"You can preach well, and fight well," said the veteran, his eyes gleaming with stern pride. "I prefer to preach, but I believe in fighting too, when duty points that way," said Mr. Egglestone,--for it was he, flushed and begrimed with his toil at the deadly guns. Even as they were speaking, a cannon-ball passed between them. Mr. Egglestone was thrown back by the shock of the wind it carried, but recovered instantly to find himself unhurt. But where was the old drummer? He was not there. And it was some seconds before the bewildered clergyman perceived him, several paces distant, lying on his face by the road. * * * * The howitzers silenced, it was determined to storm the enemy's works. Frank afterwards had the satisfaction of knowing that it was in part the information gained from the prisoner he had taken that decided the commanding general to order a charge. Frank was with his company, where we left him, when suddenly yells rent the air; and, looking, he saw the Zouaves of Parke's brigade dashing down the causeway in front of the rebel redoubt. They were met by a murderous fire. They returned it as they charged. As their comrades fell, they passed over them unheedingly, and still kept on--a sublime sight to look upon, in their wild Arab costumes, shouting, "Zou! zou!" bounding like tigers, clearing obstructions, and sweeping straight to the breastwork with their deadly bayonets. "What is it?" asked Atwater, faintly. "Victory!" answered Frank; for the firing ceased--the enemy were flying. "That's enough!" And the still pallid face of the soldier smiled. Victory! None but those who have fought a stern foe to the bloody close, and seen his ranks break and fly, and the charging columns pursue, ranks of bristling steel rushing in through clouds of battle smoke, know what pride and exultation are in that word. Victory! Reno's column, that had outflanked the rebels on the west side, fighting valiantly, charged simultaneously with the Zouaves. The whole line followed the example, and went in with colors flying, and shouts of joy filling the welkin which had been shaken so lately with the jar of battle. Over fallen trees, over pits and ditches, through brush, and bog, and water, the conquering hosts poured in; Frank's regiment with the rest, and himself among the foremost that planted their standard on the breastwork. There were the abandoned cannon, still warm and smoking. There lay a deserted flag, bearing the Latin inscription "_Aut vincere aut mori_,"--Victory or death,--flung down in the precipitate flight. "They couldn't conquer, and they didn't want to die; so they split the difference, and run," observed Seth Tucket.