"What shall I do?" thought poor Tom. "Oh, where have they gone to? Please let me out, Freddy! do forgive me, boys! I'll f-fight for the Union as m-much as you like! oh! oh!" and at last--must it be confessed?--the gallant Secesh finished by bursting out crying! Time passed on--of course seeming doubly long to the prisoner--and still the boys did not return. Tom cried till he could cry no more; sniffling desperately, and rubbing his nose violently up in the air--a proceeding which did not ameliorate its natural bent in that direction. He really felt thoroughly sorry, and quite ready to beg pardon as soon as the boys should return; particularly as they had forgotten to provide the captive with even the traditional bread and water, and dinner-time was close at hand. While he was yet struggling between repentance and stomachache, the welcome sound of their voices was heard. They came nearer, and then a key was hastily applied to the fastenings of the door, and it flew open, disclosing the Zouaves, with Freddy at the head, and Mr. Schermerhorn bringing up the rear. Tom hung back a moment yet; then with a sudden impulse he walked toward Freddy, saying, "I beg your pardon, Colonel; please forgive me for insulting you; and as for the flag"--and without another word, Tom ran toward the flag staff, and catching the long folds of the banner in both hands, pressed them to his lips. "The chivalry forever!" said Mr. Schermerhorn, smiling. "That's right, Tom! bless the old banner! it is your safeguard, and your countrymen's too, if they would only believe it. Go and shake hands with him, boys; he is in his right place now, and if ever you are tempted to quarrel again, I am sure North and South will both remember "BULL RUN!" CHAPTER III. BEFORE MONTEREY. IT is not necessary to describe the particular proceedings of the Dashahed Zouaves during every day of their camp life. They chattered, played, drilled, quarrelled a little once in a while, and made it up again, eat and slept considerably, and grew sunburnt to an astonishing degree. It was Thursday morning, the fourth of their delightful days in camp. Jerry had been teaching them how to handle a musket and charge bayonets, until they were quite excited, and rather put out that there was no enemy to practise on but the grasshoppers. At length, when they had tried everything that was to be done, Harry exclaimed, "I wish, Jerry, you would tell us a story about the wars! Something real splendid, now; perfectly crammed with Indians and scalps and awful battles and elegant Mexican palaces full of diamonds and gold saucepans and lovely Spanish girls carried off by the hair of their heads!" This flourishing rigmarole, which Harry delivered regardless of stops, made the boys shout with laughter. "You'd better tell the story yourself, since you know so much about it!" said Tom.