Then he came back on the other side, and, as he went, he lighted those men's eyes with his own.
It was a torch passing along a line of ready gas-lights.
"The work to us!" he cried in a voice like a clarion (it fired the hearts as his eye had fired the eyes)--"The triumph to strangers! Our fatigues and our losses have not gained the brigade the honor of going out at those fellows that have killed so many of our comrades." A fierce groan broke from the men.
"What! shall the colors of another brigade and not ours fly from that bastion this afternoon ?" "No! no!" in a roar like thunder.
"Ah! you are of my mind.

Attention! the attack is fixed for five o'clock.

Suppose you and I were to carry the bastion ten minutes before the colonel from Egypt can bring his men upon the ground." At this there was a fierce burst of joy and laughter; the strange laughter of veterans and born invincibles.

Then a yell of exulting assent, accompanied by the thunder of impatient drums, and the rattle of fixing bayonets.
The colonel told off a party to the battery.
"Level the guns at the top tier.

Fire at my signal, and keep firing over our heads, till you see our colors on the place." He then darted to the head of the column, which instantly formed behind him in the centre of Death's Alley.
"The colors! No hand but mine shall hold them to-day." They were instantly brought him: his left hand shook them free in the afternoon sun.
A deep murmur of joy rolled out from the old hands at the now unwonted sight.