As the Confederates were retreating they met Nathan Cunningham, his canteens full of water, hurrying to relieve the thirst of the wounded men in the trenches. He glanced over the passing column and saw that the faded flag, which he had carried so long, was not there. The men in their haste to obey orders HAD FORGOTTEN OR OVERLOOKED THE COLORS.
Quickly the lad sped to the trenches, intent now not only on giving water to his comrades, but on rescuing the flag and so to save the honor of his regiment.
His mission of mercy was soon accomplished. The wounded men drank freely. The lad then found and seized his colors, and turned to rejoin his regiment. Scarcely had he gone three paces when a company of Federal soldiers appeared ascending the hill.
“Halt and surrender,” came the stern command, and a hundred rifles were leveled at the boy's breast.
“NEVER! while I hold the colors,” was his firm reply.
The morning sun, piercing with a lurid glare the dense mist, showed the lad proudly standing with his head thrown back and his flag grasped in his hand, while his unprotected breast was exposed to the fire of his foe.
A moment's pause. Then the Federal officer gave his command:—
“Back with your pieces, men, don't shoot that brave boy.”
And Nathan Cunningham, with colors flying over his head, passed on and joined his regiment.
His comrades in arms still tell with pride of his brave deed and of the generous act of a foe.