“Captain Blount—­quartermaster fourth North Carolina.”

“We will follow you!” shouted Haskell.

Blount rode on his great horse—­he rode to the centre of the Thirtieth—­he stooped; he seized the colour—­he lifted the battle-flag high in the air—­he turned his great horse—­he rode up the hill.

Then those men lying in the sunken road sprang to their feet, and followed their flag fluttering in front, and made the world hideous with yells.

And the red flag went down—­and Blount was dead—­and the great horse was lying on his side and kicking the air—­and the hill was gained.

The Thirtieth was disorganized by its advance.  Another North Carolina regiment came from the right rear.  Haskell and his six were yet unbroken; they joined the advancing regiment, keeping on its left, and charged with it for another position.  Believe it or not, the same thing recurred; the regiment charged well; from the smoke in front death came out upon it fast; a sunken road was to be crossed, and was not crossed; down the men all went to save their lives.

And the officers waved their swords, and the men remained in the road.

Now the Captain called the six, and ran to the centre of the regiment; he snatched the flag and rushed forward up the slope—­he looked not back, but forward.

The six were on the slope—­the Captain was farthest forward—­one of the six fell—­in falling his face was turned back—­he saw that the regiment was yet in the sunken road, and he shouted to his Captain and told him that the regiment did not follow.

The Captain came back, and said tenderly, “Ah!  Jones?  What did I tell you?  Are you hurt badly?  I will send for you.”

Then the Captain and five turned away to the right, for the flag would not be taken back to the regiment lying down.

On an open hill between the two battling hosts I was lying.  The bullets and shells came from front and rear.  The blue men came on—­and the others went back awhile.  I fired at the blue men, and tried to load, but could not.  I felt a great pain strike under my belt and was afraid to look, for I knew the part was mortal.  But at length I exerted my will, and controlled my fear, and saw my trousers torn.  My first wound had deadened my leg, but I felt no great pain—­the leg was numb.  The new blow was torture.  I managed to take down my clothing, and saw a great blue-black spot on my groin.  I was confused, and wondered where the bullet went, and perhaps became unconscious.

Darkness was coming, and Jones or Berwick, or whoever I was, yet lay on the hill.  Now there were dead men and wounded men around me.  Had a tide of war flowed over me while I slept?  A voice feebly called for help, and I crawled to the voice, but could give no help except to cut a shoe from a crushed foot.  The flashes of rifles could be seen,—­the enemy’s rifles,—­they came nearer and nearer, and I felt doomed to capture.