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Ten minutes later Sergeant Parker Adderson, of the Federal army, philosopher and wit, kneeling in the moonlight and begging incoherently for his life, was shot to death by twenty men.
The general finished writing, folded the half-sheet of paper and spoke to the soldier guarding Adderson: "Here, Tassman, take that to the adjutant-general; then return." "And the prisoner, General?" said the soldier, saluting, with an inquiring glance in the direction of that unfortunate. "Do as I said," replied the officer, curtly. The soldier took the note and ducked himself out of the tent.
At that moment three men stepped silently forward from behind the clump of young trees which had concealed their approach. Two were hospital attendants and carried a stretcher. The third was Major Creede Halcrow. "Prisoner, what is your name?" "As I am to lose it at daylight to-morrow morning it is hardly worth while concealing it. Parker Adderson." "Your rank?"
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