While Hen Withers rested on his well-earned laurels, a strong, clear voice, whose owner was probably thinking of home and the shady gloom of the walk through the grove to singing school with his sweetheart, trilled an apostrophe to the queen of light. "Roll on, silvery moon, Guide the traveler on his way," but he had it pretty much to himself, for not many knew the words, and he trailed off into "I loved a little beauty, Bell Brandon," then his music died out in the night. It was now the "tenore robusto" who chimed in bells, on a new battle song that held a mile square of camp spellbound: "Oh, wrap the flag around me, boys, To die were far more sweet With freedom's starry emblem, boys. To be my winding sheet. In life I loved to see it wave And follow where it led, And now my eyes grow dim, my hands Would clasp its last bright shred. Oh, I had thought to meet you, boys, On many a well-worn field When to our starry emblem, boys, The trait'rous foe should yield. But now, alas, I am denied My dearest earthly prayer, You'll follow and you'll meet the foe, But I shall not be there." Wilse Hornback knew by the hush of the camp as the sound of his wonderful voice died on the far horizon that he had his laurels, too, and so he sang on while the mile square of camp went music-mad again as it sang with him— "We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before, Shouting the battle cry of freedom. And we'll fill the vacant ranks with a million freemen more. Shouting the battle cry of freedom." Chorus: "The Union forever! Hurrah, boys. Hurrah; Down with the traitor and up with the Star, While we rally 'round the Flag, boys, We'll rally once again, Shouting the battle cry of freedom. We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true and brave. Shouting the battle cry of freedom, And although they may be poor, not a man shall be a slave. Shouting the battle cry of freedom. So we're springing to the call from the East and from the West, Shouting the battle cry of freedom, And we'll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love the best, Shouting the battle cry of freedom." In the almighty hush that followed the billows of sound, some sweet- voiced fellow started Annie Laurie, and then sang— "In the prison cell I sit" with grand chorus accompaniment. Then Wilse Hornback started and Hen Withers joined in singing the Battle Hymn— "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord," and oh, God of Battles! how that army of voices took up the refrain— "Glory, glory, hallelujah," and tossed and flung it back and forth from hill to hill and shore to shore till it seemed as though Lee and his cohorts must have heard and quailed before the fearful prophecy and arraignment.