There is only time for a few last directions. A smile which haunts
Peyton for many a long day, flashes on Maxime Valois' stern lips.
He dashes on, waving his sword, and cries in his ringing voice,
"Come on, boys, for Louisiana!"
Springing like panthers into the open, the closed ranks bound toward
the fated guns at a dead run. Ha! There was a crashing salvo. Now,
it is load and fire at will. Right and left, fire pours in on the
guns, whose red flashes singe the very faces of the assailants.
Peyton's quick eye sees victory wavering. Dashing towards the
guns he cheers his men. As he nears the battery the Louisiana
color-bearer falls dead. Henry Peyton seizes the Pelican flag, and
dashes on over friends, dead and dying, as his frightened steed
races into the battery.
There, every horse is down. The guns are now silent. A knot of men,
with clubbed rammers, bayonet thrusts, and quick revolver shots,
fight for the smoking cannon. A cheer goes up. De Gress's guns are
taken. Peyton turns his head to catch a glimpse of Colonel Valois.
Grasping the star-spangled guidon of the battery with his bridle
hand, Valois cuts down its bearer.
A wild yell rises as a dozen rebel bayonets are plunged into a
defiant fugitive, for he has levelled his musket point-blank and
shot Valois through the heart.
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