The Madison daily leader. [volume] (Madison, S.D.) 1890-current, 1893-11-29

been read an order surreadering them
to the enemy without a blow.
And the flags demanded Hornus.
The flags were surrendered with the
rest-the guns, the remains Of the
wagon trains-everything.
"Th-th-tAunder!' stammered the poor
fellow. they shan't keep mine.
And he set off ON the run toward that
side of the town. There, too, all was
confusion. National guards. civilians
and gardes mobiles were walking
about. Deputations passed, trembling,
on their way to the marshal's house.
Hornus saw nothing, heard nothing.
He hurried up the street, mutterlng to
himself:
ITO take my flag from me! Come
now, a this be possible? Let him
give the Prussians what is his owns
silver plate and his gilded coaches-but
this IS mine. 1t is my honor. | forbid
any one to touch it,"
His sentences were broken up by
his hurried pace and his stammering
tongue; but, after all, the old fellow
had a plan, a clear and fixed purpose to
take his flag, to carry it into the midst
Of the regiment, and with any who
would follow him to fall upon the Prus-
slams and destroy them utterly. When
he reached the colonel's house, he was
not even allowed to enter. The colonel
too, was furious and would admit no
one, but Hornus did not understand
this. He wept, he swore, he tried to
push past the orderly.
MY flag! want my fiag!" he
shouted.
Finally a window was thrown open.
1T is you, Hornus?"
"Yes, colonel--I''-
"All the flags are at the arsenal.
You have only to go there for q re-
ceipt."
"A receipt-for what?"
1T is the marshal's order"
But, colonel''-
"Gi-m-peacel" and down went
the window.
Old Hornus staggered like a drunken
man.
"A receipt. A receipt, he repeated
mechanically. Finally he went off
with but one clear idea in his head
that his flag was at the arsenal, and
that, come what would, he must see it
again.
The arsenal gates were opened wide
for the passage of the Prussian wagons
which were ranged in the yard. A chill
passed over Hornus as he entered. All
the other ensigns were there and so or
so officers, silent and heartbroken.
With the somber wagons standing in
the rain and the groups of men with
barred heads, it was like a funeral. All
the flags of Bazaine's army were lying
in a heap on one corner of the muddy
pavement. Nothing could be sadder
than those strips of bright hued silk,
that debris of golden fringe and carved
sticks, all that glorious paraphernalia
thrown on the ground, soiled with mud
and rain. ,
An officer picked them up, one by
one, and as his regiment was called
each ensign went forward to get a re-
ceipt. Hard and unsympathetic, two
Prussian officers watched the registra-
ton.
And you are>gsfng away thus!-o,
sacred, glorious MISUNDERSTANDING
your rents, trailing sadly over the pave
ment, like birds with broken wingsi
You are going away with the shame of
beautiful things soiled, and each of you
will carry away a little of France. In
vo,.H ,,n-xn f411- &ha ex-onL11 H.
long marches still fingers. In your
bullet holes you preserve the memory
of the unknown dead, fallen perchance
beneath the banner, struck
"Hornus, you-they are calling you.
Go get your receipt"
There was the flag before him. 1t
was really his, the most beautiful, the
most mutilated of them all, and seeing
it once more he seemed to be standing
again on the railroad bank. He heard
the balls sing, the shells burst and the
colonel's voice, ITO the flag, boysi"
His 90 comrades lay there on the
ground, and he, the twenty third, was
springing forward in his turn to seize 1t,
to lift the poor flag, lettering for want of
q sustaining arm. ALL he swore that
day to defend it, to guard it till death.
And now-the thought of all this sent
every drop Of blood in his body to his
head. Maddened. desperate, he sprang
upon the Prussian officer, tore from his
grasp his beloved ensign and tried to
lift it very high, very upright, crying,
To the A. but his voice died in his
throat. The staff trembled and slipped
from his fingers. In that weary air,
that deadly air that weighed so heavily
on the surrendered town. no flag could
wave, no pride could live, and old Hor-
nus fell, crushed.-Alphonse Daudet.