But we passed many coasting-vessels and towns (whose number seemed past counting on both shores), and at last we entered the narrow sound of Fisher's Island and crept up close to the wharfs of Stonington. I made up my mind not to go ashore until the following morning, as it was after sunset before we had found a berth that suited the skipper.
Oh, I have forgotten to add that when I returned to my bunk, after being boarded by the party from the Little Belt, I had missed the miniature which I had left hanging by a nail driven into one of the stanchions. That one of the British sailors, on the hurried search of the cabin, had helped himself to it was beyond doubting.
[to be continued.]
[THE SONG IN THE NIGHT.]
BY JAMES BUCKHAM.
Bleak, barren hills and cheerless plain,
All soaked and sodden with the rain;
No wood to bid the camp-fire glow,
No forest roof against the snow;—
Drear was the dying winter day
When the troops halted at Luray.
Not ev'n the draggled tents went up,
No chance to sleep, no chance to sup!
A few hours' rest upon their arms,
Then—who could tell what wild alarms?
"Halt until midnight," orders read;
"Then, if the storm holds, march ahead."
Tired and disheartened, faint and chill,
The soldiers, scattered o'er the hill,
Lay in their blankets. Scarce a word
In all the width of camp was heard.
Out of heart was the great blue host—
Out of that which they needed most,—
And the General's heart was a heavy load,
For well he knew what that hush must bode.
Forth from the town, as if heaven-sent,
Passed a child; and as on he went
Something moved him to sing a song
His mother taught him, while waiting long
For the loyal husband, who could not stay
When the first blue regiment passed that way!
Sweet, and flutelike, and childish clear,
The boy's voice rang through the valley drear:—
Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching;
Cheer up, comrades, they will come!
Every soldier along the hill
Felt his heart with the music thrill!
All forgotten the dreary night,
Hunger, and pillow frosted white.
One by one, as the child-voice sang,
Others joined, till the chorus rang
Deep as a mighty organ tone,
By the bellows of the storm-wind blown.
At midnight the order passed along:—
"March!" And they marched with their heart of song!
Needless to say how they fought, that day,
When the sun rose up over far Luray.
And the little singer—the loyal lad
Who gave, unconsciously, all he had
For his country's welfare—let none deny
His sovereign share in the victory!
If not from his song in the dreary night,
Whence came the courage to win the fight?
