called “the eyes of the army”; and it was acknowledged to be the most complete and efficient scout system of the war.

We have seen that Garfield was a born leader among the companions of his youth, and that the magnetism of his personal presence inspired hearts around him with a kindred spirit. When he became a teacher, we have seen that he excelled other teachers in awakening the enthusiasm of his pupils, and leading them to pursue their studies, or a life-purpose, with singular devotion. It was equally so in the army. In the first victorious battle that he fought—that of Middle Creek—many incidents transpired to establish this fact.

We learned before that President Lincoln made Garfield brigadier-general for gallant services in this battle. The President was much depressed at the time of this victory, because of repeated disasters to our arms in the “Department of the East.” A distinguished army officer was present with him when he received the news of this victory, and Mr.Lincoln said to the officer:

“Why did Garfield, in two weeks, do what would have taken one of your regular officers two months to accomplish?”

“Because he was not educated at West Point,” replied the West Pointer, laughingly.

“No,” answered Mr. Lincoln, “that was not the reason. It was because, when he was a boy, he had to work for his living.”

After the battle of Middle Creek, Garfield’s soldiers were exhausted, and short of rations. The roads were well-nigh impassable, because of the deep mud, and the Big Sandy was swollen to a torrent, rendering the delivery of supplies difficult. Something must be done. Garfield proposed to go down the river to hurry up supplies, but the oldest boatman refused, saying, “Impossible, it can’t be done!”

Brown, the scout, had returned, and Garfield opened the subject to him.

“What do you think of it, Brown? The boatmen say that it is sure death; what do you say? You and I know something about boating.”

The scout’s reply was characteristic. “It’s which and t’other, Gineral Jim: starvin’ or drownin’. I’d rather drown nor starve. So, guv the word, and, dead or alive, I’ll git down the river!”

“All right, Harry, we’ll go!” And they sprang into a small skiff, and committed their lives to the raging torrent. It was a fearful sail, but they reached the mouth of the Big Sandy in safety; and here Garfield’s experience on the canal boat served him well. There he found a small, rickety steamer, named Sandy Valley tied up at Catletsburg.

“I am under the necessity of taking possession of your steamer to carry supplies to my troops,” Colonel Garfield said to the captain, who was a Secessionist, and who, of course, would have preferred that his troops should starve rather than to feed them.

“This craft can’t stem such a current, no how; it’ll be the death of us,” the captain replied. There was some reason for his saying this, for the water in the channel was sixty feet deep, so swollen that trees along the banks were submerged nearly to their tops.

In turning a bend in the river, the steamer swept round and grounded on a bar of quicksand. The usual efforts were made to relieve her, but in vain. And now that tact and sound common sense for which we have seen that Garfield was distinguished from boyhood, came to his rescue.

“Get a line to the opposite shore!” commanded Garfield, particularly addressing the sulky captain.

“A line to that shore!” shouted the rebel captain, in reply. “It’s death on any man that ’tempts it.”