"On, my children, HERAN!" Five bits of grape-shot, deadly each of them, at once hit the old man; dead he sinks there on his flag; and will never fight more.

"HERAN!" storm the others with hot tears; Adjutant von Platen takes the flag; Platen, too, is instantly shot; but another takes it.

"HERAN, On!" in wild storm of rage and grief:--in a word, they manage to do the work at Sterbohol, they and the rest.

First line, Second line, Infantry, Cavalry (and even the very Horses, I suppose), fighting inexpressibly; conquering one of the worst problems ever seen in War.

For the Austrians too, especially their grenadiers there, stood to it toughly, and fought like men;--and "every grenadier that survived of them," as I read afterwards, "got double pay for life." Done, that Sterbohol work;--those Foot-chargings, Horse-chargings; that battery of Homoly Hill; and, hanging upon that, all manner of redoubts and batteries to the rightward and rearward:--but how it was done no pen can describe, nor any intellect in clear sequence understand.