THE BROKEN CHARGE.

BY JAMES BUCKHAM.

Would you hear of the bravest, coolest deed Ever inspired by a nation's need? Thomas McBurney—a Kansas-bred Scot— Lay in his rifle-pit, waiting a shot. Over him whistled the enemy's balls; Ping! and they struck in the rampart walls. Suddenly out of the woods there broke A line of cavalry gray as smoke. A troop—a regiment—a brigade. Oh! what a rush and a roar they made! A wild, swift charge on the frail redoubt, Carbines ready and sabres out. Hither and thither, like frightened hares, Fled the sharpshooters out of their lairs. All save Thomas McBurney; he Thought not first what his fate might be. Uppermost thought in his hero soul, To save the fort, and the field control. On they thundered, the cavalcade. McBurney waited; his plan was made. Fifty yards from his cairn of rocks— Up he popped, like a Jack-in-the-box! Bang! and the leader's horse went down, Neck outstretched in the wire-grass brown. Over him tumbled a dozen more, And the Colonel—his heart and his head were sore. "Halt!" he cried, and the broken line Stopped, strung out like a trailing vine. Lo! in the valley's dim expanse Tossing flags and bayonets' glance. Re-enforcements! At double-quick They cross the meadows and ford the creek— Boys in blue, with their banners bright, Just in season to turn the fight. Thomas McBurney, as cool as you please, Settled down on his dust-grimed knees. To pray? Yes, thankfully—and to run A well-greased cartridge into his gun!