain where he was, or the record of his earthly career would soon be closed. On his hands and knees he crawled away from the road, and rolled himself up behind a rotten log, just in season to escape the observation of the cavalrymen as they rode by the spot.
 
Here and there in the woods were the extended forms of Federals and rebels, who had dragged their wounded bodies away from the scene of mortal strife to breathe their last in this holy sanctuary of nature, or to escape from the death-dealing shot, and the mangling wheels that rumbled over the dead and the dying. Close by the soldier boy’s retreat lay one who was moaning piteously for water. Tom had filled his canteen at a brook on the way, and he crawled up to the sufferer to lave his dying thirst. On reaching the wounded man, he found that he was a rebel, and the fate of the Z............