Page:War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy, John Luther Long, 1913.djvu/347

THE PITY OF IT be found. Sometimes he'd send a little note in the coffin. Often it was nothing more than:

"This was a brave man!"

and sign his name and regiment.

And, more and more, as he saw the wonderful armies and organization of the Union, the pouring out of men and money from the North, the sure and steady march on to final victory in the war, did my old Jon want to stop it. Once I heard him talk to a young officer he had captured.

"I'm not going to keep you," he says. "You are too fine a boy to drag your life out at Fort Warren."

"Not going to keep me?" says the youngster, rubbing his handsome dark eyes. "Why, suh, you got the right to. You took me inside yo' lines. I don't demand, suh, to be let go."

"I'm going to let you go, all the same," says Jon. "Remember, I haven't put my hands on you yet, and, therefore, you are not precisely my prisoner. In a moment I will show you a 331