Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1894-02-10
OLD HoRNUs.

A single French regiment, on an I'M
sheltered railroad bank, stood like tar
get for the Prussian army, massed in
the woods some so yards away. As
the bullets fell thick about them, the
French officers ordered their men to lie
down, but not one would obey. All
remained proudly standing about their
flag.
In that broad expanse Of green pas
lures and waving cornfelds illumined
by the setting sun, that body of tor
mented men, enveloped in cloud of
smoke, looked like flock surprised in
the open fields by the first gust Of a
terrible tempest. 1t did indeed rain
lead on that hillside! Nothing could
be heard but the cracking discharge
Of musketry, the heavy rumbling Of
shells and the ceaseless vibration of
balls all over the battlefield.
Again and again the flag fell, but
every time a clear, bold voice rang out
above the din of the musketry, the
oaths of tho wounded, the death rattle
Of the dying: ITO tho flag, boys! To
the fag!'
And instantly, like vague shadow
in that fiery fog, an officer would spring
forward, and the dauntless ensign, as
if restored to life, would look down
again upon the battle.
Twenty-Five times ii fell. Twenty
two times its staff, still warm as it slip
ped from dying hand, was caught and
raised again, and when at sunset the
remnant Of the regiment, little hand
full Of men, slowly retreated the flag
was but a tattered rag in the hands Of
Sergeant Hornus, the twenty-third en-
sign of the day.
This Sergeant Hornus, an old fellow
who could scarcely sign his name, had
been 20 years in gaining the rank OF
a noncommissioned officer. The mis-
cries Of the founding and the brutality
of the barracks had left their impress
in his low, obstinate brow, his back bent
by the knapsack and that unscrupu-
lous air of the trooper in the ranks. He
stammered little, too, but eloquence
is not essential in an ensign. That
same evening of the battle his colonel
said to him, lyon have the flag, my
gallant fellow-well, keep it,"
And on his shabby army coat, worn
and faded by rain and powder, the suit
Ter placed at once the golden badge of
the ensign. This was the one glory of
his life. From this time the old troop
er held up his head. The poor soul,
who heretofore had walked with bent
back and downcast glance, henceforth
stood proudly erect, with eyes ever
lifted to watch that scrap of cloth fiut-
tering in the breeze, and to hold 1t very
high, very upright, above death, de-
feat and treachery.
Never was there man SO happy az
Hornus when he stood on the battle
field, his hands clasped about his flag
staff in its leathern sheath. Silent,
motionless, grave as priest, one would
have said that he was holding some
thing sacred. His whole life, his whole
being, centered in the fingers gripped
about the beautiful golden rag upon
which the balls seemed to hurl them
selves, and his defiant eyes looked the
Prussians straight In the face as if to
say Just try now to take it from me!''
No one did try-not even death. After
those deadly battles of Borny and
Gravelotte, the flag left the field cut to
pieces, literally riddled with bullet
holes, but it was still old Hornus who
bore it. Then came September, the
army at Me+z, the siege, and that long
encampment in the mud till the cannon
rusted, and the finest troops in the
! world, demoralized by inaction, by
lack Of provisions and of news, died in
the trenches Of fever and despair and
deadly WEAKNESS. Leaders and men
alike lost confidence. Hornus alone still
had faith. His tricolor rag was all the
world to him, and as long as he kept
that 1t seemed to him that nothing was
lost.
Unfortunately, as there was no more
fighting, the colonel kept the flag at his
quarters in one Of the suburbs of Metz,
and honest Hornus was very like a
mother whose child is out at nurse.
He thought of it continually, and when
his longing for 1t became uncomfortable
he would rush off to the colonel's house,
where the mere sight OF his flag, rest
ing TRANQUILITY in its place against the
wall, would send him back with cour-
age renewed, to dream under his soak
ing tent of marches, Of battles, Of the
Gag floating gayly down there on the
Prussian trenches
An order Of Marshal Bazaine destroy
ed these illusions. One morning Hor-
nus awoke to find the camp in an up
roar, the soldiers in excited groups
shouting and talking angrily and GEES
ticulating toward one part of the town.
ZOE with himl Shoot him!'' they
cried, and the officers, walking apart
with heads bowed in shame before the
men, let them talk on UNDECIDED.
It was indeed shameful To $50, 00o
well armed, ablebodfed men had just