“Bravo! my noble fellows. ‘Fighting Joe’ is looking at you, and he shall know all about it.”
“Hurrah!” shouted the brave men, who had gathered new life and hope from the inspiring words of the young staff officer.
“You will stand firm—won’t you?” demanded Somers.
“Hurrah!” yelled the reorganized, revivified little force, so heartily that Somers fell back from the front to return to his position at the side of the general.
“Captain Somers!” said a familiar voice, almost in a yell. “Somers, by all that is grand and beautiful!”
Somers turned, and saw a man approaching him from the ranks of an adjoining regiment. He was dressed in the uniform of an officer, but he had a musket in his hand. He was begrimed with smoke, and his cheek was blackened by close contact with the piece in his hand.
“Major de Banyan!” replied Somers, as his old friend rushed up to his side, and seized his hand. “What are you doing here?”
“I happened up here on business, and I went in as a volunteer, on my own hook,” replied De Banyan, still shaking the hand of the staff officer, though the bullets were whistling, and the shot and shell were roaring around him.
“That’s like you. Have you no position?”
“I am a private, just now.”