“Who and what are you?” asked Tom, of the deserter.

“I’m a Union man!” replied the stranger with emphasis; “and I didn’t expect to be treated in this way after all I’ve suffered.”

“They thought you were a rebel.  You wear the colors of the rebel army,” answered the sergeant, willing to explain the rudeness of his men.

“Well, I suppose I do look rather the worse for the wear,” added the grayback, glancing down at the tattered uniform he wore.  “I joined the rebel army, after I had tried every way in the world to get out of this infernal country; but I never fired a gun at a Union man.  Seems to me, sergeant, I’ve seen you before somewhere.  What’s your name?  Where did you come from?”

“Pinchbrook, Massachusetts; and most of us hail from the same place.”

“Creation!” exclaimed the deserter.  “You don’t say so!”

“Your voice sounds familiar to me,” added Tom; and for some reason his chest was heaving violently beneath his suddenly accelerated respiration.

As he spoke, he walked towards the dilapidated rebel, who had not ventured to come within twenty feet of the party.

“Did you say Pinchbrook?” demanded the stranger, who began to display a great deal of emotion.

“Pinchbrook, sir,” added Tom; and so intensely was he excited, that the words were gasped from his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Thomas Somers,” replied the sergeant.

“Tom!” screamed the deserter, rushing forward.

“Father!” cried Tom, as he grasped the hand of the phantom Confederate.

The soldiers of the party were transfixed with astonishment at this unexpected scene, and they stood like statues gazing at the meeting of father and son, till the final development of their relationship, when the muscles of their faces relaxed, and the expression of wonder gave place to joyous sympathy.

“Captain Somers, of Pinchbrook!” shouted old Hapgood; and the men joined with him in a roar of intense satisfaction, that made the woods ring.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ON THE PENINSULA.

The scene between Captain Somers and his son was very affecting and very exciting; and if the soldiers had all been uncles and first cousins of the parties, they could not have manifested more interest on the joyous occasion.  The father wept, and the son wept; for each, amid the terrible experience of these troublous times, had hardly expected to meet the other.

For several minutes they held each other by the hand, laughing and weeping alternately, and neither being able to express the intense emotions which agitated him.  The men shouted and laughed in full sympathy with the reunited sire and son.

“I’m glad to see you, Tom,” said Captain Somers, as he wiped away the tears that were sliding down upon his grizzly beard.  “I haven’t cried before for thirty years; I’m ashamed of it, Tom, but I can’t help it.”