“We have something strange to tell you, and mum’s the word. Night before last, when we were asleep, a knock came to the door and then it was pushed open. Father rose, stirred the fire, and got a light, when we saw it was an American soldier. He was drenched to the skin, for it was pouring rain, and, oh, what a pale, thin ghost he looked! He crept up to the fire and sank in a heap beside it, muttering, ‘Thank God.’ I saw he was perishing, and got some hot drink for him, and after a while he told his story. He had been with Hampton’s army in the battle, where he had received a flesh wound in the side, and when Purdy’s brigade fell back he was unable to keep up with them, got separated from his company, and, in the dark, lost his way. Next morning he tried to find the trail of the army, but failed, and then, guided by the sun, struck south, knowing he would in time reach the States. Too weak to carry them, he threw away his musket and ammunition, and crawled, rather than walked. When the last biscuit in his haversack was eaten, he had to trust to beech and butter nuts, though he was not hungry, for his wound fevered him. Often he lay down, thinking he would never rise again, but he was young and strong, and when he revived a little he pushed on, until, to his great joy, he struck our clearing. He thought he was in the States, and when we told him our house was on the Canada side he was dreadful afraid we would give him up, and he would be sent to Montreal as a prisoner. We soon eased him on that score; our big trouble was to hide him from the Indian guard until we could get him sent across the lines.” “Yes, mother,” interrupted one of her sons, “they came to our house the next day, and are close by yet.” Abner shivered.