could not have created as much excitement, for the middle man carried
a white flag. In a minute every man in the battery was on the breastwork.
What could it mean! It was a long way off, nearly half a mile,
and the flag was small: possibly only a pocket-handkerchief or a napkin;
but it was held aloft as a flag unmistakably. A hundred conjectures
were indulged in. Was it a summons to surrender? A request for an armistice
for some purpose? Or was it a trick to ascertain their number and position?
Some held one view, some another. Some extreme ones thought
a shot ought to be fired over them to warn them not to come on;
no flags of truce were wanted. The old Colonel, who had walked to
the edge of the plateau outside the redoubt and taken his position
where he could study the advancing figures with his field-glass,
had not spoken. The lieutenant who was next in command to him
had walked out after him, and stood near him, from time to time
dropping a word or two of conjecture in a half-audible tone;
but the Colonel had not answered a word; perhaps none was expected.
Suddenly he took his glass down, and gave an order to the lieutenant:
"Take two men and meet them at the turn yonder; learn their business;
and act as your best judgment advises. If necessary to bring
the messenger farther, bring only the officer who has the flag,
and halt him at that rock yonder, where I will join him."
The tone was as placid as if such an occurrence came every day.
Two minutes later the lieutenant was on his way down the mountain
and the Colonel had the men in ranks. His face was as grave
and his manner as quiet as usual, neither more nor less so.
The men were in a state of suppressed excitement. Having put them
in charge of the second sergeant the Colonel returned to the breastwork.
The two officers were slowly ascending the hill, side by side,
the bearer of the flag, now easily distinguishable in his jaunty uniform
as a captain of cavalry, talking, and the lieutenant in faded gray,