Ably sustained by their supporters, Anglo-African and Anglo-Saxon vied
together to carry off the palm of courage and glory. All the world knows
the last fought with heroism sublime: all the world forgets this and
them in contemplating the deeds and the death of their compatriots. Said
Napoleon at Austerlitz to a young Russian officer, overwhelmed with
shame at yielding his sword, "Young man, be consoled: those who are
conquered by my soldiers may still have titles to glory." To say that on
that memorable night the last were surpassed by the first is still to
leave ample margin on which to write in glowing characters the record of
their deeds.
As the men were clambering up the parapet their color-sergeant was shot
dead, the colors trailing stained and wet in the dust beside him.
Ercildoune, who was just behind, sprang forward, seized the staff from
his dying hand, and mounted with it upward. A ball struck his right arm,
yet ere it could fall shattered by his side, his left hand caught the
flag and carried it onward. Even in the mad sweep of assault and death
the men around him found breath and time to hurrah, and those behind him
pressed more gallantly forward to follow such a lead. He kept in his
place, the colors flying,--though faint with loss of blood and wrung
with agony,--up the slippery steep; up to the walls of the fort; on the
wall itself, planting the flag where the men made that brief, splendid
stand, and melted away like snow before furnace-heat.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197