THE STANDARD-BEARER 73

the open by the first gusts of a tre-
mendous storm.

How it rained iron hail on that
slope! Nothing could be heard but
the crackling of the musketry, the dull
thud of the shot rolling in the ditches,
and the balls which shivered slowly
from one end of the battlefield to the
other like the stretched cords of some
harsh resonant instrument. From time
to time the flag which floated overhead,
shaken by the wind of the cannon-shot,
would fall down into the smoke; then
a voice, steady and defiant, rose over
the noise of the firing, over the groans
and oaths of the wounded: ‘To the
flag, boys, to the flag!’ and instantly
an officer would dart forward, indistinct
as a shadow in the lurid mist, and the
heroic banner, like a live thing, would
float out again above the battle.

Two-and-twenty times it fell! Two-
and-twenty times the shaft, still warm
from the clasp of a dying hand, was
seized and raised aloft; and when at