And suddenly he was fighting in the tangles of the Wilderness, crouching behind a charred oak stump, while he loaded and fired at the little puffs of smoke that rose from the undergrowth beyond. He saw the low marshland, the stunted oaks and pines, and the heavy creepers that were pushed aside and trampled underfoot, and at his feet he saw a company officer with a bullet hole through his forehead and a covering of pine needles upon his face. About him the small twigs fell, as if a storm swept the forest, and as he dodged, like a sharpshooter from tree to tree, he saw a rush of flame and smoke in the distance where the woods were burning. Above the noise of the battle, he heard the shrieks of the wounded men in the track of the fire; and once he met a Union and a Confederate soldier, each shot through the leg, drawing each other back from the approaching flames. Then, as he passed on, tearing at the cartridges with his teeth, he came upon a sergeant in Union clothes, sitting against a pine stump with his cocked rifle in his hand, and his eyes on the wind-blown smoke. A moment before the man may have gone down at his shot, he knew--and yet, as he looked, an instinct stronger than the instinct to kill was alive within him, and he rushed on, dragging his enemy with him from the terrible woods. “I hope you are not much hurt,” he said, as he placed him on the ground and ran back to where the line was charging. “One life has been paid for,” he thought, as he rushed on to kill--and fell face downward on the wheel-ruts of the old road. “Rally round the flag, boys, rally once again,” sang the three hoarse voices, straining against the wind. Dan struggled to his feet, and the scene shifted. He was back in his childhood, and the Major had just brought in a slave he had purchased from Rainy-day Jones--“the plague spot in the county,” as the angry old gentleman declared. Dan sat on the pile of kindling wood upon the kitchen hearth and stared at the poor black creature shivering in the warmth, his face distorted with the toothache, and a dirty rag about his jaw. He heard Aunt Rhody snorting indignantly as she basted the turkeys, and he watched his grandmother bustling back and forth with whiskey and hot plasters. “Who made slavery, sir?” asked the boy suddenly, his hands in his breeches pockets and his head bent sideways. The Major started. “God, sir,” he promptly replied. “Then I think it very strange of God,” said the boy, “and when I grow up, I shall set them all free, grandpa--I shall set them free even if I have to fight to do it, sir.” “What! like poor free Levi?” stormed the Major. “Wake up, confound you!” bawled somebody in his ear. “You've lurched against my side until my ribs are sore. I say, are you going on forever, anyhow? We've halted for the night.”