The bugles and the cymbals sounded high and strong in the notes of triumph.

The game was over.

The army was coming to take possession of that which it had won.
It had won--what?
Could the answer be told by this chorus of woe which arose upon the field of Louisburg?
Could the value of this winning be summed by the estimate of these heaps of sodden, shapeless forms?
Here were the fields, and here lay the harvest, the old and the young, the wheat and the flower alike cut down.

Was this, then, what the conqueror had won?
Near the intrenchment where the bitter close had been, and where there was need alike for note of triumph, and forgetfulness, the band major marshalled his music, four deep and forty strong, and swung out into the anthem of the flag.

The march was now generally and steadily begun.