The leader's frightened charger bounds madly to the front, and the
Louisiana colonel falls heavily to the ground.
Clasped in his clenched hands, the silken folds of the captured
battery flag are dyed with his blood. A dozen willing arms raise
the body, bearing it to one side, for the major, mindful of the
precious moments, yells to "swing the guns and pass the caissons."
In a minute, the heavy Parrotts of De Gress are pouring their
shrapnel into the faces of the Union troops, who are, three hundred
yards away, forming for a rush to recapture them.
As the cannon roar their defiance to the men who hold them dear,
Peyton bends over Maxime Valois. The heart is stilled forever.
With his stiffening fingers clutching his last trophy, the "Stars
and Stripes," there is the light of another world shining on the
face of the dead soldier of the Southern Cross. Before sending his
body to the rear, Henry Peyton draws from Valois' breast a packet
of letters. It is the last news from the loved wife he has rejoined
across the shadowy river. United in death. Childish Isabel is indeed
alone in the world. A rain of shrieking projectiles and bursting
shells tells of the coming counter-charge.
Drawing back the guns by hand to a cover for the infantry, and
rattling the caissons over a ridge to screen the ammunition boxes,
the shattered rebel ranks send volleys into the faces of the lines
of Schofield, now coming on at a run.
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