True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-04-24

and the fiery horses are wheeled into order
for the onset.
Look at Cecil Gray! he has forgotten
the miniature; he has forgotten its origi,
nal he has forgotten the little cottage by
the Thames, where she is singing prayers
to Heaven for him now; he thinks only Of
glory. His breast heaves and pants, and
his hand clutches his hilt, waiting for the
next signal twang.
Another blast of the bugles, and the
whole Fifth, instantly bristling all over
with swords, like single being,.spring into
the pas de charge. A laundering hurri-
cane Of battle, they swoop right down on
the advancing foe with the speed Of the
wind. God Of heaven! what spectaelel
With what sublimely terrific shock the
two hostile masses of men and horses crash
together! Sword clangs on sword; horse
and rider sink; the sea of combat surges
over them.
The Fifth cut foe through and through;
and when their bugles sound the rally,
they disregard the signal, determined tc
fight still they clear the field or die
Horse against horse, with onset and repulse,
Saxon and Cossack, they cleave one anoth'
er down, swaying to and fro like a stormy
sea.
Where is Cecil Gray? Yonder in his
plume. Watch it. 1t tosses about the
thick of the fight, as if it were alive with
glory. There, it loses itself in the smoke
of pistols. 1t emerges. We lose sight Of
t again. Yondor once moro it HES along
he field, like some splendid bird Of prey
hat kills its quarry, but stops not to de-
your. Swords leap up above and about it
other plumes nod and sink around it, rid
erless horses whirl away from it, and rol
down, and surge anddie in the overwhel
ming pillows of battle. But that plume
and the sword that goes with it, cease moi
for an instant in their sublime career.
The wounded French Chasseur who re
clines on his elbow here nigh us, watching
that plume, forgets his pain, and calculates
"Cestsuperbev and it is superb; tits glor
ious.
But now that plume is the dreadful
centre ola vortex of foes, which dashe'
upon it, as upon lone sail the foam cap
ped whirlpool in the sea. Other plumes fly
to the rescue. Sabres flash up thick ant
fast, and chop down into fiery brains, ant
cross, and thrust, and stab, and mix in hor
rible turmoil of heroic desperation.
We close our eyes tightly, with shad
dering sickness, and when we open then
on the scene again the Russians arc in to
tai rout, and the gallant Fifth in rally
with shout and hurra. But the plume o
Cecil Gray? 1t is gone! The prayer
which have kept going up to Heaven from
the cottage by the Thames have not beer
answered. That plume bowed to death
and went down while we were shutting oul
eyes.
How gloriously he died! On the felt
they found him the evening of that day
with a monument of slaughtered heroe
piled up to his glory. And as his survi
living comrades spaded him q grave AM
wrapped his cloak around him, and laid hin
to his rest, they talked antimatedly of hi
heroism and then they spoke falteringly o
one who.
"No more Of that, my comradel" said h
who had been his bosom friend, in chokin
vOice--"T "There," ,"--he had taken the locke
from the neck Of the dead, clipped, with hi
sword, lock from the herO's hair, and shu
litover the miniature; ''that- shall be herti
dingsl--and may--G -God-pity and-comfor
herl.' 81
The big, binding tears streamed dow
those stern Cheeks:--thcy filed up th
grave, breathing hardwith the rush ofhom
dear emotions, but speaking not anothc
word.