"Yes, friend, you are living; but where is my fa—— oh! I fear to ask—I am a coward, Johnson!"
"You observe a change here, I suppose?" asked Johnson.
"Yes! But tell me why this change? I can bear it now!"
"First let me hear of yourself, William, and then I will answer you. Where have you been detained so long?"
"I cannot answer until you have told me of my father and my sister. Are they alive?"
"I hope so!"
"You hope so! Oh! Johnson, my heart will burst with this suspense. Think for a moment. I have been a prisoner now nearly three months. At the battle of Wilson's Creek I was taken by the enemy, having been left wounded upon the field. I suffered—oh! how terribly! I suffered from bodily pain—from hunger—my heart wrung by the taunts and insults heaped upon me by the wretches who held me in their power. I often felt death would be a great relief, but hope—the bright star of hope rose high above the dark cloud which surrounded me, and I lived on. What was that hope, Johnson? It was of home! Father! Sister! I dreamed of liberty, even in my dungeon's depths—and on the grimmy walls I traced the flowers and vines my sister reared. The night winds whistled through my casements, and I heard my sister's voice—her song so sweet and thrilling. If dreaming thus, I woke to sadness, my father's voice would speak to me, bidding me be firm and hope. At last the news reached me, even in my cell at Springfield, that Fremont was coming. My wounds were healed, and I resolved to escape. Oh! how I longed for freedom. And why? First, that I might once more clasp my father and my sister in my arms, and then join Fremont. I watched for opportunity, and soon it came. I escaped at night, by the assistance of Fall-leaf, an Indian chief. I started at once for home. I was crossing the mountain this morning, when suddenly I came upon the outposts of Price. I saw my deliverer a prisoner, and bound. I did not hesitate, and by a stratagem, released him. The trick was discovered and we were pursued. I became separated from Fall-leaf. I should have returned in search of him, but I could not. In the distance I could see my home, never before so loved. I felt that dear ones were waiting my approach, and I hastened onward. And now, with burning brain and bursting heart I ask, are they yet living, and you reply you 'hope so!'"
"Come in, William, I will tell you all," answered Johnson.
"All! Oh! that word has a terrible sound. I cannot go in if they are not here! Each familiar article would only be a dart piercing my heart. Here I will listen where there is air to breathe."
He seated himself upon a log before the door, and dropping his face in his hands, he said: