The Surgeon said: "O, that man's dead; why don't you have him taken out ?" I replied: "No, he isn't.

Just see." Stooping, I shook the boy sharply, and said: "Bickford! Bickford!! How do you feel ?" The eyes did not unclose, but the lips opened slowly, and said with a painful effort: "F-i-r-s-t R-a-t-e!" This scene was repeated every morning for over a week.

Every day the Rebel Surgeon would insist that the man should betaken out, and every morning Bickford would gasp out with troublesome exertion that he felt: "F-i-r-s-t R-a-t-e!" It ended one morning by his inability, to make his usual answer, and then he was carried out to join the two score others being loaded into the wagon..