“The rebels are flanking us!” shouted an officer in another command, as our regiment hurried forward to the endangered point.
“That’s what we are wanted for,” said Hapgood.
The enemy had nearly accomplished their purpose when our gallant colonel and his jaded force reached the left of the line, and in a few moments more would have poured a flanking fire into our devoted battalions, which were struggling with terrible energy to roll back the pressure in front of them.
The colonel had his men well in hand, and he manoeuvred them with consummate skill, so as to bring them advantageously to the work they were to perform. The regiment was hurled against the head of the flanking column, and the boys rushed forward with that dash and spirit which had characterized their conduct half a score of times before in various parts of the field.
Tom’s muscles had become loose and soft after the long continued strain upon them, and if his soul had not been ten times as big as his body, he must have sunk under the exhaustion of the day. Another desperate onslaught was required of the men of our regiment, and commanding all his energies, Tom braced himself up once more for the fearful struggle.
“How do you feel now, Tom?” demanded the anxious veteran, as he bit off the cartridge, and rammed it home.
“First rate, uncle!” replied Tom, as the regiment poured a withering volley into the rebel line.
“For Heaven’s sake, Tom, don’t kill yourself,” added the old man, as they loaded up again. “Your knees shake under you now.”
“Do you think I’m afraid, uncle?” demanded the sergeant with a grim smile.
“No, no, Tom; of course I don’t think any thing of the kind. I’m afeared you’ll bust a blood-vessel, or something of that sort.”