Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-05-25

immernorial So they are not quoted; but
among other things he roared out in a voice
of Indignation were these:
"Bovs BOYS! They've torn it down
torn down the flag! They're trampling on
it-there in the park-as If it were rag!
Bows For Gods sake
card table was overturned, and the
cards scattered on the floor. The ashtrays,
now there, went rolling. There were angry
shouts. haStv movements, and grim utter
ances. A man leaped on chair and dragged
down a battlehag. 1t was Hans Wagner a
fighting man once more. Down the stairs
he plunged, bareheaded, the tails of his an
tiquated coat of service Tapping round his
legs Behind him they came pellmell, veter-
ans all, knowing but one thing, old, old
call. the call to the fag And wheezily
bringing up the rear was MIaloney, with his
bugle in his hand As if discipline were in
stinctive after all the lapsed years, they
halted in the street, brave eleven OF them:
Fall in" commanded the thin voice OF
the Colonel
Right face.e
"Bv twos! Forward march,
MALONEY'S bugle quavered a feeble
~ note, and down the street they went,
some of them with canes, one with crutch,
some nimble, some lame, following it, the
Zouave banner carried by a Wagner, be-
meath which a Wagner had bled away his
life. Its shot torn shreds again f1uttered IN
the wind, as if glad to go out to so gallant
death, to end so gloriously. 1t encouraged
its followers to speed. Crutch and cane
thumped faster on the pavements as they
4 o.,1 1,o1f h1rf
buoyed up, inspirited. stimulated by the
great wine of patriotism, the little army
came to the square. 1t was filled with
yelling mob, above which fluttered no flag
for it threatened to become mob without
a flag, unless of red. From the head of the
column came the shrill command of the fine
old voice, AT the double! Charge
Malonev, who had been assisted in the
last lap of the march by two of the stronger
veterans, lifted the bugle to his white lips
and Strengthened himself for his greatest eft
fort. His restricted throat suddenly re-
Taxed. as he forgot everything save the COM
mand. Loud and clear he sounded the call
that had beckoned hundreds on to glory and
to death Insstent and sharp the old bugle
threw its note above the murrnur of the
crowd, even as it had sounded its defiant
clarion over the groans of the wounded and
diving, and the screams of pitifully rIddled
cavalry horses.
The gallant six hundred are tabled in
story and song; but they were six hundred.
There is a vast difference between that fierce
clank of harness, the rattle of scabbard,' the
swing of STEEL the thunder of hoofs beneath
six hundred men, and the charge of that thin
blue line on this mad day of May. One had
the intoxication of numbers, the other mere
" the grim resolve to perpetuate an ideal.
Into the crowd they broke. a wild-eyed,
thin haired old man, threatening to strike
with the staff of ragged battlef1ag, fol-
lowed by white-headed old men using crutch
or cane. And now repeatedly the bugle
blew, and the mob wavered and opened up
tiny path as they advanced.
THE men of Sheridan Post were going into
theirlast battle, hopingfo nothing, desir-
ing neither wreath of glory nor word of COM
mendation intent on but one thing,-the
planting of the flag. So, by this, the charge of
the six hundred came as more of desperate
surprise. nor was more desperately effective.
Like a wedge following the banner, they
Glove their way, and men fell back, aston
ished, amazed. paralyzed into inactivity.
Had cavalry charged them, infamcd as they
were, the men of that mob might have fought
back, dragging horse and rider down to be
trampled under foot; but here were a mere