"Is this Colonel Prince?" replied the brave girl, quietly. "It is, and you are--" "No matter. I have come here to inquire whether you have a lad by the name of McCarthy a prisoner?" "There is such a prisoner." "May I ask why he is a prisoner?" "Certainly! For being suspected of treasonable connection with the enemy." "Treasonable connection with the enemy! Why the boy is sick and lame. He is, besides, my brother; and I have come to ask his immediate release." The officer opened his eyes; was sorry he could not comply with the request of so winning a supplicant; and must "really beg her to desist and leave the fortress." "I demand his release," cried she, in reply. "That you cannot have. The boy is a rebel and a traitor, and unless you retire, madam, I shall be forced to arrest you on a similar suspicion." "Suspicion! I am a rebel and a traitor, too, if you wish; young McCarthy is my brother, and I don't leave this tent until he goes with me. Order his instant release or,"--here she drew one of the aforesaid ivory handles out of her bosom and levelled the muzzle of it directly at him--"I will put an ounce of lead in your brain before you can call a single sentry to your relief." A picture that! There stood the heroic girl; eyes flashing fire, cheek glowing with earnest will, lips firmly set with resolution, and hand outstretched with a loaded pistol ready to send the contents through the now thoroughly frightened, startled, aghast soldier, who cowered, like blank paper before flames, under her burning stare. "Quick!" she repeated, "order his release, or you die." It was too much. Prince could not stand it. He bade her lower her infernal weapon, for God's sake, and the boy should be forthwith liberated. "Give the order first," she replied, unmoved. And the order was given; the lad was brought out; and drawing his arm in hers, the gallant sister marched out of the place, with one hand grasping one of his, and the other holding her trusty ivory handle. She mounted her horse, bade him get up behind, and rode off, reaching home without accident before midnight. Now that is a fact stranger than fiction, which shows what sort of metal is in our women of the much abused and traduced nineteenth century. WOMEN IN THE BATTLE OF GAINESVILLE, FLA. [From Dickinson and His Men, pages 99-100.] As Captain Dickinson and our brave defenders charged the enemy through the streets, many of the ladies could be seen, whose inspiring tones and grateful plaudits cheered these noble heroes on to deeds of greater daring. While charging the enemy, near the residence of Judge Dawkins, Mrs. Dawkins and her lovely sister, Miss Lydia Taylor, passed from their garden into the street, and in the excitement of the moment, actuated by the heroic spirit that ever animated our noble women, united their voices in repeating the captain's word of command. "Charge, charge!" was heard with the musical rhythm of a benediction from their grateful hearts.