Suddenly, down to the ground fell every man; the line had found a sunken road, and the temptation was too great--down into the friendly road we fell, and lay with bodies flat and faces in the dust.
The officers waved their swords; they threatened the men; the men calmly looked at their officers.
A man on a great horse rode up and down the line urging, gesticulating. He got near to Haskell--
"Who are you?" shouted our Captain.
"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.